#of COURSE I do- what do you expect of me?

[giogiobb]

Tease

Nerd!Armin x Reader

tags: teasing, drinking, tongue piercing (obviously), oral fixation, cunnilingus, edging, breath play, overstimulation, gagging, mirror play, biting, mild pain play, smut

inspired by fanart from: @musapylsa

You were called by your lecturer to wait along with Armin. “Yes, professor?” you said while impatiently waiting to leave class. “Your last assignment was lacking. So, I’m assigning Armin here to tutor you for a few weeks” he said while looking through some papers. You looked over at Armin who was looking at the lecturer absent-mindedly. “Is that okay with you Armin?” the lecturer asked looking up from the papers. “Yes, all good with me.” he piqued while nodding. You didn't have it in you to ask whether that was really necessary. “Alright, thank you professor. Have a good day” you said wanting to hurriedly leave. You walked out of the class not waiting to hear a response because you didn't have any interest in doing the tutoring lessons.

However, Armin on the other hand took any tutoring requests seriously. “Hey, wait up.” he lightly jogged towards you to catch up with you. “Listen Armin, I know you’re a teacher's pet or whatever but I don’t need tutoring lessons so I have to go now.” You said annoyedly. “Yeah well it’s not convenient for me either but I have to do it or else he will question my capability if he sees that your grades are still bad.” He said bluntly. You stared at him blankly, mouth ajar in shock because you didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. You always considered him to be a pushover because of how he looked. “Okay fine, let’s go to the library now if so. I have somewhere to be tonight.” He nodded and began following you to the library.

You sat across him at the table, legs crossed and bouncing under the table. You were bored out of your mind and your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing but he already gave you an annoyed look because of it so you took it off the table and kept it in your bag. Instead of looking at the words written on his book, you kept glancing towards his hand moving on it. He has really beautiful hands, you wondered and your mind wandered to what he can do with it. He then slammed his hand on the book to get your attention which pulled you out of your trance making you look up at him. “Are you even paying attention?” He said with a hint of sternness which you wouldn’t have caught if he didn’t have your full attention. “Um, yeah of course. Why would you think I’m not paying attention?” You said while giving a half hearted chuckle. He just gave you a light glare and continued on with the tutoring. You sat there intrigued by this side of him which you didn’t know existed. Heck, you even felt a bit attracted and wanted to know him more because of it. While teaching, he stretched his leg towards you brushing past your ankle. He looked up from the book to see you squirm a bit with a soft blush spread across your cheeks. He knew you were staring at his hands and he wanted to mess with you a bit more but thought it would be too mean to do so on the first day itself 

After an hour, Armin decided to wrap up because he didn’t want to overwhelm you with the content by teaching everything on the same day. “I’ll be leaving now. See you tomorrow. Same time, same place.” He said while packing up. You didn’t even realize an hour went by. “Oh, uh sure yeah. See you tomorrow.” When he walked away you kept staring at his back. Though he wasn’t the tallest, you also didn’t realize that he had kind of a lean build under the baggy t-shirts that he wear.

-

Next day you meet him at the same time, same place wearing quite a raunchy outfit you’d say. After all, you were going clubbing after this with some of your girlfriends. He glanced you up and down before pulling out and patting on the chair next to him today. You walked over and sat on it feeling a bit proud that you made a nerd like him check you out since you have never seen him talk to any girls before. You pulled the chair closer towards him and the table to settle in. “Shall we begin?” You asked him innocently with a smile on your lips. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses further on his nose bridge and nodded.

Almost half an hour into the tutoring, you started to feel bored from just looking at how his hands moved on the book with the pencil and how his adam's apple moved up and down as he kept teaching you the content. On the other hand, Armin also kept stealing glances at your chest that were slightly spilling out from your V neck top. He snapped out from both tutoring and taking looks when he felt your warm thigh press against his from the side. You moved closer towards him, both your arms slightly brushing against each other. Armin didn’t like this teasing as much as you thought he would. Solely for the reason that it wouldn’t be right to lean over to kiss and ruin you for trying to push him over the edge. He gripped the pencil even more, knuckles turning white. He continued teaching while she stared at the book. He moved towards your neck, ever so slightly just to make you feel his hot breath on your neck as he spoke. You felt yourself squirming and becoming breathless with unholy ideas running through your mind. You couldn’t take it anymore and moved your chair a bit away from him. You couldn’t risk ruining your black lace panties before the night even began.

Time passed slower than yesterday and he wrapped up. “Any plans for tonight?” You asked him curiously. “No, you?” He answered a bit surprised that you wondered about his personal life. “Yeah, I’m going to a club with some friends” You answered as you watched him pack up. “Enjoy if so. I’ll text you next week about tutoring. Goodnight.” He answered and walked away not waiting for your reply since you both exchanged numbers yesterday at the beginning of the tutoring session. You watched him walk away but was snapped out of it when you felt your phone buzz. When you moved towards the table to look at your phone screen, Armin stopped walking and turned his head a bit to take one more glance at your bare legs as you wore a mini jean skirt only. He left with a head full of dirty thoughts.

As he walked towards his dorm room, Eren stopped him just to drag him to a club. Armin has said no enough times but lost a bet the last time they hung out so he had no choice but to go with Eren after dropping his bag off in his room. 

-

You entered the club lit in a purple hue of lights with white lights brightly flashing in different spots. You head to the bar and wait while your most confident friend chatted up some guy named Jean and got him to buy you all some drinks. While you were enjoying the drinks and dancing around, at the corner of your eye you spotted a certain blonde in the same green shirt you saw him in earlier. You thought to yourself that you might or might not be mistaken so you decide to follow the blonde you saw. He stood near a round high table with a goth girl and a frat boy clinking drinks. You watched as he downed the shot with ease and felt the burn of it in his throat reflecting on his face. He then turned around and you were right, it was Armin.

You felt quite shocked and a bit betrayed if you were being honest. Because the good boy image of him that you had in your head wasn’t somewhat true, but it also made you want to approach him. Yet for some reason, now that you find him attractive you felt awfully nervous. You turned around towards where your friends were and began walking away, until you felt a hand grab your wrist. You quickly turned around just to see Armin holding your wrist with his cheeks flushed pink.

He led you to the side a bit away from the crowd and leaned towards your ear to say “Can I kiss you?”. He caught you off guard and before you could register what he said, you felt your head nod. He leaned towards your face and began slowly pecking while holding your waist. Your hands roamed on his body and gripped his shirt to pull him closer. He felt the urge to deepen the kiss so he grabbed you by the back of your throat and tilted his head to the side so that his glasses won’t dig into your cheeks too much. You took a deep breath and began kissing him back deeply while your hand planted onto his hair pushing him closer. You felt his tongue swipe on your lips indicating you to open your mouth, and when you did his tongue began roaming your mouth like it was inspecting the inside.

Suddenly, you felt a warm metal in your mouth and you pulled away wondering what it was. Armin felt your body stiffen up as you pulled away and he knew exactly what it was. He knew that you felt his tongue piercing which was a surprise to you. Before he went in for another, he took one of your hands 2 fingers to make you swipe on his tongue to make you feel his piercing after he stuck his tongue out to show it. Your eyes widened because you didn't expect him to have such a provocative piercing. You moved your hand to the side of his face to grab it towards you to go for another kiss. This time you felt confident and he felt impatient to feel your lips again.

Both of you kissed for what felt like hours before you started dragging him to an out of order washroom. It hasn’t been in use for months because of a shattered mirror so it was convenient.

You entered with him and locked the door before heading towards the countertops. You started leaving kisses and hickeys on his neck while your hand roamed on his body under the shirt inching towards his growing bulge. He let out soft whimpers and moans while breathing heavily and gripping the edge of the countertops. You palmed his bulge over his jeans just to tease him, making him buck his hips up towards your palm. You let out a quiet giggle seeing his reaction and he knew you’d be just teasing him for way too long if he let you.

So he moved his hand towards the hem of your skirt and lifted it up revealing your lacy panties. The thought of you wearing it earlier to the tutoring lesson when you both teased each other made him feral. He moved his fingers to your heat over the panties making you bite your lips and breathe towards his neck. He felt himself lean towards your hot breath as he rubbed slow circles on your clit. You wanted to release so bad at this point you couldn’t be bothered to palm his bulge. Instead your hand reached towards his wrist to keep it still as you humped his hand.

To your dismay, he moved his hand away and made you lean on the countertop instead. He reached to your top to pull it down to your waist leaving your matching bra on. He grabbed one of your boobs while he left kisses and nibbles on the other leaving your nipple alone just to edge you. He moved one of his legs in between yours making you straddle it leaving you on your tip toes. Your heat was now on his thigh making you move your hips involuntarily. He kept pushing his leg towards you just to apply pressure. You felt your eyes roll back as you rode his thigh trying to catch your release, but as soon as you got close he moved his leg away making you whine.

He unclipped your bra from the back and circled your nipple with his tongue. The feel of his tongue piercing cold on your nipples made it even harder than before. After doing so for a bit, he began squatting down, leaving soft nibbles and feeling all your curves with the same hands that you were dreaming about since yesterday. His face finally reached your heat and he looked up at you while hiking your skirt up. He then gripped your panties from the sides to pull them down and off your legs just to stuff it in his pocket. You felt a bit shy now that you were bare and more naked than him. However, all that embarrassed thoughts went out the window when he began licking your clit with his tongue and caressing your folds with his fingers. You let out a moan feeling the touch you have been edged for too long. “So wet. Just for me.” He slightly smirked against your folds as he whispered just enough for you to hear. You felt your cheeks heat up more than you thought were possible when you heard. Not a minute later, he began eating you out as if it’s the first meal he’s having today. Your hand gripped his hair pulling his face towards your heat just to ride it. The way his cold tongue piercing kept hitting different areas of your heat made you lose your mind. Not too long after that, you felt yourself reach your first climax which washed over you making you feel so much pent up relief, but as you were catching your breath, Armin had other thoughts than to let you rest.

He felt your folds even wetter than before and plunged a finger deep in you making you pull his hair a bit harder than you wanted to. The thing about him though is that he loves and can handle pain very well. One reason why he has the piercing that he has. He added 1 more finger and began fucking you at a fast pace making you overstimulated. He stood up while still having his fingers in you and began kissing you while resting his other hand on your throat with a light pressure at the right spots. You felt yourself having a hard time to breathe because of it along with the pleasure he was giving you. He moved his lips away from yours and began leaving hickeys on very visible areas but you were seeing stars at this point so you could care less. You felt another climax approach soon and he knew as he felt you clench around his fingers. He helped you ride out your high while fucking you with his fingers leaving your heat pulsating.

He looked deep in your eyes as flashed his tongue just to lick his fingers that were dripping in your wetness. He licked them suggestively enough to make sure your breath hitched as you watched. You instinctively stuck your tongue out wanting him to do the same and worse to you. He took this as a sign to do the same and gripped the back of your throat before putting the same fingers deep in your mouth reaching your throat. It made you gag and have teary eyes but it burned so good as he moved. You swirled your tongue around his fingers tasting you and himself. It felt dirty but in the best way possible. He took his fingers out with a pop before unbuckling his pants to give himself a few pumps.

He held your arm and turned you around to make you face the mirror that was behind you the whole time. You faced the mirror and watched him from the mirror as he began lining his cock towards your entrance. He gave a few teasing nudges with his tip right before he sank fully into you. To your surprise, for a nerdy guy, he sure was packing. You felt yourself stretch around him which hurt so much.

After all, you have never had sex before despite how you presented yourself. You felt your eyes tear up and he noticed it in the mirror. He began hushing you as he slowly moved hoping it would soothe the pain. After taking a hot minute to adjust yourself to his length, you lifted your head up with hands on the countertop holding onto dear life to make eye contact with him from the mirror. His glasses were starting to now fog up ever so slightly making him look even more mysterious than usual. He held your hips and began fucking you fastening the pace. Your head dropped once again, but this time, he held your jaw and forced you to look towards the mirror so you could make eye contact with him. “Watch while I fuck you.” He lowly said into your ear and moved away after licking a stripe on your ear making you shiver. He began fucking you faster while gripping your hips enough to bruise them. Every now and then he would also give your round butt a squeeze making you moan and squirm.

As he kept fucking you, you became louder which could be risky because anybody could hear. He reached into his pocket and fished out your panties that he put in earlier. He grabbed it out and stuffed them into your mouth catching you off guard. He then grabbed both your wrists with one hand and your hair with the other. He pinned your wrists to your back while he pulled you by your hair towards his chest. He then moved it to your jaw holding your face in place while he fucked you deep with hard thrusts making his tip kiss the cervix in a way you didn’t think was possible. Your mouth was salivating so much to the point that there was spit leaking from the sides because of the way your panties were gagging you. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear making you all hot and bothered even more because of his breath as he fucked you.

He pulled out and reached for the panties in your mouth taking it out. It made you cough a bit before you began catching all the breath you lost. He then flipped you towards him and made you sit on the countertop between the two mirrors. When your butt touched the cold marble countertop, you felt so sensitive. You reached towards his shirt and tugged it upwards making him remove it. You admired his flushed body that was glistening in a thin layer of sweat. He threw the shirt next to you and went in for a kiss as he entered in you again.

This time he focused on getting himself off. So he gripped your waist and began grinding into you desperately. His pubic bone kept pleasuring your clit because of the position making you leave scratches on his back shoulders. This had him moaning and whimpering while yearning for release. He kept fucking you for a good while before he finally felt himself spasm indicating climax. You felt his thrusts become sloppier and held him closer wanting him to finish in you, and he gladly did groaning into your ear. While he kept cumming in you, he rubbed circles on your clit pushing you over the edge and making you cum for the third time that night. He had you biting his shoulder blade to mask the loud moan as he hugged you while you rode out your release while shaking.

You stopped biting and looked at him trying to find his eyes, but because of his fogged up glasses you couldn’t. So you reached towards it and pushed it up to his hair before locking eyes giving one final deep kiss for the night. Afterwards only you realised what you both had done and it left you dreading for the next tutoring lesson. While Armin on the other hand knew exactly what you both had done and couldn’t wait for the next tutoring lesson.

hope you guys enjoyed this.♡ྀི

word count: roughly 3400 words

a/n: lmk if you guys want a 2nd part cause i might have an idea on how to write one more part. :3

[hrrtshape]

hiiii emma, can u talk about your process for awake shifting? does it differ from your anti-method? thank u angel!!

the anti-method. and awake shifting. and me. hi.

hi snookums !!!!! thank you for enabling me. i love when we enable each other. you've tuned into the exact wrong frequency to stay grounded. perfect. now we spiral.

yes i still use the anti-method. of course i do. i'm loyal. i'm traditional. i'm clinically suspicious of reality and emotionally attached to loopholes. the only difference is now i'm vertical. upright. blinking !!!

if you want to know more about it, do go ahead and read this post here.

　here's my process .

no prep. don't lie down, although you can. whatever. don't breathe deep. just be. wherever you are. nothing to fix.

get suspicious. notice how things feel a bit…... wrong. light looks weird. you can't remember what you did 6 seconds ago.

drop the question. what if i already shifted and just forgot? not a test. just let the idea sit. loop it.

let your brain scramble a bit. it'll try to anchor you. lists, memories, elbow pain. nod. say ok. but keep thinking, what if this is just leftover?

assume it's done. you're not "getting there." you already did. i'm here. i've been here. i just forgot.

stay there. don't wait for a feeling. just hold the assumption. walk, talk, scroll like it's real. like it's been real.

　bonus steps. when you're confident but your cr still looks like your cr

this happens. you've assumed hard. you're in the pocket. but your environment's lagging. you feel like you walked into your dr and someone forgot to switch the set.

what now?

drop the expectation of proof. you're not waiting for a "shift feeling." you're not refreshing the screen for signs. this is not confirmation-based. your job is to keep assuming - not to diagnose reality.

call everything static. your bedroom is leftover code. your phone battery doesn't count. your body feeling the same, that's an echo. if you still feel "here," say: that's just memory playing itself out. reality's just buffering. you already left. act like you're already there. this doesn't mean pretending. it means committing. do what you would do in your dr. text them. reach for the thing. change the language in your head. claim the timeline like you've had the keys all along.

double down harder. the more "real" this place feels, the more you assume it's not. if you feel resistance, that's your sign to lean in. "the stronger this place feels, the less real it is."

　bonus loop. use this as a mantra if doubt creeps in ,

　i've already shifted. this is just the afterimage.

　the environment doesn't update me. i update it.

　i'm already there. reality just hasn't caught up.

