#you're a really good dave though!

[hairmetal666]

Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.

He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.

Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.

"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.

"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."

He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.

Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."

"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."

"Is it?"

He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."

"My point exactly."

His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.

---

The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.

Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.

Or so Eddie thought.

Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.

"Harrington?"

"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."

Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.

Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"

The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.

By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.

The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.

His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.

Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."

And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.

Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.

Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.

It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.

They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.

"You won," Steve says.

"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."

"You deserved it."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"

Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"

Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.

"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.

"You--what?"

"What if I did mean it?"

"You're straight."

Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."

"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"

"Um. Since you invited me to this?"

"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"

"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"

"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"

"I thought that happened to everyone!"

"It doesn't!"

"That's what Robin said!"

They're both yelling.

"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.

"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.

"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"

"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."

"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."

Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."

"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.

He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."

He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."

Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.

"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."

And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.

He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.

Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.

"Why not?"

"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.

Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.

[pulsarsatellite]

Clear Skies

The FINAL CHAPTER of Days of Laughs and Nights of Screams is now up to read on AO3!

You can read the last chapter here!

Chapter Snippet:

Keep reading

[latenightreadingpdf]

Hidden in Plain Sight - Dave Lizewski

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 2 ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 3 ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: When Y/S/N saves Kick-Ass from a dangerous situation, he becomes obsessed with trying to uncover her true identity. Little does he know, Y/S/N is a girl from his school who secretly has a crush on him as well. As they patrol together, their worlds collide in ways neither expected, leading to a surprising revelation about who's really behind the mask.

Y/S/N - Your superhero name

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The night sky over New York had a strange way of making a person feel invincible. Dave Lizewski, aka Kick-Ass, was just starting out his amateur superhero career and was already way in over his head. Sure, he'd gotten a few decent hits in on some petty thugs before, but most of the time, he spent more energy trying not to die than actually fighting crime.

Tonight was one of those nights.

He sprinted down an alley, panting, adrenaline surging through his veins. Behind him, two guys—huge, brawny types who clearly had nothing better to do than terrorize the innocent—chased him with knives. His green suit felt like a second skin, clinging to him with every move, though it wasn’t exactly made for high-intensity situations like this. His lungs burned, and a stitch formed in his side. Not good.

“I swear,” he gasped to himself, “I’m gonna die.”

The alley came to an abrupt dead end. He cursed, turning just in time to see the guys closing in, grinning like they'd won the lottery. He raised his fists, trying to look braver than he felt.

"This... is not going to end well," Dave muttered.

Before either of them could lunge, something fast and powerful blurred from the shadows, hitting one of the thugs with such force that he flew backward, crashing into a stack of crates. The second guy barely had time to react before the figure was on him too, taking him down with an expert kick to the stomach.

Dave blinked in disbelief. The figure straightened, revealing a young woman in a sleek, black suit. It wasn’t flashy, but it looked way more professional than his own green and yellow DIY get-up. She had an aura of confidence and strength that radiated even in the dim light.

And, yeah, Dave noticed, she had a killer figure.

"You... you just saved my life!" Dave stammered.

The girl rolled her eyes behind her mask. “Yeah, and I’m guessing it won’t be the last time, Kick-Ass.”

Kick-Ass. She knew his name.

“Wait, who are you?” he asked, his voice still shaky from the adrenaline.

“Call me Y/S/N,” she said casually, as if saving people from imminent death was just another Friday night. “You really should be more prepared for situations like this.”

“I... I thought I was.”

Y/S/N snorted, crossing her arms. "Really? No backup, no weapons? Just... that?" She gestured to his suit. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

Dave flushed, partly from embarrassment and partly from the rush of adrenaline still coursing through him. “I’ll... I’ll do better,” he promised lamely, watching as she walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the night.

And just like that, she was gone.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

At Atomic Comics the next day, Dave was still riding the adrenaline high from his encounter with the mysterious heroine. His friends, Todd and Marty, sat across from him, distracted by the latest issue of X-Men, while Dave rambled on about her.

“I swear, you guys, she was like something out of The Avengers. She totally saved my ass last night. And she was hot. I mean, like, really hot. Her suit—it was super tight. I could barely focus.”

Todd raised an eyebrow, putting his comic down. “Dude, you’re such a nerd. A hot superhero saves you, and that’s what you focus on?”

Dave shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, yeah? You didn’t see her. She’s got this whole thing going on—great moves, great...uh...form. Her ass is—”

"Wow. Really going full perv, aren't we?" Marty quipped, rolling his eyes.

Unbeknownst to Dave, someone had been listening. On the other side of a nearby shelf, Y/N, the kind and somewhat popular girl from school, had been browsing comics too. She knew who Dave was—after all, they had a few classes together—but they had never really talked.

Y/N smiled to herself as she overheard Dave’s rant about his superhero crush. Little did he know that she was Y/S/N, the very girl who had saved his life last night. Hearing him talk about her alter-ego like that—saying she was cool, hot, and all that—was...well, flattering in a weird way. And the fact that he was so obviously into her made things a lot more interesting.

Still smiling, Y/N grabbed a random comic, paid for it, and headed out, a plan forming in her head.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Later that week, Dave suited up as Kick-Ass once again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Y/S/N during his patrol. After their first encounter, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She had this presence that he couldn’t shake off, and it didn’t help that his crush was amplified by the fact that she’d saved him. She was the real deal—a hero, like he wanted to be.

“Kick-Ass.”

Dave turned at the sound of her voice, heart skipping a beat. She was there, perched casually on a rooftop ledge, looking down at him with that same cool confidence.

“Y/S/N!” He tried to sound smooth, but his voice cracked just a little.

“You’re not going to need saving again, are you?” she teased, dropping down to the street in front of him.

“I’ve got it covered this time,” he said, puffing out his chest just a little. “Totally prepared.”

Y/S/N gave him a once-over, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Sure you are.”

The two of them walked together, patrolling the empty streets, though it was a quiet night—too quiet, really.

“So, Kick-Ass,” Y/S/N started, her voice casual. “There’s this guy I go to school with. He’s in a few of my classes.”

Dave’s heart gave a little lurch. Was she... opening up to him? Maybe this was his chance to learn more about her.

“Yeah? What about him?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“He’s super nerdy, kind of awkward. But he’s... well, he’s hot. Like, really hot.”

Dave blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I bet he’s got... you know, a lot going on,” she continued, her voice dropping slightly. “In more ways than one.”

Dave felt his face flush. “Oh.”

“I can’t focus in class because I’m too busy thinking about him,” she added. “It’s a problem, I don’t know what to do.”

“Wow, okay. Um... who’s the guy?” he asked, not really wanting to know but needing to at the same time.

“Dave Lizewski,” Y/S/N said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dave stopped dead in his tracks. His brain short-circuited for a second. “Wait... what? Did you just... did you just say Dave Lizewski?”

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable behind her mask. “Yeah, why? You know him?”

“I—uh—” Dave’s thoughts tumbled over each other in a chaotic mess. She knows me. She actually knows me. And she thinks I’m hot?!

Y/S/N didn’t give him any time to process. “Anyway, I gotta run. Crime won’t stop itself.” She gave him a little wave before disappearing into the night once more, leaving Dave standing there, still in shock.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

That night, Dave immediately FaceTimed Todd and Marty, pacing his room in a frenzy.

“Guys! You are not going to believe what just happened!” he blurted out as soon as they answered.

“What is it now, man?” Marty asked, exasperated.

“I think Y/S/N goes to our school.”

Both of them stared at him blankly through the screen.

“No, seriously! She was talking about a guy she likes in her classes. And then she said my name! My actual name!”

Todd snorted. “Okay, but how do you know she’s not just messing with you?”

“I... don’t know. But it seemed real,” Dave insisted. “I think she really goes to school with me. And now I have to figure out who she is.”

He grabbed his old yearbook off the shelf and flipped it open. “There’s gotta be some kind of clue.”

Todd and Marty exchanged skeptical glances but eventually joined in, helping him comb through the yearbook. They scanned faces, trying to match anyone they knew with the mystery of Y/S/N.

“Alright, so we need a plan,” Dave said, leaning over the pages. “Monday, we’re going to do some recon. Check out anyone who might be her. We’ll figure this out.”

