#penny dirty dancing

[kaytheday]

The Outsiders and Dirty Dancing Crossover Head canon

These are in story form. Also, I'm not typically into crossovers but this is something I could get behind:

Ponyboy goes to the University of Tulsa on a partial scholarship running track. One month before summer Darry loses his job at the roofing company.

He begins looking for a job to cover home expenses, bills, and Ponyboy’s upcoming tuition payment. 

In his frustration, one night, he goes to the gym, meeting an old buddy Neal who tells him about the job he has. 

The job is a dance instructor for the summer at Kellerman's resort. Neal is also friends with Penny Johnson, who was a childhood friend of Darry’s from the same neighborhood. 

Later that night, Neal tells Darry he called Kellermans, he got Darry an audition as Penny's new partner. Only able to think of the financial stressors, Darry accepts immediately. 

Penny calls Darry and they set up a couple times before the audition where they can practice their routine. 

They fall into step with each other instantly. They are childhood friends and have know almost everything about each other. They have a different kind of ease with each other. 

Because of his previous gymnastics training, Darry learns the moves quickly and as such the iconic ‘lift’ is mastered within the week. 

The three leave for Virginia. Smashing through the audition, Darry earns a place on Kellerman's dance\instruction team. 

They tell him he needs a stage name. He calls home and asks Ponyboy, because he is a writer. 

“Johnny.” Ponyboy says in a quiet voice. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, easy and common. “In his honor.” 

So Darry does it. Taking on the stage name ‘Johnny Castle.’ 

The new job works out and we later see the movie Dirty Dancing play out through Baby Housman’s eyes. 

[kaiminluu]

byler x dirty dancing GRAHAHAA

[elephantlovemedleys]

cause i've had the time of my life and I've searched though every open door til i found the truth and i owe it all to you bridgerton season two // dirty dancing (1987)

[two-entire-bits]

hi everyone I'm gonna talk about something no one else has ever thought about before for no other reason than why would they: mar-bit dirty dancing au.

I am firm believe in the headcanon that Two-Bit can dance really well for literally no reason. in multiple styles. No one in the gang knows except Johnny not because Two-Bit doesn't want them to know, it's just never come up and he's never had a reason to tell them. But he's REALLY good. So imagine Marcia and her family pull up to the Catskills for the summer and she sees this really pretty red-haired boy waltzing through the dance floor like he was born for it and she falls hard and fast. Thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

[nothinggold13]

"I can hold my breath; I've been doing it since he left..." I Can Do It With A Broken Heart // Taylor Swift

[misplacedprincess262]

Watching Dirty Dancing again and I just wanna say I believe that Baby is a bisexual and while a bitch (me) loves Patrick Swayze, I kind of wish she and Penny would kiss. They'd be good girlfriends.

[tojipie]

welcome home <3

he’s unboxed ! who cheered. by far one of my most requested fics of all time. started this series 6 months ago and it remains one of my favs :,) this is by no means the end though ! i haven’t been writing any of the additions to this series in “order” and i am still 100% open to writing about his life inside/after prison lol. thank u to all the lovely ppl that have been showing love to these since april mwah mwah mwah mwah

as always, prison bf toji series linked here <3

content: (incarceration, fem reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, p in v smut, pining, road head, swallowing, creampie, dirty talk, multiple rounds)

“just step through here and—yep,” the guard waves his security want across your outstretched arms, clearing you to take your belongings from the conveyor belt.

you’d done this dance a hundred times over the past seven years, driving up to the district penitentiary twice a week to see your boyfriend—now fiancé.

toji told you he didn’t have it in him to wait, popping the question during a conjugal visit a month ago. 

the man had known he’d wanted to marry you even before he got locked up. the feeling was mutual, but unspoken, always hanging in the air between the two of you.

you on the other hand had known you wanted to marry toji the moment he whispered his first “i love you,” said to you through the crackly speaker of a burner phone on a night when neither of you knew if he’d be coming home or not.

you make a beeline for the release wing, breaking into a subtle jog without drawing too much attention to yourself. the bouquet of green flowers you’d bought at the grocery store jostles in your purse, leaving a breadcrumb trail of stray petals.

there, around a bend and down the corridor stands the man of your dreams, flanked by officers and personnel at the front desk. 

metal cuffs clack together as the man reaches to accept a clipboard from the release agent, skillfully uncapping the pen with his teeth to fill out the means for his freedom.

he looks up a split second before you speak, dropping the clipboard with an audible clatter. toji tears down the corridor with a look that speaks of relief beyond words.

“toji!” you yell, sprinting to the inmate with outstretched arms. you nearly trip over your own feet with how quick you barrel towards him.

warm bodies clash together at last, squeezing, cradling, and caressing every inch of each other at last. his law enforcement entourage watches from afar, some smiling, others annoyed.

you’re lifted clean off the ground as strong, tattooed arms slip over your head and around your body. thick fingers work their way into your hair, cradling your head to his shoulder. 

actions speak louder than words, you know that much from how quickly he buckles, dropping to his knees with your body still wrapped around his. 

toji smells different every time you come to visit. there were days when the tang of blood stuck to his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed, a telling sign of his short temper. 

other days he’d smell like the earth, soil from the rec field permeating his already brown garments after his morning run.

once in a while, you’d catch hints of industrial paint and car exhaust, a smell built up from hours of making license plates for pocket change from the state. “pennies,” he’d tell you, “that’s all we fucking get in here.”

today, toji smells like himself. like the man you fell in love with 7 years ago in the passenger seat of a BMW, gazing into green eyes while gentle hands brushed the hair from your face. 

you almost think he’s laughing until warm tears trickle through the porous fabric of your shirt. 

strong shoulders quiver as quiet sobs rack his body, you rub his back in small circles, unable to pull away with how tight he’s holding you against his chest.

“i love you,” the inmate whimpers, wiping hot tears with his sleeve. he pulls back to press your lips together, mumbling nonsense in between kisses.

“pretty girl—m’ sorry— missed you,” his hands shake as they curl into the fabric at your waist.

you’d seen him cry exactly twice in his life. the first being the night he’d opened up to you in full for the first time, quietly relaying stories of neglect and abuse from his childhood while you kissed tears from his cheeks.

the second was well, the day he went away.

to see him break down like this so openly was devastating. he hated being emotional, told you it was humiliating. you’re sure he felt more than vulnerable, the leader of the city’s biggest drug ring, crumpled on the floor of a prison hallway 

“it’s okay baby,” you tell him, still rubbing circles into his skin.

to touch him like this, at last, was unlike anything the two of you had been allowed to experience for the past 7 years. this wasn’t your two legally allowed hugs at the beginning and end of your visits, or a quick fuck in a storage closet.

this was love. to hold and be held in front of law enforcement personnel without threat of being reprimanded. this was the first time you had been allowed to feel him under the tips of your fingers with an audience, publicly declaring your claim on each other without fear. 

you never blamed toji for what had happened, as angry as you were that first year. he blamed himself enough for the both of you really. 

you’d come to learn over the years that it had already been too late for him to get out of his line of work way before you’d found each other, a cycle he couldn’t break.

prison was always a possibility, inevitable even. that’s just how it was.

you slowly gather your purse off the ground, cellophane-wrapped flowers coming into view. 

“for me?” he laughs, slightly embarrassed. dark green carnations, just like his eyes. 

“who else?” you tease, watching the distress melt from his face.

you share a look briefly, yours saying you’re safe with me. his saying i know.

the soft clicks of black work boots pull you from your thoughts, a female officer in tow.

“you guys ready to get started?” she asks softly, shooting you a sympathetic look.

toji stands with a chuckle, not letting you respond. silver cuffs dig into the meat of your thighs as you’re carried back to the group.

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

half an hour of paperwork for his freedom. that’s what you give the prison in exchange for his belongings and dignity. 

the waiting room is quiet, sterile air filtering through dated vents. calloused fingers rub over your ankle, legs propped up in his lap.

“feels like a hospital in here,” he mumbles, trying to cut through the silence.

the cuffs are gone, thank god. though you’re more than unhappy with the marks they left on his wrists. toji doesn’t seem to mind, used to almost a decade of this treatment.

the release desk worker slides you two a yellow bag under the glass divider once you finish your task, pointing you in the direction of the bathrooms in case toji wanted to change. 

the inmate—no, ex-inmate you remind yourself— hands you the bag with a disinterested look. 

he doesn’t want to remember, you realize. too scared to wear the suit he had on the day the world took you from him. you quickly trash the old clothes and hold out your shoulder bag to him, fresh clothes neatly folded inside. 

“always prepared huh?” toji smiles, grateful at the gesture. “haven’t changed a bit.”

you wait a couple of minutes outside the single-stall bathroom, physically picking your jaw up off the floor when he emerges.

to say that his old shirt fit would be... egregiously wrong. blasphemous even.

toji’s shirt doesn’t just “not fit”, it’s bursting at the seams as it struggles to accommodate his hulking form, stretching over plains of corded muscle like a rubber band pulled too tight. 

seeing him so often had likely gotten your brain used to the change, preventing you from realizing how fucking big your fiancé had gotten. truly.

the black garment is so tight against his body that it’s practically a second skin. you make note of the way it molds into the dips and curves of his abs, mentally reminding yourself to get him to wear it for you later. 

you suppose the change makes sense. if toji wasn’t with you on a day visit he was always in his cell, sticking to a strict workout regimen to take his mind off things. still, you rack your brain trying to pinpoint how and when such a massive transformation slipped your mind.

a tattooed hand snaps you out of your trance, cradling your cheek.

“you focused?” your fiancé teases, rubbing circles into your jaw with his thumb.

“i think that thing’s gonna explode if you move,” you swat his hand away. 

“would you rather i take it off to be safe?” he asks, jutting a thumb behind him at the waiting room desk.

the workers make no attempt to hide their oggling, faces pressed against the glass barrier separating your party from theirs.

“no— god keep it on,” you mutter, shooting them a nasty look.

“you and your girlfriend ready to go fushiguro?” an officer says, holding the door open for the both of you. toji squats down momentarily to get a grip on your thighs, folding you over his shoulder to carry you fireman style.

“wife,” he corrects, shouldering past the guard and trudging down the corridor with calculated steps.

the coos that ring out from the help desk are humiliating.

waxed tile fades into worn concrete as the two of you pass the threshold into the prison parking lot, your soon-to-be-husband muttering a curt “go fuck yourselves” to the officers who’d wished him good luck on his way out the door.

you’re proud of him for holding his tongue, in a way. knowing toji and his temper there were a hundred more creative and undoubtedly gruesome things he could have said to the personnel who’d kept him locked up for the better half of a decade. 

the world flips right side up again as you’re gently placed on your feet in front of the car. 

toji raises his head to the sky, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“s’ nice,” he mumbles, reaching to intertwine your hands. “felt the sun during rev time but.. not like this.”

you hum, rubbing your thumb over tattooed knuckles. 

“get ready to experience a lot more sun then,” you giggle. “wanna have a look at the car?” the question is more of a rhetorical one at this point considering he’s already running his hand over the hood with a whistle.

“haven’t seen this baby in a while,” he smiles, internally gushing at your choice to welcome him to the world in the car he used to drive you home the night you met. your fiancé doesn’t have to say thank you, you know how grateful he is from his smile alone.

he falters for a bit, looking like a newborn fawn with how careful his steps are as he circles the vehicle. you figure wearing proper shoes instead of rubber slides must feel at least a little abnormal after 7 long years. 

“alright,” toji states, rolling his shoulders in his too-tight top. “fuck are we waiting for, i wanna go home.”

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

you pay no mind to toji the first time he turns to look at you, opening his mouth to say something before slumping back into his seat with a frustrated sigh.

the fourth time it happens, you speak up.

“what are you doing?” you laugh, eyeing him from the driver's seat

“getting rubbed to death by my fucking zipper,” he mutters, repositioning his lower half to take the pressure off his cock. his frustration isn’t aimed at you in the slightest, all blame placed on his bottoms.

oh.. oh.

the whirlwind of emotions toji had gone through in the past 3 hours alone had taken a toll on his mind and body. but tasting the first morsels of freedom with you, alone in a car that smelled like you? you’d be worried if he wasn’t hard.

you had no problem helping his little problem go away, the question was how soon.

the idea that piques on you is absolutely shameful, you’re not even sure where it came from but you don’t have it in you to care. 

you know this road, you’ve used it a thousand times to make the trip up to the penitentiary. judging by how long you’d been driving you’d say there was about 10 minutes left before ruler-straight tar merged into the twists and turns of the suburbs.

“when did your license expire?” you ask, cautiously peering in the rearview mirror. good, no cars.

“3 years ago,” he laughs, “why?”

fuck it, you think.

“you still remember how to steer?” 

“course i d— oh.”

it finally dawns on him. you smile, shooting him a look that says “want to?”

you’re sure you have your answer judging by how quick he shucks his jeans and boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines.

“oh fuck,” he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open as your mouth presses against his base. 

your fiancé steers while your head bobs just beneath the dash, one hand on the wheel and the other placed firmly at the crown of your head, guiding you up and down the shaft.

your throat flexes around the intrusion, fighting the hulking feeling of his length mercilessly fucking into your mouth.

“fuck, perfect girl— my girl,” he shudders, hips moving to buck into your slick throat.

“gonna cum, gonna— shit,”

fingers kissed in dark ink massage your throat softly, urging you to swallow the hot load coating every inch of your mouth. you flutter around his length, pulling back to clean him off with your tongue.

“fucks gotten into you, pretty girl?” he whispers, so out of breath you barely hear him. 

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

you barely make it up the steps of the house before you’re shoved against the door, tattooed hands groping up and down your body with fervor.

