#my default is to be like your friend and run

[jimpagne]

Or you could flip it on its head and say that you are acting like a cultist, stupid solo, or ignorant Army because you are refusing to accept that they are, indeed, together. They literally told us this yesterday in big loud letters to shut up those doubting them after the sightings. I really do not know what more these two have to do to make people like you see it, and it is incredibly disheartening, imagine how they feel. They are more devoted, committed and loving than any straight couple I know of personally, and they show us this time over. If you still chose to ignore it because YOU need to hear it in full from their own mouths, than that is on YOU, and again, makes you no different from the cult. How about you leave those who know, who see, respect and support them alone. Thanks

Someone severely lacks reading comprehension, I see.

Where in my post did I ever discredit their bond? All I said was to NOT ENGAGE WITH NOR SPREAD STALKER CONTENT and to be careful before spreading information because it could be potentially false.

I never said to truly write off eye witness accounts, but to do the rational thing and take them all with a grain of salt. Because do you know what taekookers do? They hear a rumor, run with the rumor, and won't let anyone else tell them otherwise. They ignore any other voice of reason, ignore when people in other spaces try to disprove something or provide better insight. They also consistently ignore what HAS been stated and vetted by saying "what this person said is lying", or "Jungkook and Taehyung can't be open about their relationship because they're being controlled by the company", or blah blah blah, whatever suits their narrative.

Do you want Jikookers to end up like that? Is that what you want? For us to have someone come online and say "I saw Jimin and Jungkook at [location] doing [blank]", having everyone spread and believe it without any HEALTHY doubts or any disclaimers, and then later having it proven to be untrue?

Am I saying majority Jikookers move like that? No. Absolutely not. I am saying that if we continue to endorse this behavior, the slope becomes a lot more slippery.

All I was doing was proposing safer techniques to deal with candid information like this, but you only saw me say "don't be like a cultist" and got triggered.

The fact is: Everything is speculative until directly proven otherwise. Theories are theories until fundamentally proven true. If you cannot recognize that, that's a dangerous way of thinking.

Like I said, at the end of the day Jikook being a couple in and of itself is still speculative. That is the cold, hard truth. That's not saying "they're not real" or "they could never happen", that's simply saying that we must respect the possibility of it not being true, and that we should create a somewhat respectful boundary between us and them before making theories and promoting them as 100% facts.

You can believe that they're real, but it's completely normal to hold doubts about something that hasn't been completely confirmed. One thing that is 100% real and 100% vetted is their mutual love and respect for one another as two people who have been friends for well over a decade. They endured some of the greatest hardships of their lives together, so anyone who says that they hate one another of course is completely delusional.

Though it is true that a lot of the claims that Jikookers make are often proven to be true later on, that doesn't mean that every theory made by a Jikooker by default is true. This is why it's important to be mindful.

If you don't understand that, that's entirely on you. If you want to endorse stalking or dangerous behavior by leaking their locations or their hotels, you go on right ahead. Just letting you know that it's scary and dangerous, and I wonder how you would feel if someone followed you around and constantly compromised your privacy to millions of people to get back at the people who 'doubted them'.

Being right at the expense of someone's personal life or security is not always the best. Spreading unvetted information without a disclaimer on the internet is still dangerous regardless of if you have no ill intent behind it.

Also, surprise suprise, I am a Jikooker. I am just one who tries to be mindful about information and sources before completely believing in it. A lot of Jikookers on my timeline were wary about the sources, not because they were antis or moving like taekookers who were desperate to disprove it, but because it's just the natural thing to be inquisitive about secondhand information.

I hope you reread my post and think a little more critically about it before jumping on me <3

[whorrorbvby]

We have. They apologize and make sure to tell me that I mean something to them but they run away. I feel like I'm being pulled and pushed at a whim. I do my best to understand and I believe they aren't doing things with ill intent but it hurts all the same. Feeling like I'm not fully good enough to keep close consistently. I'm good for a couple of days and nights but to never expect them to stay longer than that. I know people that are married that met through this site. Best friends, no, family made here. Some people suck and put on a mask on here but there are also real people on here, and because of that, is why I'll always be real. but it does feel like a curse at times.

i totally get that. honestly it’s kind of why i keep to myself as much as possible. i’ve come to realise the people who are always going on about how ‘real’ they are tend to be the most dishonest and the persona they are projecting is complete bullshit. it’s wild and honestly kind of sad what people will do for attention on the internet but hey to each their own i guess 🤷🏻‍♀️

in the case of your situation though they seem like an avoidant and as much as it sucks there’s really not much you can do to change the situation. you kind of have to either accept that this is how it’s going to be with them coming and going or remove yourself from the situation. it doesn’t have anything to do with you, believe me. avoidants go and stick around where it’s easy if that makes sense? i’m 10000% guilty of doing this as well. if im overwhelmed i just peace out and you won’t hear from me for days, weeks, months, sometimes never again if enough time passes. it has nothing to do with the other person and everything to do with me no matter how much i care about someone. i don’t trust people so if im given positive reinforcement my brain calls bullshit and the more security i’m given the more i push it away. it makes me physically uncomfortable and sometimes even angry but i can’t help it. like i haven’t spooeb to anyone in my family in like 2mo and every time they reach out a rage builds inside of me because i just don’t want to deal with it and then on a random tuesday i could be in a great mood and want to talk to them again and then the next day it will be back to silence.

i’ve also been on the receiving end of avoidance but because i’m just like them i do understand and while it’s beyond frustrating i really can’t hold it against them and im sure you can’t do that to your person either yea? they will continue to do this push and pull until they decide to do the inner work. they have to want to change and be better but change is also really fucking hard and scary. i’m not sure how close you are with this person but you could try and have a conversation about their avoidance and offer a supportive hand if they want to fix your relationship but you have to give them the choice. say, if you want this you have to come to me’ because avoidants want you to chase them so they know you care but by you chasing you’re only reinforcing that their behaviour is okay. don’t completely cut them off, still show you care and support them small ways like 🤍 their posts if they make personal ones or if you follow each other on other socials interact with them there so they know you’re still there for them but don’t message or anything because you’ll just keep setting yourself up for that same dynamic.

it’s hard dealing with an avoidant and it takes a lot of patience and understanding and an open heart but it also take communication like if they’re in a avoidant mood they have to communicate they may disappear and you then have to allow them that space and the opportunity to come back but they absolutely need to communicate. setting boundaries like that and adhering to them is the most basic form of respect you know?

i don’t ever think all hope is lost when dealing with an avoidant and it absolutely has nothing to do with anything you’re doing it’s just you have to make a decision on what it is that you want. if you want to fight then fight but if you don’t think you can handle the potential disappointment or don’t think it’s worth it honestly it would be in your own best interest to let them go.

[sadlynotthevoid]

The queer relationships aside, why do you think wind breaker gets so much? " Mind breaker" " Tokyo revengers rip off " " cringe breaker"

I know nii sensei is Big fan of wakui , you can notice how suo and sugishita designs are influenced by izana and baji. But wbk story is totally different than Tokyo revengers...... Do you think wbk deserves the criticism?

That's the first time I hear that. I haven't seen Tokyo Revengers either so...

What I have seen is people complaining about Sakura's blush tendencies. Something about "it's not funny anymore". So I guess some people don't understand that his blush is not just a recurrent joke, but comes from genuine surprise to people being kind or seeing affection and feeling shy and embarrased because he's not used to this. That probably has to with Sakura being kind of tsundere and how tsunderes are often either girls (in which the trait is often meant to be cute or seen in that way) or boys being mean/tough. Sakura's pov tends to show all his bittersweet and warm feelings, so I guess they don't get it.

I think I saw people complain about the lack of romance between Kotoha and Sakura (not that kind of relationship at all, lol) so, lack of waifus? Not sure.

Again, I don't pay much attention to the general opinion about wind breaker, so I don't know how much or which kind of criticism it gets (oh, there's people who complain about Sakura's "lack of protagonism". I think they should go and take a look at those winx memes about Bloom, lol). People love to complain and no matter what you can't please everyone. Where some will complain about a series having too much fanservice, other will look at other series and complain there's not fanservice. Some people will complain about unrealistic happy endings, other will complain about unnecessary sad endings (yes, I'm calling myself out. I hate unnecessary sad endings). Some people will say SAO is overrated and others will love it. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I do think most series get more negative criticism than they deserve.

If the criticism is about the aforementioned, then I don't think so. If it's about what you said, I don't know the context nor have I seen Tokyo Revengers (I've seen people compare them, but only saying that Wind Breaker was better. Tho I didn't bother watching those videos because the only comparation videos I watch are about food and dance anime scenes), so I don't really get it.

Btw, these questions remind me of when I had to prepare questionaries, polls and the sort for school. It kinda makes me feel like that time I went to the supermarket wearing a red t shirt and an old lady confused me with an employee.

[slimyenemy]

have an engaging in discourse flower yo hope you're having a good day 🫶🌻

[margindoodles2407]

I N D E E D

Fives sketch~

[vamptastic]

for real will never forget the conversation i overheard at graduation practice where these two trucker hat dudes were talking and one casually goes 'yeah idk what i want to do after high school. maybe ill go into real estate'. brother you and what capital.

[dykeadvocate]

class president

pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader

summary: abby promises that she will drop out of the class president race if you let her fuck you in the ass.

content: bully!abby, anal, fingering, strap on, manipulation (dubcon kinda then), degradation, squirting, public sex, name calling, teasing, praise, pussy fucking, slapping, nerd!reader.

For as long as you can remember, you have wanted to be the class president. The importance of the role made you squeal in excitement, and it would look good on your college applications. You thought that you would be the only person applying for the role; nobody else seemed interested in it. So, when you heard that Abby fucking Anderson had applied for it, your stomach dropped and eyes filled with tears. 

Abby has been your bully since you met her. She would slam your books out of your hands, shove you into lockers, throw paper balls at the back of your head, and make your life miserable. For some reason, everyone loved her. She would win the popularity vote by far, becoming the class president. 

The library is quiet and empty. It would be the perfect time to study, but you can’t focus with the disappointment and dread running through your body.

“Don’t lose hope,” your best friend, Ellie, says, trying to comfort you.

You roll your eyes, slumping in your chair. You catch a glimpse of one of Abby’s posters, her stupid face slapped in the middle of it with the words ‘vote for me’ next to it. She didn’t even put any effort into the poster. You put hours into designing yours.

“If I have any hope, it’ll just make it hurt more when I lose,” you sigh. 

“Don’t sound so pathetic.” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Abby’s voice, giving her a chuckle. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, her muscles on display. If you didn’t hate her so much, maybe, just maybe, you would find her attractive. She has a stupid, cocky grin on her face that makes you want to leap out of your seat and right-hook her. 

“What do you want, Abby?” you growl.

She huffs, “God, you’re such a defensive loser. I just want to talk to you. Alone.”

Ellie pushes her glasses to the tip of her nose, frowning. “I’m not leaving so you can bully them without a witness.”

“A witness? Are you serious?” Abby shakes her head with a dry laugh. She whacks the back of Ellie’s head, making her yelp in surprise. “I don’t care who’s watching when I make you both look even stupider than you already are.”

Ellie’s finger shoots into the air, “First, fuck off. Second, I’m actually not stupid, I have a-”

Abby groans loudly, grabbing your arm and pulling you to your feet. You think about fighting her, but you’re curious about what she has to say. She never talks to you in private, no matter how embarrassing the talk is. One time, she told you that your bullet vibrator had slipped out of your backpack in front of half the class. You will never forget that day.

Abby suddenly stops in front of a door, fumbling for a key in her pocket before unlocking it and shoving you inside. The dim light reveals that the tiny room is the janitor's closet. You shuffle, trying to create some distance between you and Abby. The distance is short-lived. Abby slams you into the wall, her hands resting beside your head, trapping you between her and the wall. 

“You wanna be class president, yeah?”

You nod eagerly, “Obviously.” 

“Good. I’ll drop out of the race, meaning you will win by default, if you let me fuck you in the ass, right now.”

