#only a carton a month!

[spockvarietyhour]

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

why is it that Sydney Carton feels so much like a classic “period piece character” — both as a man of Georgian England and as a character written in Victorian times — yet also like such a timeless, eternally-relatable person who could just as easily have existed today?

because he was… a head of his time!

[astralfuchs]

✨⭐Happy birthday my beloved! ♥️🌟💫

[flamestar126]

My body hurts so much

[mesaryth]

tbh every album i listened to in 8th grade is beautiful to me because i had no friends and everything really was music on world off...

[mosspapi]

I have created an auto-crafter that works with operation Double Cheeked Up (my massive cake-making project in my survival world lmao)! I will not be sharing it on here bcuz it's kinda finicky and anyone with 1/16th of a braincell's worth of redstone knowledge would flay me on sight for it (rightfully so) but I came up with the design entirely on my own and it works good enough for me so I'm proud of it :D

[elizzsush]

Beastmen Courting Rituals | TWST

Savanaclaw Dorm X Reader

Leona X Reader, Ruggie X Reader, Jack X Reader,

---- BeastFolk typically have instinctual ways they begin 'courting' or a relationship, some even taught from a young age certain courting rituals. (Non-Human courting rituals part 1/3)

Note: Fun fact, I began making Fae courting first but then I posted the future kid thing and didn't want to post two Diasomnia so close together!

Octavinelle Ver | Diasomnia Ver.

Jack:

It started very small, one day he was there, the next he was there again, and the next he was also there.

He was always there.

Then it got a bit... weird? You noticed that when he would approach you, he was making this grumbling, whining sounds? You don't even think he realized it. You chose to ignore this fact for now, maybe it was just because he was a beast man? You didn't want to be rude by saying anything- or make him feel embarrassed.

After that he began to help you with your hair more as well. Well, your general appearance. He'd help you fix your uniform and brush off any dust or anything you'd may want or need help with. In turn you helped him back, it was only fair after all!

Never mind his flushed face while you did this, moving small hairs back in place and picking any particles off his own uniform.

"There's our dynamic pair! beauty and the beast man." Ace teased, a confident grin on his face while you sat down at the table, Jack not too far behind you.

Jack just rolled his eyes, a small blush on his face as he ignored Ace. Aka, while he did the smart thing to do. You, however, have yet to learn that Despite so many months of friendship and raised an eyebrow at the Card boy. "What are you talking about." You rolled your eyes at the boy.

"You don't know? but it's so obvious!" Ace frowned, Grim nodding beside him in agreement, though you doubted he even knew what the boy was talking about. "His tail is always wagging like a fan when he's talking to ya! He's totally in l-" just as Ace was about to finish speaking Jack piped up, his ears straight on his head in an alert manner and his tail stiff behind him.

"I didn't get anything to drink when we got food." He excused himself, you tried to get a look at his face because he wasn't looking at you but he didn't look back and stood up.

Glancing at his tray, you didn't fail to notice the milk carton on it. Plush, Jack was always the prepared, diligent one. That was so odd... You glanced back at Ace only to find him laughing to himself like the funniest thing just happened. "Whatever, where is Deuce?" You rolled your eyes.

"Why should I know? I'm not his mom."

After that, Ace started calling you dense. Maybe you were because you really didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

After that it was like there was a switch in Jack. He began to be touchier, not that you minded of course! Cuddling with friends is always nice, and you liked to think it was because of his more... animalistic features and instincts he was cuddlier.

But somehow it felt more intimate. He'd nuzzle his face into your neck and hang off of you like he was a coat instead of a large man who was... well jacked.

You'd often wrestle him off of you because he had gotten into the habit of, as you said before, hanging off of you! He'd whine and almost instinctually wrestle you back to stay into his place.

You may not be as strong as him, but you also didn't hate the way he'd run with you at P.E. You knew he could easily run laps around everyone, but instead he stuck with you. Smiling at you exhausted look and cheering you on. "I'm sure Coach Vargas wouldn't mind us taking a break?" He laughs a bit awkwardly after you glared at him for suggesting it when he barely even broke a sweat.

It wasn't till after Leona off Handly mentioned something about you smelling like Jack. Even wrinkling his nose and saying that he "didn't have to lay it on that thick." That you started to think, maybe, just maybe, something else was going on here.

So, you went to the library. Got yourself your very own book (that you had to return in two weeks) on Beastfolk Mating rituals.

Suddenly, it made sense why Ace thought you were dense. Apparently, this was commonish knowledge in this world! And maybe you were ignoring pretty obvious signs now that you thought about it.

So, one afternoon when Jack was hanging off of you, that look in his eyes you hadn't noticed till now. You bit his hand. His ears straightened in surprise and he looked at you for a moment. A thick blush on his face.

"Am I dense or are you courting me?" You finally asked now that you had his attention.

"I have been for a while now..." He sheepishly admitted while not looking you in the eye.

____________

Ruggie:

He avoided you like the plague, at first.

Even now, sometimes when he's approaching you, you noticed that he might backtrack and hesitate.

Now he is a lot more relaxed, often hanging off of your shoulder. Now that he knows you won't bite his head off. His tail would wag behind him slightly while he interacted with you. A stark contrast to the stiff, alert eared boy he was just a little while ago!

You will say though, it did take some of your lunches to get here. You'd equate this process to that of getting a scared cat to approach you with treats. Now, you didn't even need the treats to get him around! He'd approach you first now too. Still with hesitance, but once he did come up to you he did seem to enjoy himself.

"He loved hanging off of you and cuddling up to you. He was very handsy, (Like most beast men, you'd later learned) His face often nuzzled into the nook of your neck. "He loved hanging off of you and cuddling up to you. He was very handsy, (Like most beast men, you'd later learned) His face often nuzzled into the nook of your neck.

"It's so weird to see a Ruggie-Senpai hang out with you so much." Deuce said off handedly one afternoon. You two were studying together when he thought of this.

"What do you mean?" You couldn't help but ask the card solider. Putting your pen down as you looked at him curiously.

The boy just shrugged, a odd look on his face. "I don't know, I just thought Hyena beast men were more... You know." he added a bit awkwardly. You decided to drop it there.

"Yeah... Anyway, I think I remember-"

The interaction stood out in your head, however. What exactly did Deuce even mean? After that interaction, you noticed a couple things as well. Beast students would look at you and nodded at you in recognition? Leona's nose would scrunch up a bit when you spoke to him (though he never made any comments on it), and when you walked into Savanaclaw a beast guy once mistook you for Ruggie before he looked at you?

What did any of that even mean?! When you asked Jack, he just said you smelt like Ruggie.

That small interaction you had with Deuce quickly began to send you down a hill of thinking about everything Ruggie ever did! How he hung off of you, and how you two hung out. It got even weirder when Ruggie offered you some food. Like he had been for a while.

This was very out of character for the Hyena boy! How did you not realize it before? So, you asked him about it. "How come you always offer me something when we eat together?"

He blushed a bit looking at you with wide eyes for a moment before shaking his head, "I do that don't I?" he laughed awkwardly, "I mean I bring food home for the neighborhood kids too. We all got to eat; you know?" He shrugged it off. You wondered what that meant, because he didn't do it with anyone else, but you failed to push him on the subject.

Your sad to say, you never fully realized what was happening till someone explained it to you.

He knocked on Ramshackle door with a handful of pretty dandelions and asked you on a date. "Perfect, would you like to um... go out with me?" he asked hesitantly, a nervous smile on his face while he put his head down. Like he was trying to protect his neck...

You said yes and it was after that Leona explained how annoying it was watching you two and basically inadvertently explained everything to you...

"That would have been helpful to know sooner." You grumbled to yourself after talking with the lion.

"Eh? Ignore him shyhehe!~ Ruggie just snickered with his usual sly smile.

____________

Leona:

Leona didn't really have time for games. If he liked, you he'd just come out and say it. At least, that's what you had first thought. Yes, he did use your lap as a pillow and you two did cuddle somewhat regularly. That didn't exactly mean anything. Right?

And yeah, Ruggie did scrunch his nose up and complain that you smelt too much like Leona, but that didn't matter. Leona probably didn't mean to do that; he was probably sleeping.

Did Leona roar at you? Yeah, so what? It was like a yawn; it just came out. No, he wasn't blushing! He couldn't be because you were already looking away in embarrassment.