[gutsby]

High Risk

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your dad finds out.

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

Word count: 15.0k

Joel Miller had the willpower of a sack of flour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clinically.

Joel almost dropped his keys turning the Bronco back on

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

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

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

Like hell it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if he could, just once?

Would you even like it?

Damn, it might not—

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

Thank you, Robert Plant.

The song started playing, and he felt especially grateful.

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

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

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

“What?” Joel turned to you.

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

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

Yeah.

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

He never considered himself a prude before.

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

But this was fucking nuts.

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

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

You had to be fucking joking.

You weren’t joking.

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

Sprinted, more like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His phone.

Also, he had on his reading glasses.

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

Joel cleared his throat.

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

“Jo-el.”

You groaned.

Joel didn’t blink.

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

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

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

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

How to do anal first time painless & safe

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

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

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

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

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

“Like Dad?”

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

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

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

Maybe sneaking around your dad was risky enough.

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

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

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

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

The fingers threaded through yours squeezed them.

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

Slow.

Steady.

Setting an even pace for everything to come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy picked the worst goddamn times to show face.

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

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

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

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

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

Then his brother had barged into the house downstairs.

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t going crazy, though.

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

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

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

Your dad was calling for the check presently.

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

Shit.

Dial that down to a…four, maybe?

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

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

You coughed again and forced a smile.

You quickly nodded back at him.

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

You fucker.

He deserved that.

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel, you know I’m fine to—”

“Fucking shit.”

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

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

He hadn’t even…

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

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

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

Shortly, he was feeling around for your remote.

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

“You need some water? Here.”

And she offered you hers.

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

“Motherfuckin’ piece’a—ah, ah.”

You clamped down at the last.

Was that a moan at the end?

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

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

No the absolute fuck there isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

Joel shut your undies off.

You let out a heaving sigh.

Your father eyed you incredulously. Frowning.

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

You gave him one anyway.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

Evidently, you weren’t having it.

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever the fuck you want, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel loved you.

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

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

“Sweetheart!”

That was your dad.

But it wasn’t for you.

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

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

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

Beside him, Maria’s did the same.

So he’d told her about Helen, then.

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

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

You lowered your ice cream cone and eyed them both.

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

You stood and tossed your cone in the trash.

Then, without saying another word, you left.

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

You got the fuck out of there, though.

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

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

Joel called your name.

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

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

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

“I know.”

Another step closer.

Another pass for your elbow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And we’re—FUCK!”

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

Joel’s did the same.

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

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

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

“Baby, hey—hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s hand jerked back.

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

“Honey! Hon—fuck—are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Running off like that was what he meant, surely.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t ca—”

“Can we talk?”

Another sniff. Another step away.

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

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

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

“We need to talk, pumpkin.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

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

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

He was paranoid.

Insane.

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

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

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

“Miller, you—”

Fuck, this was it. The end.

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

“Sure thing, man.”

Shouldn’t be too long.

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

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

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

Down the boardwalk, haunting him all the way back:

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

Your head hurt.

The talk ended up taking more than five minutes.

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

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

You blinked and wanted to forget everything.

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

“Don’t say that,” he rasped.

“It’s true. I wrecked everything.”

“You didn’t wreck a single damn—”

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

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

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

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

Joel sat up with you.

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

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

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

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

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

Needy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh—”

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

“Sweet pea, I promise you’re not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? That serious?”

“He plans on marryin’ her.”

“Never pegged him as the marrying kind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You canted your hips upward at just the right moment.

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

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

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

You wanted him there.

Needed him, you hoped he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel nudged you back down.

He turned and opened the top drawer of the nightstand.

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

A mechanical buzz and a palm pressing to your hip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then a chuckle.

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

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

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

Joel kissed you again.

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

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

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

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

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

“Anywhere?”

“Yes.”

“In the ass?”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck prep.

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

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

“Sweet pea, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

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

You understood him, now leaning back on his heels.

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

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

Worrying what your father might say to him, probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For another, his grip tightened protectively over your hip.

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

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

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

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

“Go on, sweet pea.”

“I love you, Joel.”

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

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

“Again.”

A beat. Another soft tug.

“Push when I pull on it, OK, baby?”

You nodded, not wanting to waste a second.

“OK. Joel…I-I love you so mu—oh.”

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

“Don’t move, sweetheart. It’s OK.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded.

Joel smiled.

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

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

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

He withdrew, before plunging it back in gently.

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

“I love you, Joel.”

And you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It started to feel good.

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

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

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

“Y-Y-You love me, too, right?”

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

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

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

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

He wanted you to look up at him.

And when you did, your worries trickled away.

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

He blinked once, then resumed:

“As long as I live, sweet pea.”

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Joel. So much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d almost forgotten you were about to fuck.

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

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

“So are we,” you hissed indignantly.

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

“Joel Miller.”

Technically, he was right.

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

“Yes ma’am.”

Then he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leaned down to kiss your forehead again.

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, it actually felt pretty…nice.

Tight.

Strange.

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

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

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

Another minuscule slide, another tight smile from Joel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel was down to the hilt, completely sheathed.

Your muscles clenched one more time, and—

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

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

Joel chuckled.

“Like how we look?”

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

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

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

And shit was he smug. Handsome as anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you liked it.

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

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

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

Another stroke. Another crash of wood to the wall.

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

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

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

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

Thank fuck it wasn’t yours.

Still, you jumped.

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

Through the wall, you could hear your dad groan.

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

‘Well…fuck’ that look seemed to say.

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

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

Joel’s eyes shone above you.

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

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

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

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

It was your dad’s.

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

The walls were paper thin. What if that meant—

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

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

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

Oh, fuck.

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

As a matter of fact, it was horrifying.

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

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

Joel groaned. He probably shouldn’t have.

“Gonna let me, sweet pea?”

“Yes, daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat passed, and Joel blinked.

Then, slowly, a smile crept in.

“Y’mean it, sweetheart?”

“I mean it. Tomorrow.”

Mark never claimed to be a good father.

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

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

He should’ve seen Joel coming a mile away.

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

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

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

Then they didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

Joel didn’t just have a crush.

He was almost certainly infatuated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he—

No, he couldn’t.

He didn’t even know you like that.

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

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

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

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

Calming.

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

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

Nothing too bad.

Nothing too terrible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

WORLD’S

BEST

DADDY

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

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

No matter what happened, he always would.

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

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

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

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

Then Mark’s face drained of all its blood.

“Daddy, pleeeeease!” you begged for mercy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything?” he repeated.

“Anything!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“MILLER!”

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

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

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

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

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

Your dad was standing on the shoreline, aghast.

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

Then the scene changed faster than you could blink.

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

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

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

WORLD’S

BEST

DADDY

DADDY

DADDY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your dad was asking a question. It came again.

“My fucking daughter, you fucking—”

And the last part cut out, swiftly.

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

For a second, you did.

Joel’s head was released, and he resurfaced.

Your father took a hard breath and gritted his teeth.

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

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

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

Instead, your father stunned you then, shouting:

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

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

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

“I love her.”

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

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

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

“And you?” he hissed.

He grabbed Joel again.

You didn’t have to think.

“I love him, daddy, I love him.”

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

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

You dropped beside Joel.

He resurfaced a second later, sputtering for air.

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

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

More blood.

More blinking.

Scarcely conscious at all, he inched closer to you.

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

“‘M’sorry—”

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

It was held underwater, hard, by your father.

Tears nearly had you blinded, but you saw it.

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

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

In summary:

[niwaart]

DIFFERENT WORLD, DIFFERENT FAMILY

(Part1)... (part2)...

Tim felt… weird.

It wasn’t the usual kind of weird, like finding a new case file that didn’t add up or stumbling upon Damian’s latest sketchbook filled with disturbingly accurate battle wounds. No, this was different. This was Y/N.

Ever since she had appeared in their world, claiming to be Bruce’s wife from another reality, she had been hovering. Not in an intrusive way, but in a way that made Tim’s skin prickle with unease. She asked him questions, too many questions.

"Did you eat?"

"Are you sleeping enough?"

"You look tired, should I make you tea?"

And the worst part? She waited for him.

Tim wasn’t used to that.

In the Manor, Alfred was the one who took care of them, bandaged their wounds, and made sure they didn’t starve during late-night patrols. But Alfred’s care was routine, expected. Y/N’s attention was… personal.

Tonight was no different.

Tim had just dragged himself back from a grueling stakeout, his muscles aching, his mind buzzing with caffeine and exhaustion. The clock read 3:17 AM. The Manor was silent, save for the faint hum of the grandfather clock in the hall.

And yet—

"You’re back."

Tim nearly jumped out of his skin.

Y/N stood by the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp despite the late hour. A steaming bowl of soup sat on the counter beside her, the scent of ginger and herbs filling the air.

Tim blinked. "You... you waited up?"

She shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You weren’t home. Of course, I did."

Something twisted in Tim’s chest.

He wasn’t used to this.

Damian Wayne was many things, observant, calculating, and very aware of when something was off.

And Y/N’s behavior? Definitely off.

She treated Tim like… like he was fragile. Like he might break if she didn’t watch him closely. It made Damian’s teeth grind.

At breakfast, she slid extra pancakes onto Tim’s plate.

When Tim yawned, she immediately asked if he needed rest.

And the way she looked at him—like she was seeing someone else.

Someone is gone.

Damian didn’t like it.

So he confronted her.

"You favor Drake."

Y/N paused mid-step in the hallway, turning to face Damian. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable.

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Damian snapped. "You hover over him like he’s made of glass. You barely pay attention to me or Father... yet you act like Drake is the one who needs protecting."

Y/N’s expression flickered, something dark and wounded flashing in her eyes.

Damian didn’t miss it.

"...He died in my world," she said softly.

Damian stilled.

"The Joker killed him. And when he came back… he wasn’t the same." Her voice cracked. "So yes. I do hover. Because the thought of losing him again any version of him makes me sick."

Damian didn’t know what to say.

Bruce had been watching.

He had seen the way Y/N moved through the Manor—like she belonged there. The way she rearranged the paintings, the way she instinctively knew where everything was.

And the way she looked at Tim.

Now, standing in the Batcave, he finally asked the question burning in his mind.

"In your world… how did Tim die?"

Y/N’s hands clenched.

"The Joker..."

Bruce’s blood ran cold.

"And when he came back…?"

She looked away. "He came back wrong. Full of rage. Full of pain."

Bruce exhaled slowly.

No wonder she watched Tim like a ghost.

Tim found her in the library later that night.

Y/N was curled up in an armchair, an old photo album in her lap, photos taken by Alfred of the family. She was smiling with every picture.

He hesitated before sitting beside her.

"...You don’t have to worry about me, you know," he said quietly. Bruce told him about Tim in her world and what happened to him... like what happened to Jason.

Y/N smiled sadly. "I know."

A beat of silence.

"...But I’m going to anyway."

Tim didn’t argue.

For the first time in a long time… it didn’t feel so bad to be cared for.

#############################

Dick Grayson had heard rumors.

Not from Bruce... no, Bruce had been characteristically tight-lipped. Not from Alfred, who had only cryptically said, "The Manor has an unexpected guest." Not even from Tim, who had been weirdly evasive in his texts.

No, Dick had heard it from Damian.

And Damian never lied.

"Father’s wife is here. From another world."

Dick had nearly dropped his phone.

The clock struck 2:47 AM when Dick slipped through the Manor’s front door. He hadn’t announced his arrival, partly because he wanted to see this "otherworldly wife" for himself before jumping to conclusions, and partly because he really didn’t want to deal with Bruce’s inevitable interrogation.

The Manor was quiet. Too quiet.

No Damian lurking in the shadows. No Tim typing furiously in the study. No Alfred offering tea.

Just… silence.

And then—

"You’re not a burglar."

Dick spun around, escrima sticks already in hand, only to freeze.

A woman stood at the top of the staircase, arms crossed, watching him with an expression that was equal parts amusement.

She looked… not like what he expected, He expected someone who looked like one of the rich ladies in Gotham. Full of accessories and gold, shining from every angle... but that didn’t happen.

that made his chest ache with something he couldn’t name.

Motherly.

Dick lowered his weapons. "Uh. Hi?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You must be Dick."

His stomach flipped.

She knew his name.

Five minutes later, Dick found himself sitting at the kitchen island, a mug of hot chocolate pushed into his hands.

He stared at it.

"...Alfred never makes hot chocolate."

Y/N smirked. "That’s because Alfred doesn’t know it’s your favorite."

Dick’s fingers tightened around the mug.

How did she—

"You’re from another world," he said slowly, testing the words.

She nodded. "One where I’m married to Bruce. Where Damian is twenty-two, eldest son."

Dick’s breath caught.

"And… me?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s expression softened. "You’re twelve."

Dick choked on his drink. "Twelve?!"

She laughed... a warm, bright sound that filled the empty kitchen. "Yes. And you’re adorable. Always trying to prank me, always getting caught."

Dick didn’t know whether to be offended or touched.

Y/N studied him for a long moment before sighing.

"You’re taller here," she murmured. "Older. More tired."

Dick stiffened.

She reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

"But you still have the same eyes."

Dick’s throat tightened.

He hadn’t had a mother in years.

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

Bruce.

Of course, he’d wake up.

Dick tensed, waiting for the inevitable "What are you doing here, Dick?" or "You should have called."

But Bruce just… looked at Y/N.

And Y/N looked back.

Something unspoken passed between them, something that made Dick feel like he was intruding on a moment he wasn’t meant to see.

Then Bruce sighed.

"...You made him hot chocolate."

Y/N smirked. "He looked like he needed it."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dick, we’ll talk in the morning."

Dick grinned. "Sure thing, Dad."

Bruce’s eye twitched.

Y/N laughed.

@el-hrts @alishii @cuntiesweet @hjgdhghoe @sirenetheblogger @simpforlanzhan @anonymoustext

[miedei]

for years or for hours

spending the night at spencer's apartment for the first time, and he's more than a little obsessed with you

a/n: my obsession w early seasons!spencer strikes again!!!! i saw an edit of train episode spencer when i was drunk the other day and wrote half of this. he fucks guysss i swear he fucks

cw: shy!reader, fem!reader, smut mdni, fingering, praise, spencer is confident like v v confident, handjob, unprotected piv

wc: 3.7k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer’s quickly got you expecting contradictions. From the sight of him, lanky and awkward-seeming, you’d never expected anything of the sort that you’ve seen. 

When he asked you out, subtle and slightly cocky in his charm. When he’d swooped down to kiss your cheek when you’d met him at the restaurant. When he kissed you on the sidewalk, mouth warm and all-consuming. 

