#Positivity Toolbox

[our-ewblog]

Dangerous | Be the Threat to Your Threats

Dangerous | Be the Threat to Your Threats

Dangerous by Erik Kruger : Picture Credit- EW Blog. Life has a way of throwing all challenges to human beings that threatens their peace, development and success. When faced with such threats and challenges, human beings naturally are forced to go into survival mode. In his latest book, Erik Kruger cautions against such a move of being a survivalist, rather he wants us to be dangerous to that…

[marblebees]

The Instructional i bought has been really handy but its kinda funny how the whole first half was about Gripping Very Broadly, with a couple of specific goals to get to, and then the second half where he demoes all the takedowns its like. A demo and he shows all the details to make a technique work. And then he does the exact same thing from like 5 different stances/grips. Its very comprehensive, but to the point its a bit overwhelming.

I def think its meant to be a resource you go back to repeatedly once you have specific questions but its just kinda funny watching it chronologically where hes like “i love collar drags. You should first start with Uke Waza (the collar drag).” And then he does 5 collar drag set ups 5 ankle pick set ups 5 double legs 5 single legs “i actually dont like single legs all that much compared to knee picks” 5 knee picks and now we’re on to snap downs like.

[ganymedesclock]

Hello! I hope your week has been kind to you. May I inquire of your thoughts about IDW Eggman written by Ian Flynn? I noticed his reference in one of your posts, and i would like to know how you feel about the direction Ian is taking the Sonic characters in in the Sonic franchise. I would also like to know what you think about Surge and Kit, the product of Dr. Starline's unethical experimentations. Mimic, the traitorous mercenary as well if you don't mind. Remind yourself to eat your meals regularly and to maintain a limber body!

I admittedly haven't gotten to sink my teeth in IDW- I'm currently following through @thankskenpenders' take on archie which I would like to finish before I start that. What I have seen is promising, but I don't consider myself educated to speak on those characters. I think Surge, Kit, and Mimic have very fun designs and seem to have a lot of potential, and I love the way the former two (and Starline himself) are nods to classic glitches.

As far as IDW Eggman, as I've said, I'm very interested in what Flynn and Stanley do with him! They're definitely a bit darker than I've always liked my take on Eggman- my formative Sonic game was Sonic Adventure 2, which featured Eggman as a protagonist in his own right, albeit a "dark" one. I've always liked the idea of him as half-honorable, and it's a balancing act to frame that with just how brutal and ruthless he can be. But I've grown to be fond of that- I think half-honorability stands out a little more when the other half is that... coldly efficient.

As I said in the post, I think it's interesting to take Eggman as someone who may have had noble intentions as a 'fixer' once but who's gone a good few strides further than that. In a warped way, he always 'helps'- but you may not appreciate his help. I think that plays well with him as a manipulator and a trickster who tends to play people against each other for his own profit and amusement- if he's always harmless or always terrifying that's a potentially fine character (there's much I like about SatAM Robotnik after all!) but it doesn't really hit me as Eggman in the same way.

Almost everything I've gleaned secondhand about the Mr. Tinker arc is fascinating to me because of that. Especially the way Sonic confronts Eggman afterwards, and makes it clear he isn't opposed to Eggman regaining his memory (Sonic is not someone who likes to take power or options away from even his worst enemies) but upset that Eggman threw away everything he had as Mr. Tinker, to which Eggman replies, almost wistfully, that that kind of life was "peaceful"- but he's got bigger fish to fry.

As I said in a previous post, at the end of the day, Eggman's meant a lot of things to a lot of people, and while I'll always have my own takes on the Sonic cast, the biggest thing I can hope for is that new versions of the story will experiment further. That willingness to try new things boldly is, in my opinion, one of the things that's kept the Sonic franchise as youthfully full of vitality as it is. I can't really find it in my heart to hate any version of Eggman- they've all got something going for them, from the silly to the horrifying to the aforementioned half-honorable to the completely vile.

[enchantechante]

[aviatrix-ash]

Can I show you all my favorite little ratchet 🥺👉👈

It's nothing fancy, definitely not a $150 Snap-on fella, I paid maybe $6 or 8 bucks for it at Harbor Freight. It's come in clutch on everything I've touched so far from jets, ww2 planes, weird experimental planes, to cars, boats, and so many engines and doodads and thingies and it's just a lil guy and I think it'sgreat :3

(Ignore the glitter, I've been going thru sparkly gelpen after gelpen writing notes for daaaays to prep for my exams. :'3)

[letterstotheflre]

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 || 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

summary: in which you forget your wallet and offer eddie a quid pro quo. oh, look at you using big words! [eddie munson x bimbo!reader]

cw: smut || 18+ only [ft. oral sex (m receiver), cheating, outdoors sex, reader is dumb (obviously, so if that bothers you.. goodbye!]

a/n: i rewrote this entire thing 4 times 😃 i still don’t really like how some parts turned out but let’s pretend it’s because i’ve stared at it for hours on end and not bc it’s actually bad <3

“That’d be 20,” Eddie says, sliding the bag of weed towards you over the wooden table.

You open your bag to look for your wallet only to not find it in its usual spot. You look inside the bigger compartment, ruffling through makeup bags, receipts and strawberry lollipops but come back empty handed. You look back at Eddie, offering him an anxious smile, “Just a sec.”

He nods and rests his forearms on the table, toying with the wristband of his watch while he watches you open all three of your makeup bags, the glass bottles and compact powders clinking against each other. 

His eyebrows raise at your mumbled curse. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. S’just…” you giggle nervously, twirling a strand of hair. “I forgot my wallet. Silly me.”

Eddie grimaces in pity. “Well that’s unfortunate, sweetheart, but you know what they say…” he takes back the plastic bag and dumps it into his toolbox, closing the lid sharply. He smiles sarcastically, “Flattery doesn’t pay the bills.”

Your shoulders drop as he stands up, but before he can put his leather jacket back on your face lights up, resembling a cartoon having an eureka moment. Or so Eddie thinks. “Wait! I could pay you some other way, if you want!”

“Cash only, you know the rules.” Your twinkling laughter lets him know he said something stupid, which coming from you should probably bruise his ego a little. “What?”

“That’s not what I meant, silly,” you chuckle, adjusting your position on the bench and leaning forward conspiratorially, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Eddie gulps as your eyes drag down his body to his groin then back up to his face. “I meant, I could do you a little favour.”

“A favour,” he repeats blankly. 

“Yeah, like a little– ugh, what’s the word?” You muse, your front teeth trapping your lower lip. Eddie has to admit that the way your brows furrow in concentration is adorable. “Oh, yeah, a little quid pro quo! I suck your cock, you give me the weed for free,” you sing-song, smiling at him. 

Eddie is many things. A freak, a nerd, an academic failure, a drug dealer. He is not dumb, though, even though the vast majority of Hawkins High would like to defer. So it’d be very dumb of him to turn down a blowjob offer from one of the prettiest girls in Hawkins. 

He’s seen you around town before, walking around with your short skirts and dresses and tight shirts, heeled mary janes that probably cost more than anything inside his trailer clicking against the pavement. You were one of the few people in Hawkins that didn’t cast him aside, in fact, you had always been kind to him whenever he got the courage to talk to you. 

Whether it was because you were simply too nice or because the fact that he was Eddie “the Freak” Munson just flew over your pretty little ditzy head, he’d never know. 

So sue him if he had a teeny tiny crush on the local airhead.

Then he remembers the hunk who usually had an arm wrapped around your waist. The meathead that would bump into his shoulder if they crossed paths. The jackass that would make your shoulders drop and a sad look cloud your face when he mocked you as you played around with the figurines on display in the comic shop he frequented. 

His mood sours.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” 

“Yeah, but he won’t mind. Half the weed is for him anyways.” You shrug, clearly unbothered. “Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t been sneaking around with like, half of his girl friends behind my back. At least I’m doing this as a favour to him.” 

Eddie’s eyes widen. “Shit, no way.” 

“Yeah, he must think I’m stupid or something. I mean, I’ve already found three different fake nails in his car. Do I look like the type of girl to wear black nail polish?” You tilt your head to the side, your shiny purple nails clicking on the table. Eddie shakes his head with a snort. “Exactly! So, are we gonna do this or not? I have a hair dresser’s appointment in like an hour.”

Eddie shifts in place, kicking some leaves up in the air. As much as this is a dream come true, he doesn’t wanna take advantage of your predicament. Hoping you don’t take it back, he asks, “You sure this is cool?” 

“Yeah, it’ll be fun!”

He wonders if your idea of fun is usually this fucked up but finds himself nodding in approval. “Yeah, sure. Fuck it.”

You clap your hands in excitement and stand up, your skirt flaring as you twirl around to walk to the opposite side of the bench. You stand in front of him, fingers linked together as you bounce on the balls of your feet. “So, like, do you wanna stand or sit down?”

Eddie stares at your glossy mouth as you talk, down to your low cut top that exposes the swells of your chest, and lower to your short skirt that will most likely rise up if the barest hint of a breeze passes you by. 

“I, uh, I think I’ll sit,” he says, lowering himself to the bench. He gulps when he’s face to face with your boobs, your nipples straining against your shirt.

Yeah, he thinks as his cock stirs awake, sitting down was the smartest choice. 

“Wait,” he grabs his jacket and dumps it in front of him. “For– for your knees. So the leaves don’t hurt you,” he explains when he sees the confused look on your face. 

Your heart swells inside your chest. You have to clutch it to make sure it doesn’t burst from the seams. “That’s so sweet!” you cry and give him a quick peck on the cheek before kneeling between his legs. 

You shuffle until you’re in a comfortable position, caressing his thighs gently when you’re done. “It’s super comfy, Eddie. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he exhales, watching in anticipation as you unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans. He helps you out by raising his hips, pulling down his boxers himself just enough to get his cock out. 

Your mouth falls open. “Oh, wow.”

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet but it’s still an impressive sight, barely thicker than it’s longer and decorated with two cute veins on either side that lead to the pink tip. Your favourite colour. 

You reach forward to touch him but he shifts back awkwardly, shoulders drawn up. “Sorry about the mess,” he says, more pink coating his cheeks. If he keeps this up you’re going to fall in love. “I didn’t think I'd be getting blowed during a deal so, uh, y’know… housekeeping missed a week.”

He’s embarrassed, you realise, catching up to the misunderstanding. About his… pubic hair? You laugh internally, how dumb is this boy?

“I don’t care about that, dummy,” you keep stroking his inner thigh, now touching his skin. He’s so warm. 

Your honesty is so clear in your eyes that it helps him relax. Your hand hovers above his mound and only touches him when he nods shakily, petting it softly. Your eyes light up with happiness and god, Eddie loves that shine on you. “I think it’s super hot, actually. Kinda wish my boyfriend kept it like this.”

Eddie sighs as you litter warm kisses around the base. His dick twitches when your nose bumps against it. “He doesn’t?”

He doesn’t know why he asks, but he’s curious. So very curious to know what you see in that asshole, what it is exactly that Eddie’s missing. And maybe, just maybe, he feels a burst of proudness when you shake your head with a sad pout. 

Eddie: 1

Asshole boyfriend: 0

Your kisses move upwards, your lips pressing sweetly all around his cock and your tongue tracing the veins. Eddie is practically vibrating with anticipation, his hands hovering on either side of your head like he doesn’t know if he can touch you. 

“You can touch me, Eddie,” you mumble against his length, the vibrations sending a shiver down Eddie’s spine. “You can do whatever you want. Here–” 

He swallows down the whine of despair that threatens to come out of his throat when you pull away, has to bite his lip to stay quiet when you take off your top and your tits fall out.

You take his hands and press them to your chest. “Feel them,” you guide his fingers so he can squeeze them, letting out a breathy moan in response. Encouraged, Eddie does it again, this time by himself, and sneaks out of your hold to twist your nipples. “S-soft, aren’t they?”

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he corrects. 

You swallow harshly, the praise and Eddie’s eyes glued to your boobs creating a gentle warmth inside you. “I, uh, thought you might’ve wanted something pretty to look at. Trees can get a little boring. A-and you can use them as stress balls, too! Just anything y’want, really…” You shake your scattered head and grip him once more, Eddie cursing from your sudden movement. “I’m gonna suck you now, ‘kay?”

“Whenever you want, sweetheart.”

Something in the tone of his voice makes your thighs clench together. 

You purse your lips and dribble some spit onto the tip, spreading the rivulettes around with firm strokes. Eddie’s breathing hardens, and when you finally wrap the soft cushions of your mouth around the head and suckle on it like the lollipops you’re always munching on, it’s like he’s stopped breathing all together. 

“Shit,” he curses, the feel of your wet tongue swirling around turning his brain into mush. He can’t think straight, not when he looks down and sees you slobbering all over him, slurping loudly as your head bobs up and down enthusiastically.  

“Holy fuck, that feels so good.” You’re fighting back your gag reflex, he can feel it– your throat contracting around him as you try your best to fight off the urge to throw up, desperate to keep him snug inside your mouth. The spasms cause his head to fall back, the grip on your tits tightening until you’re whimpering. 

You’re a sputtering mess when you pull away, spit dripping down your chin and onto your chest, which is panting with the effort to relieve your burning lungs. You keep stroking him, though, your fist gliding with ease thanks to all the drool you left on him. 

“Look what you did to me,” Eddie says, eyes glued to the tip that oozes precum like a leaky faucet. You follow one of the pearly white drops on its path down to his balls and, never having been a wasteful person, lick it up. 

Eddie groans the feeling of your soft tongue kitten licking his heavy balls. “Do that again,” he begs, hands leaving your chest to keep you down where you are, pressing you against his base. You’re overwhelmed with all things Eddie: his scent, his taste, the sounds he makes as you plop both sacks into your mouth and suck them. 

Eddie slumps back against the table, the sharp edge digging itself into his back but he doesn’t care. He’s spewing curses and the sweetest sounds you have ever heard. “Oh god, you feel how full they are? How full of cum they are for you? Never got this fucking needy for anyone, I swear to fucking Ozzy or- shit, I don’t know. Feels like I’m gonna explode.” 

There aren’t many things that make you as wet as having a cock in your mouth and the evidence is clear in your panties, a string of slick stretching when you pull them to the side to play with your clit. You roll Eddie’s balls in your mouth, press two fingers into your dripping hole in search of relief. The reaction is immediate: a cute little mewl ripping from your chest thanks to the knowledge that your fingers are sticky with his cum and your spit.

You press your face further into his groin and sigh in pleasure, eyelashes fluttering as you pump and curl your fingers. With a kiss yo each of his balls, you lave your tongue on the underside of his cock, flicking the tip over his slit so you can embed his salty taste in your mouth.

“Oh shit, are you touching yourself?” His voice gets higher from the surprise and the arousal, something rabid growing in his stomach. He combs back your hair so he can see your eyes. “That’s– that’s so hot. You have no idea how fucking hot it is.”

He can’t look away from you. Wants to burn the image of your mouth stuffed full and your teary eyes and your lips stretched wide as you try to give him your best smile. Your nipples are grazing the rough fabric of his jeans, your tits bouncing up and down as you drool all over him.

He doesn’t think he can last much longer, not when you touch him so good and sound so pretty and he knows he’s the reason you’re so desperately fucking your own fingers. It’s then that the wet heat of your mouth envelops him again, your cheeks hollowing in a suction motion.

All hell breaks loose. 

He thinks he’s burning up, he has to be. His skin is hot and sweaty, his mind delirious and he can’t keep himself from spewing the first thoughts that come to mind. “I bet that little pussy is beautiful. Sweet too. It’s– It’s gotta be, with how fucking pretty you are. How sweet you always are to me. Always so nice to me, laughing at my awful jokes. Even if your idiotic boyfriend is around. Goddamit,” he clutches the bench beneath him, eyes screwed shut. “I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. Where- Where do you want it? In that tight throat, that pretty face? Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You pull away with a lewd popping sound, Eddie’s eyes rolling back. “My face, please. Want you to make me pretty,” you say breathlessly. 

Your inner walls flutter at the sight of Eddie losing himself in his orgasm. He’s always been pretty but now, with his lips raw bitten, his hair a wild mess from running his hand through it, his face flushed and his shirt sticking to his sweaty chest? He’s beautiful, gorgeous, every synonym in the dictionary. 

You await with an open mouth and the second the first spurts of his cum hit your cheek, you’re cumming yourself, movements stuttering and thighs closing in on your wrist. Some of the spurts enter your mouth directly and you gulp them down without hesitation. Others drip down your forehead and cheekbones before they touch your parted lips, your tongue darting out to collect them. 

“Come here.” He grabs you by the back of your neck and leans forward to kiss, not even caring that you’re covered in him. His nose presses against your cheek as he swallows down your whiny moans, tasting himself on your tongue. 

He’ll blame the mushyness on his post-orgasmic bliss, not worried about anything when you’re switching his deep kisses for sweet little pecks that could make his knees buckle. 

“Oh!” you exclaim when you notice the clump of white on the tip of Eddie’s nose. You swipe it off with your thumb and lick it up, not even worrying about the state of your own. “So, uh, I read that cum is like this super amazing facial… maybe we could do it again sometime?”

Oh, bless your silly little heart.

[softlyspector]

Blush

Summary: All you do is want, while Joel worries he won't ever be enough.

