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#bring your kid to work day line
kesoyotes · 5 months
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All the points ✅
All the chemistry ✅
All the vibes ✅
the Maccelli-Bjugstad-Crouse line can do it all ✨
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puppyeared · 4 months
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for like 3 weeks i was wondering why i was sleeping so much and felt listless. and just now I managed to email 3 people and responded to a month old message in the span of an hour because I got back to TAKING MY FUCKIN MEDS..........
#MOTHER FFFFUCKER#to be fair. my doc said I could stop taking them while im on break since i wouldnt need to be constantly pumped on stimulants#im not sure if it was a side effect but i managed to take like 3 different naps in one day and STILL managed to sleep thru the whole night#at least 2 days into my break. the weird thing is i didnt feel more or less rested afterwards. but mentally i think im in a good place rn#to really put the level of awakeness im at rn i feel weirdly confident i could start one piece. also bc of that sick new opening it BANGS#the song is really good and im in love with the animation style. did some digging and it seems one of the lead animators is masato mori#but i could be wrong. it seems he also did some work on mp100 which could explain a lot lol.. he uses smear frames really well to convey#consistent movement and fluidity!!! someone else might have done color design but it works really really well esp with odas style!!#just love the overall vibe and aesthetic and id really love to study it and incorporate a bit of it into my art.. especially the thick#outlines which i think helps to separate characters and objects on screen. though i have to say the style is definitely more suited to#animation bc of the simpleness and smears. maybe that will help me explore shapes and perspective when i draw... i wanna get better#at drawing poses and angles but i have a hard time wrapping my head around space and using perspective guide lines NGHHHH#i wonder if it has to do with my dogshit ability to judge distance. not depth perception but like. judge how far smth is in metres etc#im also wearing an N95 for the first couple weeks back bc of the wave. absolutely NO BODY is wearing a mask its so fucking over#where im sitting ive heard 5 different people coughing probably not into their elbows!!! and im just. head in my fucking hands#there was a kid sitting a couple seats away in class coughing as he pleases and i wanted to grab him in a chokehold so badly. PLEASEE#ive been annoying my family by asking them to mask up and reminding them to bring masks when they go out and showing them news articles#but at least its working bc we ordered some KN95s and my mom is at least taking me seriously so. please dont be afraid to speak up abt your#health. take care of yourself and others however u can!! wear that mask indoors at your maskless friends house!!! stay home when u can!!#im wearing a surgical mask at home too bc my parents have '''a dry throat cough''' and they are so bad at coughing into their sleeves#also im pretty sure dry throat isnt transmissible bc my brother started coughing too so.. i also tested negative but they havent tested yet#im also not a doctor but i have to keep reminding ppl whenever i can that covid and flu work differently. covid is new and too recent to#have nearly as much research done on it. it seems its also compounding so instead of building immunity it weakens the body and spreads to#to other systems which might explain brain fog and muscle weakness. i remember someone early in the pandemic got infected and it messed up#their smell/taste receptors so bad that they cant eat most foods and that stays in the front of my mind when i think abt covid. christ#yapping
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just-rogi · 1 year
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I’m fucking venting here bc I’m angry and don’t have anyone to talk to and I’m not sure if this is political correct or right or whatever but I’m fucking pissed - I’m a public school teacher who works in the inner city and this year alone there have been two shootings in my neighborhood involving students not dying school hours- and one student who went missing due to gang ties (they were found ALIVE a DAYS later) -
I’m fucking TIRED I’m FREAKED OUT and I’m ANGRY because I have to go into work tomorrow and I have to have that conversation with the kids during our SEL block because they will have questions and bc they are in middle school some will not know how to process it and will joke while others will be genuinely upset
and I feel nauseous thinking about the fact that my mother and four of my closest friends are all going through the same fucking shit as teachers at different schools right now- and my roommate who is trans- and unrelated to his identity is also kinda an asshole- has been shitting on me all night about how I’m not I’m danger like he is and how I don’t know his pain (and while I’m not making excuses I’m an openly gay teacher who works directly with the lgbt students and activly educated my kids on trans rights AND I work for a nonprofit organization that directly works to protect trans and queer rights and JUST LAST WEEK put out a video for our organization on antitrans laws - I’m not saying I fucking get what it’s like to be trans but Jesus fuck I’m fighting the fight for trans youth more than you are working at Whole Foods) why the FUCK are you quantifying suffering, why the FUCK are you lashing out at ME of all people, and why the fuck are you telling a public school teacher in inner city Boston that I have no idea what it’s like to be afraid- motherfucker I’m angry I’m sorry but why the fuck are you monopolizing suffering why do you think you have the right to talk to me this fucking way. I get you are scared but you work in Whole Foods in Massachusetts- the bluest state there is- )
there is no fucking cap on grief- sorry I’m upset at this as well but you saying it doesn’t directly effect me is just so fucking ignorant and suffering shouldn’t be quantifiable mf we are on the same fucking side why are you infighting right now (and I know this isn’t relevant and this is entirely unrelated to him being trans but god he is so fucking sexist- saying shit like I have no idea what it’s like to have my bodily autonomy at risk as if roe v wade didn’t get overturned THIS year???) sometimes it pisses me off like fucking sorry I’m being over emotional and overreacting to a school shooting as a fucking public school teacher GOD I should be allowed to be angry too in my own goddamn apartment-
you don’t get to sit on your high horse and say you suffer more than me and that I’m not allowed to be afraid ok I’m done I’m gonna go in tomorrow and make sure to hug my one openly trans kid extra hard bc I know they are suffering just like I know my roomate is suffering and needs a place to express his anger- I get I’m an easy target bc I’m a safe person to lash out at and I’m not telling anyone how to grieve and I know a lot of this is just knee jerk reaction to violence and anger- I just wish he wasn’t expressing it at the one fucking person who doesn’t deserve it, like fuck, the one thing people always say about public school teachers is that we have it TOO easy, especially the night after a school shooting
*Also fuck terfs and fuck anyone who is using a tragedy as an excuse to hate trans people*
#he keeps talking about how cis people need to do better#as if a) I haven’t talked in depth about my own gender identity and how I’m not entirely aligned with ‘cis womanhood’ as a lesbian#with a complexed identity#and b) even if I was cis (which in most cases it’s just easier to say that I am) IM THE ONE GETTING MY FUCKING BOOTS DIRTY HERE#IM THE ONE BRINGING IN BOOKS FOR MY QUEER KIDS WHEN THE LIBRARY DOESNT HAVE ANY#IM THE ONE ADVOCATING FOR CALLING OUR TRANS KIDS BY THEIR PREFERED PRONOUNS AND NAME#IM THE ONE GOING TO MEETINGS TWICE A WEEK TO ORGANIZE QUEER EVENTS IN RURAL AMERICA THAT PUT TRANS WOMEN AND DRAG QUEENS FRONT AND CENTER#IM THE ONE RESEARCHING LOCAL CIVIL RIGHTS LAWS ABOUT OUR TOWN DENYING APPROVAL FOR OUR EVENT ON THE BASIS OF CROSSDRESSING#NOT BEINF CHILD FRIENDLY (we are working on it dw we have a team on this )#IM LACING UP MY DYKE BOOTS EVERY FUCKING DAY AND SHAKING HANDS WITH SISTERS WHO HAVE WATCHED THEIR FRIENDS AND LOVERS DIE- INCLUDING#A SISTER WHO WAS AT FUCKING STONEWALL#I’m not trying to pull the whole ‘I’m gay so I get it ‘ card bc that’s not cool when cis people do that shit#but I’m a fucking public school teacher- I’m allowed to grieve a fucking school shooting FUCK#god why are you fucking quantifying suffering mf you work in a grocery store your life and the lives of others aren’t on the line daily#^^that also isn’t a dig at his work - working in a grocery store is a fine career and he deserves a living wage and dignity#but also… there haven’t been 130 shootings at Whole Foods market in 2023 alone so maybe fucking let me be angry#god#i really hope this shit doesn’t get twisted I just need to vent#if you don’t like this just block me idc I’m not fighting anymore#tw school shooting#tw gun violence#tw gun mention#school shooting
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hua-fei-hua · 1 year
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working with kids every day for 5.75 hrs straight every day is kind of tiring but YESTERDAY we finally got to do what I wanted (prompt the kids into writing stories) and it was so beautiful n glorious in the times when my coworker wasn't, like, obviously dismissing everything
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saetoru · 8 months
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)
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synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break
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word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)
contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry
notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak
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everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.
they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.
you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.
you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.
when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.
satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.
it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.
he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.
you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.
but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.
“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”
you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.
he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.
he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.
“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”
“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”
“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”
“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.
he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.
“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”
“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”
“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”
“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”
“sure,” he chuckles.
and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.
“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.
he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.
great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.
you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.
“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”
“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”
“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.
with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”
you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.
you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.
you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.
—————
just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.
the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.
this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.
how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.
his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.
instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.
his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.
the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.
“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”
“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.
“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”
it’s way too early for this.
by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.
that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.
maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.
“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”
he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.
that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.
“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”
“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”
“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”
satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.
but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.
his bare chest, in fact.
you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.
“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.
this is…new. very, very new.
“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”
“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.
you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.
“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.
it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.
“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”
“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”
“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”
“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.
and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.
this is going to be a longer break than you thought.
—————
the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.
you grin, reaching over when—
“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”
“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.
“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.
“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.
he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.
it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.
“do you still throw away the ends of these?”
you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”
“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 
“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”
“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.
“yeah, as if.”
“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.
ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 
“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.
“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”
yeah. very snobby.
“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.
he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.
“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”
“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”
“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”
“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.
satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”
“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”
“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”
something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.
“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”
“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”
“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”
it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.
“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.
“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”
“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.
“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”
“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”
“i know you’re not talking—”
“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.
but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.
“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”
“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”
“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”
“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”
“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”
“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.
suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.
“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”
you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.
you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.
you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.
and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.
—————
satoru meets you when you’re six. 
he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 
somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.
a magnetizing one, in fact.
it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 
when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.
the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 
he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.
so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 
your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 
he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 
“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 
it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.
“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 
satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 
it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 
“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”
he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 
“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”
he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 
fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 
“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”
and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.
would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.
god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.
he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 
it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?
——
“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”
“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 
oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 
“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”
“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”
“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”
“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”
“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”
satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.
silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.
—————
it’s night four. 
satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 
he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 
scarily handsome, in fact. 
you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 
maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 
you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.
you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.
“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”
“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 
“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”
“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 
he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”
“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”
“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.
satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 
“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”
“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.
it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.
“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 
you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?
he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”
you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 
“how would you know—”
“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”
“he was hot—”
“yeah? and i’m not?”
he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 
“satoru, what are you—”
“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”
“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.
it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 
“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”
and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 
so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.
your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 
“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”
“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”
“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 
no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 
“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 
“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.
“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”
“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.
“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 
“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 
for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”
“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”
“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”
you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 
“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”
that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.
it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.
“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”
“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 
but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 
“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”
before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 
you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 
“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.
“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”
he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 
satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 
your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.
suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 
it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 
you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.
he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 
“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”
“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”
so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 
“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”
“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”
“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”
“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”
“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”
“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”
satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 
your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 
the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 
you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.
“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”
“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”
“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 
it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.
your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 
“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”
“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 
“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”
suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.
fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.
“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”
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do not comment about a part 2
but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything
29K notes · View notes
dailymanners · 8 months
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Compliment someone on one of their personality traits 
Write a handwritten card to someone to say thanks
Text a friend to share your gratitude for something they did for you
Leave a positive review online of a restaurant you like
Tell a friend what you love about their children
Compliment a photo someone posts on social media
Let someone cut in front of you in line
Introduce two people who you think would get along
Pick up trash on the ground and put it in the garbage
Compliment someone on their clothing or hair
Use old grocery bags to pick up dog poop you see on your neighbor's lawn
Shovel snow off the sidewalk in your neighborhood
Offer to mow the lawn for an elderly neighbor
Give up your seat on the plane to let a couple sit together
Talk to someone at a party that doesn’t seem to know anyone
Invite someone new in your town to a social event and introduce them to everyone
Invite a friend that you haven’t seen in a while out to lunch
Offer to pick up a friend at the airport
Reach out to an old friend to let them know of an experience you had with them that you value
Spend time with the elderly at a local retirement home
Offer to bring someone else's grocery cart back to the store
Keep an extra pen in your purse to give people when they need one
Put a positive note in a library book
Attend events that support your friends’ passions (like an art show, musical performance, etc…)
Donate unused items to charity
Bring snacks to the local fire station
Keep packs of toothpaste or packs of socks in your bag to give to homeless people
Post an uplifting photo on a friend’s social media
Compliment someone on something they’ve done or accomplished
Tell a parent that they’re doing a great job raising their kids
Bring or send your mother flowers
Bring a friend a small gift next time you see them
Buy a warm meal to give to a homeless person
Share an article, event, or other information with someone who might be interested
Help to connect a friend seeking a job to someone who has a job to offer
Help a neighbor bring in their groceries
Make dinner for your friend group
Compliment a neighbor on how nice their yard looks
Bring in the trash bins for your neighbor after trash has been picked up
Send an email to a former teacher to let them know how they impacted your life
Leave a thank you note in your mailbox for your mail carrier
Give a flower to a stranger
Buy a gift card to give to a stranger
Ofter to be there for a friend when they are struggling with something
Give bottles of water to people working outside on a hot day
Buy a sandwich for the next person in the lunch line
Leave a sticky note with a positive note somewhere public, like at a bus stop
Bring brownies to your next neighborhood association meeting
Scrape the ice off the car windshield of the car next to yours
Leave a positive comment on someone else's social media post, #ProsocialPost
Put coins in someone’s parking meter that is about to run out
Slow down to let someone merge in front of you in traffic
Be on time (don’t waste others’ time)
Hold the door open for the person walking behind you
Make a double batch of dinner so that you can give a meal to someone in need
Give directions to someone who is lost
Give an extra big tip when eating out
Practice compassion when someone else is struggling
Be self-compassionate when you’re struggling with something
Share veggies you grow in your garden with friends, neighbors, and family
Become an organ donor
Volunteer at the local animal shelter
Bring dinner to a friend who's just had a baby
Build a “little free library” box in your yard with books for everyone to read
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upsidedownwithsteve · 19 days
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+
[3.4K] title from ‘too sweet’ by hozier, just a stressed out steve, a willing girlfriend and a lot of filth. written in two hours and not edited in the slightest i’m sorry do not perceive me.
As sour as Steve had looked when he came home from work, he tasted twice as sweet.
He’d called you on his lunch, voice strained and low and you could picture the stitch between his brows, the downturn of his lips as he grumbled to you down Family Videos landline.
Robin was off sick, Keith was in a foul mood, two kids came in and stole a copy of a porno that was sitting behind the desk and the return pile sat at the height of Steve’s waist.
“Can’t wait to come home,” he had sighed down the line, voice rough and mournful and making your thighs squeeze together just right. “Wanna see you so bad, y’know?”
And you did know.
It seemed to take an age before you heard his car pull into the driveway, brakes squeaking slightly because the rent on the apartment came before any repairs to the BMW now. It’s why you’d poured a whisky for him, neat and no ice, no water, just the way Steve liked it. You considered dinner, home cooked and waiting on the kitchen table but something else took hold in your thoughts.
You could order pizza later.
So Steve came in the door with his shoulders slumped and his keys rattling from his fingertips, his green work vest already discarded and probably balled up in the backseat of his car. That frown was there, the one you’d wanted to soothe away all day for him, creasing at his brows, turning down the corners of his soft and pretty lips.
He thawed when he saw you, barefoot and in an old sweater that was too big for you, legs naked and your skin still warm from the shower you’d taken your time in. Steve held out a hand, groaning in delight when you stepped to him, all soft smiles and softer sweater, allowing him to pull you into his chest. His noises were doing things, rough sighs and low moans that made you think with what was between your legs, his purrs vibrating from his chest to yours as he curled his arms around your lower back.
It was easy to return the affection, pushed onto your tiptoes as you carded your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his cologne that you watched him spray that morning barely clinging to his skin. You nosed at his throat anyway, everything about him smelling like home and when Steve let out a low grunt at your adoration, you used one hand to pull at his jaw, bringing his lips to yours.
It was more than an average kiss ‘hello’. In fact, it made his brows shoot upwards and his breath hitch, the arm still around your waist faltering before he caught up with the pace you had set and tucked you in tighter to his body. He let you lead, eyes fluttering shut as he sighed softer than he had all day, letting you steal the noise and keep it for yourself.
Steve fell pliant for you, pretty lips giving in to yours as you kissed him slow, needy, lazy. Your tongue traced the seam of his mouth, teasing, testing, his breath ragged when he opened for you, trying to catch up. You pulled away then, pleased with the rosy cheeks and blown out pupils that stared back at you.
“Go sit down,” you told him, voice soft, quiet. There was a spell cast, not to be broken, not until Steve did too. “I’ll be through in a second.”
If Steve knew what you were up to, he didn’t say. No questions asked, the boy blinked and stumbled into the doorframe before righting himself, heading for the sofa. You’d long switched the television off, the lamp by the armchair dimmed low, the candles you liked to collect all lit and scattered across the coffee table and the fireplace mantle.
You returned with his whisky, the glass glinting amber in the candle light, your smile too coy. Steve raised his brows as you handed him his drink, his gaze too caught on your bare legs. He reached out for you, warm palm travelling up the back of your thigh, wide enough to curl around it and bring you between his knees.
Exactly where you planned to end up.
“What have I done to deserve this, huh?” He asked, whisky on one hand as he leant his chin on the soft of your stomach, eyes wide and dark as he looked up at you.
You scoffed, soft and light, your hands carding through his hair. You pushed it from his forehead, nails scratching at his scalp, beaming when he closed his eyes like he couldn’t help it, lashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks. “What? Bring you a drink?”
Steve hummed, distracted. “Was thinkin’ more along the lines of deserving you.”
Love sick, that’s what you felt. An awfully sticky thing that glued itself to your heart at his words. You didn’t know what to say, especially not when he was looking at you like that again, all brown sugar eyes, honeyed and soft. So you bent instead, nose bumping his before you stole another kiss, gentler than before, lingering and as sweet as him.
You let him take one sip of his whisky before you dragged his shirt from his body, hair wild as you pulled it over his head, cheeks flushed and eyes surprised.
“What—?”
You didn’t respond, merely dropping to your knees instead and popping the button on his Levi’s. Steve swore, a dirty, throaty sound that made your stomach flip because you knew that he knew where this was going.
“Baby,” he groaned. “Fuck. You don’t have to do that—”
The sound of his zipped caught in the air, the rest of the evening quiet. The closed curtains and the flicker of the candle light made the small living room feel even tinier, a warm bubble where you could hear every little noise Steve made for you. His hand travelled up your forearm, fingers curling at your elbow and squeezing. Steve looked half gone already, lip parted and shiny from your previous kisses and you knew he’d taste like cedar and smoke now.
“What if I wanna?” You told him, pouring, just a little. Because what man could resist a pretty thing like you on your knees, lips soft and begging? You pushed yourself up, leaning into the space between his hips, your mouth skimming along his jawline, tongue licking into the corner of his mouth all sweet. It was barely a kiss, but it was somehow dirtier. “What if I told you I wanna make you feel better? That I’ve been thinking about your cock in my mouth all day?”
Steve groaned, falling into you, head on your shoulder, teeth biting down on the junction of your neck. “Fuck— baby. Baby, y’cant, you can’t just say shit like that.”
You grinned, amusement hidden from him as Steve continued to mouth at your throat, nose nudging down the collar of your sweater so he could kiss more skin. “I can’t?” You asked.
“Gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind,” he mumbled. He lifted his head then, cheeks pink and eyes looking heavy lidded, pupils black and too big. He looked delirious on you. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed heavily, tongue licking at his lips. “You really been thinking about that?”
You nodded, making your eyes a little too wide, too innocent, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and it was a cheap shot, an easy target— but fuck, it worked every time. Steve’s hand slid to your ass, lifting your sweater out of his way and squeezing a plump cheek, only your underwear to be found underneath.
“So can I?” You whispered, mouth parted, brushing against his. You shared your breath with him, nose pushed to his warm cheek, hands coasting over his thighs as you prepared to tug down those too tight jeans.
Steve sounded too breathy when he answered but he still played your game, too far gone or not. He was watching your mouth when he spoke, transfixed by the pink gloss there, the way he could see your tongue between them. “Can you what, honey?”
You smirked.
Steve knew what you were asking. He just wanted to hear you say it again.
“Can I suck your cock?”
You heard it then, the hitch in his throat, the too harsh exhale. Steve looked at you like you were everything, like you’d hung each star and you were ever wet dream all at once. Lips pressed together to deal in his moan, his filthy words, he nodded, hair falling into dark eyes. And when he trusted his voice, albeit rougher and lower than before, he spoke.
“Yeah, honey, go ‘head.” He lifted his hips when you tapped them, jeans and boxers shoved down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard and hitting his stomach. “You’re so— you’re so fucking sweet, y’know that?”
You smiled, all coy, faux shyness as you leaned your cheek onto his thigh, denim and coarse hair against your skin. Steve gasped when you wrapped a small hand around him, fingers barely meeting around his girth and you stroked once, twice. “I am?”
You didn’t give him a chance to answer before your tongue followed, a lazy, wide lick from the base of him to his tip, already dark pink and slick for you. Steve’s hips canted up, head thrown back against the cushions and you adored the way you got to watch his jaw tense, neck straining as he calmed himself down.
“God,” he blew out a breath, eyes trained on the ceiling because if he looked down and saw the way you were kissing a line up his cock, he’d fucking lose it. “Yeah, baby. The sweetest, Jesus Christ.”
You took it easy on him then, easing him into it until his shoulders sagged and his head tipped back up, his pretty face more flushed than ever but Steve watched you as you took him into your mouth, his jaw unhinged as you sucked the tip of him, licking over his head.
His hand found the back of your head, holding but not pushing and he groaned something fierce when you scratched at his bare thighs, nails dragging over the muscle there. “Tha’ s’it,” Steve moaned, unabashed, totally gone. “Keep suckin’ me, honey, yeah— please. Can you take more, huh? Take a little more for me, please, baby.”
You didn’t need to be asked, begging or not, but it certainly made it all that sweeter. Steve’s hand was cupping your jaw, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth as you widened it, tongue licking out over his cock as you took more of it into your mouth, inch by inch until he was touching the back of your throat. It made the boy go a little wild, gasping and panting, curses mixed in with praise that was filthy enough to make your own toes curl.
“Holy shit, jus’ like that, yeah,” Steve was slurring, words meshed together in a quick mumble, his breathes too heavy for him to care. “You feel me in your throat? You’re so fuckin’ good for me, babe, Christ— yeah, yeah, lemme see your tongue, yeah. Stick it out for me, honey, oh shit—”
You did as asked, pulling back with wet eyes and warm cheeks, your lips shiny from your efforts. You kept a hand around Steve’s cock, slowly pumping him as you stuck your tongue out flat. You knew what he wanted, it was why his cheeks were so pink, the tips of his ears too. Something he found too vulgar to ask for, always scared you’d shy away from it.