His apartment isn’t a surprise, thank goodness. You’re nervous enough as is, spending the evening at his for the first time. It might have done you in if it was too far off from your expectations. 

No, the cozy warmth of his domicile is just right for you, and you feel more than comfortable curling up on the sofa waiting for him to return from the kitchen. 

It’s another astonishment when he sits down next to you, smile soft as he pulls you into his side with an arm around your shoulder, cool as can be. You’re not complaining, of course. Not even as you duck your head to hide the flush that’s crept up on your cheeks.

You’d gotten used to it, you thought. To expect the incongruity between his outward-facing persona and his true actions. 

Apparently not, though. Not when you gasp when his index finger crooks under your chin, guiding your face up towards his. 

His eyes dance as he looks down at you, a level of devotion that you feel just as vividly, no matter how early it is to feel this way.

“I was wondering if you could tell me what you want tonight,” His voice is low, melodic as it floats into the limited space between the two of you, “so we both know what we’re prepared for.”

Your words get stuck behind your molars, only a squeak leaving your lips when his thumb swipes over the curve of your jaw. His resultant smile is indulgent, even as he prompts you again. 

“I really want to hear you say it for me, please.”

His cupid’s bow is really defined, you think stupidly. It’s so distinct and sharp, you can’t help but want to kiss it. But he won’t let up, you know that. 

It’s not that you don’t want to sleep with him. You’ve wanted to since you met him, and more every day that you got to know him. You spent nearly an hour in the shower before coming to his apartment just for that reason. But wanting it and saying out loud are two different things. 

Your voice is low when it finally comes, a whisper under your breath. 

“You know I want you, Spencer.”

His smile is tender, spreading wider across his face as he leans closer to you. 

“What is it you want?”

“Spence…”

“All you’ve got to do is explain to me. I just want to know what you’re okay with doing tonight,” He croons, as if he doesn’t know, the bastard. 

It takes a few more moments of silence, his thumb brushing over your skin steadily.

“I want to sleep with you.” 

There’s an agonizing beat of stillness, but he makes up for it swiftly when he descends on you. That cupid’s bow melds perfectly against you, the softness of his lips sending giddy sparks up to your brain. 

He’s muttering against your lips, but your brain’s too fuzzy to register more than a few words at a time, what with his fingers gripping your chin, and the other hand descending to your hip. Soft compliments and musings spill into your mouth, entreating you to come closer, kneeling on the sofa cushion just to be able to lean over him. 

He pulls back at your movements, letting out an amused chuckle. 

“You want to get closer?” 

He leans back against the couch, spreading his legs slightly, causing his slacks to tighten around his thighs in a way that has you salivating. His hands returning to your hips, he looks up at you with that smile that makes you shiver. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

The nickname sends a shudder through you, but not even that could keep you back. 

Despite your flush, you let him guide you into his lap, your hands awkwardly hanging by your sides. 

His hands come up to brush against your knuckles, causing you to delight in the feeling of his calloused palm. He continues to move, skimming over your wrist, to your arm. The touch goes to your shoulder, the curve of your neck, and settles on your face, cupping your jaw in two impossibly large hands. 

Drawing you to him, your foreheads touch. A sigh leaves your lips, wanting desperately to feel him kiss you again. 

“Spencer…”

His mouth quirks up at one side, his left thumb rubbing circles into your cheek. 

“Don’t have to ask me for it. You can take whatever you want, I’ll go willingly. Okay?”

You don’t bother responding, the feeling of his hands on you overwhelming your senses until it’s all you can do to lean in, pressing your front to his. Kissing him again, you can’t help but push closer, your lips parting against his. 

Your mind floats away as he delves into your mouth, sounds muffled by his lips on yours. It could’ve been minutes, or hours, but you can’t bring yourself to wonder. Not when his lips are so soft, when you can slowly rock yourself on his lap.

Your movements force him to part from your lips, groaning. Slipping his hands down to your hips again, he urges you to rise off his lap, standing with you. Even as you both stand, his breath continues to mingle with yours, as if he can’t be enticed to part from you. He doesn’t even move to speak, his words tumbling straight into your mouth.

“Can’t— can’t do this here. My bedroom, okay?”

A whine leaves your mouth, but you nod desperately, letting him walk you backwards towards his bedroom. Despite your unwillingness to move your mouth from his, you can’t stop yourself from stepping back, gazing around his room with insatiable curiosity. 

It’s exactly what you’d expect from looking at him. Neat, but slightly unkempt, with lining every available shelf, and even some stacked in towers on the floor. 

As you turn around, eyes roving over every inch of the room, you jolt at the feeling of arms wrapping around you from behind. Warm breath hits your ear, causing you to shiver, then relax back into his chest.

“I’m glad you’re so interested in my home, but can I give you a tour later? There’s something else I’d much rather be doing with you right now.”

You let out a breathless giggle, nodding and turning in his arms, curving your own arms around his neck. A smile breaks out over his face, dipping down to press a slow, sipping kiss to your lips before directing you over to his bed. 

Falling on your back on his bed, you revel in the softness of his sheets. Stroking the duvet absentmindedly, the smell of Spencer is even more concentrated here. His characteristically complex scent surrounds you, notes of citrus, old paper, and something unmistakably him. 

It elicits another laugh from the back of your throat, causing him to look down at you with a quirked brow. He descends on you, crawling up the mattress until he’s hovering over you with an amused look on his face. 

“What’s so funny?”

Despite the giggles still bubbling up in your throat, the sight of him above you has them halting immediately. 

“Just excited, I guess. A little nervous.”

The dark pools of his eyes seem to deepen further, a swirling haze of browns that suck you in. 

“I’m excited too. And a bit nervous, I suppose. But, I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been wanting to have you here for a while, in my bed.”

And there he goes again, saying something that sends a shiver of desire and heat down your spine, forcing blood to rush to your cheeks. 

Without even trying to come up with a response, you lean up instead, capturing his lips with yours again. That works wonders in shutting his nerve-inducing declarations up, his hand coming down to grip your hip firmly. 

You both get lost in it, lips moving steadily against each other for an indeterminate amount of time. Your brain only returns to you when you feel his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants. 

He pulls away, looking in your eyes for any protest. Instead, you lean up for one more peck, before holding his wrist and encouraging him to descend further. He lets out a shuddering breath, his calloused fingertips tracing the skin right over your hipbone. 

“Can I take this off?”

His voice comes out in a murmur, only audible because there are scant centimetres between your faces. Desperate, you nod quickly, mumbling your assent.

“Yeah, Spence, I want it off.”

He smiles, kissing you one last time before clambering off you, kneeling between your legs. He helps you eagerly, his fingers fumbling with pulling your pants off you. The moment you’re rid of the article of clothing, he wastes no time in climbing over you again, his hand returning immediately to your hip. 

He seems to be focusing solely on touching you, his eyes angled down at where his hand touches your skin. Suddenly you wish you’d bothered to wear nicer underwear, anything better than the slightly ratty pair of red panties that surely don’t match your bra, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Brushing his fingers over the front of your panties, he lets out a groan, dropping his forehead to your collarbone. Slowly, slowly, he dips down further, tracing over the small wet patch that’s been forming since he kissed you the first time tonight. You can feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin at this discovery, and you can’t help but beat him to the punch.

“Don’t laugh, Spencer, please?”

“Why would I tease you? You’re all ready for me, I’m so glad.”

His words are placating, but you can hear the satisfaction in his tone. 

His fingers haven’t ceased their movements, tracing slow circles over the gusset of your panties as you squirm under him. 

He lets you whine a little longer, before retracting his hand, chuckling at the resultant yelp of protest. 

“You’re all wet for me?”

You nod frantically, lifting your hips in an effort to tempt him into ridding you of your panties. 

“Yeah, Spence…”

He nods in satisfaction, finally giving in and dragging the fabric down your legs. Once he’s set them aside carefully, he drags his palm up and down your inner thigh, kneading at the plush flesh there. Slowly moving higher, higher, he makes you wait until his knuckles brush against the bump of your pussy, making both of you suck in sharp breaths. 

His eyes flick up to you, fingers gliding up and down over the seam of you, watching your face contort with the too-little pleasure. After watching you for a beat longer, he swipes up your slick with one lithe finger, positioning it at your entrance. 

Pressing his forehead against you, he hums softly, kissing the apples of your cheeks as he slowly presses his middle finger into you. The feeling is overwhelming, the slight stretch of his finger causing you to arch your back, pressing your chest into his. 

He grins, swallowing your moans with a crushing kiss. Slowly speeding up his movements, he brings his thumb up to cover your clit, swiping slow circles over the sensitive spot. 

Finally, he interrupts the silence, words tumbling out of his mouth as if he’d been holding them back with great difficulty. 

“So tight, angel. Does that feel good?”

You can only moan in answer, struggling to keep your eyes open as he slides in another finger. 

“That’s it, there you go. Can’t wait to see you when you cum, you going to cum for me?”

His hair has fallen over his forehead, looking down at you with his pupils dilated. 

Speeding up his ministrations on your clit, he makes you squirm again, watching with delight as you grind your hips down against his hand. The slow-building tension within you rises, each movement of his fingers and your hips bringing you closer and closer, until you have to grip his wrist in both of your hands, throwing your head back. 

He leans down, mouthing at the now-exposed column of your throat, his words vibrating against your skin. 

“Come on, angel, want to see you fall apart, you can do it. Wanted to see you like this for so long, so pretty and pliant for me. You’re going to let me keep touching you, huh? As long as I want? So that I— oh, good girl!— so— so that I can see you fall apart for me?”

He’s so preoccupied with rambling that even you reaching your climax in the middle of his sentence doesn’t stop him, but his hands show you all the appreciation you need. Along with his fervent praise, his right hand continues to thrust within you, allowing you to ride out your high. His left hand has snaked up your shirt, thumb swiping at the skin right below the underwire of your bra. 

It’s only once you whine in overstimulation, pushing his hand away from your cunt, that he pulls away, although he never stops his caresses to your torso. Leaning in to dot kisses on your lips, he continues to mumble.

“Did so good for me, angel, thank you. Did that feel good?”

Chest heaving with the aftershocks, you gaze up at him with stars in your eyes, nodding.

“Felt really good, Spencer. I didn’t— didn’t expect…”

You trail off, unsure of how to explain why you’re so overwhelmed, but he understands, moving off of you to lay on his back next to you.

“I know. I don’t exactly think I was expecting for this to happen tonight either… But it was okay?”

You can’t help but grin at the contrast between his previous confidence and the hesitance he exhibits now. Shifting to lay half on top of him, you prop your chin up on his chest.

“It was more than okay, Spence,”

Without thinking about it, your hand drifts to his lower stomach, trailing down his clothed skin to the waistband of his own pants.

“Do you want to… keep going?”

Your voice comes out soft, still a little flustered by your own forwardness, but you still stare up at him, hoping he’ll say yes. 

At the feeling of your fingers stroking his waistband, he throws his head back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. You can’t stop yourself from laughing, shaking your head at him. 

After a moment, he looks back down, his hand coming down to rest on your back. His breathing is slightly shaky, but his voice remains solid.

“If you want to, sweetheart. Okay?”

Another wave of infatuation rocks through your body, smiling up at him once more. Moving your hand away from his pants, you drag your palm up his torso.

“Can we take this off, please?”

His smile gains a wicked tinge to it, his hand moving in circles against your back.

“Only if you do too.”

You assent readily, kneeling on the mattress in order to pull off your shirt and bra eagerly, leaving you completely bare. Although you’d normally be embarrassed, you don’t seem to find a moment to be shy, not when he’s shirtless on the bed in front of you. 

Spencer smiles up at you, the smile he uses when he knows he’s got someone cornered in an argument, the one he uses when he’s sure he’ll be able to beat you in chess. 

“Come here, sweetheart.”

He reaches out to hold you by the waist, dragging you over to lay at his side again. His arm holding you to him, he grabs your hand, laying it on the warm skin of his chest.

“You can touch me angel, go ahead.”

Biting your lip, you slowly move your fingers over his skin, leaning forward to press a tentative kiss to his chest. He squeezes your waist affectionately, sucking in a harsh breath when your hand trails down to his waistband again. 

Slipping your hand under his pants and underwear, you brush your fingertips against the heated skin of his cock, gasping just as he does. Looking up to him, you see him squeeze his eyes shut. 

Your confidence grows, dipping even lower in order to wrap your fingers loosely around his shaft. A breathy moan leaves him, sending shivers down your spine. 

An experimental tug gets him throwing his head back in pleasure, groans tumbling from his lips.

All of a sudden you can’t take the barrier between you, pulling your hand out of his pants and tugging his pants and boxers down clumsily. He laughs a little, helping you out with a shaky hand until he can kick the fabric off his ankles. 

Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach out again, wrapping your fingers around his cock again. Slowly moving your hand up and down, you watch him begin to pant softly. Only once you’ve gotten into a rhythm do you allow yourself to look down, the sight causing you to clench your thighs together. 

It’s like the rest of him, long and surprisingly thick, with a curve to it that has your cunt feeling more empty than ever. You can’t help but squirm, pressing your front further into his side. 

Even with your efforts to stay composed, nothing gets past Spencer. In between grunts and breathy moans, he still manages to tease you slightly.

“What do you think, angel? Want to keep going like this, or do you want me to make us both feel good?”

His words have you shifting against him, wetness pooling within you again.

At your nod, he slowly peels your hand away from his cock, pressing at your shoulder to lay you back against the bed again.

With a breath stuck in your throat, you watch as he kneels between your parted legs, hand stroking at your hip. With his other hand holding the base of his cock, he leans forward, swiping his head through the accumulated slick pooling at your entrance. 

Both of you hiss at the sensation, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. 

With his eyes locked onto yours, he slowly pushes forward, letting you feel the stretch. Kissing your palm, he watches you intently, ready to stop at any hint of discomfort. However, although it’s a bit of a struggle, the pain-mixed-pleasure quickly becomes overwhelming bliss. 

He continues to push in until his pelvis is flush with yours, falling forward with a hand on the sheets next to you. Leaning in to place a crushing kiss on your lips, he murmurs against you as he begins to rock his hips.

“Pretty— pretty girl, you feel so good. So good for me, sweetheart, so tight,”

He pants into your mouth, thrusting slow and deep. Every time he presses into your fluttering cunt, his pelvis grinding against your swollen clit, neither of you can keep quiet. 

He can’t help but speed up, gripping one of your thighs and hiking it up around his waist, allowing him to sink that much deeper. You’re captivated, both by the sensations of him, and the sight of him. His lips are parted, eyes dark and lidded as he gazes down at you, face overcome with both affection and lust. 

It’s not long until you start feeling it again, that unknowable, intangible pleasure that goes straight to your head, legs beginning to tremble. Trying to warn him, you raise a hand to grip at his shoulder, nails digging into the skin there. 

“Spencer… Feels so good, think m’gonna—”

Your mouth tips open on a soundless moan, back arching off his duvet.

“I know, angel. Getting close again?”

One of his hands snakes down between your bodies, tracing maddening circles over your clit. The stimulation is just enough, just what you need to get you there, feeling the pleasure shoot through your veins. 

It takes one, two, three more movements of his hips, and you fall apart, a low, keening moan ripping itself from your throat. Spencer hums, muttering praises down at you until you tip over into overstimulation.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck— so tight, you feel so good. You’re going to make me cum, sweetheart, can I— can I, on your stomach?”

His hand comes up to knead at the softness of your stomach, staring into your eyes. 

At your gasped-out yes, he pulls out of you with a groan, tugging at his cock a few more times until he cums with a low groan, marking your skin with his release. Once he’s just as spent as you are, he collapses at your side, arm sliding under your shoulders to pull you closer, as if he’s loathed to be parted from you. 

