#it was honestly a wonderful thing for a while but

[gutsby]

Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.

Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.

Word count: 10.5k

Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.

These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.

Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.

Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.

You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.

“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.

“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.

She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:

“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”

That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.

Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.

“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.

How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—

“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.

The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.

And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.

Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.

“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”

Frank grinned at that.

“No shit?” he yelled back.

“Yeah. I really am that horny.”

From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.

And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.

Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.

“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”

You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.

“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”

He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.

“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.

You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.

And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:

“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”

The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.

“FORTY-ONE!”

It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.

Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”

“What?!”

Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.

You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.

In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.

“I said, ‘I love that’!”

“Yeah? Love what?!”

Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.

Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.

“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.

Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.

It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.

Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.

Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.

“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.

That wasn’t good.

You pointed up.

“First door on your left. Do you need any—”

But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.

Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.

Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.

You looked up and cursed.

Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.

Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.

You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.

Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.

“Lucien Flores!”

Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:

“You fucking prick.”

Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:

“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”

Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“Good to see you, too, Tess.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Theresa.”

You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.

The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.

Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.

Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.

Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.

You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.

“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.

You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.

More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.

An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.

So much for those morning beers with Tommy.

His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.

Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.

You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.

He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.

“Hey—” you started.

But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.

Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.

Stop shaking.

You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.

You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.

You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.

Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”

It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.

You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.

“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.

“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”

He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.

“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”

And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.

“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.

You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.

“Will you stop?”

Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being—”

“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”

“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.

You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.

You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.

Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.

You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.

“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.

Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’

You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose

“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”

His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.

“What else is there to say?” you snapped.

“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”

“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”

“Like block all of my calls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”

“Just tell me why.”

“Fuck. You.”

Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.

“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.

Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.

Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.

“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.

Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.

Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.

Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.

“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”

You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.

Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”

Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.

You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.

Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.

“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”

You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.

“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.

“I am.”

Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.

“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”

He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.

He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.

Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.

“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.

Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:

“I’m fine.”

“Are we?”

“You lied to me!”

And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.

In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.

“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.

“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was my place—”

“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.

You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.

If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.

“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.

Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.

Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’

You nodded to confirm that you were.

By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.

Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.

Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.

His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.

“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.

His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.

“Want…what?” you murmured back.

You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you

Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.

And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:

“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“W-Why? For what?”

“To say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t—”

But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.

“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.

Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.

Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.

His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.

Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels

“Wait. Wait—Tess?”

“Napping in the tub.”

Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.

You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.

Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.

The spot where you landed was soft, though.

You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.

Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.

Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.

What the fuck am I doing here with you?

That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.

“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”

“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”

You were about to speak, but Joel continued.

“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”

You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.

“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.

At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.

Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.

It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.

“I’ll go,” he choked out.

“Alright.”

You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.

He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.

And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.

“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.

You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.

“Mind opening that?” you asked him.

Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.

“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts

Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.

“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.

After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.

Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.

Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.

Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.

“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.

“Give it.”

“Make me.”

“Kid, don’t start.”

Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.

Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.

He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.

“Joel?”

The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.

His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.

“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.

“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”

Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.

“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”

You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.

And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.

You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.

Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.

“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.

You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.

“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.

“I’m old.”

“No shit.”

“Watch it.”

For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.

“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What was the question?” you returned, careless.

But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?

The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.

It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.

That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.

“You know exactly what question I meant.”

What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.

“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”

Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:

“I would do it again.”

And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.

Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.

“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.

“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.

It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.

“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”

Please.

The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.

You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.

“Here?” It left you more like a breath.

“Here.”

Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down

Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.

His hands shook like yours had earlier.

He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.

You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.

Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.

Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.

And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.

You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:

“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”

You choked.

“What?”

Joel blinked.

“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”

Just wondering.

After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt

You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.

But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.

“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”

“It did.”

And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.

Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.

You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.

“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”

“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.

“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.

“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’

“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”

His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.

“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.”

Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.

“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.

“Wh—”

“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”

It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.

“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.

“Nope. Just you.”

Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.

You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.

Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.

The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.

Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.

“I missed you, baby.”

It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.

“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.

With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer

He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.

Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.

He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:

“See how good we fit?”

Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.

Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.

“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”

Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.

Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.

“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”

That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.

Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.

He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.

“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”

His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.

“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.

You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.

It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.

Or maybe just since you’d been away.

You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.

“Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”

All okay.

Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.

You wanted to tell him something.

You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.

The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.

A snap.

A dizzying blow.

Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.

Intimate, again.

You couldn’t help it.

With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.

“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.

Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.

You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.

And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.

Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.

Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”

Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.

He followed.

He reached out.

“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The sound almost drowned all other noises out.

At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.

No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.

“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”

“I—”

“Need to go.”

You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.

Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.

The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.

You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.

“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”

“Come with me. We have to talk—”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“But you—”

“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”

He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.

The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.

The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.

You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed

Leaving was for the best anyway.

If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.

Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.

Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep

And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.

“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.

You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?

“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”

Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there

“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”

Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.

“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”

“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”

You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.

Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.

“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”

For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.

“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.

“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”

“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.

“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”

While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.

“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”

“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”

Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.

You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.

The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.

Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.

You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.

“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”

“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”

Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:

“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.

Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.

His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”

“Like now,” you said quietly.

A beat.

Tommy scratched his neck.

“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”

In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.

‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.

Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.

You couldn’t make this work.

Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.

He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.

It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.

This would really suck.

You buried your face in his chest.

There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”

[arminsumi]

Hi! Could i request Sukuna with CHERRY + STRAWBERRY SYRUP + WHIPPED CREAM pls

🧎‍♀️ 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Filming on shoot with your co-star Sukuna Ryomen, you totally go off-script and work overtime 'cause he fucks you a little too good.

ㅤ★ promptlist

ㅤ★ cws; strictly NOT for under 18s — please consume content online responsibly, explicit smut, Sukuna & reader are both 🌽⭐ being filmed on set, breeding kink, multiple orgasms/creampies

ㅤ★ an; if any piece of smut is gonna lock me out of heaven it's gonna be this one i think (ok, that's an exaggeration lol) anyways enjoyyy!! 🎀💗

"Nn!! Gimmie me your babies!!"

"Huh?"

Pornstar!Sukuna's hips stutter, his pierced cock almost coming to a still inside of you as you totally give away your breeding kink.

This isn't part of the script, is it? He's wondering if he missed something — he's always been a bit of a lazy reader. And today he just kinda jumped into it 'cause he was too excited to fuck a tiny thing like you on the arm of a couch.

He pays a glance to the camera crew, then lets out a chuckle, "Am I fuckin' ya so good you forgot the script?"

You give him a blissed-out, drooly face that honestly makes his heart lurch. But he's gotta keep it together — he's at the height of his career and he refuses to develop a crush on a coworker.

"I'm sorry, it just feels so good!"

Sukuna's taken aback for a solid minute, then he snaps-to and sees the potential title shining in his mind; "Petite Slut YN LN Goes Dumb on Sukuna Ryomen's Cock — Begs for a Creampie!!"

"Shit... alright... perk that ass up 'n 'lemme give it to ya then."

With that, he's helping you reposition on the stark-white couch and quickly stuffing his cock back inside you, starting back up his relentless thrusting into your weeping pussy.

Giving it to you just how you like, nice and hard with little breaks in between, Sukuna fucks you like he's actually gonna get you knocked up — like your birth control ain't gonna work for shit against his thick, gooey cumload that comes pouring out his cock five minutes later.

Mister "Unbeatable Stamina" who rivalled Gojo Satoru, your favorite co-star before today, cums so quickly as you leg-lock him for a babymaking creampie, 'till he he shoots blanks and groans, draining his heavy balls deep inside you.

"Fuck, look at how clingy you are..." he chuckles, "Leg-locking me like I'm your lover... are we making porn or a French movie?" he murmurs now coming down to kiss all over your shoulders and neck, hungry for your skin against his lips. His cock's stilled as deep inside you as possible, and you're reactively grabbing at his tattooed muscles and whimpering.

"Nng, oh my god... I'm so full..." you mewl, clawing at him, "Ahhfuck, fuck me again, 'Kuna! Let me have it!"

"Ya sure about that...?"

"Mhm!!" you nod, eyes full of lust.

"Insatiable lil' slut..." he mutters under his breath, drawing his cock back out until it's just the tip keeping all his warm cum plugged up inside you.

You start babbling like crazy, begging him to fuck you again, and he's reading your body's cues to make sure your poor pussy could handle your lustful request — Gojo told him that you kinda liked to bite off more than you could chew. Seeing your lust and raw passion, Sukuna starts pounding into you again, hitting your gummy sweet spot 'till you see stars and babble out obscenities and a million yesses.

He's fucking you through your (third? fourth?) orgasm while grunting and looking down at the sight of your gushing hole, feeling it milk him for all he's worth. You're so beautiful right then, he wonders if a sleazy guy like him could get a woman like you.

Something unprofessionally romantic sparkles in Sukuna's eyes as he watches you cum again, legs held back and eyes rolling hard. He hides it quickly, but not quickly enough — the two of you've already made that burning eye contact.

"... one more!" you request breathlessly, shaking from the aftershock of your orgasm. "I can go one more round!"

He rings out with this laughter that makes your tummy tighten 'n your pussy clamp down on his way too thick cock, squeezing some of his leftover cum out.

"Shit, you're crazy. Might needa take ya out after this."

Humping you like an animal, getting balls deep at last (gold star for you, honestly. What an achievement), you can't even reply to his oddly cute offer for a date; he's got you moaning out like a bitch in heat, taking all of his pierced cock, arching your back just like he's been dying to see ever since he saw your first video — oh god let's not mention how jealous he was of Gojo Satoru.

His jealousy is the whole reason he's here right now.

Sukuna's flown out to fuck you better than anybody you've had previously on set — and he wasn't even late to the shoot, which he's been notorious for. No, he was on-time. Got there, saw you in the make-up room, gave you a greeting hug, you looked up at him with heart eyes and asked him flirtatiously how he slept and he eyed your tits which sloppily spilled out your dressing gown, and — well, had you on his cock within minutes of meeting you.

Sloppy, open-mouthed kissing — literally engulfing your lips with his, Sukuna ruined your hair and makeup within a few minutes of meeting you. Hardly had time for small talk. It had you giggling. The camera crew had to snap-to, because Sukuna had you bent into lewd positions and poised on his tattooed cock before they even started rolling.

"... look at that lil' beauty, huh? You gonna be my little goddess today? Good." he growled into your mouth — 'n that was really the first thing you remember him saying to you before sliding past your soft folds and making you moan out at his size.

That was all when you two were only fifteen minutes in. One hour into it, you now have started begging for his babies as the camera crew circles around the two of you.

You're looking down at the small bump that his cock makes each time he thrusts in 'n feeling your lower tummy shudder. His creampies are leaking out, smeared all over your pussy as he keeps up his relentless thrusts into that pussy he's now totally addicted to. All the cream getting whipped up makes his head spin and for a long few minutes, and now Sukuna's hardly fucking you like a pornstar anymore; nah, he's going at it like he's your man.

"Oh my god... oh my god! Ahhh!! Yes!! Yesyesyes, f-fuck me just like thaaaaat!!" you smile in total bliss, and damn he just can't believe that you still look just like the same goddess he met an hour ago, even in your exhausted state with ruined hair and makeup.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum inside you again..."

"Yeahhh, do it!"

"... uhh, guys, we have to wrap up the shoot in like ten minutes..."

Oh, you were on set? Oops. Sukuna grunts at the camera crew that they're just gonna have to work overtime today and deal with it.

But eventually, the scene ends, and everyone's muttering thank god's and finally's under their breath, readying to go. Sukuna saunters on over to you, dressed in his silk robe, face still sweaty and tired, and he pays you this devilish smirk.

" 'gimmie your babiess' huh? Don't think I ever heard that one before... at least not in a professional setting." he teases you.

You bite your lip back to him, "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me."

He chuckles, "Don't be sorry, y' made me cum harder than I have in a while. It was a great scene."

He winks, grabbing a handful of your ass as you come to meet him for a sloppy goodbye kiss, "Thanks for making me feel good." you whisper on his lips.

"Uh-huh..." he hums, making a show of prying your arms off his neck despite loving how mad you are for him. "Okay okay... don't get too clingy... anyways, about that date..."

[annasellheim]

So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).

Anyway, the story:

I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.

"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned them, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.

We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. And the curriculum isn't focused on self expression as much as teaching you how to use fine motor skills and..."

Shit, stop it Anna. You don't need to keep justifying yourself.

I try to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dishes any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons. I wondered if he had been part of one of my first classes, before I figured out how to create a really solid curriculum.

Regardless, I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching when I had him as a student, I know that much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together for the first, like, 4 years I taught. And there were 20-30 students in my classes. It took me a a while to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom.

The most important thing was this man in front of me. He was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I'm was probably reading too much into it.

I took a sip of my coffee.

"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"

He looked surprised and snorted.

"What?"

"You swore."

It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.

Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."

"I never thought of it that way..."

"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."

We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.

"Do you still make art?"

"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"

"Your last required art class. Got it."

I gave him a side eyed glance.

"You know you can get back into it at any time, right?"

He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.

I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.

"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.

The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."

I gave him my business card.

"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you just make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."

We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

[nemisuki]

Good Soup

Fantasy AU | In a world of whimsical wonders and magic, the only thing you're curious about is why the blonde suddenly got shy at a simple goodnight. The language barrier between them is what keeps them closer. 

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, no angst, aged up, mutual feelings, split pov, language barriers, bkg learning english, silly bestie kirishima included, love confessions gone wrong, oneshot, bkg is a softie, 2.1k word count

"Go on! You can do it!"

An encouraging smile forms on her face. Her hands clasping together as she practically jumps up and down from mere excitement that he finally agreed to her request. 

Her eyes are completely on him, not wanting to look away. 

It takes a moment for Bakugo to register her words. Attempting to recall what she's been teaching him. 

He assumes she's saying something encouraging, given that bright smile of hers.

He can't believe he's doing this. If it was anyone else he wouldn't even be attempting this shit. But one look at her excited expression made his mind think otherwise.

Plus she's been bothering him about this for weeks now. 

Under his breath, he grumbles a handful of curses in his native language, courtesy of his tribe. He switches his weight onto the other foot, crossing his arms over his chest.

She is quick to notice his sudden fidgeting. A sign of discomposure.

But she thinks it's charming. So she'll keep it to herself.

Y/N takes a step forward in his direction, softening her eyes at the sight of him. Realizing she may have unknowingly put too much pressure on him, "Oh I'm sorry! You don't have too, if you don't want to-"

"N-ɳαɱҽ.... αɾҽ... Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι...."

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her heart hastens at the sound of his deep voice. His slow and hesitant words echoing in her ear. The foreign accent made her skin tingle with bliss.

After his words, she lets a few giggles escape her lips. Not directed at him, but because the way he avoids eye contact was simply adorable.

She can tell he tried his best.

"Almost!" she says while gently taking a hold of his hand. His body tensing as she makes physical contact.

His eyes darted back and forth between her hand and delicate eyes. She speaks gradually to correct his wording, "my name.... is.... bakugo katsuki.”

She nods in his direction for him to try again.

The sensation of her much smaller hand holding his, the warmth of it, gives him an odd sense of tranquility.

How stupid.

"M-Mყ ɳαɱҽ ιʂ Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι"

"Yes! You did it!"

She squeals with delight. Having to restrain herself from pulling him into a hug. Knowing he'll probably shove her off not a moment after.

So instead she simply squeezes his hand. Honestly a bit shocked he hasn't pulled away yet-

Without warning, she can feel his fingers slowly intertwine with her own. Causing a shiver to go up her spine. 

What is he...

"Gσσԃ.... ɠσσԃ ɱσɾɳιɳɠ"

Huh?

Y/N stares at the blonde, now perplexed at his words. He must've picked it up from their travels together. But does he know what it means? It's not morning but night time.

She tilts her head and lets out a small laugh. How refreshing.

"Hm? Did you mean goodnight?"

The tips of his ears quickly turn red as he hears her laughter.

“Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ" he says, tightening his grip on her hand. Looking into her eyes, now a bit more sincere with his words.

"Ah- you're going to sleep already? I suppose you do sleep early" she hums while nodding in his direction.

"Goodnight Bakugo!"

She's about to pull away yet his grip on her doesn't lessen. His eyes slightly widening at her words.

The blush from his ears immediately spreads across his cheeks in a light dust of pink.

"G-Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ Bαƙυɠσ?" he mumbles to her in slight disbelief.