Todd and Marty, albeit reluctantly, nodded in agreement.

“Sure, dude. Recon mission on Monday.”

Dave closed the yearbook with a snap, his mind racing. Somewhere in the sea of students, Y/S/N was hiding in plain sight. And now, he was more determined than ever to find out who she was—both in and out of her suit.

Little did he know, Monday would bring him more answers than he could’ve ever expected.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ there’s not enough Kick-Ass fanfics on here and I’m sick of it :( lmk if you want a part 2

[ddejavvu]

Reader who makes Aaron blush!!!!! Maybe the bau are out together after a case has wrapped up, and the reader says sm cute to him and he starts blushing and everyone starts teasing them <3

There's a woman that nearly walks into a table while passing your own in the bar, and you can't really blame her. Your team is a gorgeous bunch, but you suspect the woman's eyes had been singling out the tall, dark, and handsome figure of your boss.

Her friends helps yank her out of the way before she can topple the table, and she seems too embarrassed at her near-spill to come over, if that had been her intention in the first place. You're glad, because even if you can't blame her for finding Aaron handsome, you can be jealous.

"Poor thing," Emily tuts, "Derek, button your shirt up a bit, you're causing traffic jams."

Morgan grins at her observation, but you down the last of your drink for the courage you need to speak.

You attempt it casually: "I dunno. Seemed like she was eyeing up Mr. Smokeshow over here," You nod towards Aaron, then glance around at everyone's glasses, "Anyone need a refill?"

"Me, please." JJ recovers quickly from her barely-masked delight, having clocked your not-so-subtle crush on Hotch from the beginning. She slides her glass over to you and you catch it before it can hit the ground, looking back up at everyone else.

"Mine, JJ's, anyone else?"

"We're good." Reid decides, his smile tight-lipped, "Thanks, L/N."

You take your leave with a nod and a grin, hoping they don't notice the slight tremor in your hands as you turn away with the glasses. They barely wait until you're out of earshot to round on Hotch, and he's glad he hadn't given you his drink so that he can bury his burning cheeks in it.

"Mr. Smokeshow," Derek kicks him beneath the table with a shit-eating grin, "Hey, bet no one's ever called you that before."

"Derek-"

"Maybe you can have it engraved on a plaque for your desk," Rossi goads, "You can just throw out the one you've got, your name doesn't matter anymore."

"Dave. She was kidding." Aaron scolds, and JJ thumps her fist on the table.

"She was not kidding! Oh, my god, you are absolutely impossible! She likes you," JJ levels him with a knowing stare, "What is it going to take for you to believe it, her dropping to her knees?"

"Well what if she's just tying his shoe?" Emily frowns in mock worry, "You have to be careful about that sort of thing."

"I do have to be careful," Hotch insists, keeping a wary eye on you to be sure you're still occupied and out of earshot, "Expressing interest in a member of my team would be disastrous if they didn't feel the same."

"Yeah, but she does feel the same," Reid gives Aaron a pitying glance, "I'm not exactly the BAU's matchmaking expert, but I know that."

"She's coming back," Penelope elbows Reid, and the man winces as her arm hits his slender side, "Everyone shut up!"

"Here," You slide JJ her drink back, taking your seat beside Derek and across from Hotch, "What did I miss?"

"Oh, the usual," Emily shrugs, but there's delight dancing in her eyes, "Just talking about blowjobs."

Your eyes shoot wide in surprise but you stifle a laugh into the rim of your glass, "Oh, yeah. That's what I thought. Who are we blowing?"

"No one." Aaron clears his throat, nearly choking on the last of his drink that he downs, "I changed my mind, I'll go for a refill."

He seems much more calm and collected as he beelines for the bar than you had, but you try not to stare too long at his departure lest someone catches on. Apparently, though, they already have; you turn back to the table and six pairs of eyes are on you, all accompanied by identical grins.

You don't let them get a single word out as you raise your glass to your lips, "Shut up."

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Luke/Andreas; wined and dined

For the prompt: Andreas and Luke meeting/hooking up the second time

I literally finished this before I realised you guys probably meant like, the second time they hooked up, not the whole second time 'round. Mea culpa, everybody. And for those who interpreted it the same way I did...you're welcome?

Andreas can’t remember the last time he was wined and dined.

Though maybe that isn’t the best way to describe it — Andreas has dinner meetings all the time, has sat beside clients at the best restaurants in almost every NHL city, sampled from the menus of half of New York's most exclusive restaurants. Always on the agency’s dime, of course, or his multi-millionaire client’s, or the teams they play for, or the teams who want to sign them.

There’s plenty of wine involved — though Andreas always restricts himself to a glass when it's business — plenty of dining. But a meeting’s a meeting, whether it’s in a conference room, patiently waiting for a GM who’s been around since there were still six teams in the league to figure out how to unmute his mic, or eating something exceptional at a Michelin Star restaurant.

So obviously that’s not what he means. It’s not that he hasn’t been dating either, though admittedly, he had less and less time to spare for it as he got older. And not that he hasn’t gone on dinner dates specifically, where he allows himself a second glass of wine, orders what he’d like, rather than ‘what he’s having sounds good’, unless, Andreas supposes, it truly does sound good. So there has been wining and dining, in fact. Possibly even a surplus of it.

And yet.

At a certain point Andreas thinks he just stopped expecting romance. It wasn’t any sort of resigned, jaded disappointment at the dating scene. Not that it isn't a shitshow, but it's probably better here than just about anywhere else. More an acknowledgment that most guys didn’t seem to be looking for romance, at least the ones Andreas was dating.

And that was fine, because Andreas wasn’t really looking for it either. Romance was undeniably nice, but he worked long hours, put almost all of himself into his job, and what he had left didn’t require much more than good conversation and some companionship, a spark of attraction, mediocre or better sex. Romance might have come along down the line, but things didn’t tend to last long even when he did find someone who met his simple — yet almost impossible to find — criteria.

That one, he thinks has more to do with him than it does with them. Andreas’ career is one of those things that’s attractive in theory, but significantly less endearing when he’s slipping in and out of bed at all hours, constantly checking his email or ducking out to make a call, flying off to who knows where, sometimes with plenty of notice, sometimes with none at all.

Maybe his life just isn’t conducive to romance. He doesn’t like to think that, but there would be worse things, wouldn’t there? He has a job that he finds fascinating, a job that offers something different every day, a job that, incidentally, pays him more money than he has the time to spend. He could retire tomorrow if he wanted to, live the rest of his life in comfort, dedicate all his time to searching for true love, but why would he want to? It sounds excruciatingly boring.

So he works — he works a lot, works more than he should, at least according to everyone he knows, including Dave, the giant hypocrite — and he — well, he works. But it’s fine. Most people have to search for meaning in his life, but he has his. If anyone asks about it — and they all ask, except Dave, that gem of a fucking man — he says he doesn’t feel like he’s lacking anything. He’s not lying, either.

That doesn’t mean something doesn’t squeeze tight when Luke conveniently ‘happens to be in town’ — though if there’s any town that actually applies to, it’s New York — when he figures they should ‘catch up’. Even as he tells himself that he’s just catching up with an old flame, one who doesn’t even live in the same country as him anymore. Even as he tells himself once for old time’s sake, and then twice doesn’t hurt considering they’ve still got chemistry, then when it’s been three, four, half a dozen, and if Luke’s got a return ticket Andreas doesn’t know when it’s for, but it doesn’t feel like it’s any time soon.

Luke has always been a romantic. He’d deny it up and down if Andreas said it, and it wouldn’t even be a kneejerk macho shit — Andreas doesn’t think Luke even knows he does anything out of the ordinary. Andreas doubts he was thinking ‘I’m going to woo Andreas’ as he asked him out to dinner, not the first time, or the second, not when he came with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine from a vineyard Andreas mentioned in passing, said he’d cook for him, laughing as he fought with Andreas’ temperamental bottle opener, scoffing when Andreas impatiently intervened before he could ruin a good bottle of wine.

Technically, he doesn’t even know if 'wooing' is Luke’s aim at all. He could just need the change of pace, miss the city, the speed of it, the convenience, and while he was here, Andreas was just as convenient as the rest of it — good conversation, good companionship, Luke more attractive than ever, the sex still fantastic. And they didn’t even have to get to know one another. What could be easier?

