#like. c!tommy is way more fucked up than just that man

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

people forget that c!tommy literally was trying to save c!jack's life after he dropped him into the lava which is fucking frustrating not bc c!tommy doing a manslaughter suddenly makes him way more innocent- it’s fucked he did it even if he wasn’t Intending to kill c!jack, this isn’t doing an uwu baby defence thing. but it’s just way more interesting. bc like, c!tommy was so fucked up at that point he genuinely seemed to think causing serious bodily harm to someone wasn’t a big deal if he saved their life afterwards and even when c!Jack did die (which c!tommy did try and stop, like, you can watch his perspective he tries to throw c!Jack stuff to help him he’s just got shitty aim) he still sees it more as something to laugh off than something horrific and traumatic. and that’s a big part of why c!Jack despises c!tommy for it, right? bc not only did he hurt him he tried to act like they were still buddy buddy. and c!jack reasonably assumed that was, like, malicious. like c!tommy was Intentionally fucking with him. but in actuality c!tommy's idea of reality was so warped at that point he genuinely didn’t fully grasp how fucked up it is to hurt your friends for no reason bc that was the mindset he had to adapt to survive in exile. which isn’t to Excuse it at all, it’s an extremely fucked up thing he did no matter what, but the fact c!tommy Wasn’t trying to kill c!jack is kind of like. a big part of why it’s so fucked up. bc he was basically recreating his own abuse onto others while remaining completely oblivious to the fact (something he also does while working with c!techno, this is a Consistent thing he does and something not enough people talk about.)

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[endlessthxxghts]

Best I Ever Had

Jackson!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 2.3k

Summary: Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

Content/Warnings: Reader is able-bodied, no physical descriptions. Feminine perception of reader and feminine pet names (Joel calls you mama and babygirl), but no pronouns used. Reader's a fucking badass and can hold their own fights (probably Joel's too, tbh). Slight description of reader getting physical/violent with another person (bby has some anger issues). Established relationship. Implied age gap (exact number unspecified). A bit of insecure Joel. 18+ MDNI! Dom!reader !! Sub!Joel !!!! P in V unprotected. Slight breeding kink (reader just likes being filled, no children talk). Joel has a fast refractory period (don't think too much on it, just enjoy). Definitely some overstimulation. Cockwarming. Riding..straddling.. Teasing. Begging. Edging. Sloppy making out. Multiple orgasms. Please let me know if there’s anything I missed that should be up here!

A/N: Some get post-nut clarity, but I get post-nut lust. This was the product of that. Hope you enjoy, my angels. Thank you @honeyedmiller for beta’ing 🩶 also I picture both game Joel or hbo Joel, so it’s entirely up to you what you wanna visualize ;)

masterlist | notifs blog

It was a busy night at the Tipsy Bison. Everyone was out. Everyone was mingling, getting to know each other. As if it wasn’t a small town already, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you really knew the people living in this little forever-town. 

Except, Joel was not one to mingle—especially on nights like tonight. Tommy insisted that he come, it’ll be nice, he tried to reason. 

He eventually agreed. Not because of Tommy, though, but because of you. 

You knew Joel was a certified grump, through and through. And you love Joel, you really do. But the post-apocalyptic world caused you to react differently than your man. Yeah, you’ve become tougher, harder to break, harder to trust. However, you crave any sense of normalcy you can find. So on occasion, you like to go out and get to know the people of the town. You like human interaction. 

And when they say opposites attract, the saying couldn’t have been more true. Joel was absolutely smitten the day he met you. It’s been a long time coming between you two—with his vulnerability, or lack thereof, and his initial unwillingness to accept that he can finally relax and unclench his jaw—but you’re together now, stronger than ever, and everything is worth it. 

You are worth it. 

Which is exactly why all you needed was to give one raise of your brow during his protesting before Joel promptly shuts his lips and takes a defeated breath, fixing his answer to Tommy. “Oh, hell. Alright, brother, we’ll be there.” 

And to be quite honest, Joel would go as far to say that tonight’s little get together was actually decent for once. That is, until he sees you waiting on the bartender for his beer and your old-fashioned, and a man—a boy—approaches you. 

“Hey,” you heard a voice beside you say. Not realizing it was meant for you, your attention stays on the bartender. Still, the voice persists. “I was thinking, uh-” you look at the guy then, eyes staring him down in a way he perceives as a challenge. 

He clears his throat. “I was thinking I could buy you a drink?” 

“No, I’m good,” you say shortly. The bartender comes up to you, pulling you away from the guy’s feeble attempt at flirting. You tell the bartender your order, and before you can take another moment to speak, the guy pipes up. 

“Put it on my tab,” he smirks triumphantly, taking a closer step to you. 

You pull yourself away on instinct— out of disgust, but your eyes stay trained on his gaze. You’re pissed, but this naïve little boy has no idea. Both of what you're capable of and what the older man, your older man, across the bar is capable of. 

“Thanks,” you smile, “my boyfriend’s gonna appreciate the free drink,” you tell the guy, turning to Joel and giving him a sweet smile. You’ve been feeling his stare the second this waste of space walked up to you.

Joel would pounce if you told him to. He knows you can handle yourself, though, and you confirm it through that pretty smile you flash him. He can’t deny the way his cock twitches at the way this scene is unfolding. Part of him is begging for the guy to try something more, to test you—to unleash you. 

The guy scoffs the second he sees Joel. “That old man is your boyfriend? Come on, baby,” his hand reaches for the crook of your elbow. “You can do so much better than that,” he taunts. 

And that was the something more you needed. Immediately your hand takes hold of his wrist, twisting the man to face the bar in a rough fashion as you lean him over the bar counter, his arm twisted behind his back, shoulder ready to snap out of his socket with the tiniest of movements. 

“Wanna say that again?” You seethe, knocking the breath from his lungs as you push him into the wooden counter. 

“I said—” 

He’s cut off by his own high-pitched scream. You push his arm higher, a sharp pain shooting through every nerve center in the guy’s arm. 

“Sweetheart,” a southern twang says softly, but it’s not your man. Tommy. “I know he probably deserves it, darlin’, but it’s not worth it,” he says, not wanting to aggravate you more. Everyone knows not to test you. 

Well, apparently not everyone. 

You roll your eyes, knowing Tommy’s just trying to keep up the liveliness of tonight. “Fine,” you mutter. Leaning closer into the guy, you whisper into his ear. “Talk about my fuckin’ man like that again, and I’ll snap your shoulder so fuckin’ hard, Jackson’s doctors won’t even know what to do with ya. Ya hear me?” You’re not from the South, and before the outbreak, you’ve never even been. But get angry enough, and Joel’s twang possesses you.

You release the crying boy with a shove, and you back up, wanting to pull yourself away from the situation. Your back is met with something hard, and immediately you know who it is. You soften in his touch as his arms immediately wrap around your waist. “You alright, babygirl?” Joel rasps in your ear. You can feel his fucking hard-on pressed against your back. 

The guy looks at you and Joel, chest still heaving as his face turns into disgust, a fuck you muttered under his breath, an aftertaste of jealousy on his lips. 

Smiling wildly at the guy in front of you, you snake your hand up to wrap around Joel’s jaw before you turn your head back and tilt your head up, pulling Joel into an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth as he eagerly sucks it, lapping up your spit. He groans into you, his arms pulling you impossibly tighter into him. 

You pull away with a harsh nip to his lip, feeding off the little whimper Joel lets out. “Baby,” he whines. 

You look back to the guy, and the silent audience you’ve accumulated. “Come on, cowboy,” you breathe. “I’m not done with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies happily, spinning you two around and walking out with you still pressed against him. 

The bar stays quiet after a beat. Tommy’s hand slaps the bar counter before he speaks. “Well. Get the music back going unless y’all wanna hear ‘em goin’ at it all night!” The bar roars in laughter, the music coming back to life. 

Before returning back to Maria, Tommy turns to the guy. “You. Out.” 

He scrambles without looking back.

“Oh my God, baby.”

“Fuck— I- I can’t, baby, I can’t hold it much longer, baby, I need to come.”

“Just one more second, baby.”

“Mama, please,” he cries out, his head lolling from side to side on his sweat-soaked pillow as you grind your hips into his pelvis, lifting yourself on and off him every other moment. His hands hold onto your hips, not in a way to control your movement but to simply feel you. 

“Oh, come on, be a good boy for me, baby,” you moan, your hand fixing itself onto his jaw to make him look at you. “Just wanna feel you twitch inside me a little bit more ‘fore you make a mess inside me, okay?”

“Oh, fuck— yes, yes, mama, yes, okay,” he rambles, trying his hardest to breathe through the pleasurable pain as you take and take and take. 

A particular grind sends your back arching, his pubes soaked in your arousal nudging perfectly against your clit, sending an electric pulse up your spine. You cry out in ecstasy, your climax hitting you instantly. “Oh fuck, oh shit- fuckfuckfuck, baby, come with me— come inside me, baby, fucking fill me,” you nearly scream, hoping that boy can hear you now. 

“Shit, baby, oh my God- fuck- I’m coming, mama, holy fuck- I-” he stutters, his thigh muscles shaking underneath you as you bounce on him through his climax, the mix of his spend with yours bouncing lewdly across the walls of your shared bedroom. 

Your hips come to a slow but never stop, your chest heaving as you lean down to bring your lips to Joel. You let them ghost across his lips, but you don’t let them touch. He knows better not to chase it, not yet, anyway. He can still feel you fuming. 

You can do so much better than that.

“Can you fucking believe him?” You whisper against his lips, barely audible yet fucking scary nonetheless. 

Joel thinks that boy is right, deep down. Even though he’d never want you to leave him, and you’d never want him to leave you. Joel thinks that there’s a crumb of moral rightness in that statement. But he keeps that to himself. 

Nevertheless, you know Joel like the back of your hand. He doesn’t need to utter a lick of anything to you. You already know what he’s thinking. 

“Joel,” you say again. “I asked you a question.”

All questions must be answered. 

Fuck. 

“Y-yeah, baby,” he rumbles, too distracted by the comments from the bar, but mainly still caught up in the way his softening come-covered cock is still nestled inside of you. 

You sit up now. A whine leaves his throat at the movement. “So you do believe him?” 

Only then does he realize what he said. His eyes shoot up to yours. “W-wait, no, baby, ‘m sorry, no. No, I don’t believe him, baby,” he panics. 

You quirk your eyebrow at him. 

“The fuckin’ audacity on ‘em,” he adds for good measure. 

You’re silent for a beat. Then—

“You’re lying.”

Joel’s heart starts to race. “No, baby. Please. Mama, I’m not lyin’,” he tries. 

Still straddling his hips, you grab onto his bicep, pulling upward. He gets the hint and sits up. He’s still inside you, his cock slowly growing to full mast again the longer you sit here. 

You’re face to face now. His arms are loosely wrapped around your waist, your arms tightly around his neck.

“Look me in my eye,” you whisper, “and tell me you’re the best I ever had.”

Joel audibly gulps. 

Slow— so slow, your hips begin to move again. A breathy little moan escapes your mouth, and he lunges forward for you, his tongue dancing along the tip of yours, swallowing your breath. You allow it. 

“Tell me,” you groan into his mouth, practically swallowing his tongue as you shallowly bounce yourself on him. 

“Baby,” he whines, getting lost in this dance of heat and sweat he’s become utterly addicted to. 

You break yourself away from his mouth, not allowing him the option to reach for you anymore. He pulls back, eyes wild and sad. His mouth turned down into a literal pout. 

“My poor baby,” you mutter. “Tell me what I wanna hear,” you say again. “Or you’re not getting my lips nor are you coming for the rest of the night,” you tell him, switching back into your grinding motion to stimulate your sensitive bud, letting him feel the way your pussy flutters around him. 

“Baby,” he begs again as you grind, your warmth forcing him to another climax. Please don’t make me say it, he’s trying to convince you. 

Your fingers find their home at the base of his salt and pepper curls, tugging them in warning. “Tell. Me.”

You force his body down to lay flat on the bed again, towering over him, allowing your body the space to lift yourself off of him, only his tip inside of you. He takes a sharp breath in, knowing what’s coming. 

You drop yourself down on him, fucking yourself on his cock at a bruising pace. You grab his hands and drag them up to your chest, wrapping his thick digits around you encouraging him to squeeze. 

“Fuck- mama, I’m gonna—”

“No the fuck you’re not, baby,” you moan, lost in the pleasure but still rightfully in charge. “Swear to God, Joel, gonna leave you fucking swollen and pulsing for a fucking week— oh fuck,” you cut yourself off, a familiar sensation building at the base of your spine, sending you convulsing around his length yet again. 

Joel’s eyes clamp shut, finally giving into your request so he can finally let go. “I— shit, I’m the—” a rugged moan forces itself out, “—the best you ever had, mama, please, the fuckin’ best, baby,” he cries out, his hips bucking up into you as he covers every inch of you with his spend. 

“Shit,” you moan, his words affecting you a lot more than you anticipated, your hips doing overtime, unable to find it within you to stop even as he begins to soften. “Yes, fuck, that’s my boy, shit—” you breathe, “—the fucking best, always make me feel so fucking good, baby.”

His hands finally use their strength, trying his best to slow you with ease, his nerves reaching the point of painful overstimulation. “Alright, baby, alright,” he winces. 

Recognizing his limits, you immediately begin to slow, lowering yourself onto his heaving chest. You let him slip out of you this time, giving him an actual break. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest. 

“For what, baby?” Joel responds with a kiss into your head.

“Did I go too far?”

He couldn’t help the belly laugh that shakes the both of you. You immediately sit back up, your hands on his chest to keep your limp body up. “What?” you glare at him.

“Too far? Which part, darlin’? Nearly breakin’ that guy’s shoulder or my dick?”

A belly laugh erupts out of you this time. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you respond. “...Both.”

“Mmm…” Joel puts on a fake thinking face. “Maybe to the former, but not at all to the latter,” he hums, his hands finding the back of your head to pull you in for a chaste kiss. 

You hum into his lips, a smile stretching across your cheeks. 

Resting your head on his chest, you let a few moments pass before you speak again. “Tommy’s not gonna invite us to another one of those, huh?” 

“Probably not, mama,” he smiles. “Probably not.”

I’d love to hear what you think!! Any feedback or interactions with you all truly brightens my day. So so so much love for you all. Thank you for being here 🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

graphics by @saradika-graphics (middle divider in fic by me)

[javiscigarette]

Bad Fun

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Jealous Joel takes you in the bar bathroom. (Inspired by the like five jealous Joel requests that have been sitting pretty in my inbox for weeks).

Warnings: smut, established relationship, (semi) public sex, slapping, degradation, hair pulling, pretty rough (consensual!) sex, possessive Joel <3, heavy on the dirty talk and daddy kink no use of y/n

w/c: 3.4k

A/N: Answered a request? How very unlike me. Idk why but you guys were thirsty for jealous Joel but I am not complaining! Also two fics in a week? who am I turning into?

my masterlist

You can feel his eyes on you, even with your back turned to him. And you can see the way the men look over your shoulder, casting anxious glances at the man who’s now giving them an icy glare. 

“Well, if you ask me, I’d say you’re far too young and pretty to be hanging around with a man like that” one of them says as he casually places a hand on your midback. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, but you don’t say anything about his hand on you. 

“A man like what?” you ask innocently.

Almost everyone in Jackson knew about you and Joel. The two of you were practically glued at the hip, if there was one of you, then the other wasn’t far away. Joel usually had a protective arm draped your shoulders, keeping you safely tucked away under his arm. Or a hand tucked in the back pocket of your jeans as you walk the streets of Jackson together, giggling at some inside joke like you were the only two people in the world.  

And most men knew that you were off limits. Most of them were smart enough not to test Joel like that, fully aware of the repercussions that come with going after his girl. But these younger men, the one’s around your age, were still ballsy enough to push the boundaries. 

The man laughs, his hand slowly sliding further down your back. 

“He’s just a bit old for you, isn’t he? He’s like 50, isn’t he?”  

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh. You glance over your shoulder at Joel where he’s seated at a table across the room with Tommy and a few other guys from patrol. He has his front turned to you as he leans back in chair, one hand wrapped around his glass of whiskey and the other resting casually on his crotch. His eyes are dark as he watches you carefully and a small but dangerous smirk is tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“More years of experience” you quip, turning back around and taking a sip from the cocktail that one of them bought for you. 

The boys laugh, and the hand on your back slides down even lower until he’s inches away from your ass. You allow it, fully aware that Joel is still watching you.  

“Maybe” he says, stepping closer towards you and closing the space “But I bet I could last longer than him.” 

You supress another laugh as images of Joel fucking you into the mattress for hours flashing through your head. If only they knew. 

“Buy me another drink and maybe I’ll want to find out if you’re right” you say, looking at him through your lashes trying to feign innocence. 

The man smirks, entire too confident in his abilities to pull someone else’s girlfriend, much less Joel Miller’s girlfriend. You giggle as he rushes to turn around and find the bartender, flagging him down and pointing to your empty glass. 

These men are cute enough, boyish faces with a youthful sparkle in their eyes. Still, they’re obviously not you’re type and you’re far from being interested in slightest.

It’s not the flirting that fun, it’s what comes after. 

Joel watches you for a few more minutes, his skin growing hot with jealousy as he watches the man inch his hand further and further down your back. But he doesn’t intervene. If he didn’t know any better, those men would be on the floor before they even got the chance to touch you. 

But he’s not that naïve. He’s played this game with you before and he knows exactly what you want. 

He downs the rest of his whiskey and sets the glass on the table before standing up and heading towards the bathroom. He crosses your line of sight on the way but doesn’t make any effort to acknowledge you. 

He knows you’re watching. 

“I’ll be back, you boys have fun without me” you say quickly before finishing your drink and setting the empty glass on the bar. You don’t give them a chance to respond before you’re slipping away and heading towards the bathroom. 

Your entire body is vibrating with excitement as you practically run after Joel, heady desperation mixing with the alcohol in your veins. There’s only one bathroom and you only have to knock once before Joel swings the door open and yanks you inside. You giggle with excitement as he pushes you up against the door and clicks the lock in place. 

With one hand on your hip, he shoves a knee between your legs so that his thick thigh presses firmly against your core. 

“Such a fuckin’ slut” Joel growls. He brings his other hand up to grip your jaw, his fingertips digging in your cheeks and squeezing so hard that your mouth pops open.

“Can’t leave you alone for two goddamn seconds without you whorin’ yourself out.” 

The whiskey is heavy on his breath and his eyes are dark, his pupils blown from the liquor and lust making you clench around nothing, already hopelessly turned on. His grip on your both your hip and jaw are firm and unforgiving, serving as an indicator for what’s about to go down. You know that you probably shouldn’t push him more than you already have, but you can’t resist. 

“They were saying they could fuck me better.” 

Joel’s jaw tightens and his scowl deepens as he narrows his eyes at you. He’s still for a beat, and you bat your eyelashes at him innocently. Then within an instant, he manhandles you over to the sink, pinning your front against the fake marble countertop with his hips. You giggle again when you feel the bulge in his jeans pressing firmly against your ass as he holds you tight against him. 

He snakes an arm up the front of your body, his forearm resting heavy and warm between your breasts as he grips your jaw once again, forcing you to look straight ahead. Your gaze meets his in the mirror and a hot wave of arousal washes over you as he slips his other hand between your legs. 

“Jesus fuck” he groans quietly when he feels how wet you are.  

“I know what your little plan is, sweetheart” Joel murmurs as his fingers feather over your swollen, dripping seam. “Actin’ like a fuckin’ slut to get me to bend you over and make you stupid on my cock, right angel?”  

You just grin smugly and back up against him.  His eyes get even darker, and you can see the muscles in his jaw flexing subtly under his skin. 

You nod weakly and whine at his words, a jolt of electricity shooting down your spine as try to grind down on his fingers, desperately chasing after any sort of friction. But Joel’s not having it. He moves his hand away from your jaw briefly so he can deliver a sharp smack to your cheek. It’s not hard enough to truly hurt, but it’s definitely enough to make your eyes snap open and your skin tingle for a few seconds. 

“Use your words” Joel hisses, his fingers curling around your jaw once again.  

“Yes, Joel.” 

Another quick slap. 

“And mind your fuckin’ manners.” 

You whine again before correcting yourself. 

“Yes, daddy” 

Joel groans and rolls his hips against your ass in approval. You whimper when his hand leaves your core, but you’re quickly rewarded when he slides his two fingers, damp with your slip past your lips. You suck on them happily, satisfied with something finally in your mouth. You languidly roll your tongue around them, licking off arousal and coating them liberally with your saliva. Joel watches you through the mirror and leans in until his mouth is inches away from your ear. 

“Look at that” he whispers, his warm breath fanning over your ear and jaw. “My dirty little girl, so desperate for her daddy.” 

Hi cock twitches against you as he watches your eyes roll back as drool starts to leak out of the corner of your mouth, a small drop sliding down your chin. He curses under his breath and slowly removes his fingers from your mouth. You whine at the loss, but the sound quickly melts into a loud, drawn-out moan when he shoves them inside of you. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, just starts pumping his two fingers in and out of you at a dizzying pace. He watches you in the mirror and forces you to watch too, his grip tightening on your face. 

“So fuckin’ wet for me already, angel” Joel groans. “Does actin’ like a goddamn whore turn you on, baby? S’that why your little pussy is already dripping all over my fingers?

“Daddy please” you pant, already embarrassingly close to release.

He just chuckles breathlessly as you squeeze around his fingers. Another loud moan tumbles past your lips when he adds a third finger. It burns in the best way, your sensitive walls stretching out around his thick fingers.

But he suddenly stills his fingers inside of you and the pleasure starts to quickly fade. You whimper and wiggle your hips, already missing the sensation. 

“Be a good slut and fuck yourself on daddy’s fingers.” 

You make a garbled sound in your throat and immediately start to grind your hips back. You try to position your body to get his fingers deep like they were before, but it’s no use. Only he knows how to get that perfect angle. With a frustrated huff and no other options, you double down on your efforts. You curl your fingers over the beveled edge of the fake marble countertop and push your hips back. 

The lewd squelching sounds of his fingers working your tight cunt open bounce off the walls of the small bathroom and into your ears, sending a wave of heat down your body. He groans next to your ear when you start squeezing his fingers so hard that you’re almost forcing them out. 

“Greedy fuckin’ slut” Joel whispers. “You gonna cum like this?” 

 He’s well aware that it’s not enough. But he loves to watch you try. 

“Can’t, Joel” you whine. You yelp when Joel pulls his fingers from you and delivers a sudden smack to your ass. 

“What’s my fuckin’ name?” Joel hisses, squeezing your jaw even tighter. You wouldn’t be surprised if you found bruises in the shape of his fingertips in the morning. 

“Daddy” you whine, high pitched and needy.

He grunts approvingly then suddenly removes his fingers. You whimper quietly at the loss and watch through the mirror moves to unbuckle his belt. He shoves his jeans down just enough to free his cock then bunches the hem of your dress around your waist. 

“Tell me something, baby” Joel sighs, using both hands to spread your cheeks and exposing your burning heat to the cool room of the air. “Do you think they could fuck you better than I can?”

“No, daddy” you reply without missing a beat. 

Joel hums but doesn’t say anything as he takes a half step forward, pressing his cock against your dripping seam. You moan softly at the sensation, the smooth, warm skin of his tip rubbing against your puffy clit. He starts to rock his hips, slowly dragging his cock back and forth through your folds, lubing himself up with your slick. 

“Are you this fuckin’ wet for them?” he rasps, his fingertips digging into your hips.

“No, daddy” you gasp. 

“Then who’s this pussy so needy for?” Joel taunts, the fat tip of his cock notching at your entrance. 

You clench around nothing and ty to push your hips back against him, but the sharp spank he lands on your ass stops you. 

“You daddy! Please daddy, only for you.” 

“That’s right, angel” Joel praises, bringing both hands to your hips. “You’re fuckin mine.”  

With that, he pushes inside and buries himself to your hilt in one fluid movement. Your knees buckle and your head falls forward, hanging between your shoulders, but the arm he wraps around your waist keeps you upright. He holds you tight in place and snaps his hips against your ass, knocking all the air out of your lungs and getting impossibly deep with each thrust. You try to bite back the loud moans but it’s a lost cause when he finds the angle where his tip kisses your cervix with every stroke. 

He starts pounding into you faster and removes his arm from your waist, his hand now trailing up your back instead. He fists his hand in your hair and pulls your head up and holds you there, forcing you to look ahead in the mirror. 

“You keep your eyes on me. Since you seem to have trouble rememberin’ who fuckin’ owns you” 

Your eyelids flutter, but you don’t dare close them. You stare at him through the mirror, eyebrows drawn together with your mouth hanging open, strained whines and moans slipping past your lips as he continues with his brutal pace. And he just smiles down at your almost cruelly. 

Joel laughs breathlessly from behind you when you let out a loud, broken moan and your cheeks heat up at the sound, knowing that there are people less than five feet away on the other side of the wall. It’s mortifying for you, but it only fuels Joel’s fire. 

 “M’not gonna cover your mouth, sweetheart” Joel grunts, tightening his grasp in your hair even more. “Want you to let everyone in this bar know who’s fuckin’ you this good” 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head and the sounds start to freely pour out of you. The way he’s pounding relentlessly right into your g-spot causes the heat swirling in your belly to start burning hotter. Your knees are starting to buckle and your fingers scramble on top of the countertop, searching for purchase on the smooth surface as you try to keep yourself upright. 

Joel isn’t any help. He just watches you carefully in the mirror as he slams into you so harshly that you’ll probably have light purple bruises on your hips from where you keep hitting the edge of the counter. And the way his cock starts pulsating inside of you when you start clenching around him drives you both crazy. 

Your whole body feels on fire now with tingles spreading from your lower abdomen and up your spine to the rest of your body. You know he won’t let you finish. You’ve gotten yourself in this exact situation more than enough times to know that. And you also know how annoyingly in tune he is with your body he is, noticing every single miniscule cue you display. 

So, you try to hide it. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to suppress your moans and you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down, but it’s no use when you start to shake.  Joel groans then lets out a dark chuckle from behind as you tremble and reflexively clamp down around him, letting you know that yeah, of course he fucking noticed. 

He leans forward while simultaneously pulling your back by your hair until his lips are brushing the shell of your ear and whispers “Bad girls don’t get to cum”  

He then pulls out and takes a step back fisting his cock. 

“Get on your knees” Joel commands before you even have the chance to whine at the sudden loss. 

You automatically sink to your knees, leaning heavily into the sense of submission that starts to cloud your brain. He looks down at you and smirks at the captivated look on your face as you watch him steadily stroke his cock. The thing is, you can pick up on his cues too, no matter how much he tries to hide behind the façade of his dominance. You can see it in the way his heaving chest starts to flush, the dark blush spreading up his neck and to his cheeks. His breaths get quicker, fand he has a harder time keeping the whines out of his moans. 

You look up at him from your spot on the floor with wet, glassy eyes and he curses under his breath at the sight. 

“Open your mouth, baby.”

You obey and part your wet lips. 

“Good girl” he groans, taking a step forward until he’s inches away from your face. “Daddy’s gonna cum in your mouth, babygirl. D’ya want that?” 

You nod vigorously and give him a small whimper for good measure.  

“Please, daddy” you whisper, sticking your tongue out.

 Joel curses again and his hand on his cock starts to move faster while his free hand moves to the back of your head. Your scalp is already sore from the grasp he had on it earlier so you’re relieved when he doesn’t pull, just gently tangles his fingers in your hair to hold your head in place. 

“Knew you would. You’re just a slut for daddy’s cum, aren’t you?” he teases breathlessly. 

“Please daddy!” you whine again, not at all ashamed of the desperation in your voice.  

Joel grunts and his wrist faulters again as he stares at your awaiting tongue. You wait as patiently as you can, subtly trying to squeeze your thighs together searching for any bit of friction you can get. 

“Fuck angel you look so good like this” he groans, his hips involuntary rolling up to meet his fist. “On your knees waiting for daddy to cum like a good fuckin’ slut.” 

You glow under his praise and start to say something, but Joel’s breathing starts getting heavier and his grunts and moans are getting louder and before you can say anything, he’s thrusting his hip forward to slide his tip past your lips. 

