#its about 3 hours away on foot

[gutsby]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

[chithereader]

first impressions / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff

cw: shy!reader / naive!reader, hotch has a crush!! a bit of mutual pining

a/n: i feel like this is a little all over the place but i love a pining hotch too much so i just had to post it!!!

Anderson has been doing his case reports in the pantry for the past four hours. Perhaps it does have its perks– one, he’s closer to the coffee machine and two, he’s farther away from all the chatter that is coming from the place he should actually be working in– at his desk. 

That’s because for the past four hours, the whole BAU team or what’s left of it– being Derek, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid– have been crowding the rows of desks directly across Hotch’s office. Occupying desks and chairs that are definitely not theirs. 

The rowdy bunch has been debating, gossiping, and most importantly, profiling their unit chief for the past four hours. Figuring out which applicants impress him, disappoint him, or straight-up irritate him– all through his office window. 

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names. 

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left. 

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit; 

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub. 

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up. 

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly. 

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself. 

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides. 

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading. 

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly. 

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty. 

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting. 

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing. 

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats. 

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy. 

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong. 

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether. 

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes. 

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even. 

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence. 

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit. 

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking. 

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you? 

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established. 

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered. 

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain. 

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door. 

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview. 

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again. 

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow. 

-

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths. 

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all. 

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly. 

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face. 

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue. 

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers. 

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through. 

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest. 

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond. 

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it. 

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future. 

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent. 

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

- 

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence. 

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago. 

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush. 

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.” 

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality. 

But Rossi’s only looking back at Reid with twinkling eyes and a smug smile growing bigger by the second. He lets out a quiet laugh, turning back to see Hotch smiling at the girl who is unaware of the fool grinning at her, “Addition to the team my ass– he'll be adding her to his life."

[seraphdreams]

ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK? | GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. the campus power outage gives your sly classmates a proper chance to get to know you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, college au, dark content, kidnapping, use of toys, one (1) mention of “you cryin?”, vibrators / dildos, fearplay, eiffel tower position, blindfolds / restrictions, dubcon, squirting, double pen if you squint. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.0k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! happy friday thee 13th !! i know y’all remember me saying i wouldn’t write jjk anymore but i caved! so here’s my comeback to writing them , i literally can’t get gojo out of my head. as always, comment / reblog if you like it ! i’d muchly appreciate it ♡.

“isn’t she lovely, satoru?”

“fucking beautiful.”

a pair of crystalline-like eyes followed your bare figure down from your heaving chest to your lower abdomen where they settled on your glistening folds. you were spread open, laid against the armrest of the couch you were splayed across, hands bound taut by what felt like cheap, abrasive rope.

of the softer voice you had heard, its owner pulled out a silk piece of cloth from the pocket of his sweatpants, carefully binding it over your eyes, eluding your already subdued line of sight.

their mannerisms were recognizable, the two men who’d gotten you into that pathetic situation.

they were none other than gojo satoru and geto suguru from your foreign affairs class. prior to, you hadn’t shared much of a striking moment with them for their names to be ingrained in your memory, other than the times suguru would ask for a pencil, and gojo, a copy of the notes. it wasn’t until the start of the fall semester that you had grown closer to them.

they’d invite you to the campus’s library on account of needing you, /and only you,/ to tutor them, along with accompanying them to parties held by the school’s fraternity, and back to their dorm when things got boring — they took quite a strong liking towards you, despite your persistence on rejecting each advancement they made on you.

it wasn’t like you found them unattractive, or even unbearable. they just had more rumors than they could keep up with hanging off their reputation; rumors consisting of them switching girls much like they switch clothes simultaneous with how they weren’t particularly shy about their hookups, were among the ones you’d grown familiar with.

but, as the end of the semester grew nearer, you felt a need for excitement and a change of direction; especially in the form of gojo and geto.

“y/n?”

walking back from your overtiring night classes, the call of your name from a familiar voice whipped you straight out of fatigue. it was none other than the duo that seemed to follow you step by step, like puppies with their owner, as you turned around to catch a finer glimpse of them.

“hi,” your voice came out dulcet, and slightly hoarse. “why’re you guys out so late?”

“could be asking you the same thing.” suguru retorts, strands of long, inky black hair framing his mirthful expression. he had always been handsome to you, over six foot tall with sharp facial features that involuntarily caused him to exude an intimidating presence yet, he had a tame personality to back it up. there was a reason he was popular on campus.

he was also remarkably attentive when it came to you. suguru would make it a habit to check up on you from day to day, under the guise of morning texts and showing up to your dorm with limited edition beverages from your favorite cafe.

it wasn’t considered flirting if he was constantly referring to you as a “friend,” right?

satoru quickly came up behind him, resting his arm over the shoulder of the black haired man. he was donned in his signature style of attire, tinted glasses low on the bridge of his nose despite the sun being hours away from rising, which you had presumed was just his fashion choice. he looked better like that, anyway.

“i was just coming back from my night class. it let out early,” your words flowed airily into their ears, the tone cordial as ever.

it was the thing they loved most about you — your doe eyes, plump lips, and sexy curves that they’d fantasized about tracing every inch of with their tongues. you were too perfect, and far beyond naive. The ideal victim.

“pretty girls like you shouldn’t be out so late. it’s dangerous.” gojo held an emphasis to his last vocables, the warning you should’ve taken, yet brushed off as concern. because, of course it was. your friends were only “concerned.”

you nodded your head, lips involuntarily jutting out in a soft pout. “i know, i know.”

gojo was the rather flirtatious half of the duo, often opting to remind you of his undying attraction towards you that never seemed to get through to your glitter-filled mind. you were wrapped around his finger whether you knew it or not — you were but the final reward for him when having the others back to back failed to feed his salacious desires.

“you should swing by, though. satoru and i aren’t doing much,” geto spoke, looking at the blue-eyed man hanging off his side. “right, satoru?”

gojo perked up, a sly smirk making its way to his lips while he beckoned you closer with the movement of his fingers. “yeah, it’s friday. you deserve some time off, pretty thing.”

he wasn’t wrong. most of your time was spent dealing with school in which you barely had a moment for yourself. not to mention the fact that it was convenient, the commute to their dorm held less distance than it would’ve had you walked all the way back to yours. it worked out perfectly, for both parties involved.

with the mindless nod of your head and an “okay”, you made your way towards the two, and began to stride along in the direction of their place.

things were off about the duo, though, but not quite strange enough for you to think anything of it. the route was the same, some vacant corridor that always kissed your skin with its glacial breeze, leading to their hall, and down just a few steps was the doorway to their dorm.

as you patiently wait for geto to scan his keycard, the sensation of featherlight touch ghosting along the mast of skin that your tiny cropped top allowed to be exposed, shook you from your veil of comfort. you had come to realize it was gojo who took it upon himself to rest his hand on your lower back.

the world around you felt recognizable, yet you couldn’t shake the suspicion that deep down, something’s wrong.

the latch of the door beeped, signaling that it had been unlocked successfully, and with a sturdy hand, geto opened the door to allow for you and gojo to slip past while he kept his distance, treading leisurely behind.

satoru flipped up a light, the whole place illuminating immediately after. it looked different from the last time you came over, posters that littered every wall in the living space seemingly replaced by minute frames of artwork, all cohesive with the neutral nature of their dorm.

lit at the coffee table across from the couch where you decided to settle yourself at, was a single-wick candle that filled their air with its hints of fresh sage and amber musk.

“lemme take care of your bag,” suguru extended his arm out to you with a soft smile on his face. gojo sat down beside you, ridding himself of his glasses while you gave geto your tote. “i need to get something from my room so i’ll just put it on the bed that way you won’t have to worry.” he continued.

“thanks, sugu.” you returned his warm smile with a beam of your own.

gojo’s tongue clicked as he rolled his head back against the headrest of the couch. “marry her while you’re at it too, huh?” his tone is painted in vexation that wasn’t clear enough to distinguish between mirth or solemnity.

you heard geto chuckle as he made his way to the bedroom, waving off satoru’s comment. “wouldn’t hurt you to be nice every now and again.”

“you jealous, ‘toru?” you taunted to the ivory-haired man, relaxing further into the couch as his arm took purchase around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. “and if i am, baby? what’ll you do t’me?”

it wasn’t hard to get lost in his eyes, especially when they seemed to draw you in with that playful expression of his and kept you craving more of his attention. he’s so annoying.

you brushed off his query with an eye roll, turning your focus back to geto as he sat on the other side of you, a small box taut in his grip.

oddly enough, the soft whirring of mechanics died down along with the luminescence that filled the dorm shutting off, leaving the three of you in pitch black darkness, with only the faintest sliver of light emitted coming from the candle.

it painted an eerie picture, one that caused the pace of your heart to quicken as your body involuntarily tensed.

“oh?” suguru was the first to voice his mystification. he set the box aside, taking a haste look at gojo; which was more of a silent cue to the latter, reminding him of their true intentions.

what you assumed was geto’s hand over your thigh, diligently ran along the expanse of your lower half until its fingers curled at the hem of your bottoms. “aren’t we lucky?”

his touch was unfamiliar, nonsynonymous to you as the chivalrous suguru you knew. the sensation was weighty with lust, hungry against your skin, enough so to cause you to wonder.

“suguru, your—“

just as you were about to question the man before you, his eccentric best friend cut in.

gojo created the slightest gap of distance between your bodies, mainly to take advantage of the sight before him — geto working diligently to rid you of your garments, stripping you bare, safe for the thigh high socks struggling to contain the spill of your plush thighs.

“what? you afraid of the dark?” satoru’s teasing aided in affirming your suspicions. and the fact that you were utterly helpless, only sprung on his arousal as well. “we’ll take good care of ya.”

geto’s left hand found its place back on your thigh, more-so to spread your legs for the two. “you trust me, don’t you?” he smiled, that same smile that was painted over by an ulterior motive. he stood up, finding his knee in between your thighs, centimeters from your heat. “satoru, the rope?” he held his hand out for gojo, feeling satisfied once his request was fulfilled by his best friend, handing him the cord from the opposite end of the couch.

the words you wanted to say struggled to bubble up in your throat, rendering you speechless and anticipating. in one hand, suguru took both your wrists, tying them taut by the cable and stepping back to get a better view of your helplessness, specifically the way it leaked from your cunt and soaked into the cushions.

all the same events that explained the predicament previously mentioned.

after the unfortunate affair of being blindfolded, you felt lithe fingers drum at your clit. it was a teasing, rhythmic sensation that made it clear to you in the strongest way it could, that gojo was the one with reigns over your body now.

“our feelings are so hurt, babe,” his voice feigns offense, and although you couldn’t see him, you sensed that his signature smirk was etched over his features. and that, it was.

he toyed with your heat, running his index and middle fingers along your slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he could before sinking them into your hole. “you kept rejecting us in the past, but,” as his words trailed off, the pace at which his fingers pumped inside of you quickened. “we’re treating you fucking good, right?”

even though it was just two of his digits, the stretch that they’d allot to your hole was delicious, the tips of his fingers deliberately curling against your gummy walls, right at your g-spot which only made the shaking of your thighs worse.

“god—” you rasped, nodding your head. your heat made no effort in slowing the way it greedily sucked in his fingers. it was almost as if you were waiting for this, fantasizing how it’d be like to be one of their girls.

with every foolish thought came foolish actions.

satoru awaited your answer, speeding up to an impossible pace when you didn’t respond within his time bracket. “wanna hear you say it, baby. tell me how good I'm making you feel,” he demanded.

it felt as though your mind was going to break, the pleasurable mixture of sensations causing your head to spin and orgasm to build within you. you only allotted the fortitude for soft babbles, trying your hardest to conjure up something coherent. “f-fucking good! ‘s so fucking good!”

the pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing vigorous circles over the bundle of nerves. “attagirl,”

wet squelches were sonorous in the air, so much so, that the students inhabiting the dorms just across the hall could probably hear the filth taking place at that very moment. not that it was something new to them — it was just another satosugu friday night.

you couldn’t take anymore, your thighs threatening to close around his arm, yet his free hand kept you spread.

“i think she’s gonna cum, satoru,” geto coos, leaning down beside you while watching as gojo edges you closer and closer to sweet release. “can you squirt for us, princess? make a mess?”

before you could retort, your release rippled within you, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. evidently, geto’s questions were answered instantaneously the moment you soaked satoru’s fingers with your essence. your chest heaved, your breath growing ragged just moments after.

if only you had the reins to see them — touch them.

gojo slipped his soiled fingers into his mouth, moaning at the saccharine flavor you left him with. if he could live off the taste of you alone, he’d know for sure that he’d die happily.

“are you really that sensitive?” suguru queried. in his hand was the concealed box, filled with toys; some that could vibrate, along with others that were clearly meant to stretch you out. he pulled out one of the thicker dildos, running it along your slit in paintstroke motions.

“do you think this could make her squirt just as fast?” his inquiry to gojo made it undoubtedly clear that they’d been plotting against you from the very start; it wasn’t just some spontaneous idea.

gojo’s focus was unwavering on the dampness seeping through his sweats, his palm rested atop his hard-on as he watched the pleasant sight of geto sinking the silicone into your hole. amidst satoru, he was concerningly gentle. he had kept one hand at your thigh, draw soft patterns while he kneeled between your legs to give himself a better view at how hungrily your cunt sucked him in. “‘toru’s always so rough, isn’t he?” suguru cooed,

you mindlessly nodded your head; it wasn’t like you agreed, but you were stuck between heaven and bliss, not knowing which felt better. whereas gojo was, albeit, impatient and loved to get the good parts, suguru was refreshing, like a cold glass of lemonade on a warm summer’s day. suguru started up a thrusting motion with the toy, building it up to a speed that had your back arching and thighs quivering under his hold.

“you’re so tight, darling. you a virgin?” his soft voice speaks out.

as you were about to respond, gojo’s large hands found themselves at your tits, kneading the flesh while his fingers tweaked at your stiffened nipples. “this virgin’s pretty hot,” satoru commented.

“n-not a virgin!” your reaction came in the form of a cry, seemingly at the increase of stimulation within your gummy walls, the tip of the silicone cock nudging so sweetly against your gspot that the nothingness of your sight morphed into white hot pleasure.

you had fallen perfectly into their trap — what would’ve taken a considerable amount of effort, and even thinking, was handed to them easily though the power of the gods; they’d be sure to thank them later for their service .. or maybe you will.

suguru removed one hand from your thigh, relocating it to dig aimlessly through the box. he was satisfied when he pulled out a tiny bullet vibrator, switching it on to the most mild level and gently circling it against your clit. “mm, i don’t think i believe you,” an amused smile etched on his features watching you squirm in his hold.

with pleasure stemming from the most sensitive parts of your body, it’s difficult to chase away the feeling of yet another, messy, mindnumbing orgasm. “geto..!” your whines fell to deaf ears, suguru hyper-focused on the way your puffy clit twitches underneath the toy. he knew you were close; anyone within a mile’s radius could tell that, and perhaps he was covertly evil, because the loss of stimulation that came soon after he pulled the toys from your heat was pure work of the devil.

he spoke up just as he switched his attention from your aching cunt to your heaving chest. “if you’re not a virgin you shouldn’t have any trouble taking us both, right?”

oh?

they were like that. you should’ve known — the two did everything together, it’d be foolish to deny the possibility of them fucking together.

your obstructed vision was finally restored when gojo took off your blindfold. he figured it’d be much better if you saw how you were about to be obliterated — and obliterated you were.

he took your hand in his, standing you both upwards.

you wobbled beside him, your legs feeling like jello from the insane amount of stimulation your cunt had to endure. “look at her, suguru. she can barely stand,” gojo teases. “and we haven’t even got to the good part yet.”

he wastes no time in freeing his hard cock from the prison that was his boxer briefs. his length was long, bulbous head flushing a soft pink as beads of pre-cum dribbled down his shaft. he gave himself a few experimental pumps before turning you around and bending you over.

without the stability to keep yourself bent completely, you crashed into geto, who was no more than an inch away from your face. you looked up, sheepishly as he rid himself of his hoodie, faced with his toned abdomen.

“we haven’t done this position in a while, huh?” there’s a cocky smirk on geto’s face. one that was his own, yet it wasn’t the suguru you’d known.

since when was he the conniving type? did all his time with gojo finally rot his brain? or were you staring at a man you truly never knew?

suguru’s hand slipped just under the waistband of his sweats to free his cock. the tip tapped harshly against your lips before he took a firmer grip at the base to smear pre-cum over your already saliva drenched lips. “open up, pretty baby.”

instinctively, you slid your tongue around the head of his cock before suckling the sensitive area, only gradually taking in more. on the other end, gojo pushed himself into your core, letting out a low hiss at how eagerly your needy cunt took him in.

“she’s fucking tight,” he groans, squeezing at the plush fat of your hips while rocking his own into you.

“don’t get greedy now, ‘toru,” geto’s voice is soft as his hand in your hair gently guides you to take him deeper, up and down his cock. it’s evident you’re pretty damn good at giving head from the adoration in his eyes when he looks down at you, silvery orbs with hearts for pupils locked onto your vacant ones.

“what a well trained whore you are.” he praised, beginning to buck his hips up into your mouth, not rigorously, but enough to prod at the back of your throat and scatter tears to your waterline.

gojo slipped his thumb into your puckered hole while his thrusts became harder, with fervor. he wasn’t one to be patient nor hold back, especially when it came to someone like you, with a pussy so tight and moans so sweet, he’d have to break you just a bit. where’s the fun in that if he doesn’t?

his balls slammed against your clit, creating a potent string of pleasure to course through your body. throbbing was pertinent within your walls, each drag of his cock along the ridges inside you posing you weak from the shocks of euphoria. a hard slap came crashing down at your ass, gojo’s sizeable hand repeated the motion occasionally to watch the way the flesh rippled.

your moans were muffled by the intrusion of cock getting fucked into your mouth. the room reverberated in an array of messy skin slapping in tandem with groans and whimpers. it was music to their ears, a song they’d want on repeat if it were possible.

“shit.. ‘m gonna cum,” geto’s dulcet tone alerted. you watched in pride at how the muscles of his lower abdomen flexed in the onset of his orgasm. his rhythmic thrusts faltered, morphing into a resonance of scattered heavy thrusts that led him closer to his orgasm until he eventually jettisoned his seed into your mouth. the taste wasn’t as bitter as you were used to, it was almost pleasant and you swallowed every drop before he pulled out ever so slowly, his chest rising and falling while his cheeks were dusted in a soft rose flush.

