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

[princemick]

Max's cap is not Daniel's usual style appearntly -- 2017 Azerbaijan Grand Prix

[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.

[leftneb]

There is Something Seriously Wrong with this Logo..... Chapter Two

So. Lots of you have seen this post by my dear partner ( @lailau7904 ) in which the Williams F1 design team get absolutely torn to bits. In the case you haven't read it yet I highly recommend you do because a) it's really fucking funny and b) it makes what I'm about to tell you even funnier. Though you don't have to, this post touches on entirely different things still regarding this one goddamn logo.

The original post starts like this:

Innocent enough, we made an assumption in good faith that the logo displayed on the Wikipedia page would be the same one as the official version used by Williams. Buckle the fuck up because I'm about to tell you why that was the worst mistake we could have made.

Please. Please I beg of you keep reading this took YEARS off our lifespans. Like the original post was fun and all but it was merely the top of the iceberg. If this were an hbomberguy video this would be the part where he reveals that the background was a greenscreen the whole time. More below the cut!!! :333

The Truth

Already after only a few hours after hitting "post" on the dissection, people started pointing out to us that we'd missed an absolutely crucial detail on the Wikimedia page we got the logo from, pay careful attention:

See THIS?

Yeah this means that that image is not, and never was, the official logo of Williams. All along it had been the work of a Wikipedia user by the name of Juanchocarbonero. Here you can even see the (admittedly painful) history of the file as provided by Wikimedia, this image was uploaded all the way back in 2016, it even underwent an update when the team changed their colour scheme to a lighter blue without getting fucking fixed.

But to me the absolutely most painful part about this page is the "File Usage" section. Which gives you a quick preview of just how deep the goddamn disease that is this piece of graphic design sin really spreads.

And just to clarify: the official version of the logo used by Williams on merch etc is perfectly fine. It's a nice piece of graphic design. I still quite like it. But the story doesn't end there. Not even close.

Consequences

When you look up "williams logo" on Google the image provided by Wikimedia the very first result that pops up, if you're looking for a high-quality .png of this logo that, logically, is what you'll end up using. And I mean, why wouldn't you? What reason do you have not to use it? As long as you don't look to close (oops) it's a perfectly fine, high-definition, clean and transparent image of the logo! No shit people are going to use it!

But this raises a question: Why IS it the most widespread version of the logo? That's fucking weird isn't it? Surely if the actual logo used on ex.: the official Williams F1 website (which, again, is perfectly fucking fine) was available they would've just used that, right?

Now. Small problem. If you want you can go ahead and open whatever search engine you use, if you do that I'm gonna need you to type in "Williams logo" into the search bar, and just try finding a picture that is

of the actual official logo (you can tell the bootleg from the real thing by checking if the middle segment of the W has spiky ends or flat ones. We're looking for flat ones here)

high quality (no pixels or blurring visible to the naked eye)

a transparent png (none of that chequered background bullshit)

NOT a logo with any words (such as: Williams or Racing) visible in it. those don't count.

If you didn't feel like doing any of that, I'll just tell you the answer: you fucking can't. Nothing like that EXISTS. The closest I could get are these two, both of which are mid to ass quality, so they don't count either.

No sensible individual is going to scroll google search results for 5 minutes straight just so they can use a 200x200 image, especially when they think a perfect alternative is right there.

I even found several recoloured versions of the diseased logo, including one as a sticker on Redbubble! Fuck me that's a horrible sight!

The Search

Because I wrote the previous paragrahps after we'd figured out exactly what had happened, you might be under the impression that by this point in trying to answer the question "Why the fuck is that image on Wikipedia instead of, idk, the real fucking thing?" we'd at least established the existence of said "real Williams F1 logo". You'd be wrong, because for somewhere around 24 hours after we'd made the initial, horrifying discovery of just how fucked the Wikipedia version is, we genuinely could not tell if that was the official logo or not.

The ones displayed on their website weren't at all downloadable or even copyable, a non-ass quality of the damn thing just didn't seem to exist anywhere, so we didn't dare draw any conclusions. And we were still foolishly operating on the assumption that Wikipedia wouldn't just lie to us. (this is why your teachers hate it when you use it a source btw. like this is the ONE time it's actually been reasonable)

So, in the hopes of finding the offical Williams Racing logo, the non-scuffed one because clearly it exists, somewhere, we consulted an expert on Intellectual Property: my mother!

What this "consultation" actually roughly looked like was: we went on a walk and I started rambling about the Situation from Last Night before she cut me off and pulled up the website of the World Intellectual Property Organisation, aka the place they store all the Copyright information of like, everything.

BEHOLD:

(pictured; THE ACTUAL FUCKING LOGO I CANNOT BELIEVE IT'S EXISTED THIS WHOLE TIME)

Link to the actual real official legal document because goddamn this rabbithole just kept getting deeper so I like, have that now.

For refence, here is the official copyrighted version and the Wikimedia file overlayed on top of each other. As you can tell, it's disgusting. It's a poor, eyeballed imitation at best.

The copyrighted logo is horrifically low quality because, guess what, that image also isn't downloadable or copyable from the page. I really really cannot blame Juanchocarbonero for uploading his own version to Wikimedia because there legitimately does not exist a version of this logo that is freely available to the public. Like that goddamn abomiation is all we have. It's the effort that counts I guess.

My mother suggested that a possible reason for this could be avoiding the production of knockoff merch, or at least making it recognisable in case it is sold. Think about it, when your logo Doesn't Exist online, no one can use it without a license! It's kind of genius! I'm also about 99% sure they didn't orchestrate it so, it was good luck I guess?

interlude: How the FUCK does Copyright even work

I did immediately think to myself "we should REALLY fix the wikipedia version, like, stat" because I cannot in good conscience have this information available to me and not do anything with it, for the good of the people. However, this poses an issue: was the logo really not scuffed on purpose? Could it be that that version uploaded to Wikipedia isn't a 1:1 of the official logo because of copyrighting issues? To find out I had to look deeper, by comparing the official, website-available logos of various other F1 teams I came to conclusion that: [........................]

Yeah so I wrote that paragraph before actually checking for refences, but even after probably an hour of trying very hard to make sense of the copyright documents and copyright law in general we could not make sense of any of it. According to my mother (again, the closest we have to an expert, like she actually works with copyright in the context of companies but she's not specifically an IP expert. just to clarify) it's actually a lot worse for Wikipedia to have a falsified version of the Williams logo, than it would be to use the copyrighted version. This is because they're spreading misinformation by pretending that's the actual logo. And yet.

According to the Copyright Tag (the one on the top) in the Licensing section of the Wikimedia page for the thing pretending to be the Williams F1 logo, it's fine to use it because just a bunch of shapes. The thing is however, that it says that for pretty much every F1 team's logo, most of which are sourced straight from the official website. So this doesn't really mean anything tbh. According to our local expert (still my mother) it's fucking confusing. So I've decided to leave that at that.

update October 20th: as far as the Wikimedia pages on copyrighting tell me, uploading the official logo could, potentially, get me into serious legal trouble with Williams because of copyright laws. Which is still confusing because as said, every other team's logo is sitting uncontested on their respective Wikipedia pages. So basically we still don't know.

Okay. Backtrack. We forgot to ask something very important:

HOW?

HOW does one fuck up a perfectly fine logo THAT BAD.

WHY does one make their own scuffed tracejob and HOW does it end up like THAT. Clearly something must have gone horrifically wrong for it to end up like that.

I have a theory as to what might have happened:

It was either drawn or painted by hand, for a physical paintjob it's actually sort of impressively precise, but still objectively fucked. For a while I outright refused to believe that it could have been done in a digital program with the types of mistakes that were made, but you'll see this theory (partially) disproven later on so I retract it for now.

Operating on the assumption that it wasn't done digitally, a likely theory could be one involving a picture of scan of the paintjob. If the picture was taken at an angle or the logo itself was on a curved surface that COULD potentially explain the weird sort of slide everything has to it.