“keys,” he says against your lips, “keys—fuck, now,” his voice is hoarser this time, desperation clear.

you whip around to jam the item into the lock, not unaware of the rock-hard dick grinding into your jean-clad ass from behind.

you’re being carried to the couch before you even step off the doormat, a stray throw blanket cushioning your fall as you’re pressed into squeaky leather. 

“won’t be gentle,” toji groans, ripping your jeans and panties down in one fluid motion.” can’t right now.”

“don’t be.” you say, rucking his shirt off his body surprisingly quick. “wouldn’t want you to.”

you needed him, needed toji to have his way with you. to christen your home round after round until you couldn’t feel where his body and yours ended.

when it came down to it, you suppose 

he smiles at the crude admission, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your drenched folds.

“filthy,” he mutters, said almost lovingly. toji grips his base and sinks to the hilt with a sharp groan, shuddering at the heat of your walls.

the stretch is delicious, filling you from every angle and pressing right against that special spot. you’re surprised at how easily he slams in, though you’re embarrassed to admit it was entirely because of how soaked you were. 

toji immediately pulls back with a flick of his hips, pistoning into you like his life depends on it. 

he hasn’t changed, you think. still so incredibly in tune with your body, skills that would put a pornstar to shame.

this was better than some quick closeted fuck under the cover of night after slipping a guard a rubber band of cash. this was primal, filthy. two bodies writhing against each other, the only goal being complete and utter pleasure. 

toji makes no effort to shush you like he would if you were sneaking around, basking in your sighs and whines like water from a stream.

“missed this,” he says, licking a long, wet stripe from your sternum to your pulse. “missed you, missed having you every day.”

“you’ll have me forever,” you moan, sucking a purple bruise into the tattooed skin of his throat.

thick fingers thread into your hair to hold you to his neck, silently commanding you to bite down.

and so you do. you bite down hard on the junction of his neck and shoulder, licking over pink teeth marks as his thrusts reach their maximum speed.

the pleasure you feel is blinding. stars explode behind your vision while the curve of his cock hits that heavenly spot in you just right. over, and over, and over.

your climax sneaks up on you before you can think, ripping a wail from the depths of your chest. toji’s thrusts falter to a halt as you lock down on him, pleasantly caught off guard by the vice grip you have around him.

“oh my g— holy shit,” he groans, mouth hanging open. dark brows furrow it to a look of pure pleasure, emerald eyes squeezing tight.

“keep going,” you mumble, scratching rivets down the skin of his back. “just keep fucking me please don’t stop please pl—”

“yeah? keep going?” he teases, groping at the swell of your breast. “greedy huh?”

you did want more, that was the thing. you just came the hardest you ever had in years but you’d be damned if he didn’t keep giving it to you.

brutal thrusts shake the frame of the couch. your bodies meld like they were made for each other, sharing pleasure in the comfort that came with the knowledge that the both of you intended to fuck until you physically couldn’t anymore.

“gonna come,” your fiancé pants, mouthing at the curve of one of your breasts. blunt teeth brush over the bud of your nipple, sending shockwaves down your spine

“inside, fuck—please,” you’re practically shaking.

“inside?” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue like gold. “you want my seed? huh?” 

you nod, clutching to his naked back as he ruts into you, deeper than ever. strong hands grip the back of your thighs practically folding you in half, opening you up in ways you thought to be impossible.

hot release fills you up for the second time that day, shrouding your lower half in a blanket of warmth.

you sigh, low and satiated at the feeling inside of you, pulling toji to your chest when he collapses on top of you.

“we should probably..” toji trails off, completely out of breath. “should probably head upstairs.” he heaves, chest swelling with deep gulps of air.

“or we could go another round?” you mumble, throwing the question out there. 

“shit, yeah.. probably should right?” he chuckles

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[delicrieux]

. . . l'oeuf

˙⋆✮ summary. just another evening at henry's.

pairing. henry winter x f!reader warnings. smoking, swearing, mentioned drug use, bad aspirin use specifically, use of alcohol, +18 (p n v sex, no condom henry DOES NOT care, very minimal dirty talk), pretentiousness, an inkling of classicism, bunny™ wc. 6.9k ✧˖°.

author's note. happy october everyone ! i always wanted to write smth for the loml henry winter but i never had the patience to sit down and do it. well, now i did. this was written with prompt 1. thick, acrid smoke. feel free to rqs more for the prompty thingies! x . . . side note! the fic is named by this song since i listened to it while writing. you can draw a metaphor from it if willing

creds. hd., div.

mlist | buy me coffee ♡ྀ

it was at the start of october on that fateful senior year that you had found yourself in henry winter's illustrious townhouse. from the lacquered brazillian hardwood floorboards to the ivory plasterwork on the ceilings – every corner pertained a certain degree of finery that reflected poorly on the rest of its objects: a well-worn armchair perpetually stuck in henry’s physique and fraying at the edges, the trampled rug that snaked upstairs and held all of your secrets, the coffee table with too many wine stains. in the dim light, the dried rorschach looked like blood.

the present company consisted of six and was slowly dwindling. your dear friend francis, the only boy who had never cared to peek up your skirt in childhood tennis practice, was a moment from collapsing into himself like a weary, old star. holding a champagne coupe from which he exclusively drunk only campari, he had thrown himself over henry’s couch not unlike a discontent lead from a penny dreadful novel. his face kept twisting according to the sounds: bunny’s voice was met with pursed lips and a tightly shut eye (only one, closest to bunny’s person sat by the aforementioned coffee table), charles’ – with a look of defeated boredom, and in the odd bouts of silence and music, bliss.

you offered him a cigarette, and he barely managed to crane his neck to kiss the knuckles of a helping hand before he snatched it away and searched his pockets for a lighter.

sweet camilla sat by the fire, with her knees drawn to her chest. one black stocking was torn on the side, rippling up her calf and sneaking into her inner knee, an action bunny had noted and all had taken particular interest in. there had been a metaphor about literature resembling her glossy stockings – all that language and reference weaved into a fabric that stretched till it could no more, thus marking the end of innovation and intertextuality. a book can only fit so much, and as all of them cared for ancient greek only – a language that no one spoke, and so, could never refine past its perfect state – the topic soon waned in favor of more brandy.

bunny cowed a story about richard papen, the outsider that had joined their coterie, who was not present, as he had not been invited. he was a fine orator, had a specific sense of humor that, while not always understood, could charm an audience when fidgeted with enough. only bunny was too drunk, and his glass of whiskey kept spilling on his trousers till it left an undignified blotch crowned by cigarette ashes, which only painted him a blubbering buffoon. ‘the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’ came to mind as you admired the embers dancing in the halo of his blond hair.

then, there was charles, drunk as always, who had opted to lay by camilla’s feet, the place where bunny’s drunken attempts of metaphor had landed him.

lastly, there was henry, your own personal virgil, who had not wanted you to come, but allowed it still. he looked tired from across the room, an arm thrown over the cushions of the armchair in which he sat. in his left hand he held a book, a cover and a title too out of frame for your eyes to see; amber reflected in his wiry glasses, the color of his brandy bottle (half empty) before the orange glow of the fire burned it copper. a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the ceiling from his two fingers. only he could have full concentration among the chaotic symphony in the living room.

the record spun to silence, and you quickly abated your seat on the windowsill to pad to the cabinet and change the vinyl. the collection of classics had not increased since your last visit, which was roughly a week ago, and it had not changed since henry moved out the dorms during the winter of your junior year. there were chopin’s nocturnes and etudes, beethoven’s piano sonatas, and wagner’s tristan and isolda, just to name a few. something lulling, quiet. you picked debussy and placed the needle. lilting, soft and steady, like you supposed love would feel.

instantly, you were met with bunny’s ire.

“no, no,” a wave and a body too weak to stop you. you ensured he was gifted your most sly smile, “no, woman, put on somethin’, somethin’ grand,” a larger wave, like a poorly coordinated conductor, he smacked his hand too close to francis’ head. a groan from charles, as if he had grown nauseous from watching the motions, “somethin’ for me and charlie here,”

charles tried to turn away in his discontent, yet did not manage. camilla, concerned, laid a hand on his shoulder, “should we go? i think we should head home.”

“see?” bunny’s accusing tone found you once more, “you’re scaring the guests. put on some real music. like the... the...” he trailed off, lighting another cigarette. for good luck, one could imagine, “like goddamn— listen to led zeppelin, man! the rolling stones!”

you glanced to henry and found yourself surprised. a shared look.

“no such things in our humble repertoire,” you stated.

“mile davis, at least?”

“no,”

“i don’t believe you,”

“you’re free to check for yourself.”

amidst this small argument, which was much too common when dealing with bunny, camilla had somehow managed to wrestle charles into standing on his own two feet. unstable, he leaned onto his sister, the added weight making her stagger.

“goodness, take care of charles,” bunny whined, though his complaints never amounted to more than simple sulking. you chose not to pay them much mind.

it was henry that helped, carefully balancing his book on the armrest and coming to take charles from camilla’s embrace.

“should i drive you home?” he asked.

camilla shook her head, en route to retrieve her red scarf and new coat, “no, no, we’ll call a taxi.”

it was always mildly fascinating watching the two interact. camilla, never able to meet his gaze directly and for too long, and henry, who only ever extended wordless aid without prompt or reason to her only. what had she done to earn such favor was beyond you – beyond everyone, perhaps – but you were certain you weren’t the only one that saw this careful act of piety and kindness.

you observed them shuffle out after moments on the telephone, camilla’s hand ghosting henry’s arm, or grazing the bend of his elbow, and only when they disappeared past the large door to wait for the taxi did you look away.

loving henry winter was a sisyphean task, unworthy of the effort which it required. you thought yourself too smart for it, and thus, never cared to entertain the notion, not even when he kissed you.

you caught bunny staring at you: not scrutinizing, not calculating – simply staring. a curious leer that often fell on you after some semblance of mirth had worn down. almost shy, somewhat longing.

“this richard of yours,” you began, helping yourself to henry’s lucky strike. out of all the brands that you had smoked, this was the most bitter and always left a tart taste in the back of your throat. you craved it, “papen, was it?”

“yup,” bunny mumbled into his glass.

“and how is he?” your gaze jumped from him to francis.

“poor,” bunny said.

“californian,” francis tacked on.

“but he pretends he isn’t,” bunny continued.

“californian?” your brows rose. the smell, the taste – too powerful, almost choking.

“no, no,” bunny shook his head, disoriented for a moment, “rich. pretends to be rich. see, i didn’t tell you this, but,” and he reached for henry’s cigarettes, too, even if his own pack laid abandoned, two-three left untouched. he did this, at times, this odd mimicry: you smoked, he smoked what you did, you drank, he drank what you did, you decided a getaway to italy was your dream destination for a week and later learned he had haggled henry into buying tickets for the two of them, “but i, you know me: never judge a book by its cover, i say. invited him to dinner. the usual place, the one on-”

“god,” francis winced, and if he could move, surely he’d flee, “stop talking.”

“the lady asked, am i to deny her now? i thought he wouldn’t show, but he does, doesn’t he? with a goddamned tweed jacket, like i wouldn’t notice,” he hiccupped mid-explanation, the liquor long congealed into his system, “and, you know, me, i know people. i know people. i see them for what they are, and i knew he was a no good cheat from a mile away, but hey,” a straight spine, a bit proud, “i think to myself, you know what, old man, i’m gonna give this guy a chance. pop’s always-”

“aspirin,” francis interjected, this time directed at you, “bring me some, would you, juliet?”

you snorted, “a moment,”

“thank you, desdemona. you’re a midsummer night’s dream,”

“she’s from othello,”

“my point stands.”

you sauntered off into henry’s kitchen and scoured his cupboards for painkillers. the layout of this place you knew too well – perhaps, even, if you closed your eyes, you could discern each obstacle and map it in front of your eyes with the grace and certainty of a guidebook. you did just that.

behind you, a sudden coldness pierced through the humidity and a door shut harshly. the influx of fresh air was a brief slap to the face.

it’s been silent for a while now.

“what are you doing?” henry’s voice, not close, yet not too far. always observing at a distance, since closeness was never his intention. henry winter. what a fitting name.

“looking for aspirin.”

the tick of an unseen clock.

“top drawer,” there was no urgency; something you didn’t understand was what made him hurry to answer, “i hid them there. bunny keeps stealing my entire cabinet.”

your eyes fluttered open, “my, my. what a snitch,”

“don’t give him the aspirin,”

“it’s for francis,”

“very well.”

an impasse. you closed the cabinet and thought against bringing water with you, knowing it’s unneeded.

“may i?” henry asked, and when you turned to look at him, he was as always – unbreakable, unmovable. expectant, perhaps, his heavy gaze a familiar pressure upon your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, your swollen mouth (from biting, not being kissed).

“they’re yours,” you said easily, turning the cap and spilling a few into the bed of your palm as he approached, “here.”

to make matters harder, there’s but a foot of space between the two of you. the smallest separation, every part of him and every part of you entangled into one odd constellation. an immensity of motion before him and an immensity of energy after.

“water?”

“whiskey.”

“is it also hidden?”

“no.”

so you retrieved him a glass, and then the bottle, and lastly you poured the amount enough to swallow in one gulp. when he took and drank, and you watched his adam’s apple bob, you wondered, briefly and hazily, was your act in any way similar to camilla’s. a star that constantly drew him into her orbit.

“you didn’t leave,” he uttered quietly, tired eyes flicking to the maw of the kitchen opening. down the foyer, the firelight danced. bunny’s voice rose in a toast, no doubt to shake francis out of his stupor.

“i did,” you said, a slow smile curling, “what you see before you is a specter. the delirious imaginings of an impoverished mind.”

“ridiculous,” the quirk of his eyebrows: mock-offended.