"Huh? Uh- yeah... Goodnight Bakugo" she says now bewildered by his reaction.

He doesn't move for a few seconds but then his own eyes soften. Completely catching her off guard.

She's never seen such a calm look on his face. And she didn’t know how she lived up til now without seeing it. 

Y/N watches as he pulls his hand away from hers. Now feeling cold without the physical contact. Her fingers twitch, wanting to feel that warmth again.

He takes a hold of the red necklace that's resting along his collarbone. Tugging it off and draping it over her head instead. Lifting her hair so it could sit perfectly around her neck.

She can feel her cheeks warm up at the gesture, "what- your giving this necklace to me? But it's yours" she says, looking down at the red pendants hanging off the black string.

"ʏ/ռ Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ"

His hand lifts up to gently touch her flushed cheek. Only making her more bashful by the minute. 

What's up with him?

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

The next morning was quite chaotic.

Y/N emerges from their tent, still feeling drained from her sleep. They’ve been traveling a lot recently and haven’t had the chance to rest up properly. 

She steps over to the campfire, joining Bakugo and Kirishima for some breakfast. Seems like the blonde is cooking some soup. 

"Hi you two" she says, yawning and attempting to rub her eyes awake.

She didn’t even have the time to sit down when-

"Y/N?! Why are you wearing Bakugos necklace?!" Kirishima quickly whispers to her, looking baffled and sending a suspicious look her way. 

Kirishima was completely fluent in the English language unlike Bakugo. Apparently when dragon kind are mere fledglings, they're especially quick to pick up multiple languages.

Hence this left Kirishima to be the translator for the trio. 

The duo found Y/N a few months ago, a rogue traveler who enjoyed exploring the world. She practically clung to the two after they helped her take out some bandits, who previously attempted to steal her rare items such as unicorn hair and some potions. 

She grew fond of the duo and decided to tag along ever since. At first Bakugo was completely against the idea. But the red haired dragon took a quick liking to her. So against Bakugos will, Kirishima allowed her to join them.

And so they’ve been traveling together since then. Exploring the world and taking on quests for gold. 

For now they needed rest, so they set up a little camp for a few days. 

"Huh? Oh this!" her hand gently traced over the variety of red beads. A sheepish smile sneaked on her face as she recalled yesterday's events, "Bakugo gave it to me last night when you went out to collect more firewood.”

The blonde ignores the whispered chatter behind him, continuing to stir the pot of soup around. Well not like he could understand what they are saying anyways. 

Meanwhile, Kirishima practically jumps out of his seat from her words. Looking at Y/N as if she had two heads.

"Kirishima? What's wrong?"

"You're telling me Bakugo willingly gave that to you?! Did he tell you anything else?!"

"Uh- well... he just told me goodnight is all"

"Goodnight?"

But before she could respond, Bakugo was already walking towards them. Holding two bowls of warm soup and handing one to Kirishima. 

His head then turns to look at Y/N, holding the other out to her. He seems to be in thought, trying to recall the right words to say, "...ԋι... ʂσυρ... ϝσɾ ყσυ?"

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

"Good Morning Bakugo! Ah thank you so much" she takes the warm bowl and looks back up at him. Feeling her body tingle with joy. A warm smile displayed across her face. 

Kirishima's eyes are practically bulging out of his sockets as he looks between the two. Having a sudden realization.

He quickly looks in Bakugos direction and starts speaking in their native tongue. 

"BαƙυႦɾσ! Aɾҽ ყσυ ƚɯσ σϝϝιƈιαʅ?!"

The blonde's mood suddenly switches as he stares at Kirishima. Immediately soured at the dragons words, "Tƈԋ ɳσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ ԃαɱɳ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Hσʅყ ƈɾαρ ყσυ αɾҽ! Yσυ ɠαʋҽ ԋҽɾ ყσυɾ ɳҽƈƙʅαƈҽ αɳԃ ιƚʂ ƚɾαԃιƚισɳ ιɳ ყσυɾ ƚɾιႦҽ ƚσ ɠιʋҽ ιƚ ƚσ ყσυɾ σɳҽ ƚɾυҽ ʅσʋҽ! Cσɳɠɾαƚʂ ɱαɳ!" he shines an excited grin and pats Bakugos back encouragingly. His wings fluttered involuntarily with pure delight.

"Hαɳԃʂ σϝϝ ԃαɱɳ ιƚ!" Bakugo yells back, trying to shove his hand away. Followed by a couple of empty threats directed at the red head. 

After a few seconds, confusion suddenly dawns on Kirishima. He takes a peek back at Y/N who is sitting down on a log calmly eating her soup. Already used to the twos bickering so much that it doesn't faze her. 

"Wαιƚ, ԋσɯ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƚɯσ ҽʋҽɳ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ? Dιԃ ყσυ ƚҽʅʅ ԋҽɾ ιɳ Eɳɠʅιʂԋ?"

"Lιƙҽ I ʂαιԃ Ⴆҽϝσɾҽ! Nσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ!"

"Aɯ ƈ'ɱσɳ BαƙυႦɾσ! I'ɱ ƈυɾισυʂ!"

The blonde lets out an annoyed sigh. Knowing Kirishima won't stop his pestering anytime soon unless he answers. So reluctantly he speaks in a quiet grumble, "I ʂαιԃ.... goodnight ƚσ ԋҽɾ"

A moment of silence passes between the two. 

Kirishima tries processing his words but he furrows his brows completely lost, "Uԋ σƙαყ? Sσ ɯԋҽɳ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ ƚσ ԋҽɾ?"

"Hαԋ? I ʝυʂƚ ƚσʅԃ ყσυ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Wαιƚ- ɯԋαƚ?! Nυ υԋ!"

"I ƚσʅԃ ԋҽɾ goodnight! Aɳԃ ʂԋҽ ʂαιԃ ιƚ Ⴆαƈƙ!"

"Hσʅԃ σɳ, ԋσʅԃ σɳ! BαƙυႦɾσ! Wԋαƚ ԃσ ყσυ ƚԋιɳƙ goodnight ɱҽαɳʂ?"

"Eԋ? Wԋαƚ ƚყρҽ σϝ ϙυҽʂƚισɳ ιʂ ƚԋαƚ! Iƚ ɱҽαɳʂ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!"

Kirishima couldn't believe what he was hearing. From Bakugo out of all people. 

The dragon practically bursts into a fit of laughter. Holding his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes that started to form at this revelation.

Bakugo stares at him baffled then a look of embarrassment forms on his face,"ԃσɳ'ƚ ƚҽʅʅ ɱҽ-"

"D-Dυԃҽ! Goodnight ԃσҽʂɳ'ƚ ɱҽαɳ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!" Kirishima manages to say in between his relentless giggles.

"Mρԋ-" Bakugo quickly turns around to hide his face. He couldn't believe it. But it makes sense now, last night's look of confusion on her face.

The way she went straight to the tent after he gave her the necklace. He just assumed she was just as shy as he was. 

"Hey what are you two talking about?" Y/N says walking in their direction with a look of interest in her eyes. 

"Nothing, just Bakugo thinking he confessed-"

At the sound of his voice, the blonde spins around and slaps the back of Kirishima's head. Not understanding much but knowing he's up to no good. Making the dragon stop mid sentence to whine and rub his scalp.

Bakugo eyes travel to Y/N, more specifically the necklace around her neck. His necklace. 

He huffs and points at the piece of jewelry. Then proceeds to open his hand at her. Asking for it back silently.

He waits, expecting her to hand it back. 

The blonde was beyond embarrassed that she didn't understand his motivates yesterday. Thankfully she seemed oblivious to it all. 

In his tribe, it's tradition for males to pass on their necklaces to their lover, signifying eternal devotion and trust. Yet the two weren't official after all like he originally thought. 

He'll just give it to her another time. When he learns how to properly confess.

But then all his thoughts pause when he sees Y/N pouting and shaking her head no. Holding the necklace closer to her body so he can't snatch it away.

"I want to keep it please" she says softly to him, hearing her own heartbeat in her ears from the nerves. She doesn't know why he wants it back, but she feels closer to him this way. It's the first thing he's ever given her.

Kirishima being the third wheel, quickly translates to Bakugo with a sly grin.

Bakugo listens then lets out a sigh of defeat. Waving his hand dismissively to her, allowing Y/N to keep it. She smiles brightly and nods towards him, “thank you bakugo!” 

He grunts in response and walks away to serve himself a bowl of soup. Or perhaps to hide the flushed look on his face. 

One day he'll learn how to confess. Maybe he’ll ask Kirishima for some help later on. 

What a pain.

But little did the blonde know.

Y/N was already planning to ask Kirishima the same thing. Trying to learn Bakugos native language in hopes of confessing her feelings. 

Kirishima could only bite back his tongue to hide his knowing smile. Looking at the oblivious pair as they all eat breakfast around the campfire.

Though he couldn't help but to let out a small chuckle at the sheer coincidence of it all.

"Hm? What's so funny Kirishima?"

He dismissively waves his hands at Y/N's comment and smirks, "nothing at all, just realized I forgot to say goodnight to you yesterday" he says, holding back a laugh as Bakugos head snaps in his direction. 

The blonde sends Kirishima a deadly glare. Standing up to teach him a lesson. Seems Bakugo reached his daily limit of the redheads teasing, "Yσυɾ ԃҽαԃ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

That's how Kirishima ends up hiding behind her as Bakugo stomps towards the two. Leaving poor Y/N as a human shield.

She still has no idea what's going on but laughs alongside Kirishima as the three chase each other around the campfire. 

What a good day…. and night?

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| This fanfic was inspired by a Fantasy Bakugo x Reader piece I read a LONGGGG time ago on Wattpad. When I was younger, I was obsessed with this fic as a newbie reader & mha fan. Unfortunately it never had a proper ending, as it's incomplete like many other forgotten fanfics out there. I’ll add the link here to credit them but please remember it's INCOMPLETE! And the author won’t update it anymore so fyi! This was oddly healing to my younger self, kinda funny how I went from being a reader to the writer :)

[straylightdream]

midnight drives

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: choi seungcheol x curvyf.reader

↳ late night drives lead to desperate kisses with your sister’s ex boyfriend.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: friends to lovers?? non idol au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, body insecurity, mentions of possible emotional cheating, smut warning below the cut.

an: I might go back and edit this one more time later.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: car sex, protected sex, so much kissing, marking, and biting while kissing. seungcheol is obsessed with kissing the mc neck.

It was one of those days Seungcheol actively wanted to quit his job. He was in the office until nearly midnight working on a project that was due by midnight. Anything that could go wrong did. He honestly just wanted to see you. He just wanted to shut his brain off and not think about work any longer. Seungcheol really didn’t want to sit silently in the car next to you as you just scrolled through your phone. He stared at you wishing he could kiss you again. You had kissed the other night for the first time when you were both drunk. Your kiss you shared that night for some reason was all he could think about. Your lips seemed to take up every thought in his mind. Even though you said that you should act like nothing had ever happened.

“Do you really regret that night?” he asked, breaking the screaming silence.

His question caught you surprise. Locking your phone you looked over at Seungcheol who has a serious look painted across his face. You weren’t sure what you should say, because your drunken kiss that night had left you with a feeling of butterflies. But you didn’t want to admit that you had felt anything. Because you knew you were really good friends and you didn’t want to ruin your friendship. Your sister also added a layer of complication to this.

“You know Hayley thinks it’s weird we’re still friends,” you said in an attempt to change the subject but also let him know why you really felt conflicted about everything. Hayley was your older sister who had dated Seungcheol first. She was the reason you and Seungcheol became friends. They dated in high school and during college.

He rolled his eyes at the fact that Hayley and him had been broken up for almost two years and yet you didn’t see him as anything other than your sister’s ex. A sigh passed his lips, “I get she’s your sister and all but why are you letting her get in the way of you being happy?”

Your head tilted slightly as you were trying to process what Seungcheol had just said to you. You liked Seungcheol a lot more than you were willing to admit and that honestly scared you to no end. You weren't really ever the girl that was looking for a relationship. You were independent and didn’t need anyone to make you happy. But he was managing to change things without really trying.

“How do you know that being with you would make me happy?” You stared at him wondering what he was going to say to you.

“Because just being around you makes me happy. You’re the only one I want to see even after having the worst day at work. You’re the only person who can make me smile even when I’m upset.” he couldn’t believe he was basically confessing how he had felt for you for almost two years.

“Didn’t my sister make you happy?” You asked, twisting in your seat so you’re looking straight at him.

He shook his head, “I had such a big crush on you, she honestly didn’t compare.” Your heart-rate picked up and you felt butterflies in your stomach at everything he was saying. How do you even respond to that statement? There was no way you could of know that the whole time he was dating your sister that he wanted you.

“Cheol,” you paused because you didn’t know what you should say to him.

He reached over and rested his large hand on your flushed cheek and stared into your eyes. “I’m gonna kiss you again,” you smiled instantly. Leaning over the center console he roughly connected his lips to yours. He moved his lips against yours as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He was kissing you as if he was trying to prove a point. Your lips moved against each other as if you needed each other to breathe. He pulled his lips away from yours and stared into your eyes. Your body felt warm suddenly. You just stare at him wishing he would kiss you again.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, really hoping you would say no.

“No,” you whispered.

He smiled as he moved his lips to your jaw and started kissing down to your neck, and occasionally licking and nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck. You knew at the rate you’re going you were definitely going to have to cover up some marks on your neck tomorrow. A moan passed your lips as he slightly moved your sweater off your shoulder so he could kiss your collarbone and the top of your shoulder.

The way he was kissing you made you want to rip his clothes off. He was getting you so turned on without really even trying. You could spend hours kissing him like this. If kissing was an Olympic sport Seungcheol would be a gold medalist.

“What’s going to happen here?” You asked as he continued to kiss your neck. Earning another moan from you.

In-between kisses he managed to say, “whatever you want to happen can happen.”

You closed your eyes enjoying the feeling of his lips ghosting across your skin. Nobody has ever kissed you like this. “The way you’re kissing me I feel like you have an idea of what you want to happen.”

He smiled against your neck before lightly biting down, “I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m just enjoying that I actually get to kiss you like I’ve always wanted too.”

Tangling your fingers in his hair you held him closer to you. You knew you probably shouldn’t sleep together. It's hard to tell your body that when you’re turned on. You didn’t know if you could walk away from this.

“If you keep up what you’re doing I can’t promise this will end with just kissing,” you said, rolling you head back in pure pleasure.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said, pulling his lips away from your neck.

“You have me so turned on right now kissing isn’t going to be enough,” you sighed, reaching over and resting your hand against his cheek.

“You think you’re turned on, imagine being me,” he said looking down at his erection that was straining against his dress pants.

“Thank god you have tinted windows in the backseat, and it's dark back there,” you said looking behind into the backseat.

Seungcheol stared at you with a confused look on his face, not sure what you meant, “what?”

“It means when we have sex in the backseat of your car no one will see,” you smirked before pressing your lips to his for a quick kiss.

“Oh?”

You nod with a smile on your face, “Seungcheol I just want you to know I’m not exactly comfortable in my skin. I’m not a size two like Hayley. I have a soft body, there’s quite a difference in our bodies.”

He pushed his eyes together as he stared at you confused. He couldn’t believe that you didn’t realize how sexy he found you, “baby do you not realize at all the pool parties we used to have I would have to constantly stop myself from staring at you.” He couldn’t believe he was admitting to you that he used to stare at. Back in the day he couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. “I used to fantasize about you,” he said feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Seriously?” Suddenly you feel more confident.

“Yeah.”

Gnawing at your bottom lip you tried to hide the huge grin that wanted to form.

“The more you talk the more you seem to be turning me on.” You crawled over the center console and made quick work of shimming your legging and undies off while Seungcheol jumped out of the front seat and quickly opened the door and got into the back seat next to you. He made quick work of getting pants unbuttoned and pushed down enough to free himself. Once you were naked from the waist down you crawled toward Seungcheol who was sitting there with his pants pushed down to his knees and his erection standing proud as he bit his bottom lips staring at you. From the beginning when you first met him you always thought he was so hot, but the sight of him sitting there with his hard cock on display made your mouth water.

“I wish we could get all your clothes off,” he said as you straddled his thighs.

“Maybe next time,” you smiled before pressing your lips to his. You reached down and started unbuttoning his light blue dress shirt. You wanted to see his abs and run your fingers over them. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, reaching down and slowly started stroking him causing him to groan. You couldn’t believe how hard he got just from your makeout session in the front seat.

