#let me know if you have any other questions

[gutsby]

High Risk

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your dad finds out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv/a. Age gap. Daddy kink. Sneaky sex. Breeding kink. Anal. Use of various sex toys. Joel Miller eats it from the back like a gentleman should. Slight pain kink, but it’s consensual. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk!

Word count: 15.0k

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Joel Miller had the willpower of a sack of flour.

If you beckoned, he came. If you called, he answered.

No matter the hour of day, any time or place, that man would be there, no hesitation and no questions asked.

Hell, he might’ve had a couple qualms about fucking at a gas station off I-10 in the middle of the day, but his devotion to you quickly overpowered any better sense. He just unzipped his jeans in the front seat of his Bronco, let you climb across the center console and into his lap, and, parked directly next to a gas pump somewhere just shy of Webster, Texas, he let you ride him for six minutes.

That was all either one of you needed to get off. With his keys out of the ignition and the thin, frigid air of a winter’s day soaking straight through to your bones and his, you needed to move quick to keep warm. You buried your face into his neck and whimpered repeatedly, ‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,’ and Joel had no choice but to oblige, really. He stroked the back of your head with one of his big, warm palms and told you he was right here, ‘m always here, sweet pea. That helped you climax fast.

It also didn’t hurt that you’d nudged the hand cupping your ass to start touching somewhere lower, inside there

Joel’s fingers brushed through the wet, sticky glaze from where your bodies connected and started rubbing someplace new—at your request, of course—and his heart damn near burst out of his chest when you let out a wanton moan at the touch. His cock twitched, and your walls clenched around him when his index first petted that tight ring of muscles. You squirmed in his lap.

“Fuck me there, Joel. Push it in,” you whimpered.

At least half of that sentiment must have been the pre-climax talking, Joel reckoned, but he couldn’t deny that he felt equally enthralled by that spot. It was more just curiosity and mindless need, wondering what you’d feel like wrapped around him in that new place. His fingertip breached the tiny ring, and the two of you groaned into each other. It was mind-numbing. He might’ve plunged his digit in and out all of five times before you were both pushed over the edge. You came with a shuddering cry, and Joel filled the condom inside you in thick, hot spurts.

Joel’s vision blurred for a second with how hard he came

He was still blinking, still breathing like his ribcage might cave at any moment, and you were lifting off him gently.

A little squelch and a sigh from your lips were all that he heard over the rush in his skull. Absently, Joel plucked the rubber off and looked around for a tissue to put it in.

He’d just secured it, and was zipping up his pants to step out of the car and toss it in the trash, when he saw you turned, peering out the back window. He chucked the condom and returned to find you in the same position.

“We should try anal next,” you said simply.

Clinically.

Joel almost dropped his keys turning the Bronco back on

“Try w—” He choked on the last word and stumbled for the third and fourth, sputtering. “What do you mean?”

Finally, you shifted back to face the front, to face him, and a smile was playing at your lips. Your nose wrinkled.

“You don’t know what that means, Joel? Pretty sure the mechanics are about the same as any other type of fucking, just like…in my butt,” you said teasingly.

Like hell it was.

You were no more than forty-five minutes away from your destination in Galveston. Your dad was already at his timeshare down there and would be expecting you soon. Both of you had been a little off-kilter ever since the man had called out of the blue that morning and offered you, Tommy, and Maria the weekend getaway at his place, but still. This? Where the hell had you gotten an idea like that in your head, when the focus was supposed to be on laying low the next couple days? Keeping sex to its usual bounds, not doing anything risky near your dad.

You and him had a pretty bad track record in that.

All the same, trying anal at your dad’s beach house sounded more than just crazy. It was plainly absurd.

Joel was planning to tell his best friend that he was in love with you not too far in the future. How was that conversation likely to fare if the man happened to catch him with his dick in his daughter’s backdoor beforehand?

“I ain’t fuckin’ your ass,” he mumbled grumpily instead.

He turned on the car and cranked the tunes to drown out any protest from you—and to quiet his own wild musings

What if he could, just once?

Would you even like it?

Damn, it might not—

“You need COOOOOOOOLIN’, baby I’m not FOOOLIN’.”

Thank you, Robert Plant.

The song started playing, and he felt especially grateful.

Actually, Joel might need the entirety of Led Zeppelin’s discography to clear his head of the nonsense currently coursing through it. He gripped the wheel tighter in his fists and started out of the gas station parking lot then.

You drummed a mindless beat with your fingertips on your thigh. Your legs were crossed, and you occasionally flit looks over your shoulder. At what, Joel had no idea.

“Take a left on General Acacius Way,” you said casually.

“What?” Joel turned to you.

Your finger was already pointing in the direction you wanted him to take the car. Your shoulders were relaxed, and that mischievous glint in your eye was unmistakable.

“Left on that road, then there should be another parking lot just behind the auto shop. It’s right beside the…yeah.”

Yeah.

Joel turned the wheel to pull onto the nearest street, and suddenly, he saw it. Right across the intersection, no more than a stone’s throw away from where he sat, there was a storefront that nearly made his eyes pop out.

He never considered himself a prude before.

In fact, he’d always thought he was pretty adventurous when it came to sex and being open-minded about stuff.

But this was fucking nuts.

There, on the corner of General Acacius Way and Clint Avenue, he saw a store with flashing pink-and-white lights and an even bigger, gaudier neon sign hanging above them, blinding half the street and making sure that it was seen on even the brightest, sunniest of days:

‘Mandalorian Sex Emporium: This is the Way…to Pleasure’

You had to be fucking joking.

You weren’t joking.

You’d gotten the idea driving to Galveston—or, rather, seated on your boyfriend’s lap and having him finger you in a place he’d never done it before—and then ran with it.

Sprinted, more like.

Your life and Joel’s were rife with stressors and uncertainty and fucked up paternal concerns galore. You’d been thinking nonstop about your dad’s latest conversation with Joel and about the possibility of him finding out about your secret relationship, and it had nearly sent you spiraling. You needed a distraction.

Was it the wisest idea to have that distraction be Joel’s dick in your ass? Probably not. But there were certainly worse ways to be spending your time, and sitting around wondering why the hell your dad had never bothered to tell you that he might not be your biological father, or that Tommy fucking Miller might have been, was useless. You wouldn’t know a thing until you talked to him yourself—and that conversation would have to take place later. This weekend, probably. Presently, you were perusing an aisle full of water-based lubricants, smiling.

Joel wasn’t quite scowling, but he certainly had that look

Like a father himself, far from approving of this scheme.

“Y’think flavored is the way to go?” you asked casually.

You held bottles of Beskar Berry Blast and Coruscant Cotton Candy in either hand and held them up for the purpose of getting your old man’s opinion on them, but his eyes glazed over both. His gaze penetrated yours, and then it flitted down to what he held in his own hand.

His phone.

Also, he had on his reading glasses.

They sat perched atop the tip of his nose, and from that look alone, you knew whatever came next would be good

Joel cleared his throat.

“Sugary lubricants are much more likely to cause a bacterial imbalance—infection, even—and with the heightened risk of microtears in the anal cavity—”

“Jo-el.”

You groaned.

Joel didn’t blink.

“What? If you’re grown-up enough to want anal sex, you need to be able to say the words. I mean it, sweetheart…”

And with that, he straightened. His back audibly cracked. Though he didn’t wince, you could tell that he’d felt it, as his brows were furrowed returning his focus to his phone

He was even more serious than normal, you could tell. Swiftly, you sidled up next to him. You looked down.

In the search bar on Joel’s phone, you read:

How to do anal first time painless & safe

Peering up, you saw his lips were in a line. He was scrolling through results like this was of the utmost importance, and your heart clenched, realizing just how much he cared for your well-being. On top of that, you sensed there was more to his nerves than just the sex.

“We don’t…have to do it, Joel,” you told him softly. “Seriously, it’s OK if you’re uncomfortable. Or worried.”

That last word carried the weight of the sentence, and at length, Joel met your look. His shoulders sagged a little.

He pocketed his cell. Put his glasses in his breast pocket.

“No. I’m alright. Really. Just thinkin’ of stuff,” he replied.

“Like Dad?”

“Like him shovin’ a shotgun up my ass.”

And both of you smiled some, but it was tense. Strained.

That momentary relief of humor between you two was, by force of circumstance, dampened by some weightier considerations. Like maybe this detour was a bad way to distract, and you shouldn’t be seeking that out right now

Maybe sneaking around your dad was risky enough.

Hell, maybe even the truth about you two had to wait.

It was a thought born of fear, but an honest feeling all the same—and, seeming to sense this, Joel’s expression softened. Suddenly, his hand was reaching for yours.

“I’m not havin’ second thoughts about tellin’ him, if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” he resumed, eyes on you.

“We just need to…go slow,” you finished. Questioning.

The fingers threaded through yours squeezed them.

“If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it, sweetheart.”

Slow.

Steady.

Setting an even pace for everything to come.

You couldn’t help but see some parallels, to, well…this.

You set the flavored lubes aside. You took Joel’s advice—got some simple, no-frills stuff. It wasn’t about being in a rush, or needing this new, fun thing to be a diversion from the reality you were currently facing. You did it because you wanted to. Because Joel was open to it, too, and though he was being extra cautious, you knew it all stemmed from the love that he had for you. It always did.

You picked out toys. You had to bite back a smile seeing your old man take in the sight of some thick, ten-inch plastic shafts and whistle quietly to himself. He picked out vibrating panties he thought might be fun, and you got two different sets of plugs and beads. By the end of your little excursion, both of you were calmer and content. You strolled out of that Mand’alor sex shop feeling more at ease than you’d been for a good bit.

In the Bronco, back on the road and hitting the homestretch of your trip down to the beach, you did feel like a weight had been lifted. If not completely dissolved, your anxiety, at least, had seemed to take the backseat.

With Joel up front and occasionally squeezing your thigh, telling you just how excited he was to spend the weekend together, you wanted to forget your worries.

You wanted it to be you, Joel, and no one else for a while.

Tommy picked the worst goddamn times to show face.

It was either that he had the worst timing known to man, or he secretly relished catching his brother in the most compromising positions—like the one he was in now.

You and Joel had gotten to the house around noon, not long after you were expected to arrive. Your father was already gone when you got there, having shot a text to say he was looking at bike rentals and that he’d made reservations for lunch at a restaurant down the road—head on over in twenty minutes, and I’ll meet y’all there.

Naturally, with the code to unlock the front door and almost a half hour to spare, a quickie had been a must.

You’d gotten busy in the first guest bathroom you could find and washed off the sex toys you’d just bought, too.

It was incredible how fucking arousing the sight of a little silver plug with a jewel at its base could be to see inside you. After a few slow pumps of his fingers while he fucked you up against the sink in doggy, along with a dollop or two of lube, he’d worked it in you. He thumbed at the spot where your hole was stopped up and smiled.

Then his brother had barged into the house downstairs.

“Who’s ready for some fuckin’ gruuuuuub?!” he’d yelled.

That had been over an hour ago. Now you, him, Tommy, Maria, and your dad were all finishing up said grub at a little cafe on the beach. You were dining outdoors, and the sun was shining bright, but not oppressively. A gentle breeze blew. The food was so good Joel could’ve sworn that his eyes had rolled back in ecstasy twice.

You, too, were squirming—but for very different reasons.

Before you’d left, you put on the vibrating panties. Joel had the remote that controlled them, and he’d been turning it on and off, up and down, all at his leisure.

He wasn’t going crazy, though.

The two of you had agreed you needed to be careful this weekend and couldn’t take too many risks near his friend

But, then again, you were you, and Joel was Joel.

Of course, you’d be fucking around a little bit.

Your dad was calling for the check presently.

You’d just reached for your glass of sweet tea, now nearly empty, but the second the rim touched your lips, your grip slipped. For a beat, Joel thought you might drop it.

Shit.

Dial that down to a…four, maybe?

The settings went all the way to ten. Apparently shocking you out of nowhere with a six was enough to make your eyes bug out and a cough to push itself out of your chest

“You alright, kiddo?” Tommy asked beside you.

You coughed again and forced a smile.

You quickly nodded back at him.

“Fine. Just—fine.” And at the last, your gaze shot to Joel.

You fucker.

He deserved that.

Under the table, holding the remote to your panties, he notched the toy back down to two, just to be nice. You visibly relaxed and pried your eyes off of his, but not before narrowing them briefly. I’m watching you, Miller.

Joel hoped you’d do a lot more to him than that by the time he was done. Just when your dad reached for the bill being handed over by the waitress, he intercepted it.

He slid his card out and stuffed it inside the little folder.

“Meal’s on me,” Joel announced without ceremony.

His friend gave him an appreciative, if not slightly objecting look. He looked like he was about to protest the offer, when Joel tucked his wallet—along with your underwear’s remote—into his pocket. He handed the check back to the waitress and told her not to accept a penny from his friend. Your dad barked a laugh at that.

“Joel, you know I’m fine to—”

“Fucking shit.”

The words leapt through your gritted teeth before you could even think to stop them from coming, it looked like

Joel’s eyes were on you the same second you said them, and as soon as he did, he saw you grip the edge of the table. You blinked hard and coughed a third time. Loud.

He hadn’t even…

“Language, young lady,” your dad snapped. “What is it?”

He gave the same look Joel had seen his own father give him and Tommy countless times growing up—the kind that said we’re out in public, don’t be showin’ your ass.

It wasn’t really your fault, though, if Joel had to guess.

Shortly, he was feeling around for your remote.

Next to you, Maria had a hand on your back.

“You need some water? Here.”

And she offered you hers.

You shook your head vehemently, and shifted in your seat again. Cursed again, though bit your tongue with it.

“Motherfuckin’ piece’a—ah, ah.”

You clamped down at the last.

Was that a moan at the end?

Joel fished around his pocket even quicker. At the same time, your dad ditched his fork from trying to shovel in the last couple bites of his mahi-mahi and glared at you.

“Is there something you’d like to share, sweetheart?”

No the absolute fuck there isn’t.

Where is it, where is it, where is it?

Joel had just been holding it a second ago. His pants pockets weren’t that deep. If he could just grab it and—

“No!” you cried. Actually, it was more like a plea. Your expression pinched, and your fingernails dug into the table, and right as Joel got his hand on the little pink remote, you almost jumped sideways out of your chair.

Fortunately, the waitress arrived with the check again. She handed it to him, thanked them for stopping by, and while your father was momentarily distracted, Joel found the remote. He clicked the button and realized that it had been cranked to ten as his ass was crushing it under him.

Whether you were about to climax on the spot or bawl your fucking eyes out was anyone’s guess at that point.

Joel shut your undies off.

You let out a heaving sigh.

Your father eyed you incredulously. Frowning.

“Any other stunts you’d like to pull before we go biking?” he said, though it was clear he wasn’t expecting a reply.

You gave him one anyway.

Answering your dad but looking directly at Joel, you said:

“I don’t think I wanna come, actually. I’m too tired now.”

***

It was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him on the spot.

If looks could kill, yours just might have done him in.

Lunch had ended without event—well, as much as could be said for your father occasionally stealing looks your way and seeming to wonder whether you might not have gotten drunk during the meal—but still, you made it out. Of course, your dad had roped you, Joel, Tommy, and Maria into riding bikes that afternoon, despite your protests, and despite the fact that the man was still recovering from an injured femur. Your dad had agreed to ride an e-bike to minimize strain, and he’d seemed as cheerful as anything to get going. Joel felt your sidelong dirty looks the whole walk to the rental bike place, and though they weren’t the dirty looks he liked, he still managed to maintain a happy demeanor himself.

He’d even gone so far as to squeeze your elbow playfully and say, ‘Bet I’ll beat you in a race down the beach, kid.’

He did make sure it sounded as platonic and innuendo-less as possible, though. If there was any time to ensure you kept things G-rated and non-suspicious, now was it.

Evidently, you weren’t having it.

Still shaking from your almost-orgasm at lunch, and likely dreading having to sit on a bike an excruciating hour or three, it seemed you wanted nothing more than to make Joel’s life misery now—in a sweet, discreet way.

He should’ve known it when you first peeled off your shirt getting onto your bike, leaving you in nothing but a lime green string bikini top and your shorts. Technically, it had been Tommy who started the trend by claiming it was ‘hot as shit’ and proceeding to rip off his own tee, but Joel sensed from the look you gave him as soon as you shed yours too that you meant to torture him. If he’d had his fun with a vibrating pair of panties, you could do the same showing off your rack while you rode this bike.

And you did. You’d pulled up right beside him no more than ten seconds after your dad had started off down the path to lead the way, and you’d arched your back, pretending to stretch in your seat before setting off yourself. You’d made sure Joel saw your tits in all their full, heaving, teasing beauty, and then you’d leaned in.

“What do I get if I beat you down there, daddy?”

You’d said it quietly; Joel didn’t hesitate.

“Whatever the fuck you want, baby.”

He might’ve been in for an afternoon of torment, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tempt you right back—he would get a moment alone with you one way or another today.

Still, as expected, the bike ride went on forever.

Joel’s balls ached, and it wasn’t just from the triangular-shaped, hard-as-shit seat underneath him. You rode beside him, in front of him, weaving back and forth with ease and showing him everything he couldn’t touch with his best friend no more than fifteen feet away from him. It was agony. And it didn’t improve when your group hopped off their bikes an hour later to stop for ice cream. If anything, the torture just took on a bittersweet tinge.

You were talking to your dad again. On the bike ride, along the boardwalk, at the ice cream shop—for what had seemed like the first time in ages, you were really speaking to your old man and seeming to enjoy yourself. Joel knew there was a lot more to be ironed out between you two, and that would come eventually, but for now, you got to relax. On top of this absurd, mind-numbing attraction he had for you, he also felt oddly content to watch you bond with your father like this, in front of him.

Joel hoped he wouldn’t be the reason it all went to shit.

You were licking cookies and cream ice cream off the side of your cone, then your wrist, where the milky substance had trickled down a little bit. Joel was fighting like hell not to make that sexual in his mind, but it was difficult when you’d sucked him off dozens and dozens of times before. Your dad laughed at something you said; he practically wheezed, and then he’d pinched your nose affectionately. You wrinkled it in response, still grinning.

Joel loved you.

He was seconds away from sporting a raging erection under his shorts, and he loved you more than anything.

He really didn’t want your relationship with him to be the reason why you lost your own with your father, and for a moment, Joel wondered if it might not be a good idea for the two of you to wait. Until you were a little older, out of college, maybe making some money of your own and able to decide for yourself if he was what you really—

“Sweetheart!”

That was your dad.

But it wasn’t for you.

It wasn’t spoken to you, but rather behind you, where the ice cream shop’s front door had jingled with a new arrival

It all happened faster than Joel could process it—your smile had been so big beaming back at your father, reminiscing on some old memories together, and then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Lost. Dropped off of your face completely the second you turned around.

His friend rose to his feet and went for a warm greeting; at the same time, Tommy’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

Beside him, Maria’s did the same.

So he’d told her about Helen, then.

Your dad had just pulled the woman in for a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. Helen had smiled appreciatively at first, then a little sheepishly as her gaze darted over the four other people sitting at the table.

Your look was as deadened as Joel had ever seen it—leagues worse than when you’d been mad about the vibrating panty situation. Your whole demeanor had taken a nosedive, and your back straightened reflexively.

You lowered your ice cream cone and eyed them both.

“Maria, I don’t think you and Helen have been introdu—” your dad started to say, but even he, in all of his affable humor couldn’t ignore the way your chair scraped back.

You stood and tossed your cone in the trash.

Then, without saying another word, you left.