“amusing,” the narrow of your eyes: contagious, “was everything my spirit foretold the same as you saw it unfold?”

weariness. you looked for it and found it easy enough. his fingers flexed, his tongue went behind his teeth. the cogs turned. for all his genius, henry was too susceptible to fable and entirely too superstitious. he could ward himself off it well, yet when his inhibitions were down, there was a hint of something else, a spark of pious faith in the impossible, what not might come next. he kept looking at you for an extended moment, until the corner of his mouth, minutely, drew up into a not-quite-smile.

“hermia!” came francis’ voice from the other room, “i’m dying.”

henry said nothing.

you expected bunny drunkenly swinging an almost empty bottle around to try and cheer up francis (it rarely worked, unless it was wine), and yet, he wasn’t there. the living room felt very big, somehow, devoid of him and the makings of his gullible heart.

“and where is bun?” you questioned, almost scolding.

“bathroom,” francis succeeded sitting up, yet only just.

you heard henry curse under his breath. he disappeared, and soon you heard the continents of a stomach emptying down the hall and henry’s monotone behind a closed door.

“time to end this sabbath, me thinks,” you said. francis took the pills with a fresh glass of campari, nose scrunching from the taste.

“d’you think henry could drive me home?” francis asked.

“do you trust him with your life?”

“do you think he’d let me die?”

“depends,”

“no. i’ll cab it,”

“wise decision.”

henry returned, seemingly exhausted from his small adventure. no one followed after.

“bun?” you asked again, which seemed to displease him. he only shook his head. passed out, then. unfortunate, yet expected. if bunny could somehow gain authority over all of henry’s things – even the minute ones, the ones that don’t matter and exist in the peripherals without henry’s notice – he would. it was the same reason francis once insisted that bunny had been in love with you.

the incident occurred during your first year of college in early november. a rather somber and chilly day with leaves sticking to wet asphalt and stone walls amidst the rainy season. a monday. bunny had broken his ankle and complained terribly about it, and henry, who had become his caretaker, was sick of it and instead abhorred him. by accident and complete mischance, the handling of bunny corcoran had fallen onto your graceful shoulders, and in a single day – full of obsolete complaints and impulsive questions – the theorized affection was born.

if there was a way in which bunny’s countenance had changed in your presence, it was lost on you, for your attention, at the time, was solely pilfered by charles. he was, back then, the most handsome of the greek class, and oddly enough, the only one pleasant, thus you sought his favor. but charles never returned your fondness, no matter how minuscule it could be, and he never gave the impression of fleeting interest. only sometimes, when he thought you would not catch him, he would stare at you for a bit too long. you never got to figure out what he had thought in those moments.

instead, you figured yourself an actor – a pretty one at that – and decided to ignore this indelicate sort of charm and pursue a new mark. there were many, of course, plenty of faces to consider, yet the outcome was always the same. as it were, they were all terribly boring and reminded you greatly of the peers you’ve encountered in private schools, the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the new age that had too much time and too much heartbreak on their hands. good looks aside, not the slightest hint of culture nor comprehension, just money and nothing to show for it.

and then there was henry, of course, so quintessentially different that his existence, still, was hard to define. something outside the realm of you. something above or beyond, or perhaps below – always somewhere you could not reach. there was an irrecoverable arrogance to him and in his aloof demeanor. an inviolable space that never invited others.

yes, there had to be some appeal to the strangeness of him, yet never could you put your finger on what exactly it was. at least, not immediately. at first sight, though, there were more poetic reasons to it – of the tragic and of the divine kind, yet that was no truth but some novel-born whim, a pointless obsession, some meager infatuation. an involuntary fetish. he had not wanted you, which only made it so that you wanted him in turn. it wasn’t an ugly thing – it simply was.

he must’ve known. henry always seemed to possess the knowledge of things you had never dared to question or to think twice of. or, perhaps, maybe not: but, despite your inability to identify the cause of it, there was a certain change to your disposition upon entering his shared room. one, maybe, akin to the sudden fear brought by dark enclosed spaces, though a bit more subtle and complex.

it was, ironically, a winter’s night.

when you phoned the same taxi and requested it’s return, francis spoke in a hazy murmur, sluggishly trying to shrug on the coat you brought him, “god, i really need a cigarette.”

“hm?”

“do you see mine anywhere?”

a rueful search, hands grabbing the scattered glass and hardbound that littered the surface of the coffee table. a valiant attempt to move the couch cushions and dip fingers into the cracks.

“no,”

“well, fuck me,”

henry offered his, but francis refused. the living room lit up in that thick, acrid smoke anyway.

the foyer echoed with your footsteps. outside the townhouse, rain had started again. a few drops at first, tapping the windows, before quickly it grew and gained weight. soon, it was battering against the glass.

with your scarf in your hands you suddenly found yourself unsure what to do with it. the taxi was coming and it was time to go home and plead to a higher power for reprieve from the headache you knew would cripple you in the morning. perhaps, an afternoon tomorrow to mull around, dazed. yet there was no respite in any of that. you realized, then, with this abrupt trepidation, that the cause of your discomfort, or the cause that exacerbated it, was within this confided space. a chasm-deep disquiet, like an open mouth of a ravine, dark and shadowy, or the pull of a tide at sea, which was, as they say, irresistible to even the most levelheaded.

somewhat uneasily, you lingered by the coat hanger, and when francis ambled over, tripping over his own two feet, he downed the rest of his campari and shoved the glass into your useless hands. then, he kissed your cheek, quick and wet, before ripping the door open and shoving it closed behind you, hence halting your escape.

the house was deafened, and your palms itched. the overwhelming urge to twiddle with your scarf became unbearable, or it was because a pair of eyes bore into you from the depths of the room. the closest thing you’ve ever considered to a tangible aura: the smell of ozone and rain water and tobacco.

“don’t suppose he’s waiting in the rain, is he?” you said.

“no, i don’t think he is.”

it didn’t make sense, none of what happened afterward – the decision to face him instead of making off into the chilling night. your arms crossed in a quiet and peculiar motion, clutching the coupe a bit too tight.

“whiskey?” henry offered, and you felt like the silly ingénue in some high-brow noir thriller donning all that cashmere by the door, “or bourbon.”

“fine.”

a crease of his eyebrow – the sole indication of surprise. your jacket found its rightful place on the rack along with that dreaded scarf. hesitance was unfamiliar to you, as you had not known it growing up – neither a sense of propriety nor a loss of footing. the dandy act had been adopted and perfected to such a degree that to relinquish the mask itself was oddly relieving, the discomfort born merely by knowing that francis was aware of your unusual situation and the upcoming events that would take place once the theater was done. there was a brief thought to how henry might’ve perceived you then. perhaps the removal of a layer of pretense might’ve intrigued him, if anything.

you remained at a slight distance and watched him traverse his domain, stepping around the askew items left behind by bunny and a bottle of gin haphazardly upended by charles, warm by the fire. there was an anomalous sort of patience to him. the silence was an abrasion. so often, you found yourself chattering to fill the void, even with other men who took the shape of strangers.

“there’s quite a storm brewing,” you said, only to be met with more silence. when your words simpered, the feeling they left was inexplicably ominous. ‘all that is transitory is but a symbol,’ yet only a bad poet would dare to draw a soliloquy from henry’s figure by the flames.

thus, you sat down on the couch, still warm from francis, and held up the beloved champagne coupe. henry’s hand did not tremble as it poured, but your fingers quivered when his attention fell onto you.

“is it good?”

you never felt the alcohol, only the burning in the back of your throat.

“very,”

he found himself beside you, not too close. the distance was not unlike orpheus’ journey, or so it appeared in the dim firelight – the familiar pangs of the unwilling, the sudden, selfish urge of wanting to see him in his entirety, his visage unhindered

“may i?” you asked, meaning, of course, his cigarette. he acquiesced easily. the only telltale of his everlasting unbothered mien: his focus had, and always seemed to be, too acute. it was enough to unnerve anyone. flattering, perhaps, if only you could tell what he was thinking, but you never could.

in your lap, the half-empty coupe. you left a smudge of your lipstick on the cigarette butt. henry inhaled. it was not unlike a kiss.

“francis mentioned you didn’t want to see me,” you said.

“i didn’t,” he responded.

“a lie, was it then?”

“you assume to know?”

“yes.”

another drag. smoke parted his mouth, slow as molasses and heavy as clouds.

“you’ve changed,” you said.

conversation with henry had always been difficult, before and after your frequent follies in the dark. if you did speak, it was never about one another, or anything that resided past skin and bone, nestled somewhere in the marrow, only felt. in instances where you did find common ground it was only ever art – literature, specifically, and when he was in a good mood, painting. henry only had one fascination and refused to entertain others; here lied his fatal flaw. thus, in a crowd of three and more, you could exchange remarks that would seem and sound important but held no real meaning.

“what sort of change have you noticed?” henry murmured. the lighting cast shadows. his hands twitched.

you were not sure, as you remembered him in much more detail and color. here, ashen-faced and obscured, all you saw was the ghost of his image, as though he had grown morose in a way that a single season could not alter. the greek class had often suffered for the aesthetic – self-imposed punishments of grandeur and excess that to everyone outside their circle seemed quite ridiculous, along with their dark clothes and mysterious miens and enigmatic jokes. some said they were haunted or blessed, but none envied them. alas.

troubled is the closest you could find, though if you were to voice it, he might take you for a child. it was never good to seek out his vulnerability. he would say you could never find it, and, inevitably, it would end up being the truth. henry wasn’t good at love. no one of were.

you shrugged, “you’ve become quiet.”

“am i, now?”

“more so than you’ve been,”

“perhaps you’ve just gotten better at listening,”

“unlikely,”

henry cocked his head. his hand, once again, twitched and there was an urge to reach out and grasp his fingers – some sort of absolution or at least a consolation for something neither one of you might’ve cared to mention. never did the man in front of you appear unsure, yet somehow, despite his best effort to the contrary, you felt a similar trepidation of an undefined thing.

henry was impossible to read. not just a mystery, but undeciphered in ways so beyond the mundane. over the years, you had collected enough clues to form a humble dictionary, yet much of what was missing could only be determined through his own misfortune and complacency – things which would, then, by nature and by fate, stray into your arms.

it did not matter, not entirely, at least. you did not love henry, but you thought that camilla did, and he, in turn, her. once you exhausted your inspection, perhaps you would pass that glossary to her, though you doubted that she would ever find any use for it.

“well,” henry said, “i suppose that’s to be expected. anything else?”

“would you enjoy a dissection?”

henry hummed, perhaps in agreement or curiosity, but it was very possible that he thought you foolish.

“no need,” he said, “yours is transparent.”

“really?” you countered, “they never are. people, i mean.”

“who are you thinking of?”

your mind drifted to bunny, likely curled on the cold tiles of the bathroom. with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and tie loosened, there was the picture of one not withering away but merely on the incline of a steep and lonely hill. all quiet in the dark of a windowless room from which he couldn’t even turn his head and see the stars.

it felt as though he would wake soon and interrupt. his presence always breached spaces he did not occupy, and the anticipation of his arrival always lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. perhaps bunny would always exist in the shadowy corner-room between you and henry, because, if what francis said was true, henry was the first to know of it and had you, still.

you wondered if he regretted it, if he felt like brutus sticking the first knife into caesar’s rib, closest to the heart. you considered asking: in that moment, the urge felt insurmountable. instead, you said, “a little bit of everyone.”

inclined, you caught his gaze. an abysmal color and a disorienting shade, as deep and gloomy as the woods surrounding mount cataract.

“and me?”

“of course,” you smiled and slid a bit closer, “it’s not like you to ask. have you become sentimental?”

“not exactly,” his eyes moved to his hands. then, the flecks in the fireplace, the piles on the floor, “i’ve been thinking.”

“care to elaborate?”

“no,” he said. you understood his need for privacy, and a small part of you could appreciate his effort, or maybe, rather, that you got something of an answer at all. he did, occasionally, tend to disappear in thought. he remained, despite his reluctance, sitting with you. this, in a way, spoke more to you than the words that could never leave his mouth.

“this weather makes a body wistful,” you told him, “and the greek have always liked their tragedies.”

he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before lighting another cigarette, “what do you know of greek?”

always the same argument. always the same contradiction. your attraction was tempestuous, and so, it should have surprised you neither the sudden bite or the wicked sense of amusement.

“all that any student would, naturally,”

“so, nothing,”

“i suppose,” you would not admit, for he would win, “henry,”

something in his posture betrayed him, but it was not his eyes, nor his tone, “yes?”

you were close then, much closer than you were moments ago. his lips thinned in a brittle, noncommittal line and his eyes drooped – more of a warning than anything.

“are you going to kiss me?” you asked.

he wanted to, he must’ve, for it had been the only sensible action – you always pressed for what would hurt least. to drown and swallow poison. it was a favorite, and, for some reason, one he allowed, like an agreement reached. to your knowledge, he only ever let himself indulge in you.

henry only leaned in, which was enough for you. his mouth, a second, not any less tantalizing than the first. and you had kissed him with a brazen softness, enough that his hands snaked to grasp the back of your neck. another hit. the smoke and ash settled deep in your lungs. you had pushed it out in a groan when he dropped his hands to your thighs, pressing hard and confident as he had on those nights when you found each other too lonely. the ache he created was wonderful.

you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it until it untucked. he swallowed and whispered in a language you were familiar with but couldn’t speak, and lifted your skirt.

you kept the cigarette between your teeth as he mouthed down your jaw and neck. his finger traced the skin at the back of your knee and that tickling spot right below your ribs. goosebumps rose and followed his touch. he nipped at the crook of your neck and dragged you onto his lap.