Find out how it started: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~9.2k

Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, just the barest hint of angst/argument, the ‘believes they’re hard to love, loving them is like breathing’ trope, tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn’t really described), reader is touch adverse, vague mentions of a past abusive relationship, insecurity, self confidence issues, abandonment issues, anxiety, lots and lots of intimacy and touching, mentions of arousal, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: Hello, so here we are at the final part of this lil four part thing. This fic owns a piece of my heart now, and I hope it's found somewhere to live in yours too. It's special for a lot of reasons, but the support its gotten has really been something incredible. Thank you for being so kind and lovely.

Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” 

Joel glances up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor. A lock of gray hair falls to the middle of his forehead. You reach down, without thinking, and push it back into place, letting your fingers trail through his hair. He always wears it so carefully parted to the side, especially now that he’s let it grow out a little longer. 

You picture him standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom brushing his hair and feel something warm and fluttery beat against your ribs. 

The image comes easily because it’s not something you have to imagine but remember—Joel tilting his chin down, eyes on his reflection in silvery morning light. 

Pink stains the tips of his ears when you let his hair slip softly from between your fingers. 

“Yeah, I did,” he disagrees before laboring to his feet. You hook one hand beneath his elbow and help him up. His knees pop and he hisses. “It’s past due we fixed it, anyhow. Past time I let you get back to your own life,” he continues, not pulling his arm away from your hand as he stoops down to shove the screwdriver in his hand back into the toolbox on the floor.

You like the way he says we. 

You rub your thumb against the inside of his elbow as he straightens again with a groan that means his back is aching again. “Well, now you get your house back to yourself,” you tease. 

“Ain’t like you’re trouble to have around,” he grumbles. 

You keep a steady pressure on his arm, because you like the way his skin feels under your hand, warm and pliant, like he’s been in the sun. You like the way you can feel the shift of muscle and the micro jump of tendon beneath your fingertips. 

You don’t like admitting to yourself that you like touching him, that you like the way he lets you hold on to him but so rarely tries the same with you. 

But, you’ve come to realize over the last week, where you shy away from touch, Joel craves it; he’s positively starved for it. He tries his best to hide that he wants for anything at all, but you see it. 

He would never ask for anything from you; it’s anathema to who he is, to ask for care. He’s stubborn and a little proud. 

When the locks that fit your door weren’t in stock at the local hardware store and Joel insisted on you staying with him until they came in, you saw that want first hand. 

He’d been busy for so many years—with work and his kids and his business and his brother. He’d lived in a busy house with a revolving door of people who constantly needed him. And now, he lives alone and away from his kids. His schedule is one he sets for himself, with easy, quiet days. His girls are busy, Tommy has his own family, and his house is empty. 

Maybe Joel would never admit it, but he is lonely.  

Staying with him for a week had shown you just how much he wanted—touch and companionship and company—and just how absolutely solitary his days were, especially in the evenings. Guilt like a tide had washed over you. How closely he paid attention to you, how cautious and watchful and giving he’s been, and you haven't really done the same. You haven’t tried to give him anything, to meet him somewhere in the middle. You hadn’t even thought of it. 

“Thank you for letting me stay with you this week,” you say, releasing his arm to press your hand against his spine, rubbing gently. It’s easier that way, you find, subtly giving, easing hurts he wouldn’t admit to. “And for changing the locks. You’re too good to me.” 

“No trouble,” he assures you again, quickly. “It’s too quiet without my girls livin’ with me. It was nice. Havin’ you around.” He clears his throat and bushes past the admission. “Anyhow. I’ll let you get settled back in.”

You frown at him, but Joel only puts an arm around your waist and leans in to press a kiss to your temple and then your cheek. “You call me if you need somethin’. Anything.” He says it against your skin, his lips warm and slightly chapped. “Even for nothin’.”

You close your eyes and absorb that affection, let it sink deep into your body, into your blood and bones, the ventricles of your heart. 

For a moment, all you can feel is him breathing against you—the patient, steady rise and fall of his breath—before he starts to pull away. You don’t want him to go, you aren’t ready to be parted from him. 

You aren’t ready to let him go. 

“Joel,” you say and cup your hand around his wrist to keep him in place. “Wait. Why don’t you come in? For some coffee?” 

He meets your eyes, searches your gaze for a long moment there in the doorway of your apartment. His brows relax, his mouth softens, and you know he knows exactly what you’re doing, that he’s been found out. He thinks it’s pity and not cloying sweetness, not needling want and a building codependency that you don’t particularly mind driving your request. “Sweetheart—”

“Please? I don’t want to be alone just yet.” 

A few pleading words are all it takes for him to crumble. He nods and relents, “All right. Just for a minute, I have a client this afternoon.” 

“Okay,” you nod and pull him inside. You snap the door shut behind you and make a show of locking your brand new locks.

 Joel rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t comment, settling himself at your kitchen table instead, toolbox tucked between his feet on the floor. The morning light paints him in sunburst orange and bumblebee gold, rays falling like a halo around him. He taps his fingers against the muraled, painted surface of the table, tracing the lines with one blunt nail. 

Unfamiliar want bubbles up in you again. You want to touch him again.

Already. 

You just let go of him.  

It’s an ache, right in the center of your chest. It feels like something pulsing and raw, infectious and torn. 

You’d like to plant yourself against his side and sit in the brutally warm, fall Texan sun shining so innocently through the slats of your blinds. 

Cured. Clean. 

That’s what you’d be, if you allowed yourself to reach out and grab it. 

Instead, you cup your hands against the sides of his face and stroke your thumbs over his graying beard. 

You half expect him to pull away, to jolt out of your hands, like you would. And though he does look startled, he doesn’t pull away. Hazel eyes flick up to meet yours. You trace the scar on the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Thank you,” you say again, just so he’ll hear it even if he won’t respond to it. “You don’t have to worry about me but you do.”

He pulls one of your hands away from his face and nods, staring down at the lines on your palm before he hooks your pointer fingers together. “‘Course I have to.” 

You keep stroking his cheek, the soft bristles of his beard catching on your fingertips. “Of course,” you say. “It’s what you do.” 

Joel thinks you look beautiful. He also thinks you look wistful, with later October light falling in drafts around your shoulders—merigold, sunshine, sepia. 

For once, you aren’t looking back at him. Joel catches you looking at him all the time now, mostly at his hands, chancing glances from the corner of your eyes  like he would mind you looking. If he thought more of himself, he’d probably say you look at him with a dreamy cut to your gaze.

Your feet are propped on the porch railing. Your jeans and scuffed sneakers are splattered with bright splotches of paint. His guitar is across your lap and Ellie is next to you, teaching you, he supposes. Or at the very least correcting you occasionally as the two of you talk. You say something and she tilts back with a full bodied laugh. 

You’d worked with Sarah and Ellie all day, painting the chicken coop in bright swatches of pastel blush and lavender. It sticks out something awful, but he’d said you could paint it however you wanted and he meant it. 

Any way Joel cut it, he was outvoted three to one anyhow. 

He thinks you probably let Sarah influence the color palette more than you let on, and that makes something ache deep in his chest. 

Joel’s not exactly good at saying what he feels, he knows that. He’s always known it. 

But he can build you a chicken coop. He can fix your locks and your door and worry about your safety and drive to get you in the middle of the night. He can sketch out tattoo designs until his wrist aches and make you a million cups of coffee. 

And you decided to share part of what he gave you with Sarah and Ellie. Whether you know it or not, it means something to him. It brings a tight feeling to the back of his throat. 

Though the afternoon is mild, you’re wrapped up in a flannel over your t-shirt. It’s his flannel from that first night he spent at your kitchen table; the one you haven’t given back and that he doesn’t want back. 

Joel keeps his eyes on you as he finishes up the last of the chores that needed doing. His back is aching again, a flare of pain that starts at the base of his spine and ends behind his ears. 

It was lucky, maybe, that you’d convinced him, in your offhand way, to get chickens instead of horses, that he decided that was the best thing to give you. He isn’t sure he could keep up with much more than what he has. 

“You’re staring again,” Sarah says from behind him.

“I’m not,” he snaps.

“It’s okay to stare at your girlfriend, dad,” she says and he can hear the laughter in her voice, the damn teasing. 

Joel winces. “That is not—we ain’t—” Not yet. You aren’t anything yet. Maybe not ever. 

You’ve bloomed in the last month or so. Opened up, shiny and blush bright. You’re still that watchful little doe, but now you’re one that recognizes something kind. 

Not so skittish, not so afraid. 

And that’s good, that’s something. But he worries. Worries you’ll start to see he’s nothing but an old man waiting around for his kids to visit, for his brother not to be busy with his family, for you to pay him any mind. 

You surely noticed it weeks ago when you stayed with him those few days, all that painful, solitary loneliness that happened so quickly. Maybe you’d noticed it earlier than that, when you stopped coming by the shop after your first tattoo and his days went lonesome again too. It’s not like he has been subtle about how much your absence smarted. 

He’s not sure when his life slowed down so much, when he suddenly looked around and realized he missed the noise.

Maybe he’s been the one to pry you open, but if you wanted something better for yourself, something more, he’d have to let you go. It doesn’t diminish all that time he’d spent gaining your trust, that trust he’s still trying to grasp at some days. He doesn’t want you to be burdened by his loneliness, to feel weighed down with it, to feel trapped by it, to feel like it’s your responsibility. 

Joel already worries that’s already the case, with how often you’d ended up at his house in the evenings over the past month. But he isn’t strong enough to make you stop. 

Still, he could never live with himself, if he were next in a long line to make you feel helpless and trapped. 

Sarah rolls her eyes and herds the second stubborn goat into the barn and shuts the gate. “If you say so,” she says. “I’m gonna get Ellie and head out. Busy day tomorrow.” 

“Okay, baby girl,” Joel says. Sarah fits herself into his arms and he presses a kiss to her hair. “Thanks for the help. Be safe.” 

She pulls away and nods, jogging across the yard without looking back to hop the little fence that separates it from the driveway. He watches Sarah say goodbye to you, the way your mouth lifts in a smile, the way you move the guitar from your lap and lean forward when she climbs the steps to give you a hug. 

Ellie gives you a much briefer hug, one armed and slightly stiff before she follows Sarah. He lifts a hand to her, knowing Ellie won’t come over and say goodbye the way Sarah does. She pulls a face at him and waves back as she climbs in the car.

When they disappear in a cloud of red dust at the end of the drive, you lean back and stare down at the guitar again, adjusting the positioning of your fingers on the strings as though nothing of note just happened. 

Maybe, nothing of note has happened. 

You’d hugged them so easily, smiled at them so warmly. He’s grateful for it, that ease you have with them, that you feel safe and secure. It makes something warm and protective and territorial for all three of you settle in around his ribs.

His girls and you. 

Your mouth pulls down at the corners as he watches you clumsily reposition your other hand along the frets. 

He tries to repress a smile and glances away from you to continue his work. A poorly struck chord followed by a frustrated sigh echoes across the yard. 

You ain’t exactly a natural with the instrument, though you try. 

Joel taught Sarah and Ellie to play when they were young. He taught Tommy, when their mother didn’t have time to. He’s happy to teach you now, too. 

More notes float on the air, curl into the whispering leaves that skitter along the drive. You aren’t doing so bad, he thinks, when the music suddenly stops. 

He turns to peer over his shoulder at you. 

You’ve taken your feet off the railing and have folded your arms along it instead, chin leaning on your forearms, head tipped to the side, guitar propped between your knees. “Joel?” 

“Honey?” He answers, and you smile. The effect is like being lit from the inside out. You brighten and there’s sunshine in his soul, in all the dark places in his chest. 

“Will you play for me?” You uncross one arm to hold your hand out to him, like you could reach him from there if you tried hard enough. 

“You were doin’ just fine at it,” he calls back, escorting the chickens as gently as he can into their newly painted home. 

You smile at him again. “I know. But I want to hear you and it’s getting dark anyway.” 

“Guess so,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just a minute, darlin’.” 

You nod and grab the guitar again to settle it in your lap. 

The evening light is bleeding gold through the boughs of the oak that overhang the driveway, the whispers of autumnal, purpled shadows bruise the horizon as the sun sinks ever lower.

With the other goat and his lone sheep herded into the barn, he crosses back to the porch where you’ve lit a lantern and tucked yourself deep into one of the rocking chairs. The blanket he keeps folded over the back of one of the chairs is now curled over your lap. You look cozy, too warm, in the lingering heat of the day. He takes up residence next to you, picking up the guitar you’ve abandoned in his seat. “What would you like to hear, darlin’?”

It had taken a week’s worth of needling for him to play for you, but now he wants to do it all the time. 

“Whatever you want to play for me, Joel,” you say, bracing your elbow on the arm of the chair to lean your chin on your hand, eyes already closed. 

He plucks idly at the strings, watching your face. You put yourself in his hands so easily these days, without thought or worry. There’s trust in its purest form in your expression, like you’d laid yourself at his doorstep. He can’t imagine you closing your eyes like that, relaxed and at peace, even a few weeks ago. 

Joel says your name, watches your eyes blink open, the peaceful little spell broken. You pull back, sitting up straight. Doe eyes meet his, round with question. “Joel?” 

“I just wanted to say how pretty you look this evenin’.” 

You transform, bloom, duck your head and say nothing. The air is rose colored, heavy with the scent of magnolia. 

You aren’t exactly good at taking compliments, either. But that’s something you’re both working on. 

“Hey,” he says. You look up and lean toward him again, like you’re so ready to drop yourself into his waiting hands. 

And when he reaches for you, you do. 

Joel cups his hands against your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. Your mouth is soft against his. You taste like autumn air, and like the spiked sweet tea at your elbow. When you pull back, your eyes are oceans, like soil, like smooth, dark glass. 

You also have a dot of bright paint on your cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. 

He sweeps his thumb over it and finds it’s stuck there. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’. Got a bit a’ paint there.” He presses his thumb over it. “I like it.” 

You pout at him, watchful eyes hooked into his. “Are you ever going to play for me or are you just going to make fun of me?” 

He chuckles and releases your face. “I would never make fun of you, honey.”

“Good,” you say as he strums the strings again. “Or I’ll never paint another chicken coop for you again. Not even if your girls help.”

He likes that you tease him, that you feel comfortable enough. He smiles, stares down at the toe of his boot. “You know you didn’t have to let ‘em.” 

“Let them what?” 

“Help. Y’know, create a monstrosity,” he gestures to the monstrosity in question, the pink and purple slightly washed out against the blush of the setting sun. “I built it for you.”

Your foot nudges against his and he looks up to find you already gazing at him. There’s something vulnerable in your eyes, something soft and unafraid. “I know. I wanted them to help. I like spending time with them, Joel.” 

He nods and you smile. “Colors are kind of awful, though. Looks like one of Sarah’s old dollhouses. Thought you’d do a mural, like your table.” 

You laugh, and the sound is something he wishes he could capture, box up inside him and never release. “But it’s mine, like you said. And chicken dollhouse chic is what we were aiming for.” 

He snorts, but he feels better about it. “That so?” 

“Yeah. Now, play something for me?” You request again softly. 

Joel mentally shifts through the catalog of songs he could play for you before settling on a song. When he glances back at you, you’ve once again closed your eyes. Orange light, flippant and fleeting, has drifted across your face in a fiery bar as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. You glow in that beautiful light. 

He itches to do something other than play the guitar for you.

Although he’s painted you as a doe more times than he can count, he’s never attempted to actually capture your likeness. He could never do you justice, so he just shouldn’t try. It would be embarrassing enough, if you ever found out that you’ve been the source of all his creativity the last few months. That you are his muse. 

The plum color on the horizon has darkened, the navy of the encroaching night feathering against the tops of the trees. 

You’ve settled back into a peaceful position, eyes closed as you listen. 

He plays through a couple of songs before he glances up again and finds you watching him, your gaze focused on his hands. “Will you ever sing for me?” You ask softly, eyes flicking up to meet his. 

He hasn’t sung since his girls were little, not to anyone anyway, and not to anyone that could tell him his voice was terrible. 

Even still, he’s never been more tempted. 

“No,” he says, even though denying you anything is hard. “You don’t want to hear me sing, honey.” 

“But you have such a pretty voice,” you disagree. 

He plucks out a final note, music hovering in the air. “That just ain’t true,” he shakes his head and leans the guitar carefully against the bannister. Night has fully fallen, your face is shaded in shadow when he looks at you. “Do you want to stay with me?” 

Joel’s offered a few other times, because he always wants you to stay. That week you’d stayed with him while he waited for your new locks to come in at the hardware store had been kind to him. He’d gotten used to your presence in his house embarrassingly quick, and when he got the call that the locks had been delivered, it was like ice sliding down his spine. He’d forgotten, in just days, that you didn’t actually live with him. 

That was weeks ago. 

And since then, you haven’t stayed. 

You usually, always, decline and then he drives you home. 

But today is different. 

You reach out a hand to him and fold your fingers around his. “Yes,” you sigh. 

“Sure?” He asks, surprised. “It’s no bother to drive you home, honey.” 

“I’m sure. If you’ll have me.” 

“I’ll always gladly have you.” 

Your lips curve up, and you duck your head. “What do you want to do for dinner?” 