You never did.
You tapped the head of his cock against your tongue, the wet slapping sounds nothing but pure filth, your own breathy noises too much for him. Steve could barely keep it together, eyes screwing shut as he bucked upwards, swearing and groaning something awful as he watched his cock slide over your tongue. You let him move, hips thrusting as you held him to your mouth, parted lips slipping over his shaft, and warm tongue tracing the throbbing vein down the length of it.
“M’gonna come,” Steve gasped and he was shaking his head, hips pressing back down into the safety of the couch and he sounded overwhelmed, eyes glassy. “Fuck, no, no, no— I—”
“No?” You pouted, understanding. Pulling away, you leaned up again, wet lips sliding over Steve’s and he kissed you feverishly, tongue licking into your mouth to search for your own. He groaned, whining when you squeezed a hand around his cock. “Too much? You don’t wanna come yet, huh?”
Steve shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and his chest was heaving, his hands curling around your sides and he was pulling at your sweater, lifting it from your frame. “No, no— shit, not yet, please.”
You let him strip you, sweater discarded by his own shirt and your bare chest only made him swear a little more, eyes on your tits, your peaked nipples and suddenly he wanted nothing more than his cock between them. He felt drunk, delirious, suddenly too happy to care about how quickly he came.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he told you with a very serious expression. His hands travelled up, palms cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over each nipple with careful precision. “M’gonna die and it’s gonna be because of you and your mouth and those tits and—” Steve choked on a laugh when you did, lashes fluttering as you took his cock back in your hand. “—and m’gonna be a very, very happy man.”
Grinning, you rolled your eyes at his declaration, as dramatic as they were. He was as hard as steel in your grip, his hips rolling up into your touch and didn’t want to wait much longer, his poor cheeks bright red with the exertion of holding back. So you gave him a kiss, light and sweet, too sweet for the current situation but it made Steve all the more wild. You were murmuring low and soft to him, holding his cock to your tits as you stroked him, words whispered between cute little pecks at his lips, his warm cheeks.
“Steve?”
“Hmm?”
“You wanna come, handsome?”
“Mhmm.” A whine more than a word. “Please.”
“Where do you wanna come?”
A swear, guttural and hoarse. A twitch of his dick at the thought of his options. “Fuck, I— uh, I dunno.”
“Here?” You asked him sweetly, pushing his length between your breasts, rubbing your own nipple so he could watch it harden again. “All over here? Paint me nice ‘n pretty?”
Steve couldn’t form words now, which was exactly what you’d wanted.
Your mouth made its way to his ear, voice dropping lower than before. “My mouth?” You whispered. “D’you wanna come in my mouth, Stevie?”
A jerk of his hips, a whine and a grunt as his cock kicked up once more. He was so fucking close. Steve let his forehead fall to your shoulder, too hot and too helpless and too fucking desperate. He clung to you, hands wrapping around your bare waist and he didn’t know what he wanted more. He could sit back and watch you drop back down to your knees, pushing your pretty tits together as he jerked himself onto them, knowing he could watch the way he dripped down your body.
Or he could get you to open your mouth, pink tongue back out and waiting, you doe eyed and watching him. He always got dirty with that, asking you in the sweetest voice to let him see it all in your mouth, asking you to swallow it like a good girl before showing him your clean tongue after.
If Steve didn’t choose he was going to fucking explode.
So he tugged at your waist, gasping as he wrenched himself from you, falling back into the sofa. He took his aching cock in his own hand, pumping it once before squeezing tightly, willing away the need to come right there and then. He patted his knee, his eyes glassy and hooded as he looked at you.
“C’mere, baby, come sit.”
You did as told, happily, easily, willingly. Your own chest was thundering, excitement itching at your too warm skin because whatever Steve wanted you’d give him. Your thighs were slick, underwear sticking to your folds in the most obscene way because Steve’s sounds were too much to cope with without being touched too. He looked a riot, the prettiest kind. His hair mussed and cheeks flushed, lips pink and slick from your kisses, his eyes a little wild.
He helped you onto his lap, legs spread over his knees and his dick standing hard and to attention between you both. You waited patiently for his instructions, to hear what he wanted from you and Steve let his head fall back onto the cushions once more as he watched you from hooded lids. His jaw was flexing with each stroke he gave himself, hazy gaze roaming over your tits, your stomach and then lower.
And then—
“Lemme see you, baby?”
Your stomach flipped. A sweet voice, a prettily asked question, some filthy words. You smiled at Steve, lips twisting to hide your absolute glee because you knew what wanted, what he wanted to do and you were more than happy to give it to him.
You didn’t say anything as you hooked your fingers into the crotch of your underwear, gasping a little at how wet they actually were. You tugged them aside, white cotton stretched over your skin as you held the material away from yourself. With your spread thighs, you let Steve have the filthiest view, all glistening skin, a swollen clit between wet folds. You didn’t look down, you didn’t have to. You could hear the slick, fast sounds of Steve fucking his own fist, his frantic, hitched breaths.
“That’s it, yeah,” he sounded gone, drunk. “So good—”
Instead you watched him watch you, his eyes set on your pussy, gaze on fire as he enjoyed the show and when you swept your fingers over the centre of your folds, Steve swore, his free hand on your thigh clutching you tighter.
“Dirty girl,” he murmured, his teeth catching his bottom lip. He was close, you knew he was. “Such a pretty pussy, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I was gonna come without gettin’ to see her.”
You hummed, all delight and amusement. You cocked a brow even though Steve was still staring at your spread legs. “I’m dirty?” You cooed. “You’re the one who’s gonna come all over my cu—”
And he did.
Steve came with your name on his tongue, making it sound like the dirtiest, holiest thing you’d ever heard. He was gasping, choked sounds leaving his pretty lips as he fucked his fist, come spilling over his knuckles and onto your folds, leaving you and your underwear even stickier than before. His head fell back onto the sofa as he caught his breath, an impossible thing with his heaving chest but you curled into him almost immediately.
You let go of your stretched out underwear, your own breath hitching when you felt the warm, stickiness cling to your cunt. Steve pulled at you as you moved closer, your hands soothing over his jaw and cheeks, thumbs rubbing over his flushed skin as he kissed you, head lifting lazily, moaning at your touch, your lips, the feel of your bare stomach pressing his half hard cock to his own.
He was sticky with it all, with sweat, his own release, your affection and touch.
It was too much and entirely not enough, not of you.
Steve’s lips clicked as he pulled them away from your own, albeit grudgingly. You tasted sweet, like strawberry lipgloss and him. He was still panting when he spoke, his messy hand held away from you as he took your chin in his other. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, swollen from all your efforts and he watched the way it popped back into place, making you smile.
“M’gonna finish my whisky,” he mumbled softly, eyes searching yours. He was met with excitement, knowing, a whole lot of adoration and fondness that he felt for you too. “You’re gonna check my pulse—” you laughed, too bright and joyous for the gloomy light of the room. Steve grinned, cheeks aching. “And then we’re gonna go upstairs and I’m gonna return the favour.”
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papurgaatika · 2 months
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Nothing Fucks With My Baby
Pairing: Joel Miller x F! Reader
A/N: This got so out of hand so fast, but it is FINALLY here. This is for all my Joel girlies with crazy daddy issues, I see you and I get you. I really didn’t mean for the first half of this fic to be so angst-filled, but I think the smut is a good trade-off for it in the end. AS ALWAYS humongous shoutout to my beloved beta readers @joelsdagger and @carlynkurin yall kill me with your comments and I love yall so much. And yes the title is a Hozier lyric, I love that guy. Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! Tags: daddy issues, minor misogyny, minor body shaming, angst, Joel wants to beat up reader’s dad, age gap, daddy kink, pillow humping, exhibitionism if you squint, oral (f receiving), Joel Miller’s filthy mouth, breeding kink, cumplay kinda, protective Joel, no outbreak AU, no use of Y/N Word Count: 5.3k
Visiting your parents with Joel for the first time brings up some bad memories. And lets you make a few good ones too.
(aka Joel hates your parents and fucks you in your childhood bedroom)
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Your fingers stilled over your phone, minor panic setting into your bones when you got a text from your mother asking you to come over for dinner with her and your father. Now you loved your parents and you think they loved you too, in whatever weird way they showed it, but your relationship with them was never amazing. They were overbearing when you lived with them, always expecting the most of you but never recognizing what you actually did, like you were never going to be enough in their eyes. You were a grown woman, a degree in hand, and jobs lined up, but with rent at an all-time high and entry-level positions barely paying enough, you had sucked it up for as long as you could and continued to live with them. The passive-aggressive remarks about their friends’ kids moving out and about your degree essentially being a waste barely mattered anymore, you kept your head down and didn't engage unless you really had to. Your daydreams of moving out and being independent dwindled a little with every snide comment your father made, but you were living rent-free so you didn't say anything. 
But then you met Joel, and Joel couldn’t see a single flaw in you, his perfect angel. You weren’t even planning on dating anyone, especially not someone this much older than you, but there was just something about him that drew you in. You could still remember the day you met him like yesterday. You had been driving home after taking a much-needed weekend to go see one of your friends from college and managed to run over a nail and saw your tire pressure going down. You had pulled over and contemplated calling your father, but the idea of him driving out to lecture you on being a better driver and why he thinks women shouldn't drive just gave you a headache. So, being the self-determined woman you were, you got out of your car, popped on a YouTube video on how to change a tire, and knelt next to your car. 
Granted, the video wasn’t helping you out much, and your headache was getting worse under the blistering Austin sun, and you felt the tears start to brim in your eyes as you rested your head against the door of your car. You were seconds away from sucking it up and calling your father when you heard a gentle, “Do you need any help, ma’am?” You’re not one to usually take help from men, especially not random men on the side of the road, but your head was pounding and your eyes were red, and something about his voice just put you at ease. So you sigh and nod, explaining how you really did try to change it, but it just wasn't working and he shoots you the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen in your life. “I’ve got it for ya don’t worry, it’s just a tire ‘ain't worth those tears.” 
You stand to the side as he kneels down to take a look at the damage before standing back up and grabbing the tools from your trunk. His arms were working on unscrewing the bolts of your (now useless) tire, and you couldn’t help but stare at them. His sleeves were pulled taut over his biceps and beads of sweat were rolling down his tanned skin. You watched as the fabric of his shirt clung to his belly and his gray-streaked hair grew damp from the heat, finding yourself unconsciously biting your lip when your eyes linger on the veins that strained under his arms. He lets out a soft grunt when he gets off the ground and turns to look at you. “I don't think it’ll be safe to drive on your spare sweetheart, let me call you a tow.” 
“Oh! No, it’s okay really,” your eyes go wide and your brows furrow as you try to figure out how much it would cost and who you would even call to come pick you up, but he’s already dialing a number into his phone and telling them they owe him a favor before hanging up and giving you another smile. “You really didn’t have to do that-” Your words falter because you realize you don’t know his name.
“Joel. And I couldn't let ya deal with it yourself, my mama raised me better than that.” You blush softly at his words, genuinely grateful to have met him. You let out a breath, your tears having subsided and your heart rate finally calming down before sitting back down on the ground, fully expecting Joel to walk back to his truck and head out, but are instead met with a frown when you look back over at him. “Can't just leave you here like this sweetheart,” he sighs looking down at you, “Let me take ya to the garage at least, just so I know you’re safe.” 
Quite honestly, you weren’t used to someone treating you with this much care and attentiveness, you weren’t sure what to do with it. But the worried look in his eyes and the warmth of his voice have you nodding, taking his hand and getting into his truck to go to the garage with him. You sit in surprisingly comfortable silence for the next few minutes until you decide to be bold and ask for his number “Well, just in case my tire pops again” Your words are matched with a small grin playing on your lips, and JoeL, well joel was a goner the moment you had said those words. 
You and Joel had moved relatively fast, only being together for about eight months before you were packing your stuff and moving in with him. He had heard all about your parents before then. He saw the tears that fell after a fight with them, heard the words they threw at you while you recounted to him, and he could never imagine treating someone, especially not someone as perfect as you, like that. He could recount how many times you would curl up into him, breathing in his scent to try and calm down while he ran a soothing hand over your back and told you it was going to be okay. So it was no surprise that he had a few choice words when you mentioned that your mother had asked you both to come over. “Dunno how civil I’ll manage to be, sweet girl” he groans into your shoulder, arm draped over your middle as y'all lay in bed. You giggle softly and tilt your head to the side so it’s leaning on top of his slightly. 
“Gonna have to be,” you catch his fingers in your own, running circles over the rough skin to soothe yourself. “I haven’t seen them since I moved out... I just want them to be okay with us I guess.” A sigh leaves your lips when you think about how displeased they used to be about anything that you ever did growing up, that displeasure skyrocketing when you started seeing Joel. 
You feel him still your fingers, taking your hand and wrapping it with his own, before shifting to look at you fully. “I can’t promise they’ll be okay, sweet girl, but just know I’m in it with you forever okay?” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a tender kiss to your knuckles and you feel your eyes start to water as you nod. “Now, we don’t need to think ‘bout it for a while, lets get some sleep yeah?” You curl into his side and mumble out a soft okay before letting yourself drift off, feeling the weight of his arm draped around you. 
The rest of the week passed with relative ease, you were busy with work and Joel had been doting over you more than usual to keep your mind off of things. Eventually, Friday rolls around and you find yourself in Joel’s truck fidgeting with the rings on your fingers, heart pounding in your chest. You’re staring out the window lost in the endless stream of anxiety that is your brain, until you feel Joel's hand, warm and heavy, running small circles on your knee. You let your hand rest on top of his, basking in the intimacy of it all before he pulls up to your old house. You can feel your breathing start to quicken, chewing on the inside of your lip, before looking over at him. “Wait, baby, can we go back, I can’t do this. I’m not ready,” your words were tumbling over each other, panic clear on your face. 
“Hey, hey, look at me angel. It’s gonna be okay. We can do this okay?” His hands are on your cheeks making you look at him, and you subconsciously lean into his touch. “I don’t like them any more than you do, but I’ll try to be on my best behavior, and if we go in and you wanna leave at any time, we’re outta here okay?” He breathes out a small sigh of relief when you nod, a small giggle leaving your lips at his words. You take one last steadying breath before throwing open the door of the truck, smoothing out your outfit, and letting the flowers you had picked up for your mother rest in your arms. 
You knock at the door and feel your nerves setting in again, but Joel's hand is holding yours and you feel like he’s pulling you back down to the ground again, keeping you steady. You’re both met with a loud laugh and are pulled in for a hug when your mother opens the door. “Oh! Sweetheart, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you! You certainly look like you’re eating well.” You did not miss those passive-aggressive comments at all, so you hand her the flowers with a tight-lipped smile, mumbling something about just having more time to make the food you enjoy, 
And being the attentive boyfriend that he is, Joel senses your discomfort immediately. He turns on his southern charm and throws one of those gorgeous smiles at your mother, complimenting her cooking and how good it smells in here. “If her cooking is any indicator, I’ll be asking for a to-go bag tonight.” Your mother just blushes and goes on about how her food isn’t that good but she hopes he likes it. You grin, watching the two of them interact helping your nerves dissipate slightly. Joel was always a charmer, that’s why you were drawn to him, he knew how to make you feel safe which was something you had seldom felt in this house. 
You’re sitting on one of the chairs, head leaning against his shoulder while he laughs at something your mother says. It finally feels like you can breathe like you don't have to put your guard up because Joel does it for you. And then suddenly it’s like the floor is being ripped out from under you as your father makes his way downstairs. It was like you were 16 again begging to get his approval for anything, waiting for the day someone would whisk you out of that house. You sit up straight and move your head from Joel’s shoulder and let your eyes dart to his, and he is visibly angry. Joel knows about your father, the fights and the screaming matches, the way you were so similar it made you sick, and he just could never understand how someone would ever treat their child that way.
Now your father isn’t necessarily short but Joel was looming over him, eyes burning daggers in his direction as you both stood up to greet him. Joel’s hand envelopes your fathers in a grip that looks like it could break a bone and you give your father a curt nod and however much of a smile you can muster up with a quiet “hi dad.” only to be met with a grunt like you weren’t even worth sparing a few words to say hello to before muttering and going to sit on the couch. “It's alright Joel… he’s just like that baby... let it go.” you manage to press a kiss to his cheek to let him know you’re alright, it wasn’t like you were expecting the world's warmest greeting anyway. 
Joel tries to let it go. He really tries for you. But it is so hard being nice to someone who hurt the person you love. So he brings up Sarah, not out of spite really, he just loves to talk about his girl. “Comes up to visit almost every month, jobs got her real busy though,” he says, taking a sip of beer, eyes focussed on your father across the table. “Couldn't go without seein’ her.” Joel’s face immediately brightens up when he talks about Sarah, the pride he feels for his girl sparkling behind his eyes. 
Your father is not a man who is good at hiding his emotions, anger, and resentment showing clearly on his face. “‘M sure it’s nice to have a daughter who amounts to somethin’,” you feel your blood go cold for a moment, tears stinging in your eyes as you duck your head down to look at your plate very carefully. Joel’s hand is immediately squeezing yours, bringing you back down to earth, back to him. You take a deep breath to respond, but before you even get the chance, Joel’s voice is hurdling at your father. 
“Sure is. You’d understand what it would feel like if ya made any effort to be in her life.” The silence in the room is eerie. You cannot remember a single time in your life when your father didn’t have something to say, something to hurl at you in a fit of anger, only to claim it never happened after the fact. You feel Joel squeeze your hand again as your father shoves a forkful of food into his mouth, not making eye contact with either of you. Your mother just looks between Joel and your father silently, apparently still unwilling to stand up for you. You press your eyes shut for a moment at the absurdity of it all; the absurdity of bringing Joel to meet your parents, of him trying to defend you, at the idea that you had truly believed that your parents would have changed. You knew better than to hope for things like that. 
The rest of the dinner passes in relative silence, save for a few questions your mother asks Joel about his work and a minor argument that ensues because Joel mentions his love for the UT Longhorns after your father brings up his love for the Aggies. You roll your eyes at Joel when he throws up the Hook ‘Em hands before you get up to wash the dishes, only stopping when Joel tugs at your wrist. You look down at where he’s sitting, eyebrows raised at you because you're well aware that washing the dishes is his job “Baby it’s okay, I'll just do them today”
Joel just shakes his head and pulls at your wrist again, essentially pulling you back into your chair. “Don’t think so angel, you know that’s my job,” you giggle with a small nod of your head before the both of you turn to look at your father who is scoffing from his seat. “‘S there a problem?” 
Your father rolls his eyes at Joel, clearly still upset about how dinner went. “Just think you should let the woman do the woman’s job, ain't yours to do.” Your father barks that out with such ease that Joel thinks he sees red for a second. He grew up helping his mamma around the house when he was younger and became even more fond of cooking and cleaning when Sarah was born, so it is safe to say that he doesn’t agree with the idea that housework is a “woman's job.”
You know how Joel feels about this but your father is getting irritated again and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to take another argument between them, so you’re trying to grab the plates from Joel again. But stubborn as he is, Joel does not let up, especially if it means letting your father think that he’s right. “I don’t think so, sweet girl. Ain’t the 1950’s anymore, if you’re too pussy to wash a dish wouldn’t consider you a real man.” Your mouth falls open slightly, and you try to bite back your smile when your father huffs and gets up from the table muttering something about not knowing a real man if it bit him in the ass. 
You finish helping your mother put leftovers in the fridge, save for a bag filled to the brim with leftovers for Joel, and catch a glimpse of Joel smirking happily to himself while the sink runs hot over his hands. You sneak behind him and press a kiss on his shoulder blade, letting your hands snake around his waist. “I’ll be honest baby, kinda hot watching you tell him off like that..” You hear him huff out a laugh before he shuts the water off and spins you around in his arms, pressing a kiss to your lips before letting his mouth drop to your neck. You giggle as he nips at your skin lightly, but push him off gently after a moment. “They’re gonna see you, Mr. Miller, gonna get me in trouble.”
“Is that so?” his hands are on your waist, prints from the water on your shirt. He grins down at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “let ‘em see baby, not their little girl anymore, all mine now.” He presses another kiss to your neck, finding the spot right above your pulse point and drawing a small mewl from between your lips, before standing up straight and letting go of your waist, a grin plastered to his face. 
“You’re an absolute menace, you know that?” You squint your eyes at him, poking a finger into his chest, eliciting a laugh to tumble from his mouth. You give him a small kiss again and find yourself smiling into it. “‘M ready to go home now baby,” you murmur against the plush of his lips, wanting to feel his hands on your body again. Joel simply nods and grabs your purse for you while you say an awkward goodbye to your parents. You take your purse from his hands and open the door only to be met with the sight of rain. You were used to how quickly Austin would flood when a storm hit, you had grown up with it, but you hadn’t checked the weather and this was certainly dampening your plans to go home. 
You turn around to face Joel, eyebrows furrowed and before either of you can say anything your mother is swooping in. “Well, now I cannot send you two out in this weather! I have your old room set up still, and Joel can take the guest room!” Your eyes lock with Joel's, taking in the look of shock on his face. You should have assumed that your parents would be weird about letting Joel stay in the same room as you, despite living with him, but you were still caught off guard. 
You say your goodnights and thank yous, your father’s grip on Joel’s hand dangerously tight, before showing Joel up to the guest room giggling about having to be apart for the night. “Dunno how I’ll be able to sleep without you angel,” he groans sitting down on the old guest bed. 
You roll your eyes and kiss the scar on his nose “Sure you’ll be okay for one night cowboy, I’ll see you in the morning, ‘kay?” He just scrunches up his nose in response and plants a few more kisses on your lips before letting you walk out to your room. You can hear him exaggerate a sigh as you close the door and walk back to your old bedroom. You grin to yourself before walking into your room, taking in the sight of what used to be yours. Your hands skim over your dresser, the drawers mostly empty from when you packed in haste to move in with Joel, dried petals from the last bouquet of flowers he had gotten you still sitting in a small jewelry box. Pink sheets, pink pillows, and at least five stuffed animals still sit in their perfect setting on your bed, and a pang of guilt for leaving them bubbles up inside of you. You sigh and pull out an old shirt from the drawer and slip into it, foregoing pants and just staying in your panties. 
You spread out on the bed making futile attempts to fall asleep. It wasn’t like you needed Joel to be next to you, but you missed his hand draped around your waist and the way his body was a literal furnace to the point where you had to take the blankets off. Your mind cannot stop thinking about him. The way his hand was on the small of your back when you came into the house, the way he stood up for you when your father was speaking, the taste of his lips when he pulled you in for one last kiss before you left his room. You let your fingers trail down your body, sneaking into your panties and letting out a shaky sigh when you feel the slick pooling between your legs, eyes falling shut for a moment before situating a pillow between your legs. You press your face softly into one of the stuffed animals Joel had given you, the smell of him just barely lingering in it, and start to grind your hips down on the pillow. Your breath hitches when you feel the pressure on your clit through your panties, moans muffled by the bunny as you grind your hips down chasing your pleasure. Your eyes are still shut imagining Joel, lost in your pleasure until you hear a low whistle behind you, making your head whip around, your heart pounding a mile a minute. 