From then the picture might have been inserted into a digital art program, and the area of the logo might have been automatically selected using the magic wand tool, which could explain the weird growth at the top and that odd rounded off corner.

We also drew the conclusion that the file itself had been "tampered with" (aka cropped manually) by a human, because no computer would generate a resolution of 3356x2543 (you can that this is the original resolution on the Wikimedia page)

WAIT HOLD ON IS THAT IT?

The question of how the Fuck this guy managed to mess up the logo, and even more specifically why some edges were fine and some weren't (ant colony looking thing on the top left) bothered us so much that I at one point started just looking up "WIlliams logo" with the results filtered down to pre-2017 in an attempt to find when exactly the messed up logo was created. As if that would be any help.

Now what I definitely didn't expect to find was THIS

ENHANCE

Yes, you're seeing it right, THAT is the original 'Williams logo with the fucked up arm angles and lenghts'. Which PROVES that, contrary to our previous belief, Juancocarbonero was NOT the origin of the mistakes. Instead it was [checks notes] a DeviantArt user by the name of Nerdkid56?

The original DeviantArt post, which as of 9:47pm CET on the 13th of October 2024 I am about 90% sure is the actual first appearanace of the scuffed logo, is from May of 2015, which lines up well with the original upload date of the fucked up logo onto Wikipedia (November 2016). At the time that DeviantArt post was almost the only source for the logo.

And in the case you needed any convincing that those two logos are the same, here they are overlayed. You may notice that it's one shape (excluding the rounded corner which isn't visible at this resolution.)

This discovery is essential to understanding why the current scuffed version is the way it is. You might remember our confusion about the way some edges are fine while some are attempting to leave the image, the whole thing is a weird Frankensteinian amalgamation of vectors and magic wand mistakes. With this knowledge we can now assume that the mistakes happened in 2 layers:

Nerdkid56: likely just eyeballed the proportions. I'd guess he drew one arm before the other and flipped it around without really checking the angles. Also didn't give a shit about whether the arms lined up with the base or not. Legitimately bad design made in a digital program.

Juancocarbonero: why he used the scuffed W logo instead of the normal ones that were also perfectly accessible by 1 goddamn Google search is a mistery. HOW he even got access to it is another question I do not think we'll have answers to. And I've already explained some of the things we think may be responsible for the uneveness and bumps. Point is he fucked it up even more.

My theory for why Juanchocarbonero used the scuffed version instead of any other available picture goes like this: it was the only png he could find. Practically every other search result for "Williams Logo" that predates 2017 is a jpeg or absolute ass quality (sometimes both for good measure) so, despite it's flaws, Nedkid56's trace of it could have been the best option available at the time (the quality is actually very very good since it's a vector image, and I guess our friend Juanchocarbonero doesn't have an eye for design considering he didn't notice uhm, everything that is wrong with that model.)

Conclusion

The only way to right these wrongs is to go back, to the very beggining of this saga. Wikipedia. Williams I'm so sorry for what you've had to endure. I know what I have to do now. When I eventually make a proper vector image of the official logo and upload it to Wikimedia it'll all be over. And I WILL do it (but not rn this has already robbed me of like 3 whole days of my life. soon)

All of this is, admittedly inconsequental, but also absolutely fucking hilarious. Like imagine. you. one single guy, you make ONE mistake in a silly little "tracing this logo" project because you couldn't be arsed to check the angles of a silly little W. And some other guy, who you likely don't even know, over a whole ass year later, takes your flawed piece of design, makes it even worse somehow and uploads it to a site from which your little tiny innocent mistake becomes the most widespread version of a logo used by an actual real company worth over 700 Million US Dollars. HOW. HOW DID THAT HAPPEN. WHY HAS NO ONE FIXED THIS??? IT'S BEEN 9 YEARS

Just to give you a final look on just how widespread this plague is, here are some examples of media the fucked up version of the logo is featured in:

this Mr V's Garage video (the original reason we started this conversation in the first place)

the thumbnails of these two videos by Tommo, this one by FP1Will, and this one by RicksF1Addiction

such an amount of random places. likely fanmerch and fanart, and like, pretty much any place someone wanted to use the logo. it's everywhere. if you've ever had the Williams logo displayed in anything you've made I can guarantee you 99.9% chance you used the fucked version

and late thank you to everyone ( @bumblewyn @mid-nighttiger @vro0m @lemonsgovroom @mikraas @leclerced fucking hell I kept needing to add people to this list because compiling all of this took absurdly long) who pointed out our misconception in the reblogs of the original post and contributed to us actually looking into this further. and sorry to everyone for accidentally spreading misinformation lmao (it's too funny not to have been worth it tho) (ALSO it's not really our fault is it)

and to keep the tradition of ending on a live discord reaction:

[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 🤪🫣

[thehereticdiaries]

Into the Wonderland: Chapter Five

Summary: You're getting some assignments done ahead of time since your heat is swiftly approaching. Marcus tries to make another move, resulting in a fight between him and Hongjoong.

Warnings (IMPORTANT!): Violence!! Descriptions of injuries, Hongjoong loses his shit, campus security and emts are so tired, hospital, slight description of medical procedure (staples), lots of tears, lots of anger, lots of panic

Hey team we're going out of order this time bc I've been planning this chapter for WEEKS and I need to post it immediately or I'm gonna start eating drywall. Pack Mentality is coming soon, I promise! Also this bitch is LONG (10 pages sheesh)

“Korean dialogue” / “English dialogue”

Your nightmares didn’t completely disappear, but they were much less frequent. Having a pack member with you helped you calm down and fall back asleep when you did have one, improving your sleep schedule significantly. Hongjoong still kept a watchful eye on you even if he wasn't the one spending the night with you.

With your heat now only a week away, you completely forgot about Marcus in your rush to turn in assignments ahead of their due dates. You’d have less to worry about when you came back to class that way. You were staying late in the computer lab for the third night in a row, but you needed access to a program you couldn’t download on your laptop. You quietly cheered to yourself after you finally submitted the assignment, leaving only one more easy discussion board post to finish. 

“Oh, shit,” you cursed under your breath when you realized the time. You were supposed to meet Seonghwa and Hongjoong fifteen minutes ago. You hastily shoved your class materials in your backpack, locking the door behind you with a key from your professor. Rough hands ripped your backpack from your shoulders, knocking you off balance. An all-to-familiar scent filled you with panic.

“You made a big fucking mistake, Y/N,” Marcus growled next to your ear. Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your throat to slam you against the wall. The back of your head collided with the sheet rock, blurring your vision and sending a sharp pain through your skull. Your classmate slowly came into focus.

“You think flaunting that shitty little pack bond is gonna keep me from taking you for myself?” He was deranged, pupils blown wide and spit dripping down his chin. 

“Marcus, please stop,” you pushed weakly against his wrist, tears stinging the back of your eyes.

“No! I know you want me! You are mine, omega, and I’ll make sure you forget all about that fucking pack.” His face turned red with the effort of keeping his voice down. He refused to be interrupted again. Your chest heaved, tears now streaming down your cheeks. Your mind was fuzzy from the pain. You couldn’t think straight. All of your thoughts turned to one person, so with every ounce of your strength you clasped both hands over your mating gland and you screamed.

“Hongjoong!”

The lobby of the computer science building was lined with large windows and plush armchairs. Seonghwa relaxed into the leather, scrolling on his phone while he and Hongjoong waited for you to finish in the lab. 

“Sit down, she’ll be out soon.” Seonghwa repeated for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. Hongjoong paced in front of the omega, eyes glued to the door labelled ‘Students and Staff Members ONLY’. 

“She’s late, Seonghwa. She’s never late, not without sending a text.” His fingers flexed by his sides, every nerve in his body on edge. He learned a long time ago to never ignore his instincts. “Something’s wrong.”