Joel burns whatever he attempts to make on the stove for dinner. He turns to you, with spatula in hand and an irritated tilt to his brows, and asks if you’d like to ride into town to eat at Flu’s.

You agree, and go, still laughing when Joel pulls onto the main road. He grouses under his breath the entire way to town, but he holds your hand against the center console. And when you get to Flu’s he opens the passenger side door for you, then the diner’s door, his hand held lightly against your spine. He tucks his legs around yours under the table, knees and calves brushing together. The diner’s lights are dim and cozy. 

He looks soft, in that buttery light. The hard edges of his face ironed out, smile lines and crow’s feet divoted into his skin. He holds your hand on the table, and you watch his fingers more than his face, the rounded swell of his knuckles, the veins in the back of his hand, the knob of his wrist, on which he always wore an old watch that had long stopped ticking. When you’re apart, you find yourself daydreaming of his hands, scarred and broad and warm. 

Joel insists on paying, doesn’t let you even consider doing it. 

When you climb back into the truck, he puts one hand on your thigh and you sink back into your seat, warm and full and content. You slide your hand over his and feel the rough calluses on the tips of his fingers. 

When you close your eyes, you see him working in the sun, poking fun at you while you and Sarah and Ellie paint the chicken coop, squinting through the bright light. He still smells like sun, like warm skin and his cologne and faintly of sweat and whatever thing he’d burned on the stove earlier. 

When Joel kissed you that first time, he opened a door in you, one that’s impossible to shut and that does nothing but want. 

You’ve never craved touch like you crave his. Even when you feel like you don’t want to be touched at all, you think his hand would be tolerable, would be okay. 

You’re painfully aware that part of his appeal is knowing that he would always let you go, that he always knows when it's time to leave you be. And the times you don’t want him to touch you, have been shrinking. 

Lately, all you want is for him to fold his fingers between yours, touch the bare skin at the small of your back, to trace your spine up between your shoulder blades, or cup his palm over the back of your neck and tuck you into him. 

When you get back to his place, it’s still pretty early in the evening, and all you can think of is ways to get him to touch you again. He turns on the battery powered radio that sits on the porch, perpetually set low on an oldies station. 

You can’t look away from him, something like agony twisting in your chest, like there’s a knife between your lungs. He’s talking about something, gesturing across the yard with one hand, his other tangled with yours. Joel’s thumb strokes little circles against the back of your hand, each pass like a bolt of addictive lightning. It’s not enough. His hand in yours is no longer enough. 

Joel doesn’t protest when you pull him to his feet when a new song starts up. He gives what you don’t ask for but desperately want. He drags you into his chest and slides his arm around your back, tucking you in close to him. You can hear his heartbeat, feel it pulsing in his chest. He tilts around the porch with you for a long time, even when the music is interrupted by obnoxious ads. 

He hums along under his breath and when you slip your hands beneath his shirt to rest against his bare skin, you can feel the vibrations of his voice against your fingers. 

You wish you could sink your hands inside him, just to be a little closer. It feels so strange to want that. You’ve never been held that gently before, it loosens a knot you didn’t know existed in the core of your chest. 

And you think, even when things with your ex had been good, when he hadn’t been yelling at you or bruising you with a tattoo you didn’t want, he had never held you gently or with such love. 

When you pull back, Joel lets you go. There is no fuss about it; there is no guilt. 

Eventually, you go inside.  

He lets you shower first, just like he always had when you stayed with him before. 

After, you watch him brush his hair and then his teeth and something painfully sharp gets caught up inside your chest. It’s hard to breathe around that feeling, that ache. 

You watch him get ready for bed, and you watch him groan when he has to stoop down to pick a pair of socks up off of the floor, and you feel something more than warmth flood your heart. It unravels, spools through your veins, and it's so warm it burns.  

Joel catches you looking at him, as he often does these days. 

He smiles at you, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. He looks domestic in a heather gray t-shirt that sits loose on his frame, pajama bottoms that look as though they’ve seen a few too many years, and glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You all right?” 

You nod. “Really good, Joel.” 

That gets a little laugh out of him. “Must be worn out,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. You lie back and curl on your side, watching him adjust his pillows, admiring the shape of his hands as he goes, remembering what they looked like sun drenched and warm in the yard. He drags his knuckle over the curve of your cheek and neither you nor your body remembers to flinch away. “After all that paintin’ and gettin’ me to dance.” 

“It was fun though, wasn’t it?” You ask, suppressing the urge to trace the length of his spine through his shirt. “You liked dancing with me.” You clutch the pillow tighter to your chest and dip your chin into the fabric. 

He takes his glasses off and then finally lies down next to you. Nerves burst in your belly when he turns to look at you. “I enjoyed it very much, sweetheart.” 

“Good.” You wriggle a bit closer to him. 

He watches you and then offers a place for you to fit yourself against his side. You slide in close to him, tucking your hands between his body and yours, slotting your nose against the dip of his collarbone. 

He smells good there, like soap and something that’s purely Joel and so soothing, like sage and pine. 

“This what you been wantin’, huh?” He asks, stroking your back slowly. You stiffen but he chuckles into your hair. “I mean that in a nice way.” 

You lick your lips, feel the shift of muscle beneath your cheek as he reaches to turn off the lamp. There’s no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I know,” he says against your forehead. “Me, too.”

You settle against him, the feeling of his palm sliding over your shirt, up and down, tapping over your spine, soothes you. Your stomach flips when his hand drags along the bare skin at your hip. 

If you could dig a trench into his bones, take cover there, you would. And still that wouldn’t be close enough. 

“Joel,” you say, tracing your hand over his chest. 

For once, your voice seems to encourage more than caution and he doesn’t stop touching you. His hand slides higher again and your breath hitches. 

It feels so nice, like all the empty places inside you are slowly being colored in, shaded in emerald green and butter, sunshine yellow, jewel bright blue and blush pink.

You curl into him, shakily pressing the hand on his chest up to his neck. You cup your palm there and Joel turns on his side. His hair is soft and a little damp when you dig your fingers into it, the scent of him wrapping around you, cradling you close and safe. Joel touches his forehead very gently to yours, his breath fanning across your lips. 

He waits for you. 

You close the distance between you, and press your mouth to his. 

He sighs into you, his grip tightening on your waist for a moment, and you push yourself closer to the circle of warmth that is his body.  

His fingers graze the edge of your shirt, then push it up, rough palms sliding over your back again. His hand is so big, so warm, it spans your back and then covers your ribs. You gasp into his mouth when the pad of his thumb caresses the curve of your breast. 

Goosebumps erupt along your body. “Joel,” you murmur against his mouth. 

“Mhm,” he hums. “I know, honey. I got you.”  

He touches you there again but doesn’t go any further. You shiver and press your mouth back to his, tasting the mint of his toothpaste when his tongue slips into your mouth. 

Moonlight filters pale and bright into his bedroom, and when you pull away his eyes are dark, hungry. You wish you had the courage to feed that gaze, but you aren’t there yet. A stab of guilt pierces your lungs. He’s so patient with you, and you can’t help but wonder if one day that patience might run out. 

Instead of lingering on that, on wondering how much time you could possibly ask him to give, you offer him something else. “Can I show you my tattoos?” 

He blinks at you, pink, kiss swollen lips parting. “If you want.” 

“But do you want to see?” 

“Baby,” he touches your cheek, traces the line of your jaw. “I’ve been dreamin’ about it since you told me about ‘em.” 

You squirm, embarrassment crawling up the inside of your belly. “You have?” 

“Mm.” He kisses you again, his mouth lingering long against yours. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breath against yours. “I think about you all the time.” 

You get your knees beneath you and push up from your place beside him. Joel turns on his back when you swing one leg over his waist and find yourself, boldly, very much in his lap. His hands anchor on your hips, thumbs beneath your t-shirt.

“Oh,” you say, pressing your hands over his, something nervous wriggling in your gut. “Sorry. Is—” 

You try to move away but his grip doesn’t change. “It’s all right,” he says evenly, the barest hint of something tremulous beneath. 

Before you can think about it more, overthink being in his lap or how much of you you’re about to show him or how heavy and uncomfortable his hands might become, you release his wrists and tug your shirt up to just beneath your breasts, so your ribs are visible. 

Those feelings don’t come though. You don’t feel anxious or weighed down or wrong. 

He’s looking at you and touching you and seeing you and it's fine. It’s fine because it’s Joel. No one had ever understood you before the way he has—not your family or your friends or any previous partner. They try, but Joel just seems to know you, understand, without really trying. 

Joel clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he lifts one hand to your tattoo. When he traces the ink, you exhale against his curious fingers. It tickles. “That’s real pretty,” he says. “Antlers. It really suits you.” 

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Deer are like good luck, I think. They know things.” 

He looks at you like you’re some ancient creature he can hardly believe exists. Embarrassment claws at you but you don’t look away. “That so?” He looks at the ink again, tension slicing through the air. “Jesus you’re somethin’.” 

You don’t get a chance to respond because he meets your eyes again and asks, “Where’s the bee?” 

You laugh and the acid burn of uncertainty disappears. “How’d you remember about the bee?” 

“‘Cause I’ve been wonderin’ about it too.” He’s still absentmindedly tracing the antlers, the moss and the flowers that loop through the branches of the antlers. His expression is open now, curious and needy. “It ain’t on your hip, if I’m rememberin’ right.” 

You shift your hand to your sternum and carefully tug your shirt up a bit higher. There, nestled between your breasts, is a tiny, tiny bumblebee. “Well, ain’t that a surprise.” He shifts his hand up and covers the bee with his thumb, the length of his fingers sitting right beneath your breast.

An ocean wells up inside you, threatens to break apart your ribs. You lean into his hand, your chest warm, catching, like fire is spreading from all the places he touches you. The knuckles of his other hand drag up your side. 

You shiver under his eye, fighting the urge to look away, to tug yourself out of his grip. But the thought of losing his warm hands against you is worse, it outweighs everything else.  

“Where did you think it was?” You ask, hardly able to breathe. Everything in the world narrows down to his dark bedroom, his eyes skating over your newly revealed tattoos, milky moonlight parting the tiny space still left between you. 

“I couldn’t get it out of my head that it was on your hip.” 

You laugh and Joel keeps looking at you, his eyes flicking between your bared skin and your eyes. The room is warm, his gaze heavy. “You’re real pretty. Did I ever tell you that?” 

“Once or twice, maybe,” you smile.  

“Mm.” 

You cup one hand around his wrist, the pressure of his hand against the swell of your breast sending shockwaves through you. It’s all you can focus on, the slow sweep of his thumb against sensitive skin. You push his hand harder against you until it feels hard to breathe. 

You think about how much Joel gives you, how carefully he listens even when you don’t speak. 

He deserves to know you hear him, too. That you see what he wants, that you hear what he’s saying, and that you’re trying. 

“You show me what you think,” you say. “And I—I get it.” 

“I don’t think you do,” he says, eyes dark. He reaches for you slowly, giving you time to tell him to stop or to pull away, but you don’t. You desperately want him to keep touching you with his safe, patient, cautious hands. 

Slowly, you’re pressed back into the sheets. Joel goans, a pained sound that means his back or knees hurt and he won’t admit it. 

He settles himself against you, his body fitted against the cradle of your hips. Joel is heavy against you, but comforting. His fingers clench around yours, and for a long moment he just looks at you beneath him, starved eyes skittering across your skin. 

“You all right?” He asks gruffly, like there’s something tangled in his chest. “You say it. If you aren’t.” 

“I’m okay.” 

You reach up and touch his cheek, then the tail of his eyebrow, as he assesses you. He tilts his chin down, brows lowered heavily over his eyes. You can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. You warned him that you were hard work, and he meant it when he said he didn’t mind, that he didn’t think you were. Caring comes naturally for him. “Really. I would say it. I trust you.” 

He nods once and your chest hitches when he dips his head and presses his mouth softly against the bee and then the antlers. 

The rough feeling of his beard against your skin tingles. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, and you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Joel’s are pressed to your sides, forearms snugly against your body, warm and twitching. You settle on his shoulders, the wide planes of his back, so reassuringly large against your body. 

Then, his tongue, firm and soft, slides over your skin. Over the bee and the tips of the antlers strung through with ivy and flowers, over the underside of your breast. 

You gasp and arch against him and you suddenly know exactly where you want your hands. You tuck them against the back of his head, threading through the feathery gray strands to keep his mouth against your skin. 

Want tightens between your legs, makes your belly ache. Your nipples tighten painfully hard. A whine catches in your throat that you know he hears because he answers you with a low groan of his own against your throat when he sucks a kiss to the underside of your jaw. 

It’s overwhelming. You want to push him away and pull him closer. You want to bury yourself inside him and never look into his eyes again. You want this feeling to last forever. You never want Joel to feel lonesome again. You want him to be able to ask for what he wants, to let you give it to him. 

Your ex again, flashes through your mind, an unfair comparison. How rarely he’d kissed you, shown you affection, for just the sake of it. 

You want you want you want you want—

You want—

“I want you to tattoo the cover up,” you say suddenly. Tears salt that backs of your eyes, tightness itching at the back of your throat. You hitch your knees up around his ribs, fear that he might pull away swimming to the forefront of your mind. It’s dizzying, because your instinct has always been to move away, to put space between you and things that might hurt you. You’ve given Joel so many pieces of you; he could break every part of you, if he really wanted to. “If you still—if you want—I mean—” you stammer. 

His head lifts and your thighs clench because you want him everywhere and nowhere all at once. You want him to want you as badly as you want him, and that just doesn’t seem possible. Not in all the ways you mean anyway, the kind where you tuck yourself inside his ribs, and into the dark places in his mind, like love letters that will never be sent. 

You love him, you think. You love Joel. 

It doesn’t feel like enough. The word isn’t big enough to encompass what he makes you feel. The feelings worming around in your chest are expansive, wide as the night sky, splattered with stars and distant galaxies that have yet to be found, let alone described. 

“‘Course I want to,” he says easily. “Of course, I will.” 

“Tomorrow?” You ask breathlessly. 

“If that’s what you want, honey.” 

You nod. “It is.” You suspect you could say you wanted him to do it right at that moment, and he’d find a way to make it happen. He’d drive you to his studio in the dark. He’d sit with you until morning bruised the sky, until the peach of the sun dripped sticky sweet down the horizon. “I want you to do it. I want it to be from you.”

“All right,” he agrees. “Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll go and do it.” His hand slides down your side to your hip, then your thigh. “You okay?” 

You nod. 

“You have to talk to me,” he says. “I ain’t a mind reader.” 

“I know,” you admit. “I’m sorry I put so much on you to figure out.” 

“That ain’t what I meant.” 

“But that’s what you do. You figure me out.”

Joel pats your thigh and then presses the pads of his fingers to the hinge of your jaw. His eyes search yours for a long time, black in the low light of the room.

He kisses you until you start to fall asleep, the lazy press of his lips whispering things you can no longer hear.  

Morning dawns bright and warm. 

Joel gets up long before you even stir. You’re curled as close to him as you can get without actually touching him, hands tucked beneath your face, lips parted softly. You’d migrated to the center of the bed, taking up space he’s not really keen on reclaiming. 

The memory of your skin against his mouth, all the other places on your body he’d like to touch and taste, is like nectar, like the sweet promise of a good dream after a long day. You aren’t ready for that though. Not yet, anyway, and that’s all right. 

But he’s only a man, and he’s painfully hard. 

Before, you were like a deer he’d accidentally come upon, skating around the rim of his peripheral vision. Now, you’re still doe-eyed and watchful, but you’re closer; you’re relaxed, lying in the shade of trees you trust, at ease. 

Your hand twitches toward him when he presses a slow kiss against your temple, the jump of tendon beneath his mouth soothing somehow. He pulls the sheet up and tucks it around your shoulders, because without him next to you the draft from the fan overhead is too cool for you. 

He takes care of himself in the bathroom without much fuss, and then feels a little bit guilty for it when you’re sleeping on just the other side of the wall. It wasn’t the first time though, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. 

In the kitchen, he makes coffee just the way you like it, with a little bit of cinnamon in with the coffee grounds. The coffee creamer you like is sweet, so he sets that out with a spoon next to a pale blue mug, pours himself his own cup, and relocates to the back deck. 

The trees at the far edge of the property are still dark and skeletal, the thicket full of shadow and the buzz of night insects. 

Even at the end of October, it’s still warm. A breeze ruffles his hair, shakes the nearly naked trees and sends a cascade of brown and orange sifting to the ground. Next month it would cool off, just a little. 

He hadn’t told you when his birthday passed in September, that you’d inadvertently spent that day with him. Sarah and Ellie had tried to get him to tell you, but he hadn’t been able to stomach it. 

Dread accompanies that day. 

It hadn’t always, just since Sarah was little, like his body was braced for a tragedy that would never come. He couldn’t have you be a part of that too, though the girls had pointed out you would eventually notice his lack of a birthday, if you were around long enough. 

He’d cross that bridge if he ever came to it. It’s hard to imagine he’d get you for that long.  

It doesn’t take long for you to find him. The flood of morning sun has passed the tree line and twists dappled green and yellow circles over the deck. When you push open the back door, you have your cup of coffee in one hand and the neck of the guitar in the other. 

He’d have to get you your own. Either that, or make one for you.

“Hey,” you smile at him as you set your steaming cup down on the patio table. 