But Andreas doesn’t think so, at least not judging by the way Luke’s started looking at him.

Andreas doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him like Luke does, the complete focus of it. Looking isn’t a strong enough word — it’s more like he’s taking him in, trying make sure that he gets every single detail correct, the way Andreas imagines a painter would gaze at their subject, a poet at their lover. Luke’s no poet, but, well — maybe he is, a little, minus the words. There’s something about the way Luke looks at the world. Something about the way Luke looks at him.

It used to unnerve Andreas, a little, especially because Luke wasn’t only looking at him like that over romantic candlelit dinners and endorphin fueled pillow talk, but also during the most mundane moments. Andreas would be scowling at his phone, pecking out an answer to a client who decided he urgently needed to discuss his contract on a Sunday morning, a full season before it expired, and he’d look up and there Luke was, visibly taking him in. Sometimes there’d be a little smile on his face — the moments Andreas let himself be a little cranky there often was — but often there wasn’t, just Luke’s eyes on him, taking him in like he was never going to see him again.

It was — a lot. Luke was a lot, almost from the very beginning. Andreas thought he was going to get a regrettable hook up out of things, and then he thought it was going to be a few of them, and it was like a switch was flipped, and Luke went from the hot, fun, surprisingly good in bed client Andreas had completely unprofessionally fucked — and not just once, but a few times, and then a handful — to even more surprisingly good company outside of bed, to something Andreas didn’t quite have a name for. Someone who was gone even more than Andreas was, someone Andreas started to miss when he was gone. Andreas was the one staying put, most of the time, but Luke was the one always watching him like he’d disappear the moment he closed his eyes.

The look hasn’t changed, and Andreas imagines it means the same thing now as it did then, Luke who doesn’t blink, Luke who jumps both feet first, Luke the romantic.

It doesn’t feel as overwhelming now, though Andreas suspects he’ll be spending some time thinking about just how quickly Luke was on board. How quick they both were — Andreas can’t pretend he doesn’t know what’s coming, what’s already here, can’t pretend that isn’t something he wants, when he could end things with a word.

But he doesn’t. This time Andreas lets himself look back, and when Luke catches him at it, he doesn’t let himself look away.

[de4dlyniightshade]

I’d really just like to request your most feral Spencer Reid headcanons. SFW, NSFW, raunchy, tame - whatever. Just your like “I will fight anyone who disagrees, they are fact” type headcanons.

(Because I reread all your headcanons and love every single one)

I BEEN WAITING ON SOMEONE ASKING THIS! i've also just been meaning to make a hc post.

i was gonna split them into nsfw and sfw but they just ended up all mixed together 0-0

submissive and breedable spencer truther til i fucking die i'll get him pregnant don't play with me.

loves messy kisses like spit running down his chin, tongues down each others throat, desperately gripping at each other type of kisses.

maybe just me projecting and taking what mgg said as gospel truth but i fully believe that spencer loves a curvy woman, not even just for sexual reasons he also loves to rest his head on a nice big pair of boobs or thighs.

speaking of, boob guy! shamefully, but still a boob guy! adores groping your boobs whenever he can and would have your boob in his mouth 24/7 if he could, has literally fallen asleep with his head under your shirt and your nipple in his mouth.

munch! like the biggest munch ever, loves nothing more than coming home from a long day and burying his face between your thighs or having you ride his face.

knows full well that toys are his teammate and not his competitors and has no insecurities about you using toys on yourself or owning any.

does not care how well groomed you are, if you asked him what he preferred he'd be like??? it's literally none of my business???

needs lots of reassurance during sex, he just likes to know that he's doing good and making you feel good throughout the whole thing.

doesn't like talking about his sex life, especially with derek, no matter how hard he pressed and pries spencer wont let anything but the bare minimum out.

i imagine he's more drawn to a commanding woman, someone who will take the lead and teach him because of his inexperience and finds that he actually loves being dominated and hardly has any desire to dominate you.

really vocal! even though i've already said it like twice he just is, i can feel it in my bones, he's just such a whiny little baby and can't help but moan loudly any time you're touching him.

is completely against the idea of road head until you do it while you're on a long drive and it both changes his life and almost ends it bcs he swerved into the other lane which was luckily empty.

still gets shy when you kiss him in front even the team even years down the line.

learns to cook so he can make you breakfast whenever you're staying at his apartment.

on the same lines, lovesss morning sex, just that feeling of not wanting to get out your warm bed into the cold air, savouring the warmth in the best way possible.

had no idea what queefing was real until it happened and he was like genuinely so fascinated rather than disgusted.

i feel like spencer would own a bird for sure, not just bcs of gideon but he did help him realise how cool birds are which made him get one, probably a cockatiel or parrotlet with some silly name like dave.

all bark, no bite. likes to act a big game in front of others but the second you're alone he's begging and calling you mommy.

loves nothing more than waking up before you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before carefully and quietly getting out of bed to make you breakfast with the intention of bringing it to you but when you wake up before him and sneak up behind him to wrap your arms around his waist he can't help but melt.

very open to experimenting further down the line, anything you want to try he'll try at least once, except for blindfolds on himself, would be completely open to blindfolding you though.

loves public touching, not outright sex but he'd love when you subtly brush your hand over his crotch or take a handful of his ass in a public place.

teaches you how to knit and cries when you actually make him something like a sweater or even just a hat bcs he realises that's why you wanted to learn in the first place.

can't ride a bike.(this is definitely me projecting bcs i can't but i just feel like he can't okay)

lana enjoyer!!! especially if you are, he just wants to understand all the things you love and if you love lana so does he, he'd love to hear you ramble about your favourite songs and would take note of them and listen to them asap and tell you he loves them even if he didn't like some that much bcs he loves how happy it makes you.

wouldn't want to introduce you to his mother too soon but if you ended up meeting her by chance he'd be sweating buckets in case you didn't get along but you two just bond over your adoration for him and he's just so happy about it.

probably took a while to warm up to physical touch in the beginning bcs of his germophobia but when he finally does he regrets not doing it sooner.

washes his hands every single time before touching you sexually, not even for his benefit, he just wants to be as safe as possible with you.

loves elvis and almost proposes on the spot when you offer to dance with him to can't help falling in love, secretly sheds a few tears while you waltz around his apartment in your pyjamas.

okay i've definitely left stuff out that i've thought of but this is long asf so i'll leave it there😭

[kyemna]

Hazbin Hotel headcanons

TW: Mentions of sex and alcohol. some suggestive themes that's it, it's mostly just fluff.

(English isn't my first language)

Charlie

-Will do anything for you.

-you want flowers? Done. You saw a cute stuffed animal in the store front and you want it? You got it. Somebody harassed you on the streets and you want them punished? Let her take care of it. Normally she's against violence, but when it comes to protecting you? She'll do anything.

-will sing to you, all the time

-made a special song that she sings to you when you've had a bad day

-the best listener ever.

-will sit and listen to you talk for hours

-if she needs to get to work early, she'll make you breakfast and leave you a note that says something like:

-hi, good morning lovely! I hope you sleep well.

I had to leave early.. something happened at the hotel while Alastor was away, and they needed me.

See you 2night, i love you:)<3

-i think her love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

Angel Dust

-whisper's provocative things to you during meetings

-definitely a physical touch kind of guy.

-Will cling to you at the most random times

-keeps Valentino as far away from you as possible.

-tries his best to keep his relationships hidden from him as well

-if you'd come home after a long day, he'd give you a massage

-is super funny, tell me otherwise.

-has a high sex drive, and is pretty kinky due to his job.

-so expect him to ring you up at the most unexpected times.

-PS. Don't put him on speaker when you're in public..

Vaggie

-was pretty cautious around you in the beginning, but slowly warms up to you

-once she's comfortable, she tells the wildest stories and acts them out for you

-if you don't know how to fight, she'll teach you

-if you do know how to fight, you guys spar all the time

-jealousy issues, and you can't tell me other wise.

-she hears someone talk to you in a tone she doesn't like? Glare. Someone low-key flirting with you? Glare. If looks could kill.. she will actually kill them though, so..