You freeze, heat quickly running to your cheeks. You look everywhere but her face as you splutter for a reply, her straightforwardness taking you off guard.

“In the janitor's closet?” is all you can manage to say.

Abby grins, “Yeah, it’s got everything we need.” She gestures to the small wooden table next to you. “Well, what’s it gonna be? My offer runs out in 10…9…8…”

“Okay!” 

“Bend over, then.”

You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest as your chest presses against the table. Never in a million years, would have you considered doing anal, let alone with Abby Anderson. She slowly pulls your pants down, her hand gliding over the mound of your ass. Her finger hooks around your panties, pulling them to the side.

She groans softly, her finger sinking into your hole, your pussy clenching and sucking her in deeper. Her thumb finds your clit, and you shudder.

“Y-You just said that you would only fuck me in the ass.”

“Do you want me to fuck you dry or something, idiot?” 

You shake your head, gripping onto the table like it were your life support. Abby toys with you for a while, her fingers slipping out to slap your thighs before slamming back into you, keeping you on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Holy fuck,” she moans. “I knew you were slutty, but I didn’t know you were this slutty. You’re dripping all over me, and you haven’t even come yet.” 

You whimper, her wet fingers pulling out of your pussy leaving an uncomfortable feeling of emptiness to circle the rim of your tightest hole. Slowly and carefully, she pushes her middle finger inside of your ass, hushing you as you start to squirm and whine. It stings at first, but quickly dulls; the pleasure overtakes it.

“That’s it. You’re doing good,” she mutters. “Feels better now, huh?”

Her praise made your heart flutter; you would never have thought that Abby could say anything nice to you, only cruel words left her mouth. She adds a second finger, her hand clamping over your mouth to stifle your loud moan. The tears running down your face soak her hand. 

“Can I fuck you with my strap?” her question comes out in a breathy moan, like the idea of it has her throbbing.

“That would hurt really bad, Abby.” Your words are muffled by her hand.

“Please, I swear I’ll take it slow, and it’s not too big either.”

You laugh. Abby Anderson begging? That’s new. But her words dripped with such desperation that you find yourself unable to deny her, whimpering a soft okay. Her fingers leave your ass, and you hear the unzipping of her pants before the tip of her strap is pressing against you. A cold substance is rubbed around the rim of your ass.

“I thought you didn’t have lube,” You look back at her, eyebrow raised.

She shrugs. “I wanted to feel your pussy, too.” 

A shiver runs through your body, the strong reaction from her words making heat run to your face. You didn’t want to react like this. You weren’t attracted to her, and you definitely weren’t enjoying this, right? Okay, maybe you’re enjoying this a little bit, but you’re still only letting her do this because she’s giving you class president, not for any other reason. 

As she pushes the tip of her strap in, you grasp onto her hand, squeezing tightly. You expect her to shake you off, like she normally would do, but all she does is murmur a quiet praise and squeeze back. It hurts more than her fingers, but the way she talks to you almost minimises the pain.

“Good, fuck, you’re doing so good.” Half of her strap is buried in your ass. “I know, I know it hurts, but it’ll feel good soon.”

Once you give her the okay, her hips wildly slam into you, the hilt of her strap pressing against her clit and making her moan. The sound of moans and wet noises is all that can be heard, and if you weren’t so drunk on her cock, the thought of people hearing would have crossed your mind.

Abby’s hand snakes around your front, finding your clit and rubbing it, throwing you into an orgasm. You scream, your legs shaking and warm liquid splurting everywhere, drenching your thighs and Abby’s hand. Her hips stutter and still, moans stumbling out of her mouth as she comes. She flips your body around, your back hitting the table, and smashes her lips into yours. Your arms wrap around her neck, pulling her in deeper. 

She breaks the kiss, her chest heaving and face red. She slowly pulls the strap out of your ass, smirking when you start to cry from the pain. “Don’t be a big baby, wussy.”

You roll your eyes. Of course, the bully you know and hate is back. “You seemed to enjoy that a bit too much.”

Abby scoffs. “Nah, worst fuck in my life.”

You know, by the way she’s avoiding eye contact with you, that she’s lying, but you don’t press any further. You slide off the table, cringing at the wet feeling as you pull your pants back up. “So, you’ll drop out?”

Abby hums, fixing herself up. “I was dropping out regardless of what you said. Class president is such nerd shit. I can’t believe you would think I was genuinely running for that, stupid.”

Your mouth drops open. “Are you fucking kidding me? I just let you anal me in the goddamn janitor’s closet, and you’re telling me I didn’t have to?”

Abby smirks. “What? Are you saying that you didn’t absolutely love this dick?”

Your eyes sharpen, “Don’t say that like you didn’t just adore this ass.”

Abby doesn’t respond; instead, opening the door and holds it for you. If you weren’t so focused on looking at her face, you would have noticed her foot and avoided it, but you made the rookie mistake of thinking that Abby wasn’t going to be a jerk. 

You trip, grunting as you fall to your knees. Abby barks a laugh, smacking you on the head as she passes. “Such a fuckin’ loser.”

[laceyhearts]

౨ৎ THE HOODIE ; LUKE HUGHES

➪ summary: she'd always thought she wasn't pretty enough for luke, but that all changes with an invitation to the hughes' lake house and luke's hoodie

➪ pairing: luke hughes x fem!mid-size/plus-size!reader

➪ warnings: reader is insecure, uhhh i think that's it? not proofread (what's changed)

➪ word count: 3.6k

➪ emma's notes: the first fic back 😛 PSA: this is not to shame any of my mid-size or plus-size readers, especially because i am one, this is personally just my experience with how i’ve gone through my journey with insecurities and whatnot. be proud of your body, but it’s okay if it gets a little hard at times 🫶🏻 this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written so of course it was the first one i rewrote. speaking of that, i rewrote this fic HEAVILY so if it seems like a totally different fic, it basically is! thank you guys for understanding the blog switch, and i hope to see you all in the future <3

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

It didn’t matter how many times she walked into a room, how many times she twirled her hair as a distraction, how many times she broke the ice; everyone’s eyes defaulted to the obvious - her stomach, her cheeks, her thighs, her hips. 

It felt like once you looked a certain way, a way that made you conventionally not attractive to the male gaze due to your size, it was the only thing people noticed about you. It didn’t matter if you could make people laugh with the simplest of jokes, didn’t matter if you could copy a landscape perfectly with a set of paint and a canvas, didn’t matter if you could look at a problem and solve it within 10 seconds, it was the fact that you were “curvy”, “on the heavier side”, “full-figured” - or whatever way society wanted to skirt around saying overweight to make it seem like they didn’t want to offend you. 

And maybe it started in high school when she sat down, and the chair creaked, causing everyone to snicker softly. Maybe it started in middle school when she couldn’t run the mile in the “desirable” amount of time. Maybe it started in elementary school when other parents would ask her parents in a worried tone about her physique. 

Or maybe it started in her head.

She couldn’t tell you when the insecurities started, somewhere between losing her child-like innocence that allowed her just to be and health class when they talked about which foods you should be eating and how you should stay within a certain weight limit.

But she could tell you when they lessened, when she stopped obsessing over them the moment she woke up until the moment she went to bed, when she threw on an outfit and went out with her friends without so much as a second thought. 

The whispers of high school hallways when she accidentally brushed up against someone, the whispers in stores when she’d pick out a small bag of cookies because she’d been eating like she was supposed to that week, were left behind once she left for college. 

It was a new start, new people, new experiences that would allow her to feel comfortable in her own body, get away from the negativity that was her hometown, filled with people straight from a teen romance movie. 

It happened fast, meeting Luke, in a way that she could tell you every little detail of the moment. The color of his shirt (dark blue, yellow Michigan written across it), the shoes he was wearing (black gym shoes), how his fingers twitched when his hand brushed hers as he picked up her book from the concrete beneath their feet. 

Unbeknownst to her, he could tell her every detail too, the exact day it happened (September 3, 2021, 6 days before his birthday and 27 days before hers), the pattern on her socks (white with black polka dots because they were the only ones she could find that morning), the book she was reading (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix), how she tucked her hair behind her ear.

And ever since then, they’ve been best friends, attached at the hip. She went to his games, he went to bother her during her shift at the dining hall. She went to his place to watch their show, he went to hers to get her help with homework. She made him soup when he was sick, he bought her soup when she was sick. She stayed up late to call him after an away game, he woke up early to send her a “good morning” text before she woke up. 

For a moment, she didn’t think about how she looked, didn’t notice the way people looked at them with a curiosity-filled gaze, didn’t hear the laughs behind her back when she walked by. It was like being with Luke helped her block out all the noise, like she could be herself around him. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She hadn’t expected him to ask her to the lake house, not in the slightest. Her decision was hesitant; she wasn’t sure if she could spend a week or two with Luke, his brothers, and his friends in shorts and tank tops, things that made her uncomfortable even in her own room. Yet, if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she could take the wrath of Luke’s constant text messages that would leave her to give in anyway.

So there she stood, in the airport, waiting for any sign of Luke as her thoughts raced. It’d been a while since she’d last seen the boy, almost 6 months since she hugged him goodbye at the Newark airport and left for Michigan for the start of a new semester.

Her leggings hugged her tightly, pressing against her stomach just enough to leave indents of the seams. Her sweater hung loosely on her, a size or two too big to cover the width of her hips, creating the beads of sweat that dripped down her back. 

It didn’t take long for her to find him, towering over almost everyone else surrounding him. He spotted her, too, his lips subconsciously turning upwards into the grin that could make her melt more than the summer sun could. 

Luke’s eyes did a once-over, scanning her from head to toe, eyebrow raising, “Aren’t you hot?”

She hesitated for a second before shaking her head, “No. I run cold.”

“Right… and that’s why I used to have to turn the fan on every time you stayed at mine because you complained you were too hot.”

“Shut up, I was nervous I’d get cold on the plane.”

“Mhm, sure, y/n/n. Sure.”

He grabbed her bag, slinging it over his shoulder and reaching for her hand as if they’d done this multiple times before, like it was natural.

The walk to the car wasn’t long, but with the sun beating down on her, it felt like every step she took lasted 5 minutes. And without even asking, Luke turned the AC on full blast, knowing damn well that if she lasted another minute without cold air on her, she’d pass out.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

They pulled up to the house not long after, Luke grabbing her bag from the backseat before opening her door, leading her up the steps, and into the lake house, shutting the front door with his foot. He didn’t even blink an eye as he shot his hand out, easily catching the football that was being hurled at the two of them. 

Y/n stood, slightly awestruck and shocked, blinking slowly as she turned to face the culprit who threw the ball, only to find a sheepish-looking boy, no more than 3 years older than her, with slightly shaggy brown hair and a resemblance to her best friend. 

“Heads up?”

“She’s here for two seconds and you’re already trying to kill her.” Quinn walked in only a few steps behind, smacking him upside the head, “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Quinn, that’s Jack.”

“Yeah, I uh- kind of got that. I mean- Luke always says you’re the calm one, so I just assumed- Yeah, I’m not much of a talker…” She trailed off, cheeks heating up from embarrassment instead of the heat for once.

The three boys just smiled at her, trying not to fluster her more than she already was. 

“Trevor and Cole are around here somewhere, but don’t pay too much attention to them, I try not to. I’ll take you to your room and then… I actually don’t know what we’re doing tonight.”

“Boat,” Jack replied simply, grabbing a water from the fridge, all but chugging it, and leaving the half-empty bottle on the counter. 

“That settles it, then.”

Luke led her to her room, placing her bags on top of her bed, “Here you are, m’lady. You can nap, shower, get settled, whatever you want. I’ll come get you when we’re about to go.”

Y/n nodded, slight panic flashing in her eyes as she turned to start unpacking, hoping he didn’t notice her change in demeanor. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was two hours before she saw anyone again, and in those two hours, all she had done was lay out her outfit choices and try them on over and over again until she determined she didn’t bring any good outfits with her on this trip. 

