#or i was told off by my counselors
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outfoxt · 4 months ago
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I Will Have The Patience.
I Will Be Blessed With The Patience That Has Eluded Me In Years Past Tonight.
It Shall Come To Pass That I Am Patient.
I Will Be Rewarded.
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vulpinesaint · 4 months ago
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the difference that offering a child kindness and compassion can make... one of the kiddos was crying the other morning missing her mom. Sobbing crying. and i talked to her and she wasn't able to say very much from crying so hard but confirmed that she knew her mom was going to be back and it was going to be a good day and it was going to be alright but she was just inconsolable. and we did some good breaths together but she just couldn't get her breathing under control. so for like ten minutes i just had her drink some water and gave her a hug and sat with her while she cried until we were going off to the next activity and she had to go with different counselors. and by then she'd calmed down a little but was still sniffling and obviously upset but the important part is that even though i didn't even get her to stop crying anytime i saw that little girl the rest of that day and now throughout the rest of the Week after just sitting with her and offering some compassion i see her notice me as she goes by and she always looks right at me and smiles and gives me a little wave when i say hi. like we haven't had any other conversations since then but i can see the way that she recognizes me now. i'm not her favorite counselor i haven't spent more than twenty minutes with her tops but that little girl takes the time to seek out my acknowledgement cause i showed that i care about her.... y'know... cause i was gentle with her and that meant something to her... all to say. it doesn't matter if you have extended interactions with kids. it really doesn't. small things can make such a huge impact on children and i really sincerely think it's so important to show them kindness... help them up when they fall. give them a hug. sit with them while they cry. cause even if it doesn't Fix things even if you don't solve the problem or do anything really materially Helpful you will have shown that child that people care about them. and they notice... they remember... they do...
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thedisablednaturalist · 6 months ago
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Just being around my family stresses me out. Which in turn causes my pain levels to rise. Everyone is so nasty to each other. I can't ask for help without being ridiculed so I just have to fight through the pain to make my dinner. And then I have to flee to my room or risk being chastised for the unhealthiness of whatever I manage to make before falling over. I just needed to eat a safe food that was quick, filling, and didn't trigger my nausea. But because box mac and cheese will make me fat my mom has to tear me apart over it. Also I only ate 1.5 meals today because my mom gets mad when I'm in the kitchen.
And the bathrooms? My brother spends 20 minutes taking a sink bath every half hour in the bathroom across from my room, so I have to use my parents bathroom if I don't get to it in time. I try to pee quickly but I have to pee frequently due to fibromyalgia bladder. My mom yells at me for using "her" bathroom. "Go downstairs!" she yells. Why can't my able-bodied brother go downstairs to take his sink baths then?? why do I have to painfully crawl down the stairs every time I want to take a piss?? Also he does this in the middle of the night too which wakes me up. Don't get me started on him filling the toilet with shit and not flushing so the smell wafts into my room 🤢
Oh and god forbid I have to take my weekly shower. Then EVERYONE is mad at me for "hogging the bathroom". I only shower once or twice a week due to pain and both my brothers literally showering twice a day (thus no hot water, it's impossible to take a cold shower with fibro). I have to fight to get a timeslot. And then my mom makes fun of me for looking "unkempt".
But according to everyone IM the bully, IM overreacting. My mom "almost died to birth me" so her behavior gets excused. My one brother has severe autism/OCD and my parents dont do anything to help or manage it so his needs are always above mine since I'm able to "push past it" (re: forced). Fun fact the "witch doctor" my parents took my brother to cut off my brothers meds cold turkey this week so its all been 200x worse due to withdrawal (who the fuck cuts someone off of WELLBUTRIN AND ZOLOFT cold turkey????).
I keep telling myself its only a few more weeks but I still haven't heard back about my housing application being approved and I'm getting worried.
How am I supposed to live, let alone work, in this environment?
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pepprs · 2 years ago
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hm. i think i am going to stop going to counseling. he does not understand me. he pathologizes things that are not pathological.
#purrs#the premises of counseling / therapy are that you need to have boundaries and be self sufficient and fully healed. FUCK THAT! relationships#are not transactions. we are allowed to need each other. we are allowed to blur lines. we are human and messy. our thoughts and feelings ar#PRECIOUS. im not letting go of my thoughts they mean EVERYTHING to me they are the key to the WORLD. im not letting go of redacted why on#EARTH would i stop redacteding to redacted that is HELPFUL for me. i don’t CARE about the roots. who the fuck is it hurting????? NO ONE!!!!#the way he flat out told me he agrees with my mom. bitch im done forever. im done literaly forever. i don’t know how to tell him but im don#forever. maybe it’s just my id which is what he said to me LMFAO and like maybe i just don’t like being uncomfortable or facing hard truths#but i don’t fucking think it’s TRUE!!!!!!!!!! yeah i need to grow yeah i have unhealthy behaviors. but i don’t need to let go of the whole#THING bc of some arbitrary transactional concept of what relationships are supposed to be / mean. ive NEVER had a counselor try to uproot t#the whole damn thing like omg what is WRONG with you. i#im paying this man $25 a week to UNDERSTAND me and not ONCE have i felt understood by him. counselors can disagree with me but i literally#never feel like he is on my side. he’s adhering to conventional ideas about what parents are supposed to be and friends are supposed to be#and work is supposed to be etc etc. and so patronizingly said just enjoy being 23 you don’t wanna waste your 20s! FUCK YOU. i will not#regret anything even if it’s unusual. FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!#and also i know he probably watches back thru the recordings and has like his supervisor and professors watch them too which means that#there is a whole team of scientists + my family studying me in a lab and thinking im insane and finding ways to tell me. but fucking bold o#him to assume he can give me any meaningful valuable insight when he is actively checking his laptop / phone during our sessions and rarely#if eve gives me a chance to drive MY OWN CONVERSATION THAT IM PAYING FOR and is so phony abt being on the recording. like Omg. maybe im jus#grown out of it. it fucking SUCKS bc i actually have things i am not normal about and really need help with and i can’t actually get help f#from ppl whose job it is to fucking help me bc they think im not normal about things i PROMISEEEE i am normal about. and the way i effectiv#effectively told him that and he responded that he can’t take that credibly bc there’s no action behind it BY WHICH HE MEANS I HAVENT#STOPPED REDACTEDING TO ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT REDACTED IN MY WHOLE LIFE? THAT I HAVENT DECIDED IM DONE LEARNING SND GROWING AND CUT IT#OFF?????? DO YOU FUCKING HEAR YOURSELF. INSANE. the ANTITHESIS of human. we are MEANT TO BE CONNECTED. FUCK!!!!!!!!!#delete later#my old counselors challenged me and disagreed with me b it i never felt like they flat out were unwilling to meet me where i am and#compromise with me. is that not what counselors are supposed to do???? or have i just had bad counselors until now??? because im NORMAL. i#swear to fucking god. im normal. im literally normal and it is not doing ANYONE harm. what is wrong with you. GOD
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shoechoe · 2 years ago
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i don't really care much about all the character polls going on but it is very funny that DIO is losing on round 1* to Marceline on the bi/pan monarch tournament. he deserves it make him lose
EDIT: i checked again it is actually round 2. i can't read apparently. still though he should lose
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robyn-i-guess · 9 months ago
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positivity posting is OVER i am experiencing critical levels of stress and if anyone so much as talks to me within the next 24 hours they will get kicked into the ground and personally hit by lighting
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sunniques · 1 month ago
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— 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝
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➺ PAIRING: yoon jeonghan x female reader
➺ GENRE: stepdad au, smut
➺ SUMMARY: the story of how you get caught in your stepdad’s web of depraved desires.
➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, age gap, manipulation, dub con, drugging, toxic relationship(s), slight dd/lg themes, daddy kink, dacryphilia, breeding kink, degradation, spanking, dumbification, unprotected sex, riding, cum play, ass play, fingering, multiple rounds, overstimulation, creampies, squirting
➺ WC: 4.2k
NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. once again, i have to thank the amazing @wonustars for beta reading this for me <3
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The moment your mom asked you to move back home, you knew things in her marriage were heading south. It’s not like she didn’t want you around, but even you could tell she only asked you to act as a buffer between her and her husband. Like the good daughter you always tried to be, you accept her invitation even though you know it probably won’t be the best idea in the long run.
Things are relatively normal at first. Jeonghan is a sweetheart. He always has been, even dating back to when you were a college freshman and you officially met him. You can tell he tries to keep the peace with you around. That doesn’t mean you haven’t accidentally overheard your mom and him arguing when they think you’re not around.
It’s awkward, especially because your mom seems like the bad guy in ninety percent of their fights. You wonder if seeing a marriage counselor will help their situation.
“My friend’s dad is a marriage counselor,” you casually mention to your mom when it’s only two of you one day. “I can give you the number to his office—”
You’re abruptly cut off when your mom slams her spoon down on the table. The look she has on her face is borderline murderous, and you wonder if you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.
“Did Jeonghan tell you he wants to go to counseling?” She demands, teeth gnashing together as she spits her words.
“What? No!” You exclaim wondering why she was so quick to throw the blame on your stepdad. “I just thought—”
“I can’t believe this shit,” her words are spoken through a bitter chuckle. “You know, I’m the one who told him we need to talk to someone. I can’t believe he had the audacity to put this idea in your head!”
Despite your attempt to clear up the misunderstanding your mom has, she leaves the house and doesn’t come back until the next day. You feel incredibly guilty. It’s not like you meant to make her angry, and you definitely didn’t mean for her to get angry with Jeonghan again.
Your stepdad remains incredibly sweet. He hugs you and rubs your back, assuring you that it wasn’t your fault.
“Don’t worry, little girl,” Jeonghan says with a kind smile. “Your mom and I will be fine. Just focus on school, okay? I pay a lot of money so you can be the best.”
He’s teasing you, and you’re not sure why you feel so relieved to know that he’s not angry with you.
Unfortunately for everyone, things get worse before they even have a chance to get better. Eventually, your mom no longer cares to start arguments with her husband even when you’re around.
You can’t help but feel sorry for Jeonghan because you can see how exhausted he is. That sweet smile can’t hide all the pain and defeat he feels. You wish you could do something to help, but he always pats your head affectionately and tells you to focus on school when you offer.
It’s not until you come home one night and find him alone in the trashed living room that you know things have gone too far.
“Jeonghan?” You say cautiously, walking around the broken glass littered on the floor.
It’s a mixture of a broken wine bottle and glass from a picture frame. The one that held your mother’s wedding photo. Jeonghan has his head in his hands as you tiptoe around the spilled alcohol to sit next to him. His long hair partially covers his face, but you can see the tear stains on his cheeks.
“Jeonghan,” your voice is more firm this time, but still gentle. “What happened? Where’s my mom?”
Your stepdad sniffles and looks up. For a minute, he can’t meet your eyes. Even without the eye contact, you can see how broken he is. It makes something inside you break.
“She’s okay,” he turns to you with that pretty smile of his that you love. Except it doesn’t reach his eyes like usual. “She had a little too much to drink so I laid her down in the guest room.”
You’re sure he’s talking about the one downstairs—the one she’s been sleeping in lately.
“You still didn’t answer my question.” You say, needing to know what happened.
Jeonghan whimpers, and you can’t resist the urge to hug him. He closes his eyes as more tears stream down his face. Your stepdad gently buries his face in your neck as you press your body against him, not caring that you’re almost on his lap. All you can think about is comforting him.