Leona just didn't like you like that. No matter how many Courting book you read on beast men!

The Lion man in question invited you out to a Spelldrive tournament he had been practicing for. Obviously, you went without a second thought. It would be nice to see the lazy lion not lazing around for once! At least that's how you justified it.

You definitely didn't want to just see your crush play a match.

You couldn't help but notice the whole time, how Leona kept looking at you in your seat. Making sure you had just seen him perform. You'd smile and cheer for him and maybe, just maybe, a sense of pride would build up in his chest.

And maybe it was really nice to hear you cheer, and see you jump up from your seat in excitement. And maybe it was really nice to be able to cheer for him.

So you planned to confess to him after this game. "Leona I really liked you! I have for a while now!" And you did.

"Finally." He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck, you two then went to cuddle in the garden.

Did that mean you two were together now...?

____________

A/N: I know that some dorms aren't like nonhuman, but I can imagine that like Riddle was taught like courting customs in The Queendom of Roses, (Some queen of heart rule) or like the scalding sands have some costumes? Like the world changes because of beastmen/Fae customs and people adapted to that and added it to their own ways of approaching a relationship? Idk lol

Sorry Leona's part was quite short, I was getting tired and just wanted to get this out! But thank you for reading!

[loves0phelia]

Casual

Summery: Casual things you and JJ did before starting to date.

Words: 2k

Warning: bad grammar

A/N: This is my first JJ fic hope you like it

Rumours about the annual beach bonfire had been heard all week, the one night where Kooks and Pogues set aside their differences and partied in peace. 

Initially, you’d planned to skip it—staying home with a good movie sounded way more appealing than hanging out with half of the outer banks on the beach. But when a classmate invited you, and your parents chimed in, insisting it would be a great way to make new friends, you found yourself agreeing to go.

The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the sand as laughter and chatter echoed around you. You found yourself sitting on a wooden log, idly watching the orange flames dance. 

Your train of thought was interrupted when a blond boy dropped beside you, his sudden presence snapped you back to reality. You glanced over, surprised, as he settled in with a casual smile.

“I haven't seen you around here before” his body was turned completely to you, giving you his entire attention.

"I just moved here a couple of months ago…" you said, feeling a bit shy as you glanced at his deep blue eyes.

JJ hummed and then noticed the small stash of candy in your lap, carefully guarded under your arm. 

"What's that?" he asked.

You hugged the candy closer, "Candies, I didn't know if there was gonna be any snacks here so… I brought my own" You shrugged.

“Can I have one?” he grinned mischievously.

“I only have my favourite left” You looked down at the nearly empty box of Sour Patch Kids.

"Come on, just one. Sharing is caring, you know?" JJ chuckled, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing yours. He reached out, but you swatted his hand away, giggling.

But JJ was quick—faster than you expected. With a winning grin, he managed to snatch a piece from the carton box in your lap, popping it in his mouth before you could protest.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, half-annoyed, half-amused.

“I'll see you around sweets” After that he walked away still savoring your candy.

“what the hell” you muttered under your breath, you had not expected your night to end with a candy thief.

It was a typical evening at the local seafood shack, and you were rushing between tables, balancing trays of oysters and fried shrimp baskets. 

"Well, look who’s working hard," JJ drawled, flashing his usual grin.

You turned around, surprised to see the thief from the other night leaning casually against the counter. The last person you expected to see at your job, but somehow not a surprise at all. He tossed you a wink as you grabbed your notepad and pen.

“Candy thief,” you said, arching an eyebrow.

“That’s me,” JJ replied, laughing. “Pretty sure I’ve got an order under the name JJ Maybank.”

“Finally, I can put a name to that face.” You rolled your eyes playfully, turning to grab the brown bag labelled JJ Maybank, filled with fish tacos and crawfish. As you handed it over, you asked, “Anything else with that order?”

He leaned in, flashing that signature smirk. “Yeah, I’ll also take your number if it’s on the menu.”

You felt a blush creeping up but managed a smirk. “Bold request for a thief.”

JJ shrugged, still grinning. “I thought it was the special tonight. It's written on the window” You glanced at the window where the words “chefs special monday-friday” reflect back to you.

“I thought a sweet like you was the chef's special, my bad” he added only worsening the state of your red cheeks.

After a pause, you scribbled your number on a napkin and slipped it into his bag. “Consider it one-time only.”

JJ’s eyes lit up as he took the bag. “Perfect.  I’ll call you, then I'm gonna  take you out somewhere that doesn’t smell like shrimp!" He yelled across the restaurant and disappeared behind the doors leaving you with a bunch of customers staring directly at your flushed face.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the faint, familiar tapping on your window. Smiling to yourself, you tiptoed over and pulled it open, revealing JJ’s face. He climbed in with ease, careful not to make a sound, and you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as he landed lightly on your bedroom floor.

“Hey,” you whispered, watching him recover from his fall quickly and proceed to settle on your bed.

“Make yourself at home” You laughed and followed after him under the cozy and soft blankets.

JJ wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as you both lay back. The quiet murmur of the movie playing on your TV plays in the background, but all you can really focus on is the warmth of his presence. You’d only known each other for a couple of months, yet moments like this already felt like second nature.

After a while, JJ sighed a hint of playfulness in his voice. “You know, it just hit me… I haven’t even taken you on the date I promised the first time I saw you at your work yet.”

You turned to him, amused. “I forgot about that. So where would you take me, then?”

He thought for a second, his eyes lighting up. “I was thinking we could go stargazing, just you, me, and a bunch of candy. What do you think about that, sweets?”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, he's been calling you that since day one but the butterflies never fail to flutter and you smiled, feeling a little bashful. “That actually sounds perfect.”

JJ’s face softened as he brushed a stray hair from your face. “Good.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and you nestled into him, many would say you were a couple but nothing was official yet.

JJ was stretched out on your bed, casually tossing a piece of candy up and catching it in his mouth, while you looked through dresses in your closet Kiara had invited you to Midsummers—something you never thought you’d actually attend, given how much of a Kook affair it was. But after some convincing from her, you decided to give it a shot. Now, the only thing left was choosing a dress, and naturally, JJ had found himself roped into being your fashion advisor for the night.

“Alright, what do you think of this one?” you asked, walking out of your closet in a dress to show him. It was a soft, flowy, baby blue, with delicate lace along the sleeves.

JJ, mid-candy toss, froze, the small piece landing unceremoniously on his chest as he sat up.  

“Wait… you’re actually wearing that?” he asked, blinking as if he needed to make sure he’d seen it right. “That has to be like a 100 bucks”

“Kiara said I should try something fancy, and I found it at the thrift store… I don’t know, I thought it was cute.”

JJ nodded, still staring at you as if he couldn’t look away. His usual air of easy confidence had completely vanished, and he just sat there, a little pink creeping up his cheeks. 

“Yeah, uh… fancy. Right,” he murmured, his voice unusually soft. For a moment, he seemed completely at a loss for words, a rare sight when it came to JJ Maybank.

“You don’t like it?” you asked, feeling a hint of embarrassment creep in as he continued to look at you in silence.

He shook his head quickly, snapping back to attention. “No, no—I mean, I like it. I just… I mean, you’re already beautiful and all, but in that?” He let out a soft whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re, like, the most stunning person, there’s no denying it.”

You felt warmth rise in your cheeks, his words catching you off guard. JJ wasn’t one to give out compliments like that, and hearing him say it made your heart skip a beat.

“So you like it, huh?” you asked, teasing him a little as you nudged his shoulder.

“Sweets, I don’t think anyone’s ready for how good you’re gonna look. And I, for one, am officially honoured to be the first to see it.” He gave you a look that was half-amused, half-awestruck.

“Alright, then,” you said, smiling as you looked down at yourself. “Guess that means I’m wearing it.”

JJ leaned back, his grin widening.

“Good call. Just so you know, though, I’m calling dibs on the first dance.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Oh, you are?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, winking. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, I have to make sure one of those Kooks doesn't try to sweep you off your feet 'cause that's my job.”

It was warm outside the night of midsummer,  the soft hum of laughter and chatter filled the air. You were standing by the snack table, chatting with one of the guests— a boy dressed with a fancy tuxedo, you had no interest in.

As you fake laughed at a joke he made, you felt a gaze burning into the back of your neck. You glanced over your shoulder and saw JJ standing by the door leading inside the house, his arms crossed, a tight frown on his face. There was a look in his eyes—something dark, almost possessive—that made your stomach flip. He wasn’t happy about something.

