#and haven't made it into a single one yet

[jackalopc]

What do you do when the proverbial prince of gotham throws a couple grand worth of fine liquor on one of the most powerful crime bosses in the city and leaves the party? You follow him out and introduce yourself, of course.

inspired by this post by @bruciemilf including their fancast for harvey because um obviously it's perfect (and also a fair bit of influence from the a wild battinson series by @emo-batboy because i'm obsessed with it and it's canon in my heart).

UPDATE: NOW POSTED ON AO3 TOO, you can find it here!

It's early autumn; which means it's the start of the rainy season in Gotham (or rather more rain) and of Harvey's latest semester at Gotham University (GothU, affectionately). Harvey isn't entirely sure how he ended up at this shindig, if he's being honest, and the person who even invited him as his plus one has vanished. He's in law school but he's still only in pre-law, he hasn't even made a name for himself yet as some sort of future threat.

(It's still early enough that about 50% of students he's going through with are still starry eyed and haven't entirely given up on the idea of making Gotham a better place.)

The weird intersection of various gangs, businessmen, politicians (corrupt or otherwise), and local celebs is there on full display; and Harvey just wants to get the fuck out of there, but he has no idea where his ride is and frankly he's a broke law student he does not have the money for a cab all the way back into central Gotham from where they are.

But then, something catches his eye-- or rather, someone:

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne had recently crossed the threshold into being the richest man in the world (just surpassing the much older Lex Luthor), with the biggest company in the world (again surpassing Luthor's own corporation), and the closest thing Gotham has to true and actual royalty.

The same Bruce Wayne that was also in two of Harvey's classes this semester at GothU for reasons he did not understand.

Harvey is admittedly, briefly entranced. Sure they share classes and like him, Bruce attends every single one, but Harvey is pretty sure he's never been this close to the man still (or maybe it just feels closer compared to the large university lecture halls). Heads turn whenever and wherever Bruce goes; and it wasn't just because he was so unfathomably rich or because nearly all of Gotham was protective of the young man. From adorable child, to cute (if sullen) pre-teen, and now into an attractive (if sullen) young man-- Bruce was hot. Sure, in a kinda funky have we confirmed he's not a Victorian vampire way but honestly maybe it was just the classical Gotham influence that made him read that way.

Harvey, even in his trance, can tell that Bruce Wayne looks uncomfortable. He can't tell if it's the social interaction or the people he's surrounded by, but either way Bruce didn't look happy to be there really. Harvey can't help but find himself compelled to watch the billionaire, because he knew the public reputation of Bruce Wayne (generous to a fault, prince of gotham but king of social anxiety and awkwardness, person you could trust to leave your small children around); but what was he like at these weird little parties where it was almost all folks who were deeply corrupt and entrenched? Was it all just a persona? Would he start doing that weird haughty laugh a lot of these other rich fucks seemed to do?

Harvey was still one of those starry-eyed pre-law students, he wanted to make a real and lasting change in this godforsaken city. Bruce Wayne held the most power and influence here. Would he be an potential ally, or Harvey's biggest obstacle?

A figure was suavely bee-lining towards Bruce, the crowd parting way for him. Harvey didn't see who the person was until they stopped before the prince, and Harvey nearly dropped the expensive, crystal glass in his hand. Carmine Falcone. Not one of his lieutenants, not some people just associated with the crime boss, no. Falcone himself. Christ, what did I get dragged into? I'll pay another semester worth of tuition if it gets me outta here--

"Bruce, my dear boy! I'm soo glad you decided to join us," Falcone practically croons, and approaches with two glasses in hand. Harvey thinks he see's a slight twitch to Bruce's eye, but the man's expression doesn't change really even with the man's arrival. Falcone pushes the fresh glass of alcohol into Bruce's hand, then swiftly and smoothly wraps a long arm around Bruce's shoulders.

Harvey watches as Bruce looks from the glass, as if trying to determine it's contents then up to Falcone, eyebrow slowly arching. Harvey can't hear everything, the crowd just barely too loud. But Falcone starts steering Bruce further into the party. Right, I need to stop gawking and find my ride--

Harvey gulps down the last of his drink, though the taste makes him want to gag. Maybe he's just not sophisticated yet enough to appreciate the morbidly expensive alcohol. He hastily sets the glass down on the nearest passing waiter's tray, and starts to look for his ride.

The search brings him closer to Falcone, which isn't thrilling, but necessary in order to sweep the room. Harvey mentally swears because the place is huge and he's probably going to have to go room by room and--

"-- my boy, just think of the potential!" Falcone's voice floats so easily over the crowd, and the guy makes Harvey's skin crawl but even he has to admit the man has his own weird ass charisma. Harvey's attention is drawn back, involuntarily, to the crime boss and Bruce Wayne. The younger man hasn't touched his drink, if Harvey had to guess; and Falcone is staying practically plastered to his side. The younger man looks so so uncomfortable and frustrated? Annoyed? Mad? It's hard for Harvey to place, because somehow Bruce Wayne also continues to look sullen and exhausted.

The crowd around Falcone is a delicate balance of men and women clearly are comfortable around him; and people who were trying to find a way to get near while not incur the wrath of his many bodyguards. Then there was Harvey, who wants nothing to do with anyone here thankyouverymuch. Harvey scans the area one last time, not finding his so-called friend; his eyes land briefly at Bruce again before he starts to turn.

"-- I mean... you're father--" Falcone can't finish his sentence and Harvey turns back just in time to see Bruce Wayne splash the insanely expensive alcohol directly into Falcone's face.

Besides a few gasps, it goes quiet in the immediate area and quickly radiates out. Everyone is shocked, including Harvey, but he also is amazed byt he sight of Bruce. He looks as unimpressed by Falcone as he is angered. Bruce says nothing, and Harvey watches as he turns on his heel and starts calmly leaving; politely placing his glass on a waitresses tray on his way out.

Harvey has no idea what compels him to do so, but he follows the billionaire out.

"Wayne! Mr. Wayne!" Harvey calls as he jogs to catch up; the man has a surprisingly fast pace and while a crowd will part for the prince, it's not about to make way for some punk pre-law student they don't even know the name of.

Bruce Wayne stops, steps away from the gleaming black car that's running. His famous butler by his side, umbrella open above their heads.

Both men look to Harvey, curious and expecting, as he skids to a stop. Harvey realizes he didn't think far enough ahead, and swallows thickly. Thankfully though, Bruce speaks first.

"Harvey, Right? Harvey Dent?" Bruce says and Harvey blinks.

"You- wait, you know who I am?"

"Sure," Bruce says easily, like his name is worth remembering to a man like him. The rain is still falling, steadily and soaking Harvey. "You're the only one saying stuff worth listening to in those classes," he adds.

Harvey blinks, and he's glad the light is shit in the overcast weather, because his face warms at the acknowledgement. "Oh..."

"I didn't expect you at a place like this," Bruce says, voice curious as he watches Harvey closely in a way that makes him want to squirm a little under the scrutiny. It's not malicious feeling, though--- Harvey thinks it seems more curious, than anything.

"My friend dragged me here, didn't tell me what was going on..." Harvey admits.

Alfred leans in and whispers something to Bruce. Bruce nods, not taking his eyes off Harvey. "Would you like a ride home, Mr. Dent?" Alfred asks.

They don't go directly to Harvey's place, and Alfred doesn't even drop Bruce off first. Instead--

"Bat Burger?" Bruce asks, as he settles fully into the seat next to Harvey. "I'm starving."

"Oh! Uh, sure?" Harvey blinks, and then looks down as Bruce pulls out a towel of all things, from-- somewhere? and offers it to him. Harvey takes it, starting to dry off how best he can.

"Alfred?"

"Of course, sir," Alfred says easily from the driver seat ahead. "So, what glorious exit did you make this time, Master Bruce?"

Bruce makes a strangled noise, scoffing. "Who says I did anything?" He replies, and Harvey stifles a laugh-- not because of the denial so much as the billionaire sounds like a kid trying to hide the mess he just made.

Harvey can see in the rear view mirror Alfred raise an eyebrow.

"He threw his very expensive drink in Falcone's face," he provides and Bruce sends him a scowl but it has no bite and he's even smiling a little.

"Oh, Bruce, really?" Alfred chides like an exhausted parent.

"Don't worry, it was expensive, not good," Bruce says in his defense; and Harvey laughs.

to be continued? maybe? IDEK.

[javaelemental]

Re: Murderbot

A couple of days ago I picked up the first Murderbot book (All Systems Red), largely because the TV trailer for the show had looked good and my tumblr dashboard was jam-packed full of people professing their love for the books.

Later, as the show started airing, my tumblr dashboard filled up with people loving the show.

Finally, I hit a night where watching shitty TV didn't sound like much fun, so I snagged the book and chewed through it in a few hours. (It's a short novella and I'm a fast reader.)

The book was delightful. I'm definitely going to read the rest of them so no spoilers, plz.

Today, since I had a day off, I watched the show, and it is also delightful.

They changed a lot of things from the book as far as plot goes. I mean, the basic plot seems to be the same, but there's been a lot added and a lot skipped over. I expect that's due to the extremely internal nature of the novella. A lot of what goes on in the book is basically Murderbot's internal narration, just it telling you what's going on. Not a lot of detail on, for example, action scenes. Also not a lot about what the human crew is actually up to, since Murderbot kind of ignores them as much as it can and also finds the majority of their activity boring and/or useless.

A few thoughts:

They made Murderbot's crew seem extremely hippy-ish in all the worst, most stereotypical ways. On one hand, I don't love that. They didn't seem this useless in the book. On the other hand, having lived in Oregon for fifteen years, I've met each and every one of these characters personally and in real life and they all act exactly like that. It was both annoying and hilarious.

Particularly so when Labeebee or whatever her name was showed up. Like, absolutely everyone should have seen how that was going to go, and yet not one single crew member did and for as much time as I spent muttering at the TV screen "She's a bad guy how can you not TELL that," those folks I know from Oregon would also have been this irritatingly naive and oblivious.

I like the expanded look into corporate life. You didn't see much of that in the first book. (I assume it starts getting mentioned in later books.)

They cut back more than a bit on mentioning how crappy all of the corporation's products are, which I kind of didn't like. A big reason why Murderbot manages as much as he does and why so much of the obvious fuckery gets missed until later is because the corporation's products are such hot garbage. Like, they do mention it, but it the books it's a fairly big plot device.

Anyway, I'm very much looking forward to the rest of the books, and the rest of the show. If you've been hearing a lot about it and haven't checked it out yet, do so. It's a lot of fun.

[paulyenvol6]

Delicate

Based on this amazing request (Thank you so much, I had a blast writing this :)). Just wanted to let you know that I haven't watched Materialists yet so I'm sorry if I wasn't able to capture Harry's character so well, but I tried my best! Anyways, enjoy <3

Contains: fluff, sweetness overload, brief mentions of anxiety and panic, little bit of crying but nothing heavy, mentions of alcohol, kissing, suggestive tension

Wordcount: 7,796

Masterlist

You nibbled at your thumb and instantly cursed yourself as you dropped your hand.

You weren't supposed to be so nervous. And you certainly weren't supposed to fall back into your old habits and bite your nails out of nervousness. This was just a date after all, a nice dinner at a beautiful restaurant to see how the two of you would be going along.

On one hand you didn't want to go into this with too many expectations. But when you thought about Harry, his gentle smile and soft brown eyes you couldn't help it. You couldn't help but feel your heart clench and as much as it could be caused by sheer anxiety, part of you knew that after your first meeting at the wedding last week, you sort of had a little… crush? Who could blame you, really? He was a dream. A perfect, surreal dream that was almost too good to be real.

"Hi!"

You twirled around, clumsy hands reaching for the wall of the building next to the restaurant to ground yourself and prevent yourself from stumbling.

"H-Hi, Harry," you smiled, your heartrate shooting up, but the curl of your lips genuine. Then your gaze dropped to what he was holding in his left hand and this time your heartbeat didn't fasten, but on the contrary, it stopped for a brief moment. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hand, with shades of purple and violet catching your eyes as you took in the various tulips, asters, petunias, and clematis.

"Oh," you made and involutarily squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassement. This was the worst reply you could think of. No 'thank you' or 'wow', just a stupid 'oh'.

"It's very good to see you," Harry said, smirking as he handed you the bouquet of flowers. "For you. You mentioned that purple is your favorite color, so I thought…"

He left the sentence unfinished, but your eyes were on the bright purple anyway. The muscles around your mouth were twitching and tingling, an untamable chaos thrumming in your stomach as you took the bouquet with trembling hands and then looked up to him again.

Say something. Thank you. Anything.

"Thank you so much," you eventually said, a little too late, but still reasonable.

"You're welcome," he answered, invitingly raising his eyebrows."I can carry the bouquet while we go inside. It might be a bit unwieldy. Besides, you've got your purse."

You blinked a few times and all you were able to think about was how dumb and slow you must look to him. It took you an extra 10 seconds to process each of his words, and then you responded with as few words as possible.

"Yeah, that'd be great. And really, thank you. I love the color purple and the flowers are so pretty." You were content with yourself now, softly exhaling as Harry glanced at your profile while offering you his arm.

"I'm glad. There were two bouquets I liked and had to choose between and I wasn't really sure which one to take, but I was in a rush because I obviously didn't want to make you wait and so I was forced to make a decision. Sorry for being a little late by the way."

You chuckled, turning toward him while taking his arm.

"You were not late. I was a bit too early."

Harry pushed the door open, but you were too absentminded to observe your surroundings such as the waiter standing by the door, the dimly lit interior of the italian restaurante, the bar and the flower bouquets by the entrance that didn't quite match the color of your flowers, but didn't look any less pretty. You were so taken by Harry, he was like a black hole sucking in all your attention and making you hyperaware of every single detail of him – the things you had already noticed the day you had met him as well as the new ones. The little scar on his hairline, the few grey strands highlighting his thick black hair and of course his indistinct smile. The way it seemed to reach his eyes at once, making them shimmer and radiate warmth and comfort, which you found remarkable considering the fact that you had only just met him.

Harry exchanged a few words with the waiter, but you couldn't hear them. Not just because you were daydreaming about the man next to you, but also because of the loud noises in the restaurant. For a moment you feared that the muffled mumuring and loud laughter might impose a struggle for your conversation, but it turned out the waiter was leading you to a table slightly away from the others. The distant piano music was still in your ear, but a lot more subtle now and so was the mumbling from the other guests.

Harry, the polite gentleman that he was, pulled back the chair, waited until you had sat down and then adjusted it while you smiled over your shoulder.

"Thank you. Your manners really are remarkable. I almost feel bad because I wasn't taught all of this."

He grinned while taking his seat across the table.

"Don't. I like things to be a little romantic. Or, you know… I like a retro vibe at times. But I don't demand or - or god forbid expect the same from the people around me."

You nodded and ran your eyes over the cutlery spread out in front of you, swallowing at the sight of four spoons, four knives, and four forks. This was an expensive establishment and although you weren't surprised by Harry taking you somewhere fancy, you still felt a little lost.

"It's so beautiful in here. I love the tapestries and the paintings. Do you come here often?"

"Not really. I like to save this place for special occasions."

God he was a flirt and the wink of his left eye didn't exactly improve the situation. You were his special occasion and despite acknowledging his words for a polite gesture, you found that it wouldn't have been necessary to answer that way. Maybe…, just maybe he actually saw potential for this, just like you did.

"But do you have any recommendations?" you wanted to know, hoping that the slight flushness on your face would be swallowed by the bad lightning.

"They have good pasta. I had the mushroom pasta once and I liked it," Harry answered with such a welcoming smile that you felt like your awkwardness didn't matter at all. He was encouraging you, giving you signs that none of this was odd or uncomfortable with subtle gestures such as his flashing eyes or his soft tone when he was adressing you.

"Maybe I'm gonna try that one then," you said more to yourself and dropped your eyes to the menu. The prices next to the selections of food were making your eyes widen, but you had a strong feeling, Harry hadn't accidentally chosen this place. At least you didn't want to order the most expensive meal on the menu, so you actually decided to go with the mushroom pasta.

"How was your day?" Harry asked once the waiter had taken your orders (Pasta Arrabiata for your date) and leaned over the table, elbows resting on the surface.

"Oh whatever," you wryly grinned, swinging your head to the side as you made yourself comfortable on the cushion.

"What does that mean?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead.