“Your mom wants a divorce,” Jeonghan croaks against your wet skin. “She–She—there’s someone else, and I—”
He cuts himself off with a quiet sob, and your heart just breaks for him. Part of you suspected it. Your mom was the one who would come home late or not at all sometimes. She would often accuse your stepdad of having an affair, but now you just know she was projecting her wrongdoings onto him. It makes you feel sick because even though she’s your mom, Jeonghan didn’t deserve that.
“I’m so sorry,” you say sincerely, stroking his back like he often did to you when you were upset.
As you comfort him, he slips his arms around you and presses you closer to him. An electrifying sensation courses through you when you become aware of how close you two are.
Urges that you’ve tried so hard to push to the depths of your mind suddenly rush forward, and now you can’t stifle them or pretend they don’t exist. Especially now that you’ve realized that your mom doesn’t deserve such a wonderful man.
So, you throw away every scrap of morality you have left in you and give into your depraved desires.
Jeonghan lets out a shocked noise when you push him back on the couch and straddle him. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open in awe. You grin when he doesn’t immediately push you off, taking it as a sign to swoop down for a kiss.
He softly moans into your mouth, overwhelmed by how warm and soft you are. Jeonghan whimpers as tears keep streaming down his face, trembling when you pull away from him.
“It’s okay, daddy,” you purr in his ear, grinding your dampening cunt against his growing bulge. “Let me take care of you.”
Jeonghan shakes his head, hands slowly settling on your waist as if he wants to push you away. Except he doesn’t.
Instead, he lets you stay on his lap. Your stepdad doesn’t try to stop you even as you move in closer and start to undo his pants. He can easily push you off, but he doesn’t. Not even when you reach into his underwear to palm his growing cock. He’s hard. Really fucking hard.
“Wait, baby—” the pet name falls easily, and you love it.
“Shh, daddy,” you coo as you take him out of his pants. “Just let me touch you. Let me make you feel better.”
“Oh, god,” Jeonghan mewls when you start to stroke him.
Your stepdad’s cock is long and thick and oozing with precum. You lick your lips as you slowly move your hand, eyes trained on Jeonghan’s pretty face. You can tell he feels guilty, and you don’t blame him. He’s such a good guy that he wouldn’t want to hurt your mom, even after everything she’s done to him.
“We… we shouldn’t do this,” Jeonghan protests weakly.
When you get off his lap, he fights a whine even though he knows it’s for the best. Once again you surprise him by slipping out of your clothes and getting back on top of him. His pupils are blown wide when he sees your bare tits and cute pussy.
“Honey,” Jeonghan’s voice has gone deeper, eyes fixed on your body. “This is wrong.”
You ignore him because his cock is twitching and standing to attention. Gently, you cradle the back of his head and press his face to your chest. Your warm tits envelop him, and he’s delirious. You smell so good that it makes his brain fuzzy. Jeonghan feels his cock twitch when you reach for it again, and this time he doesn’t try to stop you.
“Please, daddy,” you beg as you glide your slick cunt over his throbbing cock. “I need your cock. Need it so fucking bad.”
A deep groan escapes him because you feel so warm and wet. Jeonghan just knows you’ll feel so good wrapped around his cock.
“You deserve my little pussy,” you whisper in his ear, pressing down harder on him. “Deserve to fuck someone who won’t ever make you feel so terrible.”
“God, baby,” Jeonghan grunts when he feels your dripping pussy nudging the head of his cock. His resolve is weak, and he doesn’t want to fight it anymore.
His moan syncs with yours when you slowly sink down on his cock. Your little cunt is so hot and tight. Jeonghan can’t think about things like guilt because he feels too fucking good. A nice, wet pussy wrapped around his neglected cock, sucking him in and squeezing him just right. He’s been so lonely and miserable lately that you feel like absolute heaven to him.
“Such a naughty little girl,” Jeonghan growls when you start to rock in his lap. You tighten around him and hold on to the back of his head when you start to bounce.
“Daddy,” you whimper as your juices coat his cock.
Jeonghan’s lips brush against your nipples as your bounces grow more eager. You clench around his fat cock when his weeping tip brushes against your sweet spot. Your stepdad lets out a mixture of a groan and a wail of pleasure as you keep riding him.
You’re lost in pleasure with the feeling of your stepdad’s hard cock twitching and throbbing inside you. It turns you on that he’s strong enough to push you off of him, but never attempts to. You cry out loudly when his hands curl around your waist to help you fuck his cock the way he likes it.
Jeonghan’s lidded gaze is focused on where you two are connected, watching as his cock disappears in and out of your little pussy with every rough bounce. He feels his balls start to tighten with his impending release. Never in his life has he felt so turned on. The way his stepdaughter is just using his cock like a toy is just driving him closer to the edge.
“Daddy,” you purr in Jeonghan’s ear. “You like my pussy better than my mom’s, don’t you?”
You already have your answer from the way he twitches and throbs inside you, his cock answering for him. It makes you happier than you expect. Of course, it would be you. Your pussy was made for him, and you’ll make sure he feels the same way by the end of the night.
“Fuck yeah I do,” Jeonghan groans as his hands go down to squeeze your ass. “Love this little princess cunt.”
You cry out loudly as your orgasm abruptly hits, coating his cock and balls with your essence. “Fuck, daddy! It’s yours! Only yours! You can have this princess pussy every day!”
Your fucked out moans do their job in pushing Jeonghan over the edge. He grips your hips and flips you under him, buries his head in your shoulder and frantically fucks you into the couch as he starts to spill his cum inside you. Lewd squelching fills the air as you happily wrap your legs around him and meet his thrusts to help him fuck his cum deeper inside you.
The both of you are panting by the time you’re done, but your stepdad makes no move to get off of you.
“Don’t think we’re done, little girl,” his voice is ravenous. “Daddy’s not letting you off this cock until you’re nice and stretched out.”
That’s how you end up on the bed he shares with your mother, face down and ass up as you beg for his cock. Jeonghan smirks, eyes trained on your sloppy hole. You look so hot like this, and he knows that he won’t ever let you go after tonight.
“What a nasty slut,” Jeonghan says, palms smoothing over the globes of your ass to keep you still. “Dripping all over my sheets. You want daddy’s cock that bad, honey?”
You whine and arch your back some more. “I need it!”
“Yeah?” You can tell he’s smirking. “Do you even care that your mom might wake up and see what a nasty slut her daughter is?”
You shake your head, pussy clenching around nothing. “Just want daddy’s cock in my little pussy.”
“Don’t worry, little girl,” Jeonghan groans as he kneels behind you. “Daddy’s going to stuff this needy hole and cover it with his cum.”
“Please!”
You cry out when Jeonghan shoves his thick cock into your clenching pussy. He bottoms out in a single thrust since you’re already so wet from when you rode him earlier. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, whining his name when you feel his balls slap against your clit.
“Oh, fuck,” your stepdad hisses. “Your little princess pussy keeps sucking me in, honey.”
Jeonghan spanks your ass. You moan loudly and clench down on his aching cock. “Mhm, just needed daddy’s cock to fill you up, huh?”
“Yes, daddy, yes!” You moan into his sheets.
The thick musk of sex fills the air as Jeonghan pulls his twitching cock out of you halfway only to slam it back into your needy cunt. You squeal and tighten around him when you feel him spread your ass and gently trace your asshole. His thumb slips down to gather juices from your dripping pussy and slides it back up to your asshole, gently pushing past the taut muscle. Your pussy clamps down on his dick hard, making him moan loudly.
“Can’t wait to break in this tight little hole too,” Jeonghan’s voice is thick with lust. “Gonna train you to take daddy’s cock in every hole.”
You moan and bounce back against him, cunt pulsing around his cock as his thumb slips in and out of your clenching rim. “Daddy!”
Jeonghan laughs in delight. “Sounds like you like it.”
You nod your head, and Jeonghan fucks into you harder, balls slapping against your sloppy cunt with every rough thrust. “God, you’re fucking tight.”
He groans when your sweet little pussy clenches around him again.
“Feels so fucking good, daddy,” you say as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Love your big cock.”
You cry out in pleasure when his hand pulls away from your ass to slip his fingers over your hip to pinch and rub your sensitive clit.
“Is my little girl already cock drunk?” Jeonghan is way too pleased when you deliriously nod your head with a fucked out mewl.
You’re fucking perfect. It makes him wish he would’ve done this sooner.
“My pretty little slut,” Jeonghan coos adoringly. “Just a sweet little hole to dump my load into. Isn’t that right, baby?”
You shiver and meet his thrusts with more vigor, “Yes! Stuff my little hole full of your cum, daddy!”
“Fucking shit,” Jeonghan hisses as he grabs your hair and yanks you backward to give you a sloppy kiss.
His hips never stop, only snapping harder against you.
“I’ll give it to you, honey. Daddy’s going to cream your hot little cunt all night long.”
You mewl in satisfaction when your head is shoved back into the mattress as you keep getting railed hard. Wet slapping fills the room as your stepdad continues spearing you open on his cock. The smell of sex permeates the room as Jeonghan keeps using your body for his pleasure.
“Daddy’s close, baby,” Jeonghan groans.
You moan loudly. “Gonna cum, daddy!”
You’re moaning so loud now, and you don’t really care that your mom might wake up and come upstairs to catch her husband fucking you raw. All you can care about is how good you feel. You grind your pussy down on your stepdad’s throbbing cock while his fingers rub fast circles on your puffy clit.
“Yeah? Do it, honey.” Jeonghan leans forward to bite your shoulder. “Cream on me. Want to feel your juices all over my cock.”
His cock pistons in and out of your hot cunt, ramming against your g-spot repeatedly until all you can do is chant his name. You’re a moaning mess at this point, only caring about the white-hot pleasure you’re feeling.
“Gonna cum!” You slur out, drool dripping on the mattress.
“Cum for daddy, baby. Cum all over this cock.”
With those commanding words, Jeonghan spanks your cunt hard, palm coming down on your clit over and over until you’re screaming out in pleasure. It’s not long before your orgasm hits. Slick gushes out around his cock as he keeps fucking into that spongy spot and spanking your pussy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as liquid spurts from your pussy and coats his cock and balls, making a mess all over the sheets.
It feels like electricity is coursing through your body from how intense you cum. Your fingers and toes curl in on themselves as your cunt pulses and clenches down on his cock.
“Fuck yes,” Jeonghan growls, as he keeps pounding into your fluttering pussy. “Didn’t know you were a squirter, little girl. So fucking sexy.”
It only takes a few more thrusts for him to bury himself deep inside your cunt and release his hot load inside you. Thick spurts of cum fill you up as he moans your name like it’s something holy. Jeonghan fucks his cum deeper inside you, making no move to slip out of your spent pussy.
However, you’re not done. Far from it, actually.
Jeonghan quickly flips you on your back, one hand on your hip and his other on your thigh. He’s spreading you open and holding you down as he starts to roll his hips into you. A deep groan leaves his mouth every time you clench down on him.
“Da—addy!” You cry out at a particularly sharp thrust that slams against your sweet spot and has you clenching violently around him, teetering on the edge already.
Jeonghan smirks, loving what a cock hungry slut you are. Not that he’s any better. He’s already addicted to your sweet little cunt.
“I know, honey, I know,” he coos in a sickly sweet voice as he continues to fuck you deep and hard. “Daddy’s cock feels good, huh?”
You nod stupidly, all coherent thoughts long gone from your mind. “Uh-huh. Feels so—so good!”