The room is silent for a few minutes, the soft sounds of the city punctuated by the heavy breathing coming from both of you. 

Only once your breathing evens out, he leans over, dotting kisses in your hairline.

“Felt so good, angel. How are you feeling?”

You smile hazily, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Really good. A bit… sticky.”

Both of you become increasingly aware of the cooling mix of fluids on your bodies. With a chuckle, he sits up, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. 

“I’ll draw us a bath, how does that sound?”

A rush of warmth goes through your body, and you follow his movements, sitting next to him and capturing his lips with yours again. 

“I really like you, Spencer Reid.”

He doesn’t reply, not in words. But the swirling emotions in his eyes, and the all-consuming kiss he gives you are more than enough answers.

[suiana]

yandere! bully who is your boss at work and you think he lowkey hates your guts. lowkey? no, he absolutely hates your guts.

he steals from you every single day. your laptop, your pens, even your goddamn coffee cup. he doesn't even give you anything back! like what the flip dude!

oh and it gets even worse.

so get this, not only does he steal from you, he also has the audacity to mess your shit up and act like this is high school! what the actual freak.

of course the whole office knows this and they sympathize with you, they really do! but what can they do when it's their boss that's bullying you? the most they can do is offer words of comfort when he goes cackling away while holding your pens hostage.

"dude i need my laptop to work."

"oh do you? so you can't just conjure up the report? fucking loser."

"bro."

what you didn't expect to find when you ransacked his office the other day though, was a shrine full of stuff he stole. your pens, the multiple coffee cups you got from aliexpress... hey wait, aren't those your underwear? like, specifically the ones you've started losing recently? how the hell did he get those?

"you weren't supposed to see that, why'd you break in here? 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉."

"dude is that my limited edition minecraft movie middle aged man action figure toy?"

yeah and you're fired. woohoo! what do you do now? well lucky for you your boss or ex-boss has a better idea.

since you want to be so nosy and stick your head in places they don't belong, why don't you explore his house? yeah, he bets that you'll love exploring his big and empty house... that for some reason has even more of your stuff. look, it's even full of pictures he's secretly taken of you!

"wow your house is really big and empty if i ignore the countless pics of me on your walls..."

"don't worry, you'll decorate it, won't you?"

"what? why would i?"

"because you're mine now :3 oh also, here's this collar i have for you, look how pretty it is on your neck! bark for me doggy!"

annnndd he's got you locked up now. oh well, uh, you feel like his dog to be honest. especially with this collar he snapped onto your neck... um... hey, at least he's giving you your stuff back! haha... ah...

you're screwed.

[kingdomvel]

New season boring af pt2

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 4.9k | ao3

part one

“Are you talking with that guy again?” The sound of Robin’s voice startles Steve, who can only lock his phone and slip it into his pocket to hide it from her. He wasn’t even talking with Eddie, that’s the embarrassing part. He was looking at the pictures that he had shared with him over the months they have been talking.

“No,” Steve says, but he must not sound very convincing.

“Steve! I’ve told you he could be a weirdo, or a stalker!”

“And I’ve told you he is not a stalker, he was not that interested in me before we started texting. And he works in a record store all the way in Chicago. I’ve seen it.”

“Do you understand the concept of catfishes? He could still be a stalker.”

“Well that stalker has seen my dick, so” Steve shrugs.

“WHAT? You whore!” Robin shouts, Steve is very thankful that they are alone in the makeup trailer now. “When did this happen?”

Steve crosses his arms and grumbles, knowing what is coming. “A month ago?”

“A MONTH?”

“Yeah.” And what a fucking month it has been. Steve can still remember that first time in perfect detail. Steve had not expected Eddie’s picture. At all. He had been hoping for a reaction, that’s why he had chosen that movie, but Eddie had given him something much better. The sight of his tented pyjamas was only surpassed by the sight of his actual dick on the video call later.

Steve will admit – only to himself – that it was reckless and dangerous, but it was also the culmination of weeks of studying Eddie’s picture, of watching time and time again the little videos he posted in his close friends stories (the day Steve had been added to the list was another peak for him, as embarrassing as that is) playing guitar and dicking around with his friends (maybe he was the stalker of the two). It was Steve seeing how he affected the guy he had the hots for after months of being sexually frustrated with barely enough time to jack off between filming. Because of course Eddie wasn’t only funny and nice to talk to, he also had to be the hot friend of his group.

He had not been planning for that reaction, but he was not going to pass up that opportunity. Seeing the hand he had seen wrapped around guitar necks for so long wrapped around Eddie’s cock… Steve was never going to forget that sight.

“This is crazy, like, do you even know his name?” Robin interrupts his thoughts.

“Of course I do, he’s Eddie.” He’s always known his name, it’s in his profile.

“Surname?”

Steve pauses. “You don’t know the surname of all your friends.”

“I think in this case you should have asked, Steve.”

“Why can’t you trust me with this?”

“I just worry about you, and maybe I’m a bit sad that you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“I knew you would just nag me about it.”

“Hah! So you know what you did was wrong!”

“If you didn’t want this to happen then you shouldn’t have made me watch Notting Hill.”

“That’s different!”

“How.”

“Well, for one it’s a movie,” she says, putting up a finger. Steve rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips. That’s pretty obvious. “Two!” Robin puts up another finger. “They met in real life, not the internet.”

“It was the 90s, of course they met in person. Are you saying that it would be fine if I went to Chicago and met him casually in his record store?”

“No, maybe, don’t try to distract me.”

“Keep your points coming, come on.”

“Three!” Another finger comes up. “Hugh Grant is... hot?”

Steve snorts. “Eddie is hot too.” They wouldn’t be having this conversation if he wasn’t. “And anyways, you are a lesbian, you have no opinion on this.” He waves it off with a hand.

“I still have eyes, and that’s what everyone says.”

“Not valid. Your arguments are not accepted, I know you don’t think Hugh Grant is hot.”

“But that’s not the point! Ugh, okay.” Robin pauses for a few seconds, but Steve knows she’s not finished talking. “So, he saw your dick, did you see his? Wait, no, don’t tell me details. A month ago? I still can’t believe it. Have you done that again?”

And there she is. Steve laughs. “Yes, we’ve done it again.”

****

Steve.hrrgtn: hey, just a quick question

Steve.hrrgtn: what’s your surname?

Batking: why? trying to steal it for yourself?

Steve’s heart should not skip like that from that line.

Steve.hrrgtn: just so I know who I should address the restraining order to when you finally try to murder me

Batking: fuck youve been talking with robin again?

Batking: its munson

Batking: edward munson

Batking: you need anything else? my social security number or something? Ill send you a picture of my drivers license

Steve.hrrgtn: I think I only need that for now, thank you for your cooperation

Batking: you better not be lying about the reason

Batking: if I catch you writing one mr and mr munson in your diary you will need the restraining order for real

Steve’s heart should NOT skip like that from that line.

****

Steve takes a picture on the mirror of the dressing room, stylists still all around him. Nobody pays attention to him, they are all too busy for that, packing up and chatting. Steve should be taking the graduation gown off so it can be packed up with everything else, just so they can go home earlier, but he had to take the picture first. He had taken pictures with the rest of the cast, sure, but this is different.

He is smiling, cap held in his hand.

Steve.hrrgtn: *picture attached*

Steve.hrrgtn: just graduated

He sends the message and moves to take the costume off and his own clothes back on. When he takes his phone back, there is a message already waiting for him. A smile makes its way to his face in a second.

Batking: at the grown age of 25, took you even longer than me and I did my senior year three times

Batking: congratu fucking lations

Steve.hrrgtn: you are an asshole

Steve.hrrgtn: but do you know what this means??

Steve moves around the room, thanking everyone. It takes him a while, so he is confused when an answer is not waiting for him when he looks back at his phone.

Steve.hrrgtn: Eddie?

Batking: *Screenshot of the I’M FREEEE!!!!!! WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY FUCKING LIFE meme*

Batking: this?

Batking: sorry sweetheart I was looking for the meme

Steve.hrrgtn: EXACTLY THAT

Steve.hrrgtn: not like the WORST because I met Robin here and all but FUCK YEAH it’s over

Batking: these four months of waiting for the torture to finish must have felt so long

Steve smiles, typing as he walks outside. They are having a wrap party later, so he needs to find Robin so they can get ready together.

Steve.hrrgtn: hmm not really

Steve.hrrgtn: I had someone sending me memes to entertain me that made the time fly

Batking: must be one hell of a lucky guy

Steve.hrrgtn: assuming genders now?

Batking: oh sorry, are you cheating on me with another meme provider? Am I not enough for you now? You looked for someone else to keep you company?

Steve knows this is just teasing, that Eddie doesn’t believe that. Still.

Steve.hrrgtn: nah

Steve.hrrgtn: just you

****

Batking: okay were you going to tell me your mother is a fucking coppola

Steve.hrrgtn: she is a very respected lady

Steve.hrrgtn: also barely a coppola

Batking: still a coppola

Batking: you are a nepo baby

Steve.hrrgtn: every day it amazes me how little you know about me

Batking: I like keeping you humble

Batking: my brain doesn’t understand that the steve from my phone is really the Steve Harrington on tv sometimes

Batking: so I try not to see stuff about you on the internet

Batking: feels weird

Batking: MY ROOMMATE ON THE OTHER HAND

Batking: he was reading your wikipedia page and your mothers name was in blue so he started following the lead

Eddie had told him once that he hadn’t told his friends about what they had going on, that they just wouldn’t believe him. That must have changed. It makes Steve feel giddy.

Steve.hrrgtn: aw you finally told your friends about me?

Batking: they said they are happy to feed my delusions

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Batking: anyway that’s not the point here

Steve.hrrgtn: whats the point?

Steve.hrrgtn: you already knew I was rich and famous

Batking: yeah but this feels different

Batking: you are a nepo baby its like I should hate you

Batking: but you are such a good guy

Batking: from a rich family, hot, nice, funny…

Batking: you cant have everything its unfair

The rich family part doesn’t really do anything for Steve. It’s just a fact. But Eddie complimenting his personality and appearance? That always works on Steve.

Steve.hrrgtn: is this a way to get me to call you?

Steve.hrrgtn: because in the words of a metalhead I know

Steve.hrrgtn: flattery works on me

Batking: it wasnt at first

Batking: but I wont say no to a call with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen

Steve lets out a huff. Eddie and him both know what he did there.

He taps the call icon.

****

Steve stands frozen in the middle of his living room, the smile that had been on his face now completely wiped off. For the first time since he started talking to Eddie, his heart has dropped to his gut at one of his messages.

He keeps his gaze on his phone, the screen staring back at him.

There is a screenshot of a picture of him and Nancy coming out of a restaurant at night. He has his arm wrapped around her shoulders. That was just last night, Nancy had been upset and he had been trying to shield her from the flashes. The picture is accompanied by the headline ‘Caught in the act! Steve Harrington back with ex?’. Eddie’s message is under it.

Batking: glad you are having fun now that filming has finished

It’s- not right. Steve knows Eddie’s snarky comments, knows the feel his teasing. This is not it.

Steve.hrrgtn: I thought you didn’t look for stuff about my private life on the internet?

It comes out as defensive, and Steve instantly regrets it, but it had been one of the things he liked about Eddie, how he learned about Steve from him and not from rumours and the internet.

Batking: turns out that talking to you makes it unavoidable

Of fucking course it does. Who was Steve kidding? He knew this was bound to happen, that the media was going to be a problem at some point. He tries not to blame it on Eddie.

Steve.hrrgtn: it’s not like that

Steve.hrrgtn: she’s just a friend

Steve.hrrgtn: she had a fight with her boyfriend and needed a bit of a pick me up

Batking: you don’t need to explain yourself to me

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? At the end of the day, they have not even met each other in person. That doesn’t make this feel right.

Steve tries to imagine how he would feel if he saw Eddie having dinner with an ex. He doesn’t like the feeling at all.

Steve.hrrgtn: I still want you to know

He needs him to know.

Batking: really steve it’s okay

Batking: I shouldnt have sent that

Batking: Im not sure why I did

Steve has an idea why he did, but he is not going to say it, too afraid of fucking everything up if he does.

Steve.hrrgtn: its okay

Steve.hrrgtn: you are giving me an excuse to bitch about the lack of privacy and how much I hate paps

Steve is sure Eddie is going to recognize it as what this is. A weak attempt at diffusing the tension. Steve hopes it works.

Batking: you know im always open to listen to you bitching about your lavish life

It’s still a bitchy comment, but Steve lets out a sigh of relief. He recognizes that heat.

****

Batking: holy shit steve

That’s the only message on Steve’s phone, it’s the only message from Eddie for a couple of hours. Steve very patiently (or not) waits for him to elaborate, growing more and more nervous when he doesn’t.

Steve.hrrgtn: Eddie? Did you get murdered?

Batking: sorry I texted you as soon as I got the call and then the guys came over and I got swept way

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s okay

Steve.hrrgtn: but what happened? Something good?

Steve really hopes it’s something good.

Batking: we got a gig

Batking: like an actual gig

Steve.hrrgtn: holy shit eddie!

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s amazing

Batking: can I call you?

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows that. They are way past the point of internet acquaintances or friends who sometimes jerk off together on the phone.

Steve hits the video call button, and Eddie answers almost immediately. He is walking away from the cacophony of his friends, a blush high on his cheeks and his hair a mess even as he tries to brush it down. He looks stupidly good.

“Jesus, you look great,” are the first words out of Eddie’s mouth.

Steve snorts, he had been lying on the couch thirty seconds ago. His hair is a mess, he hasn’t shaved in two days. He never lets anyone see him like this. Eddie is different.

“Shut up. You got a gig!”

“We got a gig!”

“How did it happen?”

“You know my friend Chrissy?” Eddie asks. He closes a door behind himself and the noise is now gone, they are alone. Steve nods. “She got a job at a venue that doubles as concert hall and club and they are doing a metal week or something like that. They are bringing some very cool groups from all around the country- I’m so excited to see some of them- but that’s not the point. They wanted to give an opportunity to a local band and that’s where we come in!”

“They gave it to you?”

“They said they really like our vibe.”

“Of course they do,” Steve says with a snort. If Steve didn’t know better, he would say that Eddie just came out of a movie set set in the 80s. Perfect vibe for a metal week.

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing! You do have the vibe. Tell me more about it, when’s this happening?”

“It’s very short notice but-“

Steve listens as Eddie tells him all about it, with his excited gestures and the wide smile that splits his face. They talk until Eddie’s friends come to get him to go for celebratory drinks.

As soon as the call ends, Steve calls Robin.

“How do you feel about going to Chicago in two weeks?”

****

The venue is loud. It’s already full when Steve and Robin arrive, just a few minutes before the concert starts. It’s not big, Eddie had told Steve so, but it still has a proper stage, and actual, stablished groups have concerts here. It’s a big step from the bar where Eddie and his friends usually play to an audience more interested on their drinks and conversations than in listening to them. People had to pay for this, even if it was a ticket that included a drink or if it was included into the week pass.

Batking: we are about to come out and I’m nervous as fuck

Steve.hrrgtn: I thought everyone already knew you were gay?

Batking: shut up

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t be nervous

Steve.hrrgtn: I know you are going to be amazing

Batking: I wish you were here

Batking: its going to be the gig of the century

Okay so Steve has not told Eddie that he was coming to see him, so what? He really wanted to see him in his natural environment, just him, not influenced by the knowledge that Steve would be in the audience.