And there he is. Joel is leaning against your door, when he got in is beyond you, his eyes are hungry and locked in on you, eyebrows raising when you stop to turn around. “Why’re you stopping, baby? Go on, put on a show for me.” Your mouth opens to answer, but he’s cutting you off with a small tsk and a shake of his head “Nuh-uh. Don't get shy on me now, sweet thing, keep going.” His voice leaves no room for discussion, and his hands are on your waist pulling you flush with the pillow again. You whine when his hands leave your body, and try to turn around to grab at him. He pins your hips back down to the pillow, a low noise leaving his throat. “Like you were before, wanna see what you used to do when you miss me” 
A whimper leaves your mouth and you lay your head back down on the bed, pussy grinding on the pillow again. You move your hips back and forth, breathing becoming heavier as you angle your hips a bit higher and you bite back a whine as you clench around nothing “Joel please-” you plead, looking up at him over your shoulder with wide eyes,  “want you to touch me,” A small shudder movies through your body as you whine at him again. 
He just shakes his head at you, eyes not leaving your clothed cunt, “Not yet baby.” He brings his hands back to your waist and traces small circles into the skin just above your panties. 
  “but-” You keep grinding but throw a pout at him trying to get his decision to sway. 
He swats at your ass, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to be a good warning “You arguing with me baby?” His eyebrows are raised, the look in his eyes not one that wants to deal with a brat tonight. 
You shake your head with a pitiful no sir and keep grinding on the pillow, your panties fully drenched by now. You feel your hips start to stutter as your climax catches up with you, a sheen of sweat covering your body. Your stomach is clenching and your breaths are ragged, “Joel- fuck gonna cum, oh god- fuck-” You babble at him, words muffled, legs trembling lightly, and eyes falling shut as you’re hit with your orgasm, face falling into the stuffed bunny again. 
You try to steady your breaths after coming down from your high, eyes still closed until you feel his hands sneak around your waist and under your shirt, grabbing your tits softly. “Fuck, you’re such a filthy girl, probably did this all the time when you thought about me? Desperate fucking thing.” You groan into his touch, and arch your back into him when he pulls you flush against his chest. He grabs at the hem of your shirt, before pulling it off and tossing it to one of the corners of the room, fingers playing with your sensitive nipples. You let out a squeak when he tugs at them before he lets go and presses his hand over your mouth. “Quiet. Gonna wake up your parents, or is that what you want, hmm?” His hand dips into your panties, rough fingers swirling over your clit “wanna get caught in the room you grew up in?” 
A whine leaves your mouth, muffled behind his hand, as you try to grind into his fingers. He brings his hand back to your nipple, flicking at the nub and making you jump. “Joel please- need it” You plead as he circles your clit. 
Joel pauses, drawing a pathetic whimper to leave your lips. “Came already and want another one? Greedy fucking thing” You nod at his words before yelping when he throws you down onto the bed and pulls you down to the edge of the bed by your ankles. He throws your legs over his shoulders and you buck your hips into the air, trying to catch his touch. He rests his head on the plush of your thigh, eyes on yours, waiting for you to ask for what you want. 
Your eyes are pleading with his, hoping that you can get out of having to beg by batting your lashes at him. “I’ll be so good for you, please.” your lip trembles a bit, hips still moving in the air, trying to get into his mouth. He relents and his lips press against your thighs, his stubble scratching at it gently, before pressing a kiss to your clit, making you jump softly. “Fuckk thank you.” Your head falls back as his tongue sweeps over your weeping cunt, his arm pinning your hips down to keep you from bucking into his face. 
His tongue dips into your slit, making your back arch off the bed as your hands fist in his hair. His lips wrap around your clit, and your hand clamps over your mouth to stop the obscene noises you were making from leaving it. His fingers tease your entrance before slipping into you and thrusting in and out at the same pace he was flicking his tongue. You feel your thighs start to tremble and clench around his head, your grip on his hair growing tighter as you feel your second orgasm hit you, red hot in the bottom of your spine, and up to the tingling in your fingers. Joel’s pace does not slow down as he coaxes you through it, hitting all the right spots. “Fuck look at her baby.” He says pulling his fingers out of you and spreading your slick over your pussy. “Fucking weeping for me. I’ll give her what she needs don't worry” 
His fingers press against your lips, and you let them into your mouth, tasting yourself off of him and groaning at the taste. He drags his spit-covered fingers down your chest, relishing in the fucked out look on your face. He takes off his jeans letting his cock spring free, dumb bastard going commando at your parents' house, and spits into his hand before fisting his cock in your line of sight. You whine at him, pouting your lips at him, cunt dripping down your thighs onto your bed. He chuckles at you and brings his hands to your waist, before slipping his cock into you, a hiss leaving your lips at the stretch. “Look at that sweet girl, taking me so well.” He moves so his cock is buried to the hilt in your cunt, the coarse hair that surrounds him pressing into your pelvis. 
You try to rock against him, to gain any friction. “Joel please move... please I want it” You plead with him, hands moving to wrap around his wrist. “Gonna be so good for you Daddy, please” And that does him in. He lets out a groan and thrusts into you with enough force to move your headboard. His cock is hitting you in just the right spot, filling you up almost too much. 
You feel yourself clench around him as his hand tightens around your waist, one of your legs wrapped around his back, pulling him in deeper. “Gonna fill you up so good angel,” he says as your pussy clenches around him like it was begging for his cum. “Make you all mine, show everyone who you belong to,” his thrusts are growing messier, and you can feel another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach, and it’s almost too much. Your toes curl and you meet his thrusts as you let out a pathetic slew of pleasepleasepleaseplease before you feel him cumming inside you with a soft pant of your name. You feel him pull out of you slowly, his cock replaced with his fingers. “Said I was gonna make you mine, gotta make sure it takes.” His fingers collect the cum that leaks out of you in the most obscene way and pushes it back into you, as a shaky breath leaves your lips at the depravity of his words. 
“Fuck thank you, baby,” You manage to get out after what feels like an eternity of recovering from your orgasm. Joel shoots you a sleepy grin, before wrapping his clean hand around yours and laying his head down on your chest, looking up at you with love in his eyes. 
“I should be thanking you, sweet girl. Did so fucking good for me” You grin and look down at him with sleepy eyes and run a hand through his hair. 
“You know you gotta get back to the guest room right?” You ponder, realizing the situation that you were in. The idea of your mother waking up to find you naked and stuffed full of Joel’s cum was horrifying. 
Joel just grins back up at you, pressing a kiss to the underside of your breast before pushing himself up off your bed and peeking at the window. “Dunno baby.. Rain stopped a while ago, I'm ready to just get outta here.” He raises his eyebrows at you, sliding back into his jeans as you drop your arm over your face with a dopey smile playing across your lips. 
“So long as you carry me to the truck, I'm game, baby” You bite your lip and smile up at him as he tosses your dress at you before he scoops you up and tromps down the stairs quietly and puts you into the passenger seat before getting in and pulling out of the driveway. “Thank you for being there tonight baby.. I love you.”
Joel just smiles at you, half asleep in his passenger’s seat, and runs a hand over your knee before grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to it. “Love you too angel. Don’t plan on ever making you come up here again though” You just giggle and lace your fingers through his, extremely content to just spend the rest of your days with Joel, not worried about your parents.
A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.  Thank you for reading, and free Palestine
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nexusnyx · 1 year
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miss sunshine
pre-outbreak Joel Miller x neighbor!reader [7.3k] summary: He's always been out of reach. A fantasy. Joel was too much of everything—too handsome, too friendly, too una-fucking-vailable for any of you. Too bad his kid adores you. (What a blessing.) Too bad she uses you as a scapegoat and lands him right on his door. One bottle of wine, and Joel shows you he might be closer than you thought. 📝 I wanted to try something different. Less hurt, less end-of-the-world bullshit. Let me know your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex, oral (f and m receiving), riding, missionary, passionate neighbors sex, yay.
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Summer of 2002.
When the bell rings, you think it's best to ignore it.
Living alone equals a lot of privileges, but the ability to go out alone and answer the door on a random Wednesday evening was not one of them. You're wearing compromising clothes and a robe, the bottle of wine you craved was finally open, and the last thing you wanted was to be murdered before enjoying it.
Then, you hear it. Your name, followed by, "It's Miller. Joel."
Fuck.
Well—this is exactly how many of your dreams started. Although this wouldn't go like them, for him, you'd open the door.
His eyes do little to hide the once-over when the door slides open.
They go down, then back up, and he seems to catch on to the fact that you saw it. Then, he shakes his head just a little, and says, "Is Sarah here?"
Well, well, well. You lean against the door. "Did she say she was?"
Joel pierces you with his Dad Look. "Yes." Obviously, it goes without saying.
What other reason would he have, right? Clearing your throat, you feel the anxiety bubbling underneath the surface. "Uhm. She isn't," you look apologetic as you say it. As if it's your fault his prepubescent daughter uses you as a scapegoat.
His sigh is enough to make you feel how tired he is. Overworked. Exhausted.
You try to understand what might've happened before he loses his mind, "What time d'you usually come back from work? Maybe she's at a friend's. She probably thought you'd be back later than this."
He finishes rubbing both palms all over his face, and he threads one hand through his hair. "I'm usually back at nine—well, I'm supposed to be back at nine. I'm usually home by ten." That checks out, then. "But—that doesn't explain why she lied to me."
"Any special occasions coming up soon?"
Joel frowns. "Uhm. My birthday's in a few days, but—"
"Ahhhh." It shuts his mouth, the way you exclaim it so clearly. "She's brainstorming, Joel."
"Brainstorming...?"
"A gift." No daughter had easy access to what made their fathers happy. You take pity on him. "C'mon—let me scare the little one."
You walk inside without waiting for his reply, knowing Joel will make his way in. "What d'you mean, scare her?"
The noise of his boots hitting the floor makes you happy.
You take the phone out of the wall and look at him. "She always keeps that cellular phone with her when she goes out?"
"Always," he nods.
"Perfect." You know it by heart already. As you dial, you feel Joel's eyes on your house. It's the first he's ever been inside, and it makes you hyperaware of every movement of his. "It's ringing," you inform him with a grin forming.
He looks confused. More tired than anything else, but it'll make sense in a second.
"Hey, miss Sunshine!" the nickname she gave you always brings a smile to your face.
Time to put on a show. Feigning panic in your voice, you yell-whisper on the phone, "S, love, would you mind telling me why on Earth is your pops—" you fake cover your end of the line to yell, "one minute!" then you're back at whispering again, "why is he parked outside my house right now? Is there something I should know?"
"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit—"
You're glad he can't hear her end of it. "No time for panic. Explain."
"I am so sorry, Sunny! I thought he'd be back in like, two hours or something. Oh, god, can you please cover for me? I wrote a note saying I was at your place. Sleeping there. I was gonna call you before he came back home but Jenny and I—"
"You're at somebody named Jenny?" you repeat the information, looking at Joel with a question in your eyes, and when he nods, your heart soothes at knowing she's safe. "And you didn't think to mention your brilliant idea earlier?" going for the full effect again, you yell out, "One minute, Joel!"
At least she's fast in her rambles. "Yeah, yeah. My best friend. She's trying to help me come up with a surprise for him. I'm not there often and it's never on his birthday. I wanna make it special."
"Okay. Cool. Next time, fill me in as you make the plans."
"I will, I promise. Pinky promise. You think you can convince him I'm sleeping there?" the plea in her voice is adorable.
You chuckle. "I've got you, S." Joel sighs in relief in front of you. "Just one thing."
"Yeah?"
"Be back here tomorrow first thing in the morning. 7:30 sharp. I'm gonna invite your dad for breakfast, as punishment for your lack of planning, and you'll be the one making us the pancakes," before she can even answer, you go, "Toodles!" and hang up.
When you put your phone back at the base, you turn around with a proud smile.
Joel's looking at you funny. "You're good at that," he says.
"At what? Acting?" you laugh when nods. "I was a trouble child. I'm great at lying."
"Aren't those the same?"
"Eh. A thin line separates them." You can sense his awkwardness creeping up, so you do your best to think on the spot. "Is she one to escape?"
"Not really, no." He's shuffling on his feet, uncertain of what to do in your home. "She's never done this before."
"From what she told me, she's never around for your birthday."
"That's true."
"She wants to make a surprise for you," you inform. It puts that smile on his face that makes your knees a little weak. "And now she has to be back here at seven in the morning. All is well."
He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."
He's gonna see himself out. You swallow all the nervousness that being in his presence creates and just... goes for it. "Is it hard? Having a kid?"
That relaxes some of the tension in his shoulders. He leans on the counter of your kitchen and shakes his head. "Not really. It's a lot of work, but it's not hard. It's rewarding."
I wish my mother felt the same. You smile at the truth in his words. "I can see it's hard work." He laughs again. "Well—I had just opened that before you rang the bell," you point at the Pinot on top of the counter. "Want a glass? Unless you tell me you're 'only beer' kind of guy, then I can't help ya."
Joel looks between you and the bottle a couple of times, then looks down at himself. "I'm uh—I'm all greasy and gross from work. You sure that's the company you want for wine?"
Rolling your eyes, you walk towards your glasses cabinets. "If I told you that you can go home and shower, you'd never come back."
"And that'd be a bad thing?"
"Sure it would. You're the only person in this entire street that hasn't interrogated me on my life so far, I feel left out. Offended, even," you add with a dramatic twist. Your robe flows around you, and you can't help but smile when you see his eyes following you.
It's the way he swallows visibly, almost audibly, that plants a seed of maybe inside your head. "I'm not usually one to pry."
You place both glasses on the counter. "Neither am I."
"I know. It's why I like ya," Joel says it with eyes on the glasses instead of you. "That and the way you talk to the plants."
Your hand on the corkscrew stops, and you want to slam your forehead against the wood. "Oh, god."
His laughter is so nice. "Nah, don't be embarrassed. 's why I gave you your nickname."
"Don't be embarrassed? That's mortifying, Joel. I thought no one—wait." Had you heard him right? "What d'you mean you gave me my nickname?"
Joel's head tilts, and he's definitely a charmer kind of guy. If you do have a chance, you might be fucked. "Your nickname."
"Miss Sunshine?" He nods. "I thought that was Sarah."
"No, Sarah used it first in front of you," he pulls one of the glasses closer to him. "I said it first."
Well... that made it just as special but in a different way. You pour the wine into both glasses. "Good to know. I was under the impression she was the creative genius in the household—I just. Quick question that I never asked her: Why?"
"'Cause every mornin' before I left for work you're there on that big window," he points at the glass window that's occupies ceiling to floor, the very reason you picked this house, "talking to your plants as if you're the sun itself waking them up. 's cute."
Cute. You hate how he has the ability to make you blush. What is this, fucking high school?
"That makes sense."
Joel wipes his palms on the side of his t-shirt and then looks up at you. "If I go home with the promise of comin' back, will you let me shower?"
Let me. You're thankful your arms are covered because you're unsure of what this man is capable of when he knows the effect he has on somebody.
"I'll let you," you answer.
Joel nods and his smile is so genuine that you wonder why you never tried before.
"'kay," he takes one sip of the wine, hums in approval, and then takes a deep breath. "'m gonna go. I'll be back to interrogate you."
"I'll leave the door open."
"No—Jesus bloody Christ, are you and Sarah mad? Lock the door, Sunshine." You like it so much when he's the one that says it. "I'm serious."
"Alright, jeez," you laugh.
It's less tense than you imagined as he puts his shoes back on and walks out of your door. Joel crosses the street with a little wave in your direction, and all you can think is—what on Earth am I gonna do to him?
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When he's back, Joel smells so good it's intoxicating.
It makes your brain melt.
Minty and fresh. That's what his stuff smells like, and you know the idea of that scent's now painted on the walls of your brain.
He does that stupid little dad pose, widening both arms and lifting them up in a display of 'what do you think' before walking in.
It makes you want to push him against the wall, but you do your best at behaving.
For now.
"Brand new man?" you ask.
He points at his glass of wine, untouched since the moment he left. "Will be in a sec."
You wait for him to take a sip before extending him what you held in your hand before he arrived.
Joel eyed the cigarette and, thank fuck, there was none of the annoying judgment sometimes people carried. He stops his movement to sit on the stool and asks, "You smoke in here, or are we goin' outside?"
"There's a table there. Weather's nice. D'you mind?"
Joel grabs his glass, shaking his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Lead the way."
"Ma'am," you echo him, sounding disgusted. He laughs behind you, "Who am I, Mrs. Adler?"
Still laughing, Joel answers, "Nah. Too talkative for that."
You turn around with your mouth hanging open, trying very little to look offended. "I beg your pardon. We never spoke for longer than, what, five minutes?"
Joel shrugs his shoulders. His smile is as intoxicating as his presence. "I hear things."
"You hear things?" you ask, pushing open the door that leads outside.
"I do," he sips his wine, looking to the small terrace where your little table is. "My daughter's a gossiper, little Sunshine. I think y'should know that."
Little Sunshine. Goddamn this man.
"Should I be scared, here? I haven't even told her anything, but I feel like I should be."
"If you didn't tell her anythin', than why would you be?"
"Because!" you laugh, feeling just a little out of your depth with his smoothness. You expected more closeness from Joel. Less teasing, easy banter. "You're talking like someone who knows a lot, that's all."
"And I do," he says, sounding every bit as serious.
You sit down on one of the chairs — your chair, precisely — and watch as Joel walks around a little, taking in the environment. He adds, "Did ya know," pausing for a dramatic effect, he sips again, "that in all of three months, you became one of my daughters' favorite people?"
He pins you under his gaze.
You cross your legs, and watch happily as his gaze drops to the motion.
"Did I?" if you sip at his pace, you'll be throwing yourself on his lap in an embarrassing amount of time.
Joel nods behind his cup, touching one of the many plants that cover your backyard area from floor, to walls, to ceiling. "You did," he smiles, dropping the fake seriousness. "Are you ready to deal with the six months absence? 'Cause from personal experience," he points both hands at his chest, "you try convincing yourself you won't miss her all that much 'cause, y'know, it's "just" a girl, but—fuck," he spits the last word, smiling widening around the fact. "She's so cool to have around. You'll see. Your phone's bill's about to create life."
It grounds you.
The way Joel speaks of Sarah makes you feel comfortable sitting here, and any doubts you had are sucked by the green life around you and returned as oxygen.
Joel talks about anything, no reservations.
In his absence, you doubted whether this could be any different than most times.
Would Joel be like that—like any of those other guys?
He wasn't.
Joel, as much as you hated to admit it, was an exception.
Maybe these things were fated. Simple chemistry. Similar mindsets. Whatever it was—you had it every once in a blue moon.
Your expectations settings were long ago molded to expect the least, and it takes only half a bottle of wine for you to notice the need to rear it in.
He's so damn easy. Joel goes from one topic to another like he's interested. He answers your questions with full interest, sometimes going on tangent stories, and he's the one who keeps the glasses filled.
Attentive, you take note the second time that happens. Before any of the glasses got empty, he served you both.
He compliments your taste in music and sounds genuine about it.
The weird silences you most dreaded never happen—if he's not answering you, Joel asks things. Interesting things, unlike any other neighbor.
"Was it you who decorated your place inside? 'Cause, there are very specific things in there. And you seem like the type to know what you like."
Joel was very attentive.
He asked, "and is this what you like to do with your free time?" pointing at the books you put away when you both arrived, "Drink wine, read, talk to your plants?"
"I still can't believe you've seen me doing that."
He laughed at that. "It's a pretty big window, Sunshine. Jesus Christ—you don't lock the door, you don't know people can see through your gigantic-ass window—I'm genuinely starin' to get worried here."
"Okay, first of all, I do lock my door."
"Do you?"
"'Course. Most days."
"Oh my—"
"—and! Now that I was reminded of my window's size, I'll consider buying drapes. Long, white ones. That'd be cool."
It was easy.
Talking to Joel—sharing a table with him, a glass of wine—so easy.
He never looked uncomfortable. Even if he moved a lot, Joel looked good—so damn good you lost focus every now and then—, but good with himself.
In his skin.
That was intoxicating.
When he does more than just talk and asks things; it's almost too damn easy. Was time supposed to go this way?
The first bottle end, but it's too soon.
You know it. He knows it—plays with it, in fact. Waves the empty bottle after pouring it for you and him in the air very lightly then places it on the floor.
Offering another one is almost a visceral reaction.
You don't have the same finesse he does, or at least, you think not, but if his smiles and closing proximity are anything to go by, he's enjoying himself as much as you are. "I dance around opening these a lot," you say pointing at the empty bottle. Pulling your legs closer to yourself despite the voice of your mother telling you that's a body language sign of insecurity—fuck insecurity. "Don't wanna be the wine lady on top of the plant one. But they're good. I like it."
"I only drink wine when my brother cooks," he offers.
The glass in your hands makes you feel safe enough to land this conversation where you want it. "Really? He cooks a lot?"
"More than me," Joel confesses with a shrug. "He likes to match the wine to the dish and that type o' stuff."
"I was taught how to be picky, but if I'm being honest—" you like the way Joel leans in closer when you pause it. You smile, "it's all just grapes tastin' really, really good." The sound of his damn laugh. This man's gotta have a flaw, you think. "As long as it's wine, I'm happy."
"I think that about a good beer after a day of work."
"We're all just trying to give ourselves little positive reinforcements for playing nice at doing our jobs, huh?"
Joel pauses at that. Lifts his eyebrows, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, wow—"
"Oh god", while it took you a lot of alcohol to get drunk, being open-mouthed about weird things came with the territory of feeling comfortable.
Joel made you comfortable, even if you were mortified at how amused he was.
When he's done laughing, he looks at you. "That's cute. You're the philosophical type."
"Isn't everybody who enjoys wine?"
"I don't know. I enjoy wine and I'm not one to go that far, I think."
"Hmm. Philosophizing can involve different topics. Lenses."
Joel wolf whistles. "Well, I think I'd need a couple more glasses to unlock that side of me."
"Not a problem," you get up, and resist the urge to wink at him. "I'll be back."
Your reflection in the kitchen mirrors is the confirmation of how fucked exactly you are.
It's more than just the color on your cheeks—it's the glassy screen over your eyes, making it shine like...
Well, very few times.
Fuck, you think.
Maybe that's why your palms are sweating.
He's more than you bargained for—Joel's looks were hard to move on from, but this?
Once in Rome...
Fuck it.
It's not as if either one of you was blinded to what a moonlight late-night conversation leads to.
The air outside could be felt.
When you're going back with the opened bottle, another pin drops in your mind.
He has the whole night free.
You don't break the bottle, but it's a close call.
Joel asks you the second you're back, "I have a depressing confession to make—I was tryin' to keep to it to myself, but honestly, it's all I taught about when you left."
You place the bottle in the middle of the table carefully and sit back down with your eyes on him.
He moved his chair closer again.
"Do share," you urge.
Joel looks around the yard—he seems to do it a lot when he's dipping his toes into personal places and says, "This is the first time in a—uh—I don't even know. A while. That I just... sat with another adult. Drank something nice. Talked about more than just—fucking politics, or whatever." Joel's eyes on you make you feel honored. You know he'd say that's a silly thought if you said it out loud. "It's really nice. And—the depressing part comes in now: I'm only here 'cause of my brother."