He nodded, “there’s one in the center console.”

Reaching behind to the center console and grabbed the row of three condoms. You tore the foil open with your teeth and made quick work of rolling the condom down his hardened length. Lifting up you hovered your body over his erections. A smile spreads across your lips as he lined himself up.

“I can’t lie, I've waited for this moment since I met you,” he said before pressing his lips to your jaw for another kiss.

“Show me what you got then,” you slowly lowered yours down on him and let out a moan.

You moved together as you tried to keep a steady pace, your hands rested on his shoulders as his lips continued to kiss your neck roughly.

“Oh my,” you moaned.

You rolled your hips riding him. Seungcheol kept his large hands glued to your hips as he tried to help you keep a good pace.

“Cheol,” you sighed. “I need you to use your fingers baby.”

He nodded his head and he moved one of his hands for your soft waist down to your sensitive clit. He slowly dragged his finger in a circle and received a positive moan from you.

“That feels so good,” you say as she leaned forward connecting your lips to Seungcheol’s.

You rode him a little faster hoping to push yourself over the edge as he dragged his finger against your clit in messy circles. Your body feels like a live wire as you’re desperately close to the edge. Rolling your head back in pleasure, Seungcheol connected his lips to your neck again and started kissing his way up. This man is obsessed with your neck and you won’t ever complain about it. You couldn’t believe how good he was in bed. This man seemed to know all the right things to do.

“Are you close?” he asked feeling himself getting close to the edge.

All you can do is moan and whimper his name. You weren’t even sure you could form proper words.

He started thrusting his hips upwards and every time your hips met Seungcheol received a moan from you letting him know that you were on the brink of falling apart. He keeps thrusting up until he feels your walls start to clench around him. Throwing your head back with a loud moan. You see stars and feel like you’re on the verge of blacking out as your high hits you like a hurricane.

He grabbed your hips and got a few more thrust in when he hit his high. You were breathing heavily as you slumped forward against Seungcheol. He leaned his head against the headrest behind him. His mind felt numb as he tried to process the intense sex you just had.

Slowly you move off of Seungcheol’s lap and lean with your back against the door and your feet resting on his lap. Your breathing had finally gotten steady and you stared at Seungcheol who had his eyes closed and a smile on his face as his breathing was a little heavy.

“That was better then I ever expected,” he sighed with a smirk as he had his head still leaning back.

“You had low expectations for me?” You pushed your eyebrows together, kind of offended by his comment.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said playfully, hitting your leg. You rolled your eyes at him and just shook your head. He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed your foot that was in your lap and slowly started massaging it.

“Seungcheol what happens now?” Your mind was starting to over think things after what just happened.

“Well I was hoping we could maybe do this somewhere other than the backseat of a car,” he said with a little laugh. This wasn’t the most idle location for your first time having sex together.

“Okay cool,” you said realizing he saw you only as fuck buddy. You weren’t sure you could handle only being a hookup buddy with him.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, setting down your foot. He slowly reached over and put his hand on your soft cheek causing you to look at him.

“Seungcheol I like you a lot and I can’t be just your fuck buddy,” you said bluntly.

He tilted his head to the side and gave you a confused look. “Is that what you think this is?” You didn’t say anything, you just stared at him. “I fully intend on taking you out on a date. I don’t expect only sex from you. I would like to take you out as well. The sex is just an extremely nice bonus,” he smiled.

“Oh I see.”

“Why don’t we get dressed and go inside and have sex where we aren’t still dressed?” He asked with a smirk.

“Seriously?” You laughed.

“Dead serious,” he said lifting his hips so he could get his pants up.

“Alright,” you said, reaching on the floor and grabbing your leggings.

You quickly got dressed and hopped out of his car. You looked over at each other and laughed a little as Seungcheol worked on straightening out his pants. He was already getting hard again and just the thought of round two. You couldn’t wait to explore his body and fully see him naked.

Quickly you opened the door and you both walked inside. The second the front door was closed Seungcheol pinned you against the wall and started kissing you. His lips roughly moved down your jaw towards your sensitive neck. Earning another moan from you.

You moved your hands up and down his back and held him close to you as your lips moved together quickly. He placed his strong thigh between her legs. Instantly grinding your cloth cover pussy against his tone thigh.

A gasp passed your lips as he lightly bit your neck. Surely leaving another mark behind. He pulled away from you and smirked. His hands moved down and grabbed the bottom of your sweater and quickly worked to remove it. He bit his bottom lip as you worked on unbuttoning his shirt again.

Running your hands down his toned abs and closing the distance between you crashing your lips together again. His hands started roughly roaming your torso and moved up to your bra covered breast.

“Wow.” Everything instantly feels like it’s halted and your heart starts racing. Both of you froze completely, realizing you’ve been caught. The worst possible person just walked into the room.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groaned knowing that voice all too well. He can tell by the look on your face that you’re panicking.

You moved Seungcheol's arm and walked towards your sister who was standing in the living room with a shocked look on her face.

“I’m so sorry,” you said feeling extremely guilty about the fact you had just had sex with your sister's ex. It doesn’t help that you were about to do it again.

“This is really awkward,” your sister said with a little laugh. “Hey Seungcheol,” she said to him as he awkwardly sat down on the couch trying to adjust the erection.

“Hey Hayley,” he said with a really awkward smile.

“So you guys are hooking up,” she said leaning against the wall.

“It’s complicated,” you sighed.

“Well I’m gonna go back to my room to my boyfriend and attempt to bleach my brain,” she said with a laugh.

“Wait Hayley are you mad at me?” You asked reaching for your sister.

She shook her head, “No, Seungcheol and I broke up like three years ago. I’ve been with Henry for two years. I don’t care that you and Cheol are hooking up. Just do me a favor and be safe,” she smiled.

“Okay thank you.”

“Also do it in your room not the damn living room,” she said as she walked down the hall.

The second you heard your sister’s door close you looked over at Seungcheol who was holding a throw pillow over his erection.

“Off to my room,” you said signaling for him to follow you. You made your way to your room that was across from Hayley’s room. It was a room that Seungcheol used to be very familiar with and all the sudden he became very aware of how weird the situation with you and him is.

“Is this weird to you?” he asked, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“What do you mean?” You couldn’t help but be a little confused by his statement.

“I mean that I used to sleep with Hayley?”

You shrugged, “I mean kind of, but I try not to think about my sister having sex.”

He let out a little laugh. There is something about you that he’s always found so charming. From the very beginning you two have always gotten along really well.

You sat down next to him and you roughly connected your lips together. He tangled his fingers in your locks. You rested your hand on Seungcheol’s thigh and slowly massaged it as your lips moved together. Pulling away from each other and resting your noses together and you both couldn’t help but smile.

“I need you naked,” his voice is raspy with need. His deep voice gives you butterflies with little to no effort. He stood up and put his hand out for you to take. You stood a foot away from him and he bent down sitting on his knees in front of you. You could get used to seeing him looking at you like this. He reaches for the top of your leggings and moves them slowly down your soft thighs. He sprinkled kisses across the exposed skin on your soft thighs. He finished pulling your leggings off and looked up at you and gave you a love sick smile. Reaching behind you pulled your bra off leaving you only in your cheeky panties. He licked his lips and sat back on his hunches and slowly took off your final layer of clothing.

Standing there completely naked in front of basically still dressed Seungcheol. You became extremely aware of the fact that you were not a skinny girl. You have a soft body and curves and they are on full display. He could sense you were over thinking everything so he stood up and pressed his lips to yours for a sweet kiss. Reaching between you, you worked on unbuttoning his dress pants. He stepped back from you and kicked his shoes off and got his dress pants and boxers off quickly. You both stood there both completely naked and staring at each other.

“I can’t get over how beautiful you are,” he said, reaching his hand up and resting it on your cheek.

You crawled back on your bed and he followed. You laid back on your pillows waiting for him. Hovering over you he quickly attached his lips to yours. He kissed like he needs you to breathe. As if you are the air in his lungs. He rolled his naked body against yours trying to get some friction for some foreplay.

“Condoms are in the nightstand,” you said as he started kissing his way down your jaw. The feeling of his lips against your skin is something you don’t think you’ll ever get over. Pulling away from you long enough to grab a condom. Tearing the foil packet with his teeth. Slowly sliding the rubber down his already hard length. Spreading your legs you give him full access to your body. He lined his length up with your sopping entrance. You’re still wet from the first time he made you cum in his car.

“Cheol,” you moan, attempting to keep quiet. He rolled his hips quickly into yours as you held onto him for what felt like dear life.

“You feel so good,” he groans. Reaching up your fingers in his hair holding him close to you. Leaning forward you connected your lips to his for a rough kiss. You pulled away biting his bottom lips causing him to smirk. He loved that you were being more bold. He paused for a moment and grabbed one of your legs, throwing it over his hip before he started moving at a quick pass.

“Fuck,” you moan at the new position he was hitting. There was no way you could last very long at the angle he was hitting over and over again. “Cheol…I’m so close,” another moan passed your lips.

“Go ahead and cum for me,” he smiled before kissing your neck again. He kissed his way up the sensitive skin of your neck occasionally leaving love bites. He reached up and laced his finger with one of your hands. He wanted to touch you in every way possible as he got closer and closer to the edge.

A white hot wave washes over you. Your orgasm hits you like a brick wall. Your walls contract around Seungcheol as he’s chasing his own high. It only took a few sloppy thrust before Seungcheol cums moaning your name. You laid there with Seungcheol on top of you for a long moment. He’s still snug inside you. You close your eyes trying to catch your breath. He slowly rolled off you and sighed.

“So how does dinner sound tomorrow night?” he asked, causing you to laugh.

“Tomorrow night sounds perfect,” you said cuddling next to him.

[star2fishmeg]

ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛʟʏ | sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs

Pairing | Quinn Hughes x afab!reader Summary | six years later Quinn and y/n find themselves back in the place it started and old memories truly are precious...but so are new ones Authors Note | enjoy the (long) blurb @thehugheslover, sorry it took so long! This is only going to make sense if you read Feel This Way!!

The familiar clink of pool balls hitting each other, music at a moderate volume but mainly muffled by laughter and chatting and the back doors wide, opening the basement onto the patio where meat roasted on the barbeque under the balmy sun. Everything had stayed. The world was almost the same as they were back as teenagers but this time, they weren’t as naive, and everyone had grown up. Really grown up, into adults with jobs and lives, new ambitions and what happened six years ago were nothing but fond memories protected by the walls of the lake house. 

Y/n and Quinn sat on the sofa, turned slightly to face each other so they could look out into the rest of the room, her finger gently brushing over the stain between them. The second her skin touched the fabric, it all came flooding back like film tapes, the night Brady stayed over in particular. 

“We were so stupid, but it was a lot of fun,” she began with a chuckle, Quinn turning his head in interest, watching her trace around the splotch, “The Vodka Incident, when Brady brought that vodka, and we all thought it was fucking amazing.”

Cole’s voice groaned out from the distance, followed by Trevor and Jack’s obnoxious laughing, clearly relishing in Cole losing their game of pool. The couple giggled, glancing over at the group, their memories fading in and suddenly they were bought back to that night, and they were sixteen with three fifteen-year-olds and little Luke sat in a circle. The way Cole’s face had screwed up hideously, Jack and Trevor’s attempts to be ‘cool’ but landed them both in the bathroom and gagging and Luke tucked into her side most the night. 

“Yeah, Luke used to cling to you all the time, he was literally your shadow,” he said, watching Luke take a cocky bow after a successful turn, “and Brady, oh my God, you two used to torture me, like, come on, ‘who do you currently have a crush on?’ while you were sitting on my lap? You two killed me.”

Y/n laughed fondly, watching Brady enter the basement waving tongs like a magic wand, passionately interrupting the guys by fact checking them about something too muffled to make out from where she was sat. She then remembered the argument she and Brady fell into that everyone retold as if they’d thrown fists at each other, “Honestly, I thought you’d be jealous that I’m close with Brady too, but I was so wrong.”

“How about we not bring up my teenage insecurity, I felt so lame,” he smiled, hand taking hers and interlacing their fingers. He remembered that part too well, Jack and Luke loved to bring it up with him because for them, it was peak comedy and a learning curve on what not to do. Watching it happen was not as funny, but Quinn was their older brother, so how could it not be funny? “You don’t even understand, y/n, I got a scolding, from Jack.”

“Well, I was also lame so we’re even. Luke told my brother about the whole thing and that fucker did not let me live it down.” She grinned and placed a kiss on his nose, “You know what he said? ‘Yeah, everyone knew Quinnifer was, like, in love with you’ the little loser.” 

He groaned playfully at the nickname, even after all the years her brother still called him that. He really couldn’t escape that one, he’d somehow obtained it during college, y/n’s brother just started calling him Quinnifer out of the blue and his only explanation being that the women love it and it’s catchy, but it was better than other thing’s he’d been called.

Looking back over at the group, their friends that’d grown up with them, but whose personalities hadn’t changed, they wondered what it’d be like if they were sixteen again, and what they’d do differently. But they weren’t sixteen anymore and all the angst had been and gone, that chapter closed. Quinn was captain of the Vancouver Canucks and y/n was flying in her own career, and while they’d achieved so much by twenty-five, Quinn still had a list he wanted before he could feel satisfied.

Moonlight shimmering over the ripples of the lake, warm lanterns illuminating along the dock just like it always had. Y/n and Quinn’s bare feet padded along the wood leisurely, hands encased in each other’s and not a word spoken between them, they just needed a bit of peace away from everyone, even just for a moment. Passing the boats harboured up, Mila came to mind. Not in any other way than what happened that day and how he felt y/n’s desperate, burning glares from the other side of the boat, how he wished it was y/n breasts pressed against his shoulders and not some random girl’s. 

“I should’ve just told you how I felt from the start,” Quinn mumbled, but his voice clear from the serenity of the dock, nothing but crickets singing and distant chatter, “Like, we wouldn’t have had to go through that confusing, are-we-are-we-not phase. I can’t believe I was such a pussy.” 

Y/n giggled, swinging their arms, “Don’t blame yourself, I was also responsible. I told most the story to some friends in college, and even they thought it was obvious we liked each other. I sort of wish we hadn’t had that situationship, like, we were just hurting ourselves.”

“Yeah, no, I agree. Had me crying myself to sleep, it was fucking stupid.” 

“I know, Jack told me the night of the Vodka Incident, he saw you crying when we were going to sleep.” She didn’t need Jack to tell her Quinn cried that night, she felt his tears on her skin and the way he’d squeezed her like she would evaporate, his favourite teddy bear. She just never said anything, no need to bring up the painful past when they were living in their own paradise in the future. 

The more time she spent in the lake house, the more the memories swirled in her mind, not dwelling just remembering the times she couldn’t during the hockey season. The lake was a sanctuary, a museum of youth that held so many minor details you’d never see unless you were searching for them, like the names etched into the decking, aged but still prominent.

Quinn glanced down, barely reading the names scratched into the wood until he walked over something he distinctively remembered scratching with Brady, right before they were off to college; Q + y/n in a heart. He stopped right above it, tugging y/n back to face him, sweat forming on the back of his neck with butterflies in his stomach. Y/n blinked twice at him before raising a brow. He pulled his hand away, wiping both on his shorts before taking a deep breath.

“Uh, hey, listen…” his eyes shifted to her ‘Q’ necklace, to her eyes and then back to the etching on the floorboards before her necklace again.

“Q?” she asked, head flooding with multiple scenarios, piecing together location and their ages, his sweating, the fizzling in her chest and down to her stomach, “Oh God, you’re not getting traded, are you?”

His eyes widened, “Huh? No, no, Jesus no. It’s uh…well…um, just wanted to tell you how much I love you and appreciate you. You’ve, um, been by my side forever and I’ve been, uh, thinking about the future…”

He dropped to one knee, sliding a little, velvet box from his pocket and held it out in front of her, eyes sparkling under all the little lamps but more importantly because when he looked at her, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. The most caring, supportive, girlfriend. His best friend who, no matter what, never gave up on him. He gazed at her with dilated pupils that may have well been hearts. Y/n’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as she gasped gently, hands covering her mouth, and she struggled to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

“Y/n L/n, I have loved you since we were fifteen and only you can make me feel this way. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, in sickness and in health. Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” Quinn’s voice shook, not a filler word tumbling out for once. All those days rehearsing his speech in the mirror paid off, all that stress lifting off his shoulders and she watched his hands tremble.