“you are dressed far too heavily, and terribly,” you heard him say, and when his lips found the shell of your ear, you could not stifle the shiver. the whole room felt claustrophobic, hot and steamy, like the aftermath of a scalding bath. your breaths grew labored. you closed your eyes against it and clawed into his arm.

henry said, again, this time more slowly and with a dull emphasis, “terribly.”

“how dare you insult my taste,”

“would you allow for a remediation of my sins?”

“luckily, i’m in an agreeable mood.”

henry’s own sigh was long and somewhat labored, as though a great pressure had been taken off him. and his hands flexed, moving up and down your back. a rare instance, to find him restless. you could admire this in private.

the press of lips to your neck. the collarbone, jutting sharp in the firelight.

there was the urge, sudden and quite novel, to caress his face, cup his cheek, graze the edge of the scar of the eye that’s colder than its twin, that shrouds you in a mist. such an act was outlawed, naturally, thus, the opportunity came and went, carried away on a drafting wind of smoke. an irredeemable misfortune, and you flicked the cigarette into your abandoned coupe.

“are you comfortable?” the gentle cadence of his voice sent a wave through the warmest depths of your abdomen.

“yes.”

henry, having brushed away your stockings, stroked at the insides of your thighs. there was a light feeling in your head, an almost dizzying sway. a subtle rocking, like boats at port, from where the two of you were perched. his digits dug into the firm meat. beneath his hands, a stretch of burning skin and sinew. muscle clenched and quivered, “terribly inconvenient, by the way.”

“how do you mean?”

“all the layers,” he muttered.

“good,”

“never good,”

and then, suddenly: “are you wet?”

“if you touched me properly, you could tell,”

henry ignored your response. his hand climbed upward, and found a place between the gusset and the middle seam, rubbing, testing.

“recently,” you said, “i’ve become fascinated with joseph cornell.”

“you’re stalling,” henry informed you without inflection, slipping a finger through the damp center. a harsh noise of pleasure left you when his tongue slid between your lips. one, then two, circling and sinking with the utmost delicacy.

“why? are you not curious to hear what i think of his boxes?” you managed, halfway.

another stroke. his thumb rubbing, slow and considerate, in the spot that makes your toes curl, tight and demanding. when his eyes opened and found yours, it was almost comical – his fingers in you, mouth and mind on a completely different path, yet the connection was there all the same. even more so, while trying to be detached, fumbling over buttons and laces.

“no,”

“you might learn something,”

he quirked a brow, “you truly wish to waste time talking?”

“aren’t you?”

“i am taking an assessment of your willingness to submit,”

“are you certain it’s not the other way around?”

henry rarely responded with malice; each action was carefully devised and, in conjunction, quite merciless. in this case, he dropped his hand from the vee of your legs and tugged at his shirt collar. the emptiness was startling, as was the feeling of tension that coiled tightly in your gut. then, he grabbed his drink and sipped from the sparkling glass. petty revenge, something he always assured was beneath him.

sensing defeat, you decided to placate him. after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slipped onto the ground and knelt.

“henry,” you began, and reached for the fly of his pants. the outline of his cock was obvious beneath the smooth fabric, thick and promising, “home ruler,” in one instance of drunken curiosity, the lot of you agonized the meaning of your names, that perhaps they, somehow, unknowingly dictated your fate, “unwilling to shed his crown. is the head not heavy? most kings lost theirs, you know.”

“flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“folly, then,” you replied, dragging the flat of your palm across his groin and taking pleasure in the strained hiss, “are you going to let me do as i please?”

“i think that is,” at the peak of his inhale, you reached into his trousers and curled your fingers around his stiff cock, “quite apparent.”

you grinned, lazy but triumphant, thumbing the blunt ridge. smudging the dribble of white at the leaking head and reveling in his restrained reactions: the minute tremors, the twitch of his jaw, a gasp caught in his throat. you would have kissed him, again. his face might’ve twitched, something uncontrollable that would’ve given away his longing, if only he hadn’t pushed it down.

with a slow pump, your hand traveled. the size was admirable, familiar, nearly to the point of nostalgia. henry had touched more parts of your body than some of the lovers you took as an earnest attempt for passion. you had begged him once, half-gone, half-wild with what you thought was need and impatience, to only fuck you – without his clever mouth and his careful hands, but he hadn’t said yes, no, had only grabbed your jaw and pressed a sucking kiss to the soft and sensitive skin beneath your ear. a promise, almost. and in a way, it had been.

“you remember?”

henry’s voice snapped you to attention, and when you looked up, his expression matched his darkened eyes, intense. something flared hot and needy in you, and with it, the desire to be open and dripping for him. he curled a hand in the small hairs on the back of your neck, stroking the skin there and, even briefly, allowed himself an indulgence in the pleasure he could get from a single touch, and rocked his hips.

“vividly,” you told him.

the flames, behind you, cast him entirely in silhouette, and his shadow projected forward and rose tall, stretched. a ruler, indeed.

his chest moved slow and purposefully, and when he released your hair, the lack of contact felt like a shock to the system. his hand closed around your forearm, “come here.”

the tone, hoarse and hushed and so quietly demanding, startled you, and you stood up so quickly that your head spun. henry placed his hands on your hips, steadying, ushering you back to where you belonged.

“just there.”

legs, parted, framing his waist. fabric, bunched between your thighs. breathing, slowed. a firm, calming weight, pinning you down. the firelight glinted in his eyes.

“henry,” you called. and the only thing to signal his movement was a bob of his adam’s apple. the cufflinks of his sleeves swayed and flickered. he hummed, neither affirmation nor disagreement and entered you with a grunt.

more. skin flushed. eyes crinkled and tightened. more. nails curled and scrabbled for purchase.

there, your name on his lips. it was disorienting – not so much a cry, or a whisper, but something between the two. henry always spoke carefully, as though each word should carry the most weight, so each syllable, in turn, he would construct and cut, meticulous and mathematical. but here, breathless and wanting, they rolled out in a steady litany, never faltering.

all fire and scorching, the pitch of it high and needy. to thrust and bruise, the idea fizzed bright and brilliant at the apex of your spine. with each snap of his hips, a part of him carved a piece of you out, and each ragged noise shook loose a piece of your skin. it would fit him perfectly. then he would slide right into those hollow spaces that swelled and throbbed, expanding beyond tolerance. in moments like these, you loved him – his body, his touch, his face, everything that could not be articulated.

“please,” you begged him, trying to curl around the ache, “i want-”

“i know, i know,” he murmured, with a tilt of his head. his hair, you noticed, had lost its immaculate shape, wild and frazzled by your fingers. your heart swelled and contracted: you wanted to do it again, over and over until his whole countenance resembled nothing more than that of a ravaged man. your power, the only thing you had over him. henry closed his eyes.

“spread your legs a little wider,”

a moan slipped when his tongue flicked and curled against the side of your neck, wet and sloppy. the sweet roll of his hips, his fingers pulling at the buttons of your attire and squeezing the fleshy swell of your buttocks. it was always too much.

you licked your lip, shaking when his teeth gently pinched. and, for a moment, the smell of pine permeated the room. as though it were his own sweat and the heady musk of his natural scent, and not a waning bottle of cologne.

“hold onto me,” henry whispered and allowed for nothing more, driving the movement out of your hands. the tempo spiraled upward. at the center, the tension was building. there was a moment of vertigo.

and it was easy enough, as things had always been between the two of you, to ignore the disjointed voices in the back of your mind. how when you two first kissed, it’d been without grace. how the rain fell, trickled, all around you, drowning the dryness in your throat. how the next day, he asked if you would regret what you’d done. and here, now, a different but striking feeling: the warm haze brought on by alcohol, his palms were hot, slick with sweat, his belt digging into you.

henry grunted and swore to a god neither of you had put much faith in. the flush on his cheeks was impossible not to reach out and touch, his eyebrow scarred with the same sort of smooth texture and fading red, his lashes, long and fine, flickering against the high edge of his cheekbones. i love you, you wanted to tell him, but the high struck you ruthlessly, turning you to liquid.

in the aftermath of this brief paradise, you shared a look.

“i still despise this weather,” you said.

henry’s mouth quirked. and what had been the impulsive dalliances of two desperate people became, once more, two lonely creatures with enough distance between to fill one of henry’s beloved epics. the quiet, in the wake of catharsis, was rather terrifying, and the clatter outside – the rain, the wind, and the cold – almost accusatory. he offered you a cigarette.

you took it without thank you and let him light it.

“should i drive you home?” he offered, voice raspy. his shirt had wrinkles and his collar sat funny. the skin beneath was pink, and there was the barest mark where you had sunk your teeth or dug a nail too hard. you bit the end of the filter, watching the flame waver before rising into ash.

“you’re drunk,” it felt necessary to remind him, though it never stopped him.

“do you want me to drive you home?” he asked again. a long pull and a thin veil of smoke.

“yes,” you said, “i’ll go wake bunny.”

“no,”

“no?”

“stop it.”

“stop what?”

“speaking of him,”

“has he done something?”

silence.

“henry?”

“leave it,” he said, but his tone was tight.

“alright. i’ll get my coat, then,”

“of course,” he murmured, standing slowly. you shouldn’t have seen him put his hand against the wall to steady himself, as though any drunken spell had fled, and with it, his equilibrium. the movement was both conscious and contrived, a fact of necessity, and not like the rest of him, braced by his surroundings and firm in stature. a self-constructed illusion, designed to project a set of attributes meant to create the atmosphere of authority. he embodied it well, but he was still, stripped of the mythos, simply human.

you watched him settle and raise his head with a gentle exhale. a mere lift of his shoulders, and he resembled a man in control, content, satisfied – everything henry was, and yet, within the façade, you could see the truth of his discomfort, recently, and without fault, brought upon by an uttered name.

in the upcoming months, you would understand and wonder if there was something you could have done or said to warn him of a future that was inevitable. no matter how many nights you had spent distressing over this question, the answer would always make itself obvious.

there was nothing you could have ever done.

thank you for reading !

[delirious-donna]

an: I had this thought and it wouldn’t leave me so please enjoy the filth of my brain 😌 short but sweet…

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: suggestive, dirty talk, public setting, reader is very embarrassed by their situation

Frozen in place in the midst of the grocery store, you dared not to move. A slow trickle escaped your body and you firmly clenched your thighs together in the hopes of preventing anything further from leaking out. This was mortifying, this would be the thing that turned you into dust to blow across the wind for the rest of time.

A large hand found the small of your back, warm and familiar, followed by a concerned voice by your ear. “Something wrong, honey?”

You whipped around to him, face growing impossibly warm and sweaty at the immediate imagery of honey dripping from its pot. The slow sensual pour of sticky nectar prickled down your spine, and you wondered if he already knew of your current plight. Kento’s eyebrows rose towards his neat hairline, completely oblivious, despite your worries to the contrary, but he did sense your discomfort.

“Don’t you honey me,” you whisper yelled, poking a sharp finger into the centre of his chest. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Talk you into… grocery shopping? We both need to eat, sweetheart,” he answered with a poorly disguised chuckle.

Kento turned to examine the fresh produce, squeezing mangoes to find one nearing ripeness, and you damn near dropped to the floor at the sight. His impossibly large hand encased the whole fruit, fingers flexed around the fleshy skin and all you could think of was how that was exactly how he would squeeze and grope at your breasts.

You took a step closer—drip.

“Kento…” you whined pathetically, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt and doing your damnedest not to dance on the spot like a child in need of the nearest bathroom.

With a sigh, he placed the basket hooked over his other hand on the floor and brought you into the shelter of his body. His chin rested on your head whilst your arms encircled his waist, holding him gently and only for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m leaking.”

Kento paused, perplexed. “You’re what?”

This was so embarrassing and he was going to make you spell it out for him. “What did we do before grocery shopping?”

“We showered, you cooked breakfast and I—oh.”

The penny finally dropped and you could kick him for the shit eating grin that spread across his face. You weren’t accustomed to such obvious delight etched over his features and at your expense too!

Before you could think to follow through with kicking his shin or huffing and puffing, he pulled you into his side and lowered his mouth to your ear. The warm fan of his breath sent goosebumps rippling up and down your arms and your pulse quickened.

“Am I right in saying that my seed is leaking out of you?” He asked coolly, as if he was asking you an everyday question like what type of cheese should we buy this week.

You nodded, afraid of your own voice right now.

Kento hummed. “Then I clearly didn’t fuck it deep enough. We’ll have to remedy that. How does it feel? I’ll bet it’s all warm from your hot little pussy.”

“Kento!”

“That’s right, my love. That’s how you screamed my name when I had your ankles by your ears. Mm, my sweet honeypot.”

If you weren’t melting already, you certainly were now. Your body betrayed you wilfully, the walls of your cunt pulsing to push more of the creamy cum into the seat of your underwear. Kento laced his fingers with yours and began to guide you down the aisle, but you walked on stiff legs, so afraid of what might leak down your thigh if you moved normally.

“I’m stuck! What if I make a mess? I can’t stand here all day,” you squeaked much to Kento’s amusement. He was enjoying your predicament far too much, the wicked man that he was.

“Shall I find you a cart to sit inside?”

“You’re not funny mister…”

“Oh, but I’m not laughing, darling. You’ve let my gift escape, which I find rather rude. I intend to finish this shop fast and replace what you’ve lost.”

You blinked, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. The weight of molten heat dropped into the pit of your stomach. He couldn’t be serious.

Gently, he hooked your arm through his and patted your hand. His face was unreadable once more, eyes scanning the produce and placing items into his retrieved basket. So handsome, so calm, yet beneath the mask lay a man capable of ruining you with words alone.

“Come along, dear. I’ve just remembered we’re all out of honey… not that we don’t have ample supply of our own,” he whispered the last part beneath his breath.

“You’ll always be sweeter than honey to me.”