"Work was a little stressful. And I got into a fight with my sister. But you know… I was just thinking of our dinner tonight and that kept me going."

Harry returned the smile, his hand toying with the salt shaker, but his eyes on you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Yes. If you really wanna know… My sister's getting married soon and I wanna be supportive and patient and you know, be calm even when she freaks out, but today I don't know…" You sighed, wiping over your eyes. "I was stressed because of work and then we met for lunch and I immediatly saw how nervous and restless she was and so we were both kind of strained and had a fight. Over something stupid, it doesn't even really matter. But now I feel bad because I feel like I have to be a better sister and I'm unsupportive because this is such a special time for her and I wasn't there for her today."

Harry nodded in understanding, biting down on his lip as he watched you.

"I'm sorry. But your feelings are valid too. You felt stressed and overloaded and that means you deserve someone to be there for you too."

You carefully glanced up to him, feeling so relieved and touched by his words, but regretful over the fact that it had taken less than 5 minutes for you to complain and pour your heart out to him. What must he think of you? That you were an emotionally unstable drama queen who wasn't capable of having normal small talk? You sighed, forcing your lips to curl into a smile.

"Thank you. And… I'm sorry, I don't wanna bother you with my problems now while we are in such a nice place. How was your day?"

Harry lowly chuckled, chewing on his bottom lip and was just about to say something when the waiter came to bring your beverages. A bottle of Sangiovese and two glasses that he placed in front of the two of you. After he had poured you an appropriate amount of the deep red liquid, Harry looked at you again.

"Now I forgot what I wanted to say… Oh yeah I know: don't apologise, okay? I'm glad you feel comfortable talking to me about stuff like this and I'm happy to listen. And you're not bothering me with it. If it makes you feel better, I'm all ears for you. Okay?"

You laughed, your finger tracing the base of the wine glass and a telling pink creeping up on your cheeks.

How could someone be that nice?

Your face was glowing, your heart pounding in your chest as you gave him a nod.

"Good," he answered, leaning back in his chair and raising his glass along with you.

"To good conversation then," he grinned and your glasses gently clinked together, producing a soft, tinkling sound.

"Damn small talk," you joined and then took a careful sip from the wine.

"Oh it's good," you said once you had removed the glass from your lips and put it back down on the table.

"It is. And I thought it would go well with both of your pastas." Harry did the same thing as you, lowering the glass and then tilting his head.

"Oh and you asked about my day… Not that stressful fortunately. But I did have a weird encounter with a cat on my way to work."

"With a cat?" you giggled.

"Yeah. She wouldn't stop following me until I was about to step into the office building. I don't know what it was, but I guess I should feel flattered."

You smirked and rested your chin on your palm, watching Harry with a sparkle in your eyes.

"You should've adopted her. Maybe you just met your soulmate."

"I do hope that my soulmate is not a cat," he scoffed. "And maybe I need to keep myself available for now. Not jump into a new relationship while I'm getting to know someone as lovely as you."

You almost shuddered at his words, a warm shiver rushing down your spine in the most comforting way.

"You're right about that. And I mean I couldn't possibly compete with a cat like that. Especially when she's so loyal to you."

Harry winked, taking another sip from his wine.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. Not being able to compete with a cat, I mean."

The two of you laughed and only now did you realise how comfortable and at ease you were. There was no trace left of the initial nervousness and you could only once again silently thank Harry for his endearing and calm nature.

Soon the food came and a little later the two of you were deeply invested in a hot-headed discussion about literature. You found out about his love for modernism and that his favorite author was Kafka and long after your plates were empty and all that was left of the wine were a few stains at the edge of the glasses, your conversation drifted to music. Harry turned out to be a big fan of 70s and 80s music and you were more than happy to have found an equally passionate counterpart when it came to your favourite bands and musicians. And then, noticing your yawns that grew more regular over time, Harry cleared his throat, dimples visible as he raised his eyebrows.

"Are you tired?" he asked, his voice so soft and husky that you felt goosebumps rise on your arms.

"Yes, a little. I think it would be good to get home soon, I have to be at work early tomorrow," you admitted, apologetically pursing your lips.

"Of course. How did you get here, do you want me to drive you home?" he asked, but already scanned the restaurant for a waiter.

"No, no, that's alright. I took the subway."

He stopped in the motion, his gaze lingering on your eyes and a frown visible on his brow.

"I'm not gonna let you take the subway so late. I'm afraid I have to insist."

You were doubtful, but couldn't deny the bubbly coil in your stomach area. He was sweet and affectionate and unfortunately you were the kind of person to fall for stuff like that.

"But it's not really on your way, is it?" you whispered nonetheless because you really didn't want him to waste his time and be the reason for it.

"Y/n," he said, carefully, almost shyly, placing his hand on top of yours, which made the corners of your mouth lift.

"I want to drive you home. It's about 15 minutes. Otherwise you would have to take the train and not only wouldn't it be safe, but this is much faster. Please let me."

What were you to say against this? You found you had no choice but to approve, but thanked him a million times in the next few minutes until Harry once again stated that you were doing him a favor by letting him drive you.

"I wouldn't be able to have a peaceful drive home if I was worried about your safety."

Then you stayed silent about the topic and found yourself in his passenger seat five minutes later. His expensive passenger seat, as it might be worth mentioning. The leather felt cool against your naked thigh and although Harry had told you that he drove the black mercedes for almost 4 years now, it still smelled new and fresh. Of warm vinyl, something clean and money.

Harry had held you the door open and now walked around the car to take his seat on the other side.

"Ready to go?" he asked once the two of you had fastened your belts and glanced at your profile with a mischievous smile.

"Always," you replied and then the bright lights around you, the distanced red of some traffic lights, the logo of a cinema across the street and the lights behind the restaurant winows began dancing before your eyes as Harry started the drive to your apartment.

"I had a really good time tonight," he said after a few seconds, his eyes on the street, but his pupils flickering like he had to fight the urge not to look at you to watch you for your reaction.

"So did I. I would love to do it again," you answered, but then furrowed your brow. "But I can't have you invite me to such an expensive restaurant again, Harry. Although this was probably the best pasta I've ever had."

"Then why not? I like making you happy and I don't mind. But if you really want to do something else, I know a nice bar just down the street. We could meet there and grab something to drink later this week. Maybe it would also be better to do something earlier so you won't be tired for work the next day."

You had to bite your lip, partly because you loved the way he cared about you, remembering all the little signs and things you had said earlier, but also because the prospect of going out with him again this week made you fear for the sound that might escape your throat.

"I would love that. Just tell me when and where," you grinned and excitedly intertwined your fingers.

"Perfect. What do you think about Thursday? I get off work at 6, so maybe 7?"

You could only nod with a stupid smile glued to your lips, but Harry couldn't see it anyways.

"So we're making plans before you have even dropped me off… I'd say that's a good sign, right?"

His teeth scraped his lower lip, a brief glimpse in your direction the only answer you received.

You tapped on your phone screen, your breath coming out in sharp hitches.

6:57.

You would make it, you were sure. The bar was just around the corner and you still had 3 minutes, so you just had to hurry up a little. But you didn't want to be soaked with sweat when you arrived.

What was more important? Being on time or your face not glistening with sweat?

Fuck it, you thought and slowed down. One or two minutes too late wasn't a big deal. Last time you had waited for Harry for 5 minutes, but to be fair, you had been 10 minutes early. You briefly closed your eyes, shaking your head to clear your mind and forcing your racing breath to calm down. Everything would be fine and overthinking it would only make you more nervous.

You were heading around the corner now, blinking a few times at the sun-drowned street and raising your hand to protect your eyes from the soft, golden rays. You looked at your phone again. 5:59 and no text from Harry.

A part of you, a strange, anxious and insecure part of you feared to get a massage cancelling the date from him, but at the same time the rational part of you knew that he wouldn't do that. It was him after all.

Him, who you hadn't been able to stop thinking about for the past two days. Him, who had been haunting your mind like a ghost howling around a scary, decayed lodge and him, who was now standing in front of the bar a few feet away from you.

You waved, but instantly felt awkward doing it so you lowered your hand. Harry had noticed you though and turned toward you, the smile on his face visible even from the distance.

"Hey!" he said once you were in reach and determindely took a step toward you, pulling you in for a gentle hug, which you welcomed with an inaudible happy sigh. He was so warm, so soft and big. His hands were on your back, sprawled out on the small of your back and stroking up and down your clothed skin.

"Very good to see you. You look beautiful" he said against your hair.

It took you much too long to answer him, your senses overstimulated and cloudy from the smell of his aftershave in your nose, but when you eventually did, Harry had already withdrawn, leaving you disappointed that the body contact had ended so soon.

"Thank you, so do you. And I'm happy to see you too. How have you been doing? Any more weird encounters with cats?"

"Oh way too many," Harry answered, chuckling softly and putting his hands in his front pockets.

He looked absolutely gorgeous tonight, wearing a black turtelneck, a jacket and plain, grey tousers that fitted him suspiciously well. So well that you were almost sure they were tailored to his body.

"But no, she luckily left me alone. You get aaaaall my attention tonight, I swear. Should we go in? Then you gotta tell me about the concert. I'm just happy to see you and the band wasn't so taken by you that they took you on tour with them."

Harry placed a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to the door and you immediately felt your heartrate picking up as the warmth of his palm spread in your body. You just hoped that it wouldn't be too hot inside because you were already struggling here, the air somehow stuffy although a cool breeze was blowing through the city.

Soft piano music was lingering in the air as Harry opened the door, taking a step aside, so you could enter the bar. You were welcomed by indistinct mumbling combined with the tinkling jazz notes the woman by the piano produced with her elegant slender hands dancing over the keyboard.

"Over there?" you said over your shoulder, your hand gesturing to a table in the corner of the bar, and approached it once Harry had given you a nod.

The butterflies were awakened at the sight of him taking off his jacket and putting it over his chair. Tonight you noticed a ring on his pinky finger, a green emerald if your eyes weren't mistaken by the dim light.

"And?" Harry said loudly to overcast the noises from a larger group of people gathered by the counter.

"What?" you asked, frowning in confusion.

"Tell me about the concert."

"Oh right. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. My friend and I were at the venue at like… I think like 3pm and I'm eternally grateful to her for calling in sick for the afternoon just so we could be there early. I don't think my legs are every gonna recover from standing so long, but it was amazing. And it was worth it, we were second row."

You wore a broad smile, your eyes sparkling as you told about the perfect night that had happened the day before and reached for your phone in your back pocket.

"You wanna see a picture?"

"Sure," Harry said, leaning over the table to watch the photos on your phone.

"Oh wow. You really had a great view. And – oh I see... the bass you told me about."

"Yes," you grinned proudly, turning your phone so you could take another look at the instrument of your dreams.

"It sounded soooo good, you wouldn't be able to imagine it. And to take a look at it from up close? It was more than I could pray for. And of course the band… They were magical. One of the best concerts I've ever been to, and the crowd, the vibes… I'm already missing it."

Harry watched your screen for a few more seconds before leaning back in his chair again, wrinkles around his eyes as he tapped with his fingers over the wooden surface of the table.

"I'm really glad you had a good time and everything turned out so well. Do you know how many people were there?"

"Mhmm I'm really bad at estimating stuff like that, but maybe… I don't know, like 4000 people? It wasn't a large show, but not super small either."

With trembling hands you put the phone back into your pocket. Not only because just thinking about the show from last night made you all excited and pumped with adrenaline again, but also because you almost lost it at the way Harry seemed genuinely interested in what you had been doing and were telling him right now. You felt appreciated and seen. Like this man sincerely wanted to know about you and what was going on in your life and you could honestly say that no man had ever made you feel like that.

"But what about you? Anything special that happened the last days?"

Harry thoughtfully pursed his lips, scratching his temple and crossing his legs under the table.

"I met with my brother, which was nice. But apart from that just a lot of work. Which is fine, I don't wanna complain, but I almost feel bad that this is all I can report from the last two days."

"No, don't. I don't go to a concert every week. This was special for me too."

Harry smiled at you, taking in your face and the softness around your eyes. His knee briefly brushed against your leg, making your heart skip a beat and you wondered how you would ever be able to initiate any kind of physical contact if you reacted to the briefest touch of his knee like that.

"Good. I don't wanna lie to you, I'm not the biggest party person. I like going out like this or have dinner at a restaurant or go to the movies, but my favorite nights are nights in."

"I get that. I love a solid night on the couch with a good movie and takeout food."

At this point, you were interrupted by a waiter taking your orders which consisted of two beers, but once he was gone, Harry picked up the conversation right where it had stopped.

"Noted," he smirked and you would have giggled like a teenage girl, hadn't you swallowed the sound in the last second.

"Did I mention that I have pets, by the way?" you tried to avert from your childish reaction, planting your elbows on the table.

"No, you haven't. What pets?"

"You can guess. I give you three options, but it's a bit unusual."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but nodded.

"Okay. I'm all ears."

"A: Two sand boas, B: axolotls or C: an ant colony."

You triumphantly glanced at him, watching as you could hear it rattle behind his scalp and challengingly lifting your eyebrows once Harry opened his mouth.

"I'm going for… Okay let me explain my thought process: It's not the axolotl. I don't know why, there is no explanation, but I just don't see you with one."

"Do you know me that well already, Harry Castillo?" you hissed through small eyes, but Harry just laughed it off and pointed at you.

"No, no, no. Don't you play mind tricks with me. I mean it could be the axolotl. But I don't think so for some reason. In my head you wouldn't really like them. And then… I think a sand boa is a bit more conventional, right? I think I'm saying A. Just because… I honestly really don't know why, but I pick A."

You hesitated for a moment, savouring the curious and prying look from your opposite before you slowly folded your hands in front of you.

"It's C. The ant colony."

Harry's face dropped, a fist bumping on the table as his face drew with exasperation.

"Damn it. But honestly… I'd call it a win. I said that it's not the axolotl and I was right. I just know you."

"Harry, you said A. And it was C. I wouldn't call that a win."

The two of you broke into laughter, your body vibrating until Harry chewed on his bottom lip.

"So an ant colony… That's cool. How did you come up with it?"

Before you could answer, your beers were brought to the table, your warm, sweaty hands instantly reaching for the cold glass. When the waiter was gone, you cleared your throat.

"That's actually a very good question. My family and I had a big garden growing up with lots of insects obviously. My mother loves gardening and she always specifically planted plants that are bee and butterfly friendly. My sisters and I always used to play in the garden and I don't know, maybe it's just some childhood thing, but a couple of years ago I was thinking about having a little pet in my apartment and I knew that my place would be much too small for a dog or cat so I thought why not something smaller."

"And you went for the very small ones," Harry chuckled, wrapping a hand around his glass.

"I did, yeah. But I love them. They are easy to keep, they aren't a lot of work but I still like looking at them. They might not be as cute as a dog, but in my apartment that would be animal cruelty. I wouldn't have enough time for a dog anyway."

"I get that. I love dogs too, but I would only get one if I lived in the countryside. Ants are nice though. They don't make loud noises or take up much space. Although… I haven't asked how big the terrarium is."

He watched you with acted suspicion, eliciting a scoff from you.

"Don't worry, it's not that large. There are around 400 of them. I keep them in a terrarium on a shelf in my bedroom."

You raised your glass and winked.

"What're we drinking to today?" you asked. "Please not ants."

Harry sniggered, lifting his glass as well and twisting his lips.

"Then… maybe to us?"

"Cheers," you replied, softly clinging your beer against his, your eyes locked and everything around you suddenly very unimportant.

An hour and a half later, the noises in the bar grew louder. The group by the bar was now severely drunk, producing a volume of laughter fitting their level of intoxication.

"Would you like to go?" Harry fought against the chattering, leaning over the table to get closer to your ear. "It's so loud in here and I'm afraid we're gonna lose our voices."

You gave him a short nod, looking around for a waiter, but Harry sensed what you were about to do before you could act.

"Let me, okay?" he said and put a large hand on top of yours.

"But Harry, come on, I – "

"I invited you, haven't I?" he smiled, but there was something genuinely pleadingful in his eyes that made you let out a soft laughter.

"Damn it," you made, but sank back in the chair while Harry made eye contact with a waiter.

"I'm feeling genuinely bad, Harry. You can't just invite me all of the time, I feel… I just feel bad."