You turned back to the guest, unaware of the growing tension simmering behind you. It wasn’t until you felt a light tap on your shoulder that made you turned to see JJ standing right behind you now inches away, a forced smile on his face.

“Hey, mind if I steal you away for a second?” he asked, his voice a little too bitter for your liking.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “Steal me away? What’s going on?”

JJ’s gaze flickered to the guest you’d been speaking with, then back to you. The jealousy was barely concealed, but it was there. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

Before you could protest, he gently guided you away from the boy, leading you through the house and into the backyard. The garden, draped in the soft glow of fairy lights, felt like a world apart from the party in front of the house. You walked slowly, and when you reached the center of the garden, JJ stopped. 

“What’s up JJ?” You asked concerned.

“I hate seeing you with him,” JJ said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was standing too close, his gaze fixed on you with a burning intensity. “I don’t know why, but it drives me crazy”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? We were just having a conversation.”

He shook his head, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “It’s not just that. It’s… it’s the way you make me feel. I can’t stand it anymore, pretending like we're just friends”

You stared at him, realizing what he was trying to say. The way his eyes softened, the way his voice shook with vulnerability and emotion.

“I—JJ, what are you saying?”

His hands cupped your face gently. “I’m saying that I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, and I’m tired of watching you be close to some other people without them knowing you're mine”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was desperate, full of the passion and longing that had built up between you over the months. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if he never wanted to let you go.

You kissed him back, your heart racing, the entire world fading away until it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I love you, sweets”

“I love you too JJ, it was about damn time you say it” he smiled against your lips and pressed another kiss after another on your pink swollen lips.

[jamminvroomvroom]

no more mister shy guy.

OP x fem!reader

in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you

i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3

songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff

2.8k words

you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.

oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.

he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.

oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.

it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.

but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.

“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.

“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.

oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.

you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.

“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.

“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.

panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.

“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”

“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”

“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.

you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.

your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.

“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.

“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”

oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.

he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.

“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”

the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.

“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.

“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.

painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.

he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.

“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.

you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.

you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.

you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.

his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.

“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.

he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.

“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.

“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.

“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.

oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.

“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.

“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.

“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.

his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.

“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.

oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.

“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.

“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.

“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.

oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.

“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.

“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.

“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.

the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.

“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.

“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.

he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.

thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.

“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.

you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.

“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.

“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.

“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.

“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.

“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.

“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”

“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.

“there he is.” you sigh happily.

when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.

-

whoops? lol

-

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[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Request idea:

Your darling, adoring, wonderful boyfriend Jason sits you down And solemnly confesses that he is red hood. He’s been dreading this day for months. If you want to leave, he’ll understand and wait—-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU KNEW THE WHOLE TIME?

Jason thinks he’s in an angst fic. The reader is in a rom com where her boyfriend has been a ridiculously obvious superhero, but she’ll let him tell her when he’s ready.

Maybe some shaningany flashbacks where you’ve helped to keep his identity secret (stalling so he can change, giving alibis) while he was oblivious.

- Batchilla

To Wait and To Love

Hi Batchilla! Hope you enjoy! ♡ ~1.5k words

Your boyfriend is a vigilante, Red Hood, to be exact. You know this. He's just not aware you know this.

It's obvious, really, and kind of cute the way he makes excuses to leave. Sure, before you put two and two together, it was starting to seem like he was just dragging you along. But it all made sense when you caught sight of the helmet poorly concealed under his bed.

It makes you wonder if he wants to get caught. Especially when he brings you flowers from the shop you just saw him save from Poison Ivy on TV. Or freezer-burnt cartons of ice cream from your favorite ice cream shop, which was buried under piles of snow courtesy of one Mr. Freeze only twenty minutes ago.

You offer him big smiles and kisses of thanks, and your heart melts a little at how relieved he looks, how baffled he is by your understanding. And you do understand. To tell someone you run around in spandex and leather every night is a big risk, especially for someone who used to run crime in Gotham.

You're no angel yourself, even if he does call you one, and it's endearing to watch him scramble for excuses. It's even more endearing that he tries so hard to make it up to you when he's late, when he has to leave early, when he comes back battered and bruised with flimsy half-thought out explanations.

You'll let him take all the time he needs to tell you, and it's almost funny how easily you've come to cover for him.

"Jason? Oh, he's changing his suit. Someone knocked into me and I spilled my drink all over his jacket. How embarrassing," You laugh out, answering the reporter's question over Jason's absence from the latest Wayne Gala. It's only half a lie, you might not have spilled your drink but he's definitely changing his suit. It's just not the suit anyone would expect.

Once whispers of a break-in at Gotham National Bank started circulating the Gala, it wasn't hard to miss the meaningful glances between your boyfriend and his family. Sometimes you wonder how no one's noticed it before.

You smile brightly at him once he comes back, smelling like gunpowder and leather, and you let him kiss your knuckles while he mumbles apologies over getting caught up with an old friend. You don't imagine Riddler is exactly an old friend, but you teasingly tell him how he owes you a dance for making you wait. He smiles back, his own grin even brighter than yours, as he leads you to the dance floor.

You're opening the door to your apartment, chatting lazily with your friend after a night out.

"Is your boyfriend here? I remember you saying you two were practically living together," they ask, eyes trailing around your living space.

You hum thoughtfully, "We pretty much are. I think he might be sleeping or out looking for the stray cat we saw the other day. It had a bad limp." It's not a hundred percent a lie either, there was a hurt stray. You just know that Catwomen already picked it up, after a text Jason sent to Bruce Wayne's current girlfriend, Miss. Selena Kyle. Which would have been more of a surprise if you didn't already know who Batman was.

But it definitely isn't the truth, because you did catch sight of a red helmet following you and your friend back from the club. (Gotham never felt safer, than when he was watching over you.)

Your friend coos and starts to respond, when a thump sounds from the fire escape. They jolt, "What was that?"

"The cat, probably," You say quickly, letting out a laugh, "it's, uh, pretty big. Has a limp. Hey, did I show you the flowers Jason got me?" You gesture towards the bouquet behind them, and you both focus on the pretty blossoms.

Within minutes, you hear your bedroom door open and close. "Hi, baby," Jason drawls, looping an arm around your waist to pull you to his side, "Sorry, I fell asleep, how was your night?"

You pretend not to notice the limp he's nursing, one you're certain he should be resting, and tilt your head up to kiss his jaw, "It was fun. Missed you."

"I missed you too," he echoes fondly, and the three of you fall into an easy conversation. You distract your friend when you all go to sit on the couch, and if you choose to avoid sitting on his left side, it's certainly not because Red Hood hurt his leg fighting Killer Croc earlier this week.

Jason has never said your name like that before. His eyebrows are knitted together. He's kneeling in front of you, his hands clasped over yours as you sit on the bed.

"I love you and I– I have something to tell you," he chokes out, strained, "please, just– just, hear me out."

It clicks. This is it. He's going to tell you.

You smile and nod, it'll be nice to finally air out this secret. And maybe he could help you work on your excuses? It'll be easier if you're working as a team. You reach out and brush his hair back, unfazed and delighted he's trusting you enough with this, "Of course, Jason. Anything you need to tell me."

Jason is going to throw up. He's finally gotten his act together enough that he's going to tell his partner he's Red Hood. His stomach is churning, it's agony, knowing he could lose them over this.

They're so good to him. So understanding and patient and kind. He has no idea how he got so lucky. And he loves them. It's scary sometimes, how much he loves them. He wants this to last so badly. So, he has to be honest. Has to tell them he isn't what the world says he is.

He's a vigilante. Was a crime lord. He hurts people to save people. He terrifies the trash that calls themselves human. He's not good for you, but he tries. He wants you to still love him.

He wants you to stay so much. Even if he's not good. He wants you. You deserve so much more than the excuses and lies he gives. Jason's wanted to tell you for weeks, but he chokes on his words every time. He's never been so afraid of doing something. Not when he was a kid on the streets. Not when he was Robin. Not as Red Hood.

You look so perfect, sitting at the edge of your bed and smiling at him. He almost flinches when he thinks this could be the last time you smile at him.

He's on his knees. He's prepared to beg. He would beg to keep you.