Finally, a few minutes before she knew Luke would knock on the door, she settled on a pair of light-washed jean shorts that were long enough to pass as “classy” but short enough to draw people’s gaze to her thighs, and her oversized dark blue UMich hockey shirt Luke had gotten for her a while back, the lettering fading due to the number of times she’d put it through the wash.

She’d just begun braiding the right side of her hair, her left already done in a simple 3-strand braid and a few pieces pulled out to frame her face as always, when she heard the knock, Luke opening it after he heard no protest. 

“Hey, you ready to-” He froze, eyes trailing over her frame, unsure where to look.

Y/n flushed, her hands itching to drop the hair they held and wrap her arms around her waist to avoid his gaze. She focused her attention on the task at hand, trying not to glance up at him through the mirror, trying not to envision the disgust written across his face.

“What?”

Her voice snapped him out of his trance, eyes finally finding hers, a small smile spreading across his lips, “You look…”

Her mind instantly spiraled, maybe I shouldn’t have come, maybe I should change into leggings, maybe I should-

“Pretty.”

Huh? She blinked a few times. “What?”

“I said you looked pretty.”

“Oh.” She didn’t say much else, securing her braid with a small hair tie as she reached to grab her bag, no doubt filled with her favorite book and her Kindle, just in case she ended up locking herself in her room the next two weeks.

“You're seriously bringing your Kindle? Aren’t you gonna go in the water?”

She followed him out of her room, closing the door behind her after slipping her gym shoes on. “I hate the water.”

“You hate the water?”

“I- yeah, it’s fine. I’ll just read, you guys can swim, cannonball, whatever you guys do.”

“Y/n/n, we can do something else if you don’t want to go out on the boat. We don’t have to do what they do.” His voice softened, stopping in the hallway, a few feet shy of where everyone was waiting in the living room. 

She couldn’t help but feel butterflies erupt in her stomach; the thought of him changing his plans just because she was uncomfortable with the thought of being around water - even if it was for a different reason than what she said - was enough to have her swooning. It was something small, something that many people wouldn’t bat an eye too, but to her? It meant more than she could explain. 

Her fingers laced with his, gaining courage to brush her lips against his cheek, “I appreciate it, Lukey, but I swear it’s fine. I just don’t want to go in.”

A faint blush covered his face at her action, but he played it off and nodded, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Time flew by on the boat, y/n reading her book, eyes occasionally looking up to see one of the boys jump into the lake, or to see them splashing around in the water like immature middle school boys, or just in time to see Luke walk by before plopping down next to her, his arm finding its way to rest behind her.

As the fun increased, the temperature decreased, and the breeze left goosebumps on her arms. She didn’t notice it at first, or tried not to let it show, nose buried in the pages, too interested in the same plot she’d read thousands of times before.

But after a while, a few rays of sunlight were all that was left of the day that passed, the cold finally settling around them, y/n shivering more than she was mere minutes ago. She closed her book, unable to continue to make out the black ink across the pages, opting for her Kindle instead. 

That was all it took for Luke to realize how cold she felt, her hand brushing against the skin of his arm where his sleeves were rolled up, her hand somehow even colder than the wind blowing through the air. He pulled his sweatshirt off with ease, handing it to her without another thought, “Here.”

She looked between his face and the fabric in his hand, weariness settling in her mind as she shook her head, “I’m okay.”

His eyebrows knitted together, head nodding to her arms, “You have goosebumps, I think that qualifies as being ‘not okay’.”

“I like the breeze, it’s nice.”

“Y/n/n, please.”

She relented, setting her Kindle beside her, taking the hoodie into her hands as she looked at its size inconspicuously. She never thought about fitting into other people’s clothes as an option, she knew she wouldn’t, they knew she wouldn’t, so why would she ever think that she would need to? 

Luke was taller than her, as he would like to say “by a mile”, something she was acutely aware of since the moment she met him. Something that she never really thought would be her saving grace until now. Because hopefully, the several inches he had on her was enough to counteract her own body.

She slipped it on, arm after arm, pulling it over her head, baseball cap being pulled into the hood. He watched as she fixed it, tugging on the front of it to create more space between the fabric and her skin. He frowned slightly. “Is it uncomfortable?”

Y/n shook her head, because it wasn’t uncomfortable, she was. It was baggier than she thought it would be, not as much as she would’ve liked it to be, but just enough to become one of her favorite hoodies she’s ever worn, and no, that was not because it was Luke’s.

“You sure? I can always ask Quinn or Jack for theirs-”

“Luke, it’s perfect.”

He just nodded, slightly skeptical at the look on her face and the way she kept tugging lightly on the hoodie like it was suffocating her. She avoided his gaze, trying to memorize the lines on the boat floor through the last bits of light on the horizon. 

“Y/n/n, can you please just tell me what’s wrong? If it’s not the hoodie, then-”

“Fine, it’s the hoodie!” She raised her voice just slightly to get her point across, but not enough to attract the attention of the others.

“Is it the fabric? Is it itchy? Is it-”

“It’s the size, Luke!”

He frowned, still confused, “It looks fine.”

“That’s-” She sighed, playing with the frayed edges on her shorts, “That’s not the point, Luke.”

“Then what is the point, because I’m struggling to see it.”

“I’ve never been the skinniest girl out there, Lu.”

And that got him to pause, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to gather his thoughts, unable to form any coherent ones, because to him? She’s always been the prettiest girl he’s seen. Always been the one who his mind defaulted to when his brothers asked if any girls caught his eye. Always been the one he described when someone asked him who his type was.

“Y/n…”

“It’s okay, Luke. I’m not trying to hide from it or anything.”

“I know you’re not, but you didn’t let me finish.” He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap as if it were a common day occurrence. 

Her eyes widened, her body stiffening as her legs straddled his, trying to shift her weight off of him. But Luke, being Luke, his hands tightened around her hips, anchoring her in place and giving her a smug look, daring to challenge him.

“Let me go.”

“No.” His voice was stern as he spoke. 

“Please, Lu.” 

“I’m not letting you go until you see yourself how I see you. I am not letting you go until those negative thoughts are expelled from that beautiful head of yours.

“Listen, y/n/n. I know it’s hard, believe me, I’ve dealt with my fair share of insecurities myself, and I know it can’t be exactly what you’re going through, but… my point is the same. You are the most gorgeous person I have ever met, and I love every single part of you there is to love, okay? I cannot tell you a moment that I have thought you were ugly.”

Her mind barely registered the “I love” portion of his speech, already trying to find a moment to prove him wrong, “What about that time when-”

“Nope, doesn’t exist.”

“Oh! How about when you showed up, announced-”

“No.”

“That time-”

“No.”

“Fine, what about-”

“You can keep trying to grasp at straws there, pretty girl, and my answer is still going to be the same.”

She flushed at the nickname, finally relaxing into his hold, but her thoughts were still stuck on a negative loop, “Why?”

“Why, what, beautiful?”

“Me. Why me?”

“You wanna know my favorite memory of you?” 

She nodded hesitantly, eyes finding his.

He removed one of his arms from her waist, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and rubbing his thumb against her cheek before continuing, “Freshman year. First game you ever went to. I had just bought you your first-ever Michigan hockey shirt and used a Sharpie to write my name and my number on the back. It wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, couldn’t hold a candle to you, but it made sure everyone knew you were there for me.

“You wore it with jeans the same color as these,” he tugged on the belt loop of her shorts with his free hand before flicking the brim of her hat. “This hat, your hair in two pig-tails, and you wore the same beat-up black Converse that you’re wearing right now. 

“And every time I looked up at you, you looked a little tired, probably because you had pulled an all-nighter beforehand, but you stood for the whole game with this little pompom thing in your hand, cheering every time we got a goal and booing every time OSU got one.

“After the game, I met you outside where you proceeded to tackle me in your infamous bear hugs, all because I got a lousy hit on some player. Then, we went out for ice cream, and you got vanilla with sprinkles. We sat on a bench, and I kept eyeing your bowl until you finally gave in and let me try some.

“We went back to your dorm once we were done, and you stole my beanie, which you didn’t give back for another two weeks.”

Her eyes watered at how detailed his memory was, hanging onto his every word like she was a little girl listening to her mom read her the most magical bedtime story about a princess and a prince. 

“You can’t cry on me yet, I haven’t finished.” He wiped a stray tear from her cheek, smiling as she let out a choked laugh filled with emotion.

“You made me watch The Little Mermaid because you like singing 'Part of Your World’ and then you fell asleep for the first time in my arms and I don’t think I’ve ever looked back.”

Her breath hitched because she remembered that, remembered how Luke grinned at her whenever a song came on and she started singing it, whenever she’d quote a line or make a random, out of pocket comment because Ariel said something that made her think of something else, whenever she would explain to him how stupid or thoughtful an action was. She remembered everything about that day, just as well as he did. 

“That wasn’t the first moment I thought you were gorgeous, not even the second or the third or the fourth, but- it’s my favorite one because you looked happy, you looked like you couldn’t care what anyone else thought, and that is infinitely more beautiful than anything else.”

“Luke…”

“Yeah?” He played with the end of one of her braids, twirling the hair around his fingers.

“You really think that?”

“There’s nothing that I think that is truer than that, pretty girl.”

Their eyes met again, and he couldn’t help but lean in, his lips pressing against hers softly. 

The kiss didn’t last long, y/n barely getting a chance to kiss back before splashes of water hit her, both of them jumping in sync to see the three 22-year-olds staring at them with innocent expressions. 

“Whoops.”

“Leave it to them to ruin the moment,” Luke grumbled, leaning his forehead against her shoulder, causing her to laugh and tangle her fingers in his curls.

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[daddyslittlecrow]

“Do you hate me?”

Summary: Basically what I WISH happened after MC finds Sylus’ brooch.

Warnings: VERY smutty but with plot (I'm not an animal….yet) MDNI PLEASE 🙏

Pairing: Sylus x reader/MC

A/N: I'm sorry if this is in any way bad. This is the first time I've properly written in years. Please ignore all errors!! I'll cry!!

I've never written anything as spicy as this though so if you’re questioning my logistics or anything, please bare that in mind. Hope you enjoy x

You didn't understand him.

That's what frustrated you the most about the leader of Onychinus. You were usually quick to pick up on a person’s motives towards you. Whether it was a lingering gaze, a twitching hand or a forced smile there was always something they wanted. You didn't just use that power to survive, you used it to always stay ahead. But with Sylus? You could barely even tell if he hated you or was impressed by you.

“Have I underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?”

His words this evening echoed in your head, stoking a fire within you. You still hadn't forgiven him for the cruel hospitality during your first few days together. The dark circles under your eyes served as each night as you tried and failed to stop the sound of his gun plaguing your dreams.

Every morning since, you sprang from the soft silk sheets, a scream stuck in your throat and the ghost of his blood splatter on your hands. It felt like he wanted to punish you. Not to mention the horror you witnessed as his right eye blazed through you. Your brain only accepted it as a fucked up hallucination whenever you thought about it too hard.

Even if he wasn’t behind the explosion that killed your best friend, you feared he was capable of far worse. His Evol was violent and forceful, the pain it caused when he wrapped those black tendrils around you was only a fraction of what it could do. You were relieved he couldn't resonate with you and make his power stronger. It would be utter chaos.

Maybe that was his sole motive - to use you to make himself unstoppable. But you knew deep down that wasn't what he was after. Too many questions were left unanswered. His ruby eyes had searched for something far deeper within you, coaxing something that made your stomach clench.

What shamed you most was how the tension travelled lower, heating you up and liquefying your core. He was undeniably attractive but that was it. You just had to play along and get far away from him so you could find someone to quench your long-neglected thirst.

You sighed heavily as you scraped your hair back into a ponytail, aggravated when it got in your way. It didn't matter what Sylus was after. You had your own mission to deal with and you wouldn't let anything or anyone get in the way. That man was not your motive.