“You’re being paranoid,” the elder sighed, sparing the alpha a brief glance. Hongjoong glared at the door, the knot of dread in his stomach growing larger by the second.

“Fuck it,” the alpha stormed through the door, ignoring Seonghwa’s protests. The hallway split into two, forcing Hongjoong to stop. 

“What is wrong with you?!” Seonghwa dug his fingers into the younger man’s shoulder.

“What room did Y/N say she was in?” His eyes flicked from one hall to the other, then to the placard on the wall pointing to different room numbers. 

“I don’t –”

“Hongjoong!” His head snapped to the left, sprinting towards your voice with Seonghwa hot on his heels. Marcus slammed you into the wall again right as you came into view. He couldn’t hold back the growl that ripped from his throat, vision glazing over with red.

“Get the fuck away from her!” With his protective instincts on overdrive, Hongjoong didn’t even feel the sting of his knuckles connecting with Marcus’s cheekbone, knocking him to the floor. Hongjoong sat on his chest, locking his arms to his sides. 

“Were we not fucking obvious enough for you, asshole?” Another hit landed on Marcus’s nose, blood pouring from his nostrils. Hongjoong grinned sadistically at the crunch of cartilage under his fist.

“You couldn’t figure it out by our scents, our clothes, my bite on her neck? Let me spell it out for you.” His hand engulfed Marcus’s forehead, yanking him up just to shove his head into the tile floor, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. 

“She’s fucking taken.”

You collapsed to the floor once Marcus let you go, pulling your knees to your chest. Seonghwa dropped to your side, holding your face in both of his hands. You blinked slowly in an attempt to focus on him.

“Y/N? Baby, can you hear me?” His worried voice pushed past the fog surrounding your brain.

“Seonghwa?” You tipped forward, resting your forehead on the elder’s collarbone. Sobs wracked your body as you clung onto his shirt. He ran a hand through your hair to soothe you, but yanked it back at your yelp and the feeling of something warm and wet on his palm.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa stared in horror at the blood covering his hand. Your blood. The pack alpha was blinded by rage, still not satisfied with the damage done to Marcus’s face. 

“Hongjoong, please forget about him. He doesn’t matter, Y/N is hurt. Hongjoong listen to me, god dammit! Hongjoong! Alpha, please, she’s bleeding.” Seonghwa struggled to fight back the panic bubbling in his stomach, voice growing more desperate the longer he was ignored.

“Hwa ‘m tired,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Nononono, you can’t fall asleep.” He forced you to sit up, gently patting your cheek to bring your gaze back to him. Seonghwa’s eyes darted between you and Hongjoong. “Y/N, I know you’re tired and I know you’re scared, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Hmm?”

“I need you to get Hongjoong’s attention. Say his name, call him alpha, anything to get him to stop.” You looked over at your alpha, confused by the snarl marring his pretty face.

“Hongjoong?” You whimpered at the sharp sting in your head from slightly raising your voice. He froze, fist reared back to strike, his anger clashing with his need to comfort you.

“Yes! That’s it, omega. Keep going, sweet girl,” Seonghwa encouraged, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You took a shaky breath.

“Hongjoong. Alpha, please.” In an instant, your classmate was forgotten, left lying on the floor barely holding onto consciousness. He stole you from Seonghwa’s grasp to pull you onto his lap. 

“You’re okay. I’ve got you, alpha’s got you, it’s okay,” he rambled into the crown of your hair, wrapping you tightly in his arms and pressing you into his chest. Your nails dug into his bicep. 

“She’s hurt.” He muttered, eyes snapping over to Seonghwa, the omega’s earlier words finally sinking in. “You said she’s bleeding, where?”

“The back of her head.” Hongjoong gingerly moved your hair, blanching at the large gash. He frantically searched for something to stop the bleeding, coming up empty. Frustrated, he tore the sleeve from his sweater, folding it in half to hold against the wound. 

“Oh, my god!” An unknown voice shrieked from down the hall. Seonghwa tore his eyes from the man on the ground to see a woman with a hand clutched over her heart. “Oh my god, you assaulted those students!” 

“Ma’am, please,” Seonghwa jumped to his feet, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. He took note of the staff badge hanging from the woman’s belt loop. “We need you to call the police. Or call campus security and have them contact the police. Security knows the situation between the two students. Please trust me.”

“O-okay,” she hesitantly agreed. “What are their names?” 

“Y/N L/N and Marcus, I don’t know his last name.” The staff member nodded, pulling out her phone and stepping further away from you. Seonghwa’s shoulders deflated. He sat next to you and Hongjoong, running his hand across your lower back. 

“I knew something was wrong,” Hongjoong glowered at his elder. Seonghwa turned a sharp eye to the alpha.

“We are not talking about that right now,” he hissed, voice dropping low in his throat. They stared each other down in a heated silence until movement to their side caught their attention.

“This isn’t done, asshole.” Marcus slurred, spitting out a tooth. He tried to sit up, but flopped onto his back with a groan.

“Shut the fuck up,” Seonghwa and Hongjoong said in unison, the former sounding more tired than angry.

“Security, the police, and EMS are all on their way. I can watch him if you’d like to take her to the lobby,” the staff member offered after returning from her phone call. 

“Thank you,” Seonghwa quickly bowed before trailing after you and Hongjoong. The alpha settled into one of the arm chairs with you in his lap, one hand still holding the sleeve to your head. You looked up at your fellow omega through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

“I don’t want to take an ambulance,” you sniffled, then winced again at the throbbing in the back of your skull. 

“Y/N–”

“I’ll go to the hospital, Hwa, but the sirens will be too loud and the lights will be too bright and, and,” you faltered at the lump growing in your throat. 

“Okay,” Seonghwa caved against your pleading, watery eyes. “I’ll call Yunho so he can come pick us up.” He moved a few feet away, growing impatient at the prolonged dial tone.

“Hey Seonghwa,” Mingi answered for Yunho.

“Where’s Yunho? I need him for something,” he avoided giving away any details. He really didn’t need three pissed off alphas on his hands.

“Uhh, I think he’s in the middle of a League match. Why, what’s up?” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. Of course the only pack member with a license was preoccupied with a video game, of all things.

“Well he needs to turn it off. He needs to come pick us up from Y/N’s campus,” he insisted with a huff.

“Why, Seonghwa? What happened?” Mingi demanded, now on edge from how vague his elder was being.

“Nothing happened.” He was immediately contradicted by your yelp and frantic apologies from Hongjoong. 

“Seonghwa.”

“Get the phone to Yunho, then I’ll tell you.” Mingi grumbled curses under his breath, annoyed by the negotiations. He ripped Yunho’s headphones off.

“Turn the game off, something happened to Y/N.” Any arguments from being interrupted mid-game died in Yunho’s throat. “You’re on speaker.”

“Yunho, you need to come pick us up from the computer science building on campus. Marcus attacked her. She’s bleeding and probably has a concussion,” Seonghwa quickly explained, pulling his phone away from his ear.

“He fucking what?!” Mingi shouted, loud enough that it drew Hongjoong’s attention from several feet away. 

“We’re on our way,” Yunho stated after stealing his phone back. 

“Please don’t bring the whole pack,” Seonghwa pleaded. “She doesn’t need to be crowded right now. Security is here, got to go.” He ended the call without waiting for an answer.

“Okay, what happened?” A very tired man with a “head of security” badge asked, looking between the three of you. Seonghwa stepped forward to recount the attack, seeing as you were fighting to stay awake and Hongjoong was still fuming. A female security guard approached you, keeping a bit of space to avoid agitation. 

“I have gauze, if you’d like to use it for her head instead of a sleeve,” she offered, extending a hand with a small stack of clean gauze. Hongjoong eyed the officer warily, but accepted the offer, dropping the bloody sleeve to the seat next to him. After a few minutes, red and blue flashing lights stung your eyes. You hid in Hongjoong’s neck with a groan. Two pairs of EMTs entered the lobby. The pair with a stretcher were led to Marcus, while the others walked up to examine you.