“you were so much better than i imagined,” his fingers wrapped around your jaw, gripping ever so gently as he bent down to messily kiss at your lips, groaning at the taste of his orgasm on your tongue.

“yeah, yeah. good for you,” gojo started up in his usual bratty tone, sounding more guttural than his typical self. “can finally cum in her without you messin’ me up.”

suguru was used to gojo’s sharp tongue, his complaint not seering as deep as it would’ve had it been their younger years.

whorish moans slipped past your lips, your balance wavering as gojo picked up speed. he was far deeper inside your plush cavern, hitting at the spongey spot with precision that had your whimpers turning into babbles. “s-sho good .. you fuck me sooo good,” gojo took amusement in your slurred speech, pulling you up by the waist until you were completely upright.

it felt as though he couldn’t reach any deeper, yet he did, the feeling spreading all over your body, you were almost 100% certain that you could feel it in your ears. tears had filled your waterline and came cascading down your cheeks before you could even establish what it was. satoru held you close, your bare back pressed against his chest. it was an overwhelming feeling, one that made you lax enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

he smirked, gripping your chin with his fingers to get a better look at you.

“you cryin’?”

that familiar sensation bubbled up within you, what had felt like your nth orgasm had come in blissful surges, his cock coated in the translucent milky essence of your release.

with haste, you were fucked through aftershocks and overstimulation as satoru chased his high.

he had stamina for days, having built it up through multiple one night stands, and yet, he wasn’t quick to pull out like his counterpart, no. there was something of love that came with cumming inside you.

the skin of your thighs clung together with a mixture of your cum and his as he pulled out of your twitching hole. you stumbled a bit, getting back grounded on your feet, the two men tucking their third legs back into their garments.

a flickering noise was sounded from the building, different from the soft flickering of the candle that was beside you. quickly, the surgance of electricity illuminated the dorm, bringing much needed light to the situation at hand. you looked down at your bound wrists before the rush of embarrassment washed over your being once you had taken your naked, used body into account.

gojo carefully whisked you both back onto the couch with you sitting on his lap. “guess our fun’s over, huh?” he pouted, unbinding the rope that rubbed uncomfortably against your wrists. you weren’t exactly sure of who his rhetorical query was aimed to, and you would’ve spoken up had your throat not have been aching from the constant whining or even the pounding of a thick cock fucking bruises in the cavern.

geto was now situated behind the couch, leaning over the both of your figures.

“over? she’s spending the night.”

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @ryukatters @dabibreeder

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister...(part two)

c/w: incest, some dubcon touching & a kiss from rafe, both of them are more or less drunk, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.3k

previous part & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s well past 3 am when they stumble through the front door— wobbly on their feet and drunkenly giggling about some stupid joke Rafe had muttered while fumbling with the keys. Yet another party her big brother had dragged her into, and if it weren’t for his hands on her hips guiding her upstairs right now, she’d wake up the entire house tumbling down the stairs when she’d inevitably loose her footing.  

“Rafe, m’never going out with you again. Told you I wanted to leave like two hours ago,” she complains the moment they make it to her bedroom; her feet aching and head spinning.   

“‘N she’s complainin’ again. I mean, my apologies for wantin’ to—to show m’little sister a good time,” he huffs, peeling off the shirt that’s beginning to stick to his skin. “Don’t even try t’act like you didn’t have fun.”  

“Well, yeaah, but now m’sooo tired and gross and I need to shower and…” she yawns around the rest of the words; hand on his bicep for balance while she kicks off her shoes. 

“Don’t— don’t need to worry ‘bout that, told you I’d help you out, yeah?” he slurs, already beginning to tug down the zipper of her dress.  

“Nooo…can’t shower yet. Need to take m’makeup off first,” she blabbers, brows pulling together as if he’s just committed some heinous crime, making him roll his eyes before he’s searching through her vanity for makeup remover.  

And despite her drowsy resistance about wanting to shower alone, Rafe manages to drag her into the bathroom (after wiping her face clean) anyway — the thermal water soaking through her fatigued limbs feeling entirely too good for her to push him away when he corners her behind the shower curtain, its printed seashells beginning to twirl against the cream-colored material when she stares at them for too long. 

And she’s almost starting to believe he’s truly doing all of this for altruistic purposes; thoroughly washing her hair for her and making sure to coat the strands with a generous amount of conditioner afterwards.

But when his soapy palms mindlessly glide along the wet skin on her tummy— inching closer and closer towards her tits, she realizes that she was wrong. However, she’s far too out of it to care, and upon noticing the fact, he’s letting his eager paws grope at the squishy flesh; covering them in the foamy shower gel in the process.  

Only when his thumb is smoothing over a sensitive nipple, does she blink away the haziness blurring the lines of what a brother should and shouldn’t do to his sister. And at first, her dozy complaint doesn’t even reach his ears because he’s entirely too focused on the way her tits fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, wondering how it would feel to—  

“Rafe…can you not do that?” she suddenly takes a tentative step back.  

“Hm? Jus’ makin’ sure you feel all nice ‘n clean,” he drawls out, seemingly confused before he’s tugging her closer with a hold on her waist. “Can you wash my hair next?” he pleads; an abrupt attempt to distract her intoxicated brain. 

“I can barely stand and you want me to wash your hair? Can’t even reach your head when you’re a fucking giant.”  

But when he leans down for her, she reluctantly begins to lather the shampoo into his roots— gaining a delighted grunt from the back of his throat when her fingers absentmindedly dig into his scalp. However, with the new position, he’s now eye-level with her tits; soap bubbles and water droplets trickling down the smooth skin, and with his thoughts muddled, he’s unable to resist the allure for very long before he’s gravitating towards them.  

“Rafe, stoop,” she stumbles backwards when she feels the flat of his tongue laving over the valley of her breasts.

“M’sorry.” But he doesn’t seem all that sorry, not when he looks up at her under his lashes, offering her an inebriated grin— something nauseating coiling in her belly in response.  

- - - - - - - - - -

When they finally make it out of the shower, he insists on patting her dry, the foggy mirror saving her the absolute mortification of having to watch her brother’s eyes skim across the expanse of her bare skin during the unnecessarily long process.  

“Let me take care of m’favorite sister, yeah?” he croons when he’s tugging down the hem of her sleep shirt afterwards — a shirt that just so happens to be stolen from him, the worn fabric apparently softer than anything of her own.  

She’s unsure as to why he’s suddenly being so nice, but she’s not exactly complaining when his uncharacteristically gentle fingertips daub her face with her night cream when they sit down on her bed— making sure to rub the moisturizer into her forehead as well. And she thinks he almost looks cute like this; brows furrowed in concentration, flicking her nose with a sleepy smile when he’s finished.   

“That smells so fuckin’ good,” he groans after applying a layer of chapstick to her lips; his heady gaze fixed on the action of her rubbing them together, something she’s too dozy to notice.

“I know, right? I looove anything vanilla-scented,” she gushes over the product while placing the rest of the skincare on her nightstand.  

“Can I— uh, try it?” his question sounds innocent enough, but she should know better.  

“Of course,” the naive girl fully expects him to uncap the lip balm once more but instead, he’s suddenly grabbing her jaw into his massive hands and pressing his mouth against hers— swallowing her surprised squeak before she’s quickly pulling away.   

“Rafe, you promised you weren’t gonna do that anymore,” she whines, but the way her button-eyes blink up at him — the betrayal so tangible — lures him in to do it again; smearing their mouths together with a satisfied hum before she’s shoving at his shoulder.  

“Ray, m’serious, it was one time,” she lets out an annoyed huff.  

“Calm down, m’lips were jus’ dry, alright?”  

“You could’ve just— nevermind, m’too tired for this right now,” her attempts at putting some much needed space between them prove to be futile when he just follows her under the covers— acting as if he doesn’t hear her muttering how he should sleep in his own bed for a change.  

“Listen, m’sorry, okay? Don’t like when you’re mad at me,” he ignores her protests and nestles his face into her neck, nose soon nudging her throat and eliciting a somnolent giggle from her. 

“Ray, stop. You’re being annoying,” she tries to swat his hands away when his fingers suddenly begin to poke and prod at her sides because he knows how ticklish she is.  

“Yeah? Tell me you forgive me then.” 

Involuntary laughter bubbles from her chest when she shakes her head and squirms in his arms— desperately trying to wriggle away, but he’s much stronger and she’s no match. And when she grows even louder, he’s forced to slap his palm over her mouth to muffle the noise.

“Shut up, Sarah’s gonna wake up ‘n tell dad we were out late again,” he hisses, suddenly remembering how his other sister is sleeping on the other side of the wall, nonetheless continuing his attack when she attempts to escape once more.

“Stop tickling me then,” she manages out between fits of laughter, uncomfortably writhing in his hold because she hates when he does this. However, she quickly realizes he’s not planning on stopping anytime soon, and the feeling is quickly turning into something unbearable, more or less forcing her to finally let out a sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I forgive you— whatever, jus’ let me sleep.” 

His breathy chuckle fans the expanse of her neck before he finally relents, but when she tries to shift away from him, he merely tucks her closer against his naked chest; large palm slipping under the hem of her shirt to splay over the expanse of her stomach to keep her right where she is.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs into her hair, tone suddenly desperate, needy. It makes her swallow around the knotted coil in her throat before she reluctantly gives up altogether— entirely too exhausted to put up a fight when sleep is already dragging her into its dreamy embrace and she feels so warm like this.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Homecoming (one-shot)

Synopsys: When Y/N goes missing during a simple supply run, she comes back with world-shattering news for Astarion. News he never thought to hear, and now he has a decision to make, one that will shift his life on its axis once more.

Set after the main events of BG3

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, a bit of SMUT, but nothing explicit

Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, but nothing explicit, kidnapping

Word count: 8397

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Part 2(ish) - Love Conquers All (one-shot)

A home was not something to ever be taken for granted, that much they had learned during their adventures.

A home was a fire slowly crackling in the hearth, warmth expanding through the living room. A home was Astarion sitting on a loveseat, a book in his hands while he waited for his love to finish puttering around in the kitchen. A home was drying tea leaves and making preserves for the coming winter as she shooed him out, saying that his fussing would only hinder her process.

He’d huffed, puffed and whined, trying to make Y/N pull away from her plans just so they could curl up and read together, but she was adamant.

“I’ve already started.” She dropped an orange peel and pressed some lemon juice into the steaming pot. “It’ll be wasted produce if I just leave it now.”

“But it will take you hours!” Astarion whined like a child and even stomped his foot, making her snort.

“And it will take me twice as long if you don’t stop annoying me.” Y/N threw him a saccharine smile over her shoulder, batting her lashes at the pouting vampire. “Now, be a good boy, and quit pestering me. We’ll have all the time in the world, once I’m done.”

Astarion just groaned, going up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, the incisors he usually sank into her neck now nipping at her lobe. “I can be a very good boy if you only let me prove it.”

“My love, you will be getting absolutely no sex from me, if you don’t let me at least finish this batch.” A shiver rushed down her spine as he licked at her neck, so close to that sweet spot he always used as a place to bite and drink from. But she had to be strong. The jams wouldn’t make themselves. “Every additional minute you keep me from this will be an additional day of your dry spell.”

The vampire spawn jumped back from her as if he’d been scalded, scarlet eyes narrowing in on her. “You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t last an hour!”

Y/N turned around, crossing her arms as a devious smile bloomed on her lips, a brow raised in challenge. “Would you like to test those waters?”

Astarion stood, staring her down. His crimson gaze was blazing from underneath his lashes, but she didn’t budge. They’d played this game for close to three years as a couple now, and she’d learned very quickly – Astarion was very much so a cat. But especially – he was a cat that liked to knock things over while keeping direct eye contact with you, though the second you placed a palm underneath whatever it was he wanted for to fall, all his need for chaos disappeared. It just wasn’t fun anymore.

For twenty long seconds, Y/N and her pale elven lover didn’t break, hoping the other would crumble and be announced as the loser, but part of what he loved about her, was her stubbornness. It was because of that part of her personality, she’d stuck by him when his doubts had crept in, when his own mind called him worthless and not good enough for her, almost as if to spite those vicious words in his mind. She didn’t give up on the people she loved, and as luck would have it, Astarion owned her heart.

But Y/N also knew how to handle a cat like him, so just after a few more tense moments, his eye twitched, and he huffed in defeat.

“Fine,” he scoffed. “But if you are not done by sundown, I shall have no other option but to drag you away from the stove. Kicking and screaming preferred.”

Y/N simply shook her head, and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling the man into a deep, breathless kiss, but not before nipping at his bottom lip, dragging the piece of flesh between her teeth and making him let out a desperate moan. “I’ll even let you tie me up if you wish to do so.”

Astarion’s pupils almost swallowed the red irises in a matter of seconds, as he threw his head back in a groan. “My love, you’re absolutely killing me here.”

“Then I hope whatever punishment you deem fit for me, will be just oh, so sweet.” Y/N stepped back, untangling herself from him, but the mischievousness in her eyes didn’t lessen.

She could see how the words tortured him, how it took every single last piece of his fraying self-control, to not rip off her apron and the clothes underneath and just lay her down on the kitchen table, legs spread with his mouth licking into her until she orgasmed.

With eyes holding nothing but pure lust and hands clenching and unclenching, Astarion retreated. Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t hot and bothered and absolutely dripping between her thighs, and the thought of finishing those jams was the last thing on her mind, but she did have to do it. If only to keep him waiting longer, knowing whatever his beautiful brain was cooking up would leave her screaming and shaking for hours.

They’d been growing their own vegetables and fruits, Y/N tending to them during the nights to spend more time with Astarion as he fussed over his flower gardens, so it would simply be wasteful to leave their berries to rot. The year had been very generous and offered a variety of things to gather, so a while back, she’d decided to pickle some of the tomatoes and cucumbers, turn another batch of peppers and tomatillos into sauces while the sweeter things would be turned into syrups and jams.

Y/N shook her head, trying to clear it from the haze of lust, as the aroma of lemons and cranberries, raspberries and oranges wafted all around, encasing her in the scent. She was just about to add the sugar when the tin rattled with the sound of the last grains left.

Her brow furrowed as she opened the lid and looked inside. Sure, enough it was empty.

The woman huffed. She was absolutely positive she’d gotten the right amount during the last trip, but somewhere along the way it seemed a miscalculation had happened, and now she had to get more. Y/N would have asked Astarion, and had the sun dipped below the horizon, he would have jumped at the request, but alas his little vampiric predicament forbade him from walking during the day, the sun still high in the sky from what she could see through a tiny slit in the shutters.

Quickly, Y/N snuffed out the flame below the pot, untied her dirtied apron and grabbed a basket from the pantry, tying a pouch of coins to her side. She only needed sugar, but maybe she would grab some other necessities as well. They were low on Astarion’s favourite wine, one he claimed didn’t taste like vinegar at least.

“I’m off to the market really quick,” Y/N announced as she peeked into the living room, taking in Astarion as he flipped a page in a book. “Do you want anything?”

“No, my love.” He looked at her like a love-sick puppy. “Just your darling self back as quick as you can. I have picked up some… inspiration for your punishment if you will. Just as you suggested, of course.” He closed the book, showing the cover to her.

Heat crawled all over her body as she read the title, one of her smuttier romances she had started to read, and when she could do nothing but gulp and nod, his smile turned from a sweet one into a wicked-fanged thing. It was all she needed to know whatever awaited her once she was done would leave her unable to walk. Gods, she needed to finish this whole thing up as quickly as she could.

Y/N was out the doors like the wind, the usual stroll to the market cut from half an hour into a brisk fifteen-minute jog, the thoughts of the man waiting back home for her at the forefront of her mind.

The needed sugar, some coffee beans, a loaf of fresh bread, Astarion’s wine and some sour cream were all bought in quick succession, Y/N didn’t even try to haggle. Her eyes drifted across various stalls and merchants and she almost deemed it done when her gaze caught onto a rose seedling. It was a beautiful bloom with blood-red petals that whitened at the very tips. She smiled and went to buy it. Astarion would love the symbolism even if a bit too on the nose.

Once satisfied with everything, Y/N marched across the market and was back on the road to home. It was a humble little house they’d purchased with whatever had been left in their pockets after all was said and done with the tadpoles, but Astarion had bigger plans. This was only a temporary situation.

“I want a whole room full of books. Nothing but books from one end to the other and then some,” he’d confided in Y/N one night after both were panting and spent from multiple rounds of bringing the other to ecstasy.

“And a large ballroom,” he continued, and Y/N couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped her.

“A ballroom? And what will we do with that?”

“Why, have grand balls, of course!” He threw his hands up in the air as if her question was preposterous.

“Star…” Y/N tilted her head to look up at him from where she was lying on his naked chest. “You hate people. A ballroom full of them – it would be your literal nightmare.”

“I don’t hate people.”

“I don’t count.”

“Alright,” he conceded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. Y/N placed her palm atop where his heart was and rested her chin on it, looking deep into his eyes. “I hate most people, simply dislike them, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a get-together, from time to time. Maybe… maybe see our friends. Catch up on how they’re doing. I absolutely despise to admit this and will say you are lying if you ever mention it to anyone, but I – I miss them… even Gale…”

A gentle smile lifted her lips as she brushed a wild curl out of his face and tucked it behind his pointy ear. “I think I’d really like that too.”

His eyes were so soft and full of love, that Y/N swore she could feel his heart beating once more in his chest, thudding against her palm in a confession of adoration.

She was almost out of the city by that point, already on the small, secluded road leading to their house which lay on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate right by the edges of the woods, so Astarion had easier access to game in between feeding on her when her attention was drawn back by someone calling out.

“Miss!” the voice, male she made out, yelled after her. “Miss, please wait!”

Instantly, her guard was up, but when a breathless man, looking to be in his late sixties appeared from behind a copse of trees, she somewhat relaxed. Y/N was still cautious, but if anything, she had a dagger holstered against her thigh. She was always prepared.

“Miss,” he gasped out, leaning his hands against his knees to catch his breath. “Miss, you are a quick one. I’ve been calling for you since by the rose stalls."

“Oh, I – I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you!” Y/N said but didn’t move forward. “How can I help?”

He huffed, as if regaining her breath, before fishing out a piece of fabric from his pocket, and extending it towards her. “You dropped this by the flowers.”

When she took a closer look at what he was holding, it seemed to be some sort of a silk scarf. She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t own silk scarves and definitely hadn’t worn one on such a warm day. “You must have mixed me up with someone, as it’s not mine. Sorry, for you to have troubled yourself like this.”

“No.” The man furrowed his brow, taking a step closer. “I am fairly certain I saw you drop it. Such a fine piece… didn’t want you to lose it.”