"Please don't. How many times do I have to tell you? You make me happy by letting me pay the bill. And once again: I invited you and asked you on a date. So it only makes sense that I pay."

With determined and deliberate hands he grabbed the bill the waiter had left there and took out his briefcase. Fortunately, you had only been in a bar after all so the check wouldn't be too high.

Soon he was done, had left a generous tip and rose to his feet while you did the same. Leaving the bar, you felt his warm hand on your back again and this time, walking through a dense crowd, you were even more grateful for it. The cold air outside hit you like a sharp smack in the face, the air knocked out of your lungs. Goosebumps instantly spread on your naked arms and legs like a disease and Harry certainly didn't have to be a genius to notice the signs of your coldness.

"Take that," he said at once, taking off his jacket and putting it around your shoulders.

"Oh my god, thank you. But tell me if you're freezing," you replied, immediately feeling a comforting warmth travelling from your stomach through your body and to every last fingertip, but you couldn't be certain that the change was caused by the jacket and not just the mere gesture.

"No problem. I'm all good."

He turned toward you with his body, your gaze catching at his broad chest and you silently cursed yourself for being so obvious.

"I had an amazing night. Thank you," you said instead to distract him from your telling stare.

"So did I. I… Actually I wanted to know if you would like to come over to my apartment for a bit. We could have a drink and have a chat in a more quiet place if you want to. If not that's fine of course. I can also just drop you off at your place."

Your heartbeat was thundering up your throat, both excitement and the fear of saying something wrong making your head dizzy.

"No, I would love that. I would love to go to your place. Thank you."

And so it happened. Harry opened the passenger door for you, waited until you were inside, closed it and then walked around the car just like he had done two nights ago. Within the blink of an eye, he sat next to you, hands on the steering wheel, but his gaze lingering on your eyes.

"You really look pretty tonight. Not that it's an exception though."

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you for everything, you are… you are the sweetest."

You didn't know where that unfamiliar boldness was coming from, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Harry gave you a wide grin and then started the car while you were getting comfortable in the passenger seat.

"You say 'thank you' too often. It's cute, you know, but you don't have to."

"Maybe I just want to be cute."

Jesus Christ, was that the alcohol speaking out of you?

You hadn't had much to drink, not more than a single glass, but you felt so… light and courgeous. You had nothing to lose and Harry had given you more than one signal during your two dates. He definitely was interested and so were you, so what were you waiting for?

"I can promise you, you don't need that to be cute. I'm more than satisfied with what I got."

His voice was low and a little raspy and frankly, it drove you insane. This was so much better than in the bar where the two of you had to scream just so you could hear one another.

"Alright then. That's all I've wanted in the first place."

With one last mischievous dart in your direction Harry activated the indicators and drove out of the parking space heading west where his apartment was located. It wasn't more than a ten minute drive and time passed so quick that you were almost surprised when Harry slowed down, looked over his shoulder and parked the car right by a very fancy looking apartment building. During the drive, the car had been filled with chatter and laughter, a flirty kind of tension still heavy in the air at all times, but now that Harry had parked the car, unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the driver's door, most of the playfulness was gone and something hot and intense was lingering around the two of you like a cloud.

A quiet 'Wow' escaped your mouth at the sight of the expensive cars parked by the building and you most certainly didn't have to be very smart to figure out what kind of neighbourhood you were visiting right now. Harry had seen your look of sheer baffle, but didn't comment it, instead unlocking the door and holding it open for you.

"Welcome, my lady."

You quietly giggled, curiously stepped inside and found yourself in front of a door with the name 'Castillo' next to the doorbell plate a minute after the two of you had walked up a few stairs.

Everything here screamed luxury, the warm walnut wood that coated the walls, radiating a soft and effortless warmth without being too obnoxious, a thick carpet floor that swallowed the sound of your heels on the ground with each step and this very specific scent in the air. It was nothing radical, nothing aggressive or stark. Just a faint, soft hint of cedar. Or was it pine? You didn't know, all you knew was that it reminded you of something woody, something that made a warm and coiling feeling of comfort gush from your heart.

"There… we go," Harry murmured as he opened the door to his apartment and once again, a sound of amasement catched in your throat.

The last thing you wanted was to make the impression that you were reducing him to his money and you most certainly didn't. It was him, his character and gentle nature that had swept you off your feet and you were sure that nothing would change that, no matter how often he would insist on paying the bill or how many times you would step into this impressive apartment of his. It was Harry you were here for. It was him you wanted to see across the table while having dinner and it was him you wanted to be led through the apartment by. And you still wanted all of these things even if the two of you were eating at a McDonalds and Harry was leading you through a rancid barn.

Nonetheless, the beauty and elegance of his apartment could not be denied. The marble floor, the spacious hallway that was stretching to a door that looked like it led to the living area and the few paintings decorating the walls were marvelous and you told Harry so.

"It's lovely, Harry."

He turned around, giving you a smile that looked almost shy and then stopped in his motion.

"You're lovely."

Your heart stopped and it wasn't just because of his words. It was his eyes that looked even more puppy-like in the subdued light of his apartment. And god he looked beautiful in his black turtleneck shirt, showing off his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

Slowly, he approached you, his eyes on you at all times and with each step he took, your legs seemed to become weaker. By the time he had reached you, you felt like you were about to faint, your head spinning and your hands playing with the hem of your skirt.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry murmured when all that was separating you from him was a few cubic centimeters of hot, steamy air.

"Yes," you breathed and then your lips finally connected and all of this tension and pressure that had accumulated over the past few hours (past few days actually) was finally released.

His lips were soft and careful at first, like he was still trying to savour the moment and not go all in immediately. Like he wanted to slowly explore you, not rush things, but enjoy every new inch of tender skin one by one. Take his time with you. He gently took your bottom lip between his, sucking and covering it with small kisses and all it took was a minute of his sweet treatment for you to start sighing.

In the meantime, Harry's hands were on your waist, palming you through your dress while yours were combing through the babyhair in his neck, twisting single strands around your fingers.

And yet, when his hands wandered down your side, touching your bare skin right where your dress ended, you stiffened up. Not because you didn't like his hands on your body and not because you had changed your mind about Harry. But his intentions were clear, his mouth hungry and demanding against yours and somehow you didn't feel ready yet. It was just… you couldn't even describe it in your head, but this thing between Harry and you was special. Beautiful and delicate, new and unfamiliar, but something that you wanted to savour to the very last drop. And not that you felt appalled by him – you had actually been drooling over him like an animal all night – but it was in that moment that you realised what you wanted was to wait. You didn't know for how long, maybe you would like to sleep with him on your next date, but you knew tonight was too fast for you. Therefore you felt yourself tense up and Harry seemed to notice it as well.

"Are you alright?" he asked against your lips, hands on your legs coming to a stop and his face withdrawing just a little bit.

"Yes. But… can we wait a little? I don't know, just… I don't feel ready for that step yet."

His expression softened and you felt a wave of relief crash upon you. You had feared, almost expected to find his first red flag because honestly, how could a man be that perfect, but he once again turned out to be understanding and caring.

"Of course," he whispered, his voice so low and gentle, your legs started to tremble. "You don't need to explain yourself. We can wait for as long as you want to."

He stepped away from you, one corner of his mouth lifting while he gestured to a door across the hallway.

"I'm sorry. I was really rude overrunning you like this, I just… I couldn't help myself."

"No, no. I enjoyed the kiss, I really did. And I – I feel drawn to you. I thought I made that obvious. I don't know, I guess I just wanna explore things slowly. Wait until it feels right and maybe tonight would just be a little too rushed for me. But that doesn't mean I'm not interested, really."

You didn't know why, but suddenly tears were swimming in your eyes. Maybe it was overload or the fear of pushing him away. What if you were sending the wrong signals and Harry wouldn't ask you on another date because he thought you had lost interest? That couldn't be further from the truth and the anxiety of having just rammed a deep gorge between the two of you made you panic, eyes big and wet with frustration about yourself. Why couldn't you just kiss him back, proceed and spend the night with him? Why couldn't you just feel ready and kiss him with the same passion and a clear head? Why had there been those doubtful thoughts swirling in your head?

"Hey," Harry suddenly made, reaching for your hand and squeezing it gently like he was afraid to hurt you.

"It's okay… It's all good, there's no need to panic," he hushed you, but you just shook your head.

"Come. Let's get you inside."

Harry slowly, yet determindely guided you into his living room and then to the couch. The cushions creaked when the two of you sank down, his worried gaze on the wetness gushing from the corners of your eyes at once.

"Listen to me okay? We're all good, aren't we? There's absolutely no reason to feel bad. Please, I don't ever want you to feel bad for not wanting something. This is important, okay? I'm so happy you told me about your boundaries and you should be really proud of yourself. You think either of us would've had a good time if we did something that you're uncomfortable with?"

His words had a good effect on you, the lump in your throat slowly dissolving and yet you weren't quite ready to accept his affectionate words yet.

"But – But I don't know why. I mean, I don't know why I wanna wait, because… because I like how things are going right now, but in that moment… I don't know, I just felt that I wasn't ready for it. Maybe… I don't know, maybe I just need a little more time. If you're willing to give me that time."

Your round eyes shyly glanced at him and you had to swallow as Harry briefly sighed before taking your hands into his.

"Oh y/n… You think that's the only reason I'm going out with you? You think that's all I'm after? I'll give you as much time as you need, hell, I don't care how much time you need, I'm doing this because I'm interested in you. I, shit, I don't want this to be too much for a third date, but I really like you. I… I can feel that there's something between us and if you're willing to go on another date with me I'd love to figure out what it is."

You exhaled again and it felt amazing. Fresh air was entering your lungs, your chest heaving heavily with the newly found freedom.

"Yes. Of course I want that. I'm really sorry for this whole drama, jesus… I didn't plan on crying, but I guess some things you just don't see coming."

"Don't apologise for that…," he murmured, briefly brushing with his thumb over your knuckles.

"But actually I'm rather concerned about the picture you have of me. I don't want you to think of me as this kind of guy who only dates for the one thing. I mean, yes, I couldn't really hold back tonight because I was just… in awe of how beautiful you look, but as I said, that's not why I asked you on this date. I want you to know that, okay? I asked you because I think you're smart and funny and interesting and I just feel comfortable around you."

You swallowed hard, but this time because his words moved you in a way that was making your throat dry.

"Thank you, Harry," you whispered, slightly moving closer to him. "I don't think of you that way. I guess I was just panicking because I thought that you might feel like I'm pushing you away. Which is the opposite of what I want. I felt like I wasn't giving enough and like I was risking it all by telling you that it was going too quickly for me. Because I thought maybe it's not going fast enough for you. But I feel comfortable around you too and I wanna get to know you better. I wanna know all about you and – and just see where this is going. Because I'm optimistic about this."

You smiled and Harry returned the most sincere and gentle smile you had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that you wished you were the first person in his life to receive.

"Is that okay?" he then said, draping an arm around your shoulders and caressing your skin.

"Yes," you replied and even slightly crouched against him until your head was resting on his shoulder.

"Good. Do you wanna drink something, by the way? Sorry, I'm a really bad host today."

You chuckled, eyes closed and your face gleaming with sheer satisfaction and peace with the moment.

"It's alright. I'm good. I would just like to stay like that for a while," you grinned, unaware of Harry's admiring gaze on your profile and perhaps it was for the better, he thought.

He didn't want to deter you with these feelings he had about you.

They were fragile and new, yet to be figured out, but already so intense that he couldn't believe this was basically your second date.

"Okay," he purred, his lips still curled into a grin long after the word had left his mouth.

[thealias0]

So, I've got a Deltarune theory of my own regarding the ending of The Prophecy. I'm most likely not the first one to come up with it but so far haven't seen it discussed online much so here i go.

In my opinion so far with the information we've got, the most likely prophecised tragic event is sealing every single dark fountain, including Castle Town, for good. I've seen this specific interpretation floating around, but i haven't seen any substantiation yet.

I think i've found something that makes it the most appealing theory out of any other i've seen yet.

Let's get the obvious out of the way. This would make Susie very distressed. She made friendships with Lancer and Ralsei and it clearly is somewhat of a safe space for her. She loves this place and her actively getting rid of it alongside all the friends she made there sounds awful and absurd.

Now for the more compelling part of that theory. The thing i realised points very strongly towards this direction is Ralsei's attitude towards himself and Darkners in general. His room is literally empty and never tried his own cooking. Everything he ever does is for the sake of Kris and Susie (the only Lightners he meets on a daily basis), even calls himself "selfish" for having any desires at all and probably most importantly for the sake of this theory, after revealing the truth about the nature of Darkners to Susie, he asks her to forget about not only him but all Darkners in general and not worry about their fate. This nihilistic-esque behavior might be explained by the knowledge of "being an illusion", but we know that many Darkners are aware of that, but only Ralsei displays such an attitude and Ralsei is the only one we know so far that knows the whole Prophecy.

What if he knows that in the end his and every other Darkner's existence will end with the end of the Prophecy, so he figured what's the point in chasing happiness and relationships. Notice how detached he is from all the residents of Castle Town. In chapter 3 he even attempted to convince Susie to be detached as well. It will be less painful to fulfill this prophecy if you just stop caring about Darkners. The only people he ever truly cares about are Lightners and that's because they are the only "real" beings, so being nice, friendly and caring to them won't be for nothing, as they won't be gone in the end.

This theory isn't without holes tho

If it's true then why is he so insistant on recruiting Darkners? It sure would be much easier to just be mean and not make any attachments at all and in the end just seal the empty Castle Town, right?

Well, according to him that might have been the original plan, but he went against the prophecy in this regard and decided to be nice and friendly in hopes for the prophecy to change, which might have backfired.

So what do you think? I apologize if these are incoherent ramblings. It's 2am and the energy drink i took for study session didn't let go of me just yet lol

I might be wrong about Ralsei's dialogue too as im doing this from memory, so feel free correct me and call me a silly goober if i did mess up

[louismygf]

just recently watched this is us with my college friends

[bluetimeombre]

۶ৎ Mess of a man.

| Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!

[this is pure FILTH. I don’t know what came over me, I need this out my system and I need Joel in mine STAT. If you’re a minor pls don’t interact, this is not a safe space.]

Warnings; language, drinking, age gap (Joel is in his late forties, reader is 21) masturbation reference, daddy, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (both receiving), over stimulation, come eating?let me know if I’ve missed anything

"Still haven't gotten your dick wet, huh?" was Tommy's way of greeting his brother.

Joel grumbled something, propping his foot on the coffee table in front of him. "Get lost, Tommy."

He'd thought that with his daughter, Sarah, at summer camp he'd get six weeks of peace, get work done, maybe take his daughter somewhere nice when she got back. But he forgot he had a brother and he forgot how annoying he was.

Sure, six weeks without his kid was a perfect and maybe a once-in-a-lifetime to get his dick 'wet' as Tommy put it. But he'd been out the game for years, out of practise. He wouldn't know how or who to approach.

"C'mon, what kind of brother would I be if I let you mope around alone in the house," he said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.

"A good one." Joel took a swing of his beer, watching the sport without knowing what team was doing what.

Tommy turned off the tv and snatched away Joel's beer, getting him up from the sofa. "There's a bar I know where everyone looking to get fucked goes, c'mon."

Joel decided he didn't want to know how his brother knew this place but as Tommy was already grabbing his truck keys and heading out the door. He'd be damned if he let Tommy drive his truck.

Yeah... that was why he was going...

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The bar was already loud when he and Tommy got there and ordered their beers. Joel would have one, maybe another if he was here long enough but then he'd go home and... see to himself if he had to.

It would have been nice to have something for the evening. It had been a long time and his own fist wasn't enough. He had a pick if he needed, he guessed. He wasn't immune to all the single middle aged mom's around him that would talk to him on the school drop off, invite him to one of their garden parties. Even some with rings on their fingers always lingered too long when shaking his hand or asking for some 'construction' advice.

But none of them did anything for him.

Tommy patted his brother on the back as he winked at the lady behind the bar. "See anything you like, yet?"

They'd been there... what? Ten minutes.

Then yes, he saw something he liked and his jaw almost dropped.

Tommy spotted the way he stilled and followed his gaze. "Holy shit."

You were with three girls- your friends, Joel assumed- and a guy hanging onto you, an arm draped around your hips. You were nursing a drink, laughing with your friends, tongue darting out to the straw of your cocktail.

Joel was done. He knew it immediately.