It wasn’t particularly dramatic, loud, or angry. In fact, your movements were as mechanical and unaffected as if you’d just felt a cool draft and wanted to take a step outside. It didn’t look like you were annoyed at anything.

You got the fuck out of there, though.

You discarded your frozen treat like it was nothing, and, without thinking, Joel did the same starting after you.

Dimly, he was aware of the bell over the door jingling a third time with his exit. He felt the sun on his face and a breeze through his hair as he followed in your wake. It seemed you’d considered your bike outside for all of one second before quickly diverting your path; you decided you’d walk. You did walk for several yards in front of him.

Joel called your name.

You were off at a fast clip, so he had to jog to catch up.

When he did—and that didn’t take long—he reached out.

You jerked your arm away: “I’m not doing this shit, Joel.”

“I know.”

Another step closer.

Another pass for your elbow.

You didn’t fight it at first, as you’d gotten better about trusting him in moments like these. You’d improved your general reaction to bad situations and had managed to leave the shop without causing a scene. Still, old habits died hard, and in a second, you were pulling away and starting off even faster—further from him, to the beach.

Speed-walking at this point, like you needed to blow off some steam and couldn’t do that anywhere but near a body of water. Joel watched you scrub at one of your eyes and could sense something brewing inside you.

“He knew,” you spat, words harsh several strides ahead. “Motherfucker knew what he was going to do, so he took me to my favorite ice cream place from when I was a kid, talks to me like we’re—we’re good again, then fuckin’—”

You reached the boardwalk leading to the beach. You curtailed your speech just long enough to take a quick, ragged breath, and then you climbed the wooden steps.

“He’s a fucking asshole,” you muttered.

Joel could only see your profile, but at least you’d slowed down. You were maybe four feet ahead, and you had your mouth in a tight line, like words were getting difficult to say. He knew that look. He knew tears weren’t far away.

“And we’re—FUCK!”

At the last, you’d nearly made it all the way to the sand but had gotten your shoe stuck on a crooked part of a plank walking up, and you stumbled. You fell down, hands instinctively flying out to catch yourself.

Joel’s did the same.

As soon as you went down, it seemed, he was right there with you on the ground. If he’d acted a second faster, he might’ve been able to prevent you from hitting the sand at all. Unfortunately, you’d been a little too far ahead of him to make a catch possible. He dropped to his knees beside you, and his hands were reaching again. Grasping.

Holding, and not being nudged off this time. You cursed.

“Fucking sh—” you started, going in for your knee.

“Baby, hey—hey.”

Fear must’ve flashed in his eyes, because the second you met it, you were blinking hard—expression softening the slightest bit in spite of the pain probably shooting up your leg just then. You pulled your knee to your chest, but you let Joel hold it, too. You let out a labored breath.

“You OK? Lemme—” Joel brushed some sand off your leg. “—lemme see it, sweetheart. Just let me see, OK?”

His words were as soft and placating as he could manage it; it was silly, really, since a couple seconds’ inspection of your knee revealed you’d suffered no more than a minuscule scrape from your fall. Still, he leaned in.

And as soon as he reached down for your ankle, checking to make sure you hadn’t twisted it or anything in the process, he heard another sigh. It was softer.

A little more strangled, too, by the sound of it.

“We’re doing the same thing, aren’t we?”

Your voice was small. On hearing it, Joel’s hands stilled in place, and his gaze flitted up to yours. His brow furrowed

“What?”

“Lying,” you said, somehow even quieter. Frowning, but not on account of any pain. “Hiding. Just…just like him.”

Now it was Joel’s turn to soften his expression looking at you—he couldn’t help it. Your face was mottled with a mix of warring thoughts, from anger to fear to shame, and it made his chest hurt. He hated seeing you hurt.

“No. We ain’t like him.” He shook his head.

Your dad destroyed his marriage and upended your life for a love he should’ve fought to keep or left in the past.

You didn’t know that. Joel had only learned the truth the night before, and the story was fraught with so many other deeply personal things, he didn’t think it was his place to share it with you himself. You’d have to hear it from your father when you talked to him, and he knew that that would be soon. You’d already learned part of it.

“We ain’t them, sweetheart. Nothin’ even close to that.” And as he said it, his hand lifted to your cheek. He cupped the side of your face and thumbed at it gently.

You sniffled. You looked like you might jump into his arms and demand a hug, which Joel was more than happy to give, but then you stopped. You had to, shortly.

More footsteps down the way. They thundered fast and loud down the creaky, sunwashed stretch of boardwalk and came clambering to where you and Joel crouched.

Joel’s hand jerked back.

He didn’t want it like that, but he had no choice. Your father’s voice was booming overhead, concern laced in every word as he approached at a lightning-quick pace.

“Honey! Hon—fuck—are you alright?”

Then he was at your side. Reaching for you in that same, urgent way Joel had, only Joel was helping you up. The two of you shared a final look before you turned to him.

You were already waving your father off, “I’m fine, Dad.”

“Did you trip? What happened? Is your ankle alright?”

At least a half-dozen emotions were all flickering over his face at once, like the man couldn’t pick which feeling to stick to, but each one was born of fear, Joel could see.

As a matter of fact, Joel never saw his friend’s features betray such bone-chilling concern than when he happened to be worrying over you. It showed again.

Your father was fretting and fawning for no reason at all—no matter how insistent you were that you just tripped, that’s it, now lay off, Dad, please. It was clear that your admonitions fell on deaf ears, one right after the next. You were persistent, but you got that from him, and he wouldn’t let it go until he’d held you steady in his hands and checked your legs and feet and told you, sweetie, you could’ve hurt yourself. What were you thinkin’?

Running off like that was what he meant, surely.

Joel had to force his gaze away when he saw how earnest your father was on those last couple words. He was stooped a little, bent to match your height, and his eyes were glistening with a paternal apprehension like he’d never seen. It almost seemed too much. Overdone.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

And he wasn’t talking about you taking a spill on the boardwalk anymore, suddenly. His expression softened.

True to your stubborn self—true to being his daughter—you just shook your head and sniffled once. Then you tried to nudge him away again, your movements wooden

“I don’t ca—”

“Can we talk?”

Another sniff. Another step away.

“I don’t wanna talk.” You sounded resolute.

Your dad was even more adamant: “Well, I wanna talk.”

And that made both you and Joel stiffen involuntarily. It wasn’t necessarily the words that he spoke but the way in which they were said; your father’s voice nearly broke.

“We need to talk, pumpkin.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Something tugged at Joel’s chest that felt like a blade. Your father straightened and cast a look around, eyes scanning the sunny, colorful scenery like he was thinking, and then he quickly reverted his focus to you.

Joel wasn’t sure if his friend’s gaze had missed him on purpose, or if there were something more beneath it.

He was paranoid.

Insane.

“Five minutes. Then I’m going home,” you said coldly.

Whether you meant the house on the beach or the one back in Austin was anyone’s guess. Frankly, Joel was only aware of his surroundings in the vaguest, dullest sense, and the rest of his body was buzzing. He couldn’t stop blinking, fearing what was coming next for you both

A breath got lodged in his throat and he almost choked when your father turned his way, at length. He coughed.

“Miller, you—”

Fuck, this was it. The end.

Your father paused to cough, too, though this time, it looked natural. He appeared to be clearing his throat.

“—mind giving us a minute? Shouldn’t be too long.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Sure thing, man.”

Shouldn’t be too long.

This was the last thought ringing through his skull as he turned to leave. He couldn’t bear to meet your look for longer than a second, for fear that your father might change his mind and suddenly out you both for fucking each other’s brains out these last three months. That would be horrific, and Joel wasn’t about to test his luck.

From what he could glean from your expression in the glimpse he got, you were feeling about the same as him.

Your voice was small—and growing more faint as he started to walk off from the way you two first came.

Down the boardwalk, haunting him all the way back:

“So what do we need to talk about, Dad?”

Your head hurt.

The talk ended up taking more than five minutes.

At the start of that conversation, you swore you’d tell your dad to fuck off and then head back to Austin before he could even utter the name ‘Helen,’ but here you were.

Staring blankly at a wall recalling every last minute detail of the exchange, hours later, and wondering what the fuck any of it meant. Freshly showered and splayed out over the front of a big, familiar frame and inhaling his scent. Laying with your head on his chest and your cheek growing hotter the longer it stayed in place.

You blinked and wanted to forget everything.

A hand stroked up and down your back, moving slowly.

“Your dad loves you, sweet pea. More’n anything.”

Joel murmured that into your hair, then kissed the crown of your head. Instead of giving you a good, warm feeling or making goosebumps break out across your skin, the gesture hardly registered. You could only stare harder at the wall beside the bed and recognize how numb you felt

“Even though I basically ruined his life,” you replied dully.

“Hey.”

Your head was nudged to turn up to Joel’s. Reluctantly, your chin came to rest on his chest, and at the same time, you felt two broad palms cup the sides of your face.

Joel’s eyes pierced you with a marked, solemn sincerity.

“Don’t say that,” he rasped.

“It’s true. I wrecked everything.”

“You didn’t wreck a single damn—”

“He doesn’t even know if I’m his daughter, Joel!”

Those words were spoken with an even harsher edge. Louder, like they needed to get out. You shifted a little.

“How the fuck am I not supposed to feel guilty when my being born was the only reason he chose to stay with my mom at all, and then it turns out, he might not even b—”

It was too ugly to say aloud. It was too foul, too shameful, too fucking gut-wrenching to think that your very existence was the reason for another’s unhappiness—and that that whole premise might’ve been built on a lie. Stupidly, you scrubbed at your cheek and pushed to sit, like the act and the new posturing might make the chances of you breaking down crying any less likely.

Joel sat up with you.

His arms wrapped around you, and you didn’t have the strength to push him off or tell him you were fine, really.

Shoulders sagging, you simply leaned in and buried your face in the crook of his neck. You let him hold you close.

“‘S’alright, sweet girl,” Joel cooed. Stroking your hair like he’d last done running his hand up and down your back. “He’s still your dad. You’ll always be his, no matter what.”

At that, the first crack in your exterior gave way.

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but a sob racked through you, and your body melted into Joel’s bigger one. Your numbness fled, and it left you feeling raw.

Needy.

Clinging to the old, heather gray shirt your boyfriend had on and hoping that your tears wouldn’t soak the material.

Carefully, Joel slid up the bed with you tucked snugly in his arms, and he leaned back into the headboard. He let you cry, probably because it felt appropriate, and also because he loved you more than words could express.

For some reason, that made you want to cry even harder.

Joel continued to stroke your hair and murmur sweet nothings in your ear, and the pit of unease in your stomach grew more and more painful as he did.

You fisted his shirt fully in one hand and wept. After some seconds or minutes passed, you could hardly decipher what had brought you to tears in the first place, but you knew what kept you there—what made you want to curl up in a ball and sob your eyes dry on the spot.

There were words sticking to your throat, begging to claw out, so in the next second, you ended up blurting:

“I don’t—I don’t wanna be like him, Joel.”

The sound was a little muffled against Joel’s neck, but it must’ve reached his ears all the same, because suddenly he was shifting the slightest bit and drawing back gently.

“Wh—”

“I don’t wanna lie like him. Keep…fucking things up.”

“Sweet pea, I promise you’re not—”

“I don’t wanna lose you.” And your voice was alarmingly steady, despite the tears you’d shed and the uncertainty you felt; you didn’t know how things would go with your dad, and neither did Joel. “I— I just love you so much.”

Hell, you might’ve heard his heart splinter at that.

You might’ve seen his throat work and his eyes glisten and the same feeling you’d expressed in words flood his features in a look—that he didn’t want to keep hiding this—but you also wouldn’t see it for long. Joel kissed you.

His lips crushed yours at first, the force of it so strong that it almost knocked you off balance. Sharp, gray stubble, parted lips, probing tongue, searching hands, and a rich, woodsy smell all overwhelmed you at once.

It wasn’t a question of if you kissed back but whether you could keep up, and you could feel it in every breath.

“I love you, baby,” Joel groaned against your lips, as if pained. “More than you know—I love you. I love you.”

This quiet refrain continued well into the kiss, as he laid you down and crawled over your frame. You melted beneath him. Your legs fastened themselves tightly about his hips, and you brought Joel in—welcoming him.

It wasn’t an altogether uncommon thing to be meeting each other with such urgency and need—in fact, these days, it seemed to be your favorite way to approach sex—but here, in your family beach house, on the brink of sharing something new and terrifying and unable to be walked back with your dad, you grew doubly restless. Your fingers threaded messily through his hair, and you tugged those soft, salt-and-pepper locks like your life depended on it. You opened your mouth wider and whimpered into the kiss; Joel ground himself into you.

“T—Tommy. And Maria?” you managed breathlessly, in between kisses and feeling Joel’s tongue explore every crevice of your mouth. Trying not to lose all your sense. You wanted to make sure the house was totally empty.

“Dinner. Probably—” And Joel had to stop himself just long enough to fight a chuckle, though a smirk remained. “Probably makin’ babies afterward, if I’d had to guess.”

“Yeah? That serious?”

“He plans on marryin’ her.”

“Never pegged him as the marrying kind.”

“Well, when you find the woman you want forever.”

As Joel said it, his gaze flitted from your lips to your eyes. You weren’t in a state to even attempt to decipher that look, so you didn’t. You leaned in and kissed him instead.

He tasted like wanting and something more. He moved his mouth over yours like his oxygen supply had come from your lips and tongue, and the rest of him was captive to your every other touch. You moved, and he followed. When you drew back to try and catch your breath, Joel swallowed and watched you just as closely.

“Dad should be out a few more hours,” you added, soft.

Joel didn’t speak, though his gaze trailed your body as you started peeling off clothes, beginning with your top.

He undressed quicker despite not being able to take his eyes off your body the whole time, and you felt need burrow even deeper inside you. The room got warmer.

The two of you were stripped down in a matter of seconds, and still, the temperatures seemed only to have increased and left you basking in a scorching heat. There was familiarity and ease, having done this so many times before, but nothing could ever really prepare you for when Joel spread your legs and slotted himself between them. There was his bare skin on yours, absurd amounts of warmth, and your head resting gently on a pillow, peering up at the man with wide and excited eyes.

Joel’s hand reached between your thighs, and your expression only brightened with the movement of it.

You canted your hips upward at just the right moment.

Joel sucked in a breath. Blinked hard, as if remembering.

“Honey…” His voice tapered off with just one, lone word.

You were glad he hadn’t completely forgotten, and you didn’t miss the way his length twitched against your hip. He liked what he felt, evidently. His fingertips had grazed the little jewel notched into your back entrance, and he was reminded, in no uncertain terms, that you wanted it.

You wanted him there.

Needed him, you hoped he knew.

Joel already had the pad of his thumb pressed up against it, and he was starting to stroke it. Considering.

“Want me to…keep this in while I fuck her?” He lifted his knuckles to brush the seam of your cunt—the ‘her’ in question, obviously—and when he did that, a shudder coursed through you. Your walls clenched around nothing, and more warmth trickled out of you.

All but blinded with desire, you still managed to get out:

“No. Want you to fuck me in there, Joel. Please.”

It was a borderline obscene request, but you didn’t care. He knew this was what you’d been wanting him to do, and so long as he was on board, you hoped it would happen. You ached to feel his cock someplace new. Claim you in a way he hadn’t gotten to do before.

When it seemed a warning might not be far from Joel’s tongue, you rejoined with equal warmth, even needier.

Lifting your hips again and digging your heels into the soft, white comforter beneath, saying, ‘Daddy, please.’

Joel was as good as sold hearing that, if you’d had to guess, but you went even further to seal the deal for yourself. Reaching down and touching the plug, pulling on it, gently, all while your gaze remained plastered on his. A soft whimper slipped past your lips when you did.

“Help me get it out, Joel. Wanna feel you—”

“Shit,” Joel panted. Shortly gritting his teeth.

At a glance, it seemed the man was primed to drop face-level with where you were currently playing with yourself. Maybe lick a stripe up your wet, aching slit and then tease the toy out with his fingers just like you wanted.

To your shock and dismay, Joel stood up from the bed.

Your body lurched with confusion at first; another whine might’ve escaped. Your mind was a wild and wanton place in that moment, filled to the brim with ideas of your father’s best friend having you any way he wanted. The thought that he might be planning to tease you now, or leave you hanging in this terrible, tireless deprivation altogether, was almost more than you could bear. You pushed to sit, eyes widening and lips about to protest.

Joel nudged you back down.

He turned and opened the top drawer of the nightstand.

Then, before another moment could clue you into what was going on or what Joel might be trying to do with the item he’d pulled out, you felt it: a hum between your legs.

A mechanical buzz and a palm pressing to your hip.

Joel ducked his head just in time to catch your lips in a kiss, soaking up the startled sound that had been quick to claw out. You couldn’t help it, of course—whenever Joel took a vibrator to your clit, you were putty under him

Joel also knew you loved the feeling, so he kept it there.

He kept his mouth pressed to yours through the initial shock of it, swallowing a moan or two, but then, almost as quick as he’d stunned you with the buzzing vibration, he pulled back. He waited until your eyes re-focused and your lips were trembling lightly, dying to whimper or groan or tell him, as best you could, that you needed him to push inside you, now, now, now, before he spoke.

“She’s already drippin’ for me, baby,” Joel said, near- mournful. Rolling the vibrator between forefinger and thumb and causing a shockwave of pleasure to course through you. Teasing up and down the slick, puffy seam. “So wet and needy, wantin’ to get stuffed full’a me. Be a real shame if I neglected my sweet girl now, wouldn’t it?”

It was true, your cunt needed him just as badly, and your walls were fluttering and aching with every twist of the vibrator’s tip on your sensitive little bundle of nerves.

Still, when Joel flipped you, sliding a pillow under your hips, you felt that urge for something more. Your back arched mindlessly, and you clutched the sheets tighter.

“Just—just give her a kiss,” you stuttered into the bed.

“Just a kiss?” Joel repeated, hands gripping your hips and lifting you toward him. If you’d had to guess, his face was hovering somewhere close, wearing a conceited grin

Then you knew that it was; his lips connected with your throbbing, glistening folds from behind, and his hold tightened. Sharp stubble—all mostly silver—tickled your thighs, and after that, a soft wet pop graced your ears.

Then a chuckle.

“How ‘bout a couple more?” he drawled out, teasing.

“Just fuck me, please.” You wriggled helplessly.

And you thought, as needy and visibly aroused as you were, Joel might oblige. He could extract that little jewel without issue, slick himself up with lube and plunge in. Simple as that. You arched your back again, higher now, and you begged him with every movement, every breath you were drawing in and exhaling, that you wanted this.

Joel kissed you again.

He pressed his lips to that shiny, wet place and sank in. Spread your cheeks with his hands, parted your folds with his tongue, and mapped the whole, weeping expanse of your cunt with that one, curious muscle.

Joel had gone down on you plenty of times before and every instance, without fail, had left you a writhing, whimpering mess—sometimes in a puddle of your making—but this was different. The feeling was new.

This sweet, gentle man was eating you from the back, and every muscle in your body was starting to contract.

Chin pressed firmly to the pillow and eyes staring, unblinking, at the headboard, you stuttered again:

“P—Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

“Yes.”

“In the ass?”

At the same time, Joel pressed the still-buzzing vibrator to your clit again and started licking into your entrance.

“Yes!” you cried, fingers twisting the covers and squeezing. “Please—please fuck my ass, daddy.”

You sincerely hoped Tommy and Maria wouldn’t be home at all tonight. If your dad came home, well…you might cry

You were about to sob, feeling Joel’s tongue push an inch inside your needy cunt and start stroking gently.