Y/N took a step back, angling herself in a defensive position with the basket in front of her. She didn’t like the tone he was speaking in, nor the way his eyes seemed to be appraising her. “No,” she asserted. “It’s not mine.”

His back stiffened, eyes growing cold, the grip on the scarf tightening as he hummed. “Well… a pity then.”        

She took another step back, but he was already lunging at her.

Dropping the basket to the ground, she reached for the knife strapped at her thigh, but he was quick as a viper as she hadn’t even noticed when a rope appeared in his hands, lashing it at her. Years of having fought had kept her agile and aware, but years of domestic bliss with Astarion had dulled her senses a bit.

The rope caught and wrapped around her ankle, knocking her to the ground. Y/N’s teeth clattered and snapped, her tongue almost in between them, but as he rushed to pin her down, she twisted her leg around the rope and pulled, making the man lose his balance and stumble.

It was enough for her to swipe her leg underneath his, and send him sprawling. It was enough for her to untangle her legs and roll away as he snapped it at her head. Her clothes were dirty as was her face, but it didn’t matter. She’d cover herself in blood if needed.

It was almost animalistic how she pounced – teeth bared, a snarl ripping from her throat and hands forming claws as if she would gouge at his face with just his nails, but as her palm brushed her thigh, unclipping the holster for her dagger, Y/N didn’t see the man had crouched on his knee and swung the cord.

It knocked the air out of her, as it wrapped around her chest, and he pulled her down, hard. Her ribs were screaming as the tether tightened and tightened with every pull, but as she thought this would be it, something strange happened – instead of offering her the killing blow, he opened a palm, now covered in a leather glove, and blew the contents of it onto her face.

Y/N coughed and sputtered, but whatever it was, was fast-acting and her lungs, still incapable of proper breathing due to the rope couldn’t expel it. In just a few seconds, the bright day around her turned into darkness.

She didn’t know how long she was unconscious for, but enough time had passed to dry out her throat. Or was that a side effect of whatever was blown into her face? In any case, as she slowly came to, Y/N noted there was a soft mattress under her body, which was an oddity for someone kidnapped. She could even tell the dagger was still by her thigh, the comforting weight of the blade pressed under her. Even weirder, if you asked her, to not disarm your victims.

Darkness still encompassed her, but the soft cloth against her cheeks told her she hadn’t permanently lost her vision, but with her sight obscured, she had to rely on her ears. That’s when voices invaded her senses.

There were three people somewhere further away, most likely in a different room if taken by how muffled the words were. She focused harder on what they were saying.

Two men and a female, Y/N differentiated, when the woman spoke.

“This is not what we agreed upon!” she hissed, and a grumbly-sounding man scoffed.

“You said to get her to you. I did. You never specified how.” It was the same man who’d knocked her out.

“We want her to help us!” A different male voice, this one softer, even kinder, rebutted. “I highly doubt kidnapping is a good incentive for that!”

“Look,” her assailant said. “I fulfilled my end of the deal. She is unhurt, maybe she'll sport a couple of bruises and a headache, but that is her own fault. She could have come willingly but didn’t. Other than that, though – she is completely fine. Now you do your part!”

As the trio argued between themselves, more angry whispers than shouting, Y/N started to shimmy her hands which had been bound, out of the restraints. She had a good inclination they needed her alive but had no want of staying as a prisoner.

Though her fighting skills seemed to have mellowed, which she was not happy about, even a couple of years without mortally dangerous adventures, hadn’t changed how quickly she could slip her wrists from their bindings.  Astarion might need to get more creative during their debauchery.

Y/N froze the second she heard a door open and shut, two pairs of footsteps moving closer and closer to where she was. Her breathing was shallow and almost imperceptible, as she tried to make it look like she was still unconscious.

She could sense two bodies enter the room and one move to stand where she faced, the other going to her back.

Y/N tensed. In just a few moments, whoever was behind her, would notice her undone binds. But she’d be ready.

“Darling, please be careful,” the woman said, a tremble in her voice.

Good. Let them be scared.

“Don’t worry,” the man replied. “I’ll just make sure she’s – what in the -”

But Y/N was already up, the blindfold off and ready to pounce. This time, she’d have the upper hand.

For a second, the light in the room blinded her, but her sight refocused fast enough to take in her captors’ faces.

The woman was beautiful, with high rosy cheekbones, and jade green eyes so vivid they looked like actual gemstones. Her hair was long and dark, down to her waist while grey strands seemed to have invaded the brown tresses in some places, but she was still ethereally gorgeous, her pointy ears covered in piercings.

Y/N snapped out of the shock quicker and using this to her advantage, she was behind her in a matter of a blink, her dagger pressed tight against her throat.

A gasp entered her ears, but she just pressed the blade harder, making her whimper.

“Please!” the man made her look at him, but instead of bracing for an attack, he had his hands up in surrender. “Please don’t hurt her! We just want to talk.”

“Funny way of having a conversation you’ve got there.” Y/N tightened her grip on the knife, surveying the man. Again, those same pointed ears, but his eyes were the most brilliant blue she’d ever seen and his face was marred with more age lines than the woman’s, yet he still was as gorgeous as she. “Typically, only my enemies would knock me out and tie me up before spilling their grand plans. But I will be kind and give you a choice – what would you like to be – friends or foes?”

“Friends! Friends! Please! We – we’re looking for our son!” the elven man pleaded. “And we – we heard a rumour that you might know him. Have even seen him.”

Y/N narrowed her Y/E/C eyes, piercing his with her gaze. “I’ve known and seen a lot of people. Usually, others just ask me about them, they don’t have someone kidnap me.”

“And we’re sorry, we’re so very sorry, but we had to make sure you came. It went too far and we apologise, but please…” He took in a deep breath, worried eyes flipping between his partner and her. “Our son – his name is Astarion. Astarion Ancunin. Have you – do you know of him?”

Hearing his name, knocked the breath out of her as if they’d snapped a rope around her chest again, making her stumble back. Her grip on the woman released, and she used the moment to leap over to her partner, using the bed as a buffer. He instantly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her half behind his back, but not before checking if Y/N’s dagger had pierced the skin.

Tears brimmed in the eleven woman’s green eyes as she looked at her, not even caring that just a moment before she was so close to having her blood dripping on the floor. “Please,” she whispered. “I – I know we didn’t go about it the right way, but please… is it true he’s alive?”

"I,” Y/N stammered, her gaze snapping back and forth between the two.

Astarion.

They were Astarion’s parents.

Even after all this time, they were searching for their missing son.

Y/N should have noticed the details – how the woman had a small mole on her cheek right where Astarion did, how the shape of the man’s eyes was the exact same as his son’s. Astarion even had the same high cheekbones as his mother while his sharp jaw was that of his father.

What had his eyes been like before? Green like his mother’s or the sky blue of his father's? What had he been like as a child? No doubt as mischievous and scheme-prone as he was now, but who had he gotten it from? So many different questions rattled through Y/N’s brain as she kept glancing back and forth, before shaking her head and pulling her out of the shocked stupor.

“You – you’re Ancunins?” She had to ask. Had to make sure she hadn’t overheard them or maybe hallucinating because of the powder she’d inhaled.

“Yes.” The woman nodded, brushing tears from under her eyes. “Our son has been missing for more than two hundred years, and we almost lost hope until… until we heard about you and your company a few years back. How one of the party members resembled our little Star so much.”

They hadn’t been inconspicuous, though they had tried, so it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that tales of their adventures had gone far and wide, especially after saving Baldur’s Gate, killing Cazador and the absolute, and Gods know how many other evils along the way. But she never thought Astarion’s parents would have heard of it.

In fact, Astarion had barely even mentioned them over the years, and, for whatever reason, Y/N had concluded they must have passed, despite knowing elves lived extremely long lives. Had he maybe tried to find them on his own and couldn’t? Or had he forgotten about them?

Until Astarion and Y/N had become an official couple and she’d commissioned a portrait of him as a gift on an anniversary, he hadn’t even seen himself in two centuries. He’d forgotten what he looked like. It didn’t seem too crazy to assume, the memories of his parents’ names or their faces, might’ve slipped away as well, or even the love they had for him. Especially knowing how deeply Cazador had ruined that notion for him.

She needed to get home. She needed to see Astarion, and then she could figure out what to do.

“I need to go.” Y/N nodded to herself, muttering under her breath. “I need to think.”

“No, please!” the woman lunged, trying to grasp at her, but she had a knife pointed at her chest in an instant, making the elf shrivel back, but still, she pleaded. “Please help us. You’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate! If you can’t help, who will?”

“I promise I will do my best,” Y/N said. “But I need time… I – I need to figure all of this out.”

Her mind was swirling like a hurricane, but the man interrupted her breakdown as she realised how pretty much her in-laws, had kidnapped her. “At least tell us this – is – is it true he is alive? Or have we travelled across Faerun under the pretences of false hope?”

In truth, Y/N wanted to take them by the arms and drag them to her house, but whether Astarion wanted to reach out and reconnect, was up to him. That sort of a choice was not hers to make, but she could grant them this one request.

“He is.” Y/N nodded.

And then she left as quickly as she could because if she had to stand there and watch as the elves crumbled into one another, cries of relief and joy escaping into the slowly setting day, she would crumble too. Their faces were already permanently burned into her mind, and she needed a moment to process everything.

By a stroke of luck or fate, Y/N instantly recognised she was in the woods on the other side of Baldur’s Gate, so retracing her steps to the market was fairly easy even though the whole way back home, she was pretty much stumbling around in a daze, knocking into people and tripping over her own two legs.

Her discarded basket was right where she’d left it, gold coins scattered around it. The pouch must’ve broken during the struggle. Y/N made sure to pick every single piece up and was more than relieved to see, that the rose bloom was still intact.

By the time she arrived, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, and as the last rays warmed her back, she extended her palm to open the door, though she didn’t even get to touch the handle as it was ripped open by a visibly distressed Astarion.

His eyes looked like he’d been crying, his hair as if he’d been relentlessly raking his fingers through the locks and his lower lip so bitten, there was a small hole where one of his incisors had gone through.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Astairon instantly grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her in a bone-crushing hug, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. “Thank the Gods!”

Y/N dropped the basket over the threshold and closed the door with her foot, her own arms weaving around his middle, a palm soothingly brushing along his side, as he soaked her in.

“I’m alright, Star,” she said, kissing his temple and didn’t even make a noise as he gripped her waist tighter, right where bruises were forming. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, but I’m alright.”

“What happened? You said you’d be quick, but you were gone for hours! And you know what the worst part was – I couldn’t even go out looking for you because of the damned fucking sun!” Astarion cupped her face, turning it this way and that way, trying to find any injuries, but the biggest one would be in her head as she tried to figure out how to explain to him what had happened. “Gods, I am never letting you out of my sight again!”

Y/N indulged the vampire in the hug he pulled her in, holding him against her chest, trying to comfort him, but she was way too consumed with her new findings. Too quickly, as evident by the frown on Astarion’s face, she untangled herself from the embrace, anxiety immediately flashing over his handsome features.

She slid her arms from around his waist to take his palms into hers. “I – I don’t even know how to say this… How do you say something like that?”

Worry instantly marred his brow, and Y/N pressed a practised thumb between them, trying to soothe them away.

“Shit…” he muttered. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No!” She cupped his cheeks. “Astarion you’ve done nothing!”

“Then – then what?” He was tentative, still, scared Y/N might be angry at him. Or worse – wanted to leave, but her next words erased all that doubt.

“I…” She took in a deep breath. “Astarion, I met your parents today.”

Whatever he had expected, clearly that hadn’t been it. Probably a confession she’d met a past love, that their feelings were reignited and she wanted to go with them. But definitely not that.

He blinked once, twice, trice, completely and utterly stupefied before a small whisper of “What?” passed his lips.

“It’s why I’m so late,” Y/N explained. “They’d heard a rumour, that I knew you and had travelled with you during our tadpole situation, and came to me. Astarion, your parents are looking for you…”

A million thoughts seemed to swirl in his head, but Y/N held onto his hand through all of them.

“What,” he cleared his throat, “what did you tell them?”

“That I’d find them once I figured out what to do?”

“Which means?”

“Which means I would come home, give you this information and let you figure out what you’d like to do…”

So many emotions flashed across his face, but Y/N no longer needed that mind flayer tadpole connection it created – Astarion was an open book for her to read.

Joy. Such indisputable joy shone in his scarlet eyes before being consumed by confusion. Then anger and disgust and love, but by the end of it all his heart settled on one feeling – fear.

It’s what it knew best, though Y/N had tried her hardest to reduce it to ashes, yet still it lingered. She understood it, despite not being happy he ever had to feel it.

He feared what to do, what would be the right choice to make, he feared their reactions and what they would say of his disappearance or of his newest… condition. Would they accept him? Or would they be repulsed by him?

“What – what would I even say to them?” Astarion searched her Y/E/C eyes as if they held an answer, but when one magically didn’t appear, he hung his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I can’t even remember what they looked like. Their names, the house we used to live in… it’s all a fog.”

Y/N tried to give him an encouraging smile. “Well, your mother – she has the most beautiful green eyes. Like that dress you made for me for Summer Solstice, that same shade. And – and she has a little beauty mark on her cheek.” With a gentle thumb, she brushed over the mole. “Right in that same spot.”

His brows furrowed in concentration; his lips pinched tightly. “I – I remember blue eyes. Not green.”

“That might be your father's. His are azure I’d say. Like the summer sky. Gods, Astarion,” Y/N breathed out. “You look so much like them, but… honestly, the only thing you need to know right now is that they looked relieved.” Her voice was soothing as he tried to find lies in her words, but there would be none. “I didn’t tell them anything apart from the fact that you’re alive, and all I saw was complete and utter relief.”

Y/N placed a strand of hair behind his ear as he pondered. His carmine eyes slid to hers. “Do they want to see me?”

“Yes. It was the whole reason they sought me out because I might have a single scrap of information on you.” She’d mention the kidnapping later. Or maybe never, depending on how everything went. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“Is it,” he hesitated, as if ashamed to be asking such a question. “Is it alright if I think this over for a bit? I’m just – there’s so much going on in my head…”

“Of course, Star!” Y/N cupped his cheeks and placed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, his shoulders dropping, but she just shook her head.

“Nothing to thank me for. Not for this.”

And so, they continued on like that for a few days – Y/N didn’t bring the subject up, but she made sure Astarion knew, she’d be there whenever he needed to talk. Yet her mind couldn’t help but worry about the two elves in that little cottage on the other side of the town. How horrid it must be to wait for an answer that might never come, but her love was her first and only priority. When he decided it would be time, she’d support him no matter what.

It was a week after the revelation (and subsequent freakout on Astarion’s part when Y/N had removed her clothes before him, and he saw the raw skin and bruises on her ribs. She spent the whole night convincing him it was fine and talking him down from hunting the mercenary and bleeding him dry. She didn’t mention it had been his parents who’d hired him but rather said it had been an unfortunate coincidence), when Astarion awoke with a certain determination, shaking her awake.

She swatted at him like an insect buzzing by her ear. “Leave me be, you blood-sucking, elf!” Y/N grumbled, burying herself under the duvet. “It’s too early. And stop hogging the covers!”

She was just about to elbow him in the ribs if he didn’t let her sleep more, but what he said was like cold ice being poured over her, waking her up completely.

“I think I want to see my parents.”

Y/N was sat in a second. The sheet dropped down, exposing her naked chest, but she didn’t even feel the chilly air biting at her skin, even though Astarion’s gaze immediately dropped down to her breasts, eyes blazing with want.

Rolling her own eyes, she pulled the cover so that it obscured her indecency. Though it was his favourite outfit of hers, they needed to focus on the important things. “Are you sure? You can take all the time you need. There is no rush to this, and it’s a huge decision to make.”

“I’m sure,” Astarion sighed, running a hand through his moon-white locks and dropping back onto the pillows. “It’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about.”

Y/N worried her lip before sliding back down next to him, letting him wrap his arms around her body. She knew in moments like these, Astarion needed reassurance, and he craved being close to her. Holding her grounded him, and made his scattered thoughts into something solid.

She kissed right above where his heart lay. “If, you’re sure.”

“I am… I just… Will you be there?” Astarion looked down at her.

The woman gave him a smile. “Nowhere I’d rather be than by your side.”

Gently, he brushed a finger against her cheekbone and leaned to kiss her, thankful he’d found someone to walk the world with, especially during the moments he feared he might break.

The day before they’d decided on meeting, Y/N ventured out to the cabin to inform the elven couple of Astarion’s decision. Once they’d seen her walking up through the window, they were out before she even managed to get to the door, faces full of hope.

“Astarion, he wants to come and see you, but there are some… conditions…”

His mother’s brow furrowed, the grimace so familiar it sent a pang through Y/N’s heart, but she swallowed it. “Whatever he needs. Whatever you both need. Anything for our little Star.”

“So… please just don’t question this, but umm… physical contact – I know I can’t possibly understand how you feel, but let him come to you first. It might not make sense, but it’s important that he is the one to make that step.”

“Of course,” Astarion's father nodded, his mother eagerly agreeing.

“And umm… he’ll be different. He might not look like the elf you remember him being. The world wasn’t kind to him for a long time… Please don’t mention this.”

Pain flashed across their faces at her words. They must have assumed something horrible had happened to him, but to have it confirmed was a different kind of agony. But as Y/N had asked – they didn’t question, simply nodded, holding onto one another a bit tighter.

“Alright.” Her heart was somewhat settled. “Thank you. We – uh- we’ll see you later tonight then.”

And with that, she left only to find Astarion pacing the inside of their hallway upon her return.

“Is it sundown already?” He snapped his neck to her as she removed her cloak, visibly upset when Y/N shook her head.

“A couple more hours, I’m afraid,” she said, taking his hand and kissing his palm, placing it against her cheek. “Please stop worrying. It will all be alright.”          

“But what if I’m making a mistake?”

She raised her brow. “Do you think you’re making a mistake?”

“N-no?” Astarion huffed. “I don’t know. I know I want to see them at least once, but what if it’s best to leave the past in the past? Why torture myself and exhume it, so to speak?”

“You can leave it all behind if that’s what you wish. But, Star, you also have the rarest of opportunities people get – a second chance.” She stepped close to him, pulling his head down by the nape of his neck so they could rest their foreheads against one another. “But you can always leave. You can always say “no.” And if someone doesn’t get that, no matter who they might be, I will gut them navel to throat.”

Astarion chuckled, brushing his nose against hers. “My knight in bloody armour, always ready to ride into battle for me.”

Y/N pecked his lips in response. “As long as I get my kisses at the end of it – without a second to spare.”