“She’s not taking an ambulance,” Hongjoong snapped before they even opened their mouths.

“She really–”

“We’re going to the hospital, but we’re using our car.” The EMTs shared a look, one of them sighing heavily.

“Alright. Can I at least check on the wound?” Hongjoong didn’t even try to hide his displeasure, curling his lip back to show his teeth. 

“Hongjoong, he’s just trying to do his job,” you vouched for the poor EMT. 

“Fine.” The EMT pulled on gloves and kneeled behind you while his partner left to help with Marcus after a voice from his radio asked for backup. 

“The bleeding has mostly stopped. It’s not too long, 6 or 7 centimeters from what I can see. They’ll probably staple it shut and check for a concussion at the hospital. Keep the gauze on it.” The EMT stood, grabbing his first aid bag and heading back to the ambulance, passing Mingi and Yunho on his way out. 

“What happened?” Yunho asked as the two of them stormed over to you. He kneeled in front of you while Mingi sat on the arm of the chair directly behind you.

“The officer said Y/N can wait until tomorrow to give her statement due to her injury.” Seonghwa returned from talking to security and a cop. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“He drove fucking fast. I’ve never seen him that reckless, I thought I was gonna puke,” Mingi replied. Yunho shrugged at the flat glare from the omega.

“I was leaving the computer lab and he snuck up on me. It’s kinda fuzzy after I hit my head.” You slowly lifted your head from Hongjoong’s neck, fighting back the dizziness. 

“Hey, don’t push yourself. Keep your head down if you’re not feeling well,” Yunho urged with a hand on your knee. 

“I wanted to see you both.” You twisted around to look up at Mingi. 

“Don’t move around like that, I’m trying to keep the cut covered.” Hongjoong turned you to face forward again. Mingi trailed his hand up your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck. 

“Did he–” All five of you looked at the door that slammed open. The EMTs rolled the stretcher out with Marcus handcuffed to the rail, spewing profanities. Your alphas glared at him. Yunho moved into a crouch with his back to you. Marcus faltered under their intimidating stature, clenching his jaw and averting his eyes to his lap. The three of them felt an animalistic sense of pride and satisfaction at the other alpha’s submission. 

“Serves him fucking right,” Mingi snickered at the blood and bruises covering your classmate’s face.

“He deserves worse,” Yunho clicked his tongue. He turned to you again once the stretcher was out the door. 

“I could have kept going, but she needed me. My omega’s health is more important than that shithead,” Hongjoong sneered. “Besides, killing him would have been too merciful. He can rot in prison.” The taller alphas hummed in agreement. 

“Let’s go, she needs to see a doctor,” Seonghwa ordered, herding the alphas up and out the door with you still in Hongjoong’s arms.

“Should one of us take her?” Mingi asked, pointing to the leader’s hands. “You’re bleeding, too. And your hands are shaking.”

“No.” His voice was strained, face and muscles still tense from the slew of emotions going through his mind. He and Mingi got in the backseat, sitting you between them. The car fell to a heavy silence, only interrupted whenever someone shook you awake. Hongjoong opened the door before Yunho even put the car in park.

“I’m going to call the others. I’ll be in soon. Please behave,” Seonghwa urged the alphas. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in check,” Yunho called over his shoulder. They walked through the sliding doors of the ER. You were whisked away in a wheelchair almost immediately for a CT scan. Hongjoong’s leg bounced impatiently while they sat in the waiting room. 

“Mr. Kim?” A nurse announced from the door leading to the patient rooms. He shot out of the chair, looking at her expectantly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Y/N is still being evaluated. You can’t see her yet. I’m bringing you back for your hands. She should be ready by the time you’re done.”

“Fine.”

Out by the car, Seonghwa called Jongho. He was the most reliable in terms of answering phone calls. Honestly, he was surprised that anyone picked up when he called Yunho. 

“I hope you’re calling to explain why Mingi and Yunho left the dorms looking pissed,” Jongho skipped the greeting to get right to the point.

“Yeah, is everyone there?” Seonghwa asked with a sigh, tired and fighting back a headache.

“We’re here, you’re on speaker,” San chimed in. The eldest launched into a hasty retelling of everything that happened in the past hour. 

“What the actual fuck is wrong with that guy?” Wooyoung swore once Seonghwa was finished. 

“Is there anything you need us to do?” Yeosang asked.

“Get a nest set up in the living room. I have a feeling she’s going to want all of us near her tonight,” Seonghwa requested. After confirming, they exchanged goodbyes so he could check on you.

No one was in the waiting room, spiking his anxiety. Another nurse spotted him from behind the front desk and led him to your room. You sat on the bed between Hongjoong’s legs, your back to his chest and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. The pack alpha’s hands were wrapped in bandages. Mingi and Yunho stood on either side of the bed. 

“Hey, the doctor’s coming in soon to go over their scan results,” Yunho informed him as he approached the bed, sitting on the edge on the same side as Mingi.

“What scans did they do?”

“CT and MRI for Y/N, x-ray for Hongjoong,” Yunho pointed between the two of you. 

“Y/N, baby, are you still awake?” Seonghwa squeezed your knee. Your eyes stayed closed, but you nodded and mumbled ‘mhm’. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Lee,” a woman in navy scrubs walked in while reading something on a clipboard. “Hongjoong, you’re lucky you didn’t get any fractures in your hand. Keep the abrasions clean and you’ll be just fine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hongjoong agreed through gritted teeth.

“Y/N has a minor concussion. As for the cut, I’ll need to put a few staples in so it heals properly.” Dr. Lee placed the clipboard on a counter, thanking the nurse that brought in the staple gun. She gently parted your hair and cleaned the excess blood from your skin. She warned you before she began putting in the staples. You winced at each staple, making the alphas tense up in order to stay calm. A muscle in Yunho’s jaw twitched and the other two stared daggers at the doctor.

“Okay, we’re done. I know it hurts, but you did wonderfully,” she reassured with a pat to your shoulder. Hongjoong suppressed a growl. “You’ll need to have them removed in two weeks. You can either come back here or go to your primary doctor. One of the nurses will stop by soon to go over your discharge paperwork and give a packet for care instructions.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa nodded to the doctor before she left for her next patient. 

Finally, after forty-five minutes, you were back at the dorms. Hongjoong reluctantly let Seonghwa and Yeosang bring you to the latter’s room to help you change into your pajamas. As soon as you returned to the living room, which was covered with pillows and blankets, Hongjoong pulled you back into his lap. The betas took turns checking on you, giving you soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Everyone settled down around you, most going on their phones since it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. You drifted off to sleep, safe and surrounded by your pack.

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here @corgilover20 @eastjonowhere @bookswillfindyouaway

Series Taglist: @popcatx0 @m00njinnie @awkward-fucking-thing @fr34k4c1dr41n @nchhuhi @pixie0627 @bby-boo4u @queen-thiccness

[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:

[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

[oliversrarebooks]

Apparently I went ahead and just wrote "villain being drugged and taken care of by hero doctors" because why not.

Masterlist

TW: injury, concussion, drugging, abuse

Oh, he'd really fucked up this time. Already so weary, at the end of his rope, he failed to notice the energy blast coming from the youngest member of the hero team, the one who struggled to keep her powers under control. He knew how badly he'd fucked up when his back hit the wall, pain exploding from every muscle, especially the parts of his back where his boss had already punished him. His head impacted the concrete with a sickening crack that made him see stars.

Villain sank helplessly to the sidewalk, his body refusing to obey his commands. Through his blurred vision, he could see the painfully bright costumes of the hero team, and he tried to struggle to his feet. He couldn't fail here. It simply wasn't an option. Failure meant risking the wrath of his boss, or worse, being captured and at the mercy of the heroes.