You were only twenty-one, young and beautiful and worse, Sarah's baby-sitter. Sure, his daughter was fourteen but on the late nights he had to work he didn't like to leave her alone.

Enter you. Good grades, polite, always called him Mr Miller like it wasn't the hottest thing. You stayed every night Joel needed to work, you cooked for Sarah, even ensured there was left overs for Joel and Tommy sometimes.

You'd tidy when he never asked, you never drank the beers he left for you. You were perfect.

And Joel knew, the first day you'd baby-sat his daughter over a year ago he'd made a mistake. He knew it when he watched you walk down his porch, when he started offering you lifts home and wishing you'd accept, when he had a wet dream like a horny teenager and it was you under him.

This was some cruel joke.

As if you could hear his thoughts your eyes caught over the noise of the bar. There was shock registering first and then you were dismissing your group to walk over to the Millers.

Joel gulped when he spotted what you were wearing. A tight high collared shirt, your hair pinned and the shortest skirt with heels.

Like a present to be un-wrapped...

"If it isn't the Miller brothers," you grinned.

"Hey darlin'," Tommy greeted first, reaching up to give you a small hug.

Joel's jaw clenched as you hugged him back. But Tommy was respectful, hands staying high on your body. Better than Joel would do.

You pulled away and smiled at Joel. "Mr Miller."

He nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he watched your tongue dart out in search for the straw. Fuck.

Tommy held a hand on your back. "I gotta take a leak, keep him company would you."

Joel didn't know what kind of game his little brother was playing.

"Of course," you smiled, sliding into the seat Tommy had vacated. "Don't I strive to look after the Millers."

Tommy chuckled and winked at Joel as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Hi there," he drawled.

You smiled. Maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but your eyes were darker than he'd ever noticed. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Sarah's at camp," he said. He was painfully aware you knew. You hadn't been around in two weeks because he'd had no reason to ask you. Well, no appropriate reason.

"She enjoying it?" you threw a leg over yours, grazing his leg as you did.

"Think so," he said, "what about you, huh? Enjoyin' your freedom?"

You chuckle. "You know I love working for you, Mr Miller."

"Joel," he corrected you. He took a swing of his beer, watching you watch him.

"Jo-el," you draw out his name.

Something in Joel stirred, his pants couldn't be growing tighter, right? Thank god for the dim lighting.

He cleared his throat. "So this is where the kids hang out these days, huh?"

"I dunno about kids?" you said, leaning your body over slightly. "Am I a kid?"

Joel let his eyes wander down. The expanse of your legs, the skirt riding up your thighs and the way your chest rose and fell with your breath. Then slowly, he trailed back up your body. "I guess not."

Of all those times he'd watched you from the porch, you'd always looked back at him at least once, maybe twice to give a little wave as he leaned on the door. Or when you'd started accepting his lifts home and would always linger in his seat when he turned the engine off, the two of you leaning over the console and chattering a bit longer. Or when it came to staying to watch a game with him when Sarah had gone to bed when he knew you hated sport.

Of all those times he'd never let his mind wander as much as it was not.

"Tommy dragged me out," said Joel, taking more of his beer.

"He dragged you?" you chuckled. "You didn't want to come?"

"I'm glad I did," he said.

You take a longer sip of your drink, nodding. "I'm glad you did too."

Joel watched you a second as you tilted your head, a small tilt to your head. "You wanna another drink?" he asked. He wasn't even sure how much you'd had already. Was all this new look and attitude the cocktails talking?

"I should be good," you muse.

Joel decided in that moment he'd either spend the rest of the night in your company, or go home alone. "Your friends not missing you?" he didn't even want to look back at your friends maybe waiting for you. Or that guy watching you.

You also didn't care to look back. "Let them."

Joel smirked as he brought his bottle to his lips. "Atta girl."

He heard your intake of breath and felt satisfied. Your leg kicked off your other one and had grazed his, going down and down and he was sure you weren't doing this on accident. Not anymore.

"You can't say things like that," you chuckle, shuffling in your seat.

God, your thighs were pressing together tightly. Such a pretty sight...

You leaned over in your seat. "Do you know how many women would kill to hear you say that to them?"

"Well, i'm saying it to you, ain't I?"

You look at him through your lashes and Joel's legs widen to accommodate for the rising need in his crotch. It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was crossing a line. "I think I'll take that drink, if you're still offering?"

Joel nods and waved someone over to get you the same. The two of you talked a little more as you waited, your drink sliding over moments later.

"It must get lonely," you said, fingers dancing around the condensation of the glass. "That house all alone."

It seemed both of you had forgot about Tommy at that point.

The game being played between the two of you suddenly seemed real to Joel. "You tryin' to get an invite over?"

"Maybe."

You didn't miss a beat.

Joel looked at you. People were piling into the bar, music was being played but all he could focus on was you.

Your hand darted out, your fingers grazing his knee.

He looked down at his knee, where you touched him. Could you make out the dent in his jeans. "You know, i'm old enough to be your father."

"So should I start calling you daddy?"

He chocked on his beer. He managed to finish it, smirking to himself. "You got a mouth on you."

"You started it looking at me like that."

Joel rested against the bar. "I'm your employer."

You shrug. "And i'm not at work."

Joel looked around the bar and found his brother making out with a woman at the furthest end. He was sorted. "Why do you hang out here, huh kid?" if what Tommy told him was true he wasn't sure he could handle the idea of you coming here, looking out for someone that wasn't him.

You shrug. "It's a good bar, good drinks, good company usually."

"Usually?" he teased, his hands on his thighs. "You know, Tommy told me some filthy things around this place."

You lick your lips, holding back amusement. "Really?" you stand to your feet, leaning on the bar closer to him. You slot perfectly between his thighs.

His hand danced close to your hip but didn't touch you. Not yet. "People come here for one thing."

"Enlighten me, Joel."

His name from your lips made his brain fuzzy, effecting him more than any beer. But he couldn't do it, god, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Of the counter. Of how good you'd look bent over the counter, tight skirt bunched up at your hips.

But the words failed with him.

It was like you could tell, like you knew every move of his and every twitch.

You take one more sip of your drink before sliding it over the counter.

Joel watched as you got to your feet and worry rose on him. Worry he'd lose all he wanted.

"I'm going around the back, i'm going to be there for two minutes before I call an uber to go home. See you."

You meant it to. He watched you walk off, only briefly waving to your friends as you wove in and out of the people.

You were giving him two minutes to fuck over his life.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You waited, and waited for what you thought was two minutes. Truth be told you didn’t have a watch and lingering around the back of the bar probably wasn’t the greatest idea.

You could tap your foot and wait, rethinking your words and actions and hope that every time the door swung open, it would be your boss.

Joel fucking Miller. What game were you playing? More to the point, what was he doing?

Looking at you like that, carelessly letting his eyes wander as he imagined everything he wanted to do to you? You weren’t immune to his looks, his touches that lasted too long and the way he always watched you walk up to your front door, the engine only roaring once you were safe inside.

But now it seemed- faced with the ultimatum of fucking you or leaving you as nothing but his daughter’s babysitter- he was choosing the latter.

You’d really thought your lonely nights with only toys and fingers for company may have been rectified.

As you push yourself off the wall you really thought-

A sudden strong and rough hand grabbed your wrist and turned you back until you were against the wall and until lips were on yours.

You knew the scent, knew the strength of the body as Joel Miller pressed himself against you, groaning and licking into your lips.

You hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls of black and grey as you let him feel all your body, his arms caging you in and hand dragging down and down and-

"That was three minutes, sweet girl," Joel’s beard scratched your neck as he dragged his lips over your pulse.

You hold back a moan. The music in the bar was loud and the only people coming this way were the ones looking for a quick piss. Still you wanted nobody to stop this. "Wanted to give you a chance."

He nodded into your neck, biting the skin and winning a gasp from you. Joel tilted his head back, searching your gaze that only saw him. "Tell me you want this."

You nod. "I want it."

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging down your bottom lip. He watched, entranced. "You’d let me down anything, wouldn’t you?" He whispered, looking as if he wasn’t all there. That some part of his mind was already fucking you against the wall.

You lower your head until you can reach the pad of his thumb, kissing the tip. "I want it."

"Oh, fuck baby," he groaned, pushing the pad of his thumb further into your mouth. Promises of things to come. "You’re gonna kill me sweet girl."

Your hand ran down his stomach until it meant the tightness of his pants and running up and down until you could feel the press of his length in your palm.

Joel indulged for a minute. His thumb in the warmth of his mouth while your other hand rubbed him right. Then he snapped back into reality as the door banged on the wall.

Not there.

Against himself, he took his thumb from you and grabbed your wrist, alerting you.

"I need your word that if we do this, Sarah doesn’t find out," he said sternly.

You chuckled. "Well I’m hardly gonna tell her I screwed her dad, am I?"

"Hey," he held one finger in front of your face, defying your smirk. "Your word, little miss, or I can drop you off home and you can watch while I take care of the problem you created."

You gulped. Maybe for a moment you forgot it was Mr Miller you were affronted with. Quickly, you nodded your head.

"Good girl," he surged forward and sucked on the bottom of your lip, his hips digging into yours. He groaned as you ground on him, nails digging into his biceps. "Feel wha’ you do to me, huh? You know how many times I’ve had to fuck my own fist and think of you?"

You practically melt at his words, leaning back into the wall. "Joel… please."

"Please what? Huh?" he taunted, rutting his clothed hips into your own, biting down on his lip as you threw your head back, moaning at the sensation. "C'mon, tell me what you want. Be a good girl and say it."

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered.

Joel scoffed. He left his hips against yours. He tutted. "I'm an old man, darlin', you're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me!" you all but screamed, desperation turning you into a mess.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to drag you from the alleyway, searching around as if his daughter might pop up out of nowhere.

You couldn't care less, didn't think about the group of friends you were leaving, or the guy that wanted you. Your hand circled over Joel's stomached t shirt, nails scratching as you leant into his side, lips marking up his neck.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groaned as he searched in his pocket for his keys. You joined the search, your fingers searching all around the dent in his jeans. "Fucking desperate, aren't you, huh?"

"Can't wait, Joel," you whisper in his ear, lips brushing, shivers running down his spine as you squeezed his crotch. "Please baby."

Joel grunted. He was practically shaking with the need to fuck you, to feel you against him. To have his hands wander all over you and memorise the way you moaned under him. There was so much more he wanted. Wanted to have you scream, wanted your neck bruised with his love and his back to carry the scratches from you.

He just needed.

"Fuck," he couldn't believe he was being so reckless. Couldn't believe that with a kiss and a grope you had rendered him a horny teenager. "Get in the back, babygirl."

He held open the door and practically pushed you in, climbing over you.

You jumped into his lap as soon as the door slammed shut and Joel chucked his keys somewhere to the front. Your lips worked against his, claiming it as yours and invading an unknown territory. You moaned as his tongue ran against yours and sucked it into his own mouth.

His hands were warm and large as they gripped your ass harshly, a soft slap echoing around his truck.

"You gonna let me slide my fingers into your pussy, baby?" he asked against your lips.

You moaned.

"Hey!" he grabbed your chin, pulling you back to stare at him. Your lips were already red and swollen. "You gotta talk to me baby. You want my fingers? Say yes."

"Yes please," you say, catching your breath. Your chest felt heavy, your pussy throbbing. "Please, want your fingers."

Joel smirked, finger tips brushing under the band of your skirt. "So polite."

The space at the back of his truck was small and cramped but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about you in the back of his truck, cock stuffed down your throat or his face buried in your thighs.

All those times he'd taken you back, it had never been as innocent as he would let on.

But having you in his lap, begging for it, practically drooling with just his words, he had a feeling you weren't as innocent as you'd always made out to be.

Joel let the elastic of your skirt slap into place, causing you to jolt into him. As you jolted, he used the leverage of your hips to pull your skirt up and feel under you. "Jesus baby- you're soaked."

His finger slid up the cloth of your panties, collecting the dampness and smearing it.

You gasp as he presses into your pussy, pushing the cloth into you. "Joel please, I asked so nice."

"You did, sweet girl, you did," he nodded, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. "Hey- eyes on me baby, right here." He gently slapped the under part of your chin to get you to look at him as he easily hooked your panties to the side and sunk a finger in.

You hum out a moan, head tilted back.

Joel found the crevice of your neck, dragging his beard against the soft skin and relishing in the red that bloomed. "You like it? You like my fingers inside your heat? God, you're so warm."

"Like it," you nod, eyes shutting again.

Joel groaned low in his throat as he grabbed your chin and forced your forehead against his. "You keep your eyes on me, you understand me. Or i'll drop you off home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr Miller."

"Oh-" Joel sunk his ring finger in until he was knuckle deep. "You're so good for me."

You tighten around the feel of his fingers. He's barely curling them and already you're squirming at the sound of your own slick.

"Ride my fingers, babygirl, gowan' now."

Obediently you started to move, riding his hand. His rough palm moved with you. His mouth remained open in a small 'o' as you wither against him, moaning.

Joel couldn't help the filth that spilled from his mouth. But with every clench you gave around his fingers, you didn't seem to mind.

"So good for me... such a good girl,"

"Dirty too, riding me in the back of the truck you and Sarah ride in."

"Fuck, i've dreamt of this, you look so good with my fingers stuffed inside of you."

At his encouragement you grip his shoulders, moving faster until your skirt is ridging up your hips and the little wisps of your hair are sticking to your forehead from sweat.

His thumb pressed down on your puffy and begging clit.

"Shit- ah- fuck!"

Joel's hips involuntarily bucked up to yours. "You wanna cum, sweet girl?"

You bite down on your lip, nodding and looking at where his forearm- taunt and veiny- disappeared under you.

Joel rested his head next to yours, kissing the sweat at your neck. "Tough baby, you're so dirty. Dirty girls have to do a lot of waiting till they get their reward."

Slowly, he retracts his fingers.

"Look at all this mess," he tutted, looking at how his fingers glistened with your need. He pats your hips, "up."

You fall onto the seat next to him, legs spread and head resting back on the car door.

You watch as Joel lifts his hips, un-buckling his belt as he starts to pull off his boxers and jeans. Your foot danced over to his lap but he impatiently pushes it away.

"You want to cum, don't you?" he asked, sending you a dark look. His hand grabs your ankle as you nod and kisses the bare skin above your heel. "Then behave."

The hand that you had just been riding wrapped around his cock and brought it out.

Your mouth opened as you stared at the beauty of the thing. He was big, bigger than you'd seen and bigger than you'd dare dreamed. He shone with pre-cum and your arousal as he spread what was on his fingers. His hand worked himself up and down as he relaxed back in his seat.

He looked over at you. "Eyes up here, baby."

Your gaze flicked up to him. "So pretty, Joel."

He chuckled and tugged himself. "Always knew you'd like it. God, you've no idea the things i've dreamt."

"Tell me. Please."

Joel leaned his head back, moving up and down his length slowly as he re-called every filthy dream his mind conjured. "Your hands wrapping around me. Your mouth being so warm and wet as you fuckin' choke on it. God, bet your throat's not used to a man's cock, huh? Only used to boys, ain't that right?"

He opened his eyes, peeking at you.

You'd dared closer to him, leaning over. You nodded.

"Bet that kid in there was hoping you'd give him a chance," he went on, his other hand coming up and thumb and forefinger tugging at your chin. "He didn't stand a chance as soon as you saw me, did he?"

You shake your head, shuffling closer into his side.

He jerked your head toward him. "Answer me."

"Only want you, Joel," you tell him.

You lick your lips, eyes darting from him to his leaking cock. The tip was red, begging for attention. "Can I- Can I please?"

Joel stroked back your hair. "Go on then, baby. Have a play." He stretched his arms along the back of the truck and watched to see you move.

But Joel quickly realised you didn't come around to play.

You'd always seemed so innocent- so un-knowing- when you looked after Sarah, when you helped him clean down the kitchen, when he'd offer you lifts back or to stay over you'd always blush and lower your head.

You were lowering it now, throwing your hair back over your shoulder and holding the base of him.

First, you touch him with your lips lightly and he smiles, daring not to think this might be the only time he lets you touch him like this. Your lips are so pretty and pink, swollen and wet from kissing him as you drag them along the sides.

Then you pepper kisses along the skin and start moving your hand around the base.

"You really gonna tease me?"

"Wanna take my time," you mumble into his though, kissing the skin.