They spent the couple of hours waiting until the sun went down cleaning up around the house and then it was time to go.

As Astarion took a deep breath before closing the door, Y/N squeezed his hand. “We can turn back whenever you want to.”

But he seemed determined, only giving her a reassuring smile and twining their fingers together, her hand in his solid hold.

They walked slowly, enjoying the warm night gracing Baldur’s Gate, and soon enough they were through the city and past the woods, a small log cabin coming into view.

He stopped them a few feet away, taking in a moment to gather his thoughts and emotions.

Y/N glanced at him encouragingly. “Are you ready, Star?”

Astarion took in a deep breath, held it in for a moment and then exhaled, nodding. With this confirmation, she released his hand and ventured to the door, gently rapping her knuckles against it, immediately returning to stand beside her lover.

Instantly his palm was back into hers, as if he needed her to ground him, reassure him everything would be alright as nervous energy coursed through his veins while they waited for the inhabitants to come and see them. And though it was probably no more than ten seconds since she’d knocked, it felt like time had stood still. Once the doors opened, even nature quieted down.

The breeze shushed the tweeting birds and seemingly even the worms digging underground stopped their burrowing as finally, after two hundred years, the lost Ancunin son returned.

They stood like that for what seemed like ages, just taking one another in, before a small sob of Astarion’s name from his mother’s lips broke the spellbound silence.

It’s when he rushed for her, the elf already on her feet, meeting him halfway. Her arms wrapped tight around his body, hands smoothing down the back of his head as all the while she kept whispering “My Star, my little Star, you’re home.”

Y/N was on standby, ready to rip her away if Astarion became overwhelmed. She’d asked them to allow him to be the one to make the first step, and they had, but with such all-encompassing feelings, she just wanted him to be safe.

Though all that anxiety dissipated like ice under the blazing hear of the sun when Astarion practically melted against his mother, his fingers digging into her shoulders and back as if he never wished to be let go, both of them crumbling to their knees, still in each other’s embrace.

Tears welled along Y/N’s bottom lashes and when his father joined them, wrapping his arms around his family, they fell like rain on an autumn evening. She had to press a hand against her mouth to not sob out loud, but it didn’t seem like anyone would care, as Y/N noted Astarion’s shoulders shaking while his mother and father were freely crying, all the while touching and caressing his face, trying to ingrain the memory of having their son back in their arms.

She couldn’t imagine that feeling, didn’t ever want to, of finally being reunited with a family which you were so brutally ripped away from. Y/N almost wanted to resurrect Cazador, just so she could drive a stake through his heart again, but that might’ve been a bit too morbid of a thought in such a tender moment.

“You’re home.” His mother pulled back, cupping Astarion’s cheeks and smiling from ear to ear. “Our little Star is back home.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he choked out, but his father shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here. That’s enough for us.”

Y/N watched as he took in the people who’d searched for him relentlessly. He never knew they’d never given up. She wondered if there would be a time, he’d believe he was worth all it. She certainly hoped so.

“Thank you,” the elf with eyes like jade said, snapping her eyes towards Y/N. “You have no idea what kind of a gift you’ve bestowed upon us. We will never be able to repay you.”

She could only wave them off, a knot in her throat. “You owe me nothing. Seeing this – this is enough for me. I’ll – uh – I’ll leave you to it then.”

Just as she was about to turn around, Astarion jumped to his feet, untangling himself from the limbs of his parents, eyes full of concern. “What? Why? What’s wrong?” He was by her side in an instant, pulling her hand to rest against his chest.

“Nothing!” Y/N shook her head. “I just – I just think maybe I should take my leave. I can be back in a few hours if you’d like, but this just all seems like – like a private family reunion.”

Astarion scoffed, his free arm weaving around her waist, completely offended. “And what exactly do you think you are to me if not family, my love? Arguably, you might be the most important part of it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that -,”

“Hush now!” he scolded her. “You promised to be by my side through everything. Are you breaking that promise?”

“No, I just,” she stammered. “Are you sure you don’t want me to leave you to it? This just feels awfully personal.”

“My love, you are the keeper of my heart. You are my true home.” Astarion cupped her cheek, resting his brow against hers, chest against chest, not caring who might see. “Without you, none of this would have happened. I could still be on that beach with a mind flayer tadpole wriggling behind my eye.” He took her hand, and kissed her knuckles, sighing as they brushed against his jaw. “I don’t want to do this without you. I want to relearn who my parents are, and I want them to get to know me, but a non-negotiable part of that is you. That is if it’s alright with you?”

A tear slipped down her cheek, as she looked deep into those ruby eyes that once held nothing but fear and pain, only to now show love and compassion and happiness. When she smiled, her grin could have rivalled the sun itself. “I’d be honoured.”

When they glanced at the two elves by the threshold of the house, they noted the horrified looks on their faces. Astarion’s guard was immediately up, but his mother beat him to it.

“My Star, I am so sorry!” She put a hand over her mouth. “We swear we didn’t know you two were lovers! We just...” She glanced at her husband in desperation, but it seemed the little scene they’d put on had rendered him speechless. “Had we known, we would have never…”

Astarion squinted at her, a dangerous note appearing in his voice. “Never would have what?”

“Oh Gods, we had your partner kidnapped,” his father finally got out, eyes only widening in more shock as it settled that Y/N wasn’t just a travelling companion or a friend, but just what she really meant to Astarion.

“You did what?!” His head snapped to Y/N who now retreated to stand between the two shocked elves, and her quite furious boyfriend.

“Astarion, it’s alright,” she tried to calm him down. “They didn’t know! Besides, I heard them arguing with that mercenary. They didn’t hurt me. In fact, I,” she let out a nervous chuckle, “I held a knife to your mother’s throat. So, call it even and let’s move past it?”

His gaze was hot like the flames, as it burned into her. “We will discuss this later.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her before taking a deep breath and exhaling. “This is absolutely not how I ever imagined a family reunion to go, let alone the introduction of my partner.”

Y/N’s shoulders dropped as he broke the settled tension, but something in his eyes told her she’d pay for her omissions. And oh, how delicious that punishment would be.

His mother still seemed to be all nerves as she invited them inside, spouting apologies in Y/N’s direction, but when she took the elf's hand in hers and gave a comforting embrace, she relaxed a little. “Let’s let the bygones be bygones.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she smiled, and wrinkles of age and time appeared around her eyes.

It was awkward at first, two centuries of hurt laying between them, two centuries of torture on Astarion’s end, of lost love and people, but slowly they opened up. And when his mother mentioned how he always used to bury his nose into strawberry fields, because it reminded him of his mother’s hair care products, it was like a damn had been opened.

The memories were still there, buried under layers of pain and horrors, but there. Maybe a little jumbled up and out of sorts, but with every hour spent together, locks were being broken and a light long lost lit up again.

Astarion had changed, but so had his parents. He let them know of his adventures, how he met Y/N and how she had turned his world upside down but abstained from the more gruesome parts. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever, but if he so wished, she knew his parents would be there to listen and welcome his vulnerably with open arms.

An hour before the sun resumed its place in the sky, Y/N nudged Astarion, telling him it was time to leave. She had little doubt in her mind, his parents had caught onto what he was, even if they hadn’t mentioned Cazador. If not for the shape of his elongated canines, or the colour of his eyes, which Y/N had found out had been a beautiful shade of pale green, then because of the brutal scars on his neck. But they still pulled him into a hug with such vigour, it was like they feared they’d never see him again, which was probably a thought always haunting their minds.

“Would – would you like to come over to ours?” Astarion asked, still holding onto his mother’s hands. “It’s a bit of a mess, our place, but if you come after the sun’s down, I’m sure we can have it proper enough to take on guests.”

It was an odd request, but thankfully, neither his mother nor father said anything about the specific time request, simply hugged him once more and promised to be by their door the second the sun dipped, wine and lemon cakes in hand.

As they waved their goodbyes, Astarion slipped his palm into Y/N’s and made sure they walked all the way back like that. Once behind a closed door, he pulled her into his chest relishing in the way their bodies melded together – two puzzle pieces finally connecting and forming the most magnificent picture to exist.

“What is it like to be finally home?” Y/N asked as he swayed them to a tune only, he heard.

Astarion shook his head, pulling slightly back so he could cup her jaw. “My love, I have been home for a long time now. I’ve been safe and cared for, all thanks to you.” His eyes were so full of love and adoration, she almost choked on a breath. “Now… now it just feels complete. So thank you… thank you for being my home,” he muttered that little confession against her skin, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“Always, my love.” Y/N didn’t hide the tears rolling down her face and he brushed them away with a soft thumb. “Always.”

When their gazes locked, all she could see was excitement for what the new day had to offer, and she knew whatever was in store, as long as they were by one another’s side, there was nothing they couldn’t overcome.

But for all that, there was an important thing she was unaware of.

As Y/N entered their living room, talking to herself and making a list of what they had to do before his parents arrived, Astarion stood and watched her, leaning against the doorframe, all the while his hands rested in his pocket, where in one of them, a beautiful ring was being twirled between his fingers.

Before they’d left, his mother had slyly pulled it off her own hand, pressing it into his palm, and whispering to him while hugging that she didn’t want to see Y/N without it the next time around.

Astarion had no intention of living his life without Y/N as his fiancé for a second longer.

When she turned around to find him on one knee, he didn’t even get to ask the question before she responded with a shout of “Yes!” and jumped on him, pulling him into a kiss he swore breathed life into his still chest.

He couldn’t wait to reintroduce Y/N to his parents as his intended.

Now all was as it should be. He was finally home. And somewhere in the garden, a rose bloomed in full.

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird

A/N: This idea was inspired by that one post of a painting Astarion's parents probably had of him, but had put away somewhere just so they didn't have to look a the son they lost, so I rectified it (Link to the inspo pic :) :( Now they have a portrait of Astarion and his love right above their fire place :)

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don't plagiarise or repost on other platforms.

[garysprites]

just how big are the planets in homestuck?

this is a question that has been in the back of my mind for a while now and i thought i might as well try to figure it out.

first we're gonna need a good reference point.

fortunately andrew hussie made this part easy for me.

we know the stick on the floor in this panel is a meter stick with exactly 8.56cm snopped off to make it exactly one yard. as a canadian im more comfortable working in the metric system, but i'll take what i can get.

at its longest points, this stick is 211 pixels in length. 211 divided by 3 is 70.33333333…

let's round this down to the first decimal point to make things easier for myself.

ok so in the homestuck universe one foot is 70.3 pixels. at 417 pixels, this would make hussie in the same panel just shy of 6 feet (1.8m) tall.

with this unit of measurement we can start measuring other things.

john, at 222 pixels from the bottom of his shoes to the top of his hair, comes out at 3.2 feet (1m). quite short for a 13yo, but i digress.

safe assumption that john remains 3.2 feet no matter how far away you are. with john zoomed out to 87 pixels in height, a foot is now equivalent to 27.2 pixels, again rounded to the first decimal point. that would make the alchemiter next to him, at 278 pixels, 10.2 feet (3.1m) tall. the door, at 179 pixels, is 6.6 feet (2m) tall. the window, at 125 pixels, is 4.6 feet (1.4m) tall.

let's zoom out again.

john is a minuscule 27 pixels in this panel. the doors are a diminutive 51 pixels tall and the windows a whopping 36 pixels. alliteration aside, this would make a foot at this distance a mere 8 pixels. with this in mind, the entire house, at 703 pixels tall on the right-side wall (not including the railing), is 87.9 feet (26.8m) tall.

once again we zoom out.

the same wall in this panel is 117 pixels tall, making a foot from this distance a mere 1.3 pixels. the pillar it rests atop of, from the end of the driveway to the point where it meets the clouds, is 182 pixels or 140 feet (42.7m) tall.

one more zoom out.

the combined 227.9 feet (69¹.5m) of the house and pillar combined have been reduced to a mere 10 pixels here. with the length of a foot now immeasurably² small, let's just go ahead and make this our new point of reference. at 250 pixels, the diameter of LOWAS is the same as 25 of john's house plus pillar, or 5,697.5 feet (1,737m). this would make its circumference 17,899.2 feet (5,456m).

we only need to measure LOWAS its been demonstrated a few times that all the homestuck planets are roughly the same size.

at a diameter of less than a two kilometers, the homestuck planets would most likely be astronomically classified as asteroids. it would take about an hour and a half to walk all the way around a homestuck planet. not that you even could walk on it because assuming they had a density comparable to earth, homestuck planets would have an acceleration of gravity of 0.0000000000000001 m/s^2 (for reference earth's acceleration of gravity is on average 9.80665 m/s^2)

anyway that's how big the planets are in homestuck.

¹nice ²technically measurable i just dont feel like it

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |1|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Killings and Murder

Word Count: 3.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Sam sighed as she put her key in the door, slowly unlocking each of the locks. She wanted to go to the gym after her shift, but she forgot her gym bag at the apartment. She really needed to look into renting one of the lockers the gym had. Her gym wasn’t too far away but coming home meant having to deal with Tara and her friends.

“Hey,” Sam greeted.

Tara was stretched out on the couch, Chad had his knees pulled close to him as he sat on the floor, watching whatever movie they had thrown on, Ethan was curled up on one of the chairs, and then Anika sat in the recliner with Mindy draped over her. Sam opened her mouth to ask about Quinn when she heard the usual noise coming from Quinn’s room.

“They’ve been at it since we got home,” Tara mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Sam chuckled with a shake of her head. The only downside to Quinn as a roommate was how loud she was with her various partners. Sam made her way across the living room and towards her room. She quickly threw on a tank top and some sweats before grabbing her gym bag. She did a quick check to make sure she had a change of clothes, just in case, before grabbing her water bottle and making her way into the kitchen. As she filled her water bottle the sound of Mindy and Tara got louder, arguing about whatever they were watching.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two,” Sam said.

“Wait,” Chad said, making Sam stop just as her hand rested on the doorknob. “You’re going to the gym?” Sam nodded. “Cool if I join?”

“I thought you preferred the one on campus.”

“I do, but I missed my usual workout time and now it’s crowded,” Chad wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want deal with all that.”

It wasn’t that Sam didn’t want Chad to come with her, she liked working out with Chad. Mindy and Tara never wanted to step foot in the gym, Chad was literally the only person who would ever workout with her anyway. Chad was also a football player and had a solid routine, he taught Sam plenty when she first started working out.

“Fine,” she said.

Chad instantly jumped up from his spot on the floor. He rifled through his backpack until he finally pulled out a little gym bag. Chad was pretty much always ready to go to the gym, but he had a habit of doing a pretty intense workout and would always need a change of clothes.

The two of them waved goodbye to the others and began the trek to the gym. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk before the little, locally owned, gym came into view. It was the only thing in an otherwise abandoned parking lot, it was small, it was dated, but it had its own community. Sam knew she was all over the news, her history was out there for everyone to see, but not a single person in the gym ever questioned her or gave her a dirty look. Everyone who went to the gym was there to work out, they were also friendly and willing to help each other out if needed, and the owner was the same way, the kindest old man Sam had ever met. It was also a 24-hour gym, meaning Sam could get there in the middle of the night after a late shift and not be disturbed or she could go earlier, like now, and have the regulars around.

When they finally got there Sam swiped her badge, unlocking the door. As soon as they stepped into the gym Sam took in the slightly crowded room. Chad rested his hands on his hips and took a big whiff of the air. Sam glanced at him out of the side of her eye, furrowing her brow slightly.

“What?” Chad asked. “This is why I love coming here,” he gestured with his hands. “You can smell the sweat, smell the workouts being done!” Sam shook her head; Chad didn’t come to the gym with her often but whenever he did, he was like an overly excited child. “The one at school has great equipment but it all smells new,” Chad wrinkled his nose. “No matter what…” he began rubbing his chin as if he was contemplating the deep question as to how the gym could always smell that good.

Sam lightly slapped him on the shoulder and pushed him towards the weights. She had never worked out in Chad’s gym, she wasn’t allowed to since she wasn’t a student, but she had seen it a few times and knew Chad was right, the school seemed to have all the new equipment. Her gym didn’t have much, just a couple of each of the standard pieces of machinery. The gym had enough to give whoever came in a full workout, but everything was clearly worn-down from years of use. Sam thought the used equipment just added to the gym’s character.

As Sam followed behind Chad towards the weights she caught sight of you over in the back corner of the gym, where you always were. She shook her head, she was there to workout, the sooner she finished her workout, the sooner she could get back home, and the sooner she could go to sleep. They each put in their respective earbuds then each grabbed a set of dumbbells and began their warmup before they could get started on the true workout.

After a quick warmup Sam and Chad both made their way to the chest press machine. Sam did everything in her power not to look at you and only focus on her workout. You were in her peripheral and it was taking all her focus not to turn her head just a little more to get a better visual. She tried to focus on just getting her reps in and that be that. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to listen to her music as she finished up her last few reps.

“Hey,” Chad said, tapping her on the arm. She looked up to see he had already finished his workout and was now on his feet and stretching. “Spot me?” he nodded at a bench press that was open.

Sam nodded, she didn’t use the bench press often because she usually didn’t have a spotter and as nice as everyone was in the gym she didn’t want to inconvenience any of them by asking. As much as she wanted to continue her workout, she didn’t mind the break if it meant helping Chad.

Sam stood behind the bench as Chad got the weights into place then laid down. She got her hands ready, holding them under the bar as Chad got ready to start lifting. Sam stayed behind Chad, watching as he started doing his reps, ready to grab the bar if he needed. At least that’s what she was supposed to be doing. The bench press was on the opposite side of the gym still, but it gave Sam the perfect view of you.

Her gaze was intense as she stared straight ahead, stared straight at you. You were across the way, hitting the punching bag, like you usually were. You were one of the regulars at the gym and you ran on almost the same schedule as Sam. Sam had never spoken to you, she couldn’t deny that you were quite attractive though. Though being on such a similar schedule as her made her suspicious.

There were times, like now, when you were there, training with a few of the others around in the gym. Then there were times where it was late at night, and no one was in the gym save for you and Sam. Sam had almost left the first time she got to the gym thinking she was alone, only to see you there. The only reason she didn’t leave then or any time after that was because you never did anything. You would sometimes acknowledge Sam with a simple nod, like a lot of the regulars, and that was it, otherwise you focused on your workout. You didn’t really talk to anyone, though neither did Sam, the only time you truly engaged with someone else was when one of your buddies was with you.

Whenever you were there Sam’s eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards you, even across the room. Maybe in another life, one where she wasn’t so paranoid, one where she was normal, she might have approached you, just over a year ago she would have even flirted with you, she might have even asked you out, but her life wasn’t normal. You were cute but you were mysterious, and a mysterious stranger was exactly what Sam’s life didn’t need.