Pain radiated from his knee as he tried to stand. It was broken, maybe. Even more urgently, every tiny movement of his head caused a wave of dizziness, the world tilting and spinning in a nauseating blur. He searched for the word. Concussed, he was concussed. Shit. This was bad.

"Oh god oh god oh god." That was the high pitched voice of the young hero. "Oh god, are you okay? I didn't mean to hit that hard -- oh no oh no --"

Villain tried to answer, but his tongue was thick in his mouth.

"Step aside."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him that bad --"

"It's okay, Youngest. Step aside and let me take a look."

Villain would know that voice anytime, anywhere, the smooth and confident voice of his nemesis, the city's most beloved superhero. Powerful, upstanding, and disgustingly rules-abiding. Villain hated him. Hated that he had so much power and had the luxury of helping people with it.

"Villain, speak to me," said Nemesis. "Stay awake. Talk to me. How bad is it?"

Nemesis' face swam into view before Villain's eyes. Fuck, this was really bad. He tried hard to focus. He had to slip away, couldn't let himself be captured. Boss would be furious. He'd hurt Villain so much worse than he'd already been hurt.

"Let me go," Villain managed, but it sounded weak and pathetic.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Villain. You're severely injured. I'm going to get you medical attention."

Villain tried to shake his head no, but all it did was make him twice as dizzy. He felt on the verge of passing out.

"Stay awake, Villain, please, keep those eyes open. Can you see my fingers? How many fingers am I holding up?"

The fingers were nothing more than an indistinct blur. Villain couldn't answer. All he could think of was his boss's unquenchable rage when he learned Villain had fucked up so badly. He could feel it now, power suppressants strapped to each of his limbs, the way the smooth metallic floor of the lair felt against his face as his boss mercilessly beat him for his failures.

"Get up, Villain," said the cruel voice of his boss, as he delivered a sharp kick to Villain's ribs. "Get the fuck up. I don't pay you to cower on the floor." 

"I -- I can't --"

"Yes, you can, Villain. You can keep your eyes open," said a much gentler voice. "You can stay awake for me, please, stay awake. The medic is almost here."

It sounded nice. The voice was familiar. He felt himself nodding. A medic. That sounded good. 

"That's good, Villain. Stay awake. Just a little more." 

A strong hand squeezed his, warm and comforting. Everything hurt except for that. He tried to squeeze back.

"Yes, that's good. I'm here. You're gonna be okay, Villain, we're gonna keep you safe."

Safe. What the fuck was safe? When had he ever been safe? Safety was for people like -- like -- His sluggish mind placed the voice and face. Nemesis. Fuck. He instinctively backed away. 

"No, no, it's okay! Just try to relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"No -- no --" If the punishment Villain's boss doled out was bad, he couldn't imagine what Nemesis might do to him. He'd been a thorn in Nemesis's side for years.

"The medic's here, Villain. Just try to stay calm. I've got you."

Before he could protest further, Villain felt arms picking him up and laying him down on a gurney. His struggle against them was fruitless, his limbs weak and uncoordinated.

"Should we strap him down?" said a voice.

"I think you'd better. He doesn't seem to be all there. And even if he was..."

"Please --" said Villain, too quiet for anyone to even hear, as he felt pressure against his chest and legs, holding him down. 

"The concussion seems to be very serious, and there are multiple fractures at a minimum, not to mention the possibility of organ damage and internal bleeding," said a serious voice. "We'll have to administer painkillers and sedatives, and prepare an OR for emergency surgery."

"No!" Villain called out, a surge of adrenaline giving him the strength to fight. "You can't -- you can't capture me -- don't drug me -- let me go!"

Nemesis' firm hands pinned Villain's shoulders to the gurney. "You're going to hurt yourself, Villain. We're getting you medical attention. We're not going to hurt you, I swear it."

Incoherent nightmares filled Villain's foggy mind. "Yes, you are! Yes, you --"

His voice was suddenly muffled by a black rubber mask, and he gulped down a chemical-smelling, drug-laden breath before he realized it. He fell back against the gurney, his head much woozier and dizzier than it had been even a moment before.

"Just try to relax, Villain," said Nemesis. "It's just going to ease your pain and make you drowsy, okay?"

Villain shook his head in a vain attempt to get the mask off his face, but Nemesis' hand was holding it firm. Incapacitating him. Placing Villain at the mercy of the man who must hate him more than anyone. And his struggles were useless, the mask not budging an inch. 

Exhausted by his attempts, Villain stopped struggling for a moment and allowed Nemesis's face to come into focus. He didn't look angry. He looked... sad? Villain blinked, and he realized that his eyelids were so heavy. The sedative was kicking in. He was utterly helpless. And he should be terrified of that, but his fear was starting to feel foggy and far away, almost as if he was watching himself from a distance.

"That's good, Villain, you're doing okay. Just keep breathing," said Nemesis.

He sounded so... reassuring. Villain wondered briefly if that was how he sounded when he rescued civilians. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he wondered how that would feel. Being an innocent civilian safe in Nemesis' arms, as opposed to a villain fighting tooth and nail just to survive.

"You can shut your eyes now," said Nemesis. "You can go to sleep if you're tired. It's okay. You're safe."

Villain wanted to laugh. He never got to sleep just because he was tired. He was so, so tired, all of the time. And he was so impossibly, incredibly tired now. His knee hurt, his back hurt, his head felt like it was being jackhammered. His heavy eyes wanted so badly to close and stay shut. He just wanted to sleep. But he was in danger, wasn't he? He couldn't sleep here. Boss would kill him. He couldn't... sleep...

"...stronger sedative to put him under..." a voice was saying. 

There was the unmistakable feeling of a cold needle in the crook of his elbow. Villain wanted to fight it, stop it from happening, but all he could do was blink his heavy eyelids. "Don't..." he muttered. "Please don't... please..."

"Ssh, Villain, it's okay, I swear," said Nemesis. "I swear no one here is going to hurt you. You're just going to go to sleep, okay? The drugs are going to make you feel really warm and nice and then you'll go to sleep, and nothing bad is going to happen. I promise."

That strong hand squeezed his again. Villain felt so safe, so comforted, and he was so sleepy now, so sleepy and relaxed. The world was just a fading blur beyond his half-closed eyelids. He couldn't feel the pain as much any more. All he wanted to do was sleep. He never got to just sleep. Sleep would make him feel so much better.

"It's okay to sleep," said the reassuring blur. "I'll be right here."

Villain remembered the reason he couldn't go to sleep. "Boss...?" he said weakly. "Boss is gonna..."

"He's not here right now, Villain. I'm here. And I'll protect you while you sleep. No one is going to hurt you."

This had to be a dream. A beautiful dream where he got to sleep and someone was going to protect him from his boss. But he never got nice dreams like that.

"Is it..." His mind was so hazy. He couldn't think of what he was trying to say. "I'm..."

"You're going to sleep, now, Villain. You need to rest. Go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Rest."

"Mmm." He was too tired to argue. It felt so, so good to close his eyes. He could feel his pain fading as he relaxed onto the gurney.

"...surgery... gonna have to..."

"...can't just let him..."

"...right thing to do."

That was the last thing he heard before the sedatives pulled him down into a dreamless sleep.

Masterlist

[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.

[simpingcowboy]

Pedro boys and why I'm swiping left on their tinders

This is all to be silly!! I love them all very much <3

Frankie Morales

His name there says Frankie (Catfish)....with his main profile picture being him holding you guessed it...a catfish. He doesn't have many other photos on there, with the exception of a few older military photos that are so blurry you can hardly tell which one he's meant to be.

The rest of his page is pretty empty aside from the music section, where you actually get the first real glimpse at what this man is about. While his music selection is very respectable, it does not overshadow the glaring issues with his profile.

In short, Frankie's profile makes you think "Am I dating the man? The fish? Or a catfish?" Swiping left fs.

