#not telling him it’d be better just sitting there and existing with him

[stevie-petey]

hii, I was wondering if you can do blurb base off the kids being interrogated by the police & the parents during episode seven while bug & the gang were in the upside down please? I can see Ms.Henderson being absolutely worried sick wondering where her daughter is at

claudia henderson i adore u im so sorry ur kids give u twenty heart attacks a year :(

words: 1.6k

enjoy !

“And what, exactly, were you all doing at the lake?” Chief Powell stares at the three teens in front of him, all with varying levels of guilt written on their faces.

Dustin looks at his friends helplessly, his mother’s eyes bearing down at him, and he has no idea what to say or where you are or how he’s even ended up in this situation. 

“We were just going for a walk.” Max responds cooly, months of lying finally being put to use. 

“A walk?” Officer Callahan laughs, mocking. ��At 9:00PM?”

Dustin squeaks something out about taking a night swim, voice nasally and high and not at all convincing. He’s sweating and he really wishes you were here right now. You’ve always been better with people compared to him. A more naive face, innocent enough. 

“A little night swim…” He squeaks out again. 

The Wheeler’s living room is silent and Dustin can feel the disappointment radiating from Lucas and Max. He closes his eyes, barely suppressing a wince.

“Dusty…” Claudia steps forward, face stained with hours of tears and years of grief and worrying for her children. “Someone was just murdered at the lake.”

When she got the call from Hawkins’ police, somehow Claudia knew it’d be about you and Dustin. Every year you hide new scars from her, new broken limbs and shattered lungs. Every year Claudia has to swallow down her concern and anxiety and trust that her kids are capable, that they’re protecting the other the way she always raised them to do. 

Now, it’s only Dustin who sits on the couch with Lucas and Max. You’re nowhere to be found. Claudia doesn’t think she’s ever seen you without your brother. You were only three when he was born, and since then all you’ve ever done is take care of him.

“Where’s Y/N?” 

The tears in his mother’s voice cause Dustin’s heart to clench. He can’t look her in the eye. He can’t give her an answer. He doesn’t know where his sister has gone. 

“She’s with Steve.” Max’s knee knocks against Dustin’s, soft but firm, silently telling him that she’ll cover for you. She knows you and him hate lying to your mother. “They went to go make sure Mrs. Waters was doing alright. Y/N was worried about her, since, you know…”

“Random teens started dying?” Callahan crudely finishes for her.

Powell tiredly snaps his fingers at the officer. He looks at the teens again and sighs. “You’re telling me that your sister is conveniently taking care of an old woman while you’re actively being investigated for murder?”

“She’s always been an angel, hasn’t she?” Dustin grins wide at him, pink gum poking over his white teeth. 

The officer sighs again and Karen Wheeler looks pointedly at the teens. “Well what about Nancy? Was she with you at this night swim?”

“No,” Max says at the same time Dustin responds, “Yes.”

Max glares at him and Dustin buries his body deeper into the couch. They really should come up with a party rule to always say no to authority. At this point, they direly need some regulations when it comes to being interrogated by the police. 

It only goes downhill from there. Dustin makes up some vague story about Nancy being at the lake with them and then leaving. Max says she was dared to tell the police that they found the murderer. Lucas laughs a sterilized laugh and Dustin whimpers out his own, the police officers’ eyes scrutinizing their every little move.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot,” Ted Wheeler gruffs out, to which Dustin forces a smile on his face.

“Have you had any contact with Eddie?” 

Dustin scoffs at Powell. “That psycho freak killer?” He pretends he’s you, abhorring the idea of Eddie and his existence. “God, no.”

Max and Lucas join in on the lie, the three of them pretending that they haven’t spent the last few days harboring a fugitive, when Erica, who has been silently watching this entire time, shoves past the officers.

“Oh, that’s a bunch of bull!” She accuses them of lying and ignores her parents, who try and reel in her attitude and resolve. “Just the facts!”

Claudia’s teary eyes settle on her son. “Are you lying to these policemen, Dusty?” She places a shaky hand over her heart. “After everything Y/N and I taught you?”

“No!”

If anything, you should’ve taught Dustin more about lying and creating believable cover stories rather than which sugar is best for baking. 

His head starts to pound and Lucas’ parents start to interrogate him and Erica continues to point fingers at them and Mr. Wheeler opens his mouth about arresting the teens and suddenly it’s a cacophony of accusations and arguing and demands as everyone in the room starts to speak at once.

“Shut up!” Powell’s deep, commanding voice silences the anguished room. 

Everyone stares at the man, wide eyed and alarmed, and when he has full attention, he turns to Max. “We’re gonna try a more civilized approach. One at a time. You first.”

Max tries to protest, but then Callahan threatens to put her in handcuffs and all she can do is force her mouth shut and swallow down her pride. She follows the men out of the room, casting Dustin and Lucas one last look. 

Get this shitshow sorted out.

Lucas drops his head in his hands. “We need Y/N.”

“No kidding,” Dustin rubs his eyes tiredly.

Max is gone for a long time. Long enough for your brother to sneak into the bathroom and whip out Cerebro.

“Y/N? Y/N, I swear to God, where are you? We’ve been collared by the law and I think mom is one panic attack away from a coffin. Answer me!”

But all that rustles over the speaker is silence, and Dustin wants to scream. He angrily shoves the walkie back into his pocket and sneaks into the kitchen. He tries to ignore the conversation he overhears from the parents, the mention of lawyers and lawsuits unnerving him. 

“Do I need to call their father?” Claudia’s shrill, anxious voice only makes Dustin walk faster into the kitchen. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if your dad got involved in everything. 

“Anything?” Lucas asks him when he gets back.

Dustin shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“You don’t think they went through…”

“Through Watergate?” Dustin is quick to dismiss the idea. “Without us? Without a plan? Without weapons? Y/N loses her mind every time I so much as even say the phrase ‘upside down’. No. No way in hell she’d let anyone be that stupid.”

Lucas nods reluctantly and Dustin tries to reason that your unusual radio silence is because somehow you found out about the cops detaining them. While you’d never just disappear out of Dustin’s life without any explanation, you’d also never jeopardize his life, either. 

You’re just laying low, waiting for the right moment to help. It’s what you always do.

Only Erica then walks in and mocks everything Dustin and Lucas are desperately trying to hold together. She demands to let in on what’s going on, always smarter than everyone else in the room. 

Knowing they’re cornered, Lucas threatens to smother his sister in her sleep if she so much as even mentions anything to her friends or their parents. He explains Lover’s Lake and Vecna and how your group suddenly disappeared, and in her Socratic questioning, Dustin realizes something. 

“Erica raises an essential question,” he turns to Lucas. “How did Watergate open up?”

And then, one by one, every question that has been haunting Dustin ever since he found out you’d been marked by Vecna suddenly falls into place.

Vecna isn’t just killing people. He’s making psychic connections with them in order to open more gates.

The realization sets Dustin’s skin crawling. You’re being targeted for a means far greater than their end, and he can’t do anything. You’re a pawn in a game much bigger than anyone could ever realize, and now you’re missing.

And now that Dustin knows that the Mind Flayer himself is the cause behind your impending demise, all he wants to do is hold your hand again. 

“I should’ve never let Y/N get onto that goddamn boat,” Dustin tugs at his hair, pacing the house as the weight of everything settles upon him. “God, the Mind Flayer wants her dead so that he can take over the world and we still don’t know why.”

Lucas nudges his shoulder. “We’ll find her, man. We last saw her at the gate, right? So all we gotta do is figure out what created it, and maybe that’ll lead us to her.”

Dustin’s heart beats wildly in his chest, but he nods at Lucas’ words. It’s all they’ve got right now. If they can piece together the connection between El and Vecna, then they’ll be able to find you.

They have to be able to find you.

And when Eric notices the flickering lights in the kitchen, their pulse beating out S.O.S., he’s drawn to them.

He can almost feel your fingers flicking at the brim of his hat. Your nails pinching his skin every time he says something crude. The smell of your perfume and the soft scolding of your voice that never quite hides the fondness for him anyways. 

“Y/N…” Dustin breathes out. “What did you do?”

The lights flicker above your brother and he knows you’re on the other side. Terrified just as much as he is. Desperate to come home.

-

﹂director's cut masterlist

﹂if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[astraystayyh]

this feels like ive been shot in the arm the fact that hyunjin wanted to cover the moonlight which usually has soft, comforting connotations, like even the gentle light was too much for him at the time and he wanted someone warm to be there with him please hold me

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Obsession (Part 2)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1

Tw: stalker!In Ho

Note: (c/n) stand for cat name

5 years had gone by and all In Ho had to go off of were bank statements and transactions to know where you were and if you were still alive. He knew where you lived, your favorite places to eat, to watch movies, and where your favorite shop was. He also knows you have new kitten, but not his name, probably something like (c/n).

No new lover. Nothing since you left. You picked up a job as a (whatever you wanna be), and were living. He knew in his mind the reason you couldn’t move on was because of him and he knew it.

He snuck around and watched you through plain view. Sometimes he sent people to watch you and report back to him. Other times, he’d travel to where you were and stalk you, follow you to the market, ducking you between isles, or on the train, watching you through a crowd of people.

He would stand in front of the cottage you bought on the edge of town, how easy it’d be to take you. You had a bad habit of leaving your windows open. Leaving your life open for all to see. He’s watched you masturbate more times than he can count. He has videos of you throwing your head back as you cum. Your moans quietly seeping through the window. He would jerk off at the same time, cumming in the darkness as he watched you, leaving his cum on the flowers that you planted along the walls of your house.

He hated to admit to himself but he was jerking off to you almost every right, smelling your jacket like a sick man. I am sick he admitted.

So many days and nights he was grabbing onto his bed sheets, pressed up against his shower wall or even in his chair by the big screen, he was cumming for you, with you in mind, he missed you. But he missed your pussy more. Today, he was determined to get it. He approached you as you drank a coffee, typing on your laptop.

“Hello ma’am” he bowed “would you like to hear about your lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

“No, not right n-“ you stopped. “What’re you doing here, In Ho? It’s been 5 years, do you think what I said changed?” You say coldly.

“I know it hasn’t.” He sat before you can continue speaking. “I miss you (y/n). I mean, really fucking miss you. It’s been a lonely 5 years, I miss your smell, your touch, your hair. I miss the way you talk and your smile. I just miss you”

“You know, for a very intelligent man, you’re acting and sounding really fucking stupid.” You scoff rolling your eyes at him. “I mean, you miss me. So what? I miss Young il, but I’m never getting him back, am I?”

“But I’m right here?”

“No… you aren’t young il… I don’t know you”

“And what, you think I lied?!” You nodded. “About what? Huh? What would I possibly lie to you about?”

“Everything, that whole relationship we developed, that sex we had, that love.” You say. “As far as I’m concerned, Young il was an angel and you don’t even exist.”

“But my wallet does?”

“Honestly, you can have your card back.” You shake your head. “I don’t need dirty money”

“It’s clean. It comes from the stocks i invest in. Really (y/n), do you honestly think I’d give you game money?” He looks at you intensely. He wanted to tell you how attracted to you he still was. How his cock still aches for you. How he just wishes to fuck you. It was sitting across from you that he realized he was going to fuck you… whether you liked it or not.

“What do you want?” You sighed finally.

“One date with you. Please.” He stated. He knew deep in his heart that you still wanted him, you yearned for him. He needed you.

“No” you say and stand up.

“Look, one date, to show you who I really am as a person.” He argued. “Who I am outside of those damned games that ruined us. If after that you still decide you hate me, that’ll be all. You can live your life and I can live mine knowing at least I tried to make it better” he pleaded. His eyes pulling at your heart strings as they once did. You saw Young il for a brief moment, before seeing In Ho. You saw the man that was so sweet and gentle.

“Fine. One.” you conceded. You traded numbers and you left. Not knowing that In Ho could now tap your phone, could ruin your whole life. But truly the only thing he wanted to ruin was you.

You made it to your little cottage. It stood on the edge of the city with a small village of cottage farmers surrounding it. Fluffy baby cows and little lambs screamed at you from your neighbors house. Horses neighbors and goats cried. Your life was perfect, this place was perfect. Young il would have loved it… In Ho obviously prefers different style of life. Black and gold, power, money.