Next, your hand cups his balls that were heavy with need. He wasn't exaggerating, it had been years since his last good fuck and no amount of jerking himself off to the thought of you could satisfy him. As your fingers played with his balls, rolling them around and giving them warmth and attention they craved, you made out with the tip of his cock.

You collected his pre-cum with your lips and tongue while still fondling him.

He could feel his shirt stick to him, his chest rising and falling quicker. Shittin-fuck. How was he supposed to last if this was what you were giving him?

"Easy, baby, easy," he eased you, stroking back your hair.

He knew you heard cause you were smirking then opening your mouth and taking him deep, almost all the way in one.

Joel groaned and grabbed the door. "Shit-ah-"

He didn't care if he wasn't far from the bar. Didn't care if anyone tried to get a look in through the fogging up windows. He didn't care if Tommy came by and applauded him for getting his dick wet. All he cared for was the feel of your wet mouth all the way down him, spit drooling down his cock.

You were doing so well and he wanted you to know.

"You wanna take me deep, huh?" he grunted, clutching onto your hair and holding you down. You gagged around him. He chuckled. "I'm not even all the way in there. You got room for more?"

You dragged your mouth up, taking a deep breath and nodding. You wiped your mouth from the mess you made and went in again.

This time, you took him again and again, deeper, bobbing him in your throat until he was a grunting and groaning mess. His hips moved of their own accord, shoving himself in even when there was nowhere else to go.

But the sounds of gagging, of his balls slapping against his own thighs as he moved, of the moans coming out of you were enough to almost having him finishing in your mouth. Almost.

He wanted to, boy did he, but he wouldn't, not until your cunt had swallowed him.

Joel pulled you up, letting you release him with a pop. "Want to be inside, need to be inside."

The truck wasn't the best place but it was the only place he had for you. He wished he could give you a bed, give your hours to welcome him, but Joel needed like he'd never needed. He imagined this is what starvation was, having your treat dangled in front of you.

And you were moving with him, lying down on the back seats, legs accommodating him as he slid in between you.

Joel gently pulled down your panties and stuffed them in the back of his pocket. If he was gonna have to jerk himself off to thoughts of you again, having your soaked panties was the least he deserved.

He glanced down at your swollen pussy and salivated.

Your hand trailed down, circling your clit as you moaned at the time he was taking.

Joel grabbed your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and nipped at the skin. "Only I get to touch, yeah, babygirl?"

"Yes," you answered, breathless.

Joel loomed over you, bringing the tip of his leaking cock to smear himself over your folds. "Tommy told me somethin' real interestin'. Ask me what?"

"I don't- I don't care about Tommy, right now," you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him forward.

"He tol' me-" Joel strained, his lips brushing yours. It wasn't just your torture he wad delivering. It was his own. "He said people go to that bar to get fucked. Is that why you were there?"

For a moment you seemed shocked to hear it. Then the palm of your hand held his cheek, running over the stubble.

"Worked, didn't it?" you teased.

Joel sunk into you with ease. "Yeah."

He hid his face in your neck as you arched your back into him. 'Take it, take it,' he spoke into your skin, tattooing the words there.

"Joel-" you gasped, holding onto his back. "Fuck!"

"You're ok, baby. You're ok, babygirl," his breath was short. He needed to feel you more, the half way in wasn't enough. "Fuck, you grip me so well."

You gasp, holding him in you. "Need-need more."

"I dunno baby, you think you got it?" he teased.

"Yes, yes."

"What have I said about speaking up?"

You groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "Fuck me, please Joel!"

With a grunt loud enough to be heard outside, Joel sunk further into you. 'Shit, yeah.... fuck,' spilled from his lips as he slowly took himself out of you before sinking in all the way again.

"You feel me?" asked Joel. He held himself up over you because he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna watch you fall apart on his dick.

"Feel it, feel you everywhere," you mumble.

You really did. You felt the soft seats of his truck, smelt him everywhere. The smell of old cologne, cigarettes (though you were sure he didn't smoke) and new wood. It wasn't just his cock sinking into you but his voice as he mumbled filthy things in your ear. His hand dragged down your face, gripping your neck. Not tight enough to cut airways but tight enough to make you squeeze him.

He stuttered, "sh-shit. If you do that again I won't last," he told you. "And I want you to come first."

"Then fuck me Joel," you said, looking up at him.

Joel looked down to where he disappeared into you. You were already rocking your hips into his, desperate for something- anything. His hand pushed back some of your hair as he stared at you with something more than need. Desire. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Wasn't it? Wasn't it everything you wanted since he first laid a hand on your shoulder and led you into his home, welcoming you to his life. "Yes."

His thumb dragged out your bottom lip before his lips were smashing onto yours, wet and sloppy as his thrusts increased.

He moved his hips in and out rapidly, giving you no more time to adjust. It wasn't long before he had to release your lips to breathe.

"Ah- shit!" you yelled.

"That's it baby, be as loud as you like. Let the whole fucking street know who's fucking you," he panted. His hands were at your neck, holding the both of you steady.

"Joel!"

"Shit! You feel so good!"

Joel tugged down your top, not in the mood to care if it rips. It's not like he was letting you back in that bar. He pulled out your tits and latched onto them like a child, nipping at the nipple.

Your hand winds itself in his hair, pulling at the roots and throwing your body into his. You could feel his cock stretch you, the pain mixing delightfully with the pleasure. With every thrust he tipped you closer and closer onto the ledge and as his warm, wet mouth sucked on your nipple, the other hand squeezing and playing with the other, you knew it would be the best orgasm of your life.

"I'm gonna, arg-"

Joel licked around your nipple. "Not yet."

"Joel!"

"Hold it!"

He pushed himself up, holding onto the back of the seats as he used the position to put a foot on the ground and fuck into you harder.

The windows were steamed, your bodies slick with sweat.

The truck was fucking shaking at how hard he was moving you.

You threw a hand out behind you to hold onto the door, bracing yourself as you rocked your body into his.

Joel threw his head back, his neck stretching you and tempting you. "Best fucking pussy out there. And I've been wasting you as a babysitter."

"Yours," you mumble. He hadn't even asked and you were giving him the promise.

His lips tilted into a lobsided smirk as he leaned closer to you. "You mine, huh? All mine? My girl, my pussy?"

"Yes," you nod.

For a minute you can only hear your breaths with the sound of his hips slapping into yours.

Joel's fingers dig into your thighs and bring your leg up to wrap around his waist. "Mine," he all but growled into your chest, nipping at the skin. "Show me. Show me you're mine. Cum."

He thrusted into you hard, his thumb holding your stomach down and playing with your clit until you were coming all over his cock. 'That's it baby... all over me.... there's a good girl.... keep coming,'

Joel fucked you throughout. He had his own finish to reach but watching you fall apart, your mouth open in a silent gasp as your fingers claw into his shoulders.

He cupped your chin, smiling down at you. "You gonna help an old man out?"

You were in no state to, coming down from your highest high.

Joel cupped your ass and lifted you from the seats that were slowly soaking in both of yours juices. "Ah-" he yelled out at the new angle he was reaching, his balls heavy hitting your pussy. "Yeah- there- just there baby."

"Joel!" you yell. "S'to much."

"No it's not," he shook his head. His eyes were screwed up as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "You can take it. You know you can."

Your pussy was throbbing, squeezing him so intensely you didn't know how he was still moving.

You bit down on your lip as you watched him concentrating hard. You test the waters, wrapping your legs around his waist until your entire lower body was in his weight.

"Fuck!" Joel's jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your soft thighs until he was sure bruises would be there for only him to see. "I'm gonna... shit- Where you want it?"

"Inside, please," you mewl.

Joel looked at you, danger in his eyes. "No, baby, we can't."

You nod and squeeze his hips. "I'm on the pill."

The words were heaven to his ears.

You squeeze around him and Joel yelled out, falling atop you as he spilled out inside of you.

"Take it! Take it! Fucking let me- let me in!" he yelled, hips stuttering as he fell into you. One of your legs remained around him but the other he let drop, holding it weakly.

You were sure you were still coming down from your high as his hips stuttered on yours. You could feel every drop of him smear on your pussy and leak out.

Then Joel's fingers danced around the space his cock was softening in you, pushing it all back in.

His brows rose as he looked down, a shaking laugh coming out. "I-"

You didn't want to hear the words that came after. The regret. The 'we shouldn't have' or 'think about Sarah'. You just wanted this moment of feeling held and cared for by Joel to last a little longer.

Your lips move against his slowly, tasting the salt of sweat from the both of you on there.

He didn't push you away, he just held his lips close to yours, in small and attentive brushes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, pulling back enough to look around your eyes.

"Good," you nod, "real fucking good."

Joel chuckled and looked down. Slowly, as not to hurt you, he pulled out.

You moaned at the sudden emptiness in you, lying there to catch your breath and so you didn't have to prepare for regret in his face.

But it seemed regret was the last thing on Joel's mind.

He had no idea what kind of animal was possessing him or just how far his need went. But when he fell back against the door, listening out to the low drum from the bar, he saw your swollen cunt. Red and white. Red from how hard he'd fucked you and white from the mixture of you and him.

Something growled inside of him- maybe it was him- but before either of you understood what was happening, Joel lunged back in and spread your thigs, diving in.

You lurched up onto your elbows, looking down at him. You could see the top of his hair, his eyes closed and you could feel his nose moving around you and nudging you. "Joel, what are you- holy-"

Joel hummed into your pussy. It was heaven on his tongue, dripping into him. So sweet and all you. He'd never felt closer to a person before. Never felt such a need. He was slobbering like a damn dog over your pussy.

"What the fuck have you done to me, huh," he'd pulled back only enough so you could understand his words.

Neither of you were sure if he was talking to you or what laid between your legs.

He opened up your pussy and went in, tongue fucking into you. He was caught between wanting to push his spill back into you and eating you out till you were dry.

"Joel!" you screamed, voice breaking. "You-you can't-"

"I fucking can," he snarled. His face was being pushed into your cunt as he shook it, smearing both of you all over him.

There was nothing you could say or do before your legs trembled and you came all over his beard and lips. You didn't know what to do, whether to push him off you or pull you closer.

Joel held your hips into his mouth and groaned as he took in everything you gave him.

Every flick of his tongue had you shaking. Every time he gripped your thighs you made a noise of pleasure.

Hours might have passed since he first discovered heaven between your thighs before he pulled himself out.

His face was wet with you. It was sinful and like nothing you could ever imagine. "Look at what you've fucking done to me."

You'd made an absolute mess.

[ysaefinn]

There's overprotective, and there's Suguru Geto.

"Ah- you'll hurt your eyes, baby, let me handle it"

You're just about to start dicing your onion when Suguru comes up from behind you –fully enveloping you in his warmth– and gently rests his palm on the back of your clenched hand before prying the knife away.

"And this" He runs one long finger along the edge of the blade, from heel to tip "is too sharp for you"

..That damn tone.

Suguru only speaks to you this way when he's about to succumb to the voices, the ones that tell him to scoop you up to hold you in his palm forever, to lock you inside his rib cage and keep you warm, to hold you in his arms and never loosen his grip. You know your faith is set when he begins to rub his cheek against yours, a mother lioness and her little cub.

Smothering.

You have reason to believe that Suguru seriously considers baby proofing the house in its entirety.

"Suguru..." Your disappointed expression only gives him more fuel and now he's audibly cooing at you. How precious, the tiny little baby kitten in his palm, pouting so sweetly, how do you have the nerve to go around being so adorable and still act all inconvenienced and fed up when he finally gets his hands on you?

Suguru doesn't think it adds up, so he takes things into his own hands.

"I'll handle the rest, you should take a rest, baby"

He'll handle the rest? Seriously??

"Suguru, I haven't even started anything yet" you whine, and he runs a hand through your hair before pulling you against his chest.

Bastard, he knows what he's doing.

Your world shifted the day Suguru learned that his chest can also double as a tranquilizer.

Like a moth to a flame, ice in a fernace, you melt into him, every single time without fail.

Your tense figure immediately relaxes, the rumbling laughter that runs through his chest feels like a declaration of victory. You know that you have once again lost.

"There you go.." comes an almost taunting coo "isn't this so much better? I like you best this way" And it really, really is, it feels amazing, it feels wonderful being fussed over this much, cared for like this, coddled like a fragile little thing.

"I got here just in time. What if you got hurt, hm? I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if my baby was harmed when I could have been there to stop it" the whispering voice of a siren, how you managed to stand your ground this long is a mystery to you, Suguru is a force to be reckoned with.

So you put up with it, and let him have his fun, let him play the role of the sweet doting overprotective husband, because like this, everyone wins and everyone is happy, he gets to care for you, you get to be cared for, perfect.

Aren't you both just a match made in heaven?

[simpforboys]

Frat!Rafe teaching his sweet tutor how to kiss before her date…

warnings: kissing, suggestive(?)

"Hold on - you're telling me you've never kissed anyone?"

You nervously shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip.

You've been tutoring Rafe in statistics for about three weeks now. It's been going okay, mostly him flirting with you and you shyly laughing, thinking he's just messing around.

But now that you told the popular frat boy you have a date tonight with some Braden Langford, Rafe is curious to know what else you have or haven't done.

He's laying on your twin xl bed, making himself comfortable in your dorm room. You sit across from him in a crisscross, stats textbook on your lap with papers and a graphing calculator next to your thigh.

"Are you making fun of me?" You mumbled anxiously, starting to pick at your fingernails.

Rafe was the first boy to ever be in your room, technically the only person you've ever had in your room since you lived in a single and didn't really have other friends.

"No, baby. 'M jus' surprised," he murmured in disbelief.

It's quiet for a moment before he speaks up, something off in his alluring blue eyes. "Ya said you're goin' on a date t'night?"

You nod, doe-y eyes meeting his.

"He might try t'kiss ya, y'know," Rafe warns, trying to hide the jealousy building in his chest at the thought of his girl tutor going out with another guy.

You remain silent for a moment, blinking at the tall boy on your small bed. But then before your brain could process it, you were blurting out the request.

"Teach me?"

He looks at you for a moment, completely stunned, but also a small smirk curled onto his lips. You quickly tried to backtrack.

"I jus' mean that you kiss girls a lot and you have sex all the time and I don't know anybody else and --"

"Baby, shhh," he cuts off your rambling, the smirk now bigger.

"I'll teach ya how t'kiss, sweet girl. But y'gotta listen t'everythin' I say, mkay?"

You nod, face hot as he grabs the textbook off of your lap. You were already nervous enough as it is about going on your first date, now Rafe Cameron is going to teach you how to kiss?

"’M gonna put my hands ‘ere, kay?” He tells you softly, big hands moving to hold your hips.

“Eyes. Want those pretty eyes on me, pretty girl.” He commands firmly yet gently, not wanting to startle you.

Your eyes flicker down to his, heart pounding in your chest. Butterflies filled your tummy as you stared at him, subconsciously licking your lips.

He lets out a small hum, leaning in slightly to brush his lips against yours. “Lemme take the lead, yeah? Jus’ follow me.”

He gently presses his lips to yours. You instinctively flinch at the new contact, but eventually your eyes flutter shut as you melt against Rafe.

His hands grip your hips a bit better, helping you onto his lap. He moved his lips with yours, fitting together perfectly as he swiped his tongue over your bottom one.

You gasped into his mouth, causing him to slip his tongue in and slide it perfectly against yours. Your own hands move off of your lap, but stay in the air, not knowing what to do.

He takes your hands and guides them onto his shoulders, pulling back so you can both pant together.

“Good girl, baby… doin’ s’good.” He murmurs breathily, before capturing your swollen lips with his again.

As the kisses went on, you continued to melt against him, your body burning from his addictive nature.

Your hands slid down his chest, fingertips gently squeezing in to feel his pecs as you sat perfectly on his lap and made out with your tutee.

Eventually, though, you had to pull away because your lungs were burning with the need for air.

His eyes flutter open against yours again, staring at each other as he rests his forehead against your own.

“Y’okay?” He asks softly.

You nod, breathless and mind a little fuzzy that your first kiss was that good, the type of good that’s only seen in those romance movies.

“Good.”

[timmydraker]

PART 2 OF CLONE BABY

Bruce: You need to tell the rest of the family, but mostly Dick.

Tim: why...?