You instantly wrap your lips around him and he doesn’t push in any further, just keeps the tip in your warm, awaiting mouth, his cock pulsing as he unloads rope after rope of hot cum. You try your best to keep eye contact with him, but the feeling of his hot, salty release on your tongue has your eyelids fluttering as your head starts to go dizzy and floaty. 

You also try your best to keep his cum on your tongue, knowing that there was a reason that he didn’t push in all the way and fuck your throat. But it’s so much, it’s always so fucking much that you can’t stop some of it from sliding down your throat. 

“That’s my good girl, My go- ah fuck baby” Joel cuts himself off with a careless moan. You can feel your slick starting to leak out of you and down your thighs at the sound. 

“My good fuckin’ girl. All fuckin’ mine.” 

He hisses when you dip your tongue into his oversensitive slit and reluctantly pulls out of your mouth. You press your lips together, keeping your mouth closed and look up at him expectantly. He smiles down at you, his scowl gone and replaced by a lopsided, sated smile. 

Then he brings a thumb up to your bottom lip and tugs down softly and whispers “Show me.” 

You comply, opening your mouth and proudly showing him the small puddle of his cum on your tongue. 

“Now swallow, baby.” 

You do as your told, closing your mouth and swallowing, then opening again to show him. 

“Good girl” he praises gently. “So good for your daddy.” 

You beam up at him, absolutely melting under his praise. He removes his hand from your hair and reaches out to help you stand up again. He straightens out your dress, making sure to “accidentally” brush his fingers through the mess between your legs. 

“Now,” he starts, tugging the straps of your dress so that they sit evenly on your shoulders. “Go out there and talk to those boys again with the taste of my cum on your tongue.” 

Your skin heats up and you look at him with wide, silently pleading eyes. Those men were only feet away from the bathroom door. If they didn’t see you two go in together, they definitely heard you. 

And that’s exactly what Joel intended. So, he just gives you a devilish grin then pat your bum. 

“Go on, sweetheart. Be a good girl. For your daddy.”  

[pedrospatch]

jealous

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You aren't together, but Joel doesn't want to see you with anyone else.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. asshole Joel, jealous Joel, he softens up a bit though. established dynamic, Joel and reader have known each other for a decade.

word count: 2k

a/n: highkey i recycled this idea from myself b/c jealous Joel is like...so hot to me. i love this trope, my favorite variant is when he gets aggressively possessive however i don't think i can top some of the amazing fics out there that have gone that direction so i took a softer, fluffier approach to it. also, happy tlou finale day everyone, we'll get through it all together 💗

Jackson, Wyoming

Winter 2024

“Before you head out for patrol, I just wanted to say that I had a great time with you last night.”

Joel’s blood boiled hot in each and every single vein in his entire body as he watched the scene that was unfolding before him just outside of the horse stables. It was late in the evening, and Tommy’s group was gearing up to head out for tonight’s patrol.

You had just finished saddling up your borrowed horse, Daisy, when Owen had sauntered up to you. Joel didn’t know the man, aside from his name. He had been placed in Owen’s patrol group once or twice in the past several months since returning to Jackson, but for the most part, he’d never spoken more than two words to him, and even when he had, it was only when he really didn’t have a choice. Though he didn’t know Owen, one thing was for damn fucking sure—he didn’t like the way that he was looking at you.

And he definitely didn’t like the way that you were looking at him, either.

In the decade that he’d known you, Joel had never seen you lay your eyes on another man before, not until this very moment.

And it was bothering the fucking shit out of him.

“Yeah, I had a really nice time too,” You replied, flashing him a warm and friendly smile. It was in your nature to be sweet and kind to just about anyone you felt you could trust, that was nothing out of the ordinary, but seeing you interact so effortlessly with him only made Joel’s anger bubble even hotter.

Owen reached out to take your hand in his and Joel angrily clenched his fists the moment he touched you. “We should do it again sometime. Maybe on a night when you’re not stuck with patrol duty?” he suggested.

You nodded, smiling once again. “Sure, I’d really like that.”

Joel couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

He was mere seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. Though he had every desire to go up to Owen, snatched his hand away from yours and give him a piece of his mind, Joel had to remind himself that the last thing he needed to do was cause any kind of trouble in the settlement—Maria wouldn’t have any of that in her community, even if he was her husband’s brother.

After taking a minute to somewhat calm himself enough to a point where he knew he wouldn’t throw a punch, he stiffly walked towards the two of you, calling your name. “Hate to interrupt,” he practically sneered, “But we’re startin’ to lose our time. Tommy’s waitin’ for us at the gate.”

Owen grinned sheepishly, squeezing your hand. “Sorry about that, Miller. I didn’t mean to keep your patrol partner, here.”

Ignoring him, Joel narrowed his dark brown eyes at you. “Get on the horse and let’s fuckin’ go. Now.”

Your smile faded, your mouth falling open slightly in shock at his tone.

Though you knew Joel had always been rough around the edges with other people, he’d never spoken to you like that before. For a brief moment, it almost felt like he’d just slapped you across the face.

Without waiting for your response, he whirled around on the heel of his leather boot in the snow and stalked off towards his waiting stallion, his rifle hanging over his shoulder.

Owen frowned, letting go of your hand. “Jeez. What’s his deal?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice wavered slightly. “But I’m certainly going to find out.”

After bidding a quick goodbye to Owen, you quickly walked over to Joel just before he could climb up into the saddle of his horse.

“Excuse me, but what the fucking hell was that?” You asked fiercely as you approached him. 

With his back still to you, he rigidly replied, “What was what?”

“Get on the horse and let’s fucking go. Now,” You mimicked him, crossing your arms over your chest. “How dare you fucking talk to me like that! What’s your fucking problem?”

He remained silent.

“Joel?” You waited for a moment, but still, he said nothing. “Hello? Joel, I’m talking to you! Answer me!”

Slowly, he turned around to face you. His eyes had gone stone cold.

You’d seen him give those eyes to others before, but he had never given them to you.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we have a lot of work to do around here. Tommy and Maria expect both of us to pull our fuckin’ weight if we want to stay here. You understand that?”

“But Joel—”

“We don’t have time for you to stand around flirtin’ with your little boyfriend over there and wastin’ time.”

Despite being angry, you could have laughed—you almost did.

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, you managed to hold it back.

“First of all, we’re not fucking teenagers, Joel, so cut that shit out,” You said, letting your arms drop back down to your sides. “I hardly know Owen. We met at the Tipsy Bison last night, we had a few drinks and we were just telling each other that we had a good time, that’s all.”

Joel snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, ain’t that fuckin’ sweet.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, taken aback by his behavior.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, Joel Miller, I would say that you were jealous or something,” You accused him. You felt a shiver go up and down the length of your spine. It was hard to tell if it was because of the frigid, negative degree temperatures outside—or was it due to the fact that there was actually a possibility that the man you had been helplessly in love with for almost ten years now was bothered by the idea of you being with someone else?

He scoffed in response. “Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself, sweetheart. I ain’t jealous.”

“Then why the hell are you so upset?”

“I ain’t upset, either.”

“Okay, then why else would you be acting like such a damn asshole towards me?” You challenged him, causing his jaw to clench tightly. “If you’re not jealous, then why do you look like you’re fucking ready to murder Owen with your bare hands?”

Joel groaned out of frustration. “Jesus, can you just fuckin’ drop it? We have to leave before Tommy—”

You reached out and grabbed his arm. “We’re not going anywhere until we talk this out, Joel. I need to know what’s going on with you. Please. Just fucking talk to me.”

He snatched his arm out of your grasp and took a step back. “What the fuck do you want me to say? That you’re absolutely right? That I’m fuckin’ jealous? That the second I saw that prick take your hand, it took every single ounce of strength I had inside me not to walk over and knock his fuckin’ head off his shoulders?”

You exhaled the shaky breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding back. “Joel, you have no fucking right to be jealous. You know how I feel about you, you have always known how I fucking feel about you. But you were the one who told me that we couldn’t be together, that we could never be together.” Your voice began to tremble, and you paused for a brief moment, trying to collect yourself. “You’re the one who said that we’d never be anything more than smuggling partners. Even after everything that’s happened with us, what we’ve been through with Ellie—you still keep me at arm’s length, now more than ever before.”

“So you finally found somebody else,” he stated, bitterly. “That it? You tryin’ to move on from me?”

“Yes. No.” You let out a small groan, knowing that if there was one thing you could not do, it was lie to Joel. “Yes, okay? I’ve been trying to fucking move on from you.”

Joel’s stomach sank at your admission. “And he’s the guy, huh?”

“Owen is a nice guy. And I really liked spending time with him—” You looked up at him, seeing the hurt flash in his eyes. “I’ve been so fucking lonely, alright?” You continued quickly before he could say anything. “You’ve been avoiding me for months now, Joel. Ever since we came back to Jackson, things have changed. Do you think I haven’t noticed that we only ever talk when we’re sent out on patrol together? That we don’t eat our meals together anymore like we used to? That whenever I even try and approach you, you make up some excuse to leave, even when we’re in our own fucking house?” Hot, frustrated tears blurred your vision. Not wanting to cry, you furiously blinked them back. “Ellie asked me the other day if something was wrong with us. Even she notices the way you’ve been treating me these last few months, Joel. How you avoid me like I’m the fucking plague.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut, not knowing what to say.

“You can’t be upset with me for trying to move on, not when you’re the one who’s been pushing me away—and I don’t just mean here in Jackson. For ten fucking years you’ve been pushing me away, Joel.” Your voice cracked, and a tear finally gave way and slipped down the side of your face.

His expression suddenly softened. “I had to push you away, darlin’.”

You subconsciously stepped closer to him. “But why?”

“Because, what I felt—what I’ve been feelin’ for you, it’s somethin’ that I didn’t think I could feel for someone ever again. It’s so strong and runs so fuckin’ deep that it scares the shit out of me,” Joel confessed, a trembling edge to his tone. “Before Wyoming, it was so fuckin’ easy not to think about it. We were too busy fightin’ to survive, to protect Ellie—now that we’re here and every goddamn day isn’t a fight for survival, things changed, alright? What I feel for you runs through my mind all fuckin’ day. There ain’t no avoidin’ it.”

“Joel—”

He cut you off. “I never meant to hurt you. When we got here, I thought it’d be best to put some distance between us. I thought that maybe if I spent less time with you, what I feel would just go away somehow. But I was wrong. Wrong and stupid to think that what I’ve been feelin’ for ten fuckin’ years would just disappear.”

“What do you feel for me, Joel?” You whispered, looking up at him.

Your eyes widened in a slight surprise as Joel reached up and gently cupped your cheek in the palm of his gloved hand. He put his other hand on your hip and pulled you as close as he possibly could to him. He looked deeply into your eyes as your arms wrapped themselves tightly around his neck. Joel leaned down into you, and the both of you stood absolutely still, each waiting for the other to make the final move. 

Finally, it was Joel who closed the remaining distance between you and him.

He softly pressed his lips to yours. Any and all hesitation that he might have had before vanished completely as you parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. 

“That,” he said breathlessly once he’d pulled away, “Is what I feel for you.”

“Never thought I’d see the fucking day,” You murmured against his lips, a tiny, joking smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Joel leaned his forehead against yours and sighed, his warm breath tickling your nose. “Look darlin’, m’real sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. It’s just that seein’ you with that prick, the thought of you with him, or with any other man that ain’t me, I just couldn’t fuckin’ handle it.” He paused briefly, taking a look around. Part of him hoped Owen was still around and watching his every move. “I’m gonna have to find a way to make sure every man in Jackson knows you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” You assured him, gently. “Believe me. You are the only man that I could ever want. I’m all yours, Joel.”

[runnning-outof-time]

Congratulations, I adore your story!!

Could you please do 23 with angst and then fluff? Thank you so much I appreciate it!💕

Thanks so much for sending this in, anon! I’m so happy you like my stories! I decided to go with Tommy for the character and chose “I don’t want to go.” for the prompt because it was the 5 word #23. I hope you don’t mind that. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

To Keep You Safe

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: season 4 spoilers (like right from the jump), language

Word Count: 1042

Summary: (Y/N) and Tommy discuss the decision to have her go into hiding while the war with the Changrettas rages on.

Things were heating up in the vendetta between the Shelbys and the Changrettas. What both sides thought would be a quick battle had now turned into a full-on war. And after Luca managed to get to Michael in his hospital bed and try to get him to switch sides, Tommy was convinced that no one was safe.

He called a family meeting. He arranged it in the morning and it was set for that evening. The air in the room was so thick with tension that you could practically cut it with a knife. (Y/N) noted that they were currently in the midst of a thunderstorm, which she had a feeling was foreshadowing for what was to be talked about.

And oh boy was she right. Things were quiet between her and Tommy that night. Neither of the two spoke a word to the other before they both went to sleep.

(Y/N) didn’t really sleep much though. No matter how many times she wished it wouldn’t, tomorrow still came.

Soon enough, there was a man in a car sitting outside their Watery Lane home.

“I don’t want to go,” (Y/N) huffed as she crossed her arms. She was aware of how much she sounded like their three year old daughter, but she quite frankly didn’t care.

“You have to, love,” Tommy insisted, not wanting this to turn into something bigger than it had to be.

“Why?” she asked, her one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Don’t fucking start…” he trailed off with a sigh.

“You owe me a reason, Thomas. I’m not just going to be shipped off into the fucking wilderness for no fucking reason,” she harped on, sharing her feelings about the decision that had been made — essentially without her consent — the night prior.

“You know why,” he told her, insisting it was common sense.

“Enlighten me anyway,” she shrugged.

“(Y/N).”

“Tommy.”

“It’s to keep you safe!” he finally came out with it, his voice raising as his eyes went wide, showing the frustration and stress he was currently under. “It’s to keep you fucking safe.”

(Y/N) was taken back by his outburst, but she really should have expected it. She was poking a bear; a powder keg that was bound to explode sooner or later. “You’re keeping me safe here, though. And besides, it was agreed between the both of you: no civilians. No women or children,” she pointed out in a softer voice, recalling the rules of the vendetta that he’d told her a few weeks prior.

“Yeah, I know that was agreed upon,” Tommy started, nodding as a sigh escaped his lips, “but with how things are going…we need to expect everything. And I can’t have you get taken by him or his men as a way to get me. So I need you to go. Just for a little while.”

Silence fell between them as she took a minute to think things over. The last thing she wanted to do was leave Tommy’s side while all of this was going on.

“I don’t want to leave you, Tommy,” was the next thing she said. She couldn’t get through the sentence without choking up, tears brimming up in her eyelids.

Tommy exhaled a breath before he closed the short distance between them, taking her into his arms just as her body began to shake from her sobs. “It’ll just be a little while, love,” he spoke in a soft voice, his chin rested on the top of her head as he rubbed her back in a comforting manner.

They stood like that for a few minutes. (Y/N) had no shame in crying into her husband’s suit coat. She didn’t want to let him go and leave because she was afraid that this would be the last time she’d see him.

“Hey, the car’s waiting outside,” Tommy was the one to speak first. He loosened his hold on her as he did, moving his hands to her shoulders so that he could bring her out at arms length.

“I know,” (Y/N) nodded, sniffling as she wiped her tears away. “I’ll miss you, Tommy,” she added then, looking at him with watery eyes.

“I’ll miss you too, love,” he responded without a second thought, raising one hand to run it down her cheek.

“Make sure you go visit the kids for me…or at least send Pol or someone if you think it’s too risky,” she added, thinking of her children who were currently residing at her parents’ home.

“I will,” he assured her with a nod.

(Y/N) took a moment to look at her husband then, making sure she could commit every part of him to memory. She didn’t know when she’d see him next. Her bottom lip began to quiver as that thought stuck in her mind.

“It’s just a little while,” Tommy repeated what he’d said to her before.

“I know,” she nodded, holding back the tears. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated the phrase, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. (Y/N) held him there, making their embrace as long as it could possibly be. But eventually she had to pull away, and as she did, she finally decided it was time. “I should go.”

“I’ll come get you when this is finished,” he promised her, their eyes locked as he spoke.

“Just stay alive,” she said to him, sending one last smile her way before they finally broke their embrace so that she could grab her things.

Tommy ushered her outside and made sure she got into the vehicle. He then gave the driver and his accomplice strict instructions on what to do. After sending one last smile to (Y/N), he let them go and headed back inside.

He took two steps away from the door and placed his hands onto the side table sitting there so that he could brace himself as he leaned back against it. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, his family flashing in his mind. Then he released the breath he’d been holding and stared straight ahead. This vendetta would be finished soon, and he’d make damn sure of it.

**tags are in a reblog, so that hopefully the notification gets sent

MASTERLIST

[perotovar]

baby, i'm-a want you — (ch 1) "session one"

gif by me

pairing: joel miller/dieter bravo (just this time. main pairing is still javi/joel) rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 3.5k content: swearing, joel and tommy's southern accents being cute af, dieter being a menace, joel being awkward af (but it's cute), cringey porn dialogue, male masturbation (briefly), one (1) handjob, one (1) blowjob (it's messy), lmk if i missed anything! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @qveerthe0ry (ily ♥)

summary: javier peña has been doing this a long time. he's really good at his job. joel miller? not so much. he started doing this to get some extra cash to support his daughters. what happens when they're supposed to do a scene together? aka, the au where most of the ppcu boys are gay porn stars~

(read this first ->) prologue | series masterlist

Joel never would have guessed he’d do something like this ten years ago. Hell, not even five years ago. He’s not even totally sure how he got here, if he’s honest with himself.

He just remembers an, admittedly shady, business-looking man coming up to him and shoving a business card in his face. He asked if Joel had ever slept with men before. Joel was taken aback and thought he was coming onto him in a really bizarre way. He had, but that was none of this man’s business as far as he was concerned.

“There’s no pressure, I promise. Here, my website is on the card. If you see what you like, you gimme a call, okay?” The man had winked, grabbed his coffee, and left. 

Joel was left sitting in the middle of that coffee shop stunned into silence.

Later that night, sitting in front of the laptop Sarah nearly forced on him, he clumsily typed (using only his index fingers) the name of the website from the business card into the search bar.

Love Bites

The name and the man, Max Phillips according to the card, and his invasive question should’ve told him everything he needed to know, but Joel wasn’t prepared for the absolute onslaught of nudity he was met with.

“Jesus–” Joel mumbled to himself, slamming the laptop closed. Not that that would take it away, but he could hope. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head to himself. “The fuck you get yourself into, Miller?” He grumbled.

Slowly, and with one eye closed, he opened his laptop again. Once he got both eyes on it again, the website wasn’t… too bad. Well, it was still a porn site, but it wasn’t anything he hadn't seen before. He started looking around some more and didn’t bother turning it down. He lived alone now, both girls having moved out within the last year or so. He missed the hell out of them, and frankly, found himself bored more often than not. He and Tommy still owned Miller Contracting, but Joel stuck to the delegating and organizing part now. He had too many knee and back problems to keep up on the actual building part.

His finger rolled over to the “profiles” section of the website. He raised a brow and clicked on the trackpad hesitantly. There were several headshots of the men that made content for the website. He felt his cock twitch in his jeans and cleared his throat awkwardly, exhaling heavily. Well, it… had been a while. What could it hurt, right? 

He did have a lot of options…

Dark eyes trailing over the men on the site, he smiled softly. They all had little biographies that explained what their sexualities and preferences were. He snorted a little at seeing two different cowboys; one gay and a little older than himself, the other bisexual and perhaps around the same age. The younger cowboy had a prominent mustache and had a preference for “tying people up”. Bit on the nose in Joel’s opinion, but there was something for everyone. The older cowboy tended toward more amateur-style, “romantic” videos. Joel’s heart softened a little, but decided he wasn’t really in the mood for that sort of thing. 

In his search, he found just about everything; a messy haired, self proclaimed “adventurous” sort, a masked man that liked to roleplay, a clean cut looking man that considered himself a “romantic”. You name it, they probably had it. But his eyes landed on a particular man…

He had deep, intense eyes and a thick mustache. His hair was styled like he walked out of the 80s and he was wearing a thin gold chain. He had a bit of a Burt Reynolds thing going on, and normally that wouldn’t be something Joel was into, but this time, well… 

Joel clicked on his – Javier’s – page and started browsing the videos he had available. His bio said he was “fluid and polyamorous”, but Joel didn’t know what that meant. Wow, he was… popular. That didn’t surprise Joel at all, but his eyes landed on one of Javier’s “solo” videos. It looked like it was filmed in his apartment, but it probably wasn’t from how well lit it was. The video started off like Joel guessed all of them did; a fancy graphic with the words “Love Bites” in the center of the screen before the sound effect of someone taking a bite out of something, and a faint moan. The tips of Joel’s ears warmed, but he pressed on, watching Javier walk onto screen and sit in the middle of the couch that was in frame. 

Javier’s jeans were very tight, but maybe even moreso because of how fucking hard he looked to be. Joel swallowed a lump in his throat, his cock twitching again. Javier had an easy smirk on his handsome face, but he seemed like he didn’t have the cockiness that Joel expected a pornstar to have. The video seemed like it was personally sent to Joel and that thought made Joel’s cock stand to attention almost comically quickly. Unzipping his own jeans, he groaned at the constriction leaving, allowing him to breathe easier. He squeezed his cock and looked back at the video, Javier already getting started without him. He was stroking his own cock slowly, almost teasingly, biting a plump bottom lip. Joel moaned and shut his eyes for a quick second as he took himself in hand–

Ring, ring.

Joel groaned, squeezing his cock harder, and dug his phone out of his pocket. Tommy. He sighed and paused the video on Javier’s blissed out face and big hand wrapped around his–

Ring, ring.

“Christ, Tommy, what is it?” He grumbled, pressing the too-new-for-his-liking phone to his ear.

“Jesus, who pissed in your oatmeal this mornin’?” Tommy’s easy voice filtered in, a chuckle wrapped around his words. “And why are ya outta breath? Ya okay?”

“What–? Yeah, ‘m fine, Tommy. Why y’callin’?”

“Wonderin’ if ya could stop by tonight. Maria’s makin’ meatloaf and I know ya like it.”

Joel did really like Maria’s meatloaf. He sighed to himself and shut his laptop, his cock having softened considerably since hearing his brother’s voice. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat, trying to subtly zip up his jeans while he held the phone against his shoulder. “I’ll come over in a little bit, just gotta… gonna make a phone call.”

“Ooh, ya finally have a date, old man?”

“Can it,” Joel grunted. “‘M forty-three. Ain’t that old. And no, I was gonna call Sarah. See how her classes are goin’.”

“Send her our love, will ya? ‘N tell her she’ll have a cousin soon. Maria’s ‘bout to pop any day. ‘M scared to death,” Tommy sighed. The happiness was clear in his voice, though. Joel was happy for him, and smiled to himself. “How’s Ellie doin’, by the way?”

“Good. Think she said somethin’ ‘bout joinin’ a… roller derby team? Don’t rightly know, but,” he shrugged to himself. “Sounded like somethin’ she’d like, way she was describin’ it.”

Talking on the phone with Tommy always went the same way. He’d find a way to chew up a couple hours of your time, but Joel never minded. Once they said their goodbyes and their I-love-yous, Joel picked up Max Phillips’ business card and sighed, rubbing his thumb over the phone number.

What could it hurt, right?

That was two years ago. He’s been working for Love Bites for two years and had been avoiding Javier Peña as much as he could.

Joel’s never been good at… initiating conversations. Ellie would always give him shit for it. She usually went up to whoever had caught Joel’s eye and slyly made it her goal to get them to come over to him. 

But Ellie wasn’t here and she never would be. His girls knew what he did and even if they were a little concerned for him at first, they saw how much happier he’d been since joining. He was healthier, gaining a bit of “chub” as Sarah called it, and a healthier glow to his skin. He was on camera more often now, so he had to eat well and work out a little more. He didn’t do anything too crazy, and the audience that watched his videos had a lot of positive opinions and comments about his physique. It made him blush to think about it for too long, so he tried not to.

What was he saying?

Oh, right. Avoiding Javier Peña.

He’d had a huge crush on him ever since that first video he watched, and frankly, didn’t want to make a fool of himself if he talked to him. He’s filmed one video with him and it was the best Joel had felt in years. He almost came too quickly, and the video was supposed to be twenty minutes long. They had to pause so Joel could calm himself down, but Javier was patient and lovely with him. Javier had been doing this a lot longer than Joel had, so he wasn’t worried, which made Joel feel better. Just a little embarrassed. Afterwards, he had to leave, making up a story about seeing his girls for dinner that night.

“Javi!”

Joel’s eyes snapped up from his phone. He was in the middle of texting Sarah, saying that he’d call her when he got home from work. He had a scene with Dieter today.

And there he was. God. Joel’s cheeks flushed at the sight of Javier standing in the hall in his robe. He must’ve just finished his scene with Shane, the new kid. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the sound of Javier’s deep, commanding voice was enough to send a chill down Joel’s spine. Before he knew it, Javier was talking animatedly with Steve, another actor, as they walked off down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

He knew, realistically, relationships between porn actors could happen. Silva and Jake had been together for years. Joel’s problem with that was, well… Joel. His last real relationship was with Sarah’s mom years ago, and when the girls were in high school he had a relationship with this guy, Ezra for a while.

Smack!

“Jesus–!” Joel jumped, holding onto one of his ass cheeks protectively. Only one person would have done that.

“Hey, handsome,” Dieter grinned, sticking a hand down the back pocket of Joel’s jeans and squeezing. “Getting lost in Javi’s eyes again?” He winked.

“N-no! I am not,” Joel grumbled, finishing off his text and shoving his phone in his pocket.

Dieter snorted and rolled his eyes, then removed his hand to hold it out for Joel to take. “C’mon, big guy. You get to cum on my face today,” he smirked.

Filming with Dieter always felt good. He was a bit wild for Joel’s personal tastes, but he always made sure Joel was comfortable, and today was no different. 

Joel was playing a “plumber” that needed to work on Dieter’s “pipes”. This of course led to Dieter offering to “pay” in his own way. 

“Oh, come on, big guy like you doesn’t need money, right?” Dieter recited his lines expertly, running a hand down Joel’s t-shirt covered chest. “Bet it gets lonely doing this sort of work, huh?”

Joel had gotten a lot better at the acting part of things over the past couple of years. He was super stiff (and not in the right way) in the beginning, but now, he easily plastered on a smirk, eyes glued to Dieter’s lips. “Sometimes,” he shrugged, a big hand hovering over Dieter’s shoulder. Dieter saw the hand out of the corner of his eye and grinned, curling his fingers around Joel’s thick wrist and moving it down to his ass.

Joel smirked, squeezing the plump flesh appreciatively. “Bit forward o’ you,” he rumbled.

Dieter visibly shivered and bit his lip. “Sexy guy like you, of course I am,” he breathed. He leaned forward and kissed Joel messily, the hand on Joel’s torso moving down to unzip his jeans. Joel was already painfully hard and grunted into Dieter’s mouth when his pants were opened and lowered enough to pull his cock free. Dieter moaned and curled his fingers around Joel’s shaft, pumping rhythmically.

They stayed like that for a while; open mouth kisses, heavy breathing from Joel, and Dieter’s moans being picked up by the mics. 

Dieter pulled away to look down at the thick cock in his hand and bit his lip at the sight. “Fuck,” he groaned, his own cock twitching in his sweats. “Can I suck your cock?” He looked up at Joel demurely, eyes big and nearly black with desire.

Joel forgot he was supposed to be acting for a minute and grunted, hips bucking into Dieter’s grasp. “F-fuck, yeah,” he nodded, eyes glazed over. Dieter smiled and guided Joel over to the couch on the set. Technically, Dieter was supposed to get on his knees in the “kitchen”, but he knew Joel wouldn’t be able to stand for that long with his back problems. Sometimes Dieter’s improv classes came in handy. Max couldn’t complain too much, as long as Dieter sucked Joel off, then the video was still following the script.

Joel grunted as he sat, hard cock swaying slightly. Dieter giggled a little and happily got down on his knees, hands traveling up and down Joel’s thighs appreciatively. “Such a pretty cock,” he hummed, licking his lips as he watched it twitch in front of him, a drop of pre-cum gathering at the tip. 