-not super experienced in bed, but she's open to suggestions

-once she finds something she likes/is comfortable with, she askes you for it all the time

-a "words of affirmation" and "acts of service" girl for sure

Alastor

(i am perfectly aware he's ace, but these are scenario's for if he wasn't, don't come for me)

-now, Alastor is a great dancer.

-he has great music taste too!

-listens to 1940's and below.

-i think he's mostly into Jazz and Classical music to be honest

-i do think Amy Winehouse and Dave Brubeck are his exceptions when it comes to listening to 1950's and above

-somehow always knows where you are..? You often see his shadows follow you, so that's probably why

-kills for you. Also because he has a thirst for blood, that needs to be satisfied. So that's 2 birds with one stone

-holds doors open for you

-just a general gentleman

-loves it when you wear dark red, dark blue and dark green

-it can be anything. Lipstick (just red though), a hat, a dress, heels, etc.

-expects you to respect his personal space but doesn't respect yours LMFAO

-gift giving and physical touch

Husk

-knows all your favorite drinks

-loves to dance with you

-also a Jazz person, but I don't think he'd mind country music to be honest

-once he secretly took a picture of you.

-he thought you looked so good, he keeps it in his nightstand.

-doesn't really talk about his problems/feelings, but prefers it if you do.

-respects your boundaries more than anyone.

-you don't wanna talk? He'll kiss your forehead, and leave you alone.

-you don't really like being touched? He'll always ask first.

-other than making amazing alcoholic drinks, he makes great coffee too!

-quality time and physical touch.

It's been quite a while since i've written something, so I apologize if there's any grammar mistakes or sentences that just don't make any sense LOL

Thank you for reading!

[asterias-record-shop]

MORE DAVE LIZEWSKI SMUT PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU 😩

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈𓆩♡𓆪┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

— i just got railed in the copy room

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈𓆩♡𓆪┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

Okay but Dave with a Mean Nympho reader. A cheerleader known for sleeping around and he unknowingly goes to one of your spots to get a jacket he forgot while running an errand for a teacher?

— Mean! Nympho! Reader who goes to the copy room to meet up with one of her hookups who don’t show, so you decide to get off on your own by humping a jacket left on one of the cushioned chairs. You couldn’t help it, it smelled so fucking good and felt like heaven when you rubbed it along your clothed pussy.

— Mean! Nympho! Reader who is so lost in pleasure that you don’t even realize Dave walking in to get said jacket that you’re humping against, soaking it in arousal as you desperately try to chase your high. The texture of the grey sweater over the hard side of the cushion wasn’t enough, your skirt being pulled up as you fondled your clit roughly, whining.

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave not knowing what the hell to do. You were humping his jacket, you were making a mess on his jacket. Did you know that it was his jacket?

— Mean! Nympho! Reader yelling at him for being a perv and staring at you even though you’re the one fucking yourself in a public place. In a school for fucks sake.

“I-I’m not being a perv! You’re just… you’re on my j-jacket.”

— Mean! Nympho! Reader who looks down and sees the name ‘Dave’ scrawled on the tag you were using to rub against your folds to get that perfect zing up your back.

“You’re Dave?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I-I’m Dave.”

“You got a big dick, Dave?”

— Mean! Nympho! Reader who gets Dave to sit back in the chair, slowly pulling out his cock and stroking it before pushing it inside of your pussy, groaning as you muffled his moans with your lips.

"Please baby... please, be quieter, you don't want us to get caught, do you?"

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave losing his virginity in a damn copy room to the hottest girl ever. He couldn't stop moaning, though, even with your mouth on his, you tasted so fucking good.

— Mean! Nympho! Reader who pulled away from his lips to bounce on his cock, the best cock you had ever felt, longer and thicker than the other one's that you've ever had.

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave who pressed his face into your neck to try and hold back his explicitly loud moans, peeking up to watch you take out a golden handheld mirror and a tube of lipgloss, parting your lips and trying to control your mouth to stay still as you put on another coat of lipgloss.

"You're so lucky you're dick's good or I wouldn't have let you kiss me. Messing up a hundred dollar layer of gloss, fucking asshole."

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave who apologizes frantically, gasping as you leaned down to cup his balls before pressing a firm kiss to his lips. He's confused at first, crazy confused before you pulled away, letting your tongue stroke over his before you pulled away again, laughing.

“I like it when you’re lips are covered in my lipgloss, David.”

“I-It’s just Dave. P-People just call me Dave.”

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave who watched you pout, your hips stopping just when he was about to cum for the first time inside of an actual girl, your nails digging into his shoulders making him wince.

“You fit me along with other people, David? Really?”

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave who scrambled out an apology, shaking his head as he held your hips, trying to get you to move again.

“N-No, no of course not! Of course not, Y/N, you’re a goddess, please please don’t stop.”

— Mean! Nympho! Reader who laughs and squeezed his balls, watching his face pinch up in a mix of pleasure and pain, groaning as you sink down on his full length, groaning as his cock pushed into that perfect spot inside of you and you clenched around his cock, a loud groan falling from his mouth as you whimpered softly, quickly covering it up with a quick exhale.

"Where's your phone?"

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave who lifted his hips easily making you yelp, taking his phone out of his back pocket and handed it to you unlocked, watching as you giggled and showed him the comic book lockscreen.

"Cute."

— Mean! Nympho! Reader who watched him swallow loudly, putting your name to your number and pushing it into his chest as you lifted off of his cock and kissed his lips softly.

"This should happen more often, David. I like your dick, and you. Text me, you're my main dick now. I expect to be fucked daily, and when I say daily, I mean daily. If you got any other bitches, get rid of them, before I fuck you in front of them. Got it?"

— Oblivious! Virgin! Dave who immediately nods and stared up at you, smiling.

"Whatever you say, my goddess."

Taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪   𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪   𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪   𓆩[@xoxomoonlightbabe]𓆪   𓆩[@copypastedaphne]𓆪

© asterias-record-shop

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Can I get asking gym crush!Dave Lizewski to spot you and needing his help. I think that could spark a beautiful romance

a:n: yes of course!! if anyone wants more of this idea definitely give me any thoughts. college aged dave :)

It's embarrassing. You don't even know his name, and you've never once talked to him. Sometimes he comes in with his friends- two of them- but you haven't caught any information about him besides his frankly impressive workout routine. And it's not like you see him a lot; he comes here way less than you. Yet somehow he seems to be stronger than most other regulars at the gym.

It’s probably for the best that you don’t see him a lot, though. Because when he is there, you find it hard to focus on anything except for him. Everywhere you look he seems to be there in the corner of your eye or in the glimpse of the mirrored wall.

It's unfair, really. No one should be able to look that good while covered in sweat, his curls sticking up in every direction and matted to the back of his neck. The compression shirt that he's wearing is dark with sweat, but his expression doesn't look fazed at all.

Today, though, you're determined for it to be different. You have a few more reps you want to do at the machine, then your plan is to go to the bar and do squats. Then you have your usual cool-down mile and stretching routine. Distractions don't fit into your schedule, especially because you’re already bone-tired today.

You do the last rep, timing your breath in and out to your movement. There's a pleasant, constant tiredness in your legs that you’ve come to love, and the music blasting in your ears pushes you towards your next exercise.

Luckily, the bar is open and you’re able to start your set right away. Maybe it's because you're still a little bit sore from your last leg day, or maybe you're just not feeling it today, but it feels harder than usual. By the third set, your legs are shaking much more than usual and you’re having trouble getting through the reps.

It’s definitely not your smartest decision ever to keep going, but you really don’t to stop early. Some part of you thinks that you can just push through and make it; the reasonable part of you is saying that you’re going to need someone to spot you.

Looking around, you don’t see anyone you know- no friends or friends of a friend. It’s relatively empty for the time of day, but you need to ask someone to spot you.

And in the opposite corner of the gym, there he is. He’s not doing any reps, and from the way he’s checking his phone you don’t think that he’s in the middle of any.

You try to tell yourself that everyone else is busy and he’s the only option, but you know it’s not true. Even if he was busy, you would wait for him to finish and ask him anyways. There’s no telling when you’re going to have another opportunity like this to talk to him- at least you have an excuse to go up to him.