Jeonghan spits on your pussy as you grasp the sheets underneath you. You’re dripping all over him, making an obscene squelching noise every time his cock hits deep inside your tight pussy. He loves the way your pretty pussy opens up to let his aching cock inside. The way you grip him is the hottest sight he’s ever seen, and he knows nothing will ever compare.
“Daddy,” you mewl, barely able to think.
The only thing on your mind is that you want him to cum inside you again. You can’t voice your thoughts because an orgasm rocks your body all over again. Jeonghan laughs delightedly, loving how you keep wetting his dick with your orgasms.
“Dirty little girl,” he growls, bullying his cock into you harder than before. “Making such a mess on daddy’s cock.”
You mewl again, “I need…”
“Need what, baby?” Jeonghan coaxes as he starts to rub slow circles on your throbbing clit. “Say it. Tell daddy what you need, honey.”
“N-Need you to—!” His voice is so sweet that all you can do is break off into another moan. Your pussy tightens and stains his cock with more cream. All you can smell is sex and Jeonghan’s cologne. It only pushes you close to the edge once again.
Jeonghan laughs softly and fucks into you just a little harder, “You need me to...? Use your words, little girl. Daddy can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell him. Better hurry before your mom wakes up and finds you getting fucked like the nasty whore you are.”
That won’t happen, but you don’t need to know that. Although he can tell the thought of your mom catching you in their bed, fucking like animals, turns you on.
“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”
Your words are slightly slurred and completely fucked out, and Jeonghan bites his lip before smirking down at you. There’s no way he can deny you his seed, especially when you’re asking him so nicely.
“There you go, honey. Take all of daddy’s cum like a good little slut.”
You and Jeonghan moan together when he spills his hot cum inside you. He fucks it into you like the last two times, loving how your tight pussy flutters and pulses around him. You’re such a good girl that you thank him repeatedly through a moan.
The rest of the night you two fuck in every position possible. Jeonghan is insatiable, and you’re tired and completely fucked out before he even thinks about letting you off his cock.
Jeonghan has your back pressed against his chest, a strong arm wrapped around your neck as he pounds you into his mattress. All of your previous orgasms leak on the sheets beneath you as you cry and gasp from the overstimulation. It all feels so good, but you don’t think you can handle any more.
“Daddy,” you whimper pathetically. “C-Can’t cum anymore.”
It feels like your head is starting to spin as his cock splits your pussy open. Jeonghan pounds into your g-spot relentlessly, cock swelling when he sees the tears streaming down your face. His cock twitches and throbs because despite your words, you’re still moving your hips to meet his thrusts.
Your stepdad smirks meanly. “Is that why you keep rutting against me like a nasty slut, little girl?”
You cry out when Jeonghan releases you and sits up to roughly smack your ass. He repeats the harsh motion until you’re screaming in pleasure. Your cunt clenches around him, hips involuntarily bucking back in an attempt to force his fat dick deeper into your tiny little pussy. It’s like an automatic reaction, but your stepdad loves it.
“Just lay there and let daddy breed you, honey,” Jeonghan growls when you give him another weak orgasm. He groans and smacks your ass as he forces the juices out of your soiled cunt with every snap of his hips. “Be a good cock sleeve for me.”
“Want it so bad, daddy!” You cry out, pussy fucked raw yet still so desperate for another one of his hot loads. “Breed me like the slut I am.”
“Want you to scream for me, baby.” Jeonghan moans as his head falls back. He pounds into your hot cunt harder, gripping your hips tighter as he chases his orgasm, using your pussy to get himself off. “Let your mother know how much you love your stepdad’s cock.”
“DADDY!” You scream at the top of your lungs, almost hoping your mom will walk upstairs and see her husband stuffing you full of cum on their marital bed.
Jeonghan cries out as his balls tighten up. His moan is loud as you cry out in pleasure, your pussy involuntarily giving him a fifth orgasm as he spills rope after rope of cum into your sopping pussy. He fucks you nice and deep, whispering filthy praises in your ear the entire time.
Your stepdad lets out a low hiss as he pulls his softening cock out of your sloppy pussy. He licks his lips and forces his cum back in with three of his fingers, pressing so deep into you that his wedding band touches your puffy little pussy lips, making you whine.
“Such a good little girl,” Jeonghan coos as he fingers his cum back into your pussy with a filthy smirk. “My pretty little slut.”
You’re completely fucked out, feeling completely satiated as you slump into the bed. You mewl softly when Jeonghan pulls you into his arms and starts to rub soothing circles on your pussy.
“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
He presses a gentle kiss on your temple, and just like that you’re out like a light.
Jeonghan smirks into your hair when your breathing evens out and you fall into a deep sleep. There’s no better feeling than knowing his plan worked perfectly.
Admittedly, your mom played a significant role. With her insecure and angry personality, it was easy to make himself look like the victim. Faking the maudlin expressions and crushed spirit was easy enough, especially since you’ve always been so empathetic. Getting his wife to stay out all night was easy since he always lied and told her he’d be at the bar. She went looking for him every single time not knowing he was at home, fucking his fist to the thought of you.
And then there was the final act.
Inviting his unsuspecting wife for a drink was easy enough. Despite all of the fighting, she still wanted to have Jeonghan to herself. She couldn’t have known that he spiked her drink so he could stage the perfect tragedy. It worked perfectly since you didn’t think twice about believing him.
Everything has worked out as he hoped, and now all he has to think of is the future with his true beloved. You.
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kerink · 1 month ago
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i want to talk about this idea the fandom has that curly didn't do anything to help anya. the fact of the matter is, curly didn't do anything to help anya on screen.
when we first join the conversation, anya's already told curly about the assault and is just updating him on her pregnancy status. we're never privy to what that first conversation looked like, what anya said or how curly responded or what decisions were made about it. but given that anya confided in him twice more about the situation (that she was pregnant and later that she had told jimmy), i have to assume his response to the initial assault disclosure was sufficient enough in her eyes that she knew she could continue confiding in him.
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this exchange reads to me like "what to do about the assault" has been an on-going conversation between them, but curly has limited options to help her. but if he could figure out something to do, he'd do it.
let's look at the options available:
report it to HR. i don't think this option is very viable for a few reasons:
first, pony express doesn't seem to care about its employees. there aren't locks on their bedroom doors, there's only enough food and oxygen to get them from port to port with no emergency allotment, there are more crew than cryopods, they're not allowed to sleep for more than 5 hours a night, etc. i don't think they would have done anything to support her even if they had reported it.
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HR may even blame anya for the assault, they may say that it happened because of something she did or did not do. it's her responsibility to take, not theirs.
second:
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(thank you to @mudstoneabyss for pointing this one out to me)
curly needs this money because he's considering changing careers, which is likely to result in a pay cut or some amount of time job-hunting without income. swansea has a family back home he needs to provide for. it's daisuke's first year on the job and what a piss-poor welcome a pay cut would be, and he's an intern so the pay cut may be all or most of his salary. jimmy is living in poverty. anya has no savings.
it's entirely possible anya asked curly not to file an HR complaint not only because it would make her financial situation worse, but because she doesn't want to ask him, swansea, and daisuke to literally pay for jimmy's actions.
third:
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even if curly did file an HR report he may have been told to do nothing. it's a long trip and they need all hands on deck to make the delivery on time! productivity over employee welfare. it's his job to keep the peace but keep jimmy working.
given how much stress curly's shown to be under, it can be assumed being captain is an extremely taxing job with a lot of both assigned duties and off-book duties. it may not actually be feasible to run the ship without a co-pilot.
maybe all he could do was talk to him.
2. go to the police. are there even police in space? i have to assume so because the alternative poses way too many questions. so there's space police. curly and anya call them and they come to the tulpar and dock on the ship and do an investigation and what happens to that limited food and air supply? the late delivery fee?
i'm a psychologist and my first psychology job was working as a crisis counselor for my county. my primary job was to sit with rape survivors as they had their rape kits done and support them as they made their reports to the police. this may not be true everywhere or across the board or in this dystopia but in my experience the police won't take a rape case seriously, or will have limited options to prosecute, or maybe won't even take the case at all without a rape kit.
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so curly and anya call the police. they're going to have to file with HR too, to let the company know what's going on. and now anya has to pay for an HR complaint, a late delivery, and a rape kit.
is she going to get this paycheck at all?
3. curly acts on his own accord. this is the one that makes the least amount of sense to me, personally.
if curly just beats the shit out of jimmy then what? now jimmy's mad and embarrassed and takes it out on anya. we're going to confront him and risk making her suffering worse?
curly can't lock jimmy in his quarters for the duration of the trip not only because, as i said, maybe having a co-pilot is necessary for the ship to operate, but there are not locks on the doors.
curly can't lock him in the cargo hold because a) pony express would probably be beyond pissed off about that and who knows if the crew's pay would get docked or curly would get fired or if dragonbreath would sue them all for property damage and contamination. b) how do we get food and water to him? let him go to the bathroom? we open the doors and he busts out and who knows how violent he'll be then.
curly isn't going to kill him because a) that's one of his oldest friends, and i don't care what he's done or how angry curly is or how badly he wants to help anya, i really don't think it's realistic to think he'd be able to separate the anger from the love enough to end his life. b) it's cold-blooded, premeditated murder. it'd be one thing if curly caught jimmy in the act and killed him in defense of anya, he could maybe get away with that. but after the event is over? curly's going to jail for that, possibly for the rest of his life. if you worked at the post office and a coworker told you your best friend since childhood raped her are you clocking out and going to his house and killing him? it's not reasonable. i'm also just really floored how often i've seen this option brought up on the "prison reform abolish the police no matter how bad you are you still deserve human rights" website.
i also don't think it's reasonable, realistic, or kind to ask curly to act on his own accord without consulting anya. for curly to go against her wishes or act without her consent, that's further taking agency away from her. that's another man deciding what happens in her life. even if curly wanted to beat jimmy up or lock him away or kill him, maybe anya asked him not to.
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so i ask, what was curly supposed to do? what did he and anya explore as options? what did anya ask him to do? we don't know and we'll never know. and that was intentional on wrong organ's part.
i don't say any of this to discount or discredit conversations or explorations or analyses about the role The Boys Club, toxic masculinity, and bro culture play into the plot, themes, narrative, or personal take-away players have. i fully 100% agree with, support, and endorse those narrative because despite everything i just said above, it's also true that curly is partially responsible.
it's true that he was irresponsible and an enabler for helping jimmy cheat on his psych exam, but there's no evidence at all that he's a conspirator to sexual assault and abuse, that he was going to cover for jimmy in a court of law. all he said was they would figure it out, and that could mean a whole lot of things.
i think curly has some percentage of the blame for what happened on the tulpar, i just don't think that percentage is as large of a number as a lot of people seem to believe. i'm not asking that we forgive or apologize or absolve curly, what i am asking is that we try to look at the situation with more nuance and empathy and good faith.
i don't think curly was a bad man or a bro who was ignoring anya and covering for jimmy's actions. but i also don't think he did enough to help her. he was never good at seeing the small details amongst the larger picture. he couldn't see jimmy for the dead pixel he was.
i think curly was sleep deprived, possibly under-fed, definitely overworked, and juggling too many balls with not enough options. i think he made the wrong choice, but i think he thought it was the lesser of the evils.
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gutsby · 8 months ago
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Abstaining Game
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Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.
Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.
Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’
Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)
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October 26, 2024
Dear Joel,
Roses are red,
We’re a couple of sluts,
Abstinence camp is awful,
I miss you rearranging my guts.
