#not even gonna blur that. we're all fucking thinking it

[writeriguess]

HOLY MOLY THAT ONSEN KIRISHIMA PROMPT WAS HOT

Is it possible to request the same with Katsuki? 🤍🤍🤍

Boiling Point

The trip to the ryokan had been a welcome change of pace from the usual grind of training at U.A. High. The class had been granted the rare opportunity to relax in a traditional Japanese inn, though the main purpose remained outdoor training. Days had been filled with strenuous exercises in the surrounding mountains, and nights were dedicated to recovery and leisure. The hot spring onsen, in particular, was the highlight of the trip—a perfect way to soothe sore muscles.

You had taken full advantage of the luxury, slipping into the hot waters as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was crisp with the cool evening breeze, and the contrast against the steamy water was heavenly. The wooden walls of the open-air bath surrounded you, giving a sense of privacy despite the expansive night sky above.

You leaned back with a contented sigh, letting the heat seep into your muscles, completely forgetting the one important detail about this particular onsen—after sunset, it became mixed-gender.

It wasn’t until you heard the telltale splash of someone else entering the water that you opened your eyes. A slow dread crawled up your spine as your gaze locked onto none other than Bakugo Katsuki.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The steam curled lazily between you, thick but not enough to obscure the full realization of your predicament. His ruby eyes widened ever so slightly before narrowing, a mixture of confusion and irritation flashing across his face.

"The fuck?" His voice cut through the silence. "What are you doin' here?"

Your stomach twisted as your brain caught up to your mistake. "Oh, shit," you breathed. "I forgot it was mixed after dark."

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t make any immediate moves to leave. Instead, he lowered himself into the water, muscles tense as if debating whether to bolt or stay. His broad chest and arms flexed subtly with the movement, and you swallowed hard, trying not to stare.

"Well, don’t freak out or anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "S’not like I’m gonna jump you or somethin'."

You let out an awkward laugh, shifting in the water to create more space between you. "I’m not freaking out," you said, though the warmth rushing to your face suggested otherwise.

Minutes passed, both of you awkwardly sitting in silence. The only sounds were the soft bubbling of the water and the occasional distant voices of classmates from inside the ryokan.

Slowly, the tension began to ease. You caught Katsuki sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking, his usual scowl now tinged with something else—something curious, maybe even appreciative.

"Didn’t think you’d be the type to enjoy shit like this," he muttered eventually.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice even. "I like hot springs. Feels nice after training."

"Hah. Yeah, guess so."

The air shifted between you. The longer you sat there, the more the awkwardness gave way to something else—a slow, creeping awareness of how little separated you. The water lapped at your shoulders, concealing just enough to be tantalizing.

"You keep lookin' at me like that, we're gonna have a problem," Katsuki murmured, his voice lower now, rougher.

Your heart skipped. "Like what?"

"Like you're thinkin' somethin' you shouldn’t."

Your mouth was dry as you stared at him. His damp skin glistened under the soft glow of the lanterns, droplets trailing down sculpted abs before disappearing beneath the water. The tension stretched, electric and suffocating.

"Maybe I am," you admitted, pulse hammering in your ears.

His smirk was all sharp edges. "Then stop thinkin' and do somethin' about it."

The next few moments were a blur—steam rising, lips colliding, a mess of hands and heated skin. The water sloshed around you as Katsuki pulled you into his lap, his grip firm, possessive. His mouth was searing against yours, all teeth and desperation, his usual aggression bleeding into the way he kissed you.

"Fuck," he growled against your lips. "You’re playin' with fire, dumbass."

You shivered despite the heat. "Maybe I like the burn."

That was all the invitation he needed.

What started as awkward tension spiraled into something rough, needy. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair as he nipped at your throat, hands roaming, squeezing, claiming. The feeling of him—hard, thick, and insistent against your thigh—sent a thrill through you.

"Turn around," he ordered, voice ragged.

You obeyed, letting out a sharp gasp as he positioned you over him. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, but Katsuki's hands on your hips guided you, coaxing you to take him inch by inch. The pleasure was a slow, mounting pressure, burning and electric.

"Shit… so tight," he muttered, breath hot against your shoulder.

Your fingers clawed at his forearms, steadying yourself as you began to move, rolling your hips experimentally. The groan he let out was low, primal, and it sent a rush of arousal straight to your core.

His grip tightened. "Faster."

You obeyed, moving with reckless abandon, the water splashing around you. The sounds of your bodies colliding filled the air, mingling with your breathless moans and his strangled curses. Every drag of him inside you sent you higher, every rough snap of his hips making your vision blur.

"Fuckin' perfect," he growled, biting down on your shoulder as he thrust up into you. "Knew you'd take me so well."

The pleasure built, coiling tight, spiraling out of control. It was too much and not enough all at once.

"Katsuki—"

"I got you," he gritted out, one hand reaching between you to press against your swollen clit. "Cum for me. Now."

The command sent you over the edge, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. You clenched around him, body shaking, and the way you tightened around him drove him to his own release. His groan was low and guttural as he spilled inside you, holding you down, buried deep as he rode out his climax.

For a while, the only sound was your heavy breathing. Slowly, you collapsed against him, body spent, head resting against his shoulder.

Katsuki huffed a laugh. "Didn’t expect that when I walked in here."

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. "Neither did I."

He tilted your chin up, smirking down at you. "Thinkin' of forgettin' the bath schedule again tomorrow?"

You laughed breathlessly, already feeling heat stir again. "Maybe."

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

sweet thing

part II

Pairing: Sam x Ruby x Innocent!Fem!Reader

Summary: Ruby whispers like the serpent, Sam worships like a sinner, and between them, you are kept soft, obedient, theirs. You used to be innocent. Now you’re sacred.

Warnings: 18+!, language, manipulation, demon blood era Sam, Ruby is a warning by herself, corruption, coercion, praise, smut (dirty talk, kissing, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, overstim, p in v, spitting, threesome f/f/m, mommy & daddy kink, DUBIOUS CONSENT), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 4,677

A/N: I had to do part two... because this was originally gonna be in the first part, but I took it out because I panicked and thought "that's too much, smin." and after plenty of encouragement from my fave (zoe) and all of you lovelies, I decided to expand on it and put it into part two. So... yeah. I hope y'all like it. I really do. Even if it is twisted as fuck. (I could be more twisted, but I don't wanna lose people with my warped mind.) All the love.

The motel room was quiet.

Not silent—there was the hum of the old A/C, the occasional creak of the bed as someone shifted—but that deep, hollow quiet that only came after something important had happened.

You barely moved.

Your body ached in places you didn't have names for. Your legs felt heavy, like they didn't quite belong to you anymore, and your throat was raw from all the sounds you barely remembered making. The sheets were damp with sweat. The air was warm. Somewhere nearby, the low sound of breath caught in a chest and then let go again.

Then came Ruby's hand. Light on your arm. Fingertips tracing lazy, feather-soft patterns over your skin.

"Hey, baby," she murmured, voice syrupy with sleep. "You're awake."

You blinked up at the ceiling, eyes sticky. You couldn't find your voice right away. Everything felt floaty. Far away.

Ruby shifted beside you, turning to face you. Her lips brushed your cheek once, then again.

"You were so perfect last night."

You swallowed. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. She smiled like that was expected. Like your silence made her proud.

"It's okay if it's a little fuzzy. First times are always overwhelming."

She tucked your hair behind your ear. Her nails grazed your temple. You still hadn't looked at Sam—couldn't. Not yet.

"You wanted it, sweetheart," she said gently, like a mother soothing a frightened child. "You were begging. You said please."

Your chest fluttered. "I... I think I remember..."

"You don't have to remember everything," Ruby whispered. "That's what we're here for."

She kissed your forehead.

"We'll take care of you. Always."

There was movement behind you. A shift in the mattress. You felt a hand—his hand—settle against your hip. Sam didn't speak. But his fingers curled there, steady. Warm.

Ruby smiled over your shoulder. "See?" She whispered. "He's been watching you all morning. Like he's afraid you'll disappear."

You turned your face into the pillow. Your eyes stung.

"Did I..." Your voice cracked. "Was I... okay?"

Ruby made a delighted sound. She cupped your chin and turned your face back toward her.

"You were beautiful. The way you begged? The way you cried?" Her smile was sharp, but her voice stayed sweet. "I've never seen anyone fall apart so perfectly."

You flushed, eyes wide. She kissed your lips—soft, sweet, claiming.

"And we're just getting started, sweet thing."

The days started to blur after that first night.

You never talked about it—not really. Not out loud. Ruby was always near, smiling like she had a secret, her touch everywhere. She'd slip into bed behind you in the mornings, press up against your back and guide your hand down between her legs, whispering "just like that, sweet thing. Be gentle, Mommy's sensitive."

You never knew where to look when she said that. Mommy.

Sometimes she'd pull you into motel bathrooms after their hunts, tug your shirt over your head with a laugh and drag you into the shower with her. She'd press her wet chest to yours, tilt your chin up, and say:

"You like being close to me, don't you?"

You always nodded. You always meant it. It was easier than asking why Sam never looked you in the eye afterward.

He was different now. Quieter. Distant. Sometimes he wouldn't touch you for days—just sit in the corner, jaw tight, fingers twitching, like he was trying to hold something back. Other times—when he came back from wherever Ruby took him, his pupils blown wide and his hands shaking—he'd look at you again. Like that night. Like he was starving.

One night, you woke to the door slamming. You stayed very still beneath the blanket. You heard Ruby's voice, low and amused.

"Told you she missed you."

Then Sam was on top of you—touching you through your clothes, rough and fast and silent while Ruby sat on the edge of the bed and smiled like a cat watching something small try to run.

You came twice before he even kissed you. You were crying by the end of it. Ruby shushed you, pet your hair, said:

"You're such a sweet little thing. So eager to please."

You didn't know what you'd done right. But you were glad you'd done it.

They did not take you again. Not like that first night. Sometimes Sam kissed you like he meant it, then left the room like he was in pain. Sometimes Ruby curled up behind you and whispered things that made your cheeks burn:

"You miss it, don't you? Having Daddy inside you." or, "Bet that pretty little body aches for him."

Daddy.

You didn't answer. But she always laughed like she already knew.

You started sleeping between them. Not always—but often enough. Ruby would call you sweet thing in the dark, stroke your back while Sam breathed hard behind you like he was trying not to fall apart.

You thought maybe you'd done something wrong. Maybe you weren't what they wanted. But then Ruby would smile that slow, gleaming smile and say:

"You're still learning, baby. We're just teaching you how to be good."

And you believed her, because when Ruby smiled like that, it was easy to forget anything else.

The rain had started sometime after midnight.

You'd curled up on the little armchair in the corner of the motel room, legs tucked under Sam's old shirt, knees pressed to your chest. The fabric smelled like him. Like soap and leather and something darker you could never quite name.

You'd been waiting for hours.

Ruby and Sam had gone out again. Another hunt. Another night where you weren't invited. You hadn't even asked this time—you already knew what they'd say.

"It's too dangerous."

"You're not ready."

"Just be good and wait for us."

And you were good. Always. So why didn't they want you?

You stared out the rain-speckled window, the night outside blurred and slick with water, and tried not to cry.

You failed.

You didn't sob. Not loudly. Just a few hiccupped breaths, your cheek pressed to your knees, your eyes hot. You weren't even sure what hurt more—the ache between your thighs from the memories they gave you, or the hollow in your chest from how distant they felt since.

You thought, stupidly, that they might come back and see you like this and think you were pathetic.

But then the door burst open, and you startled violently, lifting your head as Ruby strode in first—her coat soaked through, curls dripping, mouth parted in laughter. Sam followed close behind, jaw set, eyes wild.

Your breath caught.

He had that look again. Pupils blown wide. Shoulders stiff. His hands were clenched at his sides, arms crossed, like he needed to hold himself still or he'd do something about it.

And Ruby? Ruby saw you immediately. Her eyes lit up the second she caught the tear tracks down your face.

"Oh, sweet thing—"

She dropped to her knees in front of you before you could even wipe your face.

"Why are you crying?" Her voice was low and syrupy. "What's happened, hmm?"

You tried to speak—tried—but she didn't really let you. She leaned forward, hands sliding up your bare legs under the hem of Sam's shirt. Her touch was warm, familiar, too much.

"You miss us?" She cooed. "Were you lonely while Mommy and Daddy were out working?"

You flushed instantly, eyes wide. You'd never called them that, but she'd been saying it for weeks. Referring to herself as Mommy, and Sam as Daddy. You weren't sure how to feel about it.

"I—I wasn't—"

Her fingers pushed higher. And then she gasped. A hand flying to her mouth in mock-shock, eyes glittering with delight.

"Oh my God, baby..." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "No panties?"

You went stiff.

Sam made a choked sound behind her.

"Did you do that on purpose?" Ruby asked sweetly, sliding her hands to your hips. "Were you waiting here all soft and needy, hoping we'd find you like this?"

"N-no, I just—"

"Just what?" She purred, crawling her fingers higher, dragging her nails lightly against your inner thighs. "Just missed us so much you got wet waiting?"

You whimpered. Ruby looked over her shoulder, smiling at Sam like she'd just opened a birthday present.

"She's dripping," she said casually. "You wanna see?"

Sam didn't speak. He didn't need to. His chest was heaving, nostrils flared, hands clenched tighter now.

Ruby turned back to you, voice dropping to a gentle hum.

"You don't have to cry anymore, baby. You're not in trouble." She leaned forward, lips brushing your cheek, your temple, your ear. "You're perfect. You just need to remember where you belong."

Ruby smiled like a secret, her hands still stroking slow, taunting lines along your inner thighs.

You were burning. Face hot, legs twitching, heart thudding like a war drum in your chest. Sam's shirt had bunched high on your hips now, and your bare legs trembled beneath Ruby's touch, your breath catching every time her fingertips slipped just a little too close.

"So sensitive," she whispered, brushing her knuckles just below where you ached. "You missed us this much, sweet thing?"

You couldn't look at her. Or Sam. You stared at the window, the glass dark with rain, and swallowed hard.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Shhh." Ruby leaned in, her breath warm on your skin. "It's okay. We like you needy."

She reached up and curled her fingers around your thighs, dragging them open with gentle insistence, her nails scraping lightly. You whimpered.

"That's it," she cooed, eyes flicking up to yours. "Let Mommy see."

You flinched at the word. Your face went red so fast it felt like fire. Ruby noticed, of course. She always did. She purred.

"Ohhh, that's what it is. That little word's too much for you, huh?"

You bit your lip, hard.

Sam was still standing by the door, arms crossed, his breathing shallow. He hadn't moved, but his eyes never left you. They were so dark now you could barely see the hazel. You knew that look.

"Sam," Ruby called, her voice syrup-thick. "You're just gonna stand there and let me have all the fun?"

He didn't answer. But his jaw flexed. His nostrils flared. He was breathing through it—barely.

"Look how pretty she is," Ruby murmured, dipping her fingers between your legs. "Already so wet, Sam. And she's been crying for us."

You moaned. Just a soft, shattered thing as she brushed your clit with two fingers, slow and gentle, like she had all the time in the world to destroy you.

"Bet Daddy missed this little pussy too," she said, looking right at him. "Bet he's aching just thinking about what it felt like wrapped around him."

You made a broken noise, burying your face in your hands, thighs twitching.

Ruby grinned.

"Aw, baby. Getting shy now?" Her fingers dipped lower—just once. A teasing press that made your whole body jolt. "You wanna come, don't you?"

You nodded frantically.

"Then ask for it."

Your voice cracked. "P-please—"

"Not like that, sweet thing." Her tone dropped. Lush. Dangerous. "Say it the right way."

You shook your head, face burning, breath hitching.

"Can't," you whispered.

"Yes, you can." She leaned forward and licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your inner thigh. "You say Mommy, and I'll let you come. I'll even get Daddy to come over here and give you a kiss for being so good."

You whined, thighs trembling.

"Say it," she whispered, her fingers circling your clit now in slow, devastating spirals. "You're doing so well, sweet girl. Don't you want to be good for us?"

Sam groaned softly. You heard it. Low and guttural in the back of his throat.

"He's watching," Ruby said. "He's waiting for you. Don't you want him to see what a good little girl you are?"

Your breath broke. Your body arched. You felt the pressure building—tight and unbearable.

"Say it," she whispered again. "Say it, and you can come."

You were crying again. Not from sadness. From overwhelm. From everything. From her touch and his stare and the ache in your chest.

"M-Mommy—"

Ruby gasped like you'd given her a gift.

"There she is."

And then she curled her fingers inside you and you shattered. You came hard—sobbing, breath broken, back arched—your thighs trembling around Ruby as her fingers fucked you through it like she hadn't even noticed the way your voice cracked around that first desperate Mommy.

But she noticed. Of course she did. And she was grinning.

"There she is," she murmured, fucking you faster now, fingers soaked. "That's my good girl. You just needed a little push."

Your head lolled back, lips parted, body twitching beneath her. You barely registered the way Sam's breath hitched again from across the room. But Ruby did. She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes glittering with dark delight.

"Still just standing there like a kicked puppy, huh?" She said, mock-sweet, fingers not slowing in the slightest. "How long are you gonna keep pretending you're better than this?"

He didn't answer. He never answered when she spoke like that—just stood there, shaking, breathing too hard, eyes glued to where her fingers disappeared inside you, again and again.

"She's begging for it," Ruby went on, her voice still syrupy, her fingers pressing harder now, faster. "She already called me Mommy. What's the matter, Sammy? You afraid if she says your name, you'll finally admit what you really are?"

Sam's jaw clenched.

Ruby looked back at you, her eyes suddenly soft. Gentle.

"Sweet thing," she whispered. "You want him, don't you?"

You whined. Nodded.

"Then ask him to come over," she said, her fingers pressing deep. "Use your words, baby. Ask Daddy to come take what's his."

You sobbed again. It was too much—your body hot and wet and raw, her touch relentless, Sam's stare scorching through you. You couldn't breathe. Still, you turned your head toward him, trembling, shame thick in your chest.

"Please..." Your voice cracked. "P-please come over..."

He didn't move. His fists were clenched at his sides. His mouth was parted, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run miles.

"Say it," Ruby whispered. Her fingers curled inside you, found that spot again, and pressed. "Say it right, baby. Call him what he is."

You squeaked—your hips jolted. Your breath caught in your throat.

"D-Daddy—"

Sam snapped.

He was across the room before you blinked, hand fisting in Ruby's hair as he dragged her up and crashed his mouth to hers—hungry, violent, a kiss full of frustration and filth and everything he hadn't said in days.

Ruby moaned into it, triumphant. And then he shoved her away. She stumbled back, laughing. And Sam grabbed you.

"Mine," he growled, voice ruined. "Fucking mine—"

He hauled you into his arms, kissed you like he needed to own your mouth again, biting at your lip, panting against your skin, muttering filth between each frantic kiss.

"You don't fucking say that unless you mean it—you don't call me that unless you want me to ruin you... you're not getting away now, baby—never."

His hands were everywhere. Gripping your thighs, your ass, one hand cupping the back of your neck like he wanted to keep you still while he kissed you until your lips bruised.

Ruby just watched, licking her lips.

"Told you she'd be perfect."

And Sam? He didn't even hear her. He was too busy breaking your mouth with his.

You were clinging to Sam's chest, your breath hot and fast against his throat, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it felt like bruises blooming. Your lips were swollen, your whole body throbbing from Ruby's fingers, and your mind was still spinning when she spoke again—voice bright and cruel with delight.

"She's gonna get on her knees for you, Sammy."

Your head whipped around so fast it made you dizzy.

"Wh-what?"

Ruby smiled at you like you were being silly.

"Oh, sweet thing," she cooed. "You'll love it. I promise."

Sam made a sound—almost a whimper, deep and guttural—and buried his face in your neck for a second, breathing hard.

"Jesus Christ..."

"Don't blaspheme in front of the baby," Ruby said mock-innocently. "She's still pure. For now."

You blinked at her, lips parting, still too dazed to form anything more than a breathy, high-pitched: "But... I don't— I don't know how—"

Ruby's palm cracked lightly across your ass, making you squeak and press harder against Sam, the sting blooming instantly.

"Don't talk back," she said, still smiling. "You're gonna be a good girl and let Daddy teach you."

Your chest fluttered. Your thighs clenched. You nodded, still wide-eyed and hot-faced. Sam's head dropped back—he groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he looked back at you, his pupils still black around the edges.

"You wanna make me happy, baby?" He asked hoarsely.

Your stomach flipped. You nodded.

"Yeah—yes—I do..."

He exhaled like he'd been punched, then gently let your legs slide down his hips until your feet hit the carpet again. You stood there, trembling between them, eyes flicking up at Sam—tall, wrecked, lips bitten raw—and over to Ruby, who raised a brow at you and tilted her chin down toward the floor at his feet.

Then back to you. A silent question.

Well?

You nodded. Your knees hit the carpet with a soft thud. You looked up. And Sam looked like he was about to levitate.

"Holy fuck..."

Ruby moved behind you, her hands running down your arms, smoothing your hair back over your shoulders.

"That's it," she whispered, kissing the crown of your head. "So obedient. You make Mommy so proud."

You flushed, swallowing hard as your hands rose shakily to Sam's belt. You fumbled—nervous, trembling—but he didn't move. He just watched you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched tight.

Ruby leaned down behind you, her lips brushing your ear. "He's waited so long for this, sweet thing," she whispered. "You're making his dreams come true."

Your fingers slipped under the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down with shaky resolve. You pressed a soft kiss to the skin just below his navel. Then another, lower. You looked up again, lips parting, and Sam's eyes rolled back for a second, his fists clenched tight at his sides.

Ruby giggled behind you, delighted.

"Go slow," she whispered. "Get used to it. Be curious. He likes that."

You nodded. And then you leaned in—tentative, gentle—your lips ghosting over the skin, warm and unfamiliar. You licked softly, unsure, and Sam groaned so deep it rattled through his ribs.

Ruby reached around, cupping your jaw lightly, her other hand stroking your back.

"That's it, baby. So good. Such a fast learner."

Above you, Sam's hand fisted in Ruby's hair again, and they kissed—filthy, desperate—while you knelt below them like something consecrated. Ruby's hands were steady on your shoulders, guiding your mouth, murmuring quiet praise between kisses while Sam stood above you like a man on the edge of something catastrophic.

"That's it, baby," she whispered. "Make him feel good. You want to make Daddy proud, don't you?"

You nodded. You did. You always did.

Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of his boxers, the rough denim of his jeans still clinging low to his hips. You pressed a kiss just below his navel again, licked lightly at the skin, tasted sweat and salt. Sam groaned above you, deep and desperate, his hips twitching forward just a little.

You froze.

"It's okay," Ruby said, voice like warm silk. "Just your Daddy needing you. You can give him more, can't you, sweet thing?"

She guided your hand forward. You wrapped your fingers around him, shaky and curious, and brought your mouth lower. Your lips brushed the tip. You kissed. Licked. Gentle.

Then Ruby's hand pressed more firmly on the back of your head.

"Open wider."

You gasped, startled, but obeyed, letting her guide you down slowly. Until it was too much. You gagged, pulled back with a soft choke, eyes wide and watering.

"Oh baby," Ruby giggled. "You'll get there. It just takes practice."

Sam growled. It wasn't a sound of pleasure. It was warning. He reached down, fisted Ruby's shirt, and yanked her forward—kissed her hard, open-mouthed, filthy—and then shoved her back with a snarl.

"Don't fucking do that," he snapped. "She's not ready."

Ruby laughed. Like he'd just complimented her.

And Sam dropped. Dropped to his knees in front of you like something holy, grabbed your face in both hands, and kissed you. Sloppy. Deep. Wet. His own taste still on your lips. His tongue in your mouth like he needed to take something back.

"You okay?" He whispered against your lips, voice wrecked.

You nodded.

"Good," he breathed. "Because I'm done pretending."

He scooped you up.

You gasped, arms wrapping around his neck, your legs dangling off his forearms as he stood—eyes wild, mouth parted, like something ravenous. He carried you to the bed. Laid you down. Reverent. Rough.

Ruby followed, crawling beside you like smoke.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" She purred, fingers brushing your thighs. "You've been so good for us. You earned this."

Your breath caught. Your chest was tight. Sam was tugging your shirt up, pushing it over your head, and Ruby kissed your shoulder as it passed.

"You're not a virgin anymore, sweet thing," she whispered. "But this is still new. This is still the first time you know what it means."

You whimpered.

Sam kissed down your chest, over your ribs, back up to your jaw, his stubble scratching, his mouth so hot. He settled between your legs and looked down at you like he was watching something sacred die.

"I haven't stopped thinking about this," he said. "Never. Not once."

You nodded, legs trembling.

"Please..."

That was all it took.

He entered you slow, careful, but deep. And your back arched. Ruby kissed your mouth. Sam cursed through gritted teeth.

"Fucking tight," he panted. "Still feels like the first time."

Ruby's hand stroked your hair, gentle and possessive.

"Tell him he's yours," she murmured. "Tell Daddy how good he makes you feel."

