#also never allow me to say the words rock and roll together like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

futureman · 9 months

Text

switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away.

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?”

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it.

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?”

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right—I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.”

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there��please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays.

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets.

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief.

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again.

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.”

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately.

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect.

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most.

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth.

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless.

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too.

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her.

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself.

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack.

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder.

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!”

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best.

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship.

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good.

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise.

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit.

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this.

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun.

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it.

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative.

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him.

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats.

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you.

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are.

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all.

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far.

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core.

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it.

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars.

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful.

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine."

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him.

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him.

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively.

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you.

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need.

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs.

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself.

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense.

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!"

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option.

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well.

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought.

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this.

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point.

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before?

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight.

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar.

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable.

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken.

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken.

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you.

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you.

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering.

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm.

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells.

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone.

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk.

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.”

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer.

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that.

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up.

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes.

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur.

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time.

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand.

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer.

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips.

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans.

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere.

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction.

Now, you want something else.

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either.

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all.

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken.

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie.

"Should ya be doin' that right now?"

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening.

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart.

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open.

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit.

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast.

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically.

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now.

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric.

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something.

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his.

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation.

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now."

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead.

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough.

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you.

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?"

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?”

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content.

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs.

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once.

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you.

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers.

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly.

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh.

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath.

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement.

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you.

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves.

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip.

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him.

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat.

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite.

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment.

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking.

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again.

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation.

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach.

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away.

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives.

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.”

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful.

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free.

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately.

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache.

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does.

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would.

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could.

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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sunvmars · 8 months

Text

sour | s.r. [2]

pairing: steve rogers x afab/fem reader

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word count: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of abortion, pregnancy/pregnant reader- that's ab it

summary: you and steve discuss plans for the pregnancy, steve faces the consequences of his actions

a/n: oh boy have i got a little plot twist coming for y'all soon. also, the chapters will get longer as more of the story is revealed!

“I’m pregnant, Steve.”

Steve's hold on you became a little tighter. He found himself unable to fully process the information you'd just dropped on him; you being pregnant wasn't something he had even considered. You stood still in his arms, allowing him time to process the news and awaiting any type of response from him. He took a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. The words kept repeating in his head; she’s pregnant, she's pregnant, she's…pregnant.

"Steve? Did you hear me?" you questioned, voice slightly muffled by how you were being pressed into his chest.

Only after hearing your voice again did he move. He released his grip on you and took a step back to look you in the eyes. His eyebrows furrowed, his expression containing a mix of disbelief and confusion. There was something else hidden below the surface of his gaze too- a deep-rooted concern. A concern not only for you but for the tiny little life growing inside of you too, the life both of you created.

"What..? I'm sorry, this is just, uhm, wow."

You cock an eyebrow up at him, "That's all you've got to say?"

When he doesn't respond, you scoff. His eyes search the room as he tries to avoid direct eye contact with you.

"Well, now that you've made this abnormally awkward, I think I'm gonna go home now," you chuckle, trying to hide your irritation, ''Since I'm having your baby, please feel free to call me when you've got something else to add, alright?"

He grabs your arm when you turn to leave, "Wait. I'm sorry, y/n. Come inside, please. We can talk in here.”

Reluctantly, you allowed Steve to guide you into the apartment. His grip on your arm stayed gentle but firm like he thought you were gonna turn and run away at any moment. Once fully inside, you noticed how everything seemed so familiar yet foreign at the same time. Most of the pictures were off the wall except for two.

One picture was one that Tony had taken at the beach a year ago. The photo was of you, Steve, and Bucky sitting in the sand. You were laying in Steve's lap with your head resting on his chest while playing rock, paper, scissors with Bucky for the last slice of Steve's birthday cake.

The other photo just had you and Steve on your first date. You'd made him take a picture with you in front of the movie theater you went to. It was the oldest theater in town and, at some point during the night, you made a joke about how the theater was the only thing as old as him in the city.

He'd rolled his eyes at the joke but found himself unable to contain a smile when he saw your face light up as you laughed. You were witty, and that was his favorite thing about you, even if he was on the butt end of the joke. As long as you still had that pretty smile on your face, he didn't care how many jokes you made about him.

The soft, white couch you'd picked out together when the two of you first moved in was still there too and so was your favorite vase. The vase was missing the flowers though- the flowers he'd come home with every Friday without fail. More often than not, the ones he bought the week before weren't even dead yet, but he'd buy you new ones anyways.

"Ma used to tell me that if someone buys you flowers and they don't die for a long time, that means they really love you. But it's unavoidable that they'll die eventually, right? So I figured that if I buy you new ones before the old ones die then you'll never get the chance to forget how much I love you," he explained, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead.

"Right, but what if I forget anyway?" you joked with a smile.

And then he shrugged and gave you a peck on your nose, "Then it's a good thing I'll be right here to remind you, honey," he cooed.

You bit your tongue, forcing the lump in your throat to go back down upon remembering all of the moments you shared. This was your home until just a couple of months ago, and now it felt like you were standing in a shell of what used to be your safe space.

Steve led you to the living room, the last room you'd been in before he gave up on your future together. He gestured for you to take a seat and you plopped into your favorite recliner that didn't even seem like it'd been touched since you left. The tension in the room was palpable as he sat on the far end of the couch, the side farthest away from you.

"You scared I'm gonna bite you or something?" you joked, rubbing a hand over your aching stomach.

He gave a short-lived chuckle before speaking, "Listen, I'm sorry for my reaction," he began, his voice filled with sincerity, "I didn't expect this, and I'm sure you didn't either."

You nodded to show your understanding, "It's alright, this is a lot for both of us."

"What do you wanna do..?"

"Me?"

His brain blanks as he tries to think of whether or not he'd said something wrong.

"Yeah?" he finally says, almost saying it like a question.

"It's not just my decision, Steven. You get a say in this too."

"I do?"

You laugh a little at his confusion, "Yes. You do."

"I'm sorry, it's just that with everything that happened I... I'm trying to say that I'd understand if you didn't want me involved in this decision," he says, looking down at the floor to avoid your eyes.

"Steve, look at me," you begin, pausing until he looks back up at you, "I wouldn't leave this choice up to just me. Whatever decision we make has to work for both of us though."

He looks up at you with surprise etched all over his face, "Thank you, y/n. It's more than I deserve."

"Mhm, tell me about it," you sigh while still rubbing a hand soothingly over your stomach, trying to ease the nausea.

He's silent, avoiding the dreaded breakup conversation. Luckily enough, neither of you are ready to have that discussion yet. He claps his hands together in his lap quietly and clears his throat to get rid of the silence.

"Do you know how far along you are?"

"No, not yet. I have to find a doctor. I'll ask Tony to make the call for me tomorrow."

"So, what do you wanna do?" he asks again, emphasizing the 'you,' "Have you thought about...you know?"

"The alternative? Yeah, I thought about it for a bit, but I think I wanna keep it. I've only known about the little guy for less than an hour and I'm already attached."

What you said was true, you did think about every possible alternative from abortion to adoption; but at some point on the way here, you'd decided on keeping it. You feel a bit of hope when you look down at your stomach. You smile to yourself, momentarily forgetting all your troubles. Though your smile is quickly replaced with a frown when you remember the situation at hand. You look up to lock eyes with him, seeing he's clearly hesitating to respond.

"But if you don't want this, I can raise him or her alone. Y'know, move out of town or move a few states away to be closer to family so there are no unwanted run-ins. The whole nine yards," you say softly, wiping a stray tear off your cheek.

"Oh, y/n," he mumbles, "I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be like this- I didn't want any of this."

You take in his words, trying to make sense of them. You felt your heart beginning to break as he remained silent. How can he just give up so easily before it even gets hard? Not that you'd pressure him into raising a kid he didn't want, I mean you did give him the choice, but his words still come as a surprise.

"So, the whole nine yards it is then?"

"I'm sorry, y/n..."

“I need you to look at me and say it, please.”

Steve looked around the room, appearing as though he was about to cry. His eyes finally land on you and you swear there's bits of guilt and regret in them.

"I don't want this baby."

That was all you needed. Hearing him say the words to you only solidified that y/n l/n and Steve Rogers didn't stand another damn chance. You sniffled as you stood up, trying to conceal any glimpse of sadness he could possibly see in you. You make your way to the door and go to turn the handle only for him to start speaking and stop you in your tracks.

"Y/n. I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't expecting any of this. I don't know what I want yet."

"Of course you do, Steven, you just said it," you say with a fake smile as you turn to look at him, "I'm not upset with you for not wanting this, but I'm disappointed that you're not the man I thought you were. If you change your mind, you know where to find me, but decide soon because I won't let you be in and out of our lives."

With that, you leave and quietly shut the door behind you.

The drive back to the tower is entirely too slow and painful. You slipped your shoes off once back inside the comfort of your room and made your way to the bathroom to run a bath. After sinking in the warm bubbles and water, you unlocked your phone to unblock Steve's number. You awaited a text as you bathed- a text that never came, that is. You felt a little silly for ever thinking he'd want this with you but brush the feeling off quickly as it makes you feel physically sick.

You dry off, slip into your favorite night clothes, then slip under your covers. After trying to fall asleep for four hours and either waking up after a few minutes or not being able to fall asleep at all, you text Bucky to see if he's awake. It's about 3 a.m., but he responds after only five minutes to tell you he's coming to your room. The fact that he knew you wanted him to come over without saying it had a smile spreading across your lips.

When he arrived, you hugged him tightly and let out a shaky breath you'd been holding. He pulled away from the hug and looked at you with a concerned expression painted on his face.

"What's wrong?" he asks, hands resting on your arms.

"I'm pregnant, Buck."

You laugh a little to hide the way your voice cracked but Bucky sees right through it. He frowns at the sight of you, taking in the dark bags under your eyes and your skin that was paler than your usual tone.

"Let's go sit down, yeah?" he smiles warmly.

The two of you sit on your bed in silence as you lay your head on his shoulder. You make small talk after a few minutes, Bucky mainly asking questions about what you plan to do and how you feel.

"I'm guessing you told Steve?" he inquires.

He feels you nod slowly against his shoulder and he takes it as a sign to continue.

"And how did he take it?"

You shrug before speaking, "It seemed like he wanted to be a part of it all at first...then he said he didn't want this, but then he said he wasn't sure."

"Huh," he sighs out of confusion, "You know I'm here for you though, right? Both of you are my best friends, no matter how stupid he's being."

"I know you are," you reply.

"I know it's early and all, but have you thought about if you want a girl or boy?" he asks cautiously, worried the topic might upset you, "If you keep it, that is," he quickly adds.

"Buck, can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I went to Steve's to get his input, but I think I decided to keep it as soon as I found out about it. I hate Steve so much right now, but this baby is a piece of both of us. I can't bring myself to get rid of something so innocent just for being a part of him," you explain, "I know it's not that simple for other people, but I did want kids with him eventually. I'm not unhappy with the pregnancy, I'm unhappy with the circumstances. Boy or girl, I'll be overjoyed either way."

He smiles to himself briefly, "You've got the biggest heart, you know that? You'll be a wonderful mother, y/n, and I mean that."

As hard as he tries to come up with an explanation for his friend's odd behavior, he can't. He'd promised you that he wouldn't go digging for answers when you broke up, you'd told him you didn't care to know and that it wasn't his problem. You're his friend, so he respected that. But now? Now it wasn't just you that Steve was abandoning, which meant that now he had to have answers.

Your breathing slows after a little bit, a sign that he recognizes as you getting sleepy. Slowly, he lays down, cradling your body so that you lay down with him. He lets you rest your head on him as he strokes your hair back soothingly. He waits until he hears your soft snores to gently ease your head onto your pillow before getting off the bed. He'd decided that he was going to get answers, even if it was three-forty in the morning.

Back at the apartment, Steve had only moved once to turn off the lights, pour a glass of alcohol, and sit in your recliner. He would never say it now but he hated being alone in the apartment without you. This wasn't his home, and it never was, not without you there with him. The space that used to be filled with your laughter and your love now felt void of anything other than cold. He sat in the dark, alone with his thoughts, as he did almost every night since you broke up.

His phone buzzed, startling him out of his thoughts. The timing of him getting a message was unusual given the late hour. He picked up the phone and saw it was from Bucky, he smiled softly in hopes that his friend would offer some sort of help. He was sadly mistaken.

Bucky: We need to talk.

Steve frowned at the cryptic message as he typed a response.

Steve: About what?

Bucky's reply was swift.

Bucky: You know exactly what.

A knock sounded at the door no more than ten minutes later. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for whatever talking to he was about to get.

"It's open," he called out.

The door opened to reveal Bucky. As he walked in, the light from outside lit up his face and allowed Steve to see his expression of concern and irritation. He closed the door behind him and then turned to face Steve.

"I'm starting to worry you're turning into a vampire or something, punk. Why are you sitting with all the lights off again? Haven't we had this talk before?" he questions, flipping the overhead light on, "Have you been crying again?"

Steve groans and rubs his wet eyes with his free hand, "No," he lies.

His eyes narrow in Bucky's direction as he walks towards where he's sitting. Steve then brings the drink up to his lips to take a sip only to have it yanked away.

"Buck-"

"Now this is new, is this alcohol?" Bucky asks, bringing the glass up to his nose only to recoil at the scent, "Steve, oh my God, What is in this?"

"Whiskey, tequila, a little bit of everything. Well, everything she left here."

Bucky looks away, desperately trying to contain a laugh, "You can't even get drunk. What are you doing? What's the end goal here?"

"The taste helps me forget how big of an idiot I am," Steve confesses as he snatches his drink back, "It's like a punishment."

"Glad you know you're an idiot, it makes my job here easier."

"Did she send you over here," Steve asks, looking up at Bucky through his eyelashes.

"No, she didn't. But she told me what happened and I came here on my own," Bucky responds, "You know as well as I do that she can fight her own battles."

"Then why are you here?"

"To check on you. And like you said, you're an idiot. I'm here to figure out why you're being such an idiot, though. Whatever Steve you've been for the last four months isn't the Steve I know."

When he doesn't answer, Bucky continues talking, "I've let this go on for far too long. I should've asked when I noticed you were acting weird, but I chalked it up to how rough that last Hydra mission was. But this whole baby thing is the last straw, Steve. I've had to put up with your dumb decisions recently, I deserve an explanation. The woman carrying your child does more so, but we'll get to that."

Steve let out a heavy sigh and his shoulders slumped as he realized there was no escaping the conversation. Bucky had always been a straightforward friend. For as long as they knew each other, he was never one to beat around the bush, and he wasn't about to start letting Steve get away with stuff now.

"I don't even know where to start," Steve admits, his voice laced with frustration.

He takes another sip of his drink, hoping it might give him the kick he needs to explain himself. His face turns up at the taste and Bucky tries yet again to conceal a laugh.

"Okay, enough of that," he says, taking the drink back out of Steve's hands.