“Hi (c/n)” you say as he purred at you. He looped around you as you walked further into your house. You placed your items on your kitchen table. It was already 6. You cooked some dinner and watched an American drama you found on Netflix. Laughing along with the characters.

In Ho made it to his own home. The black and gold now insulted his eyes, it had ever since he saw the disgust on your face while you spoke angry and heartbroken. He sat at his computer, plugging in his phone. He stayed up for hours, deep into the night, hacking into your phone.

“Photos” he said aloud as he clicked it. He found a treasure trove of pictures. You with some friends, with family, birthdays, dinners, then he found your private photos.

“Let’s see (y/n), what do you do all alone” he whispered opening it. Pictures and videos of yourself floated into view, things other men should never see. Disgusting men like him should never see. He quickly searched through your sent and deleted messages, as far back as he could go, they’d never been sent. He returned back to the photos and stared at each on individually, videos playing, hardening his cock.

In Ho began to touch himself as he watched, his hand moving in sync with yours on the screen. He felt like he was participating in your intimate moment, like an invisible partner who you couldn't see or feel but was there nonetheless. He couldn’t help but freely moan into the emptiness of his room.

As the video played on, In Ho's movements became faster and more urgent. He could feel himself getting closer to climax, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt like a teenager again, watching porn, anxious that his parents may walk in. The thought that these were moments meant for no one else's eyes but yours made it even more exhilarating for him.

“I’m gonna cum” you said on camera. To him. “Oh my god, I’m gonna fucking cum” In Ho was getting sent into overdrive heavy sighs coursing through his lungs. “Oh god, Young il, I’m gonna cum on your fingers” he lost it. You were pleasuring to the thought of him, maybe his over persona, but still him nonetheless.

With one final stroke from you on screen and a simultaneous motion from In Ho's own hand came the peak of pleasure for him followed closely by release. His orgasm washed over him so strongly it left him gasping loudly within seconds all over both his keyboard and along edges near the monitor until reaching very tip top edge finally. He was panting, falling backwards, sinking deep into his chair. Cum heavily covered his desk space, now stained forevermore, a mess entirely due to a solely singular sickening act alone performed freely without fear. Through his sinful act.

If you knew would you forgive him?

[daryltwdixon]

Know It's For the Better

Was listening to Phoebe Bridger's Waiting Room today and my heart hurt thinking of Daryl pining, longing, and angsty while critical of himself. Never letting himself have you.

There are moments when he thinks it’d be easier to walk away, to stop feeling like this, but the idea of losing even the smallest piece of you feels like a wound he’d never come back from.

The door swings shut behind Daryl with barely a sound—he’d oiled the hinges last week after they started squealing loud enough to wake the dead. Tonight, he steps out onto the porch, pausing when he catches sight of you sitting on the steps, your figure framed by the soft glow of moonlight.

For a second, he hesitates, unsure whether to join you or leave you to the quiet. But his feet don’t carry him back inside. Instead, he leans against the porch railing, his shoulders pressing into the rough wood, watching you from the shadows. He’s always been good at staying silent when he needs to, moving like a ghost, unnoticed until he wants to be seen.

You don’t look up, your attention on the blade of grass you’re twirling between your fingers. Your body is relaxed, at ease in the stillness of the night. There’s something easy about the way you sit there, your body relaxed, your hair catching the faint silver light of the moon. You look at home in this quiet, the same way you do when you’re laughing with the others or tearing through walkers like it’s second nature. He doesn’t know which version of you hits him harder—the one who smiles without hesitation, or the one who stares a little too long at nothing, lost in her own thoughts.

He likes both. That’s the problem.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you at this point—too long, probably. Long enough that every inch of you is burned into his memory, like some kind of cruel brand he’s too far gone to scrape off. And not just tonight, in the moonlight that floods the neighborhood. But always. He's always watching you. He tells himself he’s just keeping watch, keeping you safe, and that is true... But there's more. He knows he'd be lying if he said that was all it was. When it comes to you, he can't stop...watching, looking--admiring.

You shift slightly, leaning back on your hands, your face turned up to the stars like you’re trying to soak them in. It’s so damn effortless—the way you exist, the way you look at the world like it might still have something left to offer you. He wonders what it feels like, that kind of quiet hope. Wonders what it would feel like if you ever looked at him that way.

He’s too old, too broken. Too rough around the edges to be anything you could want. Hell, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he had the chance. Wouldn’t know how to hold you let alone touch you. And definitely, most definitely, wouldn’t know how to tell you just how much space you’ve taken up in his head without scaring you off.

“Something on your mind?” you ask suddenly, not looking back. Your voice is light, teasing, like you already know the answer.

Shit, of course you knew he was there. It was hard to sneak around you, he should've known by now. Daryl clears his throat, pushing the words back down where they belong. “Nah,” he mutters, glancing at the dark horizon instead of you.

You hum softly, like you don’t believe him, and lean back on your hands. The way your shoulders tilt, your neck arching just slightly, still turned to him with your eyes closed, the curve of your cheek catching the moonlight.--it sends an ache through him. The urge to reach out...to feel, to caress, to just touch you.

He wonders if you can feel it too—that pull between you, like some invisible thread tying him to you no matter how far he tries to stay. He wonders if you’ve ever noticed the way his hands shake when you’re close, or the way he looks at you like you’re something he doesn’t know how to hold but can’t bring himself to let go of.

But he’d never tell you. Not ever. He’s too messed up, too worn down and rough from this world and the one before it. It’s better this way—better to stay at a distance, close enough to watch over you but far enough to keep from ruining whatever this is.

Know it’s for the better, he tells himself, over and over, the words circling his mind like a chant, praying one day he'd believe them.

It’s for the better—because you deserve someone who could give you more than silence and scars.

It’s for the better—because he doesn’t know how to hold you without feeling like his hands might break something delicate, like he’s never been made for soft things.

It’s for the better—because every part of him is rough-edged and jagged, and you? You’re all the things he’s spent his life convincing himself he doesn’t deserve.

It’s for the better—because letting himself think otherwise, even for a second, feels like the kind of hope that’d split him wide open.

“You ever think about it?” you ask, breaking his spiraling thoughts, your eyes on him. He's not sure how long since you opened them and had been staring at him, “What life would’ve been like if this hadn’t happened?”

It’s not a sad question, not the way you ask it. Just curious, like you’re thinking about what you’d do with a world full of empty possibilities.

Daryl shrugs, “Ain’t much to think about.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to imagine what life would’ve been like if everything hadn’t gone to hell. Because then he wouldn’t have known you, wouldn’t have found you. And even if he can’t let himself have you, he can’t picture his life without you in it.

You stare up at the sky again then, “No dreams? No big plans?”

He huffs out a breath almost like a laugh, looking down at the worn wood under his boots. “Don’t think I’d be much different. Probably still out there somewhere, bein' a screw up.”

You don't laugh, don't reply right away, and yet when he looks up the look in your eyes still makes his skin rise with goosebumps.

“You really don't see how good you are, do you?” you say casually, like it’s a fact you’d bet your life on.

He freezes, his throat tightening, because how the hell are you supposed to say something like that and then just go back to looking at the stars like it didn’t knock the world off its axis? He shifts his weight, the words crawling up the back of his throat before he can stop them.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he means for it to be. His fingers tighten around the edge of the railing like it might keep him steady.

Despite his dismissiveness, you don’t look away, and for a second, the world narrows to just the two of you, the soft rustle of the wind, the faint hum of crickets in the distance.

“You should too,” you say softly, finally standing and brushing the dust off your hands.

As you turn toward him, you hesitate, like you’re weighing something in your mind. Then you close the small distance between you, stepping up onto the porch until you’re standing in front of him.

Daryl straightens instinctively, unsure what you’re about to do, his hand still gripping the railing. You tilt your head, your gaze searching his face, and then your hand moves. Slowly, deliberately, you reach out and brush a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering just a moment too long against his temple.

His breath hitches, and he feels rooted to the spot, like one wrong move might break whatever quiet spell you’ve cast.

"You didn't answer my question." you say softly, your voice steady but gentle.

He swallows hard, the words tangling in his throat. You’re looking at him expectantly but with a kindness so soft it hurts, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from leaning into your touch.

"I uh--" Daryl clears his throat, "I dunno,"

For a moment, your fingers linger on his face before you let your hand fall, the warmth of your touch still ghosting across his skin. You smile then, small and quiet, but it’s enough to make the knot in his chest loosen, just a little.

“Goodnight, Daryl.” you murmur, your voice soft as you step back.

But you don’t leave right away. Your eyes linger on his for a second longer, your expression open, unguarded, like you’re waiting for him to say something—do something.

He doesn’t. He can’t. It's for the better.

“Night,” he rasps finally, the word uneven and raw, but it’s enough to make you smile one last time before you turn and disappear inside.

Know it's for the better, he chants in his head again. But damn if it doesn’t feel like he’s been left out here with half of himself locked on the other side of that door.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊LETS PLAY JUST DANCE !

SUMMARY: while shopping at sam’s store, you saw “just dance” on the shelves! no idea how it got here or how it exists here, but you bought it with no hesitation. you wanted to play, so you invited a friend. how good are they at it?

CHARACTERS: all dorms (+ grim)

GENRE: fluff, but kinda crackfic-ish

WARNINGS: cursing

readers gender is not mentioned, implied to be Yuu

actually plays correctly, but gets a low score for no reason

he is putting nothing but his blood, sweat, and TEARS into this game right now. okay, that’s an overstatement. but he’s literally doing the best he can and this game is mocking his efforts. what’s he doing wrong?! why is he so bad at this? you’re literally 10x ahead of him. when you both finish playing, he tells you this game is absolutely rigged and that you should return it. when you refuse cause it cost you an arm and a leg (and it could give you a lead home), he sighs and continues to play. sulking and sighing at his low score as you both play.

grim, riddle, deuce, trey, jack, azul, sebek, malleus

plays correctly and gets a high score

he’s actually better than you’d thought he’d be. for playing a game from another world, you’d think it’d take longer for him to understand. respect. for a new player, his score is also higher than you expected. he thinks this game is really fun! you two should play more often together, cause he’s having a blast. it’s that or he just enjoys absolutely destroying you in this game. when you both finish playing, he’s either smirking at your defeat, or smiling and wants to play again. maybe both..

cater, jade, jamil, vil, epel, ortho, silver

literally just jumping around. they don't care about the score

depending on who this is, he’s either kalim, just having fun and enjoys playing a game with you. or the rest, doesn’t give two fucks about the score and is just going apeshit. whoever he is, he’s not paying attention to the screen at all and is just having the most random movements ever. you’re shuffling to the right? well he’s shuffling to the left. are you supposed to jump? well now he’s crouching for some reason.. is this a partner dance? too bad, he’s gone solo. when you both finish playing, he doesn’t even glance at the score and had already selected another song. oh boy..