[ghostgirl-22]

Hiii ik you’ve heard this before but you literally write the yummiest Artrick smut!! Their dynamic is sooo good

I was thinking about Art and Patrick trying frotting for the first time? Maybe they’re dry humping and then Art’s really getting desperate and Pat suggests they do it skin-to-skin? Penny for your thoughts!!

I thank you anon! I love you and I apologize for getting to this so late <33

CW: 18+, NSFW, Patrick my little pining baby.

—-

I think it’s Patrick’s birthday some random Thursday night in January and Patrick makes Art come out with him on the day because he’s gonna celebrate with Tashi on the weekend. Art’s in a bad mood at first. He tries to pretend he isn’t but Patrick knows he’s still annoyed that Patrick has her.

“I can’t stay out late.” Art says coolly. “So if you want a real celebration with me… maybe you shoulda went out to eat with her midweek instead.”

“You want to come out to eat with us this weekend?” Patrick smirks, rubbing his back. “Just a romantic dinner. Me, my girlfriend and my best friend. Probably the most romantic thing ever.”

“Fuck off,” Art shrugs him away. They’re going to a frat party. Art knows one of the frats has insane parties every night of the week which Patrick says is pretty impressive.

“Only reason to join that frat is if you plan to take at least five or six years to graduate from a four year program.” Art says, judgmentally. “Actually, it’s probably what you’d pledge if you went here.”

Patrick lets him be bitchy and goes to get them both drinks. As Art gets tipsy he starts to loosen up. He’s getting drunk on Jell-O shots. His lips turning red and his cheeks flushing. His eyes go all moon shaped when he’s giggly. Patrick is a little obsessed, wants to make him giggle more. They get drunk enough to dance. Both of them dancing together and then dancing with various college girls. Patrick avoiding it when one of the girls leans in to kiss him. She kisses Art instead before her friend grabs her. They both giggle with each other and run to get more shots.

Art’s looking after them dazed and so drunk… Patrick grabs him away. They go to the dj table and request Apple Bottom Jeans for the third time and everyone cheers when it comes back on.

It’s dark and loud, strobe lights going off and Patrick realizes how drunk Art is when they’re on the sofa and he’s leaning on Patrick, nibbling at his throat. Patrick feels warm, hot even, he tangles his fingers into Art’s golden curls to keep him there. “I wanna lie down,” Art sighs in his ear after a minute. Which leads to Patrick guiding him upstairs in the frat house, the bass from the music thrumming through the house even though it’s much quieter upstairs. There’s a couple making out in the hallway. Some girls hooking up in the the bathroom tub while another girl is dozing off on the toilet seat.

Patrick finds an empty room and Art falls onto the bed. Patrick shuts the door and crawls on the bed, lying down next to him and before he realizes what’s happening Art climbs on top of him. “‘M so horny,” he groans, eyes half closed, dizzy drunk and barely aware of what he’s doing. Patrick is immediately hard. He thought he knew everything about Art but this is fucking new. Art is humping him through the fabric of their jeans, grinding, rutting, like a fucking animal in heat. Breathing hard, moaning loudly, chasing his orgasm. It’s so fucking hot.

”Oh fuck,” Patrick breathes. “Holy shit.”

“Mm wanna come Patrick, please. I need it.” Art whines.

“Fuck, mmkay. Come here… maybe we need… need more friction.”

”mm, yeah, please,” Art gasps.

“Yeah? Let’s…” Patrick grabs at Art’s zipper, swallowing hard. He’s had weird dreams about fucking Art for quite some time, weird wet dreams where he’s made a mess of him. So many dirty dreams this feels like deja vu.

But this is better than the dreams. Best fucking birthday ever. He’s easing it out of Art’s boxers. He’s seen it of course. When he didn’t need anything in his head to make himself cum… just the sight of the messy blond boy on the bed across from him spilling it too quickly all over himself. Always dazed by it. It was enough to send Patrick into the stratosphere, every fucking time.

And now he’s touching it, gripping it. Swollen purplepink, and heavy. He undoes his own pants. Art’s thrusting into his fist, eager. Hips rolling.

“Skin to skin, gonna feel so good,” Patrick mumbles, it’s nonsense. He’s half out of his mind. He takes hold of his own cock, lined up along Art’s and starts fisting them both. Art on top of him, the only sound is the endless thumping of the music, the squeaking of the bed inline with their hips rocking, and the breathy moans spilling from their mouths.

“Oh fuck. Oh yes,” Art whispers. He has his eyes closed but Patrick can’t stop staring at him. Lips parted, chest heaving, face flushed, hair falling into his eyes, clothes all disheveled. He’s leaning back, palms resting on Patrick’s thighs so he can thrust his cock mindlessly up against Patrick’s. So hot Patrick might die. And then, as always, it’s taking him by surprise. Come spurting out of him, covering Patrick’s fingers, his t-shirt. He’s whining and moaning and gasping “Fuck… oh fuck…yes…”

Patrick’s not far behind him. His fist now coated in jizz he’s gripping them both tighter, fisting them faster. Art’s making these breathless little “oh” noises, so delicious it makes Patrick shiver and then he’s seizing up, his balls tightening as he spills hot sticky strings of pearly come all over his palm, Art’s jeans and his own t-shirt.

“God it’s so fucking hot, you’re so fucking hot….” Patrick whispers, breathlessly as Art settles sleepy onto his chest. Patrick wipes his dirty palm on the bed and ponders vaguely the poor frat boy who’s gonna be taking this blanket to the laundromat. He kisses Art’s mouth, the way he’s always wanted to, and Art sighs into it. He’s got the hiccups all of a sudden, little ones escaping between kisses which is actually kinda fucking adorable. Art rolls off of him eventually, curling up on his side. “Need to…*hiccup*… so sleepy.” He mumbles.

Patrick sighs, looking up at the ceiling as Art starts to drift off. They’ve been drunk as fuck before, even spooned in bed together, but never like this. He’s not sure what just happened but he thinks he’ll go crazy if Art has no memory of it when he wakes up.

[kaytheday]

Multi-chapter Fan-fiction that combines the events of The Outsiders and Dirty Dancing. I thought that Darrel Curtis was a lot like Johnny Castle and decided to make the two the same character.

Darry looses his job and is given the opportunity to work at Kellermans over the summer.

I’m not usually into multi-fandom crossover fics, but I love both of these movies so much.

[smutallyouwant]

Twice Fic World ch. 1

Night Club Darkness

Mina x Male Reader

Words count: 1.5k

Summary: You saw your sexy co-worker Mina at a nightclub, and she approached you with a smile. On the next day, she was late for work. What could've happened between you two on that night??

What a day from your office works, it's already 8pm in the evening and before you lay on your bed you heard a knock in your door.

" Y/N, it's me Jay"

" Coming"

You opened the door and your friends Jay, Ali, and Paul are here.

" Come on bro, put some clothes up and let's go have fun" said Ali.

This is a rare occasion that you and your friends had because you're all busy from work. Although you're tired, you can't pass on this opportunity so you quickly took a cold shower and dressed up nicely with a white slacks, white long sleeves polo, a black blazer, and your Heinrich Penny deep tan leather shoes. And of course, you also wore a nice perfume.

" My man looks like a gentleman aye?" said Paul.

" You're planning to get laid tonight? " asked Ali.

You chuckled. " No man, I just want to be presentable and smell nice"

" You don't need to lie to us, we know that you're longing for a girl" said Paul.

They all laughed and you all started to walk to the nearest night club.

After entering the club, your group sat in a cushioned sit and had a few shots. Your friends started to talk with girls and brought them to your table. You're not that fond with this type of parties so you started to question your decision of wearing this quite amusing clothes.

"Hey Y/N, we're going to dance a little bit" said Jay.

" Come and join us " said Ali.

" Yeah yeah, I'll come over " you said, knowing fully well that you have no intentions to.

After a few minutes you had a glimpse of a familiar body shape, coincidentally she turned around to you. It's Mina your sexy co-worker, you have a crush on her since she is nice but you don't think she got no boyfriend. She is approaching you with a smile, though you're not assuming that she's looking into you and you took a shot.

Then she reached your table and leaned into the cushioned seat.

" Hey Y/N, I didn't know that you club in this place"

"Holy crap she is indeed talking to you" you said inside your head.

You swallowed the shot and said

" Oh hey Mina, I didn't think that you club as well, although I don't club at all " you said in an underwhelming tone.

" Let me guess, a girl invited you over? "

" No, my friends invited me. We never had a chance to hang around since we're all busy so I didn't turn it down" you said while pointing to your dancing friends.

" Oh so they left you here while dancing with some girls " she said while pouting her mouth.

You're talking to your crush and she made a cute pouting, you can't stop your meat to grow.

" Come on let's dance too" she said before holding your wrist and leading you to the dance floor.

You two danced over a hype beats, and the music turned into a pop song with dirty lyrics on it. Mina started to wrap her arms on your neck pulling you closer to her face and you wraped your arms into her waist, pulling her closer to you as well. Your meat is growing larger and you can't hide the bulge it made to your pants.

" You smell great " Mina whispered to your ear.

Her breath made you shiver and made you horny as well, or is it because of alcohol?

" You smell great too" you whispered into her ear as well, and sniffed her left shoulder afterwards.

" It smells like strawberry" you said while looking into her eyes.

She can't hide the smile and she blushed all over her cheeks. You're also blushing but in a different section of your body.

" Do you like strawberries? " she asked while looking at you with a smile.

" Yes they're my favorite, on drinks, desserts, and even the strawberry itself" you answered.

" Do you want to come to my table so you can taste strawberry rather than smelling it?" she said while looking to you seductively.

You froze in a second and you thought of her offer. You crotch grown larger and you just smelled her shoulders again and gave it a little peck of your lips. After doing that you saw her bite her lips and started pulling you from your wrist to her table. It is the same cushioned seat with a table, the only difference is the lighting. It is incomparable darker.

She pushed you into the seat and crawled on top of you. After looking at her seductive face for a second, you started palming her face with your right arm and your left arm wraped her waist. She hugged your neck while her right arm is gently rubbing your hair while you're kissing her neck. You're hearing soft moan while you're discovering her neck using your tounge and lips. You pushed her gently and hold her neck with your right arm so you can kiss every part of her shoulders she hooked her left arm to your nape and her right arm is holding your legs for support.

While you're kissing her shoulders and back to her neck every sometime, she started grinding into your crotch and her moans intensified. You can't control yourself and started to kiss her lips and you both started to make out. With a gently passionate french kiss, you started to follow her rhythm and started grinding her as well while holding her waist to push her closer to your crotch. You both moaned inside your kisses. Your other arm found its way to her bountiful breast and started fondling it from above the clothes.

She broke the kiss and started kissing your neck. Your head leaned back and you hung there at the seat like a rotting vegetable. She started touching your bulge and she crawled under. You gave her a short sloppy kiss before she removed your belt and unbuttoned your pants. You leaned back and put both your arms into the rest of the cushion seat as Mina licks your shaft and started sucking your dick. You can't believe that she is now sucking your dick, you took a look and gently pats her head.

" Good girl, ahh~~ I love this Mina " you said in a moaning and rusty voice.

Mina started to suck it gently and slowly, you felt the tingle every time she licks the head inside her hot mouth. She can't do deep throat YET but she is a natural when it comes to massaging dick with her tounge inside her mouth. She stopped and quickly stood up.

" Stay there little Y/N, wait for me and you better keep stroking it so it remain that big " she said seductively.

Confused, you stroke your dick without hesitation. She quickly walked towards the comfort room, and you're assured that no one can see you pleasuring yourself while thinking about what happened and what can still happen.

After a minute she came back. She came back without her panties and her cycling while her shorts is still intact.

" What a naughty girl, thanks for that easy access " you said before pulling her for a kiss and forcing her to ride you.

You gave her no time to speak, she aligned her pussy into your shaft and she quickly grinds against your crotch. She can't hold her moans but no one will hear both of you due to the loud music. She leans back and you shoved both of her top's straps and revealed her tits. As you started sucking it, she leaned forward to you.

" Ahh~~ fuck Y/N, fuck me good, keep sucking it baby. I love it " she said under her moans.

" aah~~ " " fuck " " yes babyy~~~ "

You heard those words repeatedly under her breath. It turns out that she likes being fucked while her tits are being sucked. You keep that pace.

" Ahhhhhh~~~ Y/N, ahh~~ fuck~~ I'm cumming " she said almost yelling her brains out.

After she came, she laid onto you like a vegetable. But you're not done yet. You positioned her against the seat and started ramming her from behind.

" Ahhh~ Y/N , I just came " she said while moaning in a underwhelming tone.

" Someone might see us coming, ahh~~ yes baby~~ " she said looking at you from behind with a seductive smile. It came to you that she doesn't care if someone saw both of you fucking each other. Frankly, so are you.

" I can do this all night " you said while still ramming her.

As you pump her plump ass, you felt her pussy tightening.

" ahhh~ I'm cumming again Y/N please don't stop "

" Keep fucking me baby "

She said while looking at you seductively.

" I'm cumming too, can I cum inside? " you asked jokingly with a smile.

" Just cum into my face baby, I like it that way " she came back to you with a seductive glare and a smile.

You kept ramming her and she came, afterwards you felt yours is coming too. You pushed her and pulled her neck so you can shoot your load into her face. She hold both of your legs and you came into her face while she opened her mouth and reveals her tounge. You came all over her face and inside her mouth, some reached her tits and clothes.

She collected your cum with her fingers and eats it. You really appreciates her by doing so, so you gave her a proper kiss.

After you two have groomed inside the comfort room, you introduces her to your friends.

You two danced a little again before you invited her to come over your place. You fucked each other again before taking a rest, and fucked her again before eating breakfast and while taking a shower. You drove her home and you went straight to your office for work again.

" Mina is late today, she have never gone late since she worked here " your co-worker said.