Bucky crosses his arms and sits on the end of the couch closest to Steve, giving him a stern look, "How about you try starting with why you decided to walk away from her? She's the best thing that ever happened to you, Steve, we both know that."

Steve winces at his words. He knew Bucky was right, as he usually was, but facing the same truth every day didn't make it hurt any less. It actually hurt worse since he knew that this entire situation was his fault.

"So?" Bucky says, urging Steve to speak.

Bucky instinctively brings the glass up to his lips and takes a sip. His expression turns from understanding to disgust as he spits the drink back into the cup.

Steve chuckles under his breath, "Habit?"

"Think it was the feeling of the cup in my hand, not sure why I did that. Guess old habits do die hard," Bucky explains, "Anyways, get to the explaining."

"I... I don't know, Buck. I messed up, bad."

"We already know that, care to elaborate?" Bucky prodded.

"It wasn't up to me, Buck," Steve sighs, speaking again when he sees Bucky's confused look, "Remember that Hydra mission you were just talking about?"

taglist! @vicmc624 @tooruen @athenabarnes @blackhawkfanatic

to be added to or removed from the tag list for this series, leave a comment or message me :) submissions and asks are now also open

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eldritch-spouse · 8 months

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Giving Cero a handjob while reading to him our marriage contract and fawning over him

Can I also just say your blog is the love of my life I love your characters and content you put so much heart into it so just thank you and hope ya basements always full of bagels😭💞💞🫶🫶🫶

[Girls, guys and ghouls give it up for the biggest brain in the basement! Also, thenk you so much, that means a lot to me. :'7 <3 Fem reader.]

Cero expected a couple of outcomes when he slid the marriage contact your way and sat at a certain distance as you read.

You could be intelligent, come to the conclusion that he's offering you a better life than you'll ever have otherwise, recognize him as the savior he is and sign it. You could sign it out of fear, not ideal but he'll take it. Or you could throw a little baby tantrum and force him to use less appealing methods of making you reconsider.

He did not expect this however.

Maybe in his fantasies. The type of thing he'd sooner be caught dead than admitting he wastes energy conjuring in his mind.

You liked that contract.

In hindsight, you liked a lot of things, not just the contract. The demonlord had simply been far too busy trying to predict everything at once to notice the way your eyes would sparkle up at him whenever he said anything, how he basically didn't even have to tug you along to this room, how you exuded raw admiration watching every new room of his mansion revealed to you. Typical that, in his own magnificent intelligence, he didn't even stop to gouge your reactions. Regardless, the contract must have been the straw that broke the camel's back, because the moment you signed it-

-By the Rings, Cero didn't even get the opportunity to gloat about the fact that you signed it- You fucking signed it so fast! So readily! So willingly! You're so docile-

You threw yourself at him like a bitch in heat.

Normally, he wouldn't stand for this. Cero doesn't want to encourage this lack of self-control and discipline in his future Queen, it would be disastrous and cruel of him to allow you to behave so beastly. But, perhaps it was the sheer infectious glee in the air, the euphoria, the anticipation, the feelings he's never felt before being so quickly returned in spite of the minuscule speck of doubt that kept rearing its head... It all sparked together in one horrifically uncouth explosion of base urges gnashing their teeth.

The monster tried to keep his composure when he offered you a drink and dragged your chair closer to himself.

Several glasses of Gluttony's finest wine later, he's standing by your side, panting quietly, sharp yet slightly fogged eyes watching your small hand stroke languidly along his twitching length while you read several sections of his written work -It's a fine contract. A bit rushed, but a product of raw talent and passion he's well and truly proud of- Both of you tug at your own clothes to combat the heated friction in the air, and Cero has to hand it to you, your diction is commendable for someone so incredibly drunk on their first taste of Hell's crimson.

" This is marvelous... " You utter after a short pause when turning the page.

Cero schemes the outline of your tits through the shabby rags you call clothing, hips rocking ever so slightly as he considers dragging his cock between them, size difference be damned. You respond by squeezing around him a bit harder, delightfully so. " You expected less from me? " The last word dips into a poorly concealed moan.

Your grin is lopsided. " ... No. "

Cero will deny it with all his strength later, but his eyes rolled a little at that timid confession.

" Very good. " His clawed hand comes to guide your harmless one more efficiently, letting you know how he likes to be worshipped. After all, it's relevant to the next part you're going to enunciate. " Continue. "

The Icon pays close attention to the reactions in your face as you re-read this particular section. Because, while some parts were left deliberately vague, he knows you can pick up on the insinuations behind much of his professional language. He took care to make it tread that thin line between perfectly adequate, easily defensible, yet deviously secretly filthy. How could you ever miss the meaning interwoven in his phrasing when his dick hovers dangerously close to your face?

The more you read, the more you seem to buzz with arousal. Cero doesn't need to be a concubus to understand those clenching thighs and hasty breathing. He bites his lip for a moment, his own excitement beading at the tip of his member, used by you to further slick things along, a lewd sound now accompanying that trembling speech. You're almost picturesque like this- With your rosy lips, that flustered blinking, reduced to a mess by the mere terms and conditions he crafted. Cero would tease you about likely making a puddle on his chair's cushion if he wasn't already biting back snarls of pleasure.

" G- God, I- Fuck... " You whisper, whatever it is that you're imagining bringing a bead of sweat to your visage.

Unable to keep himself straight for much longer, Cero bends to loom over your figure, one hand bracing his weight on said chair's top rail while a boot rests on of the stretcher.

" I'm sure you must be dying to get started, no? Why, you're already practicing! " Some humor bleeds into his poisonous tone, though the King is much too turned on to make it sound as playful as he wished.

A shiver that looks more like a death rattle makes its way down your back and, adorably, you find your tongue tied in knots. Cero all but chuckles cruelly when you can't find the voice to continue reading, mind muddling into blind want.

" I'm... I'm sorry I- I can't... "

" Hush. You're forgiven, inamorata. " There's no shortage of jubilation in the Icon's toothy sneer when you effortlessly allow his digits to beckon your head closer, turning it.

He swipes the pristine pages from the table, the tip of his cock parked at your lips. You kiss him without being told to, already showing a lot of promise, and he casts you a slightly softer look while he buries as much of his length down your throat as you can handle.

" I'll do the reading for us now. "

#Cero oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #not sfw #minors dni

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dnftopia · 11 days

Text

dnf + guilty as sin lyric analysis (delusional version)

I was validated by 1 anon so Now i need to do this. Its very crazy (WARNING!)

My boredom's blown deep This cage was once just fine Am I allowed to cry?

this part is soooo pre-meetup dnf. "my boredom's blown deep / this cage was once just fine" reflects so much on both of them -- dream having to watch all his friends meet george from across the world while being stuck in his house for years, and george being bored in london while also barely leaving his flat.

their cage was "once just fine" because we know that before they realized that they wanted to live together and just wanted george to visit, they were fine being across an ocean. But once the visa application started they expressed pretty clearly how much it affected their mental health to be apart from each other -- hence "am i allowed to cry"

I dream of cracking locks Throwing my life to the Wolves or the ocean rocks Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox I'm seeing visions, never mad or bad or wise

"i dream of cracking locks" might as well be a metaphor for the visa aka their lock to the door keeping them apart. and "throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks" is clearly a metaphor for controversy or the general public (the wolves). at the same time dnf are apart they're also becoming increasingly famous, dealing with newfound controversy and criticism.

"crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox" -- use of the word paradox makes me feel like there's some differing use in the meaning of the word "crashing". like the painful feeling of crashing against ocean rocks (controversy) versus crashing against him being comforting (dnf relying on each other for support and love). and "i'm seeing visions" -- wanting to be with each other sooo badly it encroaches on both their waking thoughts and their dreams

What if he's written mine on my upper thigh only in my mind One slip and falling back into the hedge maze Oh what a way to die

this is pretty clearly a "what if my feelings are unrequited" type thing to me. what if i'm his but he doesn't see me as his? one slip (i.e. a slip of the tongue revealing too much of their inner feelings) could ruin everything. Which like. in any friends to lovers relationship i feel that's a very real fear

I keep recalling things we never did Messy top lip kiss

do i have to say anyhting for this one WE KNOW DREAM THOUGHT ABOUT KISSING GEORGE. MULTIPLE TIMES

How I long for our tryst Without ever touching his skin How can I be guilty as sin?

yeahhh more pre-meetup dnf longing for their eventual meeting. without ever meeting each other, and without george ever seeing dream's face, somehow they still want each other

I keep thesе belongings locked In lower casе inside a vault Someone told me, "There's no such thing as bad fights, only your actions talk" These fatal fantasies given way to labored breath taking all of me

they keep their feelings locked up Ohh my dnfies. "there's no such thing as bad fights, only your actions talk" is like an actions matter more than words thing or alternatively could be flipping the saying "keep fighting the good fight" on its head a bit. again "fatal fantasies" of what could be post-meetup consume both of them so fully it's difficult to focus on anything else

We've already done it in my head If it's make believe Why does it feel like a vow? We'll fold apart somehow

THIS ONEEE. "we've already done it in my head ... / why does it feel like a vow?" Like come on. we know dnf have had many conversations about their future together and they're both fully committed to staying together as long as they can. the question for them is whether the other person feels that platonically or romantically

My bed sheets are a blaze I screamed his name Building up like waves crashing over my grave Without ever touching his skin How can I be guilty as sin?

Yeahh. dont need to go into detail on this one because we all get it. #DNFESEX!

What if I roll the stone away? They're gonna crucify me anyway

aside from the Dresus comparisons. "rolling the stone away" in the context of christianity symbolizes rebirth and an intrinsic change. To me it could be seen as a metaphor for coming out publicly . "they're gonna crucify me anyway" -- we literally saw this happen with dream in real time. he doesn't come out and he's accused of queerbaiting, he comes out and people invalidate him and call him names LIKE. This hurts me

What if the way you hold is actually what's holy? If long suffering propriety is what they want from me They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly I choose you and me, religiously

even if they face vitriol and public scrutiny DNF WILL ALWAYS CHOOSE EACH OTHER TO THE POINT OF RELIGION!

Thats it the end. Thanks for reading peace and love Please support me and my crazyisms

#THIS WAS FUN #i'd like to do more of these honestly #dnf

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diorcities · 11 months

Text

ㅤ᳤ ♡᳣̶ rocket (zcl)

♡ genre: smut, pwp. ♡ wc: 1k ♡ an: read midnight for context !!

from the moment you were bold enough to fool chenle, you knew.

what were you thinking? apparently nothing, for the fact that you hadn't even been smart enough to make excuses that could stand on their own. and lies had short legs. “you should know by now.” his voice vibrates, words loaded with poison in your ear. “stupid little thing.” his grip takes hold of your hair, and pulls. a lash takes your breath away before his mouth settles on yours. a wild and fervent kiss takes place in the space between, swallowing your moans at each thrust of his hips.

his hectic breathing hits your cheek while pounding his cock into you. heart beating erratically under his rib cage. oh, he's railed up. a smile appears on your face when you know that you are the reason, hearing chenle huff. “of course you find this amusing,” he says, without slowing his pace. “f-fu—uck.” your eyes roll to the back of your head as a white noise numb your senses. “are you cumming?” he asks, suddenly stopping. a laugh whips him above your tearful moans. “funny, i don't recall saying you can cum.”

he sits on his knees, his hand still tangled in your hair, pulling your head back. even though you can't see it, you know what he's looking at. it still burns on your skin the scourge you received a few hours. “so pretty. thinking he has a chance with you.” a lash of pure joy invades you when he slaps the flesh of your ass and shoves his dick deeper. you bite your lips to repress the groan in your throat. it doesn't work. “now you match,” he informs, with humor all of a sudden.

“up,” he commands, watching you arch your back and lift your ass. his hand grabs your waist and squeezes it, using his legs to press yours together, he starts to rock his cock in and out. “s-shit,” he breathes, “so tight, mm? bet he also likes that.” you can't help but laugh under your breath but ended up moaning when he speeds up.

he fucks you, just like you like it. mercilessly. releasing your hair to use both hands to press your back against the mattress, while his dick slid in and out, making you moan and scream due to the intensity of his thrusts. he pants, euphoric, dizzy. feeling his muscles hurt for the effort he makes to plow his cock harder into you. “chenle, f-fuck!” you swear you're about to burst. sensing a tingle in your limbs, you spread your legs, allowing him to hit deeper. ass cheeks clapping with his hips each time he fuck you into the mattress. incoherent sounds coming out of your mouth. sensing your checks wet because of the overwhelming sensation.

“can he fuck you this good? don't think so.” he curses when he feels you pulsing around his cock. “s-shit.” he must be under a spell. never have enough of you. knowing where you have been, thinking you were fucking with someone else. he feels the need to mark you, so everyone knows you're his. that he can fuck you better. “what did you say?” he asks, hovering over you, “say it louder.”

“y-you can f-fuck me harder than that.” you pant as he laughs.

a long-drown moan left your lips as all your nerves suffer a shot of raw pleasure. feeling the sensation spread through your bloodstream from your core. chenle doesn't stop as you squirm when your high almost leaves you unconscious. hands reaching his stomach, tensing under your palm before he abruptly pushes them away by his grip, using it now to pull you closer to him while he penetrates you. “no need to call for jesus, baby,” he mocks when he hears you mumbling under your breath. “not when you've been behaving like this.” the constant friction of his cock between your walls make your high a past story, now arching your back further, mouth filling with moans that drip from your lips like a flood.

he's fucking you senseless. eyes shut as the white noise covers your vision and hearing. putting you in a hand lock while you feel his breath hitting your bare back, body jolting as he plows you. feeling how angry he is, and how wet that makes you feel. body flowing in the sea of spasms that attacks you when you remember why he's upset with you. “s-shit.” the sounds of your damp pussy fill the room along with your grunts. grabbing your ass cheeks and spreading the flesh so he can have a look at it. “mmm... does it look as good as it sounds?”

a muffled moan comes from his lips the moment he stops. feeling your walls swallow his pulsing cock until he pulls it out and spills his load in your ass. your walls tighten around nowhere as you await the resumption of your pelvis. you still feel it pressing against you, erect as it drips the rest of his seed onto your skin, wishing he had done so inside. “chenle.” he hums, mesmerized, watching his work of art before you bring him back to reality. he laughs, wickedly, before imprinting the most condescending, passive-aggressive voice he has, “sorry, love. you're only allowed to nut once, right now.” however, the result is entirely the opposite of what you expected, you can't bother. not when he has used that tone that turns you on every time.

he leans over you to take his phone. so you stay there, hearing the clicking sound of his phone followed by a flash when he takes a picture of his semen on your ass cheek. and then you smile languidly at a thought. now feeling his seed on the mark haechan left when he spanked you.

“i should remind him that you're mine and not his.”