(his score is still somehow higher than the first category’s..)

grim (sometimes), (kind of) ace, floyd, kalim, rook, lilia

extremely competitive for no reason

while your having fun and enjoying something you’re familiar with, he’s doing his absolute BEST to make sure his score is higher than yours. he wants this victory, and bad. maybe sometimes over-exaggerating his movements to see if his score would go higher. like damn, chill out. this isn’t a world championship just dance game or something.. (maybe it is). when you both finish playing, he’s literally sweating beads. his attention would immediately shift to the score. if he beat you, hooray. now get ready for round 2. if he lost, oh hell no you’re playing again.

grim, ace (competitively jumping around lmao), ruggie, jamil, vil, epel, idia

literally just sitting on the couch throwing around the wii remote

leona would. there’s no denying. he scoffs and asks you why the hell would you put so much energy into this game? for the record, nobody dances like that. how will he benefit from this? hm? exercise? pshh, then he could just go play spelldrive. but if you really wanted him to play, fine. if it gets you off his tail. however if he’s playing, he’s playing his way. while you put your entire soul into the game, he’s resting his ass on the couching while swinging around the wii remote on his wrist. he gets an average score. AVERAGE. what the hell?! if you tried to do that, then let’s say your score was definitely less than average. better luck next time, herbivore.

leona

absolutely destroying you.

he’s just better. he’s already a great dancer, what’d you expect? if you try to beat him, there’s no chance. when you did win, you knew he was just pitying you. he’d smirk after the final scores were revealed and just give you a pat on the back with a “nice try.” alright you little shit you’re going down. you select another song and starting pouring your heart into this. he admires your efforts, so he’ll go easy on you. somehow he still beats you what the fuck.

jamil, vil

bold of you to assume he’s never played

new player? new player? that’s cute. well news flash: he’s already played this game, normie. don’t lie, you were shocked. idia? idia shroud? playing a game that involves needing to move physically? playing a game that doesn’t involve farming or pulling in a gacha? haha inactive idia very funny. anyway, he already knows the ropes. he bought the game when sam kept pushing him to buy it. since he was peer pressured, he bought it. but it wasn’t a loss. ortho told him to be more active so he thought this would be a shortcut. kind of is. when you ask to play, he’s already got it set up. prepare to be outmatched. ends up really tired after playing though.

idia

forgot to use the wrist thing on the wii remote. the remote is either broken or something else is

it flew.

ace, deuce, floyd, kalim, lilia

it doesn’t detect him

child of man, why can’t it detect him? he’s doing everything correctly (after technical difficulties), but it can’t tell he’s there. why? is your game broken? no, you’re score is just fine. is his remote broken? no, you replaced the batteries beforehand. is his controller is connected? yes, yes it is.. so what could it be? you look like you’re having fun though.. so he’ll power through it. (he’s pouting though.. poor tsunotarou 💔)

malleus

everything is suddenly on fire

what the fuck how’d this happen.

floyd, rook, lilia

A/N: hello I’m new to writing on tumblr lmao

hope you can welcome me with open arms (◍•ᴗ•◍)

date written: 11/23/23

© temiizpalce — don’t steal or copy my work!

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

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[krirebr]

Thanksgiving has always been… a little difficult with your family, but whose isn’t? You tried warning Curtis about how terrible they could be, but he didn’t think it was this bad. Year after year, they ask you if you’re bringing a special someone, giving fake sympathetic smiles when you say ‘no’ yet again. So they stopped asking, until you showed up with this beefcake on your arm this year. And of course you cousin gets up to instantly tear you apart in front of him, like she always does because how dare someone have something better than her. Jealous priss. But you’re not gonna let her get away with it. Not this time. And as soon as you stand up to her, Curtis is so proud to be with someone so strong, giving you this look, an admiring smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, from his spot next to you at the table.

Oh Essie, this prompt tapped into some extended family stuff for me. It's been many years since I've had to do the whole big family holiday thing, and I'll be honest, I don't miss it.

I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

Let Us Eat Quickly

Pairing: Curtis Everett x demisexual demiromantic female reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: friendly but toxic family, probably a little aphobia, amatonormativity out the wazoo, explicit language All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Masterlist

A/N: Big thanks to @stellar-solar-flare who helped me gut check this and @darsynia who poured through so much Thanksgiving poetry to help me settle on a title. It comes from Home for Thanksgiving by Linda Pastan

You stood at the door, Curtis beside you with his hand on your back. “It’s not too late to turn around,” you mumbled to him.

He just chuckled good-naturedly. “I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one, meeting your family for the first time. Relax, I know how families can be. It’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you think,” you said under your breath, then pasted on a smile as the door opened to reveal your aunt.

She immediately threw her arms around you. “Oh my god! It’s been so long!” She pulled back and then looked at Curtis, her eyes widening. “Holy smokes, he really does exist! When your mom told me you were bringing someone, I couldn’t believe it. Figured it had to be a figment of her imagination. But look at him! He’s real!”

You took a deep breath. “Uh, yeah. This is Curtis. Curtis, this is my Aunt Jan.”

Curtis reached out to shake her hand, a completely bewildered expression on his face. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Jan pulled him into a hug instead. “So nice to meet you, honey! You don’t know just how much of a miracle you are!” Once she let him go, she ushered you both inside. She called into the house, letting everyone know you were there. “And she’s brought her real-life boyfriend!”

“What the fuck?” Curtis mumbled.

You squeezed his hand. “That’s just how she is,” you whispered.

You moved through the house, greeting various aunts, uncles, and cousins, weathering the over-the-top shock from all of them. You could tell Curtis was getting irritated, so you tried rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand in soothing circles. You finally reached the den and found who you’d been searching for. 

Your dad leapt up from the couch excitedly to wrap you in a big hug. “Hi honey,” he said. Then, low enough for only the two of you to hear, “You should have turned around when you had the chance.”

“Yeah, well, this idiot,” you affectionately gestured to Curtis, “really wanted to meet my family.”

Your dad shook his head with a chuckle, “Rookie mistake,” he said, then pulled Curtis into an equally big hug. It’d never not make you so warm inside, just how much your dad loved Curtis. 

Once he’d been let go, Curtis just sort of gaped at the two of you sheepishly. “I’m not sure I knew what I was walking into,” he muttered. 

“Rookie mistake,” your dad said, again, before sitting back down. “Your mom is in the kitchen.”

You made your way there, finding her cooking away with Jan and the rest of her sisters. Just like your dad, she was thrilled to see Curtis. It made your heart swell.

A few of your aunts continued to make “good-natured” comments on what a surprise and relief it was that you’d finally brought someone. You nodded through it, barely listening, before tugging Curtis behind you to go find your grandma. 

He stopped you as soon as you were in the hallway. “Babe, do they not know you’re demi?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “God, no! Can you imagine? It’d take forever to explain it, and then when I was done, I’d just get a lot of ‘Isn’t that how everyone is?’ while still giving me all of this bullshit. It’d be a waste of breath.” Curtis did not look happy about that, so you grabbed his hand. “Hey, all of the people I actually care about know. That’s enough for me. These are just people I have to see once a year because of an accident of birth. They don’t get to know all of me.” He seemed to relax a little at that and you smiled. “All right, let’s go find Grandma. Get ready. She’s gonna say all sorts of shit that’s gonna make you really uncomfortable.”

Sure enough, the first thing your grandma said to Curtis was, “I’ve been praying a nice young man would come into her life. She’s been so lonely for so long.” You turned your head away as you rolled your eyes, hard. But luckily you looked back in time to see the shocked look on his face when she said she sure did hope she didn’t die before she got to see you get married. You tried so hard not to laugh, that you sent yourself into a coughing fit.

Extracting yourself with a chipper, “Ok, grandma! We’ll see you at dinner!” you took Curtis into the backyard to kill time before food.

Sitting on the decorative retaining wall, Curtis threaded his fingers through yours. “I can see why your sister doesn’t come to these things.”

“Oh yeah,” you laughed. “She has to deal with all that and go hungry. These people have no idea how to cook for a vegetarian. They put chicken broth in the mashed potatoes!”

He just stared at you for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re too nice to them.”

You took a step closer, fully in his space, and shrugged. “They just– They can’t conceive of a life experience outside of their own. They all got married in their early twenties and had kids right away. The traditional way works for them, so why wouldn’t it work for everyone else? They don’t really know what to do with someone with different priorities, different feelings, and attractions. It’s how it’s always been. I’m used to it. I mostly just think it’s funny now.”

He wrapped you in his arms so that you could feel his warmth in the crisp fall weather. “I hate that you’ve had to get used to this.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “You make things better,” you said softly. “I’m really happy you’re here.”

You stayed like that for several moments before your phone buzzed with a text from your dad, letting you know that dinner was ready. 

You both settled down at the far end of the table, about to start filling your plates when your heavily pregnant cousin Kat took the seat across from you. “Oh, sunovabitch,” you muttered under your breath, causing Curtis to look concerned. 

Before you could reassure him, Kat got both of your attention. “Oh my gosh, it’s been such a long time! I’m so glad you could come!” Then she turned to the man next to you. “And you must be Curtis! You’re all anyone can talk about. I’m Kat, her favorite cousin.” Before Curtis could respond, she continued. “So tell me, ‘cause I’m dying to know, how exactly did she get you here?”

Curtis looked at you, confused, then raised an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”

“Well, she’s just never brought anyone before. Not ever. And then when she finally does, it’s someone who looks like you?? My theory is she hired you off of Craig’s List. That or blackmail.” And then she laughed, in that very specific way that was just friendly enough that she could claim she was only joking. You knew it well. She’d been doing it for over thirty years.

You felt Curtis stiffen next to you, One look at him told you he was itching to respond, his mouth beginning to open, but you knew Kat. You knew she was just getting started and whatever response would just feed into whatever she wanted. So you covered his hand with yours in what you hoped was a soothing manner to hopefully stop him.

You caught Kat’s eye and she smirked, but then it faltered when you matched it with one of your own. “Actually, Kat,” you said, so casually, “I also have something I’ve been wondering. Is it the pregnancy hormones that have made you so unpleasant or have you always been this way? Since I genuinely can’t remember the last time you weren’t pregnant, I thought I’d ask.”

She gaped at you for a moment, as you looked at her calmly, patiently waiting for an answer. You didn’t need to look at Curtis to know that he was trying to hide a grin. Across from you, Kat finally found her words, “How dare–”

“I’m sorry,” you cut her off, “was that invasive? Rude? I should probably mind my own damn business, huh?”

“I–” she started again, but you weren’t done yet.

“Someday, I hope you’ll figure out that there are so many ways to be happy, not just one prescribed path. And hopefully, you’ll find whatever you’re looking for on the path you’ve chosen.”

There was a long beat of silence. Then, quietly, her eyes a little wide, she said, “I have. I’m happy.” There was a note in her voice, you thought, that sounded a little like she was trying to convince herself as much as you.

“Good,” you nodded, decisively, “I’m glad. I’m happy too. I was happy before Curtis and I’m happy now.” Without waiting for a response, you turned fully to Curtis beside you. He was beaming at you, pride just oozing out of him, his eyes sparkling. You smiled too, the biggest since you’d gotten there. “Do you want some stuffing?” you asked him, completely shutting down the previous conversation. “Aunt Jan’s stuffing is really good.”

Tag List

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23

[sxcret-garden]

Wooyoung ღ NSFW Alphabet [M]

ღ Ateez - NSFW Alphabets ღ Ateez Wooyoung x gn!reader ღ words: ~2.6k ღ genre: smut ღ warnings: heavy power dynamics in some parts (especially with sub!Woo)

A = Aftercare (what he’s like after sex)

This hugely depends on what kind of sex you had. Overall he’s definitely caring, looks after you, asks if you feel okay and how you liked it. If he took on the more dominant role he’s definitely gonna rub your back, cuddle with you, get you some water, help you clean up,... there’s literally nothing he doesn’t think of. Will be ESPECIALLY cuddly if he teased you a lot during. But if it’s the other way around and you took on the more dominant role he’s gonna snuggle up to you like a cat. He will still take care of you eventually, but he needs to hear what a good boy he was first.

B = Body part (his favorite body part of his partner)

I really think he’s a boobs type of guy and also a bit of a perv, so I can’t not say your chest. Like… if you have breasts he loooves playing with them, squeezing them in his hands, just the feel of them, y’know? Huge fan of nipple play too, so you can expect him to give them a lot of attention. And if you don’t have breasts then I think the answer is still chest!! Idk, there’s just something about him marking up that part of you or resting his hand there as he makes out with you that feels so good to him. Plus, what better place to rest his head than your chest where he can feel your slowly calming heartbeat afterwards?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

He loves your taste and loves having you watch as he licks your juices off his lips after giving you head. Definitely the type to kiss you as the taste is still present on his tongue. As for where he prefers to cum… he’s not too picky about that. However, he finds it insanely hot if you get on top of him, maybe pinning him against the bed or a wall, and you tease him so good that he can’t but help cum right then and there in his pants. Will definitely blush a little at his failure to keep his composure, and if you tease him about it (or maybe even humiliate him 👀) you can be sure this guy will submit to you immediately and be hard again in no time.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret or secret desire of his)

Secretly he wants to try being under your command for a day or maybe even longer. Of course that includes any sexual acts you might wish for, whenever you tell him to, but it’s not just about sex for him. Wants to be ordered around by you and please you, do anything you ask of him, and afterwards receive praise or a punishment - whichever you see fit. And in between he’s going to be your little toy who’ll do anything you want.