Marcus Moreno

This one isn't his fault! His profile is perfect. No really. All the women at The Heroics made sure to help him with it! His photos are cute and show off all his best assets. The bio is a little cheesy in an endearing "yeah he's definitely a dad" way. The problem then? It's Marcus fucking Moreno!!! Leader of the Heroics!!!!!! On Tinder???? There's no way anyone is going to believe it's really him. I believe there's a verification option on Tinder now, but really...even then Idk. Unless he fully comes out on an interview or something to super casually mention he's on Tinder, it just ain't working. No one likes a catfish! (Sorry Frankie!)

Jack Daniels

Mr. "Tinder What?" himself!!!! Let's say he manages to figure out how to set up a profile and all that. It's gonna be inTERESTING to say the least. His photos are actually pretty solid. An intriguing mix of photos of him on the ranch and photos of him in the Statesmen HQ looking very well put together. Opening line is definitely "Save a Horse! Ride a Cowboy! 🤠♥️" Very on brand for him. Followed by something very pro-american about the flag or serving his country and honestly... that's where I'm gone 😅. We get to see a bit of Jack's political mind in Kingsman and let's just say i don't wanna know the rest of it.

I'm grateful this is Tinder and not Bumble. Because if Jack used the audio prompt and I heard that smooth Kentucky accent...forget EVERYTHING I just said. I would be taking a chance on him. Sorry 😔 I can't fix him, but I will have fun trying!!

Joel Miller

For namesake, we're gonna set this pre-outbreak. There's no time for swiping in the apocalypse. Profile isn't bad just very empty. He's not really trying and it's kinda obvious. His bio reads something along the lines of "Single dad of a spoiled teen" with mostly photos of himself and Sarah on his profile. A few photos of him and Tommy out camping or on a work site.

And as handsome as he is, the profile feels like something his kid forced him to make as a way of getting him off her back. I wanna sympathize and help her out, but I don't know I have the heart to attempt to win over this very clearly emotionally unavailable DILF. So for that reason, I'm swiping left.

Pero Tovar

If for some ungodly reason Pero was given Internet access and had a dating profile... it'd be a disaster. His bio reads something along the lines of "I don't open this app. If you wish to see me meet me at this pub" with approximate days and times he's there.

The first picture on his profile is a way too far away blurry shot of him training. If I was feeling brave enough to continue scrolling through his photos...the rest would certainly be borderline explicit highly suggestive photos of his torso and groin. And whilst I might think about it for approximately .25 seconds any remaining sense of dignity would kick in before I actually did anything about it. It'll sting momentarily, but I will be swiping left.

Ezra

Another man on this list who should absolutely NOT be given internet access. His photos are beautiful but uninformative...the only shots of him are blurred and artistically obscure. He pads the rest of his profile with photos of books he's reading and grainy shoots of the forest.

The bio...if there's a word limit best believe that Ezra has hit it. He used every given character at his disposal and managed to say very little with all of it. Something about a wandering spirit longing for companionship and a couple sexual innuendos for good measure.

While visually and verbally not the worst profile on this list, his pretension is so utterly palpable through the screen I actually don't think I'd be able to make it through the end of his bio without cringing...also his music selection is all just banjo instrumental???

[cringycrisis]

Tales Of The Evil!Kg Au- "Uh Oh."

Sometimes Kid wonders how he even ends up in situations like these. Shoved into a wall while being almost choked by the local robocop of the school: Penny. Her eyes bore into him like she wanted to disintegrate him (which he knows she can 100% do). Kid tried his best to wiggle his hand out of her powerful grasp as it was pinned painfully to the wall, the other he refused to remove from the arm that was currently pinning him to the wall by his neck.

“Apologize.” Penny ordered, her voice lacking any kindness or emotion other than rage. Her eyes glowing red to match those emotions.

“Fuck you.” Kid spat back, the grip on his neck only tightened as he felt his vision blur for a split second. 

“I said apologize.”

“Penny, forget it. It's not like he has anything good on him this time.” Ted said unamused, almost disappointed as he tossed Kid's green backpack haphazardly off to the side, belongings spilling everywhere on the ground as it slid and hit a nearby locker. In a sudden motion, Penny fully lets go of Kid and lets him fall to the ground with a grunt. Kid takes a moment to rub his throat where Penny had grabbed him as he stares hatefully at the two blondes.

“What's with the stupid face freak? Be grateful that we're not beating your ass for having nothing.” Ted gives Kid a cruel smile as he walks up to him, towering over as he stares down at the brunette.

“Says the loser whose only friend is something that pretends to be human.”

Kid felt his world blacken for just a moment as Ted aggressively kicked him in the stomach with enough force to knock all of the wind out of him.

“You better keep your mouth shut freak if you value your teeth!” Ted threatens, giving him another aggressive kick.

“Make me.” Kid coughs out, getting grabbed and harshly shoved against the wall, smacking his head against the lockers. Dazed, Kid could feel Ted's breath against his face as he began to register the hateful eyes staring into his own.

“What's going on here?!” Another voice catches the attention of the boys and Penny, turning around, they face a horrified-looking Jerome, behind him, with the door open stood Carla, Monty, and Buggs who shared equal horror. “Theodore, what are you doing?!”

“Oh great, you people.” Ted rolled his eyes, releasing Kid from his grasp and letting him fall back onto the hard-tiled floor as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kid winces in pain as he lays on the ground.

“Theodore you know if you keep up this behavior you're gonna get expelled!” Carla warns with a worried tone. Ted only seemed mildly amused by it, letting out a dry chuckle.

“What we are up to is none of your concern, Carla.” Penny states calmly, “Now if you will excuse us, we are busy punishing this student.”

“Just because you're the school hall monitor doesn't mean you can do whatever!” Buggs states, pushing past the others as he gets in front of Jerome. “You're not in charge of the school.”

Penny looked at Buggs, her eyes remaining emotionless as she thinks. Kid notices sweat start to form on Buggs's forehead as the silence grows deafening.

“...That may be true Bucklee, but as you can see, we're in the hallway, so it is my right to punish any misbehaving students.”

“Penny if you or Theodore keep doing this we'll report you to the Principal!” Monty threatens. This seems to get a reaction out of Penny, though very mild, a small glint of anger appears in her eyes before disappearing. 

“Very well. Come on Theodore, we have other places to be at.” Penny spoke calmly as she straightened her posture, brushing off dust from her dress before turning and heading off down the hall with an elegant and quick pace. Ted flips them off before shoving his hands back into his pockets and storms off to follow Penny.

Kid watches as they both disappear around a corner, his body now suddenly remembering the beating it took as the pain registers in his brain, making him wince in pain as he tries to sit up.

“Are you alright Kid?” Jerome asked as he offered a hand to him, Kid takes it and was helped up to his feet as he stumbled from exhaustion.

“As great as anybody else who got beat up by an android.” Kid says bluntly. Jerome gives him a sheepish smile as he helps him into the classroom. Carla walks past them to pick up Kid’s items. Luckily the room was empty aside from the four student council leaders. Monty heads towards the teacher's desk where his backpack sits while Buggs goes back to leaning against the window on the other side of the room, crossing his arms. Kid loosens himself from Jerome's grasp and drags himself towards the desk, hoisting himself on top to sit down.

“They keep getting ballsier with these attacks.” Buggs points as he flicks a paper triangle that was on the window sill into the trash. “This is the fifth one this week!”

“Ha. That's hardly shit.” Kid starts as Monty pulls out bandages from his backpack and hands them to Kid. “Not even close to her record.”

“So she's just getting sloppy with hiding them then!” Buggs exclaims “I knew it! She has been abusing her powers again! I told you!”

“Buggs, you know there isn't anything we can do about it.” Jerome reminds him. “Even if we try again, remember what happened last time we reported her?”