If your legs weren’t already shaking, they are as you walk over towards him. It’s a sin, for him to look at good as he does without really doing anything at all. Your own music blasting through one of your dangling earbuds isn’t enough to calm your nerves. He’s wearing headphones too, so he can’t hear you coming, and he seems immersed in whatever he’s doing, so you stand there awkwardly while he finishes. When he looks up at you, a smile makes its way across his face, and he holds out his hand for you to shake it, not caring about the obvious sweat.

You tell him your name and shake him hand, your stomach doing flips the whole time.

He, in turn, introduces himself. “I’m Dave. Do you need something?” He says it with a pleasant tone, but he must think that he’s been rude because he backtracks immediately. “Shit, that sounded rude, sorry. I just- people don’t usually come up to me.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him with a laugh. “I actually wanted to ask you if you could spot me. I only have a few sets left.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” He looks genuinely excited at your request, and he dutifully follows you to your rack.

You take a deep breath and look at the weights waiting for you. The soreness in your body seems worse now that he’s there standing behind you, his hands clasped behind his back. When you take another breath, it sounds a lot like a sigh. You’re thrilled that he’s willing to help you, but you don’t want him to think you’re weak.

“Hey, you got this,” he says lowly. “I’ve seen you do this a million times before, it’s just another rep, yeah?”

You don’t have the brainpower to think about him saying he’s seen you do this before because all of your thoughts go to his hand on your back, gently urging your forward towards the bar. He doesn’t say anything more, but the message is received.

You step underneath the bar and stand up straight, the bar’s weight settling into your shoulders. You can’t see Dave behind you, but you can feel the heat of his hands underneath your arms as he supports you.

You breathe in. Go down.

Breathe out. Push yourself up.

Do it again. And again 8 more times before stepping forward to rerack the weights.

When you turn around, Dave is looking up at the ceiling, his hands straight down at his sides. You fix your hair and pause your music before taking a sip of water.

“Dave?” you ask. “You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I was checking you out,” he explains while he brings his eyes to yours. “M’not gonna be that guy.”

“I appreciate it,” you respond, your heart warming at the sentiment. “Really, I do. But I wouldn’t mind you looking.” It’s not exactly the most subtle hint you’ve ever given a guy, but something tells you that subtle isn’t the right approach with Dave.

“What?” He really looks clueless as to what you’re talking about, his head tilted to the side. Your brain helpfully supplies you with “puppy dog.”

Too subtle, then. “Do you want to get coffee after this?” You’re positive that your smile is uncertain and crooked.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yes, you,” you laugh. “Look, I know you don’t know me, but I’d like to get to know you.”

“I’d like that, too.” The grin on his face is wide and full, bringing light and laugh lines to his eyes. You haven’t seen this smile from him yet, which is probably a good thing because it has a dangerous effect on you. “You have another set left,” he informs you. “So why don’t we finish that up and go get coffee after?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, stepping back underneath the bar, a renewed vigor in your legs. That vigor, of course, goes away when you actually start the last set.

You do the first five without an issue, but you start struggling more with the sixth. By the eighth rep, you’re face is twisted with effort and you can barely get back up.

Dave doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s there. And his presence is fully reassured to you when he mutters close to your ear, “Come on, just a few more. I’m right here.”

He has to help you with the last rep, his arms supporting you underneath your armpits as he takes some of the weight off and helps you get back the the rack. It forces him much closer to you than before, and you can feel his heart racing against your back. You know yours is beating just as fast.

“Thank you,” you tell him, a little bit out of breath still. “You’re a live-saver.”

A funny look comes across his face at that, but it clears away in a blink. “Anytime.”

“How about that coffee?” you ask, grabbing your keys and water before shooting a quick text to your friends so they know where you’re going. Then, holding out your hand, you say, “It’s the least I can do.”

He takes your hand in between his own, leading you towards his own pile of things. “I know a good place around here.”

“Lead the way,” you tell him.

Maybe asking for his help wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

[luveline]

first of all, congratulations on 40k! ur so very talented and all of ur stories r so amazing!

𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 + 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤

can i request fat!reader with hotch? maybe the reader is super anxious about meeting the rest of the team (maybe she’s already met rossi or spence or somebody) because shes worried that they’ll think she isn’t good enough for aaron so they push off them meeting for a while but then aaron gets shot (like in the shoulder or something, nothing major) and the doctors call her bc she’s on his emergency contact?

tysm babe!

There are people crowding Aaron's hospital bed. You can name them all from the photos you've seen alone; Morgan, muscled, his skin a deep sable; Reid, startlingly pale and with hair to his shoulders; and Rossi, or Dave, an older member of the team standing by the door. 

Knowing them by looks isn't going to make this easier. Maybe because you know that how you look is the very first thing any of them will notice. You aren't like Aaron's previous partners, but you're here, and you'd really like to see him. 

"Hello?" you ask, elbowing open the door.

Aaron looks up, sees it's you with a furrowed brow. "Did someone call you?" 

Which is honestly the worst thing he could say. You know you don't look like anything special, but when you get a call from the hospital that your boyfriend's been shot in the shoulder, you rush. "I'm your emergency contact?" you say, unsure. 

He frowns. "I didn't want them to call you and scare you. I'm fine."

"If there's ever a time for understating things, now isn't it," says Rossi, extending a hand to you. "David Rossi, nice to meet you."

You smile though acid twists in your stomach. "Hello." 

"Derek Morgan," Derek says, offering his swiftly after. 

"I'm Spencer, but I don't shake," Spencer says.

It's just as well. You don't have much patience left for shaking hands, easing past the men and their welcoming smiles to your grey boyfriend. You hesitate for a moment before giving in and touching his face. "I really would like to be called, you know, in the future." You kiss his cheek. "Even if it's scary." 

"Sorry you had to introduce yourself," he says under his breath. 

"Where's Emily?" you ask. You already know Emily, and she'd been so nice to you, you almost wish you'd met her outside of Aaron so that you could be friends. 

"Fighting a losing battle with the coffee machine," Rossi says. 

You straighten up and hold your hands behind your back. Then, self-conscious, you fold them in front of you. You know what you look like and don't usually worry when you're with the people who love you, but meeting new people brings old wounds to light. What are they thinking? you wonder. Do they think Aaron's settling? And that you're the wrong girl for him? 

"I can see why Hotch hasn't introduced us sooner," Derek says. Your heart plummets through your stomach, but he winks and smiles, continuing, "He'd have competition." 

(You can't know this, but they've all noticed your insecure shifting. Hotch wouldn't usually love such blatant flirtation between you and another man, but this instance gets a pass.)

"You can all go home now," Aaron says, reaching for you with the hand that isn't forcibly incapacitated. 

"Aw, boss," Emily says, elbowing open the door with a blonde behind her, "what fun would that be?" She sees you standing by the monitors and grins. "Hey! I wish we were seeing each other again under different circumstances, but it's so good to see you, oh my god!"

Aaron nudges you forward secretly, his fingers at the small of your back. You step forward without more instruction to give Emily a hug. Over her shoulder, the blonde girl smiles. It's an acute relief that she's not skinny, either. 

"Hey, mama, you get anything for me?" Derek asks her. 

"I did, but now this beauty is here, you'll have to wait! Hi, I'm Penelope." 

She's exceedingly eager to hug you as Emily had. 

(Hotch doesn't even care that his shoulder feels like someone poured hot casting iron in the wound, or that he'd really like for you to be hugging him right now rather than Garcia. It's nice to see something he knew was worrying you go smoothly. Nicer still to receive the smile you shoot back over your shoulder as JJ opens the door and his room becomes somehow more overcrowded. 

"She's just as cute as you said," Dave says with an approving nod. "You've still got it, Aaron. There's hope for all us old timers yet."

Hotch had called you cute, but you're a hell of a lot more than that. Definitely still got it, he thinks.) 