You tilted your hair. "You're here because... of Tommy?" you tried connecting those dots, but came up short.
Thankfully, Joel was here. With his smile, and his explanation.
"You see, before Sarah's mom and I decided she could spend some months here instead of just a few weekends, I was already... shutting in. His words, not mine," Joel picks up his glass for a sip, and you hang onto every word he says. "So when she came, he took me out one night. That little bar a few blocks from here—y'know Mr. O'Donovan's place?" when you shake your head, he waves a hand, "I'll take you someday—'s the only place around here that's worth a dime."
"I'll take your word for it." I hate bars. You'd go for him. With him.
"I think I know what beer you'd like," it comes off as a whisper, and you have to hide behind your glass again. "I only remember that talk because he made me promise. He's not one to ask for promises."
"What did he make you promise?"
"He was upset 'cause I kept turnin' him down every time he wanted to do his 'meet my friend and you'll be good friends' match-making shit, so he said, 'you promise that the next time someone invites you do somethin' you actually wanna do, you're not gonna turn 'em down? You'll actually fucking go, without makin' excuses to yourself'. And that sounded fair. So I promised."
You take note of the effort he's making.
The subtle 'this isn't just about what's about to happen'.
'I'll take you someday'.
'Next time someone invites you to do somethin' you actually wanna do'.
So more than just neighbors. You nod at that, smiling at him. "He seems like a good brother," you say. "Siblings can be a pain in the ass."
Joel stops his glass on the way to his lip to shake his head at you, "Oh, no no," he takes the sip first, and says, "one doesn't negate the other. He very much is a pain in my ass, trust me."
You laugh. "Older and younger?"
"Younger," he nods. "I had a lil' bit of peace here and there before he was born."
"Can't imagine you'd have it any other way nowadays."
He agrees with you.
When he doesn't, Joel scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.
He does silly faces. You wonder if he's aware of how unfair it is that he gets to look like that. Tender. Charming.
He proves your theory to be right with only half another bottle.
Put two or more adults plus a certain amount of alcohol in a closed environment, and sex will be on the table.
It makes you blush when you think... it could literally be on the table.
Joel pretends he doesn't see you growing hotter. He keeps his eyes on you as you take off the robe instead of looking at your arms. Listens to what you're saying without losing focus.
Only when you're done and asking him something in response that he looks.
It makes your throat dry when he does.
Joel has an unabashed, almost cocky tilt to his mannerisms.
You thought he'd be quieter than he is—more serious.
It's a welcomed contrast.
When sex is laid on the table, it comes because he brought up the joke you made at the beginning of the night about his lack of interest in your life, and decided to ask you things. Where you grew up. If you were always like this.
"Define 'like this'."
"Smart with the calculating glance, and sweet-talking."
"Is that me?"
"Sure is, Sunshine."
None of the questions that people usually ask.
It makes you bite your lip more than you wished—his manly, tall presence gets under your skin in ways that no previous partner managed to. Tucking your hair behind your ear, avoiding leading the conversation to the exact places you liked, giggling—those weren't things you did.
He pulled them from you.
When he does ask you the 'usual' questions, it lacks the malicious curiosity inflating others whenever they did.
Sex is laid on the table because Joel looks you in the eyes with that easiness in his shoulders and asks, "I'm not as private as you, though—all of my neighbors already know Tommy, and Sarah. You, on the other hand... the mysterious crime and horror novelist, who talks to her plants and moved from so, so far. I might not be the prying type, but I was curious about you long before my gremlin set her little claws on you. How come I never see anyone coming in or out of here? You tellin' me not one friend of yours followed you here to god-forsaken Texas?"
Your glass is almost empty, and you focus on the twirling of the red inside it to avert your mind from the way he's sitting. "The point of moving was getting away from them. All of them, as bad as that sounds," you cover your eyes with your free hand, and Joel's hand touches your forearm.
"Hey—it's fine. Don't feel bad. 'm happy you had the privilege of gettin' away. If you wanted to move away from all of it, I'm sure you had your reasons."
Looking between your fingers, you try appraising his face. "Really?"
"Really," he nods.
"Okay." You sit up straight. "And I do have people over, sometimes. You're just always at work."
"Yeah? You made friends already?"
"A few, yeah."
"Where?" he removes his hand from your forearm but drops it to your chair's armrest. The proximity is doing something to you. "I thought you worked from home."
"I do," you agree. "But I do other stuff. I'm not always here with my plants, Joel," you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly.
Joel laughs, "I wouldn't know. If I could work from home and stay with my tools and wood, I would."
"And I believe you," you nodded.
He bites on his smile before asking. "What other stuff d'you do?"
"I joined a book club," you reply, feeling all levels of boring.
From his look, he disagrees. "You got the patience for that?"
"Sure do," you nod again.
He nods, pouting in awe. "Nice," he says. "Are your book club friends givin' you the right impression of Texans?"
"I'm warming up to them," you smile.
Nodding, he asks, "Should I ask now the questions all my neighbors already know the answer to? 'Cause I am curious. Did you know Mr. Adler tried tellin' me what he 'discovered' about you? He tried looking blasé when he said that, but I'm sure he just wanted to gossip about the pretty girl who moved across from him."
"Ew, Joel," you laugh.
His eyes never leave you—you feel it even when you're not looking at him. He's laughing too. "What? It's true."
When you look back up at him, you wonder—when did you two get this close?
"You can ask," you say. "It's not that exciting, the answer. Actually, it's not exciting at all."
"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," he sips his wine, and leaves the glass on the table. "You already know my backstory, so kill my curiosity now," he pierces with his eyes for a moment, "how on Earth is there no ring on this finger?" he points to your ring finger, then he leans in closer, and you can smell the wine in his breath; you want to kiss it until it's taste is gone, "and how is it that I never see anyone leaving here early in the mornings?"
Well. "No ring 'cause I didn't want one so far," you reply. To him, you give more honesty than anyone else who's asked. "And I have the luxury of living without it. I know many friends of mine who don't—and actually, that was part of..." don't go there. "Nevermind," you shake your head, pinning yourself to here.
"You just didn't want it?" he echos.
You nod, "Never did," there's no reason to lie to him. He smells so good—why would you lie to him? "Most men bore men, Joel."
"Wow," the smile that widens is a little baffled. A little dirty. "Should I be scared?"
At that, you burst out laughing. "Really?" You have no clocks outside, but the starry sky and the deep silence in the houses next to you are a good enough indicator. "It's been... a couple of hours, at least. We're one bottle and a half," you say, looking at your glasses shining on the table, "deep into conversation... and you wonder if you should be scared?"
Joel's still looking at you when you look back. His arm is around your chair, and your back touches it when you lean back against it. "I'll take that as a no."
"You are very far from boring."
"'m happy you think so," he smiles. He lets his eyes drop to your lips, without a care for the two palms of distance that separate your faces. It's meant to be blatant. Obvious. "Just another question..."
Here it comes, you thought. Why no kids? Why so alone? Do you feel lonely?
"Why me?" he asks.
It's nothing more than a breath.
You could ignore it. Give any answer, and close the gap. Instead, you give him honesty. "Honestly? I was so attracted to you, the second I saw you, that I was willing to even hear somethin' stupid coming out of your mouth if I could just—," do it, do it, do it. Seeing his eyes darken from up close is torture. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat between your legs. "Now, if I were any smart, I'd be wishing for you to be bad at all the rest, because..."
This was amazing already.
Joel laughs, just a single, breathy laugh, and then does something you would never see it coming.
He pushes his chair back with the weight of his hips and drops to his knees.
The gasp you let out is enough to put the most insufferable smile on his face.
"Don't say that," he feigns hurt, as if he wasn't smiling with his eyes and lips. "It might've been a while, but I don't think I lost my touch just yet."
Joel's hands envelop your knees and slowly pull them apart. You feel like an open wire—aware of every breath your body takes and each minimum reaction to him.
You feel the wet pulse inside your panties when he kisses the skin of your inner thigh, right above your knee.
Joel smiles up at you, blinking his eyes.
Damn him, you think. His hands caress their way up your skin, and you wished you were naked already.
He seems like someone to enjoy the torture—when his hands reach the curve of your ass, they stop there, holding onto your waist.
"Have I?" he asks, kissing the other inner leg. You feel a hint of his tongue in the short kiss.
What could you say to that?
"You really haven't."
Feeling the hot breathing of his laughter on your inner thighs was not in your list for tonight.
"Do I get a kiss, then?"
He would never have to ask you twice.
Your legs wrap around his torso when you lean down to meet him for the kiss. Joel seems to love the position—he smiles at first, gripping you by the neck.
He takes his time to look at you before he dives in. A mental check-in. Maybe just admiring, just as you were from the second he kneeled.
His kiss comes from experience. A lot of fucking experience.
If you were weak in the knees before, you seal the notion that you're out of your depth there and then.
Joel kisses like no one's ever kissed you before—like he wants to explore, discover, conquer.
He licks his way inside of you with the first kiss.
His tongue isn't shy; he makes you adjust to his rhythm, to let go and open up, and when you, you're rewarded with it—he pulls up just an inch, just to whisper, "that's it," and then dives back in.
Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and neck in a possessive manner. It's why he makes it so easy for you let him guide it—he's holding you, and you moan as you melt into him.
He wants to feel your body.
The more you press yourself against him, the more Joel grants you little sighs of his own pleasure.
He never pushes his hips against you. Never presses you towards him.
It makes you want to scream.
When he pulls away, Joel sighs happily. He presses his right thumb over your swollen bottom lip, and nodding, kneels on his heels again.
"Joel..."
Your face remains close to his, gravitating to where he does. He whispers, "Lift your hips up for me, Sunshine," wrapped around a smile.
You do as he says.
His hand takes off your shorts without your eyes ever leaving you, and when the item is on the floor, Joel releases the robe you foregone earlier tonight from your backrest to slide down where you sit.
To not make a mess, it says.
Your face is burning up, but not as much as the rest of you.
"Is this ok?" he asks.
He waits for your nod of approval before pulling you by your knees. "Good," he's strong enough to get you where he wants in one pull. Your hips are nearing the end of the chair and from this angle, Joel gets to look.
He eyes the underwear as if it's personally offending him.
"I like the color," he says. He traces a finger across the baby blue lace and looks up at you. "Suits ya," he says. That's when he hooks a finger on the fabric, pulling it to the side. "I dreamt about this."
That gets to you.
Joel's fingers are thorough—able. He uses his knuckles to spread the lips apart, uncaring about the whines you let out above him, still holding on to the shame of being the only one exposed.
It lasts until he places two knuckles on each side of your clit, stimulating it with back-and-forth movements.
You were right about the torture.
He enjoys it.
Joel waits for your clit to be hard between his fingers before he puts his mouth to it.
You can only cling onto his hair.
I dreamt about this, too.
"Fuck—I dreamt about this too," you confess.
His moan vibrating against the core of your pussy makes you clench.
Joel's only starting.
He takes his time in finding the rhythm you most feel pleasure on your clit. He never bites, never nibbles, and doesn't go softly, like other men.
He eats.
Joel's mouth is stuck to you—the way he laps and slurps and sucks on your hardened nub only makes your volume go from whines and pleas of his name to moans in very little time.
That's when he dips his tongue inside. When he uses it as muscle and proves to you why the idea of oral is so good for men.
Because it's good.
Joel gives no indicator that he wants to stop at any time, and it turns you into something that blossoms.
At some point between him almost making you cum just by sucking on your clit and fucking his tongue in and out of you, your legs made their way to his shoulders, and his hands have secured themselves groping your ass.
He pulls back for air, once.
His fingers enter you instead, two at once.
"So wet already," he says. You only hear it, until, "look at me," he asks.
As if his thick, long fingers dripping into places inside of you weren't enough, you get to look at him.
His face glistening on your back porch is something that burns behind your eyelids the second you see it. You feel incoherent, needy, and exposed in more than one way.
Joel looks like he could eat you like this.
"Joel—please. Please," you're begging, but for what, you're not sure.
"Cum for me first. I'll give you whatever you want later, just," he pumps his fingers inside of you, keeping a steady and strong pace, and then says, "You look so good like this, Jesus fuckin' Christ."
Profanities.
That's what he says before getting his mouth back on you—his tongue sucking and vibrating against your clit.
It's too much. Too fucking much, and, "Joel, Joel—"
He pulls back just to say it, "That's it, doin' so good, Sunshine—" and that's when you lose it. The coaxing. It's so earnest. Sounds so pleased, dipping in honey as if it's him who's feeling this good.
"'m gonna cum Joel, fuck me, just like that—"
"Like this? Hm? Show me. Cum on my mouth."
All it takes is for him to put it back on you. Joel knows how to push himself inside—knows how to explore the hot and tight confines of your cunt, because he coos a first orgasm out of you with the right pace only.
No strength. No speed. Just sucking, and curling right against your spot.
Your vision whites out.
The time you take to come back to yourself, he keeps playing with your pussy and the mess he made in it, seeming as satisfied with the result as you are. Somewhere in white land.
What a little death.
After that, it's more a mess and clashes of teeth and desires than you knew you were even capable of.
He pulls you in for a kiss, and you pull him inside the house.
The idea is to make it to your room, but you never make it past the living room.
When you press him against a wall to finish taking off his clothes, seeing him only in briefs makes gravity pull you in.
Nothing but black briefs.
You have to drop to your knees.
Joel curses under his breath and tries his best at keeping his posture, but you're with a mind entirely clouded by raw need.
To him, you want to do only your best.
You're addicted to the way he mutters, "atta girl," every time you discover something that brings him pleasure. It sounds so fucking dirty.
"That's it. Atta fuckin' girl, god."
With him, you use tricks your friends once told you that are buried in the back of your mind. You hold the part of his cock your mouth can't cover and move it in sync with your lips. You make it wet, make sloppy, make it whatever he leads it to be.
Joel hisses and moans louder when you find the special places hidden—the sensitive skin between his balls that leads up, you lick it from start to finish and are rewarded with a full-body shudder.
He shows you what strong body means.
"Where's your room?" he pulls you by the arms, and you somehow end up jumping on him. Exactly what you wanted.
"I'm not makin' that far," you tell him with a grin.
He has his thumb on your lips again—he seems to like your mouth.
"Didn't think you'd want my bare ass on your couch."
"That is exactly where I want your bare ass right now," you tell him.
He's good at following requests, just as he is at giving them.
Joel sits with you already straddling his lap, and bless his gentleman's heart, he says, "I left my pants outside—wait," he curses under his breath with your hips circling his shaft. Letting it slide between your pussy lips. "Fuckin' hell."
"Fuckin' hell indeed," you sigh. "Wait here."
You run outside for it, only because you're not on the pill. Maybe you'll start taking it. Maybe you shouldn't think that far.
Joel's waiting for you alright—he has his hand at the base of his cock, sitting on your couch like a modern-day Adonis.
A sluttier Adonis. Sexier, too.
"Stop starin' and c'mere," he demands;
And who are you to say no to that?
Joel does you the favor of putting it on as you make yourself comfortable on his lap again, taking all of your out of the way. He looks like he wants to eat you alive piece by piece, and you love it.
"Lemme know if you want me to take over," he tells you.
"Yes, sir," you whisper in a taunting manner.
Joel rests his forehead against yours when you line himself up with you, and it's a reward of your stupid, gigantic-ass window letting in the light from outside that allows you to see the pleasure on his face as you sink around him, burying him to the hilt.
His digits press so hard on your sides they'll brise.
You'll be bruised tomorrow morning.
Fingerprints on your hips, beard burns on your inner legs, palm shapes across your ass.
When you start moving, none of you say a word about how it feels.
It's criminal.
Only curses and your names are allowed in the thin space separating your wet bodies.
The thin layer of sweat makes you two glide on each other, and the drag of him inside of you is almost too good for words.
You're scared of the ones that'd make their way out, anyway.
So you let out what you can. You call for him, and he calls back. Joel slaps your ass, both sides of it, and urges you on to take him as you want it.
"Fuckin' christ, I'm never gonna—fuck—never gonna sleep again."
There it is. Being pussy-drunk makes him loose-lipped.
Your own are aching with how hard you bite on them.
Joel lets the reigns remain on your hands as you stay on top. He lets you ride him painfully slow, and faster, just because it feels good. He lets you climb all the way up only to slam back down, praising you through the fog in your brain.
"Does it feel good, Sunshine? Mm? My cock feels that good for you?"
You're sure it'll all come back to haunt you once your brain can be coherent.
He takes charge when you start begging him, and for what, you're unsure of. It's a mixture of please and his name, which Joel takes as his permission slip.
He flips you onto your back, hooks one of your legs on the middle of his back, and fucks you both into another orgasm.
It should be concerning the way he does it—like he's familiar with your body and your cues. He just follows your pace and moans until you're clawing at his back, and when his name comes out over and over again, he coaxes it again. Coos at you, holding your face in one hand. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't ya? Do it. I'll cum for you when I feel you shakin' around my cock, Sunshine. Cum for me."
It comes so hard you almost faint; blackout.
Joel takes care of you afterward.
Of course he does.
Even with the weakest legs and the minimum sense of reality around you, he manages. Joel leads you upstairs, tells you he's collected your clothes, and even lays down when you ask him.
"Just for a while," you ask.
He lays in front of you in bed, and pulls your arms around him. "I'm puttin' an alarm."
Little spoon. "You gotta be back here in the morning anyway."
"I know," he kisses your wrist. "Can't wait."
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dcxdpdabbles · 5 months
Text
DCXDP FIC IDEA: The Dauntless Matchmaker
Danny Fenton is short on cash. He has been short on cash almost all his adult life, but usually, he can pull through untill the last minute before breaking and asking his family for help.
It's a pain in a half trying to find a job that is flexible enough to accommodate his "Health" issues.
He needs time off to keep his agreement. See back when he was sixteen, he realized that the ghosts that had been bothering him were all trying to challenge him for his power.
At first he looked like easy prey- being new and all- but the more fights he won the more his reputation rose and that made the ghosts attack less frequently.
They just became harder since the big guns wanted a crack at him. Danny proposed that the fights be in neutral grounds- the ghost zone- since fights in Amity Park were ruining his haunt.
Haunt Rights were highly protected and respected in the Infinite Releams.
His adversaries agreed under the condition that Danny responded to the battles within two hours; otherwise, they would haunt him in the human world.
Ghost fighting in the Infinite Releams to keep the ghosts busy, and nowadays, only the strongest bothered him like a bi-weekly challenge from dead beings that don't understand scheduling.
It worked out.....until he couldn't explain why he was missing so often in the human world. With the help of some friendly ghosts, he was able to fake a diagnosis of some muscle disorder and has been living with the excuse that he would go MIA because of it. He missed a lot.
Often enough to have almost every job he's gotten to fire him.
This brings him to his current problem. Yes, Danny can argue that he has a disability but to do so would mean having someone look into it and realize it's not real.
So when Charlie from the Tea MadHouse tells him not to bother returning tomorrow after a four-day-long battle, he can only sigh and turn in his tea maker apron.
He might have to call his parents to ask for help on this month's rent. That's a bitter pill to swallow.
If only there was a job that he could do that had no problem with him taking multiple days off without notice.
"Pardon me. I need a moment of your time." a voice calls out. Danny twists around, turning his neck slightly downwards to meet the green-eyed stare of a young boy.
"I have a proposition for you. My elder brother requires a fake lover to fool our family butler into thinking that he has moved on from the heartbreak of his last disastrous relationship. Not that anyone could blame Dowd for ending things with Drake. In any case, seeing as I have witnessed your unemployment, I figured you would do well for the job."
Danny blinks "I'm sorry?"
The kid pulls out a wad of cash. Danny can practically hear the ca-ching sound surrounding the boy as he raises a brow.
He gapes as the youth slaps the cash into his hand without so much as a blink.
"Do we have an accord?" The boy asks while Danny slowly turns the money in his hand.
"Whatever you say, temporary in-law," He says after flipping through the bills only to realize it's a hundred-dollars. A quick count of how many he's been handed causes his eyes to almost pop out of thier socket.
It's more then enough for this month's rent-hell he has some left over for at least four months!
"Excellent, we are expected at dinner. If Drake acts surprised to see you merely tap the table six times, then four. He shall fall into line and build off our lie."
Danny scrambles after the kid, nodding to himself. "Six, then four. Got it. Ugh, does the dinner have a dress code?"
It sounds like it would since a young boy just gave out hundreds like it was nothing. Danny would feel bad showing up in an old pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt.
Maybe he has a formal shirt somewhere.
The boy's green eyes flickered to him, then his watch on his wrist. "An impressive observation. Pennyworth will not be impressed by a poorly dressed paramour. We have time to purchase a suit. Come along."
Danny has no idea how someone so small can walk so fast. He feels his breathing is coming in quick bursts, but the boy doesn't seem winded at all. He winces when the boy enters a well-known suit place that is very pricey. "Is this coming out of my pay?"
"No. This shall be covered by the company card," The strange child says, holding up a black card with a quick flick of his wrist. At the sight of it, two store attendants appear at their side, offering assistance. Danny has never seen such power.
"W-wait we have a company card?" He shutters, overwhelmed by the attendant pushing him into a changing room and a light blue suit in his arms.
"Yes. However, you have a limit on what can be spent with it. I shall review the details later regarding your medical, dental, and vision benefits."
"I GET DENTAL?!"
"Of course. America's ridiculous health programs will mistreat no employee of mine simply due to lack of funds. " The boy scoffed, sounding offended by the very idea.
Danny doesn't care how long he needs to pretend to be this boy's boyfriend, and he'll sign a contract right now.
_______________________________________
Damian waited for Fenton to finish trying on all the suits the personal sellers had pushed onto him. He personally thinks the light blue was the best but it doesn't hurt to try other options.
They need Fenton to look his best to woo Drake and get him to stop acting so pathetic.
Yes, Dowd had broken up with him for reasons Damian is unaware of, nor does he care enough to find them, but Drake has had plenty of people break up with him before and remain on good terms with him.
Just look at Brown.
Drake had also always bounced right back after the breakup, usually because he would get tied up in either work at Wayne Industries or Red Robin.
Yet, for some reason, unlike all the others, Dowd leaving has not only been messy it also threw Drake into a downwards spiral.
He has refused even to get dress- walking around in a bathrobe and fluffy slippers- eating ice cream and sobbing over photos of Dowd for hours on end. He taken a leave from Wayne Industries and mostly stayed on monitor duty as Red Robin.
At other times, he plays sad songs and watches romance movies with a dead look in his eyes. Usually there were crumbs of some unknown spicy chips all over his face too.
Really it was unseemly.
It's been four months of this, and Drake does not seem to be getting it together. Damian had researched online, and all of the articles indicate that he should have felt better by the third-month mark.
He would have left the fool well alone only Pennyworth is beginning to worry. And Damian refuses to let Pennyworth worry over something fixable.
His research showed that a "rebound" was highly recommended (if done correctly), in the healing process of a breakup. Drake refused to find one, so Damian assigned himself the task of finding one for him instead.