“I—” Joel had to pull back after just a few licks to reply. “Can’t fuck you there til you’re good an’ ready, baby. Gonna hurt you if I don’t. ‘S’alot to fit. Needs prep.”

Fuck prep.

“I don’t care if it hurts,” you huffed defiantly.

Just as you started to curve your spine higher, a wordless invitation for him to go ahead and try it, please, a palm came to rest on the small of your back, gently.

“Sweet pea, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Those words from Joel sounded serious. You turned your head to the side, eyes catching the soft brown irises awaiting you from behind, and you understood it.

You understood him, now leaning back on his heels.

This was a brand new frontier for you both. Not only being here, doing this, but preparing for something else. For a moment, you were transported back to your old troubles from before, and neither of you needed to articulate in words just what that was going to be, as it hung in the air between you with every breath, presently.

It felt like losing your virginity. Taking a new step. Although you knew that nothing would fundamentally change in what you and Joel had, it was still frightening. You turned around to find Joel still on his knees, thinking

Worrying what your father might say to him, probably.

“Come here,” you said, legs spreading wider.

You had ample support in the wall of pillows and cushions behind you, so when Joel crawled eagerly, and draped his body completely over you, you could hold him without struggling too much. You pulled him even closer.

And, with his head on your chest and your fingers combing affectionately through the black and gray strands, you did what felt most normal in the moment.

You told him you loved him, just like he’d told you before.

Joel’s body responded in kind, the way it always did.

It wasn’t lost on you that neither you nor Joel had ever been in a relationship serious enough to use those words, so whenever you said them now, they felt weightier. Particularly after spending so long trying to suppress those feelings, it seemed like you couldn’t get enough. Joel couldn’t control how much it affected him.

For one thing, he was hard as steel against your leg.

For another, his grip tightened protectively over your hip.

Instead of saying ‘I love you’ back immediately, he sat up and tilted his head to meet your gaze. Propped himself up on an elbow and adjusted his body between your legs.

Joel was warm. Broad. Muscular and thick through every inch of his frame, and his length was pulsing gently against your lower belly. His tip was probably leaking.

“Say that again.” It was an order, but nothing harsh.

You knew he was desperate to hear you, not merely asking you to obey, and, shortly, his hand lowered to his cock. He fisted it in a suffocating grip and squeezed it.

“Go on, sweet pea.”

“I love you, Joel.”

Then a tug on your shiny blue jewel. With his free hand, Joel gave it a pull, and he watched you squirm a little.

Still fisting his cock and starting to stroke, he said:

“Again.”

A beat. Another soft tug.

“Push when I pull on it, OK, baby?”

You nodded, not wanting to waste a second.

“OK. Joel…I-I love you so mu—oh.”

You were breathing in through your nose, bearing down like Joel had told you, and then, all at once, you felt a pop

“Don’t move, sweetheart. It’s OK.”

‘S’alright, darlin’, it’s just gonna feel a little different now, rang clear as anything through your ears, and you had to suck in a breath. Damn clueless and stupid as you felt, you hadn’t realized it would be so…weird coming out

Maybe it was best if you took this slow, like Joel said.

Before any real sting could settle in, though, something sticky and cool was being smeared between your legs.

You looked down and saw Joel using his thumb to stroke the raw, slightly stretched spot and soothe the muscle. His touch was tender and easy. Your heels dug a little deeper in the bed, there on either side of Joel’s body, and for a moment, you felt strangely, sorely exposed.

You were, after all, but that was what you wanted, right?

Another sharp breath rattled your chest—Joel’s thumb had notched inside, no deeper than a quarter-inch—and your feet slid reflexively again. Your legs tried to clamp.

Joel kept you open to him, thumb working in circles. Then, likely sensing your discomfort, he scooted closer.

His gaze flickered to find yours, and his look was soft.

“One word and we stop,” he said. “You got it?”

That voice was a little stern, trying to evoke some sense of austerity, but it was an altogether kind tone anyway—you knew Joel just wanted you to be completely safe.

You nodded.

Joel smiled.

“Now tell me again,” he murmured, eyes shining.

You’d nearly forgotten what the two of you had been doing just a few moments ago, but then it hit you. At the same time, while you opened your mouth to speak, one thick, lubricated finger replaced the thumb pressing in.

Joel’s index teased a little, then sank in an inch.

He withdrew, before plunging it back in gently.

Your muscles instinctively contracted around him, and while you did, as if from another reflex, you rushed out:

“I love you, Joel.”

And you did.

The man was eyeing you hungrily, but still with a reverence and a respect all the same. It pained him not to speak those three words back, but he was refraining from saying it so he could focus on working you open. He knew that as long as the anticipation was building, while you were aching to have more of him and growing more needy each second, he’d have an easier time at it.

Instead of talking immediately, he slid a pillow under your hips like he did before and drew close enough to where he could lay down beside you. He got more lube. He plumbed his finger in delicately, watching your face for any sign of discomfort or pain, and when you gradually relaxed into it, he grabbed the bottle of lubricant again.

Wet and slippery as everything was, you still couldn’t help but wince when Joel added a finger—his were thick.

No sooner had your features screwed up than Joel was kissing the top of your head, halting the motion of his digits momentarily, and then grabbing more lube. Again.

“This OK?” he murmured, coating his two fingers.

“I—I think. It’s just…tight,” you answered quietly.

Joel kissed you again, this time on your temple, and his index and middle fingers moved as slow as anything to work your entrance a little more. He was drenching it.

Lathering it with as much slick, artificial help as he could

“I know it’s hard, but try to relax. It’ll feel better that way.”

Joel had a perfect voice for coaching. He wasn’t pushy or gruff, agitated or in a hurry to get you someplace you weren’t quite ready to go. He let your body guide his touch, and he didn’t push for a third finger until you’d visibly gotten your bearings. When you were leaning in.

It started to feel good.

The push, the strain, the stretch. Joel’s never-ending words of encouragement as you fit him inside this narrow and unfamiliar channel. He kissed you more. Groaned into your skin. Said you were doing so fuckin’ good for him, and he couldn’t wait to make you feel better with his cock. You believed him. You wanted it.

And when, after several minutes, a third finger did make its way inside you and you really felt a stretch, you nearly bit clean through your bottom lip trying to stifle the moan that pushed out of your throat. Your head fell to Joel’s shoulder, and your breaths picked up a little more.

You weren’t even really aware when you said it, but then it came out of you all at once, face buried in Joel’s neck:

“Y-Y-You love me, too, right?”

It sounded uncharacteristically meek and almost pitiful to your ears—of course you knew he loved you, why ask?

But before you could chastise yourself, or even think twice about having said it, a warmth enveloped you.

Joel enveloped you, his free arm snaking down your side.

The big, muscular, protective and tender-hearted man with your pleasure in his hands nudged your cheek softly.

He wanted you to look up at him.

And when you did, your worries trickled away.

Or, at the very least, they took a backseat for the time being; Joel was meeting your gaze with the single most kind and loving look he might’ve ever imparted. Mixed in that expression was a tincture of guilt, you could see, like he was sorry not to have made this clearer to you sooner.

He blinked once, then resumed:

“As long as I live, sweet pea.”

And if that wasn’t enough, or else because he wanted to communicate it on your terms, with your needs in mind:

“As long as you’ll have me, and then some. I’m all yours.”

If three of Joel Miller’s fingers weren’t currently buried to the hilt inside you and stretching you wide open for him, you might’ve jumped the man. Hugged him. Squeezed him to your body as tight as you possibly could and assured him that you were his as much as he was yours and you’d never get tired of this, ever, you would have done that. Your eyes likely said as much, growing glossy.

Feeling a lump in your throat, you had only to turn into Joel’s body and try to get the words out, soft and hoarse.

“I love you, Joel. So much.”

Moving closer, though your bodies were practically flush with each other—but Joel didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, a grin just graced his features as he peered down at you. He pushed his nose to yours, and you grinned back.

“I love you more,” he said, not peeling his eyes away.

Before you could even try to reply, ‘Well, I love you most’ like some silly, lovesick puppy, Joel had you beat. He slipped his fingers out carefully from you and shifted in bed, to then overtake your frame and hover above it.

He dropped a kiss on your head, still smiling like an idiot.

“And I’ll love you most, ‘til my lungs give out, alright?”

“You better not be lyin’ to me.” You said it teasingly.

And Joel was just about to answer for himself when the sound of the front door swinging open downstairs interrupted you both. Noisy footsteps followed after, and in a second, you recognized the clamor as belonging to Joel’s brother and his girlfriend. Both were laughing.

The weight of Joel’s body pressed even heavier to yours.

He wasn’t stiff, for once, likely because you didn’t have to hide from those two anymore. And he’d locked the door.

“I ain’t lyin’, baby, swear on my life…” he went on softly.

Now his lips were at your ear, grazing your cheek, lowering toward the hinge of your jaw at a maddening pace. He didn’t seem to pay it any mind when Tommy and Maria went bounding up the stairs and retired directly into the bedroom next to his; he was busy.

You’d almost forgotten you were about to fuck.

With any luck, the couple next door wouldn’t be doing anything like it—or at least keeping their activities quiet.

“Get ready to hear some bullshit,” Joel supplied shortly. His face was buried in your neck, as if annoyed, but you could feel his smirk. “Probably makin’ babies right n—”

“So are we,” you hissed indignantly.

“Last I checked that can’t happen in your ass, sweeth—”

“Joel Miller.”

Technically, he was right.

“Less talking, more fucking, OK?” you added swiftly.

“Yes ma’am.”

Then he did.

It took more than a couple seconds for the levity and amusement of the moment to die down between you, but eventually, you both settled down. You got calmer.

You were reminded that the insides of your thighs and cheeks were completely smeared with lubrication, your walls were fairly well-stretched, and you were ready for it.

You were ready for Joel, and Joel was ready for you—or as close as he could possibly get while checking in to make sure that you really wanted to do this. He angled his cock and brushed the tip through your slick-drenched folds. Above you, his stomach muscles clenched, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his thick, soft middle looked in the glow of the lamplight. How the smooth and veiny member jutting out from a shock of dark curls looked absolutely delectable. Your bodies were almost connected, but not quite. He was hovering.

Gently, your legs beckoned Joel in. They spread wider.

Not even really knowing what you were doing or how you planned to fit all of this man from root to tip inside you, your gaze focused on the place Joel was lowering to.

The head of his cock nudged that tiny ring of muscles, and you sucked in a startled breath. You hadn’t meant to.

Next door, you could hear the Star Wars theme song—Tommy and Maria must’ve been watching the new Mandalorian movie, curled up snug in bed together.

Seeing your face, Joel hesitated. “Baby, we don’t hav—”

“I want to,” you said, breathlessly. Then you looked up. “Want you to have every part of me, even if…if it hurts.”

Joel didn’t seem too crazy about that last part, and he blinked back slowly. He braced a hand beside you on the pillow and used the other to grasp the base of his cock.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead again.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he said softly.

You knew it wouldn’t be the easiest to keep that promise—at a minimum, discomfort seemed almost a given—but of course, Joel managed it remarkably. It was like he understood your body better than you ever had yourself.

The first push of his hips got him no more than half an inch, but the feeling was fine. He’d applied more lube, moved as slow as he possibly could, and grabbed your toy, which had been tossed to the side on the bed. He turned it back on, and, while notching in the head of his bare, slippery cock, he pressed it to your clit. You jolted more than a little at the buzzing—and you focused on it.

You weren’t even thinking of the stretch, as the sensation blended with the pleasurable vibrations between your legs, and you visibly relaxed. Your muscles softened.

Thanks to that, Joel was able to glide in another half inch, and his tip fit snugly inside you. It didn’t hurt.

In fact, it actually felt pretty…nice.

Tight.

Strange.

But also very, very right. Like you’d unlocked some secret bliss, and Joel was guiding you through it.

The buzzing struck you in just the right spot, and that only amplified the feeling as Joel pushed even further.

“See?” he murmured, voice the slightest bit strained. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya, sweet pea. Lean into that feeling.”

Another minuscule slide, another tight smile from Joel.

He was really trying not to go too fast, or cause pain.

“Just…relax f’me. Let me in,” he coaxed you gently.

You tried. And it almost felt like you were losing your virginity all over again, so odd and unfamiliar and new was this pushing, pulling, contracting, and tightening, the last of which couldn’t seem to have been helped.

You were giving him something in a way, though an uncharted physical boundary wasn’t all that it was.

Joel met your gaze, and he clearly felt it, too.

“I love you,” he said, nose brushing yours.

I love you, I love you, I love you, he seemed to say with every strange, painstaking inch. You accepted him, and you drew in a labored breath, lips parting to say it back.

“I lo—oh fuck.” Your words tapered off in a moan.

Joel was down to the hilt, completely sheathed.

Your muscles clenched one more time, and—

“Damn. Oh, shit. Fuck. Fuck, I-I love you.”

Your arms snaked around Joel’s neck, and you held on tight. You gripped him even tighter below, and your eyes trailed down, momentarily, to see how he’d made this fit.

Joel chuckled.

“Like how we look?”

“I love it,” you panted back. “I love having you here.”

And really, you’d never seen a sight more mind-numbing—whenever Joel was inside, balls deep and filling you up to the brim, you got lightheaded just watching him—and knowing how close you were, physically and emotionally, made it even better. Joel looked down with you and stroked the back of your neck. He helped tilt your head.

“Where?” he said. Teasing. “Where’s daddy, baby?”

And shit was he smug. Handsome as anything.

You knew just as well as him what kind of effect your words would have when next you told him, tone soft:

“In my ass. Feels—feels so good, daddy.”

Acknowledging the fact alone was enough to make your breath hitch, and Joel’s cock to twitch inside you as he let out a groan. He drew back, just an inch, and both of you grunted with the friction. You clung tighter to Joel.

“Fuck me now,” you begged him. “Please, daddy.”

Maybe you weren’t ready. Maybe you were still getting accustomed to the stretch and the sting and the weight of Joel Miller’s broad, warm body pressing into you then, but at that moment, you didn’t care for perfect timing. You didn’t need it to be ‘right’—you just wanted Joel a panting, groaning mess above you while he worked himself in and out of you, repeatedly. You wanted more.

“Gonna cum if I move too fast,” Joel confessed, sheepish

“That’s alright. I’m close, too.” And it was the truth.

“Yeah? Y’like gettin’ this ass fucked that much?”

Of course you did. Clearly, you liked it a lot.

You nodded your head, and you held onto Joel’s gaze. He didn’t waste another second drawing out, almost to the tip, then plunging back in. And again, again, and again.

You couldn’t lie—it burned a little. It felt like Joel’s girth was searing a hole inside you, stretching you tight and leaving you sore, over and over and over with his thrusts.

Still, you liked it.

You loved the pain in a way that wasn’t really hurtful—you just enjoyed how Joel’s cock was invading you, breaking you in and making you his like nobody had.

And Joel liked it, too. His movements seemed to have taken on a more possessive edge as he fucked you into the mattress, bed shaking with every punch of his hips.

“This all mine?” he mumbled against your lips, panting.

Another stroke. Another crash of wood to the wall.

“All yours,” you repeated back. Voice cracking.

Your legs were wound tight around Joel’s lower half, and true to how you two normally had sex, the eye contact was constant. Your faces were inches apart, and Joel’s expression was strained. He swallowed, watching you.

“Ain’t—ain’t nobody else for me but you, baby,” he said, while his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and a fine dusting of gray stubble shifted with it. Muscles tensed.

You knew he wanted to say more. Then a door opened.

Thank fuck it wasn’t yours.

Still, you jumped.

You and Joel froze in place as the sound of footsteps echoed in the room directly beside yours—not Tommy and Maria’s, but your father’s bedroom on the other side. Time seemed to speed up and slow at once, and then the door that had opened in the other room slammed closed.

Through the wall, you could hear your dad groan.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and he blinked once.

‘Well…fuck’ that look seemed to say.

You hadn’t been expecting your father back for another hour at least. This, paired with the fact that the man was probably buzzed from whatever outing he’d taken with Helen and keen to stay up, made you nervous. Of course, you and Joel had been banging in secret for ages, but…

“Keep goin’.” It tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop it. Your heels dug deeper where they were planted, and the once-sharp stinging between your legs had ebbed to something more like a dull, tender throb.

Joel’s eyes shone above you.

Then, like he always loved saying: “Yes ma’am.”

He fucked you softer this time—most likely to keep the headboard from screaming—but with as much purpose. His thrusts succeeded at a steady rhythm, and his chest pressed closer to yours; his body weight draped over you

Your ankles locked behind his back, and you drew him even nearer, not wanting to miss one moment of this.

At the same time, a bed frame squeaked with someone’s weight dropping onto it. Again, it wasn’t your bed at all.

It was your dad’s.

He was in the room next door, and of course, his king-sized bed was pressed directly against the wall where Joel’s was positioned on the other side. Your father budged an inch, and you could hear it clear as day.

The walls were paper thin. What if that meant—

“Gotta be quiet,” Joel said through his teeth.

You were both so close to the edge that you were a mess of trembling limbs on the bed; Joel was panting, sweating, telling you over and over again how good you felt, how perfect you fit him, how nice it was going to be to feel you squeezing around him soon, and would you be able to control those pretty moans when you came?

“Gonna scream and let him hear? Have dear old dad come bargin’ in, see what I’m doin’ to his precious girl?”

Oh, fuck.

It was one of the worst things to imagine, you both knew. The thought of your dad catching you in the act, after everything you and Joel had done to keep this under wraps, well…it was nothing short of nightmare fuel.

As a matter of fact, it was horrifying.

It also pushed you both to the brink of climax, trying harder than anything to keep your sounds confined to strangled breaths, your movements to the quickest, quietest bursts, and your words no louder than whispers.

“What? Like finishing in my ass?” you taunted him, low.

Joel groaned. He probably shouldn’t have.

“Gonna let me, sweet pea?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Those two little words were all it took, for either of you.

It seemed like the sound of it was all you needed to hit your peak, and before you knew it, a coil was coming undone; a dam was breaking, and suddenly, shortly, a series of pulses and a rush of hot blood in your head was all you could feel. And then a wetness, spreading deep.

Shooting into the furthest recesses of your body while you fell apart beneath him, Joel’s heat was scorching and soft. It flooded your insides in thick, white ropes.

You wanted to scream with how good it felt. Joel’s expression above you was suffused with just as much pleasure—and pain, trying to contain it—and at the same time tiny dots started to flood your vision, the man’s words were a quiet, constant refrain for almost all of it.

“I love you, darlin’. Always, always gonna—”

“—love you,” you finished for him. “I love you, Joel.”

You might’ve said it fifteen times that night, and it still didn’t feel like it was enough. Your bodies were damp with sweat pressed together, and Joel’s eyes were flitting between yours, searching. In between breaths and lightly peppered kisses, you could tell that he was thinking hard.

You could hear your father cough in the next room over.

There was no better time to say it. As sore and satisfied as you were, as soft as Joel’s lips were grazing yours to soothe them, and as terrified as you both were for what was to come soon enough, the words just tumbled out.

“I’m ready to tell him, Joel,” you whispered.

A beat passed, and Joel blinked.

Then, slowly, a smile crept in.

“Y’mean it, sweetheart?”

“I mean it. Tomorrow.”

Mark never claimed to be a good father.

In fact, from the first moment he held you in his arms, on the day that you were born, he was almost certain he’d be the shittiest dad there ever was—holding a baby so perfect and sweet, how could he possibly deserve you?

He didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t, and still, he’d decided just as fast that that didn’t matter, because he would be trying his damn hardest to act like the kind of father you needed to have. You were his entire world, and he’d told you as much all throughout your childhood and beyond.

He should’ve seen Joel coming a mile away.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it the first time.

It might’ve been in a glance he’d caught this fall when Joel thought he wasn’t looking—watching you, and smiling so big that his cheeks probably hurt him a little after—and then the sound of his laughter around you.

It had been easy to chalk it up to superficial attraction, seeing as you were a beautiful young woman. Mark told himself that those kinds of feelings always faded in time.

Then they didn’t.

Mark could say your name aloud once, and you’d think someone had just told Joel he’d won the lottery; that was how his eyes would always light up. Of course, the man would quickly try and snuff it out the second his expression was set ablaze, but Mark caught it.

It might last an instant or five, but he always caught it.

Joel hadn’t batted an eye at the bachelorettes practically throwing themselves at him at the bar the other night. Hadn’t cast a look their way or even attempted to entertain their antics, all while nursing a drink and looking mad as shit. Mark had teased him. Told him he oughta get laid, chase a little tail—put himself out there.

Probably without meaning to, his best friend had given him a look like he was out of his fucking mind to say it.

It was in that moment that Mark realized he had a much bigger problem on his hands than the one he’d expected.

Joel didn’t just have a crush.

He was almost certainly infatuated.

What was worse, it wasn’t just attraction that had him.

What caused Joel’s face to flush each time your name was mentioned, his expression to flare with indignation at the mere idea of being with someone else, and his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull when Mark told him that Tommy might be his daughter’s biological father—complete bullshit, by the way—was what assured him beyond a shadow of a doubt that Joel Miller was guilty.

Mark had invited him down to the beach to confront him.

Then you’d taken a spill yesterday, and plans changed.

What was originally meant to be a showdown with Joel ended up being a heart-to-heart with you, telling the whole ugly truth about his relationship with your mother, Helen, and the very slight possibility that he wasn’t your father. Before that, though, Joel had rushed to your aid.

Out on the boardwalk, in the middle of a bright and sunny day, as if Mark needed another flashing neon sign telling him, ‘Your best friend is head over heels for your daughter,’ he found the two of you together: Joel crouched beside you, his eyes scanning you in a panic.

That look wasn’t far off from the one Mark had been wearing himself. It made him wonder even worse things.

Was he—

No, he couldn’t.

He didn’t even know you like that.

It couldn’t be that his daughter had reciprocated anyway.

You were a good girl, and there wasn’t a chance in a million years you had the faintest inkling about any of this nonsense—of that much, your father was certain.

Now, strolling down to the same beach in the same clothes he’d had on yesterday because he hadn’t been able to sleep, Mark was deep in thought. It was 7 A.M.

The sun had just begun its ascent in a sky painted tangerine and pink, and the breeze on his skin was soft.

Calming.

Mark knew he’d have to have one of the most soul-draining conversations that day, telling his best friend that his daughter was completely, unequivocally off-limits, and that he never stood a chance with her, ever, and still, he tried to stay optimistic. Tried telling himself that nothing too bad could happen in a place this pretty.

Idly, he scanned the horizon. His eyes roamed everyplace they could, watching the waves make their way to the shore and lap at the sand every other second, gently.

Nothing too bad.

Nothing too terrible.

Nothing a simple, straightforward conversation couldn’t be able to fix, and then things would go back to normal.

Mark’s gaze drifted to the shore. A couple stood at the water’s edge, huddled together, and presently, he took a sip from his travel mug. The coffee’s heat soothed him.

One day, his daughter would find someone her own age.

Someday, Mark hoped, Joel would find his person, too.

His attention shifted from directly in front of him to the tumbler in his hand, and only vaguely was he aware of some far-distant splashing. He read what his mug said.

Emblazoned on the side, in letters a bright yellow shade:

WORLD’S

BEST

DADDY

You’d gotten him that in first or second grade for Father’s Day, if he was remembering correctly. Mark smiled at the memory, recalling how pleased you’d looked handing it over to him. Two gaping holes between your front teeth, grinning like he was the single most important person in the world and your hero, for life.

He’d keep trying to be that guy for you.

No matter what happened, he always would.

Just as old memories began to fade, his gaze lifted.

Still smiling, still reminiscing and trying his best not to worry too much about what was in store for him that day, Mark fixed his focus on the beach out front, and to the happy, laughing couple now chasing each other down it.

The girl stumbled; the guy snapped her up in his arms.

“Daddy, stop!” the former shrieked, giggling.

Then Mark’s face drained of all its blood.

“Daddy, pleeeeease!” you begged for mercy.

There wasn’t a chance you were getting out of this.

You’d defaulted to using your most cloying, affectionate voice with Joel in the hopes of making it out of his grip and not ending up in the ocean, but that seemed unlikely

Impossible, really, as Joel squeezed you tighter to his chest and started stalking toward the water’s edge where waves were hitting the sand and your worst fears were being realized. You squirmed harder in his arms and kicked your feet like you were being dragged to the chair.

“You asked for this, sweet pea,” Joel chuckled softly.

In point of fact, you had. You’d asked him to take you swimming at 7 A.M., just after the sun had started to rise, but on the journey over, you’d changed your mind.

It was chilly as shit, and the water looked uninviting.

You’d thought a quick dip—possibly naked—could’ve been a fun little sidebar in an otherwise nerve-wracking day for you and Joel, but now you just wanted to be back in bed. Under the covers, kissing each other, grinning like two lovesick fools as you planned for the future, maybe…

“Let me go!” you wheezed. “I’ll—I’ll do anything.”

Joel had just made it into the water up to his knees. He was cradling you in his arms, smiling as he peered down.

“Anything?” he repeated.

“Anything!”

In a moment when some dirtier thoughts might’ve been starting to take shape in Joel’s mind, you decided to capitalize on the opportunity: you jumped up. Out.

While Joel was momentarily distracted, you got away from his hold and went stumbling toward the water. Narrowly, you kept your body upright and grinned.

Then, like a crazy person, you dropped to your knees.

It was meant to be a joke, obviously—waves rushing almost to your hips at this depth and a surge of murky, ice-cold ocean water all but chilling you down to the bone—and Joel laughed. He tried not to trip when you yanked him by the swim trunks and tugged his groin closer to your face, and then you were going to stand.

You were freezing your ass off, but you couldn’t resist giving Joel one, teasing wink as you looked up at him.

“I’ll suck your dick right here, real quick, if you—”

“MILLER!”

One word pierced the cool, windy climate like a blade.

What was once quiet and easy all at once became a cacophony in a single sound—your head jerked to it.

Your hands and feet flailed to get you standing back up.

Joel almost fell backward trying to make some space from where you’d just been kneeling in front of him, pretending to blow him at the worst possible moment.

You hadn’t seen it at the time, but now you did.

Your dad was standing on the shoreline, aghast.

No more than ten feet away on the hard-packed sand and staring on in horror, he remained there, motionless. While you regained your bearings and Joel shifted on his feet, probably trying to hide the boner poking up through his swim trunks, it seemed as if your father would never speak. He was so still, eyes wide and jaw hanging slack.

Then the scene changed faster than you could blink.

Your father was a blur of blue and gray, still wearing the jeans and t-shirt he had on the day before, and Joel was stationary. Shirtless. Entirely unprepared for when the former sped forward and, like something out of a nightmare, went for his neck with one, hard hit.

A stainless steel tumbler in the other hand made for an easy weapon; you recognized the shape of it immediately

Just as that travel mug struck the side of Joel’s skull and gave an audible crack, you saw the words fly by in a haze

WORLD’S

BEST

DADDY

DADDY

DADDY

“DADDY!” you screeched as the old, weathered steel came down on Joel’s head a fourth time, unforgiving.

Joel was cowered in the water on his hands and knees, having been knocked off balance with the third full hit, but he wasn’t moving away. Wasn’t fighting his assailant.

As a wave rolled over his frame and soaked his back and shoulders, you saw him lift a hand, and it was trembling.

Not venturing to fend off the blows to his face but rather making a plea of a kind, Joel tilted his head to his friend.

The shock that had had you paralyzed up until that point snapped then. Before you knew what you were doing, you were trudging over in the water, motions graceless.

Your father raised the mug again, and your vision blurred.

You didn’t sound like yourself, screaming: “Stop! Stop!”

The words hardly felt like yours at all, or seemed to have been heard. Your dad did drop the tumbler, but only to yank Joel up by the back of his head and stand over him, threading fingers through wet locks of salt-and-pepper and pulling hard. You saw Joel wince, and at the same time, you realized you were seeing his face on full display

Still crouched down in that frigid ocean, face no higher than a half-foot over the water’s surface, Joel was forced to turn his head to your dad, and the whole left side of it was streaked with blood. Saltwater splashed over his face and seemingly blinded him. The mug must’ve struck Joel right near the temple and torn the skin, because the whole length of his cheek was bleeding.

His head was hardly up for a moment before it was shoved back down, under the water, with brutal force.

This time, you grabbed your dad. Sank nails into his arm.

“Daddy, please. Please don’t hurt him, pl—” you started.

“My fucking daughter?!” your father roared over you.

Joel’s head might’ve been under for a second before it was jerked back up, and you saw him spitting up water.

Your dad was asking a question. It came again.

“My fucking daughter, you fucking—”

And the last part cut out, swiftly.

Joel’s head went under again, and simultaneously, you shoved as hard as you could to get your father off of him.

For a second, you did.

Joel’s head was released, and he resurfaced.

Your father took a hard breath and gritted his teeth.

And, just when you thought he might be reconsidering, or else slowing his attack, he went right back. He lunged for Joel and forced him under the water again, and every nerve-ending in your body seized with fear. Instincts kicked in, and you were about to reach over toward your father in a more demanding push. Maybe yank his shirt, shove him hard, tell him this isn’t Joel’s fault, let him—

“Go,” your dad snarled, pulling Joel back again. “Tell me.”

You expected another hit; maybe a kick to the head.

Instead, your father stunned you then, shouting:

“Are—are you fuckin’ in love with her, Joel?!”

It should’ve been low. Harsh. Threatening. And it was all those things, but underneath it, for the first time, you heard hurt commingled with it. Your dad’s grip tightened in the hair at the nape of Joel’s neck, and he bent down closer. He brought his face within a foot of his friend’s.

Joel, for the first time since he’d been hit, didn’t hesitate.

“I love her.”

As fast as he’d asked, your father kneed him in the face.

Joel’s head jerked back with the force, and at the same time, blood spurted from both nostrils. He blinked hard.

You wanted to strike the man standing over him even harder, and presently, you tried. You stepped up to your dad, about to take hold of his arm and yank it back, when suddenly, sharply, he turned to you. His eyes were ablaze

“And you?” he hissed.

He grabbed Joel again.

You didn’t have to think.

“I love him, daddy, I love him.”

Your father shoved Joel under a fourth time, as if punishing him for your response. Your stomach lurched.

And, in much the same way sheer impulse had guided your last answer, your body moved without considering itself. Your limbs moved of their own volition, and not thinking, it moved closer—this time, not to your father.

You dropped beside Joel.

He resurfaced a second later, sputtering for air.

His face was mottled with blood. Even with a near constant surge of water and being submerged every other instant, the bleeding was profuse. He kept blinking.

And, thanks to all the hits he’d taken, he hardly seemed to see the world in front of him at all. He coughed again.

More blood.

More blinking.

Scarcely conscious at all, he inched closer to you.

Over the lapping of waves, your pulse thudding in your ears, and sobs racking through your chest, you couldn’t hear much at all. Still, you saw his lips move limply then.

“‘M’sorry—”

The sound stopped and started with a strangled breath. One from him to exhale at first, and another to suck in some air while he was able. In the next second, before either one of you could think, his head was forced under.

It was held underwater, hard, by your father.

Tears nearly had you blinded, but you saw it.

Time might’ve slowed a little more, and your sense of seconds and minutes could’ve skewed, but it was still clear as anything to you that your dad was keeping Joel there, unable to breathe, and he refused to move an inch

You blinked, and the body in front of you had gone limp.

In summary:

[sakuravalenp]

That’s not your medicine? - DC X DP prompt

Another idea I can't work on because time isn't on my favor, so I'm just begging someone else to write it TwT.

Slightly inspired by this post.

Years have passed by, and the ecto-acts were never repelled. Time has gone by, and Danny’s Jason's husband. Jason, friends and the family have noticed that Danny isn’t human but don’t bring it up because Danny seems terrified every time the subject seems to be about to be brought up (Yes, even Bruce wasn't able to question Danny. How would he? He tried to bring it up once and he was sure Danny was going to faint right then and there). 

Danny has some health issues. Fatigueness, muscle pain, random dizziness, fevers that seem to come out of nowhere. Apparently it is a chronic issue, since Jason caught Danny taking some red pills early in their marriage. Jason didn’t recognize the medicine's name, something Blossom, so he imagined it was something specific to his species. 

The married couple had been living happily for years and the family adores Danny.

One day a ghost faces into his house asking Danny for help, and of course Danny basically has a full on panic attack at being outed. Jason holds him close, grounds him and lets him calm down.

The ghost tells Danny that they need to do some errands in the human world, but the GIW has become way more active around the area he needs to visit, and needs to know how Danny has managed to hide so far. The conversation goes somewhat like this:

“I’m sorry, I don’t think you would want to do what I do. Even if you do, I’m not sure you can.”

“Please just tell me, I’ll decide if I want it by myself.”

Danny sights. He disappears for a moment in their bedroom and comes back with his medicine. He opens the bottle and inclines it to let the ghost see.

“I take this.”

The ghost looks into the bottle and is absolutely horrorized.

“Danny, you- you’re poisoning your core!”

“I know…”

“What do you mean poison?” Jason asks, alarmed “Isn’t this your medicine?”

Danny won’t meet his face. 

“How can you be consuming this!? How long-”

“I don’t have any other options, okay!? I can’t run into the infinite realms and hide like the rest of you! I have to reside on this side of the veil!” Danny snaps at the ghost.

“But this… you must be in excruciating pain.”

[moonstruckme]

hi mae! i have an idea for emt!marauders. i’m imagining something traumatic happens to the reader and it triggers panic attacks that cause them to scratch themselves. the marauders help them (maybe they have to restrain them so they can’t hurt themselves) and explain to the reader why it’s happening.

Thanks for requesting!

cw: minor car wreck, panic attack, potential self-harm triggers because reader scratches herself while panicking

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Your fingers are tingling. You can’t quite feel the tips. Tears prick your eyes, multicolored lights blurring and smearing across your vision as you sit down on the gravel outside your car door. 

You try to breathe as the sound of the siren cuts off, leaving only your heartbeat. 

“Hey, everything alright there?” 

The voice sounds like it comes from far away, but when you look up there’s a man right in front of you. He’s striking, dark hair and fair skin silhouetted by blue ambulance lights. When he slows his footsteps and squats in front of you, you can see an inky moon peeking from the edge of his uniform sleeve. 

“I’m Sirius,” he says, pretty teeth showing as he flashes you a smile, “I’m with NHS. Having any problems here?” 

“I’m—” You try to get the breath to tell him. 

“Hey, no, no,” Sirius tuts at you. Suddenly your hands are in his grasp, the inside of your arm stinging. “What’re you doing that for, darling? Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You look down, seeing through unshed tears the angry lines you’ve scratched into your own skin. You didn’t even register you were doing it. 

“What’s the matter? Are we having some trouble breathing?” Sirius puts two fingers to your pulse, keeping your hands held in his. “Are you in pain?” 

You don’t know how to answer all of his questions at once. You feel hardly in this world. The numbness is spreading up the lengths of your fingers, eating you away to nothing. 

“I’m—having a panic attack,” you manage. 

“Okay.” Sirius nods like this doesn’t surprise him. His eyes are large and liquid in the darkness. “Let’s go sit in the grass, okay? Remus,” he calls, helping you stand. Another paramedic looks over, and Sirius juts his chin to where you’re going. 

Time moves like a scratched film, like sludge in some places and speedy in others. The grass is still warm from the sun when it flattens beneath you. 

“There you go, doll. We’re going to make sure you’re okay, yeah? You don’t need to worry.” Sirius is rubbing the inside of your wrist, tingles emanating from his touch. He steers clear of the damage you did yourself further down. “This is my mate Remus, he’s just going to get your vitals to make sure everything’s working properly.” 

You don’t process what he’s said until a large boot lands on the grass in front of you. You startle, craning your neck to look up at the man Sirius had called to earlier. 

“Easy.” Sirius puts a hand behind your back to prevent you tipping over. “I know he’s very tall, but he’s really not as scary as he seems. Just don’t ask him how the weather is up there.” 

“Sirius,” Remus mutters warningly, though his expression when he crouches in front of you is gentle. “Hi, love. I’m going to take your temperature, is that alright?” 

You shake your head. He hesitates, already taking a thermometer out of his bag. 

“It’s a panic attack,” you insist. 

“Hey, we believe you,” Sirius promises. He catches your gaze and holds fast. “Remus is just making sure that there’s nothing else going on. But you and I are going to breathe, okay?” 

You suck in a breath, shaky. It doesn’t get far. “Okay.” 

“Thank you,” says Remus, seeming genuine. “Alright, let me know if I’m bothering you. We’re not in any rush. We can pause any time you need.” 

As you nod a tear falls from your eye, leaving a blazing hot trail down your cheek. Sirius squeezes your hands to recapture your attention. 

“I know it’s scary,” he says, “but we’re here to help you. We’re going to breathe in for four, hold for four, and then breathe out for the same, alright, lovely? Four, four, four. Can you do that for me?” 

“I—” 

“You can. You’ve got this, it’s alright. In for four now, here we go…” 

Sirius doesn’t make you count. It’s impossible for most of it anyways; he holds up four fingers for you to see as you inhale and hold, and then counts out loud for the both of you on the exhale. Remus’ movements fade into your periphery. Occasionally he’ll touch you gently to signal that he’s going to do something, or Sirius will give you a small nudge when Remus needs your hand, but it’s not really enough to distract you. Sirius never breaks pace. 

“There we are, perfect,” he says after a while, voice slow and sure. “You’re so good at this, doll, you’re a natural. Is that a bit easier now?” 

You nod, exhaling. Your face has become tacky with tears. “Yeah.” 

“You sound much better,” Remus encourages as he affixes the plasticy clamp over your finger again. You’re all quiet while numbers fluctuate on a device in his hand. 

Remus catches you looking to where your car and another are parked on the side of the road. 

“Everything’s alright,” he reassures you. You meet his eyes. There are freckles you hadn’t noticed before scattered across his nose. “The other driver seems fine, our partner is just checking her over to be safe. Nobody was hurt.” 

Sirius hums. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” He turns over the hand still in his, inspecting the scratches in your arm. “What’s the deal with this, hm? What happened?” 

Your shoulders gravitate inwards. “I think it just helps distract me.” 

“Well, I can understand that,” he tsks, “but there are better ways.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you mumble, self-conscious. 

“Nobody’s upset with you, love,” Remus says with a pointed look to Sirius. “We’re just glad you didn’t hurt yourself worse.” 

A low whistle startles the both of you. Sirius sets a hand on your shoulder when you jolt, you and Remus turning to find a third paramedic standing behind you. 

“What happened here?” he asks, oblivious to your fright, eyes on your arm as he stoops to see better. “That doesn’t look like it was done by a car.” 

“It wasn’t,” Sirius agrees. “Grab us a wipe, will you?” 