You did. And Sam lost it. He started moving faster—harder—his hands gripping your hips like he wanted to disappear inside you.

"If I'm going to hell for this..." His voice was raw, broken. "...I'm taking you with me."

You sobbed—pleasure and panic and perfect surrender—and Ruby smiled like a queen. Your breath came in gasps—short, panicked, overwhelmed. Sam was deep inside you, his rhythm turning frantic, brutal. Your body rocked with every thrust, thighs trembling, hands scrabbling uselessly at the sheets.

"You feel this?" He growled, voice unrecognisable. "This is what you fucking do to me."

You whimpered—yes—but it came out broken, like a sob.

Ruby was closer to you now, her body pressed to your side, her lips at your ear. "You're doing so good, sweet thing," she whispered. "Taking Daddy so well."

Sam moaned, head dropping low, his hands tightening on your waist.

"Don't say that," he hissed, though he didn't stop. "She doesn't know what that means—"

"She doesn't need to," Ruby crooned. "She just knows she wants it."

She kissed your cheek, your neck, her fingers brushing gently over your chest, down your belly, until she found the spot where Sam was splitting you open and rubbed.

You screamed. Your legs kicked, tears spilled over your cheeks, your hands flew to Ruby's wrist—but she didn't stop. Sam didn't stop.

"You gonna come again?" Ruby whispered. "You gonna soak Daddy's cock like a good little thing?"

"F-fuck—Ruby—" Sam panted.

You nodded—couldn't form words—but your body answered for you. Your back arched, your toes curled, and you let out a broken, cracked sob as everything snapped. Your orgasm hit like a flood.

Sam swore, hips stuttering as your body clenched down on him, dragging him under with you.

"Shit—shit, I'm gonna—"

Ruby kissed your open mouth just as Sam groaned loud and deep, burying himself to the hilt as he came—hard—inside you, his grip on your hips bruising, his chest shaking with the force of it.

Everything blurred after that. You were floating. Crying. Ruby was kissing your temple, whispering praise. Sam was slumped over you, face in your neck, murmuring "mine" like a mantra.

"Look at you," Ruby whispered, brushing sweaty hair from your forehead. "Completely ours now."

You couldn't even nod. You just laid there, limp and full and ruined. And you didn't want to be anywhere else.

Ruby smiled like she'd seen it all before. Like every soft sob you gave them was prophesied. Like she'd stood at the gates of Eden once and whispered to Eve—not with threats, but with promises.

"It's not evil, sweet thing," she murmured, lips against your temple. "It's just love. We're just teaching you how to feel it."

She curled around you like smoke, like scripture rewritten, like the serpent who never lied—just spoke too softly to resist.

"Let the world call it sin," she said. "We'll call it devotion."

And you? You believed her. Because her hands never hurt, not really. Because her mouth tasted like salvation. Because the fall didn't feel like falling—not when it ended in their arms.

The room was warm with the weight of everything you'd given them.

Your body ached in slow, deep pulses—between your thighs, behind your ribs, where your voice had cracked around the word Daddy. Your head rested on Sam's bare chest, his hand stroking lazily down your spine. Ruby was curled at your back, her fingers tracing soft circles on your thigh, her breath steady against your neck.

You felt like silk stretched thin. Blissed-out. Barely conscious. But kept.

And for once... they weren't whispering over you. They weren't sending glances across your sleeping body or silencing their voices when they thought you were too soft to hear it.

They were talking.

"Two crossroads demons last night," Ruby said idly, as if discussing the weather. "Both sloppy. Tried to run. You should've seen the mess Sam made of them."

Sam's voice came low—rough with guilt, but present.

"They were already dying when we got there. We just... finished it."

You blinked slowly against his chest, lips parted, breath shallow. You weren't sure if they knew you were awake.

"Did you use your hands again?" Ruby asked sweetly. "Or that knife you like?"

"Ruby," Sam warned, low and sharp.

But she only laughed.

"What?" She said. "She should know how much her Daddy bleeds for her."

You twitched slightly. Sam's hand paused on your spine.

"...She doesn't need to know that."

"She needs to know everything," Ruby purred. "She's ours now."

You let out a soft breath—barely a sound—but they both noticed.

Ruby smiled against your neck. "Awake, sweet thing?"

You nodded, slow and dreamy.

"Mmm..."

"Good girl," she murmured. "You did so well for us."

You blinked, lips dry. "You kill... demons?"

Sam was quiet for a long beat. "Yeah," he said softly. "We do."

"Bad ones," Ruby added, her tone light and sweet. "Ones that hurt people. We stop them."

You blinked again. Let the silence fall like dusk over your lashes.

"You're not mad?" Ruby asked, fingers brushing your hip. "That we didn't tell you sooner?"

You shook your head.

"I just... I thought you didn't want me around for that stuff."

Sam's chest rose under your cheek. "It wasn't that," he said quietly. "We just wanted to keep you soft. Safe."

"But you're stronger than we gave you credit for," Ruby added, a little too pleased. "You came apart so prettily, and you're still here. Still ours."

You hummed, curling tighter between them. Your limbs were jelly, your heart slow and warm. "You're letting me hear it now..."

"Because you've earned it," Ruby whispered, kissing the back of your neck. "And we're not hiding things from our girl anymore."

You sighed—soft, content—cheek still pressed to Sam's chest, his heartbeat loud and slow beneath your ear. Your body ached in a way that felt good now, like you'd been unraveled and then tucked into the warm space between their hearts.

Ruby shifted beside you, grinning lazily, her palm dragging slow down your bare spine. Then she leaned in, fingers brushing your chin.

"You're drooling again, sweet thing."

You blinked, dazed, and she giggled—thumb swiping a little line of spit from the corner of your lip before she kissed the spot.

"Mmm," she murmured, licking her lips with a smile. "I like you like this."

Sam exhaled hard through his nose. Ruby leaned over your hip, propped herself on one elbow, and tilted her head.

"You wanna come with us next time?" She asked, like she was offering a treat. "Wanna see what it looks like when Daddy's in the mood to rip something apart?"

Your eyes went wide.

Sam shifted beneath you. "No," he said instantly, voice low. "I don't want her seeing that."

Ruby raised a single brow. Slowly.

"Sam."

That was all she said.

He looked away, jaw tight. You could feel it under your cheek.

"I don't think I can stand leaving her alone anymore," Ruby said softly, stroking your hair. "Can you?"

Sam muttered something under his breath.

"Knew you were gonna say that."

Ruby smiled like sin.

"And you love me for it."

You blinked between them, your heart fluttering, your body still humming. And for a moment—just a moment—you saw it. Saw yourself standing behind Sam as he exorcised something screaming. Saw Ruby licking blood from her fingers like honey. Saw your hands not shaking, your voice not sweet—but sharp. Sure. Holy in a different way.

"Behold, I send you out as sheep among wolves..."

Maybe that was what you were. Maybe you were the lamb.

Or maybe—just maybe—you were the altar now.

@sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @xoswiftieprincess @liiiilsss @mj-102009 <3

[transmunsons]

Eddie doing a deal with Steve at that picnic table after school. Eddie’s on his second senior year and pissed off about it. He’s trying to be cordial to Harrington, but he keeps remembering how the basketball team messes with his Hellfire kids.

So he up charges him, gets a little petty revenge; he’s sure Harrington can afford it anyway. The extra money can go toward Eddie’s T payments.

Something rustles in the woods and Harrington freezes, listening. Some kind of wet, furless animal jumps out of the trees in a blur.

Before Eddie can react, Harrington grabs his hand and pulls him up, heading to the closest sanctuary, the high school. Eddie’s freaking out. They run into the building, and Harrington pulls them into the janitors closet. He lunges to the back, reaching for a mop, but Eddie hears a wet skittering in the hallway and slams the door shut. Harrington whips around at the noise and the sudden darkness. Eddie holds his breath until the creature passes.

“What the fuck is out there?” He hisses at Harrington. The closet is cramped and the floor is littered with cleaning supplies. They're right up on top of one another in the small space. “This is crazy, this is so fucking crazy—”

“Calm down!” Harrington hisses back, closer than he expects, breath brushing against Eddie's cheek.

“Calm? Why are you calm, what's wrong with you?” Eddie's heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might burst out of his chest. He can't breathe. “We just almost got attacked by some fuckin' thing!” He flutters his hands to emphasize 'thing' though Steve probably can't see it in the dark. He smacks a shelf.

“I've seen something like it before, it's some kind of demogorgon.” Harrington says. Eddie splutters. The king of Hawkins High just made a DnD reference.

“How do you—that is not a demogorgon, Harrington! Demogorgons don't exist and even if they did, they don't look like that!”

“Hey, you asked and I answered. And my name is Steve.” He reaches around Eddie and tries the door handle. He's practically hugging him.

Steve swears and flicks on the light switch, illuminating the closet. “It's stuck.”

Eddie can see Steve's face properly now in all its glory. The overhead bulb gleams off Steve's stupidly long eyelashes. He almost wants to turn the light back off. His breathing is still restricted.

“Guess we're trapped in here until somebody comes by.” Steve says.

Eddie balks at the thought of being stuck with Steve in close quarters for so long. “No we're not, just gimme a second.”

Eddie shoves a hand up under his Dio shirt so he can pull his bindings a little away from his chest.

“What are you doing?” Steve sounds alarmed. His eyes are wide.

“Don't get excited,” Eddie winks because apparently he has a death wish, “just need to breathe. Get me a flathead screwdriver. The door opens inward.”

Steve snaps his fingers and points at him, “Right, the hinges!” He turns around to rustle through the shelves, which Eddie, uh, doesn’t mind. Goddamn.

He faces Eddie again with a flathead in his hands and a triumphant look. Eddie grabs it with a ‘thanks’ and goes to work prying pins out of the hinges. He can feel Steve watching him. Eddie gets the door loose and shoves it open, catching it so it doesn’t make noise.

Steve stalks past him wielding a mop like a weapon.

“Where are you going?” Eddie stage whispers.

Steve looks over his shoulder at Eddie, hair artfully falling out of place. “I’ve gotta find that thing, I’m not gonna let it roam the school.”

Eddie looks at Steve, looks back at the exit, looks down at the tile floor.

“Shit.”

He follows.

[macfrog]

heart, body, soul cowboy like me chapter thirteen

surprise! happy friday eve. here's some cowboy to get you through it. life has been a little tough on me lately. sorry for the terribly long wait. but the end is in sight, dear readers. tighten the stampede string on your hats. we're coming in to land.

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you and joel are at an impasse. you resolve it the only way you know how

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol consumption, mention of dr*g use, titty appreciation, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, major fluff, major angst

word count: 14.4k (y’all ask. mother macfrog delivers)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.” His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says – “I don’t want nobody else.” And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

It’s been a week since you last saw Joel. Blurred, tilting, pulling to-and-fro across your vision. A week since you last heard him; his low voice like the hum of an electric wire, tired acoustics drumming weakly through his chest into your heavy hand, laced through his own. Fingers draped softly across his swollen knuckles. You wonder if they’re still marked seven days later.

A week since you felt him. Felt your body lean towards him – gravity or dizziness or something stronger – as his weight dipped into the bed beside you. The way it has only a handful of times now, but enough to score it deep into your memory. Enough that you know the difference between him and anyone else, even with your eyes closed and your heart bleeding.

Enough to ensure that, for as long as you live, you’ll know and see each difference between him and every other person you ever meet. They won’t lower their head the way he does, or lift the corners of their mouth like him. Your name won’t sound the same, won’t sound as complete, coming from someone else’s mouth. Your body won’t magnetize to anyone, the way it does to him.

And that’s fine. The separation. The fact that he was a fleeting moment. The fact that it was over before you felt it leave, before you heard the door close behind it. It’s fucking fine.

Still, you let it hurt a while. Just a little while.

The gash on your calf has healed up, your hangover had subsided by Saturday evening. But your chest still feels tight, your hands are still restless. You lie awake staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the clothes you have of his; breathing in the ghost of his scent and breathing out pathetic, aching sighs. He’s all you smell, all you touch.

Except – he’s not anymore, is he? He saw to that well enough.

So you let it hurt. And you think you can just about make do with that.

“Hey, hon,” you dad gently calls, hanging on your doorframe. Your room is dark, drapes closed, the only light source the white light from your laptop.

“Hi,” you reply, with a break in your voice. Your eyes don’t lift from the screen. Jim just told Pam he’s in love with her, but she’s engaged to Roy. But she really loves Jim, she just won’t admit it. It’s cathartic, okay?

Dad steps into the room and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Awfully, uh…awfully quiet lately, hm? Everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

It’s not a lie. You are fine. You’re so fine, you’re actually numb to it.

The problem is that for the last few weeks, you’ve been more than fine. The best you’ve felt in months – maybe even years. The most you’ve smiled, the hardest you’ve laughed. The warmest the blood has ever run through your veins.

And then you’re just – fine again. Back to nothing.

He shuffles between feet. Stares at the floor, where his shadow sprouts from his toes. “I was gonna head into town, grab a few things. You wanna come? Sit in the car with a book, maybe?”

“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”

“Sure? Whatcha watchin’?”

“The Office.”

He nods. “Right, right. I, uh, I was thinkin’ of askin’ Joel and Sarah over for dinner tonight. You always have fun when they’re around. You and Sarah could spend some time together, y’know?”

Your heart nosedives straight from your chest into your stomach. The thought of seeing him again, this time crystal clear and not while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or worse, sinks its sharp claws into your shoulders and sinks you deep underwater. His voice gets lost somewhere in the space between you. And when you finally come back up for air, back into the room, you gulp back whatever string of senseless words your empty chest initially offered up.

“Hm…” You pretend to consider the thought, then head straight for passive. “Whatever. Sure.”

Your dad’s mouth opens to respond, and you cut in again.

“I’m kinda tired,” you say, yawning. Trying to make him leave.

He’s not great at taking hints. “Kiddo, I am really worried about you. Weren’t you s’posed to be working this mornin’?”

“You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m just a little tired, is all. Wasn’t feeling up to restocking tools and dealing hardwood to your buddies.”

It’s only the second truth you’ve told him since he set foot in your room. You never feel much like work, not Sal’s-fucking-Hardware-kinda work, anyway. But the thought of standing for seven hours with a bared-teeth grin plastered on your face, hands blistering from tearing open box after box of stock, shoulder slowly coming up in a bruise from the number of customers tapping on it…you figured Sal could do without you for one fucking day.

“You wanna look some more at other jobs?” Dad asks, and finally you look up. The blurry, luminous silhouette of Jim and Pam is strung in the dim air before him.

You shake your head. “Not right now. I have some bookmarked I can show you later.”

He takes a deep breath, unsure of which angle to come at you from next. Finally, with an air of resignation and defeat, he settles for, “You know where I am if you need me,” and closes your door as he leaves.

You’re staring intensely at the face of every character onscreen. The pixels burn into your eyes. You’re trying harder than anything to get him out of your head. It’s not working.

His hand through yours, his arms around you – warm, safe, protective; the way he smelled, sweet like whiskey, sharp like pine; the way he’d mumble, lips against your head, sweet nothings pressed into your hair; the feeling of his lips on yours, hungry for something only you knew how to give him. The look in his eyes, tender, knowing, loving.

And because he was the only other person fluent in your little secret language – a look, a nod, a tug at the corners of his mouth. His eyes settling on yours only for a nanosecond, one tiny moment in time laced with a thousand words that you translated as quickly as his glance moved across you. It all meant something. It all meant so fucking much.

All of it. You feel all of it as it sinks through your skin, through bone and into your brain. As it curls around your ribcage, holds tight around your heart. Every thought and feeling that flutters through on full display for him to read. And you’d let him, because it’s him. You trusted him. You – you might’ve even –

I mean, what the fuck, right? When the fuck did this happen?

Joel Miller. Joel fucking Miller.

Is this what you thought would happen that very first time you looked at him differently? Tidying up after pizza, leaning into you, telling you you’re nothin’ but trouble? Did he know then, that this was where you were headed?

Did you?

Your phone buzzes. You glance down at it through your tears.

Sarah: wtf is going on ???

You craft a reply as nonchalant as you can manage. Three little letters.

You: Wym?

Sarah: are u good??

You: Yeah lol. Why wouldn’t I be good

Sarah: idfk. weird. my dad’s on the phone to yours rn

That’s great. That’s just fucking great. He’s probably telling Joel right this second how miserable you are. That’s all you need.

You want to hold onto your pride, keep an air of casualness about you impermeable to even Sarah – but you desperately want to know what’s being said. What she’s listening to him say.

You: Yeah? What are they talking about?

Sarah: well now it’s just some andrew guy

Sarah: sounds like a loser

Sarah: we’re coming over for dinner tonight btw

You: Nice. See ya then

Sarah: u wanna come over here before? we can watch love island

You: I’m good. Gonna go for a nap

Sarah: you can nap here. come over!!!

You bury the phone under your pillow without replying. Sarah is like Joel in many ways, but her persistent nature is one avenue in which they drastically differ. Joel would – and has – give you space, let you mope; Sarah will probably text you all afternoon until she’s on your doorstep, takeout in one hand and a telling in the other.

So you drag your phone back out and put it on Do Not Disturb mode. She’s already sent two more texts since her last.

Sarah: seriously. would you come the fuck over. im only on episode 5 i gotta catch up

Sarah: even my dad is worried about you

Yeah. Good one, Joel. Fuckin’ asshole.

----------

They arrive at six on the dot, armed with pizza and a crate of beer. The doorbell rings once, you lean over a degree to glance down the hallway, and Sarah’s stepping over the threshold, her shadow of a father at her heels.

He’s rugged. Hair amok. He kinda looks a mess, sorta looks how you want him to after almost two weeks of no you. But he’s here. He’s right in front of you. And this time, the shape of him isn’t swimming across your glassy eyes.

Your heart swells with relief to see him again, only until it twinges from the wound that he caused, and it hurts all over again. You turn back in your stool to face the kitchen island, making some noncommittal noise when Sarah’s hand presses between your shoulder blades in greeting.

“Tyrique and Ella are kinda cute, but I don’t trust him. Dude’s gonna fuck her over for sure,” she mutters, shoving the box over the counter towards your dad, who accepts the beer from Joel with a pat on his arm.

He’s standing across the kitchen – Joel – as far as he can get from you. You’re sure his eyes haven’t lifted from the floor yet. But you scan him all over, from the loose collar of his shirt down to the cuffs, rolled halfway up his forearms; from the rough hair of his beard down to the soft tufts decorating the skin just below his clavicle.

You scan him all over. The body you know just as well with the flannel and jeans over it as you do without them. The body you’ve squeezed, and scratched, and bit and kissed – and the same one you’ve thrown curses and insults at as it follows you through his house.

If he looked you dead in the eye right now, you’re not sure you could look away. You’re not sure you could stop.

That is, until Sarah presses a chilled beer to your arm, startling you, and silently nods towards the dining table.

She sits on your right, opposite your dad’s seat. She resumes chittering about Love Island. Joel and your dad are still in the kitchen, stacking plates, cracking the caps off their drinks. And then he pushes off the counter, and slowly wanders over.

You watch his every move. Study him, like you’re about to be tested on it. Which foot he steps forward with – always his left – and which chair he’ll pick once he’s at the table – the one opposite you, ‘cause it faces the TV for when he and your dad watch baseball while eating.

Two for two.

He lifts the chair, pulls it back, and angles it to face Sarah’s. He places his beer gently on the mat. When he sits, he doesn’t pull in any closer. Doesn’t risk your legs crossing paths under the table. You pull your knees up, let your shins rest against the wooden ledge. Your dad takes Joel up in conversation.

“So, this Andrew. He’s the brains of the operation?”

The pizza is slowly pulled apart over the course of an excruciating hour-long meal. Sarah puts the next episode of Love Island on while you eat, points out her favorite couples and nudges you to ask your opinion on the girls’ outfits.

“Wouldn’t have gone with those heels,” she mutters, chewing, pointing with her pizza crust to some six-inch ankle-breakers.

You lean past her shoulder every now and then to pretend you’re as engaged as she is. Pretend you’re listening. Your left ear is tuned into the conversation happening across the table.

Your dad thinks Andrew Curtis is fucking hilarious. Hoots with laughter when Joel tells him about his untucked button up. Says, Oh, jeepers, when he hears about the way the guy tripped jumping down from his truck.

The storyteller doesn’t sound so lively opposite. Your dad’s slapping his thigh with laughter. Joel’s shoulders are jerking at best. You dare a glance at him, and he’s already facing your direction. He turns away before your eye reaches his chest.

Soon, the episode ends. The atmosphere dies arm in arm with your dad’s attempt at another conversation. There’s a thick silence between the four of you. You haven’t opened your mouth the entire meal, but even if you did, the tension would clamp its heavy hand over your lips, blocking any words from making their way out of your windpipe.

Sarah clears her throat, manages a tentative, “I –” and then the phone rings, piercing through the awkward mist like a bolt of lightning.

Your dad pushes himself up and trots over, grabbing the handset a little too hastily. “Hello? Oh, hi, Rita. Hi. Yeah. Yep, Joel’s – Sarah? She’s here, yep.”

Sarah’s head drops, hand gripping her glass frozen in mid-air. “Fuck,” she whispers, and Joel shoots her a look across the table.

“She’s – oh, yeah? Well, let me ask ‘er.” Your dad covers the bottom of the handset with a huge palm. “Rita has some…cross –”

“Cross stitch, yeah, I know,” Sarah says, and thuds her glass down. “I said I’d help her out with it. I bet she’s seen your damn truck across the street!” She jabs a furious finger at her dad.

Joel shrugs. “Ain’t my fault the woman has eyes.”

Your body jerks as if to laugh. You don’t catch it in time. He notices.

“She’s on her way over, Rita,” your dad continues, nervously smiling at Sarah as she pulls her jacket over her shoulder. “She’s – oh, sure, I’ll let her know. Alright, now. Bye, Rita, bye. You’ve to bring your glasses. ‘pparently the pattern’s pretty small. You even wear glasses?”

She huffs in response. “I’m gonna be there all damn night. I’ll just get you at home.”

Joel opens his mouth to protest, goes to warn her that she ain’t walkin’ home alone in the damn dark, but your dad holds his hand out.

“We’ll give you a ride home. You come back here once you’re done.”

She nods gratefully and struts off down the hallway. The door slams shut behind her.

Your dad lightly chuckles, sauntering back over to his seat. “And then there were three…” he says, sitting back down.

But the loss of Sarah only cranes the spotlight over to you. Only you. No one else to split it with. No one else to lend it to. You can feel your dad’s eyes on you, waiting for you to make a move, some song and dance for your company.

He lifts his beer to his lips. Nods to you. Makes a song and dance of his fucking own, when he says, “Guess who’s been lookin’ at grad jobs?”

Joel stares at him for a second, like he’s waiting for your dad to reveal who it is he means. Like it can’t possibly be the only she in the room. His thumbs tap around his own bottle. “Oh – yeah?” he stammers, and throws a haphazard glance in your direction. He seems to mean to address you.

You sit forward, choke out a, “Yeah, uh – it’s – well. Kinda.”

“Film?” he asks, and you hear the rest of the question in the tone of his voice. Somethin’ you like, ‘n not just your dad’s suggestion?

You nod, but he’s not looking. He’s studying the label of his beer.

“Film,” your dad confirms. “Shut me the hell up, didn’t she? Came downstairs with her laptop the other night. Where is it, kiddo – New York?”

Your breath catches. The answer cowers at the back of your mouth, terrified to show itself. You force it forward.

“LA.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“I said she might be better goin’ back to school. Reapply for next year, right?” Dad looks to you, and your lips pull in an awkward smile. ��…but she didn’t wanna wait around. Told you the other day – this place is like prison.”

He chuckles, but Joel isn’t laughing. He’s staring at his beer, his brows slowly lowering from arched and curious to dark and furrowed. And you want to reach for his hand, want to shoo your dad off and spill your guts to his best friend. Want to explain yourself, show him the webpages and application forms you’ve spent the last few days surfing through – want to justify yourself to him.

But so long as your father is sat here, bumbling to himself about the prices of college courses these days – none of that happens. You simply sit in a stalemate opposite one another – a million thoughts racing through your head, a million and one racing through Joel’s.

“…might change her mind, but who knows? She’s skittish, this one, she –”

Another bleating ringtone cuts what you’re sure would’ve been an endearing compliment short. You say a silent prayer of gratitude for whoever’s at the other end of the line. Your dad sighs and heaves himself up again, swiping the phone from the kitchen counter.

“Hello? Hi, hi, Richard. No, I’m not – well, it’s – sure, sure. What’s –?”

His head falls in much the same way Sarah’s did ten minutes ago. He sighs.

“Right. No, that’s quite alright. I can be there in ten. Yep. Alright. See you in a – hello?”

He drops the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand down the back of his neck, growling.

“Kelman?” Joel asks, jaw turning to his shoulder.

“You bet. Misplaced the damn keys for his site. You two alright if I head on over there ‘n lock up for ‘im?”

“He familiar with Andrew Curtis at all?” Joel quips, and then waves your dad off. “Go on. I’ll be outta your hair by the time you get back.”