#chenle smut #chenle drabbles #nct dream smut #zong chenle smut #♡chenle

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suengmi · 1 year

Text

stray kids mythological series: seungmin

pairing: mermaid!seungmin x human!gn!reader genre: suggestive content, pg word count: 1.9k warnings/other: implications of mating, thank you to @l3visbby for giving me the idea for this ♡

masterlist / mythological!au series index

every year, there was one night where the flowers bloomed a little too bright and the waters became too shallow. the sky would light up, millions of stars aligning with the flow of the waves and fluorescent blue waters would shimmer. there was a cave, a cave where the unknown sea creatures sang and gathered. not once did you get too close, not wanting to disturb the hymns of the mermaids. it was a gift, a gift to witness just this once a year event.

the first year you went; you remember the sound of the waves gently rolling off of your paddle boat and the glistening crystal cave walls flickering in the moonlight. that one night, you were able to find a small shiny scale floating in the water. it was transparent, but shone so brightly. you decided you’d wear it as a necklace, a gift you wore so proudly around your neck. unfortunately you weren’t able to get too close, fear of disturbing the beautiful sirens in their rituals.

it was interesting, you had heard stories and drinking songs in the taverns about siren calls, the men on the ships speaking in tall tales of being enthralled by the seemingly genderless beauties. you knew it wasn’t that the case. they were more than just apparent vicious creatures that fed on humans, you could feel it.

it was around midnight when you heard the hymns, beautiful echoes of intrinsic melodies echoing from the caves to the shore. your boat was ready, the moon lighting your way as you haphazardly fought against the tides and paddled towards the sound.

as you approached the cave; just out of your line of sight there was a ripple, followed by another not far behind. weird. you thought. the creatures didn’t usually come this far out. nonetheless, you paddled closer, the small oil lamp sitting on the front of your boat shaking with every movement. as soon as you saw a few figures in the light, you came to a halt.

there were six of them that you could see, four lazily lying on the large water carved rocks, two bobbing in the water. it was incredible, you’d never seen so many before. the details in the tails, the shining scales almost blinding. it was otherworldly, the beauty before you. you almost feel like you shouldn’t be allowed to witness this, going places where you shouldn’t and where human eyes have never seen.

you notice how they interact. a little like cats if you think about it. they screech and scratch at each other, but also play with each other's hair, placing their heads together while they sing.

it’s not until a moment later you’re startled from your gaze, a pale and skinny figure sitting up right in the water.

holy shit.

a real life mermaid, is staring at you. his eyes are dark, rings of white and silver sparkles painting the planes of his cheeks and chest. his hair is slicked back, small hints of white tinges within the tendrils of his brown hair. the expression on his face is blank, but he doesn’t seem aggressive by his stance.

slowly, he turns his head a bit to the side before he bobs underwater, suddenly reappearing by the edge of your boat not a moment later. one of his long pointed fingers presses on the side of the wood as he pulls himself closer, his eyes settled on yours.

the creature blinks at you, head moving with the motions of the water. it’s as if he’s trying to figure you out, but you as he, the same thing running through your mind.

“i, uh, came to hear you sing.” you manage to peep, leaning back.

the mermaid continues to stare at you, pupils so dark they almost completely took over the whites of his eyes.

“really?” he asks in a stern but curious manner, arms coming up to lean on the edge of the boat. “now, why would you do that? silly little thing.”

with what he’s saying and how he’s saying it, it’s absolutely patronizing, like he knows something you don’t. but it seems almost amused at your confession and at your lack of an answer.

“it’s interesting, humans go somewhat insane for our calls. but you? nothing.”

“if you’re referring to the men on the ships… they’ll fuck anyone that talks to them. a siren’s song would send them mad of course.” you say as if it’s common knowledge. well, to you it is.

“who said anything about fucking?” the mermaid smiles, pushing himself back from the boat to laugh.

when you think about it, the mermaid probably knows nothing of the songs in the pubs about the vicious mermaids, the ones with the long hair that entrance you with their songs and beauty.

“actually,” he says, leaning back over, arms dangling in front of him to play with a net you had left in your boat from the fishing day prior. “we do it more for amusement than mating.”

“mating?” you ask, leaning forwards. you can feel embarrassment slap in the base of your stomach. why did this make you so nervous? the mermaid sighs, swishing around in the water ignoring your question.

a shimmer of white surfaces beneath the water, large and fish like with it’s shape. never have you seen a tail up so close, it’s breath-taking, and the stories and tales which are so sweetly sung don’t do it justice.

it’s as if he notices your stare and lifts his tail slightly out of the water, angling his hips so you can get a better view.

“you think i’m beautiful, don’t you?”

like a chill running over your body, you’re completely at a loss for words and frozen in your stance. small bundles of anxiety are in your throat. he knows he’s beautiful, he’s teasing you.

the water splashes with a sudden movement, his torso is suddenly pressed against the boat, his eyes focusing on your neck.

"curious." he says, fingers inching forwards to touch the string around your neck. his bony fingers dance around your throat, fingernails dangerously scratching in their path. the mermaid stops, taping on the scale.

"very curious." he repeats.

what he's referring to is your necklace, the one with the scale bound by a silver string you had found in your first year of adventuring into the sea. it seems similar to the scales on his tail.

the way he's looking at you is almost as if you're his prey, he seems hungry to learn about you, play with you. you can't even muster up the courage to speak, to ask its intentions.

“would you like to touch me?”

“huh?” you blurt out, realizing his fingers are still playing with your neck.

this was going beyond anything you thought this would. all you wanted to do was see the beautiful creatures up close, let alone wanting to interact with one.

“i know you do.” he grins, maneuvering his body so as to move himself closer to you.

hesitantly, you lean forwards, arm reaching out before you. you press your index finger against the softness of his cheek, the shining blotches against his skin turn a light green with your touch. the mermaid hums, leaning into your touch as you explore the spans of skin beneath the patterns of glitter. you almost forget about the grip he’s beginning to tighten around your neck, his fingers exploring at the back of your hair.

you realize that your curiosity got the best of you as the feeling of being pulled forward startles you, followed by the slight sensation of drowning. everything is a blur, the water is dark and you can’t see a thing. you toss and turn, trying to grab onto anything to reach the surface. within a few seconds, you feel your body stopping the fight. there’s a flow of soothing energy running through your body, it’s calm, your arms slowly stop their flailing as the water engulfs you.

a light enters your eyes, it seems like a long tail, glowing in the water, swishing about to come closer. you watch with squinted eyes as the figure draws near, it’s long fingers lacing themselves around your waist to guide you. the light glows brighter, as if the sun itself had sunken into the sea.

there’s a tug at your waist as you’re pulled closer, your body pressing onto another. tingles run up and down your spine, your head spinning due to lack of oxygen in your blood.

just when your eyes adjust you see the mermaid before you, his eyes dark but gentle, searching your face for what you were feeling. the gem-like patterns in his skin are shining brighter than before, he's practically beaming at you.

what you didn’t expect your lips to be met with his own, his plushness cupping over your mouth to breathe into yours.

you take in the breath offered, raising your hands to clamp around the back of his neck. it's like small pins enter your lungs, but with an overwhelming sense of ecstasy laced within it. you can feel it trickle down your whole body, and with every touch and movement of his hands, small blue patterns of glow are left in its wake but disappear just as fast. the last thing you remember is the feeling of his tail wrapping around your legs, pulling you further into the depths of the sea.

the light of the rising sun kisses your eyelids, your body stirring as you awaken. when you had left the night prior, it was midnight. blurs of kisses and pleasures thrash in your mind, your broken thoughts not being able to piece together. you can’t remember much of what happened. the only thing you can feel is your body being completely drenched, toes just dipping into the shore waves. you begin searching around you to get your bearings. all you feel is the plushness of damp sand and the cool breeze on your nearly naked skin.

a small amount of pain is aching around the base of your neck, so you raise your hand to rub the sore spot. you soon realize that your necklace is gone, the one you cherished for years now is no longer circling your neck.

before you can even register the loss of your favourite thing, a sharp pinch startles you as you clamp your other fist. you bring your hand to your eyes, opening to see the offending cause. there's maybe dozens of them, small bright scales glistening as you move your hand back and forth. they're the very same ones that you had around your neck.

woah. you say to yourself, moving one the scales to the light.

as you turn the scale in the beams from the sun, you catch something in the corner of your eye. it’s your boat, and behind, those same pair of eyes you gazed upon the night prior.

but just as soon as you see them, they're gone. splashes and ripples are left behind.

taglist: @blankdyean @l3visbby @daddyjoonchua @nagitosluckycharms @abcdefgiwsmcty

#stray kids reader #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz #mythologicalseries #seungmin #kim seungmin #seungmin x gn reader #seungmin x m reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x f reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x male reader #skz fic #hope yall like!!!!!

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galeofyourwaterdeep · 23 days

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Halsin x Tav/Durge x (Spawn)Astarion Headcanon musings: Hard Choices

So we all know there is no real ending in-game for this throuple after defeating the Netherbrain, and the game kinda pushes Halsin to the side if you’re seeing Astarion, but what if you really had to choose?

Personally, I’d imagine it would go something like this.

Forgive me, this might break your heart slightly.

You realize at the end there’s no way you can truly continue this dynamic. The two of them have different needs and you personally can’t attend to both.

It crushes you, but you know Halsin won’t stay in Baldur’s Gate, and for Astarion Baldur’s Gate is all he knows. You’d have to go with one or the other.

You spend your night with Halsin at the Elfsong after the final fight. Now seems like the appropriate time to have this difficult conversation.

Halsin tells you he is being called upon to return to the Reclaimed Lands to help repair and recover, which is not any surprise to you.

You love both of them fiercely, and you can see yourself being a partner to both of them.

For Halsin, you’d be the guiding light that brings him back to himself every time he’d worry about if he’s doing enough.

For Astarion, you’d be his rock, his center, his whole world now that he’s getting used to living in freedom in the dark. He is figuring out how to be his own self. And you’d be there to help him the entire way.

They each have their own special things to offer you, also. Halsin is a mighty provider, protector and healer, while Astarion allows you to be vulnerable with him completely and would never let any harm come to you.

Anyway, back to your conversation at the Elfsong.

You look into Halsin’s eyes when it seems to be that he has accepted (unwillingly to you) that this will be your last night together. Tears roll down your face.

“Don’t weep, my love,” he says in his sweet, softspoken voice while pulling you into his arms and drying your tears.

At that point you begin to plead and bargain with him. Hoping that anything you say will work.

You first say you’ll try to convince Astarion to follow the two of you to the Reclaimed Lands, only to remember that he will only be able to live amongst the darkness and shadows.

You even offer to spend six months with Halsin, to then return to Baldur’s Gate and spend the same amount of time with Astarion. Whatever you can do to make this all work, even if it doesn’t make sense.

Halsin looks at you tenderly, his expression unwavering. He knows that this is for the best.

The Archdruid holds you by your cheek as he continues his gaze.

“Astarion needs you,” he resolves.

You bawl even more, knowing that he’s right.

You spend your last night together in a flurry of emotions. Thrilled to begin life anew after the tadpole, but devastated to be leaving one of your loves behind.

The next morning, you and Astarion bid Halsin farewell as he sets off for the next chapter of his life.

Halsin gives Astarion a reassuring look. His eyes speak a thousand words to Astarion: letting him know that he will be alright.

Astarion falls into the large elf’s embrace with tears in his own eyes.

They’ve really come to depend on him and love him as an equal in their three way relationship so they are sad to see him go

“It’s said if you love someone, you’ll set them free.”

Astarion says this while you both watch Halsin depart and he rests his hands and chin on your shoulders.

Six months later at the reunion party, you both are thrilled to see that Halsin made it

Astarion and yourself have had a difficult but fruitful journey together, as you have helped him learn to live freely while protecting his own sense of self.

Astarion has devoted his life to seeking justice for those most vulnerable

you’ve become a city counselor alongside Duke Ravengaard.

You spend your efforts as counselor to secretly aid Astarion’s underground endeavor.

Halsin has become the adoptive parent we all know him to become, and the three of you spend time catching up

While you’ve spent a lot of time longing for his touch and shedding tears over the void that Halsin left, you finally learn to accept the outcome while at that party.

You smile, knowing that you all have responsibilities to fulfill, but you’re all absolutely thriving. It’s where you’re each meant to be.

You realize that you all needed each other during that conflict. You all had your own reasons for being in that relationship with one another, but in that moment, you lived and loved each other in tandem. Not even the cogs of a steel watcher’s construction could compare with how well attuned you all were.

Halsin expresses that he misses you, but he doesn’t regret his decision, knowing that it was best for all of you.

It was the hardest choice he had to make, but he did it because he cares about you.

“That will never stop, no matter where we are,” he assures.

🥹❤️

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hellcheer-heaven · 9 months

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Hellcheer List: How caretaker Eddie helps Chrissy.

Thank you to @bluebunnymoose for helping me with this.

So I know that I’ve mentioned a previous headcanon where Chrissy and Eddie would have their “kid day” together. I do love the idea of the two of them engaging in that, but I really like the idea of Eddie being a gentle and loving caregiver to Chrissy.

Let's say she's having a rough week and she's just exhausted and overstimulated.

When Eddie can sense and see that she’s distressed, he goes right into caregiver mode.

One of the first things he does is hug her and offer her a stuffed animal.

She holds the toy and lets herself cry in his arms, tightly shutting her eyes as he rocks her gently.

“It’s okay Chrissy, just let it out sweet girl. You’re safe here.”

Sometimes when there’s too much going on, she may speak very softly, say a small selection of words, or nothing at all.

If she doesn’t talk, Eddie will ask her a simple yes/no question: “Are you tired? Do you want something to eat?”

He also gently encourages her to point to what she needs as well.

He's considerate and patient, letting her know that she can communicate her needs when she’s ready.

She’ll quietly ask for a bubble bath and when he asks her if she would like her bath toys, she looks up with a little smile and nods.

While he washes her hair and scrubs her skin, Chrissy will blow the bubbly foam and watch it float, reaching out to catch it before it hits the water.

Eddie smiles knowing that she’s feeling a little better, he’s even happier knowing that they will have the weekend to themselves to continue this for as long as she wants.

This means no errands, chores, and other adult responsibilities, just taking care of his one and only.

In their own small house, Eddie has already supplied the pantry with snacks and comfort food (bear shaped graham crackers, pop tarts, mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, etc.) that she was never allowed to eat in her childhood.

Eddie will help make their bed and decorate it with her stuffed animals.

He’ll rent a collection of cartoons and animated movies on vhs for them to watch.

He brings out a huge container of arts and crafts and coloring books to play with.

There’s a large soft blanket spread out with even more of her stuffed animals in the living room.

There’s a book shelf filled with her favorite stories from her childhood.

These include fairytales with happy endings, Alice in Wonderland, Winnie the Pooh, Dr. Seuss, Goodnight Moon, Charlotte’s Web, Peter Rabbit, Madeline, etc.

If she wants to color in a coloring book, Chrissy will lay down on the blanket, open up her big box of crayons, and have her back rubbed while she colors a picture of Minnie Mouse petting Figaro.

Before he heads to the kitchen, he gives her two choices for lunch: Grilled cheese sandwiches or pizza rolls.