E = Experience (how experienced is he?)

I think he certainly has some experience, maybe more, maybe less than what you’d think. But what I’m sure of is that he knows himself very well, and even if he has less experience, communication won’t be a problem for him, so it’s easy to figure out what works for the both of you either way.

F = Favorite position 

You on top of him, preferably with you being in control. Don’t get me wrong, I think he’s a total switch, but the thing he’ll keep wanting to come back to is simply you sitting on top of him, deciding on what pace you’re going at and controlling when he cums. He’ll go crazy if you keep edging him again and again until it gets painful, but even then all he’s going to do is hiss curses through gritted teeth and beg and at the same time he’ll enjoy you making him your little toy so much that most of the time he isn’t even going to think about taking matters into his own hands and finally getting that release he so desperately craves. Though such times do exist, and then he surely is ready to fight you for dominance no matter what…

G = Goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous?)

Sex with Wooyoung is definitely going to include laughter. It’d feel off to him to always stay completely serious throughout. Whether he’s chuckling to himself as he teases you, or laughs because one of you was being clumsy or something that you two imagined to feel good didn’t quite work out as well as it did in your heads - he knows how to lighten the mood and sometimes appreciates you doing it as well!

H = Headspace (how much does he think about it/you during the day? how elaborate are his fantasies?)

I think he has sexual thoughts less often than you’d expect him to. But when he does they’re usually deliberate, when he really has the time to make up elaborate scenarios. The type of guy who knows it’ll feel even better when he thinks about it until he really is painfully horny, and gets off to whatever thoughts are up in his head only when he can’t take it anymore. If he has a partner they’re definitely going to be the nr 1 person to appear in his fantasies, though from time to time he might think about someone else too.

I = Intimacy (how passionate or romantic is he?)

Very passionate at all times!! Can be very romantic too if it fits the mood, and won’t find it too cheesy at all to prepare the bedroom with candles and rose petals and all that stuff 🥺 though this won’t be the standard, but from the way he always looks at you with adoration in his eyes no matter what you’re doing, I’d say he is fairly romantic!! 

J = Jack off (how does he masturbate and how often?)

Pretty much every day, mostly out of habit and to briefly destress in the shower after a long day. Though sometimes, when he has the time, he’ll spend quite a while masturbating in his room (oftentimes while fantasizing, as described above 👀)

K = Kink (one of his kinks)

How could I not talk about his very apparent degradation kink here!! (Very uncreative, I know lol but come on!!) It does things to him to say the least when he gets pushed around a bit. I’d even go as far as to say he’s into being humiliated, like you making fun of him for cumming so fast, or teasing him about what a little obedient slut he is when it takes you no time at all to make him submit to you. Might start giggling and blushing right then and there, and will enjoy it even more if you punish him for that reaction. He’ll be painfully hard in no time, and at the same time he just can’t stop pushing your limits, until you start to manhandle him. (And even if he’s a lot stronger than you, this guy will simply play along and let you do to him whatever you want.)

L = Location (favorite places to do it)

Pretty much anywhere if y’all are horny enough djbdndndd he won’t shy away from semi-public sex, though he probably wouldn’t try to sneakily get you off with other people in the room (he’d certainly still tease you though). The bed, the couch, someone else’s bed, against a wall, the kitchen counter, a public bathroom,... anything goes so long as he gets to fuck you.

M = Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

Your reactions, your voice, your praises, even you pushing him around a bit… any affirmation is enough for him to keep going, and once he’s caught a glimpse of what he can do to you, he’ll get even more curious and want to find out even more about you! And even if the day comes where he’s seen everything, he’ll just want it all over again, so really it’s very easy to get him going and to keep him going.

N = No (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Really he’s open to most things, but one thing he certainly won’t do is using sex as a distraction or as a way to fuck out your feelings before having talked about it. He wants you two to always be transparent with each other, as he would never judge you for anything and he wants a partner where he feels that they won’t either. Angry sex or anything similar is totally okay with him, so long as both parties know what’s going on emotionally!!

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves giving and receiving equally, so he’s definitely going to suggest 69 sometimes! Is a big fan of turning it into a game of who can make the other cum fastest, or of who can make the other feel so good that they lose focus and have to stop pleasuring the other. However, he also enjoys simply taking turns, because he loves watching your reactions and hearing you praising him about how well he’s doing. Plus, sometimes he really just wants to lean back and enjoy as you suck him off too.

P = Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s more on the fast and rough side, but can do slow and sensual too. Especially when y’all are just having sweet vanilla sex he’ll be so soft and caring with you 🥺 and yet he’ll keep a slow pace until you start begging him for more, focusing entirely on your pleasure as he makes sure to help you build up your orgasm slowly, so he could make sure your high shakes your whole body when it finally does come crashing down on you.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies?)

A big fan tbh! Though it’s not a rare occurrence for something that was supposed to be only a quickie to turn into well over an hour of sex so cjbdndbdnxnx

R = Risk (does he like to experiment or take risks?)

He’s open to trying out pretty much anything, especially if it’s something you bring up to him. Will usually not find it weird, even when it’s something that would seem weird to others or that a lot of people shy away from. Sure, there are some things he won’t be into, but most of the time he’ll be open to at least try! As for risk taking - as I said, semi-public is definitely something he’d be open to, but he will make damn sure you two don’t get caught.

S = Stamina (how long does he last?)

Not as long as he’d like lol. However, when he really feels himself running out of energy but both of you still want to keep going, he’ll simply suggest taking a bit of a rest with some cuddles, and then eventually you’re gonna start lazily getting each other off again. You’ll either keep going for another round or two, or you’ll agree that you really are all out of energy and you can just keep cuddling!

T = Toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

I think he’d like the idea of using toys while having sex with you! A vibrator, a cockring, or maybe even handcuffs - if it enhances the pleasure for you, him, or both of you, he’s all for it!

U = Unfair (how much he likes to tease)

Teases A LOT. I don’t think I need to say much here. He’s a tease in- and outside of the bedroom, he just can’t help himself :’)

V = Volume (how loud or vocal is he? what does he sound like?)

He’s pretty vocal I’d say!! Definitely talks a lot and is super into dirty talk especially - but if you’re only just starting to have sex and getting to know each other’s bodies, or if he’s with someone inexperienced, he’ll definitely communicate a lot too and ask what feels good and what doesn’t, nudges you in the right direction, etcetc. Lots of moans and groans and other noises that tell you he likes what you’re doing especially when you’re pleasuring him, or when he’s coming close. And don’t get me started on the fucked out and exhausted but at the same time sweet tone in his voice afterwards, as he tells you how amazing you were.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

“Ahh…” Wooyoung lets out a pained noise, almost a whine, as you push him into the mattress with his hands pinned above his head. You can see his muscles dancing under his skin, yet he doesn’t put any strength at all into a rather pathetic attempt to free himself. You’ve ceased your movements on top of him, edging him for the third time now, and you can tell he’s slowly losing his composure, a drop of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes shut tightly in a desperate expression. Still, he doesn’t do anything to resist. He doesn’t free himself - which he undoubtedly could - and he doesn’t flip your positions around to take over control. He barely even begs. Of course he does, but what falls from his lips the most are praises about how good you make him feel, how beautiful you are, and sometimes a “can’t take it anymore”. And that’s your cue to stop, to let him rest while his chest rises and sinks as he breathes heavily, waiting until you can start riding him again, not yet knowing yourself whether you’ll let him cum this time, or if you want to keep playing with him. 

“Woo…” you breathe out, leaning in to scatter a trail of sloppy kisses up his sternum. “Such a good boy for me…” The way he looks at you when he opens his eyes makes your heart swell. There’s still so much warmth in his gaze, and so much desire too. He doesn’t care if you keep teasing him like this or if you finally grant him that release he so desperately needs - all he cares about is you making him feel good, one way or the other. And so you press a kiss to his lips, before slowly starting to roll your hips again.

X = (X) as a mark (does he like marking you/being marked? where?)

He enjoys marking his partner, but loves being marked up even more! If you set any rules like no marks where it’s hard to cover, he will absolutely annoy you by pretending as if he was trying to give you a hickey there, but he’ll never do it for real (unless maybe he’s drunk and goes a little overboard kalsjdfks). Instead he loves marking your chest especially, but the inside of your thighs and your hips are close seconds! As for him, he really doesn’t mind where you put your mark on him. Couldn’t care less if it’s somewhere that’s hard to cover - quite the opposite actually. He loves the thrill of knowing he’ll be in trouble the next day because of you sucking a mark into the skin on the side of his throat. He does see it as a way to mark you as his and vice versa, but it’s not among the most important parts about sex with you for him.

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

Average I’d say? He doesn’t need sex every day, though he wouldn’t mind! He certainly won’t say no if it’s something you want, but for him he’d be perfectly satisfied with only a few times a week, when you two really have the capacity to take your time with it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

Tbh he can fall asleep fairly quickly afterwards. However, he will always make sure to stay awake for a good amount of aftercare and some cuddles. Even when he’s spent and tired he doesn’t want to fall asleep on you immediately.

[meelusinee]

YOU'RE A WIZARD? | R.B X READER

word count \ 691 | fluff and stuff | slash / regulus black x reader

in which regulus tells you that he's a wizard

A LITTLE LOAF SERIES MASTERLIST

Regulus feels like he’d spent an entire lifetime with you before.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic. It had only been about two months since he had met you, hidden away in a part of a muggle town he never knew existed. But he felt it to be true. 

He’d never opened up to someone so well and easily. Nor had he ever truly known someone this well, or learned so much just by hanging out with them. It was like his soul had already met yours before, a perfect match for him. 

You had changed him, he knew for the better.

Which is why, sometimes, he’d stay up late at night wondering. Wondering about what the two of you really were, how much you meant to him. Sometimes romance felt out of reach when he was a kid, especially with the way his family represented it. But with you, he felt like trying.

Not that it was particularly easy. There were many hiccups he faced, even if he didn't automatically tell you. Sometimes he’d have an issue with communicating, or with something small that he wondered why it was even worth feeling.

But you made him feel like trying. Like feeling.

That alone felt like enough for him.

Which left you two here. Sitting in his living room while you watched him fiddling with his hands. It was embarrassing, really, though nerve wracking nonetheless. 

What if you hated him? What if you thought differently of him? Would you like him after this?

“Reggie,” your voice cut through, a soft whisper that melted his heart on any day of the week. “What’s wrong? You can tell me, you know.”

“I know, I just,” he whispered, sighing softly. “I don’t think that you’ll exactly believe me when I say it.”

“Of course I will!” you said.

Regulus knew that probably wasn’t the case. He also knew that he could just wipe your memory if he really wanted to. People never came to him for ethical solutions to issues, after all.

But no matter how much he wished that he had died to the Inferni so he could avoid this conversation, he hadn’t. And now he was suffering the consequences of his actions. Which meant that, reasonably speaking, he probably should just pull off the band-aid.

That didn’t make it any easier though.

“Listen, you just have to not judge me. Okay?” he said quietly, hands shaking slightly.

“I won’t.” you smiled softly. “Just tell me.”

“I’m a Wizard.” 

He felt the room go silent for what felt like forever, though he knew rationally it was only a couple of seconds. 

“Wizard?” you said calmly, tilting your head slightly. “Like a ‘went to Hogwarts’ kind of Wizard?”

Regulus paused at that, blinking confusedly. Went to Hogwarts? You knew about Hogwarts? How would you know about Hogwarts? Did you have other friends who were Wizards, or did you grow up around Wizards? Were you a Wizard yourself?

“You know about Hogwarts?” he asked confusedly.

You nodded at that, smiling at him. “Yeah, my mom went!” you explained happily. “I was meant to go, but I wasn’t exactly qualified.”

“Qualified?” he asked confusedly. What in Merlin’s name did that even mean?

“Like, I’m not a Wizard.” you mumbled quietly, a small laugh coming out of your mouth. “I’m a Squib, not a Wizard. I guess that I should’ve seen you were a Wizard after the whole letter thing.”

“Oh.” Regulus whispered softly. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I’m not sure if it’d be a Squib.” you replied. “I mean, I can cast magic. I can see things and stuff. But I just didn’t make the cut I guess.”