A glance at your phone screen reminded you that time was running out for the game Sylus dared you to play. 30 minutes more and your chance to attend the auction and look for the Aether Core slipped from your grasp. He seemed to be losing faith in you with every slam of his bedroom door but fuck it - quitting was never an option for you.

Slowly advancing down the long worn path to Sylus’ door, you opened it silently. You crossed the threshold, cautiously walking further into his elegantly furnished bedroom. The silver-haired monster sat upright in his bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He was fast asleep.

You smirked, pulling out the Evol-sealing handcuffs and tranquillizer gun the Twins had offered you. Time to put an end to this childish game once and for all.

————

A war raged within Sylus, threatening to drag him to utter despair. Or madness. He didn't have a preference so long as it dulled the ache that suffocated his heart. No one had ever made him feel threatened or weak since he first arrived in the N109 Zone. Fear was the default response from anyone unlucky enough to meet him face to face and he liked it that way. Power wasn't given. It was taken.

That belief had caused a fatal error when he finally found you. He expected to pull you into his world, where he knew you belonged. You were his. How could you forget that you were the sole reason his heart kept beating? Without you, he was only a shell of a man. He would burn down everything he had carefully built just for you to look at him right now without flinching.

Sylus devoted his life to finding you. It was no coincidence that you found yourself before him. As soon as you put yourself on the line, he tracked you down and took to him before anyone else got their hands on you. Your determination and strength were admirable, but your stubbornness made you reckless. It clouded your judgment and turned you into an easier target than you realized.

And now, nothing could make him let you go.

The shock of you not remembering him made him lash out in the only way he knew how. But that type of force wouldn’t work this time. No, this time, he would have tried something else.

The brief hint of your desire did not go unnoticed. He felt it, like an ache that worsened the longer his eyes locked on yours. As soon as he recognised it, he had to use every ounce of restraint not to claim you. He wanted to consume you in every way you’d allow him to. Replace the ache between your thighs with his hands, mouth and cock. Over and over until the only thing you could think about was him.

If you did not respond well to pain, maybe pleasure was the answer.

————

With his hand securely cuffed to the bed, you wasted no time. It surprised you how easy it was to sneak up on such a well-guarded man. Maybe it was because he didn't see you as a threat? A quiet huff escaped your eyes and trailed down his bare chest. You'd show him just how wrong he was.

Before your fingers could reach him, your wrist was captured in a strong grip. You gasped, snapping your head up to meet the epitome of arrogance. Sylus smirked at his uninvited visitor. The finale of his game couldn't have been more thrilling if he planned it. He welcomed the slight pinch of the handcuffs as he slowly looked you up and down, savouring how close you were.

“What do you plan to do then, since I've become your prey?” His taunt didn't deter you, in fact - it spurred you on. The brooch was yours. With his offer to help you, you finally made contact with his body. Your fingers caressed the expensive robe he wore, hunting for your ticket to the auction. You could feel those piercing eyes on you as he complied with your thorough inspection.

His scent - like spiced leather - made you painfully aware that you were in Sylus’ bed, alone with him. You felt his hand graze your leg, momentarily freezing your body. The thought of swapping places with him, you handcuffed and him towering over you flashed in your mind.

It burned your cheeks but you pressed on, knowing he could do nothing to you in this position. This stupid game had gotten to your head. That was all this was. Still, you couldn't stop yourself from voicing the question that consumed your mind.

“Do you hate me?”

You silently cursed yourself as you pulled your attention back to your mission. Why did you care whether he did or didn't? You swore you would never let anyone make you question your worth. That’s why you only relied on yourself. Never accepted any man’s advances unless it was for a single night of pleasure.

Then it was back to being alone. It was easier that way. You were more than capable of looking after yourself. You refused to look at his face again, your heart pounding furiously. No one had ever gotten under your skin like he did.

“Does my answer matter?”

The unexpected softness in his voice would've made you pause if you hadn't found the brooch that very moment. Your face broke into a triumphant smile as you stared at the sparkling red jewel in the centre. Thank f-

Your eyes widened in horror as the handcuffs holding Sylus hostage disintegrated with his Evol. He assured you he wouldn't go back on his promise. The air grew thick. His eyes darkened, hinting at a new game that had just begun. Neither of you moved. In an instant, Sylus had turned you into his prey. Revenge for assuming he could be yours.

Panic bloomed in your chest, desperately trying to launch yourself away from him. His arm quickly snaked around your waist, throwing you effortlessly into your back. Fear and arousal fought for dominance within you as Sylus gripped your hands, pinning you to the bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You spat, trying to grasp some sense of control over yourself. His grip was strong but not painful. Sylus didn't respond immediately, savouring the beautiful sight of you beneath him. A violent shiver hit you as he trailed his gaze from your blushing face, down your thin tank top and shorts, to your bare thighs. Then his eyes moved to lock on yours.

“You look so pretty like this for me, kitten.” His words did something unexplainable to you, a dark promise that made your thighs clench. Noting your sudden reaction, his bare knee slid between your legs, pushing them apart. You were trapped, completely at his mercy. You hated him, didn't you? So why did your body want him closer? As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a low chuckle.

“You aren't usually this quiet, care to indulge me in your thoughts?” The only thing you could do to retaliate was remain silent. Maybe then he would get bored and finally let you go. You struggled against him, trying to slip from his grasp but he only pushed you further into the mattress. “I see. You want to play by your rules? I'm only happy to oblige.”

You didn't need long to guess what he meant. He removed the space between you, claiming your lips with his. The kiss was like a bolt of electricity that coursed through you. Sylus was gentle but firm, moving his mouth as if to savour every moment. It was a stark contrast to how he treated you first.

You felt yourself be dragged down, melting against him. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, a silent request. You accepted it eagerly, your mind refusing to focus on anything but him.

Sylus was a patient man. After all, he had waited for you all this time. But kissing you, feeling your tongue dance with his as he tasted you? He was close to becoming feral. He had to slow down, not wanting to force you anymore. This was your choice. As much as he didn't act like it, you were still in control. Slowly, his grip on your hands eased until you were free.

He reluctantly pulled away to look at your face, trying to identify what you were thinking. You were panting, lips swollen from him. He was rock hard and straining against his briefs just by kissing you. The loss of his lips released a small whimper as you opened your eyes to look at him. Your teeth bit your bottom lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.

No man had ever looked at you like that before. Hungry, possessive, depraved. It made you so wet you could feel your panties start to soak through. You needed him all over you.

But there was also a silent promise in those beautiful eyes. He was not going to continue unless you wanted to. You were worth so much more than that. That alone gave you the security you needed. With your arms now free, you used them to prop yourself up. He watched as you turned over, placing the brooch that was still in your grasp onto his nightstand. His heart quickened but he remained still as you turned back to face him.

“You wanted to know whether it mattered if you hated me?” You began, raising your body to straddle his thigh. Sylus placed his hands on your hips, supporting you, eyes never leaving yours. Afraid that if he moved too suddenly you would run away. Your hands slowly glided across his chest, taking a moment to feel his muscular build.

His pulse pounded against your fingers. The corner of his lip quirked as you grew more bold. Gravity pulled you down, your aching core resting on a hard thigh. Not giving yourself time to think, your body takes control. Instantly you started to move your hips, seeking friction on your throbbing clit.

Knowing he was watching you shamelessly use him to get yourself off was too much. You grew slicker with each thrust and you moaned softly. It was the sexiest sound Sylus ever heard. Your right thigh brushed against his erection and you clenched with need. A low growl and his grip tightened, halting your movements.

“Y/N…” His voice was laced with a warning. Desperately wanting to punish you for teasing him. His cock already leaked with pre-cum, imagining how wet you were for him. Fuck he could practically smell your arousal. But still, he waited.

You leaned towards him, lips against his ear. One of your hands reached down to the belt of his robe, pulling it loose. Sylus - and now the relationship between you both - still confused you. You weren't sure what would come of this. All you knew was that you wanted to stop thinking, just for a while.

“Even if you don't hate me Sylus.” You opened his robe to reveal the outline of his erection. His hips jerked as you palmed his dick through the fabric, getting more lost in your desire for him. “I want you to fuck me like you do.”

That was the undoing of him.

He understood the underlying plea in your words. You weren't ready to face the truth, to acknowledge what existed deep down. Not ready to accept his feelings for you. Not now. But, he hoped, not never.

For now, you needed something else - something raw. And Sylus would do anything to give you what you craved.

You gasped as he threw you back down onto the bed, stealing all power from you. His robe was gone in seconds, puddled on the floor. He smirked at you before he placed his hands on your tank top and roughly ripped it in half. His attention was on your exposed breasts.

“Beautiful.” He murmured before kissing a path from your neck to your chest, stopping just above your left nipple. The compliment squeezed your heart. He looked up at you as you waited, your eyes hazy with lust.

With a flick of his wicked tongue, he caressed the sensitive nub. It hardened instantly. Your back arched, forcing your breast to his mouth as he feasted on you. His hand reached up to grab your other breast, clutching like they were made for him.

Oh, he was going to ruin you.

The pleasure of his mouth made you whine in ecstasy. You felt hot but your body shivered with need. Your hips bucked, seeking relief for your aching pussy. Sylus whipped his hand to your hip, stopping your movements.

“You were brave kitten, teasing me earlier.” He moved down your body without haste. Your impatient moans amused him. “Too bad I don't let bad behaviour go unpunished.” Without warning, he ripped your shorts off, exposing your soaking panties. He admired the patch of wetness that darkened the fabric. He took great pride in knowing he was the one that did this to you.

“You’re already a mess and I haven't even touched you yet.” He slid a finger up your clothed slit, rubbing a lazy circle over your clit.

“Shit.” You sighed against his touch. Hearing that delicious voice speak so filthily made you desperate for more. He chuckled darkly, enjoying watching you squirm from his touch. Let's see how you react to a different kind.

He hooked his fingers onto your panties and slowly pulled them down your legs, revealing your glistening slit. The cool air of the room against your wetness made you acutely aware that you were now fully bare before him. It somewhat sobered you. You moved your legs, in a weak attempt to hide from him.

“Don’t be shy now, kitten.” Sylus hummed in disapproval, pushing your legs even farther apart. You stopped resisting, submitting yourself to his touch. He paused, bewitched by the sight before him. You were magnificent already but when you were like this? Fully spread, eyes pleading. Fuck.

He wanted to release all restraint, free his straining cock and claim you right then. With a shaky breath, he centred himself, needing to see how you fell apart without distraction.

“Is this where you want me to touch you?” His large hand slid up your thigh, grazing the soft lips of your pussy. The teasing touch was agony. Your hand covered your mouth to stop your pleading whine. Sylus huffed, displeased you would deny him your sweet sounds.

Then you yelped.

With perfect precision, Sylus lightly slapped your clit. The attack was a sharp surprise but made your body hum with excitement. He was showing you who your body belonged to right now. With his hand raised again, you immediately brought your attention to his glowing eye. One word filled your head.

Obey.

“Let’s try that again kitten.” Sylus cooed, planting a kiss on your knee. “Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers?” You learnt your lesson quickly.

“Fuck Sylus, yes!” Your words came out in pants. Sylus noticed you practically gush at his words and he used it to coat his finger.

“Good girl.”

His praise was immediately followed by his finger thrusting hard into your pussy. Your arm instinctively rose again to muffle your scream. Immediately your wrists were captured by the black smoky tendrils of Sylus’ Evol.

He fucked his finger into you slowly, adding another once he knew you could take it. It was like he knew every spot that made you arch your back in pure pleasure. His pace was brutal - you never wanted him to stop.

“Do you like that, beautiful?” He purred, coaxing your pleasure like he put on this earth just to please you. He curled his fingers, finding your g-spot. The sensation caused your eyes to roll back, his name the only word you could spill from your lips. Sylus groaned at the sight of you, loving how you fucked his fingers. You were so tight. He couldn't stop thinking about how you’d feel squeezed around his cock.

“That’s it Y/N. Good girl. You're taking my fingers so well. God, you're so fucking wet for me.” You couldn't function, let alone reply to him. All you could do was moan as you rode his fingers.