He considered Drake's past lovers' looks, interests, and personalities. Then creating a list of what was considered a good candidate he wandered around Gotham in search of someone who would be a perfect rebound.
His efforts led him to Tea MadHouse- a tea shop with a surprisingly good coffee menu- where Daniel Fenton worked. Over three weeks, Damian had watched him, categorizing the pros and cons that Drake would find within Fenton, and concluded that he would be perfect.
The fact Fenton has lost his job now only worked in his favor. He'll convince Drake that Fenton is a decoy for Pennyworth - since Drake was getting fed up with all the hovering- and he would never notice that the real target of this fake relationship would be Drake himself all along.
Fenton will woo him, sweep him off his feet, make him forget Dowd and ride off into the sunset with Drake none the wiser. It was full-proof.
Damian will make Drake rebound on Fenton, even if he has to throw the idiot at the other teen. He is getting awful tired of the concerned glances whenever Drake slumps his way into a room.
No other reason. He certainly didn't care about Drake that much nor did does he lay awake at night wondering how Drake is doing now that he does not have someone to hold him.
Drake doesn't sleep well alone.
"How do I look?" Fenton stepped out of the booth wearing the light blue suit. It made his eyes pop and framed his body well.
Yes, muscular. The body of a boxer. Drake will lose his mind over those biceps.
"Ravishing." He tells the nineteen-year-old. Damian barely bites back a smirk as Fenton flushed, painting a pretty picture. Drake enjoys talking his lovers up, and Fenton will do well to receive plenty of compliments. "Let us be off."
Drake won't know what hit him.
2K notes · View notes
sqvishii · 11 days
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My personal headcanon is that the way Fae asks for their lover's hand in marriage is by weaving them a flower ring and proposing to them, they either cast a spell to not wilt or to change the flower ring regularly
So imagine the shock when you jokingly proposing to any of the diansomia boys with a flower ring
(This applies to qny of them, but i had silver in mind)
(Also just dumping my tjoughts here)
THIS IS SO CUTE I ☹☹
fuck ir this is so cutr im doing all of them
• sebek zigvolt
both of you were walking in the garden, while he was talking about how great malleus is, you busied yourself with a flower ring
it was a bit simple to make, you wondered if your half fae boyfriend would like your little creation
while he was still talking, you went in front of him and presented him the ring, making him stop for a moment.
his reaction was priceless, just a blank stare with blown eyes once he realized what it was LMAOOO 😭
"HUMAN! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, PROPOSING TO ME WHILE WE ARE STILL SCHOOLING?!"
"sebek what."
turns out you didn't know a thing about fae stuff and all that, he calmed down and accepted the ring
.. silver saw him staring at the wall blankly with tears running down his eyes before looking out the window, revealing you messing around with ace
he was a bit sulky once he found out you didn't know a thing about fae culture and actually thought you were proposing 😭🙏
keeps the ring on, you can see his flustered face whenever he walks around and lilia is teasing him about it
• silver vanrouge
as usual, silver was asleep in the garden. typical
while bored out of your mind, you decided to make a flower ring for your sleepy boyfriend so you can surprise it with him once he wakes up.
with your fingers delicately working on the flower and stickig it onto the ring, you felt silver wrapping his arms around you
his head resting on your shoulders as he asked what you were doing while he was still half asleep, his eyes widened a bit once seeing the object in your hands as you showed it to him.
"[name], are you sure you want to marry me? im not an ideal husband, but i can try to provide and such. if we were to have kids then-"
"silver wtf are you on about."
oh. yeah, you didn't know anything about fae customs.
he was taught about fae culture from lilia lolz, he embarrassingly hid his face from you as you put the ring on his gloved hand.
he wears it daily and often asks lilia to cast a spell on it whenever he sees it withering.
• lilia vanrouge
while you were out somewhere, probably at sams shop, you saw a pretty looking flower ring.
thinking of lilia and how he would rather enjoy the small gift you bought for him, you purchased the said items alongside a few more.
walking back to the campus, you could only be fnaf jumpscared by lilia who popped up in front of you, upside down, like a bat.
recovering from your surprise, you quickly boop him on his nose, makig him laugh before standing up like an actual human being.
sitting down on the ground, you showed him everything you purchased. from antiques to books.
once you showed him the flower ring, his smile turned into a straight line as he stared at you.
it wouldn't be long until he smiled sadly, knowing you didn't know a thing that you just did.
"are you trying to propose? haha, in fae culture, we usually propose through flower rings."
"oh.. then, consider this as my promise to marry you!"
.. just like meleanor.
he could only laugh as he puts it on, did the shine in his eyes get larger?
he wears it wherever he goes, he hopes the day of your actual proposal is soon.
• malleus draconia
you were staying in your dorm before you heard the knock, like, the knock. your boyfriend is here to take you out on a nightly stroll!!
grabbing your jacket, knowing it's a rather chilly night, you noticed the flower ring your made yesterday for him. bringing it with you, you opened the doors and saw him patiently waiting.
holding your hand in his, the moon shining its light down on the pavement the both of you stepped on, the both of you either talked or kept on walking in comfortable silence.
the next moment you brought on a new topic, you pulled out the ring, making him stop taking a few steps forward as he stood there in shock.
it wouldnt be long until fireflies decorated the area near you two, giving it a melodramatic scene as you stood there, utterly confused.
"i accept, man of child."
"malleus what do you mean 😦"
turns out you knew nothing, not even a shred of fae culture.
the fireflies would be gone and it would start raining LMAOOO
he thought you were serious, well, you were; about the whole ring thing, but he didn't think that,,,, ☹
very well then, he shall be content with the trinkets he has now.
having the ring on him, he gets all giddy now whenever he looks at it and never takes it off.
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sluttywoozi · 4 months
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Something In The Midnight Hours
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Rating: T | WC: ~ 4.0k | Pairing: Lee Chan x F!Reader | Genre: besties to lovers, fake relationship, rom com, fluff
“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend at my New Year’s Eve work party.”
“There better be an open bar. And I’m not kissing you at midnight.”
“Deal.”
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Warnings: alcohol use, swearing, kissing
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Lee Chan is fucked. 
That’s the only way to describe his current situation. He’s fucked.
Royally, epically, astronomically. 
All because of one offhand comment he made six months ago about you being his girlfriend, back when he was still trying to fit into the company. 
Now here he is on his couch, staring at the email invite to the New Year’s Eve party and trying not to freak out, his eyes glued to the subject line. 
BRING HER OR YOU’RE FIRED (JK (OR ARE WE))
He sets his phone down on the coffee table and covers his face with his hands, his palms pressing into his eyes to stave off the growing headache as he goes over options in his head. 
1. He says you broke up.
This is obviously the worst option, both because the thought of you not being around makes him tear up and because then he’d have to stop talking about you, which is virtually impossible for him.
2. He goes and doesn’t bring you. 
This is the second worst option as it would open him up to relentless teasing and might also result in his expulsion from the company, neither of which he would like to happen. 
3. He begs you to pretend to be his girlfriend and you go together.
This is the craziest option, but it’s also the most viable. Sure, you’ve been best friends since you were kids, and sure, he’s almost certain you’re not into him like that, and sure, you’re a terrible liar, but all of that can be overcome! Right? 
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“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend at my New Year’s Eve work party.”
You stare at him blankly, your face unreadable for once, as he explains the situation. You haven’t stopped him at all and it’s like he can’t stop talking, the words just flowing out of him like water through a strainer. 
“Everyone had a partner, literally everyone, and I was as single as could be, so when Wonwoo asked who my lockscreen was, I might have said you were my girlfriend. And I might have updated my desktop to be a picture of us together at that carnival last year. And I might have continued to lie about it every day since.”
You nod slowly, your eyes narrowed at him in skepticism, before tilting your head and saying, “And telling the truth is out of the question because…?”
“Because they would roast me alive,” he scream-whispers dramatically, imploring you with his eyes to understand his plight. 
“They would, wouldn’t they?” You murmur pensively, fully knowledgeable of how often he’s under fire just for being the youngest in the office. 
He nods emphatically, latching onto your kind, protective side and hoping it’ll carry him through this. 
“They would be so mean to me, Y/n. Please don’t let that happen,” he hates being manipulative but at least he knows you can see right through it, your years of friendship making you familiar with all his tricks. 
“Ugh! Fine!” You throw your hands up and roll your eyes, stifling your smile when he hollers in grateful joy and tugs you into his arms. 
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“There better be an open bar. And I’m not kissing you at midnight.”
“Deal.”
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It hits him when the uber is on the way to the hotel, what he’s gotten himself (and you) into. Not only is this the first merging of his work life and social life, but you and him will have to pretend to be a couple until the party is over. 
You’ll probably have to hold hands and smile at each other lovingly and, fuck, you’ll have to disappear before midnight because you already said he can’t kiss you and it’ll be suspicious as all hell if he doesn’t lay one on you when the ball drops. Even worse, you’re barely even affectionate as best friends - you don’t cuddle, you don’t hug, you even sit at opposite ends of the couch for movie night. 
He doesn’t know why, all he knows is that it’s been this way since you first met. The most you ever touch him is to ruffle then fix his hair, or pat him on the back when he’s sad, or pinch his cheek and call him a baby even though you’re only seven months older than him. It’ll be awkward to have so much physical contact with you, to interact with you like a boyfriend does. 
He’s a little… excited, though. It’s exciting to think about all of the guys finally meeting you after six months of him telling story after story. It’s exciting to go to his first ever corporate party, and to have you experience it with him. It’s exciting to think about how the two of you will take full advantage of the open bar and likely giggle yourselves to death in some closet as the clock strikes midnight. 
He can’t tell how you’re feeling beyond knowing you’re nervous. You keep playing with the hem of your dress, and you’ve been looking out the window this whole time, and you haven’t talked much since you got in the car, though he’s made multiple attempts to draw you into a conversation. He decides to make one more, hoping that he can distract you and help you relax before the car pulls up to the hotel. 
“I really like this dress on you. I don’t think I’ve seen it before, is it new?”
You turn to him, your lips quirking in a smile as you smooth your hands over the champagne silk. 
“It is! it’s been a while since I got something nice so I decided to splurge for the party.”
“You bought it for this?” He asks almost incredulously, endeared and grateful you wanted to put so much effort in. You don’t often buy new things as you’re saving up to put a down payment on a house, and before the night is over, he swears he’ll find out how much it costs and send you the full amount. 
“Yeah? I wanted to look nice to meet all your colleagues,” you respond quietly, shrinking under your seatbelt as if you’re self conscious. 
“And you do! You look beautiful,” he scrambles to dispel your anxiety, kicking himself for accidentally bringing attention to something you’re seemingly shy about. You smile brightly and straighten up, replying, “You look good too, I don’t remember this suit.”
“It’s a rental,” he confesses. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“So I can’t go up to one of your coworkers and say, ‘Hi, I’m Chan’s girlfriend, his suit is rented’? Darn.”
He’s too focused on you saying you’re his girlfriend to hear anything else, an unfamiliar fluttering starting up in his belly as he replays the words in his head. He hates to admit it, but he kind of likes the sound of them coming out of your mouth. 
He gathers himself enough to respond, “You can say the first part but not the second.”
“Ahhh, so just, ‘Hi, I’m Chan’s girlfriend,’ then?” You quip back, grinning at him teasingly and reaching up to pinch his cheek. His hand catches yours before you get that far, and while he’d normally let go, he decides to keep holding on, tangling your fingers together and bringing your hand up to press a kiss to the back. 
“What’s that for?” You ask shakily, your eyes darting between his face and your entwined hands. 
“Practice,” he says innocently, fully aware that he’s freaking you out and loving it. 
The uber pulls up to the hotel before you can answer, and Chan thanks them before rushing to get out of the car and running around it to open your door and offer you his arm. You climb out as gracefully as you can, a bit unsteady in your heels and clinging to him for stability as you cross through the sliding glass doors into the lobby. 
It’s decorated for the holidays, warm string lights and fresh evergreen covering nearly every surface, and the sight of you spinning in a slow circle to take it all in makes his heart feel too big for his chest. The party is being held in one of the ballrooms, the fanciest one, he was told, and he can’t wait to see your face when you set eyes on the opulence of it all. 
He needs to find it first, and he exhales a sigh of relief when he spots his company’s name printed on signs leading into a grand hallway. He points so you see them too, leading you over and consciously slowing his steps so you don’t have to work to keep up with him. 
You’re letting out oohs and ahhs as you walk, your eyes catching on every shiny statue and gilded candelabra occupying the hall. Chan can’t hold back the grin, he’s always loved to see how you appreciate your surroundings, and he’s so happy he gets to watch you experience this beautiful place. 
The signs lead to a palatial set of doors, the party in full swing and audible behind them, and he stops you before you can reach for one, pulling you to the side and setting his hands on your shoulders. 
“Listen, I know you’re not good at lying, but I don’t want you to be stressed tonight, so just follow my lead and don’t worry too much, okay?” He says in his most reassuring tone of voice, gazing into your eyes and waiting for you to square your shoulders and say, “Okay. And I’m great at lying.”
Literally everything betrays you, the expression on your face, your tense body, the way you’re suddenly avoiding his eyes. 
“Sure, baby. Sure,” he agrees amicably, nodding and taking hold of your hand again. 
He’s never called you that before, only ever refers to you by your name or stinky (you are the greatest smelling person he knows and you’re both aware of that fact), but for a first test, he thinks it goes well. 
Your hand squeezes his, your eyes get brighter, and the corner of your mouth scrunches up in a small, pleased smile. All signs point to you being not only alright with the pet name, but maybe even happy with it, and if he's being honest, for him it felt… easy. Right. 
On that note, he tugs open the door with his free hand and follows you inside. You both stop short, stunned by the magnificence of the ballroom and the amount of faces that greet you. Chan knew he worked at a big company but there’s at least two hundred people here, and only a few that he recognizes. 
They find you quickly, apparently watching the doors for your entrance and agreeing to immediately converge upon you before you can even grab a glass of Dom Perignon. It’s scary, almost, the sight of the twelve friends he’s made so far weaving through the crowd to reach you. 
There’s nowhere to go, to run, to hide. He has no choice but to stand his ground and allow this to happen to him. 
He glances over at you and feels some tension leave his body, knowing that no matter what, you’re here for him and you always will be. That’s what gets him through the next half hour, plus the champagne Jeonghan so considerately brought over. He makes introductions, laughs off the comments about how long it took him to finally bring you to a function, and bites the inside of his lip every time you have to answer a question. 
You manage to tell the truth most of the time. Many of the questions are about you, who you are and what you do and, from Seungkwan, why you’re with Chan. You don’t have to lie until that last one, but he’s impressed by how quickly and smoothly you manage to answer. 
It still makes him grin, thinking about what you said. 
“Because he’s made me happy and taken care of me all my life. It just makes sense.” 
They all softened at your response, and the conversation naturally deviated to their own partners, a few of which are in attendance tonight. He’s not sure why they’re not with his coworkers but he can’t complain about having less people to keep up with. It’s hard enough tracking a conversation between fourteen. 
Eventually, everyone splits off into groups. You and Chan make your way to the bar with Soonyoung, Jun, and Minghao, the rest of his friends disappearing back into the well dressed masses. You’ve both finished your champagne and are ready for a real drink, and it’s shockingly easy to order them even with how crowded the bar is. Even Minghao is drinking tonight, likely because he doesn’t love crowds or parties, but regardless of the reason, he’s more happy and giggly and kind than normal and Chan is entirely delighted he gets to see him like this. 
Jun and Soonyoung are already deep in their cups, and knowing them, they likely pregamed at the apartment they share, forgetting that drinks would be free all night. He just hopes they don’t embarrass themselves, and vows to himself that he’ll make sure they get cut off if they get too crazy. They did the same for him the first night he ever went out with his officemates, when he had a few too many and found himself troublesomely drunk, and he’ll return the favor if need be. 
You seem to fit right in, your humor similar enough to theirs that you have them cracking up at every turn, and it’s not long before they’re begging you to spill all of Chan’s most embarrassing secrets. They seem nearly giddy with the prospect and you seem primed to share, and all he can do is tug you away, shouting, “See you later, we have to go!” over his shoulder as he makes his escape. 
You and Chan finally get to take a breather on the balcony. The chilly night air stings but the view is gorgeous, the city lit up in reds and greens and bright, warm whites, the countdown displayed on a skyscraper across the way. There’s an hour and a half left till midnight, and Chan is starting to wonder if there even is an accessible closet in this hotel for you to hide in when the time comes. 
Maybe you could sneak away to the bathroom, but you wouldn’t be together then and Chan wants to enter the new year with you by his side. There’s always the option of leaving before the ball drops, but everyone would wonder why and they might even be disappointed in him, which he’d like to prevent if possible. 
The consternation must be clear on his face because you reach up to smooth away the wrinkle between his eyebrows and ask gently, “What’s wrong?”
He sighs and takes your hand, swinging it softly and playing with your fingers as he says, “I’m trying to figure out what we should do at midnight.”
“What do you mean?” You sound confused, as if you think there’s nothing to figure out. 
“Well, you said I can't kiss you but it would be suspicious if we didn’t, so I’m trying to think of where we could go to get out of it.”
“Oh, about that, I’ve been thinking-”
“So this is where you snuck off to,” Seungkwan calls from the doorway, with a mischievous smile on his face and Vernon in tow. 
“Just needed some fresh air,” Chan pastes on a smile but internally he’s screaming, raging at them for interrupting you when he thinks you might have been about to say something important. 
Of course, everything you say is important to him, but if he’s following the vein of logic, it’s possible you were going to say he can, in fact, kiss you at midnight, which would honestly rock his world. Both in the life-altering sense and in the wow this is so amazing sense, because, he has to admit, he can’t stop thinking about it. 
When you take a sip of champagne, he’s watching your lips pucker around the edge of the flute. When you’re speaking, he’s thinking about tasting your words. Even when you’re not doing anything, his thoughts are occupied with what it might be like to feel your lips pressed against his and your body in his arms (and don’t get him started about your body, especially in this dress).
He knows that’s not something normal best friends think about, but you’ve always been more than a best friend to him. You’re everything to him, and he’s beginning to think you might even be it for him. You fill so many roles in his life: friend, confidante, protector. Why couldn’t you pick up one more?
It could all be so simple, so neat, and all of those well-meaning but embarrassing inquiries about when you two would finally get together could finally be answered. He thinks the transition would be easy, you seem to have no qualms touching him and being affectionate now, and he’s definitely finding it easy to reciprocate. 
Fuck, but he has no clue how you feel. You’re chatting with Seungkwan while Vernon nods and laughs at the appropriate moments, and he’s thankful you noticed he was elsewhere mentally and took over the conversation. He doesn’t want to seem too deep in thought, but it’s difficult not to be when he’s having the startling realization that he doesn’t want this relationship to be fake, that he actually wants to date his best friend. 
Shit, it’s an hour and fifteen minutes now, and Chan’s no closer to knowing what to do. He might even be further away, might be even more confused with the added layer of knowing he absolutely wants to kiss you. 
Vernon and Seungkwan excuse themselves to grab more champagne and he takes the opportunity to pull you to one of the darker corners of the balcony lest his other coworkers discover your location. He needs to talk about this with you, now. 
It’s just not normal or right for him to hide things from you, the biggest thing he’s actually ever kept being that he told his office you were his girlfriend. He’s not positive he’s ready to lay it all out though, especially when he’s not sure where you’re at. 
“What were you going to say before?” He asks urgently, taking hold of your other hand and holding both of them tight. 
“Ummm, I don’t remember,” you lie, so very obviously, and this time he’s not going to let you get away with it. 
“Yes, you do. Please tell me, I need to know.”
You squint at him in scrutiny, your mouth bunching to the side, and let out a big breath before speaking. 
“I was going to say that I’ve been thinking about it a lot and… I think you should kiss me at midnight,” you say, looking away from him and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in your dress. 
“A lot, you say?” He jokes, only because he knows it’ll make you feel annoyed instead of nervous. 
Predictably, you roll your eyes and scoff, “Of course that’s what you focus on.”
He lets out an easy laugh, tugging you closer with his grip on your hands and leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. 
“What was that for?” 
“Practice.”
His lips touch your other cheek softly. He can feel it heat up and breaks into a fond smile, his hands squeezing yours as you breathe, “And that?”
“More practice. And maybe I couldn’t wait until midnight to kiss you at least a little.”
Your eyes dart to his and he catches a flash of vulnerability before you grin it away and glance over your shoulder to check the time. 
“Just forty five more minutes. Do you think you can make it?” You tease, and he feels his own cheeks flush as he realizes that you’re flirting with him. He likes it. Very much. 
He grimaces, sucking in a breath through his teeth and shaking his head, “I don’t know, baby. I really don’t know.”
You just smile and push at his chest with your joint hands before asking, “Should we get some champagne?”
He’s barely tipsy, and he can tell you’re only a little buzzed, so he nods and lets you go, only to offer you his arm. He escorts you to the table of glasses, taking one and offering it to you before grabbing one for himself. You hold your glass up and he clinks it with his, taking a sip and looking around the room. 
He spots some of his friends but they’re all engaged in conversations, which is fine with Chan, honestly. He’s enjoying this time with you, and he’s not ready to share again. 
You pass the next half hour warming up and people watching, waving to his friends when they spot you and narrowly escaping before they start to make their way over. He feels a little bad about avoiding them, but he doubts you want to kiss him for the first time in front of everyone. He needs to find somewhere with a little privacy, looking around for a corner or… 
Or the giant ass column behind you. It’s perfect, still in the ballroom but secluded enough it’ll almost be like it’s just the two of you. He takes your hand again and gently pulls you over, situating you so your back is to the stone just as the ballroom starts to spark with energy. It’s only a few minutes to midnight now, and Chan can already feel his heart racing just at the thought of what that means. 
You seem similarly affected, your lip bitten in nervousness but your eyes full of anticipation. He takes a step into your space and lifts his hand to cup your cheek, murmuring, “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” you nod, tilting your face into his hand and covering it with yours. A hush comes over the ballroom before the counting begins, and you join in unison as he starts leaning in, “Five, four, three, two, one.”
One is whispered against your lips, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses his mouth to yours. You taste like champagne and lip gloss and possibilities, and even though other kisses end and cheers erupt, Chan can’t make himself stop kissing you. 
Eventually, it starts to veer into indecent territory, with wandering hands and seeking tongues and sounds not fit for public consumption. He forces himself to pull away, smirking slightly at the way you try to follow him before your eyes blink open. There’s a bright glint to them, and before he knows it, you’re both falling into each other and struggling to contain your giggles.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” you whisper through your smile.
“Me neither,” he laughs. “Our moms will be so happy.”
“I bet our dads placed bets,” you murmur, winding your arm around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “Happy New Year, Chan.”
He lets go of your cheek to hug you back, his hand still wrapped up tightly in yours. 
“Happy New Year, Y/n.” 
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You’re dozing against Chan in the uber when his phone buzzes in his suit pocket. He opens it to find a message from Wonwoo, one containing three pictures that make Chan’s heart beat so hard he’s scared it’ll wake you up. 
The first is just before he kissed you; you’re staring at him with brand new eyes, and he’s gazing at you with obvious infatuation. 