“Mornin’. You sleep okay?” 

“Mmm.”

Joel expects you to ask him to play, but you settle down in the chair next to his, your bare knee pressed against his, and adjust the instrument in your lap. 

The sound is clumsy, but beautiful and careful, when you play. Joel’s glad he decided to teach you. He just listens and watches you. Your expression is thoughtful but closed, like you’re somewhere else. That’s how he thinks too, music in hand, mind far away. He likes that look on you, until you suddenly pause and glance up. You watch him for a long moment with those doe eyes of yours, folding your arms around the body of the guitar. 

You lick your lips and his eyes flick briefly to your mouth, the plush curve of your lower lip. He hadn’t kissed you good morning. “I want to figure you out too, you know,” you say. 

You hold his gaze for just a second before dropping your eyes to the wooden floorboards instead, fidgeting like you’re repressing the urge to curl in on yourself, fold yourself away. “You got me all figured out, honey,” he assures you. 

You shake your head and lift your eyes again, tapping your nails against the wood. “You—” you pause and swallow, “You’re allowed to want things from me, Joel.” 

Something falls in his chest, like he’s missed the last step on a long staircase, gravity turned against him. 

His heart lurches up into his mouth, tangy with some unknown fear. “I do. Trust me, I do.” 

“Why don’t you ask?” 

“Honey—”

“I know,” you say softly. “I know. I know how I am and how—” you stop and flounder, frustrated for a moment. “I know I’m not easy to ask. But you. . . I don’t feel that way with you anymore; I’m not afraid anymore. And I want to be enough for you. I hope I’m not too slow about it.” You look away again. “I want you to know you can call on me, too, Joel.” 

He clears his throat but the tightness doesn’t go away. “You could never take too long. I don’t mind waitin’.” 

“But?” 

But, he’s bad at this.

But, he loves too hard, cares too much. 

But, part of him is convinced that the loneliness is deserved. Everyone seems to leave him, someway or another. He’s just preparing early for it this time. He’s never held onto a romantic relationship before, so why should this one be any different than all the ones that came before it?

He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t want; he gives and cares and that’s why people stay. It really doesn’t have all that much to do with him, or what he wants. 

“But you don’t want anything from me?” You ask, your voice noticeably smaller, and the warm morning suddenly feels cold. 

“It ain’t that.” He should say more, but nothing else comes out, words trapped like moths inside a lamp. 

You swallow and nod, like you’re battering back your instinct to flee, to think the worst. You’ve come so far and it’s hard not to feel a little pride, that you stay, that you aren’t worried, not usually, that he’ll hurt you someway. He’s reminded of the first day he’d tattooed you, how one misplaced word was enough to have you jumping to your feet, fretful and afraid. “I like spending time with you. I like touching you. I can give that to you.” 

He doesn’t answer and you eventually continue. “You can’t protect me from the whole wide world. Not even from you. I’m making a choice. To be here with you.” And he knows you’ve seen much more than he wanted you to, that you’ve seen the interior of him, bleeding red, splattered onto everything he touches. You’ve seen the want, the need, and you’re still here. 

He’s still not sure letting you care wouldn’t end with you leaving. But he doesn’t see what other choice he has. 

“Okay. But you promise me somethin’,” he says. “Just one thing and I’ll try.”  

You tilt your head, the picture of a curious little doe, almost nosy, peering into unfamiliar woods. “What?” You ask, looking away as you set the guitar aside.  

“If you ever want somethin’ better for yourself. You tell me. And you go.” 

Your eyes snap back to his, mouth parted in shock. “Joel—”

“I’m serious,” he snaps and you recoil a little, hurt in your eyes. “You deserve better’n this. Better than a lonely old man.” 

You shoot up from your seat in a rare show of anger. And that surge of pride hits him squarely in the chest again. He’s proud of you for that. For standing up for yourself, for letting yourself be angry with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice doesn’t raise in volume, but it is waspish, venom laced. “Better? What’s better for me than you?” 

“Honey,” he says, softens his voice. “Just ‘cause you opened up with me, don’t mean I think I get to keep you.” 

Your shoulders loosen and you step closer. When you reach out, God help him, he leans into your hand. 

Gentle fingertips run along his shoulders, bite into the knot at the top of his spine. “Keep me,” you scoff lightly. “I want you to keep me.” 

You don’t protest when he winds an arm around your waist and tugs you down into his lap. You’re warm and soft and frowning so hard at him. There’s a divot between your eyes that he wants to press his thumb over, to smooth away. Instead he takes your wrist in his hand and traces the tattoo on your forearm. “You’re the only one who’s ever wondered if they should,” you say. “You aren’t keeping anything. I’m giving you something no one else ever even tried to earn.”  

He doesn’t answer immediately, a hot fist around his words. He’d rather walk away, not talk about it, not talk about himself. But that would break all that hard won trust.  

“I just can’t have you feelin’ like I’m your problem,” he admits, voice graveled and scraping. “Like I’m holdin’ you down.”  

“It’s okay to need people,” you answer, ignoring him. “I want to take care of you too. I want to be here with you.” You slide your hand over his shoulder again. “Even if it's just like this. Especially if it's just like this.” You scratch your fingers through his hair. Sun spills around your shoulders, blinds him when he looks up at you. “I know how much you like it. And you can tell me when you need something. I’m still learning your tells.”

He chuckles at that, let’s you keep touching him, because he does want it and you don’t seem to mind so much that he’s just some lonely man. “All right,” he runs his hand up your thigh to your hip. “Promise me anyway.” 

“I promise,” you say. “To learn your tells.” 

You make breakfast without burning anything, while Joel watches, hip leaned against the counter. His smile is soft, affectionate. 

Warmth balloons in your chest, bursts in your veins like champagne bubbles. You managed to reassure him, you managed to say what you want without feeling bad about it. 

“Lonely old man,” you burst out with a laugh. “I’m lonely and old.” 

Joel rolls his eyes when you dig your elbow into his side. “You ain’t old.” 

“Neither are you.” 

Joel buys you coffee from the little cafe you always stopped at before visiting him at the studio. He drives with his hand in yours. He opens the passenger side door for you and gestures you ahead of him into the studio. 

After going through the usual motions of disinfecting and sanitizing and picking one of the many, many, many coverup designs he’d sketched for you and getting the stencil on right, you find yourself in much the same position as the first time you got tattooed by Joel. 

Joel isn’t talking. He’s taking his time looking you over, intense and careful and muttering about that bastard that had dared lay his hands on you. He’s meticulous in everything he does, but especially when it concerns someone he cares about, when it comes to you. 

You’re lying down, studying the side of his face. He touches you without asking, and you don’t flinch once. The memory of his body against yours sends a flushed heat over your skin. Your scalp tingles with it, your toes curl with it. 

He finally seems satisfied after a few long minutes, his hand on the curve of your elbow. You nod your consent when he looks at you, tattoo gun poised in his other hand over your shoulder. “Sure?” 

“Never been surer.” You smile and then cover the hand resting on your elbow. He gives, you give back. “You don’t like it when I say thank you.” 

“I don’t,” he grunts. There's a blush beneath his beard.

You sweep your thumb against his knuckles, and think about how different that first time had been. Joel had reassured you, gave you a physical anchor you hadn’t known you needed, kind and steady and already lodged somewhere deep inside your heart.

Now you can give that back to him. 

“Okay.” 

But he knows. You know he hears it anyway.

Still, you want to say it. 

“Thank you, baby. For giving me back to myself.” 

He leans over you, and you tilt your chin up so he can kiss you. 

“Couple sessions, okay?” He croaks when he pulls away. “Don’t want to wear ya out.” 

There is nowhere in the world you’d rather be.  

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

[artificial-transmutations]

Calling the plumber

One bad thing about Scott's and Cody’s relationship was that they both were almost stereotypically gay in a lot of senses. Both were thin and lithe, had a somewhat androgynous appearance. They were stylish and well-groomed and even their professions were a little bit gay: Scott was the bartender at a gay club and Cody was a hair stylist.

All of that wasn't much of a problem of course. What *was* problematic however, at least at the moment, was, that neither of them had any proficiency in handicraft. So, it didn't come as a surprise that the two of them stood rather clueless in front of the clearly leaking sink in their kitchen.

Scott was the first one to speak. "It looks bad."

Cody sighed and nodded in agreement. "Yep. Looks like we need to call a plumber."

"Oof. It's Sunday, that's gonna cost us! Are you sure there's no other way?" Scott was the one managing their finances and he wasn't too happy about having to pay out for repairs.

Cody shrugged. "Well, we can't very well fix it ourselves, right? Or do you know anything about fixing water pipes?"

Scott frowned and scratched his head. "Not exactly. But..."

Cody looked at Scott expectantly. "You're gonna try it?"

Scott shrugged his shoulders. "I can at least try. It's not going to get leakier, right?"

"Well..." Cody was about to point out that, indeed, Scott could very much make it worse than the current leak, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he pointed out: "You know, this is one of the times where a stereotypical straight guy would be useful. You know the type, Mr. fix-it-all-by-yourself."

"Sadly, we don't have that, honey. Now, let's get my dad's tools."

Shortly after, Scott was with his head under the sink.

"Now, let's see. Perhaps, I can just use one of those clampy thingies... to make it tighter?"

"I think they are called wrenches?" Cody tried to be helpful.

"Isn't that a slur for women?" Scott asked, while trying his best with the tool.

"No, that's a wench!" Cody laughed. "Are you alright down there?"

"Yeah, I just need to..." Suddenly, the resistance vanished, and the dripping of water became a small jet.

"Oh, for fucks sake!" Scott cried out, completely atypical for him.

"Everything alright?" Cody asked and cleared his throat. His voice sounded coarser than before.

"Yeah, sorry about the mess, Sir." Scott mumbled. Sir? Where did that come from? He did have other things to think about, though. He felt uncomfortable and shifted his position under the sink. His body was expanding in every direction: His frame became wider, and his arms and legs exploded with muscles.

There was an audible ripping sound from his shirt as it got stretched to the breaking point by his growing pecs.

Hair grew in quickly, both on his chest and his chin, giving him a rugged and somewhat older look.

"Shit", he cursed under his breath and quickly selected a more suitable tool from his toolbox. With a flex of his incredible biceps, he made short process of the jet of water he caused, allowing him to get to the root cause of the problem. The pipes were old and grimy, and the leak would surely not be the last. "That's a fine mess you got down here, Sir. You should replace the pipes as soon as possible."

Cody was distracted by his own observations. At first, he quite enjoyed the show as his boyfriends lower body that was sticking out under the sink elongated and became beefier by the second - including, especially, the large package in the dirty pants-turned-workpants of Scott and the hairy abdomen.

But soon, his focus shifted to his own body. His jeans and shirt quickly dissolved, leaving him standing in just his underwear. Instead of his usual meek body, however, an equally fit body that was sculpted in the gym formed: big arms, a massive chest and trunks of legs grew on him, giving him a magnificent appearance.

However, as his body grew, his intellect diminished: His square face looked at the plumber under his sink with less and less intelligence in his eyes. His sight didn't stick to the other man's groin anymore, of course: He wasn't gay and just didn't see that kind of thing on a man. Instead, he scratched his ass through his dirty white underwear and answered in a dull voice:

"Uh, don't worry about the mess, dude. I'm not a neat-freak. Can you replace the pipes for me, bro?"

Cody earned enough money as a fitness trainer, but the truth was, even though he certainly was a real man, he wasn't very good with stuff around the house, mainly because he was too dumb for it. So, he just called a specialist for everything he needed done to his bachelor pad.

Scott crawled out from under the sink. "Sure thing, Sir." he said. "But not on a Sunday, I'm afraid. I won't get the parts I need. Besides, my wife and kids are waiting for me at home with dinner. I suggest you call my office tomorrow."

"Awesome, bro", Cody beamed a happy, yet dim smile at Scott. "Thanks for coming over on such short notice."

He handed the plumber his money and brought him to the door, watching the mid-thirties man drive away in his dirty van. Now that this was taken care of, what now? Ah, probably what he had planned before the sink accident interrupted him. He plopped down on the couch, fished out his half-hard cock and unpaused the porn video that had been on the big screen the whole time.

I know gay-to-straight is a sensitive topic and I do get that we all encounter enough homophobia in our everyday's lifes that we don't need to encourage it in fantasy. So, while I will occasionally continue to write gay-to-straight TFs, I will try to not hit the "lib to con", "MAGA" or homophobia track but express it as another sexuality and the tropes that come with it.

ANYWAY. If you like what I do and want to read more stories and experience new stories as soon as they are written AND reap awesome exclusive rewards, consider subscribing to my riot page!

[pascallftv]

Girl Next Door— Part 5

Previous Part Series Masterlist

Summary: Joel sets up a date in the bed of his truck and he makes love to you.

Word count: 4.4k

Content: 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), truck sex ?!

AN: :’) I think there might just be one more part to this series folks

The next couple of weeks consisted of stolen kisses between your work schedules, and head in positions you hadn’t even imagined. With Joel’s age came wisdom in many areas, with sex being one of them. Many nights you spent curling your toes under Joel as his tongue worked its magic in ways you’d never experienced with your past lover. Although you felt like you had both explored each other’s bodies in every way possible, you still had not had sex. You’d become so comfortable in your sexuality with Joel, and you knew it was just a matter of time before you took it to the next level with him.

Sex would be the point of realization for you. You were a moth drawn to a flame; you were completely and utterly infatuated with him. You thought about him constantly, your mind a tangled web of him: his body, every touch, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at a line in a movie you were watching. The four letter word had crossed your mind, but you couldn’t be sure if that was possible yet. You hadn’t been in love for years, but you couldn’t remember a time when someone gave you intense butterflies and overtook every ounce of your being like Joel had.

It was a Friday night, and Joel told you he and a surprise for you. Being proactive, underneath your comfy clothes was your sexiest matching set of underwear. You were wearing a lace black thong with a matching black bra, and you lathered up with your vanilla body butter and perfume after your shower.

When you pulled into Joel’s driveway, you were puzzled to find that his truck was nowhere to be seen. Joel's front door was unlocked as you stepped inside. His house was dark except for the dim lighting of his lamp in the living room.

“Joel?” You called out, walking towards the living room.

Silence.

You wandered passed the living room to the kitchen, and still no sign of Joel. You peered out of the window above the kitchen sink, and you caught a glimpse of Joel tending to the bed of his truck, the area being lit up by an array of fairy lights strung across the cab. Curious, you made your way out the back door and latched it behind you, the sound making Joel’s head whip around, his brown eyes landing on you. A smile toyed at his lips, and he turned around to lean against the hood of his truck, his hands resting behind him.

“Hi.” You said, smiling at him as you walked closer to him, your eyes scanning his truck to figure out what was going on.

“Hi.” Joel repeated, reaching his arms out to place his hands on either side of your face, leaning down to plant a slow, gentle kiss to your lips. You smiled into the kiss, pulling away to gawk up at him.

“What’s all this?” You asked, leaning to the side to investigate what was happening with his truck.

“Well, I may or may not have set us up a little date night in the bed of my truck.” Joel said almost shyly, and if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, you saw a trace of a blush on the apples of his cheeks.

“Oh my god, did you?” You gushed as Joel grabbed your hand and led you to the back of his truck.

Your jaw fell as the bed of his truck came into view. Joel had set up fairy lights all around the cab of his truck, with what appeared to be a mattress pad and a cocoon of blankets and pillows neatly laid across the bed. Placed on the metal toolbox at the head of the bed of his truck was an assortment of snacks and a bottle of wine. In the middle of the blanket was a pack of playing cards and a stargazing guide book.

“Joel, holy shit.” You muttered. “This is.. wow.”

“You like it?” Joel said, his hand reaching up to the back of his neck to scratch a nonexistent itch.

“Of course I do, this is so cute.” You said in awe, squeezing his hand.

“Here.” He said, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you up onto the bed of the truck, the mattress soft under you. He climbed up beside you, your eyes traveling to take in his outfit. He was wearing those sweatpants you loved so much. You loved his usual outfits, but he looked extra good in those goddamn sweatpants and those plain t-shirts. You slid off your shoes, tossing them onto the ground below. Joel mimicked your actions, throwing his in the same general area as yours.

“This might actually be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” You said as Joel sat next to you, his hand falling to rest on the warm skin of your thigh.

“You deserve nothing but the best.” Joel said, gently cupping your jaw with his fingertips, kissing you softly. His woodsy scent enveloped your senses, and you felt your stomach do a flip as his lips moved against yours. No matter how many times you kissed and touched, you still felt the frenzy of butterflies in your belly.

You pulled away, running your tongue over your bottom lip to taste him. “We better stop or this date will end early.” You teased, reaching down to grab the playing cards.

“Ever played king’s corner?” You asked, taking out the carts to shuffle in your lap.

“I think you forget that I’m old and decrepit.” Joel joked, watching you in amusement as you failed miserably at shuffling the cards. “I’ve played every card game you’ve ever heard of.”

“Gin rummy?” He nodded.

“Bullshit?” He nodded.

“Strip poker?” He gave you a funny look and sighed.

“Many times.” He said, dealing cards to both of you, and starting the game in front of you. He placed four cards around the remaining deck, letting you start the game.

“Loser gives the other head.” You said bluntly, putting down three cards in their respective places.