“This is James,” Remus says to you, taking pity on your disoriented expression. Having so many attractive men moving around you and paying you attention is making your head spin in a different way than it had been. Sirius’ hand is still on your shoulder. 

“I am James,” James agrees. He lets his bag drop from his shoulder, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the grass next to you as he begins to rummage through it. “Sorry, lovely, I just got too distracted by your arm for manners. Did you run across a mean cat after your car wreck? Because that is shit luck.” 

“I’m the mean cat,” you admit, mumbly. 

Sirius tuts, rubbing his thumb over your skin familiarly. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, beautiful. You’re a delight.” 

You huff a weak laugh. He grins, his eyes softening. 

“She had a bit of a panic,” Remus tells James quietly, “and hurt herself by accident.” 

James makes a rather adorable frowny face. “I’m sorry. Way to add insult to injury, eh? It’s—oh, you’re alright. It’s okay.” 

James’ face had distracted you from his hands, so the sting of antiseptic comes as a surprise. He grabs your wrist when you flinch, voice softening with apology. Remus makes a low pitying sound. 

“Sorry,” you laugh wetly. “I wasn’t expecting it.” 

James sends you a sheepish smile. “That’s my bad, I should’ve warned you.” 

“Please don’t cry again,” Sirius pleads. “I think we’ve had enough of that, haven’t we? You’ll dehydrate yourself.” 

You laugh again at the alarm in his voice, wiping a knuckle under your lashes. “It stings,” you defend yourself. 

“It’s James that’s the problem, then?” he asks. “I’ll send him away, doll, just say the word. I’ll hit him for you if you want.” 

James’ eyes flit up from his task like this is a threat Sirius might hold to. 

“Alright, give her a bit of breathing room.” Remus gives Sirius’ shoulder a light nudge, encouraging him back from where he’s leaned in close to you. “She’s allowed to cry, Sirius, Christ.” 

“She might be allowed to, but I don’t have to allow it.”

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ COLD SWEAT, ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS

summary. Valentina decides to punish you and cuts the heating in the tower leading Bob to seek warmth in your arms.

⭑.ᐟwrote this like a week ago and forgot to post it so… surprise!? He’s so precious kill me now. Joaquin Torres fic next??👀 Interact and send requests if u have any:)

word count. 1,1k

my masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Valentina is evil. That’s all you can tell yourself while your teeth collide, your body shivers and your heart feels like it’s about to give out.

The moment you woke up, you knew something was wrong. You’ve never been able to sleep without the heating on, so when you woke up cold, lips and fingers about to turn blue, the chatter of the others complaining, the floor as cold as ice, you knew it wasn’t an ordinary loss of heating, it had to be her.

You spend the day with the others, curled up in blankets, sweats covering your whole body, mountain of socks on your feet, and yet you’re still freezing.

It’s not even winter yet- but being high in the sky doesn’t help. the wind outside makes the tower almost shake, the sound of its screams gives you chills.

Bob’s telling stories to keep you occupied, to keep your mind away from remembering how cold you are. Alexei’s making dad jokes that are so bad you have a headache coming. John complains about how much Bob talks, or really complains about everything that’s wrong with today.

Ava and Yelena are nowhere to be found, maybe in their rooms, while Bucky paces around the living room, trying not to go psycho mode on Valentina because frankly, there’s not much he can do anyway.

You eat the hot dinner all together although no one speaks, probably because everyone’s pissed, and still fighting the cold atmosphere.

When bed time comes around and everyone retracts to their rooms the cold is still there. It’s still hanging in the air, teeth still collide with each other, your body almost sweats because of all the clothes hanging on your body.

It’s not a surprise that you can’t sleep.

You can’t even think.

You just pray that her little scheme will stop because you’re not sure you can go another day like this. No amount of hot showers or hot chocolates will help you not lose your mind.

You close your eyes- trying to think of the good. But your mind can only wander to the bad. The fighting, the battles, the fears.

It’s about to go to the one memory you’re trying to forget the most before there’s a light knock on the door making you almost jump out of bed.

You’re not sure why, but you can feel him. You know exactly who’s standing behind that door.

It’s Bob.

You swing the door open, only to find him standing in his black sweats, the hood covering his head, his hands warming each other in front of him.

His demeanor’s different. He doesn’t look so nervous, or shy. He looks so-normal. Which none of you really do more often than not.

‘Can’t sleep?’ You question, moving slightly to let him in.

You rub your eyes with fatigue as he sits on your bed like he belongs there.

‘It’s impossible. I can’t believe they haven’t fixed it yet.’ He takes off the hood, while you pace across the room.

‘She won’t. She won’t until the thinks we’ve suffered enough. I swear that woman is the devil.’ You complain running a hand through your hair, frustrated.

‘Hey, maybe by morning. You never know.’ He shakes his head.

‘Well you’re always the optimistic one.’ You let out a little laugh, and Bob follows.

You decide to lay down next to him. He’s still sitting, he’s turning a little so he can get a good look at you.

You know this isn’t the right moment. You’re basically dying, but you can’t help your eyes from wandering. He’s always looked good, but the black sweats and hoodie are enough to make your mind go wild, your stomach flutter. You wish you had someone to hold, to maybe make it go away. Or maybe make it better at least.

That’s when you see him shiver, his lips are a weird shade of purple, or blue you’re not sure. You think maybe tonight’s your chance to seize the opportunity. Maybe in the morning it’ll be awkward but surely this is the right time.

‘It’s a bit warmer here.’ He speaks up before you have the chance to, and you’re taken aback.

‘I’ve been dying the whole day, am I like, super dramatic?’ You realize out loud.

‘Maybe just a little.’ He jokes.

Your laugh echoes in his ears and he swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He smiles while he stares.

Usually you might feel too small, awkward and suddenly shy, but the moment he stares, you stare back.

You stare back until eventually you get the courage to ask.

‘Do you want to stay here tonight? Since you think it’s warmer, I wouldn’t want you die from the cold out there.’

Before Bob can even think of forming an answer, you drag yourself to lay under the covers. When you’re safe under them, you pat the bed, the covers on his side in your hand as if to tell him to get under them. His heart beats out of his chest. His hands aren’t so cold anymore, they’re sweaty.

They’re sweaty but he tells himself there’s no use saying no. He’d be stupid to- because he needs the warmth, and so do you.

So he doesn’t answer, instead he just lays down next to you. He gets under the covers, and he’s not sure what to do. If he holds you, he’s afraid he might break, or you might hear how fast his heart is beating. He if doesn’t, he’s afraid he’ll just shake through the cold the entire night.

‘Can I?’ His thoughts are interrupted when you slide closer to him, asking for permission to rest your head on his chest.

Instinctively, his arms are around you in seconds, the covers, the blankets shielding you from the cold.

‘This is nice.’ He speaks up surprising himself. Maybe the cold is getting to his head, maybe he’s a completely different person tonight.

‘It is, yeah.’ You look up at him only to find him already looking down at you.

‘Do you think you can sleep like this?’ You ask because it’s warmer suddenly. You know if you try to close your eyes right now, you might just fall asleep in seconds because he’s there, and because he’s helping.

‘I think so. You?’

You nod your head but don’t answer because you already feel yourself slipping into a slumber.

Your body’s heating up, your hands don’t tremble anymore, your lips are returning to their normal pink-ish color, the only thing going backwards is your heartbeat. Because although you can hear Bob’s going through the roof, you’re pretty sure yours isn’t doing any better.

‘Thank you.’ Is the last thing you hear him say before your brain finally shuts off.

You hope the next step in your courage will be to tell him how you really feel.

Maybe you’ll wake up all sweaty in the morning, but for now, this was worth it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @bluemerakis @blossomingorchids @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!)

[semperama]

Sorry, still thinking about this post and my tags on it, and if you think about it, Eddie has been acting like a sheepdog, guiding Buck into the most comfortable, close-enough-but-not-too-close spot in his life from pretty much the very beginning. They are established as partners early on, with them literally promising to have each other's backs, and then proving it when Buck starts helping with Chris in 2x04 and introduces Eddie to Carla. And pretty much starting then, you can see Eddie begin doing this dance. During the tsunami arc, Buck has started to pull away because of his injury, so Eddie drops Chris off with him. And afterward, Buck is blaming himself and prepared to pull away again, and Eddie knows this and shows up and hits him with a, "There's no one in this world I trust with my son more than you."

Then there's the infamous grocery store fight, the first time their partnership is really threatened, and Eddie lashes out and reminds Buck where his place is. ("Do you know how much Chris misses you?" and "I couldn't even call you to bail me out of jail.") Then Buck gets it, and we get the kitchen scene, but while we're all focused on the flirting (for good reason!) what's also happening is that Eddie is deflecting all the real questions. Buck pushes, "If you can't be honest with Frank, at least be honest with me," but Eddie just keeps cracking jokes, and they never really do get to the heart of the matter. Eddie's content that he has Buck back where he needs him; they don't have to actually talk about what happened or why in a real way.

But of course the most obvious time it happens is with the will. And the fact that Eddie puts Buck in his will a year before he tells him about it. He anchors Buck into his and Chris's life, but he only tells Buck when Buck has started to doubt his place during the shooting arc. It's actually an insane choice to put your best friend in your will without even having a conversation about it first, but Eddie can't face that conversation. Not until Buck is trying to place himself farther outside the "Buck Zone of Comfort" that Eddie has drawn in his mind, and then he has to just carefully nudge him riiiight back over the line. You're not expendable, not to me.

(Adding a cut, because this is getting long.)

The reason he's getting all snarly now is because leaving for Texas exposed this dance Eddie's been doing in a way that can't be ignored, because this is the first time Eddie himself has pushed Buck away, rather than some circumstance or NDE or Buck's own issues. If things were normal between them, Eddie could have involved Buck from the beginning, but he couldn't do that without deciding once and for all, is Buck just my friend, or is he more than that? Because if he's just a friend, then he can just help me move and be happy for me. But if he's more than that, then I don't think either of us can handle being apart, but I have no choice. But of course Eddie can't deal with thinking about any of that, so he just puts up a wall between himself and Buck by not talking to him about it at all until Buck finds out, and even then he keeps it minimal (ex: Buck tries to help him pick a house, but in the end Eddie picks one out and puts a down payment on it without consulting Buck at all).

I don't think either of them really gets what's behind it yet. Like, they know that it feels bad for Eddie to leave, but they don't fully understand why. Eddie won't let himself think about it, and Buck I think can't even conceive of the idea that Eddie might care about him that way, mostly because of his own trauma and lack of self-esteem. Eddie probably realizes they've reached a point where he can't position Buck back inside that Zone of Comfort, but I'm not sure if he knows that the only way to do it would be to put a label on what they are to each other, which he will NOT let himself do.

He does still try to do the push-and-pull thing again while he's in Texas with all the FaceTiming. He knows he's made Buck feel expendable again, so he tries to undo that by consulting him on all these big things he crucially did not consult him on before leaving: his job, Chris, his relationship with his parents. He feels more comfortable being emotionally close to Buck when there's all this physical distance between them.

But now, he's back, and Bobby's dead, and everything's more fragile than ever. Buck is closed off to him, so Eddie tries to remind him of his place again by bringing Chris back. But it only sort of works, because what now? They are living in the same house, but they both have this knowledge now of what it feels to be 800 miles apart, and what it feels to not share their grief with each other, and what it feels to not be a family, so they can't really just go back to how things were.

So Eddie does the exact wrong thing. He still plans to go back to El Paso. Even after it seemed like he came back--maybe even came back FOR BUCK--as soon as they're back to the fire station, he pulls out his phone and starts looking for flights. I don't know if we'll see this on screen, but I believe this is the moment that Buck gets it. Eddie has been trying to have it both ways, to keep Buck close but not too close. I doubt either of them really know what that means for how they feel about each other, but I do think Buck gets that he's going to be miserable unless he "lets Eddie go" in some capacity, which is why he starts looking for a new place to live.

I highly doubt Eddie is going to deal with this well, but for the first time, it's going to be basically impossible to fix this without acknowledging how he feels. Looking forward to finding out what it's going to take for him to do that!

[stanlunter]

Ohh I wanna make it

1. There are many ones, but the best is probably Mockingbird by Eminem. I don't have many "comfortable songs" cuz it's just not my type, but this one is so important and relatable.

2. It's not like there's one show I rewatched many times to comfort myself, but I would name Monster high show and moves lol. They're simple, they're funny, they're not overdramatic. You can relax while watching it and feel nostalgia. Isn't it enough?

3. Reading simply bc I hate writing. I'm bad at it and every time I tried to it... didn't end up well. I don't have any problems with imagination btw, but the process of writing is just impossible for me. Ig prose is just not for me. But lyrics, from the other hand? I like them and sometimes write them when I have nothing else to do. However, still prefer reading.

4. Well, that's hard. Basically just any good feeling. But if I have to choose, probably this feeling when you finished doing something important, see the good results of it and are proud of yourself. Idk how it calls, but it's amazing.

5. Drawing, Ig? Or watching different movies or reading something you planned to read for a long time

6. Hmmmmm...something like cookies or bakery in general I think?

7. The obvious question is myself. The less obvious is my siblings and then my mom

8. I'm not good at fabrics, but let's say cotton

9. When my family and I went to Turkey together. It wasn't the first time I was in Turkey, but it was the first time when the whole family went there. And it was amazing. We found a lot of friends there and were having fun every day. The hotel was really great, the sea was good and everything was perfect

10. I really don't remember, it was long ago. Let's say a month ago? I don't remember the conditions tho

11. My plush toys

12. Either time, or when someone actually tried to make me feel better and gives support

13. I like both, but prefer shower

14. Exams. I just wanna lass them and finally be free!

15. Used to be shakshuka, but now I'm sick of eggs, so I would say lasagna or pasta

16. I would love to start creating comics, custom clothes and custom dolls. Hopefully I'll be able to do these when I'm free

17. Hugs. Or when someone does smth I like to me, knowing I like it. Like cooks smth I love specifically bc they know I love it and etc

18. It was 16, but when I turned 16 it didn't work out so I don't believe in it anymore. I just live how I am without waiting for some specific age to change anything. It should be a gradual process

19. I have written a love lyrics (may be I'll even publish it one day?) to someone I love, but I had no intention to show it to her. I haven't received any love letters tho. If anyone has confessed their feelings to me, it was either verbally or online, no letters

20. There are so many. If I have to pick, I would probably pick my graduation from the 9th grade, because it was the last time I had a great time with my ex friend group. It was really funny and amazing and I miss that time

21. Hot cocoa, absolutely. I love all, but cocoa is the best

22. "Deveyes". That's the only playlist I listen to and at first it supposed to belong to one of my oc, but then it just became my regular playlist

23. Oh yeah, mostly from my parents tho. RN I have a beautiful one in my room btw

24. I have two best friends. Our relationship are completely different, but I cherish them both the same way. The first one is my ex classmate, who's an amazing and very talented beautiful girl I really admire. The other one is a guy I met online, he's really funny and cool, we love making fun of everyone around together and thinking we're the smart people on the Earth huh. Love them both

25. Idk, probably light blue bc it's basic and I don't associate my "soul" with anything specific, I don't even like the concept of the soul

26. Very hard to answer. I would love to move into another country, but at the same time I doubt I could find a more comfortable place. So RN I wouldn't change the place. But I would like to be around my family and my besties

27. No, absolutely not. I dislike gardening. Mostly bc it's hard and bc I associate it with insects and I hate them. However, for some reason I would love to grow a flycatcher just bc they're creepy and interesting

28. Idk if there's anything like this. May be of people on Tiktok liking my edits cuz I never knew I could possibly have almost 30 000 of followers. But I don't think it's something crazy to be proud of. Hopefully I'll have something in the future to be really proud of

29. Huh I don't really like this word, it doesn't seem to be specific enough. I'm a pretty selfish person and don't care much about people I can't relate to. However I usually don't do anything bad, especially not something that hurt anyone, but I don't do good things regularly either. I can help someone time to time, but not intentionally and not very often. Just when I have such possibility and when it wouldn't turn bad for me

30. My hobbies are drawing, reading, watching movies and shows, listening to music, writing lyrics, making edits, collecting, writing analysis posts like in this acc, going to gym. That's basically all

✨soft asks✨

What song makes you feel better?

What is your go to comfort show?

Reading or writing? Why?

Whats your favorite feeling?

How do you like to take care of yourself?

What’s your favorite candle scent?

Who do you feel most like yourself around?

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Best childhood moment?

When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

What calms you down?

Bath or shower to relax?

Whats something upcoming that you’re excited for?

Comfort food?

What’s something you want to create soon?

How do you feel best loved?

What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

Have you ever written or received a love letter?

Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa?

Name of your favorite playlist?

Have you ever received flowers?

Who is your bestfriend?

If your soul was a color, what would it be?

If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

What are you proudest of?

Are you a kind person?

What do your hobbies look like?

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — "Cant sleep," Gojo announces at 2 AM, his white hair adorably mussed as he stands in your doorway.

"Me either," you admit, trying not to stare at how his sleep shirt clings to his lean muscles… and before you can protest, he's already pushing into your room.

"I know!" he claps his hands together, "lets build a pillow fort!" Once again, before you can question him or protest, Gojo Satoru is already stripping your bed of its blankets and pillows. His energy truly didn’t know any bounds, and it was almost infectious as he constructed walls- hung fairy lights he seemingly produced from nowhere. It was almost like he had planned for this.

Inside the soft cocoon of blankets, his usual playful side slowly melts away. The loss of his best friend Geto was weighing on him heavily tonight, it showed in how desperately he pulls you close.

"Stay with me, don’t ever think about leaving’ me…" he whispers against your lips, his kisses needy and deep for once. His hands gripping your hips in a possessive way that screams ‘I don’t want to be alone’ as he grinds slowly against you.

"I'm here, Satoru," you breathe, feeling him shudder at his given name. His fingers bite into your skin almost painfully, a way for him to anchor himself to you.

When he reaches for the condom in his pocket, he suddenly hesitates… Those sky-like eyes meeting yours for a split second before darting away, the sweetest pink hue crossing his beautiful features.

"Let’s not use protection this time," he mumbles, voice uncharacteristically uncertain... Long white lashes fluttering as he blinks, "I know, I know- it's selfish," he continues, pressing his forehead to yours, "But I keep thinking, what if..." His voice trails off…

And for the first time, the infamous Gojo Satoru looks almost fragile.

Those carefully built walls crumbling before you as he shares what’s been on his mind, "A reason to come home," he breathes, "Someone waiting... tiny feet running down my hallways instead of just ghosts and memories."

Your heart aches at how young and innocent he suddenly looks… this powerful man- the strongest sorcerer, wanting nothing more than a future filled with love rather than loss.

"Whatever happens..." he whispers against your lips, hips pressing into yours, "happens..."

"Okay~," you whisper back, pulling him closer. His whole body relaxing- melting into you at your acceptance.

One of his large hands span your stomach, already imagining it swollen with his child, "I realized the other day that I want to give you everything... want to come home to you both..."

"Everyone leaves," he murmurs brokenly between heated kisses. "Can't lose you to..."

"Never," you promise as he rocks against you, his usual confidence stripped away leaving just Satoru- young and afraid of being alone.

Your legs wrap tighter around him as he moves against you, his usual cockiness replaced by raw need and hope. For once, the strongest sorcerer isn't thinking about power or victory- his usual cockiness gone in this moment, replaced by genuine feelings of the possibility of creating something beautiful instead of destruction.

"Please," he begs, voice cracking, "Let me give you- give us this... let me have something to protect..."