The second must be just after midnight, he’s still kissing you but he’s got a hand dangerously low on your back and you’ve got one in his hair. 
The third is when you both collapsed into laughter, and he smiles at the joyful tears in your eyes and matching beaming grins before making it his lockscreen.
He’s not sure why Wonwoo was taking pictures of him instead of kissing his wife, but he’s forever grateful, and he tells Wonwoo just that. These are photographs he’ll treasure for the rest of his life, because they document the start of something great, something real, something he hopes will last forever. 
He can’t wait to print them out, they’ll look perfect on your wall (your apartment is nicer than his and he’ll be moving in as soon as you say the word). 
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AN: Happy almost new year!! ily all 💖 i wish you light and blessings 💫
My Masterlist
936 notes · View notes
dreaming-medium · 7 months
Text
Stray Kids Kinktober Day 7
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Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist
Virginity - Jeongin
Word Count: 9.5k
Summary: Long distance friendships work most of the time. But what about when that friendship was supposed to be more? What about when the distance spans over several time zones instead of cities.
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He’ll always be the one that got away, that’s what you tell yourself. 
But it’s not like he’s gone completely, no, Yang Jeongin is still in your life every single day. He’s just not physically present now. 
The two of you went from spending every single waking moment together to then only seeing him when he’s able to come home during breaks in his idol schedule. 
Which is basically never. 
When he left Busan, he took your entire heart with you.
The night before he left for Seoul, you told yourself over and over again that you were going to confess to him. That you weren’t going to let him leave for stardom without knowing how you felt. 
And if he didn’t feel the same, then the distance would help. 
And if he did… then who knows what would happen. 
But, when the moment came. And Jeongin was hugging you goodbye in his childhood bedroom, you froze. 
“Jeongin, I need to tell you something,” you murmur into his chest during a tight hug. 
His hand runs down the back of your hair, his nose digging into the top of your head to smell your coconut shampoo. 
“What is it?”
Your heart was beating so fast, you thought it might explode. With the way your ear was pressed against his chest, you’re able to hear his heart thudding against his ribs as well. 
He’s probably just nervous about leaving, that’s all. 
Every thought flies from your head. Not a single word of your practiced speeches in the mirror come to mind. 
He’s leaving. He’s leaving. He’s leaving. 
“Y/N?” Jeongin tries to catch your attention by squeezing you tighter. 
“Just…” you trail off, blinking the tears away from your eyes. Your throat constricts and gets tighter and tighter. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”
Jeongin rocks you both from side to side, a thoughtful hum coming from his throat. 
“I don’t think I could forget about you even if I tried, Y/N,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll text you every chance I get, FaceTime and calls too. You know I will.”
The desperation in his voice causes the tears to finally fall down your cheeks. The other half of your soul was leaving. 
Who was going to walk to school with you? Split another menu item with you so that you both could have two different things? Watch scary movies with you and launch popcorn everywhere?
“I know, Jeongin.” A hiccup shakes your chest. “You’re going to be famous before you know it. And you’ll have other famous people lining up to be your best friend.”
“Yeah, well, that spot is already taken.”
Jeongin pulls away from you slowly to look down at your tear-ridden face. 
“No amount of distance will change that, okay? I’m serious.”
You bite your lip and look down at the floor with a pathetic nod. 
Two fingers hook under your chin to bring your eyes back up to his. They’re glossy and brimming with his own unshed tears. 
“Cross my heart,” he hushes and draws an ‘X’ over his chest with his free hand. 
“Cross my heart,” you sob and mirror the action. 
“Now, stop crying. You know you’re an ugly crier.”
“When are you leaving, again?”
-------------------------------------
It’s embarrassing to say, but you did have little faith in Jeongin to keep the promise. 
But you’ll be damned. Because he did so to the best of his abilities. 
No, you two were not attached at the hip anymore, sipping soda through the same straw. But you remained as close as ever. 
Conversation never dulled over texts. 
Sure, there would be periods of time where you would only hear from him once or twice a day. But that’s normal, especially with longer distance friends. 
Also, with a schedule like his, it’s a miracle that you get to hear from him at all. 
The first year was the hardest. When your birthday passed and he wasn’t physically in the room with you at midnight for the first time, it felt like a dagger to the heart. 
Yes, he was on FaceTime with you, but it wasn’t the same; and you both knew it. 
Life continued. It didn’t stop in his bedroom like you thought it would. 
The ache faded. You adapted. He adapted. But your friendship remained constant. 
-------------------------------------
“America?” Jeongin asks bewildered on the phone. 
“It’s a full ride, Jeongin! I’d be stupid not to accept it.” 
You’re laying on your bed, painting your nails with the phone in between your shoulder and your ear. 
“I mean, yeah, but like… didn’t you also apply to the University of Seoul?”
“I did, but they’re not offering me a full ride. You know my family’s financial situation, I have to go where the money is.”
“But… but what about plane tickets and such? Wouldn’t the cost just balance out?” he stutters. His tone sounds strained and choked. 
You almost wish you were on FaceTime right now so you could see his expression. He was never good at hiding secrets from you, you can read him like a book. 
“Not really… I’d probably just… live there for four years and come back when I’m done,” you mumble and then blow on your wet nails. “Jeongin, I really wasn’t expecting this type of reaction…”
The sadness of your voice can’t be helped. 
Jeongin had no idea you applied for the photography program at the California Institute of Arts. It was on a whim that you sent your application in. 
He makes a choked noise on the other end of the phone. “I-I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m happy for you, I really am! I’m over the moon excited! California! That’s-“ he clears his throat. “That’s incredible.”
He’s crying. Yang Jeongin is crying right now. 
You sit in silence for a moment and stare blankly at the wall in front of you. With each word that comes through the phone you can feel your heart breaking. 
“I can’t believe it!” He continues with his fake happiness. “California! Woo… just- just like in those movies we used to watch to-together!”
Clenching your jaw to stop your own tears, you pull the phone away from your face and tap the FaceTime button. 
The line rings a few times before you hear Jeongin gasp and stutter even more. 
“I have to go, Y/N. Chan is calling me to do something!”
“I didn’t hear—“
“Bye, Y/N!”
The line beeps three times to signal he hung up. Your phone displays the failed FaceTime call. 
Numbness floats through your chest for a moment before something harshly tugs on your soul. 
He was expecting you to come to Seoul. To come closer to him, wasn’t he? 
You drop your phone onto your bed and continue to sit there, staring into space. 
Yes, you wanted to go to Seoul with him, you desperately wanted to do that. 
But, you need to think in the long run here! Four years longer away from him in exchange for a lifetime free of debt. 
It’s only four years, max.
Tears prickle your eyes and you grit your teeth to try and stop them. 
Shit, Jeongin. Come on. 
-------------------------------------
You went to America. You made the hard choice, but the right one. And you know it, too. 
Jeongin knew it too. Hidden underneath all of the grief of you moving even further from him, he was endlessly proud and happy for you. 
But now, instead of a two hour train ride, you were an eleven hour plane ride away. Your day was sixteen hours behind his. 
Now, if he texted you and asked what you had for dinner, you would tell him about last nights’ meal or what you were thinking for later. 
There were only about two hours a day where you were able to talk at the same time and it was killing him slowly. 
When your classes for the day were ending, he was waking up for the next day. When you were getting ready for bed, he was finishing lunch. 
If he wanted to FaceTime you at the end of his day, it was the middle of your work day. 
You were losing each other. 
He was able to do two different cities in the same country, but two continents was its own animal. 
Jeongin would lay awake in bed at night, knowing you’re up and moving around. It would haunt him while he tossed and turned. 
Because in his mind, you’re also the one that got away. You were the only reason he almost didn’t audition to become a trainee. 
But, your entire life, you talked about attending the University of Seoul for college. So, he bargained with himself and became a trainee because eventually the two of you would be together. Right?
No.
Now, you’re in America. You’ve been in America for two entire years. 
Making new friends, meeting new people, experiencing everything without him. 
The knife twisted in his gut when he started noticing the same name floating around your conversations when you spoke about friends. 
Ryan. 
It was always ‘Ryan said this’, ‘Ryan did that’, ‘Ryan showed me this’. Jeongin wanted to scream and pull his hair out. 
It was only a matter of time until he got the phone call he was dreading. 
-------------------------------------
Jeongin had just sat down in the living room of the shared dorm when his phone rang. His seven other members were flitting in and out of the room. 
They all knew you very well. Jeongin talks about you so much they would swear you were everyone’s childhood best friend. 
The few times you were able to visit him in person before leaving for America, everyone always got along famously.
He answered your FaceTime call immediately. 
“Hey!” you say as soon as you see his face. “Are you busy right now?”
“No, not at all. We don’t have anything until later today. What time is it?” Jeongin looks at the clock. “It’s almost 9 PM by you, what are you getting ready for?”
You placed your phone down on your desk. “Well, ah— that’s actually why I’m calling you, I need your advice.”
Felix and Seungmin both walked into the living room, talking quietly and sat down on the couch opposite him. 
“What’s up? Are you okay?” Jeongin asks. 
Both the other boys perk at his tone and look over. 
“I’m um… going on a date tonight. Ryan had asked me out with him tonight. So I wanted your advice on what to wear, since you’re a fashion God.”
The floor beneath him crumbled. His heart fell through the sofa and into the Earth. Even his fingertips go numb. 
A date? You were going on a date? With Ryan? You were going on a date with Ryan. 
You were going on a date. With Ryan. 
“Jeongin?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer for a few moments. His eyes are completely unfocused and spaced out. 
He snaps out of it and clears his throat. “What um— What did you have in mind? It’s getting chilly out, right? Maybe wear a sweater? What about that cable knit one I got you?”
“Jeongin it’s LA! It’s always 70 degrees here.”
“But the restaurant might be cold.”
“I’ll bring a jacket then.” You laugh at him, unaware at the absolute anguish he was feeling. “I was thinking something like… you know that black skirt? That with this new tube top I got aaaand my knee high boots.”
“No.” He answers quickly, your face falls. “Why don’t you do the top with jeans?”
“It’s a nice place.”
“M-Maybe a dress then.”
“Jeongin.” 
Seungmin And Felix were watching everything unfold in front of their eyes. It was like a car crash, they couldn’t look away. 
Jeongin kept going, “I really liked that long sleeved red one you wore for Christmas last year.”
“Jeongin..”
“And if that doesn’t work I just think the sweater is the best option here.”
You stay silent, letting Jeongin finish his ramblings. 
There’s a solid fifteen seconds of silence between the two of you before you spoke up on the other line. “Are any of the other boys in the room with you?”
Jeongin immediately looks over at Felix and Seungmin. “Yeah, Min and Lix are here.”
You nod a few times, refusing to look at the camera. 
“I gotta go, Jeongin. I’ll text you later, okay?”
“Y/N.”
“Bye. I’ll text you when I get home safe.”
“Y/N, wait!”
Three beeps signal the end of the phone call. 
He sits there for a long moment, just holding his phone in his hand before he drops it onto the coffee table. 
His heart is shattering into a million pieces. 
Jeongin buries his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. 
Both of the other boys sit there, unsure of what to do next. They glance at each other and then back to Jeongin, who hasn’t moved. 
“Jeongin…” Felix calls out gently. 
The boy lifts his face up from his hands and looks over at his friends. “What am I supposed to do? A date. She’s going on a date. And I’m on the other side of the world.”
His throat bobs with a gulp and he pulls at his pants anxiously. 
“Jeongin.” Seungmin tries to grab his attention. “I think she was just looking for support.”
He’s right. He’s completely right, but Jeongin is so blinded with jealousy he can’t think straight. 
“I’ve loved her since we were thirteen and she’s going on a date with someone else.”
“You don’t even know if it will last.” Seungmin tries to comfort him. 
“They’re already super close, she talks about him all the time, it’s always ‘Ryan, Ryan, Ryan’. He’s her new best friend, not me. She was supposed to come here, to Seoul, not go to America. And we were going to.. we were going to–” He chokes up and can’t get it out. 
Jeongin abruptly stands up from the couch and snatches his phone off the table. 
“I’m going for a walk.”
And with that, he was gone. 
-------------------------------------
He won’t answer any of your texts or calls. 
It’s been two weeks since your date with Ryan and you still haven’t heard from Jeongin. 
It feels like a giant punch in the gut. 
All you want to do is talk to him but he’s nowhere to be seen. He hasn’t even sent you a text to say he’s busy or when he can finally talk again. 
Just radio silence. 
You thought about texting one of the other members to try and get through to him, but it feels so high school that you decide not to. 
All you want to do is talk to your best friend. 
But he doesn’t want to talk to you, it seems. 
It has to be because of the date. There’s no other explanation behind it. Everything was fine until you told him you were going on a date. 
You’ve been here for two years now! Did he expect you to stay single forever?
Just because he has a dating ban, doesn’t mean you do too. 
The more you think about it, the angrier you get. The smoldering ashes of your rage don’t dim. Not one bit, they just simmer and flicker on. 
It all bubbles and reaches a boiling point one Friday where you’ve had entirely too much to drink. 
Your friends dragged you out to a frat party where you drank yourself stupid. Nothing eventful happened at the party, but when you stumbled into your apartment and you were left alone with your phone, it all hit a head. 
[March 3 11:48 PM] 
Y/N: I’m home safe.
[March 4 4:22 PM]
Y/N: How’d your day go?
[March 5 7:31 AM]
Y/N: Jeongin please talk to me. I have so much to tell you
[2:01 PM]
Y/N: I saw a cute lil baby Fox on my way to class this morning, made me think of you :) 
[March 13 6:12 PM]
Y/N: You’re just going to keep ignoring me, huh?
[March 19 3:58 AM]
Y/N: YanG Jeongin. 
Y/N: you can’t fucking  ignore me forever 
Y/N: or maybe you can. 
Y/N: is that what you want???? Me to be gone????? All these fucking years of friendship down the drain????
Y/N: well fuck you too, I guess 
[4:02 AM]
Y/N: I got hired for your stupid fucjing group’s world tour. For when you come to America
Y/N: I fucking begged my professor to give me the gig for a project. It’s an internship. Was gunna see you next week and everythinfg 
Y/N: surprise, asshoke
Y/N: and now you won’t fucking talk to me. Do you realize how petty you’re being? How childish? Over what? A guy?????? I cant fucking back out now, my professor would kill me. 
[4:09 AM] 
Y/N: the whole tour I was gunna spend with you
Y/N: fuck you, Yang Jeongin. 
Y/N: and your stupid fucking childishness. 
Y/N: why cant you just be fucking happy for me for once. 
Y/N: it took me so long to get over you. Why do you keep doing this to me? 
[4:14 AM]
Y/N: Was I supposed to wait forever?
-------------------------------------
Jeongin stepped out of the shower and looked at his phone. 
Fifteen unread messages from you. It’s 4 AM in America, why are you awake right now?
He was so embarrassed over the way he acted two weeks ago that he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you. 
But my god, he only made it worse. 
Jeongin goes through every single emotion while reading your texts. You were going to be one of their photographers for the Manic tour? 
You were going to travel with them?
His thumbs quickly tap his phone and as he’s about to click the phone call button, he freezes in his tracks. 
‘It took me so long to get over you. Why do you keep doing this to me?’
‘Was I supposed to wait forever?’
His entire face drops, the excited palpitations of his heart turn sour and what feels like a knife is stabbed through his chest. 
Fuck fuck fuck. 
He stares down at his phone for what feels like an hour before he hurries out of the bathroom and right into Chan’s room. 
Chan looks over at his member with a startled expression. 
“Jeongin? Everything alright?”
“No, no everything is not alright.” He thrusts his phone into Chan’s hand. “What do I do? What should I say?”
Chan looks down at the phone with wide eyes, he quickly scans over the text. His face seems to go through all the stages of grief that Jeongin’s did, just a bit more watered down. 
“You have to call and apologize, Jeongin. She’s definitely a bit drunk right now, but you need to call her.”
Jeongin gulps and his hands clench and unclench several times before he takes his phone back from Chan. 
“Can I sit in here while I do it?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He sits down on the edge of Chan’s bed, staring down at his phone like a deer in headlights. 
Chan just stares at him, not knowing what to do. 
“What do I even say, Chan?”
“How about you start with ‘I’m sorry I was a dick and ignored you’?”
Jeongin groaned and curled in a bit, his jaw clenching with anxiety. 
His thumbs move around the screen, but they don’t tap the call icon. 
Chan watches. “It’s in the top right.”
“I know!”
“Well you weren’t doing anything.”
“Agh!”
Before he could second guess himself, he tapped the call icon and held the phone up to his ear. 
It rings … and rings… And rings…
It doesn’t even go to voicemail. Jeongin’s heart drops through Chan’s bed. 
He brings his phone away from his ear and checks that it’s your number he dialed. 
It is. 
He hangs up and immediately tries again. 
It rings … and rings… And rings…
Chan’s eyes follow him closely. His face falls when he figures out what’s going on. 
“Jeongin…” he whispers and wheels his chair closer to him on the edge of the bed. 
Jeongin doesn’t listen. He hangs up and tries again with shaking fingers. 
“I’m sure it’s just a bad connection, right?”
It rings … and rings... And rings…
He hangs up again with a cry. 
When he looks down at your conversation he sees another notification. 
[8:15 PM]
[Y/N has stopped sharing their location with you.] 
You blocked him. You really blocked him. 
“She’s drunk, Jeongin. Give it until the morning, yeah?”
Jeongin stares at his phone for a long moment. “Yeah.”
-------------------------------------
The next morning was filled with embarrassment and shame on your side. 
When you rolled over with a groggy mind and upset stomach, the first thing you did was check your phone. 
You were still in your dress from last night, your makeup was now smeared all over your face and onto your pillowcase.
A few texts from friends, a couple from Ryan, Instagram notifications, Snapchat, nothing from Jeongin. 
Your face pulled into an ugly sneer for a moment before it quickly morphed into horror when you tapped on your conversation. 
“Oh my god.”
You sat up quickly in bed, and almost immediately regretted it with how your stomach lurched and head spun. 
Rereading all the texts, you wanted to slam your hungover ridden head over and over again into the wall. 
You stopped sharing your location with him? Why would you…?
Oh, shit. You blocked him, didn't you?
Your hand runs through your matted hair nervously and you stare down at your phone. 
“You dramatic bitch!” You curse yourself and gnaw at your lip. 
What do you do? What do you do?
Obviously, you tap around to his contact and unblock his number. 
The texts immediately flood in. 
[March 19 4:25 AM]
Jeongin: Y/N, im so sorry
Jeongin: please answer 
Jeongin: Y/N please unblock me
[4:31 AM]
Jeongin: I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to go about apologizing 
Jeongin: you’re halfway across the world right now, Y/N, please. 
Jeongin: why can’t you just be a two hour train ride to Busan anymore. 
[4:38 AM]
Jeongin: I miss my best friend, please
Jeongin: I’m so endlessly proud of you. I brag about you every single day.
Jeongin: that picture you took of the Seoul skyline is still my background. The one with our hands. 
Jeongin: I like that it makes me think of you each time i open my phone
[4:44 AM]
Jeongin: i knew you couldn’t wait forever, that’s why it hurts so bad, Y/N
Jeongin: why did I choose this path? It hurts so bad, Y/N
Jeongin: i care about you so deeply
Jeongin: you’re the only one for me
Jeongin: when you left for LA, you took every part of me with you. 
[4:57 AM]
Jeongin: im so proud of you, Y/N. I guess I’ll just see you starting next week for the tour. 
Jeongin: i’ll wait for you
Jeongin: cross my heart
“Fuck,” you whisper, your voice cracking. Tears welling up in your eyes. 
Is he serious? 
What are you supposed to do right now?
A text from Ryan comes in as you’re staring at your phone. 
[12:41 PM]
Ryan: did you still want to come over tonight?
-------------------------------------
A week passed. 
Another entire week without talking to Jeongin. 
It was like color was slowly draining from your world. 
You know you should reach out to him, but shame and embarrassment kept blocking your path to your best friend again. 
But now, you had no choice. 
You stood in front of a large office building, your bag slung over your shoulder, heart in your throat. 
Once you stepped inside this building, it would be the first time in over two years that you and Jeongin were inside the same walls. 
If you had pictured this moment just a month ago, you would’ve been kicking open these doors and sprinting through the halls until you finally laid eyes on him again. 
But now, you find that it feels like your feet have melted into the concrete sidewalk. 
Looking down at your watch, you see that you still have another thirty minutes before you have to be in the meeting. And your mouth is painfully dry. 
A bell dings to your right and you see a coffee shop. 
Perfect. 
You quickly turn and walk into the shop, the same bell dinging to announce your arrival. 
The barista welcomes you in, takes your order, and tells you your total. 
As you’re fumbling for your wallet, an arm reaches out from behind you and swipes their card to pay for your coffee. 
“Oh, thank you! You didn’t have to—“ you turn and your breath catches. 
None other than Bang Chan stood behind you with that charmingly bright smile. 
“Hi Y/N,” he beams. 
“Chan!” you squeal and wrap your arms around him. You completely forgot everything for a moment, especially when he envelopes you in his strong arms. “What a nice surprise!”
“Hi, Y/N,” he says into your hair.
A throat clears behind you so you jump apart to apologize to the barista. She just laughs and takes Chan’s order. 
The two of you stand off to the side to wait for your drinks. 
“How was the flight in?” you ask, bouncing on the balls of your feet. 
“I’ll be honest, I slept through the whole thing, so I’m not sure.”
“It’s probably the only sleep you’ve gotten this week, hm?” 
Chan laughs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. 
The barista calls out a name.
Chan shifts from foot to foot. “I know what happened.”
You tense up and look down at your feet. 
“How much does he hate me?” 
If you’re being honest, you really don’t want to hear the answer. 
Chan scoffs, “Hate you? He doesn’t hate you. He’s just hurt, Y/N. The same way you are. You both hurt one another.”
Looking off to the side, you cross your arms. “Yeah, well. He started it.”
“Don’t be childish.” He nudges you playfully with his elbow. “Distance is hard for close relationships. It was a miracle that you two went this long without a fight.”
You nod your head and bite your lip. 
“I miss him so much.” 
“He’s just across the street, you know.” 
You laugh which causes Chan to laugh.
The barista calls out your name and then says Chan’s right after. 
“Come on, Y/N,” he loops his arm through yours and you both walk out of the coffee shop and into the office building. 
You sip your coffee nervously, the taste is barely hitting your tastebuds with how preoccupied your mind is. 
The elevator ride up to the appropriate floor is simultaneously the longest and shortest ride of your life. 
What’s the worst that can happen, Y/N? He punches you in the face? Pushes you down the stairs? Maybe grab your coffee out of your hand and dump it over your head?
As if he ever would. 
The doors open and you both step out of the elevator. 
Loud voices carry down the hall and you giggle. 
“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you guys in person and not over a phone.”
“It’s louder in person.” Chan sighs and leads you down the hall. 
Each step is a death march of sorts. 
The conference room door swings open before Chan could grab the handle. 
Your heart rate spiked and then flatlined. 
Jeongin stood there with wide eyes and parted lips. He stared at you with every single emotion known to man. 
“Hi Jeongin,” you whisper, holding your coffee tighter. 