Buggs huffs and turns to look out the window. “I still think it's stupid that we're just allowing this to happen. What happens when Penny goes too far one of these times and kills someone, like Kid!”

“Bold of you to assume she hasn't done that already.” Kid cuts in. “Remember that Becky girl who used to sell weed in the upstairs bathrooms?”

“SEE!!” Buggs says as he jesters to Kid while looking at the others. Carla looks away nervously as she neatly repacks Kid's backpack. Monty and Jerome share a glance, seeming nervous as well as they both look to be contemplating something. Kid continues to bandage himself up as he watches. The room fell silent as Buggs looked at his friends, his arms falling down to his sides, speechless.

“If you morons are done arguing, I have a plan on how to get rid of the problem.” 

“No, we are not killing her, Kid.” Jerome scolds, earning an eye roll from Kid.

“It's not like she's an actual human.”

“But she used to be…” Carla says solemnly. “The ‘real’ Penny may be long dead but she still has thoughts and feelings.”

Kid snorts. “Yeah, feelings like blood lust.”

Carla irks but remains silent as she finishes and zips up his backpack. “I just don't want to be the cause of someone's death, human or not.”

“Kid.” Jerome spoke softly, “Penny is still a person.”

Kid slides off the desk, tossing Monty back his bandages as he goes and takes his backpack from Carla. For a moment they both stare at each other as Carla looks at him desperate, earning a sigh from Kid as he looks away and heads towards the door. “Sometimes I reeeeeeally don't understand you weirdos.”

“It's who we are, you know that.” Carla says gently, her smile was small and soft to match.

“Whatever, if you guys think you can reform the crazy robot, be my guest. But don't say I didn't warn you if shit hits the fan.” Kid leaves the room, heading down the hallway and speed walks towards the staircase as quickly as he can. He'd rather not risk a round two with those two today, too dangerous.

—--

Ted secretly watches from around a corner as Kid disappears down the stairs. “I wouldn't suggest doing anything too courageous, Ted.” Penny calmly states as she sits nearby on a bench. “We already went too far.”

“Psh, you really think that I care-”

“No, but Lily and Billy would.”

Ted groans irritably “God with this shit again.”

Penny stares quietly at him for a few seconds before blinking slowly. “You and I are both aware of the deal we made with those two.”

Ted huffs and stomps over to a nearby trash can, he glances once at it before kicking a soda can that laid next to it. “Why should that crap matter? They barely even keep up their end of the deal.”

“That may be true. But remember, that is our leverage against them.”

Ted pouts at her before joining at the bench. Penny scoots closer to him before putting a hand on his knee. “Patience is key Ted, trust me, when the day comes you'll see what I've been planning.”

“You keep saying that, are you ever going to tell me what you're up to, or is this a game to you?”

“A bit of both.” Ted smiles at Penny, leaning his head on her shoulder. Penny returns the favor by leaning her head on his.

“You're my favorite person Penny.”

“As you are to me.” Penny hums happily.

[klanceyuri]

crawling up the skin of my spine

summary: it's the beginning of the end when Raph's egg absolutely fucking shatters after years small cracks, thank god Cassandra is there to hold her hand through it

warnings: swearing, cass accidentally outs raph to april, check ao3 port for full tags

authors note: inspired by all of the magnificent raphcass that @less-depresso-more-espresso drew, go check it out. it's all really good and makes me insane. title from Alrighty Aphrodite by Peach Pits. if ya'll enjoyed considering dropping a reblog or checkin the Ao3 port.

"I think I'm a girl." Raphael's words floated atop the otherwise rampant sound of rubber on rubble as his brothers shot down Kraang.

"That's great and all, but can we please wait until we're not on the run to discuss this!?" Cassandra practically screamed back, a thick tentacle slamming against the window and shattering it. She hacked it in twain with her hockey stick, the blades of her skates tied onto the bottom.

"Yeah, sure, Raph understands." He keeps driving their ramshackle truck because somewhere along the line they had to ditch the tank. Now they have to fight to keep their microscopic trailer with only bedding essentials and food intact as they try to survive. Survive and plan a way to win, they're already beelining it to a colder climate in hopes of deterring the Kraang.

Raphael really hopes that this sudden spike of 'girl thoughts' isn't the start of something bigger.

None of the others were.

-/-/-/-

Snow is sprinkling down on them when they finally take a rest, the last Kraang hundreds of miles back and past the border. They snuck through a small crack in border security when a guard was off taking a leak. The smell of pine and the sound of rushing water envelopes them from all sides as they set up camp.

Setting up camp consists of finding dry wood and popping the cover for the bed of the truck so some of them can sleep in it. But it's harder than expected to find dry wood, and Michelangelo took it upon himself to use this freshwater advantage for fishing.

He and April are out kneedeep in the river, trying to snag fish by hand while Donatello and Leonardo are out looking for dry wood that'll light. Raphael and Cassandra are setting up the bedding for the night, spreading few pillows and blankets across the hitch trailer, truckbed, and passenger seat.

"You want to be a girl," Cassandra begins as she steps down from the truck bed, and it takes Raphael a moment to process the words.

"Well, I think it'd be nice. We're all gonna die by the Kraang, so why not have some fun?" Raphael began with as he watched her slash at a tree with her hockey stick for burning wood. Midswing she turns to look at him, askew hair she hasn't trimmed in months just barely fluttering atop her eyes. He stammers to speak, "That's stupid, I'm stupid."

She drops her gear and walks over to Raphael, gripping the front of his plastron and yanking him down to eye level, her strength still amazes him. She holds his face, even with the rough scars, "You're not dumb. You're a dumb ass, big difference." Cassandra lets go and steps back, watching the red starting to rise to Raphael's face.

"Thanks, Cass," Raphael said quietly.

Cassandra grins and pats him on the shoulder, "Good. Now let's get chopping, I don't wanna freeze out here, Raph."

-/-/-/-

Cassandra can't sleep at night, stuck in the hitch trailer with April and window ajar for fresh, wintry air. She stares at the roof, those dumb glow in the dark stars dimly lit up, and her eyes focus and blur back and forth. April lays beside her, resting on her side and stealing most of the blanket with her torn jacket as a pillow.

"What's got your knickers in a knot?" April asked abruptly.

"What's got your knickers in a knot, O'Neil?" Cassandra answers with sharply, aware she shouldn't say what's on her mind despite how much it's stuck right on the tip of her tongue.

"Raphael's been off," April said bluntly.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

Cassandra can only pray that April doesn't keep prattling on because if she does the ravenette knows something stupid and exposing will fall out of her mouth.

"He's so quiet, and awkward. He's always been a bit different, but this? Whole new level of Raph weirdness, all he does is drive us to the new spot these days. And chop the wood and bash some baddies if he gets a chance, but he's missing that Raphael Hamato spunk!"

Cassandra bites her tongue and tries not to speak.

April sighs, "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

"Her."

"What?"

Shit.

April sits up to face Cassandra. She reaches for her glasses before staring down her teammate, "Cassandra Jones, care to explain yourself?"

She really doesn't, but her survival instincts also don't wanna be on the receiving end of April's cold shoulder. "I wasn't supposed to say shit about it, but Raphael's… different now, wants to be a girl different."

April goes dead silent.

"Tell her I told you this and you're dead." There's a snarl under Cassandra's tone.

"I figured as much, Cass," April said, "Raph's a girl now?"

Cassandra nodded, "He isn't one hundred percent yet due to circumstances and the apocalypse happening, but oh yeah, Raphael's a girl."

"Always thought it woulda been Mikey." April gives a hum of laughter.

Cassandra takes a deep breath before pressing both hands to her face, palms resting on her cheekbone. "Fuck. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Especially not her brothers, you better not squeal."

"I would never."

Cassandra nods.

"Anything else bugging ya?"

"Is it wrong that the first thing I thought when he told me was 'thank god I'm still a lesbian?'" Shame rests heavy on her usually aggressive and in your face voice. A vulnerability the Kraang invasion has only further shoved into hiding.