“What are you looking at?” Chad asked, snapping her out of her daydream.

Sam looked down to see Chad had put the bar back up, even without her assistance. His hands still rested on the bar, but he was looking up at Sam curiously.

“Nothing,” Sam said, trying to brush him off.

This was exactly why she liked going to the gym alone. She liked to go to the gym and just get her workout done without any distractions, she also didn’t want the others to know about you. You were her little secret, her little crush, the first crush she had had since Richie. If any of the others had learned that she was even remotely attracted to you she’d never hear the end of it, especially not from Mindy or Tara. Despite hating the gym, if her sister and Mindy knew about you, they’d be begging her to come with her every day.

“Who is that?” Chad asked. He was now sitting up on the bench and looked back at Sam with a smirk.

Sam closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, she was just hoping she wasn’t blushing. Based on the way Chad’s eyes darted from her to you she knew Chad had figured out exactly what she was looking at. “Nobody,” she mumbled.

“That,” Chad pointed at you with a light chuckle. “Is not nobody.”

“They’re just a regular at the gym,” she tried waving it off again.

Sam walked off, making her way to the treadmill. She was silently begging for Chad to drop it, she hoped that if she didn’t acknowledge it then he’d forget about it, he wouldn’t say anything to Mindy or Tara. She hopped on the treadmill and began at a slow and steady speed, she liked to work her way up to a light jog.

She stared straight ahead, ignoring Chad as he leaned against the side of the machine. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I go say hi to them then,” he said. Sam stumbled, nearly tripping over her own feet as she snapped her head towards Chad.

“Don’t,” Sam warned.

“I’m just going to ask if they want to spar,” he held his hands up but was already walking away from Sam and in your direction. Sam didn’t miss the slight smirk on Chad’s face as he made his way towards you.

Sam let out a huff and started smacking her feet harder as she quickened her pace. If she finished her workout early then she had every intention of leaving Chad there, she might even lock the door and refuse to let him in the apartment for the rest of the night. She couldn’t help but glance out of the side of her eye every few seconds, catching sight of Chad as he approached you and tried striking up a conversation. It didn’t seem to be going as he intended based on the way you were shaking your head as he gestured from himself to you and then to the boxing ring in the middle of the room.

Most of the time Sam saw you alone at the punching bag. You would have your earbuds in and just focus on hitting the bag, as if the entire world disappeared and it was just you and the bag. At other times, like now, when the gym was busiest, Sam noticed that sometimes you’d get in the ring with one of the guys and spar a bit. You always used the same guys though, you didn’t randomly grab someone, and it seemed like you tended to deny anyone who just came up you, like she was sure Chad was about to find out.

After a few minutes of trying to convince you, Chad finally walked back over to Sam with his head hung low. Chad jumped onto the treadmill with a dramatic sigh and began a light walk. Sam rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Chad’s ridiculousness and focused on finishing her workout.

“What happened?” Sam finally asked, taking pity on Chad.

“They said no,” he mumbled, kicking his feet at the treadmill as he continued to pout.

“They don’t usually spar with random people.” Behind Chad Sam could see you getting in the ring with one of your buddies. Neither of you had on any sort of gear besides the tape on your hands. “And I think you’re about to see why.”

Chad scrunched his eyebrow then turned back to where you were in the boxing ring, you and your buddy already circling each other. You waited for your friend to throw the first punch, like you always did. You blocked your friends’ first few shots then you started throwing your own punches. The two of you went back and forth, dealing blow after blow, each of you landed a few hits, but both of you blocked most of them.

“Damn,” Chad whispered.

Sam smirked as she went back to focusing on her workout. Despite never looking back at you she could tell you and your buddy were still at it based on the way Chad never changed the speed of his treadmill, his entire focus seeming to be on you. She wouldn’t deny it, watching you spar was something else, you clearly knew what you were doing, it was obvious you had some sort of training. Sam never understood why you didn’t spar with others who were willing, until she saw you for the first time, everyone else here was an amateur compared to you.

Sam turned off the treadmill and slowed her pace until she came to a gradual stop. “You good?” Sam asked. She took a swig of her water while she waited for Chad to acknowledge her presence again.

“What?” Chad looked back at her before quickly looking back at you. You brought your knee up, nailing your buddy in the ribs, then didn’t hesitate to punch him in the face. Chad visibly winced at the hit before hopping off the treadmill. “Let’s go!” he waved at her as if he was the one waiting on her.

Sam rolled her eyes and followed Chad. Before she walked out the door, she met your gaze as you turned in the ring, the two of you probably only held eye contact for half a second but it was enough to make Sam hold her breath. The last thing she saw before the door closed was you and your buddy resetting your positions and getting ready for another spar session.

Sam had to listen to Chad ramble about you the entire walk home. She usually wouldn’t mind her thoughts being consumed by you but since it was Chad rambling, she knew Mindy and Tara would surely hear about it. She was just hoping she could get into the apartment and into her room before Chad started telling them all the details.

Sam put the key in the door, unlocking all the locks once again. “They’re just so badass!” Chad said, his eyes wide as he gestured crazily with his hands. “I can’t believe you tried to keep them from me!” Sam sighed, pushing the door open.

“Who are you talking about?” Tara asked with a chuckle as soon as the two of them stepped into the living room.

“Another one of your lovers?” Mindy snarked, laughing at her brother’s expense.

“Not mine,” Chad quickly denied. “Sam’s,” he pointed back at Sam, who instantly froze as she dropped her keys into the little bowl beside the door. She didn’t need to look to know Mindy and Tara’s full attention was now on hers.

“You’re seeing someone?” Tara said. She was already on her feet and in front of Sam by the time she turned around.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Sam sighed.

“Who is this mysterious stranger?” Mindy asked, coming up right behind Tara, leaving Anika to sit alone without a second thought.

“Y/N,” Chad happily supplied. All three girls whipped their heads around to see Chad placed at the dining table, popping open a yogurt. Sam tried to hide her smile, she hadn’t known your name, it was a nice name.

“Tell us everything!” Tara said, dragging Sam by the hand to the dining table.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Sam shrugged. “I don’t even-”

“They’re badass,” Chad interrupted, never looking up from his yogurt. “I asked them to spar, and they said no but then I learned why.” Chad looked up at the ceiling in a daydream like state, tapping his spoon against the yogurt cup. “I want to spar with them even more now.” Sam furrowed her brow, tilting her head at the comment.

“You’ve been holding out on us Sammy,” Mindy said, bumping her shoulder as she plopped down into the seat next to her. Sam flicked a glare at her, but Mindy’s attention was fully on Chad. “Spill,” she ordered, leaning half her body across the table.

Sam crossed her arms and slumped back in her chair. She had to sit there and just listen as Chad rambled on and on about you. She wasn’t sure how he could possibly have so much to say, he talked to you for not even ten minutes. He gave the girls a complete recap of their entire gym experience, Sam was definitely regretting allowing him to come with her. He gestured wildly with his hands, trying to mimic the same punches you had been doing.

“Wow,” Tara and Mindy said at the same time, both leaning back in their chairs once Chad was done.

“Are you sure you’re not in love with them?” Mindy asked, tilting her head at her brother.

“No!” Chad said quickly, a little too quickly. “I just think they’re amazing and I admire their workout routine, and I just want to get to know them and become their best friend…” Mindy nodded but gave her brother an unconvinced look.

“Can we go to the gym with you tomorrow?” Tara asked.

“They might not be there,” Sam mumbled without thinking.

“Oh!” Mindy screeched right in Sam’s ear. “You know their schedule.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she looked past Sam and at Tara who was giving her a knowing nod.

“We have a very similar schedule,” Sam defended.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” Mindy sighed, leaning into Sam’s side.

“I’m not looking for a relationship!”

“Come on Sam,” Tara sighed, much more calm than before. “You deserve to be happy. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“My last boyfriend tried to kill all of us,” Sam deadpanned, looking her sister in the eye.

Tara opened and closed her mouth a few times as she nodded. “But what are the odds of that happening again?”

“Guys!” Anika called, interrupting whatever excuse Sam was going to come up with next. “You have to see this.”

Everyone got up from the kitchen table and moved to the living room just as Anika turned up the volume. Everyone remained silent as the news played, talking about the murder of two college students. Sam didn’t even react to Quinn coming out of her room and joining them.

“It’s got everyone asking, is this the work of Ghostface?” the news reported said, ending the broadcast before showing the picture of the two boys murdered.

“Holy shit,” Mindy said. “Those are the dudes from our film class,” she pointed at the screen.

“We have to leave, now.”

“What? No!” Tara said, instantly trying to fight Sam. “We don’t even know what this is!” she pointed to the TV. “It could be nothing; they were clearly freaks!”

“Are you really willing to take that risk?” Sam snapped.

“Quinn! Call your dad,” Tara whipped around to look at their roommate. “Let’s at least figure out what’s going on before you uproot my life.”

Sam held Tara’s glare but didn’t argue as Quinn called her dad. She understood where Tara was coming from, she knew Tara wanted things to go back to normal and just wanted a normal college experience. Sam wanted to just cut and run though, even if there was no proof that Ghostface was actually back, she didn’t want to take the risk. Sam couldn’t help the feeling that it was starting all over again.

[formulawolff]

fanboy behavior - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: an older man having an insanely large crush on a woman thirty years his junior, ONE-SIDED PINING (LOTS OF IT OKAY), allusions to smut/sexual fantasies, toto is a mess, mentions of divorce, common fic tropes, yadayadayada

a/n: this is sort of a prequel to alkaline! this is set one year before the events of the 2024 bahrain grand prix. toto is super down bad in this already, so expect lots of pining and him being a flustered mess hehe! i figured this would provide some context/background for the first chapter of alkaline <3 (ALSO PLS LISTEN TO ALKALINE BY SLEEP TOKEN!!! IT REALLY ENCAPSULATES TOTO'S YEARNING!!)

his mind is other places.

he should be invested in the current conversation with his engineers and drivers, discussing the current status of the car and the potential modifications that needed to be made before sunday.

but he's not, his foot tapping against the concrete floor absentmindedly, body on autopilot.

it's almost as if his brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to compute any sort of coherent thought in correlation with the task at hand. yet, if he tries, it just sputters, trailing off, veering towards something else.

well, someone else.

he's thinking about a driver, merely a few paddocks down.

a williams racing driver, actually.

the american girl. barely twenty-one, a rookie in the second williams seat, preparing to compete in her first formula one race in approximately twenty-four hours.

her eyes were like starlight, bursting with a torrent of emotions and complexity, pulling you into their depths, begging for you to get lost within them. her hair was absolutely gorgeous, complementing her features no matter its state.

and her physique?

fuck, the team principal felt like a teenage boy very time he stole a glance, his slacks feeling a little tighter than usual.

with a smile that lit up every room she was in, a radiant aura brimming with kindness and humility, as well as a fiery determination to compete, she was comparable to the sun.

the woman who was starting to become routinely embedded in his daily pondering.

ever since that fateful day in december, when his eyes first drank in that photo of her, hand interlocked with james in front of that williams car, she was the last thing on his mind before he dozed off. and well, the first thing his mind wandered to in the mornings.

she even made an appearance in his dreams, the sound of her voice almost haunting him, so tantalizingly sweet and angelic.

fuck, he was a goner.

this was the third month now where she consumed every crevice of his brain. a continuous loop of all of the sins he wanted to confess, the ways in which he wanted to touch her, and the burning desire to take her under his wing, teaching her all of the ins and outs of racing.

was he obsessed with her? surely not.

not that he memorized every single one of her f2 stats or anything. not that he spent a majority of his free time lately invested in interview clips with her, jotting down all of her favorite things. not that he doodled her during meetings or anything.

not that at least twelve times a day he fantasized about her in a mercedes suit, his fingers carefully tugging down the zipper.

this was normal behavior after a recent divorce. completely normal behavior, actually.

the team principal clears his throat, "i need to step away for a moment. i can barely think straight right now. please, continue. i will rejoin the conversation once i get my shit together."

he can't help but notice the way his drivers exchange a concerned glance, lewis coughing slightly.

"um, all right. toto, is everything okay?"

not quite.

he was going absolutely insane, his mind already reeling at the anticipation of potentially catching a glimpse of her. he wasn't even sure if he would or not, but that possibility sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

those endless possibilities are what kept him up at night. what sent the blood rushing in the mornings, the stiffness in his boxers nearly pulling him out of his slumber. what had him pacing some days in his office, desperate beyond belief for some sort of way to break this spell.

as he strolls out of the garage, a warm breeze rolls through the track, strands of hair blowing all over. he curses slightly, running a quick hand through the tousled mess.

just to his left, a flurry of voice catches his attention, his head swiveling, searching for the source.

besides james is the object of his every desire, the apple of his eye.

as the sun dips below the horizon, he can barely make out her expression. she appears frustrated, her brows furrowed together, a deep frown etched across her lips.

"i just don't fucking understand why that dickhead felt the need to ask me if i was on my period!" she groans, shaking her head, "what the fuck was i supposed to do? let that slide?"

there's a sternness plastered across james' face, yet his voice is soft, laced with sympathy, "i know, but you have to realize that you're going to be asked questions like that because there are misogynists within the sport. no matter how much you prove to us that you deserve this seat, there are going to be pricks out there. we can do a little bit more media training, if you'd like. or, i can hire a publicist for you."

"a publicist? are you fucking kidding me?" her eyes widen, her tone growing more and more frustrated, "i'm not fifteen. i can speak for myself, james."

"it was just a suggestion," he shrugs, sticking out his hands, "look, i know you had a rough day, but let's focus on tomorrow. all right? you're tenth on the grid. that's monumental for your first race. you could win us points."

"we'll see," she scoffs, the toe of her shoe scuffing against the pavement, "i'm sorry for getting upset with you. i'm just really nervous. and well, scared."

scared of what? you have nothing to fear, sweet girl. you're one of the best drivers i have seen step foot on the grid.

toto narrows his eyes, lingering for just a moment longer.

"i just don't know if i deserve this seat," he can sense the falter in her voice, how it shakes, "i don't even know if i deserve a spot in formula one. i mean, look at me! i'm this upset over a dumb question. and i'm just scared everything is going to go to my head tomorrow and i'm going to overthink it."

james wraps his arms around the driver, pulling her in for a tight embrace as a sob wracks her body, "hey, when you're in doubt, you have alex and i. we will always be there for you. i know you're nervous, but you have to realize how special and talented you are to be in this position. you've deserved everything that has come your way, and you will continue to deserve this. i promise."

his biceps flex as he folds his arms against his chest, every fiber of his being resisting the urge to just walk over there and casually sweep her off her feet, squeezing her against his chest as he murmurs in her ear how fucking special she was.

james, she wasn't just special and talented.

she was a fucking star. a star that deserved to shine and hold every ounce of that spotlight.

just like the sun, she deserved to cast her rays of light all over the world.

the world deserved to know who she was. where she came from. how she got here. why she was a worthy competitor and excellent driver.

and by god, toto wolff was hellbent on making that happen.

one way or another.

he just had to be patient. play the long game.

every move from here was to be carefully calculated.

as toto harbored a plan. one that had been brewing the second that speculations swirled around the world of formula one that the first female american driver would be signing to a team.

he was going to have her by his side at mercedes.

fuck, he had been yearning for her this long already.

how much harm would a few more months do? a year?

he could wait a year. he was a patient man.

well, he could wait that long.

as long as that hunger gnawing away at him didn't kill him first.

[evie-sturns]

Intersection - Matt Sturniolo

summary: after not driving for a few months, you accidentally rear end matts car at an intersection.

contains: crying, swearing, comforting, angry!matt.

-------------└── •✧• ──┘--------------

i haven't drove in the past 6 months that i've been away in Florida, but now i'm back in Boston im slowly starting to get back into it.

8:37pm

i flick my left indicator, swinging round the corner as frank ocean blares through my small white car.

the road is slippery due to the weather recently, the small puddles on the concrete shining from the illuminating street lights above.

i hum to the song as i accelerate, pressing my foot harder on the small pedal as i keep a reasonable distance between the grey van in front.

i check my wing mirrors, there's no cars behind me so i speed up, closing the distance between me and the car ahead.

theres an upcoming intersection, the traffic light is green, i look down at my cupholder for a split second, my bottle of water splashing up out of the bottle with every rock i drive over, "shit.." i mutter, reaching a hand down and fiddling with the cap.

i gasp as i look up, the light is red and the car which is 3 feet in front of me has come to a complete halt.

my heart drops as my mind goes blank.

"oh my god." i shout as the front of my car smashes into this grey van.

i sit in silence for a few seconds, the van drives to the side of the empty road, i follow and park behind, my heart thumps as i drive in total shock,

i've never been in a car accident, not even close.

i instantly start to freak out, how could i not in this situation. i turn off my car, stepping out and wiping my face with my sleeve as i take in panicked breaths.

the door of the other car swings open, a man steps out, he's wearing cargo jeans, a grey crewneck and an assortment of jewellery.

i've definitely seen him on tiktok before..?

i walk over to him, "i'm so fucking sorry my insurance will pay for everything" i ramble, the brunette replies "i know."

his voice is stern, he's definitely mad. i bite my nails as my leg shakes on the spot.

"how the fuck do you not brake? you were a solid 5 meters behind me and yet your car rams the back of mine? are you fucking stupid?" the boy says, staring into my eyes.

"my water spilt and i thought the light was going to stay green, i'm so sorry." i say back, my voice shaking as i start to cry.

he stays silent for a few seconds, scanning my face which is now flushed everywhere with a couple of tears falling from my eyes.

"stop, just give me your insurance details and number" he sighs,

after giving him my number and insurance details i start again, "ill call you an uber, im really sorry." i say, pulling out my phone and attempting to turn it on, soon realising it ran out of battery an hour ago.

"dont worry about it, my cars driveable." he says, i nod. the whole front of my car is squashed, including the engine.

"you got a way home?" the boy asks,

"i mean uh- no but i can just walk." i say with a small sniff,

"come on, ill drive ya." the brunette says, taking my hand and walking me towards his van, the back of it has a medium sized indent, nothing too major though.

"you don't have to i swear its not a far walk" i protest, "i'm not gonna let you walk, honestly its okay." he says, climbing into the drivers side.

i get into the passengers side, he pulls out his phone "i'm gonna call someone to tow your car okay?" he says, his voice soft.

"yeah- okay." i reply.