" I wonder why she's late " you said under your smile.

------------------THE END----------------

Thank you for reading my first ever smut. Please let me know if you want more of Mina or if you want to have different Twice member for a smut.

[vivwritescrappythings]

Unfair

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

an au about Joel attending a wedding simply inspired by Pedro's slutty little fit at the SAG awards.

part 2

tw: age gap (late 20s/late 40s), fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, alcohol, she/her pronouns, reader has hair long enough to twist around her finger, Joel is probably poorly written in this, and this whole thing is a little poorly written.

word count: 7.2k

MDNI

masterlist

–

Your mom was smiling as you zipped her into her gown, the chiffon and lace dress gorgeous on her as you fastened the eyelet closed at the top of the bodice. You could feel the lens of the photographer’s camera trained on you both, the woman having been with you the entire morning to document the process of the bridal party getting ready. 

The photographer was fluttering around the room, taking candid photos of you all making small talk and toasting mimosas. The posed photos had been earlier that morning, you all wearing your matching silk robes with your names screen-printed on the back. You didn’t know how much had been spent on the whole production–but it certainly wasn’t cheap. But, to see your mom glowing and her wide smile all morning, every penny must have been more than worth it.

Before you realized, you all wore dresses and bouquets of white flowers with magnificent greenery were being thrust in your hands. The wedding planner was ushering everyone out onto the stone walkway to the barn, women finally meeting men just outside the farmhouse turned wedding venue. The best man looked vaguely familiar to you as you placed your hand in the crook of his elbow to walk down the aisle, he must have been Shawn's eldest brother.

The officiant droned: he just repeated the same platitudes of what it means to love one another and be good spouses. You tried to stay focused, your eyes inevitably wandering. The ceremony space was picturesque: southern live oaks casting shadows in the late autumn sun as they married in front of the barn. It really couldn’t get more Texas than that, especially when you counted the number of cowboy hats in the crowd. 

You could feel someone staring at you for the better part of the ceremony, making you glance out of the corner of your eye as you tried to find the source. Every fiber of you wanted to turn and look in earnest, but you knew that you’d ruin the photos as soon as your body twisted and your happy, grinning face wasn’t facing the bride and groom on the best day of their lives. 

Your grip tightened around the bouquet in your hands as your skin crawled, your focus so jarred that you almost missed your cue to walk out. The cheers and clapping woke you from your reverie before the best man had to. Grasping him by the elbow, you walked back up the aisle between the celebrating wedding guests, the feeling of being watched now fading to the background.

—

When you finally made it to the renovated barn, you were starving and in desperate need of a drink. The photos had run long, the photographers getting you all in a variety of line ups and poses. It was almost time for the plated dinner to begin, guests settling at assigned tables after a cocktail hour and the live band playing quiet music in the corner of the half-inside half-outside space that would eventually serve as the dance floor.

The orange lighting from string lights along the ceiling was soft, mismatched Edison bulbs hanging along zigzagged wires from wooden rafters. It painted the guests and decor in gold tones, making everything look sepia like an old photo.

With your double shot vodka tonic in hand, you found your name written in gold calligraphy on the seating chart. Your mom and her new husband were sitting together at a small table at the front of the room, a faux-neon sign behind them that displayed his last name. Well, their last name now. 

You were at one of the front tables, the ivory table cloth nearly brushing the shiny wooden floor as you plucked your name card off your plate and sat down. There were only a few people you knew at the wedding, neighbors from the neighborhood you grew up in and a handful of your mother’s coworkers. But, they were seated elsewhere. 

Some of the seats on the opposite side of the sprawling white and green centerpiece were occupied with strangers in flamboyant cowboy hats and boots, an obvious sign they were from out of town. You smiled politely as you sat down, taking a long sip of your drink as you checked your phone for the moment of downtime. 

“This seat taken?” A deep, twangy voice made your gaze cut away from the screen and up to the right. You were immediately dumbstruck by how handsome the man was, his umber colored eyes reminding you of the sunlight hitting the tree trunks during the ceremony. A few of his dark brown curls were falling on his tanned forehead, the rest of his hair loosely pushed back. 

You floundered for a moment, lips parting and no words coming out of your mouth. Finally you caught up, blinking a few times. The place card in front of the ornate gold and white place setting next to yours was your saving grace. “Well, uh, if you’re Joel M., the seat is all yours,” you said, looking back up at him.

God, you hoped he was Joel.

He smiled, the lines on his face becoming a bit more defined as he extended a hand toward you. “Joel Miller, nice to meet you…” he trailed off, waiting for your assistance. 

You slipped your hand into his, his calloused palm engulfing yours as he shook it politely. You introduced yourself, neck craned back so you could look him in the eye. He released your hand and sat down, setting the glass he was holding next to yours on the table cloth. 

“So how do you know the couple?” Joel asked you, his gaze dragging over you. You tried not to squirm under the weight of it, your face feeling hot as you set your phone face-down on the table. The way he looked at you made you feel like a bug caught under a microscope.

“The bride is my mom,” you said, fiddling with the elegantly folded cloth napkins for a moment. You glanced at her briefly, watching her giggle at something Shawn had said. 

Joel nodded, a huff of a laugh following. “No shit, so you’re the stepdaughter?” he asked, an eyebrow raised as a smirk lifted the corner of his lip. One of your eyebrows lifted of its own volition, his reaction catching you off guard.

“Do I have a reputation?” A sip of your drink helped wet your dry tongue, your eyes trained on him over the rim of your glass. There was a spike of anxiety in your chest, the temporary fear that he’d heard something bad about you filling your mind. You held your glass in your hand as you crossed your legs at the ankle, waiting for his response.

Joel paused to take a drink, a hand scrubbing over his beard as he looked back at you. He shook his head, waving a hand in a way that was meant to be placating. “Shawn told me about you, said you just moved back to town a few months ago.” 

“Um, yeah, actually. Moved back from Denver,” you said, bashful that the subject of you even came up. You hadn’t realized that you were important enough in Shawn’s life to mention, especially to his friends. Of course, there wasn’t animosity between the two of you, just what you assumed was limited interest. Most men didn't bother to learn too much about their adult stepchildren.

You were both leaning forward as you spoke, the music and chatter of the other guests making the barn a little too loud to hear one another clearly at a distance. He was looking down at his drink, giving you an opportunity to study his profile. Joel was easily twenty years your senior, the dark beard on his jawline threaded through with patches of silver hair. 

“So—“ Joel started, getting cut off by the shuffle of the last people to their seats and an arm thrust between the two of you. The waiters serving the plated dinner made you sit upright in your chair, the soft fabric of your dress fluttering as you put some space between Joel and yourself. 

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took the first bite of your food, a sigh escaping you as your eyelashes batted against your cheeks. Conversation floated around your head, you caught polite questions about Joel’s construction business and half-assed replies.

For some reason your mother had put you at a table full of Shawn’s friends, maybe in an attempt to help you get to know him better.

“So you’re a contractor?” you asked after your hunger had been satiated. You’d gotten a refill on your drink from one of the waiters, nursing a fresh vodka tonic as you looked at Joel.

He chewed his steak methodically, nodding as he turned slightly to look at you. “Been building houses for years, my brother, Tommy, works with me,” Joel said after he swallowed, taking his cloth napkin off his wide thigh to wipe the corner of his mouth. 

“Do you like it?” you asked after a moment of contemplation, tilting your head to one side as you looked at him.

There was something about him that kept you smiling, your lips curved like a bow as you sipped your drink from the straw. You studied his features while you could, his aquiline nose and his full lower lip intriguing. Way too intriguing for someone who was your stepfather’s friend.

“Pays the bills, keeps the roof over me and Sarah’s heads.” Joel finished his plate, picking up his drink and leaning back in his seat. 

Sarah? Your eyes dropped to his left hand, not seeing a ring on any of the fingers. Not even a tan line. He noticed it, making your face burn as he chuckled. “Sarah? Your…”

“Daughter,” he cut in helpfully. Daughter, he had a daughter. You exhaled, relieved. But, did he have a wife? No ring, never mentioned her. He would’ve brought her up by now. She would've attended the wedding with him. You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment, taking a breath as you rationalized.  

Your mouth opened to ask another question when glasses were chimed and dinner was cleared away. Champagne flutes were passed around, and to your horror you realized it was time for your toast. You stood in a fluid motion, adjusting your gown and your hair before heading toward the microphone next to the table with the bride and groom.

–

You spent the rest of the night getting drunk. Champagne became cocktails and cocktails became shots–all with your mother and new stepfather and family and friends from your childhood. Tipsiness made you remove your heels, kicking them off to the side to a forgotten corner as your aching feet pressed against the polished floor. 

The dance floor was cramped, the band having transitioned partway through the night to someone’s phone with a playlist hooked up to the speakers. You watched your mom laugh as she was spun around by her new husband, making you smile as you nursed your glass of wine. 

“You lost something.” Joel approached, pointing to your strappy heels with a lazy finger. 

You grinned, your teeth digging into your lower lip for a moment as you looked up at him. “Looks like you did, too–a few things actually,” you said, nodding toward his shucked suit jacket and tie. The top few buttons of his white shirt were open, revealing just enough of his tanned chest to feel dangerous. He was more disheveled than before, a chilled beer bottle held loosely in his fingers and his cheeks flushed.

Joel chuckled, taking a step closer to you as he took a long drink from his beer. You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, taking a sip of your red wine in tandem.

There was something about this man that had you all kinds of flustered, a giddy lightness in your chest when he focused his attention on you. “So why aren’t you out there dancing?” Joel asked, his warm eyes surveying the dance floor before returning.

You shook your head, a demure smile and a shrug. “Never was much of a dancer.” The last time you really danced was wasted at a frat party in college, the lights low and the music making the house shake. Far from a respectable barn wedding, and definitely not your mother’s respectable barn wedding. 

“That’s a shame,” Joel smiled at you, pressing just a bit closer, “a pretty girl like you should be out there.” 

You were surprised by the compliment, nearly choking on your wine as your eyebrows lifted. Joel was smirking, his whole body leaning toward yours. You were warm to the touch, your entire face burning under his attentions. It felt like you were in high school again, pining after some older boy that you assumed would never look at you twice–but here he was, looking.

“Do you always flirt with your friend’s stepdaughters?” you asked, hoping to come off as hard to get. Realistically, he already had you in the palm of his hand.

Joel pursed his lips, something mischievous flashing in his dark eyes for a moment. “Just the ones that look like you,” he said, his deep voice low. It was almost too quiet to hear over the music, making you shift forward so you could hear him better.

“Joel.” It would've been chastising if it wasn’t for your bright smile. He exuded an easy confidence that was magnetic, it had your nerves on fire as you selfishly hoped that he would do more than just flirt with you. Your gaze was on his lips for a moment, taking in the lines of his full bottom lip and tidy mustache before meeting his eyes again.

“The couple is getting ready to leave!” You both looked toward the door and watched the wedding planner usher guests out the barn doors. Sparklers were thrust in everyone’s hands, the photographer already positioned at the end of the walkway near the rented white Rolls Royce.

Joel’s hand found the small of your back, warm through the thin fabric of your dress as he guided you toward the door. The wedding planner handed him two sparklers, the long kind that wobbled under their own weight. 

The guests had divided into two lines, waiters lighting sparklers on either side of the column created. Joel handed you one as you stood at his side, your bare feet on the warm concrete. You held it out from your body, focused on the bright sizzle of the sparks as they made their way down the lines of powder.

Your mother and Shawn walked through the column of sparklers on cue, laughing and smiling while holding hands. They looked so happy. You could hardly imagine being that happy with someone.

She broke off for a moment to embrace you, making Joel thoughtfully pluck the sparkler out of your fingers so you didn’t burn her. 

Tears pushed at your eyelids, overwhelming joy for your mother finally breaking free of your chest. You whispered ‘I love you’s into one another’s ears and pressed kisses to cheeks as you clung to each other. The photographer’s camera was shuttering nearby, catching every intimate moment.

Finally you let her go, tearful and smiling as Shawn pulled her toward the car that would take them to their hotel. Joel’s large hand found the curve of your waist, bringing you to his side as you watched your mother get into the car. 

You were tipsy enough to allow it.

He was warm, smelling like cigar smoke and whiskey and cologne. You both were quiet as you watched the car pull away, your shoulders fitting in the space between his arm and torso.

“You wanna help me find my jacket? Think I left it around back when I was smoking a cigar with Shawn,” Joel murmured into your hair. His fingers pressed into your waist, his breath on your neck.

It was enough to distract you. You blinked your tears away, fingertips brushing at the corners of your eyes to make sure your makeup was still intact. “Sure,” you whispered, looking up at him after you’d composed yourself.

Your heart skipped a beat when Joel took your hand, tugging you along with him down the path on the outside of the barn. Both of you were tipsy, giggling and stumbling a bit over the paving stones that had been set in the tall grass. The lights faded behind you, the dim glow through the high windows of the barn and the solitary strand of Edison bulbs between the trees just enough to navigate by. 

It all happened so fast, you didn’t even know who initiated it. Joel’s calloused hands were cupping your cheeks and jaw, tilting your head up as your lips met his. He tasted like whiskey and the sweet wedding cake, making you sigh into the kiss as your fingers twisted in his shirt and pulled him close. 

You had to stand on your tip toes to kiss him properly, a few soft laughs escaping the both of you when the hard cartilage of your noses bumped and teeth clashed. 

He took steps forward until your shoulder blades pressed against the side of the barn. Joel crowded you in, one hand leaving your cheek to brace against the wood behind your waist as he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip. You could feel him smiling.

You always found French kissing to be weird, never knowing quite what to do with your tongue. Whenever a guy had initiated it you managed to cut it off quickly, moving on to some other method of making out to spare yourself the embarrassment of letting your tongue sit there like a dead fish.