You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.
“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”
You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.
Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.
It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.
What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.
Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.
He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.
That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.
Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.
Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:
Dear Tommy,
Fuck you, you fucking fuck.
Sincerely,
Joel
You grinned again just thinking about it.
If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.
For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?
Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.
The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.
You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.
Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:
“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”
The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.
Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.
Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.
“On your feet, skank.”
You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.
Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.
“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.
“How kind.”
“Yeah? Certain death?”
“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.
Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.
“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.
“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”
“Oh?”
Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.
“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.
Stupidly.
“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”
That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.
“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.
“Not my brother,” you hissed.
“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.
“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”
Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.
“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.
“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.
“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.
Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.
Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.
“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”
You had to stifle a laugh.
“I am not.”
“Then explain, Cersei!”
Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.
“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.
“Uh-huh.”
“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”
“Dangerous combo.”
“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”
“Right.”
“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”
Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:
“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”
“Oh shit.”
“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”
“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”
“As you should.”
“—hold that breath in right there—”
“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”
This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.
“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.
“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”
You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.
“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”
Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:
“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”
You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,
“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”
You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,
“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”
You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.
Then you felt hands.
Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.
You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.
“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.
Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?
About damn time.
Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.
“Fucker,” you hissed.
Fucker said nothing.
Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.
“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”
You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.
In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.
“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”
A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.
“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”
You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.
Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.
“Pack your shit.”
Dude.
You spun on your heels.
“DUDE!”
Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.
It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.
“Sweetheart—”
He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.
The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?
You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.
His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.
“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”
You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.
“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”
Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.
“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”
He was seriously trying to break you out?
You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.
“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.
What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.
Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.
“Joel?” You raised a brow.
“Mm?”
The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.
His gaze was alarmingly sedate.
“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”
“Just a quickie, Miller—”
“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”
The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.
Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.
It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.
“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”
Shit.
Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.
“Joel—”
“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”
Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.
But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.
“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.
“Joel, I just—”
“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”
The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.
“It was a joke.”
No time to mince words now.
“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.
He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.
“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”
“No!”
“No?”
“No.”
For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.
Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.
“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”
When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”
With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.
“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”
You needed time to think.
“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.
But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.
“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”
His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.
Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?
You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.
“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”
You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.
“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.
“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.
You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.
At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.
His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.
Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.
“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.
This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.
Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.
But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.
You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.
You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.
Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.
Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.
Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”
Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.
The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.
It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.
Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.
Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.
Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.
“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.
You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.
Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.
“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.
Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.
Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.
“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”
When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.
“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”
Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.
“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.
But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.
You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.
“Another,” you pleaded.
“Nuh-uh.”
“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.
Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.
“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’
Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.
His expression was hard.
“Fuck my hand,” he said.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.
Fuck my hand.
Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.
“Like that,” he murmured.
All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.
It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.
“Need more,” you keened.
“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.
“Yeah.”
A beat, then:
“Tough shit.”
But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.
“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.
“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.
Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.
“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”
That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.
And pleasure.
The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.
Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.
“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.
Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,
“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”
Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.
Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.
He nodded again.
Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.
After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.
“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.
“Too much?” he returned.
You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.
“Too soon?” he tried again.
“I—”
“Too fast?”
“N—”
“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.
There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.
You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.
“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.
“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”
Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.
“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.
Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.
“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”
Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.
“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.
“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.
When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.
“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.
Joel watched you with careful eyes.
“Yeah? And Tess?”
“Joel—”
“Or Tommy.”
“I don’t—”
“Everyone else?”
Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.
Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.
In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?
You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.
Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.
“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.
“But you did,” you panted.
Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.
Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.
He was a lot like you in that way.
You kept kissing him anyway.
The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.
All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.
“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.
You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.
In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.
“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.
“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”
Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’
You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.
Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.
Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.
“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”
Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’
Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.
He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.
Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.
“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.
“You do?”
“Uh-huh.”
His face softened.
“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”
He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.
“Say that you’re mine.”
No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.
Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?
The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.
The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.
It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.
Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.
His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.
He kissed your hairline and hummed.
“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”
His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.
“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.
He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,
“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”
“But—”
“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”
His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.
“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.
You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.
“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.
He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.
You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.
Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.
Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:
“Joel!”
“That’s right.”
Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.
“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.
You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—��
Oh.
Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.
Your legs were wet.
The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.
You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.
You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.
Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?
“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.
You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.
In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.
Where was that wetness coming from?
You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—
“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.
Your first instinct was to make a face.
That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?
“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.
Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.
“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”
Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.
Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.
Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.
“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”
You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.
And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.
Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.
“‘M’sorry,” he said.
Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,
“You did great.”
He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.
“So good.”
When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.
“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”
“What?”
Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.
“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”
At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.
He didn’t.
The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.
“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”
You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.
“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”
Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.
“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”
Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.
Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.
You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.
But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.
“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.
“No!”
“I’m not—”
“He’s from the other camp.”
“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”
You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.
“I’m—we’re—” he started.
“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”
She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.
But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.
Then laugh.
Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.
Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.
“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.
“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.
Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.
“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:
“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”
Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.
And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.
“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”
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xanasaurusrex · 11 months ago
Text
clarisse being touchy clarisse la rue x reader (no godly parent specified) a/n: this randomly came to me while rewatching the second episode and i decided to write it. it's 11:30pm at the time of starting this, so idk how coherent this is gonna be, but it's gonna be cute, so strap in and enjoy the ride! taglist: @asvterias @lvrue @thewritingbarbie @kroumi @ravisinghs-wife
you were used to seeing a touchy clarisse. the two often found ways to be alone, to be just the two of you alone together. this was when clarisse got out all of her touchiness on you. whenever the two of you were in your little world, she never let go of you.
but the past few days had been busy. there had been lots of different types of incidents, and the two of you hadn't been able to get together just the two of you.
so when some of the other camp counsellors announced that they were holding a counselor-only bonfire, the two of you jumped at the opportunity.
at the beginning of the bonfire, clarisse was just holding your hand. you would occasionally lean your head on her shoulder, and she would lay her cheek on the top of your head. a few times, she pressed a kiss to your hair as well.
nobody really blinked at that, since those were things that the two of you already did. it was a bit of a shock at first, clarisse acting anything but hostile towards another person, but at this point, after the two of you dating for over a year, everyone was used to it.
as the night wore on, however, clarisse's restraint dissolved. she wanted so desperately to hold you, to grab onto you and never let you go.
she started following you around wherever you were, refusing to let go of your hands. when you told her that you needed your hands to get s'more stuff, she decided to just curl her arm around your waist, and refuse to let that go.
after a while, you wandered off while she was talking to someone from her cabin. she realized two seconds too late that you had extricated her hand from your waist, and she whirled around, freaking out.
she caught sight of you just a few seconds later, sitting in a camping chair roasting a marshmallow. her eyebrows knitted together as she walked up behind you.
she gently laid her hands on your shoulders, startling you slightly. you turned your head sharply, but smiled when you caught sight of her. "hi!" you said cheerily.
clarisse's mouth turned down into a sad frown as she gave you her puppy dog eyes.
"what?" you asked, turning around further in the chair to be more head on with her.
clarisse blew out a sad breath, and made eye contact with you as she asked, "why did you leave me?"
"oh my gods," you let out a laugh as you sagged against the camping chair. "you're so dramatic," you said.
clarisse scoffed. "i looked away for one second! one second, and you were gone! i thought a monster got you," she huffed.
"no you didn't!" you started cackling as you took hold of her hand that was rested on the top of the camping chair. you gave it a gentle kiss and looked up at clarisse through your lashes, giving her your own puppy dog eyes, the ones that were famous for getting clarisse to do literally anything you want. she wavers, but does her best to remain composed. "do you wanna come sit with me?"
and that was it.
clarisse immediately walked around the camping chair, and grabbed your hands to pull you up. she sat down in the chair, and then pulled you to sit in her lap.
this was something that clarisse loved, something the two of you did quite a lot. there was just something about having you, the most important person in her life, on her lap. she was able to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you closer to her. she was also able to lay her head on your shoulder, and she really loved that.
as soon as you were sat securely on her lap, she pulled the two of you closer, and laid her head on your shoulder, closing her eyes with a small smile on her face. she laid her hand in the crook of your elbow, gently stroking your arm as you roasted your marshmallow.
it was times like this that you and clarisse absolutely shocked everyone else at camp.
clarisse was a daughter of ares, and she really fit the bill. she was known for being ruthless in combat, absolutely terrifying with her magic spear. she hunted fearlessly in her neck of the woods during capture the flag, and it was so renowned that everybody avoided those woods as best they could during the games.
suffice to say, clarisse was known for being scary.
but she was different when she was with you. it was like you flicked a switch somewhere inside of her, made her different. you softened her edges, made her less scratchy. well, with you at least. she was still just as scratchy with everyone else, so to speak.
right at this very moment, luke, chris, and a few other counselors were looking at the two of you in complete awe and confusion.
"it's so weird to see her like that still," chris says, looking at the two in confusion.
luke nodded in agreement. "i agree," he watched as clarisse nuzzled against your neck, and sent you a beaming smile as you looked down at her with one of your own. she pecked your lips softly, and luke turned back to the group he was with. "it's crazy to see the switch. literally five minutes ago she was like, scolding me for taking too many chips,"
one of the other counselors laughed. "the other day, i accidentally put a sword back in the wrong spot, and she yelled at me for a solid five minutes. right as i was about to burst into tears, y/n walked in, and clarisse immediately melted,"
"she's so whipped," luke laughed, and the others laughed along with him.
clarisse knew she was whipped, she was very much so aware of that. but she was also, very much so okay with that.
she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.
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glorious-spoon · 1 year ago
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i respect the school coach/counselor steve movement, but in my heart of hearts i know that steve is going to grow up and become a hairstylist. he'd love it. the bitchy gossip, the human drama, the satisfaction of making someone feel comfortable and look how they want to look
maybe he follows robin to the big city for college. tries a couple of classes, drops out, goes to cosmetology school
(does NOT tell the kids until after he's finished. they still tease him within an inch of his life, but like - whatever. he fought interdimensional monsters on like five different occasions before he was old enough to legally drink, he can handle dustin hassling him for knowing what a strand test is)
(eddie is not around to hear about this. he lit out of town as soon as he finished summer school, diploma in hand. steve can't blame him. hawkins was never a good place for eddie munson, and even after the murder charges were cleared, it got worse)
(he still misses the guy, though. they ended up hanging out a lot that summer, and it sort of felt like the start of... something, but it'll take years for steve to work out exactly what)
anyway, eventually he uses some of his government hush money to set up a salon. he settles into his life as a regular person, and it's nice, it's good, it really is. eventually he gets around to figuring out why eddie's over the top flirting always made him feel clumsy and thrilled, and that's another part of himself that he settles into. finds some more family. some more community
he still keeps in touch with the hawkins crew, of course. robin lives nearby, and dustin calls all the time. nancy, too, when she can. she's overseas now reporting in war zones. it was never gonna work out between them
he hasn't seen eddie munson in almost ten years on a brisk day in february when the door to the salon swings open to admit a swirl of snow and a lanky figure wrapped leather, and steve drops the clipper he's holding and thinks, shit, what happened now and then, absurdly on the heels of that, he's going to freeze dressed like that
and then he's crossing the salon to yank eddie into a hug and getting hugged back just as hard, and ten years feels like nothing all of a sudden, and maybe he wasn't too late, maybe neither of them were, maybe they were right on time.