He says your name, he tells you he loves you. It might be the last time he gets to say that to you. The thought makes him even more nauseous. He tells you he has something to say.

You brush his hair back and keep smiling. He wants to sob. You don't know. You don't know what he is, what he's done.

"I'm Red Hood," he gasps out, voice ragged.

A beat. You're still smiling, you still look happy, and you're nodding at him.

He blinks at you, "I'm Red Hood," he repeats, "I know that- I know it's a lot. I understand if you never want to see me again, but, baby–"

You lean forward and kiss him. He's more than just a little dumbfounded. "Jason, I love you too. I'm not leaving you. I, um, kind of already knew you were Red Hood?" You say, a sheepish smile coming over your face.

"You– what?" Jason stumbles out. You're still here. Still touching him. You kissed him. You look relaxed. Happy.

"I saw your helmet under the bed. Everything clicked after that," You tell him gently.

"And you're okay with that? You're okay with me?" He asks, tone betraying his desperation.

Concern flashes in your eyes, "Of course I'm okay– I'm more than okay with that, Jason. I love you, tights or not."

He lets out a laugh, and his stomach swoops, the tension dissipating throughout his body, "Yeah?"

You grin at him, cupping his face, "Yeah, but you're going to have to show me how you swing around rooftops."

He gets off his knees to kiss you again, he doesn't think this moment could get any better, "Is that all?"

You giggle, at the pure elation in his eyes, and he grins widely at your joy. Then, the moment does get better, "Well, I'm kinda interested in the car Batman drives around you."

"I could make that happen," he murmurs, and seals the promise with another kiss, "You wanna see the batplane too?"

Your eyes light up, and Jason thinks he might be addicted to the mischievous glint that flickers in your gaze.

[shomatoriashi]

09/29/24; 02:45pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you’re on your period ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel + bonus

when sylus found you curled up in bed, unable to move or utter a sentence that didn't begin with a whimper-

he knew that it was that time of the month once more, causing you to trap yourself in a cocoon made from your blankets while surrounded by your favorite plushies. after finishing his routine for the day, sylus adjusts his tie, rufescent eyes filled with sympathy for you. with a gentle hum of your name, he settles himself beside your cocoon, feeling his added weight make the mattress dip in response.

you weakly peek at him from beneath the confines of your comforter, making sylus chuckle in response as he gently brushed back your hair. "hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

"i could be better..." cue another whimper escaping from you, the sudden jolt of pain felt rippling across your abdomen as you curled up even further into your cocoon. with a sigh of your name, sylus leans forward to press a lingering kiss against your hair.

"i know how painful this is for you, so you just remain in bed for as long as you need to. alert luke or kieran if you need anything, and i'll make sure mephisto keeps an eye on you as well."

"don't you think that's overkill, sy?" your grumbling words manages to earn a chuckle from sylus, with him leaning down to press another lingering kiss against your hair.

"please, nothing is too over the top for me, especially when it comes to you, darling."

while sylus wished for nothing more than to remain by your side as you went through so much pain, he had a busy day ahead of him and responsibilities he could not quite drop at the last minute. with his itinerary in mind, he says his goodbyes to you once more before leaving your shared bedroom.

while leaving the mansion, he gives luke and kieran strict orders to leave you alone and remain on their best behavior, reminding them that they were only allowed to enter his bedroom if and when you needed anything. the twins both give him a mock salute, promising him that they would take care of you and protect you when needed.

the hours go by, and despite the several meetings and conferences he attended with potential clients, his mind would always inevitably go back to you. when moving from place to place, sylus would stop by a gift shop or store, picking up some items he knew you would need.

by the late evening, sylus returns home with numerous bags in his hand. kieran was the first to greet him, letting out a low whistle. "wow, can i just say whipped much?"

"shut it." sylus grunts at him, demanding that he alert the cooks so that they can prepare dinner for you. giving him another mock salute, kieran's laughter was heard echoing throughout the hallways, making a vein pop against his forehead.

taking great strides towards the room, he opens the door, feeling his prior annoyance disappear and the way his heart melts with empathy for you. you were still settled in bed, with the blankets wrapped around you. "i'm home, sweetheart."

"sylus...!" happiness was seen in your gaze when you get out of your cocoon, making his heart race at the mere sight of you. he joins you in bed, pulling you into his lap while giving you the various bags. you giggle, setting aside the feminine pads, eyes taking in the various snacks he had bought for you. upon feeling an ice cold carton, your mood becomes significantly better seeing your favorite flavor of ice cream. you end up grabbing the ice cream as you tossed aside the lid and dug into it with the provided spoon.

your lover chuckles in amusement, tracing the tip of his nose against your hair, "do you feel better now?"

"yes." you answer him with a giggle, cuddling your body even closer to his as you felt the aches and pain of your period slowly melt away while in his embrace.

"ah, i see that you are menstruating."

heat was felt against your cheeks when zayne notices your sour mood and the blood stains seen against the sheets. this was your first month living together with him, and despite how you couldn't help or control the intensity of your cycle, you still felt embarrassed.

"s-sorry, i should have slept with a towel beneath me. i'll be sure to wash-"

but zayne cuts off your nervous rants while saying your name in a stern (but gentle) tone, "there's no need to feel embarrassed. what you're going through is just part of a female's anatomy. it's something you can't control, and i'm not upset with you at all."

you pout at him, hiding your face beneath the blankets while speaking to zayne, almost dejectedly, "i guess you're right."

zayne sighs, looking away from you all while adjusting his tie. "i have to work soon, will you be alright by yourself?"

you meet his gaze, your heart racing with anticipation. deep down, you wanted to experience what it was like to be in zayne's embrace, having him comfort you through your pain and discomfort that came with your cycle. yet, you didn't want to be a selfish girlfriend, or have him dislike you when your relationship was still so fresh and new to you and him both.

"n-no, i think i'll be fine, zayne. i'll see you tonight, okay?"

zayne gives you a stiff nod, already closing the door to your bedroom before stepping outside. you felt a little disappointed, watching as zayne left you with little hesitation. with plans to pout yourself to sleep, you let out a huff and ducked your head beneath the covers, curling into a fetal position to help with easing the excruciating pain that came with your cramps.

you were ready to close your eyes when the door opens once more, revealing zayne. sitting up in bed, you run a hand through your hair, trying to hide your pout, "what is it? did you forget something?"

he shakes his head in response, "no, it didn't feel right to leave you here all alone. even if i did go to work, my mind would be preoccupied with you and your sad face."

you were about to deny that you felt sad at the thought of him leaving, yet the words refused to come out of your mouth. instead, you watch as zayne takes off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt before rejoining you in bed.

"don't worry." a soft chuckle was heard against your ear, "i already called in and decided to use one of my pto days. another surgeon will take my place for the day, and i'll come back in a few days, when you feel better."

it takes you a herculean effort to hide your grin, and when you couldn't handle it anymore, you hid your face within his chest. "but you're the best cardiac surgeon akso hospital has."

"and there are other competent surgeons as well." zayne answers you, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

as he rubs comforting circles against your abdomen, you felt your eyelids grow heavier. unable to remain awake, you fell into a peaceful slumber while in zayne's embrace, smiling in your sleep when you felt something soft pressed against your hair.

a soft moan was the sole form of communication you could manage when xavier wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling your jostling movements against the shared bed.

"hey, what is it? what's wrong?" his voice was thick with sleep, blue eyes lazily looking down at you and how you were practically clinging to him. another whimper was heard coming from you, with your body practically curling up against his.

"sorry, these cramps seem to hit me at the worst times." you manage to admit to your hunter boyfriend, making his eyes go wide when he sees the spot of blood against his sheets. he hears another whimper coming from you, and finally decides to pull you even closer to him. knowing that you were in pain makes xavier hyper-focused on helping you feel better.