“Maybe you just needed training,” Regulus mumbled quietly to you.

“No, I tried that.” you said, before chuckling softly. “I mean, it’s always fun to try more but. I guess I never really did looking back on it.”

“Can we try together?” Regulus smiled softly.

You smirked back at him. “What, as a date?”

Regulus shrugged, a small smile growing on his face. “Maybe.”

You smiled softly, nudging his shoulder with your elbow. “It’s a date.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

sorry i haven't been posting in a long while lovelies and that this is rather small, it's been kind of hectic in my life! hopefully this will sate you guys until i'm able to post somewhat more consistently. have a good week loves!

[cherubcameron]

Part 1

You sat across from Steve, leg shaking as he stared at you. His face showing every inch of remorse it could possibly muster. Your eyes scanned down back to the table. It’d been two weeks since you two have seen each other. Since the incident.

“Robin tells me you’ve been talking to her.” He says, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah—“ You toy with the hem of your shirt. “I have.”

He simply nods.

“I hate this, I hate you not telling me what’s wrong. I hate not being able to talk to you everyday.” He says, his hands on the table. You finally look into his eyes and you can see. He means every word.

His eyes look like a puppy would’ve been punished for barking too loud. You wanted to kiss his eyelids until his eyes shifted to a happier expression. But instead you stay glued to your seat, staring at him.

“I heard you guys talking. How they think you’ll be better off with Nancy.”

His eyes close and he shakes his head.

“But I didn’t say anything—

“Exactly! You didn’t say anything. You didn’t tell them you were with me.” You practically scream.

“I don’t have to, it’s already obvious—

“So! You should be able to scream it from the rooftops. I-I love you Steve. I have so much love for you, it hurts. You didn’t even defend me in that moment. How am I supposed to know that—

“ I love you! I love you, isn’t that obvious?! And there you go again, running away from me! How was that supposed to make me feel?!” He places his hand on his nose quickly. “I told them to shut up! I don’t think you heard that. But I did. I told them that whatever it was that I had with Nancy. Its over. Will always be over because I’m in love with you!”

Silence overtakes the table. You are left stunned. You stare down at the burger in front of you. Finally acknowledging its existence. He had ordered it for you; before you walked in. Because he knew you liked them.

“I’m—“ Tear fall from your eyes. “Sorry..”

You feel him sit right next to you, his hands immediately wiping away your tears.

“You’re the one I want. You’re the one I love.” He whispers, you finally make eye contact with him. There’s so much love in his eyes. Finally, you push your head closer to his. Mouths finding one another’s. Hands exploring the others body.

You pull away first, shy from the public display of affection. He only grins, his eyes never leaving yours. Your head fits in the shape of his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere. Just you and me.”

Taglist

I really hope this lived to your expectations.

@cupid-club @marvelcasey05 @hazydespair @molotovgirl45 @daisy-munson

[celli-ohs]

yeowza!

part three of accidentally in love! series gamer!beomgyu x streamer!reader; college!au, fake relationship fluff, comedy, angst, smut

ATTENTION: reply/comment for tag list

5. buy me robux (written chapter 2.2k)

It wasn’t that Beomgyu hated parties. No, in fact, he liked them, under the right circumstances at least. And right now, this party was under all the wrong ones. There was a reason he always tried to avoid going to the ETEN frat parties: it was too loud, too crowded, everyone was either too drunk or high out of their mind to function properly, the bathroom smelled weird, and worst of all it was like everyone was extra horny the second they stepped foot into the house. Well, maybe that was more than one reason, but he didn’t care, all Beomgyu wanted to do was go home. Currently, he had holed himself inside a tiny little closet in the back of the hallway. He’s sitting on the ground, knees to his chest while he distracts himself from the outside world by playing Roblox on his phone.

Usually, Beomgyu didn’t have to resort to hiding when he was forced to come to these parties, but Kai had begged him to join. Soobin was spending the night with his girlfriend, Taehyun unfortunately had a study group, and Kai was too busy talking to others to realize he was gone. Yeonjun (who was his and Kai’s ride back home) claimed he couldn’t care less whether or not he came but ironically seemed to be checking on Beomgyu the most. With no one to hang out and waste time with, he decided it’d be better to get out of the way. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself. In reality, he’s terrified to step foot outside the little closet. When he arrived, he was happily glued to Heeseung’s side, the birthday boy was having a blast.

But about an hour and a half into the party, Jeongin finally arrives, and with him is a parade. Beomgyu immediately spots you in the sea of drunk adults, squished between your friends Yuna and Felix. You’re gorgeous, so beautiful his stomach drops and he feels like he might puke if you look his way. “Hey! You guys made it-” Beomgyu pushes past Heeseung, running up the stairs and down the hall before you notice him. He already felt bad when Jeongin revealed you thought he hated you, and he knew he would only make a fool out of himself if you tried to talk to him, so he’d rather flee than confront you. So that’s why he was huddled inside the closet, wasting time before Yeonjun finally called him when it was time to go.

He’s pretty comfortable, leaning against someone’s old coat as his eyes are glued to his screen when the door to the closet swings open, revealing his peace to the chaotic world outside. “There you are! Dude, where have you been?” Jeongin looks at him incredulously, kneeling down to eye level. “What the hell are you doing in here?” He asks loudly, trying to compete with the volume of the party. Beomgyu shrugs. “Just chilling,” He tries to sound like this was intentional and not because he was avoiding you. Knowing his nature, Jeongin just nods, cheeks already a bit rosy from the alcohol. “I brought you a beer,” He shows him the glass bottle and hands it to Beomgyu, who pauses his game to take a sip. “Quick question, is your friend Kai single?” Jeongin suddenly asks.

Beomgyu quirks a brow. Kai was definitely single. He’s been chronically single since birth, which always shocked Beomgyu because Kai was the biggest green flag to ever exist. Maybe it was Kai himself who held high standards, but then again, there was that one time he confessed to him that he would date Beomgyu if he was a girl, and Beomgyu wasn’t exactly the ideal type. (Beomgyu rejected him kindly, and the two kept it a secret between them). “Yeah. Super single.” He quips. Jeongin looks relieved at this. “Cool, my friend Yuna likes him.” Beomgyu short circuits as he hears this. Shin Yuna, the renowned supermodel and beauty influencer? The same Yuna whose face is plastered all over the city? Shin Yuna, whose last boyfriend was a professional soccer player overseas? That Yuna was interested in Kai Kamal Huening?

No offense to Kai, but most if not all girls ran away after they realized how dorky he was. Beomgyu hasn’t even noticed Jeongin has left to share the news when someone else stops at his feet. “Beomgyu? What’re you doing here?” Yeonjun’s girlfriend looks down at him with wide eyes and shock written all over her face. “Oh hey. Just playing Roblox. I’m playing Fart Attack.” He shows her his screen. She’s not impressed by this at all. “Okay, well I just wanted to let you know that we’re singing Happy Birthday to Heeseung in an hour,” She informs him. “Thanks, I’ll be there. Shut the door will you?” He asks, going back to his phone. She scoffs, finding him funny, and does as she’s told, leaving him be.

He doesn’t know how long he’s alone again, all he knows is that he’s battling it out in the toilet with some kid whose username is blandchikenlegs. Someone hits the door, causing him to jump and miss his attack, and blandchikenlegs wins the round. “Dammit!” Beomgyu curses, just as the door opens. “This is all your fucking fault,” He growls, glaring at Yeonjun. “The fuck? Get your ass out here, stop being a loser, and socialize.” Yeonjun slurs. Beomgyu answers him by kicking his ankle. “Ow! Stop it!” Yeonjun complains. “Fine, fine I’ll leave! Just wanted to let you know we’re blowing out Heeseung’s cake in 20 minutes,” Yeonjun grumbles. “But you’re going to die an emo virgin if you don’t get your ass out here!” He shouts, before slamming the door shut in anger.

Beomgyu grumbles, exiting his game to grovel in silence. With a sigh he leans against the wall, sighing. He can’t leave, not yet at least. If he leaves too early, there’s a chance he might run into you, and he can’t risk looking like a fool again. But on the other hand, if he leaves too late, he’ll miss out on singing happy birthday to one of his best friends and look like a jerk. (Not like that was a big deal. Heeseung forgot his birthday last year). He had to get the timing right, or else he’d be in hot water. With another tiring sigh, he pulls out his phone once more. One more game shouldn’t hurt, right? He’s in the middle of playing another round of Piggy when someone knocks on the door. It was probably Yeonjun again, here to let him know it was time for him to come out- the door opens and Beomgyu winces at the sudden change in lighting. “Yeonjun, I swear to God-”

Beomgyu immediately shuts up when he sees who’s the real perpetrator. You stare down at him, face a mixture of shock and embarrassment. Yet the only thing that crosses his mind at the moment is how beautiful you look above him. The ceiling light behind you acts like a halo. “I-I’m so sorry! I thought this was the bathroom-” You begin to fret, and you’re about to close the door when you stop halfway. “Are-Are you playing Piggy on Roblox?” You ask nervously. Your question has Beomgyu realizing the situation he’s in. You’ve caught him in his hiding spot. Not only that, you’ve caught him playing a child’s game. A part of him wishes he’d been playing League so that he could brag about his stats. Unable to deny it, he nods rigidly. You bite the inside of your gum, and you look nervous for some reason.

“Can I join you?”

And that’s how Beomgyu found himself shoulder to shoulder with you, together tucked into the dark closet, both enamored in an intense game together. “Piggy’s right there! Run, run!” He shouts at you. “I’m trying! The key’s in the next room!” You cry back. “I’ll distract her, go get the key!” He urges, and your character runs off while Beomgyu leads the demonic pig murderer on a wild goose chase. Beomgyu shrieks as he’s killed, you wail beside him having not found the key yet. “Where the fuck is the key?” You mindlessly whine. “Did you check the other room? I didn’t check that one earlier,” Beomgyu leans over your shoulder to peek and point at your screen. “What?! No, I didn’t-AH!” You shout as your character is killed. You groan and lean back helplessly onto the wall defeated.

Beomgyu rests too, closing his eyes for a moment. “Maybe I should play some Roblox games on stream.” You mumble. Beomgyu glances your way, even in the dark he can see the outline of your perfect face. “What are some Roblox games that could boost my ratings?” You ask him, turning. Your eyes connect, and it’s as if the closet grows smaller. His heart is racing, it’s so loud he can hear it, and his ears are drumming louder than the music outside. “Your ratings?” He coughs, looking away first. “Mhmm.” You hum. “My numbers haven’t been steady since March. My manager’s been on my ass about it.” He has no idea why you’re sharing this information with him, but your concern worries him nonetheless. “Play Fart Attack.” He prompts, making you giggle. He can physically feel you laugh, your shoulders bobbing up and down against his.

Unknowingly he begins to laugh as well, chuckling alongside you. “That game is so gross!” You shake your head, grinning at him. “You obviously don’t have taste. Don’t ever ask for a recommendation from me again.” He pretends to act offended. You laugh even louder, playfully hitting his knee. “No! Come on I need help,” You pretend to whine, gently shaking his arm. Never in a million years had he thought you of all people would be clinging onto his arm. Was this some kind of gift from heaven for his perfection and good deeds? Wait- The thought of gifts has Beomgyu stumbling up to stand. “Oh fuck- Heeseung’s birthday!” He’s having a hard time standing straight. His legs are sore from being crouched for however long he was in here, even more so when you joined him.

When he does stand, his legs give out on him, causing him to crash into you. His face is mere centimeters above yours, hovering over you as you lay against your back, hair disheveled from the fall. You smell of fresh lavender and vanilla. His cheeks heat up even more, you’re so close he can see the pupils of your eyes. “Oh my god I’m so sorry-“ He tries to get up, but knocks his head again at something, causing him to wince and duck- his skull bumping into yours instead. As you two groan in pain, there’s a flash of bright light. “Holy shit.” A new voice mumbles. The familiar click of a camera shutter has you and Beomgyu abruptly looking up. When did the door open?!