[dave-me0wstaine]

ever since i read a post on here a while ago about dilf! dave with a younger gf i have not been the same and quite frankly, i need to write about it before i combust

summary: reader is being a brat, and dave is not having it. (also dave is kinda sorta really mean?)

nsfw under the cut!

ok so let's say you meet dave in his mid forties, while you yourself are in your mid twenties. this relationship is quite different from dave's previous ones. for one, he's a lot more mature, a lot more subdued; he's not as impulsive or unruly as he was in his youth. secondly, he's (arguably) become more patient, which, incidentally, makes him an excellent brat tamer.

granted, dave doesn't have to tame you often; especially considering he treats you like a princess. he takes you out on dates, buys you nice things (even if you whine and tell him not to spend his money on you), makes sure you feel loved and cared for. he basically treats you as if you hung the stars in the sky. you're his pride and joy, his baby.

if this wasn't enough, dave fucks you good too. any way you ask for it, he'll give it to you; if you want it gentle, he's pulling you into the missionary position or spooning you, giving you gentle deep thrusts as he whispers words of praise. if you want it rough, dave's yanking your hair, manhandling you into all sorts of positions, pushing your head down so he can shove his cock unapologetically down your throat; the whole nine yards. usually though, dave only gets rough with you whenever you're being a brat.

it's not often that you decide to be bratty, but usually it comes after a show, when you're tired and ready to go home, or when you're out and a girl comes up to get an autograph, and begins not-so-subtly flirting with him. other times, it's simply because you want to get a rise out of him. and this was one of those times.

you and dave are spending precious time together at home, watching a movie and sitting on the couch. usually, you're cuddled up underneath his big arm, but tonight you decide to curl up at the complete opposite end of the couch. dave, who's just come home from tour a few weeks ago, doesn't like the lack of physical contact.

"c'mere, honey." dave mutters, reaching his hand out to touch your outstretched leg. in response, you curl your leg back towards you, dave's finger tips barely gliding against your bare leg. a decidedly bratty, slightly mean-spirited thing to do, you think to yourself.

"don't wanna," you huff out. it's childish, you're aware, but you really want to see how much you can work dave up. usually he has a bit more patience with you, however, today, unbeknownst to you, his patience is thin.

"fix your attitude." dave says, a stern look on his face. part of you already wants to fold, to be his good girl and curl up next to him, give him gentle kisses all over his face. but again, you want to see just how far you can push him.

so, you dramatically turn your nose up at him, and respond, "fix it for me."

instantly the mood changes. dave's arm shoots out to grab your calf and yanks your leg, pulling your body into a laying position on the couch.

"i didn't ask you. i told you." dave grits out. your eyes widen in surprise. "fix. your. attitude." deciding to test your luck, you hesitantly shake your head no in response.

"no?" dave's voice lilts in a condescending tone. he seemingly gives you one more chance to speak, to say something to quell his anger, but you stay wide-eyed and silent.

dave's face darkens with a mix of lust and anger, and for a fleeting moment, you're scared. but that fear soon turns into a heat that pools between your legs.

"you're gonna regret this little attitude of yours, i hope you know." dave smirks, and tangles a fist in your hair to yank you up from your laying position.

"get up." he hisses, and with his fist in your hair, he guides you over his knee and instructs you to pull your pajama pants down.

with your torso over his knee, it's hard to get your pants down in the awkward position, but dave only pulls your hair harder, snapping "hurry up. i don't have all fuckin' day, slut."

as soon as your pants are down, dave's landing harsh, heavy-handed smacks to your ass, making you squirm in his grip.

"the fuck's gotten into you, huh? you just wanted me to be rough with you? is that it?" dave growls out, "decided to be a bitch so i'd show this pretty pussy of yours some attention?"

"m not bein' a bitch," you whine out, "you are." you mumble, mostly to yourself, but dave hears your backtalk.

"you really don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you whore?" dave snarls, and spreads your legs apart. before you can dig yourself into an even deeper hole, he starts delivering rough, hard slaps to your pussy.

your whines rise in pitch, and you feel tears begin to prick in your eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure. in vain, you try to wriggle from his grasp, to block his hands from your heat, but he just swats them away and growls at you to be still. but suddenly, it what seems to be an act of mercy, dave stops, and begins rubbing the heated flesh of your backside.

"aww, does it hurt, baby?" he coos in a condescending tone, but your too delirious with pain and pleasure to realize it.

"mmhm," you sniffle, nodding your head.

"good, it's supposed to." dave sneers, and begins smacking your ass and cunt once more. "you think you can just give me attitude and get away with it? huh, you little slut?" he questions, but you're so far gone already all you can do is cry and attempt to blubber out an apology.

"p-please!! daddy, m'sorry, i didn't mean to," you cry out. despite your initial commitment to being a brat, with the hits dave is delivering to your ass and clit, your stubbornness quickly determinations into submission.

"well, you should've thought about that before you opened that mouth of yours," dave replies in a condescending tone. however, to your surprise, dave decides to show you mercy, and sinks his fingers deep into your cunt as he's rubbing the battered skin of your backside.

"m'sorry.." you whimper, big hot tears running down your cheeks.

dave coos at you once more, this time in a genuine way. "i know, baby. but you've learned your lesson, haven't you?".

before he can even finish his sentence, you're frantically nodding his head. "mmhm! m'your good girl, promise!" you babble in his lap. if he weren't so turned on, dave might've laughed at your pathetic state. instead, all he could feel was a surge of pride that he had reduced you to such a state in such a short amount of time.

"i know, baby, you just had to be reminded of that, huh sweetheart?" he says, pushing your curled body off of his lap. before you can pout at the loss of contact, dave gestures to the bed, "why don't you lay on your back for me, pretty?."

this time, dave does laugh, watching as you scramble to lay on the bed, just as he asked of you. he crawls on top of you, and lays in between your legs. he craddles your head in his hands, placing soft, gentle kisses to your skin; a stark contrast to his rough actions only moments earlier.

"you're so pretty when you cry." dave mumbles, almost to himself. you nuzzle your face into the side of one of his hands, and gasp as you feel the head of dave's cock run through your wet folds.

as he slowly slides his cock inside of you, you begin rambling once more. "thank you, f-fuck, thank you,". however, you're gratefulness doesn't last long, as dave sets a brutal, unforgiving pace.

"f-fuck! s'too much, please," you whine, feebly pushing your hands against his lower torso in an attempt to push him away. if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was in your stomach with how deep he's thrusting into you. it's all too much to handle, especially after his rather rough spanking. it'd be a miracle if you could sit tomorrow, much less walk. much to your dismay, dave simply swats your hands away, and hikes your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half.

"what? did you think i'd let you get off with only a spanking? after talking to me like you did?" dave smirks at your widening eyes of realization, that the punishment has only just begun.

[baronessvonglitter]

Baby Daddy

best friend's husband!Dave York x married and fertile! f!Reader

Word count: 1.5K

Summary: you and your husband have been trying for a baby, with no success. Then his good friend Dave offers assistance.

(AKA you're on some hormones that make you super horny and Dave pretty much takes advantage of that)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, slight D/S tones, forced pregnancy (though reader is already trying for a baby), infidelity (Dave and reader), slight sex pollen, reader is late 30s/early 40s but feel free to use your imagination, unprotected piv sex, pregnancy kink, creampie, use of hormones to get pregnant, some talk of infertility

Author's Note: I wrote this for those of us of a certain age who are not often represented in fanfics but as stated above please do use your imagination, there's no gatekeeping here ❤️ Naturally I wrote this while I was ovulating and suuupppeerr feral. I don't want to have any more kids but if Dave was insistent upon it I might just let him 🫢

DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You and your husband's Saturday nights are usually spent with Carol and Dave, your friend from high school and your husband's friend from work, respectively. Mostly you have dinner at your house or theirs, followed with wine and a movie after. Tonight's not any different, except Carol looks at you funny when you politely refuse a glass of pinot grigio.

"Might as well tell them, honey," you husband Jim is all smiles as he addresses the table. "We're trying for a baby," he announces proudly.

You smile but it's masking your discomposure. "Honey I thought we were going to wait until I'm actually pregnant to tell everyone," you say under your breath.

Carol's face is illuminated with joy as she reaches over the dinner table to grab your hand. "That is such wonderful news! Isn't that such good news, babe?" she asks Dave.

Dave eyes both you and your husband, and there’s a mysterious little smile that curves across his lips. “That is great news.”

Jim continues, “She’s on trial pharmaceutical hormones right now, so hopefully it’ll work for us and we’ll be parents soon,” he says excitedly. You manage to be more reserved about it, though your heart rate does speed up when you notice Dave’s eyes on you longer than usual.