Joel gazed down at you in shock at your words and nonchalant behavior.

“You sure you want to bet that?” Joel asked, squeezing your thigh, before placing his own cards down, finishing off one of the corners. With the cards you put down.

“Wouldn’t have offered it if I did want to.” You said, looking up at him with a playful expression.

The game dragged on, the both of you nearing the end of your hand before having to draw from the deck.

“You’re edgin’ me, darlin’.” Joel said as you almost won but were forced to draw from the deck. You had two cards left, Joel with three. With two rows left, the game was bound to end very soon.

“Fuck.” You said with nowhere to place your cards. “Your turn.”

Joel kisses you on the cheek, then places down his remaining cards on the remaining rows.

“Uh oh, looks like I won.” Joel teased, reaching behind you to grab the bottle of white wine and his corkscrew. He popped the cork open, taking a swig straight from the bottle. He held the bottle out for you, you taking it and rolling your eyes, taking a sip.

“Seems fishy to me.” You said, handing the bottle back to him. Joel laughed, shaking his head at you.

“Was a win either way for me, baby.” Joel smirked, taking another drink of wine before placing it back on the toolbox.

The sun had set on the horizon, the shades of pink and orange in the sky fading into a black with the glistening array of stars glimmering overhead. The night air had settled into a crisp, gentle breeze. Your hair blew gently away from your face, your complexion glowing as Joel admired your beauty.

“Before I give you your reward, I want to figure out what these stars are.” You said, grabbing the stargazing guide and opening it up. You tilted your head up and observed the different stars above you, the brightest ones standing out to you.

Joel watched you attentively while you bit your lip as you tried to distinguish what star was what. You always did that when you were focused— you bit your bottom lip and your brows always taught together when you were deep in thought.

“Wait, that’s Polaris.” You said, pointing up towards the brightest star in the sky. “Which means that’s the Little Dipper.”

Joel followed your finger, spotting the constellation and smiling softly at your excitement. He looked back over at you, your eyes radiating in joy. Your eyes flickered back to him, his stare locked on you.

“What?” You said with a smile.

“You’re so beautiful.” Joel said softly, memorizing every inch of your face. He never wanted this moment to end.

His heart sank when he realized your father was going to be home soon. The past couple weeks had been the happiest of his life, but good things like you weren’t meant for him. He knew he didn’t deserve to keep you, and it was only a matter of time before you moved on for someone your age. It was also impossible to keep this from your father. As soon as he got home, he knew the dynamic would have to change. The realization broke him internally, but in this moment, he wanted to focus on you and memorize every moment just in case he had to let you go.

You felt your lip quiver at his words. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in existence. Like Joel, you were just as much memorizing every wrinkle of his complexion, as well as the way his beard faded from a salty gray to a peppery brunette.

“What did I do to deserve you?” You said, closing the stargazing book and placing it behind you onto the toolbox next to the wine and playing cards. You sat up and shifted over to Joel on your knees, placing your hand on his chest, directing him to lay flat. He obeyed, laying his head down on the pillows, his body flat against the soft foam mattress pad. You carefully straddled him, leaning down to press your lips to his.

Joel pulled away briefly, grabbing your face in his hands, his eyes dancing between your eyes, taking in the moment. “I should be askin’ you the same thing.”

He kissed you again, your lips moving perfectly in sync, your tempo gentle and slow. His hands trailed down your back, his fingertips dragging along the back of your shirt. His hands stopped at your ass, squeezing the supple skin underneath your thin, cotton shorts. You moaned into his mouth, your center coming down onto his hardening erection. He grunted in response, the friction making him throb underneath you.

You pulled your mouth away from his, trying to catch your breath. “I think I owe you something, Mr. Miller.” Said whispered, rolling your hips against his before snaking back down his thighs, opening his legs with your knee. You settled on your knees between his legs.

“You’re a little vixen, you know that?” Joel mumbled as he watched you loop your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. “Drive me absolutely fucking crazy.”

You smiled up at him through your eyelashes as you pulled his cock out of his pants, catching his erection in your hand. You squeezed him gently, stroking him in the skin of your soft palm, before removing it to pull his pants all the way off. Joel’s brows taught inwards at the friction, his jaw going slack. Your touch felt like some sort of black magic, making him melt underneath you.

“Fuck, baby.” Joel groaned as you lowered your mouth onto his tip. He moaned when he felt himself nudge the back of your throat. You stayed there, bobbing your head up and down, your hand stroking rhythmically on his leftover length. His hand flew down to your hair and you took him entirely in your mouth, taking him down your throat to the hilt.

You moaned with him in your mouth, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure down his length and into his abdomen. Joel bucked his hips up, the pleasure driving him insane. You could feel his shaft throbbing in your mouth, it twitching at each bob of your head. You knew he wasn’t going to last much longer if you kept up the pace. You felt your center beginning to throb beneath you. You squeezed your thighs shut for some sort of relief, but you needed more.

“God, fuck.” Joel’s eyes squeezed shut, as you began stroking him again, pulling your mouth away from him to catch your breath.

“Joel.” You rasped, your voice raw from his length. “I want you.”

He opened his eyes, looking down at you with an expression as if he was trying to understand what you meant by those three words. You slowed your pace with your hand, leaning forward to kiss him gently.

You pulled away, your eyes searching his. Joel’s hand found your face, the pad of his thumb rubbing the supple skin of your cheek.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Joel asked, his gaze not leaving yours. He needed reassurance that that’s what you truly wanted.

“I’m sure.” You confirmed, lowering your hips down against his erection and grinding against it gently, the sensation making him groan immediately.

“I don’t have a condom.” He said, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I’m on birth control, I have the implant.” You assured him, grabbing his finger and bringing it up to your arm, letting him feel the rod underneath your skin. He looked from your arm back to your eyes. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Joel nodded, pulling you down to kiss you harder. In a swift motion, Joel flipped you over, him now hovering over you with your back flat against the blankets. His hands began exploring you, trailing from your thighs, up your belly, to your breasts where he paid extra attention. He pulled up your shirt, pulling your breasts out over your bra and kneading them one by one as his lips moved against yours. You pulled away from the kiss momentarily, helping him pull your shirt over your head.

“Need to feel you.” Joel muttered against your lips, his hand leaving your chest to venture to the waistband of your shorts. You lifted your hips off the blanket to allow him to pull the shorts down your legs, leaving your black thong on display for him.

“So breathtakin’, baby.” He murmured, trailing kisses down your belly to the waistband of your panties, pulling the fabric back with two fingers, letting it gently snap back against your skin. Not wanting to tease you any longer, his finger traced your heat over the thin fabric of the thong. The moisture from your arousal was pooling at the material under your core, Joel ghosting soft circles over your bundle of nerves. You let out a quiet wine underneath him, bucking your hips up into his fingers. He exhaled deeply at the feeling of your arousal soaking through the lace of your thong. He pushed the damp fabric aside, revealing your glistening slick to him. He ran a finger up your folds, collecting the arousal to rub against your clit.

“Fuck.” You said breathily, your hands fisting the blanket for leverage. Joel pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, looking up at you through his eyelashes. The sight of him between your legs made your core throb. You were so wound up already, you knew you weren’t going to last long under his touch.

You inhaled sharply as Joel licked a stripe up your soaking folds, his finger still playing with your clit haphazardly. He stuck his tongue inside your opening, fucking you with his tongue. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you whimpered at the feeling. You exhaled deeply when he pulled his mouth away from your heat.

“Just needed a taste of you.” Joel said, kissing up the expanse of your pubic bone to your tummy.

Joel’s tongue was soon replaced with his middle finger. You gasped quietly as he pumped his finger in and out of you, curling it up perfectly to put pressure against your g spot. He always knew just where to touch you to make you go crazy. Between his finger inside of you and his opposite thumb toying with you clit, you already felt sex drunk. Joel added his ring finger, stretching you perfectly to prepare you for his cock.

“Can’t wait to feel all of you.” Joel said, planting another kiss to your public bone, his beard tickling your supple skin.

“N-need you.” You whined, your legs jolting when he bent down to suck softly on your bundle of nerves. At your words, Joel removed his fingers from you, making eye contact as he sucked your juices off his fingers. He then slid your panties down your legs, tossing them aimlessly behind him. Joel lifted his shirt over his head, exposing the soft skin of his stomach. He wasn’t buff, but he was perfect to you.

“Lift up, sweetheart.” Joel coaxed you, tapping your sides by your ribs, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, sliding it off your shoulders. You were completely bare to each other now, feeling wildly exposed in the night air. Your skin was glowing under the dim lighting of the fairy lights, the twinkle in your eye illuminating.

“I could look at you forever.” You whispered, pulling Joel down to kiss you. You kissed him with everything in you. You weren’t the best with expressing your feelings through words, so every ounce of emotion within you you fueled into the kiss. Your soft lips tasted of white wine as your lips danced against each other, Joel settling between your legs. You whined into his mouth as his crotch grinded against yours, his erection warm against your glistening core.

Joel’s lips moved from your to your neck, his kisses gentle and warm against your skin. Your jaw went slack as you felt Joel’s tip rubbing against the slick of your folds. You were soaked with arousal, him moving against you with ease.

“So pretty, baby.” Joel reiterated as he slowly pushed his tip against your opening, the pressure driving you mad.

“Fuck, Joel.” You muttered, your forehead resting against his, your breath rolling over his.

He pushed slowly into you, inching his length to stretch your walls around him. You grabbed his biceps, squeezing his muscles as he settled into you, his hips touching yours as he filled you completely to the hilt. Your walls were tight around him, conforming to his girth.

“Fuck, you feel amazin’.” Joel groaned, sliding his cock out of you to the ridge of his tip, before slowly pushing it back inside. “Like your body was made for me.”

His words electrified your core, your lower belly feeling coiled tight with heat. His strokes were rhythmic, and you were completely and utterly fucked. He filled you so perfectly, and after this moment, you realized you never wanted to fuck anyone else ever again. It was almost as if his cock was molded just for you, his length hitting nerves deep inside of you that you hadn’t known existed.

Joel lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his thrusts hitting even deeper within you. You whimpered as he hit your cervix, the sensation making your walls throb around him. His free hand fell to your pubic bone, his hand pressing down against you to push your g spot against his length, while lowering his thumb to rub circles against your clit.

“Oh my god.” You mewled. Your core was clamping and that familiar electrifying heat was rushing through your abdomen and through your limbs. You’d hardly realized when Joel leaned down to take your breast his mouth, lightly sucking on your pebbled nipple. He toyed with your other nipple, his fingers pinching it gently.

“You drive me absolutely fucking crazy.” Joel panted as he quickened his pace, the sound of your skin slapping together becoming more prominent. “You know just how to make this old man feel young again.”

Your vision went fuzzy as he lowered his hand to squeeze the supple flesh of your ass, his rough fingertips digging into your skin for more leverage.

“I can feel you clenchin’ around me, sweetheart.” Joel mumbled, his forehead damp with perspiration. “Let go for me, it’s okay.”

“F-fuck.” You let out a strangled moan, your eyes clamping shut as you felt your high drawing near. Your core was wound tight, and you knew the coils were going to unravel at any second with his relentless pace. Joel wasn’t far behind you, his cock twitching inside of you.

“God, baby. I’m close.” Joel whined, his thrusts becoming sloppier.

Your breaking point was when Joel’s thumb found its way to your clit again, working circles into your nerves. You saw stars and your ears began to ring as your orgasm overcame you, sending shocks through the nerves of your body. Every inch of your body was on fire, and you felt like your soul had left your body and was now among the stars overhead. While you were blissfully coming down from your high, Joel came, his release coating your walls in hot spurts, a strangled moan falling from his lips. Still inside you, he laid over you, but was sure to not crush you under his weight. You were both panting, your foreheads damp with sweat.

You laid like that for a while, basking in the aftermath of your highs. Your body felt way more weightless and relaxed than any of the orgasms Joel and gave you over the course of the last couple weeks. Not only was your body physically drained, but the explosion of emotions you were feeling in that moment for the man laying on you had completely taken over your mind.

He was perfect in every way. He was kind to you, had a sense of humor (despite being dry at times), and more than anything he made you feel happy. For the past few years you had felt incredibly discouraged at ever being able to find love again. It took years to finally love yourself and your body after being convinced by your ex that it was something wrong with you, not him. It’s hard to comprehend how one person can ruin every ounce of self love you’ve ever had for yourself in a singular moment, leaving you with years of healing to do. But in that moment with Joel, you felt content. How long this bliss would last was unsure to you, but in that moment, you knew he was your person.

“Get under the blanket, sweetheart.” Joel said, coaxing you to sit up to help you slither under the covers, the blanket soft against your bare skin. Joel laid flat, letting you cuddle up into his side, your cheek pressed against his chest.

The sound of his heartbeat was soothing to you, the thumps almost hypnotic. Joel’s fingers played with the end of your hair, twirling around strands here and there.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked Joel, glancing up to see his forehead creased in deep thought. He sighed and kissed the top of your head, breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo.

“You.” Joel said simply, his other hand coming down to lace his fingers with yours on his chest. He kissed your forehead this time, brushing the flyaways that had gotten stuck on the damp skin.

“What about me?” You whispered, closing your eyes at his relaxing touch.

“Thinkin’ about you and me.” He began. “Our future.”

Joel frowned, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You bit the inside of your cheek at his words, feeling your stomach do a flip. As amazing as things were between you for the time being, you couldn’t help but wonder what things would be like moving forward. Soon your dad would be home and you’d have to hide your relationship, or whatever the situation you had going on was. Neither of you had discussed labels, you were simply just enjoying your time with each other and relishing in your feelings.

“Your dad will be home soon.” Joel said quietly, his hand moving from your hair to your back, tracing small circles on your skin.

“I know.” You whispered, your tone defeated.

“I care about you a lot.” Joel muttered, inhaling a deep breath before exhaling. “And I want nothin’ more than to spend all of my time with you. I haven’t felt this happy in years, and I just don’t know what to do about your father. I care about him too, and I can’t stand the thought of hurting him.”

You felt tears brewing in your eyes, and you quickly blinked them away. As much as his words stung, it was the hard truth. The odds of your father being accepting of this relationship were slim to none, and you knew it wasn’t going to be easy for either of you trying to sneak around. While it was easy to maintain the dynamic you had with no one around, it was going to be taxing going from acting like you were together when your father was gone, to acting distant once he returned home from work.

“Don’t think for a second that I’ll give up on you, sweetheart.” Joel said, tilting your head up with his finger under your chin before pressing a kiss to your lips. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were glossy. The sight of tears in your eyes shattered Joel.

“It’s going to be hard but we’ll figure somethin’ out.” Joel said, but it was almost as if he was trying to convince himself, not you.

“I want you more than anything, Joel.” You said, softly kissing his jawline.

“Maybe my dad won’t be as opposed as we think?” You offered with hope laced in your tone, tracing your finger against his chest, watching goosebumps rise beneath your touch. Joel sighed, squeezing your hand again.

“It’s hard tellin’.” Joel murmured. “I do know one thing. What matters is how two people make each other feel, not how their relationship makes other people feel.”

You took a deep breath at his words, closing your eyes as you tried to relax.

“It’ll all be okay, I promise.”

taglist— @ghostwritesthings, @magpiepills, @laurrrra, @brittmb115, @kaislashes, @smccul

[em1e]

three little words | first 'i love you'

⿻ mini series ft. you dating shinichiro and whatever chaos that comes from that !! ✕ fluff !! ♡ series m.list

you’re amazed he lets you meet his friends again after the past experience. 

sure, it took a lot of egging on from either side before he finally folded, but who’s really counting how many times you asked. (seventeen. shinichiro started counting after the first five. still, he’s happy you fit well with his group. a little too well, honestly.)

you and wakasa’s laughter was the only sound that filled the garage, shinichiro basically pouting in the corner at your relentless teasing. he completely stopped working on the bike he needed to be finished with if the two of you were going to go on your date tonight to sulk at the fact that wakasa was pulling such a pretty sound from you - at his expense, no less. weren’t you supposed to be at his defense? 

“did he ever tell ya about the time mikey hit him so hard he was practically bedridden for a week?” wakasa asks, popping the dango stick out of his mouth and using it to gesture towards your boyfriend. 

“he didn’t.” another giggle passes your lips, but you stand to comfort him despite the teasing being light-hearted, “wanna tell me ‘bout it?” you lean into shinichiro’s shoulder to ask, barely able to see his expression from the angle. 

“we were sparring ‘nd he kicked me in the nuts so hard i thought i’d never breathe normally again.” he explains with a pout, turning his head to meet your gaze. 

you stand fully with a small smile, running your hands through his messy hair, “s’not too bad. mikey’s always been strong, hasn’t he?” 

shinichiro clicks his tongue at this, but leans into your touch, head hitting your thigh. 

wakasa can only grin. leader of the toughest delinquents in japan, his captain and best friend, being coddled by his partner after light teasing. truly, you’re babying him. 

the jokes die down at this, shinichiro practically melting into your side while you and wakasa find new things to talk about. upcoming events for mikey and emma that collide with things they’d planned to do with the black dragons, small dinners between his friends, even smaller dates for just you and shinichiro, until shin’s decided he’s sulked enough and begins working on the bike again. 

it leaves you and wakasa to continue talking, while he listens half-heartedly - too focused on finishing so wakasa will leave his garage and the two of you can have some well earned alone time. when he’s finally finished, he’s putting stuff away and gesturing towards wakasa to help, and like clockwork wakasa turns his nose and hops from his place on shinichiro’s toolbox, suddenly becoming the busiest man in the world and needing to leave immediately to attend to whatever other duties he was ignoring up until this point. 

and like clockwork, wakasa exits the garage with a wave, which leaves you to help shinichiro put away and clean up whatever miscellaneous things he’s dragged out to use to fix the bike. when you’re finally finished, standing from a bent position after sliding some tools into their proper place, shinichiro steps behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. 

you lean into his embrace with a small smile, placing your hands on top of his own with your head hitting his shoulder. 