Steve.hrrgtn: I’m always with you

Batking: you know what I mean

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t worry about that

Steve.hrrgtn: you go give the best performance all these people have ever seen

They stay out of the dancefloor slash pit, up in the balcony next to the cloakroom. They have a great view of the stage and the only reason Steve can think for them being the only ones here is that it may not be allowed, but an employee starts walking towards them and just turns around when he takes a good look at them.

Batking: okay we are coming out now

Batking: ttyl <3

Steve.hrrgtn: <3

“It’s starting,” Steve tells Robin. Just a couple of seconds later the lights dim and four figures take up their positions at the stage.

When the music starts, it is loud.

Steve feels so fucking proud. He had seen videos of Eddie’s band performing at bars or jamming in the studio they rent, but they are not like this, they are nothing like this. It’s like they had been living in a cage and were now released in the wild. Steve was  fully prepared to lie to Eddie about what he thought of the concert. He has seen a lot of groups more experienced than Eddie’s that were not as good, that didn’t know how to hype up the audience like them, that weren’t so natural with it. Now, seeing Eddie on stage, he knows that he won’t have to lie about them being incredible.

Steve’s eyes can’t stray from Eddie. It’s like a magnet. Better than any video, better than any call. He can see the whole him, the way he moves, the way he smiles and his hair flows. The way his fingers move on the guitar. He can’t wait to be closer to him.

“Try not to ruin your underwear before you even meet him,” Robin yells into his ear. Steve pushes her away from him, but they are both laughing.

Steve has been wondering for days about how will Eddie react when he sees him for the first time. If it will be after the concert, when Steve inevitably makes his way to the green room, or if Eddie will be able to spot him in the audience. If maybe Steve will miss the moment Eddie’s eyes land on him.

The moment ends up being impossible to miss.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says into the microphone.

His eyes are focused on Steve, his mouth gaping. Steve laughs and waves to him and Eddie gives him a small wave in answer from the stage before his eyes jump back down to the audience.

“Holy shit you guys are great,” he tries to brush it off. “Keep the energy up for the next song!”

The concert continues, but now Steve catches Eddie’s eyes every few minutes, a smile coming to both their faces every time.

It’s not long before Eddie is speaking again.

“It is with great sadness that I must inform you that the next song is our last. Yes, yes, I know, very sad,” he says in response to the oohs from the audience. “I just wanted to take a minute to thank the organization for putting their trust on us and giving us this opportunity. Also to all of you good humans that decided to use your money to come see us, I expect your follows by tomorrow.” He starts playing, the others matching the rhythm. A repeating single note. “To all the metalheads and non-metalheads here,” he adds, louder, his gaze fixing on Steve. “I’m taking groupie applications. The requisites are: One! Be a male, sorry ladies. Two! Be 25 years old. Three! Have great hair. And four, have at least one teen choice award for best shirtless scene.” There are confused sounds from the audience, but Eddie is grinning and Steve is laughing. “Very easy to meet, the backstage door is impossible to miss.” He flicks his gaze to the side, and Steve follows it to see a door at the side of the balcony. He sends him a thumbs up. “Okay, lets rock this shit!”

The concert ends with a bang, and Steve and Robin scurry off to the backstage door before people start coming up to go out for a smoke, because not many people seem to be going home yet, the venue staying open as a bar. They don’t run into any problem because again, an employee takes one good look at their face and opens the staff only door for them. Steve has to admit that sometimes being  so famous has its perks.

The sound of the music gets muted the moment the door closes behind them. The corridor is long, but they only have to follow the shouts of exited boys.

Eddie is the first person Steve sees when they get to the green room. He is jumping up and down while hugging his friends and they all scream. Steve crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe with a grin, Robin next to him. Eddie must catch the movement with his side eye because he stops and turns to them with a grin.

“I told you you were going to do great,” Steve says as a greeting.

The other boys finally stop too, and Steve sees the confusion and disbelief down on their faces when they take them in.

“Eddie, tell me I’m not seeing your imaginary boyfriend,” one of them says.

“You are Gareth, aren’t you? The roommate,” Steve says, pointing at him while he walks over. “Eddie has told me about you.”

Gareth takes his hand with his mouth wide open and barely a coherent thought behind his eyes. Steve sees Eddie’s eyes land with a laser focus on their clasped hands.

“Can’t believe I owe Chrissy twenty,” another boy says with a groan. Jeff, Steve is pretty sure.

“You bet I was making it up?” Eddie asks, offended.

“I bet you were too deep into a parasocial relationship.”

“And I bet you were getting scammed by a catfish,” the other boy says.

Robin lets out a cackle.

“I told Steve the same thing!”

They start talking around them, but Steve doesn’t care. He is two steps away from Eddie, he can see the sweat from the concert glistening on his skin, the deep brown of his eyes staring into him. He needs to close that distance. Before he can take a step forward, Eddie speaks.

“Do you want to come out for some fresh air? There’s a fenced back area for deliveries, should be empty.”

Does Steve want to go with Eddie to a spot with just the two of them? Fuck yeah.

“Yes! The air is so stuffy here, I might die if I don’t come out for a few minutes,” Robin says.

Eddie moves his eyes from Steve to her, his smile turning awkward.

“Right, yeah. Guys, we are stepping out for a couple minutes, okay?” Eddie calls out, taking a leather jacket from the back of a chair. “Follow me.”

Steve’s gaze drops to Eddie’s ass when he walks past them and back into the corridor. Fuck. He needs to close that distance.

Eddie holds the door to the outside for them, gesturing for them to come out with his other hand. His fingers are twitching, his whole body is, for that matter. He’s nervous, Steve can tell.

The door closes with bang after them, and they stand in the dimly lit outside. Robin is talking, and Steve feels just a bit bad about how Eddie and him are very obviously not listening to her.

Eddie is fiddling with the zippers of his jacket, his eyes roaming Steve’s body and flicking to Robin for a second from time to time.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes before Eddie takes a pack of cigarettes from a pocket of his jacket.

“You smoke?” he asks Steve.

“I’m an actor,” Steve says as answer.

Eddie smiles and, before Steve can reach out to grab a cigarette, Eddie has grabbed two and put both in his mouth. He moves to put the pack back in his pocket before he seems to remember that they are not alone and offers it to Robin, but she declines and starts talking about how tobacco is bad for your lungs and teeth, actually.

Steve can only look as Eddie lights both of the cigarettes at the same time and offers one to him. He takes it, their fingers brushing and sending electricity all through Steve’s body, their eyes fixed on each other.

“Okay, this is too much, I’m going inside.” Robin says, both boys turn to her. There is a beat of silence, and Steve realises she was waiting for one of them to say something, but they are both too late. “Your friend Chrissy was at the bar, right? I’ll tell her to get me a drink, you boys just… do whatever, no rush. Just- be careful or whatever.”

They stare at the door until it closes, the bang the one thing that makes Steve snap back towards Eddie. The boy is taking a drag of his cigarette and Steve mirrors him.

“Sorry, I just-“ Eddie starts. He is flicking the barely there ash. Steve can guess he needed something to do with his hands more than a real smoke. “Part of my brain is still trying to keep up with the fact that you are actually here and real and not a creation of my imagination.”

“Why? You fantasize about me that much?”

“Oh, you have no idea sweetheart,” Eddie answers with a sly smile.

Fuck. Hearing that directly from Eddie, looking at his face while he says it with no phone screen separating them is making the metre between them feel unbearable.

“You know what they say, sometimes you need to touch to believe.”

Eddie chuckles. “I’m not sure that’s right.”

But he still takes a step forward and the next thing Steve knows is that Eddie has a hand cupping his face and their lips are squeezed together in a messy kiss. Steve barely has time to answer to the kiss, drop the cigarette and grab Eddie back before the guy is pushing away and putting a hand up between them.

“Sorry, I should have- very real by the way.” Eddie says, punctuating the last part with a wave of his hand. “Great advice there, I-“

He can’t say more, because now it’s Steve pulling him closer into a kiss. There is no interruption now so the kiss goes on, and on, and Steve makes Eddie open his mouth to kiss him deeper, pulls him closer to him. This is everything he had hoped for and more. Eddie matches him beat to beat.

They get lost into it, until some voices come from their side, and Eddie pushes him away against Steve’s protests. He doesn’t allow him to go too far, one of his hands holding Eddie’s face and the other his hip close to his.

“You want to wake up to some scandalous headlines?” Eddie asks with a smile.

“Maybe they will get the memo if they find me on my knees for a guy.”

“Getting ahead of ourselves here, Steve,” Eddie says, but Steve sees how his eyes darken.

“Sorry, did you have better plans for tonight?”

Eddie shakes his head, “nothing that could beat corrupting the golden boy.”

“You think our friends will forgive us if we just leave?”

“Jesus, I really hope they do, I’m not stepping back inside and getting distracted.”

Steve laughs and kisses Eddie again, just a short press of lips. “Lead the way then.”

****

Steve.hrrgtn

New instagram story

Image id: a group playing on a stage, the lights surround them, a sea of hands holding drinks and heads below. There is a caption on it

“The gig of the century”

@/corrodedcoffin

ClubHarrington: Steve Harrington just shared an Instagram story from a metal concert in Chicago.

        MrsHarrington: since when does steve like metal??

        Stevenation: omg!!! He’s in my city Whats he doing here!!!

        Stebitch: guys a friend of mine went to the concert and told me that the guitarist said he was taking groupie applications and started describing Steve when he listed the requirements

               + What???? That’s just creepy, I hope Steve gets away from that fast

               + omg!! Did anyone record it?? I need the video! I need to see Steve’s reaction to that!!

Stebitch: they are a very small band so no one was recording but I swear he did

               + do you guys think they are…. You know….

                       - Your mind

****

Steve walks back into the room with two glasses of water and kicks the door closed behind him. Eddie is still naked on the bed -Steve hasn’t put any clothes back on himself- and he is lying on his side, snickering while he looks at his phone. Steve stops, takes a second to admire Eddie’s naked back.

Steve’s phone pings on the nightstand. There’s only one person he has his sound on for.

“Did you seriously just send a meme to me?”

Eddie turns his face to look at him, “sorry, force of habit.”

Steve lets out a sigh and puts the glasses down on the nightstand. He gets on the bed and hugs Eddie from behind, hooking his chin on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Come on, show me what’s so funny you had to send me now.”

Eddie scrolls back up.

tag list (sorry if I missed someone): @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment @what-if-a-dragon @juiceicicles @margaglitterdeath @sofadofax @estrellami-1 @dreamercec @bisexual-chaos-demon99 @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 @me-ig7 @efratfangirl @what-if-a-dragon @juiceicicles @margaglitterdeath @sofadofax  @estrellami-1 @dreamercec @bisexual-chaos-demon99  @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 @me-ig7 @efratfangirl @live-laugh-love-dietrich @yesdangerpls @nerdyglassescheeseychick @agree2disagre-kicks @fuzzyduxk @saramelaniemoon @disrespectedgoatman @aol19 @yikes-a-bee @adealwithher @coralineinwonderland @sanctumdemunson @comedictragedy @marklee-blackmore @karakro @yusukesmomjeans @lumoschildextra @pondypip @xtraordinarally @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale @child-of-cthulhu @shrimply-a-menace @ravenfrog

[irdkbutdontask]

This is actually so real and I personally blame it on romance movies/series. I often see scenes that go smth like this:

*doing something together*

*x drops something and has trouble picking it up*

*y watches x intensely while tender music plays in the background*

"you know you can talk to me right?"

LIKE WHAT.

Now, this is a pretty bad example and I could've come up with smth better, but that's the meaning.

In movies, everyone always notices everything, and when people (I'd say especially teens) watch these kind of interactions, they are of course drawn to this type of dynamic, and they then proceed to try to build something similar with close and closer people. But to me, even if you're very very very close to someone, you can't expect them to notice that you're sad just because you (example) ordered something else at the restaurant. It'd be one thing if you did something a bit more suggesting, like repeatedly zoning out, pushing yourself out of conversations and stuff, but even these things could mean anything in someone else's mind yk? WE HAVE WORDS LETS USE WORDS even if I do agree that sometimes speaking is difficult but then USE ACTUAL BODY LANGUAGE IN A USEFUL WAY.

I'm talking from personal experience cuz I sometimes tend to not tell things and then cry cuz "nobody noticed" TELL THEM GIRL? HOW DO YOU EXPECT THEM TO KNOW WHILE ALL YOU DO IN PUBLIC IS LAUGH AT DICK JOKES AND YAP ABT THINGS NOBODY CARES ABOUT😭

Anyway I wanted to yap bye.

I hate that thing some people do where it's like. "I left my wallet on the table to see if you'd say anything" or "I wanted to see if you'd wash the car if I stopped doing it"

Cause like

I dont know about anyone else

But I am perpetually hovering three inches above the strong subconscious belief that everyone knows what they're doing at all times except me, so if you change your normal patterns and I notice, then I will assume it is an intentional choice with a thought-out plan behind it and I will avoid interfering

And if I don't notice, because I won't, because why would I, because not much bothers me and if you don't say anything to indicate you are bothered then how would I KNOW

[shysuccubusstuff]

Milking time!

Content: Cow hybrid! Caleb + Possessive! Caleb; Size difference + Mentions of abuse and neglect + Scent marking + Rut + Facial + Face fuck + Masturbation + Cumshot + Dacryphilia

Note: Just read some new manhwa (smut) about hybrids and a farm and it was so good! Sadly there are no more episodes by the moment (right now it only has like 6) but it's so freaking good, gosh I could eat it completely, the dairy cow is so so handsome... and a cutie ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ I hope I explained the position correctly, it's like, laying on top of the person and using your lower thingy on their mouth... not that good with explaining positions, sorry! Let me know if I should make a part 2!

Cow hybrid ! Caleb who recently arrived to the farm. He was found in the middle of nowhere, with his body completely scarred as the rain soaked the small piece of clothing that barely covered his lower half. Just what the hell had happened? You had been trying to get the enemy farm to leave the town after the rumours abou them abusing their workers. You kept cursing under your breath, just why couldn't you do it faster? Well, of course you couldn't, by the time you had found out you barely had any proof apart from what some of the hybrids told you about, so you already knew that this was to be expected... Still, you had to rub your eyes, cleaning the tears that had started to fall down your cheeks and rushing towards the poor young man, trying your best to carry him to the truck so you could bring him to his new home.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who becomes extremely attached to you. It doesn't take more than a few weeks for him to recover from the injuries the old "owners" had caused to him, now constantly following wherever you go. He liked grabbing you by your hips, hiding his hand inside your pocket so he could stay as close as possible to you. You know this could be a bad idea, as you are planning on simply allowing him to choose whatever he wants to do next in life, and growing attached to you was not the best option for that, but you were unable to do anything. After all, he had recently been rescued, surely it was normal for him to become so attached to you, right?