“Why dontcha put that mouth to use, then?” Joel smirked, gripping the base and tapping the head against Dieter’s cheek. “Want your discount, right?”

Dieter smiled and opened his mouth wide, eyes shut in pure bliss. Joel gripped Dieter’s messy curls and held him still as he hit the head of his cock against Dieter’s tongue. Dieter moaned and opened his eyes, watching Joel’s face for any cues to stop. They never came, but it was something they all had to keep an eye on. When everything seemed to be going well, he happily wrapped his mouth around the head of Joel’s cock and started bobbing his head up and down.

He moaned, the vibrations traveling down Joel’s cock and up his spine, making Joel groan in return. “Mmm, knew you’d be good with your mouth,” he grinned, holding the back of Dieter’s head to set a pace Joel liked better.

Dieter heard a cameraman move to his right to get a better angle of his mouth, so he amped it up a little. He got messier, saliva dripping down along the sides of Joel’s shaft. Joel moaned weakly, resting his head on the back of the couch, but keeping one of his hands tangled in Dieter’s messy curls. Dieter started bobbing his head slower, eyes locked on Joel’s face as he moved further down his shaft, taking as much as he could down his throat. He choked slightly and pulled off, pre-cum and saliva covering his mouth and Joel’s cock. He smiled up at Joel and panted heavily, curling his fingers around the base to pump the thick cock.

Joel’s eyes rolled back and he grunted, hips bucking off the couch. “C’mere,” he breathed, heavy work boots landing heavily on the set floor as he stood. “Gonna fuck your face.”

Dieter shivered at the low timbre of Joel’s voice and nodded happily up at him. He pulled his sweats down and gripped his own cock in hand and started stroking himself rhythmically. Dieter opened his mouth for Joel obediently and nearly choked again when Joel shoved his cock down Dieter’s throat. He moaned weakly when Joel’s hips started moving, his heavy balls slapping against Dieter’s chin.

Dieter just had to take it, the lewd sounds of Joel fucking his face filling the otherwise quiet room. He fucking loved it because Joel was subtly massaging Dieter’s scalp and it sent shivers down his spine. His fist was almost a blur over his own cock and tears leaked out of his eyes, a blush high on his cheeks.

“Mmm, bein’ such a good boy f’me,” Joel grunted, biting his lip to rein it in a little. Dieter moaned at the praise, eyebrows downturned in pleasure. “Yeah? Like bein’ my good boy?”

Dieter whined and nodded as best he could, eyes completely glazed over. Joel slowed down his hips a little and let Dieter breathe for a minute. Dieter panted hard, a near-dopey smile on his face. “Come on my face,” he breathed heavily, extending his tongue for Joel. “Please.”

It was Joel’s turn to shiver as he slapped the head of his cock against Dieter’s face again. “Gonna have to earn it,” Joel smirked, reciting his lines as well as he could. 

Dieter whined and pouted up at him, his own hand slowing down a little. He didn’t say anything, letting Joel continue.

“Make me come, and I’ll paint this pretty face o’ yours.”

Dieter’s face lit up and he curled his fingers around Joel’s shaft. He watched Joel’s face while he wrapped his lips around the head and bobbed his head. His free hand held Joel’s hip and subtly moved to his ass and squeezed. He moaned around Joel’s cock and shut his eyes briefly before obediently looking up at him, big eyes wet and innocent. 

“Atta boy,” Joel grunted, cupping Dieter’s face lovingly. Dieter removed his mouth to kiss down his length as he stroked him, attaching his lips to one of Joel’s balls. “Mmm, fuck,” Joel breathed, tipping his head back. 

The hand on Joel’s ass moved slightly until one of Dieter’s fingertips prodded at Joel’s asshole. Joel grunted in surprise and smiled down at Dieter. “Really want me all over ya, huh?”

“Yes,” Dieter nodded, sucking one of Joel’s balls into his mouth. “Please.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and– ooh, fuck – Jus’ might get your wish,” Joel panted, shutting his eyes. He felt the build up in his lower stomach, his cock twitching violently in Dieter’s hand. “C’mere, baby boy,” he grinned, taking his cock back to stroke himself over Dieter’s face.

Dieter was buzzing, lifting Joel’s t-shirt to lovingly caress his hairy tummy, mouth open wide and obedient. 

Joel felt his balls draw up and his hips buck until– “Fuck–! Shit,” He moaned, thick ropes of come spurting out from the tip of his cock and landing on Dieter’s face and mouth. He caressed Dieter’s hair, thick fingers massaging his scalp while the other hand stroked himself until his balls were completely empty. 

Dieter happily licked his mouth clean, and hid his face in Joel’s stomach, whimpering into the sweaty skin. He moaned weakly, his entire body trembling as he came, completely untouched. Dieter was the only one in the cast that could do that, and he loved showing it off as much as he could.

“Shit,” Joel smiled, petting Dieter’s sweaty curls back and out of his face. “Ain’t you a sight.”

“Cut!”

Dieter deflated, a huge grin on his face. He started giggling into Joel’s stomach and smiled up at him. “Fucking love your cock, Joel,” he hummed happily.

“That’s what you always say,” Joel snorted, helping him up onto his feet. Dieter was a little wobbly still and cuddled into Joel’s side. He always got a little clingy after a scene, but Joel didn’t mind. As different as they were, Joel would probably consider Dieter one of his closest friends. It always worked in their favor, their natural chemistry and closeness coming through the cameras.

They were handed a couple towels and some water, the both of them taking them gratefully. Max came up to them, his usual shit-eating grin on his face. Joel always thought Max reminded him of a vampire, with that mischievous glint in his eye that always seemed to be there.

“Great show, boys,” Max started. “Dieter, d’you mind if I steal Joel away for a second?”

Dieter whined and clinged onto Joel tighter. Joel grinned and hugged him back. “Sorry, boss, looks like he ain’t leavin’ anytime soon.”

Max rolled his eyes, but continued anyway. “Fine. Meant to tell you earlier, but things got rolling, you know how it is–”

“What is it, Max?”

“You’ve got a scene with Javier tomorrow.”

If there were a record player anywhere, Joel would probably hear it scratching right about now. Dieter paused too, and looked up at Joel with worried eyes. He knew all about Joel’s crush, and was always telling Joel to just go for it. Joel froze briefly, but tried to school his emotions as best he could.

“O-okay, um. What time?” He asked shakily, gripping Dieter’s fluffy robe tighter.

“I’m thinking around noon? That way Javier can prepare, y’know?”

Preparing was always done before a particularly intense scene. Joel tried really hard not to think about Javier wearing a plug for a while before coming to set. 

“Right,” Joel nodded, cheeks going a little pink. “I’ll be there.”

“You’re the best, Joel!” Max snapped his fingers and walked off, talking to a couple of assistants. 

Dieter tapped on his chest and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You really gotta say something, Joel,” he said softly. 

Joel sighed and nodded. He knew that. 

He just didn’t know what.

[ninjatrashpanda]

Come Home And Be(e) With Your Man

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round 2! (Day 1: Make your own Season 8 opening disaster) Read on AO3 here!

To say that Buck was exhausted was an understatement. 22 million fucking bees. And hell, if it had been normal honey bees or whatever, that would’ve been fine! Honey bees are cute, little critters who don’t do anything to anyone who doesn’t deserve it, never mind that they’re a necessity for the environment. Honey bees rock! But no, it had been Africanized bees. Twenty-two million killer bees. Why? Just why?

It wasn’t like Buck’s day hadn’t been completely in shambles before that either. Every day was automatically in shambles when Vincent Gerrard was your captain. When he wasn’t getting on Eddie’s case for being “lazy,” he was on Hen’s about “keeping up with the boys,” or throwing mocking questions about Chinese take-out at Chimney. But, as awful as it was, Buck had been prepared for that. Hen, Chim and Tommy had warned him and Eddie about it, and had made him promise not to jump in and punch the son of a bitch in the face first chance he got. Even Eddie, the first time Gerrard threw a casual joke about “the wall” at him, had squeezed Buck’s shoulder and told him that it was fine (it wasn’t) and that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Gerrard wasn’t worth getting fired over.

But the thing was, Buck was a minority now, too. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he was. And the first time Gerrard had decided to call him “fruity,” right after wondering out loud who between him and Tommy was “wearing the pants,” Buck had almost blown a gasket and thrown him over the station loft’s railing. He’d always theoretically known that comments like Gerrard’s hurt, and he had always, even back when he was still in school, gotten pissed off beyond belief when he overheard someone making them toward other people.

Having them directed at himself was completely different though. Working under Gerrard had made him realize just how small, how worthless an attitude like that could make you feel. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he had cried into Tommy’s shoulder the night that had happened either. Buck had tried to play tough at first, but Tommy had known it was an act, and a single “Evan” in that concerned, warm voice of his had been enough to make Buck feel safe enough to let it all out.

So, Gerrard had been reigning in terror for weeks at this point, and then a truck transporting twenty-two million Africanized killer bees had crashed on the highway, letting them lose on the citizens of Los Angeles, because why the fuck not, right?! It was tiring, in more ways than one, and at the end of that shift from hell, (He was half convinced the new C-Shift probie had said the “Q” word, and at least five times, if not more.) Buck hadn’t even bothered to go shower at the station, he just wanted to get out as soon as possible, even if it meant making his jeep reek of sweat and bee.

He wasn’t fully sure how he ended up making it to Tommy’s house, or even up the driveway to the front door. His legs felt like his shoes were made of concrete, Buck being barely able to lift his feet off the ground. Strands of his hair, which he’d left mostly in its naturally curly state because Tommy liked it that way, were sticking uncomfortably to his forehead, making him feel profoundly gross. He really couldn’t wait to stand under some nice, warm water, followed by cuddling up with his nice, beefy boyfriend on the couch to watch literally any movie that didn’t have bees in it, where he would probably fall asleep on Tommy’s shoulder, with his arms embracing him.

Even thinking about it made Buck feel full of bliss.

The moment he unlocked and opened the front door, (They had exchanged keys a month ago. Buck’s stomach had fluttered for days after, every time he remembered.) Buck was hit with the mouthwatering, unmistakable scent of Nonna Ricci’s special ragù. Tommy was making Arancini, a dish Buck had fallen in love with the moment he had taken a bite out of one. The smell alone was enough to slightly lift the weight on Buck’s shoulders.

Following the trail through Tommy’s living room into the kitchen, he found his boyfriend at the stove, his back to the door, fishing the crispy, perfectly golden rice balls out of the pot-turned-makeshift-deep fryer. He was humming a cheery tune as he worked, seemingly oblivious to Buck’s presence. Buck, in turn, simply leaned against the door frame and watched Tommy work for a moment. His eyes traced over Tommy’s broad shoulders, the way his back muscles flexed with every little movement, the way he was slightly swinging his hips left to right and left again in perfect sync with his little melody.

Almost subconsciously, Buck moved over toward Tommy, who now shot a small look over his shoulder with a small smirk on his lips. Wiggling his eyebrows a little, (and making Buck’s stomach do somersaults in the process) he turned back toward the stove, while Buck finally reached him and wrapped his arms around Tommy’s waist, his nose instantly landing in the crook of Tommy’s neck. The slight scent of vanilla and sandalwood on Tommy’s skin told Buck that his boyfriend had already showered himself, which didn’t really surprise him. With the whole ass bee-nado that had descended onto the city, clearly AirOps had pushed overtime the same as the 118 and, well, probably every station in LA.

“Hey, baby, how are-oof,” Tommy began before he got cut off by Buck collapsing against his back. Buck would feel sorry, but he couldn’t bring himself to right now. His legs had been shaky with exhaustion since he’d left the station, and Tommy was big, and broad, and firm and Buck just couldn’t help using him to lean on for a moment. If Tommy’s low chuckle was anything to go by, he really didn’t mind. “Didn’t even need to ask, huh?”

“I hate bees.”

Tommy let out a loud laugh at that and turned off the stove, the last of the arancini having been fished out of the hot oil. He slowly turned around in Buck’s arms, Buck lifting his head with a small whine at not being able to smell Tommy anymore. Tommy, not missing a beat, quickly silenced him with a soft kiss and reached up to card his fingers through Buck’s hair, an action that never ceased to help Buck relax.

“Yeah, I get it,” Tommy mumbled against Buck’s lips. “A whole bunch of them almost got into my cockpit during a MedEvac call. I don’t want to know what it was like actually having to deal with them hands-on.”

Buck hummed and moved his arms from Tommy’s hips to wrap them tightly around his lower back. His nose found Tommy’s neck once more, that beautiful scent entering his system again, almost like a drug he’d been on withdrawal from. Tommy wasted no time in burying his own face in Buck’s curls, tenderly nuzzling against his temple.

“Don’t do that, I’m filthy.”

“Mhm, sure, but I like you when you’re filthy.”

Tommy’s voice was low and playful, sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. His hands were gentle as they roamed Buck’s back, tracing soothing patterns that somehow made Buck feel like the weight of the day was finally lifting off his shoulders. It was moments like this that Buck simply couldn’t have with anyone else. He tried picturing coming home to Taylor like this, sweaty, and smelly, and tired, both mentally and physically. He was certain she’d be sympathetic and quick to agree to a nice, lazy evening in front of the TV, but there was no way in hell she would’ve flirted with him like that while he was in this state.

“Yeah? Well, this is a new level of filthy, Tommy,” Buck murmured into the warm skin of Tommy’s neck, inhaling deeply. He didn’t care if he was gross and covered in sweat and bee guts; in this moment, he just needed to be close, to feel Tommy solid and warm against him.

Tommy pulled back slightly, just enough to catch Buck’s gaze. His eyes were soft, and full of that gentle understanding that Buck had grown to love more than anything. (The L word had been on his mind quite a bit lately, but he ignored it for now. It was way too soon for any of that anyway.) He brushed a stray curl away from Buck’s forehead and let his thumb linger, softly caressing Buck’s cheek. “Shower, then food, yeah? I’ve got some fresh towels in the bathroom for you.”

Buck nodded, his exhaustion seeping back in as Tommy’s suggestion sank in. As much as he wanted to just melt into Tommy and let the world disappear, he knew he’d feel a million times better after a hot shower. Especially if said shower wasn’t alone. “Yeah, okay,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. He still managed to put on an at least passable flirty smile. “I, uh, I could definitely use…a shower.”

Tommy pressed another quick kiss to Buck’s lips, his hand lingering on Buck’s neck, squeezing reassuringly. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you’re out,” he promised. “And we can just crash after, alright? Nothing but couch, blankets, and the worst movie we can find.”

With that, Tommy stepped out of Buck’s embrace and moved over to the refrigerator. Buck blinked several times as he watched Tommy take out a head of iceberg lettuce, which he took to the sink to wash it. What…was Tommy doing? Buck briefly wondered if Tommy was trolling him, but that didn’t seem to be something he’d do, at least not after a day like this. 

“Uh, babe?” he asked, getting Tommy’s attention. His hands were tearing the lettuce apart, the loose leaves landing in a large strainer Tommy always used to wash his veggies. Focusing on Tommy’s hands, however brief it may have been, actually made Buck almost salviate, so he met Tommy’s questioning look with a dark, heated one of his own. “I said I could use a shower.”

The exaggerated head movements toward the general direction of Tommy’s bathroom seemed to do the trick. Tommy’s mouth formed an enlightened “O” as he realized what Buck was playing at, right before he dropped the whole head of lettuce into the strainer. He seemingly forgot about it entirely right after as he walked toward the door in quick strides, pulling his henley over his head and throwing it aside to the kitchen floor in one fluid motion in the process.

With a wide grin, Buck followed suit, his own shirt quickly joining Tommy’s. As he followed Tommy out into the living room while opening his belt, Buck couldn’t help but let out a happy sigh. He had this now. He had Tommy. Tommy, who was supportive, who got what the job was like, who knew how to help him take the edge of.

Tommy, who was always there, always constant, always knew what to do.

Tommy, who Buck was sure he was in love with. And though it may be too soon to say those words exactly, Buck wasn’t scared about feeling them.

He was in love with Tommy Kinard. And he loved every second of it.

[megalony]

Love And Valour

As promised, this is a new Tommy Kinard imagine, based on a truly lovely request. I hope you will all like it, let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @senjoritanana @kniselle @eleventhdoctorsangel

Tommy Kinard Masterlist

Summary: Tommy isn't sure about attending the medal of valour ceremony since (Y/n)'s recovering from her C-section. But (Y/n) is adamant they are going. She wants to support her man.

Enjoy.

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"Fuck." A quiet hiss passed through (Y/n)'s lips as she tilted her head back until her gaze settled on the high ceiling above her.

Both hands moved to press down into the mattress and she let herself slouch back, relieving the ache in her shoulders which also clicked her spine into place in the process. Her legs started to slowly sway back and forth, softly hitting the edge of the bed while she took a deep breath and tried to ward off the annoyance rattling through her.

This was harder than she thought it would be.

She could feel a dull, burning ache in her abdomen that felt like cramps constantly squeezing and releasing every now and then. She hadn't experienced contractions before, but (Y/n) guessed whatever cramping discomfort she felt now was close to a contraction.

"You okay there, honey?" Something about Tommy's low yet velvet smooth voice had (Y/n) shivering and she dropped her chin down to lock her eyes onto him.

He padded barefoot into the bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs since he had just come out the shower. He had one hand tangled in his hair that was only slightly damp and he ruffled each curl so they stuck up like waves paused in motion on top of his head.

The action made his biceps flex and he moved his hand down to scratch his neck, pointing his elbow up which almost bumped into the top of the door frame with how tall he was.

Tommy narrowed his eyes a little and quirked his lips into a melting smile when he looked across at the bed. He found it rather endearing how (Y/n) was laid right now. She looked like she had just come home from a big day out, as opposed to getting ready to go out like they should be.

Her lips pressed together and she ducked her head down, glancing down at her thighs rather than staring at her husband which caused a blush to dance along her neck and across her face.

"I think I might need some help." Her voice came out quiet, barely more than a whisper and Tommy had to take a moment to work out what she'd said.

But once her words hit him, his shoulders dropped and his smirk changed into something sweet and gentle.

He didn't get chance to ask what she needed help with before (Y/n) extended one leg out towards him and he realised what she was doing. She couldn't get into her tights.

He crossed the room in less than a second and crouched down in between her legs until his knees hit the soft carpet. His hands found her knees and he leaned forward, perching his chin on her thigh as he gazed up at her. It was evident that his eyes were taking in her attire and the way she was laid made him take in a deep breath to quench the adrenaline coursing through his stomach, fluttering up towards his chest.

She was wearing a white bra and matching underwear and had one foot in her tights which clearly had won the silent battle she was having with getting dressed.

"All you had to do was ask." He pressed a flushed kiss against her inner thigh before his hands slithered up her legs and over her hips.

He knew (Y/n) was still nervous about asking him for help because this was new to her. (Y/n) wasn't used to not being able to bend down or lean over properly. She wasn't used to being in pain when she tried to get dressed or get washed or move about the house and it made her feel helpless to ask Tommy to do things for her.

He wormed his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and carefully peeled the hem back so he could drag them down a little. (Y/n) knew what he was doing. He didn't have that hungry look in his eyes like he usually did when he started pawing at her underwear like this. This time, he had a loving, concerned look pooling in those pale blue eyes as he tugged the hem down to reveal her stitches.

There was a thin row of stitches littering her lower abdomen from the C-section she had five days ago.

Tommy kept her underwear pulled down with one hand while his other hand started grazing along her skin. Checking to make sure it wasn't too swollen and that the stitches weren't leaking and were still in place.

She was booked to have the stitches out in two days and (Y/n) couldn't be happier. They were annoying. They were itchy and she just wanted to tear them out and they were irritating when they dragged and caught against her underwear.

"They look okay," He murmured quietly against her thigh before he carefully lifted the hem back up so it was covering the stitches. "Okay, let's get these on."

His hands made a slow trail down her thighs and along the sides of her legs causing (Y/n) to shiver.

She pushed up on her hands and sat up properly, a smile dancing across her lips as she looked down at Tommy. He looked heavenly, perched between her legs like that. She watched intently as he held the tights up so she could wiggle her right foot into them and she shimmied on the bed when he tickled the back of her legs as he slowly pulled them up.

As soon as they were above her knees, (Y/n) moved her hand to Tommy's shoulder and stood up as he leaned back on his heels so she could stand in between him and the bed.

Her hands reached down, about to reach for her tights until Tommy beat her to it.

She couldn't help but grin softly at him when he leaned up and dragged them up her thighs until they settled high on her waist.

The nurse had said to wear loose, comfortable clothing for the next few weeks so she didn't irritate the stitches or the scar she was going to get. And she was expected to have a bit of discomfort and pain in the upcoming weeks until she was fully recovered.

(Y/n) was glad she had invested in some new clothes before they had Minnie, such as underwear and maternity leggings and new tights. These ones weren't tight around the waist like the other pairs she owned, they were loose and comfortable and stretchy but they still looked good.

"Thank you."

When Tommy stood up in front of her, (Y/n) looped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Her thumb stroked up and down the back of his neck and when they parted, (Y/n) kissed a trail along the side of his neck and down the centre of his chest. She felt his hands move to cradle her hips and he buried his nose in the top of her hair, swaying them from left to right like they were caught up in a dance.

She could feel his hands gliding up and down her hips and around her waist like feathers tickling her skin and it made her smile against his chest. She pressed soft, butterfly kisses over his heartbeat that she could feel quickening beneath her touch. Before she finally pulled back and looked up at him with hazy eyes.

Her hands feathered down to his shoulders and she gave him a squeeze before slowly breaking out of his hold.

They had to get dressed before they were late.

She felt Tommy turn around and head over to the wardrobe where his uniform was hanging while she reached across the bed for her dress she had gotten ready.

This award ceremony had been a bit last minute. Nobody knew about it until last month and when Tommy told (Y/n) about it, she had been very nervous that she would still be pregnant during the ceremony. The last thing (Y/n) wanted was to be there whilst nine months pregnant. Afraid she would either go into labour during the ceremony or feel unwell and be in discomfort all day.

As it turned out, they had ended up with a C-section five days ago.

The timing had been very close. Tommy had his mind set that they weren't going to turn up today. They'd just had their daughter less than a week ago and his wife was recovering from a C-section, no one would blame them if they didn't go.

(Y/n) had other ideas.

She was not staying home and having Tommy miss out on this. What him and the 118 team had done was as risky as it was brave and they were getting awarded for what they'd done. She wanted Tommy to be there to get his medal and she wanted to be sitting in the audience, watching with a proud, beaming smile.

At least now, (Y/n) wouldn't be sat there with a large rounded stomach or a baby weighing heavy on her back. She would have her baby in her arms instead. And this would be the first time the 118 would get to see Minnie. Tommy had been flooded with congratulating texts and phone calls from them all week after getting back in touch and becoming close to them all. And they were dying to see his first child.

(Y/n) took a deep breath as she leaned over the bed and scrunched up the hem of her dress.

It was a dark cherry colour with a higher neckline than her other dresses- (Y/n) wasn't risking a low neckline and showing any cleavage this soon after having a baby. It had thin cotton straps over the shoulders and it was loose around her waist, just what she needed to feel comfortable.

Once it was on, (Y/n) smoothed out the creases but she couldn't hide her wince when she straightened her back and lifted her arms to sort out the straps.

It felt like she couldn't move in any direction. Stretching made her stitches strain and caused her abdomen to tense and feel like it was being sliced open. Bending over was not an option. When she tried to put her shoes on yesterday she ended up in fits of tears from how horrid it felt to lean over and crease her stomach.

She couldn't carry or pick up anything heavier than Minnie, not even the basket of washing. It was as if she had to find the perfect position to stand without straightening out or leaning over.

And she couldn't take a bath unless Tommy took one with her and helped her in and out of the tub. The next few weeks were going to be as distressing as they were irritating and confining.

She leaned forward a little, creasing her stomach ever so slightly to relieve the tension while she put a few clips in her hair. Keeping her hair loose but pinned back so no strands fell across her eyes.

"Are you sure you wanna go? You're still not feeling well, I can see it from here. We can stay home, honey." Tommy placed his hands on his hips and cocked one hip out as he looked over at (Y/n). She could never hide anything from him and he could see that she was in discomfort. He didn't want to go if this was going to be too much for her. He would be much happier lying on the sofa with both his girls.

"And miss my man getting his medal of valor? I don't think so." (Y/n) flashed a sugary sweet smile before she slowly crossed over towards the crib attached to the bed.

They had the nursery all laid out ready, but for now, Minnie was staying in there room so it was easier to get up with her during the night. And with this crib that attached to the side of the bed, it was easier for (Y/n) to lift her up. She couldn't bend over the crib in the nursery, not yet unless she wanted to pull her stitches and cripple over in agony.

With Minnie at the same level as the bed, (Y/n) could pick her up and lay her down without straining. She had to be prepared for when Tommy went back to work and she would be without him during the day or night.

She perched down on the side of the bed, shifting to relieve the tension in her abdomen before her arms stretched out towards Minnie.

She carefully lifted Minnie up and laid the newborn down beside her on the bed so she could get her changed. (Y/n) had found the perfect onesie for her to wear today.

Her lips curved into a grin as she watched Minnie tiny hand reach up and bat against her face, crinkling the blushing pink mittens over her hands that stopped her from scratching herself. She stayed relatively still and compliant for once while (Y/n) hummed as she slipped her feet through the onesie and wriggled her small arms through the loops.

(Y/n) topped the little outfit off with a matching blue headband with a bow sewn to the front.

"Pretty baby," (Y/n) cooed and lifted her up, settling Minnie on her chest before she carefully stood up trying not to stretch too much and strain her stitches. Her thumb brushed across the back of Minnie's head soothingly and when she turned round, (Y/n) couldn't help but drag her eyes up and down Tommy as he finished getting changed.

It wasn't often she saw him in his work suit.

Suits were reserved for special occasions or in very few, drastic cases, funerals. Rather than his usual blue trousers and matching cotton shirt, Tommy was wearing starched black trousers that were straight as cardboard and settled high on his hips.

He had a crisp white dress shirt tucked into his trousers and a matching black tie.

He turned round just as he finished shrugging on his blazer jacket which had the fire station logo on the left breast pocket and the harbour pilot logo on the left arm near the shoulder.

(Y/n)'s lips pressed together and she couldn't stop herself from smiling as she openly oogled him in his suit. Like most of Tommy's clothing, the blazer looked a tiny bit tight around the shoulders, but that was a normality. He had broader shoulders and if he wanted clothes to fit perfect or snug around his chest, they had to be tight for his shoulders. Or else going the next size up meant things fit his shoulders but hung loose and baggy around his torso and he didn't like that.

"Will I do?" He already knew the answer, judging by the look in his wife's eyes as she looked him up and down a few more times, biting her lower lip as she nodded.

"Daddy's gonna look good getting his medal, hm?" She murmured against the top of Minnie's head that was tucked just beneath her neck. She could feel each soft breath tickling her collar bone and the way Minnie's knees pulled up and tucked against (Y/n)'s stomach. She was suddenly glad her stitches were right at the bottom of her abdomen in line with her hips so she could snuggle with her baby and not risk irritating her stitches.

"Oh, am I?"

His hands found her shoulders and his lips pressed against her temple. He brushed his thumbs up and down her skin, staying close with Minnie tucked safely between them.

Reaching his hand down, Tommy gently pressed a finger beneath (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head up so he could capture a kiss. And he tried to swallow down the groan at the back of his throat when (Y/n) whispered "We're going to be late," against his lips. Punctuated with a kiss between each word.

She could feel his hands gliding down her waist to settle on her hips and she knew if Minnie wasn't in her arms between them, Tommy's chest would have been pressing down on hers by now. But there was caution in his touch and his movements. He didn't want to hurt her or crush their daughter between them.

(Y/n) grazed her teeth against his lower lip and nudged their noses together before she finally pulled back. Noticing the redness flushing across his lips and the heat rising on his cheeks.

He kept one hand on (Y/n)'s hip, rubbing soft circles over her skin while he leaned his chest back and tilted his head down so he could look at their daughter. His eyes narrowed and the end of his nonse scrunched up as he tried to work out what she was wearing. He remembered (Y/n) saying she had found something perfect for her, but he had no idea what it was.