In the safety of your pillow fort, surrounded by twinkling lights, you hold him close as he seeks more than just physical pleasure. He's seeking a future where love outweighs loss, where coming home means more than empty victories.

His kisses grow more desperate as you arch beneath him, both of you chasing not just release but the promise of tomorrow. Tonight, in this soft haven of blankets and fairy lights, Gojo Satoru isn't the strongest sorcerer- he's just a young man dreaming of a future filled with love instead of ghosts.

[dxrk-red]

✦︎Sukuna x reader All yours.

"'Kuna?" "Hm?" "Are you comfortable with me?"

Sukuna and you had been seeing each other for the past 10 months. Ten. That should be enough for someone to know if a person likes them, right? Of course it should. That's 300 days. Yet whenever Sukuna was around you, every word, every touch felt calculated. Hesitant. You brushed it off for a while, thinking that it's just how this big burly man, with a staggering height and inked skin, is. But the small responses, the quick look aways were bothering you. And you needed to know. So you found yourself at your apartment, lounging around in the living room with Sukuna seated comfortably on the sofa. A respectable distance between you two. Too respectable for lovers. You tried to initiate proximity, sure, you did. But every time you scooted closer to show him a silly cat video, shoving the phone in his face, he would pull back slightly, glancing away. And these little incidents crept through your pretty mind, creating a turmoil, egging you on to ask the said question. Raising a brow, Sukuna looked at you from where he was sprawled out. Sharp eyes narrowing onto you as if to say, 'Where'd this come from?' But the thoughts of him not wanting you, no yearning for you like you did had seeped through and now you were conflicted. Was Sukuna really comfortable with you? "I mean-", you started, a small exhale leaving you. "...do you feel okay with me? Do you not like it when I'm too close to you? You keep looking away. You can tell me if you don't want to, y'know. I wanna make you feel safe-" "I like you." Woah, that was unexpected. Your brows raised up to your hairline, not used to such a statement by him. Sukuna showed he liked you: through small gifts, but not proximity, though never said it. These words changed things. A tinge of red bloomed across Sukuna's ears as he cleared his throat. He shied away, looking down at his lap. "I do feel comfortable with you, I just..." He grunted, a small frown gracing his lips. How could he tell you that he was shy? How could he tell you that he liked you so much more, that his brain fluctuated every time you smiled at him, that he had to look away to function properly? That every time you cooed at him, he had to physically restrain himself from the cuteness aggression and suppress his urges to squish you? Because the big, bad Sukuna never did that. A snort, then silence. You were trying to hold back a laugh, but you wanted him to talk. "Suku, are you shy?" You asked, smugly raising a brow. What a gremlin. Sukuna thought to himself affectionately. Scoffing, he turned his head away, arms crossed defensively. "Hell no.", he snarked but his pink face said otherwise. "Awwww, you're so cute." You shifted closer, causing Sukuna to tense up as your warm hands cupped his cheeks. Shit, he could melt. "You could have told me. And here I was, thinking you hate me or something.", you cooed. "Your stupid questions make me hate you." "You're sooooo cute." "I take my words back. Get off of me this instant." His hands circled your waist. He didn't hesitate, leaning into you. "Too late, mwah." You plant a kiss to his nose, making him turn red as you laugh with genuine amusement. Your lover was the sweetest thing ever. "Don't shy away from me, okay? I want you to feel free with me." That made Sukuna's eyes soften, longingly gazing into yours. A smile like that could ruin his life, and he'd let it. Because Sukuna knew you're the only one he'd ever be comfortable with.

A/N: First blog. Constructive criticism is welcome with open arms. I would appreciate any requests and prompts. I hope you like this just as much as this upgraded fire boy likes you. Thank you for reading.

[dollychou]

A NURTURING HUSBAND

𝓈ummary ʚଓ nanami kento is the most darling of husbands, even when his wife is an emotional mess at the moment.

𝒸ontent ʚଓ fluff! pregnant!reader. reader is rather hormonal ﾉ emotional. nanami is so loving and sweet with you.

✉️ ྀི . . this is not a very long piece but i've just been daydreaming about nanami as such a loving, doting husband for his pregnant wife and gosh, i just needed to write it :(

nanami is the picture perfect husband. he cares for you and tends to your every need without even a peep of a complaint. he spoils you so much that it's almost overwhelming — but you really have no gripe against it. he loves you wholeheartedly and you know it. he would pull down every star in the galaxy for you if you asked, and he'd do it endlessly.

and now that you're pregnant, he's been more attentive and caring than ever. you so much as let out a sigh and he's rushing to you, asking you how you're feeling, if there's anything you need, or if there's anything he can do for you. he always places a soft, delicate kiss to your knuckles, uttering a gentle 'i love you' each time.

these days, your hormones have been all over the place — one second you're giggling and giddy, and the next second you're bawling in his arms. the other day you were watching videos of cute little kittens on tiktok and then nanami walked into your shared bedroom and you started sniffling and gushing to him over the adorable creatures. in the next few seconds, your expression turned to one of annoyance as your harped on to your husband about how he wouldn't allow you to get one. he simply smiled, reminding you that you had never once asked him before for a pet kitten.

through your roller coaster of emotions, he has been so patient and lovely, caring for you and helping you ease any trouble you were experiencing.

"are you comfortable, sweetie?," he coos while he delicately rubs his hand over your bulging belly. he places a sweet kiss on it, humming softly to himself. he is always wondering and daydreaming about how pretty and cute your daughter will be when she's here — a reflection of the miracle you both created.

you groan in discomfort, shifting in the bed. nanami looks to you and furrows his eyebrows a bit in concern. before he gets the chance to say anything, you're crying to him, "ken, don't touch me right now! UGH! i feel so uncomfortable! when is this damn baby gonna come out of me?"

he lets out a small sigh as he makes you lean forward a bit as he positions a cushion behind you. "is this better, sweetheart?," he asks, fluffing up the cushion.

your eyes start welling up, a hand coming to cover your mouth. he notices the tears and his face turns to one of concern. "what's wrong? are you still uncomfortable? did i irritate you or anger you?," he asks.

you shake your head, sniffling lightly as you wipe away the tears that are streaming down. "no honey," you choke out. "it's just, i was so mean to you a second ago and you didn't even say anything. and-and, now you're taking care of me. you're just so sweet."

he gives you a gentle kiss, chuckling softly at your little outburst. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and his hand comes down to wipe the tears staining your face. he cups your face in his hands and says sweetly, "sweetheart, it's okay. i understand how difficult it can be. you don't need to apologise. i love you."

"i love you too," you croak out, a tiny pout on your lips.

he drapes an arm around you, pulling you into his embrace. there's a comfortable silence that falls between you two, his hands rubbing up and down you as a means to bring some comfort. you peer up at him, a doting look on your face. he looks back down at you, wearing the same sweet expression. "anything the matter, sweetheart?," he says, placing a soft kiss to your temple.

"no," you answer, trailing your finger over his torso. "i'm just wondering if our baby will have your eyes or mine."

he hums as he ponders on the question for a bit. "well, i really hope she has your eyes. you've got the prettiest ones i've seen and our daughter will be blessed if she inherits them too."

he hears you sniffling again and immediately asks you what's wrong, care and concern laced into his voice. you wave your hands dismissively as you squeak out, "you're just the sweetest man. it's too much." you bury your head in his chest, the tears soaking his top. a tender smile spread across his lips as he caresses your back while you sob.

it's been a tumultuous ride recently, with your emotions and hormones all over the place. he can't imagine how onerous it must be for you. but if there's anything he can do to help you through it all — no matter how small or big — he'll do it for you. all while wearing that delightful and pleasant smile on his face.

© all works belong to dollychou. do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

[siri-ike]

(This got a little long)

Danny quieted down when he realized he wasn't in any danger. He stumbled out of bed, his legs were numb and wobbly, and everything looked out of focus. He grabbed onto the window sill to stay standing, but he just couldn't.

Suddenly, someone wearing white burst into the room. He couldn't tell who it was, or even if he knew them. It didn't help that he couldn't seem to keep his head still. The figure rushed toward him, and he flinched.

"It's ok, you're in the hospital. My name is Katie, I'm a nurse here. I can help." The woman had a Midwestern accent. She slowly stroked his sholder and held his cheek until he caught his breath and stopped shaking.

He sniffled as his vision slowly faded into focus. Katie was holding his head still. It really helped. He let his shoulders relax. "There was- th was a woman, she, she threw me into the water. And, and, and-"

"Vivid dreams are normal. But you're safe now. How about we get you back in bed? You can tell me everything you saw while we wait for Doctor Benton to get here." Katie helped him up and onto the bed. She held out his arm and reached for a butterfly needle hanging from an IV bag.

"What's that?" He asked diffencively, pulling his hand away.

"It's just some IV fluids. Saline, B vitamins, electrolytes, a little glucose." She listed reassuringly, but Danny didn't give her his arm. She smiled and put the needle down. "It can wait. Do you still want to tell me about your dream?"

He looked at her full of questions, but he did want to tell someone about what he saw. The problem is; how much does she know? He probably can't tell her about being Robin or the League of Assassins. Whether he's here as Jason Todd Wayne or Jon Doe. To them, he should have no reason to know about that. "How, long- ha-has it been." He stuttered. He never had a stutter before. Could it have been caused by the explosion?... wait. There was an explosion. How is he in one piece? He looked at his arms and lifted up his pant legs. Everything was still intact. Aside from some fading lichtenberg scars on his hands, he was fine.

"Six months." She took his hands in hers. "The scars will heal in due time. But until then, you'll certainly have the coolest thing to show off at school." She grinned like they were planning a prank together or something. "Now, how about telling me about your nightmare?"

Jason picked at the inner corners of his eyes and wiped the clumps on his soft pajama shirt. "I was -, arguing with my dad. About - something. He sent me to my room. But I didn't listen. And this guy, I never learned his name, he hit me. Over and over. Then I was alone, and I died... after that, this woman, she's always flirting with my dad, took me to her home, and threw me in the water." He wanted to say more. But how? Even if he told these things to a therapist, they would be obligated by law to report to the police.

"Sweety. Do you want to see your dad? Your family's been over a lot. I'm sure they'll drop everything when we call them."

"Drop everything," ha. Bruce probably "dropped" the joker after what he did. But it would be nice to see him. Even if the last time they spoke wasn't on the best of terms. "Thanks."

"Ahem," a woman in a labcoat cleared her throat in the doorway. She probably didn't wanna startle them.

"Doctor Benton. Danny, she's just going to give you a checkup. I can go call your parents, so they'll be here when you're done."

Danny? Why would she call him Danny? And parents? Plural? Has Jason been confused for someone else? Come on, this isn't like mixing up newborn babies. He's 15. Plus, he had to have been flown in from Ethiopia. And how would Bruce not have noticed? Is some other boy living at the manor pretending to be him?

Katie affectionately touched Dr. Bentons upper arm. "Speech, reflexes, and attention, normal. Temperature, low. Breathing patern, stable. His IV and catheter fell out again." She was testing him? The whole time? He couldn't even be mad. That was pretty impressive.

"Now then, Danny. I have a few simple tests here. Most people in your position need to relearn some skills, and these will help us figure out which ones." Dr Benton pulled out a table and placed a note card and several colored pens on it. "I would like you to draw a clock that reads ten thirty, a green square with an orange letter G in it, and write your name."

OK, so a memory test and a dexterity test in one. Danny picked up the red pen. With a shaky hand, he drew a circular clock, one hand down, one up, and to the left. He picked up the orange pen and wrote the letter G, then drew a green square around it and filled it in. He hastily wrote his signature and handed the card over.

Sure, the lines were unsteady, and he didn't put any numbers on the clock, but he's still going to get a good grade in waking up from a coma. "What's next?" He eyed the folder Dr Benton held.

She placed a sheet of paper with a few simple math problems and shapes with the names of colors written under them.

The tests must have lasted at least 20 to 30 minutes. By the end, his handwriting didn't look half bad anymore.

There was a bit of ruckus in the hallway that seemed to put Dr Benton in a bit of a rush. Who could blame her? There was a guy yelling and clearly getting closer. Working in a hospital probably means dealing with a lot of people like that. Danny was just going to ignore it and hoped they weren't headed to a nearby room. But then.

"DANNO!"

The guy came into his room. He was huge, loud, and worst of all. He was holding Jason in a bear hug. Two women walked in behind him. One of them was all too eager to leave lipstic marks all over his face, but the younger one, the red head, stood back and scolded the large man for making such a ruckus in a hospital.

Who are these people? How are they not noticing that the person they are talking to is someone else? Does Jason have a doppelganger? Or better yet, a clone. He's overdue to be cloned. Hmm. But then, wouldn't it be the other way around?

"Dad! Would you put Danny down. He could have had serious mental regression or new sensitivities. You didn't even ask him how he's doing. Or if he remembers who you are." The girl was right. All of this was a lot so soon.

"Nonsense, Jazzy pants." The guy ruffled Jasons hair. "You remember who we are, right?"

They're probably civilians. If Jason was switched with someone, chances are these people are obvious to it. "You're... my family." Keep it vague. Don't wanna make too many assumptions.

Something about his dismissal made Jason feel uneasy. It was so fast. He expected to stay another night, or at least have more tests run. They just handed him his hoodie and practically dragged him out the door. He was already in a car less than an hour after waking up. The receptionist seemed so relieved. Most of the staff seemed relieved.

Is he actually ok to go?! Does anyone care?

The car was weird, too. It was full of add-ons like the batmobile, but nowhere near as sleek and clean. At least the driving was eaqualy reckless. Although they weren't chasing anyone.

"Danny... Danny." The girl spoke to him.

Oh, right, he's Danny. "Yes?" He rubbed his eyes to sell it. Gotta keep those expectations low.

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Uhm, I guess I'm kinda hungry. And stiff."

"I mean, emotionally, how are you feeling?"

Emotionally? He literally just woke up. He's supposed to have feelings this early. Let a guy shake off the rigormortis, whatever your name is. "I... don't know." Maybe he can use this to his advantage. "Did anything happen while I was asleep?"

There was a record scratch, somehow, and everything went silent.

"Honey," the woman in the front seat spoke up. "Maybe it would be best to have this conversation when we get home." She had a slight Midwestern accent. Just like Katie. Are they in the Midwest?

"Why? Did you get divorced or something? I'm not dead."

And there was the awkward silence again.

Crap, bad joke, bad joke. That was a full-on Jason response. Danny might have a completely different sense of humor.

This time, the silence lasted until they got home. He awkwardly shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and felt a folded up piece of paper inside.

They still didn't say anything when they got home. He didn't get punished for joking about death, at least. That was a nice touch. But it was weird that they all went in different directions. The two adults ran straight to the basement, yelling something about "overheating" and "GHOSTS!". And the red head went for the stairs before Jason stopped her.

"Could you help me? Dr. Benton said I shouldn't cook anything unsupervised."

She looked surprised at the request. It's not like he wants to have someone cook for him. It was literally doctors' orders.

"I'm not supposed to be around sharp knives of fire." He justified.

"Oh, I read about that. Some people can be self-destructive after waking up from a long coma. Often, they are trying to test if they're still dreaming." She sounded too excited about his potentially dangerous mental state.

While... crap, gotta find out their names. She cut up some vegetables and left him to assemble a sandwich. That sure was quick. Usually, he would have had to sit through endless conversation just to eat something. This gave him time to snoop.

The sandwich was amazing. It was like eating something for the first time in months. When he was done, he remembered the note. He pulled it out of his pocket, and, ok, Jason swears he is a good reader. Why are only some of the letters making words?

He powered through and eventually managed to decipher the letter.

Dear Mr. Fenton

It is important that you continue your brain exercises. You may also experience some decline in fine motor skills. Below is a list of activities that can speed up recovery.

Reading, puzzles, writing, drawing.

-Nurse Katie

She must have slipped it in before she left. Would it still be developmentally appropriate to have a crush on his nurse? She seemed to be in her late 20s to early 30s... "we could make it work." Jason nodded delusionaly.

*bdrrrrr*

The doorbell cought Jason off guard. He answered it and saw two teenagers, the same age as him. One male, African American, red barrette, yellow t-shirt. Height 5"4, teal eyes. The other female, Caucasian, black clothes, black hair. Height 5"6', violet eyes. Their facial expressions suggested they were friends, but of course, Jason didn't know them.

"Danny!" They cheered in unison.

"We came as soon as we heard."

"Are you ok?"

"Sam was so worried about you." The boy mocked, only to get jabbed in the abdomen.

"I'm fine." This "danny" sure has a lot of people to keep track of. Why couldn't Jason have been switched with some loner?

They both stared at him for a moment. "Can we come in?"

Jason looked back inside. Put on a show for five people, or for two people? "Uhm, let's go somewhere else." He practically shoved himself outside.

They looked at each other, and it was clear they were avoiding saying something.

Jason couldn't risk choosing where to go, so he let them pick. He wasn't really sure what he expected, what with the lack of third places in American cities now a days. But a science museum? He would have preferred a library, but he could still read here.

"What should we look at first?"

"Your choice. This place has gotten three new exhibits. There's a brain maze-"

"A human skeleton-"

"And they added a thing that you can stand on, and it zaps you."

They looked at each other in silence.

"We can ignore that one." They seemed to agree.

"Why? I wanna get zapped. Which way?" Jason grabbed a map at the front desk while the girl paid for 3 passes. "The brain is closer. Let's start there." He looked back at the others. "Bet I could get through faster than you." He grinned and dashed through the hall.

Jason stopped in front of the big plastic brain. He expected the others to run after him, but they were far behind. He had to take his shoes off in order to enter the structure. It's kind of like those indoor playgrounds. Except way bigger.

Despite all the big talk, Jason ended up wandering into every dead end in order to find all the fun facts. Each one came with a small stamp on the arm, and if you find all of them, you get a sticker.

On the way out, Jason spotted the two teens he came here with. They didn't even go inside. He can't beat them if they don't even play. The brain has no pain receptors!" He shouted to them as an employee put a sticker on his hoodie. It was a brain wearing pants with the words "Smarty Pants" written under it.

"I know you didn't go in, but I'm still counting this victory. I win." Jason showed off his sticker with that sassy little smile. You know the one.

Their supportive smiles looked fake. Jason could tell they were hiding something. He didn't even need to look for micro-expressions. These people were terrible liars. Finally, he snapped. "What's wrong? You two have been acting like you covered up a murder or something."

Mini Prompt: Death Runs in the Family

Danny and Jason are twins separated at birth. When they were born Danny was very sick and it didn’t look good for him from the start. As a final act of love or malice Sheila abandoned Danny at the hospital–making sure that there is nothing connecting him to her–leaving him to whatever fate desired for the small boy.

On the other hand she took Jason with her who then ended up being raised by Willis and Catherine. With them being completely unaware that Jason has a twin brother.

Jason’s life continues on as normal with him eventually being found, adopted, and becoming Robin. He dies at 15 in Ethiopia with his bio-mom never knowing about his brother. He comes back

Meanwhile Danny gets better and is later on adopted by the Fenton’s. Living in a crazy ghost-invested town. His parents build the portal in the basement, and at 15 dies with a press of a button. He comes back.

What no one knows though is that both meet their fate at the same time. A portal opening and a bomb going off. The two become twins in life and in death.

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | "single mom" au | masterlist

7: apoptosis

tw: dub-con, smut, posessiveness, manipulation

It takes time to wean you off your self dependency, but Simon is well versed in wars of attrition. 