They eat in front of the tv and laugh together as they watch cartoons and movies.

She’ll happily sing along and dance to the songs, and ask Eddie to join in, something he gladly loves to partake in.

During a sad scene, Eddie gently holds Chrissy as she squeezes her plush toy and presses it tightly to her face.

He rubs her tears away and pecks her forehead, sweetly reminding her that it’s okay to cry and feel sad for a character.

Even if it’s a movie that they’ve seen many times, certain parts never fail to make her tear up, “Seeing Dumbo cry is sad to watch, isn’t it Chrissy?”

“Everyone is so mean to him, he wants his mama Eddie. Dumbo loves his mama and she misses him.”

When Chrissy wants to make a pillow fort, they take off the couch cushions, rearrange some furniture, cover it with a blanket and crawl inside.

When she wants to play with her dolls, Chrissy decides how the story goes.

She’ll let Eddie know which dolls he gets to play with, what kind of voice to use, and what will happen next.

He loves to watch and listen to her create all sorts of tales and describe the adventures and hardships the characters go through.

After dinner time, she begs him to stay up just a little longer, but he softly reminds her that it’s time to get ready for bed.

He offers to pick her up and take her upstairs for her evening bath.

When she’s done brushing her teeth, he dresses her in cozy pajamas and lets her pick two books to read aloud.

During story time, she asks for him to read the book in different voices for each of the characters.

Then he turns off the lights and turns on the nightlight, singing or humming a few comfort songs to her as he tucks her in and boops her nose to make her giggle.

Chrissy will give him the puppy dog pout and tell him, “I’m not tired Eddie.”

Eddie can’t resist those pleading eyes and lays down beside her, brushing his fingers from the top of her forehead to the end of her nose.

She’ll try to keep herself awake, her eyelids feeling heavy as the gentle hum of his voice eases her into a peaceful slumber.

“I’m… not tired. Not… sleepy. Eddie…”

He stays at her side until she’s fast asleep, carefully getting out of bed, and tiptoeing away.

Eddie looks at Chrissy one more time, smiling at the sight of her so calm and serene, “Sweet dreams princess.”

The next morning after breakfast, they would go for a walk in the park and Chrissy would stop to look at the playground.

She wants to go, but she doesn’t tell him and she’s afraid of being judged by others, so instead she watches from afar.

Later on in the late afternoon/early evening, Eddie says that he has a surprise for her

After dressing her up warmly and telling her to bring one stuffed animal, he takes her over to the park.

All of the families have left and the two of them have the entire playground to themselves.

He would push her on the swing, race her down the slide, spin on the merry go round, climb the jungle gym, and play on the see saw.

After she’s tuckered out, Eddie takes her home and then it’s time to get ready for bed.

After a quick clean up and a shower, he joins her as well.

He lays down beside her and kisses her lips, affectionately whispering, “I love you Chrissy.”

#hellcheer #eddissy #munningham #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #chrissy x eddie #eddie x chrissy #hellcheer list #hellcheer headcanons #headcanon #hellcheer headcanon #age regression #agere #I think

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

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Going Full Kook 2

TW: Smut. Public sex. Slut shaming. Language.

SUMMARY: Your relationship with Rafe continues as the opportunity to torment JJ is too good of one to pass up for you both…

WORD COUNT: 900

You had been inseparable ever since that day. The most unlikely of transpires had sent you into the arms of someone you'd usually look twice over as you never imagined he could feel like he did for you. But what may have begun as a distraction or even a means for revenge had blossomed into something that consumed you entirely. But where you found the height of relief in that of just being in his arms, Rafe found it in showing you off. Shamelessly. And in front of JJ, your ex, every chance he got.

"You make me want to cause a scene right here, baby..." He groaned into your arms as you sat on his lap, grinding against his clothed thigh as he clenched it beneath you, enough to cause friction beneath your swim bottoms.

"Oh shit..." He scoffed as JJ made his way into The Island Club, in uniform, and rolling his eyes in annoyance when seeing you together. But where pity and even regret may have developed in seeing him, only contentment for being in Rafe's arms had remained.

"What do you say we show him what he's missing, hmm?" He asked upon leading a hand to the back of your neck and having you face him. A series of passionate kisses and groans would send you to turn and officially straddle Rafe as he was eager to rock you against him.

"I love how proud you are to be mine. Letting me show you off..." He kissed down your neck, "Letting me feel you where everyone is watching us-" You pushed your hands onto his chest as he was forced into the back of the couch set outside the club. Of the other gazes looking at you tonight in judgment, the only ones you cared for had been JJ's, and even then, they were quickly forgotten as you would drown in Rafe once again. Just as you had in the heartache of JJ's betrayal.

"I would drop to my knees and take you in my mouth right here if not for the fact you'd have to deal with Ward-But I also don't want anyone else to see me like you can." You led your lips to his eyes, nibbling on his lobe as you spoke.

"On my knees...moaning for you...your cock making me cry-" This was all it took for you to be lifted inside of the club, set on your feet as you'd left the patio, before being torn in the direction of the hallway just outside where JJ worked.

"Show 'em how badly you needed me..." You unbundled and unbuttoned him before stroking him within your hand, spitting on his erection and making him groan, before you moved onto your knees. Hollowed cheeks stained with tears were enough to being him to his edge before enough were taken against the wall, fingers bent and circling with your sex.

"Come right now baby. Let him hear you wherever he is-"

"Fuck!" You belted for him, his eyes remaining locked to you as you were allowed your release and then sucked off of his fingers.

"Gotts go clean up...give me a second and I'm taking that ass home and getting mine." He smacked what he spoke of before turning to the bathroom. As you left that small alcove you made your own, a shameless fein plastered across your face, you found JJ in a scoff.

"You're pathetic...Letting him fuck you-"

"At least he knows how to...at least I don't have to fake it and stroke his ego-"

JJ clenched his jaw.

"Maybe I just didn't really want you, ever think about that? All you ever did was bitch and moan...nobody else could stand you either.. they only did because I asked them to. And it's only a matter of time until he learns that too-" He kicked himself off of the wall as tears filled your eyes, your steps quickening quickening Rafe's car as he joined behind you with a smile, on that quickly faded when he saw the tears down your cheeks.

"Baby? Did I hurt you?"

"No...just...please take me home, Rafe..."

"Not until you tell me what happened..." He urged.

"It doesn't matter..."

"To hell it doesn't. You are only able to crying if I'm the one causing it and that’s only because of sex...so unless you've decided to fuck someone else, which I know you haven't because you're my good girl, tell me."

"It was just something JJ daid-" Before you could explain, he was marching back through the club. JJ was found and wrapped in Rafes grip in seconds. Blood worn across his knuckles at the expense of JJs nose and lip.

"You ever talk about her or to her again and you won't get up, Maybank-" He tossed him to the floor as he pulled you to his truck.

"Whatever he said-" He explained while sitting in the driver's seat, your body straddling him as his eyes widened as your fingers pulled him loose from his pants.

"Nobody has ever defended me-"

"I always will, baby. I defend what's mine."

"I am."

"Oh, I know..." And he would lead the charge, taking him between your legs and taking him to that edge he denied himself within the club.

"I swear to God I'll be all you need...you won't remember anyone before-"

"Fuck!" You called in regards to his pace.

"I love you-" Your response made him still.

"Shit, I shouldn't have-" But to this you would only lead him back to you, dominating the thrust for only a time.

"I love you, too."

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @belcalis9503 @camilynn22

#rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafecameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe fic #outerbanks #obx #obx fanfiction #obxsmut #outer banks #outer banks smut

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llzrabin · 4 months

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A recent interview of Alison Mosshart from The Kills for music magazine Dans Ta Face B. Full interview under the cut and French version on their website.

La Face B : You’ve just released your sixth album, God Games, twenty years after your first record. Which means you’ve been making music together for two decades now. You’ve mentioned a few times in recent interviews being ‘terrified’ of the process of recording this album. Obviously, danger is inherent to creativity and passion. What were you scared of in particular, regarding your own history as a band? Can one as a musician actually ever get rid of this fear? Alison Mosshart : I think as an artist, fear is good. Fear keeps one alert and desirous to discover something new in oneself, in one’s work, and about the world. Fear is a simple word to describe “facing the unknown.” At the start of every album, you are facing the unknown. There is nothing, a blank page... and you have to muster up the courage to turn this nothingness in somethingness. And not just any old thing. But something truly great. Even though we’ve been writing music together for 20 years, nothing is a given. Nothing is taken for granted. We constantly must prove to ourselves and to one another that we’ve got the goods. Every record is as important as the first, at least to the artist.

La Face B : When I first heard the album, I was under the impression that I was listening to a movie sequence or a journey, with some kind of movements. You kept the traditional verse-chorus structure in most songs, but they also sound like something else. What do you think evolved the most in your music over the years? And on the other hand, is there something that definitely stayed true to your first sound?

Alison Mosshart : A couple of things. We both think the traditional verse chorus structure is a little at odds with the mind. Whereas novels and poetry and film... can veer around elegantly, it’s a little hard with rock n’ roll structure sometimes. It’s nice not following the traditional rules and allow some abstraction.

Thoughts by nature...zig zag, skip, don’t really work in liner or predictable order. Thoughts lead to thoughts lead to other thoughts say “california can’t be trusted” to “I love rollercoasters” to “Thursday’s good for me,” to “I wonder what happened to Bob?” “Green car,” “dog bit my face,” “phone’s dead again” “papercut!” And on and on and on.

Having said all that, I do think our music is very visual. It seems to contain its own colours and shapes and tactility. I know when a song is done by listening to it and seeing it from start to end. When it feels like I’m watching a play or a short film and I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen, I’m happy with the song. If I’m listening and the scene freezes, there is still work to do.

La Face B : Did having another person involved in the studio give you a different perspective on your music?

Alison Mosshart : Having another person in the room always gives you a different perspective. You know right away if a song is working by feeling the energy of that person hearing it for the first time. They don’t have to say a word. The truth is just there.

La Face B : Your lyrics almost always address another person, like a dialogue between two people. Love and hate, hope and failure, tenderness and violence blend into each other in the stories you tell. They also almost always convey a sense of urgency. Alison, do you still record and write your lyrics in your car while driving at fast speed, CARMA-style?

Alison Mosshart : Sure. We’re all contending with one another and ourselves. There is surely a lot of back and forth and push and pull going on in the lyrics. The war is never won, right? About cars, I love to drive. It’s very meditative for me. A lot of ideas come when I’m behind the wheel. I do still have a little Dictaphone in the car that I keep handy. It’s a safer option then a pen and pad.

La Face B : When I first saw you in 2011 at Rock en Seine during the Blood Pressures tour, there were two other musicians with you onstage. Lately, it looks like you’ve gone back as a two piece again. Is it important to you not to depend on anyone? Is it a way of not having to compromise?

Alison Mosshart : Different times call for different measures. We love playing with other musicians and we love playing as a two piece. During certain records, it made a lot of sense to have the back up. But it was a different time in the music industry too. We’re in a different world now 6 years later. Streaming has made it unaffordable to hire extra musicians. Which I think is ultimately a very bad thing. I hope one day things change.

La Face B : The Kills have always been a very visual band. Alison, you’re also a painter, and Jamie, I’ve heard in a recent interview that you would have loved to collaborate with Lucian Freud… Do you feel the need to explore other art forms to maintain this global approach to music?

Alison Mosshart : We’ve always painted, drawn, taken photos, filmed things. I love every art form. I don’t think it’s important to do all these things to maintain a global approach to music. I’m not sure what a global approach to music even is. I just love making art. It all comes from the same place I think.

La Face B : A friend of mine who doesn’t like rock music was telling me the other day how he thought he witnessed the best rock concert he’s ever been to after seeing you live in Paris, precisely because your music didn’t sound like rock to him. I found that very interesting because you do have that kind of bluesy-guitar signature style, while also playing with noisy textures that could come from a cut-up approach, like hip hop music does. Do this kind of approach inspire you? Do you pay any attention at all to genre while writing?

Alison Mosshart : We see ourselves as an electric guitar band before a rock n’ roll band. With an electric guitar and a vocal, you can do anything, any genre, any style, fuck around with any rhythm you want. Being a two piece is the only limit we have, everything else, every idea that we can conceive of starting from that point, is fair game.

La Face B : Lastly- I recently came across these images and immediately thought of The Kills. A series of photographs by John Divola titled ‘Dogs Chasing My Car in the Desert’, which he took in 96-98 while driving in the Southern California desert, conjuring existential themes like isolation and desire, man versus wild, joy versus fear. It made me think of God Games’ cover, with the bull and the matador, but it also reminded me of Don Van Vliet’s painting retreat in California after Captain Beefheart’s ending, and of Vanishing Point’s iconic car chase. Basically a lot of the things you’ve often mentioned as an inspiration. I wanted to point it out to you, see if you knew this photographer. What does it evoke for you?

Alison Mosshart : I love this photo series. Meditative again, like driving a car. It’s cool to see stills of animals running, their shape, their sleekness, the body transformed into a bullet. I don’t know why but it makes me think of Benton Harbor, Michigan in the snow and the dogs at Key Club (a recording studio we worked at a lot) running down the desolate main street in a town that time forgot. These photos look like love and loyalty to me.

#alison mosshart #the kills #interview #music interview #music writing #god games #jamie hince

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polutrope · 11 months

Text

@melestasflight sent Lalwen + forsaking the past, and it disappeared from my inbox last night.

Thank you for the prompt! I was so excited when you sent me Lalwen, as it gave me occasion to think about her, which I have never done before.

From this prompt list, which also has links to my fills so far and lists what's still in the inbox.

Here we have 880 words of angst-with-a-bittersweet-ending (my fave), set at the end of the First Age. Rated G.

~ ~ ~

The waves lick at the rocky, grass-clad shoreline. Though the ocean’s rhythm is the same ancient push-and-pull, push-and-pull, to Lalwen the waves today are tentative, like a child tasting something new. This is not the land they are used to.

“You are a hero now,” says Lalwen.

“You know that I never wanted to be one,” says the High King of the Noldor.

A smile slides up the side of his face closest to her, and his eyes seek hers, but she does not turn to him. She thinks of teasing, “So you do not deny it!” That is what she would have said were he her other brother, and Fingolfin would have laughed and rolled his eyes and flicked his finger against his thumb in dismissal. Then he might have looked at her fondly and said, “Thank you, sister, for never allowing me to grow too proud.”

But Lalwen does not know what to say to Arafinwë. Finarfin—so his firstborn styled him when Fingolfin fell, and so he is known now to all: Finwë Arafinwë, Noldoran. Lalwen laughed, then cried, when first she heard it. Her little brother Ingo, High King of the Noldor!

Lalwen does not know who to be with Finarfin.

“I don’t think I did know that,” Lalwen says.

Finarfin’s golden eyelashes land on his cheeks and ensnare the sunlight.

“Lalwen.” He tilts his head back up. His eyes catch hers. They are swimming with disappointment. “Are you certain?”