He thought it might have been something to do with Disney, maybe Minnie Mouse plastered on the front to go along with her name. But the onesie was blue so he couldn't imagine it being that.

His right hand ghosted across the back of Minnie's head, the pads of his fingers tickling against the few little wisps of hair she had. And being mindful not to knock the soft cotton headband with a lovely bow that made her look just like a little doll.

"What're you wearing, princess?"

He took another step back so (Y/n) could carefully turn Minnie around in her arms to let him see.

When (Y/n) held her gently by her waist, Minnie's knees pulled up to her stomach and her mittened hands brushed her nose in such a way that had Tommy's heart rocketing in his chest and had him smiling brightly. He gently curled her miniscule feet into his palms and lowered her legs so he could see what was printed on her onesie.

Lightning struck his heart and a beaming smile flooded his face when he read it.

'Daddy's Co-Pilot' was written across the front in large white italics and a cartoon helicopter was plastered over her tummy.

"Beautiful. Everyone's gonna be staring at my girls." He murmured quietly while he gently lifted Minnie into his own arms and pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. His eyes flickered between them both before he snugged Minnie down against his blazer, holding her with one arm that engulfed her and almost hid her from sight. While his other arm looped around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her into his side.

"Off we go."

***

A tender, flushed smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips when she felt Tommy's hands on her shoulders and his lips smothering the back of her head. She leaned back into his touch until her back was pressed up against his chest. His hands gave her a loving squeeze and while he leaned into her, (Y/n) took a moment to look around the station.

She hadn't been here before.

She had heard Tommy talk about the 118, considering this was where he first started when he got out the army and changed to being a fire fighter. And since he got back in touch with Hen and Chimney, he became close with Buck and Eddie too. So it was natural that Tommy had been back to this station quite a lot and he talked about it to (Y/n).

She noted that although it didn't look different from Tommy's fire house, the atmosphere was very much upbeat and loving here. Differing from the 217 which was kind and welcoming, but not as cosy as this. Even harbour wasn't as close knit as the people here.

(Y/n) could feel Tommy humming something into her hair and it made her shiver and push back into him.

Now the ceremony was going to start, (Y/n) was becoming nervous. It had been a while since she had been to an event like this and this time, she had Minnie. She prayed the newborn would stay settled and asleep and if she did indeed wake up, she hoped she would be able to settle her down quickly.

"Ready?" Tommy spoke softly into her hair while his arms rested over her shoulders and his hands curved around her chest. He pecked her cheek before tucking his chin into the crook of her neck and his eyes focused down on the pram in front of them.

It took all Tommy's reserve not to reach down and scoop Minnie up the moment they got here. He just wanted to cuddle her into his chest and hold her close, but he knew better than to wake her. It was surprising that she hadn't woken up already with the hustle and bustle happening in the station. But while she was sleeping, they needed her to stay settled like this.

(Y/n) nodded and turned so she could kiss his temple. She was ready to see him and the others get their medals and be shown off, but sitting on her own with people she was mostly a stranger to was a bit unnerving.

When Tommy unravelled himself from her, (Y/n) side-stepped to be level with the side of the pram. She pressed her lips into a thin line and slowly leaned over to reach down for Minnie. She couldn't exactly leave the newborn over here in the pram out the way, she would have to hold her while they sat through the ceremony.

A quiet whimper clawed at the back of her throat when she leaned over and she tried to bend her knees so her stomach didn't crease as much.

She glanced over at Tommy when he reached down and gently curled his hand around her wrist.

"I'll get her." His voice was quiet and all (Y/n) could see in his eyes was love while he let go of her hand and carefully scooped Minnie up from the pram. He pressed a kiss against her temple before easing her down into (Y/n)'s arms. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, off you go, Pilot." (Y/n) pressed a sweet kiss to his lips and adjusted Minnie into the crook of her left arm.

She felt Tommy's hand move to her lower back and he weaved her in front of him to guide her down to the seats. There were five rows of seats laid out in the middle of the station where friends and family could watch the ceremony.

Bobby had a seat behind the podium with a few other Captains and the Chief. And Tommy, Hen, Eddie, Chimney and Buck were all to stand to the left of the podium and wait patiently for the speeches to commence and to be presented with their awards.

There was no way (Y/n) would sit on the front row. She wasn't going to be sat in full view of everyone.

Her eyes scanned the rows that were all filling up but when she looked at the third row, she nodded to herself.

Karen.

She knew Hen's partner. Tommy had been closest to Hen and they had been catching up a lot recently, so (Y/n) had gotten to know Hen and Karen. She would happily sit next to Karen who was someone she could class as a friend and not feel uncomfortable around.

Tommy pressed a lasting kiss to the back of (Y/n)'s head and ran his finger along Minnie's cheek near the aqua blue pacifier in her lips. Before he watched (Y/n) sit down on the end seat of the row. It made for a quick exit if she needed to go and change Minnie or settle her down if she became fussy. And the end seat also provided (Y/n) of a very good view to watch her husband.

(Y/n) felt better when she was sitting down. She knew she needed to keep moving about regularly to prevent the risk of blood clots, but sitting down did make it easier on her muscles and it stopped her from feeling so uncomfortable.

She stretched her legs out beneath the seat in front of her and lowered Minnie down onto her thighs. Tilting her at an angle so her head was supported in her elbow and she gently ran her right hand up and down Minnie's chest and stomach to try and keep her dozing off like this.

She gently leaned from left to right and when she lifted her gaze to look over to her right, a shy, tender look crossed her face.

Karen was grinning at her. She had her lips pressed together and when she silently ticked her head down in Minnie's direction, (Y/n) obliged and moved her arms a bit closer. Allowing her friend to take her first glimpse at Minnie.

When they arrived at the station, her and Tommy had stayed mostly in the corner. They chatted to Eddie and Chris in passing and of course Buck had been across to take a peek in the pram, wanting to see the little lady for the first time. But everyone was in a rush to filter about and find a seat and get ready which is how (Y/n) liked it.

She wanted to silently slip into the ceremony and try to watch without drawing too much attention to Minnie. Once the awards had been given out, then (Y/n) would be happy for her daughter to wake up and for people to fawn over her. She would feel less anxious once Tommy was back by her side.

"Ooh, she's adorable, and so tiny." She brushed her finger across Minnie's hand that was hidden by her mitten and traced her fingertip down the onesie that made her grin.

(Y/n) smiled. She knew her little girl was tiny, she was only six pounds two. But after a C-section, Minnie felt like she weighed a stone when lifting her put a strain on (Y/n)'s stitches.

"How are you?" Karen kept her voice quiet and flitted her eyes between (Y/n) and the podium to keep check of when the speeches would start.

"Sore but very happy."

"You look lovely."

(Y/n) looked back down at her little girl just as she heard Bobby begin to speak. Minnie was wriggling a bit, possibly a sign that she was going to wake up soon. She continued to sway from side to side, coaxing Minnie to stay settled and stay sleeping while she lifted her head.

Despite hearing Bobby's words and smiling at the gratitude on his face and the endearment in his eyes, (Y/n) couldn't keep her focus on him no matter how hard she tried.

All her attention was on Tommy.

The way he stood at the far back because he was the tallest out of the five of them. The way he clasped his hands behind his back and kept his chin angled down like he was trying to hide himself away from all the attention.

She noticed his shoulders lifting and dropping every few seconds but other than that, he stayed very still as if he had become a statue in the background. His lips were pressed together in a stoic expression and his eyes were cast down towards his feet. (Y/n) knew he didn't know where to look. Tommy wasn't great when the attention was on him and if he was the only person who had to be stood up there, he wouldn't have done it.

Having the 118 up there with him gave him the confidence to be up there and accept an award (Y/n) knew he was still stunned to be receiving.

Tommy always looked good in a suit, but there was something about this suit that always made (Y/n)'s heart flutter. Maybe it was the logo on the shoulder that showed off where he worked and the bravery he had for the job he did. Perhaps it was just how tall, broad and confident the suit made him look. But something about it was intoxicating and (Y/n) just wanted to take it off, piece by piece.

When Tommy lifted his head and adjusted his gaze from his feet, he instantly locked his eyes on his wife.

He hadn't been listening, not really. He heard what Bobby said, but it seemed to go straight out the other ear and he couldn't recollect the praise he and the team were getting. And it didn't matter. Tommy didn't need any praise and he didn't need this medal, although he was grateful.

All he wanted right now was to be sat down there with his wife and daughter. He wanted to make sure (Y/n) was alright and look after his girls.

His eyes danced across (Y/n)'s frame and his hands itched and his fingers fiddled together behind his back as he gazed at her.

She looked stunning.

Sat there in a cherry red dress which showed off her curves, despite not being tight on her frame. The way her hair fell across her neck, how her head tilted to one side and her smile lit up her eyes when she gazed down at their daughter. Seeing her sat there, softly moving from side to side, almost unnoticable to anyone who wasn't gazing at her the way Tommy was.

And Tommy absolutely adored the sight of (Y/n) sat there with Minnie on her lap, cradled by her arms. He couldn't see his baby girl properly with the distance between them and the chair in front of (Y/n), but he could see the distinctive navy blue bow on her head. It stuck out like a beacon and kept Tommy's attention drifting between her and (Y/n).

His little family.

(Y/n) couldn't refrain from smiling when her gaze locked with Tommy's. She watched his lips curve into a baiting grin and when he winked, (Y/n) quickly cast her eyes down on Minnie.

It took her a moment to realise that Bobby had finished his speech and the chief was now standing up at the podium, ready to give out the awards and medals.

(Y/n)'s eyes flickered between Tommy and Minnie when she felt the newborn start to stir. Her legs started to twitch on (Y/n)'s lap and her tired eyes blinked open and shut, squinting at the bright lights lighting up the station. Her eyes were a pure match for Tommy's hazy blue ones. (Y/n) had been shocked when Minnie first opened her eyes, struck by the deep ocean blue eyes that seemed too majestic and wide for her little head.

She sat Minnie up a little higher in her arm and ran her hand over her chest in circles to try and lull her back to sleep. Just a few more minutes, just until the medals were given out.

Minnie made a quiet yawn that turned into a whimper, morphed around the dummy in her mouth which (Y/n) nudged back so she didn't drop it.

When Minnie's eyes flickered again and her arms began to twitch, (Y/n) changed her approach. She gently held her sides and lifted her up off her lap to rest the newborn on her chest instead. She felt Minnie's face tuck against her shoulder and she began patting her back, slowly nudging her up and down to keep her settled.

Her eyes locked with Tommy once again and she watched the way his brows furrowed and he tipped his chin down. A silent way to ask if she was alright.

She smiled softly and nodded.

Hen was up first.

(Y/n) felt Karen lightly nudge their arms together while her gaze was fixated on her wife, smiling proudly as she was almost bubbling over with excitement. It was lovely to see Hen get the recognition she deserved for her intuition and knowing there was something that wasn't right about the cruise ship. She had put herself on the line to help Bobby and Athena, no questions asked and no thanks necessary.

"Firefighter Thomas Kinard."

Something tickled (Y/n)'s chest and she felt her stomach tightening, trying not to laugh or mumble when she noticed Tommy's shoulders twitch.

He didn't like being called Thomas. It was something his father had always called him before going into a drunken rage or flying off the handle and fighting with Tommy when he was a teen. It was what his mother called him when she was tired and didn't want to deal with him while he was shipped between homes after the divorce.

It was a name he was used to being called when someone wanted something from him or when people wanted to put him down or shove him in his place.

The one and only time Tommy had loved the sound of his name was when (Y/n) had spoken it during their wedding vows.

But he figured this was a good occasion too.

"Daddy's got his medal," (Y/n) hushed into Minnie's ear and kissed her warm, fuzzy cheek all while her eyes never left her husband.

She noticed the faint blush that crept across his cheeks and tainted his neck. She loved the bashful smile he allowed to pull at his features. She noticed how he was desperate to stick his hands into his pockets but refrained and kept them held politely behind his back.

And (Y/n) could see how relieved he was to move back towards his colleagues and blend himself in with them so he was no longer the centre of attention.

Minnie started to whimper on cue as if she knew Tommy had been awarded and now she wanted to liven up and gain some attention, too.

"Shh, baby, it's okay." Her lips smothered Minnie's cheek and she ran her hand in circles over Minnie's back, but she was indeed awake. And (Y/n) figured she was probably hungry which meant she wasn't going to settle down or wait another five minutes.

(Y/n) supposed they had done well. Minnie had stayed settled for most of the speeches and at least she had seen Tommy get his medal. It didn't matter if (Y/n) disappeared to the corner of the station to feed Minnie away from prying eyes. She didn't want to disrupt the ceremony or cause upset for anyone.

Her hand cradled the back of Minnie's head and her other hand supported her legs, keeping her cuddled to her chest while (Y/n) slowly stood up.

Part of her wished she hadn't. Standing up made a horrid cramp tear through her abdomen and when she leaned forward, it seemed to make the feeling worse. But she had to move. She had to get out of the way.

She tried her best to ignore the tension in her abdomen that felt like she was straining when all she was holding was Minnie. And the cramping feeling was similar to a period cramp and close to what (Y/n) suspected a contraction was like since it was her muscles twitching and tightening.

She barely stepped away from her seat before Minnie let out a faint wail, and the dummy spat past her lips and tumbled down (Y/n)'s back to the floor.

Turning on her heels, (Y/n) glanced around before she noticed the blue pacifier on the floor between the seats. Great.

She kept Minnie snuggled into her chest with her left arm and stretched her right arm out for the chair. Her palm pressed into the chair and she slowly tried to lean down, but tilting forward caused her stomach to crease and when her stitches itched and tightened, (Y/n) couldn't help but hiss. Tears welled up in her eyes but she tried to push them aside and change tactics.

Her back straightened and she leaned heavily on the chair to try and crouch down instead.

Her gaze bolted up from the floor and her wide eyes locked with Karen's when she felt a hand on her arm.

(Y/n) stayed crouching beside the chair, frozen in place when Karen gently held her upper arm and leaned over. She reached down and picked up the pacifier, kindly offering it over to (Y/n).

"Thank you." (Y/n) tried to ward off the tears in her eyes as she hooked the pacifier on her thumb.

She didn't know what to do other than hold her breath when Karen moved to hold her elbows and helped her back up.

(Y/n) wondered if the discomfort was written across her face when she stood up because Karen didn't want to seem to let go of her. But she forced herself to smile and walked away from the seats when Minnie began to cry louder, warning everyone of her need for attention.

"Okay?"

Tommy felt Buck lean close to his side and he could feel his eyes upon him but he didn't bother to glance over at his friend. His gaze was focused on his wife. He noticed the jolt that tore through (Y/n) when she tried to bend down and he almost left the group when he saw (Y/n) trying to crouch down.

She shouldn't be doing that. She wasn't supposed to be bending down or leaning over or straining, especially not when she was already in pain and discomfort.

Something simmered down in Tommy's chest when he watched Karen help her and he could of sighed with relief. But unease still ebbed away in Tommy's stomach and adrenaline sparked through his system when he watched (Y/n) walk down between the rows of seats. He noticed how she was leant forward and she wasn't moving very fast.

"Keeping an eye on the girls," Tommy murmured back, clenching his hands around the plaque in his hands while he tilted backwards to look behind Buck towards (Y/n). He knew she had gone over to the pram.

(Y/n) juggled Minnie in one arm and reached out for the bag hanging on the pram handle when she got close.

It was probably in her mind, but she was sure she could feel eyes upon her. She could feel everyone watching her, wondering if she was going to drop anything else. Wondering if she could actually cope with her baby. The thought sent shivers running up and down her spine and she took a second to close her eyes and keep herself together.

The bag slipped from her hand.

It made a thud as it clattered against the floor and (Y/n) couldn't stop the tear that fell down her cheek while Minnie continued to wail into her neck.

Why today? Why in front of their friends and Tommy's colleagues? Why now when this was supposed to be Tommy's day? She didn't want to ruin the ceremony or distract anyone or annoy people with Minnie causing a fuss and she certainly didn't want anyone looking at her and thinking she was incapable of looking after her own baby.

Another tear trickled over the bridge of her nose but before (Y/n) could even think of crouching down, there was a hand on her back and someone had already reached down and collected the bag for her.

"Oh, no I can do that-"

"It's okay, here." A warm smile flooded Karen's face as she picked up the bag and placed it down on the table beside the pram so it was level for (Y/n) to reach into without straining.

"You'll miss the pictures," (Y/n) spoke softly and ticked her head in the direction of the photographers that were gathering round to take pictures of the five heroes.

"Please, Buck and Bobby will have those pictures printed all over this place by tomorrow, and besides, it's not like I'm gonna be in them." The softness pooling in her eyes and the light tone to her voice made (Y/n) want to melt into a puddle. She wasn't bothered about watching the photos being taken, not when she was going to get every copy she could and print them off along with the rest of the team.

She didn't need to see the photos being taken and Karen wasn't a part of them anyway, so being out the way with (Y/n) wasn't a bad thing or making her miss out on anything.

"God, I'm sorry… I'm okay, you go back and enjoy the ceremony."

"Hey," She moved her hand to (Y/n)'s shoulder and leaned closer until they were level. "You've had a big operation less than a week ago, and you're still recovering. Let us help you."

(Y/n) looked down at the pram before she glanced over at Karen. She didn't want to ask for help, but Karen was offering. This wouldn't make her a bad person or an incompetent mother if she had a little help. And she didn't want to put Minnie down in the pram and struggle to pick her back up again.

"Could you?" She silently motioned her arms out, feeling her heart leap when Karen all but squealed and eagerly but gently took Minnie from her.

"Hi baby, hi. I'm auntie Karen,"

Her words made (Y/n)'s smile soften as she turned to go through the bag and find the bottle she had made up at home before they left. She gave the bottle a shake, mixing the water and powder together but she frowned when she heard Karen.

"And here's your brave daddy."

(Y/n) didn't have chance to turn around and look before a pair of arms wound around her waist and she felt Tommy's lips attach to the side of her neck causing her to gasp. She could hear the Chief finishing off his speech and people were just starting to clap. The ceremony hadn't properly finished yet and Tommy had snook away to wrap around her.

"What're you doing? Get back up there, Pilot." She gave his wrist a light tap but she didn't try and break out of his arms while he held her and turned to look at Karen. She was happily swaying Minnie from side to side, comforting her until she could have her bottle.

"Hmm, thought you might need some help… and I missed you." He muttered into her neck, pressing another kiss there just to feel the way (Y/n) shivered against him.

(Y/n) leaned back against Tommy's chest and held her arms out, grinning when Karen gently eased Minnie back into her arms.

Tommy murmured a quiet "Thank you," in Karen's direction, smiling into (Y/n)'s neck when Karen nodded before she headed over towards her wife. The ceremony was finished now and that meant one thing; party time. The buffet would open, drinks would be passed around and someone had already set up the music in the background.

"Do you feel okay? You shouldn't be bending down, honey." He gave (Y/n) a squeeze and fluttered his fingers across her stomach, touching above her stitches so he didn't cause her any pain or irritation.

"You saw that, huh?"

Her eyes cast down to Minnie and she couldn't help but chuckle when Tommy reached his hand up to swipe the mittens from her hands. She was awake now and she wasn't likely to go back to sleep yet, nor was she going to scratch her face at the moment. He tossed the mittens in the bag and curled his hand around (Y/n)'s, holding the bottle along with her.

"Yes, I saw that, honey. And I don't want you overdoing anything please, let me look after my girls." Adrenaline flooded (Y/n)'s chest and surged through her heart when each word was punctuated with a kiss against her neck.

It didn't take long for Minnie to finish the bottle and something sparked in (Y/n)'s chest when she felt Tommy's lips travel up her neck. Open-mouthed kisses planted a trail over her skin until his lips were grazing along her ear and her knees almost gave out.

"My turn." The way he spoke had goosebumps rising on (Y/n)'s skin. She went limp and let him turn her around in his arms before his hands moved down towards her arms, indicating to their girl.

"Don't ruin your suit," (Y/n) whispered, putting the bottle back in the bag and taking out a cloth.

She let Tommy ease Minnie from her arms and she draped the cloth over his shoulder. The last thing he needed was spit or sick down his suit, especially when (Y/n) was sure more pictures would be taken throughout the rest of the afternoon. Not that she thought Tommy cared at all. He wasn't bothered if Minnie messed up his suit, he just wanted to hold his girls.

"Are you daddy's princess, hm?" He held Minnie up high, loving the way her little legs scrunched up to her tummy and she made a little clicking noise before a yawn escaped her lips. "Come on, let's show you off, and get something to eat. Bobby's been cooking."

Tommy eased her down onto his shoulder and began patting her back and gently nudging her up and down. He took the time to kiss the top of (Y/n)'s head, standing as close behind her as he could while he pointed towards the buffet table.

"You can't eat that, princess." He mumbled, gently pulling Minnie's tiny fist from her lips as she began drooling over her hand.

He lowered her down into the crook of his arm once she'd been winded and it allowed him to curve his free arm around (Y/n)'s waist, keeping both his girls close to his chest.

"Whenever you wanna go, just say."

"Why do I get the feeling you're already eager to leave?" (Y/n) looked up at him while both her hands curled around his wrist, keeping him as close as she could get him.

"Because as much as I wanna show you both off, I don't wanna share. Curling up on the sofa sounds great to me."

This was fun, Tommy loved being around this team and a few of the guys from Harbour had come down to support him too. But he would be ready for home whenever (Y/n) wanted to go. He liked to socialise, Tommy was all for being around friends and chatting and getting something to eat and this was a party with the 118. It was always entertaining. But he had his girls now and Minnie was a newborn and (Y/n) was recovering from surgery.

Spending the afternoon on the sofa with (Y/n) in his arms and Minnie beside them sounded heavenly to Tommy.

(Y/n) let Tommy guide them across to the buffet table and she grabbed a paper plate, waiting for Tommy to point out what he wanted. She knew Tommy would eat more than her, he always did due to the job he did and the time and training he did in the gym almost every day. They could easily share a plate and pick at what they wanted.

"Hey, there's the little lady. Can I hold her?" The eagerness in Buck's voice and the way he bounced from foot to foot had (Y/n) smiling sweetly in his direction.

But she pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes when she looked up at Tommy. He cast his eyes in Buck's direction, giving him a short, sideways glance before he looked down at his daughter and a simple "Nope." passed his lips.

"Baby, be nice." (Y/n) pecked his neck and she noticed his brow quirk and how hard he tried to keep his expression stoic. He was only playing around. He wanted to keep Minnie in his arm because she was settled with Tommy swaying her up and down, rocking and lulling her to stay calm.

Buck noted how tiny Minnie looked in Tommy's arm. She didn't seem to fit the expanse of his arm, she barely measured from his elbow to his wrist and when Tommy flexed his muscles, she was almost completely hidden from view. And Buck loved kids, he was desperate to cuddle her and hold her and see if she would settle with him like most kids seemed to do.

"C'mon, just a little hold, please? She's such a cutie."

Tommy's response had (Y/n) chuckling and Buck rolling his eyes. "Of course she's cute. She takes after me."

[firesnap]

Rambling about bad c!Crime takes in 2024.

I think the struggle with being a c!Crime fan during peak DSMP was having to deal with the people who would unironically use "vilbur" like it was a badge of honor and the ones who legitimately thought c!Tommy was 8-years-old at the beginning of L'Manberg.

Like, I don't need to rehash a lot of this. A hundred meta essays were about how Tommy was not responsible for Wilbur's mental health, that he was a front row audience member watching Wilbur's decline and begging people to intercede because he was a damn teenager with zero tools in his kit for "help my brother is frightening me and he's ten feet from me but I think I've lost him in this cave."

But you can still see people go "Ok Tommy helped make Wilbur worse."

No. Just no Tommy's worst behaviors didn't impact Wilbur because Wilbur was so far into his own spiral at that point that it just didn't even phase him if Tommy called him insane. You can't put that on Tommy. When Wilbur came back he even said he could recognize the man he was back then was frightening and beyond what Tommy should have had to see.

But, saying Wilbur acted on violent delusions on Tommy or emotionally abused him or isolated Tommy on purpose... Girl this isn't exile arc and you're not getting c!Crime.

Wilbur and Tommy at their best were moments were like... Tommy with a shield in front of Wilbur, Wilbur with a hand on Tommy's shoulder saying to be better than Wilbur ever was, Tommy and Wilbur running through a small nation and dancing on beaches and laughing at how fucking much the other one sucked with every bit of affection in the world tied behind those words. It was a loop of I'd die for you, I'd die for anything but especially you and Who the fuck ever asked you to die??

At their worst they were a negative feedback loop that fed each other. Tommy was possessive of Wilbur, from even the early L'Manberg days, to the point where Wilbur often neglected other relationships to give Tommy attention. He was angry at Wilbur for falling off the pedestal that Tommy put him on. Wilbur was just as dependent on Tommy being always behind him and took advantage of the fact that Tommy wouldn't leave. He dumped his own fears and paranoia and self-hatred at Tommy's feet and then assumed that this person younger than him could sort through it.

And if you can't handle hearing how they fed the worst parts of each other, then maybe you aren't really here for that dynamic. Maybe you've made something else up in your head that you like more. And that's fine, man. Do whatever the server is gone. Just don't act like your personal version is what canon gave us.

Also, something something it's totally fine to dislike Wilbur's finale btw, but as imperfect as the execution was, it was right on board with what they were telling us about c!Crime from right when Wilbur was revived to Wilbur telling Ranboo that, essentially, Tommy would never leave him and Wilbur knew that wasn't healthy. They needed to break the cycle to save themselves and whatever brotherhood was between them.

They were about acknowledging they were tied to each other in fucked up and unhealthy ways, but needing that sense of brother so much that they were both afraid to do anything about it.

[jobean12-blog]

Can't Keep my Hands to Myself

Pairing: Pre!Outbreak Joel Miller x reader

Word Count: 1,922

Summary: You and Joel have been flirting and dancing around each other for months but neither of you have made a move so Tommy decides to take matters into his own hands and plans a night out.

Author's Note: Here is my second story for Kinktober! One of my favorite things ever are a man's hands and Pedro and his hands are like porn so here we are. I literally just melt when I see them. It's real. LOL Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, teasing, tension, pet names, light praise, mentions of a-l-co-ho-l, light di-r-t-y talk, semi-pu-b-li-c s-e-x, f-in-ger-in-g.

PS the way he fucking rubs the arm of that chair. IS HE FOR REAL?!?! WTF PEDRO. How am I to live? Anyway, enjoy <3

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Joel Miller Masterlist

“Why do you keep checkin’ the door?”

Joel’s question makes Tommy pull his eyes away from the entrance of the bar as his lips spread into a wide smile.

“No reason big brother.”

Joel’s eyes narrow as he grinds his teeth.

“What are you drinkin’?” Tommy asks him, ignoring Joel’s gruffness.

“Whiskey. On the rocks.”

Just as the bartender finishes pouring the amber liquid and Joel lifts the glass to his lips he catches movement by the doorway. It swings open and you walk in.

You don’t see him yet but he can’t take his eyes off you. He watches over the rim of his glass as you scan the crowd with slow steps.

“I didn’t know she was comin’,” Joel mumbles before downing the rest of the whiskey.

“That a problem?” Tommy asks with a smirk.

“No,” Joel states. “Course not. Why would it be?”

Tommy and Joel stare at each other, an unspoken challenge in their eyes, until you shout Tommy’s name and launch yourself into his arms.

“Hi Tommy!”

Tommy wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek.

You slip from his grasp and turn to Joel.

“Hey Joel,” you say, more quietly.

You lean in to kiss his cheek, missing how his eyelashes flutter closed and his grip tightens on the drink he’s still holding, the glass dwarfed in his large hand.

“Hi darlin’,” he replies.

You start to catch up with Tommy and order a drink, the whole while feeling the weight of Joel’s eyes on you.

“Do you want another?” you turn to ask him, eyeing the empty glass still clutched in his hand.

Your gaze lingers on his hand longer than it should and Joel clears his throat.

“I’m good,” he answers, still watching you intently.

After Tommy finishes off his third drink he excuses himself to the bathroom and you find yourself at the bar alone with Joel.