Hybrid bull! Caleb whose possessiveness only worsens. It has been quite few months since Caleb had completely healed, so you had expected him to go back to the "usual" behaviour of the other bulls, who had already found someone to love within the vast farm. In contrast, Caleb had stayed with you, still following you everywhere you went, with a... slight change. He had become extremely possessive of you, constantly trying to start a fight with the other males every time he saw them giving you those glances... Just who did they think they were? Yes, he might have arrived way later than them, but that didn't mean they were allowed to give you those lustful eyes. Since that moment, Caleb had started to pick petty fights with the other hybrids, always acting as if he was simply protecting you from them, while he giving you those sweet puppy eyes he had learnt to do... It seems he did learn quite fast.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who is no longer able to handle his ruts. You used to let him use the toys you had bought for him during those special days, with Caleb using them without much interest, seeing as if it was just something to get over with. During this time, you had to make sure to keep some distance between you and him, trying your best to avoid leaving your scent on him in fear of another female thinking he had a partner, even politely removing his hands whenever he tried to get a bit too handsy with you. Not like it mattered to him, as he soon began to retaliate. Oh, you removed his hand from your hip because other females were watching at him? No problem, next time he would surround your waist with his beefy arms, making sure to pull you to him so you could feel his hard cock pulsing beneath his working clothes. Now you refused to get even a few metres close to him? Guess he simply had to make you come closer yourself.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who takes advantage of you. You were suddenly awakened by a strange noise, not only that, but it was then accompanied by a rustle, someone was moving under your blankets. With your heart thumping, you slowly moved the sheets, finally seeing the reddened and exhausted face, chest puffing as he kept pressing his hard-on against your ass, breath becoming heavier as he started to rub his hips even faster, with you already feeling how his underwear was getting wet from the precum. "Please... please... just help me... It hurts..." Caleb looked at you with tears in his eyes, almost making your chest hurt from seeing how he was struggling to keep himself together. "Just... fine. But don't get used to it, ok?" You tossed the sheets to the side, getting on top of Caleb and removing his wet boxers which had already been stained by his thick cum. Slowly, you started to move your hand up and down, marking a slow rhythm that almost made Caleb groan outloud, biting his own hand to stop himself from making some embarrasing sounds. You kept this rhythm for some minutes, confused as you kept feeling his dick throbbing, almost as if he was close to cumming, still, Caleb kept biting his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he forced himself to last as much as possible, what other opportunity would he have after this? "Maybe... Maybe if you lick it I will end faster...?" Caleb suggested, voice soft as if he was whispering, still, you could feel how much he had been waiting for him to suggest that. "Caleb... just where did you...? Ugh... just... just the tip, ok?" You kneeled, getting one of your legs between his, using your hand to keep his member up, slowly getting closer to it as you sticked out your tongue, carefully entering his tip into your mouth and sucking on it, using one of your hands to masturbate the rest of his member. "Fuck... So good... please, just a bit more, yeah? Please, I've been so good... Didn't fight with the other males for over a week, just a bit?" Caleb looked at you, his muscular body now looking even bigger due to the dim light that entered the window.

Before you noticed, Caleb's hands were already playing with your hair, petting it as you had done so many times before, the caring touch mixed with the feeling of his tip rubbing against your tongue almost making you moan from the pleasure. "Please...? Come on baby, let me do it..." You locked eyes with him from where you were, gradually entering his member until the tip was hitting against the back of your throat, the pressure on it making you gag on it. Caleb's grip got a bit tighter, now grabbing your hair as he restrained himself from pushing his hips forward and fuck your mouth without mercy. "Just do it..." You whispered to him, face flushing as you felt how Caleb's chest puffed up in joy, swiftly pushing you against the couch and straddling you, his cock now being just in front of your face. "Open wide~... here comes your big reward." Caleb abruptly pushed his whole length inside your mouth, using his arms as a way to keep this position in which it looked almost as if he was doing a plank, his happy trail now pressing against your face each time he forced his cock inside you causing tears to form in your eyes as you tried your best to take a deep breath each time he pulled out. Caleb stopped for a second, smiling at you as he saw your chest moving up and down rapidly, after all, he had set a ruthless rhythm for you, making sure to push his cock till it reached the back of your throat, then staying still a few seconds so he could feel your throat tightening around his cock, soon letting you breath once more, smirking as he saw you struggling to adapt to it. At the same time, he kept stroking your hair with care, almost as he wasn't practically bullying your poor mouth, pressing your whole body against the mattress and leaving you with little to no choice than to take it. "Keep your mouth open, here comes your reward..." All of sudden, Caleb moved away his dick moving a bit away so he could put the tip in front of your open mouth, strocking his cock with his right hand as he used the left hand to stay still, heavy ropes of cum falling into your mouth, a sweet aftertaste lingering in your mouth after you swallowed it completely... You hoped this wouldn't awake anything in you.

[live-love-be-unique]

P. R Nightmare

Series summary: A public relations job typically involves managing an individual or organisation’s reputation and building relationships with the public and media. It generally does not include superheros, terrorist organisations, middle-aged Russian super soldiers who breach media regulations and crushing on a client/ coworker.

This is a Robert (Bob) Reynolds x fem!reader series

Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, no specific details about reader appearance are given. Specific warnings will be provided at each chapter.

After battling the New York subway system — which you’re pretty sure had a vendetta against you — you’d made it to your office later than you’d liked. There had been no time to stop and grab a coffee and breakfast from your favourite little cafe near your office, so you’d have to contend with a stale granola bar that you were hoping was still buried in your desk behind some notebooks and a coffee from the communal kitchen.

“You’re late,” your assistant whispered as you walked in.

“I know, I know.”

“There’s someone in your office.”

“What? Who?” You were certain you didn’t have any meetings until at least 11am, you glanced towards your office where you could make out the shape of someone sitting in front of your desk.

“Congressman Barnes, he’s even more handsome since the last time he came by.”

“Aren’t you married, Dorris?” You smirked, she’d been nursing a crush on him since he’d last stopped by your office.

“Barry doesn’t need to know,” Dorris waved her hand dismissively, smirking as she answered her phone.

While it wasn’t uncommon to find someone waiting for you in your office most mornings, most visitors didn’t come bearing a steaming hot cup of coffee, “You join a new team and you’ve given up on the suits? You’ll break Giuseppe’s heart.”

“He’ll live, I’m sure you’ve referred other senators to his tailoring and I’m pretty sure you get a kick back on each suit he makes,” the man chuckled as he watched you walk around your desk and take a seat. “Hi kid.”

“What do you need Barnes?” You lean forward, resting your head on your hands, offering a wry smile, “I doubt you’re here to discuss the finer points of haberdashery?”

“I’m here to offer you a job,” Bucky says, placing your coffee in front of you.

“Last time you offered me a job, you wanted me to help you impeach Valentina de Fontaine,” you eyed Bucky as you took a sip of your coffee. Valentina had been a little too good at covering her tracks for anything solid to actually stick, the hunt for anything incriminating had dragged on for months. “Is this caramel?” you asked, savouring your first mouthful of good coffee.

“Of course,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This time it’s a little less…political. The team needs an assistant, someone to handle the public relations.”

“Really? You were all doing so well,” you smirked. “I saw the Wheaties boxes.”

“Alexei’s idea.”

“The Russian guy?”

“It was his dream,” Bucky shrugs. As he stands he places a file on your desk, “Think about it”

You watched him leave your office before picking up the file, it contained a dossier for every member of the Thunderbolts.

Bucky’s was first, heavily redacted as you’d expected. You knew a little of his past, or at least what he had shared with you while you had helped him with his campaign, but he had kept the details of what had happened while he was under control of Hydra to himself.

John Walker. Former decorated army ranger and Captain America for a short time before the murder of a civilian in a public setting led to his less than honourable discharge.

Yelena Belova. Former Red Room trained assassin with the Black Widow, working as a contract killer for Valentina before the Thunderbolts.

Alexei Shostakov. The Red Guardian, Captain America’s counterpart in Russia. The one behind the Wheaties box…and ‘encouraging’ people in supermarkets to buy them.

Ava Starr. S.H.I.E.L.D operative turned mercenary who could phase through objects due to a constant state of molecular disequilibrium. You made a mental note to look that up later.

And…Bob? You turned Bob’s, Robert Reynolds’s, part of the file over to find that the page in your hand, containing next to no information about the man, was it. There was a picture — he was cute in a boy next door kind of way — and a few sparse details about the man but nothing more.

You quickly closed the file as your office door slammed open, your 11am meeting had finally arrived. Some trust fund baby who wanted you to fix his public image to keep him out of prison. He was charged with several assault counts, all of which he argued were the other person's fault and daddy’s money had brought him two hours of your time.

After his time was up, he had offered you his number like it was some kind of reward. You declined and dialed a familiar contact.

“Barnes? When do you need me to start?”

[swtnjk]

kuroo with his hothead soccer player gf

the whistle blows. the sun bakes the turf, the bleachers are shaking with cheers, and you’re in the zone on the field. eyes on the goal, jaw clenched.

kuroo lounges back with a smug grin, elbow nudging kenma? who’s got his switch tilted up to shade his screen. “look at her go,” kuroo brags. “absolute menace.”

“she elbowed that girl in the ribs,” kenma mutters, barely glancing up. “love of my life,” kuroo says without hesitation.

it all happened so fast. a defender from the other team blocks your run, twists your ankle, and you go down. not before dragging her down with you, of course.

the ref doesn’t call it. the girl says something too smug, too stupid. you shoot up, telling her to repeat what she said. she says it again, you shove her.

“uh oh,” kenma says flatly. kuroo’s already standing up, hands in his hair like he just witnessed the winning goal and a crash at the same time.

you yell, the other girl yells back. and now the ref’s blowing his whistle and your teammates hold you back. your eyes stay on the girl.

kuroo’s voice rings over the chaos of the audience and the field, “hell yeah, baby! show her who runs this turf!”

kenma’s face deadpans as the security runs into the field, “you’re saying a war crime,” he says. kuroo smiles, “she’s perfect.” he replies, watching you get escorted off the field still mouthing, “say that shit again! everytime i see you—“

you pace around the parking lot, jersey half tucked in, hair messy and water bottle in your hand like it’s a weapon. steam’s basically coming off of you.

like expected, your coach gave you a stupid speech. saying how this is soccer! not a ufc match! and now you’re here, stuck and banned for next week’s games.

kuroo jogs over, kenma trailing behind like he was dragged out of a nap. kuroo looks you up and down like you just walked off a red carpet. one covered in turf stains and rage.

you turn around to him. “you’re glowing,” he says with that dumb lovesick grin. “like a really sexy volcano i wanna jump in.”

you squint at him, “i almost got suspended and kicked off the team.” kuroo kisses your forehead, “you almost fought a girl for saying something to you. that’s my baby.”

kenma a few feet away, looking deeply unimpressed. “you made espn’s twitter. you’re trending as ‘psycho striker.’”

you blink and groan, “seriously?”

kuroo beams, “so proud.”

you’re stuffed in the passenger seat of kuroo’s car, cleats kicked off, legs curled up, still simmering with leftover fight energy. but now it’s leaking out as sighs and sleepy glares at the dashboard.

kenma has his head against the window, sleep and has music blasting in his ears.

kuroo’s driving with one hand, the other resting on your thigh like it’s just meant to be there. “so,” he says casually, “was that a tactical shove, or a rage-induced one?”

you grunt, “she called me a ‘discount striker.’” kuroo whistles low, “yeah, okay. jail.”

you glance at him, and your whole face softens. the tension drops from your shoulders as you lean over and nuzzle into his arm like it’s your favorite pillow.

his neck extends as he parks into the space in front of you guys’ (and kenma’s) favorite diner. he nods and stops the car.

“thanks for coming,” you mumble, voice muffled against him. “you always do.”

he looks down at you with that annoying smile that makes your stomach do things. “well, yeah. somebody’s gotta cheer for my mean girlfriend who plays soccer like it’s mortal kombat.”

you let out a tired laugh, then thread your fingers through his while his hand’s still on your thigh. “i’m really glad it’s you,” you whisper, eyes half-lidded. “… it’s always you. you keep me from going full rage monster.”

kuroo’s heart combusts. he squeezes your hand, all smug and sappy. “baby, you are a rage monster. i’m just lucky you like me enough not to eat me.”

[songsofadelaide]

It took everything in Sakura's power not to jump out of your bedroom window when you first kissed him.

"H-Haru-chan?"

His hands shook as he held you by your shoulders, his lips trembling soundlessly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but all the words he knew just vanished into thin air.

You didn't know if you read the signs wrong. He came with you willingly, didn't he? You even held hands all the way home. That was an improvement from your linked pinkies. And though his brows were furrowed in what seemed to be an awkward expression, you could tell from the way his gaze rested steadily on you that he was fine with the way things were going.

But now, he looked like a cornered animal that was smothered too much, his eyes wide in evident shock and confusion.

"Y-You—" He stammered, his face red down to his neck. "W-We—!"

You had to admit that you were a little bit too impatient. Though this relationship was new to you both, your happier and healthier upbringing never cast any shadows of doubt over your ties with other people. For Sakura, this relationship was a leap of faith into uncharted waters... And you might have just botched the entire thing by jumping at him.

Did I read the signs wrong? He was looking at my lips so intently, after all...

"I'm sorry, Haru-chan. You looked like you wanted to kiss me, so I just went ahead," you told him apologetically, your hands clasped together as you gave him a short bow. "If... If you want to go home now, it's fine with me..."

The sound of his choked-up voice prompted you to look up at him again. Though the surprise was still evident in his face, his gaze softened into a look of relief.

"I-I... I d-did want to k-kiss you..." Came his stuttering confirmation. "Y-You surprised me! I didn't expect you to... to—!"

"You didn't expect me to what? Want to kiss you?" You chuckled at him, though you started to feel embarrassed yourself. "You're my boyfriend, Haru-chan. Of course I'd want to k-kiss you..."

Sakura settled down, no longer like a cat caught in some headlights. He took his seat right next to you on your carpeted floor, the tenseness of his shoulders gone, now replaced by the tender rhythm and sound of his soft and rare laughter.

"Would... Would you like to, uh... D-Do it again? I'm ready this time..."

All his apprehension and resolve melted away the moment you cupped his warm face in your hands, his eyes the color of celestial bodies rested solely on you— as though you were the only thing worth looking at in your shared quiet world.

"I'd want nothing more," you beamed at him, your wide and elated smile reflected on his own face. "Just promise me you won't jump out of my window afterwards."

[sylas-dove]

I don't believe that you want gender roles to be based on sex, not really. I do actually believe that you consider yourself a feminist who is helping to push the envelope towards a more equitable society. I just don't think that's where your ideas actually lead, because I'm seeing the consequences of the policies radfems agree with, and because I see the type of political figures radfems associate with.

I'll get back to your 1st point towards the end of this.

As for 2: Nobody is denying the material reality that some people produce sperm and some people produce eggs. The problem is that you make a lot of assumptions about that material reality that aren't grounded in material reality-- you yourself create a false binary by saying "one type of human produces sperm and the other type produces eggs." (Implying that there are only two possible modes of being.) Some people (like me) say that "sex is a social construct" because more specific statements like yours collapse under scrutiny. What about people who produce no gametes? Are they no longer people? (Obviously not.) What is their sex? Some would say, "Yes, but all bodies are supposed to produce a gamete." (I know you disagree with this statement, don't worry; I'm using it to illustrate a point.) Says who? We can observe patterns (most human people produce a gamete) but attempting to apply intent or reasoning to those things goes beyond the limitations of material reality and starts to appeal to a quasi-sentient force of "Nature," or G-d. You could try to define a sex binary based on any other feature (presence of a uterus, or the capacity to grow a beard, or anything else), but there will always be people who do not fit that binary both naturally and due to medical intervention, because materially, sex is not binary. You have reblogged posts that say "a female is a female, no matter what you add or take away." This is a position many radfems hold! Much like how many trans-positive feminists say, "a woman is a woman, because she says so." The concept of "sex" is a social construct, just like gender.