“You feel…so fucking good.”

All he cared about was having you unravel for him. He kept up the pace of his fingers, driving into you. The wet lewd sounds of your pussy drove you both crazy. His mouth watered as he lowered it to your hard clit, leaving little licks that made you clench around his fingers. You tasted better than he could've imagined. He would gladly spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs.

“I’m not going to stop until you cum all over my mouth and fingers, okay? So be good and give me what I want.” The second his mouth devoured your clit, your release was coming fast. He sucked and licked like he had been starved of you, groaning into your pussy as your hands reached for his hair, pulling you closer. It gave you leverage as you rode his face, desperately chasing your release as the pleasure grew higher and harder.

“Please Sylus. Please I’m so close. I’m-” You came so violently that all you saw were stars. You screamed, not caring if anyone could hear. Your cum gushed out of you, soaking his chest and dripping down onto the sheets. Your pussy milked his fingers as they fucked you through your orgasm.

Sylus lapped at your dripping pussy, savouring your juices until you whimpered his name. You loosened the grip on his silver strands, heart pounding, face flushed. Your whole body buzzed as Sylus reluctantly left your pussy and withdrew his fingers. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he brought them to his mouth, sucking you off them with a smug grin. His actions made your core ache for him all over again.

“One could get addicted to the taste of you.” His voice was thick with lust. You glanced down at his tented briefs with anticipation. Sylus bit back a laugh at your excited gaze. With a glance at the clock on his nightstand, he sighed. Hovering over you he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You were disappointed when he withdrew, pulling you up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“As much as I’d love to continue this, sweetie.” He brushed back the hair that clung to your clammy face. He loved how radiant you looked after you came. It was a sight he wouldn't mind seeing again soon. Your lips were captured one more time in a quick kiss.

“We have an auction to attend.”

—————

If you want a part 2 pls let me know!! I’d hate to leave my man blueballed hanging. I have no confidence in myself to think this is good anyway lol 🤪

-Elle 🫡

[wisteria-lodge]

In defense of T'Pau and her unusual grammar:

So in "Amok Time," (right before Spock goes into heat) we meet T'Pau, this grand high elder of Vulcan who is officiating Spock's wedding/fight to the death.

She has a very specific way of talking. Some examples:

"Thee names these outworlders friends. How does thee pledge their behavior?" "If thee wishes to depart, thee may leave now." "Are thee Vulcan or are thee human? "I grieve with thee."

If this is supposed to sound archaic and Shakespearean... then it's just completely wrong. "Thee" is not even slightly conjugated. If you're using thee/thou/thy correctly, that first sentence should be:

"Thou name'st these outworlders friends. How dost thou pledge?"

BUT my point is, I don't think this is supposed to read as "archaic" (also, if that were the case, wouldn't the universal translator just kinda auto-update the vocab?)

What is actually going on is Quaker Plain Speech.

Thee/Thou/Thy used to be English's set of informal pronouns, which you used for close friends and social inferiors. The Quakers came over to America in the 1600s, and were very into the idea of simplicity and equality for religious reasons. No titles, "Friend" as the default address, etc. They also artificially got rid of You/Your/Yours, English's *formal* pronouns, because they were what you used for talking to a social superior, and they were trying to get away from that sort of thing.

Skip forward like a hundred years. Language changes. Standard English drops Thee/Thou/Thy completely. The Quakers KEEP the pronouns, but the usage simplifies. Now they basically just have "Thee," and use it for everything, and don't conjugate the verbs around it in any special way. "In the eighteenth century, "thou hast" disappeared, along with the associated second-person verb forms, and the otherwise strange "thee is" became normal "plain speech."

Which is EXACTLY how T'Pau talks.

(I found this scene from The Philadelphia Story (1940) where Jimmy Stewart walks into a Quaker library, and the joke is that the librarian talks to him in Plain Speech - "What is thee wish?" and he (confused) responds in Shakespearean English - "Dost thou have a washroom?")

So I think that when Theodore Sturgeon wrote "Amok Time" in 1967, T'Pau's style of speaking was meant to communicate not necessarily "old-fashioned" but more "religious/ceremonial" and maybe "isolated." Especially since he's from New England, the right spot to run into Plain Speech in the wild.

In-universe, I think that (because it's a very important occasion) T'Pau is speaking a hyper-simplified, hyper-logical ceremonial Vulcan dialect, which the universal translator is rendering as the most stripped-down and "plain" English style of speaking possible.

[soldiersgirl]

NOT IN THE SAME WAY .ᐟ

summary ⭑ you couldn't work out if you loved him or hated him, but all you knew is that you needed each other, no matter the cost. (based on this request). cw ⭑ fem!reader x soldier boy. 18+ smut/angst (mdni). mutual pining. flirting. mentions of cheating. reader has a bf. break-up mentions. guilt tripping. mentions of reader's past trauma. swearing. kissing. unprotected p in v (wrap it up). oral (f receiving.) fingering. masturbating (f). spit play. spanking. slapping. squirting. dirty talk. begging. sir kink. degradation. overstimulation. pet names (slut, whore, doll, good girl). word count ⭑ 4,493 words.

life used to be simple, nice, easy. you had your friends, your hobbies, your supporting boyfriend. you couldn't have asked for a better life, yet you always felt that something was missing. it was all too simple, too nice and too easy. you searched and craved for new, different. and no matter how much it scared and worried those around you, you never felt more alive than when you, alongside your childhood best friend hughie campbell, joined the boys and their suicide mission of taking down homelander, and more importantly vought.

like many others, you had had your unfortunate run-ins with vought and their supes with their catastrophic attempts to "save lives" and "bring justice". you had watched your best friend get crushed under a toppled sky scraper right in front of your own feet, thanks to homelander and some supposed bank robbers. no matter how many pr specialists vought hired, you knew the real truth. it was just typical homelander recklessness. you had spent weeks trying to get the bloodstains out of your favourite white sneakers. now they just stood abandoned in the back of your closet alongside your discarded vought merch, most notably your once-beloved soldier boy action figure.

standing toe-to-toe with soldier boy was something you had never expected. his presence as commanding and domineering as the rumours had stated, his gaze harsh and his lips always in a default sneer as he lazily trudged around the boys hq.

"not impressed, eh?" butcher laughed as ben's fingers traced along the edge of your desk, momentarily catching your eyes and giving you his signature smirk.

"what a fuckin' shithole. should've stayed with the commies, if this is what you're fuckin' offerin'." ben grumbles as he turns his back on you and leans against your desk, messing up your organised papers and staring directly at butcher who only chuckled in response.

"keep your flippin' knickers on. you'll get your own apartment tonight, a'right? she will show you where it is la'er." you shoot up from your desk and shake your head in defiance. your dislike and distrust for supes grew inch by inch with each passing day and you weren't willing to serve them hand and foot, like butcher expected you to. like he said with that cheshire cat smile; "happy supe, happy life."

"nuh huh! i have date night with my boyfriend! i told you this." you almost whine. you had cancelled twice in a row due to your duties and he was growing increasingly impatient with you. you knew you didn't have many chances left and you couldn't risk losing the one constant you had in your life.

"too. fuckin'. bad. we need you for this. hughie, m.m and i got some old friends to visit. annie's gotta stay under the radar. kimiko and frenchie are at the bleedin' hospital. that leaves you." butcher juts his finger at you as soldier boy slowly turns and silently analyses you. in retaliation, you strike up your middle finger at butcher and reluctantly stealing a glance at the psycho that sat before you. a cold dread settled in your bones as you both stared into, what felt like, each other's souls and all you saw was trouble. and you couldn't make yourself look away, no matter how much your mind willed it.

BRRRRR! BRRRRR! - hello? - hi babe... it's me. - let me fucking guess, you're cancelling again? - i.. no, yes. please, don't be mad! i had no choice, literally butch- - stop with the fucking excuses. i can't hear it anymore. i'm sleeping at my brothers place tonight. i'll call you when i'm ready to talk again. - babe, please! i'm so sorry, i love y– CLICK.

you pushed your phone deep into your jeans and ignored the smirking soldier boy next to you as you walked together in silence towards his apartment. you could feel he was dying to say something, anything, but your furrowed brows and the roll of a singular tear down your face deterred him, your mascara leaving a small stain on the apple of your cheeks. the silence continued as you unlocked his front door, slipped inside and handed him the keys as you gazed around the barren room that only had the essentials and lacked any form of welcome.

"so, yeah. this is it. your own place, soldier boy." the rusted kitchen chair creaked as you slowly eased down onto it, watching him as he glanced around and ran his fingers over the worn sofa, playing with a loose thread before his eyes finally settled on you.

"ben." he coughs before charging into the bedroom and checking out the bathroom. how could america's #1 live in a place like this?, he thought to himself. what a fucking disgrace, this is.

"ben." you repeat under your breath, not enjoying the taste it left on your tongue. it was bitter and unwelcoming, much like his attitude. he swaggered back into the living room and leaned up against the back of the sofa, crossing his strong arms over one another and resting his gaze on you once more. you physically squirmed each time his eyes fell on you, like he could hear your thoughts of discontent and mistrust. "well." you clap your thighs, preparing to leave. you didn't want to spend more time with him than you needed to. he made you feel vulnerable, weak, in danger; just like all the other supes do.

"sorry 'bout your little boyfriend." he offhandedly states, his trademark smirk nowhere to be found as your eyes meet his in surprise. you stand frozen in your spot, your head tilting as you consider his words.

"oh.. thanks. no need." you mutter. "ben." you instinctively add, testing out his name again. the taste was sweeter this time; less bitter and more pleasant, somehow.

"been together long?" he continues, surprising you.

"uh, 6 years." you nod, not wanting to reveal more than you have to, to him.

"hm, does he hate supes as much as you? or is that your own hobby?" he darkly chuckles.

"i don't hate supes, i–"

"don't lie to me, sweetheart. hughie told me everything. he's like a teenage girl at a sleepover, won't stop fuckin' gossiping and spilling every little secret." you accept your fate and just slowly nod. thank you hughie for pissing off one of the world's strongest supers, ever, it was just what you needed on top of everything else.

"i'm not going to apologise for my feelings." you stand your ground, copying his crossed arms and, almost, macabre seriousness.

"i'm sorry about your friend." he almost cuts you off, interrupting your annoyance.

"i don't need your apologies." you sigh. "i just need to do to your fucking job and help us." kicking the chair as you hurry to leave his apartment, his words melting into your bones, making you feel heavy as your mind reels about the accident. as you rush past him, he roughly grabs you by the forearm before, just as quickly, letting go.

"i'll help you. you can trust me." his voice, uncharacteristically soft, makes your heart beat flutter. you want to believe him, but the alarm bells are going off in your head. you flinch away from him, grabbing the arm of your jacket to comfort yourself.