"sssh, it's okay, i'm here, i'm here." xavier adjusts his hold on you, purposely cradling your body against his. with your back pressed against his chest, he allows the palm of his hand to flatten against your abdomen, trying to massage the cramps that you felt.

with his gentle massages and soft words of reassurance, you visibly began to relax, letting out a soft moan while pressing yourself even closer to his chest. no words were spoken as xavier continues to comfort you. "it's late at night, so there's not much i can do, but when morning comes, i can take you out to get breakfast at your favorite café."

your pain manages to ease up, allowing you to practically melt against him. feeling drowsy now, you give xavier a nod, turning around so that you could hide your face within his chest. "mhmm, sounds good... xavier."

the young hunter chuckles, pressing one last kiss against your forehead, taking a moment to admire your sleeping features before closing his eyes once more, not daring to let you go as he keeps you pressed against him.

rafayel was able to sense when it was that time of the month for you. you didn't have to complain about your pain or how uncomfortable it was.

in fact, your lover actually takes a break from work, setting his artworks to the side while tending to your every need. him spoiling you so much makes you utterly giddy, unable to contain your happiness as rafayel took care of you during your time of need.

from ordering all of your favorite foods, to hand feeding you your favorite desserts, it was easy to say that he treated you like a queen while in his care. and it was thanks to his thorough care that you found your monthly cycles to be much more bearable.

at the end of the day, rafayel keeps you in his embrace, stripping both you and him of your clothes before preparing a bath for you. while the porcelain tub fills with water, the artist takes a moment to select your favorite scented bubbles before pouring it into the warm waters.

as the bubbles began to multiply with the rapidly filling water, rafayel shuts off the faucet, giving you a mischievous grin before entering the tub with you still in his arms. your giggles echo throughout the bathroom, and you felt so content and happy while hiding your face within the base of his throat.

with a hum of your name, rafayel places the palm of his hand against your naked abdomen, his touch becoming much warmer than usual. even though the slight heat was something that was new to you, you basked in it, allowing the heat to course through you, taking away the pain.

"rafayel... what- what are you doing?"

you feel the way your boyfriend shrugs, pressing a kiss against your damp hair, "i used a bit of my evol to warm my hands... it's something that i've been trying to perfect to help you in situations like this."

you were now filled with love for him, eyes gazing at him with absolute adoration. with your body practically seeking rafayel's warm touch, you eagerly press yourself closer to him, basking in his rich chuckles as he meets your gaze, leaning down to give you a searing kiss that conveys the depths of his love for you.

"don't you think you're being a bit too overdramatic?" caleb calls out your name in an exasperated manner, but you could only manage a weak glare at him in response.

"i am not being too overdramatic, i'm in serious pain right now, caleb! but of course, you wouldn't know since you never had to deal with this type of pain." your words send a wave of empathy through him, and he figured that you were right, that he didn't know what you were going through.

your boyfriend lets out a sigh, eyes trailing over your figure as you remained hunched over and curled up in bed. knowing that you were probably in too much pain to move, he starts searching through your apartment, grabbing the necessary items before bringing them to you.

"alright, time to scoot over." you grumble and whine some more, making room for caleb all while letting out soft whines here and there. caleb manages to place you within his arms, taking advantage of his strength when he sits up in bed, placing you on his lap while allowing you to cling to him.

he opens the cold bottle of water, offering you two tablets of your pain medicine to take. even through your pouts, you take the medication and swallow both tablets while draining the water bottle. along with the medicine, he offers you a bag of snacks he had bought for you earlier, unwrapping them for you. as he offers one of the snack cakes to you, his smile widens, watching as you cutely bite into it.

"that's my good girl." he teases you, cooing at you as you could feel the heat against your cheeks. enjoying just how close you were to him, caleb presses several kisses against your cheek, not stopping until you were left a giggling mess.

"how about we just stay indoors, and i can order some chinese takeout for both of us for dinner tonight?" your boyfriend asks you all while gently massaging at your tender abdomen.

you hum in agreement to his plans, already opening a chocolate bar as you bit into it, all while leaning into his form. basking in his warmth, you relax while in his embrace, already feeling better as your lover spent the entire day taking care of you without a single complaint.

and you couldn't have been happier at the fact that you had managed to capture the heart of someone so perfect.

end notes: i am on my period;;; and i am d y i n g 🫠 i would love to have these lads men spoil me in my time of need,,,,,, currently unedited but i’ll make any changes once this is posted ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[luveline]

more hotch with teacher!reader? maybe she’s trying to take a bunch of things into her classroom one morning and hotch jumps in to help (and flirt with) them :)) i adore you’re writing thank you for sharing sm with us lately!!!

you’re so welcome ily ty for requesting! <3 fem, 1k

Today, you and your class are going to make dioramas with a heavy focus on paper crafting. For the last few days, you’ve helped them make plans on what they want to create, and then you scoured the internet for origami and craft tutorials to suit. The only one you couldn’t find was for poor Jamie’s tractors. You’ll figure it out, you’re sure. 

You’ve been saving cardboard boxes, toilet roll inserts, and egg cartons for months. There’s a total mountain of things to bring in, so you’re here early. You figure if you carry huge armfuls, you can get everything inside in three trips. 

“Oh,” you say, as a cardboard box tumbles to the ground, and somehow doesn’t give you a clearer view, “whoops. I’ll pick that up. Jeez.” 

You step over it and almost slip. 

“Careful,” someone says. 

You jump and send an egg carton skittering across the floor. “Oh, gosh! You scared me!” You twist your head, the cardboard that had been resting on your face falling down into your collar. “Oh, Mr. Hotchner.” 

Of course it’s Mr. Hotchner. Aaron, predictably. 

“Aaron,” he says, leaning down to grab the things you’ve dropped, before he opens his arm toward you. You lean away from your tower, embarrassed but relieved when he takes the bulk of your tall tower from you. 

“Thank you, Aaron. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so early. Is everything okay?” 

“Let me help you with this.” 

Avoiding the question. You and Aaron carry your cardboard inside to the classroom, where you unlock your door (and you never would’ve been able to do without his rescue). He follows you to the arts and crafts table toward the back of the room, and you deposit your stock. 

“Thank you,” you say when he places his armful down. 

“It’s no problem. Can I help with the rest?” 

“Would you, please?” you ask. “It seemed a lot less before today.” 

You bring the rest back in. He’s the picture of a perfect gentleman and carries more than you each time, which isn’t to say you can’t have carried the same as he did, but it’s nice for once to be the one looked after. As a teacher, you get used to giving. 

He doesn’t make you ask him twice. “I’m here early because I wanted to talk with you if you’re free, before I head into the office.” 

“His Aunt is bringing him today?” you ask about Jack. 

“I didn’t manage to get home in time last night to see him, but I’ll be here at pick up time.” 

You nod, hyper aware that you’d swayed the conversation again. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

“It’s about Jack. Well, it’s mostly about me. I’d like to ask you for a favour, if you’re willing.” 

“Oh, sure. Of course.” 

“You haven’t heard it yet.” 

You flush under the weight of his knowing smile. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine. So…” 

“It’s hard sometimes to get Jack to tell me what you’re doing in school. I had no idea he’d be making dioramas today. And I don’t need your lesson plans, I’d never expect that of you, but I was hoping you could summarise the week for me on Fridays? Or whenever you can. I don’t need updates on how Jack is progressing, it could be a couple of words on the topics you’ve chosen, just so I know what he’s doing while I’m away.” 

You’ve never been asked to do it. Parents of kids in the second grade aren’t usually clocked in on what their kids are learning. School is still half fun at this age, your most important job is to make sure they can all read with acceptable fluency. And it’s hard because their parents don’t help, but it’s fine. You love teaching them something so important, and you’re ecstatic to meet someone who’s actually interested. 

You beam. “Yeah, of course I can. I can do that, I don’t mind. Nobody ever wants to know what we’re doing, which is such a shame! I mean, they’re so excited and of course their parents care, but if they have just a little bit of support it makes a huge difference. I can totally send you my lesson plans, Aaron. I’d like to.” You laugh to yourself smugly. “I never get to show them off. They’re extensive. And they take ages.” 

“You want to show them off?” he asks softly. 

His voice is velveteen. 

“Is that awful?” you ask.

“No, it makes sense. You really don’t have to if it’s too much trouble, but I… feel guilty, when I call him and ask how school was, and he can’t remember what happened.” 

“Don’t feel bad about that. The kids can’t remember what I told them ten minutes ago.” 

He isn’t like you, in that he’s very still. He doesn’t move or fidget, which makes his looking at you all the more obvious. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Can I pay you back?” 

You catch one of your bracelets and twist it around your wrist. 

Aaron told you without hesitation that he profiles criminals. He can read their expressions, habits, and idiosyncrasies as thoughts and feelings. He can trace movement to the source. You’re positive he wouldn’t keep asking you such leading questions, or insist you call him by his first name every time you see him, if he didn’t already know that you find him attractive. 