After dinner you offer to help tidy up while Jim and Carol start the movie. Really it’s just an excuse to be by yourself for a moment, but then Dave joins you, pouring himself a glass of scotch.

“Are you excited about trying for a baby?” he asks so casually.

In the years you’ve known him, he’s never spoken to you about personal things very often. “Yeah, I am,” you smile at him from the sink.

“How long have you and Jim been.. trying?”

It’s possible this is a normal question coming from a curious friend, but there’s always been something about Dave that gives off the impression that he’s anything but.

“Almost a year,” you answer.

“That’s a long time. Do you try pretty frequently?”

You make a sound of surprise, turning to fully face him. “That’s inappropriate.”

He puts his hands up. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He approaches you slowly. “I just meant it must be frustrating, putting in all that hard, fun work only to have your hopes dashed when you see blood the very next month.”

You’re rooted to the spot, knowing you should turn to leave and join the others, but it’s also intriguing, the way he speaks to you. “The new hormones are going to be a tremendous help,” you manage to say.

“Hmm. I bet you’re feeling all kinds of new things with these hormones.. even earlier at dinner I could tell.. you’ve got this unmistakable scent coming off you.. you’re probably ripe for someone to put a baby in you right now.” He towers over you, eyes roving your body in its feminine floral dress before his hands follow suit, gently tracing the outline of your curves. “You’d look so hot pregnant.. your hips getting wider, breasts getting bigger.. and it all starts with this.,” his hand sneaks under your skirt, skims along your inner thigh and finds your heat, evident through your cotton panties. “If your husband isn’t doing the job, why don’t I step in?”

“Dave,” you whisper, “Carol’s my best friend. I can’t..” but it feels too good and damn it he’s right: the hormones have given your libido a big boost. You take his hand and guide his fingers into your slick center. You both gasp quietly as he starts to stroke you with two fingers, then three when he sees you can take it. His lips trace delicately over your neck, just above your pulse point. Jesus, if his fingers fill you up this good, just imagine what he can do with that cock. “Fuck me,” you whisper.

“Are you sure?” His eyes are dark but there’s a kind of mirth there.

“Shut up Dave, just take me home.”

After making your excuse to Carol and Jim that you’re feeling unwell, Dave “offers” to walk you home, which is how you end up across the street, upstairs in the room you share with your husband. He’s relentless as he kisses you with soft mouth and playful tongue. You fumble together towards the bed, working in tandem to get each other's clothes off as quickly as possible. There's urgency in everything you do, even your breathing is heavy and erratic. Your dress goes over your head; you pull off his shirt and unbuckle his belt. Layers are pulled away until skin meets skin and at last he pulls your panties off, smirking to find them absolutely soaked. You lean over the bed, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Is this how Jim usually likes it?" Dave asks, running his hand admiringly over the curve of your ass.

You blush at the sudden random evaluation of your married sex life. "Well.. yes.."

Dave shakes his head, a little smile forming on his lips as he turns you around and lays you across the bed. "I want to see the look on your face when you cum." With that, he slides into you, relishing your expression as he fills you completely. Your legs wrap around his hips and your arms wrap around his neck, all while your bodies move in perfect harmony. "He doesn't fuck you very often, does he?" Dave whispers in your ear, sending tingles down your spine. "I can tell, the way your pussy is gripping me so tight, like you haven't been fucked in weeks.."

You start a smart comeback but it's impossible to think when he's moving against you like he's fucked you hundreds of times before. Jesus, no wonder Carol's always happy. Her husband's well-endowed and knows how to use it.

The sounds of your combined moans becomes rhythmic, Dave's body strong and powerful yet gentle with you. The bedsprings creak beneath your weight, skin smacks on skin, hands grab everywhere they can, lips meet heated flesh, words of lust become sighs and half-uttered phrases. When you come you clench around him, fingernails digging into his skin as a great wave of pleasure and relief flows through you and you cry out. Dave's eyes are on you, barely registering the slight pain of your nails in his back, feeling how you milk him with your greedy little pussy, and his body tenses against yours, his movements become faster and faster as he fucks you during your orgasm. You barely have time to come down before he starts you up again. You moan "Yes!" over and over, hips meeting every one of his frenzied thrusts. Dave looks smug and self-righteous watching you come for the second time. It's not until you feel him swell and pulse inside you that you panic. "Dave, don't!..." but it's too late. You feel several warm bursts when he presses deep against you. To your shock your body reacts eagerly, milking his cock for every drop he has to give. All this happens with your gaze locked on one another's, and as you pale with the realization of what you've just done, Dave only smirks and pushes forward one more time.

You gasp. "Dave, you weren't supposed to-"

"Quiet now. Lay still and keep your hips elevated. Wouldn't want all my hard work to go to waste." He disengages from you, taking a moment to watch his seed spilling out of you and he gently presses it back in. "Not a drop," he says, and gets up to get dressed.

Still in shock, you do as he says, body still reeling from the aftermath of the intense fucking he's just given you. "Don't.. don't tell Jim about this. Or Carol." A massive wave of guilt washes over you knowing you've been unfaithful to your husband and to your oldest, best friend.

"I won't say a word," Dave promises. "I have no doubt Carol would hate you forever and Jim.. well, Jim would be heartbroken. He's not exactly a fighter," he smirks. "And I'll tell you something else." He sits next to you on the bed, admiring the messy state of your hair, your flushed skin. "Jim's a good guy and a good friend. He deserves better than a wife who betrays him like this."

Anger replaces your trepidation and you push him away. "You're an asshole. Get out!"

He looks amused by all this, rather than shamed or defeated as a normal person would. "I'll be seeing you around, sweetheart. We're friends with each other's spouses. It's inevitable." He leans towards you and brushes his thumb against your cheek. "If this time doesn't take - which I doubt it won't - I'm happy to help out again."

Twelve weeks later Jim makes the happy announcement that you're expecting, after having tried for so long you've finally received a miracle. You manage to look contented and cheerful as your friends and family gather to celebrate the amazing news. Carol dotes over you, making sure you don't strain yourself for the baby's sake. You meet eyes with Dave, who's across the room watching you, a brazen little smirk on his face. He lifts his brow as if to ask the question you know he wants to ask, and all you can do is give a little nod.

divider by @enchanthings 👑

[thewertsearch]

ERIDAN: for all that trainin you did ERIDAN: i wwouldnt be the incredible holy wwizard i am noww wwithout your help […] KANAYA: I Hope You Use Your Magnificent Powers Of Light And Hope For Goodness And Purity And Lets Not Forget Science

At this point. Kanaya is Human Sarcasming better than most actual humans.

ERIDAN: dont wworry im all ovver that shit you dont evven knoww KANAYA: Uh Oh I Hope That Didnt Come Off As Too Sarcastic […] KANAYA: Please Dont Take Too Much Offense ERIDAN: haha damn kan if thats your idea of offense bein made then i honestly gotta fuckin wworry for you ERIDAN: tell you wwhat ill givve you some lessons in dealin out the dark umbrage to repay you for your tutelage in the wwhite science

I think Dave taught Kanaya more about the art of trolling in a single conversation than Eridan could in an entire lifetime.

That guy can troll better than most actual trolls.

ERIDAN: wwhats that thing there KANAYA: The Matriorb KANAYA: I Was About To Go Hatch It In The Core To Restore Our Race ERIDAN: that sounds ERIDAN: hopeful […] ERIDAN: if theres goin to be any sort a hope for our race as the prince of hope i demand to be invvolvved ERIDAN: so dont go anywwhere wwithout me got it […] KANAYA: Fine

I’m all for the construction of neo-Alternia, but I really don't think Eridan should be on the planning committee, unless we also want a neo-hemospectrum.

Honestly, the only trolls I'd really trust to rebuild their society are the bottom half of the hemospectrum, and possibly Gamzee. The other highbloods can go sit in the corner.

ERIDAN: its not magic wwe talked about this kar KARKAT: RIGHT, IT'S POWERED BY SCIENCE, I FORGOT. KARKAT: OR HOPE. WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS

I don’t see how Hope translates to a robot-exploding beam, though.