(eddie drifted out of touch with almost all of them other than dustin, who was tenacious, brilliant, and just unprincipled enough to track him down every time he moved
he told eddie to look up steve when he moved to the city, and eddie did, then dithered outside the door for twenty minutes freezing his ass off before he could make himself go in)
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pinkrelish · 2 years ago
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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.
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ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader
✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?
Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶
NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)
↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!
⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅
Steve was a nice guy. Really.
He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?
He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.
Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!
Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom
Stevie 🌞: rent free
Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.
Until you surprised him.
You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬
Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here
Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee
Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.
————
“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.
“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.
“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.
“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”
Right. Just share the room.
You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.
“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”
“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”
Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”
“Whatever, man.”
“Eddie, wait!”
Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.
His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.
“Hi! I’m–”
Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.
He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”
————
Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.
You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.
And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.
You wore earplugs to bed after that.
Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.
But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..
Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.
————
When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.
He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.
You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.
This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.
Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.
They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.
But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.
“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.
He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”
“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”
“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.
“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”
He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.
You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”
Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.
You wanted to strangle him.
–And another time–
“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.
Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”
You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.
–And the week after that–
You: come help me bring up these groceries
You: elevators broken
You: we can race up the stairs
You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash
😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch
You: whatever
😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair
Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.
You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass
It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–
😒dumb: 🙄
–And the week after that–
“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.
He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”
Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.
That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.
————
After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..
————
The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.
But perhaps you were blessed.
You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.
It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.
The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.
Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.
You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.
Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..
You made a gagging sound.
Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.
Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..
~~~
Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.
His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.
Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.
The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.
Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”
The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.
One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.
After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.
Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.
Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.
He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.
Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.
The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.
Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.
Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.
You were home.
You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.
Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.
Irritation.
Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.
He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.
And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.
The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.
With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.
You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”
“What’re you doing in here?”
Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.
Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.
He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.
“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.
“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”
White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.
“Make a deal.”
“A deal?”
“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.
“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”
You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.
The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.
After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.
“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”
“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.
Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.
It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.
“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.
Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.
Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.
He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.
“Not enough for you?”
You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.
But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.
Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.
This was a deal like any other.
“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.
You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.
Eddie was taken off guard.
The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.
Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.
“Satisfied?” you inquired.
No, he ached.
The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.
When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.
To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.
He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.
Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..
Red.
Delicate, feminine.
Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.
Eddie swallowed.
“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”
The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”
“Pictures don’t count.”
“Whatever, bitch.”
Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.
He wouldn’t.
He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.
It wasn’t working.
He was mad.
Furious.
Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.
The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.
Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.
From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.
He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.
office worker
co-worker
secretary
office worker tight skirt
office worker pov skirt grinding
His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.
The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.
He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.
The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.
Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.
Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.
He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.
It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.
He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.
Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.
In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.
There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.
Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–
It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.
You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.
The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.
Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.
Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.
“What?”
Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.
He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”
None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..
Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.
What a fucking irritating person.
The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.
There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.
Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.
He immersed himself in the fantasy.
The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.
If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.
He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.
Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.
But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.
My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.
Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.
He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.
Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.
He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.
You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.
It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.
Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.
They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.
Yeah? Does it feel good?
You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.
He pinched harder.
Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.
True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.
His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.
The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.
He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.
Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.
Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.
You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?
The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.
He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.
Fuck, Eddie.
You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?
He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.
But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.
Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?
You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.
He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.
Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.
You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.
All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.
You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.
He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”
You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.
Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.
I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–
His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”
Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–
–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.
The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.
His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.
His entire body was heated beyond belief.
Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.
But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.
A release, that’s what this was.
Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.
Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.
They were ruined.
So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.
There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.
Fuck.
Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.
Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.
Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.
“Fuck my life.”
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initialchains · 10 months ago
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teenage dirtbag, baby! | luke castellan
pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader
summary: there is nothing more exhausting than being known as the picture perfect daughter of aphrodite… luckily, camp half-blood’s resident teenage dirtbag luke castellan can’t relate at all. fake dating him to piss off your siblings and mother could never go wrong, right? (based on 18 by anarbor)
wc: 6.5k
warnings: smoking, mentions of drinking, mentions of drugs, mentions of sex, implied sexual content, drew tanaka being a bitch, and kinda ooc luke bcs hes meant to be well … a teenage dirtbag.
a/n: its still valentine’s day for me sooo happy valentines 💌💗 !! in mexico valentine’s day is also known as the day of friendship so this one is dedicated to my favorite people ever: @emiliehornby @love-that-we-were-in and @kestisvrse <3 !! hope you enjoy it mwah !!
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The sounds of campers laughing and gossiping in the dining pavilion are drowned out by your siblings and their annoyingly loud whispers about the allegedly cute (you��d beg to differ) son of Ares who joined camp less than twelve hours ago. Sure, he seemed like a nice guy even though he's a child of the god of war, but you were certain the only reason they kept bringing him up was because they wanted to set you up with him.
“And his arms, oh my gods! Have you seen them?” one of your brothers chimed in, trying to get you to agree with him, but all you could come up with was a hum and a polite smile. 
It pissed you off a bit, the knowledge of you never being able to go against your siblings' wishes.. the fear of disappointing them and your mother being all-consuming and blinding you with fear.
There were times you’d think about it if you’re being honest. Times where you would let yourself dream of doing something so stupidly reckless for once. Something that would stop your siblings from walking all over you and treating you like their personal lapdog. 
Not only was it tiring but it was also humiliating to a certain point. You were older than most of them and you were pretty sure you were the only one that took being a demigod seriously, even taking your time to strategize for Capture The Flag with Clarisse, and yet… you rejected Chiron when he asked you to be a counselor and told him to ask Silena instead. 
And you loved your family—you really did, but it was getting exhausting. Always having to be perfect was draining you and you were afraid of the kind of person you’d become if you allowed this to keep going. 
“He totally wants to ask you out,” Silena’s voice snapped you out of the daze you were trapped in. You turned your head to the right, facing your half-sister with a small frown on your face.
“You really think so?” you replied, trying your best to sound excited. 
“Oh, I know so,” she answered before going on a whole rant about how cute you’d look with the newly claimed son of Ares. A son of Ares—that you badly wanted to remind her—had only been in camp for less than twelve hours and you knew nothing about. 
You stayed in the dining pavilion with your siblings until you found the strength to tell them you were tired and wanted to go to sleep (an incredibly blatant lie but it didn’t look like they cared) and stood up, brushing the dust off your jeans.
“Wait, I’ll go with you!” Silena said with a smile, standing up and moving closer to you. 
“You don’t have to. You can stay with them if you want to, really—“ you were cut off by your half-sister with an exasperated sigh.
“I want to go with you. Plus, I can walk back here once I drop you off at the cabin,” she stated with a playful roll of her eyes.
The two of you walked back to the Aphrodite cabin in a comfortable silence. You liked being with Silena, she was a few years younger than you but she carried herself with so much grace and love it was hard to feel uncomfortable or weird whenever you hung out with her.
You kept your gaze on the sky, noticing that the moon was out by now. “Hey,” Silena whispered, trying to get your attention.
“You okay?” you answered. Your mind was practically hardwired to always look after your siblings, so your brain was unwillingly making you think of the worst-case scenario.
“What? Yeah, I am okay,” Silena was quick to reassure you, “I just wanted to talk to you about—“
“I swear to all the gods, Silena. If this is about that camper..” you replied with a small sigh. The two of you stopped walking when you reached your cabin, deciding to continue the conversation outside.
“He’s not that bad! He is a nice guy and the two of you would look really cute together,” she insisted.
“You don’t even know him.”
“Ugh, fine. Good thing is there are other cute campers we can introduce you to. I met one of Charlie’s brothers a few weeks ago and I think he’d—“
“I can’t do this tonight,” you replied in an exhausted tone.
“Wow, okay. No need to be mean about it,” Silena muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ve been trying to help you find a boyfriend for months now and you always shut me down. It was fine at first but now you’re just being mean,” she explained.
“Mean? Silena, you said it yourself. I’ve always shut you down because I’m not interested in getting one.”
“Whatever,” she replied bitterly before turning around and walking back to the dining pavilion, leaving you alone outside of your cabin. 
You stared at her back as she walked away, going through the last few minutes over and over in your head. Were you being mean? All you did was stick up for yourself. You didn’t understand why you were feeling bad for standing up against your siblings just for once.
A snort made you realize you weren’t alone. You turned your head towards the noise just to be met with.. oh.
Luke Castellan was leaning against the side of your cabin, carefully hidden under the darkness of the night and the shadows of the trees, he had a cigarette in his right hand and an obnoxious smirk adorning his even more obnoxious face. 
“Hope you enjoyed the show, Castellan.”
Luke raised his hands as if he had been caught and blew the smoke away, “I’m on your side, she was being a fucking bitch.”
“Don’t call her that, she’s just a kid.”
Luke raised a brow before taking another drag of his cigarette, “Do not call your sister a bitch after seeing her.. be a bitch to you?” he shook his head. “Oh, princess, you need to work on getting rid of that altruism.”
“Do you even know what that word means?” you snapped, not being in the mood to indulge in whatever it was he wanted to talk about.
“Why? You want to teach me?” He said with a smirk.
“Don’t even start with your annoying stuff, Castellan,” you muttered, running a hand down your face, clearly overwhelmed with everything that had happened. 
“Because you know you won’t want me to stop?” he pressed, but after a moment of silence his smirk fell and a frown took over his features. 
“Uh.. you want to...” he trailed off and cleared his throat, “you want to talk about it or something?” 
You squinted at him before eventually letting out a sigh and walking over to Luke, standing next to him with your back pressed against the wooden walls of your cabin. Luke extended his arm away from you to keep the smoke far from your face. 
“So, um... Silena wants to set me up with that new camper,” you started.
“Fuck. The Ares one?” Luke interrupted.
“Castellan.”
“Right, sorry. Please continue, princess.”
You decided to ignore the insufferable pet name he gave you and continued, “The thing is I do want a boyfriend, just not… him.”
Luke hummed before bringing the cigarette to his lips again and inhaling the smoke in, he kept his mouth closed as he thought of something decent to say before slightly tilting his head away from you and blowing out the smoke upwards. 
“Alright, and have you tried telling her to stop?” he cut himself off and shook his head. “Nope that was shitty advice, have you tried maybe describing your type or whatever it is you Aphrodite people say to describe the people you’re attracted to.” 
“My type?” you replied, almost offended by the statement.
“Yeah?” Luke answered as if it was the most obvious thing to do, “Just describe the type of guys you’re into and I’m sure that cult of yours you like to call siblings will be happy to help…” he trailed off when he noticed your gaze set on his right hand and your bottom lip in between your teeth as he flicked the cigarette, causing the ashes to fall into the ground. 
He looked up from his hand and burst out into laughter, shaking his head before whispering an amused fuck. 
“Oh?” Luke said with a bright smile and raised brows, “You find this attractive, angel?” 
“That thing is going to kill you,” you explained, “I’m not attracted to people that like to slowly kill themselves.” 
“Fucking bummer. I wanted to see you take a drag, that would’ve been really hot,” he said, his smile not wavering. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you don’t drink, right?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Look at you, being such a good girl,” Luke teased before throwing the rest of his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. 
“Also, that thing you said about Silena being just a kid was really fucking stupid. She’s almost the same age as Annabeth and she doesn’t act like an asshole, I’m pretty sure your sweet little sister is just a bitch.” 
Annabeth. You forgot that even though Luke is an annoyance most of the time and prefers to stick to himself.. he still has a soft spot for the twelve year old daughter of Athena. It was kind of endearing. 