"it's not what you think." and with that, you flee out into the cold new york air, away from the venus fly-trap that is soldier boy.

two things are certain. no matter how hard you try, you can't make it up to your boyfriend. and no matter how hard you try, you can't avoid ben. the more your boyfriend was giving you the cold shoulder, deservedly so, the more you sought out any welcome distraction and ben wasn't going to deny himself the pleasure of you.

long nights in the flatiron building with meetings, brainstorms and debriefs meant less time with your boyfriend and more time with be–, no sorry. the boys, you meant the boys. it was just easier to be at the hq than at home, where nothing but slamming doors and passive aggressiveness thrived. you tried to fix it all; making promises that only end up broken, dates that go unattended and messages left unread and forgotten. somebody else was always at hq, so you never got the moment to sink into despair and lose yourself in guilt. you longed to feel anything other than shame and ben's attention breathed life into you.

his longing glances at you as you pranced around the office, checking up on the boys and double-checking details of plans. the way his hands would accidentally brush against yours as you walked past one another or when his hands lingered too long on your waist when squeezing past you. if he made himself a coffee, he would pour you a cup as well, seeing as "he was already doing it" and let his hands linger on yours for a second too long before pulling back and showing off that devilish smile. he'd always greet you, ask you how you're doing. harmless flirting never hurt anybody, because that's all it was. harmless flirting that was never going to lead anywhere, because you loved your boyfriend. you were sure you did, he certainly loved you. and ben was just... fun, lighthearted fun.

as time went on, you couldn't quite work out ben's angle but you could feel that you lost yourself more and more with each small touch, glance, word that he directed towards just you. you couldn't help but reciprocate each look and fluttering touch. you were like a feather in a hurricane named ben, completely at his mercy. he was filling a void that was emptying out quicker than you could handle.

but then he would shift, like the changing tides of a raging storm. his smiles transforming into scowls, his fleeting touches becoming few and far-between, his soft words of encouragement devolved into yelled, harsh remarks. you would get into feverish arguments, calling him a psycho before storming out of the hq and finding yourself crying in the toilets. you'd recklessly threaten with pouring his pills down the sink, telling butcher that allowing ben to join the boys was his worst idea yet as ben stood and muttered obscenities behind you.

you know what you were playing with, you knew you were tempting trouble. but when everything you knew was falling apart around you, you grabbed onto what was closest and it just happened to be ben.

god help you, it made you feel sick. you grappled with your feelings for weeks. sometimes you could justify it with "you deserve happiness, no matter how it looks, you've been having a hard time. it's all harmless, right? flirting isn't a crime", but it always turned into your best friend's voice repeating the same mean sentiment, over and over. "you're fucking sick. wanting someone who destroyed the life that you knew. who killed me. he is one of them. you should be the one in the grave, not me. i wouldn't do this to you." and when you would turn to your boyfriend for those rare moments of comfort in grief, when you weren't shouting at each other, his hands and words didn't feel right. didn't ignite your skin the way his did. not in the same way.

"he broke it off last night." you shake and shiver in ben's grimy hallway, not knowing where else to turn. you could've gone anywhere, called your parents, but your weary bones carried you right to his door. he silently stepped aside, welcoming you in as you shed your soaked jacket and pushed away your drenched hair from your tear-stained face. a beat passes before he closes the door, another before he turns and gazes those emerald eyes deep into yours.

like a deer caught in his headlights, you stiffen. another pause. he brushes past you, as if everything's normal and takes his usual seat on the sofa to continue watching his show. unsure of what to do with yourself, watch the back of his head as the bile slowly climbs your throat and you struggle to swallow it.

what were you doing? why did you come here? he's the last person you should–

"sit down." his voice disrupts your silent tirade and he claps the cushion next to him.

"i'm soaking." this elicits a snort and a chuckle from the supe before he gets up with a sigh, disappears into his bedroom and walks out with a change of clothes for you. he shoves them into your hands, avoiding your doleful eyes altogether and settling back down in front of the tv. your chest burned and your eyes stung with the tears that threatened to spill over, no matter how much you prayed they wouldn't. after peeling off your clothes and pulling his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants that loosely hung from your limbs, you carefully climbed onto his sofa and sat with baited breath.

you were almost serving yourself on a silver platter to him, but he wasn't biting. every inch of you was burning, waiting for the torment to end, for anything to happen.

"why did you come here?" he asks, his eyes not leaving the tv for a second as he nurses his beer. you stutter and splutter for a second.

"i'm not really sure." you answer truthfully, kind of. he lets out another rough chuckle, running his hands through his chestnut locks and all you can focus on is his arms. the veins that curl around it, the scars that litter it from battles fought long ago.

"i never took you for a liar." he shrugs.

"i'm not." he sucks his teeth and shakes his head at your response.

"if you can't even admit, why you're fuckin' here, then you gotta get the fuck out." his tone grows rougher with each word.

"i'm not." you repeat, just a bit louder. "leaving." you whisper. "please, don't make me go, ben."

"i don't have time for your shittin' mind games." he pushes himself off the sofa and gets himself another beer. you turn and twist in your seat and watch his every move. open the beer, down it, pause. open another. "i got my own issues, can't help you with that fuck-nut you call a boyfriend."

"ex-boyfriend." you whisper and ben sighs.

"point is, you gotta fuckin' leave if you're gonna lie. why did you come here?"

"i came here, because i thought we were friends." you admit. and it was true, to a certain degree. you didn't know what you and ben were and you were fine with never finding out, up until this moment.

"friends? me and you? you think we're just pals?" he laughs to himself, planting seeds of doubt into your already anxious mind. "sweetheart. we're far from friends. i haven't had a fuckin' friend since nicaragua and you think i'd pick you?" he points the bottom of his beer bottle at you. "nah. we're not friends. because what i want to do to you, a friend wouldn't do to a friend." he says too nonchalantly, as if it's a fact shared between the two of you.

"what.." you swallow your rising anxiety. "what do you want to do to me?" you pull your knees to your chest, centering yourself as your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

"i think we both know that, don't we?" he hums, raising an eyebrow. "you're a smart girl, i see how hard you work for that cock-sucker butcher. don't be actin' all brain-dead now." he leaves his half-drunk beer bottle behind and slowly paces over to you. he reaches out and runs a rough finger down your cheek and under your jaw before dropping his hand. silence ensues as neither wants to be the first to break, to take that first step.

"what are we... if we're aren't friends?" you ask. curiosity killed the cat.

"whatever you want me to be." he mutters. but satisfaction brought it back. his touch was uncharacteristically soft as he brushed your damp hair away from your face and rested his hand on the back of your neck. he sucks his teeth before sighing deeply and cocking his head, watching you intensely. his long eyelashes fluttered as his eyes glanced over each of your features, taking the time to fully appreciate your beauty. "i can't say no to you." he quietly admits.

"why?" his eyes dramatically roll into the back of his head. what a dumb fucking question.

"we're good at this game, aren't we?" he retracts his hand and you almost whine at the loss of his strong hand on you. "but i don't wanna play this game no more. do you?" your innocent eyes could have killed ben right there and then. your pupils blown and filled with... fear? desire? he could never fully read you, the way he could everyone else.

he always wanted to dig into your skull and figure out how your brain worked, wanting to know the intricacies of you. exactly what you wished to do to him.

he dragged a thumb over your tear-stained cheeks and tugged on them, ever so slightly, reminding him of your youth and naivety, both he had lost at an early age. he battled with himself as the silence hung over you. the calm before the storm. he had tried to push you away but he always found himself drawn to you, like a soldier called to war. it was inevitable and undeniable. "why are you really here?" he asks for the third and final time, your last chance to be honest with him.

"y-you know why i'm here." your chest heaves and constricts as you finally admit the hidden truth between the two of you. that's all ben needed as he threaded his fingers through the hair on the nape of your neck, tugging you up to him against his toned chest before connecting your longing lips with his. the feeling of his soft lips finally against yours is the closest to heaven, you were sure you'd ever get to. he tugged on your hair, earning him a small whimper from you which only fuelled his desire more. that was a sound he would never get tired of. your tongues danced, finding the perfect rhythm before his glides across your teeth and swallows your high-pitched moans while his free hand, instinctively, palms your ass through his borrowed sweatpants. he breaks off the kiss only to forcefully grab you, hoist you over the sofa into his strong arms as you wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to the bedroom and throw you onto his bed. you expect him to be on you like a bee with honey, but instead he watches you as his herculean hands glide over his unignorable bulge.

"take it off." he grunts. he could barely contain himself as you rolled off his sweatpants, revealing the cutest pair of pink panties he had ever laid eyes on. your hands tremble ever so slightly as you go to take off his t-shirt revealing your bare chest to him. goosebumps rippled across your skin as his eyes fell to your perked nipples that were begging for his attention. ben was convinced that this was his personal heaven, his gift for being the loyal soldier he always had been. his bites and nibbles on his lips as you roll your shoulders back and lean back on your forearms and look up at him those eyes, exposing yourself to him. giving yourself over to him completely. "fuuuck..." ben sighs as he falls to his knees at the edge of the bed, grabbing your feet and tugging you closer so his stubble brushes up against the inside of your velvet thighs. you try your best to clench your thighs together and knock your knees against each other to hide the growing damp spot in your pink panties. "don't be a fuckin' tease now." ben grunts as he pushes your knees down and thighs apart, a grin spreading across his aged face. his finger prods your needy clit with a low chuckle before delicately running it up and down your clothed slit whilst pressing soft, teasing kisses to your trembling thighs.

"ben..." you whine, your hands fisting the sheets and turning white in anticipation. he hums as he rests his head on your thigh, admiring the scattered rising and falling of your chest as he continues to play with you. he had barely even laid a hand on you and you were already quivering underneath him.

"look at you. so fuckin' desperate, hm?" a soft kiss pressed against your clothed cunt followed by his tongue dragging over the same spot. torture. "'m sure that sack of shit, you call your ex, never made you feel like this, huh? one night with me and you're already so fuckin' pathetic." he hooks his fingers into your panties, roughly tugs them off and marvels at the sight of your weeping cunt as you keep your legs spread wide open for him. "sucha good girl." he mutters against your folds before hungrily diving his trained tongue between them and savouring the sweet taste of you. your hands automatically fly down and tug on his wavy, chestnut locks as he loses himself in the sensation of your inviting folds. sucking, nipping, licking at every bit of you that he could get his starving mouth on. he reluctantly pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his swollen lips to your slick cunt, admiring his work. a gentle slap to your pussy jolts you out of your ecstasy before three more come crashing down. your hips involuntarily buck with each clap of his hand as your body craves his touch, his attention. "bet your little ex doesn't know how much of a closeted whore you are." a dark chuckle rumbles in his chest at your lewd reactions before stuffing two fingers into you, deliciously curling and hitting your g-spot immediately.

"ngh, ben! fuck, fuck, fuck." you can't help but roll your hips and ride his fingers, the pad of his palm bumping into your clit. he watched in awe as your cunt clenched and took his fingers with ease, like it was made for him. "i'm gonna cu–!" your words and climax cut off by ben roughly flipping you over and propping you up until all fours. he couldn't wait any longer, couldn't deny himself the pleasure of sinking himself into you. he hurriedly sheds his clothes, spits into his hand and spreads it from the tip of his girthy cock to the base as your hole clenches around the absence of him. he towers behind you, pushing your head deep into the mattress as you relinquish all control to him.

"who is my good girl?" he purrs as he pumps himself as he drinks in the the curve of your ass and hushed whimpers into the bedsheets, painfully craning your neck to just get a sight of him. your lack of immediate response earned a harsh slap to your ass from him and a yelp from you. he sloppily kisses the reddened skin, his tongue gliding over the imprint of his hand.

"i'm–." you hiccup. "i'm your good girl."

"sir." he mumbles against your ass.

"sir." you repeat. "i'm your good girl, sir." the bedsheets muffling your whines, but ben heard you loud enough and he straightens up with a shit-eating grin.

"yeah, you fuckin' are." a glob of spit falls from his lips and rolls down from your tight hole and down, settling into your folds. he gives himself one last pump before guiding his tip and pushing himself, almost lazily, into your desperate cunt. you feel each vein, each bump of his cock before he finally nestles himself into you, at a depth you didn't know possible. your breath coming out in short, shallow gasps as he sighs with content and pushes your face further into the mattress with the other hand grabbing tightly onto your hip for support. he drags himself out and audibly groans at the sight of your slick covering him before effortlessly slamming back into you, his hips snapping against yours. "your pussy was made for me, baby. taking me so well." he gasps as he throws his head back in pure exhilaration, your tight pussy welcoming and accommodating his cock with ease.

he was sure that in his over 100 years of existence, that he had never felt a pussy as tight as yours, that took him better than anyone else. the hypnotising sound of his skin against yours, his hands gliding over and grabbing at your smooth skin, pulling you closer to him. you couldn't concentrate on anything else; your senses were overwhelmed with ben and you never wanted it to end. you snake your hand between your sweaty thighs and rub messy circles your oversensitive clit as you, again, near your climax. your eyes and pussy flutter in unison as ben swats away your hand and replaces it with his own.