-

i've found out this boys name is matt, i knew it was something like that, we're now pulling into my street after apologising thousands of times. aside from the whole 'ramming his car' we clicked well together.

i point out my house, matt jumps out first to let me out of his van, "are you okay now?" he asks with a small laugh, "yeah- i think." i reply with a guilty expression plastered on my face.

"can i have a smile?" he asks, i force a pathetic smile and matt nods.

"ill text you tomorrow, we should see each other sometime?" he asks nervously,

did he just ask me out?

"yes! yeah i'd like that." i say,

matt leans down, giving me a hug,

"i'm sorry for making you cry."

"what? no! i'm sorry for rear-ending your car!" i reply, pulling away from the hug and giving him a warm smile.

----

[kuebandungs]

Sweet Home Imagines : 01

☆ Lee Eunhyuk x fem!Reader ☆

masterlist

Crying.

That's all you could do since two hours ago.

You're too scared. You're alone in this world. In a strange world that you never imagined will become a reality.

"Drink it."

Someone's voice next to you made you look up. With puffy eyes, you looked at him. The man with glasses crouched down to be at eye level with you who was sitting on the stairs.

"You can join the others in the gathering room. I'll ask Eunyu to accompany you later."

He stood up and was about to leave after placing a bottle water next to you. However, you held his hand, causing the man suddenly stop and look at you.

"Can I come with you?" you asked.

You could see that the man was looking at you in surprise. But he quickly neutralized his expression back to normal.

"Okay."

Finally you got up from your place and followed his steps.

When passing through the corridor which is the gathering place for the residents of this apartment, you suddenly look down. You were too afraid to respond to the various looks they gave you.

"Come on."

You only looked up when this man took you into a room with a CCTV monitor screen and an old sofa in the corner of the room.

"This is the CCTV room. No one comes here except me and certain people."

You nodded slightly at his explanation.

"You can rest on the sofa while I do my work," said that man.

Your eyes watch the movements of the man who is now sitting in front of the monitor screen. He looks very focused, as if he immediately forgot about your existence in this room.

Your gaze now looks to the other side. With slow steps you went towards the sofa. You sat and stared blankly at the view in front of you which was the man's back.

As the seconds pass by, your eyes start to feel heavy. You suspect this is the effect of fatigue after a day of running away from the terrible creatures you encounter and also because after all this time you can finally feel the softness of the sofa you're currently sitting on.

Until finally you actually fall asleep on the sofa.

---------------------------------

You didn't know how long you have been asleep, until when you open your eyes you saw an empty room. You stare at the chair which has now been abandoned by its owner somewhere.

You looked down when you realized that there was a plaid shirt covering you. You remember that this shirt is the same as the one worn by the man with glasses before.

"Already up?"

The voice sounded at the same time as someone who had just entered the room.

"How long have I been sleeping?" you asked while changing you position to sitting.

"About 3 hours. It's dinner time now, take it."

"Uh... thanks." You accept the bowl of food from him.

He nodded then walked back to his seat in front of the monitor.

You noticed that his shirt was still in your lap. You cleared your throat slowly.

Your sigh succeeded in making him turn his chair to face you. "Um, this.. is yours?" you said showing his shirt.

"Yes. Just wear it if you feel cold." He turned his chair back towards the screen.

"Who are you? I mean, what's your name?"

Finally, you can ask questions that have been languishing in your head since beginning. Since this afternoon, as soon as you managed to set foot on the ground floor of Green Home Apartment, this man was the first to greet you at the bottom of the stairs. As if he already knew that you were coming. But now you know that this man must have noticed your arrival through the monitor screen.

"My name is Lee Eunhyuk. I was the one who made the announcement yesterday, so that the residents could come to the first floor to protect themselves from monsters."

You suddenly remembered the male voice coming from the building speakers. No wonder he sounded familiar when he spoke.

"Thank you, Eunhyuk," you said smiling sincerely.

"It's nothing. I should be the one thanking you," Eunhyuk replied.

You looked at him confused. "What for?" you asked.

"Thank you for surviving and fighting to get here. I'm really grateful that you're still alive, (Name)."

The curve of your lips is appeared again. Your heart feels warm knowing that someone cares about you. In fact, he is a stranger you have never knew before.

Wait.

Your smile slowly faded, as a question emerged in your head.

"How do you know my name?"

[coryosbaby]

18+, MDNI !!

Family friend! Billy The Kid teaching you how to kiss and it leading to much more <3 pulling him into your pretty pink room, pushing him onto the frilly sheets in the dark hours of the night. It’s a sleepless one— you and Billy had been up all night and your parents are sleeping soundly in their beds, clueless to their daughter’s secret pact with their beloved acquaintance.

You make sure to lock your door just in case.

The cowboy in front of you sprawls out on your mattress, foot grazing your ankle as you tell him a story about your friend Camille’s adultery.

“And she… she slipped her tongue in his mouth!” You exclaim, wide eyed and innocent. Billy mouth quirks up into a smile, his eyes moving to your pretty, plump lips. “I don’t know if I’d like that, Billy, not one bit.”

“How’dya know if you haven’t tried it?”

“I…” you blanch for a moment. “I dunno. I guess I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t do that anyway. ‘S bad.”

He gives you an amused smile. Your parents, of course, have spewed this narrative to you since you were a child. “No sex before marriage, no datin’ or kissin’ or huggin’” — Billy’s always been on his own, making his own decisions, and he thinks you should be able to do that too. He can’t deny the way your innocence gets his cock hard and bulging through his pants, though, and how badly he wants to corrupt every single part of you. Parents be damned, you’re one of a kind. Sweet and gentle, soft in all the right places, homely. Billy loves that about you. He’d marry you if he could, but even so, your parents would never allow it. They’d know right from the start what he was up to if he asked for their blessing.

His hand makes its way to your knee. He rests it there and massages the soft skin that’s exposed due to your nightgown riding up. You can’t help the flush that makes its way up to your cheeks.

“We could try it,” he suggests gently. “If you want to, darlin’.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him, and your fingers move up to the ribbon in your hair and twirl it around.

“I dunno, Billy..”

“‘M not gonna force you,” he replies. “Just a suggestion, that’s all.”

It’s silent for a moment, Billy awkwardly looking away. What if he fucked up? What if you told your parents?

“Okay.”

It surprises him when you say it so timidly.

“Alright,” Billy replies, then clears his throat and pats his thigh. “C’mere, sweetheart. Get in my lap.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you shyly crawl over to him on all fours before you press yourself down into his lap. Your thighs move to either side of his hips.

“Like this?”

“Just like that.”

Billy has to restrain himself as he sees your light blue cotton underwear peek out from underneath your nightgown. His hand splays across your lower back, pulling you closer. His other hand moves to your cheek.

You close your eyes, waiting for the moment when Billy leans in. His lips hit yours in a small peck, thumb grazing your jaw. You reciprocate as best as you can, and your lashes flutter open when he pulls away, your brows furrowing.

“That’s it?”

Billy can’t help the laugh that spills out of his mouth, loud enough that your hand slaps over his mouth.

“It ain’t funny!” You whine. “Be quiet, you’re gonna get us in trouble!”

He pulls your hand off of his mouth, a grin splaying across his face.

“Sorry.”

When it quiets once again, you lean into him.

“Can we do it again?”

He nods. Both of his hands wrap around your waist this time, and he presses his now smiling lips to yours again. This time it’s more desperate— Billy got one taste and now he can’t bring himself to stop. You let out a tiny whine, pulling away when you feel his tongue press against your lower lip.

“Billy, we can’t do that.”

“Says who?” He leans up against your ear, hands travelling lower, lower. He’s hungry for you, practically starving. “I won’t tell.”

The way he says it, raspy and deep, sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t help the way your thighs clench together, a moan leaving you when the hem of your nightgown is flipped up and Billy grips your ass in his palms. His mouth slots against yours again, leaving your head spinning as you allow his tongue to slip into the warm canal of your mouth. Your own tongue slides against his, the strangely pleasant taste of his saliva making you dizzy. A throbbing overtakes that special spot between your legs, and you grind down against Billy’s fabric clad thigh. He groans, wrapping a hand around your hair so he can pull off of your lips and move to your neck instead.

“Billy,” you whimper out, when you feel his fingers graze the inside of your thigh. “Billy, I feel all tingly.”

“It’s because you need me,” his fingers reach the crotch of your underwear, and his thumb presses against your clit through the fabric. You gasp, mouth falling open as he rubs it in slow circles. “See, sweetheart? Right here.”

“I-It.. it feels…”

“Good?” Of course it does, you’re practically soaked through your panties. “I know. You can make me feel good, too.”

“I can?” Your eyes brighten, and he nods, removing his fingers so he can begin to unbutton his pants instead.

“Mhm. You got me all tingly here, too.”

You look down as he pulls out his hard cock, dripping with arousal and ready for you. A dark thatch of hair sits at the base of him, a vein running up the middle and leading to a pretty pink tip. He gives it a few harsh strokes, pumping it up and down in his fist.

“Lay on your back for me, honey.”

You obey instantly, excitement curling in your gut as your head hits your pillow. Billy hooks his fingers into your panties and drags them down your legs. You blush when he pushes your legs apart, and the boy in front of you curses under his breath when he catches sight of your cunt all swollen and needy.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “Such a sweet little thing….”

He slides his cock between your folds, and you let out a tiny cry. It feels so different from before, so much better, if possible. You look down to see his cock’s aroused head moving in and out between your cunt lips, your thighs becoming slick with your arousal.

“That’s it..” Billy breathes, and he looks almost angry as he uses your slippery cunt. “Good girl, all wet ‘n warm for me.“

You moan at the sight of his muscled arms on either side of your hips as he touches you, your fingernails scraping against his shoulders. Billy leans down to give you another kiss. You return it, your teeth nipping his lower lip. It’s hard to think straight with the way he’s rubbing up against you so prettily.

He grinds against your cunny, using it like a soft pillow for his length, his breath heavy as he watches your little clit swell with arousal. He looks down at your hole, teeny tiny against his big, fat cock, and wants to stretch it so bad that it almost hurts.

But that’ll have to wait— right now, he needs to get you nice and ready, used to these new feelings and sensations. To help you become comfortable.

After a moment, sweat collecting on his brow, Billy pulls away from your lips and moves close to your ear.

“How’s it feel, darlin’?”

“I love it,” you reply to him, almost instantly. “You’re— you’re so handsome. You’re making me feel so..”

You trail off with a whine when his tip accidentally catches on your needy hole. He groans, letting out a string of swears. You clench around nothing, your instincts kicking in as your brain becoming fuzzy and empty.

“I need it— need it there, Billy. I want it inside.”

“Not there, baby. Not yet.”

You want to cry at his words, but not before an unknown feeling is building up in your core. The friction applied to your clit and the thought of Billy sinking into your gummy walls has you biting back a sob. He notices your changed expression, watches the way your legs suddenly tighten up and clamp down around his hips.

“Nghhh.. why does it feel like that?” Your eyes clench shut, confusion and desperation taking over you. “S-Somethin’s happenin’, Billy…”

He smiles, gripping his length in his hand so he can press it harder onto your clit, sliding against it and watching his cock become coated in your juices.

“Let it happen. It’s a good thing, baby— gonna feel so good.”

Your orgasm overtakes you faster than lightening. You arch your back as wave after wave of pleasure takes over you, colors flashing behind to eyelids. It’s the greatest you’ve ever felt, the greatest you ever thought you could feel, and Billy follows soon after with a moan against your neck. His warm cum squirts out onto your mound, glazing it in sticky white, and he desperately slides against your slit until you’ve milked him completely dry. You look down at the mess you’ve both made, his spend dripping onto the sheets. With his face against your breast, Billy chuckles.

“I bet Camilla’s gonna hear a hell of a story tomorrow, isn’t she?”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[hazbinshusk]

would u be willing to write a friends to lovers for husk x reader? reader gets very shy and blushy around husk and he just thinks its adorable (i know u usually only write smut so if u don’t feel like writing this its ok!)

no, I love writing fluff! I just tend to get a lot of requests for smut (plus, I'm a horny little fucker, so my own brain gets that way often lol). but I love fluff and my boys definitely deserve it! sorry for the wait, and thanks for being so patient! <3

combined with a kiss prompt because the imagery was so damn cute!

prompt #30: a kiss to the palm of the hand

“Ya gonna get me a refill, Husky, or am I gonna have ta work for my buzz?” Angel asks, sliding his glass back across the bar. It leaves a streak of condensation along the polished wood, and the bartender in question wipes it away before it can leave a mark. “Cause not for nothin’, ya give me a solid two minutes to blow ya mind and ya back out, and you’ll be pourin’ me free drinks ‘til the end of time.”

Husk fixes the spider with a glare of well-practised exasperation. “I ain’t chargin’ ya for drinks to begin with.”

Angel winks at you before waggling his eyebrows at Husk lasciviously. “So, does that mean I’ll get somethin’ better than cheap booze if I put out?”

Husk shrugs, speaking into the neck of his own drink – a dark green bottle half-gone over the last hour. “My foot up your ass?”

“Ooh, kinky!” Angel crows. “Never figured ya for the type with a foot fet—”

“Can it,” Husk bites out, and Angel cackles. “Alright, you’re cut off.”

You giggle as Angel gasps dramatically, and Husk’s smile twitches wider as he meets your eye. It makes you flush, the way his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he turns back to watch Angel go through the motions of playfully begging for ‘just one more, mister bartender’. Still, you notice the cat demon’s gaze flicker back to you again, and you busy yourself with your drink, hoping the cool liquid will combat the heat burning in your face. You were being silly, you knew that – Husk was your friend, he shouldn’t have this kind of effect on you.

No, this was some stupid little momentary crush that would disappear in the next few days.

Because he was your friend.

Damn it.

You straighten slightly as you realise the other two at the bar are staring at you – you said the last part out loud.

“Just, uh…” you gesture vaguely at the empty glasses. “Cut off. Damn it.”

Husk raises a brow, an amused quirk to his lips. You meet his eye, a bashful smile creeping over your face again despite yourself. Angel glances between the two of you and makes a show of rolling his eyes as he pushes himself up off his stool. “Ooookay… if you two are gonna be weird about it, I guess I’ll go ta bed. Ya happy now?”

“Noooo,” you coo with a pout, too late. “Don’t go…”

Angel smirks playfully at you, a sparkle in his eyes that belays the complaints he’d just made. “Too little, too late, toots. ‘s okay… I’ll go spend some quality time with Nugs and you two can go about makin’ moon eyes at each other or whatever ya do when I ain’t around.”

Christ, could your face get any hotter?

“Jus’ go to bed, Angel.” Husk deadpans, and the porn star grins, giving him a smarmy wink that makes the cat smirk despite his best efforts not to.

Angel stops long enough to smack a kiss against your cheek, blowing another to the bartender. “Love ya too, Husky. Try not to dream about me too much; I jus’ don’t know if ya old heart can take all the excitement.”

Husk lets out a string of half-hearted curses at Angel’s retreating back, the spider’s laughter echoing off the high ceilings.

There’s a moment of silence that falls between the two of you after Angel leaves – it would almost be a comfortable one if it weren’t for the way your heart was still hammering against its cage – before Husk reaches across the bar top to top off your glass with his own bottle. The soft clink of glass meeting glass and the liquor splashing is the only sound for a moment. Then you glance up to find Husk watching you, a soft smirk on his mouth and an eyebrow raised in amused curiosity.

“You okay, doll?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble that settles wonderfully in the middle of your chest. “I ain’t never known you to be the type to get that boozer’s flush.”

Your brow furrows, and he surprises you by reaching out and touching a claw to your cheek. It’s a brief, glancing touch, but your next exhale comes shakily because of it.

“You’re all red,” he says by way of explanation, voice still soft. That smile is still curving his lips, and God, does it make your whole self feel light and fluttery. “You okay?”

You nod hurriedly – unconvincingly – and Husk huffs a quiet chuckle, lifting the bottle back to his lips. “If you say so. ‘s cute, though.”

Fumbling for a response, you swallow back the rest of your drink. You cough as it burns horribly in your throat, and Husk’s smile – and amusement – grows. “Well… who says you aren’t all red-faced under that fur?” you retort once you have your breath back, words slurring ever so slightly. “Maybe you’re worse than me.”

Husk breathes another laugh, waving a hand towards his face invitingly. “You’re welcome to check, doll.”

The booze is apparently enough to make you daring, and you reach over the bar before you can think about any implications. Like the fact that Husk has just invited you to basically pet him.

You stroke careful, trembling fingers through the fur of his cheek, the tip of your tongue wetting your lips as you feel that soft, soft fur under your fingertips. Husk’s eyes close and he exhales, his shoulders rising and falling with the depth of it. When they open again you find yourself staring back at him, the thin gold rings of his irises burning into you and sending a wonderful sense of warmth through you that had nothing to do with whatever the hell he’d been pouring into your cup.

Husk’s paw comes up to curl around your wrist, soft fur and heart-shaped pad pressed against your skin. His voice comes softly, almost…  playful. “Your hand is shaking. You okay, doll?”

You nod slowly, your breath caught in your throat.

“Good.” Husk smiles, and your eyes widen as Husk pulls your hand away, turns his head, and presses his lips to the palm of your hand. “You had me worried there.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[luvmanifesting]

Wait!

You haven’t became tired of scrolling and crying about why people have what you WANT? Well i have some tips and a method for you! So what you’re going to do..

🥁🥁🥁…

🎉 Get off of tumblr! 🎉

Hooray! thats the method. You’re going to get off of tumblr and stop doom scrolling and stop asking a billion questions when all you genuinely need is yourself. “But i want my desire NOW!!!!” and you could’ve already had it if you just went and induced pure consciousness and stop looking for a billion tips and advice. You could of had your desires; yesterday, 1 minute ago, last night, right now, 3 hours ago etc etc. No i’m not saying its not okay to dm questions but when is it enough for you? when are you finally going to put your foot down and take action! Nobody’s going to do it for you or hand it to you like a gift. Its your journey. Someone probably JUST induced pure consciousness for the first time and are beginning a new chapter, and what about you? stuck and still living a life you don’t want..? thats lame. Get up and acknowledge your power.

Also to the people who were worried about my pure consciousness journey, i found out about inducing pure consciousness like 3 weeks ago i think. I was already naturally powerful at just affirming and stuff still manifested things instantly for me. But i found about this pure consciousness stuff and i was like “oh let me try this tonight blah blah blah. it worked and i use it every now and then. I can induce it instantly by simply going to sleep or taking a nap. I didn’t have doubts about it because my mentality and discipline and self concept were too high and STILL are too high for me to doubt anything.