“How would you do that?” you ask. 

“Is there anything else you… need help with?” 

A million things, but you’re no idiot. You can read subtlety too. 

“Well, I have a bunch of textbooks on the top shelf in the stockroom you could help me with.” You smile shyly. “It gets hot in there, though.” 

He begins taking off his suit jacket. “That,” he says, his gaze on you with all the tenderness and amusement of someone who’s known you longer, “won’t be a problem.” 

[lotus-tower]

Help a Palestinian family survive 🍉

I've made many posts on Lina's (@linooomo, previously linasaif) behalf by this point. The above video is of her son, Saif, being terrified of the sound of constant bombing. This was back when they still had a roof over their heads--now Lina, her husband, Saif, and Saif's even younger sister Sidra are living out of a tent, more vulnerable than ever.

Unfortunately, her campaign has grown completely stagnant. Last week, we didn't even meet half of the minimum goal.

However, I'm not giving up on trying to help her, and neither should you.

Lina needs to buy food and water, as well as milk and diapers for Sidra. She is only 10 months old! As seen in the linked posts, she's suffering from serious diaper rash that has only just begun to heal.

If you were a mother, how would you choose between feeding your family and getting milk and diapers for your baby who's in pain?

Lina has told me that PayPal is faster and imposes less of a fee than GFM, so a friend helped me set up a PayPal campaign. You can donate to this even without a PayPal account. The goal is roughly set to cover the family's needs for the next two weeks.

🍞 A 25kg bag of flour: 80 euros

🐣 Diapers: 60 euros

🍼 3 cartons of milk: 60 euros

🍅 Vegetables when available, and other supplies: 100 euros

💧 Water (for drinking, cleaning, and hygiene): 80 euros

💸 Withdrawal fee: 30%

0/1000$

VETTED: HERE

[moonlight-records]

Because I Liked A Boy | LN4 (PSDE)

pairing: reader x LN4

summary: You were known as the one who tamed Mr. Playboy of the paddock and for a moment, you thought you had. Then everything goes sideways and suddenly you regret what you've done all because you liked a boy.

warning: angst. so much angst. break-up, player!lando, OOC Oscar?? it's based off the song, sorry not sorry

a/n: welcome to the playlist series, deluxe edition! i put my stim playlist on shuffle and picked the first 12 songs that was played (last two songs are bonus songs!). yes the titles are the songs, whoops

wc: 1.9K

song 1 out 12: because i liked a boy by Sabrina Carpenter

You and Lando had “broken up” right before Baku. Aka, Lando had dumped you right before Singapore which was horrible because he had given you tickets to the race. He let you keep the tickets, thank god, but you would’ve easily sold them if your flight was refundable but the asshole had done it quite literally 24 hours after they hit the non-refundable mark so you decided to go.

That was the first mistake you made. The news broke right after qualifiers when Lando was spotted with another girl at a club.Then the rumors spread that night about how Lando and this girl were a thing first. That you were nothing more but a psycho. Obsessed. A “proud mistress.” A homewrecker. A slut. You decided that it wasn’t worth the energy because you knew the truth and that things would blow over within a week or two.

That was mistake number two because by the second week (and the first week into summer break),  you were still getting hate and death threats directed at you or about you and it was too late to attempt to clear your name. You were thankful for the handful of fans who defended you and found it really odd Lando decided to just let himself be seen with another girl instead of announcing his split beforehand since clearly this girl came after you but there was nothing to do now to change the public’s view of you.

Clearly, it showed that Lando really did not care for you as much as you thought so you decided to do yourself the favor and just disappear. You deactivated all your socials and only told your close friends you were going on a social media detox. Your family were going on a mini vacation when in reality you found yourself waltzing into

Plopping down on the couch, you run your fingers through your hair before letting your head hang. Your fingernails dig into your scalp and suddenly your sweats are wet from the tears falling onto them before dragging your hands down and silently crying into a mix of  your hands and hair. You tried to figure out what had happened.

What has gone wrong?

You swore that you and Lando were happy. Sure, the long distance at times was rough and the time zones felt killer but you had held strong. You were convinced that you two could make it to the postseason and the few month or two that you two had together would help immensely. Still, you had been warned to keep him at a distance. That Lando was nothing more but a player and a heartthrob that moved on when he was bored but you swore that you were the one and for a bit, you were fooled into believing it along with everyone else.

It was almost a year. A fucking year basically you spent with Lando before he decided to dump you. A year of fucked up sleep schedules and sleepless nights. A year of traveling to go see these races. A year of meeting his friends and slowly being integrated into his world just for it to come crashing down. God, how stupid were you? You had poured so much energy into this boy just to be the one that got hurt in the end. What you would’ve give to punch him in his stupid fa—

“Here.”

You look up to be greeted with a carton of ice cream. You take the carton without a second thought, top flung off, and spoon diving in. You grunts slightly as you struggle but you manage to be victorious as you get a spoonful. The couch shifts next to you and tears immediately swell again when there’s a gentle comforting hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you mumble while shaking your head before shoving another mouthful of ice-cream into your mouth, “you tried to warn me. I didn’t listen. This is the consequence of my action.” You laugh bitterly, “God maybe I really am nothing more than a naive hopeless romantic who can’t pick a good guy to save my own life.”

“Don’t say that, y/n.” You can hear the frown as you look over, “you aren’t naive. You see the good in everyone and I admire that about you greatly. You saw the best in him,” gently brushing some hair out of your face. “But he’s never going to change unless he wants to. Sadly, he doesn’t and you got burned in the end because he’s too busy being a player.”

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, he pulls you into his side. “You’re too good for him.” Pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, “Now. Do you want a trashy movie or trashy TV?”

“Trashy TV. Maybe that new mom documentary about those Mormon moms from tiktok?”

You snicker slightly at the . “The what documentary?”

“Do you seriously not keep up with these things?”

“No.”

“We really have to change that.”

Summer break had come and gone. You had done a lot of crying and snacking but you had also done a lot of healing. You think you’ve done a lot of healing anyway but today would be the deciding factor.

Your stomach twisted and turned as you watched the destination time get lower and lower the closer you arrived to the Austin track. You glance out the window anxious before looking back at your phone. When you arrive, you thank the driver as you climb out, holding your purse just a bit tighter before making your way to one of the back entrances you knew existed. Nobody in the media knew about it so you got into the paddock undetected from the media as you started your journey to a certain garage.

You’re so close to your destination before you’re finally spotted. “Y/N?”

You freeze hearing the familiar British accent behind you. His voice sounded surprised. You should just keep walking, you’re so close to your destination but your body betrays you as you turn. You study those stormy green eyes that seem to grow a bit colder seeing you here. You ball your hands into fists, nails digging into your pal to keep from crying. He didn’t deserve that from you.

You silently stare at Lando, who was in his cream sweatshirt from his new academic merch drop and some joggers along with that stupidly beautiful mullet. God, you swore that Aphrodite herself had hand sculptured Lando which would explain why you could not find it in you to hate his looks. Instead, you clear your throat, “can I help you?”

Lando decides to save both of you the trouble and cuts right through the bullshit. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to support my friend.”

“Friend? Seriously?” Lando looks around then back at you, “last time I checked we weren’t even acquaintances. Hell, are we talking again?”

Anger simmered in your stomach but you kept it at bay, “Why would you think I was talking about you?”

Lando seemed a bit surprised by that, “Well, you aren’t really close with anyone else here,” he let out a small chuckle. “The boys might’ve liked you but I’ve known them longer.”

“Well, maybe some of them weren’t happy with how you let things end. I mean, with your new fling starting rumors about me being a homewrecker and such even though when all that went down we’d already broke up. Yet you didn’t have the balls to say that to the media, did you?”

Lando grits his teeth, “I never told her to—”

“Doesn’t matter,” you cut in. “You let the rumors spread. You let the fire grow. You never denied the rumors or told her it was wrong. You didn’t even tell the media we broke up before that night. Now I’m just the homewrecking slut when she came into the picture after me. Seemed like she was doing a lot of projecting and yet, here we are.”

You cross your arms over your chest staring the Brit down. Silence falls upon the two of you and you’re ready to leave before an arm is slung over your shoulder startling you and Lando. “There you are.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim and smile, “hey.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Lando interjects.