Bruce, remembering how mad Dick got when he didn't tell him about Jason or literally any other kid: just trust me, it's not worth it

Tim: but I haven't told Kon yet *biggest pouty face ever made*

Bruce: Tim, he's still dead... isn't he?

Tim: I mean... for now.

Bruce:

Tim: FINE. Give her back to me then.

Bruce: ... five more minutes?

*Later:*

Dick: Hey guys, what was so important I had to get here so quick? Is everyone okay? Did someone... y'know?

Bruce: Opposite, actually.

Tim: I had a baby

Dick: you fucking what.

Tim: I had baby.

Tim: lil bubba

Tim: I made it myself :)

Tim, holding up his baby girl: see!

Dick, rapidly going through several emotions at once before letting out such a high pitched squeal that Clark Kent breaks a mug out of shock: A BABY!!!

Tim: a baby!

Bruce: a baby...

Damian, who had come out of his room as soon as he saw that Dick had gotten to the house via his trackers: a baby?

Tim: not for you, go away

Bruce: Tim.

Tim: what? She may have been a scientific miscalculation but she is mine and I will not risk her being stabbed by your miscalculation baby.

Damian: what did you just call me?!

Tim: you heard me!

The baby stirring and whining:

Tim: shhh, it's okay little one. Did Damian's shouting upset you? That's very mean of him, isn't it? It's okay, it's okay

Dick: omg im an uncle

Tim: yes you are!

Dick: and who's the mother?

Tim: 1 am.

Dick: oh... okay, then who's the dad?

Tim, in all seriousness: Kon.

Dick, naturally assuming Kon came back to life like people do all the time: oh, he's back?

Bruce, making a silencing motion:

Tim, trying not to cry: not yet...

Damian: I am confused, why does Drake have a child?

Bruce: he was trying to clone his dead best friend and accidentally mixed his DNA with one of the subjects and made a clone hybrid baby.

Dick: more like dead situationship but okay

Damian: oh, like my brother but an acciden

Bruce: your WHAT?

Tim: yeah! But she's going to grow up like a normal human/kryptonian clone baby and not in like a week.

Damian: very well, I will craft some training weapons for her so she can at least have a chance fitting into this family.

Tim: no the fuck you will not Tim: I mean fudge

Damian: she will also grow up without a father apparently.

Tim: oh like Slade is a better option? And also, so did you???

Damian: beside the point. This baby will be too much like its parents, you are better to let someone else raise her so she won't be a blubbering fool.

Tim: BLUBBERING FOOL?!

Dick: hold on, go back-

Bruce: so l don't have a second blood son?

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a n when you practically weren't raised at all, 1 other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a mother when you practically weren't raised at all, I on the other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Tim: oh HELL no

Tim: first of all, my parents have nothing to do with how I myself will parent! I will be everything in wanted to have and I will not let my baby girl feel unloved for a single second of her life, thank you very much.

Tim: secondly, you're saying that Taliah is a good role model for parenting? When was the last time you spoke to her that didn't involve her using your or Bruce for your granddaddy? Huh?

Damian: ...

Tim: that's what I thought.

Bruce: maybe we should calm-

Tim: and anyway, now that I'm a mother I understand a lot more and I'm not letting you raise my kid because you are a kid, Damian. I know your almost fifteen but that doesn't change the fact that you have Child Developmental Syndrome as well as severe CPTSD and deserve to be carefree and not hold as many responsibilities as some people, *glares at Bruce* seem to think is okay!

Tim: so, no, you can't take my baby but you can be in her life because while I still kind of hate you and think you should suffer for trying to kill me and cutting my line, I can truely see now that you are a baby yourself.

Tim: now, who is going to help me pick out a paint for the nursery l'm making at my apartment?

Damian: ...

Bruce: ...

Dick, who has been slowly inching forward to try hold the baby: ...

Damian, still seething but also a little... honoured?: may I suggest the colour China Rose?

It will go well with the rest of your apartment.

Tim, smiling happily and rocking his baby: good idea!

Tim: Dick, you can hold her while I find Alfred.

Dick: oh thank god, gimme, gimme, gimme, oh hi baby!!! Oh, just look at those chubby wittle cheekies~! Aren't you the most precious wittle thing? Yes you are! You are! Awww!!

Bruce: I forgot to ask, do you have a name?

Tim: oh yeah... that's a thing

Dick and Bruce, integrally: *He is not going to be able to do this alone.*

ーーーーー

QUESTION: what should the baby be called?????

Also wonder how long it will take to end up on

TikTok lol

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Five of Simon Riley x Single Mother <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

It doesn't take long for a routine to be established. Simon stops by, at least for a little bit, most days. He brings something from the neighborhood bakery by for breakfast, or helps you fix dinner, and naturally there is still the occasional park playdate.

"We need to take it slow," you'd told him that night in the kitchen, when the two of you had kissed until your lips were pink and swollen from his attention. "I don't want Charlie to get confused."

And that was fine by him -- still is. The beauty of it all is that he doesn't just care for you, but for your children, too, and if you think moving slow is best, then that's just what you'll do. He's got all the time in the world.

Except, of course, until he doesn't.

It's been a few weeks of this, and just when he's starting to feel like he could actually be lucky enough for this to be the rest of this life, he gets the call. Another mission, a longer one this time from the outset.

He's got to tell you, and he's got to leave you. The thought tears him up inside. He pictures this beautiful little life he's just started carving out for himself passing by without him, and the darker parts of his mind picture you realizing that maybe you're better off without a man who can only take care of you parttime.

You try your best to ease those notions. You've gotten pretty good at reading him, and you can see the self doubt etched in his face soon after he gives you the news of his impending departure. You give him sweet kisses and hold him, whispering to him about how you'll miss him, and he wants so badly to believe it.

It's Charlie, the night before he's off, that really calms his nerves.

After dinner, Simon sits beside you on the couch while you hold Emma, and he tries to convince himself that when he comes back, things will be just like this. Charlie had run off to his room, and when he comes back, he climbs onto the couch, kneeling beside him with his little hand on his shoulder.

"All right, Charlie?" he asks.

Without a word, the boy reaches out his other hand, and in it he holds a beaded bracelet. Obviously homemade, it's mostly made of black beads, with some yellow and pink ones scattered in with no real pattern.

He glances at you, and you smile at him, so he takes the bracelet, and looks at it closer, not quite understanding the presentation.

"It's nice," he tells Charlie. "You make it?"

Charlie nods. "It's for you."'

Simon is not a crier in the least -- he's experienced all sorts of pain, physical and emotional, spiritual even, without shedding a tear. But this ... he clears his throat, focusing again on the bracelet and not the darling little boy who gave it to him or his beautiful mother who, every day, he grows more and more certain is the love of his life.

"For me?" he finally says, fighting to keep his voice even. "For what?"

"For when you go," Charlie answers. "So you don't forget about us."

There are no words to describe how outrageous he thinks the idea is, so instead he presses on.

"You pick the colors?"

"Yeah," Charlie answers, leaning over to poke at the bracelet. "Black because that's your favorite color, yellow because it's my favorite color and pink because Mum and Emma are girls."

Simon nods, and slips the bracelet on. He thanks the child, who wraps his arms tightly around his neck before climbing off the couch and heading back to his room.

"He loves you," you tell him with a smile, and he knows you can see how affected his is by the gift.

"Yeah?" Simon asks. "And what about his mum?"

You lean in, carefully as to not disturb the baby, and he meets you the rest of the way. You haven't slept together yet, figuratively or literally, and you've been insistent on taking things slow, but he can't help it. He wants to know where he stands, if you're feeling the same way he is.

Your kiss is soft, and you linger, long enough for him to bring his hand to your cheek to hold you in place just a little longer. When you pull back, you give him another small smile.

"His mother happens to be extremely fond of you."

Simon ends up being gone just shy of two months, and it's miserable, being away from you for so long. He keeps the bracelet safe in a pocket on his vest, toying with it in his downtime. It feels like a tether, something that keeps him focused. Something that will pull him home.

When he does get back to town, he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out of the train station. He plans to drop his things off at his apartment before giving you a call, seeing if you're free, but when he gets to the juncture where he can either continue on towards his building or turn and trek the few extra blocks to your house, it's barely a decision he registers.

He's heading towards you.

There's a brief moment of hesitation after he unlatches the gate and climbs up the steps of your porch. Doubts creep in -- thoughts that tell him that he's been gone for longer than you were together, that you're not expecting him ... maybe that you don't want him anymore.

But Charlie's bracelet, on his wrist now, makes him remember just how good it felt, being a part of your life, and the memory is enough for him to knock.

All the doubts leave him, a rush of wonderful certainty hitting as soon as you open the door, because in your eyes, he sees it -- you missed him too. You take him into your arms, pulling him down to kiss his face, the sound of your happy, surprised laughter like music to his ears, and he's home now. He knows it more than he's ever known anything.

Simon holds you tightly in his arms, kissing you too, his lips landing on your head and your temple, anywhere he can reach, and then there's another, much smaller set of arms around him, and he looks down to see Charlie hugging his legs.

"You came back," he says, his voice muffled.

"Always will."

PART SIX - PART SEVEN - PART EIGHT - PART NINE

[joelsrose]

Dark Matter

i haven't written reed before but here we go! i hope yall enjoy xx

warnings: fingering, age gap? (reader is mid 20's), cheating (sorry sue), power-dynamic, semi-public

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

You walked into the lab the same way you always did—quietly, carefully, your notebook hugged to your chest like a shield, pages dog-eared and smudged with graphite, filled with half-solved equations, theoretical scribbles, and tiny margin doodles of molecules and stars.

The click of your heeled boots echoed off the cold, polished floor, a sound that somehow felt too loud in the stillness of the room. The air inside was always a little too cold, like the whole space was suspended in a vacuum—untouched by the warmth of human hands—but you liked it that way. It made you feel sharp, focused. Like anything could happen here. Like everything already had.

It had been exactly seven days since you started your internship under Mr. Richards—or Reed, as he’d insisted you call him on the very first day, his tone polite but firm, eyes flickering to yours with something unreadable when you stammered out “Dr. Richards” instead. The man was brilliant. Obviously. He was also deeply intimidating in the way only truly intelligent people could be—effortlessly so, like he didn’t notice the way the rest of the world bent around his mind.

He wasn’t cruel, not at all, but there was something about him that made your pulse skip whenever he turned to you with a question, something about the way he spoke in low, thoughtful tones, his hands always busy with some piece of machinery or scribbling formulas on the glass board like his thoughts couldn’t be contained by paper.

You’d been selected from a pool of thousands—won the LUMINA International Science Initiative, a fellowship that granted a single spot, once a year, to shadow one of the world’s leading innovators.

You never expected to get it. You’d submitted your proposal last-minute, half-convinced it was too ambitious, too naive. But something about it must’ve caught their attention—maybe your hypothesis on temporal field distortions, maybe the way you phrased it like a love letter to curiosity itself. Either way, it landed you here, standing just inside the threshold of the Baxter Building’s most secured lab, wearing your best skirt and your favorite boots, heart thudding in your chest like a metronome gone mad.

You adjusted your grip on your notebook and cleared your throat softly, the sound swallowed by the lab’s cavernous quiet. “Morning,” you offered, voice smaller than you meant, eyes sweeping the room for him—half-hoping he wasn’t here yet, half-hoping he was.

From behind one of the massive monitors, you heard the gentle clink of metal, followed by a low voice.

“You’re early.”

You turned and there he was, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collarbone peeking where his lab coat had come undone. His hair was tousled, like he’d been up for hours already, running his hands through it between equations. There was graphite smudged on his wrist, and a faint streak of oil down one thumb, and somehow that made him look even more untouchable. He glanced over his shoulder at you, then down at your notebook.

“More scribbles?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting—not quite a smile, but close enough to make your chest flutter.

You nodded, holding it out. “A few questions from last night. I kept thinking about the energy dispersion curve in the 5-D field model, and—well. It didn’t make sense that it plateaued. Not at those values.”

He took the notebook, flipping through the pages like he was reading a novel written in his own handwriting, then looked up at you with a sliver of something warmer in his gaze.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I think you might be the first person to ever challenge that curve. Everyone else just accepted it.”

You blinked. “Oh. I—didn’t mean to be... disrespectful or anything.”

“You weren’t.” He looked back at the page, his brow furrowing like he was genuinely considering your notes. “You’re just... asking the right questions.”

And the way he said that—asking the right questions—it made your cheeks heat, made your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag like you were suddenly fifteen again, flustered and awkward and unsure of what to say next, even though you were here because you belonged here, even though you were brilliant in your own quiet way.

He glanced at you again, slower this time, eyes scanning your face like he was watching a theory unfold in real time, and said, “Let’s run it. See if you’re right.” Just like that, like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean the world.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

Hours passed, though you barely noticed them. What started as a single equation quickly unraveled into an entire evening of hypotheses and recalibrations, the two of you moving around each other in this strange, quiet rhythm—typing, adjusting, scribbling, calculating, retrying, failing, fixing, retrying again.

The room had fallen into that kind of sacred stillness where every noise felt sharper—the whir of machines, the scratch of pencils, the occasional creak of the stool beneath you. Every time a result came back wrong, you’d lean in beside him and try again. Every time it came back right, your shoulders would touch, just barely, and you’d both say nothing.

And then it happened again—casual, effortless—Reed stretched.

This time, to grab his phone from across the room without moving from his chair, his arm extending impossibly far and elegant, fingers curling around the device with that same practiced ease, like it was just another part of his body responding to his mind. You watched it happen with that same quiet awe you always did, eyes following the length of his arm as it retracted, as he settled back into himself like it hadn’t been strange at all, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t even the stretch itself, not really—it was the nonchalance, the way he didn’t even think about it. But you did. You thought about it too much.

You were still thinking about it when he glanced at his screen, a quiet frown flickering across his face.

“It’s eight already,” he murmured, thumbing through a text. “We’ve been here all day.”

You blinked, surprised by the time, and then watched as his expression shifted—something soft and faintly guilty tugging at the edge of his mouth as he read whatever had been sent to him.

“Sue made dinner,” he said after a beat, sighing, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand like he hadn’t sat down for a proper meal in days. “Guess I should…”

He trailed off as he stood, the chair sliding back with a scrape, and something in your chest twisted—tight and unexpected. Not sharp enough to hurt, but deep enough to notice.

You weren’t sure if it was jealousy, exactly, but there was something inside you that ached a little at the thought of him leaving. At the thought of him sitting across from someone else, in a warm apartment somewhere above the city, eating food someone else had made for him, laughing over things that had nothing to do with lab results or radiation curves or the way your hands always trembled just slightly when he got too close.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he glanced back at you with one brow arched, curious, amused, his coat slung half over his arm and a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Something wrong?” he asked, voice low and too steady, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly, the word tripping over itself on your tongue. “No, nothing.”

He looked at you for a long second, long enough that your skin prickled under the weight of it, his eyes steady and a little too knowing, like he could see past your flustered expression and straight into the chaos of your thoughts. Then—he chuckled, soft and brief, like the sound had slipped out before he could stop it, low and warm and close enough to make your pulse stutter.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, not in disapproval, but something more bemused—like he found you endlessly curious and had all the time in the world to figure you out.

You ducked your head, the heat rising in your cheeks again, blooming in a flush that you tried to suppress with a tight little smile, your fingers worrying the corner of your notebook as though it could ground you, steady you, hide the fact that your heart was now pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

Then his voice came again, low and coaxing, that soft velvet drawl of someone deeply used to being the smartest man in the room—“Come on,” he said, “what’s going on in that brilliant mind?”

And you should’ve lied. You should’ve laughed it off, said something safe, something neutral, something clever and unassuming and appropriately scientific. But your brain had been wandering all week—had been drifting there over and over again, uninvited, unwelcome, inappropriate, gnawing at the edges of your curiosity in the quiet moments between experiments.

You’d tried not to think about it, tried not to let your gaze linger when he stretched, tried not to imagine what else could stretch, how far, how much, how deeply.

And somehow—somehow—it slipped out of your mouth before your brain had a chance to intercept it, just a whisper of a thought spoken aloud, soft and breathless and too curious to be innocent.

“Does everything stretch?”

The silence that followed was instant and absolute.

You heard it in the way the machines kept humming but your breath caught.

You felt it in the way Reed’s eyes snapped to yours, too quickly, like he wasn’t expecting that.

And you saw it—oh, you saw it—in the way he froze, the way the lines at the corners of his mouth shifted, lips parting slightly like he was about to speak but couldn’t quite remember how.