He says nothing. 
Jeongin steps out of the doorway and wraps you up tightly in his arms. One hand on the back of your head, the other on your waist. 
A surprised noise leaves your lips and your eyes widen. 
The coffee cup is taken from your hand by Chan who slinks into the conference room, the door closing softly behind him. 
Without a second thought, you return the hug. 
When your arms wrap around him too, a sigh of relief leaves Jeongin’s mouth and his shoulders slump inwards even more. 
He didn’t expect you to hold him. He didn’t expect you to even want to see him. 
Your arms tighten around his body and it feels like ice thawing from his heart. 
Jeongin’s throat tightens and he buries his face into your hair, inhaling deeply. 
He hasn’t held you in so long. He’s missed your touch so badly. 
Jeongin, who hates skinship, couldn’t wait to have you touch him. 
Your hand begins to rub circles on his back and he melts into you like a puddle. 
“I’m so sorry, Jeongin,” you whisper. 
The dams of his heart begin to crack and break. Every pent up emotion he’s felt for the previous three weeks bubbles to the surface. He stifles a sob and holds you tighter. 
“No, please, I’m sorry, Y/N.” His chest sputters with a cry. 
You pull back from him and look up at him with red, glassy eyes. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?” you push out a laugh in between tiny cries.
You’re trying with all your might not to let the tears fall down your cheeks.
Jeongin isn’t doing much better. His eyes are red and you can see the tears brimming in them.
Three weeks, you haven’t talked. It was the longest span of time the two of you went without speaking ever. 
You reach up and cup both of his cheeks. Jeongin’s eyes close and he leans into your touch.
“I missed you so much, Jeongin.”
He winces at your words and his lips pull into an even deeper frown,
Jeongin brings his hand up to cup yours against his face. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” he repeats.
You step closer to him and press your lips to his cheek. Jeongin gasps under his breath and stiffens underneath you. The skin underneath your lips heats up.
“I forgive you, Jeongin.” You smile and back away from him. He watches you closely with wide eyes. “It’ll take more than that to get rid of me, you know?”
He smiles sheepishly and nods. “I forgive you too, you know.”
The elevator pings behind you and your new boss walks out with another important looking man. 
He smiles kindly at you. “Let us get this meeting started, no?”
-------------------------------------
The first concert went off without a hitch. 
Because of your position, you’re traveling with the entire crew and the members. Sleeping in the same hotels, going to the same restaurants, using the same transportation.
Sometimes you feel like a ninth member.
The boys all stood on stage with their hands interlocked to take their first final bow of the tour. You smile behind the camera and make sure to get all of them in the shot.
Jeongin spots you from the stage and smiles directly at you in the media pit. Your smile pulls even brighter and you focus the camera on him for some solo shots.
He winks once before turning to wave goodbye to some Stays in the floor seats.
Your heart flutters, it’s the happiest you’ve been in weeks. Hell, maybe even months.
All of the members exit the stage soon after and you walk with your security escort backstage.
You’re able to hear them before you see them. They’re as loud as ever, yapping about how well everything went, how happy they were to see so many Stays, how they can’t wait for the next show.
When you turn the corner to the dressing room with a bright smile on your face, they all turn and look at you.
“Congrats, guys!” you cheer and clap for them.
They all beam and say thank you. 
Jeongin crosses the room to stand by you. He still has his beanie on.
“What did you think?” he asks happily.
“I loved it! I think I took close to two thousand pictures. Maybe more. I’ll have to go through them on my laptop later.”
“That can wait!” Minho calls from the back of the dressing room. “We’re celebrating tonight!”
“Celebrating how, Mr. Lee?” you tease and hear his signature giggle.
“With booze and games back at the hotel.” Jisung answers for him. 
“Oooh,” your mood brightens. “I’m always up for that. You’re right, pictures can wait.”
“Great, then it’s settled.” Jisung claps his hands together once. “One hour, we all meet in my room.”
-------------------------------------
They were not joking around with the amount of booze on his hotel counter. You would swear you were at another frat party.
In your cup, you were nursing your third rum and coke of the night. You made the mistake of asking Changbin to make this one. After the first sip you knew this one was going to have to be taken slow. 
Everyone was sitting in various seats in the room, some on the bed, some on chairs or the floor. The TV was playing a movie that no one was paying attention to.
“Okay, Felix, truth or dare.” Hyunjin asks.
“Truth– no, dare– no, truth.”
“Final answer?”
“Truth.”
“Who was the last person you stalked on social media?” Hyunjin asks, taking a sip of his drink.
“Ah,” Felix thinks for a moment with pink cheeks. “Oh! An old friend from Australia.”
“Just a friend?” Minho jokes.
“Yes, yes, just a friend.” Felix laughs, waving him off. “Y/N, truth or dare?”
You perk up from your seat on the couch. Jeongin sat on your left, his entire side flush with yours.
“Um, truth, I don’t feel like getting up.”
“What’s your body count since you went to America?”
Your eyebrows raise and you cock your head to the side.
Jeongin stiffens up noticeably next to you, he practically jokes on the drink that he was taking a sip of. “Felix, you can’t just–”
“Two.” you answer quickly and take a large swig of your drink.
Jeongin’s head whips around to look at you as if you just shot everyone in the room. You stare back at him with a confused face.
“What?” you ask, getting defensive. Embarrassment crawls up your neck. “I know it’s not a lot, but I’ve been focused on class and everything, you know?”
“No, I just– I didn’t think that–” Jeongin stutters and looks everywhere but at you. “I didn’t know and you–”
“Tell you everything? I didn’t think you wanted to hear about it.”
“Was it Ryan?” he blurts without thinking.
Your face pulls into a shocked, angry expression. “Excuse me?”
“Was one of them Ryan?” he presses further. The alcohol gave him loose lips. 
“Why would–”
Chan interrupts the two of you, “Anyway! Your turn Y/N.”
You stare at Jeongin for another couple of moments before looking away at the group of men. You shake your head in disbelief before taking a deep breath. 
“Seungmin, truth or dare?”
-------------------------------------
“You know you didn’t have to walk me back to my hotel room, it’s only one floor up.”
Jeongin insisted on walking you back up to your room when everyone started turning in for bed. The hotel hallway was eerily quiet compared to the noise filled room that the two of you just left.
“You never know what could happen in a hotel hallway.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck nervously.
The two of you take the stairs up to your floor and walk in silence until you reach your room.
“Oh, wait. There was a picture I took tonight that I want you to see! Really quick, come on!” You quickly unlock your door and drag him into your room. 
Jeongin stumbles in and looks around. Your room is spotless, just a few clothes strewn about. 
You walk over to your camera sitting on the desk and pick it up, looking through the pictures for the one you wanted to show him.
He watches you closely, your face is only illuminated by the small screen display. Your tongue is sticking out between your lips in concentration. 
Two? You slept with two people since you’ve been in America? Jealousy began churning deep within his gut and coursing through his veins.
He’s been so busy with being a trainee, then debuting, then training and rehearsing and recording that he hasn’t… he hasn’t been able to be with anyone. Nor has he wanted to. Because none of the people he could have were you.
Jeongin was so hopelessly devoted to you.
Your phone dings on your desk and you look over at it, an angry sneer twitches at your lips and you roll your eyes and then look back at your camera.
“What was that?” Jeongin asked, stepping closer towards you.
You look at Jeongin, then at your phone, then to your camera. “Nothing, you don’t need to worry about it.”
Jeongin lifts a brow curiously. You look back up at him and roll your eyes.
“It’s Ryan.”
Oh, Jeongin saw red for a moment. But, he kept it to himself to the best of his abilities.
“How’s that going, by the way?” Jeongin asks. He really does not want to know the answer. But, morbid curiosity got the better of him.
You hesitate, your finger stops moving on the camera to scroll through the album.
“It didn’t work out.” you tell him without looking up.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
You bite your lip and look up at him. “Are you? Are you really, Jeongin?”
Jeongin is taken aback by your small outburst. “Y/N, I–”
“Because you seem to be super invested in him, Jeongin.” you lower the camera, staring Jeongin in the eye. “Every time I bring him up, your eye twitches. You can’t fool me, I know you too well. I know you hate the guy.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“Then what if I did fuck him?”
Jeongin scoffs and looks away angrily, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t care.”
Oh, he cares so much. His skin is fucking crawling.
“Look at me, Jeongin.”
His jaw clenches and he hesitates.
You put your camera back on the table and cross the final few steps until you reach him. You reach out and grab his chin between your thumb and pointer finger, forcing him to look at you.
Jeongin’s eyes widen and he stares at you.
“Look at me and tell me you don’t care.”
His face twists in anguish. He stares deeply into your eyes, flickering back and forth between them. His mouth screws up in a frown, eyebrows pulling together.
He gulps.
“Say it.” you push. “Say you don’t care if Ryan fucked me.”
“I…” he opens his mouth and promptly shuts it. He swallows again. “I can’t.”
“Why?” you hush.
The grip on his chin tightens even more when he tries to look away from you.
Alcohol thrums through both of your bodies to create a pleasant buzz and lift your confidence levels with one another. 
“Why, Jeongin?”
“Because!” he cries out. His arms uncross and he grabs both of your shoulders tightly. “Because maybe I want to be the one fucking you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”
You’re taken aback for a moment. Truly, you didn’t expect him to be so crass.
“Because maybe I would lie awake in bed at night thinking about being your one and only.” Jeongin steps towards you and you back up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. “Because you drive me fucking crazy and I want you all to myself. Because I can’t stop thinking about fucking you into my mattress every single night!”
Your hand drops from his face but he snatches it up in his own larger one. 
“Do you understand how bad I want you?” he whispers harshly. His nose is scrunched up and he’s talking through gritted teeth. “I’ve wanted you so badly for so many years. I can’t even look at anyone else because you exist. I’ve only ever had eyes for you. No one else exists, no one else makes me feel like you do.”
“How do I make you feel?”
Jeongin stares at you for a moment before he brings your hand down to press at the crotch of his pants.
Through his sweats you can feel just how hard he is. Both of you whimper at the touch.
“I want you so bad, it hurts.” Jeongin begs. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I want you to be my first. I can’t be your first, let me be your last.”
Your heart is hammering against your ribs. 
Is this really happening?
“Please, Y/N,” Jeongin whimpers. “I’m begging you.”
He’s begging you to take his virginity right now? Right now?
“Now?” you ask, bewildered.
His dick twitches in your hand and he closes his eyes in what looks like pain, but you both know it’s pleasure.
“Please.”
The tension in the room snaps. 
“Jeongin.” you grab his attention.
His eyes snap open and look at you.
“Kiss me.”
He gasps, cock jumping in your palm again before he smashes his lips against yours with a grunt. 
He’s absolutely devouring your mouth with his. It’s wet and sloppy and completely inexperienced. But what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm.
Moans are slipping from his lips left and right as your tongues intertwine together.
Your hand slides from his dick up his body to tangle in his hair. Your other reaches up and you grab one of his from your shoulder to place it on your waist. He paws at your shirt with his long fingers.
You nip gently at his bottom lip and he moans.
“Am I dreaming?” he whispers against your mouth.
You reach around and pinch his side. He yelps and jumps a bit. 
“No, not dreaming.”
He swoops down and locks your lips once more. Your fingers massage his scalp and comb through his hair. 
You part from his lips for a second to yank your shirt off. Jeongin watches you with hungry eyes, he’s trying so hard to maintain eye contact with you, but he keeps glancing down at your chest.
“Yours too.” You point at his shirt.
It looks like he practically ripped the thing off. It flies off the top of his head and onto the floor. His bare arms come around your exposed waist, his lips searching for yours.
He’s frantic in his movements, like if he isn’t kissing you, he might die.
You grab his hands and bring them up to your bra clasp.
“I don’t–”
“Learn.” you hush against his lips and suck on his bottom lip. He moans and his fingers grasp at the clasp clumsily. 
He’s so focused on trying to unclasp your bra that you take the opportunity to kiss his jawline with an open mouth. Your teeth nip at his sharp jawline and he gasps.
Down his neck you trail your hot, wet kisses. 
With each passing moment, you can feel his desperation growing and growing. A frustrated whine comes from his chest when he can’t get it.
You bite his collarbone harshly and his knees buckle slightly, but he keeps himself up.
“Y/N!” he cries out, pulling so hard at your bra you think it might snap in half.
You giggle and have mercy on him. You reach behind yourself and unhook your bra in one movement.
It drops to the floor and this time, Jeongin has no reservations about staring at your naked chest. His lips part and his own chest starts heaving with pants. 
Another laugh comes from you. 
His eyes flicker up to yours for a split second.
“Are you going to touch me or just stare?” you tease him with a sultry smirk.
Both of his hands come up and cup both of your breasts in greedy handfuls. You moan at the sensation and wrap an arm around his neck, bringing your lips back to his.
Jeongin fondles your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples gently. Your back arches into his touch.
“Do it again,” you breathe out. He immediately follows your command, pinching and rubbing at the sensitive buds. Every single one of your noises is swallowed by his wet, swollen lips.
His kisses leave your lips and travel down your neck. They’re too gentle and innocent for your liking. 
“Fuck, bite me, Jeongin.” you beg.
Without any hesitation, his teeth sink into where your neck meets your shoulder. You cry out and roll your hips into his. 
The hands on your tits stutter in their movements before speeding up, the lust consuming his brain. 
He bites again and again just to feel your hips move against his, to hear your moans right next to his ear.
The tent in his gray sweats seems painful at this point. He continues to rut against your body for any sort of relief. 
Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull his mouth off your neck. HIs lips break their suction seal with a pop and he looks into your eyes.
He already looks so fucked out it sends a bolt through you.
“Let me make you feel good,” you whisper against his lips. 
If it’s his first time, you want it to be memorable. 
He doesn’t put up a fight at all. His mind is completely gone, he just nods over and over again. You could tell him ‘jump’ and he’d say ‘how high?’.
Your hands slide down his sculpted chest, mapping out each of the muscles. Jeongin keens under your touch, closing his eyes and sighing in pleasure.
When your hands get to the top of his pants, you quickly slide them down, taking his boxers with them. 
Gray sweats pool around his ankles and his long, hard cock bobs as its set free from its fabric confines. 
Jeongin hisses when the cold hotel air hits him.
You lean up on your tiptoes and capture his lip between your teeth for a moment at the same time you grab his dick gently.
The whine he lets out is sinful.
He’s been dreaming of your touch for so many years, and now that your hand is finally wrapped around him, he can’t believe it. 
You release his lip and it snaps back into place.
Slowly, you slide your hand up and down his cock. So much precum is weeping from the head of his cock. Every movement pulls a noise from Jeongin. 
“Sit on the edge of the bed, Jeongin.”
He gulps and obeys your order, his cock standing proud between his parted legs.
Jeongin watches you closely as you sink down to the ground onto your knees. He fists the sheets on either side of his body with white knuckles.
He has to be dreaming. This has to be one of his wet dreams where he wakes up with ruined pants and sheets. 
Settling between his thighs, you run your hands up his legs. Jeongin watches your movements with a fucked out expression. The way your fingers glide over his skin raises goosebumps. 
One of your hands comes out and grabs his cock with a gentle, yet firm, grip. His eyes snap shut and he can’t stifle the moan that punches from his chest. 
His cock is so slippery from his own precum that your hand glides over the skin easily. 
You pump him up and down for a bit, alternating your grip from firm to gentle, changing the tempo from fast to slow.
His hips won't stay still on the bed, he can’t keep still even if he wanted to. The pleasure from your hand is fucking killing him. It’s all consuming.
You smirk. “Jeongin, look at me.” 
He cracks his hazy eyes open just to see you lean forward and lick a fat stripe up his entire cock.
Jeongin cries out and his head tilts back. His hips jump around and his legs feel like they go numb.
You open mouth kiss down the sides of his shaft.
The pleasure shoots up his spine, he can practically taste the electricity. 
Just when he thinks it can’t get better, you wrap your entire mouth around him and sink down to take as much of his cock as you could without gagging.
His hand flies to your hair and grips tightly. The strands weaving through his lithe fingers.
Up and down, you bob on his shaft, making sure to let the saliva pour from your mouth and down over his balls. 
Jeongin doesn’t even realize how hard he’s pulling your hair until you moan around him. He cries out at the vibrations and pulls even harder. 
Your other hand wraps around whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth. 
He’s on cloud nine, he can barely breathe. Every intake of breath takes his full concentration, you’re making him feel so fucking good.
No matter how many times he’s touched himself and imagined it was you, it could never compare to the real thing.
His eyes follow your head, watching his cock disappear into your mouth as you stare back at him with those sinfully innocent eyes.
You’re going to be the fucking death of him. 
He’s only able to last for a few moments with your mouth on him before Jeongin is panting out.
“Y/N, you- you gotta, ha– You gotta stop or– or I’ll– fuuuuck– Im c-close and I– hng! But I wanna–! I wanna–! I wanna fu-huck you!”
You swirl your tongue around his head and pop off his cock, sit dribbling down the sides of your mouth.
“You wanna fuck me, Jeongin?” you ask him with a sweet tone. It fucking kills him.
“Yes,” he pants out, “It’s all I want.”
“You’re gonna let me pop your cherry?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes. After you ask that, you lean over and bite his inner thigh.
Jeongin yelps and tightens the hand in your hair. 
An embarrassed flush covers his neck and ears. “Please, Y/N.” he whimpers. 
Smirking, you stand up from the floor and make quick work of your own sweatpants. Jeongin watches you like a starved man at a buffet. His tongue darts out of his lips and licks them when your panties drop to the ground.
“How do you want me, baby?” you ask him sweetly. 
He tears his eyes away from your naked pussy to look up at you. He gulps.
“How do I…?”
“You want me on top? You want to fuck me from behind? You want to be on top? How do you want me, sweet Jeongin?” Your hand comes out and caresses his cheek. “How do you want our first time?”
His cock jumps at the thought of you in each of those positions.
But one sticks out.
“Need you underneath me,” he whispers, keeping eye contact while his hands come up to rest on your hips.
Your hand cards through his hair. It’s so fluffy.
“Whatever you want, Jeongin.”
Leaning down, you press your lips to his in a sweet kiss. It’s the tamest one you’ve shared tonight.
When you break apart, he chases after your lips, but you crawl onto the bed, laying down and making yourself comfortable on the pillows.
Jeongin follows your movements with innocent, fucked out eyes. He licks his lips again and his eyebrows pull together as he watches you.
You part your legs and run a finger through your sopping wet folds, making a show out of displaying yourself to him. He watches it like a hawk.
Slowly, you bring the finger up and stick it in your mouth, tasting your own juices.
“Come on, Jeongin. You said you were going to be my last.”
He turns and scrambles onto the bed, crawling over you and smashing your lips together desperately. Both of your legs wrap around his waist while he devours your mouth with his own.
His tongue is everywhere in your mouth, licking your own, invading and licking the roof of your mouth, coming out to lick your lips.
When you whimper, you feel his cock jump against your heat. Your hips roll onto his and his hips buck downwards into yours.
Both of you are moaning, panting messes when he pulls away.
“I don’t have a condom.” he says painfully.
“I’m on the pill.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jeongin, please fuck me already. I’ve waited my entire life for this.” you smile up at him with shiny eyes.
His eyes search yours with an equally sentimental look in them.
He nods once and lines himself up with your entrance. His head rubs along your folds a few times, making himself slick.
Your head tilts backwards into the pillows.
“No, please, look at me.” he begs breathlessly.
Immediately, your eyes snap open and you gaze into his.
Two heartbeats pass and he presses into you, his cock invading your soaking walls. The stretch feels so fucking good, you’re so horny for him.
Jeongin is the one that has the harder time keeping his eyes open, his pupils are blown out. His jaw drops in a strained moan, face screwing up almost painfully with how much pleasure is coursing through his veins.
His hips stutter a few times until he bottoms out.
“Holy fuck,” he whines. His hands clenched into fists next to your head. 
“You feel so fucking good, Jeongin,” you praise him, your own voice is fucked out. 
“I’m not going to last,” he cries and buries his face into the crook of your neck.
“Don’t worry about me,’ you coo.
His hips buck again and he whimpers into your skin. 
“Jeongin,” you call to him and he lifts his head. His hair is so ruffled and messy, lips are swollen and wet, cheeks covered in a permanent blush. “Fuck me until you cum.”
His eyes roll back in his head and his hips pull out and slam right back into yours. Both of you cry out, your back arches.
Jeongin continues to fuck into you at a sloppy, harsh pace. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. He looks down at your tits bouncing with each thrust, his head dips down and he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.
“Jeongin!” you cry out and arch into him. He moans around your nipple, biting it gently and rolling it with your teeth.
His thrusts are getting frantic.
He pulls off your tit with a pop and comes up to your face.
“Need you to cum with me,” he murmurs before capturing your lips. “Need it, need it, fuck! I need it, Y/N!”
“Give me your hand.”
He balances his weight on one of his hands and holds out his other one. You guide him down to your folds and press his long, beautiful fingers against your clit.
“Mmmm…” you moan when you guide him to rub in circular motions.
He feels you clench around him and he whimpers into your open mouth. 
“Just like that, Jeongin.” you rasp. “Keep that up and I’ll cum on your cock.”
“Jesus.” 
He rubs faster in some moments, slower in the others. His mind is swimming in the clouds. Everything feels so fucking good. 
Your whines get louder and louder, each one more higher pitched than the last.
“Close, close, close…” you breathe out against his lips. “Hah!”
Thank god. He’s been this close to blowing his load for the last four minutes, but he needed to feel you. He needed it.
“Yes, Jeongin! Yes!”
His thrusts get harder, his rubbing on your clit matches the timing. 
You reach around his back and scratch your nails up his back.
“Come on, Y/N.” he whines. “Cum for me, Y/N. Need to feel you cum around me.”
Your pussy clenches down on him impossibly tight, your head is thrown backwards and your mouth stretches open in a silent scream.
It throws him over the edge, he spills into you with one of the most feral noises he’s ever made in his life. It tears from deep within his chest.
He cums forever, painting your insides white. 
Jeongin buries his face in the crook of your neck as you both come back down to Earth. Your heavy breathing fans out over his back.
One of your hands starts rubbing up and down his naked skin. It’s warm and inviting and he wants to curl into it forever.
He eventually pulls his face away from your neck and looks down at you with stars in his eyes.
“Good?” you ask.
Jeongin laughs and leans down, pressing a kiss to your nose. “It was perfect.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
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munsonkitten · 7 months
Text
It starts small.
Steve buys Eddie a handful of cassettes after the whole Upside Down business. Drops them unceremoniously in Eddie’s lap while Eddie’s laid up in the hospital. Eddie pulls them all out of the plastic bag and lays them out in his lap while Steve stands a few feet away, arms crossed protectively over his torn up middle.
“I got things on your vest,” Steve says as Eddie takes in the titles. “I figured everything in your room’s probably gone now, but I still have your vest, and I’ll — I’ll give it back. When you get out of here. It’s safe in my room. But, just — yeah, the tapes are things you have on it.”
Dio’s The Last in Line, Motorhead’s Ace of Spades, Metallica’s Ride the Lightning, Judas Priest’s Screaming for Vengeance, and WASP’s self-titled album.