"god, if i knew you were this fuckin' filthy, i would've fucked you weeks ago. got me waitin' like a pussy-whipped bitch for you." he pats your clit, laughing as you flinch with each touch. "bet no one's ever fucked you, like you deserve. like the slut you are, huh?" he leans forward and creates a make-shift ponytail, wrenching your head and neck back to look into his blown pupils as he continues his rough pace. "good girls answer when i fuckin' talk to 'em." he pushes his sweaty forehead against yours, demanding all of your attention and no matter how hard you try, your mind is completely elsewhere. he was right, no one had ever fucked you like this and no one else ever could. he had ruined other men for you.

"you're the best, sir. best cock i've ever had, t–thank you." you stutter as he expertly hits your g-spot, making your speech falter and eyes look skyward. he reaches up and lightly taps you on your cheeks before grabbing your jaw as his momentum wanes.

"look at you." he coos. "fucking you stupid, ain't i?" he gives your cheek another tap, harsher this time. all you can do is nod in return, your brain foggy. "fuck. cock so good, it got you speechless." he sighs through gritted teeth as you whimper pathetically, completely at under his control.

"c-close, so. close." you mewl. "please, sir. please, let me cum on your cock." and with that ben yanks your head back even further, yanking on your hair and contorting your back so his mouth was next to your ear, nibbling and nipping as you cried out in pleasure. he pushes you back down again, keeping one hand pressing down against your face whilst the other furiously worked your clit; rubbing tight, calculated circles.

"c'mon, you can do it. cum on this cock, you're taking me so fuckin' well, doll." like a man addicted, he's completely transfixed with watching his cock thrust into your inviting cunt. "gonna fuck'n cum in you. you'd like that, wouldn't you? filled with my cum. tell me you want it." he accentuates his last words with sharp thrusts and you whine loudly in agreement. strained whimpers, shaking legs. finally, it hits you like a bullet. your body arches upon instinct and you cry out ben's name, repeating it like a mantra. your spongy walls clench furiously around ben, encouraging him to spur on as your cries pleasure turn into pleas.

"t-too much, too mu–"

"i know you can do it. my good girl." it was a sensation like you've never felt before, pure bliss. a primal groan rumbles in ben's chest and his arm tenses as he continuously rubs your engorged bundle of nerves. "wanna see you fuckin' squirt." your body convulses as you reach your final tipping point and squirt all over ben's hand and bed covers, fireworks exploding behind your eyes before you fall limp in his tight grasp. ben follows quickly behind and paints your walls with his cum, grunting loudly as he rutts into you. he pulls out and falls down next to you, a content smirk plastered across his face. he wipes his sweaty brow and pushes his hair back before reaching out and repeating the action on you. for a while, you just lay and look into each other eyes and although no words were spoken, a silent understanding bloomed between the two of you. he placed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips before rolling out of the bed, making his way to the bathroom as he loudly yawned and scratched the back of his head.

as you laid there in his disheveled bed and your own mess, you knew that no matter what he would never want you. not in the same way you wanted him; all to yourself. you knew in the morning you'd be waking up to your mistake and you'd never be the same, again.

a/n: this took way too long to write, but here we finally are. to the anon that requested this, pls accept my humblest apologies, you've been so patient with me omg <3 i hope it's exactly how u wanted it to be. this fic was based on yet another song (try to act surprised) and this time it's 5sos, one of my faves bands ever! please support your writers by LIKING, COMMENTING & REBLOGGING if you loved this!

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(p.s thank you SO MUCH for 500 followers, never thought this would happen!! appreciate all your continuous love and support for my silly stories and dumb ass posts, i love you all 💗)

[lkblackham]

Had the image of a half human, half Qunari baby pop in my head and got some good therapy practicing drawing cute babies.

Being the child of a nurse-midwife, I have witnessed many births and many different kinds of new dads (on video, to be clear - my mom didn't drag me around to births in person). And so, it is my belief that Emmrich would definitely be the weepy type of new dad. I love those dads.

My personal fanfic headcanon stuff that may or may not be cringe, I make no apologies:

1) Qunari kids, much like goats, do not fully grow their horns until they hit puberty. Which is definitely for the best, because a) birth OUCH and b) can you imagine a hyperactive 2-year-old running around with what amounts to two giant spears attached to their head?

So for the first 12+ years of their life, they just have cute lil forehead nubbins that still really hurt when they headbutt you during a tantrum.

2) It's a girl. Because we all know that Emmrich has strong Girl Dad energy.

3) Atash and Emmrich had a really tough time with names - both given names and surnames. Atash isn't particularly attached to her surname (Laidir) and so was totally fine with just 'Volkarin' for their kid. Emmrich was insistent on including 'Laidir', however, as he felt very strongly about Atash's heritage and story sharing an equal part with his in naming their daughter. So she's got 2 last names - one for Nevarra and one for Rivain. She can pick whichever she prefers, or neither, or both. What matters is that both are there to begin with.

This line of thinking also, obviously, complicated the given name. It's really hard when you're pretty certain this is going to be your only kid, and you're from two very different cultures with their own ideas about names, AND you have a rather tragically long list of people you love who have passed on and deserve to have a child named after them. Not to mention, both of you have names you just personally like, saved away in your head just in case you ever did have a kid to name.

In the end, Atash and Emmrich came up with a compromise, for which they really hope their daughter won't resent them in the future: they gave her *four* names. One for a family member, one for a fallen friend, one for her Qunari heritage, and one that's just hers and no one else's.

So, all together, it came to:

Lobelia Elannora Lace Nazay Laidir Volkarin

It's. It's a lot. Atash and Emmrich both acknowledge that. But it felt wrong to not include those tributes in their daughter's name.

Besides, this just means she has a lot of options, right? Right? Right. Definitely.

(They also acknowledge that Lace Harding would think this was absolutely ridiculous and laugh at them over it, but that mental image being there is part of why they did it)

And yes, of COURSE they chose a flower name.

4) Manfred is really friggin excited to get the chance to watch someone grow up and maybe teach THEM some things himself. Emmrich is really friggin excited on both a personal and academic level to raise his daughter alongside his ward, teaching her about spirits while Manfred learns from her about mortals.

Manfred's also a really great diaper changer because he doesn't have a nose and he's not squeamish about literally anything.

(Not that Atash or Emmrich take advantage of this.)

(Often.)

BY THE WAY, VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: I do not believe that the default Happy Ending for everyone is having kids. In another universe, Emmrich and Rook are just as happy teaching Manfred how to be a person and mage (or not, if Emmrich became a lich) and going off on their own kid-free adventures. YOU MAKE THE CHOICES THAT ARE BEST FOR YOU and fuck what the tropes say.

This is just *my* fantasy cringe fluff. You do you. ♥️

[michanvalentine]

Of course, Astarion wants to ascend. He wants it so much, it’s as clear as day. He has never hidden how much he ideally likes the idea of power—to elevate himself from his current position, to ensure his safety, to bend others to his will (instead of being the one who is bent). And if he can also walk in the sun and never feel the hunger pangs again, even better!

But let’s not forget that Astarion has a limited worldview. Cazador himself says it in one of his confrontations with Tav/Durge: "He is afraid. He is afraid because all he has ever known is you and me, and without us, he is nothing."

Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess. So, to navigate life, he can either rely on the worldview presented by Cazador (power, power, power, and more power—to place himself above others) or the one offered by Tav/Durge, assuming they are a heroic figure. Otherwise, the only perspective left is that of power, and Ascending becomes almost natural in an evil playthrough (which I myself did in my villain run). Ascending Astarion in a good playthrough, however, seems completely contradictory to me, but whatever…

Let’s not forget that power is not Astarion’s driving force—power is only a means to an end. His real driving force is fear, as both Cazador and Scleritas emphasize. He would do anything to feel safe (like becoming a half-Illithid if scared enough by Tav/Durge—even though he rejects that idea with every fiber of his being, and yet…). The scene with the dryad, Naoise Nallinto, in Astarion’s origin run makes it crystal clear: when she uses her power on him, among all the possible choices (wealth, respect, power, etc.), Astarion’s personal wish is to feel safe, not power—even though power is explicitly one of the options. But it’s not his!

Oh, and Astarion himself spells it out, right before the final decision between Ascending or not. His exact words: "One final thrust, and I'll be free of you. I will never have to fear you again. And if I complete the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever."

Everything revolves around fear, which is once again emphasized in the insight check—where it becomes obvious what is driving him and what is simultaneously holding him back from making a rational decision. Because while it’s true that he wants to ascend, he also wants to redeem himself. Well yes, it's shocking, folks, but two completely opposite desires can exist within the same person. They're called internal contradictions, and we all experience them every day or almost ("Oh, damn, I want to go out with my friends tonight, but I also want to just lie on the couch and watch TV").

Let’s not pretend this character is one-dimensional and that all these dialogue lines don’t exist when discussing Astarion. Of course he wants to ascend—he wants it so badly. The point is understanding why he wants it. And then questioning whether giving in to that fear is truly worth it, considering the consequences and what he would be giving up (because even Ascending comes with its own sacrifices, and I’m not even talking about his soul or the 7,000 people).

That’s why, if they choose to, Tav/Durge can intervene and make him reflect on the alternative (which, depending on how you play your Tav, could have been introduced to him from the very beginning of the adventure—it’s not something that just comes out of nowhere, unless you’re playing completely incoherently).

And it’s Astarion himself, in one of the most beautiful dialogues in the entire game, who explicitly states this lesson he has learned. When Durge is overcome with despair and fear—just like him—and tries to end the relationship, Astarion says: "This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can't let our lives be ruled by fear, or else we'll never truly live."

He has understood. He has grown. He has accepted that uncomfortable emotion and has decided not to be consumed by it—to choose for himself without letting fear dictate his actions. And I couldn’t be prouder of him.

One last thing, because I’ve seen it repeated a lot on social media: Ascending is not Astarion’s lifelong dream—it is Cazador’s dream. Astarion didn’t even know this kind of ritual existed until five minutes before it happened, so no, Tav/Durge is not cruelly ripping away his lifelong dream just for the sake of moral superiority. And above all, they are not forcing him to give it up—but I’ve already talked about this before, and I’m not going to repeat myself.

[bit-b]

About a trending Discord warning:

TL;DR: Discord is NOT making "Find your friends" enabled by default. You're probably not giving Discord your contact information without your knowledge. Their UI choices just suck.

There's a warning post going around by a person I'm not going to name, as I don't want people to dogpile on them. That is NOT the goal of this post, and if you DO harass anyone because of what I write, then you're a garbage person with garbage habits that needs to throw those habits in the garbage.

Rather, my goal with this post is to educate about a Discord feature that's not being represented properly.

-------------------------------------

Supposedly in the new mobile update, Discord added this ""NEW"" feature called "Find your friends", and then they enabled it by default. This feature allows users to use their smartphone contacts to search for their friends on Discord. It also enables others to be able to find you in the exact same way.

Obviously, this would be MASSIVELY dangerous from a privacy perspective.

Imagine if someone had relatives that use Discord. In a scenario like that, those relatives would have an easy way of finding the accounts of family members. And in some home situations, online anonymity from relatives could mean the difference between having an outlet and not having an outlet.

I'm also pretty sure I know some folks with alt accounts (you know who you are). And if Discord was somehow able to cross-reference all your contacts with the Discord accounts you're logged into, that would be DISASTROUSLY EMBARRASSING, to say the least.

So I totally understand how concerning this would be if it turned out to be true.

The thing is, it's not.

The person who made that warning misinterpreted THIS page:

This is the new "Add Friends" page for the Discord mobile app. Obviously, a page to help you add friends. There's a big 'ol window at the bottom showcasing Discord's "Find your friends" feature.

Now, this feature is actually NOT new. It's been around for a long time. But there's a very subtle change that happened with the new update. Take a look at how "Find your friends" used to look:

It starts by giving you a banner at the top of your friends list, telling you that this feature is available. Then when you click on it, it takes you to a page with UI elements that look awfully familiar.