“I’m going to have one more,” you state, more to yourself than him.

You lean over the bar and try to get the bartenders attention. As you’re doing so, a body knocks into you, throwing you off balance and into Joel.

With an ‘oof’ you practically land in his lap, your palms pressed to his chest and his hands planted firmly on your hips.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out as your body instinctively moves closer.

“Are you alright darlin’?” he murmurs, still holding onto you.

“What?” you say, blinking at him.

“You ok?” he asks again.

“Um…yeah. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…that guy is drunk and…”

“It’s ok,” Joel says.

Your hands slide up his chest and onto his shoulders as you right yourself. He still doesn’t let go of you. The man behind you teeters again and bumps you, causing you to slip between Joel’s spread thighs.

“He’s really drunk,” you whisper, your face only inches from Joels.

“Seems that way,” Joel grumbles. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” you assure him, not wanting to move.

Joel’s eyes drag away from yours as he looks over your shoulder. The drunken man is still wobbling on his feet so Joel slides his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, getting you out of the way.

When he removes one of his hands from your waist and rests it on his thigh your eyes are drawn to the gesture. Your skin heats as he spreads his thick fingers and rubs his jeans.

“If he doesn’t move I’m going to make him,” Joel growls.”

Your eyes lift and you meet his gaze. “Hmm?” you ask.

Joel studies your face. “Sure you’re ok princess?”

“Princess?” you repeat, glad to have his solid body keeping you upright.

The corner of Joel’s mouth lifts slightly and his eyes sparkle.

“Totally fine,” you whisper.

When the drunken guy doesn’t leave Joel stands, keeping you tucked safely into his side as he shifts his body protectively in front of you to block you from any more harm.

You feel Joel stiffen when the man knocks into him and just as he’s about to tell him off, the man’s friend rushes over and pulls him away from you both and the bar.

“I hope he has a ride home,” you mutter.

Joel just grunts, his body still pressed to yours as he cages you against the bar.

Tommy returns from the bathroom with a satisfied smug.

“What’s goin’ on here?” he asks, raising his brows as he looks between you two.

You and Joel stare blankly back before quickly separating.

“Nothin’. All good,” Joel mumbles, sitting back down on the barstool.

“Some guy was drunk and kept bumping into me. Pretty sure Joel was about to kick his ass but luckily his friend saved him.”

You giggle and look at Joel, grinning when he winks at you.

“You never got your drink?” Joel says as he waves down the bartender.

He orders for you and gets another whiskey for himself.

While you wait for the drinks Tommy fills you and Joel in on his latest dating escapades. You’re listening, trying to focus, but when Joel starts to mindlessly smooth his hand across the bar top it distracts you and you find yourself drowning in thoughts of what his hands would feel like on your bare skin.

“Babe?” Tommy says, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“Yeah! Hi!” you squeak. “What did you say? I missed that.”

“I could tell,” Tommy teases before repeating his question.

You don’t dare look at Joel because you can feel his eyes on you.

You manage to stay involved in the rest of the conversation but then Tommy gets a phone call and walks outside the bar to take it.

You fiddle with your empty drink glass and avoid meeting Joel’s eyes.

“What’s goin’ on with you princess?” Joel asks.

He mimics your movements, twirling the whiskey glass between his long fingers. You watch the action instead of answering.

“Can you stop?” you ask, a bite in your words.

“Stop what?” he counters, leaning into your space.

You huff out a sigh of annoyance and cross your arms over your chest.

“Why do you keep staring at my hands?”

Your mouth falls open and then you close it abruptly.

“I am not!”

“Yes,” he murmurs as he takes the edge of your stool and pulls you and the seat between his spread legs, “you are. Wanna tell me why princess?”

“I’m not a princess.”

You press your lips together and raise your chin defiantly. His lips curl slowly upwards as he lifts his hand and ghosts it along your thigh, his touch so light it makes you shiver.

Your breath rushes out in a sigh and you drag your teeth over your bottom lip.

“You have hands!” you blurt out, feeling flustered.

He stops moving his fingers and presses them into your skin.

“You’re right about that darlin’,” he smirks. “I do have hands.”

“Joel!” you huff. “What I meant to say…”

You trail off and look for your drink but you finished it a while ago so instead you grab Joel’s whiskey glass and throw back the last sip.

“You have really nice hands and your fingers are so…so…”

After you say the words you dip your chin and settle your gaze on his fingers pressed into your skin. “They’re so big.”

When you lift your face to look at him his jaw is clenched, the muscles flexing as he holds your gaze. Your eyes drop to his mouth and then wander over his beard.

“See somethin’ else you like princess?” he simpers.

Your fingers reach out, hovering just centimeters away from his lips and your breath hitches when you feel his grip on your thigh tighten. The air between you crackles with electricity and it feels like your skin is on fire.

He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, tilting his head closer as his calloused fingertips slide over your silky skin.

The moment is broken when you hear your name being shouted over the noise of the crowd. Joel’s eyes snap up and he pulls back. Your turn to see your friend coming toward you. Her excited hello breaks you out of your haze but you barely have time to say anything to Joel before your friend whisks you away to the bathroom, going on about how great it is to see you and how she has something to tell you that absolutely can’t wait.

After giving her as much attention as you can muster without being rude you excuse yourself and sneak out of the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to get back to Joel.

Before you can turn the corner of the dimly lit hallway a strong hand wraps around your arm and you’re yanked into something hard.

You gasp but sag in relief when you lock eyes with Joel’s dark brown irises, feeling his chest brush yours with every breath he takes.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, tension radiating off his entire body.

“Missed me that much?” you counter, batting your lashes.  

His eyes darken at your cheekiness and your eyes light up in victory. He carefully backs you up toward the wall, trapping you against it with his body.

“Think I’ll keep you all to myself for the rest of the night,” he whispers, his voice hot against your ear.

With an arch to your back you press closer, lowering your lashes as your fingers dance up his chest. When you hear your name, a whispered plea on his lips, you comb your fingers through his hair and tug on the soft strands.

His hand slips around the back of your neck and draws you closer, his mouth so close you can feel his warm breath.

You lift a challenging brow and he growls, squeezing your neck harder as his free hand smooths down your curves, teasing the hem of your dress.

He dips his head, inching closer and at the same time his fingers move higher, grazing between your legs. You tremble in his arms.

With a hiss he runs a finger over your soaked panties. His touch is teasingly light and you spread your legs, opening them in a silent invite.

“Good girl,” he praises, pushing your panties aside and sliding his finger through your wetness, gathering it before he circles your clit.

“Tell me princess. What do you want?”

“You…your fingers,” you whimper as you circle your hips. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

His groan is guttural and in sync with your wanton moan as he slips a long finger inside you, pushing deeper when you beg for more.

It isn’t until you’re chanting his name and quietly pleading that he adds a second finger, fucking you in earnest.

Your eyes flutter closed but he slides his hand from the back of your neck and settles it at the base of your throat, putting light pressure before his thumb presses under your chin and he pulls your focus to him.

“No, keep your eyes on me. I want to see you come for me.”

You’re instantly on the edge, teetering so close that the slightest stimulation will make you shatter. With a swipe of his thumb across your clit he pushes a third finger inside you, the stretch bordering on pleasurable pain and you come hard, crying out his name.

He draws out your bliss, fingers still buried deep inside you as he growls in your ear, “you’re going to remember just how much you love my hands with every step you take tomorrow.”

@lorilane33 @hiddles-rose @littleseasiren @pedritosdarling @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 6

Part 1 Part 5

“What now, he says,” Steve mutters, quietly enough that hopefully Munson won’t hear him where he’s jogging to catch up to Steve’s long strides. “How the fuck should I know?” 

His hands clench where they’re tucked around the straps of his pack, knuckles turning white. Muson’s right behind him now, almost walking on his heels, and Steve does his best not to scream, but all he can hear is Munson’s stupid little “what now?”. As if Steve knows. As if Munson isn’t a good year older than him. Why is it his responsibility to figure out what the fuck they should do?

He wants to go home. He wants to see Nancy’s brow furrow when he says something stupid, and he wants to put his potatoes on Tommy’s lunch tray when he’s not looking. He wants to hide in his closet. Hell, Munson can come with, if he wants. Steve’s sure he’ll be markedly less annoying when the sky’s not red, and the quarry water doesn’t feel like it’s crawling through his stomach.

“What now?” Steve says again. It’s still quiet, but the irritation has bled out of his tone. “What now?”

Munson pivots around him to walk by his side, shoulders bumping companionably. It makes his fists loosen.

“We should kill it,” Steve says. He can still feel the things claws around his ankle where it had dragged him down.

Munson squawks, “we can’t kill that thing!” It’s too loud, echoing off the rocks and up into the sky.

Munson’s eyes are wide as Steve slams him into the wall of rock that makes up the right side of the trail. Steve’s hand curls into Munson’s hair, stinging from where it was cushioning the idiot’s head from the blow. His other hand snaps up, slapping over Munson’s stupid fucking mouth. 

They’ve gotta stop finding themselves in these same positions – Munson’s lips are starting to feel familiar on his palm. 

“Shut. Up.” It comes out as a hiss more than words, but Munson nods like he got the message, the rapid way he’s moving his head digging Steve’s hand further into the rocks. Then, the little bastard licks his palm like the consummate shit-stirer he is. 

He drops him, turning around to continue making his way up the path. He doesn’t feel relieved when he hears Munson’s footsteps following in his wake. Really, he doesn’t.

“Uncle Wayne has a shotgun,” Munson murmurs, less like he agrees, and more like he’s appeasing a wild animal.

It doesn’t make Steve feel great.

He imagines Munson crouched on top of a roof, rifle cocked and ready, Steve playing convenient bait for the monster below. Would he be able to aim from that high up? He’s basing all his knowledge of guns on the war movies his dad likes, and that one failed hunting trip when he was eight. He’d come home branded a failure in his father’s eye – a pansy, not a man. It’s a stain he’s never been able to scrub off.

“How close do you need to be to kill it?” Steve asks.

Munson squawks, “I don’t know–” before seeming to catch himself and dropping his voice low. “I can’t kill it,” he hisses.

“Look, it hasn’t given us much of a choice.” Steve says, finally stopping his upward trek to lean against the rock wall, trying for causal, like they’re just chatting in between classes and not planning a murder in a hell dimension. “It’s us or it man, okay?”

Munson’s staring at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging. Steve reaches across the distance to squeeze his elbow, and Munson’s cheeks burn as his eyes shift down to their single point of contact before shifting away, back down the path they’d just come up.

“I don’t know how to shoot.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to shoot!” Munson throws his hands in the air, shrugging Steve’s hand off in the process. He’s as close as he can get to shouting while still managing to maintain his whisper. It’s almost impressive. “I’d love to fucking kill it, Harrington but I’ve never shot a gun in my fucking life. Okay?”

“But you’re–”

“What, poor?” Munson interrupts. “Not all trailer trash shoot beer cans and squirrels for sport!”

Steve looks at the tattoo peeking above the collar of Munson’s shirt, the ripped off sleeves of his vest, and the black shit-stomping boots the other boy’s wearing and decides not to contradict Munson’s assumption of where he’d gotten that idea. 

He sighs and starts walking again, ignoring Munson’s angry muttering from behind him. 

“I went hunting with my dad once.” It comes out like pulling teeth without laughing gas. Feels like it, too.

Munson huffs, amusement and anger all tangled up together as he jogs to catch up. “Of course you did.” Munson nudges their shoulders together, but it doesn’t feel friendly this time. “Little rich boy.”

“When I was eight.”

Munson laughs. “Well, shit.” he says, slapping the back of his hand into Steve’s elbow once, twice, thrice. “Do you think you’ll even be able to find the trigger?”

“Pray to god I can, Munson.”

Munson looks up at the sky, the red shining off his eyes hauntingly and replies with a twist to his mouth the Steve can’t quite read, “I’ll be praying to someone, that’s for sure.”

Part 7

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (30)

Punishments

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 30- W/c 7.4k This chapter contains 18+ smut

Tag list- @natsluttt @cerberus-spectre @dorabledewdroop @bibliophilicbi @hopelesslyfallenninlove @simpform1lfs @get-the-fuck-outta-here @natashaswife4125 @marvelwomen-simp @supercorpstan97 @aliherreraaa @aru-son @the-ox-fan20 (Comment if you want to be added)

Punishments

It had been almost a week since the incident with the twins and everything was pretty much back to normal, the tension and underlying hurt dissipated as Wanda assured you over and over again that you hadn't done anything wrong. Your favourite attempt of her persuasion was when she sat on your lap, holding your face between her hands, lips peppering across your skin as she told you repeatedly that you had nothing to worry about, causing your cheeks to turn a vibrant shade of pink at the affection and a shy smile to form on your face as you kissed her back, glad you had locked her door before joining her in bed.

The only thing you weren't too pleased with was that Vision was still unfortunately living and breathing, Wanda chuckling at your various ideas of how to dispose of the man as some of them were rather ridiculous, less about your hatred for the man and more about your love for witnessing Wanda's adorable nose scrunch and smile. You can remember her soft chuckle, her eyes glimmering with joy as she stared down at your head in her lap at the bizarre method of murder you came up with, reminding you that murder wasn't an act to encourage before muttering in agreement of your entertaining ideas. You also remembered where your gaze travelled to after her smile faded, face displaying concentration as she watched whatever was on Tv, your gaze flickering to her neck and sharp jawline.

You smiled at the memory, a low evil chuckle not meeting your ears as you were too busy thinking about the older woman.

A tennis ball soon whacked you square in the face, Fanny proceeding to jump on the sofa you were on, trying to steal the ball that now rested in your lap.

"What was that for?" you mutter, glaring at the blonde who sat on the sofa opposite you, chuckling to herself at her own antics, moving around on the sofa so her legs hung over the back, looking at you upside down.

"You were drooling," she teases, Yelena taking the ball from Fanny who retrieved it for her, throwing it up and down for herself to catch, eyes widening momentarily as the ball dropped quicker than she expected.

"I was not," you grumble, copying Yelena's movements and sitting on the sofa upside down, a reminiscent look on your face as you remember doing this with her when you were both little, Nat usually laughing at your red faces as she refused to cause herself a headache from all the blood flowing to your heads.

"We're both upside down," she says while looking at you, smiling widely at being able to spend some more time with you, your face matching her excitement as you two always ended up causing trouble, even more than yourself and Natasha. Your eyes watch the tennis ball she keeps throwing up before catching, Fanny's head moving up and down as she sits and watches, waiting for her toy to be thrown. Yelena looks back at you and laughs at the way your eyes follow the item, almost just as mesmerised as Fanny until the sound of your phone ringing interrupts the moment.

Despite your awkward angel, you see Wanda's name and contact photo popping up for a face time, your smile widening that little bit more as you look to Yelena to see if she minds you answering the call, the blonde suspiciously happy for you to take it.

"Hey Detka," her tone soft and gentle, brows furrowing at your position on the camera, her smile stretching into an amused but confused one.

"Hey Wanda- Yelena!" You shout as the tennis ball his you in the face again, Fanny coming over to lick your face instead of getting the ball that's landed on the floor, a groan leaving you that quickly turns into laughter as you try to escape the dog's affection. You manage to sit up right, lightheaded from sitting upside down causing you to take a moment to get back to grips with everything being the right way up, Wanda chuckling at the scene that unfolded as she rests her head against her palm, elbow on her work desk in the Avengers tower, not at home.

"Nice shot Yelena," Wanda says, your mouth parting into shock at your girlfriend's words, a mischievous chuckle escaping the blonde as she gets up to stand, moving to lean against the back of the sofa you were on to talk to Wanda.

"Thank you," Yelena says once entering the camera frame, Wanda smiling at the younger woman as you glare up at her.

"It was not a nice shot," you mumble, making both women laugh, "And it's not nice that you've hit me twice now."

"It's happened twice?" Wanda chuckles out, her eyes flickering between the two of you as Yelena wears a triumphant smile on her face, your head turning to look at Wanda again, smiling at the sight of her.

"You deserved it the first time," Yelena says before you can answer, your eyes rolling at the blonde playfully.

"No I did not," your tone defensive, Wanda noticing that determined glint in your eyes, wanting to be right as Yelena leans forward on the sofa, getting closer so Wanda can see her better.

"She did," she chuckles out, "Она была слишком занята, мечтала и пускала слюни о тебе, когда я разговаривал с ней. (She was too busy daydreaming and drooling about you when I was talking to her)" Your eyes widen at Yelena's Russian, Wanda being able to understand it with how close Sokovian sounded to the language, her blushing a little but smirking a little at your curious gaze.

"What did you tell her?" you squint your eyes at Yelena, knowing that she could have said anything embarrassing about you, and you wouldn't have had a clue at what it was.

"Nothing," she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, your head snapping over to the screen to ask Wanda, her shaking her head at you.

"I'm not going to tell you either Detka," she says with a small laugh at the end as you groan at their teasing.

"This is bullying," you mutter, Wanda's nose scrunching at your tone of voice, your mood improving at the sight.

"Anyway," she says, realising she's at work and technically supposed to be working, only having called you to ask you something. "There's a work's party tonight as a member of my team is leaving," she says, simplifying all the details as they were rather boring, "And I was wondering if you wanted to come with me, Detka? Pietro says he will look after the twins if you want to come," you can see Yelena's teasing smirk as she moves to sit on her sofa again, you showing the blonde the middle finger where Wanda can't see.

"I'd love to go," you say, tone full of excitement as you've always wondered what her work place and colleagues were like.

"Ok, I'll meet you at home at five, we need to leave around seven and it's smart dress, is that alright?" she asks, twiddling her pen with her hand now as she sits upright against her desk chair.

"Yeah, that's fine with me," her smile widens at your response, reluctantly having to end the phone call.

"Ok, I'll see you later Detka, I love you," she whispers, you saying the same back before she hangs up, continuing to work while the blonde teases you about the older woman.

***

Staring at yourself in the mirror, your fingers anxiously played with one another as you took in your outfit, not having properly considered Wanda's words earlier. You had an array of clothes that had invaded the older woman's drawers, but almost none of them were formal dress, the only clothes being a black shirt and trousers, the outfit looking more suitable for a funeral.

You pondered on ways to try and save the outfit, mind going blank as you literally had no idea on what to do, the bathroom door opening to reveal Wanda. You met her eyes through the reflection in the mirror, mouth parting in awe at the sight of her, eyes roaming down her body, admiring her stunning dress. The scarlet dress hugged her curves perfectly, the slit at her thigh teasing you as you could see the soft skin peeking from behind the fabric, her chest not blatantly on show but enough to to have your mind racing with thoughts, her lips tugging into a smirk as you eventually caught her gaze again, cheeks turning a darker shade of red than her dress.

You avoided her gaze in the reflection as she chuckled in amusement at how flustered you were already, casually walking towards you, her hips swaying slightly before she reached your sitting form. Her hands drifted across your shoulders and lower to rest on your collar bones, her eyes raking over your body in the reflection, her hands slightly deviating and moving to rest near the base of your neck, causing you to hold your breath in anticipation.

She smirked at how your eyes were trained on her hand not her face, your mind unable to stop thinking about her long slender digits, how they feel when she-

"Wait here a moment Detka, I've got an idea," she whispers, squeezing your shoulders comfortingly before her touch slips away, venturing into the walk-in closet filled with her old clothes. "Try this on," she says when she returns, a black jacket in her hand as she walks up to you with a smile, yours widening at her thoughtfulness.

Standing up and turning to face the older woman, you slipped your arms into the soft jacket, the fabric feeling as though it were expensive, not commenting on it though as you put it on. You paused when her hands moved to fix the lapels, smoothing the fabric out before fixing your collar, your eyes admiring her features as she was so close to you. The jacket was almost a perfect fit, just a little long as she was slightly taller than you, her fingers running up and down the fabric as she subtly worked you up, enjoying watching your chest rise and fall with anticipation.

"Thank you," you manage to whisper out once she removes her hands from you, her eyes unable to be torn away from you.

She looked as if she wanted to take you right there, to forget all about the party, but she knew she couldn't evade her responsibilities at it, letting out a deep sigh as her lustful thoughts had to be put on hold.

"You're welcome Dorogaya," she rasps out, looking away from you to stop herself from giving into her wants, moving to grab the last few items before interlocking your fingers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, ensuring she didn't smudge her lipstick. "Are you ready?" When you nod, she leads you to the car, leaving her hand to rest on your thigh as she drives, occasionally stealing glances at you whenever she could.

***

"This is where you work?" you say, jaw on the floor at the extraordinary floor near the top of the tower, the view practically a shot out of a film as you look over the city, in awe of how beautiful it looks with the sun almost set. You turned your head to the side, taking in the aphrodisiac sight of Wanda, berating your mind for where your thoughts went to, turning your gaze to the rest of the people who were entering the large, open room.

"Mhmm," she says, moving to stand closer to you, her arm resting on your waist as she simply admires the view with you, the sound of an elated woman catching both of your attentions.

"Wanda," Monica greets as she approaches the two of you, her eyes widening when she realises that it was you standing with her friend, an amused and teasing glint appearing in her eyes. "And this must be Y/n," she says with a smile, your cheeks tinting at the woman's knowledge of you, Wanda having spoken to her about you. "Nice to finally meet you, I've heard so many things about you, this one," she says motioning to Wanda who watches her friend with a raised eyebrow, "Won't shut up about you, it's cute but she needs to be focussing on her work." You chuckle at the woman's warm and bubbly nature, finding her easy to be around as you greet her back, Wanda introducing the woman.

"This is Monica," she says, rolling her eyes after what the other woman said about her, "And when she's not being a pain in my ass, she's my best friend," you and Monica both laugh at Wanda's playfulness, your smile wide at the woman's infectious laugh before you both hear Wanda groan, having seen someone arrive in the distance.

"I have to go and mingle now," she says, turning to you with a displeased look, chuckling as she explained how one of her workers, Tyler Hayward, was leaving and as his boss, she had to talk to him and wish him the best. In her opinion though, she would rather have just kicked him out of the door and said bye, never having liked the egotistical man. "I'm trusting you with her," she says to Monica before looking back at you, feeling bad for leaving you so soon after arriving.

"I'll be fine," you say, reassuring the older woman as you have a gut feeling you're going to get on with the other woman, her smiling at you before Monica chuckles.

"Yeah Wands," Monica says, slinging her arm around your shoulders and shooting her friend a mischievous smile, "She'll be fine with me, we can talk as much as we want about you."

"Behave," she warns Monica who simply chuckles, Wanda pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before heading off, plastering a fake smile onto her lips as she approaches the man.

Monica guided you to the bar, ordering herself a drink and asking you what you wanted, her not questioning your choice of drink and just ordering it along with hers, her head turning to yours and smile etched onto her face.

"So," Monica says and you're looking at her while you sip on your drink, watching her curiously as she somehow makes you feel at ease, "What has Wanda told you about me?" You brows raise at her question, expecting something else to be asked.

"Um, she's told me that you're college friends and an embarrassing story that involved you, but that's about it," you say, hoping that she wouldn't be offended that you didn't know much about her as she clearly knew a lot about you, "She doesn't really talk much about what happens at work."

She smiles at you, as if she were thinking of an inside joke between Wanda and herself, moving onto a more interesting question in her eyes.

"What embarrassing story did she tell you?" her gaze trained on you as she sips her drink, various stories flooding her mind.

"It was her 18th birthday and you-"

"She told you the table story?" Her eyes convey her disbelief, a chuckle leaving her lips as she looks at your confused but amused state, "Oh that woman is absolutely smitten with you."

"Yeah?" your tone is a little shyer than before, Monica offering you a kind and reassuring smile.

"She is, I've not seen her this happy in years," before Monica can say any more, a hand meets your shoulder, Monica already rolling her eyes at her other friend.

"Who's this beautiful lady sitting with you Mon?" Darcy says as she sits in the spare seat next to you, letting her hand drift across your back and down your arm, her smile charming and what others would find attractive. You blushed a little at her words as you were never good with compliments, offering a shy smile as the other woman's eyes raked over your body, flickering up to meet your eyes with a glint of mischief.

"This is Y/n," Monica says, seeing if the words would register within her friend's mind and cause her to ease off her flirty nature, the brunette doing the opposite as she flashes you another smile, glancing over to where Wanda was, causing you to look as well.

Wanda's grip on her drink was tight, fingers pressing into the glass so hard she could probably feel it straining under the pressure, jaw clenched as she peered over the rim of it, gaze burning a hole into the side of Darcy's head, knowing that she was overly affectionate and flirty.

The look sent arousal pooling between your thighs, cheeks tinting a darker shade of red as excitement rushed through you. You let the gaze linger with your girlfriend, watching how jealousy consumed her body, a thrill being sent throughout you at the idea you had.

You were always the good girl Wanda wanted you to be, but tonight you wanted to get a reaction out of her, hoping she'd do some more of the things you talked about in the bathtub a while ago. You wanted her to make her jealous, you wanted her to snap and you were certainly going to get her to after what you were about to do.

You sent Wanda a sly smile, her gaze narrowing at you as you turned back to Darcy, smiling at her and letting her control the conversation. You laughed at a few things she said, Monica adding to the conversation and trying to keep Darcy at bay, knowing how jealous Wanda could get, but it was to no avail as the other woman continued to joke around with you.

After a joke you said, Darcy laughed, moving her hand to your knee while laughter spilt from her lips, her hand lingering far too long for Wanda's liking as she watched helplessly from across the room, glaring daggers at her co-worker. Once her hand moved from your leg, your gaze flickered over to Wanda, who caught your gaze instantly, her eyes conveying how you were playing with fire, you mentioned how warm it was in the room, unbuttoning the top button of your shirt. You also shrugged off Wanda's jacket, making sure to hang it on the back of the chair, not wanting to ruin the expensive item.

A little while later, after Darcy put her hand on your arm again, you can feel a body pressed up against the back of yours, a smile taking over your lips at the familiar perfume invading your senses.

"Excuse me, ladies," Wanda says between her teeth, Monica staying out of the conversation as she knows her best friend, chuckling a little to herself as she watches what happens, "But I'm not feeling too well, talking to Hayward for so long gave me a headache," you can tell she's lying but you don't care, the feeling of her fingers twitching against your hips signalling her eagerness to leave. "So we're going to go home now," her voice leaves no room to argue as she continues to glare at Darcy, her position behind you and hold on your body emphasising your relationship to the brunette.

"Can't we stay a little longer?" you ask and you regret asking it as soon as her green meets your innocent gaze, pure dominance swirling in them as she clenches her jaw, refraining herself from teaching you your lesson right here at the bar.

"No Detka," she says and she knows you're not going to argue back, smirking a little as your bratty display seems to be crumbling already. "Let's go," she grabs your hand and pulls you away, muttering goodbye to the other woman as anticipation and excitement fills you up.

Your excitement switches to nerves when Wanda doesn't say anything to you on the way back to the car, the sound of your footsteps walking into the car park to find her private parking spot matching your pounding heart.

A gasp leaves you when Wanda pushes you up against her car door, lips crashing to yours as she pins you against the metal, sliding her tongue into your mouth effortlessly as you welcome her advances, having waited all night for her to do something to you. You whimper against her mouth when she bites down on your lower lip, dragging it back before soothing the small pain with her tongue, claiming your lips once more roughly as she pushes you harder against the door, her knee slotting between your legs, the slit in the dress showing off her soft skin.

"What do you think you were doing, Detka?" she mutters, ensuring you can't think straight as she flutters her eyes open, gazing into your eyes lustfully.

"I wasn't doing anything," you sigh out, her lips trailing along your jaw, her lipstick smudged against your skin, marking you as hers. She chuckles against the column of your throat at your words, the low sultry tone causing your hips to jerk slightly, your core brushing against her knee, causing a small moan to escape you.

"So you weren't trying to make me jealous?" she husks out, her hand travelling up your body, sliding up until it rests at the base of your neck, the pressure minimal as she searches your eyes for your reaction. When she sees nothing but desire, she presses a little harder, a low groan escaping you, "Weren't trying to get a reaction out of me? Force me to pay you a little more attention?"

"No," you whisper out, still defying her which only fuelled the older woman's desire to fuck you right here.