Y/n nodded desperately, tears spilling down her cheeks, “Yes, of course!” 

He grinned from ear to ear, corners of his eyes creasing as his eyes watered, wiggling the ring - polished with her birthstone - from the cushioning and sliding it onto her finger, his arms wrapping around her waist firmly. He held her close into his chest, spinning her around with his face buried in her shoulder, his heart swelling. When they rounded back to their original spot, they melted into each other’s bodies as they always had, t-shirts soaking up the salty tears of joy, the realisation of how far they’d come hitting them like bricks. Y/n and Quinn Hughes, forever and always. Their new chapter, with new adventures and the start of their own little family one day.

small worlds | @bunbunbl0gs

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[keferon]

Ok so, I've got a little something that's been eating in my head for the past hour or so

So, from as far as i am aware, it depends on the iteration of him, but I've seen a few posts talking about how Ratchet is, first and foremost, a healer, and he wants to help people no matter what. But he's stuck under the terrible circumstances of war, and can't save everyone (not like he can always save everyone, even without a war, but it gets alot more challenging). How he even sometimes helps decepticons!

And so, for the mecha au, i kept thinking: Ratchet having a breaking point after losing one last pilot he was close to (honestly something i plan to write at some point), to a stupif decision the company has made, and they right of the bat, not even a week later is sending new recruits, young recruits, to the same suicidal mission bc "they were so close the last time"

He breaks, leaves, and hides with his alien bf, going off radar and starts to secretly help out the citizens, the families, the children, caught on the crossfire because it just seems like no one cares for the little guys anymore.

He works for the people. He's a healer at heart, even if he's not allowed to be - my sister

Idk, just a thought. Not entirely sure what your interpretation of Ratchet really intels, but it's something that keeps chewing at my brain after a few posts about him i saw a while back.

What gets to me though, is wondering how that comes across to Deadlock, ya know? Does that push some change of heart? Does he see the human differently as he risks himself to save the one little kid everyone seems to ignore the cries for help?

I'd imagine Ratchet asking Deadlock help ride around the ruins and to carry the wounded.

Actually. This is EXACTLY how I see him. Like. YES. ABSOLUTELY.

The same thing he was doing in canon, working in Dead end. Caring for people. Regular people who suffer from the war the most.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hello I was wondering if you could do Jackson ellie x bestfreind reader and like they have had a crush on eachother for a while and have a sleepover where they smoke or drink maybe or play some type of game like truth or dare and find out they like eachother and get kinda freaky idk. Thank you!

EEE I am so excited for this one watch me cook on this request. This is a rlly good request and I wanna write something just as good!! Also I want to recommend you an ao3 fic with this EXACT plot it's tagged here actually my favorite Ellie fic ever.

Content: 4k words, bestfriend reader, Jackson setting, pent-up feelings, nipple-play (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), tribbing, Ellie puts a finger into your mouth how fun!, a lot of dialogue before the actual sex sorry but I loved writing Ellie to be funny, reader likes pink a lot (couldn't help myself) and is afab, reader and Ellie 18+, NOT PROOFREAD LMAO

You're far from safe from liking people you shouldn't like.

That doesn't even cover the multitude of feelings! Like doesn't cover it. You're pretty sure you love Ellie.

Maybe in another lifetime, you and Ellie could've met and went on a date. You could've loved her freely. In this universe, she is your childhood best friend.

You know it could ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you if you tell her, or if she finds out in some way, but fuck; when she looks at you, it's like you forget how to breathe. You just wanna breathe her in, you want to share the same air and feel her lips on yours.

Ellie is unlike anyone you've ever known. She's sweet for you. She's impulsive to others, and honestly sometimes an asshole. That only makes you fall more and more in love for her. You didn't know it was possible to be attracted to someone's flaws, but you want every piece of her, even the bits that others in Jackson label as "annoying."

Ellie has always been there for you since you were just 15 and she moved to Jackson right by Joel's side. You just seemed to click. She was brash, foul-mouthed, and told ironically funny dad jokes. You were the type of person who liked having adventures and never shut up. Ellie always listened. She held you while you cried, let you borrow her book of puns, and volunteered to do patrols with you just so she could have fun adventures with you.

You couldn't ruin a good thing. You don't know what you would even do without Ellie in your life. You didn't wanna freak her out or make things weird. You feel like such a coward, but even thinking about Ellie distancing herself from you because of your stupid crush on her? It just makes your stomach churn with dread.

Little did you know Ellie was equally obsessed with you.

You're like a fucking ball of sunshine to the girl, always there laughing at the stupid things she says, defending her when she gets in trouble for something minor, and your smile should be considered warfare for how easily it could kill her. She tries to keep her feelings to herself, but it is so hard to when you look at her with bright eyes and the sweetest smile like you're trying to give her a toothache.

It's a recipe for a bomb, and it only takes one game to set it off.

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You're sitting criss-cross on your bed and Ellie is in your floor. It's a Saturday, which means both of you get to have a sleepover. No patrol, and no major chores to be done around Jackson.

Ellie just got back from a multiple day lasting patrol and she missed you so much while she was gone, it's not even funny. Seattle is beautiful, but boring when there isn't a sunshine girl in awe about how the verdure clings to the buildings. But at least now she is here, back in your bedroom which she loves so much.

Ellie's room is vastly different from yours. Well, her garage is. Her bedsheets are grey and minimalistic, and her make-shift kitchen is lined with posters. Her favorite is the one with the punk green-haired man holding a guitar. Her closet, however, it quite impressive. Her shelves are lined with comics and space movies, and her hangers are lined with flannels, of course.

Your bedroom, in contrast, has white bedsheets and a cozy pink blanket. You have a few raggedy plushies from scavenging around and your shelves are filled with lighter-colored clothing. White curtains decorate your windows and frilly pillowcases (that end up in the floor most of the time) compliment your bed. You have a full-length mirror in the corner of your room and a shelf of DVDs you usually just bring over to Ellie's garage, since she has a much nicer tv than you do. Ellie glances up at you from the floor, squiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm so fucking bored!" You groan, making Ellie laugh in the process.

"And how is that my problem?"

You flip her off and she clutches her stomach.

"Seriously, Ellie. I wanna actually do something and not just eat grilled cheeses and read your nerdy comics."

She scoffs.

"Excuse me? It's not my fault you have bad taste in literature."

You snort at that. "Starlight Savage and Raven Mouse are not literature."

"Oh, then what are they, huh?" She stands up, amusingly offended.

"Comics!"

Ellie grabs one of your pillows and pretends to suffocate you with it. You're laughing and trying to pry it off of your face.

"Hey, quit! You're actually gonna kill me!" You giggle, your voice muffled from the cushioning.

Ellie finally relents, laughing along with you.

"Better think twice before disrespecting Starlight Savage." She is wearing her signature shit-eating grin.

"Oh, whatever.. Hey!- You got me off topic." You groaned.

Ellie laughs at that. "And what was the topic?"

"I am bored out of my fucking mind," you complain, your voice rising in pitch to sound whiny, which she pretends to absolutely hate.

Really, she just hates that it makes her stomach clench when she hears your cute complains, and the tone of your whines only makes it worse.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can do something fun." She feigns reluctance, setting down on the bed beside you.

"Great!! So, what should we do?"

"Seriously? You don't even know what you wanna do and you gave me whiplash bitching about being bored?"

You scoff, jumping to your own defense. "I was tryin' to get you to come up with something," and then you add to complete your argument, "I wouldn't be bored if I knew what we could do."

Ellie sighs, and you smile because you know that means she has had enough of your bullshit and she just wants to throw in the towel.

"Fine. Well, we can play a game perhaps?"

You groan in protest at the suggestion. "You're a dirty cheater when it comes to Monopoly!"

Ellie only lets out a sheepish laugh at that, because she knows that you're being 100% truthful. "That is what makes the game fun!" When she sees your glare, she sighs once more. "Fine. How 'bout Truth or Dare?"

That sounds intriguing; the game begins.

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You and Ellie sit across from each other, and the game has been going on for around 10 minutes now. It's getting quite boring - always questions like "What's a secret you haven't told me?" or Ellie dares you to do something she knows you won't do, like lick the toilet bowl.

Then, she asks a question that brings the game onto another level.

"What's your favorite sex position?"

You stare at her, your jaw practically in your lap. You don't wanna talk sex positions with the girl you secretly wanna do sex positions with.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!"

She looks a bit guilty, but shrugs with a smirk that doesn't go unnoticed.

"What? I wanted to spice things up. C'mon, don't be a pussy."

You think it over, but finally, with a heated face, you say fuck it and give into her bullshit. "Missionary."

Ellie bursts out laughing.

You're sitting there not knowing what to do! She is laughing like a hyena at this point, tears in the corners of her eyes. She slaps her knee. What the fuck?!

"What's so funny?!"

Ellie just laughs, falling over and she is snorting like a pig now before she finally settles down. "It's just.." she tries to stifle a giggle, "that is the most boring thing you could've possibly said.”

You know that, but you're keen on defending your word. Ellie loves that about you, how you're always quick to stand up for yourself. "It's romantic!"

"Okay, okay," she shrugs. "Enlighten me on how missionary is more romantic than any other position that actually feels good."

You don't hesitate to list off the facts. "First of all, it does feel good! You just haven't tried the pillow method. Second of all, you can kiss your partner and actually talk to them." You sigh, getting a bit flustered (and turned on) by the conversation at hand. "Imagine fucking someone and getting to kiss all over their face while doing so, or on their neck or their tits. It's about the intimacy."

Ellie looks just as flustered as you now. She is silent for a moment before giving you the benefit of the doubt. "Okay, I guess you can rest your case now. But there is much more intimate positions than missionary, you know. You're just thinking vanilla ones like riding the strap-on, or from behind."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Okay, I'll bite. What's more intimate than looking into someone's eyes while they cum?"

Ellie laughs at your vulgar question, pink tinting her freckled cheeks. "Tribbing." Her voice is more quiet, and that only makes you more aware of the slight tension.

You quickly brush it off with a laugh.

"Of course your gay ass would say that."

She grins and sits up at that, quick to defend herself. "Hey, you have no room to be talking, little miss 'my gay awakening is Rose from Titanic.'"

Your jaw drops and you look at her like she has said something crazy. "Hey, Rose is hot!"

She giggles. "Yeah, Sherlock, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, okay. Can we get back to the game?"

She nods, and it continues.

As time passes, the questions grow more and more...uncomfortable to answer. You're still asking her the more casual things, but Ellie is daring you to do stupid, impossible stuff, or to answer questions like "what was your first time like?", "do you have a friends with benefits situation with anyone in Jackson?", and "if you could kiss anyone in Jackson, who would it be?" (which you brushed off jokingly by saying old man Eugene. She didn't press any further, only mocking you).

Then, she leans forward after you choose truth, and she whispers something you can't really brush off.

"Who do you like?"

You're fucked. If she asked "do you like someone?", you could answer without revealing who it is. She knows she has you trapped. Sneaky cunt.

You don't answer right away. Ellie is so close, your knees touching. The air in the room is insanely hot, and you want to leave your own house, you want to hide under your blankets or cover your face, but you can't.

Ellie doesn't wait for you to answer.

"I know you like someone, I can tell when my best friend is in love. Who is it?"

"That's way too personal, I.."

She scoffs, but it's not a rude sound. Just shocked, maybe slightly hurt. "You have always told me your crushes. Why won't you tell me now?"

You feel guilty now because she doesn't understand. She doesn't get why you won't tell her. She can't understand that it's because you like her. You want to scream it: I'm in love with you, Ellie! But those words won't be the next you utter.

"I just...I feel like this time it should be private." You know that your reasoning is weak, for once in your life, the defense is slipping and it's ugly. You internally wince.

She just stares in silence, not really meeting your eyes. It makes you panic, and then, then the words slip from your mouth seeing the hurt on Ellie's pretty face.

"It's you."

She stares at you like she didn't quite hear what you said, even though it was shaky, nevertheless loud and coherent.

"What...?"

"I..I'm in love with you, Ellie." You repeat yourself.

She leans into you. "Fuck.." Her breath hitches. "You better not be fucking around with me, I swear to-"

"No!", you shout loudly and quickly try to compose yourself. "I mean..I'm not joking. I like you. I hope this doesn't fuck with our friendship, or like.." You trail off, not wanting to think about what could happen now.

"I'm in love with you, too." There, now Ellie has gotten it out too.

Ellie didn't even fully understand why she asked you that. She knew she could've gotten her feelings hurt, that you could've liked someone else or that it would definitely mean you did like her, and then she had to be vulnerable and confess it back. Still, she was so exhausted, so fucking tired of pretending like hugs and casual touches were enough. They were never enough.

"Can I kiss you?" She doesn't even give you the proper time to react to her shared confession before she springs that onto you. You don't complain, only nodding quickly.

Her breath is warm against yours, and you can tell how shaky it is. You've never seen her so nervous, it makes your own stomach flutter with butterflies. Then, Ellie's grasping onto your face and smashing her lips against yours. Her mouth is warm, and the kiss doesn't even start out gentle. It's all devouring, all need and passon.

You quickly move into her lap, thighs on either sides of hers, and both of you are desperately pulling each other closer, finally sharing the same air. She tastes like everything natural, something so unique it can't be described but you immediately know you need more of it. Her tongue moves inside of your mouth, devouring you just like how she has been dreaming of for who knows how long, and when you're forced to pull away for a breath, her lips are sloppily trailing down your jaw to your throat, her hands grasping your hips to pull you closer.

"I've wanted you for so long, you know that?" Her voice is warm against your sensitive skin, and you think you could just burst with how it feels to be practically intertwined with her.

"Show me how it feels, Els.." You gasp and tilt your head back for more, but Ellie pulls away to look at you.

"How what feels?' She doesn't sound rude, only confused with her lips swollen and wet.

"The intimacy..the intimacy you talked about.." Oh, that.

She nods quickly, and her mouth is all over your shoulders, leaving soft pecks between words, "We can do that, but I wanna do something first..is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

With that, she pulls your shirt over your head and stares at you like she has never seen a pair of boobs before. Her eyes are wide and she takes you in before her.

"You're so pretty," she mumbles with conviction, kneading your tits through your bra. You can only moan when she sticks a hand into your bra and rubs her palm over your nipples, her other hand deftly undoing the clasp of the fabric.

That was the hottest thing you could do for a woman, Williams..

Her lips quickly find a nipple, pulling it into her mouth to swirl her tongue around the bud. Your fingers tug at her hair, begging for more. You need her closer. She reluctantly pulls her mouth off off of its new favorite place and leans back up to face you, planting an affectionate kiss on your cheek before smiling sheepishly.

"I'm gonna say something I want to do to you, but you can't laugh.."

That makes you already giggle, despite the heat building between your thighs. That is something you love about Ellie, the way she can make you laugh even when you aren't supposed to be.

"I'll try my best. What is it?" You ask, and she fiddles with her fingers nervously.

"I wanna use my fingers on you," she says it so quietly, voice nervous but filled with hunger before she quickly adds, "if you want me to. It's okay if you don't wanna go any further-"

"I want you to finger me, Els."

That was easier than she thought it would be.

She nods now, slowly unbuttoning your jeans and watching with an intense gaze as you hop off of her lap to shimmy them off. Now you're in nothing but a cotton pair of panties and you look so gorgeous.

Ellie has always found you to be beautiful. During patrols and on lookout, your hair had a shine to it that most people wouldn't care to think too much about, but Ellie always noticed it. Ellie always noticed the way your lips parted when you were zoned out, or how you walked like you always knew where you were going even on the paths that were mainly uncharted. You were so lovely-looking.

Now, nearly naked for her, she doesn't know if she can bare to blink even for a second. She is currently having a never-ending starting contest with your body, and she has to stop herself from pouncing on you. She wants to love you, not just fuck you.

Ellie is on her knees between your legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear. Her eyes flicker over your body before looking to yours for confirmation.

"You sure you want this?"

"Please, Ellie. I want you." You know you sound desperate for her, but it can't be helped. You were soaked through your underwear, clit beating with need, and Ellie is just eyeing you like she wanted to devour you. She probably would, but she wants to save your clit for later.

She nods and slips your underwear down your legs, pulling them off of your ankles and throwing them behind her. The action made you giggle, but Ellie quickly squashed your outburst.

"Somethin' funny?" She asks, slipping a finger through your slick folds. You gasp and jolt.