She cannot keep her face from twisting into a frown. Must he make her say it twice! Has the thought of returning ever scraped across her mind, when all else falls quiet? Yes; and it moves her to little more than resentment at the Valar for offering them the choice.

“It has never been a question, Arafinwë,” she says. A half-truth.

Lalwen feels Finarfin’s spirit crumple beside her, and she supposes her words had been meant to flatten hope. She expects tears, is prepared for tears; she is surprised when her brother’s fingers coill beneath his palm on the rock; surprised when he grimaces and sucks a sharp, watery breath between his teeth.

“Why?” Despite the emotion, his voice does not tremble. His voice never trembles. “Do I not at least deserve to know why? What message shall I take back to our mother? Your daughter lives, I will tell her, and she will weep for joy. She is not coming, I will say, and she will fall back into that black unknowing, the endless wondering, ‘Will I ever see my child again?’”

“Is she alone in that?” Lalwen nearly spits the question. Her blood is hot. “Do you speak of our mother or of yourself? I am sorry for your pain, brother—I am. I am sorry your sons have not returned; I am sorry Artanis is too far off to see her father again. She would have wanted to. But what of the centuries of unknowing we endured while Valinor was fenced against us?

“And do we know that it is not, still? If I followed my brothers—yes, him too, two brothers—into exile, without remorse, and if I do not regret it now, what reason do the Valar have to welcome me back into comfort and ease?

“You may tell our mother that there are people I love, here, in Beleriand.” Lalwen gestures at the broken rocks, the great trunks of trees torn up and tossed about by the sea. ”What remains of it. Our people have been severed. That was your choice as much as it was ours. Victory does not undo it. It was brave and noble of you to come here, but if you believed you would simply be able to gather together your scattered kin and bring us back with you, you are a fool.”

Lalwen pauses, expecting a rebuke from this new Arafinwë, hardened by kingship and sharpened by war, but Finarfin has gilded himself in gentleness once more.

In no more than a whisper, he says, “I did not even know if I would return.”

It is as though a great heap of sand has been cast over the heat of Lalwen’s heart. She is all ash. The wind is cold on her bare arms.

After a long silence, she says, “I am sorry,” and shivers.

“That may be.” A smile cracks Finarfin’s composure, and he sets his hand over hers, curling his fingers around it. “But you are right. I do wish I could bring you back, slot you into one of the empty spaces that have surrounded me these many hundreds of years. But you would no longer fit, would you, sister? I have known it. Oh, I have known it all along, though I wished it were otherwise. If anything, this victory has set us yet further apart. There is no returning to the past.” He squeezes her hand, and Lalwen is aware of tears brimming over the rims of her eyes. “I should not have asked you to forsake this life, and I won’t again.”

Her throat tightens, and Finarfin circles her shoulders with one arm; she falls against his chest, tugging at the fabric on his robe to cover her face as she weeps.

“There is yet some time,” Finarfin says, “and you have a brother here who loves you.”

So really the only canonical fact about Lalwen, besides linguistic details on her name, is that Fingolfin was the "most dear to her" of her kin. I was curious about what that meant for her relationships with the rest of them.

On AO3

#lalwen #irime #finarfin #prompt fill #silm phrase prompts #my fic #I developed a whole backstory for Lalwen for this #but it would have been clutter in the ficlet #however - now excited to use it elsewhere!

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tommybowefuneralattendee · 6 months

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362, spommy :]

number 362 on the spreadsheet is from this list of prompts the prompt you generated in specific is: hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 4.4k, rated T

The first time Spencer feels a pull at the bottom of his shirt from a person who is not less than ten years old, he's at work. It's not a big deal. He's in the middle of something, sure, but it doesn't feel insistent. Whoever it is waits for the minute that he's directing stuff for Games, silent until Spencer turns around to see them. And it's Tommy. So it's not like he was ever going to be mad anyway. He raises his eyebrows, looking up at the other man's face with a smile. Tommy's fingers pinch at the hem of the front of his shirt now. He's so fucking cute.

"Hey," Tommy says, just looking at Spencer for a moment without speaking. They've agreed not to do the whole public display of affection at work thing (and in general), out of respect for everyone else but also just because they haven't been together that long. That was one of the surprises of the beginning of their relationship, honestly. He's always been somewhat affectionate in his relationships, sure, and he had thought that he had been clingy in previous relationships. He can't keep his fucking hands off of Tommy, though, and it doesn't seem like vice versa is happening either. Like somewhat in a sexual way, but also in the fact that Spencer wants to be touching him all the time, and he wants to look at him all the time, and he has never thought of himself as a guy in one of those annoying couples, openly besotted with one another, but well. Then he met Tommy.

"Hi," he replies, that saccharine honeymoon phase sweetness wrapping even around that single word. Tommy pulls him a little closer, fingers twisting in the bottom of Spencer's shirt. It's fucking cute, so he's not even irritated by it. He just fucking likes the guy so much. They've been officially dating a month or so, and he can't decide whether they should be over this part yet, but he doesn't know how to love Tommy at a lower volume and he's not super into the idea of teaching himself how.

"You look good today," Tommy says. Spencer snorts, rolling his eyes and looking away from his boyfriend.

"Did you just interrupt your whole day to come tell me I look pretty?"

"Hey now, I said you look good, no one ever said pretty," Tommy protests, wrinkling his nose.

"So you don't think I'm pretty?" Spencer asks, outright grinning now with it being so easy to wind Tommy up. Tommy breathes out through his nose and obviously tries not to rise to Spencer's bait, but after a moment of inaction scrunches his nose and physically shakes off the sensation of attempting to limit his ire.

"That is also not what I said! I do think you're pretty, I just didn't know if that was, like, an okay compliment for you, some guys are uncomfortable with it," he says, his tone embarrassed and waspish as he peters off there. Spencer can't fucking help but look at Tommy like he hung the moon in the sky. He rocks on his feet into the other man's orbit.

"You can call me whatever you want," Spencer says, not without a note of challenge. Tommy raises an eyebrow, returning the challenge.

"Anything?"

"Within reason," he says, trying to stick a caveat of sorts on it, but he's hardpressed to think of a single thing he wouldn't at least consider with Tommy. It's Tommy. If he's into something a little weirder than handcuffs and shit, then, like, whatever, right? It's Tommy. Several images pass through his mind at once of doing things he's never done in his life with Tommy, images he does not allow himself to linger upon at all because they are at work, dude, keep it together. Tommy's looking down at him with a smile and narrowed eyes, like Spencer is something he's trying to figure out.

"You would totally, like, actually let me call you Daddy if I wanted to. Dude, you like me so much it makes you look stupid," Tommy observes, because there really is no other word for it. It's true, Spencer does. Still, he scoffs.

"How dare you? My stupidity makes me look stupid, so jot that down," he says, snorting at his own joke as Tommy swats at him.

"Shut up, you're not stupid, stupid," Tommy sputters, one of his hands lifted like he's going to push Spencer back, but he just lays his palm flat on Spencer's chest instead. Spencer puts his own hand over it, fondness thick in his throat as he laces their fingers one over another.

"You say such sweet things to me, baby," he says, maybe a little quieter than an appropriate speaking volume but a little louder than a whisper, surely. The desire to pull Tommy down to kiss him is so strong it aches, clawing through him like hunger pangs. Tommy is looking at him like he can't help but agree.

"This is not work appropriate, Spencer Agnew," he says, lips pursed. They're shiny. Spencer flicks his gaze back up to make eye contact.

"You're the one who came over here to tell me I look pretty, dude," he replies, the desire to kiss Tommy not getting any smaller, and the gap between them not getting any larger. Knuckles are knocked against the door frame twice and they both look over, seeing a sheepish Shayne shrugging his shoulders.

"Hey guys, sorry, but Lisa said she needed Tommy, and Spence, you're about five minutes late for a meeting," he reminds them both, smiling apologetically before he taps the door frame again and moves on with his day. They separate from one another reluctantly, Spencer squeezing Tommy's fingers between his own before heading down to his meeting. It could have been an email. He doesn't see Tommy again til the end of the workday; Tommy walks him to his car, opens his stupid fucking door for him, stands with Spencer's car door open and leans against it while they finish their conversation, the whole nine. He kisses Spencer and asks him to come over, in the parking lot where anybody could see them. Spencer makes the drive to Tommy's apartment with the memory of that kiss burning within him.

They have a really nice night together. Tommy makes him promise to text him when he gets home. Something hot and bright takes up residence in his rib cage.

He's editing when he feels it this next time, and the fact that it's a recurrence rather than the first time does make it less surprising to find that it's Tommy pinching the fabric of the shoulder of Spencer's shirt between two fingers. He finds a stopping place pretty quickly and then spins his chair around to face Tommy, who is much closer than Spencer thought he was. Like, logically, it makes sense that Tommy was right behind him before he turned the chair but now Spencer's boyfriend is looming over him and wow, that's hot actually. He's a short king but he's never really dated someone taller than him before; most of his exes are cis women around average height. Tommy is like half a foot taller than him. Sitting down, Spencer has to tilt his head back to look at him, hooking his fingers in Tommy's belt loops.

"What's up?" he asks with a grin, helplessly happy to see Tommy as always. Tommy's expression goes soft just for looking at him and it sends warmth through Spencer.

"I had a question," Tommy says, though instead of asking anything, he just continues to look at Spencer. Spencer grins.

"Forgot your question, huh, Squidward?"

"Despite it happening every time, I still get surprised that you're always cuter than the last time I saw you." Spencer groans.

"Baby, you are down so bad for me. Listen to yourself," he says, leaning his head against Tommy's stomach. Tommy cards his fingers through his hair and Spencer fights the urge to go pliant against him and just let Tommy hold him up. There's a worried quality to the gentleness of his hands, like he's handling Spencer with care. It's equal parts nice and disorienting. He doesn't know that anyone has ever looked after him like Tommy does. Tommy tilts Spencer's head back into his hands, his thumbs behind Spencer's ears as he adjusts Spencer to look at him. Spencer just lets himself be moved. What is he if not supplicant beneath Tommy's hands?

"You okay?" Tommy asks, head tilted. Spencer gives a short laugh and nods as well as he can, looking down and away from making eye contact with Tommy. So maybe he hasn't been sleeping well lately, and maybe he hasn't slept well since the last night he and Tommy slept in the same bed, but even if those things were true, they would be Spencer's problems and not Tommy's problems. It's Spencer's own fault he barely takes care of himself. He's overcaffeinated and overworked and he knows that, it's just that knowing that doesn't mean there's less work to do and it doesn't mean he has more time to sleep. Giving a small concerned noise, Tommy runs his fingers through Spencer's hair, which is not a fair thing to do when Spencer is trying to compose himself.

"I'm fine, Tommy," he says, knowing as soon as it drops out of his mouth that he said that a little too flatly for Tommy to go with it. True to form, Tommy frowns.

"Hey, I wanna help. We've talked about this, bub," Tommy says, and they have, and Spencer sighs. It was one of their first... it wasn't a fight, really. They haven't been together that long, they haven't gotten into any real fights yet. There is, however, a pretty open policy to their relationship where if something is bothering them, they bring it up. He had actually been the one to bring it up, thinking about Tommy's disposition to hold a grudge, the way he minimizes his own annoyance til it explodes. Tommy had agreed to tell him if he was ever bothered, but not without some conditions of his own. Tommy will ask for help as long as Spencer will too. So yeah, Spencer sighs.

"Come over tonight?" he asks, leaning back into Tommy's hands. Tommy raises his eyebrows.

"Come over like have dinner together or come over like-"

"Come over like spend the night, Tommy. Come over like sleep in my bed," Spencer clarifies, low and honest. Nodding, Tommy starts to lean down, aborting the motion after thinking it through, probably. They're at work. Even a quick kiss is too much PDA for work, right? They're in public. It doesn't mean that Tommy pulling away without kissing him doesn't sting a little. They agreed on little to no PDA.

He still can't control the way his face falls. He's not a miracle worker.

"I should get back... I'll come find you if I remember my question?" Tommy asks, posing it as a question as if Spencer would ever not want Tommy around. Be so fucking for real. Spencer gives him a smile and a nod and Tommy squeezes his shoulder. It's not the kind of goodbye that Spencer would like them to have with one another. He doesn't even know what he would rather them do, but this thing where they're not acting any different than when they were just friends is throwing him off. And like, they agreed to no PDA and he's aware of that, and he's cool with that! He'd never want Tommy to do something he's not comfortable with. Maybe it would be nice, though. Who knows?

It isn't just happening at work now. At the grocery store, when they're cooking dinner together, if he wants to hold Spencer's hand while they're walking. Tommy'll just tug on Spencer's sleeve or the bottom of his shirt or the lapel of his jacket or his belt loops, using anything really to get a grip on Spencer to get his attention. A lot of the time, Tommy looks at him apologetically after he does it, like he hadn't meant to do it and thinks Spencer is annoyed with him for it. But like, Spencer couldn't be further from annoyed if he tried. It's fucking cute, you know?

And like of course it's cute. It's Tommy. Be realistic.

When they end up having to talk about it, Spencer is glad that they're at home. Tommy's place, anyway. Home is relative these days. They're standing in the kitchen debating what they're going to eat, and Spencer was looking through the cabinet when there's a pull at the back of his shift. Used to it by now, Spencer smiles and turns, Tommy's hand moving to the front hem. For some reason, he's not expecting Tommy to look embarrassed, retracting his hand.

"Sorry-" Tommy starts, but Spencer takes his wrist in hand, pulling it back to rest at the hem of his shirt. Tommy doesn't return to the action at first, so Spencer makes it more obvious, holding the fabric out for Tommy to grab. He does so reluctantly.

"I don't mind," Spencer assures, smile soft as he looks up at Tommy. Tommy looks down at him, obviously skeptical, expression still tinged with that thick embarrassment Spencer would do anything to assuage.

"You don't mind that I tug on your shirt like a little kid," Tommy says, deadpan and flat. Spencer shrugs.

"I mean, yeah," he says. It's that simple for him. He doesn't mind. Why would he mind? It's cute. It's sweet. It's Tommy. Why the fuck would he mind?

"I know it's annoying, Spence, you don't have to pretend it isn't," Tommy continues, cynical smile splitting his mouth. Spencer grabs Tommy's hand back from where it's holding onto his shirt, lacing their fingers and pulling Tommy over to the couch. Some conversations are better had sitting down and holding onto one another, and so they will. He sits down and pulls Tommy to stand in front of him, leading him to sit forward in Spencer's lap and pulling him closer then into a hug. Tommy breathes out a relaxing breath through his nose slowly, tucking it into the rolled collar of Spencer's hoodie. Hands spread across Tommy's back to hold him close, Spencer takes it upon himself to clarify something.

"I like it," he says, to which Tommy immediately rears back to squint at him.

"You what." It doesn't even sound like a question, still Spencer smiles and answers, holding his hand to Tommy's cheek.

"I like when you pull on my shirt, or my sleeve, or my belt loops, or whatever. It's cute and it-" he pauses, unsure if the other part is something you tell other people or just an inside his head thought. He doesn't always know how to tell those apart. Tommy hooks his fingers where he had tucked his nose before.