“Annabeth is a daughter of Athena, you can’t expect her to act—“
“You didn’t act like Silena when you were fourteen. You need to stop giving her excuses and allow yourself to get mad at her.” 
“I’d rather have my siblings get mad at me and just stop perceiving me as this perfect and weak person, maybe once that happens they’ll stop trying to mess with my life,” you explained, your gaze set towards the ground. 
Luke was about to open his mouth and try to come up with a funny one-liner to make you feel better, but he didn’t get to because you were quick to look up at him with a gasp and wide eyes.
“The fuck? Are you okay?” 
“I need you.”
“Shit, angel. Most girls say that after a few dates but I’m not against the idea,” he said with an amused look in his eyes. 
“Ew, no. I mean, I need to date you—fake date you.”
“I’m uh... not for sale?” Luke answered, clearly confused by the plan you were trying to explain.
“No, Castellan. Listen to me. My siblings despise you, I’m sure they’d set my bed on fire as a way of cleansing my soul from you if they find out we’re dating.”
Luke’s eyes got bright and his smile widened (if that was even possible), “Set your bed on fire? And what would we do in your bed for them to feel disgusted by its existence?”
“You’re disgusting. Anyway, if we fake date I’ll get to stop being perceived as their perfect sister and you’ll have bragging rights for dating an Aphrodite kid,” you said, moving your hands as you spoke. 
“I’m pretty sure Drew started the rumors about me having lice and smuggling coke into camp, are you sure you want to fake date me of all people?” Luke asked carefully, trying to make you think about what was at stake. He didn’t give a shit about staining his already nonexistent reputation, but he couldn’t have you ruin yours. 
“I am so sure, Castellan,” you reassured him. 
“You know, for a good girl I’m extremely surprised you never say please.”
“Please, Castellan. Could you please be my fake boyfriend so I can finally stop being seen as my siblings' personal toy?” you said with a fake smile while bringing your hands together as an exaggerated way of begging Luke to say yes. 
“You’re so cute when you beg. But you need to prove to me you’re serious about this fake dating thing. Meet me tomorrow at the bonfire, no bullshit.” 
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
You had been on edge the entire day. Silena seemed to be past the argument, which made you feel better to an extent, but that didn’t seem to shake the uneasy feeling that settled in your gut because throughout the day you could feel someone staring at you. You could feel Luke staring at you.  
You were walking past the sword fighting arena with Katie Gardner from the Demeter Cabin the first time it happened. The feeling of a pair of eyes completely set on you. You turned your head to the right just to be met with Luke’s exhausted figure, he was sweating and panting, but that didn’t stop him from running his eyes up and down your figure and smiling at you. 
To say Katie was disgusted would be an understatement. A “Castellan is a dick, you should stay away from him,” was enough to stop you from staring at him and turning your head back to Katie. She went on to explain how Luke was a “real shitty person” and only hooked up with her as a way of getting her to grow weed in the back of the stables. 
It happened around eight times in the last two hours (not that you were counting) and it only got worse when the moon came up and everyone was making their way to the bonfire. You were walking next to Michael Yew when you felt a hand on your lower back. 
Luke’s hand on your lower back, to be exact. He left it there as he walked past you, only turning his head back to say “It’s adorable to see you together, are you two a couple?” 
You had to hold yourself back from strangling him when you heard his irritating laugh after he saw Michael’s reaction to his statement. Michael tried his best to be polite and tell him he was wrong, that there was nothing going on between the two of you. 
But his reply only seemed to fuel Luke’s actions even more because all he did was answer with a cocky “Oh, I know. Our princess here is only into... what was it? People that like to slowly kill themselves with cigarettes?” before walking away.
You were going to kill him.
Michael left your side as soon as you arrived, moving to sit with his siblings from the Apollo Cabin… leaving you with two choices: sitting with your siblings or sitting next to Luke (who for some reason always sat alone and spent the entire time listening to the music coming from the MP3 player he somehow managed to get into camp). 
So this is what Luke meant, you thought. This was the only way you could prove to him and everyone that you were serious about dating him—fake dating him—but it's not like they would ever know the truth.
You dragged your feet as you walked towards Luke, clearly having second thoughts about your plan, but there was no turning back now. You tried to ignore the confused look Drew was giving you and the gasps you could hear coming from your siblings. 
“I’m pretty sure Drew started the rumors about me having lice and smuggling coke into camp, are you sure you want to fake date me of all people?” You weren't so sure anymore but that didn’t stop you from taking a seat next to Luke Castellan, who took one of his earphones off and looked at you with a smile. 
“Happy now? I just proved how serious I am about this,” you whispered to him, trying your best to not let anyone hear you.
Luke nodded before saying, “You could’ve done better, but I’ll take it.”
“Done better? I just sat next to you in front of the entire camp, isn’t this good enough for you?” you asked, indignation evident in your tone. 
“Promise not to beat me up?” Luke said before pulling your arm and manhandling your body so you were on top of him, sitting on his lap. He placed his hands on your hips and looked up at you with stars in his eyes.
“Wow, Castellan. How scandalous, I’m sitting on your lap,” you deadpanned. 
He chuckled, bringing you closer to him and pressing his lips against yours. Luke’s hands felt like fire against your skin, all you could feel was a heat taking all over your body as he continued to kiss you, only pulling away to catch his breath before bringing you in for another one, this time he kissed you deeper and faster. 
Luke dragged you closer to him by pressing your hips against his and all you could do was melt into him and the feeling of his lips against yours. In the distance, you could hear gasps and people gagging, and you were pretty sure the campers from the Ares Cabin were cheering and whistling, but all your thoughts were on Luke Castellan and how good of a kisser he is.
You pulled away first this time, trying to steady your breathing as you looked into his eyes. He licked his lips before whispering “We should go.”
Your eyes widened as soon as he said that, the implications of what the sentence meant making you feel nervous. Luke was quick to reassure you, “If we leave, your siblings will be even more outraged. We don’t have to do anything, but they’ll think we are doing…some stuff. Just come to the woods with me for a little while.” 
You nodded and grabbed his hand as he guided you through the woods. You could hear Silena calling out your name and warning you about the consequences of your actions, but her voice was drowned out by the loud cheers coming from Clarisse.
Once the two of you were far enough from the rest of the campers, Luke let go of your hand and sat down by the lake, nodding his head as a way of asking you to join him.
You sat in silence for a few minutes until Luke spoke first. “How long do you think we should keep this thing up?”
“Valentina and Drew will want us to be over by tonight,” you said with a smile, a laugh escaping your lips. You didn’t notice how Luke’s eyes got brighter when he heard your laugh or how the melody that came out of your lips went straight through his heart and made him feel more alive.
“But I think a week should be enough. We can say we’ve been secretly dating for like... five months? That way it won’t be weird if we break up in a week,” you explained while your fingers played with your camp necklace. 
Luke nodded before going silent again, staring at the lake with a look you couldn’t quite comprehend. Your gaze was set on him, your eyes traveling from his toned arms, all the way to the scar that sat right below his right eye. 
“I know it’s awful, I can feel you staring at it,” he murmured. You could physically feel your heart sinking when he said it. You cleared your throat, “No, I… I think it’s beautiful. I think you’re—” Luke turned his head to face you, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “I think you’re really brave, Luke.” 
“Beautiful?” Luke asked, confusion written all over his face. “You should hear what your siblings say about it, then. I’m sure your opinion would change in a second.” 
“Being an Aphrodite kid means you see beauty everywhere,” you explained, “And I think your scar must be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Luke stared at you with an unreadable expression, making your heart almost beat out of your chest. 
“Are you flirting with me, angel?”
“Of course, you’d ruin the moment. Screw you, man.” You rolled your eyes. 
Luke threw his head back in a fit of laughter, it made you want to strangle him… again. “Did you just say screw you? Gods, princess, saying fuck won’t kill you.” 
“I don’t like to curse, thank you for pointing it out, Castellan,” you said, playfully shoving him, making him fake a gasp. 
“You went from trying to seduce me to trying to kill me, you’re so interesting, angel,” he said before letting out a sigh. “It, uh… It was really hard at first, getting used to the scar.”
“Having people call it all sorts of names, and looking at me with nothing but pity in their eyes was not easy to get used to. But after some time you just… stop caring. I mean, I’m not that big of an asshole to hold a grudge over a fucking scar, it even looks sick. But yeah, when it gets hard again all I can do is snort a line and move on.
“The coke smuggling was real?” you gasped, only focusing on the last sentence he said. Luke tried to keep a straight face but his facade fell the moment he noticed your wide eyes. Luke Castellan has the type of laugh that makes everything get fuzzy and makes you feel lightheaded, and all you wanted to do was to come up with bad jokes just for the sole reason of hearing him do it again. 
“Fuck, you really believe anything, huh?”
“Shut up, Castellan. I’ll literally stab you and let you slowly bleed to death,” you threatened, standing up from your place next to him. Luke followed you as you walked back to the cabins.
“You do know I’m the best swordsman in the last 300 years, right? Do you even know how to wield a sword?” he asked, matching your pace and walking next to you. 
“Low blow, just because I don’t like to indulge in violence it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to wield a sword,” you retorted. 
Luke snorted a laugh, “You don’t know, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Will you shut up now?”
“I only will if you accept to let me teach you how to fight tomorrow,” Luke said with a tilt to his head. He didn’t even give you a chance to answer because he walked away from you while saying a loud “Meet me tomorrow morning in the sword fighting arena.” 
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
You were sure you were seconds away from passing out. It's been around two hours of sparring with Luke and your arms and legs were about to give out. The sun was starting to come out, which meant this torture was nearly over. At least that’s what Luke promised. “We’ll stop as soon as the other campers wake up, that way you won’t have to be embarrassed if they see your… skills.”
The two of you circled each other, your swords were raised and Luke’s blade was pointing straight at you. Luke took a second to study your stance before lunging forward, his sword meeting yours as you quickly blocked his attack. “Not too bad, huh?” Luke teased before trying to get another hit, his moves becoming more calculated the longer you kept blocking his advances. Proving he wasn’t called the best swordsman at camp for nothing. 
With a disarming maneuver you weren’t aware of, Luke was quick to throw your sword to the ground and have you stumbling back, not being able to regain your footing. Luke gave you a smirk when your body hit the ground with a small thud, “That was easy,” he said, “We should do this more often.” 
“Nope, this is a one-time thing, Castellan,” Luke rolled his eyes before bringing the blade of his sword closer to you, reaching for your chin with a glint in his eyes. The blade met your chin and Luke lifted it, making you meet his gaze as he slowly made you stand up by raising his sword even higher. 
The two of you stood still, staring intently into each other’s eyes until you heard it—the sound of the Ares Cabin making their way to the arena. Luke let out a surprised shit, dropped his sword to the ground, and walked closer to you, cupping your jaw with his right hand and kissing you. 
Your lips met in a hurried collision, causing the same fire from yesterday to set in your stomach. Your hands moved to Luke’s hair, softly pulling it as the kiss got heated. You knew this was fake, you knew this kiss meant nothing to him… but you didn’t want him to stop. “Holy fuck, are you two always sucking each other’s faces?” Clarisse’s voice cut through the moment, causing you to pull away from Luke, unable to meet his gaze. 
“Yeah, that’s what being in a relationship entails. I don’t think you’d know much about it, La Rue,” Luke breathes out.
“Don’t you have weed to sell or a cheap bottle of vodka to down, Castellan?” 