Your perpetrator is a drunk man he doesn’t recognize, but you seem to. “Hey!-“ You push Beomgyu off of you, looking panicked. You crawl out of the closet, chasing down the man as he makes his escape. “Y/n-“ Beomgyu tries to follow you, but soon is ambushed by an upset Heeseung. “Dude where the hell were you?” Beomgyu’s guilt grows. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time and- I’ll make it up to you I promise!” He claps his hands together as he pleads with his best friend. But Heeseung only rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” Beomgyu frowns, now trailing after Heeseung. “Bro just let me explain-“ “Beomgyu! Let’s go!” Yeonjun’s girlfriend suddenly tugs at his arm. “What?” He shakes her off, trying to reason with Heeseung.

“We gotta go! Kai just threw up- all over some poor girl.” She grimaces and his stomach drops. “Fuck. Okay.” He nods. “Heeseung I’m really sorry, I promise I’ll explain myself later!” He shouts as he hurriedly leaves. As he weaves through the crowd towards the living room, he can’t seem to find you. He wonders whatever happened to you when you had run off. His fantasy is short-lived when Yeonjun’s girlfriend grabs his arm, tugging him towards the front door. “Finally! Come on, he’s really sick.” Yeonjun looks exasperated as he struggles to hold up a very pale and passed-out Kai. “What the hell happened?!” Beomgyu asks as he helps carry Kai to the car.

“I don’t really know. He was talking to that hot girl- uh that normal-looking woman- the influencer? He got really nervous I think and drank too much, he puked all over her.” Yeonjun is glancing at his girlfriend as the two men place the youngest into his seat. Beomgyu had a feeling Yuna was no longer interested in Kai. “Also, where the hell were you?! I thought I told you to come out for the cake! Jesus Christ man you are such-“ “Oh shut up and drive already!” Beomgyu complains, crossing his arms as he sits in the backseat. Yeonjun reluctantly begins to drive, all while lecturing Beomgyu. “And another thing! Stop hiding and act like a normal person, have fun a little!”

Before Beomgyu can argue, someone else speaks up. “My stomach hurts.” Kai groans, hugging his sides. Everyone becomes extremely alert, turning to the man in panic. “I’m gonna-“ “Not in the car not in the car not in the car notinthecar notinthecar notinthecar notinthecar notinthecar!!” Yeonjun speeds down the road as Kai moans in pain. Beomgyu’s night ends with the horrific smell of rotten milk and eggs filling Yeonjun’s RAV4.

Bonus:

Kai got nervous from Yuna's flirting, causing him to drink past his limit

Y/n forgot to use the bathroom when she noticed Beomgyu playing roblox

Heeseung isn't actually upset at Beomgyu, he's just messing with him since Beomgyu always annoys him for forgetting his birthday

Y/n did in fact do Hyunjin's makeup for the party (she even streamed it)

Felix baked Heeseung brownies as a gift for his birthday

previous | next

yeowza! masterlist

taglist (open): @ancnymcnzjy @hybeboyenthusisast @wonnyy1 @justandloyal2961 @sseishiross @bubbbblessssss

[cigar-aficionado]

clean me off, i'm so dirty babe! ch. 2

oz cobb x reader / 2326 words / nsfw, mdni!! / chapter 1

summary: oz takes you out on a date. you take him back to your place.

tags: gn reader, though oz does call reader 'doll' and 'sweetheart' on a number of occasions, brief alcohol (reader drinks wine and whiskey but doesn't get drunk), reader wears lingerie, condom use, penetrative sex (though i tried to keep it vague), reader on top but not domming, no use of y/n

Oz texts you as promised and you agree to meet at a restaurant right by your work. You look at the website for the place he suggests and it’s fancy, so you put on your best outfit and shoes, looking at yourself in the mirror by your front door before you head out. 

You arrive at the restaurant, speaking to the host who smiles and tells you that he’s already here. The host leads you and you can’t help but look around at the massive chandeliers and exquisite tiling – Oz has serious taste. 

You see him first but then he sees you and smiles, standing up. “You’re a vision, Doll,” he says, pulling your chair out for you. You smile and sit, taking a sip of the water that’s there as he sits back down. “This is one of my favorite places, I always come here after a good day. Or, frankly, after a real bad one.” 

That makes you smile, “Honored to be here, in your happy place. Or comfort place.” 

Oz asks about your wine preferences and asks if you’d like him to order a bottle. You agree that it sounds like fun, telling him that anything with bubbles tends to be your favorite. “You know, you’re right. Tonight does feel like a celebration,” he says with a soft little smile. 

“Yeah?” 

He nods, “It’s been a long time since I went out with someone like this. My work doesn’t leave a lot of time for dates and things like that.” 

“Well, I’m glad to be here,” you say, raising your water glass in toast. He smiles and does the same and you sip before asking, “So what’s it like owning a nightclub? Is it fun?” 

“It’s a helluva lot of work, some nights I’m puttin’ out fires I didn’t even know existed. But you know something?” Oz smiles broadly, “It’s the best job I ever had, hands down. Oh, yeah, reminds me – I tried a facial the other day. It was nice, ended up making another appointment in a couple weeks.” 

You smile, “Thought you were glowing more than usual tonight.” 

Oz smiles in a way that’s warm, genuine – it makes your heart skip. The waiter comes back and takes your wine order. They leave, and he smiles at you, “Tell me about yourself. You like the laundromat?” 

You laugh a little, nodding, “Got the job in college, and just…stayed. They pay me well, bonuses, yearly raises.” 

Oz nods, “What'd you study?” 

“Fashion. History and design.” 

“Ah, is that why you wanted to work with clothes?” 

You chuckle and shrug, “To be completely honest with you, it sounded better than food service. It’s not quite the same, it’s like…alterations is like following an exact recipe. You mess it up the wrong way, you gotta start over. Fashion design is like making a kitchen sink meal – you’ve got more freedom, it’s just figuring out how to make the flavors mesh.” 

Oz talks to you some more about your studies and your interests outside of work. You have wine, order your food, and chat some more, the air between you very easy. 

You’d been nervous about going out with one of your favorite customers – it’s been a while since you last went on a date in general, and it’d been a little intimidating to mix business with pleasure so to speak. But Oz makes you feel very comfortable; even when the food comes, you find that you’re able to eat easily. 

The two of you are both good at keeping the conversation going. You make him laugh, just as he does to you. 

When you’re leaving the restaurant, you smile and tell him that you live within walking distance. It’s a hint, one he takes, asking you in response if you’d like him to walk you to your building. 

You do. 

Oz takes your hand and it feels so easy and right. When you arrive at your building, he stops and hesitates like he wants to kiss you but doesn’t know how to ask and you stroke the inside of his wrist with your thumb, bringing him closer and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Do you want to come up?” You ask with a little smile. 

He strokes your cheek. “Dinner that good, hm?” 

“I had a lot of fun. Not ready for it to end.” 

Oz smiles, squeezing your hand, “Lead the way.” 

You take him upstairs – a short elevator ride – through the beige-on-grey hallway to your door, unlocking it and letting him in first as you turn on the light and close the door. “Beautiful place ya got here,” he says, looking around at your decor. 

You smile, hanging your keys on the hook by the door, “Thank you. Make yourself at home. You want a drink?” 

“A drink would be lovely, Doll. Dealer’s choice, I trust your taste.” 

“No bubbles, unfortunately, but I do have a brand new bottle of Japanese whisky I’ve been wanting to break into.” 

Oz smirks, “I got the feelin’ this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Sweetheart.” 

You’re on the couch with him for maybe twenty-five minutes of easy conversation about your dinner before you’re scooting closer. It’s maybe five more minutes before you kiss him again, holding him as you deepen it. You stroke his cheek with your thumb – the unscarred one, you’re not sure where he stands on that being touched and you don’t want to push. 

Oz’s tongue slides against yours and you’re glad you’re sitting because it makes you weak in the knees. He’s hesitant like he doesn’t do this very often, his hands sort of awkwardly placed and his kiss good but a little stiff. 

You stroke over his chest, pulling back to kiss his jaw, then his neck. He exhales shakily and you smirk a little, letting your teeth sink into his neck. The move makes him moan, the sound going right between your legs. “Doll,” he groans, almost whining, and you’re not sure you’ve heard a sweeter sound. 

“Is it too forward to ask if you want to see my room?” You ask with a little smile. 

Oz chuckles softly, clearly trying to be suave but coming off almost shy, “You need someone to test your bed for you?” 

You smirk, moving your hand to stroke his cheek, “I do. And I think you’re just the man for the job.” 

“Let’s take a look at it.” 

You take his hand, leading him to your bedroom and kissing him again. He smiles when he pulls back, like he can’t quite believe that he’s here, which makes you smile too. Your hands go to his shirt, finding the first button that’s done – much to your delight, the very top one was already unbuttoned, showing a tasteful peek of his chest. You’d noticed on several occasions that he usually has a bit of his chest hair out (though you tried not to openly ogle.) 

Oz doesn’t stop you though he doesn’t make any moves to take your clothes off just yet. You’ve cleaned this shirt before, you recognize it and it’s so different touching his clothes like this, cologned and warm from his body.

You stroke the panel of his skin exposed by his open shirt reverently, then you bring your hand up to push one of his suspenders off his big, broad shoulder. He shrugs off the other one, kissing you again as you carefully untuck his shirt from his pants but he stops you from going any further with his hands. “Is it alright if I do this part, Sweetheart?” 

“Of course.” You’d never want him to be uncomfortable. 

He nods and you decide to work on taking off your outfit while he does his pants. Oz sits on the bed and starts with his brace, so you look away, getting out of your clothes. You do catch him sticking a condom on the nightstand before properly taking his pants off which makes you half smile – maybe you hadn’t been the only one hoping for this. 

“Wow, Doll,” he says when he looks at you, breathless. 

You’d opted for a deep purple lingerie set just in case you made it here with him. His compliment makes you smile, stepping closer to where he’s sitting on the bed – his body is even more beautiful all exposed like this. “Will you get on your back for me?” You ask, stroking his cheek. 

He nods, quickly shucking his boxers and taking his place on his back with his head on your pillow. You bite your lip; you can’t help but look him over in wonder. 

You leave your lace on for now and move so you’re straddling his hips, his hard cock resting on your ass. Oz looks at you with big eyes and you take one of his hands, kissing his knuckles and putting it on your hip. “Was I right thinking purple’s your favorite color?” 

Oz chuckles, almost bashful, “You wore this for me?” 

“Didn’t wear it for the doorman,” you smirk, stroking gently over his unscarred cheek. 

There’s a fraction of a second where Oz looks like he’s about to cry but he clears his throat, stroking over one of the straps of your lingerie, “You can do whatever you want to me tonight, Doll. I’m all yours.” 

You chuckle softly, kissing his cheek, “I want it to be good for you.” 

“Oh I’m positive it’ll be good.” Oz smiles, looking up at you, running the back of his hand down your side, over your waist. You lean to kiss him again, unable to get enough, moaning as you feel his callused hands travel over your sensitive skin. 

You lean again to get the condom off the nightstand, placing it beside you with a little smirk. First, though, you want to take a minute to really look at him and let him touch you. You let your hand roam over his chest, making him close his eyes in a way that’s more relaxed than anticipatory. Good. 

Oz licks his lips when your fingers rub over his nipple, eyes opening to reveal a gaze that’s equal parts fiery and soft. “Haven’t been touched like that in a long time, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his eyes slowly tracing over your body. 

“No?” You ask. 

He shakes his head. You tsk, repeating your touch on his other nipple, a little firmer which makes him moan. “Please, please Doll…” 

Hearing him beg is almost magical and you can’t resist giving him what he’s asking for. Carefully, you move back so his hard, leaking cock is in front of you. You stroke it slowly, making him moan again before opening the condom. 

Oz offers, raggedly, to help you put it on but you shake your head, “I wanna do all the work.” 

“Mhm, okay, okay Sweetheart.” 

You roll the condom on his length and take a breath before shifting your body to take his hardness inside you. He keens out your name, the sound so delicious it makes you throb and twitch between your legs. Oz’s hands are on your thighs and you take them into your hands, moving them up to your hips to hold. He squeezes in a way that draws another moan from you, a blush crossing your cheeks. 