He visits your apartment often and lingers longer each time, always finding something new to busy himself with. Any excuse to nestle himself into your life too deep for you to yank him out without drawing blood along with it. Why fret over cleaning chemicals when he can scrub the bathroom for you? No need to go buy groceries, he’s a butcher, he’ll get you the meat for free. Let him stay the night with you, Angel—you’ll never get any rest if you’re throwing up as often as you are, let him comfort you.

At first, you fight it, chary of his actions, always watching him with narrowed eyes as if he’s a snake poised to bite—the serpent here to trick you into taking fruit you shouldn’t. Yet with each brush of his hand against yours and honeyed coo into your ear, you soften like he knew you would, taut flesh moulding into supple meat good for quartering. Simper pulling at your lips when you see him, ecstatic to no longer be alone in the world; a beginning and end of his own creation. 

So then, it is nearly impossible for him to fight back his smile when you approach him one afternoon, hands holding your swelling stomach, gaze downcast as you swallow your pride. 

“Simon?” 

He’s sitting on the couch with the newspaper folded in half, pencil tapping against the flimsy material as he grits his teeth through the crossword puzzle. This morning he arrived with the promise of cleaning out your sink pipes, which he did, but you never kicked him out afterwards, letting him laze around like a well fed animal. You’ve been waddling around the house for a solid twenty minutes now. There are invisible tracks carved deep into the floor where your feet have shuffled along the wood, too heavy for you to pick up properly as you gather clothes, shoes, and paperwork. 

“Yeah, Angel?” His pencil still taps against the paper, but his eyes are on you. Heavy like lead, immovable like tungsten, made to weigh you down, pin you in place, keep you where you ought to be. 

“I’ve—erm—got an appointment with my obstetrician here soon. Would you… be able to take me?” you ask, shoulders curling forward. 

Simon moves slow. Steady. Folding the paper and tossing it onto the sofa next to him, he carefully stands, weight thumping against the floor as he approaches you. This is what he’s been waiting for. The asking. The begging. The pleading. Coming to him for all your issues, as you should, because you know that he’ll take care of you. Of everything. 

Of both of you. 

“Course, Angel.” 

It’s been a long time since Simon’s been to see a doctor, and his body feels out of place sitting in the waiting room next to you. Too big for the chair, shoulders awkwardly resting on the wall behind him as he watches each patient and father-to-be stalk in and out of the room. When your name is called, he rests his hand on your lower back the entire walk to the exam room as if he’s laying claim, proving to the others just who you belong to, reminding straying eyes to not pry for too long. 

Once the door is closed behind the two of you, everything is predictable. Blood pressure cuff inflating around your bicep, a doppler monitor that displays the child’s heartbeat for the whole world to hear, weight and height, questions about your health—each answer you give, Simon files away into his brain. But he already expects it. Your dilemma about your nausea, the weight you’re gaining, the fatigue—he anticipates everything—

“Could we talk about options for adoption now? Like you mentioned last time?”

—everything, except this. 

Simon’s fingers curl into his palms. Gaze kept low to the floor, he can’t bring himself to look at you while you and the doctor flaunt this subject so flippantly in his face. Adoption. She scrounges a few handouts out of a drawer and presents them to you as if they’re your lifeline when he knows full well the destruction they’ll bring. Armageddon; the end of all things good. His labor uprooted. Fresh fruit allowed to ripen then fall from the tree where it then rots on the ground. 

“There’s a few agencies to choose from,” the doctor informs as she sits back on her stool, seat twisting as she taps her foot. “They’ll match you with a family and handle all the legal jargon you’ll have to fight through, and you’ll be able to choose between different types of adoption.” 

“Different types?” you repeat. 

She nods. “There are open and closed adoptions, depending on your comfort level. Basically, it all boils down to if you want to have a relationship with this child after birth or not.” 

The doctor gives you much to think about after her poisonous spiel. Too much. Simon sees the way the cogs in your brain turn while you thumb through the pamphlets you were provided during the drive back to your flat. Pictures of happy families beam up on the slick paper, and his stomach churns. A pipe dream. A faux fantasy meant to vitiate your mind until you’re spewing nonsense that would uproot everything he’s built for you. 

Now, it haunts the kitchen where it stares up at him from the counter. They lie next to the baby’s most recent sonograms, and he’s sickened at the proximity of such beauty and a mangy monstrosity. 

“Simon?” 

You’re standing in the doorway with your face freshly washed and your body covered with an oversized night shirt. Enervation tugs at your eyelids as you rub at the back of your neck, willing the ache away. Any other time, Simon would be compelled to dote on you. Whisk you off into the bedroom and lay you to sleep to rest from all the work you’ve done caring for his child. Instead, his mind is stewing. Concocting. Planning for some way to will you back into submission from where you’ve accidentally slipped. 

“Tired?” he asks. 

You nod. “Might tuck in early.” 

Humming, Simon stalks towards you. Predator and prey—but his angel’s eyes are so wide as you look at him. Your gaze is delicate. Now, anyway. Now that you’ve let him in. But you haven’t yet. Not truly. You’re holding him in the doorway, too far away for him to properly slip through and twist the lock behind him. 

He allows you to lead him to your bedroom. This—usually—is where he puts you to sleep before wandering back home, but as he sits on the edge of the bed while you twist on your side, accommodating room for your ever-growing stomach, he decides that tonight you are not getting rid of him so easily. 

“I don’t think adoption is a good idea,” he says bluntly. 

His claim has the lassitude wicking clean from your body within an instant, and your brows narrow as you stare up at him from your pillow. “What do you mean? You think I should keep it?” 

Wandering hands make their home on your stomach and he feels the way you tense beneath his touch, but he refuses to relent. This is his child. “We should keep it.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you think of something to say but your mind is stricken with surprise and too much work. When you open your mouth to speak, Simon moves his hands, rubbing your stomach, and it siphons your thoughts straight from your brain. 

“I already told you that I’d take care of both of you, ‘member?” he badgers. 

“Simon, I don’t think you want to take care of someone else’s kid,” you sigh, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. 

There it is again. That doubt in him. In yourself. That noxious seed that was sowed and has been allowed to run rampant for far too long. 

“I’m not takin’ care of someone else’s kid, I’m takin’ care of our kid,” he corrects. He leans forward, tummy knocking against yours as his body curls over you, face obscuring your vision. “I could give you the whole world, Angel. You just gotta let me.” 

Stunned into silence, he sees the way tears well in the corners of your eyes, thick with brine. They look out of place and wrong on your pretty face, glistening like stardust along your skin, soaking into the apples of your cheeks. His tongue yearns behind his teeth, fighting to dart out, begging for a taste of the salt he wishes to absolve you from. 

Instead, Simon presses his lips to yours. 

It’s soft. Chaste. A reunion he’s been needing to feel for quite some time now. Your eyes are still watering when you open them back up to look at him, but there’s something else lurking in the depths of your gaze. You want this. Deep down. Him, this child, the love you keep denying yourself—he’ll give it to you.

So he does. Fervent mouth against you, he’s planting his hands on either side of your head as he climbs up the bed, ripping the covers off your body. You squeak when he slots his knees between your legs, spreading your thighs apart and pushing your nightshirt up to your hips. 

“S-Simon?” you stutter out, a glossy sheen obscuring your vision. 

“I’m right ‘ere, Angel.” His hands are trailing down now as he sits back on his haunches, fingertips ghosting over your breasts, your stomach, until he reaches the softest part of you. Warm through your panties, he presses against your clit and you jolt. “Gonna give ya everythin’ you need.” 

All fight leaves you when he begins to rub at you, tenderly stroking his fingers along your cunt until you’re rocking your hips in time with his movements. This is better than any of the nights he’s ever visited you—your moans, the hiccuping as your groans catch in your throat, it’s all music to his ears. Simon smoothes his free hand over your stomach to feel the way your breathing escalates into near hyperventilation. The way you peer up at him through wet lashes, lips puffing out in a pout, makes his cock harder than he’d ever care to admit. 

Once there’s enough slick to soak through your panties, Simon shoves the gusset aside and lines his fingers up where your weeping is heaviest. He feels your legs tense around him, and he shushes you as your legs jerk. 

“Doin’ so good f’me, Angel,” he coos. Your jaw unhinges in a choked gasp as he pushes two fingers into you, hardly giving you any time to adjust. Elbows digging into the mattress, you sit yourself up slightly, expanding the bulge of your stomach as you do. “Gonna give ya everything. Workin’ so hard, my pretty girl, carryin’ this baby ‘round. Fuck, you’re gonna be such a good mum, yeah?” 

You keen as his pace picks up, fingers soaking into you until they can’t go any further, knuckles nudging against your clit before he twists, pads rubbing just behind your mons. It’s molten metal in your core. It’s the programmed death of your cells, melting into something new, something better—something he can care for. 

Simon refuses to relent until you’re dripping down his wrist, orgasm ripping you apart, palms sticky with your essence. When he pulls his fingers out, the sheen that glistens in the pale light calls to him, lulling his mouth open until he’s got the taste of you on his tongue. Hot and tangy like oranges warmed in the sun. You’re panting. Tender breasts heave beneath your shirt as you throw your arm over your forehead, legs still quivering, sweat glistening where your jaw meets your throat. 

When he pulls his fingers free from his mouth, they shoot for his trousers, button flying open and zipper coming undone. The sound of the metal has you quieting as you force your eyes to flutter open, gaze wandering from Simon’s face down to where he pulls himself free of his boxers, not even bothering to properly remove his clothes. He witnesses the moment your heart freezes in your chest. 

Foreskin pulling back over the head of his cock, blush pink tip leaking in eagerness to return home—he’s thick. There’s little give to his girth as he squeezes himself, smearing precum across the head as a favor to you. Your anticipation morphs into apprehension and the heels of your hands dig into the mattress as if you’d ever dream of scrambling away from him. 

“Oh I don’t—I dunno about this,” you stutter. 

Before you can move too far, Simon’s free hand grabs your hip just as he lines himself up with your entrance. Your whimper cuts sharp through the air as he leans forward, not yet pressing into you but putting enough pressure for all the air in your lungs to leave you. 

“It’s okay, Angel. You can take it.” He’s leaning forward now, torso falling over yours as you helplessly stare up at him. His cock begins to slide in, but the resistance he meets has him hissing through his teeth. You’re so much tighter when you’re conscious—and so much prettier looking up at him like this. “I know you can take it.” 

His pace starts out slow at first. Bottoming out, grinding against your softening cervix, giving you just enough time to wrap your arms around him and steady yourself before he indulges. He places his ear to your mouth so he can hear each moan that leaves you; so you can’t hide from him anymore. 

This is what he’s been missing for so long. You, in this lucid state where you can flap your pretty wings as you paw at his back, knees tightening around his hips, cunt quivering. Though you don’t recognize it, Simon does—the way your body remembers him. How it sucks him in, welcoming him home, squeezing him tight in an embrace that has him grunting into your neck. 

It brings him closer to his orgasm faster than he anticipates, but the quivering in your legs tells him you don’t need much longer anyway. Raising his head to look at you, Simon keeps his pace painfully even just as the floodgates begin to bulge in his abdomen. 

“I’m gonna come in this pretty pussy,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “You’d like that, yeah? I get to come in you, ‘n it’s like this baby’s mine, huh Angel?” 

There it is. That trembling that rages throughout your body as your eyes roll into the back of your head. You’re pressing at his chest now, overwhelmed with the endorphins plaguing your system, but Simon doesn’t relent yet. Not until he’s finished. Rewire. Implant. Then—

He spills into you fully sheathed, cockhead pulsing against the tight opening of your cervix, deep enough for him to know that if you weren’t already pregnant, it would take. His lips smash against yours, and he revels in the feeling of your skin before he collapses into the side of your neck. The two of you stay there for a while as he keeps you plugged full of him while you murmur his name between whines. 

When he pulls out, he does it slowly before he pulls the gusset of your panties back over your ruined hole. Fresh cum soaks into the cotton, and Simon can’t help but watch as the fabric darkens. It spreads, and he smiles as he pats the inside of your thigh. 

The doorway’s behind him now. He can nearly turn the lock. 

“There we go, Angel. All better.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | early access to chapters here

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 12 - halloween part 1

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

it was finally time for the long awaited halloween party. kie and cleo had arrived at yours and sarahs dorm to start getting ready in full pre-game mode. the place smelled of hairspray and alcohol, half a bottle of vodka drunk in preparation for the long night.

sarah was sprawled across the floor with a straightener in hand, kie sat on the edge of your bed experimenting with glitter on her face, and cleo was pouring herself another drink.

you leaned against the edge of your desk, sipping slowly from your drink, doing your best to stay present. but your thoughts kept drifting.

specifically to rafe. and his stupid fake wedding and his stupid mixed messages he keeps giving you.

"you okay?" sarah asked, glancing at you through the mirror, eyebrow raised.

"yeah," you said automatically. too quickly.

kie caught it too. " are you sure? you've barely moaned about rafe tonight and thats how i know something is up."

you and sarah shared a quick glance to each other, not missed by the girls.

"okay. what the fuck did that look mean?" cleo chimed in, stopping mid eyeliner.

"is there something you guys aren't telling us?" kie questioned.

"i'll leave this one to you y/n." sarah turned away with a smirk.

you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair freshly curled hair. "ok, promise you guys won't make this weird?"

"you're not filling me with much hope." cleo stood up from doing her makeup.

you paused, letting silence fill the room. "i think i may like rafe."

kie dropped her dress on the floor, "oh. my. god."

"you're fucking kidding me. the same rafe who has a reputation for being a fuck boy? the same rafe who is sarah's brother?" cleo crossed her arms, confusion present in her face.

"i know i know. i don't understand it either. but things have just been, different. and this whole fake wedding thing has got me so in my head and i feel... upset?" you swallowed.

"you're jealous." sarah joined the conversation.

you hesitated, then gave in. "maybe. i don’t know why it’s bothering me this much. i mean- i do. but i hate that it is. i don't want to like him."

kie came over to you, serious now. "y/n, it’s not dumb to feel that way. you had a moment with him. he's been treating you differently and now he’s parading around campus with some barbie for a fake marriage. it’s performative, but it still stings."

"i feel so stupid," you said quietly, "it’s not like we’re a thing. it’s not like i have a right to be upset."

"but you feel upset," cleo finally spoke, turning to look at you. "that’s real. you’re allowed to feel weird about it."

"and jealous," kie added with a smirk.

you let out a groan, falling back against your pillows. "this is a disaster. i was doing so well being nonchalant and mysterious and now i’m just… in my feelings over a stupid fake marriage."

sarah grinned. "i mean, if it makes you feel any better, emily reed is the least exciting choice. literally no one at zeta delta likes her."

you laughed. "that helps. slightly."

cleo gave you a soft look. "so what happens if he sees you tonight? what do you want?"

you sighed. "i don’t know. but i want to look good when it happens."

"now that’s the energy i like to hear," sarah stood dramatically, grabbing her makeup bag. "sit."

you rolled your eyes but obeyed, letting her start on your makeup. "so you guys don't hate me for this?"

"we could never hate you y/n. we just always want the best for you." kie reassured you.

"exactly. and for you to be happy. even if i don't particularly like rafe, i know you see him in a different way than we do." cleo explained, her tone gentle. "and maybe he sees you differently too."

you blinked, caught off guard by the quiet truth of her words.

sarah leaned in, carefully blending eyeshadow across your lids. "he definitely does."

"cheers to that." kie lifted her cup.

when sarah was finally done, she spun your chair towards the mirror. you blinked at your reflection.

"damn,” kie said, leaning in. "rafe’s gonna need CPR when he sees you."

"not that we’d give it to him," cleo giggled. "but the thought is there."

you smiled despite the knot still turning in your stomach.

you were going to show up, look hot, and maybe, just maybe, make him feel a little confused for once.

"okay,” you said, standing and reaching for your boots. "let’s go."

a/n: oh you guys are not gonna be ready for the next chapter

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333@cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte @fastlovela @deeninadream @moond0llie @dylsdaily @nonbeliever1

[chaos--s]

platonic yandere! royal couple x reader (pt.2)

Here's part 1!

warnings; threats, someone being meanie towards reader, yandere behavior

--

You're dressed in the finest silk the land could offer, hands perfectly still at your side as you allowed the concubine to tend to the cloth draped on you. Not used to being pampered like this, the discomfort evident in how stiff you were. He smiled as he pinched one of your cheeks.

"Loosen up sweetheart, it's an event. Not the end of youer life." He teases. God, it might as well be. You give him a half-hearted smile to satiate him and in return he gives you a peck on your forehead.

"Your father is going to love this on you. He picked it out himself, could barely contain his excitement." He says as he walks out of your room. The Emperor. That's who he was referring to when he says your 'father.'

Having to refer to the Emperor as your father was...disturbing. The man you were taught not to look at without permission, to bow your head whenever you entered the same room he was in.

Well, you weren't planning on being forcibly adopted by a tyrant in this lifetime.

The doors to your ridiculously large room swing open, In the mirror reflection, you can see the Emperor walking in with his head held high and you had to fight the urge to look down. You've learned pretty quickly that he despises it whenever you stared at your feet instead of looking at him.

Quick to anger, even with the child that he 'loved.' You wonder if he was even capable of a fatherly love that he claimed to have felt towards you.

You tense when his eyes find you. As he walked closer, his gaze drifts as he takes you in. No readable expression. Just, cold.

It feels like hours has passed when he finally nods, turning away to leave your room again. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and glanced at the concubine.

"...Do you think he hates me?" You mutter. The question burns in the back of your head, stupid of you to even think that. He chose you for a reason, also why would you care?

"Oh-" The concubine clasps his hands together as he walked up to you, embracing you with a gentle hug. "Sweetheart he doesn't, of course he doesn't."

He releases you for a second and holds your head in his hands. "Then why is he so cold? Why choose me of all people if he only treats me like this?"

A sad smile. "He's a dummy who doesn't know how to express his emotions," You snicker slightly at the title. "He loves you with his whole heart, he would give up his kingdom if it meant keeping you in his life."

"Kinda hard to believe that."

"In due time, until then you have me right? I'll give you all the love you deserve." He finishes with a barrage of kisses to your face. You couldn't help but smile at the random affection.

"Alright, alright." You lightly push him off. "Thanks." You rub your arm, only feeling a little comforted by his words. The foreboding feeling of being celebrated at an event filled with nobles and royalty of other Kingdoms made your stomach flip. You had barely lived as a royal, yet you were already being shoved into a what was basically a test of your skills as a royal.

--

Just as you expected, the celebration was incredibly nerve-wracking.

You stood there, slightly hiding yourself behind the concubine as the couple talked to different nobles. You felt like a child again, not belonging in any conversation and being brushed off like you were a child.

"...And is this the heir you were speaking so highly about?" Suddenly the conversation was turned to you. You jump slightly when a hand on your back gently nudges you forward, right in front of a Duke.

"Yes, they're a little shy but it's their first time attending parties of this caliber." The concubine was a smooth talker, very much unlike you were. You offered an unsure grin when the Duke eyes you, evident disdain in his eyes covered up with fake respect.

"It's good to meet you." You say, reaching out a hand to shake his, but he simply ignores you as he glances back up at the Emperor. Ouch, you retracted your hand. Well, what else could you expect. You weren't born into royalty like a lot of these people were.

You were forced into it. Maybe a dream to others, but you'd rather live your life quietly and without the judgement of people who didn't know you.

This doesn't fly past the Emperor as his jaw ticks in anger. Disrespect to his child wasn't tolerated at all, and especially right in front of his face. It was a death wish. And he was willing to fulfill that.

"You may go now." His voice is strained as he tried to conceal his anger, his concubine wasn't concealing it well either. Smile strained to the point where it looked like it hurt to keep it up.