Of course you’d seen people do it, always seeming like a lot more licking each other than kissing. Nevertheless, the second time Joel ran his tongue along the seam of your lips you found yourself parting them for him.

Suddenly, you understood. Joel’s tongue massaged over yours as he groaned softly. You wanted him to consume you, letting him take control as he explored your mouth. He tilted your head back more, leaning over you with his full height. You flicked your tongue along his, spine arching toward him in an attempt to get closer.

The horn of the hotel shuttle startled you as you broke apart, chests heaving and your lipstick smeared onto Joel’s mouth. 

“You staying at the same hotel as everyone else?” Joel asked, nosing at your hairline as his hands roamed over your dress. He bunched it in his fists, raising the hem above your calves and wrinkling the fabric.

“I am,” you breathed, twisting your fingers in his thick curls. 

Joel smiled against your earlobe, nipping at it. “Wanna continue this in my room? Got a king size bed and everything,” he drawled, pulling back to look down at you. There was a sparkle in his eyes, his smile was breathtaking.

You wiped your lipstick off his bottom lip with your thumb, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “You sure?” you asked, folding your arms over your chest in a form of protection from Joel’s possible rejection. 

He offered, but there was still a part of you that was worried.

He furrowed his brow, a smile still on his face as he looked down at you in the dark. “'Course I’m sure. Go get your shoes, baby, and I’ll see you on the shuttle.” Joel spun you toward the nearest door to the barn, lightly smacking your ass go get you moving.

You yelped, swatting at his hand with a glare. 

“Go on, before I ruin that pretty dress of yours in the dirt out here,” he told you, a smirk on his face as he nodded his chin toward the door. You rolled your eyes, acquiescing to his instructions.

—

It took Joel no time to get you down the hall from the packed elevator and to his room. He clumsily tapped his keycard against the sensor, stamping kisses along the side of your neck as you giggled in the cage of his arms.

Finally he got it to unlock, tightening an arm around your waist as he pushed the door open. Joel took wide, staggered steps on either side of your body as he ushered you inside. 

As soon as the door snapped shut he was already lifting the bottom of your dress, kisses turning into bites on the curve of your neck. “Jo-el,” you whined through giggles as you grabbed the forearm he’d locked around your waist. 

“Unfair that you’re this fucking pretty,” he mumbled, making your face heat up as you tried to protest. Joel shushed you by grabbing a handful of the meat of your thigh, groaning in your ear. 

“How’s it unfair?” you managed to ask, your head spinning from the overwhelming presence of Joel. His rough, calloused hands were groping at your soft flesh, his lips sucking marks on your neck like you were teenagers. 

The room was relatively untouched, his open suitcase on the stand near the large windows on the far side of the room. The curtains were slightly open, moonlight filtering in. “S’unfair that I didn’t meet you sooner,” Joel said, scraping his blunt teeth over the sensitive spot just under your earlobe. You shivered in his arms.

He separated from you just enough to shuck his suit jacket that he had haphazardly put on for the shuttle, tossing it on the little sofa in the room. You turned after stepping out of your heels, linking your hands behind Joel’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss. 

Joel smiled into it, his hands grabbing your waist and holding you flush against his body. “You still wanna do this?” His fingers moved to your spine and played with the zipper on the back of your dress, looking down at you as he waited for your answer. "Don't want you to feel pressured or anything."

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be,” you murmured, carding your fingers in his thick curls.

Joel just groaned, pressing you flush against him as he captured you in another needy kiss. He pulled the zipper of your dress down in one fluid motion, making a shiver prickle up the length of your spine.

“Let me see ya, baby,” he said against your mouth, pulling the thick straps of your dress down your arms. 

You let the fabric pool at your feet, your sheer, skin-colored bra and panties leaving little to the imagination. A wave of insecurity flashed over you, your skin suddenly feeling stretched too tight over your body as your face and neck heated up. 

You were too aware of the parts of yourself that you didn’t like: the dimpled flesh on the outside of your thighs and the hairs you hadn’t plucked away because the wedding was the last place you thought you’d find a one night stand. A wobbly smile formed, your instinct making you bury your face in Joel’s neck to hide.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear his praise. His massive hands ran down your sides, thumbing at the mesh of your bra and panties before he started moving you backwards.

Your calves hit the bed, making you squawk in an unflattering way as Joel lowered you to the mattress. “You’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, his lips trailing down your neck until he was kissing and sucking at your sternum. He nudged your knees apart with his free hand, his other forearm planted on the mattress to hold his weight off of you. He slotted himself in the space between your thighs as his tongue laved over your nipple through the mesh fabric of your bra.

The noise that came out of your throat was embarrassing. Your breath turned into a strangled moan, eyebrows pinching together. The sensation only made your arousal increase tenfold, spine already arching to press your tit against his mouth. 

Joel chuckled, soft brown eyes ticking up to look at your face. “That sensitive?” he said, more of a statement than a question. You found yourself nodding anyway. He thumbed at your other nipple, making it bud against the thin fabric and pulling another whine from your throat. He snickered.

“Don’t tease,” you huffed, wiggling your hips and lightly squeezing his sides with your knees. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Joel muttered, a smile stretching on his lips as he rolled the pad of his thumb over your nipple again. He placed kisses along your stomach, making you suck in the soft flesh on reflex. His coarse facial hair tickled your skin, making you giggle a bit as he continued to work his way down your form.

“Just wanna taste ya, okay?” Joel asked, his broad shoulders between your spread thighs. His thick fingers hooked into your panties, manipulating your legs so he could pull them off and toss them somewhere in the room. He pressed your legs apart before you could snap them shut, a seed of worry taking root in your mind as you looked down at him.

You’d never been so self-conscious during a hook-up before, but for some reason Joel felt different. Your thoughts were preoccupied on how you looked from his vantage point, if you smelled alright and if anything looked weird.

“Been wanting to taste you all night, ever since I saw you standing up there during that damn ceremony.”

He spread you apart with his thumbs, eyes focused on your already wet pussy as a smirk stretched across his features. He just stared, making you want to crawl back into yourself. Then the feeling of his tongue on your clit makes you forget your worries, your face scrunching as you moaned. Joel hooked your leg over his shoulder, your heel pressing against his back as he pushed your thighs even further apart. 

You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been so soaked before, sticky arousal practically gushing out of you. Joel’s wide tongue licked long stripes up your cunt, careful to practically gulp down everything that he could. He was groaning as he ate you out, his big hands digging into your waist to pull you closer. The coarse hair of his beard was rough against the soft skin of your inner thighs 

“Oh–oh god, Joel,” you sighed, propping yourself up on an elbow so you could look at him. 

Your thighs were quaking, pressing against his ears as your hips twitched. Joel’s dark eyes were hazy and half lidded as he lapped over your clit, working with a focus you’d never experienced with any other man. He looked beautiful between your legs, belly-down on the mattress and still dressed in his button down shirt and slacks. 

One of his hands left your hip, snaking up your stomach to reach blindly until he cupped your breast. He pulled at the cup of your bra, revealing your peaked nipple. The bud was immediately pinched between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your back as you let out another whine of his name.

Joel dipped down to shove his searing tongue inside of you as his nose bumped into the swollen bead of your clit. A bolt of lightning ricocheted up your spine, a gasp leaving you. It felt so good you could almost cry, your chest heaving and hips clumsily grinding toward his mouth. You were already starting to tremble, pleasure sparking in the pit of your stomach as he mouthed at you. 

And then he pulled back.

“Joel!” you yelped, starting to sit up as your gaze hardened into a glare. Your pussy clenched around nothing, neglected and empty with an interrupted orgasm.

He huffed a laugh, looking down at you as he knelt on the bed in front of you. “You’re right, baby, that’s my name,” he teased, his voice deep and smokey. 

He grabbed you roughly by the hips, pulling so you fell to your back again. “You fucker–” Joel cut you off by pressing the backs of your knees until you were bent in half, a brief show of just how strong he was. His calloused hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, readjusting you again so the small of your back was propped up against his quads. You’d never been in this angle before, your pussy the highest point of your body as he pushed his forearms against your thighs to keep you still.

Joel’s hot breath washed over your cunt before he delved back into it, greedy as he started sucking on your clit. With the way you were contorted, you were completely helpless, any attempt to move your hips just made your thighs push uselessly against his arms. You were soaking, your arousal dripping down to your asshole as you whimpered pathetically.

He went at a leisurely pace, taking his time to tongue at you and lick long stripes from your perineum to your clit. Your hands were clenching in the white comforter on the hotel bed, your chest heaving. There was something about being completely at his mercy that made your head spin.

You wanted to be greedy, take everything he would give you; but, Joel was in no rush, languidly pressing his face into your pussy despite your best efforts to get him to speed up. 

It was overwhelming in all the right ways, your head spinning as you watched Joel lick at you like he wanted to consume every part of you. Joel cupped your breast in a hand, strumming his thumb lightly over your nipple to keep it stimulated as you gasped. 

You were delirious by the time he sunk two fingers into you, almost making you scream. Joel took a few breaths, his pink lips swollen and shiny with your arousal as he studied your expression. You could hardly think straight, strings of curses mixed with his name falling from your lips as you panted like a bitch in heat. 

The squelching sound of his fingers lazily pumping into your pussy filled the hotel room, loud enough to make your cheeks burn. You wetted your lips, trying to catch your breath beneath Joel.

“So fucking tight around my fingers,” Joel mumbled, the words muffled and wet because he didn’t pull away. It didn’t even feel like he was talking to you, communing with your pussy instead. The praise went directly to your head, making you tighten around his fingers. You threaded a hand in his hair, keeping his mouth pressed against you. “Tastes just as good as I expected.”

“Oh… oh my god,” you breathed, your climax building toward its precipice. 

Joel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just barely speeding up the rhythm of his fingers fucking into you. His thumb on your nipple followed suit, matching the motion as tears filled your eyes. Your fingers threaded into his curls, your brows furrowed as you pulled on his hair. He grunted against you, not letting up as he worked you up toward the edge. 

When you came it was a whole body event. Your legs trembled, hips burning from the awkward angle Joel had bent you into. Your back arched, breath pausing in your chest. Your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucked tight and feeling every inch of them inside you. The pleasure was white-hot as it coursed through you, leaving your nerves buzzing and your ears ringing as your body went limp.

“So pretty when you come,” Joel said, his thick fingers still deep inside you.

You were almost nonverbal, your response a delirious sob as you looked up at Joel with watery eyes. He caressed your cheek, gently stroking your jaw and thumb wiping over your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it out of reflex, the motion making his expression soften for a moment.

Then he started to massage the spongy spot inside of your dripping pussy, making your eyes roll back. “Too sensitive,” you whined, grabbing onto his forearm in a weak attempt to stop him. 

“Trust me, baby, I’ve got you,” he said in that syrupy tone, gaze still locked on your face as you squirmed. He took his hand away from your cheek, holding one of your legs to keep you still as he fucked his fingers into you. “You can do one more for me, right?”

The need to please him made you nod, taking in a deep and shaky breath. You couldn’t do anything but take it, your mouth dropping open and your back arching. The overstimulation made you tremble, your whole body squirming. Breaths kept huffing out of you, your brows pinched tight as you tried to relax. It was hard to think straight, hell, it was hard to even breathe. 

Joel pulled his fingers out of you for a moment to strum over your swollen clit, only touching you with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. He continued until you were straining against him, moaning and sobbing his name. It was like he was carved from stone, hardly giving you any leeway as he kept you in place. The pressure in you built faster this time, it was almost embarrassing how quick he was able to get you to the edge. 

“Joel, Joel, Joel–ohmygod,” you gasped, reaching for purchase against his thigh. His dress pants were soft under your fingers as you squeezed, your body practically vibrating. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured soothingly, pressing a wet kiss to the back of your thigh as his fingers hooked back into you. 

Joel fucked you on them at a ruthless pace as his thumb rolled over the crest of your sex, your mouth opening in a wordless cry as you fell into your second orgasm of the night. You were completely lost, your eyes squeezed shut as your muscles spasmed against the restraint of Joel’s arms. White noise filled your mind, your body melting against Joel’s thighs and the bed as your legs fell open even further. 

He rubbed along the seam of your cunt soothingly, calloused fingers working you through the aftershocks. Your eyes were completely hazed when you looked up at him, splayed on the bed like every bone had been pulled from your body. He looked positively giddy, his wet fingers smearing on your thigh as he rubbed your legs in an effort to help you come back to yourself.

Joel let you off of him, returning your spine to the mattress as he leaned over you to give you a kiss. You hummed into it, smelling and tasting your salty-sweet slick on his lips and facial hair. “Please fuck me,” you begged between presses of his mouth, desperation easy to hear in your tone.

“‘Course I will, baby,” he said, getting off the bed to quickly undress himself. You shakily sat up, unclipping your bra at your back and tossing it aside. 

Joel was impressive, his body rippled with muscles beneath a layer of fat that told you he was eating well. Your gaze dragged down him, mouth watering as you finally saw his cock. It was big, the same tanned tone of his skin with a flushed tip. It jutted from a patch of trimmed, dark hair that was accentuated by the happy trail beneath his navel. You swallowed thickly, pussy clenching at the thought of him fucking you into the mattress.

You kissed him eagerly as he got back on the bed, part of you so desperate to please him. Joel was older than you, so much more experienced, you just wanted him to like you. 

He grunted, curling a hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. His other hand traveled down your body, massaging your hip with his thumb. You were putty in his hands, your own arms in a loop around his neck.

“Lay down,” Joel mumbled against the hinge of your jaw, nipping at the bone. You whimpered, fingers digging into the broad muscle of his shoulders as you complied. Joel ran a hand over you, sliding it down the valley between your breasts and over your soft stomach. 