“i adore ya, y’know?” he mumbles into your ear, hooking his chin over your shoulder and closing his eyes when you offer a small laugh in return, “really, really love ya.” 

you don’t stiffen at the admission like he thinks you will. you don’t do anything at all, for that matter, and somehow it makes the anxiety from saying the words out loud swell to settle somewhere deep in the pit of his chest. 

almost a year of being together, and neither of you have said those damning words. shinichiro wonders if maybe it’s still too early, or maybe you - 

he’s pulling himself from you before he can stop himself, thinking the space necessary as you process what he’s said, ready to carry the weight of the words back with him as he moves, but your grip on his own hands tightens to keep him from going too far. then you’re turning to face him, keeping yourself in his embrace and wrapping your own arms around his neck with your head tilted as you take in his still-faced expression. 

“you love me?” you ask, chin tilting upwards, eyes not leaving his. 

“s’not obvious?” he sounds almost offended as he asks, brows furrowing and chin tilting downwards to keep his face even with your own. 

“never said it outloud.” you counter, fingertips dancing at his shoulders and tap tap tapping, almost in tandem with his own erratic heartbeat. “not sober, at least.” you add after a moment of thought, and his eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. 

“that so?” you give a small nod in reply, “when’d i say it ‘not sober’?”

he can see the ghost of a smile beginning to form on your lips as you pause to think, “when we celebrating wakasa’s birthday two weeks ago, when we went to that bar in roppongi a few months ago, when we snuck into the abandoned warehouse-” 

“that was when we first started dating!” 

he actually pulls away from you slightly at this, completely and utterly shocked from learning these details, “i wasn’t even that drunk those nights!” 

your arms around your shoulders keep him from moving too far from you, scrunching your nose as you recall having to drag him back into his room with a hand over his mouth each time because he was just so loud as he stumbled around the house. 

“drunk enough that you don’t remember me telling you i love you back.” you counter with instead, deciding the teasing you and wakasa put him through previously was more than enough to tide you over for the passing day. 

he freezes at this, “you did?” 

“i did.” you confirm with a nod, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his nose, “i” a kiss to his cheek, “love” another to the opposite cheek, “you.” a final one to his lips.

he smiles into the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer so you’re molded perfectly against him, until you're pulling yourself back with him chasing after your lips. one more soft kiss placed to his cupid's bow, then you’re unwrapping yourself from him while he almost pouts at the loss.

“c’mon, we’re gonna be late for our reservations.”

[uglypastels]

Heaven and Hell // (Stranger Things) S.H. x reader x E.M. smut

requests: @ami-is-hungry -- Omgg okay- hear me out-- So, we're at a party y'know we have been dating Steve for aaa few months, and we're not really into parties like that so we invite our best friend Eddie the hot Munson. Steve gets jealous and boom threesome?? jkjk unless 😩✨

@ anon: PLEASE CAN WE GET A THREESOME W EDDIE AND STEVE!! I BEG YOU I NEED IT SO BAD

a/n: you ask and you shall receive!! I had a lot of fun writing this and thank you both for sending in the request as I really needed it to get back into the writing game- also saying that I haven´t written anything in ages and I haven´t written any ST stuff since... season 2 came out??? so I might be a bit rusty. none the less, I hope you enjoy!! Also, in my mind, Eddie´s closest friends (aka reader) call him Munchy, so yeah, that will be coming back in any other fics i write i think. Also plot might be a bit iffy, but let´s be real, no one is here for that.

Please support your local content creators with reblogs and comments &lt;3

word count: 6022

warning: jealous boyfriend!steve, female reader, drugs, drinking, smut (characters are 18+, minors DNI!) -- mmf threesome, blindfold, sex under influence, unprotected sex (no-no), oral (f/m receiving), hair pulling, one ¨slut¨, face sitting, cum stuff. no specific dom/sub dynamic but Eddie kinda takes charge, it just kind of happened.

Big black shape with eyes of fire Telling people their desire - Black Sabbath

‘Oh god, what is Munson doing here?’ Steve muttered into your ear. You sat next to your boyfriend, practically on his lap and entangled in his limbs, while sipping some stale beer from a red solo cup. Then, at the sound of your friend’s name, your head spun in the direction of the door, where you could see his uncombed mop of hair stick out above the masses of hairspray and gel. 

‘I invited him,’ you said matter-of-factly, waving Eddie over. Steve’s eyes bulged in confusion. 

‘What? You… invited Eddie the Freak Munson? Why?’ 

‘Because he’s my friend and now, besides you, the only person I can actually stand in this shithole.’ You got up from the couch to hug Eddie. His arm wrapped themselves around you in a tight and warm embrace that felt nothing but like homely comfort to you. It was a gift which he was very generous with to others.

‘I’m so happy you could make it, Munchy.’ You said mid-hug, squeezing him a little bit tighter. 

‘You know I can never say no to that gorgeous smile, M’lady. And the number of people I could score a deal with here, I’ll be able to feast for weeks!’ With his arm still around your shoulder, he looked in search of a new investment, someone looking for a good time. Then you also noticed he was carrying his, to say the least, iconic black toolbox under his arm. 

‘Alright, let’s break this up, shall we?’ Steve got up from his seat, popping his head between you and Eddie, pushing you slightly apart. ‘Let’s not get too comfortable, yeah, Munson?’ 

‘Don’t worry, Harrington, I’d never dare steal this lady from you.’ Eddie’s smirk didn’t go unnoticed by you or your boyfriend, which probably wasn’t helping the situation. You had known for a long time how jealous and overprotective Steve could get– well, you had heard about it from the girls he had dated in the past, yet never had experienced it first-hand yourself, as you had never found yourself in a situation where Steve would have felt threatened. Indeed, you had never expected this to finally happen with your best friend. The idea alone was ridiculous. 

‘Yeah, well, we’ll see about that, ok?’ Steve grabbed you in an embrace, stating his position clear to everyone, specifically Eddie. 

‘Whatever, man.’ Eddie rolled his eyes, then looked at you, ‘you’re still up for it later?’

‘Mhm, totally.’

‘Later? What’s up later?’ Steve, already feeling three steps behind, looked at you for clarity, so you explained it. 

‘Was going to go outside for a bit, smoke some of Eddie’s good stuff… you can join, of course. If you’d like to.’ 

‘Sure.’ Steve didn’t even hesitate. He glared quickly over at Eddie, who giggled behind his hand at the thought of Steve Harrington smoking a joint for, what probably would be, his first time. He told you he’s meet you out back later after he’d make some sales with the people on the part. So, already looking forward to catching some fresh air, you took Steve by the hand and led him out to the backyard. It was surprisingly empty, with most party-goers still inside the house. You found two declining garden chairs and pushed them into a far corner of the garden, where you would be less likely to be disturbed.

Steve sat down on one chair, and you were ready to sit on the other, but he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you down to sit on his lap. 

‘Hey there, sailor,’ you kissed his cheek. 

‘I’d really prefer for you to not call me that anymore.’ 

‘Hmm, I know but “sailor” is so much better than “home video man”,’ you giggled. 

‘Oh god, stop.’ Steve groaned, but you kept coming up with job titles to call him, even when he started leaving sloppy kisses across your exposed skin.

‘Rental boy?’ He kissed your neck. ‘Hmm, I can’t come up with anything better. So, sailor, it’s.’ Steve’s mouth moved down to your collarbone, which peaked out of your shirt. 

You weren’t sure how far you would have taken it on that garden chair if it wasn’t for the voice you heard behind you. 

‘Don’t mind me, you two,’ followed by a flicker of a lighter and an orange spark of light. 

‘Shit. Eddie, sorry.’ You pulled away from Steve and wanted to get up to face Eddie, but Steve had different plans, keeping you fastly seated on top of him. With his arms around you, you had nowhere to go. 

‘No, it’s fine. I had voyeurism on my try-out list anyway,’ he put a neatly rolled up joint between his lips, flicking the lighter on again. The flame lit up his face as he hid it from your vision with his hands, needing to protect it from the soft wind blowing around you. The flame caught on and burned the tip of the joint. It already had a strong smell, but the smoke that Eddie blew out only made it spread out faster and with more intensity. 

‘You’re disgusting,’ you laughed and watched Eddie let himself fall onto the other chair next to you. He then winked as he took a long drag of the joint. 

He exhaled and was finally able to speak. ‘Mmm, you know it, baby, whoo!’ The smoke came out with his words, and he cheered for the effect it already had on him. You didn’t want to miss out on any more of it and took the joint out of his hand. Steve had not said a word yet, but you felt his eyes on you as your lips touched the rolled-up paper. The smoke filled your lungs quickly, slightly painfully, with the overcoming burning sensation that you had grown to love so bitterly. 

Not wanting to let the smoke out, you couldn’t talk, just hum to get Steve’s attention. 

‘What?’ He tried to ask, but you were quicker with pressing your lips onto him. Like that, you let the smoke travel between you. Knowing it would be the only way for Steve to get high and not pester you with complaints afterwards, it was a strategy. 

‘Oh shit,’ he coughed after you let go. ‘That is disgusting.’ 

‘Just let it do its magic, Harrington,’ Eddie put his arm behind his head as he looked at the dark sky above you. The stars were mostly hidden behind even darker clouds, but some shined through. Steve coughed a little bit more. 

‘Shit, Steve, I’ll go get you some water.’ You would get up, but Steve didn’t let you go. 

‘No, I’m fine, y/n. It’s fine.’ 

‘Ok, then I’m gonna get myself some water.’ You pulled his hands away from your waist and got up, quickly striding back inside. You found some water bottles in the fridge in the kitchen, grabbed three, and walked just as quickly back. With the only two people you were interested in talking to sitting outside, you had no business staying in the room. You wanted to get out of there before some drunken asshole started to talk you up, or someone would spill their drink on you. 

You managed exactly that and got back outside to find the most unusual image. Steve and Eddie passed the joint between themselves, giggling like two school girls. 

‘What did I miss?’ you asked curiously, handing them their own ice-cold water bottle. Steve immediately started drinking his, but Eddie filled you in on the last few minutes. 

‘We were just talking.’

‘About?’ You decided to sit on the ground. The freshly cut grass smelled so much better than the grass being smoked up by the three of you. 

‘You.’ Steve said, which made you raise an eyebrow, so he added: ‘and how pretty you are.’ It really took him that fast to be out of it, huh? You couldn’t help but laugh. There was no way those two idiots had just spent the previous five minutes gushing about you. Well, maybe Steve, but why would Eddie…

‘No, it’s true,’ Eddie said, nodding lightly and handing you what was still left of the joint. ‘You’re like… insanely hot.’

‘Dude!’ Steve said, ‘that’s still my girlfriend you’re talking about.’ 

‘Yeah, believe me, I know.’ Eddie kept his head up on his knuckles. You couldn’t tell if the hazy smile came from the drugs or something else. You also started to feel that “insanely hot” comment slightly too literally as your face heated up. Hearing Steve compliment you as he does was still something you weren’t wholly grown used to, but now Eddie was sitting next to you, looking at you the way he does with those big brown eyes of his, not to mention the weed was hitting all the right spots… you were getting dizzy. 

Or maybe you had inhaled it for too long because suddenly, you were coughing. Finally, one of them unscrewed the cap of your bottle, and you downed the contents. 

‘Fuck- thanks,’ by your own voice, you had still gone a bit sore, but at least you weren’t choking on smoke any longer. 

‘Are you ok?’ It was Eddie who asked; he had come off the chair to sit on the ground next to you, his hand on your shoulder. His face was full of concern. Steve had the same expression on his features, just a few feet away. And then he registered Eddie’s position next to you, and some anger overtook him. 

‘You see she’s fine, Munson. Back off.’

‘I’m not doing anything, man.’ Eddie laughed, and his words were echoed by you: ‘he’s not doing anything, Steve. Calm down.’ 

‘I want to but it’s really hard to do when this guy wants to fuck you this bad.’ 

‘Woah! Woah! Woah! Take a step down Harrington!’ Then, as if you were burning up, Eddie jumped up and stepped back. ‘No one– there is nothing– No.’ 

‘We’re just friends.’ You went in to defend your best friend. Here it was; Steve’s jealous side was showing its true colours. 

‘I believe you, y/n.’ Steve said, ‘it’s the Freak that I don’t trust.’ 

‘Steve,’ you weren’t enjoying where this was headed and wanted to break it off before it would go too far and someone would get seriously upset. But Steve’s words didn’t have that effect on Eddie, apparently. He laughed, actually. 

‘No, it’s alright, y/n. I get it. I would be jealous too if I had a girlfriend like you, an unmatched ego without any skill to please a woman.’ 

Steve didn’t hesitate, nor did he waste a second to get up and press himself up against Eddie. They were ready to fight, you could tell as you were trying to pry yourself between them and keep whatever was happening in check. 

‘Guys–’ you tried, but it all fell on deaf ears. There was only one other thing you thought of, but it felt ridiculous to say out loud, and it had a significant chance of making things even worse than they were, but the drugs were working their natural magic on you, and your verbal filter was shut off for the moment. So, you said that slightly intrusive thought when it popped up in your brain. 

‘So prove it!’ You shouted while both of them were yelling something vague about being really good in bed. Those three words coming from your mouth were enough for them to halt their silly fight and look at you dumbfounded. 

‘What are you talking about?’ Steve asked. 

‘You’re both trying to outdo the other and you’re both saying how great you fuck, so… prove it. Both of you. Fuck me.’ 

‘No way.’ ‘Okay.’ 

They glared at each other at the sound of the other one’s answers. 

‘What do you mean, “okay”?’ Steve said. 

‘What, are you too pussy Harrington?’ Eddie was probably taking a greater enjoyment out of annoying Steve than he would have by having sex with you. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, and it only grew in size as he got under your boyfriend’s nerves. 

‘Seriously, cut it out.’ 

‘I’m just following the lady’s orders, man! Can’t say no to lady!’ 

Steve looked at you, then at Eddie. Then back at you. He sighed slowly and wildly exaggerated before rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘What exactly did you have in mind, y/n?’ 

‘I– hadn’t actually thought that far ahead,’ you admitted, ‘just thought… you guys could figure it out. So play nice and fair, and all that, figure out your own problems amongst each other. 

‘And what? You would just be… doing what, exactly?’ 

‘Enjoying myself.’ you couldn’t keep back the smile on your face. How ridiculous it sounded; you kind of wanted it to happen now. Steve and Eddie were standing in front of you, looking at you with most likely very similar thoughts running through all your heads. Or, you hoped that while you were thinking of what they could do to you, they were thinking of what they would do to you. 

‘This is insane. Actually insane.’ Steve suddenly turned around and started talking to himself. ‘I can’t believe I’m— and you’re ok with this?’ he faced you and looked you dead in the eye. The lump in your throat went down slowly, but you nodded. 

‘Say it. I gotta hear you say it.’ 

‘Yes. I’m perfectly ok with it, Steve.’ You both looked at Eddie, who seemed, then confirmed, not to have a single issue with this plan. 

‘Ok,’ Steve let out another sigh. He was about to say something before changing his mind quickly. ‘Actually, no, can you give us a moment,’ he asked Eddie and then took you by the hand and led you a few feet away from where you were standing. It wasn’t the actual privacy, as Eddie could still most likely hear what you were talking about, more so the idea of privacy while you discussed everything. 

‘Right, so, seriously, what was you idea for this?’ 

‘I really had not thought you’d consider it, Steve,’ you laughed out of nerves, ‘I mostly just said it so you wouldn’t beat each other up. There’s no need for you to break your nose. Not again.’ That got a little smile out of Steve, but it faded with his next question:

‘This isn’t some weird scheme to just hook up with Eddie, is it?’

‘Now I want to punch you. No, Steve it really isn’t. I would have so many more and easier ways to hook up with him, and you wouldn’t even have had to know.’ 

‘Ok, well… wait, what?’ There had been a slight delay in Steve’s mind. You had already been walking back to the chairs when he let your words form entirely. You blew him a quick kiss.

 ‘Everything figured out there?’ Eddie asked when you came back. 

‘Mostly, I think.’ 

+++++++++

You were the first one that walked upstairs. Everyone knew Steve, and Eddie stood out in his own little way, so you were the most inconspicuous of the three of you. You looked around the upstairs corridor and searched for an unoccupied and reasonably clean room. It felt wrong to be scouting for a sex room in a stranger’s house, but the adrenaline and the weed were taking over your morals that night. 

The last room on the left had a made-up king-sized bed and a dresser in it; the unpersonal touch in the interior indicated to you that it was, in fact, a spare guest room, the best possible out of all them. 