"And it what, Spence?" he asks, quiet and gentle, and Spencer could swear he was the one doing the reassuring here. Sometimes it feels like they pass the idea of being the composed one back and forth, bloodhounds for one another's soft spots. Spencer clears his throat, looking down and to the left.

"It makes me feel like you need me. That part's kinda nice," he admits, clearing his throat again like that'll get rid of the ball of anxiety that he just can't swallow. A confused noise follows that, and when Spencer looks at him, Tommy only looks more puzzled than he did before.

"I do need you," Tommy says, dropping this as if it's obvious and the idea of someone not coming to the same conclusion had never even occurred to Tommy. Spencer raises a skeptical eyebrow, cognizant of the fact that they haven't been together very long, and Tommy could bounce back from breaking up with him pretty quickly if they did it now. Sometimes, it feels like he's always going to be waiting for that other shoe to drop. "Baby, you're my friend. Like even if I wasn't totally crazy about you, which, for the record, I am, we've been friends a good little while here. We've spoken almost every day for several years. I love you." There's a lump in Spencer's throat and Tommy's holding his face like he's something precious and Spencer doesn't know what to do with all of this sincerity.

"We were talking about you," he protests weakly, his expression souring. Tommy leans down and kisses him gently, backing off after just a moment of contact. Spencer strains up to follow him, but Tommy stays out of his reach. Fucking tall boyfriend. Asshole.

"I want to talk about you, now," Tommy says, using his hand on Spencer's jaw to tilt his head up a little more, making it nearly impossible to do anything besides make eye contact with him. He has pretty eyes. That's not really what they're talking about, though.

"I like when you grab onto me because it makes me feel like... it makes me feel like you want me around more than you care about looking normal and social niceties and being in public. It makes me feel like you don't mind what other people think if it means we're touching. It's really dumb, and romanticized, and I know I'm being like. Weird about it. So like, it's an in-my-head thing. I just don't want you to think that I'm annoyed with you for holding onto me, or pulling me places or whatever. I think it's neat. I don't know," he rambles, just closing his eyes halfway through because he doesn't know if he can bear how Tommy has to be looking at him right now. He knows he's weird in relationships sometimes. He likes the idea of someone (of Tommy) liking him to the point of caring more about having him close than about whatever societal rules they're supposed to be observing. They agreed upon little to no PDA. It's completely cool with him, but. The pulling is nice.

"Baby," Tommy whispers, brushing a kiss along Spencer's cheek as he tries to wrap himself entirely around Spencer through determination alone, his knees closing around Spencer's hips like somebody is gonna try and lift him off his boyfriend's lap or some shit. Spencer rubs his hand up Tommy's back again, not saying a goddamn word. "I want you like. All the time, dude. I like holding your hand and kissing you in public and being the sappy couple with you. I just didn't want to push it because we decided no PDA from go. Why did we decide on no PDA if we're both cool with PDA?" he asks, sounding more like he's musing aloud than actually posing the question. Still, Spencer answers. Such is his nature.

"I thought you wouldn't want to. Like, as a. Okay, logically, I know that we are together at least partially because you're attracted to me, but it's hard to remember sometimes that this incredibly hot guy is actually cool with the idea of people knowing we're in a relationship," he says, saying way too much and immediately pressing his face back into Tommy's shoulder and wishing he could, like, disappear or something. He's aware of the fact that his self esteem these days probably falls beneath double digits on the assessment they make you take at doctor's appointments when they know you're mentally ill. Like, he's aware. It's just that it's easier not to talk about it, to make it small and ignore it, self aggrandize til everyone thinks he believes his own myth too, and it's some fucking bullshit. Having low self esteem is some bullshit.

"The way that you think I would not sit on your lap in front of everyone we know is extraordinarily funny to me seeing as I do not know if I could project a more down bad for you vibe if I fucking tried, dude," Tommy says, smooth sarcasm running through his voice even as he makes Spencer blush a lurid red. He strokes his thumb over Spencer's cheekbone. Looking at him makes Spencer's heart ache, fondness almost as thick as nausea in his throat. Like love is something that he has to cough up, wisteria spreading itself through the branches of his bronchial tubes. He doesn't know what to do with all of that feeling.

"I really fucking like you, Tommy," he whispers, leaning into Tommy's hand. Tommy leans in and presses another kiss to his lips.

"Well, that's great, because I really fucking like you too, Spencer. I really fucking like you," Tommy repeats, kissing him again, longer this time and so sweet. Spencer lowers one of his hands and grabs Tommy's ass just because he can. Tommy breaks the kiss, snorting and pushing his face down against Spencer's collarbone.

"It's a nice ass," Spencer says, shrugging the shoulder that Tommy is leaning on. Experiencing the honk of Tommy's laugh this close would probably be startling if Spencer wasn't always looking to make it happen, always ready for it because it's what he wants to be happening. He likes making Tommy laugh like that, striking him with amusement he wasn't expecting to the level that he's not prepared for it, that he loses all sense of volume control. More in the positive, Tommy presses a kiss to his cheek, the laughter something Spencer can now feel as well, and he's in love with Tommy, fuck, he's in love with him. He won't tell him now. But fuck, it's true.

He isn't sure if when Tommy said he loved him, if he- it's really early for them to be saying I love you, right? Like, they've been friends for years, sure, but there's a pace that is supposed to apply here and it sure as fuck is not applying. But Tommy meant that he loves Spencer like he's always loved Spencer, like they've been friends since they started working together kind of love for Spencer. They're still working on the in love thing. There's no fucking way Tommy is in as deep as he is on this. He's this deep in because it's Tommy. Wait a fucking second.

"I think I just realized that you actually like me. Like right now. Like with you in my lap? Yeah. Like I think my brain has only been processing the part where I'm in love with you, and like the other side of that equation just never hit me before right now. Holy shit. You like me. Like genuinely," Spencer rambles, unable to stop the pace of his speech just given the absolute revelation of this, and how fucking dumb it is that this feels like a revelation. Tommy is looking down at him with open confusion. Well, he can dig that. He is aware that the way his brain works isn't always, like. Good. For him or for others. Realization crosses Tommy's face and he tenses, blinking and looking away from Spencer's face before he speaks.

"I don't make you feel like I love you?" he says, soft and a little sad. Fuck. He reaches up and cups Tommy's face in his palm, running his thumb over Tommy's cheekbone. He waits to speak til Tommy's looking at him, big brown eyes finally meeting his own.

"You make me feel so fucking special, dude. You make feel taken care of, and cared about, and enjoyed, and appreciated, and worthy in a way I didn't even know I was fucking missing. It just didn't click for me that like- that's. That's you loving me. That is me being loved by you," he says, trailing off with the last bit, heart pounding in his ears. Holy shit. That's how Tommy has looked at him this entire time, isn't it? He feels like he's been ignoring an entire aspect of their relationship, the obvious conclusion blocked by stupid ass low self esteem. Tommy leans down and kisses him softly, gentle and tender and all of that bullshit that makes Spencer feel so fucking loved under his hands. He loves him. Holy shit. How is anyone normal about being in love? This is crazy. What the fuck.

"I love you. Dumbass," Tommy murmurs against his jaw, leaning down on Spencer's shoulder. Spencer wraps his arms around him.

"I love you too," he says, the feeling of this interaction, this reassurance, this love a warm weight in his stomach, heat rising through his chest.

"You need to tell me if you feel like that," Tommy reminds him, bussing a kiss across his cheek. Spencer makes a vaguely agreeing noise.

"You need to tell me if you feel like that, too. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm annoyed by you being you. I'm not. I like when you pull me places and I like that you flirt with me badly when you're drunk and I like when you talk through movies and I like when you tell me about Drag Race I've never seen and I like everything else you've ever apologized to me just for doing. That's kinda, like, part of loving you, dude. I love you. Cute little habits and all," he rambles into Tommy's shoulder, unable to make himself pull back and look up at Tommy to say any of this. He doesn't like talking feelings shit. It's awkward and vulnerable and it makes him feel a little nauseous, but again. This is Tommy. If Tommy needs to know how absolute insane about him Spencer is, then well, he's gonna have to put his big boy pants on and tell him. Fuck.

"You really love me, huh?" Tommy says softly, like he's having the same revelation Spencer had a few minutes ago. Spencer chuckles roughly, leaning up to fumble through kissing Tommy gently, tears in his eyes.

"I think we need to start believing each other more, baby," he whispers, pulling a laugh from Tommy as well. His heart aches in his chest. Tommy kisses him, gentle and steady, before pushing himself up out of Spencer's lap, standing to his full height. He extends a hand to Spencer once he's firmly on his feet. Spencer raises an eyebrow.

"I'm thinking we lay down in bed and look through delivery apps for a little while?" Tommy proposes. Spencer lets himself be pulled up, lets himself be lead, lets himself be loved.

They end up ordering Chinese.

#spommy #spencer #tommy #smosh fic #rpf #prompt filled #ask answered #hope you like it !!#anonymous #mine

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michelle-is-writing · 2 years

Text

Name Upgrade, Daniel Webber

The reader is Mick Mars’ daughter.

Request: Can you do a mick mars where his daughter and her husband surprises her father when he on the stadium and comes out on stage with News on a card that says your being promoted to grandpa. Which makes mick cry.

I also received a request a while back for a dad!Mick Mars x reader, so this fulfills both of those requests.

Word Count: 900~

I never thought my dad would still be doing concerts after 60, but watching him rock out on the stage at 71 makes me so happy. He’s still living it up like he did in the early days of Motley Crue, all except for the copious amounts of drugs and liquor in the 80s and 90s. Granted, he never let me see that side of the group, only finding out about it later on in my life when my Uncle Nikki talked about going into rehab many years ago. My dad tried to avoid me finding out about that stuff, and I understand, but it never changed how I felt about him and my uncles.

Seeing my dad up on that stage makes me feel like I’m a little girl again, watching my dad from behind the stage as he jams out on his guitar and my uncles rock out alongside him. Only now, I’m backstage with my husband, the very man who got to play Vince in their biopic film. It wasn’t my dad’s plan for Daniel and me to meet during the making of the movie, but as soon as he introduced himself with his Australian accent and nervous stutter, I knew I was a goner.

Once my dad discovered that we both had a thing for each other after my uncles pointed out the obvious to him, he rolled his eyes and leaned his head down, slowly shaking it. “Of course it had to be Vince’s actor,” Daniel and I heard my dad murmuring, causing us to look at each other and gently laugh. The scene itself was wholesome, and I was so glad my dad was okay with us being together.

“I’m so glad we could come tonight,” Daniel says to me, his hand moving from my side to my stomach. Immediately, my heart skips a beat at his action, being reminded of the news we recently got. “I can’t wait to see his reaction.”

“He’s going to be so happy,” I murmur, leaning up to kiss Daniel’s cheek. His smile only grows at this, gently swaying me in his hold as we resume looking back at the band I grew up watching my entire life, and obviously, that never changed.

“Alright, guys, we have a special announcement tonight,” Nikki announces to the crowd as they all recover from the constant playing they’ve been doing since they started. My dad simply looks around in slight confusion, unsure of what’s going on as the whole show has been perfect. “My beautiful goddaughter and her husband have something to say. Mick,” Nikki adds, turning toward my dad as Daniel and I walk out on stage to join him. The crowd cheers as we do so, my dad greeting us with an almost confused smile when we stop in front of him.

“Well,” he starts, his eyes flicking between Daniel and me as we remain in each other's hold. “What’s the word, pumpkin?”

Hearing my dad call me the nickname he always used for me as a kid makes tears begin to well up in my eyes. This is already an emotional moment for me because I’m pregnant, but honestly, I never imagined I would be as happy as I am now. It’s definitely overwhelming, but not in a bad way.

“We have some news for you,” I tell him, resting back against Daniel’s side as I hand my dad the card I made especially for him. I watch as he takes it from me with a curious look on his face, the guys watching him with wide smiles etched onto all their faces as he does so. They all helped me and Daniel form this plan to surprise my dad, managing to get some extra time after their most recent show to allow us to surprise him.

Opening the card, my dad’s eyes scan over the words on the paper in front of him, a few seconds passing before he lowers the card down. In one hand, he holds the card while the other grasps the small ultra sound picture I put in there. Tears in his eyes, my dad smiles and shakes his head.

“Oh, pumpkin,” He murmurs, lifting his arms out to me. I accept his offer immediately and hug him close, my emotions only worsening as my dad pulls Daniel in the hug too, not wanting to forget him during such a big moment. “I’m so happy for you two,” he tells us, still holding me close with one arm as his other rests against Daniel’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you two.”

With tears now streaming down my face, I smile at my dad while Daniel wipes away my tears, never letting a tear be able to slide down my face on his watch. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mick Mars is going to be a grandfather!” Nikki says to the crowd, making them all erupt into cheers. Soon enough, the guys all come over and join our hug. Nikki, Tommy, and Vince watched me grow up, practically making them my uncles hence why I refer to them as such. Now, they get to watch a new life grow up and call them uncle as well, but on the other hand, my dad finally gets to be called grandpa without it being one of the guys' many jokes about his age.

#Daniel Webber #Daniel Webber x reader #Daniel Webber imagine #Daniel Webber imagines #mick mars x reader #mick mars #mick mars x daughter!reader #mick mars imagine #mick mars imagines #motley crue x reader #motley crue #motley crue imagine #Motley Crue imagines #the dirt #the dirt imagines #the dirt imagine #the dirt x reader #Daniel webber x mars!reader

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lokisprettygirl · 2 years

Text

The Bodyguard (Loki x Female reader) (Au) (18+)

Read Chapter 8 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 9

Summary : You find something about Loki's past and head to LA for the birthday party of Steve's sister .

Warning : Harsh language, bodyshaming, mention of neglect and abuse, emotional abuse, Unhealthy Eating Patterns, starving and under eating, implied smut, mention of drug use

He rocked you slowly in his embrace, you didn’t know how long that hug lasted for but it definitely fed the years worth of starvation.

You took a deep breath and tried to engrave this feeling in your head. In a perfect world maybe you would not have to crush your happiness to death but the reality wasn't so kind to you, you had to remind yourself that this life wasn't yours. In a perfect world you'd pursue him but in this one? He was just your bodyguard.

As you pulled away your eyes were teary and it didn't go unnoticed by him

"Thank you" you mumbled meekly as you looked down, he made you nervous, giddy, lively, scared all at once.

"You never have to thank me darling, feeling better?" He placed his palm on your shoulder so you looked at him and nodded. You didn't want to go back to your room just yet, you wanted to spend some more time with him.

"I am hungry" you said to him and he furrowed his brows

"You didn't have dinner did you?" He asked you so you shook your head

"What do you want to eat? I'll go get it for you, we shouldn't go together" you understood what he was trying to say.

"Ummm noodles?"

"Ramen?"

"Yess but you'll have to cook" you smiled sheepishly and he chuckled.