Now that thats out the way and i hope that answers the dm’s who kept eating away at me. Anyways like i said before. please stop looking for more answers, you have everything you need theres no more information needed for you to just finally induce pure consciousness.

Do you still want to be the same person in 2025, 2026, 2027?

Clock’s ticking.

[floralcyanide]

𝟑𝟎,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 - 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐧𝐞𝐫

jackson rippner x f!reader

Usually, airports were the bane of your existence due to your career and the constant requirement to travel. But when you stumble upon a handsome man at the airport bar, your disdain for flying seems to change.

warnings: smut, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, public sex, mile-high shenanigans

word count: 2780

author’s note: not proofread again lulz but when do I ever?? anyway I got a request for this and had to write it right away because I love jackson sm omg. please lmk if you enjoyed and send some feedback <3

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

You wouldn’t mind it if you didn’t have to step foot inside another airport for the rest of your life.

Unfortunately, your career requires you to travel every month, so your escape from airports will have to wait. You doubt there’s anything that will make your experiences with the liminal spaces any brighter or more profound- you doubt there’s anything that would make them even a smidge exciting. But, who knows, maybe one day you’ll eat your words. So, until then, you’ll fast-walk through airports and terminals with your carry-on with the deepest resting bitch face you can conjure up. And it appears that today will be yet another day that you muster up one.

Deciding to hit the best bar in the DFW airport during your routine TSA spiel, you weave around the other flyers in the corridors in a hurry. Even if your red eye flight has been delayed about two hours, you figure two hours in an airport could be better spent drinking. After scouring the entire airport numerous times on each trip you’ve taken from DFW, you finally settled upon a corner bar near your gate. After passing by it a few times, you decided to give it a chance. Its appearance is initially off-putting- it is dark and moody. Still, it had an oddly comfortable atmosphere and good drinks, obviously. You stroll up to the bar, smiling and nodding to the bartender you’ve come to know here. Going to sit in your usual booth, you discover there’s someone already seated there.

“If this were middle school, I’d tell you this is my spot,” you joke as you approach the man, whose face is covered by his long bangs.

A pair of sharp blue eyes glance up at you from their place on the cocktail menu in his large hands, and a sweet smile graces his lips when he looks you over, “I certainly apologize for stealing your spot. Care to join me? I can buy you a drink to make up for it.”

You give him a questioning look, half-joking with your tone, “What’s in it for me?”

“A free drink and your spot back,” the man says haughtily, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Deal,” you reach a hand out for him to shake.

“Deal,” the man says, accepting your hand and shaking it firmly.

You slide into the booth, sizing the man up, “What’s your name?”

“Jackson,” the man says, his eyes nearly piercings into yours, “Jackson Rippner.”

“Oh,” you raise your eyebrows, suppressing a giggle, “your parents must hate you.”

Jackson laughs, shrugging, “Yeah, you could say that. But you can’t hate anyone if you’re dead.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry-”

“No need. Finished them off myself,” Jackson says, deadpanning.

You pause before laughing at his joke, “Gotcha.”

“So, what’s your drink of choice?” Jackson asks, changing the subject lightly.

“Hmm, I don’t think I’ll tell you just yet,” you let your eyes roam everywhere but Jackson’s face until you land your gaze back on him.

“You want me to guess, then?” Jackson asks, “I’m good at that, actually.”

“Oh, really? Prove it, then,” you say with a playful edge to your tone.

Jackson puckers his lips, furrowing his eyebrows in thought, “I’m thinking white liquor,” he trails off, “Maybe vodka, something fruity but not too skimpy.”

“You’re close, but not quite,” you bite your lip.

“I think you’re the type to have a classic no one considers.”

“Which is?”

“Dirty Shirley,” Jackson snaps his fingers, pointing at you confidently.

“Nope,” you say, grinning, “Just a vodka and Sprite for me.”

“Ah, but I was close.”

“Yes, you were very close,” you say, having the urge to flirt with this man you don’t even know.

“I’ll go grab that for you,” Jackson says, getting up out of the booth and heading to the bar.

While he’s gone, you rummage through your bag for a perfume roller, quickly rubbing some on your pulse points. Then, you unbutton the first two buttons of your blouse, revealing your cleavage just enough to be subtle. Turning around for a second, you see Jackson heading back to the booth, and you brush yourself off before slipping the perfume back into your bag.

“A vodka and Sprite for the pretty lady,” Jackson places your drink down in front of you before returning to his spot across from you.

“‘Pretty lady,’ huh?” you raise an eyebrow, taking the two black straws into your mouth.

“What can I say?” Jackson raises his hands in defense, “You are a pretty little thing. I’m glad I sat in your spot.”

“Oh,” you say, trying not to let your face heat up at the compliment, “Well, I’m glad too.”

The both of you silently sip your drinks after that, sharing fleeting glances while giggling. You decide to be cheeky, slipping off one of your heels and running your foot underneath Jackson’s pant leg. You nonchalantly look around the bar, chewing on your straw as if you weren’t up to anything. Jackson is staring right at you with a smirk as his eyes stare holes into your off-cast ones. 

“Feeling a little naughty, are we?” Jackson whispers, just loud enough to hear over the music.

You move your eyes toward him, “How do you mean?”

“I see,” Jackson looks down at the remainder of his second drink, “You wanna play like that, huh?”

“Play like what?” you challenge him, pushing your foot farther up his leg, now going over his pants and toward his thigh.

Jackson chuckles, about to say something, but he’s interrupted by the airport intercom. Your flight is a few minutes from boarding.

“Oh, that’s me,” you frown, downing the rest of your second vodka and Sprite before looking at Jackson, “What do I owe you?”

“For the drinks? Nothing,” Jackson licks his lips, “But for the teasing? We’ll have to see about that.”

“Oh really?” you ask, your heart rate now picking up at the obvious flirting.

“Really.”

“And what will you do about it?” you daringly ask.

“Well, we are on the same flight,” Jackson says, “So we’ll have to see.”

The two of you head over to the gate, getting in line to board. You boredly flip through a book your friend suggested for you to read on the flight. Jackson takes notice of this.

“Bookworm? Didn’t pick that up about you,” Jackson asks, rolling back and forth on his heels and toes. 

“Depends on the book,” you say, pursing your lips as you skim over the words, “Don’t think I’m a fan of this one, though.”

“That’s a shame. Any ideas of what you’re gonna do on the flight?” Jackson inquires, a flirty undertone in his question.

“Hmm,” you wonder, “Probably sleep. Unless I find something else to do.”

“Ah,” Jackson nods, “Hopefully, you will.”

“Hopefully,” you chuckle.

You and Jackson get separated during boarding, but you do a double-take when you arrive at your seat.

“Are you in the right seat?” you ask.

A familiar pair of striking eyes look up from a book to meet yours, “Did I steal your spot again?”

“No,” you shake your head, laughing, “I’m seat fifteen B.”

“And I’m fourteen B,” Jackson closes his book.

“Interesting,” you say, “Small world, huh?”

“Small indeed,” Jackson exhales, about to say something, until a lady a few rows down asks for help with her carry-on.

You move to the side, allowing Jackson to scoot by you. As he does, he puts a gentle hand on your waist, sending goosebumps up your spine. You watch as he helps the lady, and you try not to laugh when she tries flirting with him. Jackson returns to the row, moving past you again and plopping into his seat. 

“I know we talked for what, two hours? But I never asked, why are you headed to Miami? Work or play?” Jackson asks, buckling his seatbelt as the flight attendants announce preparation for take-off.

“Work, unfortunately. I take this trip often, red eye and everything,” you say, resting your head on the headrest behind you.

Jackson nods, “I’m here for work too. I hate flying, not going to lie.”

“Me too,” you grumble, “I hate everything about flying, including the airport and everything that comes with it.”

“Everything?” Jackson presses jokingly.

“Well, today was different. I actually had a nice time at the airport, especially since I got to meet you,” you say, keeping your eyes on the flight attendant as she goes over the safety precautions and flotation devices under the seats. 

“Good to know,” Jackson says, placing a hand on your knee.

You look at his hand, feeling very warm all over. The plane begins to speed up and ascend, and you relax in your seat, Jackson’s hand still on your knee. His nose is in his book as you try your best to read your friend’s book suggestion. When the plane finally reaches 30,000 feet, the seatbelt light turns off, and the lights dim. Flight attendants offer pillows and blankets, and you take a blanket, tucking your book away and covering yourself with the blanket. You’re on the verge of sleep when you feel Jackson’s hand slide up your thigh. You pretend you’re asleep, not moving or reacting to his touch. His hand is hidden by the blanket, so no one can see his hand move further up, dangerously close to your core. You’re wearing a dress, so there’s easy access. Not that you were complaining that Jackson was touching you. You were feeling him up earlier at the bar, so now it’s his turn. 

Jackson sneaks his hand back down your thigh and over your dress, slowly making his way over your hip and waist, up to your clothed breast. The blanket‘s hem was tucked behind your shoulders, covering up your entire body, so no one could see Jackson’s hand crawl underneath your dress again. This time, to squeeze at your breast. You try not to move or make a noise as Jackson takes your nipple between his fingers, pinching it lightly. Pretending as if he woke you up, you rouse and sit up straight.

“What are you doing?” you ask, acting as if you were asleep.

“I know you’ve been awake the whole time, sweetheart,” Jackson whispers.

“No, I wasn’t,” you say innocently.

“Don’t lie to me,” Jackson chastises, twisting your nipple harshly.

You bite your lip, muffling a moan. You squeeze your legs together as he continues to tweak the bud. 

“Is this what you want? Hmm? Teasing me earlier with your foot, I figured I’d play with you too.”

Jackson’s hand moves to your other breast, flicking your nipple. His other hand travels under your dress, his fingernails pressing into your skin. You bite your lip to stifle a moan from the sharp sensation on the sensitive skin of your thigh. His fingers ease to your core again, ghosting over your clit as you open your legs.

“Be quiet like a good girl,” Jackson says, eyes darting around to ensure no one is looking despite the lights being off.

You nod as he presses two fingers to your clit, rubbing slow, soft circles. Warmth gradually spreads in your lower belly at the sensation, and you widen your legs further. Jackson pulls his fingers away momentarily to slip them inside your underwear and continue his movements on your bare bundle of nerves. You cover your mouth, exhaling shakily at the stimulation. Jackson slips a finger inside you after playing with you for a while.

“Already so wet?” Jackson teases in your ear, his lips brushing against it.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath.

Jackson slowly pumps his finger in and out, eventually adding a second one. You shutter from the delightful stretch. You look around before subtly jerking your hips forward, riding his fingers.

“Fucking yourself on my fingers so good,” Jackson nibbles at your ear lobe, “Can’t imagine how you’d feel around my cock.”

You bite your knuckle to hold in a desperate whine at his words, “Please,” you whimper.

“Please, what?” Jackson asks, his fingers picking up the pace.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, “Take me to the bathroom and fuck me against the wall.”

“What a brazen little one you are,” Jackson grins, pulling his fingers from you and sucking your arousal off them, “It’s gonna take a little more than that, though.”

You groan at the loss of fullness, “Like what?”

“Beg.”

You pull Jackson’s hand back to your soaking slit, “Please touch me, fuck me, do anything you want to me. Please.”

“Keep going,” he pants, circling your clit with his fingers again.

“Jackson,” you sigh, “God, I need you inside of me. So bad,” you hiss.

“Go,” Jackson whispers, “I’ll meet you there.”

You hurry to pull down your dress, pulling the blanket off you before quietly walking to the bathroom. You check the vacancy before pulling the door open, leaving it unlocked for Jackson. You sit on the toilet, waiting patiently as your pulse thumps in your ears. A few moments pass, and the door opens slightly, revealing Jackson before he slips inside the bathroom. You stand up, but before you open your mouth to say something, he picks you up and presses you against the wall. You wrap your legs around Jackson’s waist, kissing him with a bruising force. Jackson slides his tongue through your lips and into your mouth, exploring it as his hands grip your ass. You reach a hand down and unzip and unbutton Jackson’s pants, your hand snaking past his underwear band and wrapping around his cock. 

“Fuck,” Jackson seethes, already hard from previous events in your seats earlier.

He pushes up the hem of your dress around your hips, pulling your underwear down far enough for him to slowly enter your throbbing core. Both of you gasp at the feeling, hours of pining hitting the climax. You thought Jackson was attractive the moment you laid eyes on him. You aren’t passing up the opportunity to join the mile-high club with such a gorgeous man. Jackson pushes further into you, and you relax more so he can press his hips into yours. Your fingers grasp at his hair as he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Your back roughly hits the wall behind you, but it wouldn’t be the last time. You have to hold onto the wall with one hand to not bang into it, your other hand holding onto Jackson’s hair for dear life as he fucks you without mercy. 

“God,” you say, the word drawn out as you and Jackson’s hips slam into each other. 

Jackson covers your mouth as you stare into his blue eyes, now darkened with lust, “Stay quiet.”

You nod, “Mhmm,” you hum from underneath his hand.

Your eyes stay on each other as you move your body forward in time with Jackson, his cock hitting that spot inside you perfectly, sending shockwaves over you. Jackson wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady as his other hand moves between the two of you to rub tight figure 8’s on your bundle of nerves. You squeal, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Jackson continues to fuck into you like you’re a sex object. You feel yourself clenching around him as your orgasm creeps up. You pull on Jackson’s hair harshly, causing him to moan as his hips stutter. You do it again, and he has to bite your neck in order not to moan out loud. 

“Are you gonna cum?” Jackson grunts into your ear, “Huh?”

“Yes,” you gasp, “Fuck yes, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum around my cock, pretty thing.”

Your release smacks you in the face, sending your body reeling as it nearly convulses against the lavatory wall. Jackson cums right after you as the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock sends him over the edge. You milk him for all he’s got, rutting your hips through both of your orgasms. You both catch your breath as Jackson lets your legs collapse back to the floor weakly. He holds you up as you regain your posture.

“I suddenly really like flying now,” you push your hair out of your sweaty face.

“Me too,” Jackson says with an expressionless face, which you match.

Suddenly, both of you burst out laughing but cover your mouths quickly before anyone can hear in the plane. After cleaning yourselves up, you both successfully sneak out of the bathroom and back to your seats, covering up with the blanket.

“Ever barhopped in Miami?” you ask Jackson, trying your best to hold your eyes open.

“Nope. You?’

“Nope. Want to?”

“Absolutely.”

taglist:

@baizzhu @aporiasposts @hjmalmed @queenshelby @amanda08319 @naty-1001 @orijanko @raineeace @nela-cutie @cutexlr

[ghxstwrites]

Messy

Pairing:  Non-Idol! Bangchan x Fem! Reader

Summary: You decided to take Bangchan out for his birthday, and things get a little messy...

WC: 2.2K

AU: Non-Idol

Genre: Smut, Filth, Porn with Plot

Warning(s): Smut! MDNI, Salirophilia, Dacryphilia, Impact Play, (slight) Degradation, Edging, Pet names (Baby, Good Girl, Slut, Pretty Girl), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), Jealous/Possessive BangChan, Oral (M Receiving) Dom! Chan, Sub! Reader. 

A/N: Quink Lesson! Salirophilia is a sexual fetish or paraphilia that involves deriving erotic pleasure from soiling or disheveling the object of one's desire.  Happy Birthday, Bangchan! I felt with the first smut of the season falling directly on his birthday, it was the right thing to do. Big thanks to my beta reader @bunnliix with some help from @kpop---scenarios <3

Taglist: @bethelighthalazia @a---shura @kpop---scenarios @potatomountain send me a ask if you'd like to be added!

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

“Baby, are you almost ready?” you hear your boyfriend ask from the other room. 

“Almost, I’m having trouble deciding on my lipstick for the night!” you respond swiftly. 

It was your boyfriend, Chris’, birthday and you had decided to treat him at his favorite restaurant with his closest friends for the night. You’d both been running around each other for about two hours now in an effort to get dressed, and you were running close on time. He’d come out of the bedroom finishing tying his tie.

“Do you need help - oh.” He stops in his tracks as his eyes drink in your body and its attire for the night. 

A short black dress, loose sleeves that hang just over your shoulders, your hair in soft curls with a pair of elegant black heels he'd bought you as a ‘just because present’, as an excuse to take you on fancier dates.

“Yeah?” You turned to meet his gaze and you were greeted with a smug smirk.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart, and all for me?” He slowly walks toward you.

“I mean, of course…,”  you smile,  “do you think this shade looks right on me?” you quiz him as he closes the gap between the two of you.

“Hmm.. let me see,” he muses softly as he grabs your chin in his hand, leaning in. 

Your eyes search for his next move and his smirk grows wider. 

He brings his thumb up to your lip. You instinctively take his thumb in your mouth, sucking on the digit with a small moan. 

“That’s my good girl,” he coos softly as his hand reaches around, grabbing your ass and kneading it in his rough palm. 

He draws his thumb out your mouth, smearing your perfectly applied lipstick in the process. Seeing this, his mind clouds over in lust as he quickly covers your lips with his in a searing kiss as his free hand finds itself on your ass as well, pulling you closer to him. He hoists you up on the vanity table as he steps closer to you, you could feel his erection growing on the inside of your thigh. 

“C-Chris, we’re gonna be late,” you breathe out as you break away from the heated moment. 

“Can’t the birthday boy be just a little late to his own dinner?” his voice rough with lust as he peppers kisses against your neck causing you to shiver.

You’d walked into the restaurant with Chris in tow, his hand placed on the small of your back guiding you silently through the seemingly crowded restaurant. 

“Hey! There's the birthday boy!” Jisung shouts as the two of you come into sight. Christopher smiles as greets the younger boy with a hug. You both greet the boys who’d arrived as you waited for the others.

He pulls out the chair for you, inviting you to sit before making himself comfortable next to you.

“Y/N, you look really pretty tonight,” You turn your head to see Jeongin with a soft smile on his face. 

“Thank you Jeongin, you look good too.” you returned his smile, while under the table you felt Christopher nudge your foot with his causing you to look up at him only seeing him looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

You continue conversations for a while, feeling eyes on you throughout the night, believing them to be Chris’ you didn’t pay attention. 

You’d been catching up with Minho across the table from you while Christopher had been chatting with his other friends,

“You can’t be serious?!” you giggle at a comment made from Minho referring to some mischief one of his cats had gotten into due to some catnip infused treats. 

This peaks Christopher’s curiosity as his focus is on your conversation, even though he’s facing away from you.

“Very serious…” Minho trails off as his eyes rake over your body, something you failed to notice, but definitely did not go unnoticed by your boyfriend. 

Chris’ hand sneaks onto your exposed thigh under the table, causing you to stutter your words mid conversation. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Minho’s eyes snap back to yours in confusion. 