"Hey, where the fuck is the warning, you cunt?"

She has to stifle her own laugh at your outburst, but she is growing tired of the cute giggles; if you laughed one more time, she'd be fucking you until you were limping-

"Sorry, pretty. I'm gettin' impatient." Her tone mkes you involuntarily clench. You rarely hear that tone, the serious one when she is either around someone she doesn't know and is keeping it professional or just not in the mood to joke. Now, you discover it's her horny tone, too.

You nod, tilting your head back to rest it on your frilly pillow. Finally, she slips two digits past your lips and you resist the urge to let a whorish whine slip past your lips. When she easily slides into your heat, you then can't resist.

Ellie's eyes are glued to your pussy like it's magic, watching your hips try to rise for more, feeling the way your walls tighten around her intrusion.

It's too much for her poor, fucked head to bare.

She is already as wrecked as you are. She wants to taunt you for the way you already look like you're going to cum from her barely brushing at your spongey g-spot, but she can't. She is probably in rougher shape right now.

"You feel so warm." It's all she can manage to get out, and she curls her fingers inside of you into upward, making you moan.

"I wanna cum, Els..please, more. Give me more." Ellie has never seen you this dumb for pleasure before, but who is she to deny you?

Her fingers aren't thrusting in and out or finger-banging you, just slowly sliding through your cunt, her fingertips stroking where you need them to. You feel so full, so complete. You hope she does this every single day from here on out.

It doesn't take long to get you into a state of complete bliss, and you haven't even climaxed yet. Your legs aren't clamping down, rather spreading wider as if you're begging for her to take you in the most obscene ways possible, fill you up with more than just her fingers. If only she you two were currently at her house, she has that unopened strap-on box... maybe for another day.

The knot that builds in your stomach, the temperature of it overheating your insides is about to snap. You're begging as if Ellie is teasing you or something. You're whining, and you look like you're about to start sobbing if she pauses her pace even for a nanosecond. She just wants to gives you everything, thinks you deserve the whole world, so she leans forward and intertwines her fingers with yours as her other fingers pump deep inside you, and you swear it's rearranging your guts. You wanna be wrecked so damn badly.

"You keep fluttering around me, gonna cum?" She asks, and you whine and nod.

Your orgasm soon hits you like a tsunami, once in a crash and then it simmers throughout you in waves. This is probably the hardest you have ever came. You gasp onto her hand tight, squeezing her fingers. You can't even speak or you'd be howling her name. It feels so euphoric and you wonder how it can get any better than this.

When you come down from the peak, she eases her fingers out of your tender insides and licks her ring finger clean. Then, she settles her hips between your legs, bringing her soaking middle finger to your lips.

"Open up."

You do so without question, tasting yourself on her digit before she swiftly pulls her finger away with a "pop!"

"I taste weird," you mumble and she rolls her eyes, mumbling a little "fuck you" before sitting up to strip out of her flannel.

You feel maybe a little nervous before. Something about the thought of feeling her in such an intimate way makes you feel even more fluttery inside. You've been with women before, you are far from a virgin, but you've never clashed clits before (omfg what). Most girls thought it was just a porn thing.

"You okay?" Ellie pauses, her flannel on the bed and a black t-shirt layer underneath it.

"Yeah," you mean it, "just a little nervous."

Her eyes soften, and she takes your hand and squeezes it. "I promise I'll be slow with you. I'm not gonna rush you into this, and if you want, we can always stop."

You feel more assured now, and you smile. "Okay."

When she finally strips out of her clothing, you take her in. She is breath-takingly beautiful. Her body is pale but covered in tan freckles, and her nipples are perky with arousal. Her shoulders and collarbone look so fucking kissable. You're still in a daze as she hooks a leg over yours, her warm cunt only an inch or two away from yours. She hovers.

"You ready?"

"I want you, so yes."

That makes her smile, and she slowly eases down onto you, her folds rubbing up against yours and both of your neglected clits finally getting the attention they deserve. Both of you are already moaning and Ellie leans down onto you, her tits brushing against yours as she kisses you deeply.

This kiss is slower than the first, less desperate but just as emotional. It's hungry and consumes you in a sensual way. Her hips grind against yours, her slick mixing with your soaked pussy to make you only whine into her mouth.

Now you understand how intimate this is. You feel so connected to Ellie in a way you hope you never get to feel with anyone else. You wanna always be this close. You think that even after this ends, you'll feel that tie to her body and heart, always leading you back to her.

When you both cum together, it's much different than what she gave you before. You can feel her tense up with you, hear her shaky breaths and moans, and you feel a warmth inside of you reminding you that she feels this way because of your pussy, because of her feelings for you. It's making you obsessive to feel this way.

When the high fades, she collapses on top you. You're both breathing heavily for a few minutes. Her breath is against your neck and it feels like a kiss. Your brain is thinking of something stupid now that the horniness is over.

"Isn't it obvious that I'm your girlfriend now?"

Ellie laughs and squeezes you tightly.

"Yeah. You're my girlfriend now, and I'm not letting you go."

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[joelmillerisapunk]

Lunch Break | 3.6K

Javier Peña x coworker f!reader

Summary: Javi edges you at work

Warnings: unprotected p in v, fingering, oral, reader has hair that's pullable, vibrator, public sex, lots of edging

Notes: This is the only Javier fic I've ever written so sorry if everything is not great to his characterization. I hope you enjoy. A big thank you to the sweetest @sawymredfox for reading this for me and helping me with the Spanish love you so much! Thank you to my love @thundermartini for reading bits and pieces for me love you love you! and @syd-djarin for the mood board love youuuu!

Masterlist

Reality dawns on you while seated on the hard black leather chair in the conference room—everyone filing in—you realize with a sinking heart that in your haste this morning, you neglected to remove your vibrator from its spot in your back pocket ‘Fuck’,  you chide yourself silently, 'you can be so stupid sometimes.'

With an air of nonchalance that belies your inner turmoil—the embarrassment of potentially being caught with such an intimate item—you navigate towards the back corner where solace awaits by way of a coffee pot; 'Just get through this meeting,' you reassure yourself, 'then it's straight to your car.'

As you stand by the coffee machine, the weight of the object in your back pocket feels conspicuous. You can't help but wonder if it's as noticeable to others as it is to you. Before you can even pour that first cup of coffee—a balm for your nerves Javier Peña sidles up next to you, his own cup of black coffee already in hand “Why does it look like there's a giant bullet in your back pocket?” he queries with an infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

"Why are you staring at my ass, Peña?” You lean against the surface of the coffee machine and muster up enough bravado for one last retort before this encounter ends mercifully soon; "Maybe I’m housing the next big thing in bullet technology," you toss back at Peña with feigned nonchalance while internally cursing yourself for not double-checking your pockets this morning like you usually do. You fill up your cup from the pot, hoping he takes the hint and moves away. But instead of leaving, he stays put and reaches into your pocket. Your spin around and your face burns with embarrassment as he holds up what he found - a pink vibrator - between his thumb and forefinger. You stand there, momentarily shocked—but honestly, not really. This kind of childish, middle-school game is typical of Javier. Always stirring the pot, always trying to get a reaction. You glance around the room, noting how everyone else is busy with their own conversations, laughing or small-talking, completely oblivious to the little scene unfolding between you and Javi.

Your eyes snap back to him, your annoyance clear as you extend your hand. “Give it back,” you demand, voice firm.

“Not until you tell me what it is,” he says, holding the item just out of reach with a teasing knowing smirk.

“Oh my god,” you groan, exasperated. “Just give it here, and I’ll show you.” You stand there, arm still outstretched, palm up, waiting for him to cooperate. The irritation bubbling inside you is hard to contain, especially since it seems painfully obvious to you what it is. 

Javi finally relents, placing it into your palm with a grin that suggests he knows he’s gotten under your skin. You curl your fingers around the hard plastic, sighing as your other hand moves to the opposite end of the device. Twisting it, the small pink vibrator quietly buzzes to life.

You lock eyes with him, deadpan. “Happy?”

Without waiting for a response, you switch it off and shove it back into your pocket, hoping to move past this absurd moment.

Javier blinks at you, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face. It’s clear he’s not entirely shocked—like a part of him always suspected you weren’t as straight-laced as you let on.

“So damn gullible. Why the fuck did you bring that to work?” He chuckles, shaking his head.

"That's confidential, Peña—classified. Don’t ever touch my shit again, or I’m reporting you." You spin on your heel and stride away, your shoulders tight with frustration, planting yourself in a chair at the far end of the table. Javier Peña stands frozen for a moment, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he watches you leave.

The meeting drags on endlessly, each passing moment heavier than the last but as soon as it concludes, you bolt from the room, your legs carrying you to the parking lot faster than you thought possible. You yank the car door open, drop into the driver’s seat, and slam it shut, letting your body sink into the cool leather. A hand runs over your face, rubbing away the tension, but it’s futile—every muscle hums with unresolved stress.

Always stressed. That’s your perpetual state. Nothing—not meditation, not the strongest caffeine jolt—seems to dull the edge. You need something real, but since that isn’t an option, you opt for the only relief within reach.

You sit up, retrieving the travel-sized vibrator stashed in your back pocket. Your eyes dart around, ensuring the parking lot is deserted. Once satisfied, you unbutton your dress pants, pushing them down just far enough to slip the device against your throbbing clit. The buzz sends immediate relief coursing through you, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

Your breath quickens; your core tightens. You're so close—on the brink—when the passenger seat suddenly dips. The car shifts as someone slams the door shut.

“I knew you were a slut,” Javier’s voice drawls, dripping with amusement.

You gasp, fumbling to switch off the vibrator, but his hand catches your wrist, halting you mid-motion. You glance up, startled, meeting his dark, mischievous gaze.

“Finish,” he commands, his voice firm, laced with dominance. “I can wait.”

Your lips part, a protest forming, but it dies in your throat as his free hand grips your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His voice drops lower, “I said finish.”

A shiver races down your spine as goosebumps erupt across your skin. He releases your wrist and chin, giving you control again—or so it seems.

Your hand trembles as you reposition the vibrator, pressing it against your clit once more. The vibrations hit, and your head falls back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed. Javier watches intently, lighting a cigarette as though savoring a fine performance.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Such a good girl. So pretty.”

The buildup to your orgasm is overwhelming, every nerve in your body attuned to Javier's command. You grab his arm, your nails sinking into his skin as a moan tears from your lips—raw, unrestrained, louder than you’ve allowed yourself in so long. His large, tan hand covers your mouth instantly.

“Shhh, baby, you gotta keep it down,” he murmurs, his voice husky and low. He waits until your breathing steadies before easing his hand away, but then he stops everything. The vibrator’s buzz fades as he pulls it away, leaving you teetering painfully on the edge.

Your body jolts when his fingers slide inside you without warning replacing the vibrations. A gasp escapes your lips, your back arching as pleasure spikes through you. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, each stroke precise and maddeningly effective. The rhythm he sets sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, pulling you closer to release. You feel yourself tightening around him, every movement driving you closer and closer. And then, just as you’re about to unravel completely, he stops.

His fingers leave you empty, aching, desperate. Before you can even protest, he brings them to his mouth, his tongue sweeping over his fingers to taste you. His eyes gleam with satisfaction as he licks them clean, savoring every second of your helpless frustration.

He glances at his watch, the smirk on his lips cutting through your haze. "Oh, look at that—lunch is over. Better get back in there, agent."

Without another word, he opens the car door and steps out, leaving you breathless, trembling, and yearning for more as he strides away like nothing just happened.

The next morning, you arrive at the office earlier than usual, your frustration still simmering from how Peña left you high and dry the day before. Scanning his office from your desk, you note it’s still empty. You settle at your computer, trying to focus on work, but the irritation gnaws at you.

When he finally walks into his office, you pause, considering if confronting him is really a good idea. Then you remember the way he left you wanting yesterday, and resolve steels your spine.

Once you’re sure he’s alone, you stride to his office, closing the door firmly behind you and locking it with a deliberate click. The sound makes him glance up from the papers he’s working on. His eyebrows lift in mild surprise as he sees you. “Can I help you, agent?”

You don’t respond immediately. Instead, you walk up to his desk, fixing him with a stern glare. One hand presses against the clutter of paperwork, steadying you, while the other gestures for him to come closer.

He hesitates but complies, leaning forward just enough for you to grab his tie. You yank him toward you, bringing his face mere inches from yours. In a low, dangerous whisper, you let your irritation bleed through:

“If you ever fucking edge me like that again, I’ll report you for breaking into my vehicle, Agent Peña. Maybe this time, you’ll do better.”

Releasing him, you step back, smoothing your expression to one of cold indifference. Without another word, you place a small black box on his desk, turn on your heel, and leave his office. You return to your desk, seamlessly slipping back into your work as though nothing just happened.

Inside his office, Javier sits back in his chair, adjusting his shirt with an unreadable expression. His gaze lingers on the box you left behind. He picks it up and flips it open, revealing a small, pink, oval-shaped controller with simple directional commands: up, down, left, and right.

At first, he frowns, puzzled. Then he notices the folded piece of white paper tucked inside. Opening it, his eyes scan the words written in your unmistakable handwriting:

This controls the vibrator currently in my pussy. Edge me to your heart’s content, but if you don’t finish me by the end of the day, I’m reporting you for touching my ass in the conference room.

Javier smirks as he places the box and note in his desk drawer, slipping the controller into the right pocket of his DEA jacket. He doesn’t turn it on yet—he’s waiting. This little game the two of you are playing amuses him, and he knows there’s another meeting scheduled today. All he has to do is bide his time.

When everyone gathers in the conference room and takes their seats, the meeting begins. It’s not remotely important—just some pointless presentation from personnel management. Javi positions himself near the back of the room, leaning casually by the coffee pot. You, on the other hand, are seated near the front, far from him.

You try to focus, your pen tapping lightly on the notepad in front of you, but it’s impossible. This is, without a doubt, the most useless meeting you’ve ever attended. Your gaze wanders across the room, scanning faces aimlessly until your eyes land on Javi’s.

He’s already looking at you, his dark eyes filled with mischief. A smirk tugs at his lips, and he winks before raising his brows suggestively. His hand dips into his pocket, and he nods slightly, drawing your attention to the movement.

It takes you a second to piece it together, but when you do, your eyes widen in realization. He’s going to use the controller—here, in the middle of a meeting, surrounded by nearly every colleague you have.

Your heart races as you shoot him a sharp look, pursing your lips in a silent plea. You shake your head subtly, trying to convey, No, what the hell are you thinking?

But before you can finish the thought, your body betrays you. A sudden, uncontrollable jolt runs through you as the vibrations hit, intense and overwhelming. You grip the arms of the black leather chair, your lips parting in a silent gasp as the sensation floods through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Javi’s smirk deepens from across the room, his gaze fixed on you as if daring you to keep your composure.

That fucking bastard. That fucking beautiful bastard.

Your gaze locks with his, and he lifts a single finger to his lips, signaling for you to stay silent with a teasing "shhh." Your breath hitches as you try to compose yourself, the relentless vibrations from the hidden toy driving you to the brink. Closing your eyes for a moment, you fight to keep your expression neutral, but your lips part involuntarily as your climax builds.

You’re soaked, your underwear and the chair beneath you bearing the evidence of your struggle. The need to release is overwhelming, the sensation climbing higher and higher. Suddenly, a gasp escapes you, your hands gripping the arms of the chair to ground yourself. The sound draws the attention of everyone in the room, and every pair of eyes turns your way.

“Agent, are you okay? Something you’d like to share?” the coordinator asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Maybe you’re coming down with something,” Javi adds, his voice laced with false concern. His lips twitch as he fights back a smirk, his hand slipping subtly into his pocket. He presses the controller, ramping up the intensity.

The sudden surge of vibrations makes you jump in your leather chair, your whole body jolting with adrenaline. “No, I—I’m fine,” you stammer, voice shaky as you desperately try to suppress a moan. “Just… tired. S-sorry.”

The coordinator studies you for a moment, then nods. “Alright. If everyone’s ready, let’s continue.” The room finally shifts its focus back to the presentation.

Your chest heaves as you dig your nails into the chair’s arms, eyes squeezed shut. The vibrations grow impossibly stronger, and you know Javi is enjoying this far too much. He sits there like he owns the room, his posture relaxed, his expression smug. The sight of him only fuels your frustration.

Just as the peak feels inevitable, the vibrations stop.