It's pretty clear what happened. In an effort to condense down their friend-finding functions into one menu, Discord took the "Find your friends" setup menu and tossed it in with all the other ways to contact friends.

But by doing this, Discord has made this setup window confusing. It's not immediately obvious if the "Find your friends" feature is ON and running, or OFF and waiting to be activated.

Maybe it would have helped to make the blurple button read something like "Sync contacts" instead of "Find friends". At least then, you could tell at a glance that nothing has been sync'd yet. (Or y'know, maybe just stick to "Grant Permission". That was working just fine before.)

So it seems the OP:

Looked at the "Find your friends" setup menu that Discord hastily slapped into the "Add friends" page

Noticed the checkbox that read "Allow contacts to add me"

Saw that it was already marked

Then assumed that it must be some kind of tucked-away setting that was left ON by default.

To make this abundantly clear, "Find your friends" only works if you opt-in.

That checkmark allows you to tell Discord you are okay with people finding you in this manner. Unchecking it makes it possible to use "Find your friends" without others being able to find you the same way.

It doesn't get set up on your device until you press the big blurple "Find friends" button. Even then, you still have to add your phone number to your account and verify it via a 6-digit code sent via SMS.

After that, you have to give Discord permission to access your contacts via whatever phone OS you use.

You have to be pretty deliberate for any of these functions to start.

I won't say it's impossible to set it up on accident. It's a strange world, and stranger things have happened. If you want to, go check your app permissions to make sure you don't have contact permissions enabled for Discord. It's always good to be sure. But rest easy knowing that you probably don't have to worry about it.

-------------------------------------

In my opinion, I think that anyone who reblogged that warning should consider reversing those reblogs.

Honestly, I also think the OP should just delete their post instead of repeatedly adding amended reblogs to it. At the end of the day, the core of that post was misinformation and misguided assumptions. There's no real reason to keep it up.

Besides, I'd rather pin Discord on things they're ACTUALLY guilty of. Like designing a new UI that's widely mocked. And making things 10x more confusing for the end-user.

Here's Discord's official "Find your friends" FAQ page:

https://support.discord.com/hc/en-us/articles/360061878534-Find-Your-Friends-FAQ

I hate to beg, but I'd appreciate if people would reblog this post. I fear that the warning post is gonna steer a LOT of people to believe a lot of things about Discord that are logically and functionally not true.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[highvern]

Nights Like These

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: fluff, neighbor!au, Nightwing! mingyu based off this, bartender reader

warnings: very dumb people (mingyu x reader), suggestive but no explicit smut

Length: ~2k

Note: merry gyumas!!!!! this is revenge for spider woo from @gyuswhore if you hate it, it's bc i wrote it in like 3 hours. thank u @the-boy-meets-evil i will be enacting my revenge on you soon. MWAH!

summary: On nights when you close the bar late, a friendly hero always happens to be around to walk you home and share his woes about the crush on his neighbor.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

With the rain pounding down in thick sheets, you rush home. On nights like these, when you're the last one out of the bar, completely alone, are always the worst. The bus doesn’t run this late but at least you’re only a few blocks from your apartment. A ten minute run if you don’t stop.

The rain abruptly halts. Not that you’re lucky enough for the storm to pass but because someone falls into step beside you. “Need an umbrella?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. He always shows up when you have the closing shift. The man who runs around the city in a spandex suit and calls himself Nightwing. 

The first time, some creep had been trailing you from a distance. Thankfully, most of the businesses on the way back to your apartment stayed open later, the nice apartments have doormen so you could run into one at a moment's notice. But as soon as you noticed the weight of a gaze on your back it vanished with a short scuffle. When you turned to find the source of noise, Nightwing stood guard as the creep spirited away.

From that night on, if you got off after midnight, he was there to escort you home. 

The first few times he followed from a distance. A couple yards, then ten feet and then one night you waited for him to walk beside you like a normal person. Most nights you were too exhausted to make conversation but he kept you both entertained, asking easy questions or staying silent if you were particularly irritated. But usually, on those nights you felt his eyes on you from one of the alleys you passed, or from the rooftops. He gave you space but kept you safe. Even when you insisted there were far better things for him to do in a city that never sleeped. People who needed him more. But Nightwing shook you off each time.

“This storm came out of nowhere,” you say, huddling closer. He’s big, taking up most of the space by default. You try not to touch him but the heat of his body is pleasant considering your soaked clothes, chilled straight to the bone.

“Yeah, downtown is already flooded.”

“Already walked all the other girls home there?”

“Ha-ha,” he huffs. “I actually work in an office there.”

Oh. In all the nights he’s chaperoned you home, he’s been careful not to reveal too much about himself but some things naturally slip out. He wants a dog but is never home enough to take care of it. One of his friends burnt a fish in his apartment and wasn’t allowed to come back. He tried reading some of the books you talked about but wasn’t a big reader. This is the first time he’s offered information so personal.

“So even superheroes have day jobs?”

“Gotta pay rent somehow.”

“Maybe take up being a security guard. Or Uber but walking women home late at night.”

“Nah,” he smiles, a flash of white teeth between pink lips. “I do that for free. Part of the job.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Sometimes you think maybe he likes walking with you. But as he said, it’s a part of his job. His civic responsibilities to protect the street from creeps and weirdos. Besides, the only other personal information you know about him is the fat crush he has on the girl in the apartment next to him.

“How's your neighbor?” you ask.

“She’s okay. Still acts like I don’t exist.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“You said she’d like it if I gave her something I cooked, I did.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“Damn.”

You think of your own neighbor and how grateful you are that he does something similar. Mingyu was overall, a great neighbor. Grabbed your packages from the mailroom and left them on your doormat when he could, shared food if he made too much which was frequently, and managed to keep his rowdy friends quiet when they were over. But you typically only spoke to him in passing. Strictly neighborly. How are you? They didn’t pick up the trash today? Can I borrow some salt? By the way, I made an entire pot of spaghetti and I cannot eat it alone. Want some?

Recently he offered more and more. A blessing really because by the time you got off work you were too exhausted to cook and too broke to justify paying for the fees for delivery. Everytime he offered you food though you weren’t sure what to do with the tupperware. He was rarely home when you were; conflicting schedules. Last time he brought you the extra brownies from his office party. The tote bag full of clean containers sat next to your door for whenever you saw him but lately he’d been MIA. 

Maybe Nightwing’s neighbor felt the same way. If he had a job and ran around town at all hours it was unlikely there was a good time for them to talk.

“Have you tried asking her out?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Your shoulder brushes his arm but you ignore the contact. Not like you can feel much with the numbness from the freezing rain.

“No luck.”

“Maybe she’s shy.”

He levels you with a look meaning that clearly isn’t the problem. For a second you wonder what he looks like without the mask. The tiny scrap of blue, black, and white obscuring so much. Obviously, he’s handsome. Maybe she’s a little intimidated. You would be. Even if his neighbor didn’t know who he really was, he had an aura around him. 

And even if he wore baggy clothes, they wouldn’t hide his physique or height.

But you can’t dwell on those thoughts because then you think of your neighbor who is also tall and muscular, and somehow reminds you of a golden retriever.

“Well, you seem normal enough. Even though you wear a weird amount of spandex for a grown man.”

He laughs, the edges of the umbrella shaking with him and exposing you back to the elements but you don’t mind. The sound is rich and warm, forcing the chill away. “What is a normal amount of spandex?”

“Probably zero,” you joke. “Maybe you should just ask her out. Honesty is the best policy or whatever.”

“Or whatever. I’ll remember that.”

“Well,” you sigh. The front of your apartment is in view. Nightwing will wait until you’re inside to leave, tucked safely behind the glass door and up the stairs out of sight. He hands you the umbrella for the last fifteen feet he always refuses to accompany you, and disappears out of sight.

You don’t tell anyone who walks you home at night. It’s a nice little secret between you and the city’s hero. But sometimes you wished you could. If only to explain how confusing it is that Nightwing reminds you of Mingyu. A bizarre thought. Mingyu is an architect and hardly has the time for a pet, let alone to save the city every night. You leave the thought at the threshold of the stairwell.

The trek upstairs takes longer than you’d like. Five flights of stairs down is a lot easier than five flights up and with your limbs just now warming up, it's a process to rally enough energy to climb even the first few. Good thing is with it being so late, you aren’t at risk of holding up a line to the top. 

By the time you reach the third floor, the sensation returns to your extremities. By the fifth, the only thought in your head is a shower and the cozy warmth of your bed. 

As you reach the final steps, shuffling like a zombie, the universe decides your night isn’t over yet.

Your neighbor, hair washed from a shower, white shirt and pajama pants wrapped around his figure, emerges from the opposite staircase, where the trash chute is. Maybe you have a crush on Mingyu but half the building does too. He’s a good neighbor, he’s nice, and he’s handsome. 

Okay, maybe it’s a big crush and you can’t figure out if he’s just nice or if all the nice things he does mean a little bit more. You should probably ask Nightwing what he thinks the next time he walks you home. He’s a guy, he’d know.

But right now, Mingyu gets to see your best impression of a drowned rat.

Lovely.

“Hey,” he says. His door is at the top of the stairs you just climbed, and yours at the top of the stairs he just climbed. When you pass by, you can’t help but get a whiff of his body wash. Cedar, citrus, and soap mingling pleasantly. 

You grunt in response. “Hey, Mingyu.”

“Late night?”

“Something like that.”

You both stand in the hallway, waiting for something else to say but nothing comes up. Somewhere below a door slams and the patter of feet echoes through the stairwell.

Mingyu turns away first. “Well, good night.”

“Wait!” you call, cringing at the harsh reverb of your voice.

He whips around, eyes wide, cheeks rosy. Like a little kid with their hand stuck in the cookie jar.

“I have your containers! I’ve been meaning to give them back.”

“Oh.” He deflates slightly but you pay no mind. 

You shove the metal of your apartment door open and rummage through your kitchen for the tote full of plastic containers. When you exit, Mingyu is waiting on your doormat, hands in his pockets.

Racking your brain for something – anything – to say, you blurt. “Um, the brownies you made were great.”

That pleases him. Behind the thick rim of his glasses his eyes soften, cheeks lifting from a shy smile. “Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“That’s nice.”

Neither of you move. Content rather than awkward. At your back, the rain pounds against the windows, thunder clapping, an occasional streak of lighting. A dull lullaby.

“Hey,” he starts. “Would you ever wanna hangout? Like a date?”

You couldn’t have heard that right. 

“A date?” you parrot.

“Or not! It doesn’t have to be a date if you’re not interested or…”

“A date sounds nice,” you grin, cheeks bursting. “What are you doing in thirty minutes?”

“Watching Survivor.”

“I’ll bring the popcorn. I just need to shower really quick.”

Mingyu blinks like he can’t believe any of it. Like you agreeing to hangout with him was never an actual option or that this entire thing is a fever dream. It’s cute. 

“Ugh—” he swallows. “Yeah! Okay. Just…knock wherever!”

Tucked away in the steam of the shower, you scrub and shave and scrub again. Feeling a little more human with each minute. You don’t bother with make up or anything fancy. Mingyu asked you out with mascara running down your cheeks in the hideous shirt the bar makes you wear. The bar is incredibly low. 

Settling on some sweats and a hoodie, you make the trip down the hall to 6F and knock just like Mingyu said. You sit a safe distance away on the couch but like two magnets you and Mingyu draw closer and closer until his arm is over your shoulder with a pretend stretch and you’re nodding off against his chest.

At some point, you both move to his bed. Or Mingyu asks and carries you across his apartment when you nod. His bed sounds like a great idea. The storm clears by the time you wake up. The first thing you do when Mingyu blinks awake, arm curled around your back like you considered leaving, is leave a gentle kiss on his jaw. 

You give him a better one as a thank you for coffee, and another when he makes pancakes. He lifts you onto the counter, taking place between your knees as thanks for the perfect whip cream smiley face decorating said pancakes. 

Next time you see your spandex clad friend, you’ll have to let him know honesty really is the best policy.

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