The backs of your thighs were pressed against his quads as he took himself in his hand, sliding the blunt head of his cock along your pussy. You clenched around nothing, desperate and wanting. “Joel, please.” 

You couldn’t take waiting anymore.

He smirked, notching himself at your entrance and obliging you. Joel pressed and pressed and pressed until his hips were completely snug against yours. He split you in half across the width of his cock, moving slow to give you some time to adjust. It felt like he’d consumed all of the extra space in your body, you even felt him in your throat. 

You breathed brokenly, back arched and hips twitching as you struggled to find a comfortable position. You weren’t a virgin–weren’t anything close to it, really–but it felt just as overwhelming as your first time.

Joel bent over you, his elbows on either side of your head carrying his weight as he ground his hips against yours. His forehead pressed into your shoulder, a heated groan rumbling from his chest. It was hard to make sense of things, rattled breaths filling your chest as your mind whirred uselessly. He peppered kisses over your face, his lips wet and warm as he showered you in affection.

Then he moved his hips, the roll of them slow and syrupy and making you nearly choke. You grabbed at his biceps, an attempt to anchor yourself to him as he started to rut his hips into yours. He made room for himself with every press of his cock, molding you to the shape of him.

Joel collected your leg with a rough hand, pushing your knee toward your chest. He let it come to rest in the curve of his elbow, palm pressed flat to the comforter as he spread you open wider. Your hips protested as he splayed you apart, the discomfort easily taking a backseat to your pleasure.

You keened, mouth falling open as he sank even deeper inside of you. Your breaths came out in little mewls, matching Joel’s grunts as you met each thrust with a weak roll of your hips. His lips were at your throat, sucking more marks into the skin and his facial hair scratching against you. “Goddamn, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby,” Joel groaned into the curve of your neck, still keeping an even rhythm

You let out a breathy laugh–you felt the same way about him. He lifted himself to get a better look at you, dark brown eyes as warm as the summer sun as his gaze drifted all the way down to where his cock was buried in you. He grunted at the sight, pupils dilating like drops of ink in water.

His free hand lifted off its elbow, his weight shifting to one side so he could wet the pad of his thumb with a lick of his tongue. You were making sounds you couldn’t control, each thrust pushing a small gasp from your throat. Then, Joel dropped his hand to your lower abdomen, gently tracing the curve of your belly down into the soft thatch of hair you hadn’t bothered to shave.

A calloused thumb found your clit, swirling over it with a confident pressure in a way that made your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Joel was pounding into the spot that made you see stars, merciless in his pace. “Joel… oh god…”

You could feel the flutter of your orgasm starting, your legs trembled against his arm and the curve of his waist. You chanted his name like a prayer, overstimulated tears starting to squeeze out of the corners of your eyes and roll into your hairline. He just soldiered on, grinding his thumb over your clit as he worked you higher and higher toward the edge.

A rattling gasp escaped your throat as you pulsed around Joel, your brows pinching and your body stiffening beneath his. You could feel the release from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head, your nails digging into his thick biceps as the flickering pleasure turned into a full on forest fire. You leaned up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down onto the mattress with you as you held him close.

“Fuck,” Joel moaned into your neck. His thrusts became sloppy fast, his discipline gone to the wayside now that he made you come on his cock. You felt him twitch inside you, his breath coming out in hot huffs against the curve of your shoulder. His hand grabbed your hip, pulling you down to match his frantic thrusts as he moaned your name into your skin.

You wanted to pull his head away from you so you could see how his face looked when he finished. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, his hips grinding tight to yours as he came inside of you. You moaned with him, the feeling of being filled up by him satiating a need you didn’t know you had as you dragged your blunt nails on his scalp.

Joel finally collapsed, the weight of his body pressing down on you as you combed your fingers through his hair. His hips were cradled by your legs, sweat slicking your skin wherever it was pressed together. You breathed against one another, pulling each other close as you basked in the afterglow.

You were sharing the same air, pressing loose kisses to each other's warm skin as you melted into each other for an unknown amount of time. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours.

“We should clean up,” you finally breathed, able to come back to yourself. 

Joel nodded against your neck, you felt it more than you saw it. You giggled after he didn’t move, still leaving you helpless and pinned beneath him. He seemed to make himself even more comfortable, arms constricting around you and face nuzzling closer to your throat.

“Joel,” you chastised, lightly shoving at his shoulder. It was half-hearted and meaningless–you were more than content to stay here all night if you had to.

“I like how you say that, Joel,” he said, mimicking your voice in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. It made you laugh, throwing your head back against the comforter as you shook it. 

He hissed, pulling away from you just enough to prop himself up on an elbow. “You clench around me like a fucking vise when you laugh like that, baby,” Joel muttered, swirling his fingertips over your skin. He didn’t move to pull out of you quite yet, the two of you relishing in the intimacy of your embrace.

A slow smirk crossed his face, his dark eyes flickering back up to meet yours. “Plus, what’s the point of cleaning up if I’m not done with you yet?”

–

Needless to say, you were sneaking out of his room when the dregs of sunlight started streaming through the hotel room windows, sore and exhausted, with his phone number typed into your phone and his hickeys all over your skin.

[nothinggold13]

-You'd think they were a couple. -Aren't they? -No, not since we were kids.

[charliedawn]

Hello i really like your fanfics about the slashers and I have a request as to what if the nurse one day walks in with a baby in her hands and the slashers think it's hers but not knowing she was just babysitting

(If you do not want to do this request I understand I was hesitant when I wanted to ask this😭)

Warning: Reckless babysitting involved

Freddy: "That thing yours ?"

Freddy is cash.

He ain’t gonna beat around the bush.

The moment he sees a baby in the hospital, he’ll ask himself two things: first, who shagged and brought that thing to life. And two, why is it looking at him like its gonna suck his nonexistent soul out of his body ?

And since there aren’t that many women in the hospital and you were the one holding the baby, he would automatically assume that the pink fleshy thing is yours. He would then be relieved to find out that it wasn’t yours. (Not because he doesn’t think you would be a great parent, but because he kinda sees you as the mama bear of the asylum and could get jealous of not receiving enough attention.)

Freddy *proceeds to carry the baby and puts shades on him and moves its little arms to make it dance on the table*

The baby *stares at Michael*

Michael *stares back*

Michael didn’t really care who’s baby it was. He just stared at it. It was such a funny thing to find in an asylum and he just kept staring at it. But then, he thought about who would be irresponsible enough to leave a baby unattended in an asylum with cannibal clowns ? He hence took it upon himself to take the baby and protect it until the mother or caretaker would arrive…

The baby will be safe if given to Michael.

"Oh ! Nursy laid a child overnight ! Didn’t know your species could do that !" Penny joked as he found the baby.

He did have the craving to take a bite at first, but then he realised the baby was under your care. And as he does respect you to an extent, he decided to spare the child. Besides, the child wasn’t ripe enough for him…It wouldn’t be as nutritious as it would be if it were 4 or 5. He would hence say that he would wait until it is older. He would however observe it and smile at it or do funny faces at it when you’re not looking. He would also throw it in the air (giving you a small heart attack in the process) and giggle as he managed to successfully catch it each time.

The baby *crying his lungs out*

Pennywise: "Give it here."

You *suspicious* : "Why ?"

Pennywise : "Do you want it to sleep ? Give it."

You then witnessed Pennywise use his powers to sing the baby to sleep. Pennywise would lull the child to sleep by singing him a song. Pennywise is older than Penny and has hence a greater repertoire and remembers…everything. He would find a song to make the baby sleep and be extra gentle with it. Unlike Penny, Pennywise is much wiser and careful. He understands the fragility of a baby and would know best what to do with it, even more since Pennywise used to have 7 siblings growing up when he was still human. But, do not leave the kid unattended for too long with Pennywise because after all…old habits die hard and unlike Penny, Pennywise isn’t fussy about the food he eats.

"…Ew."

Patrick Bateman is NOT a baby person, he isn’t a person person on a regular basis, but babies ? They are the worse in his book.

Loud, dirty and can’t do business.

What are they even for ?

The only baby he would get along with would be boss baby. But since he is a character in a cartoon, they would never meet. So the very real baby will stay FAR away from him and he wouldn’t even touch it. He would mildly be interested if the baby is yours, but not a lot more…

You: "Jack. You were a father, right ?"

Jack: "Yeah. Why are you asking ?"

You *dump the baby in his arms*: "Here. I’ll be back in 5."

Jack *momentarily stunned and then calling after you.*: "Hey hey ! No ! Nurse Y/N ! Come back here !"

Jack finally sat down on a chair while the baby was just chilling in his arms and staring at him.

Jack *looks down at the baby and huffs* : "What are you looking at ?"

Him and the baby proceeded to chill all afternoon.

You *forgot the baby in a room*

The baby *chilling on a table and about to roll off said table*

Bo *uses his unexpectedly big brother superpowers and catches it before it falls and then looks down at it…wondering what the hell he just did and why*

The baby *giving him the most baby smile ever*

Him *smirks* : "Well…Ain’t you an absolute sunshine, huh lil’ ugly ?"

Also him *carries the baby to the garage* : "Don’t worry, uncle Bo’s gonna take good care of ya. Lemme show ya how to fix a car now."

Brahms would be happy to take care of it, but he would be clueless and would be afraid to hurt it. Brahms is strong and sometimes he doesn’t even realise how strong. He could involuntarily crush the child. So, he would just sit in front of it and be on guard duty. He would make sure no danger gets near the child and keep an eye on it until you are back. He would then ask if the baby could come back when it is a little older so they can become friends and play tag together.

Brahms *making puppy eyes at you and keeps asking when is the baby going to come back*

[s0urlemone]

A night ☾ - Stardew Valley headcanon

About what happens when you don’t play for a long time, but it’s soft.

Warning! there’s typos probably don’t judge me

I’ve read many stories and hcs about what happens in Pelican Town when you, the player, don’t touch the game for a long time - the panic that fills all the inhabitants when they realise the farmer they’ve grown to love so much has suddenly disappeared leaving no trace, clothes covered in dirt still in the dresser and all their belongings intact all over their little house that Robin has spent so much time restoring for them. They might’ve left a spouse behind, too, and said spouse can’t accept their sudden departure. Is it their fault? Were they not good enough for you? The thought of Shane starting to drink again or Alex bitterly wondering if he’s destined to be miserable as his father loved to remind him is heartbreaking.

But my headcanon is a little softer, wholesome even.

When you pick up the game in the morning, after saving it just a couple of hours prior, you wake up in your bed with your spouse by your side, ready to start a new day, to feed your animals and scratch your kitties’ ears, to water the crops and gallop through the city to help your neighbours with their quests.

So I imagine that when you’re not playing, it’s simply nighttime.

An endless night where your spouses can snuggle up with the farmer. Where they can share whispered, soft little secrets in the cozy sheets, the fireplace crackling in the background. A night to dance with Emily in front of the jukebox, her laughter filling the living room as she swirls around with her “two-left-feet” spouse. You stop twirling around only when you place your lips on hers to distract her from your lack of skill, both of you smiling into the kiss. Or to hear Elliott’s soothing voice read his latest writing - and he always gets a little bit nervous about it, even though he knows he’s in a safe space and you would never judge him or his work in an offensive manner. He keeps you with your head on his stomach as he sits up straight in bed, his fingers running through your hair.

A night where you and Maru sit out under the porch, a fuzzy blanket over your shoulders and a cup of scorching coffee to warm up your hands and keep you from falling asleep after 2 am as she regulates her telescope to watch the stars with you. Where Leah, sitting at the kitchen table in silence as you do the dishes, draws a quick sketch of your side profile - she does that a lot lately - in the golden light of the lamp, the colour of your eyes making her heart skip a beat every time.

A night where Sebastian can hold his sleepy spouse on his lap as he finishes working on a project for his demanding client, his left hand lazily stroking your back as you rest your head on his shoulder. He loves to place kisses on your forehead, so soft that it seems like a butterfly has just brushed your skin with its wings. Where you and Alex share a tray of fresh baked cookies, a new recipe from his grandmother, as you binge watch a show on the tv - you usually try to keep the television out of the bedroom, but sometimes you two can get so lazy he just brings in the one you keep in the living room so you can snuggle up under the sheets.

A night where Hailey sits on your lap, wearing one of your “dirty” shirts, as she grumbles about the fact you don’t take care of your skin enough, her soft, pretty hands applying creams on your face as you try to steal a kiss every now and then, only to be reprimanded - and then, eventually, granted what you want. Where Harvey timidly massages your sore shoulders, his strong, delicate hands lingering a couple of seconds more because he loves the sweet intimacy of the moment you’re sharing. And he loves when you finally get to relax, because he gets to relax too when he’s not worrying and fussing over your recklessness.

A night where Penny asks you advices about what topic she should teach Vincent and Jas next, her auburn locks out of her ponytail as you massage her scalp and run your fingers through it to help her relax a little. She leans back and places her head against your belly, the sight of you in the vanity mirror making her blush. Or where you and Abigail make a mess in the bathroom because you’re trying to dye her hair of a new shade of purple where the roots are starting to grow in a lovely brown colour. The problem is, you can’t stop sharing kiss after kiss and now your clothes are full of dye, too.

A night where Sam gets to rest on your chest, lulled by the soothing rhythm of your breathing. He can’t help but crack jokes in the dark, but as the night gets deeper, he finds himself completely engulfed into your warmth, the comfort you radiate making him finally feel safe. And Shane finds that same comfort in your embrace, your arms like an indestructible shield from all the shadows of his past. He’s like a scared cat into your arms, searching for your touch, in a night so endless he will never be afraid again.

I love the angst too, but I am feeling really emotional lately and I wanted to share something soft. 💗