In a frenzied blur, your dad’s tying his laces, grabbing his keys, tossing a jacket over his shoulders. He apologizes a total of four times to Joel, thanks him for dinner, promises he’ll pay him back next time he sees him. And then he’s jogging off to the front door, and taking every ounce of comfortability with him.

And then there were two.

You slouch back in your chair, listening through the silence as your dad’s car engine fades down the street. When the quiet humming disappears, Joel’s head turns back to face you.

You’re alone again. For the first time in a week. This is the closest you’ve felt him, even separated by the dining table and a fog of conversation that you have no idea how to begin clearing. There’s more weight to the silence between you than words could ever bear, you know that much. More to be communicated between your eyes than your tongues know the language of. But still, you can see him through it.

Like a lighthouse, shining bright and beckoning you to the shoreline. You can feel him again, as if there’s an electric pulse radiating off of him. And you feel drawn in, like you always do; feel that magnetic pull in your chest, only ever satiated by the meeting of Joel’s.

You shift in your seat. His eyes flit up. Your heart jumps, like it’s a sign he’s really still in there. And then they drop back to his lap, and your chest sews itself back together.

Your eyes start to burn with fast-forming tears. Your throat tightens, tightens, tightens, pushing them higher and higher until they pool across your waterline. Blinking doesn’t help, just drops them onto your cheeks, to be quickly swept away by the sleeve of your hoodie.

All you want is for him to look you in the eye, whisper, C’mere, baby, scoop you up and hold you in his arms forever. Fuck everything you said about the distance being good. That was when he was in his house, and you were in yours. He’s here, right now. He’s sat across from you. You’re finally on your own again. And he’s not fucking looking at you.

You let your legs down and sit up straight in your chair. It’s small, but it feels like a necessary step to silently tell him that you’re in the room with him. You’re here.

It lifts his eyes again. Not to you, but to your empty plate. Then, to the wet stain on your sleeve. You hope it stabs his heart a little.

From the shaky breath he sucks in, it seems to hurt just enough. He clears his throat. Pulls his gaze higher, higher, a little higher, until you’re eye to eye.

A wave of feeling, either burning hot or freezing cold – you can’t tell the difference – stretches across your body. It’s unnerving, and yet calming. It’s soothing on your wound, and irritating all the same. He’s looking at you. You wonder if he can see you.

You stare at one another for a few moments, drinking it all in. You can see him clear as day. You can almost see the shadows of his thoughts as they dance across the frosted-glass windows of his hazel eyes.

He blinks. Breathes in deep through his nose. And then speaks.

“LA, huh?”

You scoff. You don’t fucking mean to, but it’s the opposite of what you expected – and kind of wanted – him to say. Your whole body relaxes, though – finally relieved of the tension of the last seven days, even if only for a moment.

You feel lighter, like someone kicked the door down and this is the first gulp of clean air in your lungs. It’s small, insignificant even, but it does what it needs to.

Which is – it gives you the energy to answer back.

“It’s not a concrete plan. Yet.”

“Yet,” he repeats.

“I’m not running from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get your head out of your ass.”

He wants to laugh. He should’ve expected it.

“I didn’t say anythin’. I think…I think it sounds like a good plan. ‘n you’d be close by to Sarah, so.”

This conversation feels like you’ve been left alone for ten minutes with your dad’s buddy. Sanitized. Surgical. Which would’ve been what it was little over a month ago, but it’s not now. Now, it’s totally different. There’s more than just that one neat string between you.

You’ve held his hand. You’ve kissed him. You’ve touched him, in ways you’ve only ever touched a handful of people. And even then – none of those times have been anything like the way you’ve touched Joel. You’ve tasted him, you’ve felt him as he climaxes somewhere deep inside you. You’ve pulled him into your body, over and over; you’ve let him have you in ways nobody else has.

There exists a complicated, messy web of history and emotion, woven tight between you. The weight of it bears down on the surface of the dining table.

And he’s talking to you about fucking grad jobs.

“Could you just – stop fucking with me?” you ask, sincerely. You’re not angry, you’re not hurt. Not anymore.

Joel lifts his chin. Studies your face. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re talking to me about some job, like there’s nothing else to talk about. Like there ain’t nothin’ else we might have to discuss.”

His response is resigned. Bored, even. “What else do you wanna discuss?”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, um, I don’t fucking know. Last week?”

Joel takes a swig of beer. You take it as reply enough.

“I don’t have any clue where you’re at, Joel. You pick me up from Frank’s, beat a dude up for me, put me to bed, ‘n then when I wake up, you’re gone. Oh, but you left your fuckin’ shirt. By accident? Or for me? Who the fuck am I to know?”

He holds back a smile. “I had work.”

“Right,” you nod, “Andrew Curtis.”

“That guy’s an idiot. You’d probably like ‘im.”

“I bet. I’m fond of idiots, apparently.”

This time, he can’t hold it back. A smirk spreads across his lips, soft and shy, but there. Right there. You could reach out and fucking touch it.

And then he nods. Leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and nods. The smile begins to fade.

With it, goes the breathing space between you. The fog starts to thicken again. The web tightens some more. Your chest begins to ache. Things feel normal for all of two minutes, and then they’re back to awkward air so heavy that you can feel it on your shoulders, feel it forcing you into a slump in your chair.

This whole thing is built on lies. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. The only truth there has ever been has been between the two of you. Two lonely figures, wrapped in each other’s arms in the eye of a storm. So –

Fuck it.

You sniff. “I thought – that the most we were risking was my dad. I thought the worst that could happen was him findin’ out.”

Your voice is quiet. Unsure of itself. One word carrying you to the next, not totally sure where you’re going with it.

“I didn’t know I was risking losing you, too, and now…now, you’re just gone. Like, you don’t wanna talk to me, you barely wanna look at me. I don’t…I don’t have you anymore, and it’s all fucked up. Do you know, I – I wouldn’ta done any of it if I thought you’d go?”

Joel flinches. Tightens the hold on his arms.

“I want you to come back,” you say, stronger this time. Louder. Clearer. You’re ignoring the tears sweeping across your vision. “Just come back. You don’t even – you don’t even have to touch me or nothin’. We can just hang out and talk, we don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.”

Your voice wobbles by the end. Your lips tighten around it, shutting it off before you can say anything more to embarrass yourself.

Joel’s still quiet. He watches wordlessly as you stand, pile the plates atop one another and make for the kitchen. As you place them gently into the sink, you feel the weight of him behind you, reaching over to set the bottles alongside them.

“I ain’t gone anywhere,” he murmurs, and you twist to face him.

“Joel. This is the most we’ve touched in two weeks. Putting dishes in the sink.”

He repeats himself. Adds, “I’m still here. I still care about you.”

You shrug. “Then – show me.”

He steps back. “Show you,” he scoffs. Your expression doesn’t shift. “Show you? Like I didn’t just almost break my damn knuckles defendin’ you? Take you home in the dead a’ night, deal with all your drunk bickerin’?”

Your head tilts. He’s right. But you want more than that. More than spitting threats and leaving flannels behind. You want his hands, and his lips, and his voice. You want –

“…Lord, mighty me.”

Your dad’s voice follows the sudden jolt of the front door opening. You and Joel are already five feet apart by the time his body appears around the corner, one hand leaning on the wall, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How on Earth that man has his own construction company, I have no idea. Called me halfway to the site ‘n said he found the keys in his damn pocket.”

“Always the scatterbrains,” Joel says, leaning casually against the counter.

“Sure is. You ‘n me oughta start our own, show ‘em all how it’s done. Anyways. What’d I miss?”

Before you can answer, Joel’s speaking again. He sounds in a hurry. “Just tidyin’ up. We were talkin’ about graduate programs, actually. You know what,” he turns to you, “I’m sure Sarah has some old brochures from UCLA. Might have some stuff worth checkin’ out. You wanna come get ‘em?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you. His eyebrows are arched, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. He came up with the lie so damn quick, you have whiplash.

“I – yeah, sure. Yeah.”

Your dad runs his tongue between his teeth. “UCLA. Huh. Well, don’t keep Joel too late.”

“I w…I won’t,” you reply, following at the heels of the swaggering figure towards the door. You dodge his eye contact and dip your head behind Joel’s shoulder, thankful for his protective stance in front of you.

Your dad doesn’t say anything more – instead, he stands back and lets Joel lead you out. You steal a glance back at him as you slip through the door. His face unreadable, his eyes stick on Joel; locked tight on the flannel wandering down the driveway ahead of you. The word loops in your head as though the phone’s ringing again. Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilt–

But then the night breeze is dancing across your cheeks, and you’re following at the heels of Joel again, and you feel light as air in the wake of him. You climb into the passenger side of the truck and watch as he settles alongside you with a sigh. He pulls out of the drive, and his right hand sits idly on his thigh. You think to take it. Joel reads your mind.

He sits it on the armrest between you, palm facing up. You stare straight ahead and let your fingers slip through his. He knots your bodies together, thumb rubbing gently on your knuckle.

Another pound of weight lifts from your shoulders.

----------

Joel drives for twenty minutes before pulling up in an empty parking lot across from a church. It’s pitch-black and deserted. There’s a single streetlight over by the corner, illuminating a trashcan and not much else. You’re shrouded in darkness, save for the soft glow from the lights on the dash.

He switches the engine off and sits back in his seat. Your hands are separated. The distance between you slowly starts to grow again.

“LA,” he says, for the second time tonight, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.

“LA,” you echo, staring at him.

He looks down to you. Smiles. There’s something behind it. You can’t tell what.

“It’s not a grad job,” you say, forcing something up. Your fingers are twisting around the drawstring of your hoodie. “I was lookin’ at grad stuff, but there wasn’t anything I was into. The LA thing is a six-month temp job I saw.”

Joel nods. “What’s that look like?”

“Production assistant. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“Mhm. Sounds like your thing.”

Your brows jump as you pull the tie around your finger. The tip turns white. “Might be. Job ad closes on Monday.”

He sucks in a breath. “Better get applyin’, then.”

Your head cocks. “So eager for me to go?”

“Eager for you to do somethin’ you love,” he corrects.

“But it would get me outta your hair.”

“I don’t want you outta my hair.”

A smirk sneaks its way across your lips. You nod to the view from the windshield. “Why are we way the hell out here?”

“Because your dad bombed our conversation, ‘n I figured we weren’t done.”

“Then talk.”

He licks his lips. Folds his arms, settles deeper into his seat. He turns a little more to face you. The single light from outside catches in his iris, like that same lighthouse beacon you could see earlier. Distant, far off, but there. Still there.

“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I…I thought what we were doin’…What I was doin’…I thought I was causing you more hurt ‘n harm than good. I was scared it’d gone too far. Scared it wasn’t okay anymore.”

“Was it ever okay?”

He shifts again, uncomfortably. In the dim light, you see his face pull. He squints, wobbles his head in consideration. “No. It wasn’t. But we did it anyways, you ‘n me. We made that decision together.”

“Right. And then you went and made the complete opposite decision, alone.”

He’s nodding. He knows. And you think you know, too. It fucking sucked, losing him – but you get it. What was the big plan? How far were you going to let it go? Someone had to pull the plug at some point. Someone had to cut the thing loose.

You lean closer to him. “I just…I wish you’d let me fight back a little. Wish you’d heard me out more. I know what we’ve done isn’t right. I know that. But I – I fucking –”

You sigh. It leaves your mouth shaky and unsure of itself.

There’s something more. Something at the back of your tongue, itching to separate into the dense space between you. Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.

“I missed you,” you concede, shaking your head. “That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes fall shut with a wince when you say it, like it physically hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. But he’s clearer, now – the fog is slowly shrinking away. The words behind his eyes seem to light them in a warm glow. Missed you too, baby.

His hand opens up on the armrest again. Yours falls into it instantly.

He clears his throat then, and says, “Also owe you an apology for – for the Lois thing. I know I should’ve explained a lot sooner, ‘n I’m sorry I had you thinkin’ what you were thinkin’. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. Thought you’d know I wouldn’t…do that.”

“I think I did,” you tell him. Your nails run up and down his fingers. “Deep down. Wasn’t so much about her as it was about me.”

“About you?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Me, us, this. It was more of a, Why wouldn’t he want someone like her?, y’know? No lying, no secrets. And she’s old, like you.”

“Easy.”

You smile. “She’s nice. I know she is. My dad went on for five whole minutes about how good you’d be together when I asked ‘im. So – why wouldn’t you wanna be with her, right?”

It’s rhetorical. Joel knows. But he answers it anyways.

“She is nice,” he agrees, “but I ain’t interested. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I was a little preoccupied worrying my ass off about you to even look twice at the woman.”

You freeze for a second. Stare at the outline of his jaw, the jagged bristles of his beard; the soft sweep of hair silhouetted by the moonlight outside. He’s still Joel – even in the darkness, even in the fog. Even when you can’t see, hear, or touch him – he’s still there. Thinking about you. Worrying about you.

“Well,” you sniff, “you don’t gotta worry anymore. I just…I didn’t like the thought of it.”

His head tilts. Beckons you to continue.

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”

His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –

“I don’t want nobody else.”

And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

“But,” he continues, almost immediately, “this has gotta be – I’ve gotta do right by you. Gotta be honest, now –”

“Wait,” you interrupt, “can you just – stop acting like it’s all you?”

Joel falls quiet. His brows knit together.

“Stop saying things that make it sound like you’re the only one in this. I’m in it, too. I want it. I want you.”

“Baby, it’s not as simple as –”

“Joel,” you take his arms and pull yourself closer to him, legs propped against the center console, “I want you. This. I want us. All of it, I want all –”

Your body is being tugged closer to him, lifted nearer, and his chin bumps against yours, and his eyelashes almost brush against yours when your foreheads link, and his breath sweeps hot and needy across yours, and he – he kisses you.

You stop breathing. You don’t care whether or not it ever comes back. Oxygen replaced by him. Everything replaced by him.

His tongue slips past your lips, his hand glides across your hair to cup the back of your head. He locks you into his body, lets you rest your arms across his shoulders. Your lips find a rhythm against one another; warm, wet, tender.

His free hand cups your cheek, holds your mouth to his just a second longer, before he pulls away, and gives you one last kiss. Softest of them all. Seals the fucking deal.

“We okay?” he mumbles, and you lift your head from his palm. You sit frozen for a second, just looking at him. Looking and looking and looking.

“We’re good.”

He smiles then. A genuine smile. “I thought,” he whispers, glancing around the quiet parking lot, “I could take you on a date.”

So that’s why he brought you out here.

“A date?”

“Mhm. Never been on one, have we?”

“Never could.”

He nods in agreement. “Just ice cream. For now. Thought I’d show you some of my moves.”

“You got moves?” you snicker.

“I’m a catch, darlin’. The ladies swoon for me.”

“Alright, never say that to me again.”

Joel laughs. “There’s a place right around the corner. ‘s go.”

He climbs out of the truck and wanders off towards the sidewalk, and you follow. He looks down at you as you walk. His cheeks swell with the smile on his face, dimples at the edges of his lips.

It’s quiet; quieter than you’d expect, not that you’re complaining. With the sun almost set, you’re doused in light only when you wander under a streetlight. So, it’s no surprise when Joel’s eyes quickly scan the street up ahead, and his hand reaches down for yours.

Your stomach flips. You’re doing everything you can not to let him feel your pulse in your wrist, but you’re pretty sure you can, because he leans his shoulder against yours and asks if you’re okay.

“Good,” you choke out, relieved to have just passed a streetlight that might give away the blush on your cheeks.

Approaching on the right is a sickly-sweet, pastel-painted store front; fairy lights decorating the window, wireframe tables and chairs dotted outside. A bell dings when Joel pushes the door open, holding it open for you to step inside.

It’s…dainty. Sweet. Everything is either teal or pink or white. There’s a giant ice cream cone stood in the corner. There’s a gumball machine opposite it. The lighting is a little garish – kind of reminds you of sitting in the dentist chair, eyes squinting up at the bright white light overhead.

You’re fucking surprised to be stood in here with Joel Miller, of all people. He sticks out like a sore thumb; his worn jeans and crumpled flannel against the minty gleam of the parlor like an earthy tree sprouting in the middle of that same dentist’s office. It makes you giggle, as he leads you over to the counter.

A boy with a teal uniform meets him over a glass case full of different ice cream flavors. His name badge reads Ben. “What can I get you?” he asks, scoop in hand. Your lips press against one another to stop your laugh from escaping.

Joel turns to look at you. He nudges you with his elbow when you don’t return his glance, too focused on Ben’s pink baseball cap, the logo of the shop printed on top.

“Uh,” you consider, glancing down, “I’m good with any.”

Joel sighs, lips thinning. “Am I gonna pick a flavor, ‘n then you decide you don’t like it?”

“Nope. Promise.” You smile innocently, and he turns back to the server.

“I’ll take one scoop of the cookie dough, and, uh…one of the coffee, please.”

When Ben dips to scoop the order into two little tubs, you mock gasp at Joel.

“What?”

“Coffee?”

He shrugs.

“I took you for a vanilla man.”

Ben stands straight and punches some numbers into the cash register. Joel hands him a ten.

“What about me makes you think I’m into vanilla?” he asks in a low voice.

You bat your eyelashes at him. A dark thought crosses your mind, but you think better of voicing it and save Ben the embarrassment of potentially hearing you.

Joel thanks him and takes both tubs in one hand. You make for a booth by the window, but his hand quickly slinks around your waist, diverting you back to the door.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What?” you ask, spinning around.

Joel continues walking, backing you out of the shop. “I am not sittin’ in here. Got a fuckin’ headache already from five minutes in the place.”

“But it’s so cute,” you protest, giggling. “You don’t want your picture taken with the giant cone?”

“Get the hell out,” he mumbles, shoving you across the tiled floor back out to the sidewalk. He can’t mask his own grin, spilling out behind you, taking your hand in his.

You snort as he drags you back along the street. “Maybe I should forget about LA and get a job in there. Drive myself insane.”

“Maybe you should,” Joel agrees. “Least then you’d have an excuse for it.”

You slap his chest. “Where are we goin’?”

“’s just go back to the truck. Quieter. Less fluorescent lights.”

He unlocks it a few paces away, but you stroll past your door.

“What are you doin’?” Joel asks when you pull yourself up into the bed.

“C’mon,” you call back, settling against the back window, “it’s a nice night. Who are we hiding from?”

He tosses it over in his head and cocks one eyebrow. Fair enough. He climbs up and passes you the ice cream, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. He throws it over your bare legs and sits down beside you, grunting as he does.

You smirk when he rests back.

“I’m almost fifty, darlin’,” he warns, reaching for his tub.

Your lips curve and you nod, digging the little plastic spoon into your dessert. You stretch your legs out and cross your ankles, watching in quiet contentment as the cars roll by, squealing to a halt at the traffic lights. Lights are coming on in windows, curtains are being drawn. Joel’s legs lie against yours, joined at the hip, shoulders brushing off one another.

This is the most peace you’ve had in a fortnight. Sat in the back of his truck, no eyes on you, watching the comings and goings of some back street in the city. You talk about nothing, for the first time in what’s felt like forever. You talk about films, and music, and all the stuff that seemed so unimportant before. Now, it all feels imperative. Feels like a life-or-death thing. What’s your favorite movie? You know my favorite movie, baby. But tell me again. Just so I know for sure. Just so that – if anything happens.

You listen when he answers. You watch his mouth as he says the words. For all the times you took it for granted before. For all the times you thought it was insignificant. It’s all significant, now. It all means something. It’s just more strings to the web between you, each one knotting you closer and closer together.

And you talk about what you’ve missed. The two weeks you’ve spent apart. You catch him up as if he was only gone on vacation. As if he was always meant to come back in the end.

“The guy with the weed – same guy you punched – he was –” gulp, “– what was his name again? Knicks? No –”

Joel snorts, spoon scraping around the edge the tiny pot in his huge hand. “Knicks?”

You close your eyes, waving your hand like it’ll urge him to remember the name of a guy he took no time getting to know before he floored him. “No, it wasn’t Kn…Knox! It was Knox, and he –”

“Kind of a fuckin’ name is Knox? Knox?”

“Are you gonna let me talk, or what?” you quip, and Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth to mask his laugh.

“Sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead. Knox had the weed.”

“Knox had the weed, and…he…Fuck, I can’t even remember where I was goin’ with that.” You shake your head and lean it back against the windowpane.

He laughs. For real. A Joel laugh. His shoulders jerk with the force of it. “You were gonna tell me about his friends, I think. Somethin’ about his friends.”

It sparks back up in your brain – the memory. “Right! Right. His friends – that dude with the glasses? That was Zack.”

Joel stares at you blankly, tongue in his cheek. “Zack?”

“Big guy, red face. Buck teeth. From Costco?”

His jaw slackens. He remembers. “I fuckin’ – I knew I’d seen that kid’s face before. That was him?”

You nod. Uhuh.

“Damn.” He chuckles. “He looked at me like I was a wild bear.”

You toss your head, roll your eyes. “Well.”

He laughs again. Knocks your legs with his own.

“Good call, by the way,” your lips mumble around the shape of your spoon, “cookie dough. it’s nice.”

“Wanna try mine?”

“Really?” Your face contorts, eyes screwing. “Coffee?”

“’s good. Here.”

He holds out a spoonful.

“Yeah, nice to you, who drinks, like, thirty of ‘em a day.”

Joel responds by pushing the spoon to your lips and you oblige, opening up and letting him feed you the ice cream.

It’s not bad. It’s ice cream, it can’t be bad. But it definitely isn’t good, and the way your lips purse and your neck jerks lets Joel know exactly how you feel about it. He scoffs, wiping a little from your lips with his thumb and sucking it clean.

“You don’t like it?”

“Why is it…bitter? Eugh.”

He laughs to himself as he loads up another spoonful. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well, I am not interested in acquirin’ it. You want some of the cookie dough?”

He shakes his head. “You enjoy.”

You both turn back to the street ahead. Joel’s arm is warm at the side of yours, his shoulder right there for you to lean your head on.

He places a kiss to your head when you do.

“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”

You’re not sure where it comes from. Neither is Joel, apparently, from the way he clears his throat and squirms ever so slightly. He knows exactly who you mean.

“I, uh…I don’t like to imagine.”

“It scare you?”

He takes a deep breath. “Naw. I just got better things to do with my imagination, is all.” He prods your arm with his. Picturin’ you.

“Ha. You reckon he’d kill you?”

“Probably.”

“He couldn’t kill you. Wild bear.”

“Well, I reckon he might try.”

“I think he’d call the cops.”

Joel’s head lifts from yours and falls back against the truck with a laugh.

“Help, Officer,” you mimic your dad’s twang,“my grown adult daughter is sleeping with someone!”

Joel’s shoulders slowly stop moving.

“Is that all we’re doin’?” he asks.

“Huh?” You lift your head and look at him. His dark eyes reflect the city lights in the distance.

“Is that all we’re doin’? Sleepin’ together?” His voice is gentle, honest. Genuinely asking, seeking out what you think.

You consider it, tryna sound casual. You know what he’s getting at.

“That’s all we’ve been doin’. Help, Officer, my daughter’s grabbing ice cream with someone? Better?”

He hums. Looks down at the empty tub in his hands. Looks back up to your lips. Draws nearer to you, holds your chin with one finger, looks you dead in the eye, and whispers,

“How about, Help, Officer, my daughter made someone fall in love with her?”

Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp into your lap. You blink away tears.

“You – No, that’s – You gotta say it. You gotta actually tell me, ‘cause I’m not – I don’t wanna misinterpret – We haven’t –”

You’re buffering. Your brain malfunctioning. Your tongue can’t decide which of the words at the back of your throat, all desperate to escape, to let through first.

Joel’s just smiling, watching you stutter and stammer your way through a sentence that leads you nowhere, desperately trying to compute what he’s just said because he’s finally fucking admitted it. He’s finally letting you know, giving you access to a part of him he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long.

Even though all this time it’s been the one thought running through your head that hasn’t passed your lips, it reverberates around your ears like it’s the last thing you ever expected him to say.

Joel’s hand moves to your neck, just below your ear. “Baby,” his thumb rubs your skin, “you know I love you.”

A gasp flees from your lips. Your ice cream is thrown to the truck bed, probably spilling over, and you don’t care. You leap into his lap, arms around his neck, and kiss him all over.

Joel’s laughing, returning what kisses he can, squeezing you with his big hands.

“I love you,” he says again when you come up for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard in your life. You sit your forehead against his, whispering breathlessly,

“Fuck, I love you, too.”

You two stare at each other, eyes scanning every part of the other’s face, mapping every mark, line, scar, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other.

Guess it is, right?

This is the first time you’re looking at the man you love and you’re not afraid of it. The first time your chest swells and you don’t gulp it back, the first time you let him feel your heart pounding against the wall of your chest.

It’s the first time you look into his eyes, dark eyelashes and fine lines decorating deep warm brown, and think those three words…and know you can say them. Know neither of you will be spooked, neither of you will try to push them back down where they came from.