The Emperor looks at you. "You may go." He repeats himself and you slightly bow your head, mumbling a small apology as you walked off. You messed up, your first party in your name and you messed it up.

What you miss as you disappear into your room to mull over your actions during the party was how the Emperor defends you. The way his rage drives every action stops the event itself on its heels.

"If you step foot in my kingdom ever again," The Emperor has his foot on the Dukes neck, ignoring the strangled pleas that came from the man on the floor. "I will have your fucking head, do you understand?"

He sees the man nod slightly and he lets up, dusting his foot on the carpeted ground as if choking the life out of a man dirtied his expensive shoes.

--

You're curled up alone in your bed, the moonlight being your only company. Being sent to your room just because you fumbled a conversation made you feel like shit. Obviously. You shoved your face into the pillow as flashes of the Emperor looking at you with disappointment.

Letting out a groan knowing it would be muffled by the pillow, it was you letting out your frustrations as well. It was confirmed now, he hated you.

You groaned even louder. It was turning into more of a scream as your frustration built. Why did you care what he thought of you? You hate him, you should hate him because he made you into his heir without even asking you.

When the doorknob to your room turns and the door opens gently, you immediately shot up. Watching as, unfortunately, the man you had just been thinking about walks in. All scary and intimidating, his face shrouded in shadows.

"Not asleep?" His voice is softer, less harsh than before. You nod.

Silence, only interrupted by the shuffling of his clothes as he made his way to your bed. He was going to slap you, your brain couldn't help but think, hit you. Tell you how shit you were with dealing with the Duke.

"I'm sorry," He starts, sitting next to you. Huh. Maybe it would escalate into something worse- "I'm horrible at being openly affectionate but- but I am trying."

His hand is on your cheek now, caressing it ever so softly. A gentleness you didn't know those violent hands were capable of. "I love you, even if I don't express it. You mean the world to me, as your father I would do anything to keep you happy."

Still irked by that title, you shrugged. "So If I ask to not attend events like that ever, would you agree?" You're only slightly joking about that.

He huffs a small laugh. "Sure, anything for you. Now get to bed. It's late for little royals to be awake." He moves to plant a soft kiss on your forehead before getting up, watching as you snuggled into your blanket.

He turns to leave and his ear twitches when you say the softest 'goodnight' to him. "Goodnight." He says back, shutting the door behind him.

--

[httpknjoon]

wanna try out some freaky positions? | myg

plot | that time popstar!yn is on her tour's day two in paris, and fans are wondering if she's finally doing the most requested position of all time. the one that may require her bassist (and rumored boyfriend), yoongi.

w.c | 1980

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | fluff, humor, enemies to lovers, slow burn

note | i'm still calling it twitter

main masterlist | series masterlist

DAY 301: PARIS, FRANCE

It's everywhere. Predictions about your possible Juno position for your second performance night in Paris are all over social media before you even officially land in the said country. It didn’t help that you and your band members are active on social media, alluding that something is happening behind the scenes. There were also sightings of your close friend, another celebrity, who you knew was staying in France for his vacation. Your fans, who were already elated with the upcoming performance later tonight, flooded you with mentions on Twitter, which resulted in a short and unplanned Q and A.

You were in the middle of your rehearsal break when you finally got hold of your phone after posting that late IG story hours ago. Knowing how excited your fans are at the moment, you reinstalled your Twitter app just to have some interactions with them. It has been so long since you opened your account there, since you were avoiding seeing any tweets about your breakup from last year. You smiled as you typed in your tweet, along with a photo you prepared for today, swaying your feet as you sat at the edge of the stage.

While you have all of your focus on your phone, you didn't even notice Yoongi, who's sitting on one of the empty seats in the area where the VIP audience usually sits. He cannot help but smile while he sips his Americano, looking at you. He wondered what made you so giggly and smiley on your phone. Meanwhile, his phone kept on vibrating in his pocket, which made him reach for it. That’s when he got the answer to his curiosity. Notifications from your Twitter account popped up one after the other. He chuckled before clicking on the app to read more of your tweets.

You giggled at the friendly banter you had with one of your fans. Scrolling down the tag, you smiled even harder when you found an interesting question to reply to.

Yoongi had to laugh with that one. Hearing that, you turned your head up, finally seeing him sitting alone just a few feet down the stage. Your left eyebrow raised, wondering what made him laugh on his phone.

“Where are the others?” you asked all of a sudden, just to get his attention.

Your bassist looked up and met your gaze. “They went out for snacks. I got your coffee here.”

He points out the still-warm takeout coffee cup he has on the empty seat next to him. You smiled before reading yourself to jump from the stage rather than taking the stairs. Seeing that, Yoongi immediately stood up.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’ll jump,” you replied, already inching yourself at the edge.

He clicked his tongue while shaking his head, “No, just take the stairs.”

You pouted. “This is easier. I hate the stairs.”

“You might get hurt. Art and Cal will both kill me if I let you do that,” he said while walking towards you. He then stood just a few feet lower than you.

From your point of view, he looked nonchalant, yet he opened both his arms.

You squinted, “Are you gonna catch me?”

“Nope, I just like opening my arms at random times like this,” he scoffed. 

You rolled your eyes. “And I like jumping from high places.”

He shook his head again before telling you sternly, “I don’t care. Just jump, diva.”

So you did. Even though you would have loved to continue the childish banter. And he did catch you, helping you carefully land your feet on the ground. Steadily and easily, he got you with one hand, holding you up against your back. Unconsciously, your face is almost buried in his neck, like you were magnets, they just connect instantly. Maybe it was because he still wore the familiar scent that makes butterflies stir in your stomach.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t pull away right away.

With how close you are, you can feel his heart beating almost at the same pace as yours. Fast and loud. Slowly pulling away, your eyes interlocked with each other. It was a heavy exchange of stares, anchored with something heart-fluttering that you two didn’t have to label anymore. A small smile tugged at your lips as you noticed his eyes moving down.

“Thank you,” you whispered before stepping back.

Yoongi followed behind you, trying not to put his heart over his beating chest. He sat in a seat apart next to you while you took a sip of the coffee. The much-needed caffeine helped you feel warmer and comfortable in your baby blue sweatshirt. 

“You liked it?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Yep, I needed that. Thank you,” you replied, putting down the cup. You turned to him.  “Why are you here, by the way? You don’t want to explore the city in your free time? We’re only here for a few days.”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I just had this gut feeling that you will do something reckless and I need to stick around.”

It was your turn to scoff, “Yoongi, just say you stayed behind for me. It’s okay.”

He looked at you, brows furrowed, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

And he didn’t even deny it, you thought to yourself.

As soon as everyone got back, the rehearsal resumed. This time, it was a dress rehearsal. So you had more time and room for errors and adjustments. While Art is talking with the band about something related to your time on stage, you take a quick scroll on your phone. You instantly took notice of a certain tweet getting a lot of attention. You laughed at it as it sparked something in your brain. You swiped up your finger on the app to see more tweets from your fans, but a notification from a verified account popped up. You turned around to see Yoongi raising his brows. You typed in your phone before giving it to your very pregnant assistant, Cal.

The fishbowl method.

That method is known to be Yoongi's greatest enemy. Whenever any staff member of your tour brings out that glass bowl that was filled with rolled papers, he just knows he will hear his name from that staff member’s tongue. And today is no different day.

It was during the second rehearsal break of the day when Cal came in holding the infamous transparent bowl.

“So, everyone, this is for the Juno performance. We need two people for tonight,” she said it like it’s gonna be something fun.

Although Yoongi literally had no idea why, everyone seemed to be excited upon hearing Cal’s instructions as they cheered, including you. Fred, who is happily married and permanently removed from choices for the Juno performance participants, sat along with you and your dancers. He was cheering too. For more variety, the fishbowl included the names of your band members and dancers.

“YN, will you do the honors of picking two names in our bowl of names?” Cal called you up. 

“Okay, here we go. Drumroll, please,” you quipped, but Fred followed, running to his drums and playing them.

Knowing his fate, Yoongi was not surprised anymore when he heard his name after Noah’s. He is not even disappointed or frustrated. He just accepted and expected that the fishbowl method loves him. But what he did not expect was the reason for today’s fishbowl method. While you explained your plan for tonight’s Juno performance pose, Yoongi just shook his head with a smile as he was already used to your straightforward poses. He just didn’t expect that you could be this creative for positions.

“So, do you want to be at the back or the front?” Noah asked, which can sound strange without context.

Yoongi blinked, “What?”

He was obviously dumbfounded, making the others laugh. You tried not to laugh while you bit off your inner cheek.

“He means for the Eiffel Tower,” you explained, which didn’t really clarify anything for him.

Noah cuts in to help, “We are basically the tower itself, while YN is the centerpiece. She will bend forward, and we-” he clasped his hands together, “Are gonna high-five over her.”

“That’s your Juno position for tonight?!” Yoongi looked at him, then to you.

You nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, the Eiffel Tower!”

When it finally registered in his head, everyone can see Yoongi’s shoulders deflating as he shakes his head with a smile. Just smiling over how stupid yet creative this whole thing is. His defeated stance made Fred and the dancers laugh. 

“I swear, we should change that fishbowl method,” he muttered, pushing his hair back.

“I think the fishbowl likes you a lot,” you teased him.

“I don’t think it was just the fishbowl,” he replied, making you pause while you three walk to the heart-shaped center stage.

Noah, who did not hear that last line since he walked faster, snapped his fingers, “Catch up, lovers. Let’s do this test run for the Eiffel Tower. I’m honestly starting to feel like the third wheel here.”

He said the name sarcastically, which resulted to you rolling your eyes and Yoongi scratching the back of his neck. You get into the position. You have your sparkly mic in your right hand, singing the last line before the pose. 

“Wanna try out some freaky position?” 

The guys stood on your front and back. Noah was on the front, while Yoongi was behind you.

“Have you ever tried… this one?” 

You bent forward as Yoongi and Noah high-fived over you, which instantly earned some whistling and cheers from your tour staff and dancers. You laughed, making you lose balance and accidentally grind against Yoongi. You only snapped out of it when he instinctively gripped your hips to steady you in place.

Noah, who saw this happen, gaped, “Oh my god, someone wash my eyes with holy water.”

Being the dramatic one, he threw up his hands and walked away in exaggerated disbelief. You and Yoongi, on the other hand, seemed to be in your own little world as you looked over your shoulder to look at him.

“Oops, sorry,” you said without really meaning it. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

You shrugged, standing back up, “Eh.”

Noah groaned from afar, leaning on one of the big speakers near their instruments, “Where is the HR for this tour?! I need to report something!”

The joke made everyone laugh. Akio, being the second most dramatic one in the band, dramatically consoled Noah. You stifled a laugh, turning around in their direction.

“Oh my god, you’re making me look like I’m a problem here.” you fed into their little bit that was going on.

Your best friend accusedly pointed out his finger, “You are the problem, and so is Tower B over there.”

Mr. Tower B, who stood next to you, remained casual as he muttered, “I don’t mind what’s going on. I kinda liked the view.”

The subtle smugness in his statement got a loud reaction from everyone. Fred laughed. The dancers howled. Akio and Noah groaned. The rehearsals are getting a little messier so Art had to step in.

“Okay, everyone. Let’s go rehearse the performance from the top again,” he signalled the dancers to stand up before turning to you and Yoongi. “And less thrusting, this time.”

You gasped even though you knew he was just teasing you, “There was no thrusting! I accidentally ground against him, that’s very much different!”

Art gave you a look that said, “Uh-huh, sure.”

Yoongi remained unbothered, “Yeah, thrusting is different. It requires intent.”

With that unexpected remark, the room erupted with laughter. All while your eyes widened, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Yoongi!” you scolded him through an embarrassed gritted grin.

He looked at you, nonchalant as he blinked innocently,  “What? I was just explaining!”

SERIES TAGLIST

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit @goodnight-n-go-home @ronyiboniyy @jimeg629 @lveegsoi @madussthoughts @jalexad @ryryvna @kiki-zb @kam9404 @rtyuy1346 @esam28

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones @butnotmontana @mar-lo-pap @ficluvr613 @senaqsstuff @stars4kooo

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ CLOSE, D.W

summary. although Dean acts like it’s a nightmare, one bed instead of two might not be the worst thing ever.

now playing ↬ Close-Nick Jonas & Tove Lo

⭑.ᐟ Oh hello! I’m back with some dean content🤭ONE BED TROPE I REPEAT ONE BED TROPE! slight mention of smut but none really! He drives me insane?!!!! Interact and send requests if u have any:) let me know if you’d like a part two w fluff!!!

word count. 798

Supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ are the first words to leave dean’s mouth the second you both enter the room.

You look up at him in disbelief, surely sharing a bed with you isn’t the worst thing ever, right?

‘Don’t sound too excited, jeez’ you mumble under your breath enough for Dean to hear as you lay your bags on the floor, still staring at the single bed sitting in the middle of this cold, dark room.

You don’t see it, but you know Dean enough to know he’s just rolled his eyes.

‘I’ll go check with them if they can change the room.’ Dean leaves before you have a chance to answer.

He might just be the most confusing man you’ve ever met.

Because he was all over you just a couple of days ago. His hand laid on your thigh the whole ride making you grow hot only for him to retract it when he felt the heat.

There’s no in between with Dean. Either he wants it, or he doesn’t, and sometimes you’re not really sure where he stands.

You sit in silence as you unpack, pretty sure that if they gave you this room, it’s because none other was available.

The moment the door opens and you hear a deep, loud sigh from behind you, you know you’re right.

Dean doesn’t speak. Instead of speaking, he walks directly into the bathroom, barely laying an eye on you as if you don’t exist.

It’s quick before you get under the covers, your mind slipping between consciousness and slumber. Your eyes open for what feels like the thousandth time when the door of the bathroom creeks open, his footsteps getting closer.

You feel his eyes on you for the first time.

Your back faces him, your eyes barely move, your breath still as if you’re scared he’ll know you’re awake the moment he hears you breathe.

There’s another sigh, then he slouches on the bed, you can almost hear his heartbeat.

When Dean turns the lights off and lays down next to you, the world is still. He hasn’t said a word, neither have you. You’re scared you might break if you dare to speak up, he might too.

It feels like a lifetime before Dean speak up.

‘Are you asleep?’ His voice is deep. His voice sounds like he hasn’t spoken in years. Like he’s scared to say another word.

It’s a couple seconds before you find the courage to turn around instead of answering. Dean’s on his back, he still doesn’t look at you.

‘I’m an asshole,aren’t I?’ He questions, although you’re not sure if it’s rhetorical, you answer.

‘I mean, yeah. Maybe a little.’

Only then does he look at you. He sees the little smirk tugging at your lips, and he lets out a laugh before going back to staring at the ceiling.

‘Why won’t you let me in?’

You regret it the moment it comes out. Maybe because you don’t want to know the actual answer. Or maybe because you know he might go back to giving you the silent treatment.

He doesn’t.

‘I’m scared, I think.’

Your eyes grow bigger, because you never expected him to admit something like that.

Dean doesn’t do feelings, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them.

You stare at him almost in shock, maybe waiting for him to say something else.

You stare at him until eventually he turns to his side to face you.

His hand hesitantly drags itself to your hip, as if gravity doesn’t want it there, but he does.

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s barely audible but you’re almost sure you heard a crack in his voice.

‘I know.’ you slide closer to him, your legs stick to his, your chest feels the warmth of his. Your hands move up to his cheeks and before you know it, it’s stronger than the both of you, your lips attach.

Your lips move in synch like you’ve been starving for years.

Like he hasn’t touched you in years.

You’re hungry, you upset, your core’s suddenly hotter than ever while thinking about how he was inside you less than a week ago.

‘I love you.’ He tries to mumble in between kisses, his hands travel up, they travel down, they explore as if they’ve never been there before.

‘You have no idea what you do to me.’ His words echo in your mind like fire burning. Like sparks colliding causing massive heatwaves. Your body’s already shaking begging for him.

All of him.

Your mind should probably wander to how messed up he is. How much he’s hurt you already, but there’s this tiny bit of hope that maybe this is the last time he pushes you away.

This time he’ll really let you in.

He’ll really care.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!)

Guys please English is not my first language and although I’m a bilingual queen sometimes I have sentences that come out when I write and I look at them when I’m done I’m like what the fuck does that mean?? But I leave them anyway cuz they sound good are some of these weird be honest thanks love u 😭(wtf does ‘His words echo in your mind like fire burning. Like sparks colliding causing massive heatwaves’ mean dude)

[understrangeforbiddenskies]

+ .✦ i need your love so bad

abby anderson x fem reader

↣ took a little scroll through the abby tag and noticed almost no fluff so i'm filling that void with girlfriend!abby headcanons hehe

*+:｡.｡ warnings / kissing, established relationship, very self indulgent oops, ow*n

𝄞 need your love so bad - fleetwood mac

author's note: this is my first tlou fic pls dont kill me if it sucks

+ you were definitely the first girl abby ever dated. the only other experience with dating she had was ow*n... so you obviously had to swoop in and show her what she was missing out on.

+ i know deep in my heart and soul that abby would hold your face when she kissed you. not your waist, or your neck, or your back. no. she would genty cradle your face, studying your features before leaning in and pressing her soft lips against yours.

+ she gives the BEST bear hugs ever, especially after a long patrol. she'll sneak into your room and just collapse against you, one arm wrapped tightly around your middle while the other cradled your head.

+ it's literally canon that abby smells of pine and every time i remember that all i can think of is cuddling with her after she showers while you both ramble to each other about anything and everything.

+ you read to each other!!! as a huge bookworm, i love the idea of just cozying up with abby in the library as she reads to you and vice versa. sometimes you'll both end up falling asleep halfway through a chapter only for manny to find you both way later.

+ adding onto that, you'd find literally any excuse to listen to her voice. whether that would be asking her questions about patrol, books, working out, etc. she's too oblivious to realise you aren't even paying attention half the time.

+ she would remember even the littlest of things about you. it can range from your favourite book to the colour of your socks on monday. she has an insanely good memory but only when it comes to you.

+ unpopular opinion but i don't think abby would work out with you. hear me out on this; i think she would prefer to have some alone time and what other place to do that than the gym! it's nothing against you, it's just that she likes to focus on working out.

+ if you offered to braid her hair when you just started dating, i think she would say no but at least let you brush it. however, once you two were together for a good while, it felt like second nature to come up to you, hairbrush in hand, with a knowing smile on her face.

+ you would play with her hair any chance you could. sometimes she would fall asleep with her head in your lap and you'd slowly untangle the braid she had in, raking your fingers through her hair as a way to soothe yourself.

+ the way abby looks at you makes you swoon every. damn. time. it could be during patrol, when you read to her, or even when you're eating. she looks at you with so much love. every time you catch her eyes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

+ i think abby would be very comfortable saying 'i love you'. she would prefer say how she feels rather than show you. it's important you hear the words so they can be engraved in your mind.

+ abby is scary. she has huge muscles, she's one of the best soldiers, and people who go on patrol with her know what she is capable of. it's only natural that people started treating you with more respect when you two got together.

+ if she heard anyone talking badly about you or gossipping she would shut it down immediately. there's literally a part of the game where she goes around humbling the fuck out of people for talking about ow*n. so yes, best believe she's doing that for you too.

bonus:

+ i LUV the wlf!nurse x abby anderson fics so here's something about that; she would spot the smallest cut on her arm after patrol and her first instinct would be to see you. you'd laugh at how silly it was while you cleaned the wound, not realising abby was only here to see you.