The silence in your body is deafening, leaving you reeling from the sudden absence. You whip your head toward him, your glare is full of unspoken threats. He meets your gaze, shrugs casually, and smirks—that infuriating, half-cocked smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him senseless.

He’s winning this game, and you hate how much you love it.

The meeting finally wraps up, and you return to your desk, finding it just as empty and uninspiring as before. You try to focus on your laptop screen, willing yourself to concentrate, but it’s a losing battle. All you can think about is Javier—and how badly you want him to touch you, to finish you.

Without a second thought, you stand and head straight for his office. The urgency in your steps gives you no time for decorum; you push the door open without knocking and slam it shut behind you.

Javier looks up, one brow arching in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

You plant your hands on your hips, frustration seeping through your voice. “You did it again.”

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “Did what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Peña.” You extend one hand toward him, the other still fixed on your hip. “Give me back the controller. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t fucking concentrate.”

“Oh, this?” he asks, holding up the remote. His smirk deepens as he flicks the device back on. The sudden vibration against your core sends a jolt through you, and your hands dart out to brace yourself against his desk.

“So, you really want me to stop?” he drawls, standing from his chair with deliberate slowness. “Or maybe you’d rather I give you the real thing? You tell me, sweetheart—what do you want?”

His voice is low and teasing as he approaches, his towering frame closing the distance between you. He places his hands on the desk, as you turn around to follow his movements, caging you in. You try to hold his gaze, but the intensity is too much. After a few seconds, your eyes flutter shut.

“Please…” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Please what?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

Your resolve shatters as his lips hover close to yours. “Stop…” you manage to mumble weakly, even as your arms reach up, wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

Javier’s hands grip you, firm and possessive, as his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss. The vibrator’s hum fades into the background as his tongue slips past your lips, exploring you with unrestrained hunger. Your thoughts dissolve, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his touch and the euphoria of his kiss.

When he finally pulls away, he gives you a smirk so devastating it leaves you breathless. His hand trails on your thighs, teasing at the hem of your skirt.

“Javi,” you plead.

Instead of replying, his fingers slip beneath your panties, pushing the fabric aside. He pulls the still-buzzing vibrator from you with a deliberate slowness, your slickness coating his fingers. Tossing it carelessly onto some paperwork, he lifts you onto the edge of the desk. His dark eyes meet yours, filled with a hunger that makes your pulse race.

With practised ease, he pushes your skirt up to your hips and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down and tossing them aside. The cool air against your bare skin sends a shiver through you.

Before you can truly process what’s happening, Javier helps you down and spins you around, pressing your chest down against the desk. His firm grip pins your wrists behind your back. The sensation makes you moan.

“You just can’t keep that pretty little mouth shut, can you?” he taunts, his voice dripping with mockery. Reaching around, he stuffs your damp panties into your mouth, silencing any reply.

The metallic clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoes in the room, followed by the low rasp of his zipper. Your heart pounds as you feel his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back toward him.

Javier leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “Think you can be quiet now? Or do I need to remind you how to behave, mi niña buena?”

His question hangs in the air as your muffled whimper escapes through the gag. Behind you, his cock presses against you, and the anticipation coils tightly in your stomach, ready to snap.

You nod eagerly as the wet fabric is pulled from your mouth. He grabs your arm, helping you up, then points to the ground. “On your knees.”

You obey without hesitation, sinking down as he steps closer. His cock is in your mouth again in an instant, stretching your lips as he thrusts forward, letting out a deep grunt like he hasn’t had release in weeks—whether it’s a pussy, a mouth, or even his own hand. His grip tightens in your hair, holding you steady as he pushes deeper into your throat.

“So pretty when you’re sucking cock, tan hermosa” he rasps, his voice rough and dripping with lust.

The initial sting fades as you adjust to his size, letting him slide deeper with every thrust. His cock twitches in your throat before he suddenly pulls out, leaving you gasping on the floor. You look up at him, wide-eyed and eager, your lips glistening as you catch your breath.

He wastes no time pulling you to your feet, turning you and bending you over the desk. His hands slide down your body, one stopping between your thighs to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. The sudden stimulation sends shocks through your body, making you shudder.

“Fuck! Please!” you beg, your voice cracking under the tension.

He doesn’t answer, instead slipping your underwear back into your mouth to muffle your cries. “No estàs siendo una niña buena, tienes que estar callada, bebé,” he murmurs, his tone dark but calm.

Without warning, he slams into you, stretching you wide as his cock fills you completely. The muffled sound you make is a mix of pain and pleasure, your body clenching around him as you struggle to adjust to his size. His hips drive forward relentlessly, each thrust pressing deeper until the ache melts into pure bliss.

Your fingers grip the edge of the desk as waves of pleasure roll through you. His cock feels impossibly thick inside you, and every stroke makes your legs tremble beneath his weight. He notices, leaning down close to your ear.

“Come on, baby.” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I know how badly you want to cum all over my cock.”

His words push you over the edge. Your body spasms as your orgasm hits, goosebumps prickling along your skin. A muffled moan escapes you as you tighten around him, trembling uncontrollably as the intensity consumes you.

He doesn’t stop. His thrusts grow harder and faster, driving deep into you as his own climax builds. The desk creaks under the force, and your body feels like it might give out, soaked in your own release. His growls turn guttural, animalistic, as his cock twitches violently inside you.

With one final thrust, he spills into you, hot and thick, his grip bruising as he holds you close. His hips slow, his body shuddering as he rides out his release, his breath ragged against your neck.

After a moment, he drops your arms, letting them fall limply to your sides. You slide down to your knees, your back leaning against the desk as you pant, trying to steady yourself.

He crouches in front of you, his hand cupping your face. Tilting your chin up, he makes you meet his gaze, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before standing, adjusting his clothes as if nothing happened. Without another word, he strides out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you breathless and spent on the floor.

[cheqorb]

Sotto Voce.

Gaslighting everyone into believing you’re a really shit footballer because seeing people be impressed by your sheer lack of skill is more fun than being a genius.

FEAT. Bastard München ensemble

NOTES. uhhaua cross posted on ao3 (same user) but ajyway, thought this idea was funny and because of this lingering feeling of sadness i haha managed to Complete this?? Gosh im beside myself with worry!!

WORD COUNT. 2.2k

Isagi thinks he might be seeing things. Maybe all the relentless training in Blue Lock has finally caught up to him, leading him into a football-induced delirium, because he can’t quite comprehend what he’s looking at right now.

You’re moving across the field with a fluidity he’s only seen in pro-level players, doing tricks and turns he’s pretty sure aren’t even in his playbook. You glide past the defence, controlling the ball with a finesse that’s nearly supernatural — hell, he thinks even someone of Rin’s calibre would be breaking a sweat to try and keep up.

And you look bored while doing it. Eyes half-lidded, posture almost lazy, as if this is just another walk in the park and not you showing off world-class football technique.

Isagi’s mind races to make sense of this. You’d always been, well, normal to him.

Sometimes you’d play in a match, most other times you’d sit out on the sidelines. And he’s usually pretty sharp about these things, so it must’ve been because you just… didn’t stand out.

Yet here you are, pulling off flawless plays with little more than a mild yawn, as if winning against the top players here would barely register on your radar. Maybe it’s just luck, some freakish one-off, right?

… Nope. You just drilled another perfect goal into the top corner of the net.

He snaps out of his thoughts only when you suddenly stop mid-play, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, there’s a flicker of panic in your gaze and he opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s about to say.

“Y/N-”

You’re stomping towards him before he can even process the whole thing, your pace quicker and more full of menace than he’s used to seeing on you. You stop just short of him, tilt your head slightly, and in the calmest voice, say, “You saw nothing.”

He tries to stammer out something, but you leave soon afterwards.

────

Tripping over the ball is harder than it looks, but after enough practice, you’ve perfected the art of falling in a normal fashion. To most people, it’s convincing. Prior to a few days ago, you’d say all people but there’s a certain someone who entertains himself by boring holes into the back of your skull with an intense, unblinking stare.

You can feel it. Isagi waiting for you to slip up.

Actually slip up, instead of the falls you’ve gotten so good at imitating. It’s detestable, honestly. You’re trying to keep things as they’ve always been, and he just wants to come in and mess with the status quo!

Luckily for you, Igaguri’s too much of an idiot to harbour the same suspicions. Right now he’s too busy practically doubling over with laughter on the floor. The guy is probably thrilled to finally see someone playing the fool even more than he does. And as much as he’s a pain, he’s also the kind of person who makes perfect cover — play the role of an idiot, laugh it off with him, and everyone’s none the wiser.

So, in spite of your (what most would call) vindictive description of him, you do believe that some sort of strange pleasure is to be gained from surrounding yourself with people like him. Though perhaps that also makes you a terrible person.

The feeling is nothing like the rationale that Noa preaches about so often. It’s an undeniable truth in your heart.

Which is why you avoid the people who actually know what they’re doing on the field like the plague.

Yukimiya, on the other hand, is way too polite to laugh outright. He at least has the common sense to stifle it, reaching out a hand to help you off the ground with a quiet charm that makes people swoon. No wonder he’s a model.

Now, the imaginary audience in your mind might be wondering why you’re talking with a guy like him? Your answer: he’s not as notable ever since he patched things up with Isagi. He’s now the kind of person you can talk to without raising any brows. Again, it sounds harsh but you see it in a positive light. He’s becoming just the kind of person you adore most!

“Try and keep a close eye for stuff on the ground, alright?”

You flash him a grin, nodding. “You know me, just a total klutz all the time,” you reply as your usual happy-go-lucky self, making sure to project just loud enough for Isagi to hear.

And out of the corner of your eye, you catch that familiar look of suspicion deepening.

────

The silence that follows is brutal. Hiori and Kurona exchange a look that’s way too long for Isagi’s comfort. After finishing whatever telepathic debate they have with each other, they both stare back at him like he’s just pitched the most psychotic theory imaginable (which isn’t entirely untrue).

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he mutters, deflating a bit.

Hiori’s quick to reply, but Isagi is aware of the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It’s not that we don’t believe you. But, ya have to admit, it’s strange to hear Y/N… of all people, doing something like that.”

That’s code for what the fuck are you talking about, Isagi concludes with a grimace, his eyes shifting to Kurona hopefully.

“Crazy. Crazy.”

Kurona’s tone is deadpan, his gaze distant as if he’s trying not to laugh. Great.

Isagi sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he is the one who’s going crazy here. It shouldn’t even bother him this much. It’s not like you’re particularly close! If anything, he can barely remember a conversation between the two of you that went beyond asking if you’d seen so and so.

And, judging by the responses he’s getting from both of his teammates, neither of them can figure out why he’s fixated on this either.

────

Noa is going on and on about practice drills, how to follow his instructions precisely, something about rationality and technique, blah, blah, blah. You stifle a yawn. If this is what being in one of the top clubs means, you should’ve begged Ego to be in Barcha instead. At least Lavinho would’ve been fun.

You hear his coaching style isn’t by any means phenomenal if you’re trying to improve your skills, but good thing you’re not planning on doing anything of the sort!

And just when you think you might actually pass out from boredom, you see Isagi walking over. Again. He’s approaching with that same cautious look, but it’s not enough to make him think twice about bothering you apparently. That’s also something that bugs you, he’s never a quitter.

You flash him an oblivious smile. “Oh, Isagi! Whatcha up to? Need anything from little ol’ me?”

You lay it on thick, voice dripping with cheerful innocence. His jaw tightens, and for a second, you swear you can see a flicker of annoyance on his face. That’s new. Your words have the opposite effect than what you had originally intended.

“Listen, I know what I saw, alright? You’re not fooling anyone.”

He launches into a whole spiel about how he’s seen you pull off moves that only high-level players can pull off, how he doesn’t care if it’s part of some large game you’re playing, how you should be using your skill to distinguish yourself.

…You really don’t give a shit, and in regards to his comments, you personally disagree! What’s the fun in doing all of that?

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over with wide, guileless eyes. Sure, you’re a little flattered he’s this invested in uncovering your “secret,” but the other 99% of you is totally unhappy.

When he finally wraps up his little speech, you just give him a half-hearted shrug with a smugness that he doesn’t miss.

“And who’s going to believe you?”

────

Kaiser likes to think of Isagi as predictable, average — someone who might fancy himself a hero but is ultimately just another small-time player waiting to be crushed. It’s almost laughable how seriously he takes himself. In fact, the only thing remotely worth mentioning about him recently is this bizarre fixation he seems to have developed on you.

He’s overheard your exchanges, and in short, they’re pathetic.

Isagi rambles on about how you’re hiding something, clinging to that delusion like it’s going to benefit him somehow. The psychology-lover inside him finds it almost fascinating in how utterly absurd it sounds.

So, when Kaiser spots you chatting with the ever despairing Grim (laughing so hard you have to hold back tears), he figures it wouldn’t be wrong to call you at least a little insane. Part of him wonders what humour could be found in the man’s deplorable monologues.

He figures he might as well join in on the entertainment. You’re far from his usual company, but you’ll do. For now. Moseying on over, his signature smirk is already in place.

He’s rewarded by the way your eyes immediately narrow in irritation, a look he’s all too familiar with and thoroughly enjoys on anyone really. Grim, blissfully unaware of what he’s leaving you to, heads off, and now it’s just you and Kaiser.

Leaning in closer, he asks, “What little secret of yours has got under Yoichi’s skin so badly?”

Kaiser waits, watching for the faintest flicker of reaction but you stay silent. How boring.

But! Not one to give up easily, he continues with a more direct jab, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. The one where he acts like he knows everything there is to know about everyone. “That you’re really skilled, and this whole clueless act of yours is just a cheap facade?”

He raises a brow, as if daring you to admit it. To his delight, you lift your head, finally meeting his gaze albeit with an uncomfortably polite smile.

“I was just surprised you’re interested in something like that. But, Isagi’s a total liar. Isn’t he just so annoying? I can’t stand people who just don’t know when to give up, and I’m sure you agree.”

It’s not often someone catches him off-guard, and though he recovers quickly, the flicker of surprise is still there. Kaiser also sees opportunity however. He could work with this.

“Well, if you’re not a fan of Yoichi then feel free to join my side then,” he drawls, offering the position like it’s a dream come true. In his world, he’s already the star; what better way to elevate himself than to recruit someone.

“Ah, no. You’re both terrible.”

He can’t tell what’s worse; you lumping him together with Isagi, or the fact that you immediately walk off without giving him a chance to get the last word in.

────

“It’s like asking me if I prefer cat shit or dog shit. It’s still shit, and there’s no point in picking one over the other.”

You toss the comparison out to Kiyora, of all people — a bit of a waste since he just stares blankly at you, not saying a word. Pretty cute, actually, in a clueless sort of way.

The reality is that, at the moment, if you want a shot at the regulars, you’re supposed to cosy up to either Isagi or Kaiser. And as for everyone else? They’re can either fuck off or pray for a miracle.

Of course, you couldn’t care less about making the regulars. But every now and then, you forget there are people around you who do care, people with actual ambitions. Which is why you pause when you catch sight of Hiori and Kurona.

“Oh, Hiori and Kurona,” you point out the obvious.

They both glance your way, casual and relaxed, which gives you the impression that Isagi hasn’t roped them into his latest paranoid theories. Yet.

“Are ya heading back to training already?” Hiori asks, his soft voice and accent making it sound more like an invitation than a question. There’s a kindness to it that’s almost unsettling here in Blue Lock, but you return his smile with one of your own nevertheless.

Kiyora gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he says, brief and to the point.

You’re half-considering some excuse to slip away and do your own thing, but there’s something about the way Hiori is looking at you that draws your attention. Unlike Isagi, he’s way better at hiding it, but you can still feel his curiosity prickle under your skin.

You give him a lazy smile, leaning into the idea. “I’m already so tired from this morning’s training,” you lie, exaggerating just enough. “Honestly, going to bed early sounds great right about now.”

Morning training was barely enough to get you sweating, just a couple of warm-up drills for the afternoon matches. You doubt they have any clue what you’re talking about, which is exactly how you want it.

There’s a quiet pause, and then Hiori breaks it with a gentle but firm nudge. “Well, if yer looking to get on the regulars consistently, training more could be worth a shot.”

You force a smile that probably looks more akin to a grimace. This is exactly why you don’t like smart people. They poke and prod until your story frays at the edges. He definitely asked that on purpose! With a heavy sigh, you end up walking with them toward the pitch, despite every nerve in you screaming to veer off.