I love you. That’s all there is between you now. Your cards are flat on the table, Joel’s, too. Game over. You know everything there is to know about each other. You know each other.

You’ve sunk down his body, turned so your back curves into his chest, his chin resting on your head. Safely encased in his body, sat between his thighs. His hand runs up and down your thigh, lighting drawing lines and circles and writing words you don’t care to guess, ‘cause you probably already know ‘em.

Love hums between the two of you, keeping you warm; your bodies pressed together, hearts beating just inches apart. You blink your eyes open and the single streetlight sails back into your vision – bright as the moon, stirring you from your tranquil bliss.

“Do you,” you turn, and Joel fixes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, “do you tell all the girls that on the first date? Was that just one of your moves?”

He snorts, and answers by pulling you in to give you a tender kiss.

No. Just you.

“You ready to go?” he asks when your lips part.

“Mhm. Take me home, cowboy.”

----------

His house is dark against the dusky sky. The headlights illuminate the garage door as he pulls up in the drive, squeezing your hand once as the truck comes to a halt.

“And then…” Joel says, holding a finger up to you. Wait right here.

He gets out of the driver’s side and you watch the shadow of him jog around the truck, stopping at your door. He opens it, and holds a hand out for you to take.

You choke on a laugh. “That is…”

“That is what?”

“…so cheesy. You really do that?”

“Uhuh. C’mon.”

Your fingers lace through his and you hop out of the truck. Joel shuts the door behind you and extends his elbow, and you link your arm through his. His hand warmly rests on top of yours.

You both wander over to his porch where he stops, letting you walk up the steps alone. When you reach the top one, only just taller than him on the path, hands still interlinked, you look down.

“Then I say, Thank you for a lovely evenin’, and,” he lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “then…” Joel holds his arms out. Voila. Just like that.

“Wow. I feel…honored.”

“You should.”

“Not even a proper kiss?”

“I just kissed your hand, baby. You didn’t like that?”

“You don’t ask to come inside?”

He scoffs. “Nope. What would I want to come inside for?”

You grin. Shrug your shoulders. Start walking backward to his door.

“Well, I am exhausted after our date, Mr. Miller. I do think,” yawn, “I should be gettin’ ready for bed.”

Joel lowers his head, eyes trained on you, smirk growing on his lips. “Is that so?”

You nod.

He starts to climb the steps.

“I’m sure I’ll be expectin’ a call from you,” you mewl, exaggerated Southern accent crooning to him. Your back bumps against the front door. Joel’s on the porch now. You bite your lip.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he returns, his shadow creeping over you. He reaches your body and his arms come to rest on the frame right above your head.

You hook your hands around his shoulders.

“You really don’t wanna come in?” you whisper, and his jaw ticks.

“I wouldn’t want to be ungentlemanly.”

Leaning in, lips against his ear, you whisper soft enough to shake the breath as it falls from his lips.

“And what if I asked you, nicely, to take me inside and fuck me good ‘n hard until I can’t walk?”

Joel’s eyes pool black when you lean away, head resting back on his door. Your gaze is heavy with lust, eyelashes batting slowly.

“Hm,” he grumbles, body beginning to press against yours. His head cocks. “You don’t wanna be treated like a lady?”

“Nope.” You smirk, hand falling down to cup the bulge quickly forming below his belt.

“Want to be treated like a fuckin’ whore, do ya?”

Chest heaving, you nod, massaging him.

“So dirty, darlin’, feelin’ your date up on the porch,” he tells you, dipping his jaw to run his lips along your neck. “What ‘m I gonna do with you?”

You shrug again, and your fingers find the door handle at your hip. You push, and the wood behind you falls inward.

As you plunge into the dark house, Joel’s rough hands clamp down on your waist, taking you in his tight grip and throwing you against the wall. His lips find your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue caressing tenderly as he sucks a bruise into you. Heat spreads across your core. You clench your thighs around the feeling.

“Joel,” you whine, hands surfing through his hair. “Fuck, take me upstairs.”

He hums. He’s going to. He’s just not doing it quick enough.

You lift your leg to his hip, and his left hand scoops under your ass. He pulls your center flat against the swelling in his jeans, ruts slowly against your body. You hear a deep groan from his throat.

“Upstairs,” you say again, growing impatient, and he growls, taking you with both hands and lifting you two steps at a time towards his bedroom.

He kicks the door open, loosening his grip on you as he walks over to the bed. Light streams across the room in splinters, peering through the shades from the streetlights outside. Your legs drop and you dance along on your toes, turning him midway until his calves hit the bottom of his mattress.

Your lips part for mere seconds, allowing one reflected expression between you, before you’re pushing him by the chest onto the bed. His body springs when he hits the sheets, staring back up at yours between his legs. His breath courses from his mouth, thick with want and need.

You lay him flat on the mattress, knees either side of his waist, hands curved over his shoulders. His own find your waist, holding on tight as you straddle him, playing with the tie of your shorts when you settle.

You dip your head and brush your lips against his. One long, sweet kiss, and his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, pulling it free, lifting it over your head. You groan as it separates your bodies, let your tongue find his again as quickly as it was pulled apart from it.

“Let me see,” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts to rub circles into your hipbones.

You smile as you straighten, fingers dancing along the hem of your tee.

“Let me – see,” Joel grunts, when your core grinds into his.

You peel the tight fabric from your stomach, higher, higher, until it lifts your breasts, catching on the curve of them, and as you whip it over your head, they bounce back down. Joel groans from below, staring at the perfect peaked shape. He lifts one hand to cup your tit, runs his thumb over the quickly-hardening nipple.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

“I know,” you tell him, watching as his thumbpad circles the delicate skin. Your back arches into his touch.

And then his hands sink into the mattress either side of his body, pushing himself closer to you. He wraps a strong arm around your back and pulls your chest to his mouth, lips pressing wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. His teeth graze across the round shape up towards your nipple again.

His tongue slips over the hard bud, swirling and soaking all over it. Your head falls back, fingers grip onto his hair. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes. Joel sucks harder.

“S– fuck,” you whisper, nearly voiceless. His tongue is flicking now, lips pulling more of your body into his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuck, I need you, I need you,” you whimper.

He releases your sweet skin, lips shining with saliva. “Tell me where.”

You writhe on top of him, hands pushing your shorts down over your hips. “You know where.”

Joel holds your body steady. “Tell me.”

You whine, trying to rock against him. He doesn’t let up. “Joel, fuck. Betw– between my – fuck.”

“Between your legs?” he taunts, pushing you harder against the hard folds of denim below his belt. “That where you need me? Between those pretty legs, babygirl?”

Your fists ball around the fabric of his shirt, clinging on to him. “Ye-ah,” you whimper, and his weight falls from your grasp.

You feel your shorts tug over the crests of bone by your hips. “Step out of ‘em, baby,” he instructs, and your knee lifts.

He pulls the cotton down one leg at a time, telling you to shift your weight as he curls a finger around the lace of your panties and tugs them down after. Before you can think about it, you’re naked, soaked cunt making a mess over the crotch of his jeans.

He looks up at you expectantly.

“What–?”

He flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion, a Come here, either side of your thighs. You hesitate.

“Darlin’. Up.”

“Joel.”

“Up.”

You take his open hands and shuffle up the mattress, knees pushing into the soft sheets either side of his head. You glance down at him.

“I don’t know –”

“’m not gonna tell you again.”

And he doesn’t have to. You steady yourself, locking your fingers through his behind your ass, and slowly lower yourself down to him. His jaw lifts to meet you, and you think about pausing again, telling him he doesn’t have to do this, asking instead to do something else, something he’ll enjoy as much, something you can both –

But then his lips open around the sweetest part of your body, and your lungs freeze. His tongue slips between, daring where you need him most, and your body sighs in equal parts relief and pleasure.

You’re so fucking wet. You can feel it, leaking onto his lips, spreading around your own as he kisses you, licks you, takes in every drop of you. Your back curls, lips fall open to the ceiling, breath comes in short wisps.

It’s been almost two weeks since the two of you felt like this. Hot, wet, needy. Two weeks of waiting for the other to come back, two weeks of reaching for the phone and deciding against it once the number’s dialed, two weeks of nothing.

And now – everything. Everywhere. Every part of your body ignited for him. You feel him fucking everywhere.

You lean all of your weight onto the palm of your hands, pushing all of it into Joel’s. He’s steady, strong, letting you rock and swirl your hips as he laps at your core.

“Right there,” you whisper, head rolling back. “Keep – keep – oh, fuck, Joel. What the f–?”

He slowly lowers his hands, letting you untangle your fingers and place them on the bed. His own come to hook around your thighs, clamping you as close against him as you can possibly be.

Two weeks of nothing. And now, five minutes of everything. The shards of light from outside blur across your vision; heat starts to prickle up your spine, tickling the back of your neck. You’re smiling, filthy and desperate.

“I’m gonna –” you breathe, and Joel hums. “’m gonna c– come.”

You can hear his response, though he doesn’t say a word. Then, come.

Your hips motion forward. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel’s tongue slips between your folds, warm on the inside of your cunt. And you rock back. Unwind. Unfurl. Exhale. His bottom lip puckers against your clit.

“J-oel. Joel, I’m – you’re – fuck.”

He moans against your sex. His hips shift behind you. Buck upwards, carefully.

Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Tighten – inhale. Unwind. Unf-url. Ex-hale. Tighten. Inh– clamp. Fuck. I’m there. Unwind. Warm. Wet. Tongue. Exhale. Tongue. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel –

Your fingers curl around his bedsheets, nails dig into the cotton. Your orgasm sends a flood of hot pleasure across your cunt, rains down over Joel’s lips, and sets fireworks off through your body which explode into the dark room in the form of a throaty moan.

You’re not sure when you come to. You’re not sure your arms can bear the weight of your body. But when your eyes blink open, he’s kissing the inside of your thighs.

His mouth is glistening. Moustache and beard covered in you. Soft lips pearlescent with your spend. Your body feels heavy, unbearable. You lift your leg and tumble onto the mattress by his side, pussy throbbing when you land.

“I love you,” you whisper, and not for any particular reason. Not because of what he just did. Not because you’re naked in his bed.

But maybe because it feels like this is what you were made to do. To love and to be loved – by him. It feels like this entire thing has been, from its genesis, an exchange. An understanding. Immediate and certain. Here are all the parts of me. You know what to do.

As if there needed no further explanation. No instruction, no tutorial. You just knew.

He pushes himself up, leans over your frame. His jaw lowers, and he licks into your mouth tenderly.

“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he says, and at the same time, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “Gotta feel you again.”

You nod against him. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

Joel’s hands are on his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. Your help him tug his jeans off when he undoes the button. The material of his underwear rubs against your sex; your creamy arousal smears all over the black fabric. You can feel the weight of his stiff cock beneath. It dizzies your head.

He lets your fingers sneak below the elastic, lowering it until he springs free, slapping against the bottom of his tummy. You could fucking drool at the sight of him – the pink tip, beaded with precum; the thick vein on the underside of the shaft; his balls below it, heavy and waiting. Your hands wrap around him and pump slowly as he drags his boxers down, kicking them off at the foot of the bed.

He groans, hips thrusting gently into your palms as you squeeze him. Your fingers slip between your folds, collecting your own slick, coating him in it as you fist him.

“So good, babygirl,” Joel breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “You gonna take it all?”

“Mhm,” you reply, tongue slipping against his.

“Yeah,” he says, “my girl can take it.”

You let his hand shadow over yours, the two of you guiding his cock towards your entrance together. It glides between your dripping folds, the head sifting effortlessly from your clit to your tight hole and back again. Joel laughs, teeth clashing with yours, as he dips in and out, teasing you.

Your ass lifts from the mattress, any movement to draw him nearer. “Stop,” you gasp.

Joel pauses. “Stop?”

“No,” you bleat, “don’t stop. Just – fucking do it.”

“Do what, darlin’?”

“Fuck me.”

And he sinks in.

You’d be lying if you said all you’d done for the last two weeks was cry, mope, and stare at the ceiling. That’d be discrediting everything that this little affair was built on. It’s impossible to forget how the thing fucking started – your hands between your legs, Joel watching from the doorway.

In the moments you didn’t feel the mind-numbing tsunami of heartache overcome you – you felt something else. Memories of his hands on you, the trail of his tongue between your legs, the swell of his cock deep inside you. You tried to replicate it a handful of times with your hands. But nothing – not your fingers, not two, three, or four – nothing stands a chance against him.

He pushes in slow at first, drawing out when he’s halfway, and then in again as he covers himself in the wet his tongue left behind. When he’s soaked, glistening and gleaming, he thrusts. Hard. His tip catches on your cervix, and your back arches in a mix of pain and delight.

Something throbs deep inside as he bottoms out. You feel your opening stretch around his base. You feel your legs widen as if by instinct, accommodating the size of him, the width of him, the pace of him.

You throw an arm over his shoulder, elbow hanging on the nape of his neck. His sweaty forehead sticks to yours, and your hand cups his cheek.

“Harder,” you tell him, and he listens.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight. Oh, my – I ain’t gonna last.”

“Don’t – want you – to,” you cry, body jumping as he fucks you quicker, quicker, harder, deeper. “Want to – come – together.”

Your head tips back against the bed, and Joel’s lips attach to your neck. He’s moaning into your skin, teeth biting down, breath hot and quick. He’s not gonna last he’s not gonna last he’s not –

“F-u-ck, Joel,” you sob, your walls starting to close in around him, “feels so – f-fucking good, oh!”

“I know, darlin’, I know. C’mere.”

He takes your cheek and pulls your face back to his, lines his lips with yours and kisses you. It’s messy, haggard, fucking all over the place as your bodies bounce together, but he tastes like sweat, and sex, and you, and him.

“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, hips pounding. “Missed bein’ inside you. You know how bad I needed you?”

“Tell me,” you slur, echoing his own words back to him.

He smirks. “Best fucking pussy I ever had, sweetheart. Best – I ever – had.”

“Don’t pull out,” you hum against his lips, and his jaw pulls back a fraction. “Don’t.”

“Baby,” he says, strained, and your head tilts.

“Need it,” you tell him. “Please. Need you.”

He nods, leaning back into you, letting you connect your mouths again. His lips shudder when you pull away, the thought translated clear as day from your mouth to his. And he knows, and he drives in harder, and he fucks the image from your mind. Who the fuck is Lois, when you’re under him and he’s this deep between your legs?

You look up into his eyes, and you find your answer. She’s nobody. There’s only you.

Your body feels liquid, your mind like fog. You pull him into your body, deeper and deeper, until you’re sure you’re one, and there is no place where he ends and you begin, and you’re sure this is what it feels like, this is what those words feel like, not just the sound of them, not just the way his lips move around them, but the shape of them on and in and around your body. Something deafening, something blinding, something screaming from the pits of your lungs as you come all around him, and you feel him come all around you.

His warmth spurts deep inside you, filling you up, dripping down your walls as he collapses into your shoulder, a loud moan drilling into your collarbone. He slows, thrusts in and out gently, pushing his spend deeper and mixing it with yours.

It's everywhere. The feeling. The pulsing, the humming, the singing. He’s everywhere. Him. In your brain and in your lungs and in your body and in your cunt. And you want to keep him there, hold him there, keep your bodies together for five more minutes, just five more minutes.

But then he’s panting into your skin, pressing kisses into that little dip between your collarbone and your chest, and he slowly slips out, come dripping from where he leaves.

He presses his palm deep into the sheets by your head, lifts off of you – but your arm is still around his neck, and you lean with him. Tilted on his mattress, holding onto him, letting him kiss your head; letting his hand move across the surface of your stomach, mapping the gentle slope over your belly button and scaling the tiny mountains of your hipbones. Kneading softly into the skin over which his seed sits, warm and snug, deep inside you. It’s new. You think you love it.

And he’s whispering, “Good girl, did so good for me,” and he nuzzles his nose into your hair, and he tilts your chin back until he can see your face, see your expression, and he smiles with relief when he clocks your doe eyes, your blissful smile, the sweet tinge of red on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he tells you, and you’re staring at his lips.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

You look up to his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.”

You smile. It breaks into a laugh. “Again,” you whisper, and he kisses you.

Slowly, only once you pull away from him and your breath steadies, Joel takes your body and carefully shifts. He turns onto his back, settles you on his chest, your hips between his thighs. He runs a gentle hand over your hair and you lie against his sweat-shining chest, his heartbeat whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Love and sex, as far as you knew, were always two different things. Separate. One, you weren’t even sure existed. The other, nothing more than a need to be satisfied. Something deep within you, something no one had ever managed to touch. And then Joel. And his lips, and his tongue, and his hands and his cock.

And suddenly the two – love and sex – begin to blur, their edges touch frantically. They bleed into one another, until there are no longer two distinct forms; instead, one big shape which has the curve of your hips and the cut of his jaw.

You love him. And he loves you. You’ve heard it translated between your minds longer than you care to admit, and now – you’ve felt it. Transferred between your bodies. You love him. Jesus, you love him.

It’s as terrifying as it is thrilling. Enamoring, and yet dangerous.

“So,” you sigh, “what’s next?”

He glances down, lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a shake. His hand lifts off of your shoulder with a shrug.

“Like, your next move. What happened with the other eight?”

“The other eight?”

“Mhm. Me, Sarah’s mom, makes two. There are eight others, right? What’d you do afterward?”

“Kicked ‘em out.”

You lift a heavy hand and slap his chest. He shudders with laughter.

“I dunno, baby. Wasn’t all like this.”

Your brows knit. “Like what?”

He takes a deep breath. Your head rises as his lungs fill. “Lyin’ in bed afterward. Talkin’.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What?” he asks, smirking.

“Who even were they? I wanna know.”

“Why?”

“Just do. I wanna hear about ‘em. When was the last one, before me?”

Joel’s eyes drift off to the ceiling above you, thinking. “May.”

“M–?” You jump up, pushing yourself off of his body. “May?” you repeat, eyes wide. “That’s…so recent.”

“Recent?” He chokes back a laugh. “When’s your last?”

You furrow your brows, dropping his gaze. “We’re not talking about me,” you mumble, thumbs twiddling.

Your last had been two nights before you flew home. You’d gone out with your roommates and dragged home Matteo, an exchange student who you’d worked with on a group project for your screenwriting class. He was three inches shorter than you. He bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you until he came. Then he made himself some cereal, ate half of it, and left.

Joel doesn’t really need to hear about him, you think.

“Do I know any of them?” you ask in attempt to change the subject.

Joel pulls a face. His lips tighten, teeth clench. His eyes narrow to a thin line, looking at you through his eyelashes. He nods tentatively.

“Shut the fuck up. Who is it? Who?”

“I dunno if you know her, but she knows you.”

“What’s her name?”

“Your dad gave us a ride home from the bar. She ‘n him got to talkin’, and he said he had a daughter –”

Your fist lightly drops onto his chest. “Joel, if you don’t fucking tell me who it is, I –”

“She’s an elementary teacher. Long, dark hair. Good few years older ‘n you. Think she said her little sister went to your school.”

“Who – was – it?”

He makes the face again. This time his eyes close over, waiting for the penny to drop. His head shakes lightly.

“You –? No, Joel. Come on. Please don’t…Are you fucking serious? You don’t remember her name?”

“It was a long night, alright?”

“How did you forget her damn name?”

He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I was drunk, baby.”

“Elementary teacher? I don’t know anybody whose sister teaches elementary.”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Joel shrugs, and you shake your head at him.

You’re picturing Joel stumbling out of Frank’s, arm in arm with a brunette, heavy feet dragging along the sidewalk while your dad chitters in his ear about the Rangers, or about some rude bartender, or about…you. The brunette turns, and her face is yours. Your features, your smile. Your hand linked through Joel’s. C’mon, baby. ‘s go home.

You chase the image away. It slips from your mind like dust cleared from a countertop. Would never. Could never. Should never.

You replace it with something lighter. Something to make you forget about the dust.

“Does…Does my dad ever go home with anyone?”

“What?”

You don’t answer. He heard you.

“That’s…No. I ain’t answerin’ that.”

“Oh, come on. If you’re takin’ women home left, right, and center, he’s gotta be seein’ that. Does he?”

“I was not takin’ home women left, right, and – No, darlin’, no. It’s inappropriate.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m known for my appropriate behavior, y’know,” you gesture between your naked bodies, “I’m known for the good life choices I make.”

“This,” Joel hooks his hands under your arms and drags you up until your chin meets his, “is a good life choice.”

“Yeah?” you ask through a giggle, your nose bumping his.

Joel smiles softly, runs a hand over the back of your head. Looks between your eyes, a twinkle in his. Yes.

Your lips crash together like waves on the rocks. You’re the sea; he’s the stone. Two different worlds, suddenly married in some unforeseen twist of nature. And when you pour over him, your body lighting him in a twinkling glow of ocean, it’s as though you never existed apart from one another. It’s as natural as the waves on the shore.

“Alright, darlin’,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Speakin’ of inappropriate. I gotta get you home.”

“Why can’t I just stay the night?” you complain. “Like last time. Tell ‘im we’re watchin’ a movie again…”

Joel’s head rests on your arm. “He’s worried sick about you. Ain’t no way he’ll let you spend the night here. You know that. Plus, Sarah’ll be long done with Rita’s cross stitch by now.”

He sits up and you roll into his lap, head resting on the soft skin of his belly. He looks down at you, head tilted, eyes glowing hazel.

You stare right back. The dimples in his cheeks dig deeper when you whisper, “Kickin’ me out right after we finally make up. I see how it is, Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders hunch. “Happens to all of ‘em. Warned ya.”

He shifts off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You sit up and watch as he pulls his boxers snug over his hips, swipes his tee from the carpet at his feet. As he drapes it over his scruffy chest, your half-naked form meets his at the foot of the bed.

His fingers knot in your hair. You lean into his arms, legs giving as he kisses you gently, breathing you in, stealing any more words of protest from your tongue.

“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls away, tip of his nose brushing off yours. “You know that?”

“Somebody told me somethin’ to do with that, yeah.”

He smiles. “Get dressed.”

You pull the rest of your clothes back on in silence, tossing socks and jeans across the room to one another, giggling like a pair of kids. After all you just did, the palpable pleasure you just sent hammering through one another – this is the part you wish you could bottle. The laughter, the love. The attempts to keep holding onto him, even as he tries to pull his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, even as he links his belt back through his jeans, as he bends to tie his boots.

The fun of it. The hope of it.

The foolish, foolish hope.

“Hoodie.” Joel flings it up towards you, crouched as he tightens his laces.

You pull it on over your bra. Flatten your flyaway hairs, stand straight before him.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You got your phone?”

Your hands instinctively pat your body down. “Oh, nah,” you realize, “musta left it at home.”

Joel nods and heads into the hallway, you at his heel. At the bottom of the stairs, you glance around his house, like it’s the first and last time you’ll see it wrapped into one. It looks different; two weeks of absence and you notice things you hadn’t before.

His coat hanging by the door, probably untouched since early spring. The bowl on the side table where his and Sarah’s keys live. The guitar in the corner of the room, the books in the shelves above it. All him. Every little piece of it. He’s reflected in every object in the room. He’s reflected in you.

You drive back to your dad’s place in silence. Comfortable, sweet silence. Your fingers ghost across his palm the entire time, watching out the window as the dark neighborhood soars by in a blur of porch lights and mailboxes. All too quickly, you’re back in front of your own house.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and through the darkness you see Joel’s smile fall.

After a moment’s silence, heavy and contemplative, he looks back up. Softens when his eyes land on you.

“We’ll be alright,” he tells you, and you believe him.

You lean forward and press a quick but tender kiss to his lips, and your fingers latch around the door handle. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head, keeping your mouth on his.

“Gotta – let me – go,” you mumble between kisses, and he hums a laugh in response. “Joel.”

“I know,” he whispers, finally pulling back. “I know.”

You smile, head tilting into his palm. “I’ll text you.”

He nods once. “See you, babygirl.”

You slip out of the truck and wander past to your front door, twirling as you click the handle. Joel laughs, and the truck reverses back onto the street. You wait for it to disappear before closing the door, and step into the unlit hallway.

The TV lights the living room at the opposite end. You stop by the kitchen, feeling the grumpy rumble of your stomach. Your dad’s armchair is sat facing the screen. You lean over to double check he’s not sat in it, fast asleep while Rangers highlights play on loop before his eyelids.

When you swivel the plaid pattern towards your knees, its only occupant is the remote. You flick the TV off and pad back over to the kitchen, filling a bowl with some chips. You’re hunched over at the refrigerator when his footsteps clunk slowly down the stairs, and he materializes like a specter around the doorway.

“Hey.”

You straighten up, lit in a nervous blue hue from the fridge. “Hey, yourself.”

“Joel gone?”

“’bout ten minutes ago. Where’ve you been? You left the TV on.”

“Just…y’know. You get those brochures?”

Fuck. You were at Joel’s under the premise of picking up fucking UCLA pamphlets – and you’ve come home empty-handed. The lie doesn’t form on your tongue as quickly as Joel’s did earlier. Something else on your mind.

“…sure. Some…interesting stuff.”