You sat down at the edge of the bed, ignoring the nerves coming up inside. Should you get undressed or let them have that fun? Was sitting like that ok? Or maybe they expected a little show? You had no idea what to do. 

Then there was a soft knock on the other side of the room. Nervous, you jumped up to open the door yourself and, to your surprise, both men were standing in the corridor, even after you had decided it would be best for them to come in separately to not draw in any nosy bastards that were also at the party. 

‘We were thinking,’ Eddie said while stepping inside the room, already making you regret leaving the two of them alone for the second time that night. ‘And we want you to put this on.’ He showed you the bandana that he had hanging from his jeans. 

‘Don’t worry, it’s clean.’ He added and handed you the piece of material. It was soft and, indeed, looked clean.

‘What am I supposed to do with it, exactly?’ 

‘Nothing, really,’ Steve came up from behind you and took the bandana. He gently draped it in front of your eyes and tied it by the two ends behind your side. ‘It’s just for you too look pretty.’ His words send shivers down your spine. They wanted to blindfold you. Take away an entire sense for the night that would most likely end up in a lot of overstimulation. 

‘We thought this would make things a bit more fair,’ Eddie sounded much closer to you than initially, his words whispered right into your ear. ‘Besides, it would calm Harrington down knowing you’re not only with him for his boyish charm and looks.’ 

That pulled a laugh out of you that Steve probably took slightly personally. But if so, he didn’t let that be heard. His hands, for you’d recognise his touch at any time, moved over your body as he spoke. ‘We’ll undress you now, alright, sweetheart?’ 

‘O-ok.’ you didn’t know where the shake in your voice was coming from. 

‘And as we keep going, we’ll ask you how you feel, so it’s important you be honest with us, got it?’ Eddie was on your other side; you felt like your little Devil and Angel were talking to you, except both were absolutely filthy, and neither had much pureness in them planned for the night. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Good girl. Keep it up just like this.’ 

You didn’t know if Eddie was talking about the blindfold or your willingness to give into them. Then, both of them took a step back from you. The light was dimmed in the room, so you couldn’t see anything from behind the blindfold even if you tried. With one sense taken away from you, you tried to focus on everything else, and you could hear them shuffle around a bit, but it wasn’t possible to figure out which one of them had positioned themselves on your left and which one on your right. 

A cold hand reached out for you, making you shiver from the suddenness. They moved slowly over your body before reaching for the buttons on your shirt. It was Steve’s shirt actually, an old one you borrowed before going to the party. You had been at his place, too lazy to head back to your own house to change. Never in a million years had you thought then that you would be being undressed by Steve and Eddie four hours later. The shirt was pulled off your arms, and you could hear it fall to the ground in a corner. It was thrown back there. Then either of them made a start on taking off your trousers. It was a slow, fumbly and awkward process, making you giggle as it went on, but the kisses he (whoever he in this scenario may have been) left down your leg as he pulled your jeans down made your laugh just that little bit shakier. 

You were left only in your underwear then. There were moments when you could have sworn it sounded like more clothes were coming off, but in the darkness, everything got more confusing, and you couldn’t be certain of anything. 

‘I really hope I’m not the only one getting naked,’ you asked nervously. They didn’t respond, verbally at least. Instead, they both took you by the hand and guided you forward. Then you felt it, two chests, skin soft and much warmer than the icy cold hands that had teased you earlier and were still holding on to you. But they let go soon after, leaving you to explore what was in front of you on your own. So you did; moving your hands up and down, you could feel both men had taken their shirts off. 

Your hands moved down, expecting some kind of layers, but nothing was left. A soft belly, a hip dip– ‘Oh god, I’m sorry,’ you pulled your hands away when you realised what you had just touched. 

‘It’s ok, baby,’ Steve reassured you. You took a deep breath, but it only got harder to breathe when Steve whispered his following words: ‘did you feel how hard I am for you?’ 

‘Yes,’ you whimpered. He was still standing there. Too far to actually be touching you, maybe just an inch or so, but you felt his presence near you. A warmth radiating off his body onto you. His breath on your shoulder. You wanted to look into his eyes, kiss him, but that wasn’t what the guys had planned, it seemed like, so you stayed put. 

‘Are you gonna fuck her, Harrington, or are we just gonna stand around?’ evidently, Eddie was getting restless. 

‘Way to ruin the surprise there, Munson,’ Steve groaned. Right. They didn’t want you to know who was doing what to you. That way, you’d be able to “judge” fairly. Without knowing who was doing what, you’d be able to say what felt better without feeling the need to be partial to either of them.

‘I’m sorry, was the surprise to bore your girlfriend to sleep? Is that the “freaky” shit you two are up to without me? Jesus,’ he sighed out the small curse. Then he, you assumed it was Eddie, at least, guided you over to the edge of the bed. You sat down on the mattress while the guys shuffled around a little bit, and the idea of them trying to figure out a position to stand in while naked was quite amusing to you. 

Then, Steve said from the other side of the room: ‘y/n, why don’t you lie down for us, baby.’ And so you did, already anticipating what would come next– and you could feel the anxiety through your entire body. Waiting for either of them to finally touch you. 

And one of them finally did. Soft and slow kisses on your thighs as hands kept you steady between him. He spread your legs gently but still let his lips trail over your legs, teasing you effortlessly. 

‘Please,’ you said after what felt like an eternity. ‘I need you.’ You hoped that by saying this, you would find out who your torturer was, but not a peep came out of either man. It was a confusing situation, not being able to see the man that was pleasuring you the way that “he” was. You wanted to be able to praise them, tell them properly how much you enjoyed it, and for selfish reasons, you wanted to see it happen. The image of one of those incredibly handsome men worshipping your body– but all you saw was pitch darkness. 

‘C’mon, please,’ you tried again, and it was slightly more successful this time. Your panties were pulled aside, and a little puff of air blew over your sensitive skin, hitting the nerves of your clit. And then their fingers, you still didn’t know whose fingers they were, but the feeling of them on you felt like a little piece of heaven. Maybe it was Steve, which wouldn’t surprise you– he always loved to take his time with you and use you as his little plaything– but perhaps had Eddie taken off his large rings to not give himself away too quickly. But, as much as you wanted to use logic to figure it out, it was too much. You couldn’t concentrate on figuring out who the person hovering above you was when their fingers were moving over your soaked slit. 

They moved faster, rubbing circles, then slowed down, and then moved deeper with each tender stroke until you felt him stretch out your walls. A moan escaped you, too loud for your own liking. Not ten minutes had gone by, and you were already giving them this kind of satisfaction… but how could you not when they fingerfucked you so well. He sped up with each moan you made. 

‘Oh my god,’ the heat that overtook your body could have come from plenty of reasons, but it was most likely the feeling of that perfect mouth between your legs. At this point, you didn’t even want to ruin the mystery, and instead of grabbing at their hair, you reached for a clump of the sheets to drag your nails over. 

Apparently, that disappointment in action was shared because the person taking care of you quickly reached for your hand and placed it on top of their head. Your fingers immediately rooted themselves in their soft hair. Soft, long… different from what you were used to…

‘Fuck, Eddie,’ you moaned and, being able to say his name, slightly untied the knot in your stomach. ‘I’m- ah, fuck.’ The blindfold had little effect now, so you pulled the material off your face with your free hand. The light in the room, still dim, wasn’t blinding but took a moment to get used to. But once you did, you were greeted with the gorgeous image of a pair of deep brown eyes looking up at you, his casual smirk temporarily occupied with your slit as he sucked on it, pulling another moan out of you. 

You looked around for Steve and didn’t need to search far, as he had taken a seat in the chair in the corner, his hand on his dick, and his head was thrown back. 

‘Steve,’ you called out your boyfriend’s name as casually as you could while another man was eating you out. He immediately met your gaze, surprised to see your eyes uncovered. He had probably made his way over to you in less than a second, perhaps thinking you were in pain or some other discomfort, ready to help. 

‘Babe–’ You didn’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, you opened your mouth and looked up at him as innocently as you could. 

‘You’re gonna be the death of me,’ Steve chuckled, getting on top of the bed. ‘Absolute menace.’ 

‘You know it,’ you winked, and at that moment, Eddie decided to insert his fingers back into you. You moaned, looking down at him in a bit of confusion. 

‘I’m feeling left out,’ he said with a faux pout. 

‘I’d never forget you, Eddie.’ the smile on your face was already becoming more and more sheepish, but the fire in your stomach was far from getting blown out. Precisely because of this, you got up on your knees, startling both of your men, and sat up. 

‘Something wrong?’ Eddie asked. 

‘Not at all,’ you patted the spot on the mattress next to you for him to sit, and as soon as he did, you kissed him. It felt very peculiar but not wrong in any way to kiss him. The fact that Steve was right behind you didn’t shoot any alarms either, unlike you had expected it to. It should have made you feel off that you were making out with Eddie, but the worries evaporated out of your mind once you felt Steve’s hands on you, and he started kissing your neck from behind. While you cupped Eddie’s cheek in one hand, your other moved down to stroke Steve’s length, and it didn’t take long for him to moan out against you. 

In the meantime, Eddie was growing harder by the second. Finally, when you looked down, you saw his dick against your leg, tip painfully red. 

‘Mmm, ok, how do we want to do this, boys?’ you straight up asked them, knowing they would have their own preference to what to do. Meanwhile, you just wanted that hollow feeling between your legs to go away, not really caring who would be the one to do it. 

‘I’m sure Harrington wouldn’t appreciate me using up your pussy the whole night,’ Eddie slapped his hand lightly over it, making you jump, which in turn made his smirk resurface. ‘Besides, I’ve sort of fallen in love with that mouth of yours.’ He took your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just the slightest bit before letting it go and saying, 'an’ I’m dying to find out what else it can do.’ 

You looked over at Steve, needing to be sure he was fine with it since he hadn’t said much. You made eye contact, and he smiled his lovely grin. 

‘Are you ok with this?’ He actually asked you, ignoring your unasked question to him. 

‘Absolutely.’ Your eagerness was undoubtedly high and didn’t go unnoticed. 

‘Alright, calm down there,’ Steve chuckled, slapping your ass playfully, ‘I don’t think you want to show Munson just how much of a slut you are, right of the bat.’ 

‘I think we’re way past that point,’ Eddie joined in, and you rolled your eyes at both of them, and not wanting to continue this teasing of yours, you decided to take small control of the situation. You got down on all fours without saying a word, facing Eddie. That shut them both up fairly quickly. 

Steve was the first to take action, putting his hands on your hips and aligning himself at your entrance. He loved to take his time going in, and while it usually killed you, you had a view to look at this time. The time that Steve took to tease you, you spent teasing Eddie. Fluttering your eyelashes every now and then at him with a sweet smile, biting your lip, all that dewy stuff guys drool over. You didn’t really have much experience with other guys, so you stuck your tongue out like Steve liked. It was just a bit too far to reach Eddie. Now, you would lie if you said you didn’t want him there and then, but sometimes waiting it out just a little bit could make things better. 

Eddie, in the meantime, started to clump up your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He was careful and very gentle, ensuring that he didn’t pull too hard (yet) on a loose strand of hair or didn’t lose any of it from his grip. 

‘Steve, please,’ you needed him to hurry up, already knowing that you were practically dripping for him. 

‘You heard the lady, Harrington. Get a move on.’ Eddie’s dark eyes were practically black at that moment, filled with the need for you. 

‘Don’t tell me what to do, Munson,’ Steve groaned, finally letting himself slide inside you. He did it in one swift move, stretching you out. And once that happened, he didn’t waste a second and started to move with all the strength he had in him, and through that, he managed to hit your deep spots with every thrust. His hands dug into your sides, and the way his hips met yours through his movements, you knew you’d get sore from it in the best way possible.

But Steve definitely, maybe purposefully, made it hard for you to stay up on your hands and keep your head up for Eddie.

It was like a chain reaction. First, Steve would thrust into you, and in all that ecstasy, you’d moan around Eddie’s cock, which would send all of those vibrations like electricity through his entire body. Then, either as a treat or punishment for it, he’d pull that ponytail he had worked so hard on to keep neat. He’d pull your hair, and you would tense and squeeze around his length. And just like that, in the perfect little circle of it all, Steve would respond with his pretty moans. 

‘Fuck baby, you’re doing so good,’ he panted, slowing down. Eddie, however, kept up his own rhythm. It was sloppy, and you couldn’t imagine it was attractive at how he made you drool, but he kept going, hitting the back of your throat. 

‘So… good,’ Eddie responded to Steve’s earlier statement. A tear rolled down your cheek, and he was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. He cursed under his breath when, once again, he managed to hit the back of your throat and make you gag. His grip on your hair tightened even more, and to add to it, Steve started to slow down his movements. Slow down, but he used all his energy to make you feel it with each move. Slow, but hard and precise. They were both close; you could feel it. 

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Eddie, being new to your body and limits, pulled out. 

‘It’s fine, Eds,’ you smiled at him and opened your mouth again for him. He hesitated, looked at you, then at Steve, who must have given him some kind of green light that you couldn’t see from behind you. But it wasn’t enough for Eddie, who still looked for another confirmation in you. 

‘Come on, Eddie, I know you want to do it.’ You licked his tip, and it was almost enough for him to burst. Then, while Steve pushed out his last strong thrusts, Eddie spilt inside of you. Maybe it was what Steve had been trying to hold on for, as he didn’t come much later. It was by far the dirtiest moment in your life, being filled up by your boyfriend and best friend, taking in their cum like it was made for you. 

Finally, they slowed down to a moment of halt. Some of Eddie’s cum spilt out of your mouth, and the realisation hit you that you were in a stranger’s bed, who would probably not be very excited at the image of those strains on their covers. 

‘Ah shit, wait,’ Eddie moved away and jumped off the bed in the direction of what you presumed to be the bathroom. Steve then took on his usual “caring boyfriend” role and helped you lie down comfortably. 

‘Did you cum?’ Of course, those were the first words that came out of his mouth. 

‘Steve-’ 

‘Did you?’ 

‘Honestly, I don’t know. I was too occupied with the whole “two dicks inside of me” situation.’ That was probably the dumbest way you could have phrased it, but because of that same situation, you were too tired to think and sound more poetic. 

‘You didn’t, did you?’ His eyes saddened immediately at the idea of neither him nor Eddie actually managing their goal. But as quickly as the spark disappeared, another kind of glint emerged in his eyes. ‘C’mere.’ 

‘What?’ You looked and sounded confused as he tried to pull you up. 

‘Just hold onto the frame.’ He shuffled down the mattress to lie down. ‘I’m promising you, you’re not walking out of this room until you’ve come… at least twice.’ He wanted to make it up to you, clearly. 

You sat up like Steve told you to, laughing to yourself, with your legs on either side of his face. The sound of your laugh was already plenty of fuel for him to get going again, and it all started again with a kiss to your core. Steve wanted to prove a point, and he was sure as hell gonna do it well. 

‘Round two already?’ Eddie had just walked out of the bathroom, cold and wet towel in hand just for you and the sight that greeted him was of you sitting on Steve’s face. Something he had not prepared for but now would never want to forget. You tried to reply, but Steve was much too distracting. You were mid-moan when Steve said from between your legs: 

‘This is still round one, man.’ And Eddie didn’t need to hear another word. He was just as ready to make it up to you for the rest of the night. 

The End

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tag:

@sdawn03 @mrs--barnes

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it please reblog or at least leave a comment with your thoughts <3 an ask is also always nice to get

Stranger Things masterlist will probably be up eventually, and then will be linked in my bio.

there is no official ST taglist either, but just hmu and i will tag you in anything i will post in the future &lt;3

[scribbledghost]

Hii, how are you? I hope you're well. I love your writing! Could I request something about the reader sheepishly asking Neighbour!Simon to fix something for them? Maybe their sink or shower or whatever? I feel like he'd enjoy it, it would make him feel useful/needed somehow.

Hello!! Thank you so much, this is such a cute request! I was actually thinking about this a while back, because I definitely feel like Neighbor!Simon is a handyman at heart.

This is partly because... well, he has to be, right? I think everyone who lives on their own probably has to have some form of basic handywork experience, just to do simple repairs around the place when things break or whatnot. But also, I think he genuinely enjoys doing DIY things like repairs, so I'd imagine he's pretty good at a variety of things. Sink leaking? He can handle it. Roof need patched? He's on it. Furnace not working? He'll be back in a second with a toolbox. He's so used to destroying things with his hands, I think he'd like the opportunity to fix things with them instead.

And if you come by and shyly ask him to fix something around the house for you? Well, he's certainly not going to say no (Not that he would say no to just about anything you asked in the first place - even from the start, as soon as you catch his eye, he's willing to do whatever you want with little question). He'll follow you back, have you tell him what's going on, and quietly get to work. He doesn't need anything in return or as thanks, but if you offer to make him dinner, he definitely won't turn you down. Provided you have dinner with him, that is.

You're incredibly correct in that it makes him feel needed. Like he has a purpose other than being a machine on some battlefield somewhere. I don't know that he'd be able to put it quite into words, but it definitely makes him feel useful in a constructive, positive way.

I think this goes double when it comes to you. Sure, he likes to feel useful in a way that isn't destructive and violent, but I think feeling useful to you is a separate category on its own. Like, he wants to feel needed in general, but when it comes to you, he needs to feel needed.