You can’t help but wonder if this is a test.

[soleminisanction]

So a while back I ran the numbers to confirm a suspicion that fandom trends towards a trans Tim Drake, and there's a lot of bits and pieces around his canon material that I think contributes to that interest. But there's a particular, subtle one that's been poking at my mind a lot because I think it might actually be a pretty significant factor that nobody really notices:

His costumes.

The original Robin costume, the one Dick and Jason wore, is childish but exposing. It's innocent enough when they're being drawn as spunky children, but during the period when Dick's still wearing it into his late teens and early 20s, it's practically as revealing as a lot of the women's costumes (and, in retrospect, almost certainly laid some of the groundwork for him sometimes being sexualized by the art and writing the way female characters normally are -- George Pérez, at least, absolutely put him on display every bit as much as he did Starfire and Donna).

Damian's costumes, meanwhile, lean more into archaic/fantasy armor designs and are thus largely genderless outside some vague allusions to the codename's Robin Hood roots. And Steph's is, well, a minidress, and one designed to show off her figure, drawing explicit attention to her femininity.

But then you have Tim's most iconic costume, his original one, which is not only fully covering in a way the original look isn't, it also, by virtue of being designed in the 90s, sports a very specific feature: molded body armor shaped to look like pectoral and abdominal muscles. In other words -- an idealized male body.

Not every artist always included that detail, but it was an explicit part of the design that you don't see as much these days, at least not for teen heroes. Which means it's inadvertently the perfect costume for a trans masculine Boy Wonder. It's got built-in body shaping. The cape and tunic layers even help to make his shoulders look wider.

Tim's second costume, the OYL later suit, doesn't explicitly have this body shaping element, but some artists still hint at it in the same way that Dick's Nightwing suits do (ie, we assume they're not showing off their real muscles with skintight suits for safety reasons, but who knows). Plus it comes with the bonus gay longing of changing the colors to mourn the dead crush he's too deep in the closet to recognize.

And then you've got his modern Robin look which has the same kind of shaping going on in a sleaker, more subtle way, though it can vary from artist to artist how much the red part of his suit is drawn as a breast plate vs. a part of the bodysuit.

As a bonus, the design also has a tendency to make him look lean and lithe, in an interesting contrast to Damian who, despite being physically smaller than Tim, tends to have a presence that makes him come across as stockier and more solid, possibly because he's more heavily armored.

You even see this with some of Tim'snon-Robin looks. I've mentioned this elsewhere but, the original Red Robin look making him look older when the cowl was up honestly makes a lot of sense. That suit was originally designed for a Dick Grayson who was pushing 60 to conceal the extent of his age while still communicating his maturity and development. It makes sense that it'd work the other way, to make 17 year old Tim look like he's in his late 20s/early 30s.

It's tunic over a body suit design is also just aesthetically pleasing in terms of forming an elegant male body type, the same way a well-cut suit can be. Again, it does especially nice things for the shoulders, which is why I personally prefer it to the fully bodysuit redesign they give him in the latter part of the series. Although as we can see from the details in Marcus To's art, even that body suit has seams strategically placed to suggest muscles.

And then of course there's the 2016 Rebirth era Red Robin costume, which is just a more heavily-armored version of his classic Robin look that's trying really hard to make him look masculine and mature, which means... exaggerated muscles.

And the thing is, it's not that this doesn't happen with other characters' costumes. But for various reasons it specifically didn't happen with the other Robin costumes, like I described at the start.

Which is not something I think people consciously notice. But I do know that, when I was writing my transmasc Tim fanfic a few years before realizing that I myself was also transmasc, one of the images that solidified the story for me was how good it would've felt the first time a transmasc Tim put on his new Robin costume and saw the Boy Wonder looking back at him. And I remember specifically thinking about how nice the shaped armor would be for that sort of thing.

It's kinda funny how an obvious attempt to enforce gender norms wound up, for lack of a better term, backfiring, at least in my opinion. There's just something about exaggerating the masculinity of Robin, a role designed to contrast and foil the already exaggerated masculine ideal of Batman, that makes it feel like a performance.

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Something Something Yeah It's Still Solavellan Hours (Mythal is kind of here, too)

I've seen a few very beautifully articulated posts talking about the conflicted responses players are finding themselves having in regards to the decision by writers* to have Solas' atonement route possible because of his conversation with one of the remaining fragments of Mythal.

(*honestly I hesitate to put the weight of bigger game events on their shoulders because of how much I know bigger players in the company were involved, so when you read 'writers' know I just mean whoever had final say on plot)

I love reading where people are at on this, and having now breathed, re-played the scene, cried, read some more theories, and then played the scene again enough times I think I'm now able to figure out where I'm at.

TLDR: in my humble opinion, the conversation Solas has with Mythal doesn't bring him any actual closure at all. It is only the version of the atonement ending that has Lavellan in which he is actually set upon a road to redemption.

This, like everything else where I lose my mind, will be long. I tried to restrain myself and here we are, unhinged as ever.

I was unhappy at first that Mythal's incredibly brief conversation with Solas where she releases him from her service seemed to be what finally allowed him to make a decision based on his wants and not hers. My concern stemmed mostly from the fact that a lot of us are trying to be active participants in a society that recognizes patterns of abuse and seeks to establish channels through which individuals can pursue healing without the approval, consent, or demise of their abuser.

But the more I look at the scene, the more I wonder what would have happened in a world where Veilguard got just a little more time in development. Could we have gotten a scene that more elegantly conveys the theme that we cannot heal every part of our loved ones, much as we might like to?

In an imperfect world it isn't always up to us how someone finds closure, which really sucks when you'd like to ensure a loved one finds it in a way that preserves their dignity and limits exposure to the individuals who have harmed them.

And while it could be left there, I'd like to actually push back on the idea that Mythal is in any way responsible for "healing" Solas in this moment.

I went on a different tirade a few days ago about how at the end of Inquisition, Mythal says words to Solas that on their surface seem well-intentioned or placating, but they actually just serve to further bind him in guilt and a position of servitude. In Veilguard's finale, she still does not take accountability for exactly how much of a role she played in the pain that Solas, a man others have revered and feared as a god, has gone through as he cowers, actually cowers before her.

Mythal's interaction with Solas conveys exactly two things to him as far as I am concerned (I'm going to botch these quotes but my laptop is dying so please accept some paraphrase as I rush to finish this before I go cry about this analysis to my uncaring dog):

"The terrible things we did, we did together." You are forever tied to me.

"I release you from my service." But what am I releasing you to?

Because up until Lavellan joins the fray here, all I take away from the physical and unwilling emotional cues Solas gives in this scene (he is a master in trickery, for goodness' sake, the thought of so many witnesses seeing him unable to hide behind a mask has to leave him feeling anguished on top of everything else) is that Mythal has once again reminded him of everything he did in her name and telling him that all that's left for him is to go back to the fade prison and, as he as always done, endure the crushing weight of his failures alone.

To me, in my interpretation, the Solas that hears this from Mythal with no Lavellan intervention may choose to willingly step down from his original plan (and yeah, that's gonna do some damage) but he is certainly not free of his past. He's going to be reminded of it every time he turns a corner and finds more blight to try and soothe, and even the moments that he rests will be filled with more manifestations of his regret. He says it himself: where he's going? It's terrible.

Enter Lavellan. Yeah, he couldn't bring himself to listen to her at her first plea (but like damn how many times are we going to have to watch her give a heartfelt speech only for him to be like 'something something beautiful elven rejection'). But I know that you know that our clever icon knows better than to take what Solas says at face value. She tells Rook plainly that he's absolute dogshit at lies of the heart, and she says it with her whole chest.

Lavellan sees the way his shoulders slump (in resignation yes, but you can't convince me there's not a little bit of relief there, too), she hears the agony in the "vhenan" that escapes his lips (which, don't even get me started on the fact that it's been like nine years and he has no hesitation at all calling her his heart, it just spills out of him). It is not the sound of a man delighting in the steps he's about to take. They're certainly not steps he does not dislike that lead to a destination he enjoys.

And then she watches Mythal (who I can't imagine she feels any sort of fondness or respect for) pull some weird nonsense on her love one final time, and she knows it's her moment to shine.

Mythal, I would argue, pushes Solas down one more time, shames him into seeking atonement, into once again being alone.

It is the romanced Lavellan that kneels so that he cannot fail to meet her eyes. It is she who invokes their connection, not to remind him of his failures but to reaffirm his greatest strength: their love and their love alone is inevitable. Not the consequences of his past, not the regret he thinks will consume him as he seeks to mend what has been broken. It has only ever been them.

"There is no fate but the love we share". We are forever tied together.

"There is no fate but the love we share." *I* am releasing you from everything else save for this love.

Put colloquially: get absolutely fucking wrecked, Mythal.

Body language comparison to chase up the dialogue one, anyone? The way Solas shrinks before Mythal as opposed to him walking off into the fade with Lavellan at his side and standing tall, and he does not flinch when she lifts a hand to his shoulder?

Ultimately, Mythal is a part of the atonement endings no matter what. But it is only Lavellan that refuses to let him walk alone. It is only Lavellan that guarantees that his dinan'shiral ends not in a prison of regret, but a place of promise.

Mythal bends Solas until he breaks one last time. Lavellan takes each piece, claims it as hers, and uses them to build the beginnings of a future.

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors with Benefits: Chapter 14 (Joel x reader)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2000

Your mother was busy getting all the side dishes ready for the picnic while your dad packed coolers of beer, soda and water outside and prepped the grill.

“I'll bring these out,” you offered, repeating what felt like a thousand times, “What else do you need?”

You knew your mother had a thousand things to say, and maybe a hundred questions after that. Still, she remained cordial and attempted to seem normal on the surface. You knew by her tightly wound mannerisms that she wasn't even close to portraying that - at least not to you. She might've fooled a coliseum full of people with her mask, but not you.

When everything was set up and less than an hour remained until guests began to arrive, you tried to excuse yourself.

“Okay, I’m going to shower.” You scampered toward the stairs but your mother called you back.

Fuck. You had almost gotten up the stairs, but without stalling made your way back to where your mom stood in the kitchen.

“Do you need any more help?” You tried to butter her up a bit by offering your aid and pressing on a smile, but your mother wasn't having it.

“You need to consider what you're doing, (Y/N),” she warned, “I'm saying it for your own good.”

“Okay,” you halfheartedly agreed.

“I mean it,” your mother went on. “I honestly don't know what other advice to give you. He’s a man. He's married.”

“He's not with Cecille,” you insisted, “Do you really think I'd get involved with a married man? I mean, I guess legally he is but they haven't lived together for awhile and they're getting a legal divorce.”

“You're twenty-three.”

“And I'm able to date who I want to date,” you said without trying to sound confrontational. “Mom, I know on the surface this looks bad. But I'm going to feel this out and see where it goes. If I get my heart broken, it's on me. I have feelings for Joel and he has feelings for me. I’ll deal with the consequences, whatever they might be.”

She stared at you for a long moment before saying quietly. “Okay.” Her white flag was waving and, if nothing else, she was done fighting you on it - for the moment.

A temporary victory. You knew this meant your mother wasn't going to tell your father; not yet. And so you silently thanked her with a closed-mouth smile and took the stairs to take a shower.

***

The picnic had dragged. You checked your phone again and again and again. Joel, you guessed, was refraining from being the one to initiate conversation. You couldn't blame him, and you hoped that was all it was - him being cautious.

What if it's over? You wondered. What if that's it? What if all this scared him off?

Your anxiety got the best of you and you wandered around the side of your house to text him. Your thumbs danced on the screen as you asked how his day was going, if he got in touch with Tommy and if later was still good to meet up.

You chewed on your thumbnail and rounded back into the picnic. It was much to your relief that Cecille hadn't shown up. As the hours ticked by you grew more hopeful that she wouldn't swing by. Still, seeing her car in the driveway next door made your insides twist with a concoction of feelings.

Ding! Your phone sounded off and your head was pulled down like a magnet toward the screen.

Text me a time, Joel texted back to you, remember how to get to the fishing spot?

You typed back without hesitation: Yes. I'll let you know when I'm done here.

All you wanted was to be back with. You wanted to take in his body language, hear his words. You wanted to know that despite what had happened that morning, that everything was alright.

You glanced around the backyard at the scene you would have typically enjoyed. There was a four on four volleyball game going on, two people were playing cornhole, others were talking and laughing around the tables you'd helped your parents set up. Regardless of the smiles, the music, the laughter and the sun shining down on everyone, your smiles were forced and fake.

By the time the last of the guests were waving goodbye, you couldn't wait any longer.

Seven o'clock? You typed to Joel, while helping your parents clean up.

You folded a table in half and began lugging it toward the open bay of the garage. When your phone pinged, you set the table down on the driveway so you could check it.

I'm addicted, you acknowledged. Fuck.

Being head over heels for someone was more than you bargained for. You truly felt addicted to Joel Miller.

I'll be waiting, Joel wrote back.

His words out more pep in your step, and you hurried to lug in the cornhole boards and a second table. Inside, you helped your mother wrap up some of the leftovers and wipe down the countertops before finally hurrying to retrieve your keys and a backpack you prepared.

“Are you going to be home tonight?” Your mother asked. She held your gaze and you shook your head.

“I don't think so “ you told her honestly, “But I'll let you know for sure.” She added, “Is that alright?”

“Like you said, you're twenty-three.” She shrugged. “You can do whatever you want.” Your mother turned toward the sink. “Be careful. And text me.”

“I love you.”

She turned and met your gaze. Despite her outward, quiet concern for the situation she said honestly. “I love you, too.”

On a completely opposite and oblivious note, your father high-fived you by the front door as he entered after putting some things in the garage.

“See ya later, kiddo!”

You smiled to yourself, relieved by his nonchalant demeanor. “See ya later, Dad. Love ya.”

“I love you, too.”

You were out the door a few seconds later, speeding off into the night to meet Joel at your secret location. You needed to see him in the worst way. Despite his agreement to meet, there was doubt that plagued the back of your mind.

What if, what if, what if…

Your foot hit the gas a little harder as you drove from back road to back road until the park came into view. You had to really think to remember a few of the last bends in the road but soon you recognized the wooded area that led down to the lake.

Where is he? Where is he?

Relief filled your core when you saw Joel’s truck in a small clearing. Your stomach filled with butterflies as you pulled up beside him. Joel turned from where he sat in the driver’s seat and he flung his door open almost immediately.

Oh, no, you thought. He has something to say.

Joel looked like a man on a mission. You prepared yourself for the worst. You prepared yourself for the heartache. The other shoe was about to drop. All of a sudden you were scared to get out of the car. Joel's face was too serious. If you just sat there then you wouldn't have to hear his let down.

Stop! You scolded yourself.

You popped open your door and let yourself as Joel rounded the front of your car.

Fuck, he looks good.

Joel was all you thought all about all day - not that that was anything new. He stared at you down with jeans a snug fitting white t-shirt. It hugged his rugged upper in all the right places and your former anxious thoughts were replaced far different ones.

“Hi,” you said to him, folding your hands in front of you.

Joel didn't immediately say anything. He appeared as if he was studying you. You were sure he was far better at it than you were.

He walked the rest of the way to you and you went to speak again.

“Joel, I-” You were cut off when he grabbed your face and kissed you firmly on the lips. You kissed him back, letting your guard down completely in his embrace. Almost immediately it grew heated. Your hands began to wander. He began to snake your shirt up over your head and before you knew it you were nearly naked in the bed of his truck with his body blanketing yours.

“Joel,” you finally choked out, “I want you.”

“I love you,” he voiced in a gruff whisper against your lips before devouring them once more.

“I love you,” you whimpered back. One of your legs hooked around his naked waist and Joel groaned into your mouth.

Everything about the moment was feral and raw and right. Being apart all day amidst the uncertainty and the angst made you needy for one another. As bad as you wanted Joel, you wondered if he wanted you more. It felt impossible, but the way he approached you that evening without even saying a word left you breathless.

Darkness had fully taken over the world when the two of you finished. Even long after your lovemaking was through, your lips touched, your hands explored one another and Joel kissed along your collarbone, neck and shoulders.

Being out in nature completely nude and basking in the afterglow of perhaps the most tender, emotional sex you had ever had was an experience you wouldn't soon forget.

“I was afraid you were going to break things off with me,” you said quietly, kissing Joel’s neck as he closed his eyes beside you.

“I could never do that.”

“Never?” You let your teeth graze his neck as you continued to kiss him there.