With regards to point 1, the place where we differ here is that I believe the dismantling of sex-based categories is the dismantling of the patriarchy. Sex-based discrimination can only exist if you have sex-based categories. If someone's sex (or gender, even) is completely meaningless societally, discriminating on the basis of sex would be like discriminating against people who aren't brunettes. Arbitrary and ridiculous. (Unless of course you actually believe that it is, say, essential to the biology of one category of person to discriminate against another category.) We don't only do medical studies on brown-haired people unless the fact that they have brown hair is somehow actually, materially relevant. Sex-based categories only exist (in Western society) because of the patriarchy. I fundamentally do not believe that you can have one without the other. Any attempt to dismantle patriarchal structures of oppression must go hand in hand with dismantling sex-based categories. How could you possibly dismantle the patriarchy and create a society where all people are truly equal if you're still expecting people to fit into sex-based roles?

Respecting transgender people when they tell you who they are is a very small, simple way to fight back against the patriarchy. The existence of transgender people inherently challenges those sex-based roles. The problem transgender people have with radfems "discussing female health and sex differences" is that radfems misgender trans people to do it. They also fail to include trans women when it's relevant-- for example, discussions about how medications only studied on people with testosterone-based endocrine systems will affect people with estrogen-based endocrine systems (a more polite and scientifically accurate way to phrase your sentence "we only used male cells to test this drug so it works worse for women") among radfems rarely consider that trans women on estrogen will be affected in the same way as many cisgender women.

You are not a feminist because you exclude some women on the basis of transphobia. If you truly want to dismantle the patriarchy, you cannot do it while continuing to hate, fear, and distrust transgender women. I fundamentally do not think it's possible. Misogynists will revel in using your beliefs as a pawn. They will pass laws to harm trans people that you will cheer for, and then later you will realize that these laws hurt you, too. This has already happened-- radfems just tend to blame the trans people for this instead of the lawmakers.

And because this post has gotten very long, and because I have sifted through a lot of things on your blog that I have deeply disagreed with, I would like to reiterate:

This dugong (it's actually a manatee but whatever) loves trans women. So do I. Trans women are women. They always will be. The fact that they reject the sex-based role forced upon them to be women makes people who uphold the patriarchy blind with incandescent fury. People accuse radfems of upholding the patriarchy because you exhibit this same incandescent fury against a group of people who are not harming you. (Also because many radfems are anti-sex work, intersexist, and anti-kink, among other beliefs. I don't want to have those arguments-- but I do genuinely believe that these beliefs reinforce the patriarchal hegemony that harms all people, not just women.)

holding onto mama

[salem-s]

01 ── TEMPORARY TRUCE ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS you absolutely can't stand your roommate's brother, and Rafe can't not take an opportunity to poke fun at you every chance he gets. but when you both accidentally have a jello shot infused with molly, you decide to have a temporary truce and enjoy the night. ── WARNINGS language, drug usage (molly), fluff. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 4.6k. ── NOTES please i am not condoning drug use don't take after these idiots for the love of god. ── SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER killing time by magdalena bay

"Your apartment is literally twenty feet away. Can't you loiter and bother someone else there instead of here?"

Your tone is hardly joking or inviting, instead dripping with irritation as you watch the six foot something pest of a human lay on your couch, kick his feet up, and sigh as if he's just gotten home from a long day of work. But no, Rafe hasn't done a single productive thing all day, except go on his consistent mission of bugging you every chance he gets as if he's getting a prize.

And right now, he's accomplishing it.

"No one's home," Rafe responds cooly, even going as far as resting his hands behind his head in a grand sloth gesture. "Besides, I'm scared of the dark."

"It's two in the afternoon," you deadpan.

He hardly sees that as an issue. "Still scared."

Bold of you to assume you'd get any form of relaxation midday on a Saturday.

With his head lulling to the side, his eyes dart from the mess you've made on the coffee table to your cross-legged position on the carpet, sitting idly on a pillow as you craft away. Of course, you weren't expecting such gracious company — not that you would've tidied up for Rafe Cameron, of all people — but nonetheless you frown at his intrusion, annoyed because you were truly in the zone and focused.

Not anymore.

You curse your roommate Sarah for giving him — her brother — a spare key to your apartment.

"Go bug Sarah," you mumble, looking back down at your project, frankly not in the mood for the back and forth. "I'm busy."

"Nah, I paid for her to get her nails done," he excuses with a dismissive wave. "What are you doing?"

"Building a rocket," you deadpan sarcastically, not even bothering to look up at him as you continue working.

Rafe snorts. "Some rocket." Then, he sits up and leans audaciously close to the coffee table, and you get a whiff of his cologne from his intrusion. "Are you...mod podging?"

The teasing tone in his voice makes your face feel flushed, and you don't even need to look at him to know he's flashing you his million dollar smirk, one that you love to try and wipe off his face with endless jabs and bratty remarks. Not that it ever works, instead it only grows when you attempt to shut him down.

"I'm not mod podging," you defend with a scowl. "I'm designing a poster board for Sarah's birthday."

To your dismay, Rafe stands from the love seat couch and maneuvers around the coffee table, taking the liberty of sitting in the arm chair directly behind you. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, moving close enough so that he's - literally - peering over your shoulder to look at your work head-on.

"That looks like mod podge to me," he drawls on.

You feel goosebumps coat your arms when his voice ghosts the shell of your ear.

But you refuse to turn around to look at him, simply humming in response and continuing to work in order to keep your hands busy.

"Please, you couldn't tell a rake from a shovel," you mutter under your breath loud enough for him to hear. "So, I'm hardly taking your jabs to heart."

Rafe ignores your attempt to push him away, instead tilting his head to inspect your project, taking in all of the cut out prints taken from his old camera, photo booth slips, tickets from events you've been to together, old string from Sarah's favorite jeans that ripped on the subway (rest in peace), and, finally, a photo of him, her, and you from the beach last summer, Sarah in the middle with yours and Rafe's cheeks smushed on either side of hers.

"You put me on there," he states incredulously, a wide grin etching on his face.

You roll your eyes, even though he can't see you. "Well, yeah."

"Awe, I knew you liked me, baby."

"Don't piss me off right now," you scoff, ignoring how he's so close behind you. "You're her brother. Of course you're gonna be on there."

Rafe doesn't care about the implications. "Excuses."

You sit up to glue another piece onto the board, a small hand-drawn portrait a random artist in Central Park drew of her last week.

"Rafe, it isn't an excuse. You’re literally her brother," you repeat, feeling the heat on your neck.

All he does is hum teasingly, as if he’s unconvinced of your perfectly reasonable response.

You take the liberty of attempting to disprove any of his ill fitted claims, pointing to a Polaroid that has stickers and other magazine cut outs overlapping it. "Look, Wheeze is on here too. Don't think I'm giving you special treatment."

"What if I want special treatment?"

"And what if I want you to leave me alone?"

Rafe's audacious laugh behind you only spikes your irritation, as if your previous words are a big, fat joke. It echoes through the living room, and you have half a heart to turn around and slap him, or berate him, or do anything under the sun to get him to stop bugging you.

That is — until you feel his nimble fingers gently playing with the fraying strings of your sweater.

"Kinda hard to leave you alone when you live with my sister," he says with a rare softness, voice laced with humor from the aftermath of his laughter.

You lean forward purposefully, feeling your sweater leave the grasp of his fingers. "Yeah, well, Sarah isn't here."

Whether Rafe falters from your hiss, he doesn't verbally show it as you still refuse to turn around and look at him. It's quiet for a moment behind you, and after glueing the small portrait in the place you want it to, you flatten your palm on the board to get it to stick. Frankly, you don't want to betray your conscience and glance at him, so your eyes stay focused on the craft in front of you.

But the silence goes as quickly as it came, when Rafe breaks it by humming low, teasing, a baritone pitch that nearly shakes your bones.

"Speaking of the birthday girl," he says after a minute. "What time's the surprise again?"

His nonchalant tone makes you think that maybe he's done being a prick, so you throw a glance over your shoulder to see him leaned back on the arm chair, man-spreading so godforsaken arrogant with his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted as his bright blue eyes remain shamelessly settled on you. He looks as though he has all the time in the world to be here, to be bothering you.

When you lock eyes, a hint of a smirk tugs at his lips.

Nope. Never done being a prick.

You turn back around and look down at the table. "Nine, so get here for eight thirty."

"Be here at seven, got it."

You groan. "Rafe—"

"Nah, I'll behave. Swear." You still refuse to look at him. "I'll help you and Kie set up, yeah? Since you two can barely reach anything?"

Scoffing, you hold up your finished board and inspect it, looking for any missed spots or empty spaces you need to fill. The thought of having to micromanage everything he'll decorate (in a non-organized, chaotic way that you'll definitely have to rearrange) makes an uneasy feeling of dread settle in your gut.

"We'll manage just fine," you murmur, busy analyzing.

But Rafe doesn't take that lightly. "Remember when you dislocated your shoulder—”

"Oh, c'mon—!"

"—because you fell off a chair trying to hang up streamers for Halloween?"

"That was one time."

"Yeah," Rafe mutters behind you, scoffing incredulously, "one time too many. You're banned from standing on any chairs, you know that."

You think of the pretend law your friends enacted for the group, glancing up to the hand-written friend group constitution you have on the wall, the latest amendment being no standing on chairs or other wobbly surfaces without another person present, thanks to your little mishap. It was a detrimental evening, for sure, as what usually constitutes a new addition to the faux plaque.

You try and ignore how Rafe was the one who found you on the ground, swearing and crying and in so much pain that you didn't protest when he carried you all three blocks to the urgent care (even though your legs were fine). It's a little funny looking back on it now, given you both were in your Halloween costumes — you as a Bratz doll and him as the Mandalorian — in such a serious moment.

"Fine," you secede. "Seven. Thirty. Seven thirty. But if you even think about being a prick or distracting us from decorating, I'm going to kill you."

Rafe chuckles from behind you, finally standing to loom over you and inspect your finished poster board a little too close for your liking, a little too audacious even for him. "You say that all the time, but you haven't killed me yet."

"Once murder is legal, trust."

"Hm," he hums in baritone, void of any teasing regard. "Looks great, Star. Sare's gonna love it."

You hate when he's serious, narrowing his gaze at him as you watch him round the table and raid your food pantry (which, thank god he's not looking at you to see the effect that nickname has on your soul). The way he says it so nonchalantly make you reel, rolling off his tongue in a manner so casual that it makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts to not care.

Putting up your walls again, you straighten your posture.

"Whatever. Don't call me that."

"Why not?" He plucks out a bag of chips — your bag of chips — and doesn't hesitate to open them and begin chowing down. "At least it's not baby, right?"

All you can do is roll your eyes, thinking back to the origin of the nickname where you accidentally got a little too high one night, and Sarah abandoned you to go sleep across the hall at her boyfriend's apartment, coincidentally Rafe's roommate, who enlisted her brother's help to essentially babysit you to make sure you weren't going to green out and freak out. Instead, you laid on the fire escape and talked his ear off about all the constellations you could see in the city's haze and what each one meant.

To your surprise, he listened to every word. He had questions for you, even though he clearly was egging you on to keep rambling and had a shit-eating grin on the entire time, yet seemed relatively interested in your cannabis-induced yap session.

From that point on, he only called you Star when he knew it would make you flustered.

"Whatever," you say again, ignoring his gaze when he slips his sneakers back on by the front door. "Can you at least leave the chips here?"

Rafe grins at you, opening the door after plopping a particularly large chip into his mouth.

"Nope," is all he says, grandeur and all, as he winks at you and shuts the door behind him, leaving you coated in silence.

Rafe ends up arriving around six thirty, contrary to your verbal agreement.

Yet, surprisingly, he manages to help you and Kiara get enough done around the apartment so that by the time guests start arriving around eight thirty, all the decorations are already up, all the food's been laid out, all the drinks are set up and ready to be poured as soon as Sarah walks through the door.

You'll never admit to him that he actually did a good job, contrary to popular belief, with limited smart-ass talk and a weird-found eagerness to help out. He hung decor without complaints, he moved furniture without any lewd comments about his muscles, he even ran down the street to the corner store to pick up candles for the cake with little to no complaints (the only complaint being that he has no self control to not buy a piece of candy at the shop, and split half of the bag with you anyway).

You push the implication to the back of your mind, blaming it on the fact that he loves his sister and wants tonight to be perfect for her.

And when Sarah arrives back to the apartment with John B, instead of quiet solemn walls, she's greeted with all the people in the world that she cares about, cheering and hugging her and giving her all the love she deserves.

Thankfully, John B hadn't spoiled the surprise (he is notoriously known for spoiling movies without meaning to) and you gratefully thank him when he arrives, handing him a drink for all the stress he endured by not spilling the secret. He takes it, graciously, claiming how incredibly difficult it was not telling her, since they tell each other everything (and you mean everything. It's disgustingly endearing).

The party goes great. Awesome, even.

People mingle, dance, drink. Pope and Cleo hold fort in the back corner at the joint rolling station, keeping the right audience occupied with the constant weed handouts. Sarah and John B talk animatedly with one of her coworkers by the door. You and Kiara hover by the drinks to make sure no one steals anything (one of JJ's old pals from one of his classes snagged three bottles of tequila once under everyone's nose), as Rafe leans against the fridge a few paces away, conversing with a pretty blonde whose name escapes you.

The night is perfect.

That is, until JJ barrels into the kitchen, hair awry and eyes wide with excitement, precariously holding a tray of seven jello-shots. He nearly drops it at the ferocity of his movements, harshly bumping his hip into the corner of the counter but paying it no mind as his jitters outweigh the pain.

He albeit races up to you and Kiara. "I think I got the recipe down."

Kiara cautiously takes a cup and studies it, frowning at his jittery demeanor. "Where did you just pull these from?"

"I just made them in the bathroom," he says nonchalantly as if it isn't a major red flag waving in your mind right now. "Now, are you going to try them, or what?"

"What is it?" Rafe asks cooly, intruding onto the moment as the pretty blonde lingers behind him, eyeing the tray, too.

Although, he's hardly paying attention to her anymore, instead flickering his gaze between the tray, JJ, and you for some reason you cannot comprehend. When he catches you staring at him quizzically, he manages an audacious wink, to which you roll your eyes and focus your attention back to the eager blond in front of you.

You narrow your eyes at JJ, slowly grabbing a cup to thoroughly try and study the contents. "Is this going to kill me?"

JJ laughs boisterously, even tipping his head back for dramatic effect. "This isn't like that one batch of pot brownies, promise. It's even better. I got one for all of us."

Kiara frowns next to you, and even in doing so she looks pretty, as she puts the cup back down on the tray. "I wish, Jay. I have my drug test next week, remember?"

Dismissing her words, Rafe takes a cup as well and sniffs it, nose scrunching up at the scent. His head tilts at the odorless jello, confusedly darting his gaze between it and the tray, trying to inspect if his cup differs from any of the others.

The pretty blonde that's behind him also reaches for one, and you nearly snort at how fast JJ yanks the tray away from her.

Her eyes widen at the gesture, pulling her hand back lightning fast as JJ recoils at his harsh movement, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He not only startled her with the motion, but himself as well.

"Uh, sorry, sweetheart," the blonde grimaces, "day ones only."

You roll your eyes, knowing damn well you aren't a day one either, but nonetheless keep your mouth shut as you watch the girl scoff, crossing her arms to show off her newly manicured nails and muttering to herself before stomping away.

"Thanks a lot, man," Rafe mutters as he claps a hand on JJ's shoulder, almost a little too harshly.

But JJ beams, unknowing. "No problem, bro. Now, I'm dying here, guys. Are you going to try it or what?"

By the way he's nearly jumping up and down in excitement, you can't help but sneak a glance at Rafe, who's already looking at you with raised brows. You share a look, silently saying fuck it as you both bring the cups to your lips, knocking back the jello-shots with little-to-no problem. You figure if you get a little too high, you can just venture back to your room to sleep it off and skip the club portion of the night (Sarah's favorite past-time).