Your dad nods. “Good. Good, I’m glad. We can take a look in the mornin’.”

Your eyebrows flinch. “Yeah. That’d be – yeah. I’m…gonna head to bed, alright?”

“Sure,” he says, nodding.

With a can of soda under your arm and your bowl of chips in the other, you nod and cautiously shuffle towards him. His lips are a thin line. You duck by him and trot upstairs, and make it as far as the landing before he’s calling out again.

“Oh, hey.” He holds a hand out, and disappears in a jog towards the living room. You drop back down a couple steps, watching him swipe something from the dining table and pace back over. “You left your phone.”

He’s presenting it like a jeweler shows a Rolex – or maybe more like an investigator handles evidence. Holding it out in almost trembling fingers, afraid to mark it with his fingerprints. Your eyes flit from the phone to his, unsure which of the two frightens you more.

That’s not where I fucking left it.

You lean over and take it from his palm. “Thanks…”

“I think maybe you got a text, just then. It was lit up. Maybe I’m seein’ things.”

You force the corners of your mouth upward. Your cheeks inflate with nerves and shame. “Thanks,” you repeat, and then: “Everything okay, Dad?”

“Everything’s fine, kiddo. Sleep well.” He makes back for the living room.

As you turn, you unlock your screen.

Joel: Left your shirt here, and your bikini from last week. This mean I get to be the one wearing your clothes now?

Panic spills over your head, a wave of freezing cold washing over you when you read his words. Did Dad read them, too?

You continue walking, feeling the weight of your dad’s strange voice on your back as your feet drag you one by one up the stairs. When you make it back to the landing, your cool flees you, and you take the rest of them two at a time until you’re leaning against your bedroom door, panting.

You: Problem. I think my dad saw that text

Joel: How so?

You: When I got home my phone was next to his chair, and he’s being so weird

You: Joel I think he knows something

Joel: I’m sure he doesn’t. He wouldn’t read your phone baby.

He’s trying to reassure you, telling you he wouldn’t even know what it means, maybe he’ll think you spilled something on it, but no matter how many ideas Joel comes up with, none of them slow your heart rate.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach forces you straight back up. Pacing doesn’t help, knowing your dad is directly below you probably hearing the floorboards creak with every step you take.

Your head dizzies with doubts, fears, worries, all frantically throwing themselves against the walls of your skull. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of your window, eyes screwing shut, stars in your vision. Nothing is calming you down.

Joel takes too long to reply back, whether he’s running out of explanations or just fucking forty-eight with an iPhone, but every time your phone buzzes with a new attempt at comfort from him, it only convinces you even more that – no, it wasn’t a stain, it wasn’t a joke, Joel has your top because you took it off for him an hour ago, and then let him fuck you in his bed.

And your dad fucking knows it.

[johnbleepingzoidberg]

(tumblr said fuck you and blurred them all to hell so pls click for better quality)

making transformers fusions inspired by steven universe like it's 2015

bonesaw: drift + ratchet + wheeljack

constellation: starscream + optimus prime

prosecutor: knock out + breakdown

descriptions/backstory/blabbing/progress pics under the cut!

--

1st is named Bonesaw: drift + ratchet + wheeljack; they transform into some sort of medical/ambulance helicopter, using their sword blades (cuz we're using idw drift and tfp wheeljack here) as propellors. a very strong fusion, but they can't stay fused very long because i feel as though ratchet wouldn't like being fused, and they'd all argue a bit too much

2nd is Constellation: optimus prime + starscream; this is the one that started it all because ive been on a bit of a starop kick and had this whole animatic playing in my mind of Constellation taunting megatron like garnet does jasper in Stronger Than You LOL. they transform into a space shuttle and the name comes from, yk, STARscream and Orion. if this is thru the lens of starop, theyre fairly compatible, until starscream's impulsiveness and optimus' patience/humility causes them to split

3rd is Prosecutor, pronounced like "PROSE", emphasis on the "rose": knock out + breakdown. not 100% set on the name but his design felt flowery/rose-esque esp since im gonna go with a dusty pink/lavender so i wanted something elegant/floral and yet tough LOL. not 100% sure about his alt mode yet, im thinking like a hummer or a jeep or something???? idk. something Fashionable yet tough. theyre probably constantly fused. like, theyre so close/attached at the hip they fuse without even realizing it until someones like "oh, hey, prosecutor"

ANYWAY this was just a fun little art exercise more than anything, again inspired by the fact Stronger Than You was on a starop playlist i was listening to and thought itd be really funny if megatron was taunted by both his exes for being single LMAOOO

some wips/other scribbles:

[slowdrawl]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader| | 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist}

Chapter 6: Sweat & Sin | wordcount | 4.7k {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | Buckle in because chapter 6 is long. This is where it really starts to all burn down. We're hungover, horny and done with Joels b.s. dbf! lines don’t just blur, they shatter. It's smutty, messy, and fucked up in all the right ways. hope it leaves you wrecked. Tell me if you’re feral for it, ‘cause I sure am. xoxo

" “I—I wasn't—” you stammer, but he steps closer, boots heavy on the hardwood, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Heard my name, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.” His voice is molasses-thick, commanding but warm, like he’s daring you. “Show me what you were doin’.” You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore. "

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, SMUT, pussy pronouns, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, Alcohol aftermath, intoxication,unprotected PIV, m/f masturbation, size kink, penetrative sex, cum play, sexual tension, strong language, emotional vulnerability, age gap dynamics, smoking references, dbf undertones, possessive sex, guilt, mentions of grief. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.

You wake to a skull-splitting throb ripping through your temples. Joel was right. You’re feeling it today. Sunlight slices through the curtains, white-hot and sharp. You roll over and bury your face in your pillow, It smells like smoke and shame; a faint echo of last night. Joel’s kiss burns through your head, rough hands and a growl daring you to forget. His “Go to bed, Bird” rings in your ears.

Fuck.

You groan, hauling yourself upright, stumbling downstairs. You’re half-hoping he’s there, half-dreading facing him—gonna be hard pretending nothing happened. But he’s not here, because he left you last night feeling like a mistake, leaving you feeling stupid for thinking he felt it too.

You walk into the living room. Your dad sits on the couch happy as ever, totally oblivious reading the newspaper. Your eyes drag to the coffee table and Joel’s whiskey glass still sits there, another reminder. The Cypress Hill t-shirt you’re in is wrinkled with sleep, pooling over your body, you haven’t looked in the mirror, unsure if you want to face yourself yet.

“Hey, Bird, you look like shit,” he says, eyeing you up and down.

Thanks.

“I feel worse than I look,” you reply, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Tequila’s never a good idea.” Your stomach churns at the thought, mouth-watering like you’re about to puke. You squint toward the kitchen, and the clock reads 10:38, at least you got decent sleep.

“You hungry?” your dad asks, brow arched, peering over the paper.

“Maybe. Probably should eat something, definitely need water.”

He folds the newspaper, tosses it on the table, and grunts as he stands. “I got called down to Dallas, some job’s fucked up. You know it was possible to install gutters fuckin’ backward?” He  huffs out half a laugh,” Oh, and the airs busted again—Joel’s gonna be here on his lunch break.”

You blink, relief creeping in, the coast is clear. “Wait,” you say, panicked, “Joel’s coming over?” You slow your voice, hiding the mix of dread and thrill. “Yeah, why? Probably be here soon. You cool with that?” He lifts a brow, probing your unease, but his phone rings before he can dig.

“Yup,” he answers, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. “Love you, Tweety. See ya Wednesday-ish.” Then he’s out, leaving you alone with the heat and Joel’s looming shadow.

Cool… I guess?

You grab your phone, and tap the screen, anxious for what’s there.

Three new texts.

(9:04 AM)

Karlie: Girl are you good??? Did that dilf kidnap you? Give me the tea ☕

You’d rather not. She’ll escalate to 911 if you don’t reply.

(10:40 AM)

You: Hey, sorry, I’m good. Hungover as fuck, I’ll call later xox

(9:08 AM)

T-Mills: You okay bird? We’re ok right? I didn’t mean to make u uncomfortable. don’t leave me on read

You’d hoped Tommy would let it go, how did you tangle yourself with both Millers in one night? At least you didn’t kiss Tommy. You just let him grind on your ass in public, then you know, ended up on his older brother’s lap. You replay last night again. The bar, Brett? Brad? Ben—the kid Tommy nearly decked. The truck, Joel taking care of you. The dream, somehow ending better than reality. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this,” Joel's mouth claiming yours, then “Go to bed, Bird,” like a punishment, like you were a bad dog.

Fuck him.

You tap Tommy’s name and shoot off a response without thinking. It’s probably the only way you’ll do it.

(10:42 AM)You: It’s fine Tom, must have opened my phone half asleep last night. I feel like shit!!! Remind me to stay away from tequila next time

He replies instantly like he’s been waiting.

(10:42 AM)

T-Mills: Next time huh? Round two tomorrow??? 🎉

Fuck Joel. Let Tommy fix this.

You know what, fuck it. Maybe more booze and Tommy’s attention will soothe this ache.

(10:43)

You: 9pm, pick me up???

You check the last text.

(10:30 AM)

Joel: Is the a/c rlly broken or??

You laugh out loud.

What a piece of work.

Does Joel think you’d lie to get him over? You don’t even want to face him today. Shame washes over you like cold water, maybe last night was just a big fuckin’ mistake.

(10:45 AM)

You: ???? i just woke up, don’t know what you’re talking about lol 🤷

A text bubble pops up, vanishes, pops up, vanishes. You laugh again. Joel’s got his foot in his mouth, and can’t muster a reply.

(10:46 AM)

Joel: k.

K? Really?

Oh, fuck that guy.

You get off the couch, and head for the bathroom to scrub last night off. The image of Joel’s face before he said “Go to bed, Bird” feels permanently burned into your head. His eyes scared, like he fucked up, angry at himself, disgusted. Rejection stings your eyes, but it turns to anger the longer you stew.

If he wants games, you can play too.

You hop out with a plan. Black denim shorts, barely covering your ass, paired with a cropped Rangers shirt from your high school slut phase. The one with the neck cut out, it hugs your curves, makes your boobs look fantastic. You throw on a cropped flannel, put on mascara, and lip gloss, tying your hair into space buns to finish the look. You head downstairs, the silence is loud, not even the hum of the A/C, just you and your thoughts.

You try to eat the sandwich Dad left, but your mouth’s dry—it goes down like sand, Gatorade helps. Boots drag and a knock hits the door, you’re even sweatier knowing Joel’s there, alone now. You ditch the flannel, wrap it around your waist, and let him in.

Fucking get a grip.

It only takes a minute for your facade to crack. He looks gorgeous, toolbox in hand, curls tucked under a Rangers cap, in work pants with a toolbelt sitting low on his hips. He barely acknowledges you, only giving you half a smile as he walks in. You catch his eyes flick to your chest as he passes by you on the couch though.

Small victories.

He heads to the thermostat, fiddling with wires, ignoring you like you’re air. Anger jolts through you, tingling from your toes to your shoulders, but that toolbelt pulls it back to your core. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Dallas. Work trip,” you deadpan. Yes girl, give him nothing!

Joel hums, shakes his head, and then gets back to it.

You try to ignore him, but your competency kink wins. He mumbles about circuits and fuses, cursing under his breath and groaning as he works. You half-watch true crime on TV, but it’s no use.

“So,” you start, eyes on the screen, voice calm, bored, flipping to MTV, “why did you do it?”

Joel sighs, long and low. “Ain’t got words for it, kid. Shouldn’t’ve happened, was a mistake, end of.”

You laugh, bitter, leaning over the couch arm. “Cool, and now you’re gonna make it my fault? My problem? You started it, Joel.”

You stand up from the couch, legs moving toward him, face flushed with anger.

He stops, drops the pliers, and pinches his nose bridge, squinting. He locks his eyes on you—something unreadable in them, “See, this is why it never should’ve happened. You think I want this, Bird?” His jaw clenches, voice rough. “Think I’m happy fuckin’ everything up? For what? This?” You can hear grief crack through his voice.

“So answer my damn question. Why’d you kiss me?” you repeat, firm, smooth, the anger outweighing the anxiety in your words. 

“I don’t know, kid” he sighs, pain clear. “Because I’m weak. I’m fuckin’ weak and you…” He stops, eyes raking you, shaking his head, fists balled.

“You what?” you press, voice low and cutting, walking closer. “Just say it. You wanted it, Joel. Don’t blame me.”

“Wanted it? I’m fuckin’ haunted by it, Bird, by you.” It comes out as a snarl, his eyes glazed with shouldn’t and can’t.

You’re in his face now, “Then why’d you come here? You could’ve just said no to him.”

He grabs your shoulders and spins you, your back hits against the wall. His voice is a jagged whisper, “Because you’re a goddamn curse. I hate you for this. I hate me, but I can’t fuckin stop.” His mouth crashes down, rough, hungry, swallowing your gasp. His free hand finds your shirt hem, fingers searing your skin.

You lean in, tangling into him, hands grasping fabric, pulling closer. You’d crawl into his ribcage if he’d let you. He pushes back, caging you against the wall. Your head spins. You buck your hips, desperation met with metal and leather. You unbuckle his toolbelt mid-kiss. It crashes, tools scattering, narrowly missing your feet.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me,” Joel groans into your throat, panting. His mouth bruises your jaw, and trails fire down your neck, boot forcing your feet apart. “Tell me no,” he rasps, voice breaking, shifting his body weight to the knee that’s flush against you. His fingers hit your shorts’ waistband.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t, you can’t. You’ve never wanted something so badly before in your damn life. Your breath hitches as his hand slips under, grazing your skin, teasing the edge of your underwear, slow and deliberate, heat pooling low. He’s relentless, his teeth on your collarbone, one hand pinning your hips, the other circling where you’re soaked until your legs tremble.

“Joel,” you choke, arching into him.

“Fuckin’ say it, Bird,” he growls against your chest.

His touch intensifies, fingers teasing your entrance, barely dipping in. You gasp, “please” slipping out, hips bucking involuntarily this time. “I can’t do this,” he mutters, faltering, at war with himself; he doesn’t stop, he just keeps working you to the edge.

You manage to whisper, “I want this, Joel—you, I need you” your pulse hammers.

“You think you can handle that, little Bird?” He drawls, “Huh? You know what you’re signin’ up fo?”

His voice is sending you over the edge, a whine breaking free when a truck rumbles outside. Keys rattle, Joel freezes, “Fuck.” He pulls back slowly, eyes wild, hands leaving you just as the door bangs open.

“Birdie, forgot my damn wallet!” Dad booms, stomping in.

You shove your shorts straight, heart slamming. Joel steps aside, grabs his toolbox, jaw tight, muttering, “Gotta fix this damn thing.”

Dad strides through, tossing his keys on the table, squinting—Joel by the thermostat, you flushed, leaning against the wall trying desperately to look chill. “Still hot as hell,” he grunts, eyes narrowing. “Thought you said you were on it?” He snags his wallet from the counter, oblivious but sharp.

Joel clears his throat. “Fuse issue, takin’ longer than I thought.” He dives back into the unit, tools clanking, avoiding Dad’s stare.

Dad hums, skeptical, he glances down to the toolbelt. “Right. Looked like somethin’ else was goin’ on when I walked in.”

Shit.

Your stomach drops, but he doesn’t linger, just shrugs. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” He grabs your half empty Gatorade, “Love you Bird— bye Joel.” and heads out again, door slamming behind him.

Joel mutters, “Fuckin’ close,” twisting a wire, glancing at you—gaze loaded—then back to the A/C. It hums to life, cool air trickling out, tension thick as ever.

“Done,” he says, flat, packing his tools slowly, stalling. He straightens, toolbox in hand, but doesn’t move for the door. You’re alone again, the hum of the A/C doing nothing to cut the heat between you. His stare lingers, heavy, like he’s waiting for something.

“Why’d you stay?” you snap, voice sharp, stepping closer. “Could’ve bolted when he left.”

Joel’s jaw ticks, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to you. “Shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, rough. “Shouldn’t’ve come at all.”

“Then why did you?” you press, anger flaring. “You’re so full of shit—sayin'’ it’s a mistake, then pullin’ that?”

He steps toward you, close enough you feel his breath, warm and unsteady. “You don’t get it, Bird. I can’t—” He cuts off, shaking his head, fists clenching. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Get what?” you bite back, staring him down. “That you’re a coward? Say it or leave.”

His eyes flare, guilt and want warring there, but he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, taut, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re inches apart, teetering, his hand twitching like he might reach out. Then he steps back, and turns, a low “Fuckin’ trouble” slipping out as he heads for the door. His gaze burns into you one last time, loaded with everything he won’t say, and he’s gone.

What the actual fuck?

You’re left reeling, his “ruinin’ me” echoes. The air cools, but the weight stays heavy. You slump down on the couch, staring at the whiskey glass, twirling the stupid necklace, even after that it still manages to ground you. Your skin still buzzes where he touched you, jaw to hips. The anger keeps churning, with something else now—want, raw, and fucking unshakable. Joel’s a coward, sure, but you’re not innocent. You pushed. You wanted it too. You sit back down on the couch, flipping through channels, trying to keep yourself distracted from the way you feel. You try reading and end up scrolling through your camera roll. Oh, fuck my life. You find an old picture, of Joel, Sarah, and Tommy. All of them wearing lifejackets, from a camping trip probably 5 years ago, Sarah had sent you it then, but it feels like this is the first time you’re really looking at it. Joel looks hot, Tommy, oh shit Tommy looks hot too actually, “goddamnit” you mutter to yourself.

Heat pools low again, unignorable now, he left you high and dry earlier—bastard. Guess you’re going to have to finish what he started yourself. You climb upstairs, shedding your shirt off halfway, it’s too hot, and you’re too pissed. You click your bedroom door shut, shorts sticking to your thighs as you sprawl on the bed, the curtains are half open, letting a warm glow in. You put your earbuds in your ears, and let your hands start to travel, letting the quiet of the hose settle while you drown it out with Pheobe Bridgers, Motion Sickness blaring loud. You slip the shorts off, leaving you in just your panties, and your fingers hover. You place the pointer and middle finger of your left hand on either side of your folds, scissoring them back and forth—slowly. Teasing your lips, barely grazing your clit. You’re already sensitive, you were so close to coming undone earlier, you know diving right would overstimulate you too quickly to enjoy. You want to take it slow, and draw out your pleasure for as long as possible.

You can’t stop thinking about the way Joel was looking at you downstairs, the way his brown eyes turned black, staring down at you like you were prey. The grip he had on your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, craining your neck towards him. You clench your thighs around your hand as the warmth at the bottom of your belly intensifies, you take your hand away, edging yourself.  You repeat this over and over until you’re practically soaking through to the mattress—desperate, your walls clenching around nothing.

You hear his rough, baritone voice in your head now, repeating over and over, “Think you can handle that, little Bird?” Your breathing grows erratic. Finally, you give in, sliding two fingers down, spreading your slick around the sensitive bud at the top of your pussy. You roll your fingertips over and over, teasing your entrance. You’re not sure if you’ve ever worked yourself up like this—it's agonizing, but feels so fuckin’ good.

You close your eyes tight, imagining your hands being replaced by Joel’s, his fingers fubbing merciless circles over your throbbing clit. A loud broken whine escapes your lips—”Oh fuck, yes, Joel”—as you plunge your middle finger in, curving it to reach your g-spot. You add another finger, then a third—stretching yourself out, picturing Joel fucking you with his fingers instead. The warmth simmering in your belly gets red-hot, pussy squeezing desperately around your fingers. You buck your hips into your hand, gasping every time your cupped palm creates a vacuum against you. Shockwaves jolt through your clit. You’re not being mindful now, no more teasing, you’re chasing your high, holding back sobs, biting your lip so hard you taste copper, right on the edge. A low rap hits your door. What the fuck? No. Who the fuck? You pull your earbuds out, “Hello? Who’s there?” you manage to choke out, trying to sound normal, but you don’t, and you know the answer. “ It’s me.” comes that low, gravelly voice through the door. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm never wearing both headphones again. You snap your head towards the door and start to pull up your panties and the covers over yourself—not that it would help you at this point, you’re screwed, fuckin’ naked and afraid. “Thought I heard someone whimperin’ my name,” he says, as the doorknob turns. The hinge creaks as the door pushes open. “Need a hand?” You conjure up the courage to look up to him, adrenaline courses through your veins; it feels like your whole body is on fucking fire. There he stands, broad and rugged in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on you. His flannel’s unbuttoned at the collar, work pants slung low, and his thick cock, the one you’ve been dreaming about strains against them—girthy, solid, the outline making your mouth dry. You freeze.

“I—I wasn't—” you stammer, but he steps closer, boots heavy on the hardwood, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Heard my name, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.” His voice is molasses-thick, commanding but warm, like he’s daring you. “Show me what you were doin’.” You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore.

Heat floods your face, and your pussy clenches at his words. Shaky, you spread your legs, tugging the blanket down, letting him see the mess. Your fingers were still slippery, panties soaked and needy, pulsing under his gaze. “Joel, I… I was just—” you whine, sliding them in your panties again, bringing a finger to your entrance.

He looms closer, eyes dark and hungry, his breath hitching as he watches. “Atta’ girl Show me how bad she’s been needin’ me. You wet like that just sayin’ my name?” Joel’s body weight shifts the mattress beside you before he rolls over to cage your body beneath his. Your heart is beating fucking erratically. His arms rest on either side of your head, completely silent as he moves one arm and trails a hand down from your collar, inching lower and lower. His fingers trace over your hardened nipples, carving an invisible line down your belly before stopping between your thighs. He places his hand over yours, like he’s the master to your marionette. “Oh, poor girl,” he coos—round puppy-dog eyes on yours again. “ Soakin’ fuckin wet. S’that all for me?” You want to speak but you can’t, you only nod. He guides a finger over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties lightly massaging your swollen lips. You’re still frozen, unable to form a sentence. You exhale a shaky breath that you hadn't realized you were holding—the faintest “please” escapes your lips. He keeps rubbing, harder now, dipping into the elastic of your underwear. “Left her cryin’ out for me earlier huh? Need me to fix her up?” his voice is low, drawl smooth—like honey. He lists his hand to cup your cheek in his big hand, making direct eye contact, searching your face for an answer. He drags his thumb across your cracked bottom lip, tugging it down, like he's trying to pull the words out. “Asked you a question, use your words darlin’,” his lips are ghosting your earlobe, whispering. “Tell me what you need, Birdie, I’ll make it all better.” You turn your head to face him, staring up through half-lidded eyes for a moment, before finding your voice again. ‘J-Joel, I need you,” breath hitching on every syllable. He slides his hand down between your thighs again, slowly moving your hand away now. Hand searching for the hem, hooking his thumb in, pulling your underwear off. He slides a finger down into the pool of slick between your legs, spreading it all over before he pulls his hand back. He brings it up and holds it between your faces. “I can tell, baby. She’s droolin' f’me. See that?” He rotates his hand, you watch as his finger glistens in the afternoon sun, and your jaw goes slack. Joel drags that same finger along his bottom lip and then sucks it clean. “Wanna taste?” He grabs your chin, tilting your head to give himself more access, and presses his mouth onto yours, gentle—swirling his tongue, exploring every inch he can reach. He lets out a little, strangled whimper. Did Joel Miller just whimper into my mouth? Holy fuck, he sure did.He pulls back off of your lips, you’re both collecting your panting breaths. He dips his head back down to the column of your throat, kissing along it, murmuring into your chest, “Sweet ain't she?” The room fills with stifled moans, labored breathing, and the creaking of weight under the bed frame. Joel is everywhere, taking up every thought, filling all of the space around you. Your head swims, hunger and lust flip-flopping in your belly. Nothing has ever felt so electric, so perfect. You’re impatient, painfully worked up, and you can’t take it anymore. “More, I need more, Joel,” you chant between gasps. “Please, make me come.”

“Say it again,” He says, pumping his fingers in and out, languid—slow.

“I need you to make me come.” You’re practically in tears now, his fingers circle your clit.

“So close. Try again, Bird.”

“Please, Joel, I’ll beg—I’m begging, don’t fuck around—you owe me.”