"No?" Her tone is more serious as her grip increases, making you swallow nervously, Wanda's hand at your throat allowing her to feel your nerves, her leg also able to feel the heat coming from you to signal your arousal. "Oh Detka, you're just begging to be punished at this rate," she rasps out, letting out a breathless laugh, "And to think I had a reward for you planned out at home."

"Wait, no, I-" your stammering is interrupted by her chuckling at your desperate state, suddenly wanting to be a good girl again.

"Nothing is going to get you out of your punishment, Dorogaya," she murmurs, claiming your lips once more as you whine, wanting to know what your reward was. "First you purposely let that whore put her hands all over you," her tone dropping an octave, kissing you in between her points, making you try and chase her lips pathetically every time she'd pull away, "Then you wanted us to stay longer with her," Wanda's leg presses further against you, a moan spilling from your lips only to be eager swallowed by the older woman, "And then you lie to me. Twice."

"Wanda, I..." your voice trails off as her gaze dares you to speak, your mouth immediately shutting.

"And you did all this to make me jealous," she murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw, her mouth eventually reaching the shell of your ear, "What did you expect Detka? Did you want me to pull you away and fuck you? Bend you over my desk and tell you that you're mine over and over again?" Her hand leaves your throat, moving to tilt your chin up to keep your eyes on her as she pulls away from you, a smirk pulling at her lips at how your eyes dilate, "Because you are mine, aren't you Detka?"

"Yes," you sigh out immediately, moaning into her mouth at the intensity of the kiss, her other hand resting on your waist as she continues to pin you against the car.

"That's what I thought," she hums out, "But after your little stunt, I think you're going to have to prove it."

You instantly lean up to crash your lips against hers, one of your hands going to her waist while the other cups her jaw, deepening the kiss and pouring everything into it. She groaned at the feeling of your tongue lewdly sliding against hers, her fingers threading into your hair as she throbbed around nothing, wanting to ease the heat building between her thighs.

"Backseat, now," she mutters against your lips, your hands blindly searching for the car door, not wanting to waste a moment away from her addictive lips, her soft, affected breaths intoxicating.

You reluctantly break the hungry kiss, her hands not leaving your body though as they move to your hips, guiding you into the car before straddling your lap, immediately connecting your lips again as if they were necessary to live. Her dress hikes up at the position, more alluring skin on show as your hands settle there, fingers brushing against the skin as you peer up at her, love and lust merging together in your eyes.

Her hands settle on your shoulders, your body leaning up for another kiss when the feeling of her hands on you sparks a realisation.

"Shit, I left your jacket-"

"I'll buy a new one," she mutters without a care, claiming your lips passionately once more, moving to unbutton your shirt, your hands sliding up under her dress to where she wants you. "Now fuck me," the dominant tone has you groaning into her mouth, her hand moving back to your throat, pushing your body back against the seat, hand firmly wrapped around you. "Don't even think about teasing me," she whispers, controlling the kiss as she leans down to you, your fingers sliding her soaked panties out of the way, a soft moan escaping her when your fingers slide through the abundance of slick that had pooled between her thighs.

You watch as she pulls away from your lips cruelly, her hand on your throat preventing you from chasing them, mouth parting into an 'o' shape as you slide a finger into her, a sinful noise being ripped from the back of her throat. Her eyes gaze into yours hungrily, walls clenching around your digit as you curled it inside her beautifully, thrusting into her as best you could with the angle, the sight of you under her, desperate to please, making her mind run wild with lustful thoughts.

Her back arched slightly when you hit a certain spot inside her, a moan escaping you when you could feel her hips moving in your lap, trying to ride your fingers as you effortlessly slid another in, her arousal coating your digits.

"Fuck Detka," she groans, leaning down to press her lips against yours to muffle her moans, aware that you were in the car park still. "I thought you were going to prove it?" She taunts, urging you to react to her words, "Fuck me harder Detka, come on." Her sultry tone has you groaning against her, pumping your fingers into her harder, ensuring to curl them against her g-spot, her hips twitching in your lap, mouth moving to your ear, letting you hear all her sensual sighs and moans.

"I'm yours," you sigh out, lost in the moment with her, walls throbbing and clenching around you as she nears her orgasm, her hips grinding against your hand, your thumb moving to circle her clit the best you can, a louder moan escaping her as she moves a hand to tangle in your hair. "I'll only ever be yours, you're all I want," you murmur, her lips inevitably finding yours again, her movements becoming more frantic as you continue to thrust your fingers into her, driving her closer towards her release. "Please come for me," you whisper, a guttural moan escaping her at your desperation to please her, her hips stilling as another broken moan spills from her lips, pleasure and euphoria crashing throughout her body as she rides out her high.

She soon relaxes against your body, a whimper leaving her when you pull out of her, kissing her in apology as she smiles into the kiss, eyes fluttering open to meet your softening gaze.

She chuckles a little at your enamoured state, eyes still blown with lust but containing a hopeful glint in them.

"You've not gotten out of your punishment that easy, Dorogaya," she rasps out, your eyes widening a little at her low tone, dominance radiating off of her as she lets a finger trail down your jaw line mindlessly, her nail dragging down the skin of your neck as she continues the journey. "That was just because I couldn't wait any longer, your punishment starts when we get home," she whispers, her touch burning into your skin as you're left to drown in anticipation and excitement, her lips meeting yours briefly before she pulls away from you, admiring your messed up clothes, the lipstick staining your skin, and ruffled hair, swiftly leaving the back of the car and climbing into the front, ready to take you home.

***

Your excitement and nerves only grew as you approached the house, Wanda calmly reminding you that you could use your safe words at any time and that she had a couple new things to try out.

You were then ushered in by the older woman, her hands on your shoulders as she guided you to the bedroom, her lips teasingly kissing along your neck whenever she could, your mind consumed with arousal as you finally stood in the middle of the room.

"Stay there Detka," she whispers in your ear, your body obeying and remaining in the spot she'd led you to, eyes flickering over to the mirror to see what she was doing. You watched helplessly as she unzipped her dress, letting the item slip off her body to reveal the lace set she wore underneath, a visible wet patch on her panties to show how turned on she was, a shaky breath escaping you at the sight. She also grabbed an item out of a drawer but you couldn't see what it was, further adding to your curiosity at what she had planned.

Seductively, she swayed her hips while walking over to you, smirking as she caught your gaze in the mirror, your eyes immediately flickering to the bed, staring straight ahead. Soon, her body entered your view, moving to sit on the end of the bed, her legs crossed as she merely grins at you, her position causing her breasts to be pushed up slightly, your eyes unable to stop the quick glance you had at the smooth skin encased in lace.

"Strip for me Moya Lyubov," she rasps out, watching you intently as you let out a shaky breath.

To say you were turned on now, would have been an understatement, you could feel your arousal pooling between your thighs, panties well and truly ruined. However, being watched by her intense green and the unknown punishment had you nervous, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with a button, seemingly unable to get it undone as she waited for you to listen to what she ordered.

After a minute or so of clumsily attempting to unbutton your shirt, hands encased yours, her green softening as she could tell you were nervous as well as excited. She moved your arms to your sides, her fingers deftly undoing the rest of them as she softly claimed your lips.

"Relax Detka," she murmurs sliding the fabric off of your body, letting it slump to the floor, "I won't let anything bad happen to you," she assures, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips, feeling you relax against her before slowly dropping to her knees, smirking up at you. You can't do anything but watch her as she unfastens your pants, swiftly pulling them down your legs before discarding them in the room, her eyes amazed at how soaked your panties were already, peering up at you with a teasing smile. She presses a kiss to your thighs, her fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties, taking her time in pulling them off you, revelling in how your chest rose and fell with anticipation. She then stood up, flashing you an innocent smile as if she weren't driving you insane, moving to lean against the bed as she motion you over.

"On your hands and knees for me," she instructed as you climbed onto the bed, breath hitching as you had an idea of where this was going to go. Her body then knelt behind yours, her hands roaming your exposed skin, up and down the back of your legs and lower back, eventually moving to your ass, massaging the flesh softly while she explained to you your punishment.

"Are you ready for your first punishment, Detka?" she asks, voice low as she lets her eyes wander your skin, body already squirming in her grasp. The word 'first' confused you but you let it slide as her fingers ventured close to your core, your mind blanking as you muttered a quick yes in response. "I'm going to spank this pretty ass of yours twenty times, is that alright?"

"Yes," you sigh out, lowering your head as you wait impatiently for her, your mind running wild with fantasies. "Fuck," the word leaves your lips in surprise as her hand meets your cheek, the slight sting causing arousal to course through your veins, her hand rubbing over the area she just spanked.

"Count them for me Detka," she murmurs, smirking as she hears you curse under your breath, ass subtly moving back for another.

"Two," you moan out when she spanks you again, the pain mixing with pleasure as you throb around nothing, desperate for her to make you come already.

The next eight spanks have your cheeks tinting pink, Wanda's hand soothingly rubbing over the skin after every one, occasionally moving to your core, sliding through your soaked folds to have you grasping at the sheets.

"Eleven, fuck," you groan when she increases the force of the spanks, a new wave of pleasure and pain merging which makes you think your certainly dripping onto the sheets with how wet you were. The next six had your legs shaking and wanting to give in, the more powerful spanks turning you on even more, ass practically red now, Wanda noticing how it took you longer to count them, her checking in with you as she could tell you weren't going to get to twenty with the current method.

"You're doing so well for me," she lovingly murmurs, gliding her hands up and down your body to help you relax a little more, moving you into a laying down position to make it easier for you. "If I do the last three in one quick go, will you be alright Dorogaya?"

"Yeah," you sigh out, voice laced with want and desire as you await the final part of your punishment. "Fuck," the word being torn out of you as she does as she said, pain shooting through you before it dulls into a pleasurable feeling, her hands gliding up and down your body once more before rolling you over, the sheets rubbing against your sensitive ass, causing a whimper to leave you. She offers you an apologetic smile and kiss, murmuring praise to you for doing so well, the kiss turning hungry as your hands are pinned above you, Wanda smirking into the kiss as your hips buck upwards in search of her body that had moved to hover over you.

"Not quite yet Detka," she murmurs teasingly against your lips, a groan of annoyance leaving you that was silenced by her mouth moving sensually against yours. "I've got one more thing for you," she swiftly leaves your lap, grabbing the silk ties she retrieved earlier, showing them to you and motioning to your hands, the idea processing in your mind. "You're the one who wanted me to tie you up," she teases, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth as you eyes somehow darken even more at her giving into your desires.

You watch in awe as she ties your hands to the headboard, Wanda checking with you to make sure they were alright, even getting you to give a few experimental tugs on them to check they were secure, her smirk growing mischievous as her eyes rake over your body, deciding on how to torment you.

Her lips then descend down your body at a torturous pace, her mouth worshipping every inch of skin she could to have your body delirious with her touch, hands skimming over your breasts before she eventually takes a nipple into her mouth, eyes peering up at you as your left to do nothing but watch and struggle against the silk.

You desperately want to thread your fingers through her auburn locks, to feel her skin under your fingertips, your nails digging into her skin as she drove you over the edge but you couldn't, the silk ties cruelly restraining you.

"Please Wanda," you beg and your voice is nothing but pathetic, having been waiting all night for this moment, only for her to continue dragging it out, a chuckle leaving her lips as you didn't know what she had planned. "Please touch me, I need you."

"You're in no position to ask me to do anything Detka," she mutters against your abdomen as her mouth travels lower, her nail scratching down your abdomen, the tip of her finger marginally brushing against your clit, hips bucking at the brief contact. Her hands also move as she lets her breath tease your core, finger now at your inner thighs as she draws random patterns, eyes on how your arousal glistens in the light, parts of your slick coating your thighs at how wet you were. "Stay still for me Detka, you don't want me to add another punishment, do you?"

"No," you quickly mutter, clenching your hands into fists, pleading with her with your eyes to take mercy on you as her mouth lowers, tongue swiping through your folds. A moan escapes you at the pleasurable feeling of her mouth finally meeting your core, head lolling back as she groans into you, addicted to the taste of you.

Her tongue moves expertly against you, knowing exactly how to work you up, sucking on your clit before letting her tongue slide over it, a finger teasing your entrance, sliding in so only the tip was in before pulling out, a desperate noise being torn out of you as she repeated the action over and over again.

"Wanda," you whined, hips jerking as she pressed a sensual kiss against your clit, looking up to meet your lustful gaze, smirking into your core before she sucks on your clit harder, hips bucking against her face, her free hand holding your hips down.

"Stay still," she warns once more, another whimper escaping you when she slides her entire finger into you, the long slender digit being curled deliciously inside you, the older woman pumping it in and out of you at a steady pace while continuing to suck and lick your clit, moans freely spilling from your lips. Wanda's name soon becomes a chant within the room as she adds another finger, feeling your walls clenching desperately around her.

"Wanda, I need you please, please stop teasing," you beg again, and again, and again, until the older woman takes mercy on you, sucking on your clit a little harder and thrusting her fingers in you faster, quickly driving you towards your orgasm. "Fuck, I'm so close," you groan out, knuckles bleeding white with how tightly you were clenching your fists in the restraints, Wanda looking up to see your eyes squeezed shut, hips subtly grinding up against her face.

Just as your about to crash into your release, everything stops, an annoyed and frustrated whine leaving your lips as she denies you, eyes snapping open to plead with her, her cutting off your protests.

"Ah, ah," she coos, eyes staring into yours with authority, shutting you up, "You shouldn't have been such a brat if you didn't want to get punished." She peppers kisses up your body, kissing your lips to muffle the desperate noises still leaving you, hushing your futile words as she lets your body calm down, wanting to work you up again. When she can tell you've calmed down, lips pressing against hers softly, she pulls away, a softer smile directed at you.

"Good girl for taking your punishment so well," she praises, blushing at her words as she moves her hand back down your body, her middle finger circling your clit slowly, mouth parting at the pleasure. "Are you going to be good now?" You nod instantly at her words, making her chuckle at your desperation, her finger moving to slide back inside you, another swiftly joining it.

"Shit, Wanda," you sigh out against her lips, hips moving against her hands as she fucks you with her fingers, her palm brushing your clit with every thrust, adding to the pleasure coursing through your veins. "Please don't stop," you plead, eyes conveying your desperation for her to not stop, to keep fucking you like she was starved.

"I won't stop," she reassures, claiming your lips for a hungry kiss as your hands fight the restraints again, wanting to pull her closer to you. Her mouth moves to kiss your neck as you struggle to keep the kiss going, moans spilling from your lips at her relentless pace, her mouth travelling even lower to your chest, swirling her tongue around your nipple and sucking on it. Your back arches at her touch, a wanton moan being ripped out of you as her fingers curl just at the right spot, your vision blurring from the pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck," you groan as she has you teetering right on the edge of the orgasm you so desperately wanted. "Please can I come? Please let me come," your tone is laced with neediness as you stare down at woman, her groaning around your breast at the tone of your voice.

"Come for me Detka," she whispers, crashing her mouth back to yours, trying to swallow the scream that leaves your lips, body tensing as waves and waves of pleasure crash through you. Your thighs close around her hand, trembling at the intensity of your orgasm as your left to whimper into her mouth, hips bucking against her hand as you ride out the aftershocks of it, body eventually slumping against the sheets in exhaustion.

You barely process what happens next, Wanda untying your hands and peppering kiss to your wrists where the ties were, her mouth murmuring sweet and loving praise, hands coaxing your body into relaxing against her.

Once she realises she isn't getting you to go into the bathroom with her, she brings a cloth in to wash you quickly so you wouldn't feel uncomfortable, lips pressing against your temples as you mutter her name softly, arms tiredly lifting to hold her close, a smile sneaking onto your lips as she discards the item, allowing herself to be pulled into your embrace.

"I'm so proud of you Detka," she whispers, snaking her arms under your body and switching the positions, your head buried against her breasts as you wanted to drift to sleep, the previous activities having tired you out completely.

"I'm yours," you mumble drowsily, looking at her with tired eyes as you get lost in the loving green, "I'll always be yours, I love you."

"I love you too Detka," she whispers back, smiling as your head returns to her chest, the older woman's fingers brushing your hair out of your face. You let out a content sigh at her actions, Wanda's eyes filled with care as you snuggle closer to her, hand wrapping around her waist, leg sliding over hers, "Goodnight Moya Lyubov."

[grandwretch]

only i must wander

[chapter one] [on AO3]

In the months before Steve's graduation, he and Dustin had something of a routine going on. Every Friday afternoon, Steve would pick Dustin up from Hawkins Middle School and they would drive out to the McDonald's one exit over. They even ordered the same thing every week: A Big Mac for Steve, nuggets for Dustin, two Cokes, and a supersized fry. After driving slowly back to Hawkins they would eat in the arcade parking lot, and when they were done they would either spend the rest of the afternoon trying to kill each other over air hockey or renting shitty science fiction movies. Whichever Dustin wanted, really. 

It wasn't anything like Steve's life had been just six months ago, but he loved every second of it. Even when Dustin was getting mud all over his upholstery and asking too many questions. 

On that particular Friday night, Steve had been late picking Dustin up because Mrs. O'Donnell had stopped him in the hallway on the way out, for the third time this month. Some bullshit about him not "applying" himself, or whatever, and how she didn't "feel it was right" that Steve had passed her class when he'd obviously learned so little. Which was bullshit, Steve thought, because she taught fucking English, which he already spoke, and he'd been pulling solid C's in her class all semester. 

So most of the conversation had been about that, really, with Steve complaining about how every teacher he'd ever had hated him, and Dustin scolding him just as fiercely as any teacher ever had. A typical Friday night. 

Tonight, however, Dustin paused, mid-sentence.

"Are you ever going to tell me why your eyes do that when you're mad?" 

Steve paused, a french fry halfway to his mouth. He looked over at Dustin, who was staring at him from the passenger seat. He was almost used to it, a kid spending every day in the seat next to him instead of Nancy or Tommy, but big, curious eyes still threw him off from time to time. Especially when they came paired with off the wall questions like this. 

"Why do my eyes do what, Dustin?" 

"You know," Dustin said, gesturing to Steve's face with his burger. "When you get mad they go all black and stuff. Kinda like El's do when she uses her powers, but you don't--" Steve had never seen Eleven actually fight, but he had seen her do small tricks now and again for the boys. Her eyes were more like pits, her entire face wrinkling around the deep depths. Steve felt his stomach churn just thinking about the same in his own face. 

The reflection in the rearview mirror was the same as it had always been. Hazel eyes, smooth skin marred only by a few moles. Steve made himself breathe. 

"I think I would know," Steve said, keeping his voice carefully steady. He was trying to be less bitchy around the kids, but sometimes they made it so goddamn hard. "--if my face looked like that. It probably-- It probably hurts, right?" 

"Not really," Dustin said, with enough conviction that it tore Steve's gaze away from his own reflection. "Anyway, it's not your face. It's just your eyes. Look, I don't know what kind of Wesen you are, man, but you can talk to me about it, whatever it is. You know I'm one, too, right?"

"A-- a what?" If this was another one of those weird fantasy novel things, he was going to finally strangle the little shit, he really was. 

"A Wesen," Dustin repeated, looking as confused as Steve felt. "Like-- like me and El."

'Like me and El,' Steve thought, turning the sentence around in his head. He was not equipped for this, Jesus. It had to be hard, growing up fighting monsters and stuff, and having one of your best friends be a weird ass superhero, but Steve hadn't expected Dustin to deal with it by playing pretend. He'd always been the most grounded in reality of the kids. It was why Steve could put up with him for more than a couple hours. 

"Buddy, maybe you should talk to your mom about this stuff," Steve said, slowly. "Or like Mrs. Byers or somebody." 

Dustin rolled his eyes, which Steve thought was pretty rich coming from someone sitting in his car and talking about made up words. "Oh my god, Steve. Look."

And then-- And then. 

Steve didn't know how to explain it. One moment, he was looking at Dustin, the kid he'd become absurdly attached to over the past semester, and then something shifted. In the next breath, Dustin was... different. Light brown hair had sprouted all over his face, smooth and straight and so unlike the curly mop still on top of his head. His nose had changed, the bridge gone flatter and wider, the end still hairless but now a deep dark brown, like a dog's. Underneath his nose, his lip was cleft, opened wide so Steve could see even more clearly the gap where Dustin's teeth should be. On either side of the cleft, whiskers sprouted, white and long. 

His eyes were the same, though. Dustin's eyes, staring out of a beaver's face. 

Two years ago, Steve would have screamed. He would have thrown things. He would have been out of the car in two seconds flat. His flight reflex had been recently shattered, though, and now all he could do was stare and try not to choose the other option-- fight. 

This was Dustin, Steve told every dark instinct swelling up in the back of his mind. This was his best friend. Not something that crawled out of the Upside Down, not something stalking through the night. His kid. 

Dustin blinked at him, with a silly smile on his inhuman face. "See?" 

Steve's hands gripped the steering wheel, fingernails digging into the leather. "Dustin, what the fuck is happening right now?" 

The smile faded on Dustin's face slowly. "Do you not-- Steve, come on. You've seen El do this like a thousand times." 

"She's El!" Steve said, his voice going higher with stress. He could feel his muscles start to shake with the effort of keeping himself in place. "She's got, like, powers and shit! She was born in a lab and experimented on! You're-- You're just Dustin!" 

"Okay, ouch," Dustin said. A pout began to form on his face. "Okay, yeah, El is special, but there are people who like her who are, like, normal Wesen you know?" 

"You keep saying that word." 

"You know, like--" Dustin gestured between them with-- Jesus fucking Christ, with a fucking paw. "You and me." 

Steve had to get out of the car. His heart was going so fast he could feel it in his ear drums, in the roof of his mouth. It took too long for his shaking hands to open the door, and by the time his feet hit the dirt, he could feel adrenaline churning his stomach. Behind him, he could hear Dustin calling his name, the passenger door opening, but it only spurred on Steve's desire to get away. 

He stumbled a few feet, his legs too weak to carry him far, until hands grabbed at his jacket. Steve whirled around, ready to fight-- Your kid! A smaller part of his brain screamed at him. --but Dustin was... Human again. 

"What the fuck, Dustin," Steve couldn't stop repeating. "What the fuck." 

"Steve," Dustin said, deadly serious. "Are you seriously telling me you've never met another Wesen before?" 

"Stop saying that." 

"What?" 

"Stop saying that I'm one of you! I'm not. I don't-- I'm normal. Stop saying that." 

Dustin's eyes were too understanding. Steve fucking hated it when he did shit like this, when he could just look at Steve and got him, because Steve barely understood why he did what he did, sometimes. How did this fucking kid always seem to know him? And if he could, why didn't anyone else ever manage? 

"Steve," Dustin said again, pitched low and calm like he was trying to soothe a rabid dog. Like Steve was a monster, crawling the junkyard, looking for blood. "Look at your eyes right now."

There was a compulsion in Steve's blood that would not let him look away any longer. He had to look, had to face his own reflection already knowing it would ruin him. Steve raised his eyes to the car window, and its distorted mirror image of his face. 

For a moment, Steve almost had hope. His face was not marked or pitted like El's, nor was it covered in fur like Dustin's. It was his nose, his skin, his moles, his mouth. The scars that littered his face in the last two years were faint, but still visible. Steve could still feel one of them in the corner of his upper lip. It was almost easy to miss, almost easy to chalk it all up to a bad joke. But then Steve met his own gaze, and all illusion was shattered. 

It was like a trick of the light; They were the same size and shape as Steve's own, lined with the same delicate eyelashes, but there was no mistaking the change. His eyes were black. Not the deep void that stared out of El's other face, no. At first they seemed dead and glassy, like a shark's, but the longer he stared, the more Steve became aware of something moving inside them, like smoke behind glass. 

Steve didn't feel his knees grow weak or his legs buckle underneath him. He barely felt it when he landed on the ground. One moment he was standing, and the next he was on the asphalt, staring up at Dustin. Dustin, who looked down at him with such a mixture of confusion and sorrow that Steve felt, bizarrely, like his change was more inhuman than all the fur and torn flesh in the world. 

"What the fuck," Steve said, his voice croaking in his throat. "What's happening to me? Dustin, what the fuck is happening to me?" 

"I don't know," Dustin said, and-- Embarassingly, Steve let out a thin noise of panic, because he was absolutely fucked if Dustin was admitting he didn't know something. "I mean, I have a theory, but..." Dustin cut himself off and looked around the parking lot. They were alone here, had chosen it specifically so they could laugh and play Dustin's tapes as loud as they wanted to, but he still scanned the area with more suspicion than Steve had seen out of him in months. It made Steve's instincts kick in, had him scrambling to his feet to put himself in between whatever danger Dustin suspected of the world around them. "We really shouldn't do this here." 

"Is this..." Steve swallowed, his hands shaking. "Is this Upside Down shit? Is it because of the tunnels? Did I-- Did I breathe too many spores in or something?" 

Dustin considered the idea for only half a moment before dismissing it with a shake of his head. "No, if this was a symptom, Will would have displayed the same ones while he was in the hospital last year. No, this has to be... Come on, Steve, let's go home. I promise, I'll tell you everything I know. Just not where people can hear us." 

"This is fucking insane," Steve muttered to himself, but he climbed back in the car, hands shaking. 

The ride to Steve's house was tense, neither of them speaking, although Steve could sense Dustin throwing him concerned looks the entire way. He usually hated when the kid did that, mostly because he didn't need a thirteen year old's concern, thank you so much, Dustin, but today it rankled Steve's nerves worse than ever. Everything in his body wanted to fight something, but the only enemy he could identify was inside his own head. Dustin's gaze on him only made it worse, made Steve so jumpy he imagined, several times, jumping from the moving car. 

Whatever was wrong with him, it didn't stop at his eyes. 

Steve stormed down his driveway and threw open his front door. Dustin scurried in after him as if afraid to be left behind, and Steve had a brief pang of guilt, but then he caught sight of himself in the long mirror that hung along the foyer and-- He turned away, swallowing bile. "Alright, kitchen," he said. "I need a fucking beer." 

They sat on either side of his mother's breakfast nook, the only place Steve ever ate alone. Steve had a beer, one of the last few he'd been nursing since his party days ran out. Dustin had a root beer in front of him, untouched. They stared at each other, unsure. 

It was time to be a fucking adult, Steve decided, and unstuck his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth. 

"What was that word you kept using?" he asked. 

"Wesen," Dustin answered, his mouth a grim line. "That's what I am. That's what El is. Or was? It's not really clear." 

"But it's what she was supposed to be," Steve said, and when Dustin nodded, he sucked in a breath. "And what I am." 

Dustin squirmed on his stool. "I think so." 

"So... So what the fuck is it?" Steve shook his head, confused by the very words coming out of his mouth. "Am I going to start growing fur? Or-- Or get all wrinkly or whatever, like El when she uses her powers?" 

"No, it's not--" Dustin paused, his face creased with the uncomfortable feeling of having no idea how to explain something. "I only know what my mom has told me, which isn't, like, a lot. But we're not like humans." 

"Yeah," Steve scoffed. "I got that." 

"What I mean is, we're part of the same community but we're not all the same. We probably have some stuff in common, but I don't know how much. I can't exactly go to the library to figure this stuff out." Dustin's voice held the long-suffering frustration of a child who'd been asking the same questions for a very long time, with no adult willing to answer. Steve was usually all for it, being the first to encourage the kids to say fuck adults and do it themselves, but he was still lost in a sea of information that made no fucking sense to him. 

"Can we just-- Explain it to me like I'm really stupid." 

"I want you to know that I'm not making a joke right now because I can tell you're in a really vulnerable place." 

"Thank you so much, Dustin." 

"You remember Star Wars, right?" Dustin asked. 

Steve's head tilted. "The movie you made me watch over Christmas break? With the laser swords? Yeah, I remember them." 

"Alright, so, everyone in that movie is an alien, right? Some of them look like humans, but they're not from Earth. And some of them don't look like humans at all. They're all from separate planets, some of them entirely separate species, but they're all aliens." 

Steve blinked at Dustin for a long moment before his face collapsed into disbelief. "We are not fucking aliens." 

Dustin's glare was legendary. "No, you idiot. But we're not human, either." 