"I can do that" you raised your brow in surprise as he said that.

"You can cook?"

"You just have to boil water and put it in, it's not exactly rocket science" he chuckled again.

"Ohh"

"You have never cooked, have you?" You shook your head as he questioned, you felt embarrassed but you never had to step a foot inside the kitchen before.

"It's alright..I'll go get it for you, you can stay here" he smiled so you nodded.

When he left you sat down on his bed, then you laid down and closed your eyes, it smelled like him, you couldn't help but picture him there with you. He was strong enough to pick you up in his arms and lay you down on the bed. Would he be gentle or rough? Your bet was on gentleness, but then you could also picture him whispering filthy words in your ears as he'd choke you and ruin you with every inch..Nooo you can't think like that about him. You sat up quickly as your breathing labored.

He returned with a bowl of ramen so you smiled at him, then he sat next to you and kept the bowl on the bed between you two.

"Our mum never allowed us to eat on bed" he chuckled so you tilted your head.

"Our?"

"I ..have a ..step brother" you nodded

"How's your mom?" You asked him and he sighed, he rolled the noodles on the fork and placed it in front of your mouth so you took a bite.

"She is..she passed away a few years ago" he mumbled so you placed your palm on his thigh to comfort him.

"I'm sorry loki" you said softly and he smiled

"Don't be, how's the noodles?"

"Yummy ..I haven't had it in a year, I'm not supposed to eat it, I'm surprised they had it in the pantry" his eyes widened as you said that.

"You can eat whatever you want darling, don't let them tell you what you can or can't eat, it's your body"

Your eyes teared up as he said that, you wished they thought the same as him.

"Who else is in your family?"

"Just my father, we weren't in touch until recently" you wondered why but you didn't want to intrude too much at once.

"And a girlfriend?"

He shook his head and looked at you,

"I was married though" your eyes widened in shock. For some reason you didn't think of him as someone who used to be married once, that he found someone he loved enough to marry her.

"Was?" You asked him as he fed you another bite.

"For six months, it didn't work out"

"Why did you marry her?"

"For the same reason everyone else does it, I loved her" you nodded as he said that. You didn't know why the thought of him being in love with someone really pinched a nerve in your heart. Besides not everyone get their happy love marriage.

"Do you still love her?"

"No..not after what happened between us"

You wanted to ask more but you already felt as if you had overstepped. You grabbed the fork from him, swirled it around the noodles and offered him a bite, he didn't deny. He was hungry too.

He passed you a glass of water once you were done eating.

"Ummm I should go" you stood up so he nodded. He couldn't believe how easy it was for him to open up to you about his past, even if just a little.

But then what was he doing? He was going to make the same mistake as before, even worse this time because you were about to get married soon. What will he do then with all these feelings?

As you laid down on the bed, you pictured the hug he gave you, it was everything you have never had since your mom died. Nobody cared enough to hold you for unselfish reasons, they all wanted something. Not him, he just wanted you to feel better, your eyes teared up as you thought about the wedding that was to happen soon, your life though already bad will get even worse and you knew Loki wouldn't be here for long. Once Steve figures out that you were falling for him he'd get him fired. So you just wanted to enjoy these little hugs and moments as long as he was here.

Next day you all were heading for LA, Steve's sister Katlyn was holding her birthday party and Steve was taking you and Rocky along with him.

You hated his family, his awful dad Mason, his condescending mother Pamela and worst of all his bitch sister Katlyn. She was a C grade film star and she had all the bad attitude she could fit inside her.

As you all got inside the jet, you sat next to Steve and Rocky was sitting in front of you two, Loki joined the other guards at the back but you sat facing him and he could see you clearly.

"Couldn't you find a better dress? You'll see my parents" Steve asked you, you had a shirt dress on. You wanted to be comfortable for the flight but of course Steve didn't want that.

"What's wrong with this? Should I be wearing something like this?" You showed him a picture of Katlyn in a see through dress at some red carpet and his jaw clenched, but he controlled himself, if your dad wasn't here he'd probably hit you. He got up and went to the back to sit next to Bucky and glared at Loki who was sitting in front of him

"So did she fuck you yet?" Bucky asked Loki as soon as Steve got there,

"Excuse me?" Loki's jaw clenched when he heard the accusation, these people had no respect for you and it broke his heart, especially when he never saw you disrespecting any of these morons,

"Oh don't be such a prude, she must have tried, we all know she's a whore and she climbs every tree she can find..right boss?" Steve snickered as Bucky said that. He could just get up and punch these assholes, but then he wouldn't make it out of this plane.

"She even tried it with me, when she realised I wasn't falling for her "oh I'm so sadd and depressed trick" she started hating me.. fucking bitch" Loki looked at you and you were smiling as you looked at something on your phone, probably a cute video of an animal or something. His eyes teared up because all he wanted to do was grab you in his arms and take you far away from these awful beings, but he didn't have the power or the authority here. He was helpless. You looked at him and smiled but he didn't return it.

When he met you he thought you just liked sleeping around but now he knew that you craved whatever physical contact you could find.

"Enough about her, let's not waste our time talking about that whore, we are going to LA , so many better things to do" Steve chuckled as he lowered his seat down to rest.

When you all reached the destination, Loki instantly guarded you, he had a bulletproof vest on you could tell. Rocky wanted him to sit with you for the ride home at Katlyn's house and you couldn't have been happier.

"Are you alright madam?" He asked you and you smiled

"Just tired and bored"

He didn't smile, he was very stoic and in the work zone. That bothered you a little because you couldn't stop thinking about the time you spent on the beach and then the hug.

He noticed the sullen look on your face so he looked around, the other cars were in front of him. He used the opportunity to link his fingers with yours slowly but still didn't look at you. His thumb rubbed over your skin gently.

He was probably just trying to comfort you but his touch felt electric, it made you squeeze your thighs involuntarily. You placed your other hand on his and he gulped, you caressed his soft skin in the same manner, kind of surprised by how smooth his skin felt to your touch.

You scooted closer to him and all you wanted to do was kiss him, he looked so perfect and he smelled delicious, good enough to eat and now your thoughts were ridden with images of him being all naked and you on your knees as you'd service him for once.

He turned his head to look at you and you were staring right into his soul, looking at him as if you wanted to devour him, the dress you worn showed enough of your thighs and it made him want to bite every vacant inch of your skin.

"Darling don't look at me like that" your face flushed at the comment so you turned your head and focused your eyes on the moving cars outside.

He let go of your hand as you both reached the mansion Katlyn owned which you knew wasn't bought from her own money.

As you stepped inside, she jumped into your dad's arms and you rolled your eyes, she was a spitting image of Steve even though they weren't twins. She then hugged Steve, and gave you the air kiss when she came near you.

"Y/n aghhh what brand is that?" She asked you and you controlled the urge to smack her.

"Chanel why?"

"No way...it looks tacky" she giggled as her eyes met Loki and Bucky.

"Hot boys" she mumbled under her breath and the house help picked up your bags to place in your designated rooms.

"How's my baby sister?" Steve asked her as he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm turning 26 I feel so old" Loki rolled his eyes, he already didn't like her. Party was tomorrow so everyone could rest today, everyone except you. You had to go dress shopping for the party tomorrow because Steve's mother wanted you to look decent and not like your usual self. As soon as you reached the Prada store, they lined up several dresses for you to try and you picked two out of them. One was a bodycon with A line bottom, the other one was a wrap dress.

You pulled him inside the changing room, you were just in your lingerie and he was sweating just by looking at you and being locked up in that small space with you.

"Okay pick one for me please" you mumbled as you grabbed the dresses in both of your hands.

"Wait I'll show you" you put on the bodycon one first and twirled around for him,

"What do you think?"

"I..it's beautiful, you are beautiful.. always " you blushed at the compliment and then took the dress off slowly. This was a torture, what did he do to you?

As you put the wrap dress on you twirled around again

"This one?"

"Which one is more comfortable?" He asked you and you smiled

"This one"

"Get this one alright?" You nodded as he told you that sternly. He wanted you to have your comfort before style, he didn't want the repeat of yesterday evening where you'd struggle to breathe in your dress.

During dinner he kept his eyes on you, you were eating like a bird again and then Kaitlyn's words about your weight killed the rest of your appetite.

So late at night around 1 am, he grabbed a box of readymade sandwiches he found in the kitchen, microwaved it and made his way to your room.

He knocked twice and you opened it, you looked at the box of sandwich and sighed. As much as you wanted to eat that, you couldn't.

"I can't eat that, I'll be bloated tomorrow" you mumbled so he got in, kept the box on the dresser, closed the door so you two won't be caught, then he pulled you into him and kissed your forehead. His arms wrapped around you and you shivered as his nose brushed against your neck.

"Lokiii" you whispered his name and he smiled.

"Darling"

"Lokkkii" you whispered again and he was getting turned on with your breathy voice

"Talk to me darling"

" I ..I am hungry"

"I know..I know" he whispered softly and grabbed your hand then he made you sit down on the bed. He held a slice of sandwich over your mouth..

"I can't..I don't want to look fat" your eyes teared up and so did his. These people were damaging you in every possible way and it broke his heart in pieces.

"You are not fat, and you won't look fat, now be a good girl for me and open your mouth okay?" He whispered softly so you obliged. Just a bite won't hurt. He brought his other hand up to caress your head and you leaned into his touch.

"Here…open" he pressed the bread on your lips and you didn't resist this time as you took another bite. He was holding the slice with one hand while other one kept caressing your head,

"That's it, such a good girl, that tastes okay?" You nodded and took another bite. He was feeding you so lovingly, the only person who ever cared to do that before was your mom.

"Share?" You grabbed the other half and he took a bite to appease you even though he was pretty full from dinner.

"There you go one more bite okay?" You nodded as you looked at him mindlessly and took another bite "That's it, all finished" He kissed your forehead softly.

You didn't even realize when he made you eat the whole thing. He grabbed the box and threw it in the dustbin then he washed his hand and stood at the door so he could leave, he was afraid that he'd end up doing something really stupid if he was to stay any longer. The way you were looking at him was killing him.

As he stepped inside his room, he got undressed, laid down on his bed and thought about your tight little body pressed up against him, your innocent eyes looking at him as he fed you, then he touched himself until he came all over his hand with a loud moan of your name spilling from his mouth over and over.

He stayed there soaked in his own filth, thinking about these growing feelings for you and cursed himself mentally.

He knew this was not a wise thing to continue with you, he knew that very well but god he didn't want to stop at all.

He didn't want to become another man who'd hurt you like that.

💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤❤️❤️❤️💚🖤💚🖤💚

#loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader #loki x reader insert #loki x reader fic #loki x you #loki x reader smut #loki x reader angst #loki au

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generic-sonic-fan · 1 year

Text

Robotnik Family Reunion

Summary: Eggman never really knew his cousin Maria.

Shadow receives a letter.

(3938 words)

Sonic checked his mail and was not surprised to find an enormous package shoved into the tiny box. He was also not surprised when, upon pulling it out, he saw the logo of the Egg Empire stamped proudly on the side. He rolled his eyes, as if Eggman could see him from here, and brought it back into the house.

“Hey, Tails! Eggman sent me a ‘gift’ again. Give it a once-over some time today, yeah?”

Several bumps, bangs, and crashes echoed from the basement, and Tails popped his head out from the stairwell. “I told you not to bring those into the house!”

Several hours later, Tails had defused the bomb and Sonic was holding the letter.

Happy belated birthday, Sonic! It proclaimed. Here’s a little gift to keep you and the fox on your toes, along with some spending money. Go buy yourself something nice.

Sonic shook the envelope. Out slid a few quarters.

“At least we know he cares.” He rolled his eyes.

He went to throw away the rest of the package, but stopped when he felt something heavy weighing it down. He pulled out several sheets of bubble wrap before finally unveiling another envelope. This one was addressed with To Shadow- Sonic don’t read!

He furled his brows. His number one nemesis couldn’t even stay focused on him on his special day? Gee, happy birthday indeed. He ripped open the envelope and shook out a folded-up letter and something that looked suspiciously like one of Eggman’s personal communicators.

He unfolded the letter.

Dear Shadow,

There’s something of import I would like to discuss with you. What do you say we get together and have a little chat about it? The communicator I’ve included is my personal line. Let me know the time, place, and what restaurant you’d like takeout from, and we’ll make a lunch of it.

You’re likely wondering what exactly it is I’d like to discuss, but before I tell you, allow me to issue a warning to any nosy blue hedgehogs or foxes- SONIC, STOP READING THIS! YOU CALL YOURSELF A ‘HERO’ YET YOU SNOOP IN LETTERS THAT DON’T BELONG TO YOU? PATHETIC!

Anyways, Shadow, as it is, we’re the last two bearing the Robotnik family name, if the file I have on your genetic background is anything to go by. It’s come to my attention that I don’t know much about your side of the family. I’d like to learn a bit more about my cousin, Maria-

Sonic quit reading as his eyes hit the name. He folded the letter back up and slid it back into the envelope.

He carried it and the communicator with him as he went downstairs. Tails had already turned around from his workbench when Sonic opened the door to the workshop.

“Hey, buddy, one more thing for you to look over.” He held up the Egg communicator.

Tails grabbed it and quickly got to work dismantling it.

“You’ll be able to repair that, right?”

“Why?”

“Personal delivery. I’ll be running it to Shadow. Just get rid of all the usual tracking and explode-y stuff Eggface usually puts in there, yeah?”

“Are you sure? This could be a trap, for either one of you.” Tails paused in his work.

“I’m sure.”

—

There was a knock on Shadow’s door. He put down his book and scowled. Rouge had said that putting up the “no soliciting” sign on the door would stop random strangers from intruding into his private life, but he should’ve known better than to believe a flimsy sign would fix the problem.

He got up from his rocking chair and walked over to the door.

“Go away.” He shouted.

Another knock. This asshole wouldn’t know what was coming for them. Shadow looked through the peephole to size up the intruder, only to find a familiar blue color.

He sighed, deeply, before opening the door.

“Hey, Shads-”

“What are you doing here?”

“Great question.” Sonic replied. He held out one of his hands, revealing a heavy envelope with the words To Shadow- Sonic don’t read!

The envelope was open, of course.

“Eggman asked me to play mailman, apparently. Here you go.”

Shadow took the envelope. “Why?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to read it for yourself.” Sonic rubbed the back of his head. “But know that it’s probably some kind of trap. My ‘gifts’ from him usually are.”

“He gives you ‘gifts’?”

“Yeah, he’s weird like that. But hey, Shadow, I mean it. It’s probably a trap. He used a name in there that, um, I don’t think you’d like him using very much.”

Shadow curled his free hand into a tight fist.

“I had Tails look over the communicator he sent with it. He turned off all the location tracking and explosives and stuff, but Eggman will still know your location if you call him on it. If I were you, I’d just throw away the whole thing. He’s probably just trying to get a rise out of you by mentioning you-know-who.”

Shadow looked at Sonic, then back down at the envelope. He then stepped back and began to shut the door, but not before mumbling a brief “thanks.”