“Aw, you know me so well,” Luke answered before picking up both of your swords and grabbing your hand, walking away from the arena. 
The following days were (and you hated to admit it) filled with the most fun you’ve ever had. Luke would come up with some insane idea for a fake date and it would always end with one of you lying about seeing a camper or hearing Silena’s voice as an excuse to make out with each other. 
There was this one time the two of you were having a picnic by the strawberry fields and the day ended with the two of you hiding in the empty forge while making out, running your hands over each other’s bodies, and doing the normal stuff fake couples always do… it all happened because Luke swore he heard Valentina’s voice near the fields. (You were sure Valentina had been on the stables that entire day because she had cleaning duty, but why wouldn’t you play along with something you also wanted to do?)  
It was Sunday–the last day of your fake relationship–when Silena finally found the guts to talk to you about Luke. You even felt slightly bad for the girl because she was so nervous when she sat next to you in the dining pavilion. 
“I..um... I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” she began, “Well, there are lots of things for me to apologize for, but I think it’s pretty obvious what the main problem is.” 
“The way I’ve been treating you is not okay and I’m really ashamed of it. You shouldn’t have to feel pressured to be the person we want you to be, I used to see you as someone who couldn’t do things on her own and always needed someone to push her and help her handle everything… and now I see I was wrong,” Silena explained, running a hand through her hair. 
“It’s fine, Silena. I don’t mind.”
“Well, I do. You’re strong and more than capable of doing things on your own, and you don’t need me to try and help you or fix you.” She took a deep breath. “I didn't know you were dating Luke, and to be honest I didn’t even know he was your type. He is so… weird and I never would’ve guessed you were dating. I mean, Drew told me he does cocaine and—”
“He doesn’t,” you interrupted.
Silena raised a brow before continuing, “Anyway, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad for just... existing. And you always look so happy after hanging out with Luke, I truly hope the two of you stay together for a long time.” 
You didn’t even know how to explain the situation so you just blurted out “I broke up with him.” 
Silena looked shocked for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath, “Oh, thank the gods. Just because we trust you it doesn’t mean we trust him,” she spat the him with so much disgust it made you feel sick. “You deserve so much better.” 
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
This is probably the first time you have ever felt ill at the thought of seeing Luke. Sure, you used to be annoyed by his presence before the whole fake dating situation even started, but at least you were a strange type of friends back then. Not really close but also not complete strangers. There were times you’d catch him hiding his secret stash of weed behind the stables and didn’t tell anyone, and he’d always pay you back by lying to Chiron about you practicing your sword skills with him. (You had only used a sword once and it was years ago when you were still a new camper, you had no idea why Chiron would ever believe him.)
Luke was sitting in his usual spot by the lake, a cigarette in his hand. It had become a tradition for the two of you to always meet up by the lake before curfew to talk about your day and practice your kissing so it wouldn’t look fake. 
“Hey,” you said, taking a seat next to him. Luke threw his cigarette to the ground, stepped on it, and almost instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing your temple. “Blink-182?” you asked, nodding at the MP3 he had on his lap. 
“The Smashing Pumpkins,” Luke answered, taking his earphones off. “Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness is one of the best albums ever made.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’ll take your word for it,” you said. Luke smiled and poked your side. 
“So, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” you began, but Luke held up his hand as a way to get you to stop.
“Can I say something first?” he asked, looking shy for probably the first time since the day you met him. 
You nodded and let him take the lead of the conversation. “Alright, so… I’m kind of shit with words so I’m sorry if this doesn’t make any sense but this past week has probably been the best week of my life. And I’m not even fucking around, I don’t have many friends–apart from Annabeth, and getting to be with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Being your friend is the greatest gift the gods have ever given me, and sometimes I feel like I don’t even deserve it. I’m a mess of a person, and you’re well… you’re you,” Luke stared deeply into your eyes, “And I just wanted to let you know that—”
Luke didn’t get to finish his sentence because this time it was you who cut him off with a kiss. You could taste the cigarette on his lips as he brought you closer to him, running a hand down your back and deepening the kiss before pulling away and moving to kiss your neck. 
Luke began to trail kisses down your throat and only stopped to whisper a low “Look at you, what would Aphrodite say? I’m sure she’d be proud.”
Aphrodite.
You pushed him away the moment you remembered your mother. “Silena apologized. We can stop pretending now.”
Luke was silent and just stared at you, his fingers moving to fidget with the wire of his earphones. “Oh, right,” he cleared his throat. “It’s Sunday, I forgot.”
You knew he didn’t.
“Yup, so we can go back to normal now,” you said, looking away from his eyes because you knew it would only take one look into them for you to kiss him again.
“Good,” Luke stood up, not daring to even shoot you a glance, and walked away. Leaving you alone by the lake with the lingering smell of his cheap stolen cologne mixed with the cigarette he was smoking. 
It didn’t help that you were welcomed into your cabin with hugs and your siblings congratulating you for breaking up with the son of Hermes. Sure, you weren’t the perfect sister anymore because you dated Luke Friendless-Freak Castellan, but knowing they liked you just because you were with him and then broke his heart made you want to set the cabin on fire. 
The main rule of the Aphrodite Cabin was something your siblings were extremely proud of, but the thought of its existence made you want to storm into Mount Olympus by yourself and yell at your mother for putting all these useless ideas into their heads. 
For a child of Aphrodite to prove themselves, they must make someone fall in love with them and then break that someone's heart. 
Is it possible for the rule to backfire? For the child of Aphrodite to accidentally fall in love with someone and then break their own heart because of it? You didn’t even know if that was an option, but you were sure that’s exactly what you were going through right now. 
It was hard for you to go to sleep that night because your mind kept replaying the past week on a loop. Your conversation with Luke by your cabin. The night of the bonfire. The conversation by the lake about his scar. Sparring with him. Going on a million fake dates. The night on the forge. Your last conversation with him. 
“Look at you, what would Aphrodite say? I’m sure she’d be proud.” 
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
You could feel Luke staring at you. Again. 
You were helping Annabeth strategize for Capture The Flag, because she had the brilliant idea to have the Athena cabin team up with Hermes and Aphrodite. You didn’t know much about fighting and spent most of the time sitting with your sisters during the game, but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy helping them come up with new plans. 
Once the three of you were done, Annabeth excused herself with an awkward “I think Malcolm wanted me to help him go through some maps. You two have fun… chatting!” and left as fast as she could, leaving you alone with Luke. 
You watched her leave the amphitheater and turned around to face Luke, “I can see why you like her. She’s so much like you.”
“Yeah, she’s like my little sister.”
The silence was so uncomfortable you almost broke down crying. You nodded and turned around, not being strong enough to face him, and walked away. You could hear him behind you, following you.
“Can we talk?” he pleaded.
You were about to open your mouth when Drew’s voice made you turn your head. “Gods, Castellan. It’s so embarrassing to still be hung up on your ex.” 
Luke sighed, “Hello to you too, Tanaka.” 
“Can you leave her alone? She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Drew said through a fake smile. 
“Oh, really? Did she tell you that?” Luke answered, tilting his head as he spoke and making eye contact with you. Wordlessly begging you to please talk to him. 
You stayed silent and looked away from him. Luke let out an incredulous laugh before nodding his head. “Good to know you’re back to being their little pet.” 
Drew rolled her eyes and walked away, shoving Luke as she walked past him. “So? You’re just not going to say anything?” Luke said. 
“What do you want me to say, Castellan?” 
“Tell me that last week didn’t mean anything to you,” Luke answered, his voice trembling. 
“Why do you care? I thought I was nothing but Drew’s little pet,” you replied, trying your best to not look weak in front of him.
Luke ran a hand through his hair and stepped closer to you, “I’m sure you’re thinking the exact same thing about yourself.” 
You hated that he was right.
The truth made your blood boil. “I don’t want any of your shit,” Luke let out a genuine laugh this time, a mocking look in his eyes. “Oh, so now she can curse?” 
You hated him for seeing the real you. You hated him for knowing the truth. You hated yourself for loving him.
“Fuck you, Castellan,” Luke hummed before stepping even closer to you and placing a hand on your waist, leaning to whisper in your ear. “I’m sure you’d love to do that again, right?” Luke’s smell was taking all over your senses and making your knees go weak. He continued, “Because even if we do it in the darkness of the Forge… it is still two friends fake dating because your mother might be watching.” 
You found the strength to press your hands against his chest and push him away, “Don’t talk to me ever again.” 
You spent the rest of the day with your siblings and friends, too afraid to leave their side because you didn’t trust yourself. Because you knew that if you were left alone for a second—you’d run straight to him. 
You sat next to Silena in the dining pavilion. Helped Katie and the Dyonisus cabin grow more strawberries by keeping them company. Walked with Michael to the bonfire, and stayed with Drew throughout the entire singalong. 
As always, Luke was sitting by himself, his MP3 player in his hand and his eyes were set on you. 
You walked back to your cabin when the singalong was over and helped your siblings get ready for bed. You were about to go to sleep when Valentina whispered your name, saying she had something for you.
“We found it last night under your bed, Drew wanted to give it to the harpies but I managed to take it away from her,” a frown made its way to your face.”What do you mean?”
“We found this,” She pulled out a badly wrapped gift from under her pillows. You were confused until she told you to open it.
 It was a bright pink MP3 player. 
“Oh,” you whispered, your hands shook as you stared at it. “I’ve got to—”
“It’s okay,” Valentina whispered. “He’s probably by the lake.”
You gave your half-sister a hug before running out of your cabin, and making your way to the lake. You could see Luke’s silhouette in the distance, and the sight only made you run faster.
You took a moment to catch your breath before saying, “The Smashing Pumpkins?”
Luke turned around at the sound of your voice. “Blink-182” he answered with a small smirk.
“Uh, of course,” you said as you walked closer to him. “Alright, listen. You were right.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you continued with a smile. “So, it turns out I may or may not be in love with this certain guy, and he may or may not be my type or whatever it is my siblings say.”
Luke took a step closer to you. “There’s a chance this guy thinks I’m going through a phase and only fake dated him to piss off my siblings and mother but the truth is… I don’t even care about them whenever I’m with him.” 
His hand moved to caress your cheek, “That’s cute and all but how does this guy know you truly mean that?” 
“I’m not going to make out with him at the bonfire, so I guess all he needs to do is believe me,” you whispered, your eyes moving from Luke’s eyes to his lips.
Luke smiled before answering, “Believe you? That’s alright with me,” and pressing his lips to yours.
Luke was right. Aphrodite would be proud. 
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robo-writing · 1 month ago
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Sometimes I sit here and think about baby Logan, you know the one from the first X-men movie? With the grey hoodie? Yeah that baby Logan. Anyway, I think about Deadpool pulling worst Logan into more time shinaganen shit and of course worst Logan’s gf (who was his gf in his last universe but of course died during the attack, but this one either never met her universe Logan or something) and somehow, she runs into baby first Xmen Logan wearing the grey hoodie and running around clueless as where the hell he is, until he bumps into a surprisingly pretty woman who for some reason is cooing over him and calling him a precious baby,(and did she just pspspspsps at me?? I’m not a fucking cat? No the hair doesn’t look like cat ears?! The hell wrong with you lady?!) and he only gets her name before a older version of him in a gaudy yellow suit shows up to grab her and take her away, grumbling about having to keep track of two overgrown toddlers while a mouthy guy in a red leather suit says some stupid shit before following after the older version of Logan into some strange portal. Of course soon after baby Logan gets found by Xavier and when he ask who the woman named y/n is, Xavier just looks at him confused. (Of course perhaps that Logan will meet y/n a few years down the road, or he never sees her again, a shame really, she was quiet a looker, despite being so weird, he can stand being called a baby or a kitten by her again)
Waking up in a strange building is one thing, but walking out of an elevator to find a woman starting him down is another—especially when she keeps calling him kitty.