“Mmm..” Joel moaned out loud, “Never.”

Laying face-to-face you linked your arm up under his and rested your palm on his shoulder blade. You pulled him close and kissed him. There was no getting enough of Joel. You slipped your tongue past his lips and he eagerly reciprocated. As you made out you felt him harden again against your upper thigh.

“I want you again,” you practically begged, pulling him closer. “Please.” Your hand drifted down to his lower back and Joel rolled his body back on top of yours with your encouragement.

His kiss was smoldering. You pawed your arms around him and tangled a hand in his thick, dark hair. When Joel’s lips parted from yours he kissed down your neck to the tops of your breasts before separating himself from you.

“No,” you begged, pulling him back with a smile as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

Joel satisfied you with a sloppy, closed-mouth kiss. “I'm just reaching inside for some blankets,” he explained, whispering against your lips. Joel pried open the back window on his truck and grabbed a small stack of blankets from the back seat.

You adjusted so he could place a few down on the truck bed and then laid back down flat and pulled him back to you.

Your bodies connected immediately as his lips crashed back against yours. When your lips finally parted to take a breath, you gasped out the words, “Don't leave me.”

Why was this such a problem for you? Even Joel, himself, saying he would never leave wasn't convincing enough. You were too deep into it emotionally and it was making you a wreck inside.

Joel, patient as ever, brought his lips to your ear. “You're mine.” His teeth latched onto your ear lobe and he swirled his tongue around the area. “All mine.”

Your head dropped back in pleasure and you dug your fingers into his back.

New kink unlocked.

@mellymbee @pedropascal111 @axshadows @mybritishstyle @untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @goodvibesonly421 @cosmic006533-blog @ashleyfilm @maybetomorrowgirl @rebeccawinters @cuteanimalmama @vickie5446 @writlingerz @drewharrisonwriter @churchofjoemiller

[thescarletwitchsapprentice]

Imagine: You and Rio are at the Avengers Compound for Thanksgiving and you’re in charge of baking pies….this can only lead to good things. (Rio Vidal x gn!reader)

Author’s Note: I really wanna get back into writing stuff like this. Like…I just LOVE Rio.

Now I’m wondering if I should do crossovers…like putting Anya in the Avengers universe and whatnot.

(CW: I don’t think any are applicable? Lmk if there’s one I need to put)

You still honestly don’t know how she did it.

By some miracle, your girlfriend Rio had managed to contact the Avengers and get them to invite you for Thanksgiving, or rather the day before. Sure you’d been an intern at the Compound, but it wasn’t for that long, and they likely didn’t know Rio.

And yet here you are, standing in the kitchen as Rio searches up pie recipes; while Tony is out getting some food at the last minute, Wanda, Vision, Peter, and Steve are all watching The Dick Van Dyke Show while Yelena, Nat, Pietro, and Kate are attempting—and attempting is very much stressed—Clint and Bucky how to play Cards Against Humanity; it’s honestly really funny to watch.

“Okay,” Rio huffs, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I found a recipe for a pumpkin pie.”

“What else?” you ask.

Rio blinks. “Is that not enough?”

“You’re sleeping on pecan pie,” you scoff.

“Pecan?” she asks, her face scrunching up in confusion. “Like the nut pecan?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “What else do you put in it?”

“…Fruit or pumpkin,” she exclaims in disbelief. “You put fruit or pumpkin in it. Who puts nuts in a pie?”

“I do!”

Rio huffs. “What’s next? Are you gonna tell me you put chocolate in it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Kate replies as she looks through her stack of cards. “French silk pie.”

“There’s also meat pie,” Yelena adds. “I love putting hot sauce on mine.”

Hearing this, Rio is in shock. “You put MEAT? In a PIE?”

“Yeah? Is this really such a novel concept? I mean, in Russia, there’s a pie with a filling or salmon or sturgeon, rice, hard-boiled eggs, mushrooms, and dill.”

Now both of you are shocked. “What?” you both exclaim.

“Who puts fish in a pie?” you stammer.

“Russians,” Nat shrugs.

“All pie is good pie,” Steve says, “But nothing beats a classic apple pie.”

“Pecan,” you insist. “Pecan beats it.”

“That’s up for debate,” Clint says as he looks at the cards that people submitted. “Who put down ‘Object permanence’?”

“That was me,” Kate says.

“How does ‘object permanence’ fit this?”

“It’s about abstract connections,” Pietro shrugs.

As they continue the game and sitcom, you and Rio ponder what to do about the pie selection.

“Maybe we could make small pies of everyone’s favorite pie?” you suggest.

“I don’t think we have enough ingredients for that,” Bucky says.

“Or we could just make a pie with everything in it,” Rio suggests.

Silence.

“….I’ll pass,” Kate gags.

“Remind me not to leave you in charge of the pies next year,” Steve says.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind seeing what that tastes like,” Yelena shrugs.

“I think you’re gonna end up regretting it,” Nat chuckles.

“How much of the pie dough ingredients do we have?” Wanda asks.

“….Some,” Rio answers with a shrug.

“….Not very helpful,” she sighs. “(Y/N), any ideas?”

You blink. “What she said.”

Vision seems to be calculating something, “Hmm….”

“Vis?” Wanda asks.

“If I can recall, we have precisely enough for…..three pies,” he says.

“Great, so we choose three kinds,” Peter says.

“But which three?” Bucky asks.

“We have to have pumpkin, no questions asked,” Rio declares.

“I’m not sitting down to eat without a pecan pie,” you say.

“Wait…how did you say the name of the nut?” Steve asks.

“PEE-cahn,” you answer.

“I think it’s supposed to be pih-CAHN,” he says.

“No, it’s a long E sound,” you argue.

“Not a chance; it’s short E.”

“Who in their right mind puts an emphasis on the SECOND syllable?”

“Pretty sure it’s PEE-can,” Kate says in confusion.

“Don’t even start,” Clint groans.

This goes on for….about five minutes until Rio finally puts it to rest.

“Forget the pronunciation. Let’s focus on the pie.”

“So….pumpkin, the nut pie, and….what else?” Peter asks as Tony walks in, carrying a turkey.

“You’re still not finished with the pies?” he asks in disbelief.

“We haven’t exactly started,” you say sheepishly. “We’re still deciding on the flavors; we have pumpkin and PEcan, but we need one more.”

Tony huffs. “I don’t know, how about you surprise us?”

Immediately the compound goes silent, Rio’s grin slowly growing.

“How about you go sit down with them, my love?” she suggests in a voice that’s way too sweet. “I can handle it from here.”

“A….are you sure?” you gulp.

“No. No, we’re NOT sure,” Clint objects.

“Just leave it to me,” Rio says.

And after a lot of insistence, and complaining from Tony, you let her.

Later that night, after the main course and sides are finished, Rio serves up the pies. None of them are labeled, though. And they all look the same. You decide to pick one at random and Rio cuts you a slice.

“Close your eyes,” she tells you as she sets down the slice. “And take a bite.”

Foolishly, you decide to put your trust in her baking and take a bite.

Almost immediately, the taste hits you; it’s fruity, savory, cruciferous….a bit of everything, especially spicy. But not in a good way.

“Rio?” you ask as Yelena takes a slice of the same pie. “What kind of pie is this?”

She shrugs. “I just kinda used a bit of everything. That’s what you put in pies, right?”

“….Did you put hot sauce in this?” Yelena asks.

Rio smirks, nodding and also handing her a bottle of hot sauce.

“Yes!” she exclaims as she practically shoots the sauce onto her pie.

Tony sighs and Rio shrugs once more. “Hey, you said to surprise you.”

[holylulusworld]

His Bride (1)

Summary: Your life gets turned upside down.

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader; John Walker x fem!Reader (for now)

Warnings: nightmares, angst, awful boyfriend, daydreaming, vampire Bucky, mind-manipulation, nasty boyfriend, arguments, mentions of cheating

Catch up here: His Bride (Prologue)

His Bride Masterlist

Another sleepless night led to another day filled with workload. You yawn and rub your tired eyes. Tonight, it was not the mysterious shadow following you that kept you awake. It was the fact that John didn’t come home.

He ran late before, but never slept at his office. In the back of your mind, you know he’s hiding things from you. Maybe he’s even looking for someone new.

You don’t know, and honestly, you’re too tired to think about your indifferent boyfriend and his attitude. If you mess things up at your job, you’ll get fired, and that's the last thing you want.

Even though you’re working overtime most days, you love your job. You pretend that there’s no other reason than work for you to stay late. Not a certain someone with blue eyes.

“Working late again?” It’s like you magically summoned your boss by thinking of him. He stands next to your desk, furrowing his brows in worry. “You’re overworking yourself, Y/N. I need my employees healthy and well-rested. Don’t make me use my dominant voice and tell you to go home.”

His voice drops lower, and you can’t stop the whimper escaping your lips. Bucky cocks a brow at your reaction. He puts his hands on his hips and waits for your response.

“Mr. Barnes, I only wanted to finish that document,” you hastily say, as if you did something wrong. “I’ll be on my way in a minute.”

“No, you won’t. I know you well, Y/N,” he chuckles and places his hand flat on your desk. “How about this? I order dinner for us, and you join me at my office. We can take care of the papers tomorrow.”

You nod and turn to shut the laptop off. Bucky is gone without making a noise again. You’re always amazed how he can move so fast you don’t hear him come or leave.

“Y/N, are you coming?” He calls for you. You get lost in your daydreams again and need to focus on his voice before your mind drifts away again.

“Just a minute, Mr. Barnes,” you say, and slowly get up from your seat. “Do you want me to order the food?”

“I already did,” he casually says. Bucky holds the door for you open, subtly sniffing at your hair when you walk past him. You don’t recognize his eyes turning red for a second. “I called your favorite Italian restaurant. They’ll be here to deliver our food.”

Bucky places his hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the couch at his office. His hand barely touches you, but the simplest brush of his fingertips sets your skin on fire. He offers you to sit on the comfortable couch with him, saying your name in a way that makes you weak in the knees.

“You know about my favorite restaurant?” You wonder aloud, struggling to bare your feelings in front of your boss. “How do you know?” John can’t remember your favorite dish, and your boss knows your favorite restaurant.

“You talked to Coleen some months ago. I think the restaurant just opened when you told her about it. You were excited to have dinner there with your boyfriend.”

Your features sadden at that memory. Bucky is right. You were excited and over the moon when you got a reservation at the restaurant for you and John. You bought a new dress and dolled up for John, only for him to not show.

He forgot about your date night and the reservation. John never apologized that you sat at the restaurant and had to eat alone. Later you walked home while rain mercilessly poured down on you.

Cliché, right? Sometimes you feel like you ended up in an awful movie. Sadly, it’s not the romantic kind of rom-com. Rather, a twisted version of a romantic dream.

“Why the sad face?” Bucky asks, his voice warm and soothing. “I thought you liked their food. I can order whatever you want, păpușă (doll). Just name it.”

“I like their food,” you murmur, afraid to speak louder and give away the sadness in your voice. “John didn’t make it for dinner. I ate alone but enjoyed their food very much.”

“Păpuşă (doll),” he whispers lowly, and you feel your mind slip away once again. You hush his name, and he cups the back of your neck. “If you were mine, I’d never leave you alone or hurt you. He doesn’t know what he has in you, Y/N.”

“He doesn’t know what he has,” you repeat Bucky’s words like in a trance. You sigh, and your body goes lax. Bucky is fast to catch you and bring you in his arms. He pats your hair and whispers your name, something you wouldn’t understand in Romanian.

“Bucky,” you babble mindlessly. The shadow is back. It’s dragging you deeper into the abyss, and you lose control over your mind and body.

“Soon, my love. We only need to get rid of your unfaithful fiancé. I’d love to rip his head off his neck, but I’m a gentleman and wouldn’t want to bring grief over you.”

“I must stay; you have excellent taste, Y/N.” You blink at Bucky as he lifts a fork to his lips. He barely touches the food, but that’s not what bothers you.

Everything feels like a blur since you stepped into Bucky’s office. You remember sitting on the couch and getting sad over the missed date night. After that, nothing.

Your mind is blank. Now you sit here, a plate filled with pasta in front of you, and you don’t remember a thing. “You should try it. I know you felt a little dizzy, but you need food, Y/N.”

“Food… right.” You grab the fork next to your plate to take a bite. The taste makes you moan loudly. It’s the best pasta you ever ate. Maybe even the best food you had in your life. “Wow, this is even better than I remember.”

“Maybe it’s the charming company,” Bucky says. You chuckle, but your cheeks heat up. Maybe it is his company. Around him, everything seems to be so easy. “You don’t have to say a thing. I was trying to be funny.”

“I know,” you hastily reply, unsure if he was joking. You glance at Bucky and lick your lips. He barely touched his food but watched you enjoy it. “Uh—not that you’re not charming!” You stammer, realizing your mistake. “You are but—uh…”

“Y/N,” he places his hand on your shoulder and tells you to breathe. “Relax. You don’t have to tell me what I want to hear. I’m not that kind of man.”

Watching him with curiosity, you wonder if your boss has secrets he tries to hide too. You are a master at hiding your sadness or how you feel around your boss. He can never know you’d commit any sin to be with him…

After dinner with your boss, you decided to not wait for John to come home tonight. You’re still tired and don’t want to waste more time waiting for your fiancé.

Snuggled into your pillow, you close your eyes and recall dinner with Bucky. You remember his eyes, focused on you, and his full plate when you left. He probably wasn’t hungry tonight.

“Soon, my love,” Bucky murmurs while gently stroking your hair. “He’ll lose you to a better man. A man who knows how to treat you right. You don’t have to wait much longer.”

He kisses your neck. Bucky fights his instinct. He tries to keep himself from tasting you in more than one way. “I must leave now. Sunrise is close, and I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Bucky slips out of your window like a shadow fleeing the sun. He’ll return tomorrow night and every other night to keep you safe…

Tags in reblog.

[runes-menagerie]

"At the cost of becoming a mindflayer at any moment. Honestly I'm not sure what will happen first. Him finding me or becoming a monster." Astarion replied bitterly. He once more wished there was some way to control the tadpoles to keep the benefits without the risks. He wouldn't have thought it possible but they hadn't turned yet so maybe there was a chance.

"I.... I think I'd like that. You aren't horrible company and would be a good idea to have a Warlock around when dealing with rituals and devil languages." He replied with a somewhat forced flippantness while staying relaxed in the Tiefling's arms.

Astarion listened and had to resist laughing at how similar they were. It made him wonder if there was some sort of divine comedy at work around them. Where the Gods laughing at all this? It wouldn't surprise him. Rather than laughing he decided to speak the words his younger self had wanted to hear.

"You do deserve to be treated gently. You deserve to be cared for." He said, his voice rough with emotions he refused to really express. He ended up huffing a laugh anyways while shaking his head. "Keep that up and we'll end up taking on the whole world. Not a bad thing since the world could certainly do worse than with us in charge but that would take a great deal of power darling. We just struggled up a thorny hill to avoid a fight. So unless you have some undisclosed tricks up your sleeves, I don't any of that will happen any time soon."

It wasn't a rejection exactly but more a statement of the practical side of their situation. Astarion wasn't at all opposed to killing their enemies and taking over but he had been powerless for so long that unless something bigger than some little worms in their heads changed, he honestly couldn't see them pulling off any of it.

“So… the tadpole had been good for something. You can walk in the sun light, the connection between you and him is intercepted and other rules don’t apply to you. It’s a good start to have gotten away. But we do need to work on freeing ourselves. Not sure if we should risk it and have him find you again when free from the tadpole. Maybe we could change the order of things…” He didn’t know how yet.

Caligo didn’t expect his companion to relax the way he did, but he was glad that he did. He’d find himself caring a lot about this one, more than he cared about anyone and they haven’t been together for long.

“If you want me with you, I will help you find out… together…”

He was silent for a moment and decided to share some of his experience, about his scars. “I changed my mind on how you could have me, from rough to something gentler, slower… because you made me feel I deserved it. My mother died giving birth to me and my father made me pay for it… in many, many ways… Which are what my scars are about. And I want to kill him for it and everyone who ever thought it was alright to take advantage of my father’s hatred for me.”

Caligo gave the vampire a little squeeze. “You don’t have to do things alone, Astarion… we could make those pay some day… Cazador… my father… everyone…” This was the moment where that hatred would either be encouraged or discouraged. Accepted, rejected… It would show where their morality lied.