He paused by the door, long enough to hear Sonic’s shouted “you’re welcome” from the hallway and long enough to hear him speed off. Then he returned to his rocking chair and tore the letter from the envelope, sending something heavy within it, probably the communicator, tumbling onto the floor. He unfolded the letter.

His grip curled the paper as he read it. He read it again. And again.

He set it on the end table and leaned forward to retrieve the fallen communicator. It was a small red-and-orange device that fit neatly in the palm of his hand. He ran his fingers along the edges of it, though taking care to avoid the button at its base.

Family. Maria had always wanted to know hers better than she did.

He stood up, carrying the communicator with him as he went to the door. After checking the peephole to ensure Sonic wasn’t still somehow waiting out there, (for this seemed to be the type of thing the blue hedgehog would stick around and be irritating about,) he left his apartment and made his way down to the street. Just outside was a park with enough space to gather momentum to get his jet skates going. Very soon after he was on the edge of the city.

He pressed the button at the base of the communicator, and it crackled to life.

“Gah! How many times have I told you not to use this line when I’m in my-”

“Doctor.”

“Shadow? Oh, Shadow! Count me impressed. How’ve you been?” The doctor’s voice lit up on the other end of the line.

“Why did you send me that letter?”

“I’m frankly amazed you got it at all, between Sonic not messing things up as he always does and you not simply throwing it away the moment you got it. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Why did you contact me?” Shadow snapped.

“You do know how to read, hmm?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, then, what do you say? A little ‘family reunion’ to put in the books?”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“I’m letting you pick the time and location. You could very well set a trap for me and I’d be none the wiser. I also don’t give out my personal line just on a whim, you know. Imagine how much of a pain Sonic would be if he got ahold of it.”

"Then why did you deliver the letter to him first?"

"I don't know where you live. I suppose I could've hacked your employer's database to get your address, but consider the fact that I didn't as a sign of my courtesy and sincere intent."

"Hmph." Shadow couldn't find any fault with that.

“So what restaurant do you want?”

“Restaurant?”

“Yes, yes, for the takeout.”

“I haven’t told you whether I’ve agreed to this or not.”

“Sonic’s particularly fond of a little hot dog stand in Station Square. I know very little about hedgehog diet, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume you have similar taste, yes?”

“I hate chili dogs.”

“Then do tell?”

Shadow sighed. “There’s an asian fusion restaurant on the corner of 5th and Crystal street in Emerald city.”

Rouge had taken him there once and it had been the best food he’d had since, well, everything.

“Ooh, never took you for the type. I’ll go look at the menu. Now, where will we be meeting up for our little chat?”

“Preferably not in public.”

“Yes, preferably! Unless you want the police to be chasing us down the entire time. I’m a wanted man, you know.” The doctor giggled.

Shadow closed his eyes and thought for a moment. “There’s an abandoned GUN base, coordinates 53, 46. I’ll meet you there in three hours.”

He pressed the button on the communicator again to end the call. He used the sun to orient himself before taking off in the direction of the coordinates. He could be there in just under two hours, and that was intentional- being early would allow him to ensure the doctor would be true to his word. He skated towards the mountains on the horizon.

—

He arrived fifteen minutes later than planned, but it still gave him time to catch his breath and inspect the ruins for suspicious activity. This base hadn’t been a large one in the first place, and it had been destroyed during an incident a few years back involving severe worldwide seismic instability. Sonic probably had something to do with that, knowing him, but Shadow did not care to know the details.

He’d learned about this spot after the fact, when he’d been sent to retrieve sensitive data and destroy what remained of the databases. Sunlight streamed down from holes in the concrete ceiling, and tall grass and flowers grew up from between the cracks in the floor. Shadow traced in the shredded walls where he’d spin-dashed into the mainframe once he was done with it.

There were no traps, no bugs, and no civilians. He sat down on a concrete chunk and waited.

A jet engine hummed on the horizon, growing into a roar as it came closer. Shadow stood and jogged outside to catch the doctor’s Eggmobile descending from the sky. Its top cover unfurled, revealing the man himself holding two flimsy white foam takeout trays.

“Doctor.” Shadow greeted.

One of the mobile machine’s walls folded down into a set of steps, and the doctor walked down them.

“You didn’t tell me what to get you, so I picked something at random off the menu.” He grumbled and held one of the trays forward.

Shadow approached. The doctor didn’t react in any nervous manner that could indicate a surprise attack, so he grabbed the tray from him.

“Some place you’ve picked. A bit morbid for the subject matter, don’t you think?”

“It’s isolated.” Shadow turned and entered the ruined base. “Come on, doctor.”

He followed. “‘Doctor’. A bit formal for family, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Then at least call me ‘Ivo’.”

“Very well. . . Ivo.”

The name felt familiar, although he’d never heard anyone in this age call him by that. Shadow settled himself on the concrete chunk he’d claimed, placing his tray on his lap, though he didn’t open it yet.

“So, Maria, hmm?” Ivo held his takeout tray between his hands and sat himself down on a nearby rock. He flicked a bug out of his noodles, before grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Get to the point. Tell me what you already know about her.”

“I never knew my cousin. She was only a few years older than I was and she got whisked away to the ARK before I could ever meet her. I assume you might have seen her once or twice up there, eh? That’s why I invited you out here.”

“Gerald was your grandfather.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Did you know him?”

“Oh, vaguely. Nothing like seeing your grandfather publicly executed on live television to spice things up, right?”

Ivo chortled and slapped his knee. Shadow crossed his arms.

“Now, I wasn’t aware you were a fan of dodging the question, hedgehog. Get to the point. Tell me about Maria.”

“Your family never spoke of her?”

“On the contrary!” Ivo stood up, tray in one hand, the other with a finger pointing toward the sky. “They hardly ever shut up about her.”

“Then why are you asking-”

“‘Oh, poor sick Maria! Such a wonderful little girl she is!’” He turned away and cooed to invisible air. “Maria, Maria, Maria. ‘Ivo, let’s go outside and see if we can see the space station pass over us. That way we can all wave to our wonderful Maria’.”

Shadow stared down at the tray he was holding, clenching it hard enough to crunch the foam in. Ivo had fully turned away from him now, gesturing into empty space as if he were leading a symphony.

“Oh, if only Maria had had more time! She would’ve done such marvelous things. Marvelous things like turning the vacuum into a robot to win first prize in the science fair- except that was me. Or maybe she could’ve automated the kitchen to make our meals for us or our laundry to wash itself, but oh, wait, that was also me.” He slapped his palm against his chest. “But who cares about mean little Ivo? ‘Ivo, quit doing that, Ivo, play nicer, Maria wouldn’t be behaving this way’.”

Shadow dropped the tray from his hands and stood up. He turned for the exit of the ruins, but then Ivo snapped around, pointing a finger directly at him.

“How was I supposed to compete with a dead girl, hmm? You tell me.”

“You’re looking for someone to blame.” Shadow spat.

“I’m- what, no I’m not!”

“I’m not giving you that ammunition. We’re done here.”

Shadow began walking. Once he got clear of the chunks of concrete he’d have enough room to power up his jets and-

“At least take the food with you! I paid for that, ungrateful moron.”

“I’m the ultimate life form. I don’t need to eat.”

“You said this was your favorite restaurant. Come on.”

Shadow stopped, huffed, and turned around. He grabbed the damaged tray from off the ground. A bit of sauce had leaked out from where his grip had torn through the foam. Whatever.

“I’m not blaming anyone. That would imply that I’ve failed, which I have not.” Ivo said.

“You hate her.”

“I don’t hate her. I hardly even know her.”

“You’ve already made up your mind; what’s the difference?”

“It’s not like you’re any better. You still hate everyone you meet regardless of what you know about them, unless you have some undying love to suddenly proclaim about Sonic or something.”

“Not love, but. . . respect.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Unfortunately.”

“He tends to do that. You’d have to be a fool to not respect him. That’s something I learned the hard way,” Ivo sat back down, “after waking up surrounded by the smoldering wreckage of my own creations a few too many times.”

“So you really think that highly of him?”

“Pfft, no. I suppose if you vastly oversimplify things, then perhaps you could construe it that way- but I digress. If I can respect Sonic, then maybe I can respect my late cousin, but only if you enlighten me. Understand?”

“Very well.” Shadow sat back down.

“And please, don’t let your food get cold while you’re at it.”

Shadow threw a glare his way, before popping off the lid of the takeout tray.

“What was she like, anyway?”

“Nice.”

“Very descript.”

“Kind. Funny, though sometimes annoying. Sick, but you already knew that.”

“Spoiled, no doubt, by all those scientists tending to her beck and call.”

“They didn’t give a damn about her! To them she was one half of the experiment, nothing more. They only wanted results.”

“Oh.”

“They didn’t care how much pain she was in. I was the only one who ever helped her with anything. They saw her only as a nuisance that interfered with project development.”

“You two were close.”

Shadow shut his mouth and stared at the concrete wall just over Ivo’s shoulder.

“You two grew up together, didn’t you?” Ivo asked. “Tell me what that was like.”

“We only had each other. Gerald was hardly of any help.”

“Of course.”

“We would. . . take care of each other.”

“Naturally.”

Shadow paused.

“Well? Keep going, you’re hardly giving me anything to work with here.”

“You said it yourself, doctor. We grew up together.”

“She was like a sister to you.”

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Oh, Chaos. . . that means it really must’ve messed with your head when they shot her in front of you!”

His eyes snapped open.

“That must’ve been terrible! You must have been so angry, having the one you thought of as a sister murdered in cold blood. No wonder you were so enraged when I woke you up.”

“I don’t need your useless pity.”

“Surely it’s bothering you that I’m speaking so plainly about her getting shot?”

“It’s the truth, and as I said, I don’t need your pity!”

“Good thing I’m not terribly interested in giving it.”

Shadow rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.” Ivo grabbed his fork again and ate another bite of his noodles. He spoke with his mouth full. “And eat your food. It’s cold by now.”

“Whatever.”

“You still haven’t told me hardly anything about her.”

“What more do you need to know?”

“I don’t know! I still can’t get a clear picture of her. She has to be more than ‘nice’.”

“Then ask.”

“What was her ambition? What did she want to do? What grand and glorious thing was she going to accomplish if only she just had more time?”

Shadow looked at him, before looking down at his food. He took a bite. Spicy. A little bitter. Overall edible. He looked back up at the doctor.

“She wanted to see the world.” He said.

“What?”

“She wanted to see the world. We read about all this,” he gestured to the overgrown ruins surrounding them, “in our books, saw the green grass and blue sky in our pictures, but she wanted to see it for real.”

“That can’t be all. Be more specific; tell me exactly what she wanted.”

“She wanted to feel the wind. She wanted to touch the grass.” Shadow shrugged. “She wanted to climb a mountain and see what it was like at the top.”

“That’s it? No greater ambition, nothing?”

“We were kids.”

“That’s no excuse! When I was a kid, I was already dreaming about world domination-”

“I get the distinct feeling you’re the exception, not the norm.”

Ivo crossed his arms. “I’ll ignore that.”

The wind blew through the hollowed-out remains of the base they sat in, creating a small whistle. Shadow turned his ears to listen.

“Was she just. . . not smart enough to want anything more?”

“Say that again and I’ll make sure you won’t live to regret it.”

“Alright, alright! Sheesh. She was a Robotnik, after all, I should have figured.” He made a calming gesture. “I simply find it hard to believe that that was the extent of what she wanted.”

“. . . I suppose she did want to help people.” Shadow closed his eyes. “She cobbled together a low-gravity wheelchair for us to use when either of us had a bad pain day after the tests. She also made a set of greenhouse lights, for us to keep our little plants alive.”

Ivo made a ‘hmph’ noise, but said nothing else.

“We saved the scraps of plants deemed ‘unproductive’ in the greenhouse and tried to grow them ourselves. We kept them on the top shelf of an unused maintenance closet. She built the lights.” Shadow tried to explain more.

“Fascinating.”

He’d heard the doctor use that word in many different contexts before, but this was the first one he could recall that felt genuine.

“What else did she want to build?”

“It was less about the building, for her, and more about helping.” Shadow continued. “She was glued to Gerald’s side whenever something was broken and needed fixing.”

“Just like me, but I bet he found her endearing rather than annoying.”

“Not always.”

“Ah, it’s the Robotnik family values, after all! Use your intellect to serve but never accept help. That’s a formula for a hellish household, in case you weren’t aware.”

“It seems I didn’t get the full experience.” Shadow covered his mouth to suppress a laugh.

“Yes, well, you’re adopted! Mostly. Sort of.”

“Our family is a strange one, it would seem.”

“But at least there’s one thing consistent between you, me, and her.”

Shadow raised an eyebrow to humor him.

Ivo grew quiet. “You know, I want to help people-”

“Not another word.”

The warm feeling in the air between them evaporated. Shadow crossed his arms.

“You didn’t hear what I was going to say! All I’m saying is that if we worked together, then maybe we could fulfill Maria’s dream. I want to build things to help people. Why do you think I’m so hellbent on establishing my empire?”

“You’re trying to manipulate me. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“And what are you doing with your life to make her proud, hmm? Working for the same organization that murdered her?”

“It’s different!” Shadow snapped. “If I am their most lethal agent, then nothing like that will ever happen again. I will ensure it.”

“How terribly naive of you. You really are just a child. Sometimes I forget that.”

“And you are an egoist who can’t see past his own blind ambition. You’re hardly different.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Worse. You’re cruel, only caring about how your little experiments benefit yourself regardless of what they do to your victims. You’re no different from all the other scientists aboard the ARK. She would have hated you.” Shadow put his hand on his chest. “Though that’s just my assumption. She did have a rather strange taste in who she called ‘family’.”

“So you’ll be just like everyone else in the family, then? Judging me by a dead girl?”

“Are you finished?” Shadow stood up. “I’ve given you what you want.”

“I guess we are finished here. Thanks for nothing, you useless rodent.”

Shadow tossed his food on the ground, letting it spill out across the grass. Ivo mirrored the gesture, albeit with his empty tray.

“The feeling is mutual. Let’s not meet again.” Shadow said, before turning to walk away.

“I hope you know what this means, Shadow the Hedgehog! I won’t pull any of my punches should you decide to interfere with any of my future plans!”

“Good, because I won’t pull mine. Goodbye, doctor.”

Shadow dashed from the ruins, firing up his jets to maximum speed as soon as he was clear of them, sending a shock wave ricocheting behind him.

—

“Hey, Shads, just calling to ask if everything went okay. Eggman is certainly a character. He’s already bad enough as it is- I couldn’t imagine actually being related to him, so, like, if you ever need to talk-”

Shadow deleted the voicemail from his inbox as he held the burning letter. The ashes fell to the ground, joining the broken shards of the communicator.

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #eggman #dr robotnik #fanfiction #sonic frontiers #inspired by the 'i never knew my cousin maria' line #canon is a little fast and loose here- hope that's okay #this is the first fic I've written for the sonic fandom and I think it turned out pretty good!

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