Your eyes widened almost immediately, your whole body locking in mortified horror, hands flying up to your face as if that could undo what you’d just said, as if that could pull the words back into your throat and shove them into the void where they belonged.

“Oh my God—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that, I swear—I swear, it was just—I was talking about your arm, I mean your body—not your—oh God, not your body body, I meant your abilities, like biologically—scientifically—I’m so sorry—”

You were rambling now, barely breathing between the words, voice growing higher and faster with every sentence, and he was still just looking at you, still absolutely silent, like you’d short-circuited him and he was trying not to let it show. His expression hadn’t changed much—but his eyes were different now, darker maybe, or maybe just sharper, like a wire had pulled taut somewhere beneath his usually-calm exterior.

Then—finally—he blinked.

And his mouth twitched.

Not a smirk. Not quite. But close. Very, very close.

“Everything?” he echoed softly, voice rough around the edges like it had dropped an octave without permission.

You wanted to melt through the floor.

“Forget I said anything,” you mumbled, practically squeaked, your hands halfway up your face now, notebook clutched uselessly against your chest like a shield made of paper and shame.

But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just looked at you for another long moment, like he was tucking the question away in some private drawer of his mind, like he was considering it—you—carefully.

And then he said, his voice quiet and unreadable. “Some things stretch more than others.”

He said it with the same offhand ease he might’ve used to mention the weather or the results of an equation, as if the words weren’t heavy with meaning, as if they didn’t land like a struck tuning fork in the center of your chest and hum there, low and electric. And then—just like that—he glanced at the time again, slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, his fingers moving with quiet efficiency, and looked toward the door without even a flicker of hesitation in his expression.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice smooth and calm, like it had all been nothing—your question, his answer, the unbearable silence that followed—like he hadn’t just reduced you to a trembling, wide-eyed mess with five words and a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

And then he turned and walked out, his footsteps steady and unhurried, as though the entire moment hadn’t happened, as though he hadn’t noticed the way your breath had caught or your lips had parted slightly or the way your fingers had curled around your notebook like you were holding onto it for dear life. The door eased shut behind him with a soft, final click, and the silence that followed felt far too loud, as if the air itself had been holding its breath and now didn’t know what to do with the tension left behind.

You stood there for a moment, completely still, eyes fixed on the door like he might come back—might say something, might clarify or laugh or admit that yes, that had been what you thought it was, that you weren’t imagining the way his gaze had sharpened, the subtle shift in his voice, the pause before he’d answered like he was trying to decide how honest he wanted to be.

But the door stayed shut. The lab was quiet. And your face was burning.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

The next morning, you thought about quitting.

No—worse—you thought about being removed, escorted out of the lab with quiet, professional shame, the faculty committee shaking their heads at the girl who couldn’t keep her thoughts scientific. You’d spent the entire night twisted in sheets and mortification, staring at the ceiling of your tiny dorm room with cheeks that wouldn’t stop burning and hands that kept curling into fists against your pillow, your mind looping the same sentence over and over like a taunt.

Does everything stretch?

It had sounded so much worse in hindsight. In your head, it was a purely biological question—curiosity, theoretical, relevant. But the moment it left your lips, soft and shy and tilted with unintended suggestion, you’d felt the way it landed. The way his eyes had flickered. The way his voice had dropped just a hair lower. The way he’d looked at you after.

And then he walked out like it was nothing.

Which somehow made it worse.

So when you walked into the lab that morning, notebook clutched to your chest like a shield, heart crawling up the back of your throat with every step, you were fully prepared for disaster—for tension, awkwardness, maybe even polite dismissal. But he was already there, of course he was—leaning over one of the central consoles with his sleeves rolled, hair still rumpled from sleep, lips pursed slightly in thought as he ran through some new readout, a mug half-full of black coffee resting near his elbow.

And when he glanced up at you?

Everything was... fine.

He offered you a brief, familiar nod, the same one he always did, and then gestured to a screen without so much as a hint of discomfort, as if the night before had been a dream, as if you hadn’t asked the most humiliating question of your life and then spiraled into a dimension of shame he probably discovered himself.

You blinked, stunned by the ease of it, by the way he moved through the morning without even a trace of tension, without a single flinch. It was—professional. Cordial. Kind.

And strangely, that grounded you.

The day unfolded slowly, then steadily—small victories, clarified hypotheses, new data sets—and your body slowly began to relax into the rhythm you’d started to love, the silent teamwork of minds that trusted each other. And even though he hadn’t said anything beyond the work, even though the stretch of time passed with nothing but research and updates, you caught yourself looking again—watching the way his hands moved, the way he’d lean into the screen, the way he thought so deeply with his whole body, and the way you were beginning to understand him in ways that had nothing to do with science.

It wasn’t until late afternoon, when the sun outside had dipped low enough to cast long gold shadows across the lab floor, that he finally spoke without referencing an equation.

“Sue was asking about you,” he said casually, eyes still on his screen, voice calm as if he didn’t know he’d just sent your stomach tumbling.

You blinked, startled. “Oh?”

He nodded once, the motion subtle. “Think I’ve been talking too much about how smart you are.”

Your breath caught in your throat and then returned all at once in a rush of heat to your face. You looked away, your lips parting slightly as your blush bloomed across your cheeks, creeping down your neck, the words lingering like sunlight on your skin.

“She wants to meet you,” he continued, finally glancing over at you with that steady, unreadable gaze that always made you feel a little exposed, a little unsteady.

“Really?” you asked, blinking up at him, your voice too soft, too unsure. “I—I mean, I’d be honored.”

He chuckled, quiet and amused, and God, it made your heart stutter.

“Tonight?” he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Your lips parted again. “Tonight?” you echoed, because your brain was clearly still catching up.

He tilted his head, expression flickering with something close to amusement. “Unless you’re busy,” he said smoothly. “Or unless you were planning on camping out here all night again, trying to crack the wavefield inversion curve without sleeping or eating—because that does sound like you.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound escaping like a sigh, soft and a little breathless, and he smiled—genuine and rare, the kind that made your knees feel unsteady and your chest warm.

You shook your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly too shy to meet his eyes. “No,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not busy.”

“Good,” he said, his smile deepening just slightly. “I’ll see you for dinner then.”

And with that, he turned back to his screen, the moment slipping away like mist, but the warmth of it stayed, curling low and steady in your chest.

You were going to dinner. With Reed Richards. And Sue Storm.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

The Baxter Building stood tall and impossible in the heart of the city, its sleek, glinting frame catching the last of the golden evening light like it had been plucked from some distant future and set gently down in Manhattan.

The security in the lobby had let you through without question, as if they’d been expecting you, as if your name already belonged in the same breath as Reed Richards and Sue Storm, and that thought alone made your stomach twist with something between awe and panic as you stepped into the elevator.

It was silent inside—sterile and smooth, the walls a brushed metal that reflected the softest version of your silhouette back at you, almost dreamlike. You stared at your reflection for a moment, adjusting the bottle of wine you held with both hands, the paper bag crinkling slightly beneath your fingertips.

You’d picked it up on the way here after spending a full thirty minutes in the wine shop pretending to know what pairs with intellectual dinner parties hosted by superheroes. You smoothed the front of your dress—a soft, modest thing that you’d chosen carefully, something that felt like you, but maybe a little prettier, a little more delicate than usual, your lips painted just faintly, enough to make you feel like you were trying without looking like you were trying.

You exhaled slowly, barely noticing the way the elevator glided up without a sound, your heartbeat louder than anything around you. Your thoughts raced, of course they did—what if it was too much? What if you shouldn’t have come? What if he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, that subtle curve of his voice when he said see you at dinner, the glint in his eye, the way his attention had lingered for just a moment too long?

The elevator chimed softly.

The doors opened.

And then— There he was.

Reed stood just inside the threshold, one hand braced casually on the edge of the doorway, the other slipping his phone into his back pocket like he’d only just finished checking something, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, collarbone peeking slightly where his top button had been left undone, no tie, no lab coat—just a simple, perfectly tailored shirt that made your brain stutter for half a beat.

His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it absentmindedly more than once, and there was a tiny streak of ink or maybe graphite on his knuckle that hadn’t been washed off completely.

It was Reed, but not the version of him you’d grown used to seeing in the lab, not the hyper-focused, brilliant blur of intellect you worked beside every day—this Reed looked like he’d been waiting. For you.

His eyes moved over you slowly—once, all the way down and back up again, not rushed, not obvious, but deliberate enough that you felt it everywhere, like heat pressing into the skin of your chest and the backs of your knees, your fingers tightening instinctively around the bottle you were holding.

He didn’t say anything at first, just quirked the corner of his mouth into something halfway between a smirk and a smile, soft but amused, his gaze still lingering just a little too long.

“You clean up well,” he said finally, voice lower than usual, not teasing exactly—more like he was confessing something he hadn’t meant to say aloud.

Your mouth parted slightly, but your voice caught, and when you finally managed to speak, it came out soft and a little breathless. “I—brought wine.”

He glanced down at the bottle, then back at you, his smile deepening just enough to make your heart skip. “Dangerously overqualified,” he murmured, stepping back to let you in. “Smart and thoughtful. Sue’s going to love you.”

You stepped past him into the apartment, the warmth of the space wrapping around you instantly, the scent of dinner and city lights and him curling at the edge of your senses, and even as you tried to focus on your breathing, on your posture, on not tripping in your kitten heels, you could still feel the echo of his eyes on your skin, like he hadn’t really stopped looking.

The apartment unfolded around you like a page in some impossibly curated design magazine, only softer, warmer, more lived-in than anything artificial—clean, modern lines met rich textures, brushed steel softened by warm walnut floors and deep navy accents that glowed golden under the cascade of low, amber-hued lighting.

One entire wall was glass, and beyond it, the Manhattan skyline burned softly against the horizon, city lights just starting to glitter like distant stars, and even the air inside smelled expensive and comforting—like slow-cooked herbs and something faintly sweet.

You were still catching your breath, still clutching the wine like a lifeline, when you heard a voice float in from down the hall—clear, warm, and unmistakably female.

“There she is.”

Sue Storm walked into view like she had been sculpted from light itself—tall and impossibly graceful, wrapped in soft neutral fabrics that draped just right, her golden hair falling in loose waves that framed her face perfectly, her eyes a crystalline blue that held a kind of sharpness you immediately respected.

She was breathtaking, in that way women are when they know who they are, and the moment she looked at you, her whole expression softened with something kind and curious and real.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said with a small smile, her voice smooth like honey stirred into tea, her gaze never once breaking from yours.

“Hi,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could shape it into anything more eloquent. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

She waved you off with a flick of her manicured fingers, as if the formality embarrassed her. “Please,” she said with a light laugh, stepping closer. “The way my husband talks about you? I’m the one who’s honored.”

And you blushed so hard you felt it in your ears, your whole body warming beneath the soft light, fingers tightening just slightly around the neck of the bottle as you dipped your head in modest disbelief, not quite sure if you should laugh or hide.

Reed, who had stepped away to adjust the music or maybe just give you a moment, said nothing, but you felt the weight of his glance again—the quiet satisfaction in the corners of his mouth like this was exactly what he wanted: you here, now, nervous but luminous, admired and welcomed.

“Come in,” Sue insisted gently, her hand brushing your arm in a way that grounded you immediately. “Dinner’s almost ready. I made way too much food—he said you don’t eat much, but I never trust him when he says that. He’s never once finished a plate himself.”

You smiled, heart still beating a little too fast, and followed her deeper into the space, the sound of your shoes soft against the hardwood, the city glowing quietly beyond the windows as if watching you take your first steps into something bigger than an internship—something warmer, more dangerous, and far more personal.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

Dinner was lovely—elegant but warm, the kind of meal that felt intimate without trying, served at a long polished table that glowed honey-gold under the overhead lights, the city sparkling just beyond the glass like a living mural.

You sat across from them, Reed to your left, Sue across from you, and despite the tight coil of nerves you’d carried into the evening, it was… comfortable.

Sue had a way of making you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just a guest in the home of two of the most brilliant minds on the planet, but someone worth sitting at their table, someone they genuinely wanted to know.

You found yourself watching them more than you meant to—Sue leaning toward him with quiet laughter, Reed murmuring something back without looking up from his wine glass, the two of them moving in the kind of rhythm that only came from years of intimacy and quiet understanding. And still, as you watched them, something bloomed low and warm in your stomach—not jealousy, exactly, but a kind of quiet ache, a fascination that hummed beneath your skin, a longing that had less to do with their relationship and more to do with him.

You were still chasing the thread of that thought when Sue turned to you again, eyes bright with interest.

“So,” she said, “how did you get interested in all of this?”

You blinked, startled out of your reverie, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with a shy smile. “Well,” you began softly, glancing down at your plate before meeting her gaze again, “ever since I was a kid, I just… I always wanted to understand how the world worked. The math, the movement, the rules. I remember watching the stars and thinking—that’s what I want to learn. That’s what I want to be part of.”

Sue offered you a warm smile, nodding in that gentle, encouraging way that made you feel like your words mattered, like they weren’t small or naïve or too eager. “Well,” she said, “it’s always nice seeing young people interested in this kind of work—especially a fellow…” she paused, grinning as she reached for her glass, “…girl genius.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warm, about to reply with something awkward and grateful and probably too modest—when it happened.

You felt it.

Unmistakable.

A hand. Large, warm, and undeniably real, sliding gently across your thigh under the table.

Your heart stopped. Your breath caught somewhere high in your chest, your eyes flickering toward Reed so quickly you barely caught Sue sipping her wine across from you. But he didn’t look at you—not exactly. His gaze remained calm and forward, his profile composed and entirely unreadable as he took a slow sip of his wine and then glanced up at Sue, his hand still resting firmly on your leg.

“She’s brilliant,” he said casually, his voice smooth and even, like he was commenting on the weather, like he wasn’t currently touching you from across the table while sitting next to his wife.

You sat frozen, pulse thundering in your ears, body rigid but electrified, your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the stem of your glass as you tried to focus, to breathe, to not move.

“She corrected me the other day about a flux equation I wrote in ’04,” he continued, eyes finally drifting to meet yours—and holding there, steady and direct, a silent dare written behind his calm expression. “She was right, too.”

Sue laughed, clearly delighted. “Good. God knows someone needs to keep you in check.”

You could barely hear her. Could barely focus on anything except the heat of Reed’s hand, the way it pressed gently into the top of your thigh, just enough to let you know it was real, just enough to make your stomach twist with something hot and shivery and shamefully thrilling.

And then—his hand moved.

Not in that subtle, polite way you might’ve been able to ignore or convince yourself had been some kind of misunderstanding, not a graze or a twitch or something incidental—but deliberate, slow, intentional, his palm sliding higher, slipping beneath the hem of your dress in a single fluid motion that felt so impossibly confident it made your entire body lock up at once.

The heat of his skin against your thigh stole the breath from your lungs, and when his fingers skimmed the delicate edge of your underwear, just barely brushing the fabric, you felt your heart climb straight into your throat and stay there.

You almost choked on your wine.

The glass halted halfway to your lips, your hands trembling just enough for the crystal to click against your teeth, and you let out a strange, stifled sound—half gasp, half cough—your eyes wide, your posture going ramrod straight as you struggled to swallow the panic and arousal crawling up your spine in tandem.

“You alright?” Sue asked gently, glancing up from her plate with concern etched between her brows, the picture of warmth and kindness and everything undeserving of what was happening beneath her dinner table.

“Yes,” you stammered, too quickly, the syllable snapping out of your mouth like it had been fired from a slingshot, your cheeks flushed a deep, telltale red as you nodded a little too hard. “I’m fine. Just—went down the wrong way.”

Across from you, Reed glanced up from his glass at the sound of your voice, his expression calm—no, worse than calm—amused, like he was enjoying watching you fall apart in real time, like he was studying the way you squirmed and flushed and fidgeted with quiet, academic satisfaction. His fingers moved—barely a shift, just enough to press the pad of his thumb along the inside of your thigh, skimming the thin lace of your panties with a featherlight drag that made your vision blur for a moment, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek to stop a sound from escaping.

Sue kept talking, mercifully, unaware of the silent war happening beneath the table, and you tried to nod along, tried to pretend you were still following the story she was telling about something at the foundation gala last week, but Reed’s hand was still moving—so slowly, so wickedly gentle, fingers drifting along the edge of the fabric like he was memorizing it, teasing it, learning every soft line of you with nothing more than a ghost of touch and that insufferable, unreadable look in his eyes.