“I almost bought you more, but I wasn’t sure what else, and I don’t know much about your music, so I just got those. I was going to bring you my Walkman, but I couldn’t find it,” Steve says. “I think one of the kids borrowed it and never gave it back, actually.”
Eddie still hasn’t said anything yet. He’s still taking in the gift in his lap, can’t even comprehend that Steve wanted to give him more.
“Uh,” Eddie says, trying to get his brain working again. “Yeah. Man. Fuck, dude. Thanks. Seriously. Don’t worry about the Walkman, really. This is nice, Harrington.”
“Yeah, no problem, Munson,” Steve says softly. He goes and sits in one of the chairs in Eddie’s hospital room, and stays there until the kids come running from Max’s overcrowded room to ask for a ride home.
Eddie lays there with his tapes spread out over his lap, and he finds himself smiling down at them. He doesn’t even have anything to listen to them on, but he thinks it might be the most thoughtful gift he’s ever gotten from anyone other than Wayne.
It’s nice, he thinks, that he might be becoming friends with Steve Harrington. It’s nice, he thinks, that even when they’re no longer fighting for their lives, Steve might want to stick around.
He didn’t expect that.
Eddie’s in the hospital for two weeks, and Steve stops by almost every day. He sits for a while, sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes Eddie wakes up and sees Steve sleeping in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. He doesn’t wake him, just smiles to himself because Steve’s tired, but he doesn’t want Eddie to be alone.
It’s been a while since Eddie’s had a friend the same age as him. Jeff and Grant are both two years younger than him, Gareth is four years, and Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair are all five or six years younger. He has friends, but Steve feels different, just a few months younger but already graduated. In a way, it makes Eddie feel younger, still being in high school and all.
He doesn’t really think that should matter, but it kind of does. All his younger friends look up to him, he’s always the one making plans and making sure everyone sticks to them, he’s the one in charge of it all — the older one. But when Steve’s around — Steve, with his real job, and high school diploma, and his nice car, and the brood of children he chases after, Steve, who’s an adult in all the ways Eddie himself feels like he’s not — Eddie feels like he can sit back and let someone else do all of that.
When Steve’s around, it feels like he has someone to care for him and look out for him the way he’s done for the others.
It starts to ease everything he’s carried for so long.
* * *
The next time Steve buys something for Eddie, it’s even smaller.
In fact, it’s so small that Eddie doesn’t even notice it at first because Steve was actually really sneaky about it. Eddie would almost find it cute, if he were allowed to think about Steve that way. He’s not, to be clear. It goes against his Munson Doctrine to have crushes on the jocks, rich kids, and straight boys, of which Steve is all three, but if he wasn’t, then yeah, Eddie would find it cute that Steve is sneaking him tiny gifts when he isn’t looking.
There’s a keychain on his van keys that he certainly didn’t get for himself. He notices it one day during a get together at Harrington’s house. Eddie just got out of the hospital a few days ago, and everyone insisted on throwing a party. Now kids are running around Steve’s backyard, yelling and hollering and trying not to fall in the freezing cold pool. It’s still too early in the spring to swim.
Even Max, barely out of the hospital herself, is being wheeled around in her wheelchair by nothing more than El’s mind powers.
It’s kind of fucking insane, to be honest.
But Eddie needs to go out to his car to get his pain meds because he’s really starting to feel the length of the day in his aching joints and healing wounds, so he grabs his keys off Steve’s counter where he left them, and that’s when he sees it.
A tiny metal bat dangling from his keys.
He knows it was Steve because Steve was the only one in the house when he got here and set his stuff down in the kitchen, and no one else has gone inside since Eddie found his way to the backyard, so of course it was Steve.
Eddie doesn’t mention it, just smiles to himself and runs his fingers over the pointed wings.
He sees Steve looking at him when he comes back into the kitchen. Eddie raises his hand and shakes his pill bottle at him, and without another word, Steve goes to the cupboard to get a glass that he fills with water.
Eddie sets his keys back down on the kitchen counter as Steve slides the glass of water over to him. Steve nods at the keys, and Eddie grins at him.
“Thank you,” Eddie says.
“I have a matching one,” Steve says, turning back toward the sink to look out the window above it. “Just, you know, because…”
He gestures at his torso, and then over at Eddie, and Eddie nods. He gets it.
It makes him feel a little bit closer to Steve. Even if Eddie isn’t allowed to crush on him, he’s happy to have someone who gets him. Who understands what he went through, and feels similar pain.
It’s like Steve’s saying You’re with me now, we’re connected, and you’re not getting rid of me.
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matchingbatbites · 1 year
Text
Steve proposes to Eddie during DND.
He's played about a dozen times since the Vecna ordeal three years ago, just one-off stories with no real consequences, and while it took him a little bit to get a feel for the game, he's finally reached a point where he doesn't feel totally out of place.
It helps that Eddie absolutely lights up every time Steve agrees to play, that his boyfriend tends to go a little easier on the rest of the table because they all help Steve half-fumble through the mechanics. It's worth it when Eddie beams at him for figuring something out first, for suggesting a dumb play that has the table screaming when it works.
It's the summer after the kids' senior year, and when Eddie offers to run an all-day one shot to celebrate their graduation, Steve instantly starts planning. He talks to Robin, who absolutely gushes over his idea, and along with Dustin they plan it all out.
He learns the premise of the one-shot from Eddie - there's a big bad who's been taking people from the kingdom, and the king is finally forced to do something when his own son, the prince, is also taken - and Dustin helps him make a character, a fighter who is the personal guard of the prince, whose goal is to find and bring him back safely.
Eddie seems pleased with the character when Steve explains it to him, even more so when Steve suggests the idea that they've fallen for each other and have been lovers in secret. "You're such a romantic, sweetheart," Eddie says before kissing him, and Steve knows it’s a tease and a compliment, knows that Eddie loves how soft he can get over things like that.
The game happens about two weeks later, and Eddie wasn’t joking when he called it an all-day affair.
They get started at about ten that morning, Steve and Eddie, their four boys, and Erica all crowded around the little dining table in Steve and Eddie's little apartment, with Robin, El, and Max entertaining themselves in the adjacent living room.
At Eddie’s insistence, they take a break every couple of hours so everyone can get up and stretch and use the toilet, with slightly longer breaks for lunch and dinner (sandwiches and pizza, respectively, both provided by Steve and Eddie).
The big bad is defeated at around nine that night, and everyone is elated as Eddie takes them through the aftermath, letting each player character have a short moment to reunite with their stolen friends and loved ones.
Robin and the girls have moved to sit on the nearby kitchen counter to listen, partly because El always enjoys these soft moments in the story, and partly because Robin knows what’s going to happen soon.
Steve stays quiet, letting the others have their moment as he fights down the sudden anxiety that sparks through him, knowing what he’s about to do. He looks up when Eddie says his name, takes a steadying breath, and asks "Do I see the prince?"
Eddie nods, says "You do."
"I go over to him."
"He sees you approaching and he rushes to you, meeting you halfway. As soon as you're close enough, he throws his arms around you and says 'I knew you would save me, darling.'"
Steve smiles. "I say, 'I always will, my love' and then I kiss him."
The teens hoot and holler a little as Eddie grins. "He kisses you back, and for a moment it's like everything else fades to the background. All that matters is him, back where he belongs, safe in your arms."
Steve nods, and before he loses his nerve asks "Can I do something?"
Eddie quirks a brow, curious. "Of course,” he says, and Steve takes a breath to steady himself.
"I take his hand, and then I drop to one knee."
A couple of the teens give little 'ooh's as Eddie looks at him, clearly a little surprised, and Steve continues before he can say anything.
"Three years ago, I took my place by your side as your personal guard. I swore to care for you, to protect you from anything that would want to hurt you, and somewhere along the way, we fell in love."
Steve swallows, knows he's blurring the line of character and person as he speaks, staring at Eddie across the table.
"The last three years have been everything to me. Any time I'm not with you, you're the only thing I can think about, and every day spent with you is a fucking gift, because I know just how close I came to losing you."
The sudden urge to touch Eddie becomes overwhelming and he stands, watches Eddie's shocked face as he rounds the table and drops to a knee in front of his lover. Eddie's eyes are wide and he gives a soft "Steve?" as Steve takes a slender hand in his own, remembers the words he had practiced over and over with Dustin.
"I don't want to be just a fighter anymore. I want to be a paladin, set on a righteous path, and if you'll let me, I want to make an Oath of Devotion. Not to any god or angel, but to you, the love of my life."
Steve pulls the ring from his pocket and offers it to Eddie. It's very much not traditional, and at first glance seems to be just another chunky ring that blends in with Eddie's current selection. But Steve had to get it, the shield molded onto the band and the new 'beloved' engraved on the inside repeating what Steve always says, I'll protect you, I love you.
Eddie is in tears as Steve stares him down, as he gently asks "Eddie Munson, will you marry me?"
For just a second, Eddie is completely still, save for his shaky breathing. Steve doesn't get scared, he knows that sometimes it takes Eddie a second to register things when he's overwhelmed. He waits it out, and after a few seconds Eddie blinks rapidly before jerking forward, dropping to his knees as he throws his arms around Steve. "Fuck yes! Of course I will!"
Cheers erupt through the room, and a flash goes off when they meet in a kiss. Eddie looks over to see Robin with a camera in her hand and tears streaming down her face. “Don’t mind me,” she says, a bit choked up even as she beams at them, and Eddie’s head whips back to Steve.
“You planned this!” he yells, unable to stop his own tears from falling, and Steve laughs. “Of course I did!” is his reply as he takes Eddie’s hand back so he can slide the ring onto it, and he ignores the second flash from where Robin sits.
“Wanted it to be perfect,” Steve says softly, stroking his thumb over the ring, now at its new home on Eddie’s finger. “Wanted you to know how much you mean to me, and I figured something nerdy would hit all the right buttons.”
“I helped with the nerd stuff!” Dustin calls from his seat, and Eddie laughs wetly as he scrubs at the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I should have known something was up with you, Henderson. You’ve been bouncing off the walls for weeks.”
Steve stands up from the floor before helping Eddie up, and they both grunt as Dustin practically slams into them for a hug, quickly followed by a more reserved El. They hug each of the kids in turn and accept their congratulations, and after a few minutes Eddie is put together enough to actually finish out the one-shot.
Later that night as they're getting ready for bed, Eddie presses up behind Steve, one hand sliding to rest on his stomach and the other opening in front of them, revealing a simple, gold band.
"You beat me to it, you dick," he says with so much tenderness, and Steve laughs as he takes the ring.
"You can still do your proposal, if you want," Steve replies, heart swelling as he looks over the band, sees the little 'sweetheart' engraved on the inside.
"Nah, there's no way I can top what you did for me."
"I dunno, you normally top me pretty well," Steve teases, just to hear Eddie's delighted little cackle.
He turns and hands the ring back to Eddie, asks "Put it on me?" and Eddie smiles. He takes the ring and slides it onto Steve's finger, his thumb brushing over shiny metal, and Steve feels so fucking happy as they meet in the middle for a kiss.
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suppose-i-was-worm · 2 months
Text
Like the Beat of a Drum pt 1
It began when Tim’s soulmark came in- fourteen years later than most children. He didn’t tell his parents, already well aware of what they thought of his late/non-existent soulmark.
He knew what society thought of people who were more than ten years older than their soulmate, and he didn’t want to be labeled a cradle-robber, so he discretely bought a patch to cover it with. Being markless was also helpful for being Robin- nothing to identify him by or to threaten his soulmate with.
Bruce said that having a soulmate was fine, as long as nobody ever saw your mark- even Tim hadn’t seen Bruce’s mark, though he knew where it was.
Tim didn’t know if he wanted a soulmate, but he was the first (and only) to admit that he couldn’t wait to meet this “Daniel Fenton”.
What he wouldn’t admit to anyone is that sometimes, when he was feeling particularly lonely, he could hear a heartbeat other than his own, pulsing from the mark just over his sternum. People would think he was crazy, and that was something he couldn’t afford on top of being labeled markless.
Nobody could know that Tim had a soulmate. He almost pitied the kid who got stuck with him.
~~~
Danny hadn’t had a soulmate before he died. He’d never heard a heartbeat that was a perfect harmony to his own, even when he listened hard.
After he’d died, the heartbeat he began to hear was always loud in his ears, and he had a smudged bit of writing on his hip. When he’d gone to Frostbite about the weird new mark, the yeti explained that other universes had soulmates, and their marks might be different from his own universe.
“You’ll find the right one someday, and then your mark will become clear.”
Sometimes Danny tried to imagine what his soulmate would look like. Would they be fine with him being a ghost? Would they treat him like the rest of the world did, with disgust and revulsion and distrust?
Surely not. Soulmate implied that they would be perfect counterpoints to each other. He assumed that meant they would get along.
The mark was always clearer when he was Phantom. Sometimes he imagined it cleared up a little as Danny depending on the choices he made, but he wasn’t sure about that- it’s not like he’d told anyone that he had a weird new tattoo, and it was in an odd place to look at.
He often found himself floating and looking up at the stars on quiet nights, day-dreaming about having someone perfect for him and him alone.
~~~
Tim grit his teeth and kept moving, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest as he fought. He knew he hadn’t been stabbed- that felt different. Clearly, his soulmate was in some kind of trouble.
It’s not like he could do anything for them- he was currently fighting some ninja-cultist-assassin weirdos with Jason.
“We will raise the Ghost King and he shall bring fire upon the world!”
Dick had already swooped in and saved the little girl they were trying to use as a sacrifice, but something had triggered the summoning circle anyways after Tim had tried to mess up one of the lines. It was bubbling neon green, and Tim couldn’t decide if it looked more like the Lazarus pits or more like highlighter ink.
His second heartbeat pounded, a loud drum beneath his hidden soulmark, a soulmark that had been sore for days.
He had worried, of course, that someone was in danger and he couldn’t save them- especially as the fight started and the pain became worse.
To his relief, after the sigil started bubbling, the pain receded, as did the noise, and he could think about other things. Such as the so-called ‘Ghost King’.
With a rumble and a crack like thunder, the green pit spit out a slight figure that hung in midair for a moment, before dropping like a rock onto the place where the pit had been moments before.
Tim knocked out the last cultist and turned to face the new threat, but was instead greeted with a young man with floating white hair, curled up on his side, green blood oozing rapidly from… All of him.
What the hell?
~~~
Danny woke up slowly, feeling all sorts of sluggish. The ectoplasm in the air was thick, so he must be in one of two places- Amity, or the Infinite Realms.
The lack of restraints around his wrists and ankles made him think it was the Realms, but when he pried open his eyes, he was shocked to find himself somewhere altogether unfamiliar.
It was a medbay, of sorts- that he could tell, but from the glass wall he could see a vast cavern, filled with various bits and bobs. He could hear bats distantly chirping above him.
Before moving more than his head, Danny took stock of his situation. He did feel weighed down, yes, but it felt more like blood loss than anything else. There were bandages across his chest, and the heart monitor was letting out a long beep, as if warning everyone in the vicinity that the patient was dead.
Something heavy was taped to his hip, over his soulmark. He winced at the thought- Jack and Maddie had attacked that area with a single-minded intensity, thinking it was the thing that caused him to ‘possess their baby’.
Probably another bandage, but who would go through the trouble of wrapping him up? No one in Amity would, at least, nobody who had the kind of tech he could see. Vlad would just find a way to manipulate him because of his pain, not patch up his wounds.
The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was a tugging at his core, pulling him away from the Fenton lab and into a world of green before that world went black.
“You’re awake.”
Startled from his thoughts, Danny looked to the door to see a young man in primary colors and a domino mask. The stranger tilted his head.
“Can you understand me?”
Danny tried to answer, but all that would come out of his dry mouth was a rasp, so he settled on a nod.
The stranger came closer, bringing with him a glass of water that he held to Danny’s lips.
Suspiciously, Danny took a sip, but all he could taste was clean water, so he drank slowly until the stranger pulled the glass away.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Gotham City, New Jersey.”
Now, Danny hadn’t ever been stellar at Geography, but he was pretty sure he’d never heard of a city called Gotham. Part of him thought that it would be just the right place for Sam to live- Goth-am.
“Would you be up to answering a few questions?”
The stranger was looking at him expectantly, so Danny nodded. Maybe he’d get information if he gave some.
“Wonderful. Do you have a name?”
“Phantom.”
The stranger typed something out into a computer Danny hadn’t noticed before.
“Thank you. Where are you from?”
~~~
“Illinois.”
Tim hadn’t been expecting such a mundane answer from the odd person in the Batcave medbay, but he was well aware that metas came from all over the world, even if they got spit out by Lazarus portals.
“Do you know how you got here?”
Phantom shook his head.
“I was- in the lab, and then everything was green. I passed out pretty fast after that.”
Now, the bats might be emotionally stunted, but Tim was the greatest detective that ever lived, so analytically he was fine. ‘In the lab’ plus the wounds the meta was sporting? That told a disastrous story.
“Can you tell me if anyone else was in the lab with you?”
Phantom paused for a long time.
“I just want to help, Phantom. There might be other metas in danger there.”
“Meta?”
Tim hadn’t expected Phantom to not know what a meta was- that painted an even worse picture than he thought.
He made sure his voice was kind and even when he answered.
“Powered individuals with the meta gene. I haven’t run your DNA yet, I was waiting for you to wake up for permission, but I’m sure you have the gene. There are protective acts in place to stop the abuse of powered individuals- we want to help.”
Much to his surprise, after gaping through his explanation, Phantom laughed!
“No! I’m not- no- my condition- it’s medical, not genetic.”
Tim winced. This poor guy, he’d been brainwashed.
“There wasn’t anyone else in the lab. I saved the rest of us before getting caught.”
Phantom’s tone was airy, but Tim could hear an underlying strength to it.
“What am I supposed to call you, by the way?”
~~~
Danny watched as the stranger went through several stages of grief at his question, and wondered how in the world it had been an odd query.
“I’m- Red Robin. Of the Gotham Bats.”
Oh. That’s why. Danny nodded sagely.
“Sports, I see. Which one requires masks? Cribbage?”
Ope, there went several more stages of grief, perhaps even some as of yet unknown to man.
“No. The Bats are vigilantes. We work with the Justice League, a group of superheroes in charge of world safety.”
Look. Danny might live under a proverbial rock in Amity Park, but superheroes? Never heard of ‘em. Point one to being a different universe.
Well. Point several, he just couldn’t remember the others. Wait a second-
“Are soulmarks a thing here?”
“What? Yes, why?”
Danny shot up, despite the pain in his chest and side and- everywhere.
“Can you show me a soulmark? Do you have one?”
Red Robin’s face shuttered behind the mask, and the heartbeat in Danny’s ears sped up a little.
“I do not.”
“Oh. Sorry. I just- Sorry.”
There was a noise from outside of the medical area, and then a voice called out.
“Red Robin? Is our guest awake? I brought a representative from the JLD.”
The vigilante got up and went out quickly, and Danny felt really bad for hurting him. For a few minutes he was left alone, so he lay back down and stared at the wall.
And then. And. Then.
“YOU!”
Danny shot up into a sitting position again, pointing at the man in the trench coat who came into the room.
Trench coat man looked confused.
Not caring for his stitches or monitors or anything like that, Danny struggled onto his feet, forgetting the pain in his anger.
“Do you, John Constantine, know how much of a pain in my ass you are?” He sneered and let his voice take on a nasally tone. “’Oh Great One, Phantom, lord of the realms and all that shit! John Constantine sold his soul to me, but he sold it to my cousin too! Who gets the soul now?’”
Danny ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“You know who gets his soul now, Constantine? I fucking do! I-“ He flagged- maybe he shouldn’t air out this guy’s dirty laundry in front of strangers? “Anyways, fuck you, dude. Find a way to get me home and never fucking sell your soul again.”
~~~
Tim was honestly shocked that Phantom had been able to move in the state he was in, even with what Tim suspected was accelerated healing.
His extra heartbeat had started pounding a mile a minute the moment Phantom saw Constantine, but Tim ignored it for now, instead focusing on their guest.
When Phantom mentioned being sent home, Tim had to step in.
“I don’t believe that is wise, Phantom. You came to us severely injured. My conscious would not let me send you away without-“
Constantine was backing away from Phantom, so fast that he ran into Dick standing at the door.
“Nope. Not dealing with that. No offense, King Phantom, but you’re above my paygrade.”
Phantom (king?) stood still for a moment, looking lost, but then he drew himself up.
“John Constantine, I am your paygrade. Send me where I’m supposed to be.”
Tim watched curiously as Constantine winced.
“That’s some. Pretty vague wording there, your royalness. That is a spell, that I can cast, but whether it does anything or not?” He shrugged. “Can’t tell.”
Phantom slumped, and then waved a limp hand at Constantine.
“Yeah, I didn’t figure. Sorry I yelled at you. I’ll try not to lord the whole ‘I own your soul’ over you too much. Can you at least get me back to the Realms?”
“It might take me a while. What will you do in the meantime?”
Sighing, Phantom made his way back to the med cot, sitting on the edge gingerly.
“Heal the rest of the way. Haunt an abandoned building. Do whatever the hell ghosts do in this dimension.”
“Ghosts?”
Dick spoke up, and Tim could tell his brother was a little shell-shocked.
Phantom winced.
“I mean, as long as ghosts aren’t like, science experiments in this one. Been there, done that. Not fun.”
Constantine shrugged.
“There aren’t a lot of you running around, you should be fine.” He turned to Tim and Dick. “Bats, don’t cause an interdimensional incident. Phantom may be a good king, but he’s still a king.”
“Only on days that end in y.”
With another shrug, John disappeared in a swirl of tan trench coat.
Tim looked to Phantom, who was scowling at the place that Constantine vanished from.
“Well, your majesty, can we offer you any assistance?”
~~~
With a groan, Danny stood back up off the bed.
“No- I think I’m healed enough to get out of your hair by now. Uh. Thank you for your hospitality and all, but I should be… Trying to find a way home.”
“Whoever is back where you came from wants to hurt you, Phantom.”
Danny wasn’t sure why Red Robin seemed to care so much. Sure, he had pretty much decided that if anything happened to Red Robin he’d ice everyone in the vicinity and then finish the job on himself, but that was just him. He was pretty sure everyone imprinted on the first person they saw in a new reality.
Right?
“There are people I have to protect.”
He had to keep himself from wincing at the half-truth. He’d ordered the ghosts to stay away from Amity Park right before Jack and Maddie had captured him, so they were fine, but he had to protect Jazz and Sam and Tucker from finding out that the Fentons were so awful as to attack their son.
“You have to protect yourself first.”
The other man had stepped into the room.
“You’ve obviously been through something hard, Phantom. Take a break. We can find a safe house for you to stay in until you are feeling better. I’m Nightwing, by the way.”
Danny nodded to Nightwing, and then looked expectantly at Red Robin, who was tapping away at his wrist computer.
“Collectively, the only one of us with a suitable safe house is Red Hood. His have great security systems, but aren’t connected to the bats main computer network in any way.”
He looked up from his computer with a smile.
“Ready to meet a zombie, Mister Ghost King?”
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