Oz opens his big, gorgeous eyes when you start moving, taking it slow at first. From this angle, you can see all of him and you marvel at his chest, his face, and you catch him looking over your body too. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he whispers, panting. 

“You like it?” You give him a smirk as you ride him slowly. 

“Doll…” He gasps, his eyes meeting yours, half-lidded and glazed with lust. Oz squeezes your hips, moving his own to meet your thrusts and give you both more friction, “Fuck, fuck…” 

It already feels so good, hushed moans leaving you as you work. You lean over to kiss him, briefly slowing your motions to do so. He kisses you back, full lips parting to let you in and take the lead, and you’re happy to. 

Kissing him and fucking him is incredible, you can’t remember the last time you felt these levels of joy through your body. You’re whining and you move back up so you can look at him and that gorgeous body of his. “I’m gettin’ close already,” he sounds almost apologetic but no less turned on, his hips stuttering. 

You slow your motions, moaning again for him. You take Oz’s hand and move it to the sensitive skin between your legs, guiding it to help you get closer to the edge. His hands are surprisingly slender for a man his size but they’re callused, the roughness adding a pleasurable texture that leaves your thighs shaking right away as he works your slick, needy skin. “Just a little faster, Handsome, just a little more…” 

“Fuck, fuck Sweetheart, I’m – “ 

“You can cum for me, Baby,” you say without even realizing it, you’re too blissed out. 

“Fuck,” his eyes roll back a bit and you feel him finish and soften inside you. He moves his hands faster to help you get there too and you’re so close that it works, white-hot pleasure washing over your body and mind. You practically collapse on top of him, kissing him before dismounting and laying beside him. 

Oz pulls you into another kiss after you sigh dreamily. You stay close to his warm body, trying not to watch as he takes off the condom and sticks it in the small trash bin beside your bed. “That was incredible,” he says, taking you into his arms. 

“For me too,” you smile, taking his hand and kissing it gently. “Will you stay here tonight?” 

Oz chuckles though it barely makes a sound. “Not sure I can promise a repeat performance.” 

“Oh, I’m definitely not expecting that. Not until the morning,” you add with a little smirk.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Maybe some fluff with Hobie when the main trop is that they are soulmates?

I honestly had no idea where I was going with this, it’s all over the place.

What’s a soulmate?

It’s a…it’s like a best friend but more.

It’s the one person who knows you better then anyone else, it’s someone who makes you a better person. Actually they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself, because they inspire you.

A soulmate Is someone who you can carry with you forever. It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you, believed in you before anybody else did. Or when no one else would, and no matter what happens you will always love them; Nothing can ever change that. - Dawson’s Creek (never watched it but have heard the ‘what’s a soulmate?’ Clip more times then I can count.’

The term soulmates had been so firmly interchangeable with romantic connotations that many often forget that being soulmates with someone doesn’t necessarily mean that it was remotely romantic in the first place.

You can be soulmates with that one friend who’s stood by you through thick and thin, a family member, or a co-worker that you get along with very well, so much so that you might as well be the same person.

With that out of the way, let’s move onto yours and Hobie’s relationship.

To begin with, you and Hobie both thought that the idea of soulmates wasn’t something you’d fully put your faith into as to believe that you and someone else were tethered to one another, expected to love one another against your better judgment.

What if your soulmate was a twat? A down right godawful human being? What then? Are you still expected to love them even though everything they’ve ever done was morally and ethically wrong?

Fanfics, romance books and movies never bother to divulge into these topics, which is why you never truly trusted the so called ‘fairy tale ending.’

Soulmates didn’t exist, and even if they did, in what right mind would you have in ever wanting one?

‘What would you do if you found out you had a soulmate?’ You remember telling Hobie one day as you were both hanging out on a rooftop somewhere just a little ways of the pub you always relegated to at the weekends, or whenever Hobie and his band had a gig there.

‘I’d tell them that they’re full of shit and shouldn’t be believing in fairy tales, for they’ll always lie to you.’ Hobie replied, looking over at you from over his beloved guitar that he was previously tuning before laying it carefully down by his side. His actions made you chuckle as you sat up to stretch your arms over your head, grunting. ‘yeah, if you ever had a soulmate it’d be your damn guitar with how careful you are with it.’

Hobie gives you a good shove in the arm, ‘oh fuck off, what about you then?’

‘Hmm?’ You hummed.

‘What would you do if you found your soulmate?’ He echoed your question and for the first time, you didn’t know how to respond because if you had it your way, you’d would’ve wanted Hobie as your soulmate because in your eyes there was no one better then Hobie Brown. For Hobie was the best friend that always believed in you when you and seemingly everybody else you have ever met in your life have long since given up on you. But not Hobie, never Hobie.

Even during the times where you wanted him to leave you alone, he would always come back a good hour or two after with your favourite snacks in tow before he sits himself down next to you and offer to listen to what’s been eating away at you. When asked why, Hobie would look at you as though you grew a second head -even though you were quite certain in your friendship that Hobie wouldn’t give two shits if you were to grow a second head- before responding with; ‘you’re my mate and I need to be on the look out for you, even if you don’t want me to, I will, because there ain’t no way I’m letting you sit this one out on your own; we’re sitting out problems out together from now on.’ Hobie then proceeds to tuck you tightly into his side. ‘So don’t go hiding shit form me from now on, yeah?’

From then on you never once hide anything from Hobie; until one morning you found a tattoo or a marking of sorts in the shape of a electric guitar just on the inside of your wrist; Now this wasn’t just any old guitar, you knew the shape and model of the guitar like the back of your hand and from that morning onwards, you had been keeping your soulmate tattoo/mark covered by wearing long sleeved shirts or hoodies because you know if you were to conceal it in any other way and Hobie caught wind. You’d be fucked on a multitude of levels.

What you didn’t know what that Hobie was in the same predicament as you in regards of having a random tattoo/mark he doesn’t remember getting suddenly appearing on his body. He knew what it meant the moment he saw it, and ever since he’s been trying to find a seamless way to integrate it into a conversation with you that wouldn’t seem too out of left field. Hobie knows he’s a confident bloke but to drop this type of thing on you unexpectedly as though it was nothing, wasn’t the way he wanted to go about things you both adamantly shitted on previously.

Hobie also has a sneaking suspicion that this was why you had brought up the topic of soulmates when you did; because you also had a mark of your own. Ever since you’ve both been tucked away on the rooftop, he’s noticed how every so often you would subconsciously pull down the fabric of your hoodie/long sleeved shirt as though you were trying to hide something. but even with all your attempts of hiding your Mark, Hobie could often sometimes see glimpses of the neck of the guitar practically wink at him knowingly.

‘I dunno,’ you shrugged, ‘what can I do in that situation? I can’t say that I love them because I’m fated to them-‘

‘Why not?’ Hobie interjected.

You shrug again, ‘I want to at least get to know the person outside of the whole being my soulmate before I start saying anything in regards to liking them, never mind loving them.’ Once again Hobie caught you pulling down the fabric of your sleeve out of the corner of his eye before casting his eyes back to you.

‘What if your soulmate is closer then you thought?’ He asked as you furrowed your brows as you looked at him as a weird feeling befell you. It felt as though Hobie knew something you didn’t and your hand immediately went to your covered wrist, feeling over exposed all of a sudden as a flurry of thoughts rushed to the forefront of your mind all at once, overwhelming you to the point where it became hard to not only swallow but breath as well.

Hobie knew

He knew

Were the only thoughts that stuck out to you in that moment and in that moment, you honestly didn’t know what to do now that you were caught. You cursed yourself for not knowing any better as Hobie was as smart as they came but before you could start running your mouth with excuses, Hobie lifted one of his spiked cuffs slightly up his arm to show you his tattoo/mark.

However a question still remained unanswered; where do you go from here now that you found out that your best friend was your soulmate?

[chahnniesroom]

tenderness | bonus scene: banmal

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: the first time you call chan 'oppa.'

this is a bonus scene taking place in the tenderness universe, but you don't have to have read tenderness to read this fic! just know that the main character is currently a manager for stray kids. she's also chan's soulmate, which explains why she lives in the dorms with him.

chapter word count: 1.6k

warnings: none!

a/n: a bit of fluff was requested by one of the readers on ao3. the term 'banmal' is used to describe informal speech in korean and is usually for casual conversation between friends, relatives, or people younger than you. i can't properly demonstrate the way that the main character's speech level changes since speech levels don't exist the same way in english. i only modified the honorifics that y/n uses to address the members. this was my first time writing fluff, it was surprisingly fun!

tenderness masterlist | read it on ao3

“Noona?” You and Jisung are lounging in the living room after a schedule that miraculously ended early. You're not sure where the other guys are and you don't really care, it's nice to have one on one time with Jisung. 

“Hm?” You drag your eyes away from the drama that the two of you have been half heartedly been watching to find him deep in thought.

“You called me Jisung-ssi earlier. You always do that. Why?”

“Ah,” you say, flustered. “It just still feels weird to talk to you guys informally. I don’t want anybody to get the wrong idea.”

“But you don’t call Felix, Felix-ssi! I’ve even heard you call him Lixie before! Why is he special?” Jisung whines.

“It’s different!” you defend yourself. “We talk in English mostly. There’s not really any honorifics or levels of speech. It’d be weirder if I did speak formally to him.”

“Sounds like an excuse, but okay. What do you call Channie-hyung?” he asks with a particular gleam in his eyes.

“Chan-ssi,” you say matter-of-factly. You have to bite back a laugh at the disappointed noise he makes at your response.

“Minho-hyung?”

“Minho-ssi.”

“Changbinnie-hyung?”

“Changbin-ssi,” you reply dutifully.

“You guys are the same age! It doesn’t make sense!” he groans.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting,” you say, amused. “I talk to all of you the same.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re hopeless.” He shakes his head dramatically. “You’re soulmates with Channie-hyung! That means you’re basically family to all of us. Listen, at work? Sure, fine, you can be all polite and formal, I get it. But in the dorms?”

“Jisu-”

“Here, the guys are coming over for dinner tonight. Please please please, can you call Minho-hyung oppa to his face?”

“What? No!” you say immediately.

“Pleaseee,” he draws out the word playfully. He shuffles closer and takes your hands in his, pouting exaggeratedly. “Just once! I just want to see his reaction! I know that all of us have told you at one point to speak to us comfortably. He wouldn’t get mad at you, I promise!”

“I’m not going to do it,” you laugh, trying to disentangle your hands.

“You can tell him that I forced you to! I’ll volunteer to clean the dishes after dinner! I’ll be better about cleaning the bathroom! I’ll buy you bubble tea for a week! I’ll buy you new shoes! I’ll stop changing my mind a million times when we’re trying to decide what to order during schedules! I'll write you a song! Please please please, Y/n-noona!”

“I-” you falter. Jisung immediately brightens, his mouth curves into a heart-shaped smile. “Fine. Only because you look so cute.”

Jisung cheers, jumping up and punching the air with his fists.

“You’re the best!!”

“I’m going to blame you for it,” you warn.

“Of course. Even if hyung kills me, it’ll be worth it in the moment.” He beams.

—

At dinner, Jisung sits to your left and every few minutes, he nudges your leg in an attempt to prompt you into speaking. You ignore it, continuing to eat as if nothing is happening. Yes, you agreed to follow along with Jisung’s silly idea, but you still want it to happen naturally, otherwise it would be even more out of place. As much as this is kind of a joke, it is starting to feel a bit strange always using polite speech and you're curious to see how everyone will react.

Opportunity strikes when you stretch to grab one of the side dishes that happen to be in front of Minho. You can't quite reach it sitting, but before you can stand, Minho picks up one of the serving utensils and picks out the best piece, placing it into your bowl. He serves himself next, but you know it's just to play off his kind gesture. You're genuinely grateful for his thoughtfulness.

“Thank you, Minho-oppa,” you say, making sure to keep your voice casual.

Everyone freezes. Minho is good at maintaining his nonchalant expression, but his ears betray him by slowly turning red. Your cheeks are flushed to match and even without looking, you can tell the rest of the boys are stunned. It takes a great effort on your part to not turn to glance at Chan, although you can practically feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jeongin elbow Hyunjin in the stomach and mouth "Oppa?" in disbelief.

Finally, Minho recovers enough to clear his throat loudly and say, "it's nothing, I was going to get some anyway."