“Keep beggin’ for it, baby,” he says, voice low and rough. “You sound so pretty when you’re desperate.” He growls, shifting, and then he looks at you, all gentle. “Shouldn’t have left you like that downstairs,” apology soft, eyes guilty. His hands tug at his belt, pulling the work pants off, you see the outline straining against his briefs. You face him, grabbing at the waistband, tugging them down, you watch his cock spring free, thick and heavy against you. You pull him in closer to you, lips brushing against his ear. “Then make it up to me, cowboy.” His cock is even bigger than you expected it to be, It’s thick, heavy—girthy, and solid. Flushed pink and slightly curved, thank god you’ve been stretching yourself out for a while, because if not you’d be worried it would never fit. He groans, low and broken, ripping his shirt off, and throwing the blanket off of you, both fully naked now. He lets his eyes move down your body, “fuckin’ so pretty, been dreamin’ bout’ this for too long.” You whine and grab his cock, giving it a few slow strokes before moving even closer and lining him up to your entrance, sliding him up and down, through your folds, rubbing your clit with the leaking head, moaning. He grabs your hands and puts them above your head, rolling over on top of you, he leans down pressing at your entrance. “Sorry I left you like that earlier, baby,” he murmurs, voice filled with want. He pushes in, just the tip, allowing you to get used to the stretch before he slides in more. You moan into each other's mouths as he fills you up completely, inch by inch, slowly, It feels intimate, careful—like he's trying not to break you. He starts moving, deep and steady, dragging through slick walls, hitting that spot that makes everything throb. You're trying to match the rolling of his hips, hands move from above your head to his back, raking red lines down it. You wrap your legs tight around his torso, warmth coiling in your core, his hand is on your jaw again forcing you to look up at him. “You’re mine, Bird,” he whispers, breath hot on your skin. You shudder, breathing out his name. Your walls clench around him, squeezing his cock, every little sound you pull from him brings you closer to the edge, your pussy dripping as he thrusts, deeper, not rushed, building you up. His forehead presses against yours, sweat beading off of both of you, he picks up the pace. You bring one of your hands down between the two of you, rubbing circles. His thrusts get sloppier, he's staring down where you’re connected, watching you massage your clit, jaw slack, like he's hypnotized. He leans down to you, crashing his mouth to yours, all teeth and need. “You’re close, I can feel it. I’ve got you baby—let go for me,” That's all you needed, a tightness snaps low in your belly, and you come hard, soaking him. Your body is shivering as waves hit, you're squeezing around his cock, juices messy and hot down his shaft. Tears fill your eyes as you hold back a sob, you’ve never felt anything like this before. The intensity of the orgasm makes you raw, and emotional; your head spins. Joel groans, rough and low, “Fuckin' so perfect--mine ” his breath ragged, eyes dark with want.

But he’s close too. His thrusts turn sharp, urgent, cock pulsing. He pulls out fast, shaft slick and gleaming from you. He grips it, hand pumping once, twice—and he comes, thick ropes spilling across your mound, hot and messy over your trembling skin. He moans, head tipping back, cock throbbing in his fist as he rides it out, breath heaving.

Joel’s breath steadies, thick cock softening in his hand, cum streaked across your stomach. Guilt flickers in his eyes, but he grabs his flannel, wiping you gently. “Made a mess, huh, darlin’?” he murmurs, voice low. He fetches a warm washcloth, cleaning you with careful swipes—stomach, then between your thighs where you’re still slick. “Feel okay?” he asks, tucking the blanket around you, hand lingering on your arm.

“Yeah, Joel… I’m good,” you mumble, voice sleepy but warm. “You don’t have to go unless you want to."

He freezes, eyes darkening—guilt floods in fast, jaw tightening like he’s swallowing a blade. “I can’t stay, Bird,” he says, rough, standing up, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “Sarah’s callin’ tonight—said she’s got some news ‘bout school. I can’t be here, fuckin’ you, when she’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’ big.”

Your chest tightens—Sarah, still his anchor across the miles. “She’s in Boston, Joel,” you say, sitting up, voice sharp. “It’s not like she’s waitin’ by the phone—you’re just runnin’ again.”

He pulls his shirt on, belt clinking as he buckles it, eyes dodging yours. “Don’t matter,” he mutters, low, pained. “She’s countin’ on me.” He keeps talking, like he’s spiraling and can’t keep the words in, “Every second I’m with you, I’m lyin’ to her, to Kev. I’m here, balls deep in you, and she thinks I’m the dad she can trust. That’s what’s killin’ me.” His voice cracks, boots scuffing the floor as he turns for the door. “Lock up after me,” he says, quieter like it’s all he’s got left—then he’s gone.

You’re alone, body buzzing, sheets a mess. “We’ll Never Have Sex” by Leith Ross hums faintly from the forgotten earbuds on the floor. Too soon Leith, too fuckin soon, too fuckin late. Your phone buzzes It’s Tommy again.

(7:25PM) T-Mills: We’re still on for 2morrowr? 🐦🍺 Anger simmers beneath the afterglow. Honestly, fuck it. You decide to go. You text back,

(7:27PM) You: Yeah, dont be late! 😛 You toss the phone aside. Your fingers automatically reach for the necklace, “Seek the light” feeling heavier now.

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @orodaeh @jokesonthem

[matchadobo]

KIDD; overheard

wc: 2768

summary: kidd overhead virgin!freader moaning out his name

warning/s: nsfw🔞, fem reader, v1brators, first-time-s3x, cooming inside, cunnilingus, thr0at fucking, fluff in the end

you never had sex. you're a virgin. and kidd respects that. kidd had been courting you because you insist on doing it the traditional way. he just likes you so much he does sacrifices for you. he's not the type of guy who'd go through such lengths for a girl, but with you, man he'd do anything to let him love you.

you wouldn't expect that a man of his stature wouldn't talk you into having sex when you two started getting romantically involved. kidd was, of course, not a virgin. a man like him, who's built like a fucking fridge, who's tongue brings him so many places, who's charisma is unparalleled, and his overflowing sex appeal. you admit that your boyfriend is hot, and you want to know what i feels to bed him someday. he's perfectly aware of your situation and he gaves you free reign of your sexual status, he never forces you to go all the way. it's just all about touching between the both of you.

it's mostly on kidd's end when we talk about containing it. especially when you don't fix up yourself around him on domestic days. or when you don a pretty little dress.

you'd be fooling yourself if you don't wanna do more than touching and kissing with him. each time he takes his shirt off and his happy trail shows. how his muscles flex when he's reaching over something high or hugging you. you can't help but be curious of how it'd feel if he have his way with you.

so that one night where curiosity won over you, you decided to buy a vibrator since you can't find it in you to ask the guy that's been courting you and you who has been constantly insisting on taking things slow. once you're all alone, you discarded your clothes and lied on his bed. you were staying with him for the night. you could've done it in your place but, the scent of his cologne on his sheets and the sight of his things made you more aroused.

as you spread yourself on the bed, you don't know the first thing about vibrators. all you knew was how badly you wanted him, how you imagine him doing the stimulation and not this expensive fucking vibrating rod. as you felt the splurge of pleasure, you were out of this world. your eyes rolled at the back of your head and your mouth muttered his name with the filthiest intent.

little did you know, kidd was on his way back to his place. he just got off the elevator and is walking toward his unit with a handful of takeout for your date night. he was exhausted from work today and all he wanted to do was come home to you and feel you. not fully aware of your act.

"y'all fuck yet?" heat asked over the phone. kidd tsked through the call.

"if that's what the hell you're gonna talk about i'll block you." he almost hit the end call if it weren't for killer taking over.

"listen, we're just iffy about this courting thing. you always start your relationships with fucking or something." killer calmly retorted. "plus, it's been three months and you two are kind of a blur, aye? don't you think it's time to take a step much higher?"

"let me tell you freaks somethin': name is the most precious angel that ever crossed this earth, ya hear me? she ain't some whore i chase to keep my cock warm. i want to have somethin' special with her, cuz hey, she's one special lady herself." he took a deep breath before continuing, fishing out his keycard from his wallet. "ain't it enough reason to wait it out? i imagine sex with her like a good ol' scotch, aye? longer you wait, tastier it gets. i know she couldn't resist me either, the way those eyes linger ain't a wholesome thing. all the more reason the sex'll be so fuckin' sweet once she's ready." he emphasized on the last three words.

you were too lost in the glee of the stimulation, you didn't even hear the beep of his door as he got inside. as kidd settled his stuff down and calmed down by his couch, he started to wonder where you are. he roamed around his unit to find you, only to hear faint noises of your voices. they sounded like whimpers so he started getting worried and hurried to find where the sound was coming from.

he felt his dick tighten in his pants when he heard you moaning out his name loud and clear. his grasp on the plastic bag carrying your food tightened, he swallowed a hard lump down his throat. he couldn't resist barging in on you.

he would nut right then and there. when he saw you wide open right before him, you reached your climax just as he went in. your scream resounding in the room. so you sat frozen with your legs spread, one hand on the vibrator while the other played with your tits. you stopped immediately and hid yourself under his sheets, your face flushed red in sheer embarrassment. "w-what the hell?! i-i- what the fuck are you doing here, kidd?!"

he sighed before saying, "in case you didn't know; this is my room," he pulled his shirt over his head, walking a step closer to you. "and you're naked," he unbuckled his belt, getting even closer to you. "wide open." he kicked his pants away the floor, crawling by the bed. "moaning my name unbefitting of a cute little thing such as yourself." he pulled the sheets you were covering yourself with. "this much is fuckin' rich coming from someone who insists on taking it slow. your words bit you back in the ass, aye?"

you were flushed red at his proximity, your eyes shakily alternating between his. "i-i wasn't..."

"wasn't what? fucking yourself with that thing and imagining i was ramming into you?" he cocked a brow, canines tugging by his lower lip. "baby, hadn't i told you that you can just tell me if you wanna give it a go? i'm more than happy to teach ya," he gave your cheeks a soft caress.

his big hands trailed down your jaw, fingers tracing the edge of your face, down to the column of your neck until he wrapped his hands around your it and pulled you closer. eliciting a moan out of you, his grin widening. "aren't you a filthy, little slut too?"

he kissed you on your open mouth, the grip on your neck tightening. "what were you thinking about, hm?" he pressed the vibrator closer to your clit after flicking the button on. "was i too hot for you? you want me to fuck you up so bad, huh? stretch this tight, little thing wide, fucking, open." he pressed foreheads with you after licking your lips.

all you could do was pout and curl up your brows, your eyes rolling at the back of your head as you didn't even know what kind of high you're in right now. "nghh- kidd- please...!" you bit your lip, clawing at his arms.

"please what? i can stop." he gently whispered against your ear. "i can take care of mine just fine you know." he gestured to his bulging length underneath his brief. you felt yourself choke at the act, imagining how he'd be like.

"n-no!" you responded, squirming under him. he hasn't discarded the vibrator but only made it even more extreme. "k-keep going... i-i want to go all the way, okay?"

"aye." he nodded, giving you a long, wet kiss before turning the vibrator off. he ducked his head down and placed soft, gentle kisses on your inner thighs, teasing your sopping cunt by his stippled pecks. "ready?" he stared at you, his hot breath tickling your folds. you nodded with pressed lips, bracing yourself with his tongue.

he languidly dragged his tongue down the line of your folds, not breaking eye contact as he watch you squirm with only just his tongue. how you sound so much like a slut just for him. he pulled your hips closer, drowning his face within your opening and the flesh of your thighs. he hummed through you as a response to your moans, vibrations pumping through your veins. he took it a notch higher and slid a finger in. you were becoming limp at this point.

but you wanted to please him too, you want to help him with that tent in his pants. so once you pushed his head deeper and you pulled on his hair, you came in his mouth. he sipped in your juices, slurping in your cum.

"c-can i please you too?" you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"i was just about to say that." he stood up on the bed, holding your jaw by his hands. "go ahead, love."

you hesitantly raise your hands, still looking at him. your fingers crept on his waistbands, sliding them off. his pulsating length sprung out, dripping with precum. you couldn't help but act surprise at the size of him even though you already know that he's phenomenally huge. he would already cum right then and there when he saw the enormous difference between the size of him to your face, how your eyes try to fathom how you'd fit that in your mouth and in your cunt.

you start to wrap your cold fingers around him, a gasp escaping him at your contact. you pumped unsurely, from his flushed head down to his veiny shaft. you opened your mouth and gave a kitten lick by his head, keeping an eye on him before swallowing him whole. he was so huge you gagged when you were just by the half of him.

his hands found its way to the sides of your head as he pushed his length further in your throat, relishing on the warmth of your mouth. you dug your nails by the skin of his hips, eyes watering at the impact of the head of his length touching the back of your throat. he grunted as he tried to restrain himself to let you adjust.

once you let go with a pop, strings of saliva trailed from his head to your lips. there were scattered drools on your lips, you wiped it with the back of your palm. "w-wait, i- you're too big." you giggled shyly, tucking your hair by your ear.

"yeah? sure you can handle it?" he rubbed your chin between his thumb and index, studying your expressions. "i assure you, it will be a lot fucking bigger inside you."

you gulped deeply, face heating up. so you cleared your throat, and prepped yourself to do it once more. you slowly got used to bobbing your head back and forth, the friction of your lips gliding across the surface of his veiny length. as your saliva coated his shaft, it became more slippery and easier to slide in your mouth.

kidd was cursing out words each time his cock slipped in and out of your mouth. he pushed himself further, despite your protests of drumming his hips. he pulled on your hair tightly, fucking your mouth in an unforgiving pace. once he came in your mouth, he left it there for a while, his cum dripping down your throat. you had to catch your breath as residue of cum and drool littered your chin.

he sat down before you,"for a beginner, you're goddamn amazing." he placed a kiss on your forehead then to you lips. as he kissed you fervently; his hands went from choking your neck, squeezing your tits with his palms, and rubbing on your clit as he spread your wetness from your cunt to your inner thighs. "let me spread you up for the finale." he mumbled against your open mouth which elicited breathy moans. his thigh and shoulder provided support for your frame as he fingered you open.

your hand reached over his cheek, looking at him with the most vulnerable gaze. he memorized how sinful you looked for him, how your eyes begged for more and how your mouth uttered the neediest response from his stimulation.

you pressed your forehead by his cheek as you approached your climax, clawing at his arms. he watched how your cunt clenched around his fingers at each curl and spread. you ended up breathless after you came.

but he didn't give you any chance to pause and compose yourself, he lied you down the mattress and knelt before your body. he gave his length a few pumps after spitting on it, he teased his meat on your soaking cunt; savoring how you furrow your brows and gawk at him. he spread your legs by your inner thighs, pushing your hips toward his so you two could be very close. kidd leaned down and pressed foreheads with you, "i'm putting it in, aye?" he asked for permission and you hummed. he gave your nose a little kiss before sliding himself in slowly.

"f-fuck...!" he stuttered, breathless at the tightness of your innocent cunt. he could slide in without any pain from his or your end, your walls just clench around him a lot. you too were drooling and too lost at the fullness of his cock, he's way too huge for you to fathom. "if you keep clenching like that i'm not gonna last, love. i haven't even been fully in." he panted, smiling against your cheek.

once he fully got settled, the head of his cock reached your cervix; that's how big he is. after adjusting, he began moving back and forth. it took everything in him to do it slowly, he wanted to fuck you stupid in a harsh pace. you reached for his neck, slowly lling him down to kiss him. "i-it hurts, b-baby. i-i it feels sore." you said in between kisses. "b-but don't stop, i-it feels amazing too." you smiled meekly, a single tear falling at the corner of your eye.

kidd felt motivated to refine his performance, your words were like a brush on his shoulder. he kissed your tears away before saying, "i know, bunny. i promise to only let you feel the good part, hm?"

as you fist the sheets and his grip on your waist tightened, you two slowly found rhythm. kidd adored how pleasured you look right now, to the point that you don't know what to do with yourself. you played with your tits, sucked on his fingers, clawed on his arms, covered your face with the pillows, and clutched your tummy as you grew near. he was doing all of that to you and it was the biggest turn on for him. he reached over to hold your face in his hand, then he rubbed on your lips, and finally wrapped his hands around your neck. you swallowed at the constriction on your throat, his firm hand holding you in place. his other hand was holding your leg that was swung on top of his shoulder. "you close?" he asked, hips unceasing.

you nodded, your eyes becoming swollen at the amount of tears you let out. "me too, baby. i-i'm- ngh fuck!" he too was lost for words, he felt you clench again around him, you felt him throb inside you; the vibration coursing through your veins. "do you want me to p-pull out?"

you didn't know either. it was your first time and you know the risks. but it was kidd. you want him to release inside, to keep you warm, to let his cum drip down your cunt. so you shook your head and pulled him by the neck. "cum inside, release all of it."

from your words, he came right then and there, shooting up ropes of cum inside your womb. "if we're gonna have brats, i'm done for." he panted with his forehead resting on your shoulder.

"me too, mini versions of you are a headache." you giggled a bit, kissing his ear.

"can i just stay inside?" he lied gently beside you, "you just feel so good and i want to sleep like this."

another tear streamed down your cheeks, what a goddamn softie. you nodded turning your back on him and placing your hand above his which was resting atop your stomach. "i'm glad you're my first." you blurted out, blushing afterward.

"i'm glad you're my last, shortcake."

you gave him a glare but he just giggled.

one last hc before i wage war with my exams 🥺 this is for tHE FREAKSSS 🤪🫣

[luvserie]

Hey pookie 😋 I was wondering if you could write SKZ reacting to the reader being indecisive about what to wear to a party? 😝 THANK YOU

hihiii 😁

Ofc lovely 💖 I only did hyung line because I got lazy(EDIT: Y'all I am so sorry I haven't been posting...like at all. I lowkey forgot abt this account but here's a new piece! I tried my best to portray a panic attack in Lee Know's, but I'm always open to feedback and suggestions! 🥰)

WARNINGS: AFAB! Reader, a lil bit of angsty and fluffy content. Swearing too! Also, I made the reader taller than Changbin(by like 2in) cuz...I like tall women 💕☂️🦋 In Hyunjin's y'all have a kid, so...yeah. Reader talks abt pregnancy time.

SKZ Reactions: Reader Doesn’t Know What to Wear

Bang Chan

Chan sighed as you walked out of the closet, looked in the mirror, wrinkled your nose and went back in to find yet another dress. “Angel, you look lovely. And we’re thirty minutes late.” Chan said through the closet door. You came out in another outfit, this one baby blue. Chan was sure he’d know the whole rainbow by the time you guys exited the house. “What do you think?” You asked. “Amazing, now come on.” Chan gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the room, but you pulled back. “You didn’t even look!” You say accusingly. “I’m changing.” Chan grabs your wrist again before you can slither back to the mess he knows you’ve made in your closet. “Angel, Princess, love of my life.” He squishes your face in his hands. “You. Are. Lovely. And you look great in whatever you wear. So why is it so hard for you to choose between the same six options?” You hesitate, but Chan’s tilted head and sugar-sweet voice melt your resolve like butter on a very hot pan. “I don’t know. I think I actually liked the first one I tried on.” “Good. So you’re gonna go in that closet and come out in that gorgeous red dress. I’m gonna tell your friends we aren’t coming and we’re just gonna order takeout.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“That sounds nice.”

Lee Know

Dinner was ready, the candles were lit, the table was set. All that was left was, well, you.

You felt awful. Your boyfriend had planned the sweetest day trip for you two to celebrate your guys’ anniversary followed by a home cooked meal, and your anxiety was fucking with it all. “Jagiya? You okay in there?” Minho’s voice came through the door. “Fuck.” You cursed under your breath before responding to your boyfriend. “Uh, yeah! I’m fine, Min!” You mentally facepalmed. You heard Minho wait a few seconds outside the door, before the shuffle of his feet told you that he’d gone back to the living room area. “Shit shit shit SHIT SHIT!” You dropped to your knees, frantically digging through the piles of clothes you had brought out for something, anything good enough to wear. As the piles in front of you got smaller and the piles of rejected clothes behind you got bigger, tears started to fall down you cheeks, ruining the makeup you had spent an excruciating hour on. You frantically swiped at your face, tear-blurred vision making everything just blobs of color. Your mind was going a mile a minute and you couldn’t keep up, you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t breathe-

“Aaaaaand that’s when we pause what we’re doing.” You hear Minho’s voice somewhere far away. You feel his strong but gentle grip dragging you away from your closet. You feel his presence as he wraps his arms around you. None of it is enough to ground you. “None of it looks pretty on me…I’m not pretty.” You murmur into his chest, trying to hide from the thoughts that were slowly getting louder. “Wha-where did you get that ridiculous idea from?” Minho pulled you in closer, running his fingers through your hair. “You are a fucking wonder to look at.” “You have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.” You shake your head. "Baby, you know as well as I do that if you looked like shit, I'd tell you."

"Not like that's possible, of course."

Changbin

"Baby! We're leaving in two minutes!" Changbin shouted from the door, shoes already half on. "Sweetheart, do you like me in blue or silver?" You came down, wearing an oversized t-shirt that was most likely from your boyfriend's closet. In your hands were two mini-dresses, one silver with ruffles on the bottom and the other royal blue with a halter neck. Both were still on the hangers, perfectly showing off what they each had to offer. "I love you, period." Changbin smiled, finally tugging his shoe on. "But the blue looks absolutely stunning on you." "That's what I thought too, but the ruffles on the silver accentuate my legs." You look down at your bare bottom half. "I love my legs." "I love your legs too, baby." Changbin walked up to you, kissing your cheek. "But. I also love your shoulders, and the blue dress shows them off so well!" You hesitate a moment, looking at your boyfriend, then the dresses. "But what about my ruffles?" You pout. "Okay, here's what I think is happening. You want me to say silver, but I'm not getting the hint." Changbin grabs his phone and keys. "You're also asking for my opinion like you can't decide, but if you're fighting for the silver, I think the choice is obvious." "Silver it is?" You ask.

"Silver it is."

Hyunjin

The closet loomed, filled with piles of clothes. You stared at it, defeated. Little Eunseo, gurgling happily in her bouncer, was oblivious to the chaos wreaking havoc on the room. Today was Eunseo's first official family photoshoot. A memory to be captured, and you were about a millimeter away from throwing on pajamas and calling the whole thing off. "Ugh," you groaned, running a hand through your hair. "Everything feels too frumpy or too… bleh." Hyunjin leaned against the doorway, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Hey, what's wrong? You okay?" "Okay? I'm not okay!" You threw your hands up. "We're going to have these pictures forever! I can't decide what to wear. Do I go with effortless vibes? Or try to look like I haven't been surviving on three hours of sleep for the past year?" You gestured dramatically to the overflowing closet. Hyunjin chuckled, stepping into the room and wrapping his arms around you from behind. "You look beautiful, no matter what you wear. But," he winked, "I might have an idea." You raised an eyebrow. "And what brilliant fashion advice do you have?" Instead of answering, Hyunjin pulled away and started rummaging through the clothes. You watched him, half amused and half frustrated. He pulled out a white, flowy midi dress that you had forgotten you owned. "Remember this?" he asked, holding it up. "You wore it on our anniversary trip to Jeju. It’s beautiful and comfortable." You hesitated, remembering the trip. "But... it's been a while. I don't even know if it will fit." Hyunjin ignored your doubt. He then reached for a gold necklace you often wore, and a pair of simple, comfortable sandals. He laid everything out on the bed, then turned to you, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Trust me. Try it on." Hesitantly, you obliged. You slipped into the dress. It fit perfectly. The soft fabric draped comfortably, and it still fit. You felt…lighter, more relaxed. You added the necklace and the sandals, and looked at yourself in the mirror. You had to admit, Hyunjin had nailed it. It was simple, elegant, and comfortable. It was you. "Wow," you breathed, turning to Hyunjin. "You... you did good." Hyunjin beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know what looks good on you," he said, stepping closer and brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "You're naturally beautiful. You just needed a little reminder." He then scooped Eunseo out of her bouncer, carefully holding him close. "And this little girl thinks you're the most beautiful woman in the world, no matter what you're wearing."

[formiito]

drunk walk home ; soukoku

synopsis : dazai osamu's last night before he leaves for good— his last night with the only one who has ever truly seen him.

author's note : my first time writing soukoku!! i hope this isn't too ooc, god knows i tried. a bit rushed towards the end because i really should study instead (and i'm not <3) read on ao3

In the middle of the night, the only lights on are the ones near the port. Flickering street lights, late offices and the glow of distant bars; artificial stars dotting the bay city. The neon colours bleed into each other once again, burning into Dazai’s vision. Everything seems slowed, as if he was struggling to catch up with a reality that was far faster than his alcohol addled mind could keep up with. The occasional auburn blur was the only thing that reassured him that his current drinking buddy was still following along, despite being near the edge of a stupor.

Stumbling through the roads and the night marketplaces, Dazai attempted to find the shortcut to Chuuya’s home, a route he knew like the back of his hand. Well, usually. Currently, he's taken atleast three wrong turns. Chuuya’s no more helpful, considering he insisted on taking the shorter way back. They took a bit too long to realize that the main road would've been shorter, but what more can anyone expect from two absolutely drunken fools trying their level best to get home. Chuuya blinks, wondering where the hell he had left his bike. He parked it somewhere, well, obviously, but when he got back his beloved bike was nowhere in the parking lot, and after a few minutes of searching it was painfully clear to him that he's going to have to try again when he can actually walk straight. He's gonna regret all those tequila shots later in the morning, but there were just some problems wine can't drown.

That is exactly why the both of them end up in this situation every time, isn't it? The lure of relief was too hard to resist, even though they both would much rather drink with anyone than each other. Leaning his arm on Chuuya’s shoulder, much to the shorter man’s chagrin, Dazai stumbled through the narrow street. The fluorescent signs that lined this road were rendered hazy by the smoke that seemed to perpetually linger in the air, and the path itself was free of any pedestrians. Empty? Good. They hardly needed trouble at this hour, not when they both barely had the coordination to tell left from right. Even with their best attempt at being vigilant, Chuuya could only manage to note how the color of his friend’s eyes seemed to mellow into a honey like hue under the glow of a signboard. An artificial glow that, for a few moments, made him look a little more alive. Even as he pushes the thought out of his head, a strange disappointment gnaws at his heart. Like he should have stared a little longer, to remember it.