(Side note: I also think he'd be super into woodworking as well, but that's a different tangent)

[s0lam33y]

Nonsense

A/N : i haven’t written in ages, Ik Ik 😭 i have so many WIPS that I’m not satisfied with and this has been sitting in my drafts for ages.

mechanic! riri x reader

🔧: @pvnks0ul @kissvamps @ririshotgf

“Ion know what her problem is anyway.” Riri sighs . She just finished giving you all the details of her dad’s side of the family. More specifically, Her cousin, Gina who is especially messy and the two of you couldn’t make it to Chicago this year to watch her and her husband argue like they do every year. He’s an absolute sweetheart and she still manages to give him a hard time.

“You think that could ever be us?” You ask Riri as you watch her move around the garage. She doesn’t spare a glance at you while she looks into her toolbox. The two of you are freshly married, having dated for four years before tying the knot. In the past 6 months of your marriage, you'd say that things have barely changed. It feels the same as when you were dating.

She looks too good, her jumpsuit zipped half way and The top half of it dropped at her hips. Her hands are covered in motor oil, her bicep muscles clenching and unclenching as she digs through the toolbox.

You decided to stop by, offer her a cherry coke while she works. You take your place in the corner of the garage, sitting on a bean bag as you watch her.

“Hell no.” She chuckles, grabbing a wrench from her toolbox and placing it in one of the deep pockets of her Navy blue jumpsuit. You've always loved watching her work, whether it's her screwing metal together for a better suit or this, watching her work on cars.

“We ain’t like Gina and her man. We like you and me, and we don’t argue like that. I’ve never yelled at you the way she be in that man’s ear.” Riri says with a small laugh. You watch her wipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand since the front of it is slathered in motor oil.

She’s not wrong. You two have had your disagreements but Riri’s never been one to yell, however you’ve watched her hold back. You on the other hand…It’s a different story but it’s still a work in progress, nothing she can’t handle.

“She gives him a hard time.” You sigh, a small amount of guilt making it’s way to your chest as you think of the couple. He always looks so miserable.

“Maybe, maybe not, maybe he’s a dick in secret.” Riri shrugs. She doesn’t speak of her Dad often let alone his side of the family and when you do see them, they’re either arguing or gossiping about something.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t think she yellin’ for no reason, baby. Maybe he did something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.” She states, a little amused now as she thinks of a multitude of reasons as to why that man is constantly getting scolded.

“It’s not funny.” You scold which only makes her laugh a little harder. She looks at you only to approach you and sit beside you. There’s barely any space for both of you on a singular bean bag so she lifts hooks her arms beneath your knees and back to place you on her lap.

“Tell me, that shit ain’t funny, They was arguing over mowing the lawn.” She grins as she takes a sip of glass of coke you had bright over for her. As much as she says she hates the gossip, she’s always been one to find it entertaining.

“All I’m saying is it’s a bit sad, don’t you think?” You sigh. They’ve been married for years and you can’t help but wonder if they’ve grown tired of each other, rather if you would ever be in that position.

“A little, but I ain’t arguing over some stupid shit like mowing the lawn.” She huffs while glancing at you. She looks to the side, wondering if you’ve zoned out or not.

“What I say?”

You both burst into laughter soon after, you could never get tired of her.

[authorluvgxbby]

Looking At Me

Prompt: Tokyo Revengers boys caught you staring at them 

Genre: fluff, sickly romantic?

Warnings: None except for y/n being a slight pervert in Mitsuya’s part sorry not sorry

Characters Includes: Mikey, Draken, Chifuyu, Baji, Mitsuya

A/N: heyyy luvs, I’m back in the saddle lol. Just wanted to share some 3 AM thoughts that I had wrote up! I’m considering making more parts of this cuz this had me running LAPS 🫠, feel free to tell me what you think! Also, thank you all so much for the appreciation of my posts, you all are the best, enjoy!

Parts:

Part 1    Part 2 

“And then ken-chin was like-hey, y/n, are you listening to me?” Mikey asks, tilting his head up to look at you as he adjusts his position from where he layed in your lap. Silence was your only response as you continued to gaze at him with nothing but love. Gently, he reaches a hand to your face, delivering feathery touches to your cheek. You hummed at his soft gesture, placing your hand over his own. “Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.” You breathe out, snapping out of your love-sick daze. Pouting, he’s quick to sit up and turn his full attention to you, “What? The whole time?” You couldn’t help but giggle at his puppy-like nature. “You were just so cute, I couldn’t help myself Mikey,” you confessed, smiling as your boyfriend’s cheeks sprouted red at your sudden confession. He’s quick to bury his flushed face into the crook of your neck, pulling you into a messy hug that causes the both of you to topple back down on the couch with him on top of you. “Why do you have to be so cute all the time?” he whines, burrowing his face deeper into you as you laugh at your boyfriend’s soft nature.

Draken grunts softly as he straightens his posture after three long hours of tinkering with the bike he had been working on. “Hey babe, could you pass me that wrench from the toolbox over there?” he groans, stretching out once more from his hunched-over position. When he doesn’t hear your usual “yes baby” or “ok kenny” he turns over to where you were seated at on the stool that wasn’t too far from where he was working, only to be met with your fixated orbs on him. You were hunched over with your elbows propped on your knees and hands holding your face. Raising a brow, he walks over to you and gently pinches your cheek, “Angel?” Feeling the soft tug on the side of your face, you snap back to reality, and are met with your boyfriend’s questioning gaze. “Hm? Yes?,” you asked, straightening yourself up as you looked at the blonde’s questioning gaze. “How long have you been staring like that?” he asks, tugging your arms to pull you up into a strong embrace. You grin, resting your head against his firm chest. “Is it wrong for me to admire my hard-working boyfriend?” you hum, grin growing wider as you listen to the sudden rapid heartbeat of your tall lover. Clearing his throat, he tightens his grip on your waist. “N-not at all, I was just worried s’all,” he mutters.

“Thanks, come again soon!” Chifuyu chimes from behind the counter as he waves off another customer of the pet shop. Sighing, he turns his attention to you, where you sat on a chair, cross-legged with mischievous, narrowed eyes. He slightly jolts at your sudden trained gaze on him. “y-y/n?” he calls out, snapping you out of your trance. You smile sweetly at the sound of your name being called from the dark-haired male. “Yes, love?” “How long have you been staring at me like that?” he asks, relaxing his temporary tense muscles as he makes his way over to where you were sitting, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not long enough,” you smirk, throwing him a wink. Chifuyu gawks before quickly covering his now reddened ears at your remark. “Baby!” he groans. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched the warmth spread from the tips of his ears to across his face. “I love you~,” you coo, blowing him a kiss. You certainly would be the death of him.

You sigh, as you continue to observe Baji from afar as he talks with the other division captains of Toman. You sat fully on Baji’s bike, leaning over the front of the bike with elbows propped on either side of the bars as you held your face up to admire your long-haired lover. You could never get over the fact of how handsome Baji looked with his hair out, of course with the complement of his gang uniform as well. You couldn’t help but grin like an idiot as you let your mind wander in your thoughts as to how in the world you got so lucky to be with someone as sweet as Baji. Despite his violent nature when he is in fights, he never fails to be as gentle and caring towards you. Even when you first met him, he had been nothing but a gentleman to you. “Hey…y/n?” a waving hand enters your field of vision hearing the familiar voice of Mitsuya, you slightly jolt up from your dazed state as you turn your head to the side to face a smirking Mitsuya. “You’re so obvious, why not just take a picture of him? It would last longer.”  he snickers. You glare at him, landing a hard smack to his arm. “I’m her boyfriend, she doesn’t need a picture if I’m around her all the time.” Chimes the familiar, aggressive voice you knew all too well. Before you know it, a warm hand is tugging at your chin, turning your head to face none other than your boyfriend. “Don’t worry babe, you can stare at me whenever you feel like it,” he smirks, gently thumbing over your plump lips. 

Mitsuya always looked so sexy when he was concentrating on his work, but the price for the nice view was such a mighty one. It was such a shame that he seemed to pay more attention to pieces of fabric than you. Huffing, you couldn’t help but glare daggers at the flimsy inanimate objects that Mitsuya had been toying with on the model mannequin for the past few hours, not even realizing that you have been eyeing him the whole time. You even had the chance to admire his butt from where you sat, not that you were complaining, but it was frustrating when you weren’t being acknowledged by your workaholic lover. Unconsciously, a slightly high-pitched whine reverberates from your throat, snapping Mitsuya out of his focused zone, turning his full attention to you. Smiling he calmly walks over to you, reaching a hand to cup your pouting face, “Yes, honey?” he coos, the nickname causing butterflies to flutter your stomach. “You’ve been neglecting me Takashi, I bet you haven’t even noticed me at all” you cry out, earning a chuckle from the calm male. Leaning over you, he uses his other hand to hold himself up using the amrest of the chair, while the hand he had on your cheek wanders under your chin, tilting your head up as he inches his face closer to your own, giving you a better look of his handsome features. His gaze flickers back and forth from your mouth to your eyes, slowly leaning in next to the side of your growing crimson face, breath fanning against your ear, “Oh, my love, you mean how you’ve been staring at me the whole time?” he asks in a husky tone.

[raapija]

Just a regular day

Fernando Alonso/Lance Stroll

No warnings needed, just fluff <3

It's been a long day at the karting track and Lance goes to find Fernando to take him home.

This is part of the pookie au ->

Lance stretched back in his chair and yawned. He was finally done cataloging every piece of paper and recording everything on the computer database. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch.

"Half seven..." he mumbled to himself and relaxed for a moment longer. He looked out the office window and down towards the track. The sun was setting and painted the sky pink. It was so quiet compared to just a few hours before with about 20 karts speeding around the track and dozens of family members and friends cheering for them.

Lance could see some movement from the other side of the track where the garages and storage buildings were. He sat up to see better and could make out a familiar figure wheeling along one of the karts used in the race. Oh, Fernando was still working on something. The Canadian decided to wrap up his things and head down to see what he was doing. The whole building was empty, apart from a little old cleaning lady tidying up the offices. Lance said his good byes to her and made his way outside.

***

"Hey," Lance said as he stopped at the garage opening, looking at Fernando hunched over the kart he had been moving. "Whatcha doing?"

Fernando peered up and smiled as he saw Lance, his hands busy loosening some screws. As he looked back down, his face contorted in frustration as one of the screws wouldn't come out. "The engine was making a sound so I'm just checking it."

"It's almost seven, we should go home." Lance said and walked over to him, crouching down and watching Fernando tinker with the engine. The Spaniard's hands were covered in black oil and grease and Lance thought it made him look quite rugged. In a good way.

"Yeah, it's not gonna take long. You can go if you want to. I'll get a ride from someone." Fernando said and Lance huffed.

"I'm not leaving you here, you'll stay the whole night. Besides, it's only us and Juanita still here. And she can't strap you onto her Vespa." the Canadian said. Fernando chuckled and then pointed towards a toolbox off to the side.

"Well, help me then and we'll go." he said and Lance reached for the toolbox, handing Fernando whatever he needed. They worked together on the engine with Lance giving suggestions on the possible fix and Fernando trying them out. Finally, they found the right part that was causing the noise and Fernando ripped the whole thing off and changed in a new one. They fired up the kart and were satisfied to hear it run smoothly.

***

"Well!" Lance chirped with a clap as Fernando got up to clean his hands. It was almost eight now and he was feeling famished. They had only had a quick lunch break between practise and qualifying and that was almost 7 hours ago. "Can we go home now?"

"Yeah, sí." Fernando said as he wiped his hands clean with WD-40. Lance grimaced as he knew how rough Fernando's hands would get after that. The Spaniard rinsed his hands with water and then walked over to Lance, pulling him close by the waist. He looked up to Lance and gave him a warm smile. "How was your day?"

Lance smirked at him and loosely wrapped his arms around Fernando's shoulders. "Fine. Busy, but fine. I had a lot of fun actually."

"Yeah?" Fernando hummed. Lance could see how tired he was, eyes all droopy and his whole being a bit disheveled. "A lot of official, very important race director business?"

"Yeah, sure." Lance laughed. His job for today had been to keep a record of everything happening on track. Participants, timing, possible penalties, finishing positions... It was a lot but he was pretty good at handling ten different things at once. And he had a couple people help him that worked full-time at the museum, so it wasn't really all that bad.

"Hmm..." Fernando hummed again and got up on his tip toes to give Lance a good and long kiss. Content with the smooch, he slumped back down and rested his forehead on Lance's shoulder. "Take me home, por favor."

"Okay..." Lance said and held him for a bit longer. Fernando smelled like oil, petrol and sweat, not the best combination of flavours but Lance loved it. It reminded him of his own karting days in Canada.

"Come on, then." Lance said and they let go of each other. They gathered their belongings and closed up the garage. It was pretty dark outside with only a few lamps lighting up the track. They walked hand in hand, talking about what they were going to have for a late dinner. Lance loved these kinds of sweet moments with Fernando. Nothing but them and ordinary every day conversation. Like they weren't famous F1 drivers with a million eyes on them at every waking moment, but just a couple of regular boring people with regular boring lives. Oh, what he would give for it to be like this always and forever. But then again, driving an F1 car was pretty nice, too.

"Lancito, churri?" Fernando called for him gently and Lance broke out of his daydream. He had fallen a few steps behind and now had to catch up.

"Yeah, yeah, coming." the Canadian hurried over to the car, throwing his things on the backseat as Fernando held the door open. They then went to their own respective places; Lance on the wheel and Fernando riding shotgun. It didn't take long after pulling out the parking lot that the Spaniard already fell asleep. Lance listened to the radio on low volume, driving along an empty road and cherished the moment once more. Him and his husband going home, the home that they had bought together. Just regular people driving back to their regular home. It was perfect for him.

▹.࿙𝆤𝆤࿚'𝆤࿙𝆤𖹭𝆤࿚𝆤'࿙𝆤𝆤࿚.࿙𝆤𝆤࿚'𝆤࿙𝆤𖹭𝆤࿚𝆤'࿙𝆤𝆤࿚.▹

Thanks for reading <3 I've been thinking of writing something with the karting school for a while now and finally got inspired enough to do it. Hope y'all like it 🥰

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Okay imagine Matt’s gf being REALLY clumsy, like to the point where he is telling her to watch out for the couch or the counter, etc, as he knows where his furniture is placed and he can hear where she’s walking… Like he’s like, “Y/n, watch out for the-“ Then an “OUCH” follows 🤣🤣 Him catching her when she trips and her cheekily saying, “nice catch” and he cheekily says back “nice fall”🤣🤣🤣🤣

hii my sweet, I just realised that I didn’t actually include the dialogue you said IM really SORRY, but the tone of it is the same. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

klutz

Matt Murdock x fem!reader

wc || 0.4k

warnings || none

masterlist + rules

taglist

You were spending the day at your boyfriend’s apartment, helping him do up his place; spending many hours patching up holes and filling cracks. Matt didn’t want to hire someone, so you kindly offered to do it. You weren’t qualified, not even a little, but Matt needed the help. Right now you were glad he couldn’t see because you did a shocking job of filling the holes in the walls.

“I think it looks good.” You lie, putting your hands on your hips. Wobbling on the chair at the lack of balance.

“Be careful up there, yeah?” He sweetly warns, rushing over to hold your waist to keep you still.

“All good. Right, so… the wall is filled…at least?” Your tone rising, trying to find a positive in the awful work you had done. Laughing to yourself, stepping down from the chair with thanks to Matt’s chivalry.

“What else needs doing?” You ask, looking around his apartment. “What about that crack in the silicone by the window- you’ll get cold.”

“You’re not even qualified.” He chuckles earnestly, moving the chair to the side.

“Um- I am now… I watched lots of tutorials.” You snicker, collecting your makeshift toolbox from the coffee table, and picking out old tools you found at a thrift store.

“By the way-“ Matt starts, your screech cutting him off.

“Yep- thanks.” You groan, rubbing over your knee. Moving the chair to the side, again.

“Can you help me move these instead?” Matt asks, nodding to the piles of flat-pack furniture by the door.

“Of course.” Jokingly flexing your arms. “Look at that… daredevil? Needing my help?”

“Don’t get used to it.” He jokes, carrying a couple of boxes into his room.

Picking up a piece with great amounts of effort, straining as you moved it into the bedroom. “Watch out, watch out.” You groan, walking faster so you could let go of it quicker. “Oh my…” noticing Matt’s stern look, “…crud.” Desperately shaking your hands.

He returns with the next stack, piling it against the wall. “I’ll sort that out another time.” Walking away from his new flatpack bed frame.

“What do you want for dinner? I’m gonna order.” Pulling out your phone to follow Matt into the living room.

“Box.” Matt states indifferently, slumping into the couch.

Whacking your ankle on the corner as you walk past, grumbling at a new patch of skin that’s soon to form another new bruise.

“I know.” You whine, flopping beside him.

“Give it here.” He says sweetly, lifting your foot up to place a delicate kiss on your ankle. Twisting you around so your legs could drape over him. “Indian food?” Matt asks with a smile. “My treat- for all your hard labour today.” Chuckling genuinely.

“I thought you were paying.” Returning a grin.