Jisung, on the other hand, is grinning like an idiot.

“Hyung! You should have seen your reaction, I wish I had taken a picture!” He cries out, laughing loudly.

“What reaction?” Minho tries to play it off.

“Hyung, your ears.” Hyunjin tugs on one teasingly, then instantly apologises and cowers when Minho turns to glare at him.

"Call me oppa too, Y/n!" Changbin says excitedly, standing up to serve you from the dish closest to him.

"We're the same age, Changbin-ah, I'm not going to call you oppa," you tease. He just laughs, delighted to be on the receiving end of your more casual speech.

“If Y/n calls Minho-hyung oppa, does that mean she needs to call Chan-hyung ajhussi?” Seungmin pipes up. Across the table, Hyunjin dissolves into laughter at the thought.

—

Chan doesn’t mention it all evening, even though the boys continue to tease Minho, calling him ‘oppa’ instead of ‘hyung’ when they address him and taking every opportunity to call Chan ‘ajhussi’. They’ve both given out countless headlocks in revenge, but it’s all in good humour. Eventually, Minho, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin head home, and the rest of the boys drift off into their own rooms.

After washing up, you join Chan in his room, not wanting to hog the bathroom for any longer than required. He’s already set to sleep and had been sitting in bed scrolling on his phone until you had walked in. Through the reflection of the little mirror that you’re using to do your skincare routine, you can see that he’s watching you.

“You know,” he says steadily. “You can- you can call me that too, if you want.” You pause at the carefully worded request. You make eye contact with him through the mirror and watch as the tips of his ears and the tops of his cheeks slowly pinkens.

“Call you what?” you ask, deliberately playing oblivious.

“You know,” he flounders.

“Do I?" you wonder, tapping a finger to your lips teasingly.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable, I just thought that if you were going to talk to the boys more casually then you can do the same. You’re my soulmate, things don’t have to be so formal all the time.  I don’t want to force you to do anything, but I wouldn’t mind, at all! I know Jisung probably was the one to get you to say that to Minho and it was really funny to see his reaction. Uhm. I mean, you can really call me anything that you want! Chan-ssi. Chan-oppa. Chan-ah, actually no that’s kind of weird maybe not that one. Uh if it makes it less weird you can use my English name too! Chris, Christopher, whatever,” he trails off, then buries his face in his hands with a groan. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

You're finished your skincare routine so you put away all the containers and turn in your seat so that you're fully facing him. You take a second to collect yourself, then pitch your voice so it's small and cutesy, a far cry from how you normally talk.

"Oppa," you test. His eyes immediately shoot up to meet yours, cheeks darkening more than they had before. "Do you want me to call you Channie-oppa?" You tilt your head to one side and widen your eyes.

"Argh.” This time, he turns to smash his face in his pillow to hide himself, pulling the blanket over his head for good measure.

"Channie-oppa, why are you hiding? I thought this is what you wanted." You lightly tug at the blanket, but he holds it tight, shaking his head vigorously. You've never been the type to perform aegyo, but it's surprisingly fun and you can't deny that you're enjoying Chan's reaction. After another minute, he pokes his head out looking a bit sheepish.

“You are really cute when you say that,” he admits. “And I really like to hear that you feel comfortable using banmal with us.”

“I am comfortable with everyone, I have been for a while,” you say. “And you’re also really cute when I call you oppa.”

His eyes crinkle as he smiles and you take the opportunity to lean forward and poke one of the dimples that appear. In retaliation, he grips the corners of the blanket and collects you in his arms, effectively swallowing you in the mess of fabric. He pulls you so that you lose balance and fall onto the bed, cradled in his arms. You feel so safe in his embrace and the both of you momentarily fall silent.

“Okay, I think we should sleep now,” Chan says eventually. “Good night, Y/n.”

“Good night… Channie-Oppa,” you respond.

Even though you can’t see Chan in the dark, you know that he’s smiling. It’s enough that you drift off to sleep with a smile as well.

tenderness masterlist | read it on ao3

[reallypleasanttree]

A What if scene from “Wedding Plans” if Obanai met his cousin, Kiwa. This would have been set right after chapter 23.

There was no mistaking the woman sitting on the bench across from the hostess. Black hair and dark almond shaped eyes like the rest of the Iguros. She held a purse in front of her and stared between her feet. 

The last time they saw each other she cursed him and wished for his death. She shoved him to the ground before Shinjuro stepped between them and the emergency responder carried her away. Sanemi had said she acted as if she didn’t know her cousin. Obanai walked to the front and crossed his arms. 

“Hey, Kiwa,” he greeted her casually. It was easier than he thought it’d be. She looked up. Her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. She opened her mouth and then pursed her lips. 

“Hey, Obanai,” she said, her voice deeper than he remembered. “Could we talk outside? There’s a park a block away.” Despite his better judgement he agreed. 

“I’ll be back in a little bit. You’re in charge,” Obanai said to Aoi. 

“Chef Iguro, I'm always in charge,” Aoi retorted tersely, scoffing at the insinuation. Outside of himself and Chef Sabito, she was the only one who could manage the front and the kitchen. 

Kiwa went through the front door and down a block. Obanai walked beside her, but neither of them spoke. They found a secluded bench. Kiwa sat at one end and Obanai the other. 

“Your friend told me to stay away. I had no intention of seeing you, in fact, I wanted to pretend like you never existed,” Kiwa started. 

“Then why are you here?” Obanai asked. Kiwa set her purse beside her and crossed her legs. She looked up. The early afternoon sun was high in the sky with thin clouds drifting over it. 

“I saw you the other night with your family at the play. You looked…” She paused. Obanai’s back went rigid. “Happy. For years, I hated you for what happened to my aunt and sisters. I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought if we ever meet again, I’d fly into a rage, but instead I was glad.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Obanai said. He didn’t need a detailed answer. Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled back. 

“Give me a minute to explain. I work with kids and part of my job is to assess their home life and ensure they are being taken care of. With what happened to us,” she said, looking at his mask. “I want to help kids get out of situations like ours.” 

His right eye twitched. Like ours? Beneath his skin, his blood simmered. 

“Sometimes I have to make the decision to send the kids into foster care. I wonder what happens to them afterward, you know?” Kiwa explained, swallowing. “I wonder if they’ll ever be happy. Seeing you with your family gave me some hope that things can get better.” 

Of course, it was for her benefit. He exhaled harshly. “So, what? You came to tell me you want me to be the poster child for foster children?” He scoffed and rose from the bench. 

“No. It’s about what happened to our family. I want to apologize for what I said afterward. I was upset and angry. I wanted to blame you for what happened when it wasn’t completely your fault,” Kiwa said. Obanai paused. She coughed and cleared her throat. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. 

“I left your door unlocked. I lit the candle. After what we did-“ Kiwa pursed her lips and tears trailed down her face. “I followed your mom and my sisters’ directions. I never knew anything different, but cutting your face was too much. I just wanted you to leave. I wanted it all to end.” Her voice cracked.

His mind went blank. She intentionally unlocked his door to allow to escape. His mouth felt dry. What happened, it wasn’t completely his fault. The fire and deaths never would have happened if Kiwa chose differently. But then what would have become of him? 

“If I blamed you, then I would never have to confront  what we did to you or the consequences of my actions. I am so sorry,” Kiwa said and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. 

Obanai faced his cousin. For sixteen years he had blamed himself for the fire and their family’s death. The entire time Kiwa held some of the responsibility. He could yell at her or curse her name, but it wouldn’t accomplish anything. He didn’t need an apology because he already forgave himself. He inhaled deeply. She needed this though. 

“It’s okay,” Obanai said. Kiwa glanced up with wide eyes. “I appreciate you telling me the truth, but I’ve moved on. You have too.” He gestured to her wedding ring. Her bottom lip trembled. 

“My husband doesn’t know about you,” Kiwa said quickly. “Your friend threatened to tell him if I contacted you. After seeing you, I couldn’t leave without telling the truth. Even if your friend tells him, I won’t regret it. You deserved to know.”

He didn’t know her husband, but if he found out through another person now it could ruin her marriage and career. From the sound of it, Kiwa was helping children and trying to make the world a better place. Obanai sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Be better. 

“Did you mean it? About helping kids get out of situations like ours?” He asked. She nodded. “Keep helping them and I’ll talk to my friend. We’re not part of each other’s lives, so why wreck yours?” 

“Thank you, I-“ His cousin started. 

“I wasn’t done,” Obanai said brusquely. “You should tell him yourself. Keeping everything locked up will only make the guilt worse. If you love each other, he’ll understand. My fiancé did.” 

“I’ll think about it,” she said, assessing him with her dark eyes. “Was she the one with pink and green hair?” Obanai nodded. 

“So, she knows everything?” Kiwa pointed to his cheeks.

“Yes,” the chef answered. “Look, I have to get back to work. Thank you for telling me the truth.” 

“You’re welcome,” Kiwa said and reached into her purse. “Here’s my number.” She held out the card, but he didn’t take it. 

“No, I want this to be the last time we talk,” Obanai set the boundary. He said goodbye to his family months ago and that included Kiwa. His cousin gave him a polite smile and put the card back in her purse. No words passed between them as Kiwa rose and walked away. 

[dokidokitsuna]

Our Hero

Looks like Dream Alliance is gonna win the poll-- in any case, even if it slips into 2nd place by the end, it’s the oldest AU on the list so it takes priority. ^^ The art train has already left the station~

I thought it’d be nice to start off with a picture of good old Mad Scientist Magolor. I’ve never actually drawn what he would look like after his big adventure is over, during the brief year or two when he’s considered the universally-beloved savior of the world…y’know, before Consequences™ start to muddy the waters. ^^; He’s basically the same; the only changes are his scar and Nova-freckles, updated vambraces, and of course, the wheelchair. I originally intended for his dimensional overcoat to carry his weakened body around, and I guess it could, but visually I like the actual chair better. :] It makes him feel more down-to-earth.

So, if you remember, a while back I wrote out a “bad ending” epilogue for Dream Alliance, which I admitted I didn’t actually consider “canon” to the AU. "So then," you may be wondering, "what IS the canon ending? What actually happens to Mags and Division Six after they save the world…?"

Well, I gave it some thought, and as painful as it is…I think the true ending would be very similar to the “bad” one. Hyness is the problem-- after all’s said and done, the various leaders of the world would probably want him dead for inciting a global genocide. And it would be hard to blame them…but at the same time, I simply cannot imagine a Magolor who would sit quietly and let his father be executed. Even if it meant having the whole world turn on him, even if he truly felt the punishment fit the crime, he would still have to try to save him. He just loves him too much.

There would only be two major differences, and the first would be the position of the Dream Alliance: one of the conditions of the “good ending” is that Susie discovers the truth about Magolor, but understands where he’s coming from, due to her relationship with her own morally-bankrupt-yet-loving father. She does have a talk with him, but keeps it under wraps, and generally ignores the issue until the public finds out that Hyness exists. And even then, although she’s duty-bound to respect the wishes of the rest of the world (and kinda does want to avenge President Haltmann Sr., who died during the Void fiasco) she feels bad about having to oppose Magolor on this, and holds back a bit during the final fight.

The second (even more painful) major difference would be…I think Magolor would decide to sacrifice himself to end the conflict. 🥺If the world wants a life to take, let it be his-- after all, that would be the harshest possible punishment for his father, and he knows it. Nothing would hurt Hyness more than to live out the rest of his days knowing his beloved son died for his crimes.

And it would also quell any concerns regarding all the power Magolor amassed during the story: if he dies, the Void Destroyer System dies with him. No one has to worry about the god-killing mecha or alien auxiliaries falling into the wrong hands; it will all be gone. That extra detail, I think, would be enough to convince other world leaders to accept the deal.

His angels would agree unanimously to die with their creator, because that’s how they are (Morpho might even pull a “see you on the other side”, being part death-god, after all…he knows they’ll meet again in some form~); Gryll and Adeleine would be inconsolable, the other generals would be low-key devastated too (I think MK would be hit the hardest); and Hyness would probably still be alone in his cell, able to ‘sense’ the loss of his child even without anyone telling him…and wishing for nothing more than to join him from that moment on.