"Then what am I?" Steve raised a hand to stop the answer he could already see coming. "And don't say Wes… That word. I can't just be not human. People aren't… whatever they're not. I have to be something." 

"I don't know," Dustin said. "I don't know a lot of the names. My mom is kinda…" 

Steve nodded. Mrs. Henderson's brand of flighty overprotectiveness was well known to the entire group, and probably most of Hawkins by now. Dustin was allowed to spend whatever time he wanted with Steve, even staying over at his house when Steve's parents were out of town, but Steve had also been horrified to find that Mrs. Henderson had woefully unprepared the kid for things like puberty or high school. Dustin said his mom didn't like to talk about things that upset her, and Steve guessed that other Wesen was one of those subjects, much like Dustin growing up or rock music. 

Steve felt himself begin to calm. Whatever happened, it was bound to be easier than the time he had to explain to Dustin what a pube was. 

"Do you think she might know?" 

"Probably, but we can't ask her." Dustin was beginning to look actually distressed. "There's no way she would let us hang out again." 

Steve's stomach sank. "Really?"

"When she found out the founder of the D&D club at Hawkins High was a Blutbad, she made me promise I would never join," Dustin said. Brightening, he continued, "Oh, wait, duh! Your parents have to know; They must be Wesen, too! Just ask them." 

Bradley Harrington's eyes had never gone black, Steve was pretty sure, though they had definitely been angry enough a time or two. He couldn't imagine his mother, Sophia, as anything less than human, either. They were both so… normal, although sometimes so damn keen on being completely on-trend that Steve suffocated with it. Half of the trouble Steve had gotten himself into over the years was more about calling too much attention to himself than legitimately bad behavior. Steve was sure they would be just as annoyed by having a genius like Dustin as a son as they were having an idiot like him. 

He tried to imagine what his father would say if Steve called just to tell them his eyes had changed color, and winced. 

"If they wanted me to know, they would have told me," Steve said, grimly. 

"Well, fuck," Dustin said, which Steve thought pretty much summed it up, yeah. 

After a moment of stewing in his own misery, Steve remembered to ask, "So what are you, then?" 

Dustin's chest puffed up with pride, and a ripple of fur sped across his face. "I'm an Eisbiber!"

"That means absolutely nothing to me, you gotta know that." 

"We're like beaver people, basically. Mom says it's impolite to compare people to animals but–" Dustin shrugged. "I call it like I see it. I'm a beaver. Lots of Wesen have animal attributes." 

"What, like a werewolf or something?" Steve asked, incredulous. 

"Those are Blutbads," Dustin confirmed. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But Mom says if you call a Blutbad a werewolf to their face, they'll eat you." 

Suddenly, Steve could only think of demodogs, their faces peeled open and saliva shining in the moonlight. All those fucking teeth. 

He nodded slowly. "I'll… keep that in mind." Shifting in his chair, Steve thought about the tight, inner group of the Party, and the way he hadn't really been a part of it before last fall. Even within their small group, there had always been an air of mystery about El and her origins. Even Nancy hadn't had many ideas, when Steve had gotten the courage to approach her about everything post-breakup, but if Dustin had known the whole time... "So how many people know about this stuff, then? Are Lucas and Mike like you? Is that why everything happened with Will that first time?" 

"I don't think Wesen are that common," Dustin said, "though that might just be a Hawkins thing? Like I said, it's hard to do research. Lucas and Mike don't know. I'm not sure how much Will knows, honestly." 

"But they know about El," Steve said, frowning. 

Dustin paused, looking guilty. "I know. That's the problem. Mike treats El like a superhero, and I'm not... Eisbibers aren't like Hexenbiests, especially superpowered ones made in labs. We mostly make things. I don't want him to think I'm... I mean. You know. It's bad enough, already, with the human shit." 

"Look, Mike and I have never gotten along, but I don't think he would do that. Whatever Wheeler is, a bully isn't one of them." Steve knew what a bully looked like. Scrawny, angry twelve years olds didn't make the list.

"Alright, so you tell them you're a--" Dustin paused. "A whatever, then." 

"I will," Steve said, "the second we can figure out what the fuck it is I'm supposed to be. What about Hop? I mean, how much would El have told him?" 

"Nothing about you." Dustin shrugged. "El was raised in a lab by humans, presumably. She didn't even know what she was. My mom had to tell Hop everything, and then made him promise me and El would never be allowed to hang out alone." 

Steve thought of angry little El, eyes painted to match her second face, who wanted to be with her friends so badly that she ran away to find her past. "I bet that Kali girl could have helped us." 

"Good luck finding her. I'm pretty sure she was half Musai," Dustin said. Steve wished he'd just stop saying shit like Steve was supposed to understand it. Being stupid about human stuff may be embarrassing, but he refused to be bullied for not knowing the names of every single race of a species he'd just realized he was a part of. 

"This is insane," Steve said. He slumped in his chair, and looked around his kitchen. It looked just like he'd left it this morning, the kind of half-cluttered that houses inevitably got when they were lived in by people who desperately didn't want to be there. Filled up with the necessities of life but abandoned just as quickly. Clean dishes haphazardly placed around the room and junk mail months old still piled on the counter. His bread box was empty, half a loaf of bread still sitting in its wrapper on top. 

It should be different, he decided. Not just his kitchen, but his entire world. That's how things had been when he'd seen the demogorgon in the Byers' house-- He'd realized things about the world in that moment that had changed everything. It was fast and violent, and the next morning he had looked at himself in the mirror and not recognized the kid looking back at him. It was the same for everything he'd ever loved, even the people, and while Steve had spent a lot of time looking back, he'd always known there was no resetting time before that moment. 

He was starting to think he'd preferred the violent realization to this slow roll of information. Now Steve was left with the knowledge that the world had already been just as it was, and Steve had just been unable to see it. Right under his nose. His parents, his best friend, his fucking kitchen... the same as it had always been. He'd just been looking at it the wrong way. 

That was a much harder pill to swallow. The demogorgon hadn't left Steve with much choice-- swallow or choke. Get it over with. Fight until you win. But how the fuck was Steve supposed to fight this? He felt helpless in a way he didn't often let himself be, disconnected from his body and vulnerable in the haze of his own thoughts. Like his soul was hanging raw and open in the space around him, and this part of him that was a living, breathing thing was left with no one home. 

"We're gonna figure it out," Dustin said. Steve blinked slowly and pulled his gaze back to the kid who'd just blown his worldview to smithereens. Dustin's face was pulled tight with determination, leftover baby fat bunching adorably in his cheeks. He looked like an angry chipmunk, Steve thought hysterically, and then corrected himself: An angry beaver. 

God, what the fuck had happened to his life? 

"I'm serious, Steve," Dustin said, when it became clear that Steve wasn't going to react outside of a foggy gaze. "We're gonna figure this out, okay? Me and you." 

"Yeah?" Steve said, the edge of a laugh in his voice. "We're gonna, what, hunt down what I am, what my parents are, completely on our own? You literally just said this shit was impossible to research." 

"We don't need that shit," Dustin said, scoffing. "When have we ever needed evidence? Or, like, adults?" 

Steve really wanted to protest that; As the older party and a practical adult himself, it was probably his job to insist on both evidence and adults for pretty much everything Dustin wanted to do, whether or not it involved fictional creatures that Steve may or may not be. The problem was, though, Dustin wasn't exactly... wrong. Hop and Joyce were the only adults that had ever been any help to either of them, and that was on a good day. Half the time they kinda just got in the way. Steve was pretty sure that if cops and doctors just listened to Nancy as much as they listened to the adults, they could have figured out most of this shit back in junior year. 

"Fuck, okay," Steve said, pushing his hands through his hair. "Sure. Goddamn it." 

"You are literally never allowed to tell me off for cussing again," Dustin said. He sounded unimpressed. 

"Sorry, is my breakdown upsetting you?" Steve shot back, but he felt his muscles unclench enough that it no longer felt painful to breathe. Dustin's snark was honestly calming, though Steve would rather die than ever admit it. Still, it was a good reminder that no matter how scared Steve was, things hadn't gotten so bad that Dustin had lost his particular brand of sarcastic zen. As much as the little shit loved to dig into the most dangerous curiosities he could find, he wasn't exactly the sort to smile calmly into the face of death, so... So whatever Steve was, he could deal with it. 

Probably. 

"I'm going to go home," Dustin said, jumping out of his seat. Ignoring Steve's small sound of protest, he continued, "and you're going to take a shower and then a nap. Tomorrow, once you've calmed down, we can do some tests." 

"Tests?" Steve repeated, his nose wrinkling. El had never really divulged what had gone on in the lab with him, but he knew just enough for his imagination to take over. He knew Dustin wasn't exactly the government experiment type, but he still hated the concept being applied to him. "See, this is exactly the kind of shit I didn't want to happen." 

"Tough shit," Dustin said, stomping his way out of the kitchen. Rolling his eyes, Steve followed. 

"Do you want a ride?" he asked, because he always did and, well... Whatever Dustin thought, Steve didn't exactly want to be alone right now. Also, he just found out there was a whole new kind of monster in this town, and every protective instinct in his body wasn't exactly jazzed about Dustin riding all the way home on his bike. "What about the B-- the Bad werewolves or whatever, you were talking about? You said one lived in Hawkins--" 

"Blutbad," Dustin corrected as he wedged his feet back into the shoes he'd previously abandoned next to Steve's front door. "And I think I'll be okay. I've existed in the same town as them for thirteen years and I haven't gotten eaten even once." 

"Not for lack of trying," Steve muttered under his breath, and then helped Dustin put his backpack on. Dustin let him, not complaining about being able to do it himself for once, and not for the first time Steve felt a small rush of affection for the kid. He knew not a lot of people understood why he and Dustin spent so much time together. Sure, sometimes the other kids were involved, Max and Lucas especially, but usually it was just Steve and Dustin. The other kids didn't really get it, and no matter what Dustin said, Steve wasn't sure they saw him as more than Dustin's big brother. As for Steve's old friends, well, Nancy had long stopped being impressed by Steve's ability to keep a kid alive for more than forty five minutes; She probably just thought it was pathetic now. Tommy sure gave him enough shit for it when Steve bothered to give him the time of day. God knew what Jonathan thought, outside of the stern nods they traded when Steve picked Will up for an arcade trip. 

They just didn't understand the warmth in Steve's chest when Dustin let him help with something stupid and small. It didn't matter if Dustin could do it on his own. That had never been the point. Helping the kid put on backpacks and jackets, fixing his hair, making sure his grilled cheeses were evenly toasted on both sides so the texture didn't turn his stomach-- No matter how much Steve bitched, he loved doing every little thing no one had ever done for him. 

"Listen, Steve," Dustin said, standing nervously in his doorway. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter." 

Steve dragged himself out of his sentimental reverie. "What?"

Dustin squirmed, face pinched with thought. "What kind of Wesen you are, it doesn't matter. I'm gonna help you because you want to know, and that's-- That's cool. You've got a right to know, just like El. But knowing didn't change El, and it's not going to change you. You'll still be Steve, and Steve's pretty great." 

Blinking, Steve couldn't respond for a moment. Finally, he managed to say, "Are you trying to pep talk me right now, Henderson?" 

Embarrassment flooded Dustin's face, creasing his brown and throwing blush across his cheeks. "Okay, fuck you, see you in the morning, douchebag." 

Laughing, Steve followed Dustin out the door and onto his front steps. "Hey, Dustin?" he called as he watched Dustin clamber onto his bicycle. Dustin looked up, eyes squinted in suspicion. "Thanks, man," Steve said, a blush rising in his own face. 

Dustin grinned. "Welcome to the club, asshole," he said, and then sped out of the Harringtons' driveway as fast as his little Gumby legs could carry him. God, Steve loved that kid.

Dustin kept his promise. He was there the next morning, before Steve's neighbors had even left for church, with a list of potential 'tests' to try out. None of them were the weird science experiments that Steve had been dreading. Most of them, in fact, were just Steve trying to flex muscles he shouldn't have. 

"Acid spit?" Steve read, incredulous. 

"That one's a far reach," Dustin admitted. Shifting through his backpack, Dustin pulled out item after item, and Steve lowered the list to look doubtfully at the large slingshot that now sat on his kitchen table. "But I didn't want to leave anything out." It wasn't a long list, Steve noted, and most of it was ridiculous. No matter what Dustin said, he was pretty sure he'd have noticed something like kisses that drugged people or the ability to lead rats around. 

Probably. 

"Fine," Steve said, giving up. "But we're not doing this shit outside where the neighbors can see. The last thing I need is another rumor going around about King Steve." 

"It's your house," Dustin said, shrugging, and threw the water balloon launcher over his shoulder.

To Steve's complete and utter lack of surprise, he did not have acid spit or any other set of superpowers. At Dustin's insistence, Steve ran across his backyard a few times, picked up some heavy things, caught a few launched tennis balls-- 

"I'm not playing anymore fetch," Steve decided, dropping the last of the tennis balls at Dustin's feet. 

Dustin glared up at him with all the tiny rage of a scientist disrespected in his field. At least, Steve imagined. He hadn't known too many non-evil scientists in his life. "I'm trying to determine if you have super strength or improved reflexes." 

"Oh, good," Steve said, and then flopped into his usual lawn chair. "I don't." 

"You picked up a grill," Dustin protested, but even he didn't sound convinced. 

"I was on three different sports teams for all four years of high school," Steve said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Dustin was only trying to help, and Steve knew he should be grateful. But once the panic had faded, all Steve was left with was this... irritation. Wasn't it enough that everything he'd ever known about his life had turned out to be a lie? One more lie on top of everything else turned out to be just one more pea under the princess' mattresses, and Steve was sick to death of vegetables in his bedding. "And I've been prepping to murder interdimensional monsters for the last two of 'em. Of fucking course I run fast and pick up heavy shit. It's, like, literally all I'm good at." 

"I give up," Dustin said, throwing his arms up. Paper floated down around them, escaping from Dustin's clipboard. "You're the most useless Wesen in the world! If I hadn't seen you woge myself, I'd think you were an Eisbiber!" 

"Jesus Christ, kid," Steve said, "Cool it on the beaver hate. Your mom's pretty cool." 

Dustin's glare was intense enough that even Steve knew it was time to shut up. They sat in silence for a moment, Steve placidly watching as Dustin squinted into the reflective light of the pool. Steve had no idea what Dustin was thinking, and didn't have enough context to guess. At this point, Steve was ready to chalk the whole thing up to a trick of the light and move on with his life. Eventually, though, Dustin shook himself out of it and sat on the other end of the lounger, close enough their knees bumped together. 

"Woge for me," Dustin demanded. Steve had learned enough that wogeing meant the change, the other 'face' that El and Dustin possessed. Dustin had talked about it at length that morning, talking about the difference reasons for it and how it might point to the truth of Steve's identity. None of the tests had worked, though, and Steve's eyes had stayed human. 

"I don't think it's the same thing for me, man," Steve said. When he saw Dustin about to protest, he rushed to continue. The last thing he needed was another Henderson rant about the scientific method or some other bullshit Steve wouldn't bother to remember. "I tried for hours to make it happen last night, just so I could make sure that it had actually happened. Besides, it's only my eyes-- And your thing is literally everything but your eyes. Those stay human."

"But El's don't." 

"El also looks like a literal diseased corpse when she changes," Steve said, tired. "Like we've said a million times, it's stupid to compare either of us to the girl literally created and then raised in a lab." 

Even Dustin couldn't argue with that logic, but it didn't phase him for long. "Fine, then we just need to replicate the last time you woged, so I can take notes of all the characteristics I may have missed the last time," he said, slipping back into the overly professional voice that Steve was almost certain he'd stolen from one of his doctors. 

Resisting the urge to groan, Steve frowned. "So, what, we have to go get in the car?" 

"Maybe, if it doesn't work here, but I don't think the place is really the important variable here," Dustin said, and Steve supposed it was a sign of how seriously Dustin was taking this if he didn't even pause to ruthlessly bully Steve for getting it wrong. "How did you feel the last time your eyes changed? What caused the feelings?" 

"Dustin, you were literally there," Steve sighed, but Dustin was already speaking over him before he could finish the sentence. 

"Yeah, but I'm not you! I don't know what instincts were happening in that big head of yours!" 

"I don't know, I was... upset?" Steve asked, and when Dustin rolled his eyes, he kicked at the kid's legs. "Hey! You're the one sounding like a fucking Hollywood therapist! What am I supposed to say? I just watched my best friend turn into a fucking beaver!" 

Dustin's eyes narrowed. "You think my woge triggered yours?" 

"I don't... know?" Steve leaned back in the chair, brow creasing as he tried to remember what had been going through his head before the panic of not recognizing his own reflection. The primal fear hung over every second of the memory now, but he knew that wasn't true. There had been adrenaline, yes, but Steve hadn't been scared of Dustin. His instincts had been more violent, almost angry. That had been what scared him, in the beginning. It hadn't been Dustin that sent him scrambling out of the car, but his own impulses. "When you changed, it made me... I thought I had to fight you." 

Dustin hummed under his breath. "Once, when we were in the city, Mom and I ran into this lizard guy in the hospital. He turned out to be really nice, but when Mom first saw him, she woged out of fear and he woged back-- I think it was probably some kind of predator-prey instinct. Maybe it's like that?" 

Steve felt a pit grow in his stomach. He didn't like the sound of that. "So, I'm like... A hunter?" 

"Unless you think you're the only natural prey of the North American beaver, yeah," Dustin said. 

Great, Steve thought, what a way to have every fucking bad thing anyone had ever thought about him confirmed in one fell swoop. Crossing his arms across his chest, he tried not to settle into a sulk. Pouting in front of the kid you were supposed to be a good influence for was embarrassing as hell, and probably even worse than being an instinct-driven murder machine. "Does that at least narrow it down?" 

Dustin made an unsure noise in the back of his throat, kicking his feet back and forth as he thought. "I mean, kinda. It means you're definitely not anything my mother will let me within five feet of, but we pretty much already knew that. The problem is that, as far as I know, most of the Wesen world is pretty dangerous. Even some of the prey animals are killers." 

"According to your mom," Steve said. He loved Claudia Henderson, he really did, but she thought her neighbor's Yorkie was two seconds from killing them all on a good day.

"According to my mom," Dustin agreed. "Look, let's just woge right now, and it'll confirm it." 

"You don't think that triggering my 'predator instincts' on purpose will be a bad idea?" Steve asked, shrinking in on himself. If he hurt Dustin over some stupid science experiment, he'd have to go ahead and drown himself in the pool. And he genuinely didn't think Dustin could take the extra trauma on top of everything else. 

"You'll be ready for it this time," Dustin said, and twisted around so they were face to face. 

'Ready' turned out to be mostly erroneous. There was no countdown, no time to prepare-- Their eyes met and then Dustin was changing. The fur, the nose, the cleft lip. It was all as Steve remembered it, all exactly as he'd played over and over again in his mind. Steve braced himself, waiting for the same rush of adrenaline, for the same muscle-clenching urge to fight. 

It never came. 

One moment passed, then another. Steve forced himself to breathe. "I'm not feeling any rodent murdering tendencies," he admitted, although he couldn't quite convince his shoulders to relax.

"Well," Dustin said, his tiny beaver face peering into Steve's. "Your eyes definitely changed. They're... Huh." 

"What?" Steve wanted to squirm under Dustin's gaze, uncomfortable with the very intense eye contact going on right now. Even though Dustin was looking at him, in his eyes, Steve didn't feel like he was being included in the interaction. If anything, it felt more like Dustin was watching something through him, and after all the multidimensional shit they'd been through, the last thing Steve wanted to think about was his eyes being a portal. "Come on, man, you're freaking me out." 

"They're reflective," Dustin said, his voice faraway with thought. 

"Yeah?" Steve said, confused. "So are everybody's."

"No, they're like mirrors. I can see myself completely. Every detail." Dustin's voice still sounded lost, and Steve swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. 

"That's weird," he said, eventually, when Dustin had proven that he had forgotten to even blink. "Um, can this part be over now? I'm not great at eye contact on a good day." 

After a moment, Dustin shook himself, looking just as confused as Steve felt. "Yeah, sorry, man," he said, frowning down at his notepad. "I don't know what happened. Maybe your species is good at hypnosis? Some kind of snake, maybe?" 

"Do I look like a fucking snake to you, Dustin?" Steve said, gesturing to his smooth skin and fluffy hair. 

"No," Dustin admitted, "but we don't really have any proof your species has an animal counterpart, either. El doesn't. And before you say it--" Steve closed his mouth. "-- I'm not comparing you to El. I'm saying that whatever a Hexenbiest is supposed to be, I don't think it was originally like me. Maybe they're not the only ones." 

Honestly, Steve hated the idea of his powers being anything like El's. To put it mildly, El's powers were fucking terrifying. Not the girl herself; It had been impossible to be afraid of El after Steve had gotten to know the sweet little girl that hid behind all that trauma. He adored her, really. But her powers? Steve genuinely didn't know how El slept at night, because if it were him with all that responsibility, he'd probably just have a heart attack. The more power someone had, the more opportunities they had to fuck up. Steve was proof of that. Having as much power as El was his worst nightmare. And if Dustin was right, that Steve might be something like her... 

"We should tell Hop about this," Steve decided. Immediately, Dustin groaned. 

"Come on, Steve! Hopper isn't going to let us dig into this and you know it!" 

"Yeah, and maybe we shouldn't," Steve said. "I don't know anything about this shit, and my parents aren't talking. But if you're right, and I have the ability to hurt someone, then Hop needs to know about it." 

Dustin's face softened. "You-- It's not like that, Steve. You wouldn't--" 

"You don't know that." Steve was on his feet again, pacing the concrete that surrounded his pool. "We don't know anything, and you've seen what happens when El gets angry. And what happened to Will last year?" 

"That wasn't Wesen related," Dustin tried to reason, but Steve was already shaking his head. 

"That we know of," Steve said, "and I think we've proven that neither of us actually know a goddamn thing about this."

"... Fine. But I want it on the record that I think this is stupid, and you would never hurt anybody, Wesen or not." 

Steve rolled his eyes. "Your complaint has been recorded, and will be going directly into the trash. Do you have your walkie on you?" 

They went inside to collect Dustin's abandoned bag, his walkie still packed safely inside. They had given Hopper a Party-approved walkie the year before, when he decided that in case of emergency, relying on phones wasn't enough. Steve was pretty sure he'd given up on the Upside Down being a one-time thing, and making sure the kids weren't being eaten by monsters in the woods made everyone sleep better at night. They had a separate channel, though, for adult-included emergencies, because Hopper had threatened to arrest Mike for calling in a Code Orange over being out of toilet paper. 

Steve hesitated over the dial, for a moment, and wondered if discovering you weren't human was a Code Yellow or Orange. 

"It's not going to call itself," Dustin said, and Steve-- 

His eyes shut, all usual irritation at Dustin's annoyances drowned out by fear. Because he was so fucking afraid. Afraid of himself, yeah, but also a million other things. Like, how was he supposed to look Hopper in the eyes and admit what he was? Sure, Hop was okay with El, but El was a kid. His kid. Steve wasn't sure if he'd have taken the beaver thing half as well from anyone but Dustin. Wasn't sure he would now, even, and he was fucking one of them. Would Hop think he was a monster? 

Even worse, would Hop believe him when Steve said he was something to be feared? Steve wasn't sure if he hoped Hop would, or if he dreaded it. 

"Can you wait outside?" Steve asked, his voice shaking. He could already see Dustin gearing up for an epic bitch fit, so he quickly continued, "Just for a second. I swear, you can come with me. I can't do this shit without you, man." 

The admission made Dustin quiet. With shock or with mollification, Steve didn't know, but whatever it inspired in Dustin was enough to have him nodding and walking out the door. 

Steve turned the walkie to Hop's channel, and held the button down. "Chief, are you there?" 

There was a moment of quiet, and Steve thought- hoped? -that Hopper didn't hear him, that he might be busy or at work or maybe he'd thrown the stupid thing in a drawer somewhere, but eventually the speaker crackled to life. The chief's voice poured out, "That you, Harrington?" 

"Yeah," Steve said, the vowels coming out reedy in the tightness of his throat. "Yeah, it's me. Um... I got a... A Code Orange? Or maybe a Yellow." 

"I can never remember that stupid fucking system," Hopper said, and on any other day, Steve would have laughed. "You okay, kid?" 

Kid, Steve thought, his brain buzzing, when was the last time he'd been a kid? 

"No," Steve said, answering the question truthfully for the first time in years. "No, I'm not." 

There was a moment of static, and then, "You need me there?" 

Steve wanted to say yes. Steve wanted to sit on the floor and wait for an adult to come by and take care of it. Steve wanted a dad who would come home and make everything go away. But that wasn't the truth, and it would scare Dustin, so Steve took a deep breath and acted like a fucking grown up for once. "I was thinking that Dustin and I could come by the cabin tonight, actually. There's something there I think we might need." 

Hopper made a small, considering noise. "This about all that nastiness this fall?" 

"Dustin doesn't think so," Steve said, glad to be able to report some good news for once. "It's more… personal. But, you know, you have a lot in the cabin that might have answers, so…" 

There was a moment of dead air, and Steve wondered if Hop was weighing his affection for El against his need to protect Steve. Hopper was obviously more of a protective dad than Steve's dad had ever been, putting even Claudia Henderson to shame with his hovering abilities, and Steve… didn't begrudge El that. Really, he didn't. But there was a lump in his throat when he thought about Hopper leaving him to deal with this on his own. And he would, if it meant keeping his daughter out of trouble. Steve knew that without a moment's thought. 

He wondered what it said about him that the knowledge made his chest ache. Nothing good, probably. 

"Come on down," he said eventually, and something in Steve's chest unclenched. "You'll both stay for dinner." 

"Sounds good," Steve said, although they both knew it hadn't been a question. "We should be there in about ten minutes." 

"Yeah, I know where you live, boy," Hopper said with a snort, and then the line went quiet. 

Despite himself, Steve smiled down at the walkie as he threw it haphazardly back into Dustin's bag. No matter what changed, at least Hop would always be the same. He was the same as a father figure as he was when he had been a stranger breaking up all Steve's best parties. It was a small comfort, to see someone strong enough to not let all the craziness of their lives change him– A comfort that Steve let wash over him in the silence of his kitchen, breathing deep. 

Okay, game face on, he told himself. Keeping how badly this affected him from Dustin was hard enough, and he knew it would be near impossible in the face of El's observant gaze. He wasn't entirely sure how this would affect her, but keeping as calm as possible would stop her from freaking out, and that was always good for Steve's health. 

He loved the kid but, Jesus, she was scary sometimes. 

"So what's the game plan?" Dustin asked as they both climbed into the Beemer. "I mean, what are we going to tell him?"

"Stop trying to game the Chief," Steve said, with the air of an older troublemaker who had long since learned better. "It literally never works." 

"So, what, we just go in there and tell the truth?" Dustin said. He sounded uncomfortable at the idea, which Steve kind of understood. He'd been the same at Dustin's age, always lying and keeping problems to himself for genuinely no good reason. He was still working hard to break the habit, obviously. He didn't know why he did it, though, and Dustin probably wasn't even aware of it yet– It was just a knee-jerk reaction, something Steve had learned after years of proof that telling the truth rarely got you anything but grounded. 

"If we want Hop to help, he's gotta know what's going on," Steve said, with more confidence than he felt. Dustin argued for the entire drive, less because he disagreed, Steve was pretty sure, and more because it was easier than dwelling on the mystery. Sometimes your brain needed a break from the panic spiral of the unknown, and bugging the shit out of your best friend was the perfect solution, apparently. 

Steve sighed in relief when he rounded the last corner and the cabin slid into view. 

Hidden away in the depths of the same woods that abutted Steve's yard, Hopper's cabin was small and plain, unnoticeable from the main roads that cut through the town mere feet away. Steve wasn't sure how many people knew about the place, but those in the know rarely came by except by appointment. Even Joyce knew better than to roll up to Hopper's unannounced. If anything, such a bold move would be a sign that something had gone truly, terribly wrong. 

There was always a bit of nerves just before Steve knocked on the cabin door. Every time, something in him was convinced he would be turned away. The confirmation beforehand didn't help the anxiety, and Steve was never sure why– Maybe it was the feeling of constantly intruding on El and Hopper's new family, or maybe it was just the fact that they both could kick Steve's ass, but the initial frisson of nerves never faded even after Steve had grown comfortable in their presence. 