Although it doesn't taste like normal weed-infused food, as there's usually a bitter aftertaste to edibles or brownies or (once) a cake. It actually tastes...good?

Rafe smacks his lips, impressed with raised brows. "Wow, man. That wasn't bad at all."

He beams. "Right?"

Setting the empty cup back down on the counter, Rafe nods. "Didn't taste like weed in the slightest, either."

But JJ frowns, tilting his head in confusion. "Weed?"

"Yeah," you hum brightly, equally as impressed. "You should sell that shit. How many grams did you put in it?"

"Wh— Guys, that wasn't weed."

You and Rafe still, blinking stupidly at him.

Silence fills between the four of you, the outside chatter and music seeming to dim as the uncertainty rises. The blond is speechless for one, two beats before blinking stupidly right back at you, eyes cautiously darting between you and Rafe as if he's waiting for the gotcha! from you, except it never comes.

Despite your blatant nerves, Kiara whistles low, stifling a laugh. "Ohh, shit. Jay, you didn't tell them?"

“Tell us what?” You hiss incredulously, heart pounding as you stare at your idiot of a friend. “The fuck did I just drink?”

"That was molly."

You and Rafe both widen your eyes at him, simultaneously — and nearly screaming — "What?"

JJ furrows his brows, not utterly panicked in the slightest at your surprise. "Yeah, molly. Guys, I've been trying to make it lately, I told you a million times. Do you even listen when I speak?"

As much as you want to answer no, the obvious answer, you can't help but stupidly blink at your friend, heartbeat suddenly thumping up to your ears as nerves prickle your gut.

He keeps talking, rambling about how no one listens to him anymore, how he's been working on cracking the recipe all week only for his friends to not appreciate his craft, unbeknownst to your inner turmoil as you let your gaze drift down to the counter, staring at the empty cup as your mind races. His voice is, frankly, underwater as all you can hear is your heartbeat.

Fuck, you've never done molly before, nor do you know how much was in that one cup. Are you going to see stars? See hidden figures? Feel like you're floating? Will it put you to sleep? Will you be wide awake? Are you going to trip for the next hour or next six? There's obviously no taking it back now. Could you throw it up or is it already in your system? A million answer-less questions come and go, causing you to reel and speculate and panic.

Barely noticing JJ and Kiara walk away, most likely to find Pope and Cleo to be his second round of guinea pigs, you take a particularly ragged breath that causes Rafe to frown.

"Hey," he says firmly, moving right in front of you to grip both of your biceps to steady you, "are you good?"

You blink, eye level with his stupid graphic t-shirt. "I just took molly."

"I know—"

"Molly, Rafe," you emphasize, looking up to him in panic.

He hardly looks afraid, but his eyes hold a shroud of concern, most likely for you, because you just realized now that your hands are shaking. With little to no thought, his thumbs are skimming over the smooth skin of your arms in an effort to cease your spiraling, but it does no good as your mind races, fuck, sprints to indulgent conclusions.

"I've never done it before." You bring the heels of your hands up to your eyes in an attempt to calm yourself down. "Fuck. Fuck. What am I going to do?"

"It'll be alright, Star." You hear him say with ease, still feeling his hands splayed on your biceps. "It'll be over in a couple of hours."

Your hands drop from your face as you peer up at him, wide eyed. "Hours?"

God, the small smile hinting his lips only makes you spiral further, unsure of why he's amused at the fact that you just took a strong drug without even knowing, unsure of why he's laughing at you.

Why is he so relaxed? Acting like this is fine? Acting like your anxiety is a form of entertainment?

The sight upsets you. Detrimentally.

Normally, you can handle his incessant teasing at the expense of your existence, but you can only allow his self deprecation in the confinements of sobriety, times where you're not borderline hysteric surrounding by a bunch of people who probably don't even know your last name. You can deal with his taunts any other day, any other time, but you're in no joking mood. At all.

No. Because now it just feels mean. It makes you feel stupid. It threatens tears to spring to your waterline.

"It's not funny," you say pathetically, voice wavering. "Don't laugh at me."

His brows furrow a fraction, head tilting at you in confusion. "I'm not— I would never laugh at you, not for this."

"You're literally laughing."

Rafe rubs his hands gently up and down your arms in a feeble attempt to calm you down, and you really try to ignore the casual intimacy of the act. Why haven't you shoved him away yet?

"Not at you, Star," he assures gently. "I'm laughing because JJ's an idiot. But there's no reason to freak out, yeah? It's going to be fine. I know it seems scary, but it's not." He chuckles lightly to keep the mood up. "Promise."

You feel yourself shrink in his grasp. "How am I supposed to trust your promise?"

"C'mon-"

"You knew the end of Red Dead Redemption II and you told me to play it anyway."

"Baby, please—"

You huff, covering your face with your hands, barely registering the pet name. "Oh my god. I'm going to fucking kill JJ. What am I going to do?"

Rafe keeps his hands on you, grounding you even though the drug hasn't hit, and won't for a little while. You ponder the implications of him keeping his paws on you longer than he knows he should, but the thought comes and goes as the real problem at hand keeps surfacing.

You take another particularly ragged breath that worries him. Wordlessly, he gently takes your hands away from his face so you can look at him, and all you can do is blink stupidly up at him while he darts his gaze between your eyes.

"Listen to me," he says softly yet firm, commanding. "I'll stay by your side all night. I've done this before, and it's not as bad as you think. You're going to be with your friends all night, friends that you, on multiple occasions, have said you love and trust with your life. And you're also going to be with me, and I'm going to watch over you, okay?"

Suddenly, you feel squeamish under his nearly possessive gaze, feeling a bit childish that you're basically a mess in his arms right now. And of course it's him, of all people, the one person who you don't want this to happen with.

The thought of tucking under his arm all night makes you sick. "I don't want you to have to babysit me all—"

Rafe shakes his head, gazing at you seriously. "Don't think of it like that. Think of it as... us having a bonding night."

You quirk a brow. "A bonding night? Rafe, you and I have never bonded once."

He almost looks offended at that. "I totally beg to differ, but whatever. What about a temporary truce?"

The phrase makes you frown quizzically, blinking a few times to make sure you heard him right. But he looks entirely serious, patiently waiting for your response as you only now register that he's been holding your shaking hands gingerly with absentminded thumbs smoothing over your warm skin.

"A...temporary truce?" You drawl out slowly, phonetically sounding out the phrase as if they're new words.

But Rafe nods genuinely, almost proud of his brain for making that up. "Yeah. Because I know you and I like to go at it sometimes—"

"Sometimes doesn't even cut it—"

"But tonight, we don't bullshit each other," he continues, ignoring your jab. "No games, no fucking around. We just...have each other's backs, and have fun. Okay?"

The whole scheme settles something foreign in your gut, and you can't tell if it's a good or a bad feeling. You have no doubt that he'll break the truce almost immediately once he finds a girl he wants to bring back to the apartment, or the second the night gets boring for him (as he's been notoriously known to simply leave a function without telling anyone if he's not having a good time). Additionally, the concept of having fun with someone such as Rafe Cameron seems like the biggest damn joke you've ever encountered.

You take a deep breath. "We're supposed to be going to that club in an hour, how are we gonna—?"

"Relax," Rafe interrupts, "we'll drink waters, if that's what you're worried about. Actually, being at a club might make you feel better."

"In what scenario would that ever be true?"

That makes him stifle a laugh, brushing some of the hair away from your face and shaking his head lightly at you, almost in disbelief. It almost makes you scoff in retaliation, because he's really taking advantage of the whole she hasn't pushed me off yet so I'm going to keep holding her in a way that will definitely make someone spiral at the intentions behind it act.

If you weren't so amped up on nerves, you would've shoved him away as of yesterday and told him the next time he touches you will be the last time he has hands. But the words don't come, and, frankly, you need his touch in the moment to ground you to earth.

"For once in your life," he says, "will you trust me?"

The words almost come but die in your throat as you stare at him.

Really stare at him.

At the end of the day, despite how much he infuriates you and riles you up and makes your life more complicated than it needs to be, he is your roommate's brother, a roommate you've grown unabashedly close to in the past few years. You trust Sarah with your life, and she trusts him with her life, and you know that has to count for something beyond a simple sibling truce. One word she used to describe him before you two met was loyal. That has to mean something, right?

Deep down you know he wouldn't bullshit you about something like this. Regardless if he is the Prince of Pricks, he's always told thing how they are. He isn't a liar, never has been.

Despite everything in your mind telling you no, telling you that this is a disaster waiting to happen and that you're most likely going to be left alone, you find yourself nodding slowly, putting a proverbial knife in his hand and hoping he won't stab you with it.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes haiiiiiiii please do not follow in anyone’s footsteps in this fic huge disclaimer I am not condoning drug use TRUST. I wanted to wait until ptputss was fully uploaded before I started uploading this one, so now that THAT’S done (rip), I’ll be solely focusing on this. Hope you enjoy!

[revelboo]

After seeing Thundercracker role play with his human could we possibly get a role play scenario with Skywarp

Sure! I overdid it walking in the sun and made myself a bit loopy, but so many Jeeps! I might have just a touch of sun poisoning lol

🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Roleplay

Skywarp

• Heart racing, you pull against your bound wrists. When he’d asked about roleplaying, you really didn’t know what to expect. Naked with a blindfold and your wrists cuffed in heavily padded cuffs and secured over your head so you’re up on tiptoe wasn’t it, though. “I swear if you left me like this, I’m going to kick your ass,” you mutter, arms already beginning to burn even though it’s not been five minutes. But you can’t hear him and honestly, leaving you like this is something he might do, the jerk.

• Laughing to make you turn his way, he reaches out to run the tips of his servos asking your thigh. “Prisoners don’t get to make threats,” he growls. “I’ll have to punish you for that.” And you kick out at him, swearing when you lose your balance and he grips your waist to steady you. But seeing you strung up like this? Helpless? His spike is so hard it hurts. You look amazing like this.

• Of course this is how he’s going to play. Captor and prisoner. Alright. Listening to track him as he circles you and swearing when he lightly swats you, not hurting but startling you, you kick at him again. Missing and belatedly realizing that if you actually manage to get him, you’ll probably break a toe on his metal hide. “Oh yeah? Do your worst,” you mutter. Because when it’s your turn, maybe you’ll play the same game with your roles reversed. Tie him up and ride him until he’s a whining mess.

• Palm sliding over your hip, he frees his spike and hooks his arm around you, dragging you against him. Letting you feel his spike pressing against your belly. “No one’s coming to rescue you,” he growls, palming your hips and lifting you. And you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against him, trying to line your bodies up. Not playing your part. Venting, he swats you again and you dig your heels in. “You’re not doing it right.”

• Trying to push up the blindfold against your shoulder, you manage to get it up enough to be able to see. And you snort at his scowling pout. Because of course, he’s taking this seriously. Blowing out a breath, you strain against your bound wrists. “No, anything but your hard, thick spike. Don’t put it in me,” you moan, making it over the top and his optics narrow. Right before he reaches up and gags you with the stupid blindfold, grinning at your muffled swearing.

• “There’s no escape,” he growls as you dramatically roll your eyes, but you’re not ruining it at least. Lifting you, he lines himself up and pulls you down on his length, groaning as your slick heat takes all of him. “You’re mine now.” Hips pumping urgently against you, listening to the wet sound of you taking his spike mingle with your muffled moans, he gives in to the fantasy.

[thegoldencontracts]

Kisses

From this list:

1. Malleus—Lizard Kiss

The two of you sat there in a comfortable sort of silence. He was reading a book about fae, and you were doing schoolwork.

Suddenly, however, he stood.

"Tsunotarou—?" You asked. He moved towards your seat.

"May I kiss you?"

A gentleman, wasn't he? Malleus always did know how to say the most charming thing without even trying.

"Of course," you said. He nodded, chuckling lowly.

"Close your eyes, child of man," he whispered in your ear. You obliged, bracing for the inevitable explosion of emotions.

And then he licked your lips.

It was not a kiss, no. A kiss would imply your tongues at any point made contact. Rather, this was something different. You were deeply confused. What was he doing?

He pulled back, and you opened your eyes. He looked awfully proud of himself.

"What was that?" You asked, brow raised. "Was that supposed to be a kiss?"

Malleus looked at you confused, very much resembling a lizard, though the way he tilted his head reminded you more of a very sad puppy. Now you felt bad.

"Is that not how you humans kiss?" He asked. You fervently shook your head.

"What—?! No! That's not-" you sighed. "Here. I'll show you."

With a newfound resolution to show this foolish dragon the true implications of a kiss, you leaned towards him, pecking him on the lips. When you pulled away, you noticed he was dumbfounded.

"I take it you liked that?" You asked. He remained unmoving.

"Fascinating," he said at last. "For such a little action to feel so wonderous."

"Now that's a little far-"

"Do it again."

"Huh?"

"If you would please," he re-iterated. "Do it again."

You had a feeling you were going to be there for a while.

2. Ruggie—Palm Kiss

“What do you think of fairytales?” He asked one day.

You looked up in surprise.

“Now that’s a question I never expected you to be asking," you said. Ruggie snickered.

“Can’t blame a guy for being curious,” he said. “You can tell a lot about someone from how they answer something’ like that. Maybe they’re a dreamer, expectin’ a Prince Charming to come sweep ‘em off their feet. Or maybe they’re one of those folks who thinks anything remotely happy is stupid. But, ah, you’re definitely not the first type. You’re datin’ me, after all.”

He laughed to himself, a mix of causal and slightly self-deprecating.

“Imagine,” he said. “Me, a prince, pullin’ all sorts of cool moves to make you swoon.” In a caricature of a gruff voice, he tittered, “It’ll be alright, babygirl, I’m here.”

You laughed, both at the impression and at the words he spoke.

“It is stupid.”

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s obvious I’d be the Prince Charming. You’re the fair maiden swooning."

Ruggie snickered.

“Then maybe you should be pampering me,” he said. “Like by doing the dishes for once.”

You grabbed his palm.

“Of course,” you said. “Anything you desire.”

And then you pressed a kiss.

Watching him short circuit in real time was priceless.

“I- I was just jokin’ when I said that, y’know,” he mumbled. “I don’t need coddling-“

“Shh,” you said, pressing a finger to his lips. “You’re tired. Sleep.”

And despite his protests, he was out like a light.

You fell asleep as well. It was a lovely thing, you thought, the two of you, in peace, together.

“You’re still not gonna do the dishes, are you?”

“Ehehe, sorry…”

3. Leona—Ear Kiss

“You know,” you said. “You’re kinda like a big cat.”

Leona scowled.

“I ain’t a cat.”

“Hey,” you raised up your hands defensively. “That wasn’t what I said. I said you’re like a cat.”

“Give me one way I’m like a cat.”

“Your tails kinda flicks around when you’re happy about something,” you started. “And your ears droop when you’re sad.”

He sucked in a rapid breath, tail swishing anxiously.

“You’re making stuff up.”

“Am not!” You huffed. “Look, your tail’s doing it right now!”

He looked to it, eyes narrowed as if he were betrayed, positioning himself so his tail was hidden.

“Hey!” You said. “Don’t hide your cute tail from me!”

He just stared at you, eyes narrowed.

“I’m not showing it for your to gawk at,” he muttered, ears flattened. Cute.

You stood up, resolute.

“At least let me appreciate the other cat part of you, then!” You said.

And just as it looked like he was about to find a was to hide his ears as well, you pounced.

And kissed around his ears.

“What’re you—“

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked. Leona looked away for a second.

“Do whatever you want,” he said simply. You just snickered.

He really was a big cat.