“Excuse me?” Oscar asks, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Spare me, Oscar. Why the hell are you inviting Y/N knowing damn well we broke up just a little over a month ago.”

You can feel your heart twist as Lando speaks. His words were like a knife that would stop at nothing until you were nothing more than a shell of yourself wallowing in pain occasionally through the numbness.

“Well, Y/N and I are friends and I invited her as my guest this weekend so…” he lets his words trail off for a moment.

“When did you and Y/N become friends?”

“When you decided to treat her like trash and tossed her to the side for some random girl probably after you just for your fame and money.”

The silence that followed Oscar’s comment was suffocating. Your jaw was opened a little while you stared at the Aussie in pure awe while Lando’s jaw had dropped to the floor. He quickly regained some of his composure, still unsure how to respond to his teammate and friend (maybe?) remark but Oscar wasn’t done.

“I mean, come on. Y/N is great. Everyone loves her. Everyone looked forward to seeing her. She stayed up countless nights for you. Rearranged her schedules to visit. Hell, she didn’t know anything about F1 until you and worked her ass off to learn your profession. What’s the thank you gave her for almost a year of your life? Some random girl at the club? Seriously?” Oscar shakes his head, “Mate, I love you but I’m not gonna side with you. You fucked up. You picked a girl who’s known to be a celebrity hopper over someone who gave you everything and you want me to side with you and the celebrity hopper? Who has to slander other girls and put them down so nobody focuses on how fast she moves on?? No thanks.”

You stare up at Oscar in awe for coming to your defense. You feel tears starting to swell because this has probably been the worst month in your life and here was Oscar, reminding you first hand that there were people in your corner. That there were people who saw you for you. Who knew the kind hearted person you were. The one who gave it their all until they couldn’t give anymore. The one who saw the good in everyone and loved way too much and never got the same energy in return. You avert your eyes quickly when Oscar’s gaze meets your and you clear your throat. “You should head back to your garage before they look for you. I’ll meet you there.”

“You sure?” Oscar asks.

“Yeah!”

Oscar nods, “Okay,” he glances at Lando but doesn’t bother saying goodbye. They’d see each other soon enough.

You watch Oscar leave before turning to look at Lando, unsure what to say. It seems he was in the same boat as you both stood there awkwardly.

“Well.” You start finally.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Save it.” You hold a hand up, looking away from him, “please. I don’t. The damage has been done, Lando. It’s over. You’ve already told me who I am from your actions. Just…have a good weekend,” You turn and head to Oscar’s garage without a second glance back at the man who was once your everything.

[baronessvonglitter]

Like a Good Girl Should

mom's sleazy bf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: Your mom's sleazy new boyfriend Joel Miller is the last person you'd ever want to be alone with.. so how did you end up on his lap getting punished?

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, sleazy!Joel, dominant!Joel, using panties for masturbation, mention of dad in prison & brief prison r@pe joke, slut shaming reader's mom, mild violence, dubious consent (at first), spanking, thigh spanking, pussy spanking, rough fingering, threat of fisting, squirting, masturbation, ejaculation on body, no use of y/n, pet names ('daddy' and 'sir' for Joel; little girl, baby girl, darlin', sweetheart for reader), no specific age for Joel mentioned but there's still an age gap as reader is in college. (If I've forgotten any, please let me know!)

Author's Note: AKA I've got a hankerin' for some spankerin'!

I've had this fic on my mind for a week and now it's finally out. I tried to make Joel as sleazy as I could without being a total nightmare. Thanks to everyone who showed interest when it was a seedling of an idea. I'm honestly looking forward to writing whatever my next kink hyperfixation will be!

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

divider by @saradika-graphics👑

You fucking hate Joel Miller.

He's the asshole who moved in a few months ago.

With your dad in prison, your mom lamented the loss of a man around the house, until one night she brought Joel home with her after meeting him at a sleazy beer joint. And he never left.

He's offensive in every way: he doesn't pick up after himself, doesn't help out with the chores, drinks milk straight from the carton, and walks around in the morning in nothing but his briefs, proudly showing off his god damn morning wood.

Not that you've looked..

And every night it's the same hectic squeaking of your mom's bedsprings, the same quick, loud shrieks followed by moans that crescendo in pitch until it all falls silent, only to start up again fifteen minutes later.

Not that you listen.

He makes no secret about ogling you, making suggestive comments on your clothing (or lack thereof). You count the days until you have enough saved up to move out while you're still attending junior college.

When your mom's working the late shift at the diner down the road, you do some cleaning up while Joel sits on his ass watching some stupid 80s action movie. You gather your clothes and put them in the washer, one by one, making sure the right things are inside out, and that pant legs aren't twisted up.

You find your favorite pair of panties, hot pink silk, the first nice pair of panties you purchased yourself at a fancy lingerie store. Horror makes your stomach sink when you look closer at the crotch of the panties, seeing a glob of what you're one hundred percent sure is cum.

Joel.

You confront him about it and he doesn't even bother to deny it. He simply kicks back on the sofa (fully clothed for once) and tells you you should take it as a compliment.

You should take him jacking off into your favorite pair of panties.. as a compliment.

Seeing red, you tell him to fuck off, to get out, that you'll tell your mom what he's been doing, but he gets up and towers over you, backing you to the wall.

"You ain't gonna do shit, little girl."

"Try me," you dare him.

The look on his face makes you wonder if he'd rather kill you or devour you on the spot.

"Get the fuck out," you whisper, eyes blazing with fury.

"Listen, little girl, and listen good: I'm here whether you like it or not, so get used to it. As long as your mama wants a piece of this," he cups his crotch as you look away in disgust. "Then I'm stayin'. And as long as I'm stayin', it's my rules that run this place, you hear?"

"You can't tell me what to do!" You shout back indignantly.

He scoffs as you say that, irritation flaring at your defiant tone. He shakes his head, continuing to glare at you. "Oh, yes I can, darlin'. As long as you're livin' under my damn roof, I can tell you to do whatever I want you to do, whenever I damn well please."

"This isn't your fucking house!"

"I'm the only man here, ain't I?"

"Then I'm moving out!"

"No you're not! Don'tcha even think about it!"

"You gonna stop me?"

He lets out a dangerous rumble as you challenge him, his eyes narrowing, practically daring you to push him. "Try it and see what happens."

In your room you grab a duffel bag and cram some clothes and necessary items in there. Already Joel is storming into the hall, his boots loud against the wooden floor.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he shakes his head.

"Told you I'm leaving. Don't know why you won't believe me."

"Where ya goin'? To that lil' drug dealer boyfriend of yours?" he sneers.

"So what if I am?"

"The hell you will. If you let him anywhere near you, I'm breakin' his damn legs."

His eyes go wide as you storm past him and head for the front door. His hand shoots out and grabs your arm before you can get too far. "Oh, no, ya don't," he growls, grabbing and jerking you back toward him. He grips your upper arm tightly as he spins you around to face him.

"Let me go!"

He scowls, keeping you in place in front of him. "No, I'm not lettin' you go, darlin'. Not until you quit bein' a brat and calm the hell down."

"Don't call me a brat!"

He grins at this. "Then stop actin' like one. You've been runnin' your mouth ever since I came here, and now you're makin' threats ya can't follow through on and bein' an uptight little bitch."

"Go to hell!" You spit at him, a glob of your saliva lands on his cheek and he wipes it off with his fingers, putting them them in his mouth to suck it off. You watch with mild disgust even as you're a little turned on.

"Oh, I should put you over my damn knee and tan that sassy little ass of yours until you behave yourself, darlin'."

You cross your arms. "You don't have the balls!"

A smirk crosses his face. "You can see for yourself, darlin'." He cups his crotch, drawing your eyes to him even though you don't want to.

"You really think I'm not gonna put ya over my knee and paddle that cute little ass 'til it's raw?"

"You wouldn't!"

A smirk creeps over his face at the uncertainty in your voice, his hand moves down to your hip, fingers digging in the flesh. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel your panties dampen.

"Nah, you're pussy's speakin' for ya. I can see it already, you soakin' up those lil' shorts of yours."

You're too turned on to risk speaking, struggling against him because it's the only way you can fight back, prove him wrong.

"There's no escape from daddy, darlin', You're stuck. And you're gonna be punished until ya behave yourself."

You growl, "You're not my fuckin' daddy!"