Hopper opened the door before he could knock, leaving Steve's hand hanging awkwardly in the air. 

"This doesn't look like an emergency," Hopper said, voice gruff– But his gaze swept carefully over the both of them. 

Steve opened his mouth to explain, or at least offer some kind of vague reassurance that would get them in the door, but Dustin beat him to the punch, as usual. "It's not really a human-type emergency." 

Hopper's eyes snapped to Steve, surprise and suspicion mixing together in equal measure. "You said this wasn't about the lab." 

Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry under Hopper's gaze. 

"Most Wesen aren't man-made," Dustin said, suddenly huffy with offense. Steve would probably be offended, too, if he'd had a lifetime to adjust to not being human. Seemed kind of rude to start assuming people were created in a lab. "Look, can we come in? If I have to re-explain my entire society to you, I at least want to do it sitting down." 

To Steve's surprise, Hopper smiled down at Dustin and took a step back, shrugging. It wasn't exactly a grin, but it was there plain as day, small and fond. "Sure, come on in. El," Hopper said, raising his voice to shout across the cabin to his daughter. "Company's here!" 

El's door swung open on cue, all the proof Steve needed that she'd known they were coming the whole time. The girl all but sprinted into the main room, nearly tackling Dustin in a hug. They looked almost like siblings, all brown curls and wide smiles, and El's delight at seeing Dustin was effusive. Despite the stress of the last two days, Steve found himself sharing Hopper's smile. 

The kids chattered to each other, voices soft with delight, and Hopper made eye contact over their heads. "You hanging in there, Harrington?" It was the kindest way to say that he'd heard the panic in Steve's voice earlier, and embarrassment flooded through his veins. Steve appreciated the concern. Really, he did. But suddenly the shame of his own need to be cared for was overwhelming, and Steve had to fight the urge to back out of the house with a mumbled excuse. 

He couldn't figure this out on his own. This wasn't going away. 

Luckily, Hopper's voice had reminded El of their second guest, and she saved Steve from having to reply by pulling away from Dustin. "Steve!" she cooed, her voice still pure childhood. 

She went in for a hug, her face tilting up to beam at him, and– As their eyes met, El's face shifted. The rapidly familiar ripple of a woge, leaving behind the twisted, pitted skin of her second face. 

The black of her eyes burned like coals, and the intensity of them sung in Steve's veins as adrenaline shot through his blood. His hand, which had raised to pull El into a hug, shot towards Dustin, instead– 

Every cell in his body thrummed with instinct. He needed to get the kid out of here, away from the danger. He needed to put himself in between, needed to fight.

Before his hand could even land on Dustin's back, his feet were off the floor. 

Steve hit the cabin wall, the entire room rattling with the weight of El's power. He could hear Hopper and Dustin's voices, surprised and panicked, but their voices were lost in the ringing in his ears. He struggled in vain against El's invisible hold, rage mounting with every futile second. 

The part of him that still held on to rationality, the part that made him Steve, struggled to calm his pounding heart. He knew El wouldn't hurt Dustin, knew El wasn't the threat his body said she was, but it took everything he had just to bite down on the feral scream building in his throat. 

The strings of El's power were cut just as quickly as they were woven, and Steve slumped to the floor. There were hands on him, but he recognized them as Dustin's, and he let them hold him down. 

"I'm… I'm sorry," El said, her voice small. Steve wanted to cry at the fear there, even as the furious parts of him settled in smugness. 

He didn't look at her. He couldn't. Instead, Steve looked up at Hopper, pleading. 

"Something's wrong with me," Steve said, voice shaking. "You have to help." 

Hopper's face was grim, his mouth a flat line as he looked down at them. "You feel the Mindflayer on him?" he asked El, his eyes never leaving Steve. 

El was quick to shake her head. "No, it's not like Will. It was… I think it was me." 

"I already told you, it's not an Upside-Down thing! He's just a Wesen," Dustin said. His hands were shaking where he had them fisted in Steve's t-shirt. Steve leaned into them, feeling them steady against his ribs. 

"Like us?" Some of the unease faded from El, excitement in her eyes. 

"Not exactly," Steve said, still looking up at Hopper with guilty eyes. 

Dustin turned to El, his eyes sparkling with the excitement of having someone who would entertain his nonsense for once. "You noticed his eyes, right? That's the only aspect of his woge. I've never seen anything like it, have you?" 

El shook her head. "I've had woges forced before, but I–" 

"Forced?" Hopper repeated, and Steve slumped further into himself. 

"Steve didn't, though," El said, and her eyes drifted back to Steve. He didn't like the way her eyes went unfocused when he looked back, the same way Dustin had drifted into a haze earlier that day. "I was… afraid." 

"A prey response," Steve said, glumly repeating what Dustin had theorized before. 

"Not of you," El said gently, to Steve's surprise. "When your eyes went black, I could see myself in them. Not my body, but my…" Her face twisted in thought. "My self." 

"I did, too," Dustin said, frowning. "And Steve said he had the same initial adrenaline response, but I didn't–" 

"I didn't like what I saw," El said, her words clipped in the harsh, stilted way it had been when she was younger. 

All four of them sat in the silence that followed for a moment. Steve wondered if they were also trying to ignore what Steve was: The things El had done that Dustin hadn't, the things she'd had no choice but to become. He wasn't sure what El had seen staring back at her, but Steve couldn't imagine having to actually face the worst of himself. And how did his pathetic little life even compare to the things El had survived? 

Eventually, Hopper broke the silence. "I didn't see anything." The skepticism in his voice was palpable, but there was relief there, too. 

"Humans wouldn't," Steve said, a terrible realization creeping up his spine. "We were wrong, Dustin. It's not a predator thing. I think it's…" He huffed, trying to think of some kind of comparison. "It's like those butterflies that make themselves look like owls. They're trying to fend other Wesen off. Whatever I am, it's afraid of being hunted." 

"Alright, alright. This is–" Hopper rubbed a hand over his face, looking five years older than he had when Steve and Dustin had knocked on his door. "Start from the beginning. What exactly are we dealing with here?" 

Dustin and Steve shared a look. 

'You're the smart one,' Steve said with a shrug. 

'You're the one with the freaky eyes,' Dustin said with an arched brow. 

"Alright, so… It started after I picked Dustin up from school yesterday," Steve began. He ran them both through everything, even the parts that made him cringe. The first intense need to fight or escape in the face of Dustin's woge, the changes in his own reflection he couldn't replicate. 

El listened politely, sending Steve small smiles when she noticed him looking her way. Her obvious happiness when he or Dustin included her in their discussion of Wesen almost made Steve feel guilty for hating this. He knew isolation, both real and metaphorical, was the hardest part of El's slow integration into society, and having more Wesen around was probably a dream come true, but– Steve wasn't that guy. He didn't know a damn thing about being Wesen. He was just… human with a condition. 

Besides, whatever levity El brought to the situation, Hopper was apparently determined to stomp out. His face was that of a man facing down a firing squad, one who was fucking pissed about it, besides. When Dustin mentioned Steve's parents, he practically went apoplectic, turning away as his face went redder and redder. 

Whatever the fuck that was about. 

"So we decided we should come to you," Steve said, gesturing, "because you would know what to do about… me." 

Hopper's face didn't get any less angry. El, who had apparently just noticed her father's countenance, looked between them with wide eyes. 

"What to do about you," Hopper repeated, voice flat. 

"Yeah," Steve said, nodding. "Like you did with Will." 

El and Dustin both flinched, but Hopper was made of stone. Nothing but long, uncomfortable eye contact from him. "I don't think there's anything to be done here, kid," Hopper said. 

Steve couldn't suppress the full-body reaction to that, scrambling to his feet. Adrenaline was hitting him again, sending his already exhausted heart into paroxysms, but now it was true fear. Not of some imagined enemy, but of himself. "I can't just be around people like this, Hop," he said through gritted teeth. 

"You're around people now." 

"That's my fucking point! I have like four fucking friends in the entire world, and two of them turned out to be the exact kind of people that I'm a danger to. The only reason El isn't hurt is because she can kick my ass," Steve pushed a hand through his hair, feeling it stick up at the ends from leftover hairspray. He didn't care. He wanted to pull it out by the fucking roots. "What if I go to the grocery store and meet a Wesen in the fucking dairy aisle, Hop? What about the next time I see Mrs. Henderson?" 

"You didn't want to hurt El," Hopper said, his voice calm but his face still marred by anger. "You were reaching for Dustin. You wanted to protect him." 

"You can't know that for sure. I can't– I can't control myself when I'm like that," Steve said. "It took literally everything I had not to hurt my own fucking kid." 

"Me?" Dustin squeaked.

"You can. I know what someone out of control looks like, Harrington. You aren't it." 

"Why can't you just fucking help me?" Steve said, his voice going reedy with desperation. 

Hopper sneered. "I'm not going to help you punish yourself for something you haven't even done yet." 

"I think maybe we should go outside," El said, and Dustin nodded eagerly. They both scurried outside like they were being chased. 

"Stay where I can see you!" Hopper bellowed after them. Steve blinked back tears, shaking in the silence the kids left behind. Hopper took a deep breath. "Look, kid…" 

"I don't get why you won't help," Steve said, his eyes falling to the floor. "It's not punishment when it's El. Why can't you–" 

"El could control herself," Hopper said. "She just didn't know that she needed to. She's still learning how to be a person, Steve. She's just a kid." 

"Right, right. Sorry," Steve rubbed at his nose, willing his tears away. "I'm sorry I bothered you, I–" 

"That's not…" Hopper sighed, grabbing one of Steve's shoulders in one big hand. "What I'm saying is that you're already a good kid. I don't have to worry about you getting yourself or somebody else hurt." 

"I get myself and other people hurt literally all the time."

Hopper rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. You're not going to hurt the kids, and I don't believe you're going to start attacking randoms in the street. You're still you." 

"But…" Steve swallowed around a dry throat. He didn't know how to make Hopper understand, didn't know how to make him care. He'd never been very good at that. Half of his life, Steve had been begging people to care. None of it had ever worked. "Alright. I get it." 

Hopper nodded, looking relieved. "Just go home, Harrington. Lay low for a little while. Get used to the new instincts." Steve still wanted to protest, but he agreed. "Good. Let's get outside, before those kids start some trouble." 

Steve followed Hopper out the cabin door, head held low. Dustin and El were waiting for them on the porch, sitting on the edge with their knees pulled up to his chest. They weren't talking, just watching the door with their bright, expectant faces. 

"It'll be fine," Hopper told them, voice calmer than it had been inside. The kids deserved that, Steve told himself. "Steve's got this." 

"Yup," Steve said, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "It's all under control." 

El darted forward, throwing her arms around Steve's chest and clinging. Steve tried not to meet anyone's eyes over her head and hugged her back just as hard. 

"I'm sorry I scared you," he whispered, heart twinging in his chest. Not much scared El, and now he was on the list. What did that say about him? 

Squeezing even harder, El shook her head, rubbing her face against his chest. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault," she said. It sounded like she was mimicking someone, and Steve wondered if Hopper had done that for her. If she'd been held close and told everything would be okay. 

Swallowing around his jealousy, Steve held on until El stepped back and smiled up at him. "You'll have to give me some tips on how to do this Wesen thing," Steve said. "Dustin's terrible at it." 

She smiled up at him. "We'll learn together." 

Dinner was a simple affair. Hopper hadn't let Steve help at all, so he had sat on the couch and watched Dustin and El play card games until spaghetti was on the table. The kids were loud and chaotic, thrilled to be around each other again, and it didn't matter that Steve only talked when someone asked him a question. Somehow, he made it through the meal, even when every bite churned in his stomach. 

Even when Dustin kept sending him little looks of concern, always too perceptive for his own good. 

They said their goodbyes quickly, even when El begged them to stay. Hopper, laughing, had told her they couldn't stay forever, and waved them out of the cabin and into the car. 

When Steve pulled into the Henderson's driveway, Dustin hesitated before opening the door. 

"So, I've been thinking," Dustin said, "and I don't think I should go to Camp Know-Where this year." 

Immediately, Steve knew he had fucked up. Dustin had talked about little else since the spring semester had started. No matter what problem he'd had, whether it was bullies or how boring his classes were, Dustin had changed the subject to how good this summer was going to be. And Steve got it. Really, he did. If he'd grown up in a town where no one cared about sports and bullied him for liking basketball, he'd be fucking stoked to spend some time with people who understood him, too.

But now Steve had ruined that for him, too. 

"Absolutely not." 

"I can't just…" Dustin looked distressed, and Steve was all the more determined to send the little shit to camp himself. "What if something happens while you're away?" 

"What's gonna happen?" Steve said, even as his brain played a horror film of all the things he could do without Dustin as a buffer for the rest of the world. He tried to borrow a little of Hopper's confidence. "I just have to get a handle on my instincts, that's all." 

"I don't think sitting in your house alone all summer–" Dustin started, but Steve cut him off, slicing his hand through the air. 

"You're going to your shitty little nerd camp, Dustin, and that is final." Before Dustin could protest again, Steve continued, "I have to get a job this summer anyway, remember? Official Bradley Harrington decree. Even if you stayed home, we wouldn't be able to hang out all day. You can't, like, come to work with me." 

Dustin didn't look convinced. "What if something happens?" 

Honestly, Steve didn't know, either. "You know, I'll call…" Who? The last thing Steve wanted was to disappoint Hopper, so he and El were out. The kids were too young to help with this shit, anyway, and Steve didn't really know many other people. That only left… "I'll call Jonathan or Nancy, okay?" 

"You're really gonna call your ex-girlfriend and tell her you went insane and beat the shit out of somebody?" 

Steve sighed. "If I say yes, will you go to camp?" 

Dustin nodded. "Honestly, I kind of hope you fuck up, now." 

Closing his eyes, Steve responded: "Get the fuck out of my car, Henderson." 

The rest of the spring went smoothly. Steve kept to himself at school; He had already descended into minor loserdom after everything with Billy, so it was a piece of cake to stop making eye contact with anyone he wasn't completely sure was human. Graduation came and went with little fanfare. He skipped the ceremony, and made up some shitty excuse about a vacation with his parents. 

He and the kids ate pizza and watched movies all night. Steve pretended not to see the pity in Nancy's eyes when she picked up Mike and Will the next morning. He waved politely at Jonathan and closed the door.

A few weeks later, Dustin left for camp. 

He started work that same week, and Steve was grateful for the distraction. Orientation was a quick affair, the manager running him through health and safety protocol and quizzing him on customer service. Steve wore his best mask the whole time, smiling at all the right times, frowning thoughtfully when he was supposed to. 

"Let me introduce you to your coworker," the manager said, and led Steve into the back room. A girl sat at the table there. She was wearing the same awful uniform that Steve currently held in his hands, but Steve could still see the nerdom radiating off her. Something about the hair and the tacky thrift-store jewelry. This wasn't one of 'his' crowd, and Steve breathed a little easier for it. "Steve, this is Robin Buckley. Rob–" 

"I know who he is," Robin said, and raised her head. 

The woge rippled across her face, revealing fur and piercing golden eyes.

[Next Chapter]

[cdroloisms]

I find it strange that a lot of people are coming forward and saying that the staged finale was a bad play for one reason or another but it really isn’t and I don’t understand where the hate is coming from.

yeah i've seen some of this the last few days--staged finale has always been somewhat "controversial" in the lorehead scene, so a measure of disagreement/discourse about it makes sense. especially bc it was honestly a very big change to what people thought was the story and required people to go back and reevaluate a lot, which. people are naturally resistant at doing

but while obviously i think that some healthy discussion about these things is good, and i feel like i have seen a level of...misunderstanding? about it?? which has gone into the ways that people disagree

staged finale refers to the decision to stage the finale. that's it. staged finale just asserts that based on preexisting foreshadowing and based on the sheer level of suspension of disbelief in order for genuine finale to be real, it made more sense for the finale to be staged than for it to have been genuine. how the finale was planned, when the finale was planned, and to what ends it was planned are all things that you can disagree on w/ other staged finale believers/supporters while still being a staged finale believer/supporter, ykwim? if you believe that c!punz faked his betrayal to c!dream, then congrats! you believe in staged finale. oftentimes i see people say things like "i don't believe in staged finale, i think that c!dream faked the betrayal and all and always had c!punz on his side but i think that the reason behind why he did it is [X]" and it's like. staging the finale is one (1) event, not a comprehensive explanation for everything c!Dream does. that would be more in line with something like the "strategist dream interpretation," which in itself does have different readings as well.

people have listed all of the inconsistencies in the staged finale before, but just to summarize--the guy literally could've dipped when everyone came to "defeat" him, c!tommy leveraging his own life is basically no leverage at all when the mans has the revive book, skeppy cage is a joke, c!dream revealing all of his plans when they were maybe 10% carried out (the entire damn attachment vault was empty of items besides stuff that was literally faked, his own damn stuff, and stuff that he stole recently from c!tommy such as the Axe of Peace and the discs) is ridiculously stupid, why the hell does he have blackmail against c!punz included in a bunker that c!punz clearly had access to???? the list goes on.

(as someone who took awhile to be fully convinced in staged finale, what really tripped me up was the stream punz did the day before: here's a post breaking it down that definitely helped me to see it in a different light.)

as far as foreshadowing goes, just off the top of my head: the original prisoner is a constant question from the day of the prison's creation, being something that's even highlighted on the day of the staged finale itself. c!Dream saying he has "the biggest house on the server" and how it's full of redstone. the entire conversation he has with c!punz, obviously. his holding back on the favor with c!techno, the connection between the revive book and the prison that he establishes the day they begin prison construction.

from a logical perspective, the plan as c!Dream establishes it doesn't make any damn sense. c!dream had opportunities to escape that he didn't take for illogical reasons (if the only reason why he allowed himself to stay in a fucking possible kill chamber was to keep c!tommy from committing suicide, then? what about the revive book? what about the fact that he literally kills c!tommy just a few months later????) -- a level of plot contrivance is expected in the medium, but for a lot of people this was just. Going way too far. Unless he literally lost his whole mind (which, to be fair, was the persona being played) there's just. really no other way to make sense of what was going on there, if it was all genuine.

the other argument is a narrative one--people claim that the story established by a genuine finale is cleaner than the story of the staged one, and honestly. it's like. like that's...a feature, not a flaw? the reason why the genuine finale worked isn't because it was logically believable. dream is Dream Manhunt. he's famously hard to nail down, famously good at escaping sticky situations, famously a man that can outsmart his way out of crazy disadvantageous situations--like. just in terms of minecraft skill, i'd wager that most people would think that dream would've technically been able to pull off an escape even when facing down the collection of enemies that were there. like he had 2 stacks of pearls.

narratively, though, the staged finale has a story that's quite appealing on the surface. the "story" of the events from the spirit speech onwards is one that revolved around the idea of "attachment." c!Dream rejects attachment in favor of control in the spirit speech when he says he refuses to let his love for his dead pet control him anymore, and he focuses on the ability to use the discs to control c!Tommy. the fact that c!Dream's relationships deteriorate at this time seems to support this point, and c!Tommy's strength in his relationships being what saves him and damns c!Dream ties everything off into a neat bow. c!Tommy wins because he has friends and c!Dream loses because he doesn't, moral of the story established, hip-hip-hooray. And so it goes.

but when we look at this more in specifics...? it does start falling apart a bit, doesn't it?

although c!Dream supposedly begins his rampage over his existing emotional connections with the spirit speech, his reputation had been in shambles long before that point. c!Dream-as-villain is first established as part of the greater story in the lmanburg revolution, and that's a title that he never really sheds (this point being emphasized in inconsolable differences and the book c!Wilbur has c!Dream write.) Dethronement happens within a day of Spirit Speech, iirc, and on that day c!Quackity specifically points out that c!Dream has no one on his side but c!Punz. the moments where he is more specifically isolated go back to events such as november 16th, where his alliance with c!Wilbur involved blowing up L'manburg, his deal for the revive book, which involved his publicly betraying Pogtopia, or his opposing Manberg to the literal Manberg cabinet. etc. all of these events in the Manberg/Pogtopia era had c!Dream's loyalties erode to end up as just c!Wilbur and later c!Schlatt for the book, two dead men. (and i say eroded loyalties as if pogtopia really believed dream was on their side, like, ever? like he was never trusted in their ranks, even by c!Tommy, who was definitely the person he worked the closest with outside of c!Wilbur.)

if we look at Dethronement itself, it doesn't actually fit the pattern of "c!Dream cuts off his attachment to people in order to make himself uncontrollable" -- in fact, what it does fit the pattern of is. Staged finale? Faking an end in a relationship with people that he does consider important to him, making a public appearance of betrayal + anger to mask an existing connection, drawing attention to their being enemies to hide the fact that they're actually friends--that's not c!Dream cutting anyone off. That's just the exact same ploy that he uses to make people think that c!Punz betrays him (only c!Sapnap and c!George ended up deciding that Nah We're Gonna Kill You Now. Fuck You It's Coup Time. so that's how that ended up.)

Otherwise there's...the Badlands, who were perfectly happy to agree to joining the coup on the day of dethronement if it got them more power and land. c!Techno, who c!Dream wasn't an ally of until later on with the favor established and then doomsday, and who was someone c!Dream was quite openly wary of + afraid of due to his combat skill. c!Dream was alone literally before exile even happened, his remaining "attachments" of c!George and c!Sapnap turning against him like the day he goes on a whole spiel about ohhoho from today onwards i DONT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT MY ATTACHMENTS !!! I ONLY CARE ABOUT THE DISCS !!! like congrats you don't even have a chance to cut off any attachment at all dingus they all hate you and want you dead already.

further, with c!punz, he literally says that they're more than just employer/employee in the infamous conversation they have about planning a betrayal. if the whole point of the story is "attachment good," then why is it that what takes down c!dream is...his one remaining attachment? if his fatal flaw is that he didn't trust people enough, why is it that he loses because he trusted someone too much? it's not like c!tommy had any attachment to c!punz--c!punz explicitly "has a reason" to betray c!dream because of money. he helps c!tommy because dream "should have paid [him] more." none of that reflects that spirit of "attachment" that people claim was c!dream's downfall.

(not to mention how the people present in the staged finale to take c!dream down included people who literally hated c!tommy's guts. like. what brought them together wasn't the power of friendship, it was the power of we hate this green bastard.)

this isn't to say that c!Dream didn't have some relationships that go up in flames because he starts acting particularly cackling evil villain (with the green festival being the specific moment where he really goes full in with that persona, going from someone that was framing himself as having a Reasonable Complaint to literally the joker as soon as he gets the disc from c!Tubbo. It's purposefully played as a "mask off" moment that is meant to make him look like a crazy fucking villain in front of a large audience--whether or not you think that was a choice that he made in character or not, the way his personality changes as soon as he receives the disc is jarring.) In particular, his relationships with c!Puffy and c!Sam come to mind--c!Puffy burns the house she made him when she decides that he's too evil (but, uh, c!dream really wasn't even there for that and didn't ever have a particularly close relationship with her) and c!Sam is among those whose opinions of c!Dream become drastically more negative around the period of time that spans green festival->doomsday->staged finale. but it's important to note that c!Dream's relationships on the server aren't...great, at the time of spirit speech. They're uh, really fucking bad, actually. dethronement only makes them even worse, and all of this happens pre-exile. c!Dream had significant reason to be paranoid and afraid for his life long before exile happens, which is Quite Significant, Actually, when you consider that that paranoia is literally what goes into his decisions to carry out the staged finale + put himself in the prison (which isn't the case for genuine finale, where he's more motivated by a desire to control the server without being controlled himself.) staged finale does solidify c!dream-as-villain for a lot of people, but it never would've worked if people didn't already see him as a villain in the first place. c!Dream doesn't make people hate him with the staged finale; he uses hatred that he already knows exists to put himself in what he sees as a safer position.

and look we could go into a whole discussion about manberg/pogtopia c!Dream (which i do think is way overdue to be fair considering that that's where the paranoia + isolation that motivates him post-november 16th comes from in the first place) but this post is long enough already and i still have to figure out a better way to articulate my thoughts on the matter. anyway. carrying on:

people still have different feelings on why he carries out staged finale in the first place, but what we do know for sure is that it was meant to protect punz and protect the revive book. by firmly establishing that c!punz and him were on opposite sides, he keeps the revive book safe and both of their lives safe by extension: as long as no one would kill both of them at the same time, they had a means of reviving the other if need be and obviously had the information on how to raise people from the dead secure. which was important to them. and otherwise...c!Dream is paranoid. c!Dream is very, very paranoid, and this paranoia goes back at the very least to when he learns about the revive book. the prison, for all the dependence that it required of him, was tailor made (and the construction process controlled by dream every damn step of the way) to make sure that whoever was in the main cell would be safe from external threats. the security of the prison and the prisoner was the POINT. i've seen some assertions that staged finale implies that he predicted everything that happened after he was put in prison and...no? i'd say that c!dream's behavior indicates him being thrown off by c!sam as early as bad's prison visit, c!sapnap's prison visit for sure. c!Ranboo being banned from visitation pretty damn obviously fucks him up, tbh. he has c!punz explicitly out there to keep an eye out on the server while he's in the prison, where he was meant to remain for a period of time that was supposed to be much shorter than how long he ends up being there. likely because, you know, he was supposed to have a consistent and reliable source of information with the outside world in the form of c!Ranboo, and c!sam wasn't supposed to fall off the fucking rails as soon as the prison started. people have also talked about how having the staged finale be true means that c!dream doesn't lose, which...i mean. gestures at the prison arc? that whole thing is a loss so catastrophic it literally destroys him. he's never the same after the prison happens. the false betrayal of c!punz is deliberately like ironically described to c!sam, who was the REAL betrayal that fucking. ruins him. he loses SO MUCH over the course of the prison, which was something he literally designed to keep himself safe from external threat. as far as losses go, i definitely find that a lot more compelling and a lot less contrived than watching c!dream go "whoop de doo guess i have to die now" when he's like 3 pearls away from making a clean escape in the disc vault, tbh.

at the end of the day, i think having some conversation about staged finale is fun! and it's always good to reexamine what you believe to make sure that it still holds water. but i've really not seen much staged finale crit that makes the genuine finale feel favorable as an explanation: logically, it makes a lot less sense. narratively, it relies on a story that the audience wants to be true and acts as a "clean" explanation for everything while not actually taking into account a lot of what was ACTUALLY going on for c!dream (cutting off attachments for the sake of control versus watching people turn against you and becoming increasingly paranoid, for example). and believe them or not, the content creators involved have always asserted that staged finale was the plan from the beginning, not any form of retcon. (and we do know that people have been dodgy about stuff like the "original prisoner" literally since the week that c!dream was imprisoned, so take that as you will.) (okay to be fair theyve been dodgy about the original prisoner since the day that the prison began to be constructed, but the QnA from that first week of imprisonment sticks out to me in particular because cc!Sam had the biggest fucking smile on his face and staged finale would've been planned out and then carried out in entirety by the ccs and the c!s by that point.)

this is a longass post but uh hopefully it makes sense, lmao. tried to touch on most of what i've seen recently 😅

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

like literally the whole reason c!wilbur in pogtopia is portrayed as physically abusive and deliberately violent, cruel and dehumanising towards c!tommy intentionally, and possessive to the point of violence (when he was a severely mentally ill man lashing out who was terrified of himself and never laid a finger on c!tommy- which isn’t to defend the other stuff he did he did some fucked shit but he was Not Like That At All) and c!dream in logstedshire is portrayed as sad and regretful, only verbally abusive (or just “manipulative”) and simply going towards a means to an end (when he beat c!tommy regularly, giggled at it, insistently spent time with him even after he said he’d stop, made up fake rules to fuck with c!tommy further, and never stopped until he literally fucking died) is literally Just ableism. like. it’s bc c!wilbur had a more stigmatised mental illness than c!dream. literally people just took the traits of c!dream in exile and put it on pogtopia c!wilbur bc ahhhhh delusions scary (but when the abuse victim is the one with psychosis then really they have to be lying about their experiences right and their abuser can’t be that bad). it’s just ableism the whole way down.