All the while, Dazai tried to hold up both their weight, even though it was quickly becoming a futile attempt; arm around Chuuya’s waist, fingers curled into the fabric of the waistcoat to make sure they both didn't just topple over one another. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but he doesn't particularly fancy another night passed out over this slug in a nameless alley. Been there, done that.

“You're surprisingly heavy for such a short guy, you know, slug?”

“What the fuck did you just call me, bastard?!”

Dazai gives his best performance of a weary sigh. “Now you're hard of hearing, too? Slug.” As if to emphasize, he spells out the word in a singsong manner. “s-l-u-g!! That clear enough for you?”

“…I think I’m gonna kill you.” Chuuya spat out, trying to not grind his teeth from the sheer annoyance this waste of bandages caused him. “I hope you get the worst hangover tomorrow. I hope you're sick for days.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, while Dazai held him up straight.

“We're both getting killer hangovers, dumbass.”

“It was your idea to go drinking!!”

“You know damn well your ass can't hold your liquor. Lightweight!”

“I ain't no fucking lightweight, I kept up just fine!”

“You gave up after the second goddamn round, slug. Now get off me, I think my arm’s going to break from your heavy ass.”

Chuuya let up a little, the faint red glow of gravity manipulation surrounding him. Making himself lighter helped stabilize him in this condition. Even after he stopped leaning, Dazai’s hand didn't leave his waist, bandaged fingers curled into the fabric as they crossed the smog filled streets. “You know what, yeah, we've been walking in circles for an hour. Let's sit down for a bit.” Dazai nods at the idea, though not without a comical exaggeration. “Tired already?”—he drawls—”I thought you'd have a bit more left in you than that!” The way Chuuya’s jaw tightens and how his brows furrow? God, that's cute.

The fuck?

A few seconds after a thought so uncalled for, Dazai’s expression twists into grimace from the sheer distaste. There's no way he just thought that. Meanwhile, Chuuya had already found himself a lovely little cargo crate to sit upon, not even humouring Dazai’s taunt, sitting down on it with that annoyed expression still on his face. Dazai follows suit, and watches as the petit mafioso flicks open his cigarette case, taking out a singular stick. Just as Chuuya’s thumb moved to close the flap, a bandaged finger slips another stick out of it.

“Hey! Get your own, damn bastard.”

Dazai twirled the cigarette with practiced dexterity. “Mmm, nope.” He pops the 'p' as he says it. Maybe a good smoke would get that thought out of his head. Whatever that was. His other hand reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, fishing out a lighter. The blue flame lights the tip of the cigarette. The familiar, acrid scent fills his senses, the dim ember makes him feel oddly warm. From the corner of his chocolate eyes, he noticed Chuuya struggling with his own lighter. That old thing was clearly was out of fuel. He extends the black lighter to his cigarette, watching how it dangles idly from his mouth. “Guess you needed me anyway, huh?”

Chuuya waited for the end of the smoke stick to burn, eyes singularly focused on the light. “…Shut it.”

Dazai shrugs off the rude remark, taking a languid drag of the cigarette. A bit stronger than the ones he usually carried with him, but they hit the spot. The puff of smoke exhaled into the air curls upwards, and then fades into the glow of the green and blue signboard lights. Pretty. Fleeting. Only such a shame their youth would suffer the same fate, even if neither will realize it yet. Perhaps in Dazai’s mind, those days were already gone, for this is the last night he'll allow himself to stick to his old ways. To stick with him.

The auburn haired man seems none the wiser about his eventual departure. A good thing, for a lie is so much easier to say than the truth. It's a burden of youth to fall in pursuit of a distant, unclear dream, the promise of light; only to ignore the glow of the bridges they were burning behind them. It's foolish, Dazai knows, but it would be the only way he could bring himself to leave this teenage wastleland of theirs. To save what was remaining of this worthless life.

But what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

The small cigarette break ends far too quickly, fingers itching to light up one more, but the night wasn’t getting any younger. Neither were they getting less drunk, and if they didn’t make it home in time for the streetlights and signboards to die out for the night, it's another night falling asleep in an alley. Once Chuuya is done, he impatiently stands up once again; an extremely dumb idea. His head swirls, disoriented by the sudden movement. Instinctively his hands reach for Dazai’s shoulders, until they both stood up, looking like absolute idiots. Dazai was going to taunt him again for being a lightweight, until something caught his attention.

Tap.

The water droplet hit his head, and a quiet 'ow…’ left his pallid lips. Right. They were in the middle of rainy days. And of course the skies had to pick just the right time to cry; when they both were utterly drunk out of their minds and who knows how far from home. Two follows one, three follows two, countless does three. The downpour had begun. Chuuya let out of a groan of utter frustration, shrugging off his coat the best he could with his balance, attempting to drape it over the both of them. Their makeshift umbrella didn't do much, but it was enough for them to get home without being miserably wet. “Ugh, hold this, mummy boy.” Chuuya did not fancy being on his tiptoes for the whole journey back, and Dazai took the edges of the coat from him, holding it up over the both of them.

“Think we can make it if we run?”

“Yeah, think you can keep up?”

“Any day, slug.”

Without hesitation, they were off with their mad dash in the rain. Stumbling once or twice over the curbs, they barely managed to keep the same pace so that they could still be under the coat’s canopy. Chuuya could feel the raindrops hitting his back, and Dazai’s bandages were damp already. They didn't know when they got back to Chuuya’s place; perhaps they should have tried this earlier instead of walking around like bumbling fools all over the place. Dazai set the drenched coat down once they were in the building; gravel streaked steps to the elevator. The two were out of breath, panting, realizing a bit too late that maybe it was a little stupid of them to run off with that kind of reckless abandon when they were drunk and tired.

Once they caught their breath, the ring of the elevator bell indicated that they'd reached their floor. Now they just had to hope they had the right number. 322 — yeah, that's mine.

Chuuya fumbled with the keys in his pocket, attempting to figure out which ones worked with this lock. Vision glazed over, the ridges looked far too blurry; hands clumsily undoing the lock. One of the keys worked; fifth try was the charm. The shoes were kicked off, flying to god knows what part of the living room; the two drunken idiots stumbled in. Dazai didn't hesitate without collapsing right there on the couch, although his friend seemed to atleast have a bit more sense to get himself a glass of water. Not like it mattered that much anyway when thirty minutes afterwards they were both puking their guts out, crawling out of the bathroom like zombies from a b-rated horror film. All those shots were definitely a bad idea, and they were feeling it. If reading minds were possible, one would find that they could only think the same thing.

I’m never drinking with shitty Dazai again!

I swear, this is the last time I get drunk with that hatrack!

And it was true for it was indeed the last time they did drink together.

By quite a bit of effort, they managed to reach the couch once again. Legs over chests and arms over heads, they fit in the most uncomfortable way, but they did manage to not fall over. “Get off me, you're heavy!” Dazai whined, and in truth, he would've shoved him off if he could tell where his hands ended and where Chuuya’s began. “Shut up, I want to sleep!” Perhaps he was right for once, maybe sleep would do them well. With an annoyed grumble, his bandaged fingers settled to curl themselves into the auburn locks that tickled his neck, legs tangled on the velvet sofa. Gloved hands reach to turn the light off.

It was no easy to ignore his thoughts in the dark, not when the silence festered thoughts of his eventual departure; the uncertainty that will grip his life for the days ahead. Perhaps if it weren't for that man’s final words, the promise he drew out of Dazai, he wouldn’t be so willing to upend this life. He wouldn't have even considered saving himself.

So, when we ask once again, what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

It is worth a promise. One that must be kept.

Dazai’s mind drifts away once this resolution is made. The symphony that plays in the space between the waking and the asleep is the soft breathing of the man beside him. Focusing singularly on the nearly inaudible sound, looking at the back of his eyes, he allows himself to feel the moment for a final time before he gives away to sleep. Trace away the weave of the fabric that makes the back of his shirt, feel the soft strands that sometimes pricks skin, take note of the sleepy mumbles that leave Chuuya through his dreams. And before the subtle sensation fades, his mouth opens to form the words he feels he must say or they will rend apart his mind forever.

“...I think I’m gonna miss this.”

[angelltheninth]

Another Place for Pleasure

Pairing: Bathin x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smit, sex in public, against a tree, creampie, rough sex, clit stimulation, almost getting caught

Word count: 0.7k

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I said I would give you a horny fic. Here it is.

"You want to fuck here? Against the tree?" He was already walking towards you with an erection that didn't look like could wait for you to find an empty room. "But this your friend's garden isn't it? Won't he be mad?" The hard bark of the tree pressed against your back as he kept approaching.

Bathin's eyes were almost a dark gray color now, even more excited about the fact that the two of you could get caught very easily in here.

"Mad? No, maybe annoyed but serves him right. He's always annoying me." His hands reached under your little skirt and eased your cute panties to the side. "Moons? Oh baby, you wore these just for me hm? Is that why you didn't want me to peak into your bathroom? You humans are so sweet."

"You a lot for me, you take me to all sorts of places, so I wanted to buy something that would match with you." You reached up and rubbed the little crescent moon tattoo under his eye, watching his eyes flutter closed as his hard cock sank into your glistening pussy. "I thought they'd be a nice surprise but… never expected you to surprise me with this."

He didn't stop pushing until your hips were pressed together and his other hand grabbed your thigh, spreading it just a little more so he could roll his hips in a downward and then upward circle that pushed his cock until he bottomed out and you wrapped your legs around him to give him more room. Bathin didn't wait for a signal, he immediately started moving, a guttural moan leaving your lips as he kept looking longingly at your clit. How he wished he could touch it.

His hands trembled with the need. "Let me." You breathed against his lips and kissed him right as your fingers touched the sensitive bundle of nerves. Short, deep thrusts were his response. He couldn't help himself, bottoming out every time he felt your cunt tighten around him again. "You like that?"

"Mhm. Like everything about you. Like how tight you get when you think we're gonna get caught." It excited him so much, doing it in high-risk spots. As if he had a bucket list he had to fill and he wanted to do it with you. "I want to feel you come around my cock. Can you come for me baby?"

Your cunt clenches and unclenches at his words, your cum dripping down Bathin's balls and pulsing cock. "I can if you come inside me this time. You made a complete mess of my bed last time and then teleported away."

"My bad." He chuckled apologetically, "I'll be sure to give you lots of cum to make up for it. Lots more than your cunt can take."

"Please." You started rolling back against him, "Give me your cum Bathin, give me your cock." Kissing him was all you could do to keep somewhat quiet. Too bad because you really wanted to let him know you were enjoying this, despite your earlier protests.

"Who's there?" Stolas's voice cut through your upcoming orgasm like a sword, your eyes briefly seeing him turn around the corner before you heard a mixed string of curses between him and Bathin.

The next few moments were a blur, literally as Bathin's powers activated and he teleported you away. What you thought was a ruined orgasm came back full force when you felt your back hit your bed and him crash on top of you, the impact causing his cock to slide in all the way, the pressure sending over the edge as his hips kept grinding, into yours, his cock releasing his cum inside of you.

You waited for the aftershocks and jolts to subside before you slapped his shoulder, "Hope that was funny cause I'm ready to die right now."

"And I will welcome you into Hell with open arms." At least you knew there was always a place for you to go. And if there wasn't Bathin would find one, and bring you there when ever you wanted. "Ugh, I can feel a chill going down my spine. I think I'm gonna sleep here tonight, don't feel like talking to Stolas right now." You didn't say it right there and then because he was still very much inside you but their friendship was quite adorable.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Too hot to be true

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 16

Prompt: Modern AU

Rated: T

CW: none

Tags: Modern AU; Podcaster!Eddie; Steve and Dustin are brothers; sexual tension

Eddie almost snorts his morning cereal through his nose when he checks his messages, because - yeah, right.

Eddie pls answer me, the message starts. 

If that wasn’t enough, it is decorated with a veritable explosion of red exclamation marks. 

As if that wasn't enough, the guy in the profile picture looks like he walked right out of a wet dream. Big, hazel eyes and a beaming smile under a shock of wet, windswept hair. He's leaning on a surfboard, tanned chest sprinkled with shiny droplets of water. Eddie absolutely wouldn't mind pushing him down into the sand, tracing those glorious pecs with sun-warmed lips - if he were real, that is.

"Nice try, big boy," he mumbles and hits the block button. "Can you believe how persistent these scammers are getting? I dunno what they think you earn making podcasts and vlogs for video game nerds, but- … sorry, did you say something?" 

Chrissy scowls at him for a second longer, but then she shakes her head and sets down her coffee. 

"Just asked when that kid will be here." 

Eddie checks his phone. "Any minute now, the flight arrived an hour ago." 

She picks up her bag and they walk into the hallway together. 

"You really think it's a good idea? Him staying here?" 

Eddie shrugs. "It's only for the con. And Dustin’s a cool kid. Way smarter than his age, and his podcast slaps. Maybe we can record an episode or two together, that would- … what?" 

Chrissy still has this unhappy look on her face. 

"Eds," she says. "He's a fifteen-year-old you met online. I'm surprised his parents allowed this." 

Eddie laughs and holds out her coat. "Don't worry about it. His brother is chaperoning him, so it'll all be perfectly prudent. Dustin said he'd reach out, but somehow- oh, that'll be them." 

If Chrissy was going to say anything else, it's lost under the sound of the doorbell. Eddie opens and is promptly tackled by a curly-haired blur in a baseball cap. 

"Eddie!" Dustin cheers, "So cool to finally meet you in person, you won't believe what happened on the flight. That one guy…" 

But Eddie doesn't hear what the guy on the flight did, hardly processes how Chrissy pushes past them, mumbling something about needing to catch her bus. He's too busy gaping at the guy standing in the apartment door. Because he saw him just a few minutes ago. 

Granted, he's carrying a bulging suitcase instead of a surfboard, and he's wearing decidedly more clothes, but Eddie is pretty damn sure he'd know that ridiculously handsome face anywhere. Even though those pretty eyes are narrowed in an impressive deathglare now, and instead of a smile, those plush lips are twisted in a vicious scowl. 

"Oh," Dustin says offhandedly, shouldering past Eddie and into the apartment as if he owns the place. "This is my brother Steve. I don't think you’ve talked?" 

"No," the guy drawls, spearing Eddie with his gaze. "We haven't." 

If Dustin notices the tension hanging in the air, he masterfully ignores it. 

"Cool," he chirps. "Where do we sleep? I promised Mom I'd call once we're here."

"Chrissy's room," Eddie mumbles. The collar of his flannel is feeling too tight all of a sudden and when the fuck did it get so warm in here? "She's staying with her girlfriend over the weekend."

Dustin doesn't even wait for him to finish the sentence, just bustles down the hall and into Chrissy’s room. Eddie is left alone with the brother. 

The very hot, very mad brother who's still leaning in the open doorway, looking at him as though he just kicked a kitten. 

Well, shit. 

"Sooo," Eddie tries. "Steve, is it? Would you like to come in?" 

"Oh?" Steve’s eyebrows climb all the way up to the roots of his hair - neither wet nor windswept, but so absurdly floofy Eddie wants to bury his fingers in it and yank. "Can I? You're not gonna, like… block me on sight?" 

Eddie winces, even as his stupid, smart-ass mouth answers. "Don't think that's how it works in real life, dude." 

Steve's scowl deepens. Eddie wants to simultaneously cringe away and throw himself at him. It's a very weird feeling, to say the least.

"I dunno. I've been trying to contact you through every available platform for days, and you've been doing a pretty impressive job of it." 

"Yeah, sorry about that," Eddie blurts. "In my defense, I thought you were a scammer." 

The annoyance on Steve’s face is joined by confusion. He cocks his head. It makes him look like an upset puppy. 

"A scammer?" 

Eddie nods, brain-to-mouth filter rapidly eroding. "Or a pornbot. Real users usually aren't that hot." 

Steve opens his mouth. Lets out a strangled sort of croak. Shuts it again. A blush is rapidly creeping out of his shirt collar, pink and pretty.

"Told you," Dustin hollers from stage left. "Not a good profile pic." 

"Shut up, dipshit," Steve retaliates and finally pushes into the apartment. Eddie's grin drops off his face as the suitcase is pressed into his hands and he sags under the weight. 

"C'mon." 

Steve, already half on his way to the kitchen, turns, and Eddie is treated to a smile. It's just a ghost of the one from the profile picture - which is probably just as well, because if Steve unleashed the real thing on him here and now, he might as well go blind. 

"I got up in the middle of the night to catch that flight. You can fix me a coffee, and then you're gonna unblock me. If you're nice, I'll maybe let you follow me back." 

Eddie gulps as he trails after him into the apartment. It's gonna be an awkward weekend.

All my holiday drabbles

[grandlinedreams]

hello!! i absolutely adore your stories so i was wondering if you could do one with zoro, and the reader falls down the stairs (but yknow survives, sorry kuina💀) and the reader gets like a broken nose or sprained ankle or something and zoro is just like super worried

i understand if you don’t want to do it but have a great day/night 🫶🏻🫶🏻

I'm going to resist making a "down d. stairs" joke but wkdnd absolutely, I can do that!! I hope this is to your liking!!

"I don't see why you're the one carrying this stuff. Didn't you say the old lady had a son? Why can't he do it?"

"Because, Zoro," you sigh as you adjust your grip on the box of carefully wrapped bottles, "Her son broke his arm last week. And it's nice to do things for people when we can." A smile tugs at your lips. "Makes us not seem so bad for a bunch of pirates."

Zoro scoffs. "We're pirates, [name]. We're not supposed to be nice."

"Says the man who ate onigiri off the ground for a little girl," you say, snickering when he aims a glare your way.

"Who told you about that?"

"Who do you think?" You shake your head, amused. "Who knew Roronoa Zoro could be such a softie?"

"You're gonna think softie in a minute," Zoro grumbles, ignoring the fact that his threat makes little to no sense as he trails after you. You're not even sure why he's chosen to tag along ㅡ boredom, perhaps.

"Ah, there you are." The older woman who'd asked for your help in the first place ㅡ Nina, she'd introduced herself as ㅡ pushes away from where she'd been resting on a crate near the door to her home. "I was afraid you'd gotten lost."

"My apologies," you say, "I was joined by one of my crewmates, I hope that you don't mind."

Nina looks at Zoro, her silent assessment making him bristle at the scrutiny before Nina says, "You look like you could use a good meal, the both of you. Why don't you stay for lunch? It's the least I can do."

Zoro frowns. "No wㅡ"

"We'd love to," you interrupt, silencing him with the hard jab of your elbow into his ribs. When Nina turns and heads down the hallway, you hiss, "Zoro, don't be rude."

He opens his mouth to say something, only to halt as Nina returns. "Could you take those downstairs for me, dear? And would your friend mind helping me with lunch?"

Part of you balks at the idea of Zoro helping Nina with food ㅡ after all, there's a reason he isn't trusted in the kitchen ㅡ but Zoro is answeing for you before you can stop him.

"I'm on it. Whatever gets us out of here faster." Nina seems unphased by his attitude, and he dodges the kick you aim at the back of his leg with a smirk.

"Brat," you huff, then peer around for the aforementioned stairs. There's a solitary door nearby, and you prop the box on your hip to open it, finding a set of stairs descending down below.

Given the dim lighting, your descent is slow. Taking it step by step, you shiver at the draft of damp, musty air that sweeps up towards you, tightening your grip on the box.

It happens when you're about two thirds of the way down the steps. The stairs are undeniably damp now, slick with condensation ㅡ and then you're losing your footing and tumbling down the last handful of steps.

Reflex can only do so much and with both arms occupied by the box of bottles, you have no way to brace yourself. Your shoulder slams into concrete first, followed by the crack of your head bouncing off it as well, making your vision blur with the searing pain that follows.

"Fuck," you breathe as you push yourself upright, hissing at the throbbing of your shoulder before you freeze at the slow slip of something from your nose. Bringing your hand up to swipe your fingers against it, you don't need good lighting to know what the sticky warmth is. "Well, shit."

You take a minute to assess the damage. The box of brown paper wrapped bottles is unbroken ㅡ you wish you could say the same for yourself. There's the deep throb of pain from your shoulder that all the way down into your fingertips, then the blood oozing from your nose.

Nothing is broken ㅡ you hope, anyways. It takes a minute to ease yourself onto your feet, closing your eyes against the way it makes your head spin for a second before you head back up the stairs.

You grip the railing as tight as you can, half-pulling yourself up the steps. By the time you reach the top your other arm is straddling somewhere between pins and needles and being completely numb, and you're certain blood from your nose has dripped onto your clothing.

Opening the door, you shut it behind you and rest against it for a moment before moving towards the faint sound of voices coming from Nina's kitchen.

"Oi, what took you so long?" Zoro asks, teasing in his tone as he turns from where he's picking up a plate of sandwiches (made by Nina, who hadn't really needed help so much as wanted company) ㅡ and freezing when he spots you.

You've clapped a hand over your nose to hide most of it, but there's nothing to be done for the limp weight of your arm or the mess you've made of your shirt.

"Oh dear!" Nina hurries forward, concern clear on her face as she stares at you. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"I slipped on one of the stairs," you say, "Nothing in the box broke, though."

"That's hardly important right now," Nina huffs. "I've told Luke we need to fix things downstairs before somebody gets hurt, and now look at you."

"I'll be okay, don't worry," you tell Nina and look towards Zoro in silent plea for him to help back you up, only to find that he's still staring at you with an unreadable expression.

"Poor thing," coos Nina. "I know I have a first-aid kit around here somewhere, and I can make you an ice-pack..."

"That's really not necessary, Miss Nina." Her fussing is starting to make you a little uncomfortable, especially given that you've had far worse than this. "I'll beㅡ"

"We're leaving." Zoro's tone is sharp as he strides towards you, ignoring the way your brow furrows.

"What aboutㅡ" You yelp as Zoro lifts you up, all but slinging you over his shoulder and leaving you to prop yourself up against his back. "Zoro! Put me down!"

"Sorry about this, but we're leaving." Zoro opts to completely ignore you, arm locked against your legs and undeterred by the way you squirm. "We have a doctor back on our ship who can patch them up."

Nina looks like she wants to argue for a moment before she nods, slipping ahead of Zoro to open the door for him. You struggle harder, smacking your good hand against Zoro's back.

"Stop treating me like I'm a sack of potatoes!" Zoro waits until he's a good bit away from Nina's before he halts, and your hope that he's going to listen to you is crushed by the way he simply adjusts so that now he's got you in a princess carry. "Zoro!"

"Quit complaining," Zoro bites back, "you want to drip blood everywhere?"

You quiet for a moment. "...Sunny's to the left." Zoro turns, and you groan. "Your other left." Zoro grips you a little tighter, but otherwise doesn't snap back as he follows your instructions. "I don't get what the big deal is, anyways. So I fell down the steps a little and now I have a bloody nose, but I'm fine."

Zoro's grip tightens to the point that it almost hurts. "Kuina."

Your head tilts. "Kuina? Your childhood friend?" He'd mentioned her to you once or twice before, the fact that she was part of his driving force to become the world's best swordsman. He'd gone tightlipped when you asked what had happened to her, and you knew better than to press.

"...she fell down the stairs," he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. "And...she died."

Oh. Guilt pools in your stomach, sinking feeling flooding your veins as Zoro walks. No wonder he'd given you that look at your flippancy of your situation. "Zoro, Iㅡ"

"It's fine." His tone is flat. "It was a long time ago."

You know that it isn't fine, that Zoro's too stubborn to admit when something bothers him like this ㅡ so you sigh, letting the tension in your muscles ease. "I'm not going anywhere, you know. Not any time soon."

Zoro says nothing at first and you think maybe you've said something wrong in trying to comfort him ㅡ and then his grip softens on you, just a little. "Good," he says, and you can hear the relief in his tone. "It'd be boring without you."

[darylsfavoritegirl]

this takes place in x men origins:wolverine movie!!

summary: fem!reader finally finds out who killed her parents.

۶•ৎ

Your weary eyes scrutinised the ocean infront of you. Your wrists had been hurting from being tied, your throat dry due to how long you'd been gagged. Ocean's winds that were striking against your face stung, chill raced down your back with goosebumps swarming all over you because of the tides.

You felt a hand ruffling your, making it fall infront of your eyes. You lifted your head, starvation, thirst ruined you. Your vision blurred and as it faded bit by bit, Stryker's snicker cut right through your eyes.

Your breath quickened, eyes darting away as he followed them wherever they were locked.

"Calm down. I'm not gonna hurt you." He gave you a half smile with a penetrating gaze.

He placed his hands on the armrest of your chair, his face steadily becoming close to yours.

"You sure gonna be much more help when your alive than dead." He stated, losing the former warm tone he had in him.

A second later, he yanked the gag on your mouth, freeing you to speak.