He grins at you, grabs a handful of your hair, yanking it brutally to force you to look up at him. "That's right. Your daddy's in prison, probably gettin' passed around like the little bitch he is. I'm your daddy, darlin', and don'tcha forget it. I'm the one protectin' you, takin' care of you, and now daddy's gonna put you in your place."

He jerks you towards the sofa, pulling you over his lap so your ass is squarely on his thighs, your top half pressed into the sofa cushions at an awkward angle, holding yourself up on your forearms so you can breathe, watching helplessly as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one go, leaving your ass bare to him. He drops your clothes to the floor. The way your positioned he can also see your pussy lips, swollen with excitement.

One arm on your back holds you down, the other trails its fingertips across your smooth, supple skin, giving you goosebumps, causing your cunt to clench, much to your horror.

"You've been very naughty today, darlin', haven't you?" he prefaces your punishment, giving your ass a light swat to punctuate his words.

You're too stunned to move or speak.

He runs his large, rough hand over your ass, squeezing one of your cheeks as he looks down at you, his voice low and stern: "Answer me, baby girl. You know you're supposed to answer your daddy when he asks a question." He gives your ass a sharper smack, the sound of his hand on your flesh reverberating in the room, shameful to your ears.

You give a sharp gasp. "Yes! I was being naughty!"

"That's right. You were bein' a bad girl, a sassy little brat who keeps gettin' smart with daddy." He rubs his hand over your ass, then gives it a few little swats, each one harder than the last, building up a stinging heat on your flesh.

You squirm under each spanking, seeking friction for your aching clit.

"Stay. Still," he orders in a growl.

"Daddy, it aches," you whine, not talking about the spankings. There's a wetness growing between your thighs, glistening, catching Joel's attention like a raven sighting something shiny in the grass. He growls, his touch hovering over your folds, not yet ready to give in to your needs.

"I know it aches, baby girl. But it's supposed to. It's your punishment for being a naughty little brat." He doesn't allow himself to focus on it, his hand grabbing your thigh instead. "Open your legs wider," he commands when you try to squeeze them together to get some relief.

Your scent rouses him when you open your legs just a little. He forces them apart and slaps the insides of your thighs, his dick getting harder when you cry out from sensitivity.

"Does that hurt, baby girl?" his voice is mockingly gentle as he runs his calloused fingers over your inflamed skin. When you nod instead of giving a vocal answer he slaps another palm against your already-stinging skin. "Answer me," he warns.

"Y-yes.." you reply, trying like hell to close your legs, but he keeps you down, keeps them forced apart just enough. "Fuck.." you mutter, eyes closed as more of your desire drips out of you, running down your thighs to his jean-covered lap.

He feels your excitement, the warmth you give off, feels your slick dripping out of you like sap from a tree. He knows if he slides inside you right now you'd be hot, wet, accommodating his fingers, his tongue, his cock, whatever else he wants to put in your little fuckhole. But he has control. He waits you out.

"What was that?" he snaps, giving you another spank, slightly harder than before. "Did you just curse at me, baby girl? I don't think I'm gonna go easy on you if you're gonna keep usin' that filthy mouth for that kinda language."

The dark, damp spot you created on his jeans grows, as does his enjoyment. He's hard as a rock, wishing you were placed just so so that you can feel it. He imagines you rubbing your needy unclothed cunt across the crotch of his jeans, satisfying yourself on just his clothed cock.

"Are you enjoyin' your punishment?" He mocks you once again, lightly brushing his knuckles across your puffy, drooling pussy lips, smirking when you whimper and shiver, trying to lift your hips to his touch. "Shh.. you don't get to be greedy right now, sweetheart. This is daddy's time to teach you a lesson. You're gonna be a good girl and let me teach you that lesson, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy," you whine. Your entire body is aflame with need, brimming over with desperation. You'll do anything he wants, suck his cock, take his dick in whichever hole he pleases, so long as your frustration is released, so long as you get to come.

"That's more like it," he praises, his hand moving across your sore buttocks, softly touching before landing another stinging slap. "Good girls listen to daddy, and good girls take their punishments without complainin' and cryin'. They just take it, like a good girl should."

The need for friction, your pussy left wanting and vulnerable, brings you to tears, despite his warning not to cry, "Wanna.. be good for daddy."

"I don't know if you can be good.. don't know if it's in your nature. Got a felon for a father and a whore for a mother. I think you're just plain bad.. might need to stay on my lap for a long time." He lands a slap, watching your ass jiggle with the force of it.

"Please," you whine.

"Aw, what's wrong, darlin'? You seem like somethin's botherin' you." Two more slaps, one on each ass cheek before he grabs one at a time, squeezing hard on the flesh, relishing the heat radiating from your skin, and spanking them again. "How's your ass feel, sweetheart? All warm and tender and sore?" He soothes you with his hand.

"Yes.. yes, sir."

He chuckles lowly. "Daddy likes it when you call him 'sir'. You get points for that, baby girl. Now answer my question."

Question..question.. Every time he speaks, his actions override it, but he did ask how you were feeling, if you were sore. "Yes. But I still ache.. inside."

His cock twitches in his jeans and he adjusts himself beneath you. "Still achin' inside, huh? Need some relief? Need daddy to help you out?"

"Yes, daddy." Your fingers grip the couch cushion.

He gives your hair another tug, yanking your head back, forcing you to look up at him. "What did I tell you just now about callin' me 'sir'?"

Your eyes meet his and you swallow, but your mouth refills with saliva. Your mouth is as wet as your cunt, hoping he'll fill one or the other. Preferably both. "Yes, sir, daddy.. please.. help me."

"You're so sweet when you ask so nicely, beggin' me to take care of you." He lets go of your hair, his hand caressing your lower back and ass in a gentle, soothing way.

"But I ain't gonna fuck ya. You're not my type."

What you get instead is another spanking, then another, and another, until your ass feels raw, until it's nearly numb, then Joel presses two fingers deep inside, cramming you with his thick digits. Gasping a shuddering breath, you push back on him, only for him to take them away, spreading your wetness on your backside.

"You're just like your mom.. needy as a feral cat. Can't ever get enough," he grumbles, giving you another smack before inserting his fingers again, spreading your thighs wide as he shoves them in and out, smiling when he hears your cries of pleasure, the way you squeeze around him as if to keep him there. If it was his dick in there he'd have cum already, you're so snug and wet around him.

He removes his fingers again when he feels you close to the edge and your frustrated groan brings a smile to his face.

"Please, daddy.. sir.. Joel.." Whatever he wants you to call him. "Please don't stop!"

"You're gonna have to be quiet or I'm gonna stick my whole hand in this lil' pussy, stretch it out so nothin' else will ever fit."

You're shivering, your body on edge for his touch, and the fucker knows it. And you know he'll make good on his threat. You force yourself to be quiet, only the smallest whimpers escaping your lips once his fingers slide into you again, this time adding a third finger, unable to help it when you moan, "Oh, god, daddy!"

This time he doesn't pull away, keeping his fingers in a steady thrust inside you, using his free hand to slap your ass, mixing the pleasure with the pain. He parts your thighs further, lifting your hips to smack your pussy, grinning when you jolt forward, crying out, not allowing you to close your legs when you get overstimulated, continuing to land slaps upon your sensitive flesh until you whimper another please, daddy.

He mutters something unintelligible, bringing his fingers back to your soaked cunt, your juices creating an even bigger stain on his jeans. Pumping his fingers in and out, he scratches that itch, finds that spongy tissue inside that drives every woman crazy, and he rubs against it, watching you writhe, listening to your ragged gasps and desperate pleas until you squirt, your fluid dousing his hand and his lap until you beg him to stop when you become oversensitive.

He could continue, he could give you more, go all night, but he doesn't have as much patience as he used to. Positioning himself behind your sprawled out figure on the sofa, he takes himself from his jeans and strokes his length urgently, spilling his cum on your still-quivering ass and your drenched cunt.

Satisfied, he smears his cum all over you with his dick while it's still half-hard.

"Ain't that pretty," he comments. "Now, you ain't tellin' your mama nothin', and we can come to some kind of agreement that benefits us both.. right, my good girl?"

Exhausted, empty, you nod. "Yes, daddy."

tag list 💕: @survivingandenduring @evolnoomym @mountainsandmayhem @pedroswife69 @wannab-urs @lunamothgoth @inept-the-magnificent @karaslqve

[solarmorrigan]

I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

-

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.