“Oh my god, look at you! You’re so young!” Her voice is high-pitched, oohing and ahhing at him like some kind of attraction. Maybe it’d piss him off more if you didn’t look so cute doing it.
“Cute lil kitten aren’t you? And your ears are so fluffy!”
You reach up to touch his hair, and he would grab your hand if someone else didn’t already beat him to it.
A gaudy yellow suit is the first thing he sees, then—what the fuck?
“Doll, I told you not to go wandering off,” the stranger says, and it’s now that his day goes from bizarre to fucking impossible because he’s staring at himself. Older, sure, but his voice, his body, damn near everything—
“Oh peanut! It’s time to go!” Says another man in a bright red jumpsuit, and he can hear the other man groan in response.
“Alright, you heard him.”
“Aw,” you complain, following after the two of them. “Wanted to pet him before we go.”
You wave to the younger man behind you, giving him a wink along with your name. “Come find me when you’re all grown up kitty! I’ll be waiting for you!”
“Wait—!”
His words fall on deaf ears, the trio disappearing soon after in a yellow doorway. His jaw drops, unsure of what just happened was real or if he’s just high as a fucking kite.
After a couple of introductions and many confused glances, he finds out that the three people he met are not students or professors, and that no one in the room had ever seen them before. Years pass along with many, many, life changing events and his odd welcome party becomes a memory of the past.
That is, until he finds out Charles has hired a new school counselor, and she looks just a bit too similar to be a coincidence. Once he gets over the shock he extends his hand, to which you accept.
“Names Logan.” He says, and you give yours in return, the same name you gave him all those years ago. It’s now that you point to his hair with a small smile.
“Do you style your hair or does it always come out like that?”
His eyebrow raises, unsure of the line of questioning. “Not really? Why do you ask?”
You open your mouth, then close it with a shake of your head. “Forget it, you’re gonna think it’s silly.”
“Oh yeah?” Logan replies. “Try me.”
You bite your lip, debating on whether you should speak, eventually choosing to bite the bullet. “Well, it’s just that your hair kinda looks like ears. Y’know, like a cat.”
His chuckle is instant, evolving into a laugh. You’re getting more and more nervous, afraid you said something wrong until his hand gives you a good pat on the shoulder.
“Y’know, you’re the second girl to tell me that,” he muses, leaning in close. “But come to think of it, ‘kitty’ has a better ring to it, don’tcha think?”
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kamaluhkhan · 6 months ago
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hi there! i have a request for loser!luke where reader shows him where to put his hands on her and he's really eager to learn x
i completely understand if you don't write this since i'm sure there are many more requests, also could i be anon please!!
pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader (afab) a/n: sorry this took forever but please enjoy !!  also - this request came in before i started participating in fics for gaza; please click here to find out more about this initiative and how to participate/contribute word count: 795
MDNI !
“ugh, i told drew to clean up her shit,” you scoff, tossing away your half-sister’s used makeup wipes. “looks like the athena cabin is winning this time. 8.5/10?” 
you look at luke for his input, but it’s no use. all luke has been good for this afternoon is whining, instead of helping you with this round of cabin inspections. 
“katie loves roses.” luke stops to smell the bouquet that one of your siblings had next to their bunk. 
“everyone loves roses,” you reply as you scribble down a score on your clipboard. 
“but roses were her favorite.” luke pouts. he drops down onto your perfectly made bed, rumpling the sheets underneath him. “i hear what everyone is saying around camp, you know: about how katie gardener realized she was too good for me so she finally dumped me.” 
you bite back a wince. you might have contributed to the gossip surrounding their breakup.
you sigh and take a seat next to luke, deciding it’s time to try and make him feel better. 
“okay, castellan — enough moping. tell me what happened.”
“no.”
“luke. stop being a baby, i’m here to help.”
“it’s embarrassing.”
“well, you’re kinda embarrassing yourself already, with the whole love sick puppy act,” you point out, poking his thigh. luke swats your hand away. 
“it’s really embarrassing, though.”
“oh, please; i’ve heard it all. you’d be surprised how many people confess to the head counselor of the aphrodite cabin; i mean, i am my mother’s favorite, but still —”
“katie broke up with me because i couldn’t get her off,” luke suddenly blurts. 
there’s a moment of silence, and then you can’t help it — you burst out laughing. 
“hey!” luke exclaims. “you said you were here to help. i knew it was embarrassing!” 
“sorry, sorry.” you swallow your smile. “it’s just — did you not realize that she was faking it?” 
“obviously not!” luke groans, his cheeks a vibrant red. “she was very convincing.”
you almost admire katie — knowing that she’s worth more than a guy she has to fake orgasms for — but you remind yourself that you’re here to comfort luke. 
luke falls back onto the bed, hands covering his face. 
“i wouldn’t be too hard on yourself — it’s actually really common for women to fake orgasms. mostly because men have no idea what to do.”
“because sex is impossible,” luke groans.
“it’s not, actually. think of it this way — how’d you get to be the best swordsman at camp?”
“...through training and lots of practice.”
you nod once. “exactly. sex is the same: you need to learn what your partner wants and what makes them feel good.”
“then i’ll be the best?”
you roll your eyes. “then you’ll be the best, and katie gardner will be sorry that she ever dumped you.” 
luke doesn’t say anything, so you figure it’s time to get back to your senior counselor duties. you collect your clipboard and start getting up.
“wait.” luke grabs your wrist before you can move any further. “would you be open to….training with me?”
you hesitate, but you can’t deny that you’re intrigued by the offer. “look, castellan, you’re fragile now from the breakup and clearly not in your right mind —”
“i want to learn,” luke insists. 
and that’s how you find yourself, legs spread wide with your back pressed against luke’s bare chest. you suck on two of his fingers as you guide his other hand to your breast, prompting him to pinch your nipple. 
his chin is hooked over your shoulder, watching intently as you now bring his spit-soaked fingers down and plunge them into your pussy.
“this is a good start,” you praise. your own fingers scrape through his curls as you encourage him to go faster, harder. “now, if you really wanna make someone cum....”
you move his thumb to your clit.
“like this?” luke asks, his voice low. you throw your head back in pleasure when he presses down and starts rubbing in tight circles. luke becomes more confident after that. he curls his fingers inside you, and brushes the spot that always makes you unravel. 
per your instructions, luke keeps plunging his fingers into you as you ride out your high. once you come down, he pulls out and sucks off your juices off.
“tastes real,” he hums; you nudge his side. “what! am i wrong?”
you shake your head, and luke responds with a triumphant grin. 
“i’d say that was a good first lesson.”
“you’re already my star student,” you praise. you turn around so you can straddle him properly, kiss him and lick up any remnants of you on his lips. he moans underneath you when you rub yourself on his hardened length. “but, you still have a lot to learn.”
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cranberryjuice-posts · 9 months ago
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- possession -
Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x fem! Hekate! Reader
Synopsis- you sick of people underestimating your relationship with clarisse
Tw - slightly suggestive, not smutty just heavy make-out
An - im currently working on another clarisse request but I got this idea and had to write it
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You were tired. You heard the rumors from people.
‘Why is Clarisse dating a Hekate Girl? She’s probably only staying with her to not get cursed’
‘A Hekate kid— really I hear that their creepy poor clarisse must be scared’
‘ I hear that the only reason clairsse is with her is to have better chance at winning at capture the flag’
All the rumors were starting to piss you off. You weren’t holding clarisse hostage, she definitely wasn’t scared and you weren’t threatening to curse your girlfriend.
“Common? really babe your seriously upset over those stupid rumors” clarisse laughed trying to dismiss your insecurity. Putting your shirt on you glared back at her, upset mainly because she ruined the intimate moment ignoring her frown at the lost of your in your bra.
“Yes I’m upset over them, you do realize it’s not as easy here for me then for you. You have the reputation of being an ares kid, and also to add your a cabin counselor.”
“And you have the reputation of being my girlfriend and a strong ass witch so I really don’t see what the problem is”
Going to standup clarisse grabbed your waist pulling you back down onto the bed. Yelping from surprise, you turned and hit her softly on the shoulder. She leaned up kissing your neck softly. “You know I didn’t mean it like that” she muttered against your skin.
You rolled your eyes while leaning back into her shifting some to better face the stronger girl. “You have a shitty way with words” running a hand up her body, taking in her Nike sports bra and camp pj pants.
“I still try though” she smiled kissing you once again.
——
You stood in front of a mirror in the Aphrodite cabin, looking at your outfit you shifted the shirt off your shoulder to better suit your outfit.
Silena walked up behind you grabbing your waist making you jump. Laughing at your reaction she hugged you, looking over your shoulder. “You Look Perfect Why Are You Pressuring over your outfit”
Your silence spoke volumes. “Clarisse told me about the rumors, everyone who says them are just jealous” with that silena kissed your cheek “Common hot shot, bonfire is waiting for us”she chuckled before leaving the cabin.
Letting out a deep sigh you followed the raven haired girls lead. Walking towards the campfire you stopped, looking around for your girlfriend.
Catching you eye you saw Kira one of the other Aphrodite girls being just a little to touchy with clarisse.
“I’m serious how pretty do you think I am~” Kira flirted, placing her hand on clarisses shoulder while letting her other graze her body.
“Again I have a girlfriend” she grumbled taking Kira’s hands off of her, throwing them aside she stepped back some to create space. “Forget about her, we both know you’d much prefer me— I mean not to gloat but a daughter of Aphrodite versus a Daughter of Hekate.. it’s hardly a competition”
“First of all—“. Clarisses insult briefly interupted by you Pushing her back, pulling her into a kiss. Tangling a hand into her curly hair you forced the kiss deeper.
Parting only for a second you kissed her once more. Clarisse who had a shit eating grin placed her hands on your hips while pressing your bottom half against hers.
Pulling back you looked over to the now angry Kira. “Sorry didn’t see you there” You looked her up and down with a face of disgust, not letting her respond you grabbed clarisses Hand dragging her towards the ares cabin.
Once Inside you pressed clarisse against the door quickly pulling her into a kiss. Hands gliding under her shirt you gently rubbed her toned stomach.
Her body flinched in response, clarisses hands going straight for your thighs. Bringing one of your legs to her side. She tilted her head while sliding her tongue into your mouth.
Pulling away abruptly slightly pushing clarisse back into the door you scoffed. “Flirting? With an Aphrodite kid low blow”
“Don’t be like that I wasn’t flirting with her” she rolled her eyes walking up behind you.
You however were going to be like that. “Yeah Well how it looked to me You Sure as hell was”
walking towards the mirror in the cabin you leaned forward, fixing your makeup you felt clarisse place her Hands on your hips while leaning in to kiss your neck. She muttered something into your skin making you turn around to lightly hit her arm.
Clarisse grabbed your hand with a smile, turning you around and kissing you while pressing your body against hers. “Have I ever told you.. how hot it is when you get jealous”
“Your a bitch”
“Maybe” she sarcastically responded kissing you once again. Giving into her you chuckled giving her a slight groan. “You are so full of yourself” you panted against her lips.
“I’ve been told worse” she chuckled.
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