You accumulated the last bits of moist in your mouth, spitting right at his under eye. With your hands tied like that, there was no way you could use your mutation.

He took a second to shut his eyes tightly, his middle finger reaching up to his face to wipe the salvia off of his face. Before even letting you guess what he would be about to do, he gripped your chin with a harsh clutch, his fingers leaving red prints on your cheeks.

"Listen to me, kid. I'm keeping this brief, you think you can trust that monster I created much, but you can't. Your future, you belong here, to this facility. You can't defeat what we have here."

He let go off his grip on your chin, making you lightheaded.

You didn't raise your gaze as you observed the rocky land, he wiped his hands to a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket.

"I knew your parents." He huffed under his breath, you felt your heart skipping a beat right then, your eyes moving to his shoes, but not totally looking at him.

"Yeah, I did. We did fight for the same cause for a while, but you know things happen. Funny it was Wolverine himself who killed them, thinking they were the enemy."

Was this a game?

You turned your head to him, eyes wide, thousands of things going through your mind at once.

He was lying.

He must be lying.

He was trying to get under your skin, to make you turn your back on Logan.

"Oh you didn't know?"

You read his expression, he merely looked startled, his body freezing briefly.

He walked around for a while, not leaving you out of sight. Then, his eyes took you hostage, hands resting on his hips, shaking his head lazily.

"I thought your boss, afterall, would show you the courtesy to tell you how he fucked up."

"No matter what you say or do, I won't work in this hell of a place." You fumed, chest heaving as you could feel your mutation wanting to break free.

"You eventually will." An insightfull smile bore his face.

"Your bound to fucking die and we're bound to destroy this place to its core." You remarked assertively, eyes not leaving his.

"How could you work for a man who-" His voice grew more and more muffled with the helicopter nearing the perimeter, your eyes darted to that. You squinted your eyes at it as it caused more and more noise, more and more dust, filth flying around as it got closer to the surface and the ground.

Stryker came behind you after demanding security.

"Your friend for a parricide is coming to save the day."

He incompetenly tried to untie the rope that was constrained around your wrists that with the growing concern, he failed ridiculously.

"Whatever." He whispered to himself as he ran towards the main area of the island. You tried to get a few steps forward, trying to release yourself yet you couldn't manage to.

At that point, all of your aim was to shield your face from all the things that were flying around as you turned your head to the side, head lowered, eyes sealed.

You felt electricity centered on your palms exceeding its limits. Your vision steadily fading, the intolerable noise coming from the rotor blades were overwhelming your eardrums, making you feel like they could erupt.

The minute you felt it no longer could come closer, you turned your head to its direction. Numerous random things on the island grazing and licking your face as you saw a familiar face, gripping the inside of the helicopter, leering through you.

Logan.

A faint smile brushed his face for a second, then he started climbing down. Your eyes flickered at his every move, you completely forgot what Stryker had said about him, only the exhilaration of being saved filled your being. You could've sworn a tear even rolled down your cheek.

He got behind you as the noises of troops running towards you and the sound of the helicopter tingled your brain, was it awful.

He cut through the ropes with his claws and right after you felt blood reaching the veins on your hands, had they burst electric strikes. You couldn't control them for a while as it crashed to Logan's claws, making a scene right then.

"Whooa go easy, will you" He taunted.

"Way too much energy piled up there, sorry." You explained on the way to the ladder.

"Who's that?" You inquired looking at the man using the helicopter.

"A friend" the man turned his head to you.

Your eyes shifted back to Logan with a wry look.

He pressed his lips together lightly as he shook his head.

"Not a friend."

"Fly us outta here before they blow us up, bub." He spoke to the man as you managed your position in the aircraft.

Logan had left you at your place, you already had men working to protect you ever since your parents were killed. You didn't have anything to worry yet they were very reserved, closed-lipped people who only spoke when needed and had always avoided your questions about your parents, or more importantly who assassinated them.

You had your answer not so later on.

A few weeks passed by you investigating, seeking assistance through your old friends who you hadn't caught up with in a while.

You had kept your distance from others, especially Logan and how much in need he was.

The times you shook your head, baffled by your own actions and your little investigation were timeless.

All Stryker could've wanted would be to get into someone's head on the condition that they're close to Logan, nevertheless, he did manage to play games with your head and intruded you.

Potentially, he could be lying and Logan was innocent yet you'd have the answer for your ever-lasting question; Who killed your parents?

No one paved the way for you to find this out, everyone around you convinced you to not deep dive in the rabbit hole for it wasn't unusal for scientists who were asking for it to be assassinated.

The day your friend from the FBI showed up at your doorstep with documents under his armpit was the you found out your parents were killed by James Howlett. The Wolverine, the one you knew as Logan Howlett.

You grabbed the documents under his arms and asked him to leave for you needed to be alone.

Your eyes observed every little word, eyebrows frowned as ever, rereading the words, the sentences, the dates to make sure you got them right.

James Howlett.

Your eyes picked on the name, hung on it for quite a time, the describtion filled you in with the gaps alongside with CIA documents reporting the creation of Wolverine, a lab experiment.

Your breathing hitched, fingers holding the paper started shaking unsteadily, tears beading your tear trough. You needed to put down the papers on your table, eyes fixed on the reading lamp enough to make it explode as you bit on your pinky finger.

Then your doorbell rang, living among the commoners was something you loathed only because of this, no time for privacy.

You wiped your tears on your cheeks, took one last look to yourself at the mirror before opening the door for a windy day.

Logan.

Your hand was gripping the door handle, eyes sharp enough to cut him in half as the sweet taste of vengeance filled your lungs as air.

He eyed you up and down, catching on the reddish eyes. He observed your firm stance and the way you didn't let him in.

"Why'd you cry?" He cautiously asked on allert.

"Why didn't you tell me your name is James?" You breathed out.

"What?" He creased his brows as he let himself in. A sense of familiarity washed all over his face, it was clear as day he wasn't used to being called James.

The way he moved your arm away to get in only riled you up more as the yellow-ish lamp exploded above you.

His eyes followed the lamp, then shifted to you.

"That's my legal name." He spoke softly, eyes on the hard wooden floor.

"What is going on?" He begged with confused eyes, wrinkles showing up at the tails of them.

You remained silent, with an intense glare did he feel he was being examined like the way he was back in the lab.

He was guarded, he wasn't invading your personal space, asking questions consecutively, touching you, coming near you yet his dumbfounded look made you go mad.

He took a peek at your living room, glanced at the documents laid out on your table.

"Y/n, what are those?" He looked back at you, forehead wrinkled sensing you had figured out something but what was it? And why did it make you act the way you did?

You remained silent, tears beading your eyelashes once again as you lunged at him, forcing all your body weight on his as you both fell to the floor due to him being caught off guard.

He was short of breath, trying to shield his body from you writhing on top of him.

"Unless you want the cops to pay you a damn visit, stop it." His eyes observed the lamps blasting above you. His voice was distressed more than confused.

"You bastard." You punched right under his nose.

"Couldn't wait to get on top of me, huh?" He smirked doubtfully as he threw you across the room, your back slammed against the wall, winning a whimper out of you as your vision blurred.

"What the fuck is up, dammit?"

He demanded as he was standing across the room, claws still out, eyes sharp at you.

Your heart burned for a desire to hurt him as much as you could, you knew you couldn't kill him.

He was protecting his distance from you as you formed an electric ball emerging from the center of your palms, directing it at him as he was taken aback. His claws shielded his chest at which you were directing your power.

You came closer, taking a step ahead each time as you were met with his strength he obtained from the adamantium.

Electric from you created sparks as it hit to his adamantium claws, you squinted your eyes. Your eyes were burning from the energy you had both created, your mind shifted to the times with your parents, how well they meant and how much he was in the wrong for killing them. He had turned your life upside down long before he met you, that doesn't happen everyday, you assumed.

He directed your power to the corner of the room as he knelt down and lunged at you. He grabbed you from your thighs, shoving you against the wall as his middle claw was near your throat where he could slice it open if you were to move half an inch. The other two claws were trapping you aswell you even stalled your breathing, you had never been this close to death.

You pressed your neck as close to the wall as possible, eyes locked on his stern hazel eyes. His labored breathing caused him to see red.

You eyed his glistening claws, then shifted your eyes to his, making sure to move as little as possible.

"You killed my parents." You hissed between pressed lips, hair strands obstructing a clear view.

His crow's feet softened, that unyielding look disappearing as he yanked his claws away from your throat.

He turned around, you heard him panting in ragged inhales. His shoulders kept rising and falling.

"Stryker told me but I didn't believe him." You spoke, fighting back tears as you digged your nails on your moisty palms.

"Your a fucking animal, Logan." You whispered sharply. Your bottom lip kept quivering, you swallowed dryly.

He turned around as he peeped a look through his hooded eyes, you could sense the ire building up in those eyes.

You raised your shoulders as ever, chin up.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?" You demanded to know.

"No." He softly said under his breath. He was still guarded, tightened muscles flexed against his tshirt.

"Why am I not surprised?" You shook your head.

"Look, I- I didn't know they were the good guys." He raised his hands, drawing a step ahead of you.

You walked past him, shoulder slamming against his.

"That's always your excuse." You huffed as you turned around in a rush, eyes glistened.

His mouth was ajar as if he was contemplating best words to say out loud yet you didn't let him.

"You didn't know, you didn't mean it, you lost control." You mocked him as patheticism roamed your being.

"That's enough, Y/N." He drew another step ahead, hands in the air like he meant to grab you.

"Control those fucking claws around me." You barked, pointing his hands with your brows.

"You're so repellent, Logan." You smiled as a tear rolled down your cheek.

"It's like everyone around you is doomed to be miserable." You remarked, jaw clenched, putting your best demenour not to collapse.

"First it was your mom, then your dad." You emphasized on the word dad, afterall he didn't know you knew.

"Then your brother, then your lover." You emphasized on every letter of the word lover.

"Leave them outta this for your own good, bub." His eyes were keen, trying to get a hold on himself.

"You don't scare me a bit." You hissed as you shook your head in apace.

"What, you gonna kill me, too? An easy way out for you to clean the mess." You growled with eyes like daggers.

"You, you get a grip on yourself, woman." He commanded, with the way his body swayed in a rather sluggish manner snitched on him and the way he was so taken aback with you finding out.

You took one last gaze upon him as you made your way to the entrance door.

[seresinoldhag]

scorch.

so, uh. a while ago, i was writing a pretty long slowburn with hangman that i loved but missed the timing and never finished. this is a major, almost finale, chapter of that story that i believe is good and i just wanted to post it somewhere, maybe someone will enjoy it. i've adapted it so it can be read without any context. some bits might instigate your imagination, even. lost pieces of the puzzle. the real thing ended up being over 10k words. you can either only read this part, or finish the whole thing on ao3. enjoy! jake seresin x f!reader. all you need to know is this is angsty, and they are not together.

It's all suffocatingly domestic, and you're trying not to think about it.

He's lying on the couch by your side while you read the dated paper of rules for the apartment complex, empty boxes of Hawaiian takeout covering the coffee table. Your hair is damp, your towel is inexplicably sitting on his shoulder now. He used your lemon-squeeze-scented soap. You made a comment about his predictable Axe deodorant. He helped you figure out the TV settings.

The words start blurring in front of your eyes when your thoughts take over, anxieties about how familiar his company has become, and how you could dangerously get used to this routine swarming your mind. It's not fair, you've already let him go. Why can't your heart live by your words?

"Who was your first movie crush?"

You lower the single page to look at the screen across from you, blessed by Natalie Portman's adorable smile in V for Vendetta.

"Obi-wan Kenobi."

Blonde, light eyes. A little shorter. So, he's not not your type. "Nerd. Why?"

"He was mouthy but still kind. I bet yours had something to do with an enticing pink wig?"

You smile again at the famous face that prompted the question, turning to him with teasing eyes just as enticing - even if you didn't know - as his teenage obsession.

He shrugs. "I'm a simple man."

"Don't I know it?"

Leaning back on the sofa, your eyes return to the page, and Jake's head remains turned to you.

He thinks back to earlier when Rooster teased you about your decision to stay and join Mitchell's program. How quickly you got in the man's face after he called out your 'work addiction'. As usual with the two of you, teasing became concern, and then a fight. "You need a break, Scorch. It's fine when I can keep an eye on you, watch your back, but-" "You do not watch my back." Jake couldn't be sure if he was shielding his eyes from the sunlight or the burning ire emanating from you. "I am as good as you, by your side. I don't need a carer." Rooster seemed less defeated and more disappointed. "You know that's not what I meant." He glanced at Jake. Too long to be accidental. "Can't live off of distractions, you gotta hold onto something real at some point."

He hopes he never forgets the first time he saw you choose not to say anything back.

Feeling needy for your attention, Jake steals the paper from your hands, reading aloud some of the strict rules for 'being a good neighbor'.

"Geez, guess I don't have to worry about your safety." He feels the chill creep up his neck when you glare in his direction. He is used to it. Your distant attitude doesn't discourage him anymore. Too late to protect his heart. "But are you…safe here? I mean, are you gonna be okay alone?"

When he turns his face again, you tilt your head to the side, as if it was weird that he'd even ask. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? Have you ever lived by yourself before? I don't mean on base or with a roommate, actually alone." Seeing your mouth open and close again, he sits up, stretching his arm on the back of the couch. "Maybe you could stay with Penny a few days of the week."

"Where is this coming from?"

"'S just we're all leaving, Mitchell can be a total fucking headcase sometimes and you have no close family so I'm worr-"

Your face falls almost instantly and he cuts himself off, sighing and bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, predicting your next sentence.

When you speak, it's not as confident as he was expecting. "I can take care of myself."

"I know that, Scorcher." His exhausted gaze finds you strangely open. "I'm just thinkin' it'd be nice if you didn't have to watch your own back for once."

Hand to his own heart, maybe a little subconsciously.

Then you do that thing he loves - when you know you're being kind of a jerk so you start apologizing for your words before they even come out - scrunching your nose and wincing. Like you're so sorry to hurt him but it's all you know. A vicious cycle.

A confession of your crimes against his tender nature.

"Before you say somethin' dumb," He raises a finger comically. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Gaze dropping to your lap, you sigh.

"No, really, I don't want-"

"Scorcher."

He knows how much of him you don't want. It doesn't change much of anything. He's been here before - after giving all of him, noticing the other person get overwhelmed, so he starts compartmentalizing. He'll adapt and make it fit until there's absolutely no more space.

Along the way, your silences with Jake became heavily meaningful, and it's something you feared. The unspoken is now easily interpreted. You're known to each other.

Feeling highly exposed under his unrelenting gaze, squaring your shoulders, an exit pops into your head.

"Should we, uh, maybe talk about earlier? You know, with Bob." Jake tries his best not to wince, embarrassed of his little jealous fit in front of the entire squad. "Not the lowest moment of my week." He concedes. Your body stiffens next to him, but when your voice comes out, it's empathetic. "Ejections fucking suck." "I meant you. You were definitely the worst thing that happened to me this week." Forced to punch out during a standard exercise. Two lonely nights at the hospital. A stupid argument with a squad mate over his bruised ego on everyone's last day. None of this would've happened if you hadn't brutally rejected him on the beach that morning. "You nearly died and you're cracking jokes?" "What do you care?" His nose is high up, cocky smile rubbing in your face that you've lost the right to treat his accident with sincerity after failing to show up in his hospital room. "Right?" "Jake, I-" He doesn't really want to do this right now. "I'm kidding. And I was kidding with Bob too."

"Of course." Innocently resting your chin on a closed fist but mocking him. He stares back, firm - if not a little flustered. "Okay."

"It's Floyd…"

"Which means?" Mouth slightly open, daring him. "He's handsome, smart, nice…Tragically not quite you, I know, but not bad at all."

Jake tsks. "Doesn't make sense for you."

"Oh?"

Although responsive, the striking green does not have the same livelihood they once held when he looked at you. The possibility he's simply no longer interested makes you feel what you think is your heart breaking, which in turn makes you sick at yourself. You fought for this.

You analyze his every move, struggling to not choke on your own mental back and forth.

"Yeah, he's too obviously good, can't get in your own head about cracking him - what he's got hidin' underneath. So boring."

If there's any snide in his voice it's forced for the sake of humour. Your inhale is choppy.

"I wasn't…trying to crack you."

Lie. That's definitely what you were doing, rummaging through the pieces that construct him so you could see if any of it could fit you. Of course he doesn't believe you either.

An exagerated sigh, throwing his head back and watching the ceiling. "Love it when we keep saying the opposite of what we mean to each other."

You're getting sick of Jake catching up, seeing everything exactly for what it is and not walking away, so your words come out through gritted teeth.

"What do you want me to say, Seresin? I had a feeling and…I like being right."

Jake tries not to dwell too much on the meaning of that. On your unwavering and selfless faith in him, but most importantly on the extent of your stubborness. You confessed to it a couple days ago, at the beach, caring more about being so sure of the disastrous fate of you and him than the fact he was willing to be with you despite all that you had against it.

"Seems like you had a lot of feelings you didn't tell me about."

When his gaze shifts to you again, he's met with that staple unsettling look, but it's different tonight. It doesn't feel aimed at him.

After an afternoon of beers and goodbyes at Penny's bar, Rooster is the last one to drive away with a waving Natasha on his passenger seat.

"Did they work out?"

Jake asks in a hopeful manner. Maybe they could, if we couldn't.

"I'm not sure, I-" Was so caught up in us. "I didn't ask."

"Damn, you are a terrible friend."

Your eyes drag away from the distant jeep.

"If you wouldn't have done the courtesy of nearly dying, I could've focused on other people more."

"Don't make up excuses, especially when it was your fault."

"Your ejection wasn't my fault! Are you insane?"

He takes a deep breath and inches closer. "I wasn't dehydrated, I didn't pass out. I had a panic attack."

Recognizing vulnerability in his eyes, your stomach sinks further, and you know you won't be able to say the comforting words you wish you could say or ask him what happened with a straight face.

"Can't blame a panic attack on me." You're short of breath, thinking back to the heated argument you and Jake shared at the beach about everything. About being in love, and how you couldn't possibly let that happen. He seemed...off after. You could never imagine how it'd end up.

"Hm, you're right." He circles behind you to the passenger door of your car. "I'll just say you're the bane of my existence and blame you for everything, generally speaking. Does that loosen the rope around your neck?"

You can't help but miserably giggle, climbing into the driver's seat. Your head is pushed against the headrest, fingernails scratching your nose as you try to understand what to do with the warmth pooling in your chest.

"What is this? I mean, aren't you going home?"

He's rummaging around the glove compartment, purposefully making a mess. "My brother's picking me up tomorrow morning."

"I thought you had sisters."

"And a brother."

A deck of questions opens itself in your head, biting your lip to stop them. Getting to know him more would be counterproductive at this point.

"So where are you spending the night?" He raises his head suspiciously. "It's just, Pete already worked out an apartment for me and I could use some help. There's a couch I bet is comfortable enough. Unless you-"

"My stuff is at the base."

"Mine too, I still need to get the keys with Mav." Seconds go by with him looking at you, your teeth biting the inside of your cheek, trying your best to make this look like an innocent invitation. A favor. The slick sound of the seatbelt being pulled sets you in motion, driving off with a burning confusion in the pit of your stomach.

Quickly, you crumple the paper in your hands, collect the empty boxes and strut to the kitchen, quiet.

The bitter laugh that comes out of him is muffled by his hand coming up to wipe his face and rub his eyes.

"Relax, I'm happy to be your guinea pig." He regrets saying it halfway through the sentence, not knowing how to get you to stop running in the other direction. He mumbles under his breath. "You're such a dick." finished work on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61256968

[osamusbigtits]

osamu sighs as yet another tabloid speculates on the possible romance of suna rintarou and miya atsumu, using blurred pictures where they're barely recognizable and one picture of the two embracing after a game.

he hates to admit it, but it's eating at osamu. no, eating is the wrong word. it's devouring his mind, consuming him whole until it's all he can think about. he knows it's beyond irrational. the two are friends, for fucks sake. suna has admitted many times that he has never had even an ounce of attraction like that towards atsumu.

but there's that fucking picture. the one that highlights suna's big smile, sweat dripping from he face as he grabs atsumu in a tight hug.

"bromance or more? turn to page 15 to find out!" the cover teases to him.

osamu throws it in the trash. then pulls it out, rips off the front page, tears it in half, and throws it back in twice as hard.

"you okay, boss?" an employee asks.

osamu sighs. "long week," he replies. the employee chuckles and murmurs a "me too" before moving to the cash register.

god, he's at the restaurant acting like baby. stupid jealousy. it's always been something that eats at him so easily.

he turns to the kitchen. he needs to cut something up.

~

suna's laughing when osamu walks in the door. atsumu's voice trails towards the hallway, souring any happiness osamu might have had from hearing that laugh he adores.

osamu sighs as he kicks off his shoes. he forces himself to count to ten and think of three things that went well during his day- a tactic his therapist has recommended. however, when pent up like this, he rarely finds it working.

one more breath, and he forces himself to walk forward into his own house.

pathetic. he's a pathetic man.

suna leans toward atsumu as he laughs. what could be so funny?

"oh! samu, remember that time aran got stuck on the monkey bars and we had to pry him out!" atsumu asks.

normally, the story does make osamu laugh. now he just says, "yeah."

atsumu continues, undeterred by osamu's shortness.

osamu sits at the table, barely listening to the conversation. he knows he's pouting, but he can't help it.

atsumu squeezes suna's arm. suna pushes atsumu's shoulder.

osamu abruptly stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. he opens the fridge and stares blankly. frustration clouding his thoughts.

it's not long before suna walks up next to him. suna bumps his shoulder against osamu's.

"what's wrong?" suna asks.

"nothing."

osamu knows suna's rolling his eyes. suna loops his arm through osamu's. osamu doesn't move.

"something is bothering you," suna says. he lays his head against osamu's shoulder. "you were all pouty at the table. bad day at work?"

osamu closes his eyes. he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, push his anger down. communication is important, his therapists words ring in his ears, he won't know why you're angry unless you tell him.

"it's silly. but I keep seeing that stupid article and... are you and tsumu..."

"friend. we're friends." suna pats osamu's arm. "also, I'm pretty sure most of the pictures they use are of me and you on a date."

osamu sighs, "I know. I just..."

"I know," suna says softly. he kisses osamu's cheek. "ok, I told tsumu I would help you make dinner, so now we have to make something while he calls sakusa."

osamu laughs. "you're gonna make me cook for your date?" he teases.

suna gasps. "oh, knock it off."

osamu reaches into the fridge to grab something to make.

suna pulls osamu into a quick kiss. "I love you, osamu. only you."

osamu smiles and returns the kiss.

[steddieas-shegoes]

114 and 115 for the prompts? 🥺

Ohhhh secretly good singer Steve my beloved. I don't think I've written it before, so let's remedy that right now! 114. "I didn't know you could sing." and 115. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

Rated T | tags: established relationship, secretly good singer Steve, rock star Eddie

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"Nothin' I can do...total eclipse of the heart!"

Eddie froze by the bathroom door.

He was supposed to already be gone, and Steve must not have realized he was running late.

"Once upon a time there was light in my life, now there's only love in the dark..."

Eddie didn't think, didn't consider the fact that he was gonna scare the shit out of Steve, just opened the bathroom door.

"I didn't know you could sing!" He exclaimed, eyes wide as he looked at Steve's blurred outline behind the shower door.

"Fuck!" Steve jumped at Eddie's voice. "What the hell Eddie! You're supposed to be gone."

Eddie opened the shower door, not caring if he got wet or if water got on the floor, only watching in awe as Steve leaned back against the wall, breathing heavy.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," he finally said when he calmed down and got back under the stream to rinse his hair.

"Since when do you have the voice of an angel?" Eddie asked, still in disbelief.

"Since never. You're being dramatic," Steve said, opening one eye to look at him, judging, bitchy.

"I am not. You think I don't know talent?" Eddie stepped into the shower, ignoring Steve's protests and the almost instant regret of getting his clothes wet. "You sounded better than Bonnie Tyler!"

"Oh my God, get out of the shower, you're ridiculous."

Eddie put his hands on Steve's shoulders, wide eyes staring into Steve's so he could understand.

"Your voice is beautiful. How have you never sung for me? Or anyone? Has anyone heard you sing?" Eddie's hand cupped his cheek, his thumb rubbing over the blush.

"Eds..."

"Seriously, Stevie. Will you sing with me on a song on the next album? Please?"

Eddie was silently begging, using his big eyes and pout to get exactly what he wanted.

"I'll think about it. But you're late and you may not even have another album if you don't get to the meeting," Steve shoved his shoulder gently.

Eddie leaned in to kiss him, licking along his bottom lip before biting it.

Steve let out a yelp and pulled away.

"When I get home, we're talking about it!" he yelled as he got out of the shower and stripped his wet clothes off.

"Fine!"

*********

One week later, Steve was in the studio with Eddie, singing the bridge to a song about him.

And when Corroded Coffin used him as a backup singer on all their tours as an excuse to bring him along, nobody really questioned it.