If it was wizards he was blowing up, I’d understand, because it would be consistent with my theory that he's weaponizing his hatred of FRAUDULENT MAGIC. If anything, his Science Wand should strengthen a robot, since it's a product of the TRUEST SCIENCES.

ERIDAN: i had a harder time than anybody wwith this game ERIDAN: it wwas really fuckin unfair wwhat challenges i got saddled wwith ERIDAN: i wwoulda fuckin MURDERED for a land full of a lot a harmless brains and fire ERIDAN: but no ERIDAN: it wwas so lonely ERIDAN: hey guys anybody wwant to come hang out wwith me in the land a wwrath and angels

That sounds cool, though. Angels, I assume, are how Hope is represented in his Land, and I’m sure Eridan synergized well with its wrath. I wonder what physical form it took?

ERIDAN: anybody at all i knoww it isnt anythin like one of your flippin land picnics ERIDAN: anybody please ill evven settle for the kittycat shipper cavve girl

You can't complain about loneliness and then insult your ‘friend’ in the same breath. That's not how any of this works, and the fact that you're unaware of this should tell you everything you need to know about why you're lonely.

So Karkat does know about Nepeta’s little crush. He is a relationship aficionado, after all.

Poor Nepeta.

I sort of figured Karkat didn't reciprocate her feelings. He's preoccupied with plenty of other redrom prospects, and he basically never mentions her.

Karkat’s honestly a little too nice to Eridan. He’s being such a bro here, but what Eridan actually needs is to be brought down to size a little.

Granted, I think Eridan needs a bigger shock to the system than an angry tirade from Karkat. I feel like Terezi could tear him to pieces - but since it's unfair to expect her to put up with him alone, I'd put both the Scourge Sisters on this assignment. >:)

What Karkat is aptly demonstrating here is that there’s a difference between an Eridan kind of asshole and a Karkat kind of asshole.

Let's be real, here - Karkat's a dick. But he's a dick who holds no true malice, knows when he's crossed a line, and is willing to sincerely apologize for his past actions, and make amends.

Eridan possesses none of these qualities, which is why he sat alone in his house for a month while Karkat befriended the entire cast.

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[maxwellatoms]

What kind of video games do you like to play Mr. Atoms?

So many! Assuming there's time. These days there's generally not, so I've been bingeing Vampire Survivors in half-hour doses.

Above is a gif from Noita, my top game of the pandemic. It's an old-school "Metroidvania", but every pixel is simulated and you're a witch who can manipulate her spells (and thereby the world) in a seemingly infinite number of ways. Here, I've built magical "buzzsaws" around myself, which blinded me to the shadow amoeba. In Noita, almost every death is due to hubris, and I think I love that pendulum swing. If you're lucky and skilled, you can become a walking whirlwind of destruction, but you're always your own worst enemy. Bonus: You can turn your vomit into rats.

I'm currently on a break in the midst of my Baldur's Gate 3 run, with a party consisting of my BG2 character's daughter, Karlatch, Lazelle, and Shadowheart. Ladies' Night!

I'm also playing a bit of Shadows of Doubt. I'm not sure it'll hold up long-term, but it's got a lot of potential.

I don't really limit myself by genre or platform, but I'd say that I primarily play indie PC games. The games in my Steam library that I keep going back to again and again?

Cities: Skylines: A chill City Building Simulator. Lots of fun mods.

Darkest Dungeon: This thing is a classic strategy game IMO.

Death Road to Canada: A light, fast Project Zomboid. Dogs with guns!

Dwarf Fortress: For me, it's the ultimate fantasy sim. I love it so much. Looking forward to Adventure Mode finally appearing on Steam.

Project Zomboid: The ultimate lonely 2D zombie apocalypse survival game. Or non-survival game, I suppose.

Total War: Warhammer: For when I'm in a strategy-y mood. Like a lot of people, I'm a bit soured on the modern DLC scene, so I'm still waiting on #3 even though I'm a Chaos stan.

Not on Steam? I do play some Star Citizen from time to time. I backed it a decade ago. I used to joke that it was the game I was going to retire into, but more and more that's looking less and less like a joke. Still, it's made some good progress in the last couple of years and I'm hopeful that repair and engineering turn out to be fun.

The game I'm looking forward to most would be the next Elder Scrolls. I know it's still a ways off. Ever since my Nereverine landed in Morrowind with the intention of becoming a just and righteous cleric and instead found herself an unwitting villain and colonizer, I fell in love with the Elder Scrolls and it's deep, gray lore. It is (for me) a great way to really get into a character's head. Roleplaying... go figure.

Since Morrowind (and a backtrack into Daggerfall), I only allow myself one canon playthrough. My rule is to "let it ride", so that aside from death, if I screw up or if something unexpected happens I don't save-scum. All of my characters are related, either by quest or bloodline. I already know that my next character will be Aventus Aretino (the kid you catch summoning the Dark Brotherhood). My Skyrim character (above) had adopted him and then left him in the hands of a vampire, so I should be covered even if there's a big time jump. Now I just have to wait six more years for the game. And then maybe two for mods. God I'm so old.

I need to spend more time with Dave the Diver.

Anything current I'm missing out on?

[gffa]

Hi, since you’ve been reading the star wars books, do you have one you’d recommend as a starting point for someone who’s never read any of them and is interested in seeing what they’re like?

Hi! This is going to be very subjective, given that I'm not sure what your favorite characters are or which era you're interested in, and if you're interested in the best books out there or ones that typify what the books are overall like. BEST BOOKS: - Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover, god-tier ability to take my favorite SW movie and make it even more emotional and hard-hitting. It adds even more depth to the story, has beautiful writing, and just is a really satisfying read imo. - Padawan by Kiersten White, which is a story about a young Obi-Wan going on an adventure by himself and I think really captures how I see his youth, that there was struggle and difficulty, but overall it explains why he loves being a Jedi and why there's so much joy in his life. - Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule is good for if you're interested in the High Republic stories and I still think is easily my favorite of the entire line. There was so much good foreshadowing and banger lines that really got Star Wars and was an exciting plot to really hook me on THR.

BOOKS THAT MOST TYPIFY WHAT SW BOOKS ARE LIKE: - Brotherhood by Mike Chen is one that I have some stuff I side-eye in it (everything with Mace) and some stuff I was over the moon for (everything with Obi-Wan) and some stuff I was in the middle about (everything with Anakin). That's Star Wars novels in a nutshell for you! (I also think Dooku: Jedi Lost by Cavan Scott is another good starting place, it's an audiodrama, but it gives an interesting backstory to the character, has some interesting Jedi worldbuilding, and does some really great character work with Asajj Ventress.) - Wild Space by Karen Miller is a Legends book (and I usually try to stick to Disney continuity just for ease's sake) but it has some eyeroll-worthy stuff, some unearned stuff, and some absolutely batshit bonkers in the best way stuff. It's a RIDE to read and maybe not one to take super seriously but I feel like it captures the spirit of SW books. (Alternate suggestion: Dark Rendezvous by Sean Stewart is a really good Yoda & Dooku book with a lot of good appearances by other Jedi characters and one of the better books for Jedi stuff, plus lots of feelings and banger conversations between characters.) (Alternate-alternate suggestion: Another Legends suggestion, since there are a lot of SW books in that continuity, you could read the Jedi Apprentice series by Dave Wolverton and Jude Watson, as long as you know they're aimed at a pre-teen audience and are written accordingly and they are SUPER dramatic and put Obi-Wan through the wringer. I'm not always wild about Watson's writing, but when she writes a banger line, she writes a BANGER line, and they're very fun books that a lot of fandom still folds into their writing.) - The Aftermath trilogy by Chuck Wendig is a good place to start if you want to explore the connective tissue between the originals and the sequels, though I always recommend that I think they work a thousand times better as audiobooks. It's mostly new characters (which, welcome to SW novels) but it also has some really good Leia and Mon Mothma scenes, too. - Leia: Princess of Alderaan by Claudia Gray is for if you're more interested in the Original Trilogy characters and while I wish there'd been more worldbuilding in this one, it's a solid story from someone who genuinely loves this character, and will give you a good idea of what you can expect from Leia books. (If you're more interested in a Han/Leia story, The Princess and the Scoundrel by Beth Revis is on the same level. Solid story with occasional moments of fantastic. I had a blast with the Leia sections especially!)