It takes a second for April to process the words, "I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question." She laughs nervously after she speaks.

"Can we go down to Hot Topic tomorrow? Buy some accessories for Raph?"

"You just said she isn't one hundred percent sure."

"Might help her solidify it."

-/-/-/-

"Look, Raph," Cassandra begins with quietly, words low and slow. It's night time, well, the evening at the least. Snow melts as it hits them, sprawled out in the back of the truck as the rest of their team tells tales around a roaring campfire.

"Yeah?" Raph said, trying to pitch his voice a bit higher.

"I'm not too good at this being a girl thing myself even though I had my entire life to be one properly," She confesses, a bit of shame on her voice. She wants to be there for Raph. Be a mentor. Know some helpful stuff. But she doesn't, only the bare minimum. "The one thing I do know is that my mom always made me wear dresses with lots of bows and frills, and grandma bought me accessories."

"I can't, I'm a giant turtle, Cass. I can't just go out there and buy some dresses."

Cassandra pauses, and when she speaks her voice is quiet, "You can tie your mask tails in a bow, or change how you wear it."

Silence.

"I don't know how to tie bows."

Cassandra jolts up before gripping Raph's hand, he'd started to file down his nails with the sharp edges of his sai. He sits up and then she's crawling overtop of him to get at his mask, "I'll do it for ya then."

And Raph would shove her off, but it's nice. Being close to someone, having her calloused hands undo his mask and just hold it for a moment. Proximity too close, flames from afar casting a golden glow on her face and Cassandra's never taken a moment to look at Raph so closely before. The golden sclera, the scars, the way the scales darken around her eyes like eyeliner-

Woah.

Where did that come from?

Her. Cassandra hasn't really thought of Raph as 'her' inside of her own monologue so casually before. It's nice. It feels comfortable.

And Raph just stares unblinking at Cassandra until finally the silence is broken with a bit of a laugh, deep, hearty, "You gonna do up my mask, or?"

"Right. Yeah. The mask." Cassandra is quick to lay it around Raph's neck and tie it into a loose bow. Almost a bandana-esque look.

Then she rears back from Raph to sit a few feet away, watching as the snapper plays with the bandana on his neck. He smiles a bit. Then that smile falls. "What if the guys ask questions?"

"You don't have to tell them shit."

"But they're my brothers."

"You'll get there, I promise. Took me years to tell anyone I liked kissing girls, a couple more to explain I only liked kissing girls."

Raph feels his stomach turns at that. A good kind of stomach turn perhaps, maybe it's butterflies, but he can't tell. He just nods, "Raph gets it, it's hard to be vulnerable."

"Thanks for being vulnerable with me."

"What?"

"Nothing."

-/-/-/-

Cassandra looks out of place inside of the kind of clothing stores April fits in at, and even though eyes bore holes into her she persists in shopping.

No one says anything and she knows that in NYC she'd already be kicked out for looking so different, but she's in Canada now. The land of mild mannered people and snow, so far both of those notions are holding true.

April holds the bag and Cassandra grabs everything that she thinks would compliment Raph, it's hard to tell though because the girl she's buying for is a massive turtle. She buys arm warmers that are three sizes too big for her so they'll be loose on Raph. She grabs necklaces and bracelets even though she doubts that Raph will wear them, they look nice. She buys skirts and the cashier gives her odd looks at the sizing but rings them through anyways.

For Raph.

A million sharp glances and judging glares.

For her Cassandra thinks that she'd do anything and she hasn't felt that in years upon years.

It's euphoria.

-/-/-/-

"Me and April went out shopping for ya."

They're laying in the hitch trailer when Cassandra said it.

"You and April?" Raph answered with.

Cassandra gives a nervous laugh, "It was a mistake when she learned, she was suspecting anyways."

Raph huffs and turns away from her and it stings but yeah, Cassandra deserved that.

"We got you skirts. And arm warmers. And necklaces. And other accessories." Cassandra tries to recover with as she stands up and looks for the bag in the moonlit camper.

That piques Raph's interest. She turns back around and sits up before Cassandra unceremoniously dumps the items on the floor. Raph is hesitant to sift through them, but once she starts, it's hard to stop.

"Like 'em?" She asked with a bit of a grin on her face.

"Love 'em." Raph slid on the arm warmers over her spiked arms and they tore through a bit but that was fine. They were deep reds and blacks and complimented her mask that she wore as a bandana sometimes. Even less times tied around her tail.

Cassandra thinks her eyes are playing tricks on her but she's pretty sure that Raph is glowing in the pale moonlight. She can't help but lean her head on her palm, knees crossed and elbow propped. She tries not to look too lovesick, but hey, whose to blame if it's obvious?

Raph is too wrapped up in her brand new outfits to take note of Cassandra's disposition.

-/-/-/-

"I think I like you!" Cassandra shouted as her and Raph sparred.

In that same split second the snapper drops her guard and a fist lands square in her maw. She doesn't go stumbling but she does lurch back shock on her face as she rubs her jaw.

She opens her mouth to speak, but not much else comes out aside from a few sounds that could become words. They don't become words. Instead she gestures as she tries to process those five words shot at her with more force than any attack.

Red steadily rises to Cassandra's face as she waits for a response.

When no response comes she does the opposite of what Raph expects.

She turns tail and fucking runs.

Raph is too shell-shocked at the suddenness of Cass's confession to even try to run after her, tail swishing back and forth like a dogs.

-/-/-/-

"Cass!"

The woods echo back at Raph mockingly.

Bugs chitter.

Birds croon.

Water rushes.

Cass does not respond.

Raph just clenches her fist and gives a small aggravated exclamation before trudging deeper into the woods. She's gotta find Cass. She needs to, April's gonna freak if she doesn't, Leo's gonna blow his lid, Mikey's gonna explode, and Donnie, Raph isn't so sure how Donnie will react but it'll be bad.

Her tail thrashes along trees and claws mark them as she goes deeper into the underbrush so she doesn't get lost. Just follow the water, the camp is downstream from here. Her skirt gets torn up a bit as she goes, sap and pitch stain her shirt, she's a mess.

"Cass!"

"What?!"

That's a good sign even if there is annoyance on the voice, Raph follows it.

She's panting a bit when she finally finds Cass next to a tree, half squatting and nudging a stick around in fallen pine needles and dirt. Tears definitely aren't streaking down her face, palm raised to smudge them and some eyeliner across her face.

Raph sits down next to her but before she can speak Cass is already opening her mouth.

"Sorry."

"What?"

"For falling in love with you, it's dumb. I'm dumb. I should know better than that. Love is for sissies," Cass rambled before heaving a long sigh, "I'm just, I'm sorry okay!"

Raph doesn't know how to answer to that, "What if, what if I loved you too? What then?"

"It'll kill you too."

"No it won't."

"Everyone I've loved gets hurt. I'm not safe. I don't want to hurt you."

Raph grabs Cass's face and wipes aside the tears and the smudged makeup, "I'm stronger than them."

And Cass fucking laughs as she relaxes into Raph's hands, her own coming up to grip the now sticky and pine littered arm warmers. She laughs and she cries and she hiccups and it's ugly and a far cry from pretty but Raph doesn't care.

"You won't hurt me, hell, all you've done is help me, Cass." Raph presses her forehead head to Cass's and the human butts her head against the snappers like a cat. Raph pulls back but doesn't let go of Cass's face, "Thanks for being vulnerable with me, Raph gets it."

Cass has the boldness to press a kiss to Raph's inner wrist and a muted red rose to her face. Cass just smirks, "So, Raph," She pauses as her voice cracks and a hiccup hits her as she comes down from crying, "What's your name?"

"Renetta, but, you can call me Raph."

It's an offer more than a statement, but Cass holds onto that offer as tight as she learns to hold onto Renetta's hand.