“Y-Yeah sorry, I think it was just a cold chill.” you try to remain calm, placing your hand over  Chris’ as he squeezes your thigh. 

“So…,“ He starts as you walk through the door of your shared apartment, tossing his car keys into the basket by the door. 

You stop in your tracks, slowly turning to face him, you know that tone of voice. “Yes, Baby?” you try to feign innocence as he moves closer to you. 

“Did you enjoy the attention tonight, baby?” He tilts your chin up to look at him “Hmm?” 

“I..I don’t know what you’re on about Chris.” you stutter out. 

He chuckles darkly. “I think you do, baby…” he searches your eyes for a moment as his grip on your chin tightens, causing you to wince. “You wanna try that again?” a smirk remains on his face.

“I really didn’t notice, I just… I just thought they were being friendly, baby” you respond faintly. 

All he could do was laugh, the noise going straight to your core. Chan walked you backwards into The wall, his hands remained on your chin, letting out a soft groan when you made contact.

“Seems I need to remind you who you belong too, hm?” he whispers faintly as his lips contact yours in a desperate kiss.

You melt into his touch as he pins you between him and the wall as his knee slots between your thighs keeping them open causing you to moan softly. Christopher uses this as an opportunity to slip his tongue Into your mouth, tasting you.

His hands travel down your body, tracing your curves as he pulls you closer to him as his fingertips dig into your hips. Your head falls back against the wall and he uses this opportunity to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Pl-please, Chris…” you whine out 

“I bet Minho wouldn’t make you feel this good,” His voice rough with lust as his lips ghost over your skin. “Would he, baby?” 

“Chris, pl-” you’re cut off when you feel his large palm come down on your ass.

“Answer.” He growls. 

“No! No… no one could ever make me feel this good” you practically sob out.

He smirks against the skin of your collar bone, his hands slipping down your thighs, picking you up as he walks the two of  you to your shared bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind him as he  sits you down on the side of the bed. 

You stare up at him as he removes his suit jacket, discarding it somewhere in the room. His stare is boring into your soul as the arousal pools in your panties, you press your thighs together searching for something to give you the friction you so desperately craved. 

Another thing Christopher definitely caught.  

He grabs your legs, forcing them apart as he towers over you. “Only good girls get rewarded in this house, baby” he muses. 

He never breaks eye contact as his fingers trail up your exposed thigh, causing goosebumps to ignite your skin as you lean back on the bed. 

You let out a soft gasp as Christophers fingers ghost over your clothed sex, drawing a moan out of you as he traces lazy circles over it. 

“You do this on purspose dont you,” he bites “Showing those pretty tits to my friends, hoping you’d make me jealous so I’d come home and fuck you stupid?”  

All you can muster is a whimper, Chris’ filthy words only fueling your desire further as you feel more arousal seep out of you. 

A harsh smack to your thigh breaks your thoughts.

“Answer me, slut.” He grits at you. “Did you enjoy Minho eye fucking you?”

“Y-yes, made me feel pretty…” you whine. 

Something in him snaps, did he not make you feel pretty enough? Was his lingering touches not enough? Why did you feel the need to seek validation from his friends? 

None of that mattered. 

What mattered is how he reached down, ripping the thin blue lace material of your panties off, tossing the ruined fabric to the side.

‘C-Christopher!” you stutter out as you see the lust cloud his vision as he makes quick work of his belt.

Chan throws his belt somewhere as he then moves onto his pants, unzipping them and shoving them and his underwear down, his length hitting his stomach as he did so. You stare at him, eyes flicking to his length immediately. 

No matter how many times you sleep with your boyfriend, the sight of his dick will always be a shock to you. This time was no different, the tip was red, he was already leaking pre cum as he gripped the base, positioning himself at your entrance. 

“You want to act like a slut? Fine,” He thrust himself into you, causing the both of you to moan at the same time. “I’ll fucking treat you like one.” 

He pulls out slightly, slamming himself back into you causing you to cry out, he sets a rough and fast pace giving you no time to adjust to his size. 

You throw your head back against the bed sheets as Chris ruts into you. You feel the familiar heat in your stomach as he drives you closer to your high, your moans  increase in pitch indicating your impending release before Chris pulls out of you completely. 

“P-please I’m so close!” you look up at him, doe eyed. 

“Be a good girl for me, and maybe I’ll let you finish?” He smirks back at you. 

He flips you over, causing you to whine in the process as he brings his calloused hand down on your ass, the smack echoing through your shared room. You whimper into the bed as he lands another smack, this time gently massaging the area. 

“C-Christopher… please…,” you feel tears start welling up in your eyes. 

“Please, What?” he asked, almost mocking you. 

“W-Want you,” you meekly whimper out trying to push yourself back against him. 

He chuckles darkly as slams back into you, causing you to cry out his name. He reaches down grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling you back, closer to him as he harshly fucks into you. 

“St-Still think Minho can do better? Think he can fuck you the way I do?” He grits in your ear as tears start streaming down your face. 

“N-never, on-only want you,” you sob out. 

“Look at my pretty girl…,” he muses, “Crying over how good my cock is?” he coos at you, his hand sneaking around to toy with your clit. 

You let out a high pitched moan, your body starts to tremble as he rubs slow circles around the sensitive bud. 

“Go on, be a good girl and cum for me, Hm?” he muses softly in your ear. 

That's all it took to have you coming undone, the band in your belly snapped. You moaned out as your orgasm washed over you. You shook in his grip as he helped you ride it out, eventually letting you fall on the bed causing you to whimper into the mattress. 

You roll over to look up at him, tear and mascara stained cheeks paired perfectly with your smeared lipstick as you look up at him. 

“Fuck…,” he grits, his hand coming up to cup your face. “You look so pretty like this, baby.” 

You lean into his touch, smiling softly. He runs his thumb across your lower lip. The way you look up at him causes his dick to twitch, something you only catch out of the corner of your eye. 

Christopher takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he admires your fucked out face, so much so he doesn’t notice you bring your hand up, wrapping it around his still throbbing member as he lets out a gasp. 

“Oh… fuck, baby,” he breathes, his head leaning forward.

You take notice of this and as his eyes close, you sink to your knees in front of him. Leaning in, you give the head kitten licks. His eyes shoot open, meeting yours as you sink down on his shaft. 

“Baby…,” he sighs, throwing his head back. ”That’s it, pretty girl.” 

You moan around him, the vibration causing him to let out a choked sob. As your movements speed up he reaches down, tangling his fingers in your hair trying to keep some sort of control. 

“Please, don’t stop.” you feel him twitch slightly, letting you know he was close.

You took his entire length in your mouth, your nose brushing the base of his length. The man above you letting out an almost pornagraphic moan, the noise traveling straight to your core, are you continuing bobbing up and down his length. You sink down on his length one final time as he falls apart above you. 

Just as thick, hot ribbons of his release coats the inside of your mouth, he pulls you off of him, The rest of his release landing on your chin and chest. 

He stares down at you, breathing heavily. 

“That’s my pretty girl.” 

[running-with-kn1ves]

MASKED INTRUDER PT 3 I BEGGGGG, ugh, clingy inexperienced yandere + language barrier + overeager and aggressive + needy needy needy, He is perfect! Honestly i had a spiral and came straight here to read my comfort fics and i forgot how much i loved that one 🥺 leooooo

A/N: Still not sure what I should do about Leo's origins; I've had some thoughts but nothing really planned out. Anyway thank you lots anon!

Here's Pt. 1 and Pt. 2 Word count: 2400

TW: Possessiveness, jealousy, threats of murder, razor blades, average creepy dude living in your walls behavior

Synopsis: An unexpected guest comes over, causing chaos to ensue.

The sensation of soap under your fingernails and warm water running down your forearms was one of comfort that you openly welcomed. You couldn't remember the last time you took a bath, and you could hardly count this bathing of your 'roommate' as a bath of your own.

But with your shirt soaked and your forehead damp, you finally had what could be mildly considered a clean version of Leo.

He begrudgingly sat on the cool tile floor, allowing you to ruffle his hair with a bath towel (which was really a poor attempt to manage the mess of loose, lengthy curls on his scalp.) He needed a haircut for sure, but you couldn't muster up the courage to put the scissors to his head. 

Getting him out of the house to an haircut appointment would never happen. To say he was agoraphobic was a complete understatement-- he abhorred the outside world. You sometimes think about what would've happened If you hadn't taken pity on him, allowing him to continue to find refuge in your tiny home. Or, was it perhaps he was allowing you? Until, he found that you wouldn't suffice as a worthy roomate any longer, disposing of you like he could've done to whoever originally owned this home. The mystery surrounding his origin that he seemed to completely ignore answering on still made you… cautious.  

He still felt like an extension of the house; the smell of its creaky, rotting walls, still always clinging to him-- even now, after you scrubbed him down from head to toe twice. 

You grunted as you roughly tugged his head back and forth to rub the remaining water away. Unfortunately, that left you with a frizzy Leo with more hair spun out of control than you knew what to do with. 

He blindly searched for the towel behind him without turning his head, yanking it away when he felt it in his fingers. 

"Do it myself…" he mumbled croakily, like a rusted music box. 

"Alright." You said, slightly offended. You held your hands in front of you dramatically, watching Leo wrap himself with the towel.

He looked so frail like this, on the bathroom floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. His scrawny frame hardly gave him any weight either, even if he was above six foot. You wondered if he really could hurt you, if-- he ever had the urge, to stab you with the rusty razor blade you watched him grip after he came out of the walls once company left. 

How long would it be? Until he snapped,  until one argument was just too much, and you were no longer his favorite person in the world. Tonight was one of those nights, where you imagined yourself bleeding out on the floor, Leo standing above you with that blade, or perhaps a knife from the kitchen-- the one you noticed had gone missing a few days prior.

Your fear wasn't out of place despite how many times you tried to rationalize how stupid it was. 

Several hours earlier, before Leo was as clean as he was now, you had a guest over. 

It was an old university friend, a guy you met in your first year during some odd end prerequisite or math class-- You couldn't remember. But it didn't matter, at least not to Leo. 

The moment the "intruder" sat down, you heard Leo's presence shift behind him. You could see his black eyes peering in and out of the holes in the dining room, sounds of his sporadic shuffling echoing throughout the house. You cringed everytime your friend looked up and around himself in confusion, curious of the noise. 

"It's just rats," you cover, kicking the wall behind you with a force that should've knocked down the drywall. The sound of Leo letting out a thump of retaliation nearly made your smile crack.

 You had rescued your university pal several times over the course of that night, finding the dead bugs in his drink before he could've noticed, and shutting Leo back into his hiding spots anytime you saw his hand or leg peek through, when he occasionally got the courage to try and dispose of the 'threat.'

It wasn't until your guest had asked to use the bathroom however, that Leo managed to gain a win. Cursing and yelling from the locked door made you panic, the few minutes of silence in the living room having seemingly tricked you of peace. You should’ve known that silence never meant a good thing. 

Sprinting to the bathroom, you got there in time to find your old friend covered head to do in dust and dirt, the bathroom vent still emitting a cloud of grey. Dust fell from the vent, spraying with the blow of the air conditioning. 

"Stop!" You screamed, kicking the back of the bathroom wall multiple times in retaliation. The dust immediately lessened, flecks still falling into your hair. You grunted and cursed, seeing the disaster your bathroom had become and the filth your friend was left in. 

It was safe to say you escorted him quickly out thereafter, blaming the “malfunction” on your worse for wear vent ducts. His confused expression lingered as you walked him out the door. Your horrible cover ups had you questioning whether or not he was convinced but thankfully there seemed to be some sort of unspoken understanding-- maybe he knew you had to be going through something from how odd your behavior was all night-- or maybe it was just misplaced pity.

 Either way, you were relieved to watch him exit the door with a washcloth you knew you’d never get back, telling him to be safe on his way home with a wry smile. 

Shutting that door was the biggest relief ever. The last person you'd want to know about your odd roomate situation was one of the few people in the world who had preconceived standards of you. 

You had never worried about Leo when you had groups of friends over; he never dared to leave from his hiding spot when more than one foreign person entered the house. But this time, it had been a single unknown entity, and a male one at that. You felt the realization hit you directly in the gut as your back laid against that cool wooden door, the sounds of Leo leaving one of his more trickier, less clean hiding spots echoing in the house.

"Leo?" You called out, a slight inflection of annoyance in your voice. 

You watched him crawl out of the large vent in your hallway, the metal grate coming off as two dirty hands forced it to the floor. Leo shimmied his way out of the tiny crawlspace, clouds of dirt coming with him as his legs finally came free. 

Scrambling up, the male blew dust out of his mouth, wobbly getting to his feet. With a sly glare and a satisfied expression, Leo looked towards to you silently; smugly. 

Pinching his ear and dragging him to the bathtub had been your first approach at reprimanding him; but it had done nothing to deter him. Leos silentness and resentful, pouting face left you to scold a brick wall, his rigidness extending to his body's heavy limbs and sluggish pace. 

Even now while slowly rubbing the towel back and forth on his scalp, his face turned away defiantly. 

A quiet moment passed as you watched him scrub himself dry. 

"I just… I don't understand why you have to act this way." 

Leo stopped. His head had been hanging low, thin wrists resting on his knees as water droplets rolled down the ends of his hair. His hand-me-down stretched pajamas covered his chest and thighs. You never thought an old pair of basketball shorts and a faded grey shirt would look so good on him, but you couldn't help to linger on his fingers and the curve of his neck muscles. 

Without warning Leo stood up, pushing off the ground with one hand as he held the towel loosely in the other. 

"What're you doing?" You question.

He wouldn't face you; his mask prosthetic was left on the edge of the tub, and without it-- well, it was impossible to make eye contact with him.

Leo reached for the light witch next to the shut bathroom door, flipping it without a word.

As soon as you saw him pull the light switch the color drained from your face. 

You didn't speak, waiting in the dark to see what Leo's next move would be. Maybe he hid that Razor blade somewhere in his clothes, and was aiming it at you right this second. 

"If you're gonna--"

"Shh." A voice hushed. 

The warmth of flesh was pressed against your lips. It was a finger; hot breath fanned above you,  the finger on your lips turning to a hand that cupped your cheek. Your face was held so securely, being tipped upwards as he stood leering above you. The bathroom was quiet save for the dripping of the bath pipe, and Leo's heavy breathing. 

Leo reached for you, awkwardly climbing atop your lap. He stumbled at first, but the way he curled his arms around your back, you felt like you couldn't let him go.

His nose nestled into the crook of your neck, crumpling into you like an animal looking for warmth. 

"I don't share…Don't like it.." he mumbled.

"What?"

"Things, my things.." He started, the sounds of his labored breaths hitting your ear. "Don't like it when… strangers touch… my things."

"Wai--Leo!" 

You couldn't help but search for his eyes in the dark, doing a happy little wiggle with him in your arms.

"Your voice has improved so much!" You beamed. He hadn’t spoken since the incident, and before that-- well, it took a lot to get him where he was.

“See, I knew pushing you would pay off.” You beamed, gloating in the feeling of success after remembering all the painful vocabulary lessons and hours of his stubborn behavior when you refused to answer his nonverbal pleads. 

Leo’s quietness as you pinched his ear beneath his fluff of loose curls gave you time to snap back to reality-- remembering the words he just spoke. Leo basked in the praise, gripping onto your damp shirt as he ignored your change in expression. 

The obvious possessiveness made you nearly cringe; this is exactly what you were trying to avoid. 

“But Leo, I’m not just yours- I’m everybody’s. There are other people my time has to be shared with--”

You were cut off with the flick of an all too familiar razor blade, twirling in Leos fingers.

“Then….I’ll kill them.” 

“....Kill?”

Leo leaned up, bringing his face closer to yours than he’d ever done before.

“I… wanna kill. Him. Kill….all of them..” His eyes were wide in the dark, and you could see the faint outline of the scars running down his face. You stared hard into his eyes, witnessing the fear and paranoia in them. “They’ll take.. You away. He will.” His throat was getting raspier, more raw. 

“Leo, you know you can’t say things like that..” You softened. He sounded so small, you could hardly believe his words. But in the back of your mind, alarm bells and bright red warning signs were going off. 

You reached for his face, hoping to hold it in your hands, feel the warmth of his skin. But Leo stopped you, holding your wrists. He rejected you from touching his face, again; had things truly changed? Had you made any progress with him?

And like clockwork, Leo reached for his mask, by the bathtub, sitting comfortably on your lap as he faced you. 

He adjusted the prosthetic on his face, resting it snugly as the back clipped. 

“You really wanna stop me from kissing you that badly?” You joked. 

But then the mask was lifted, just slightly, as Leos lips came closer for yours. Now that you brought the idea up, he wouldn’t let it go. 

“Kiss..” He mumbled, trying to reach for your face.

“Ah ah,” You waved a finger at him. “Don’t think I’m going soft after what you just said.” Leo let you push your two fingers against his lips, puckering them. “We’ve talked about this; what did I say?”

“Killing is….it is,” 

“It’s wrong, Leo.” 

“Its.. wrong.” He whined, bringing your other hand to his chest. He didn’t want it to be wrong, he wanted you to let him run wild and do what he knew he needed to do--”

“Promise me, Leo.” You pulled your hand slightly away. “Promise me you won’t.. Hurt anyone. Okay?”

He went quiet, letting a small grunt out as you kept pulling away the longer he stayed quiet. 

“Say it.”

“Fine… okay.” He croaked. 

You went limp and let him hold you close to him, his face leaning close as he looked for your approval. 

“Kiss..?” He mumbled again, following where your head turned to catch your lips. 

“Only because you’re finally being good..” You let him grab your chin like a cat pawing at you, his other hand nestled into your hair. “But you really don’t deserve this, especially after toni--”

You were cut off with a hungry lick, Leo’s mouth twisting against yours as the mask bumped against your nose. He lifted it just a bit higher, concealing only half of his face as he leaned deeper into you. His mouth was as warm as usual, but you could feel his warn down jealousy still through the rush of his lips.You wondered if you should really be rewarding him now after all he tried to pull. 

 A guttural purr released from his throat when he broke free from your mouth with a huff, running his hand down your back. He tried to pull your hair out of your face with his free hand, leaning for another kiss. 

“Wait Leo,” You put a hand in front of your lips, the other out with your palm up. “Give it to me first.”

Leo let out a dramatic sigh. He sat for a moment, stubbornly waiting to see if you’d really push him or let it go. 

“Come on now,” You beckoned with your hand. 

Huffing with frustration, Leo took as slow as possible to pull the razor blade from his pants.