You were blushing so fiercely now you were sure it had reached your chest, heat blooming down your neck like a fever, your knees squeezing together reflexively beneath the table as your breathing turned shallow, chest rising and falling in a way that did not feel casual anymore.

“Are you hot, honey?” Sue asked suddenly, concern returning to her voice, her eyes flickering to your cheeks. “A house full of so-called geniuses and we still haven’t figured out how to fix the aircon properly. I’ll be back—I’ll check the thermostat.”

And before you could answer—before you could find any response at all—she stood, placing her napkin neatly beside her plate and disappearing down the hall with a rustle of fabric and the click of her heels.

The door hadn’t even shut all the way before Reed finally spoke, low and calm and just for you, his fingers still resting against the soft, soaked curve of you beneath your panties.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, voice a dark, honey-dipped whisper that sent shivers straight through your bones. “Don’t stop now.”

“Reed—” you stammered, your voice cracking under the strain of your own name trembling on your lips, barely more than a whisper, a breath caught halfway between panic and disbelief, your thighs squeezing together out of instinct, out of desperation, out of need you didn’t yet know how to name. “What are you—”

He didn’t lean in.

He didn’t move closer.

He didn’t even blink.

He simply sat there, on the opposite side of the table, one elbow resting near his wine glass, the other arm subtly stretched beneath the surface like a quiet secret unraveling in the dark, and his voice, when it came, was soft and low and steady.

“Tell me to stop.”

And as he said it—calm, impossible, infuriatingly composed—you felt it: the cool air against your skin, your panties slipping down your thighs with a slow, torturous grace, peeled away by a hand that wasn’t even near you, stretched from across the table, precise and gentle and unspeakably brazen. The fabric caught just slightly at your knees before his fingers nudged it past, and you sat there frozen, wide-eyed, red-faced, with your dress pooled neatly over your lap and nothing beneath it now but heat and humiliation and the thundering pulse between your legs.

“Reed—” you breathed again, barely able to shape the word, and his gaze met yours in that maddening, quiet way—no urgency, no shame, only that still, measured calm that made your insides tremble, as if he was watching a reaction unfold under glass.

And then—

Sue's heels clicked softly on the polished floor as she entered the room again, moving with that effortless, elegant grace as she crossed behind you and returned to her seat.

“That should fix it,” she said lightly as she sat, her smile warm and unbothered, her tone casual as if nothing had changed in the few moments she’d been gone.

You turned toward her, your face flaming, your smile shaky and paper-thin as you tried to find your voice again, tried to stitch together whatever pieces of yourself hadn’t yet dissolved under Reed’s hand, which now rested high on your bare thigh like it belonged there.

“Thank you,” you managed softly, the words nearly catching on the breath that refused to sit still in your chest, and somehow, impossibly, you held her gaze.

And across from you, Reed Richards—calm, brilliant, monstrous in his control—simply took another sip of wine.

You tried to focus, truly you did—on Sue, on her words, on the soft clinking of silverware and the gentle thrum of jazz somewhere in the background—but all of it became nothing more than a blur of light and noise the moment his fingers moved again, slow and purposeful, the stretch of his arm impossibly seamless beneath the table, as if he could command every tendon, every muscle, with surgical precision.

He didn’t even shift in his seat, didn’t look down, didn’t so much as twitch, and yet—you felt him, truly felt him now, his fingers slipping between your thighs with exquisite control, brushing over your bare, trembling core with a deliberate slowness that made you forget how to hold your breath steady.

And then—he pushed.

Just one finger at first, and it was too much, because it was him, because it was stretched impossibly long and thick, curling up with inhuman ease, reaching deeper than anyone had ever dared, pressing into you like he already knew exactly where to go, what you needed, like he’d studied your anatomy and had all the answers memorized.

Your thighs tightened automatically, knees trembling under the weight of holding in a sound you very nearly let out, and your hands clenched into your lap, the wine glass beside you forgotten, your whole body alight with the unbearable tension of being touched like this—open, pulsing, absolutely undone—and doing nothing about it.

And then—

“Why don’t you explain to Sue what we went over the other day,” Reed said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just buried his finger inside you under the dinner table, as if he wasn’t slowly crooking it up to find that sweet, aching spot that made your stomach twist and your eyes nearly flutter shut.

You froze.

“What?” you whispered, blinking at him.

He offered a slight tilt of his head, his eyes resting on yours with a look of calm expectation—amusement, even—and then shifted his gaze to Sue, who was looking at you with the kindest, most open smile, entirely oblivious.

“The resonance collapse formula,” Reed said helpfully, voice steady. “She corrected one of my assumptions about it earlier this week. She’s sharper than she lets on.”

He curled his finger again.

And it took everything in you not to cry out.

You blinked rapidly, your lips parting around a breath that wasn’t quite a word, trying to remember the theory, the math, the basic principles of language, but all you could feel was the stretch inside you, the thick, gentle press of him moving in slow, unrelenting circles, coaxing you open without haste, without apology, without shame.

“I—” you started, your voice embarrassingly thin, “we—uh, we talked about—about the resonance curve failing at the threshold of—”

He added a second finger.

Your breath caught so hard you coughed, the burn of it tight in your chest, and you reached for your water like it might ground you, like the coolness of the glass could balance out the unbearable heat pulsing between your legs.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Sue asked again, concerned.

You forced a smile, shaking your head quickly, eyes wet with the effort to look normal, to act normal, when Reed’s fingers were pushing deeper now, stretching you in a way that was obscene, careful, perfect, and somehow managing to keep the rhythm slow and steady, barely moving, just enough to make you drip helplessly onto his knuckles under the table while you tried to describe a physics principle with your body unraveling second by second.

“I’m okay,” you managed to whisper, voice too soft, too high.

Reed’s thumb brushed upward. You jolted. He smiled—just slightly.

“You were saying?” he asked gently.

You wanted to cry. Or scream. Or crawl under the table and never come out.

Instead, you looked up, cheeks flushed, throat tight, and murmured, “We adjusted the decay rate curve based on the harmonic threshold failing beyond point-six-three, and—and recalibrated the control conditions to reflect a more dynamic waveform—”

His fingers pressed up, deep, and you gasped—but you made it sound like awe, like wonder.

Sue beamed at you. “That’s amazing.”

You blinked, barely nodding, and Reed—still untouched himself, still seated like a man entirely at ease—just gave you the faintest smile across the table, like he was proud of you. Like you had passed some unspeakable test.

You weren’t sure when it changed—when Reed’s fingers, once so slow and exploratory, shifted their rhythm, no longer teasing but deliberate, their movement suddenly quickening beneath the tablecloth, each stroke firmer, deeper, more precise, curling up into that one devastating place inside you with the kind of methodical expertise that only a man like him could possess.

His thumb pressed again and again against your swollen clit in quiet, unrelenting circles, and it was obscene, unbelievably obscene, because he was still sitting across from you, back straight, shoulders calm, expression thoughtful and polite as Sue continued her story—talking about an ambassador, or a charity gala, or maybe a speech she gave—and you couldn’t hear a single word of it.

Because you were about to come.

Right there. At their dinner table.

Your thighs were trembling beneath the fabric of your dress, your body pulled taut like a string about to snap, nerves alight and burning in every limb, and you could feel it rising, fast and hot, building in your belly like a storm, spreading up through your spine with every practiced motion of his hand—stretched from across the table, long and dexterous and hidden beneath the soft, quiet clink of silverware.

You were soaked, dripping, pulsing around his fingers, and he knew. Of course he knew. He could feel every flutter, every desperate little squeeze your body gave him, and when he looked at you—really looked at you—his eyes burned with a satisfaction so soft it felt like praise.

You tried to hold it back. God, you tried. Your nails dug into the fabric of your skirt, your breathing shallow and uneven, your lashes fluttering as you ducked your head and bit into the back of your hand, trying to hide the sound, trying to bury the moan that threatened to rip itself from your throat. You were right on the edge, hovering there, helpless, when—

DING!

The sound of the oven’s timer rang out sharply through the kitchen, perfectly, cruelly timed—at the exact second you broke apart, your body shuddering around his fingers as the climax hit you so hard and fast you saw stars behind your eyes. You muffled the moan with your hand, trembling violently in your chair as you faked a cough so sharp it made Sue look up, concerned, just as she was standing to go check the dessert.

“Poor thing,” she said sweetly, already halfway out of the room, completely unaware of what had just happened right beneath her nose. “Let me go grab the cobbler—Reed, didn’t I tell you to turn on the vent fan for the oven? It smells like caramelized sugar in here.”

You barely managed to nod, your breath still stuttering in your chest, the taste of your own bitten-down moan lingering in your mouth like smoke, your vision wet and dizzy as you tried to collect yourself—but it was impossible, completely impossible, because Reed was still watching you, still calm, still composed, still seated like nothing had happened at all, as though his fingers hadn’t just coaxed your orgasm from you with the kind of precision that only a man with endless patience and supernatural reach could possess.

And then—he moved.

His hand, the one he had just pulled back from beneath your dress, rose slowly from beneath the table, casual, unhurried, and with the sort of smooth detachment that made your blood run hot all over again. You watched—helpless, horrified, entranced—as he brought his fingers to his mouth, his expression unreadable but his gaze never leaving yours, and then—

He licked them.

Just the tips. Just a quiet, deliberate motion—his tongue flicking out to drag across the pads of his fingers with unbearable slowness, like a man tasting something rare and sacred, like someone who savored knowledge, savored reactions, savored you—and your breath caught so hard it made your throat ache, your hands clenched in your lap, body still trembling beneath the table.

And that was the exact moment Sue walked back in.

The tray in her hands held a golden, bubbling dish still steaming at the edges, a pitcher of vanilla sauce tucked beside it, and she moved with the same easy grace she always had, placing the dish gently in the center of the table as the scent of caramelized fruit and butter filled the space.

“Was the sauce that good?” she asked with a light laugh, glancing over just in time to see her husband finishing his little motion, his fingers slipping from his mouth like it was nothing at all. “You just licked your fingers like you hadn’t eaten in days.”

Your entire body tensed.

Reed—calm, collected, horrifyingly composed—didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head toward her, then turned back to you, his eyes locking with yours across the table, his gaze heavy with meaning, with memory, with the weight of what he’d just done to you, and said, without a flicker of shame—

“Delicious.”

Your stomach dropped. Your cheeks flamed. You looked away instantly, your eyes darting toward your lap, toward your empty plate, toward anywhere that wasn’t him, your skin hot and crawling with mortification, your thighs pressed tight together under the table, still slick and tender and sensitive as hell, and now—now you had to eat dessert.

With him. With her. With the taste of your orgasm still on his mouth.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

You said your goodbyes to Sue as sweetly and shakily as you could manage, your voice still thin and breathless from the quiet ruin Reed had left you in, the remnants of your orgasm still echoing in your body like a pulse you couldn’t calm, and still—still—you smiled, you nodded, you played the part of the polite, well-mannered girl who had not just come in silence at the dinner table. Sue hugged you lightly at the door, warm and soft and lovely, thanking you for coming and saying how nice it was to meet you, her words kind and sincere, her smile so genuine it made you ache.

“We’ll have to do this again,” she said gently, her voice carrying no suspicion, no awareness, only the comfort of a woman who’d welcomed you into her home and truly meant it.

“It was an honor,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, eyes lowered, fingers nervously wrapped around the strap of your bag, heart pounding loud and unrelenting in your chest.

Reed appeared behind you then, as if summoned by the rhythm of your exit, and without saying anything, without asking, he moved to walk you out, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back—a simple gesture, one that should’ve been harmless, innocent, but that felt anything but, especially after what those fingers had just done to you beneath a tablecloth in the dim golden light of a family dining room.

The door clicked shut behind the two of you, and the hallway beyond was quiet, cool, and still, a soft hum from the city beyond the glass, but the silence between you buzzed with something thicker, darker, more intimate than you could bear. He said nothing at first, only walked beside you with slow, unhurried steps, like the moment hadn’t already been branded into both your bodies, like he hadn’t watched you fall apart with your hand over your mouth while his wife got dessert.

At the door to the elevator, he stopped, and you turned toward him, still too flustered to meet his eyes, still trying to hold yourself together with trembling fingers and shallow breaths, your lashes lowered as you whispered, “Thank you for… dinner.”

His response came after a pause, his voice smooth, impossibly steady. “You were perfect.”

You froze—eyes flicking up, breath catching—and found him watching you with that same calm, unreadable expression, but there was something beneath it now, something warmer and darker and dangerous, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth that made your knees weaken all over again.

“Good girl,” he added softly, low enough that only you could hear it, and the elevator doors opened behind you with a soft ding, cool air spilling out into the hallway like a breeze that didn’t belong.

You stepped inside on trembling legs, unsure if you remembered how to breathe, and as the doors began to close, you looked back—just once—and there he was, standing exactly as he had before, his hands in his pockets, head tilted ever so slightly, still watching you, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t wait to take apart again.

And when the doors shut fully, sealing you into silence, your hand finally flew to your chest.

Because you had just survived dinner. Barely. And you weren’t sure you’d ever be the same again.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

let me know your thoughtssss

[slytherinshua]

୧　SLICE OF CAKE　( 전원우 )

genre fluff , established marriage , husband!wonwoo x wife!reader   cw food mention (cake) , teasing , they're in love and make me feel single , not proofread   wc 490   request @k1eev for wonwoo + arms clasped around one's waist for the 3k event   note man i haven't written for svt in a while but this reminded me how insane i am for wonwoo ever since i wrote fire lord wonwoo. that fic truly changed me and my bias line. i hope you enjoy kie!!!   net @kstrucknet

“Stop trying to run away. Come here.” Wonwoo’s voice was gentle and steady as always, but there was a subtle hint of amusement in his tone that only you would pick up. His words made your body relax almost immediately and a small smile crept on your lips.

“Why should I? You ate the last piece of cake,” you reminded him yet again, as if there was any possibility he would forget the fact with you reminding him every ten minutes the past hour.

“I’d buy you fifty cakes if that’s what you wanted. Just come here,” he told you, holding out his arms, waiting for you to consider the offer. You were only dawdling to tease him. He looked awfully cute with his glasses perched on his nose and his slightly messy hair from his gaming headphones. He hadn’t known you wanted the last piece of cake and had already apologized for it. He knew you were teasing him too, for just last week you had stolen food he had his eyes on as well. 

So you relented, and padded over to him, allowing his arms to find their home on your waist. His touch was firm, portraying his clear intentions. He wasn’t going to let you go until he had his fill. He hugged you close, lips right by your ear.

“Do you want me to buy you another cake?” he asked, and you giggled. He treated you too well.

“No, love. It’s okay. I don’t want another cake— just want you to keep holding me.” 

“Keep holding you? I think I can do that,” he said, smiling wider now. His grip on your tightened ever so slightly, the comforting hug welcome. Feeling Wonwoo so close to you was everything you could ever want, and infinitely better than a slice of cake.

You snaked your arms around his waist as well to mirror the gesture, looking up at him with pure love in your eyes. He looked back down at you with nothing but the same feeling, and another gentle squeeze to your waist told you everything. 

Your husband was a simple man, and it seemed like his only priority in life was to make sure you were happy. He did an excellent job at it, and you reminded him every day just how lucky you felt to have met him, fallen in love, and now be able to spend the rest of your life together. There was no better man you could have found, nor a better match for you than Wonwoo. Your perfect equal, even if he ate the last slice of cake sometimes. 

“How long do you want me to hold you?” he asked after a while. You looked like the last thing you wanted to do is make any moves to remove yourself from his arms.

“Forever.”

“I’m afraid I’m not so confident I can do that. But I can certainly try. Whatever my wife desires.”

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@shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,,

@wonwooz1,, @blossominghunnie,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu,,

@parkjennykim,, @wootify,, @svtoose,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,,

@sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @talking-saxy,,

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@nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @starshuas,, @raevyng,, @loserlvrss,,

@lexeees

[chastiefoul]

your bf satoru who always 'just happened' to walk in on you while you're changing.

-

"toru! you could've knocked," you claimed, caught completely off guard. the shirt you just took off still hanging on your arm, leaving you in bra and shorts. the man in question was unfazed, he did not even have the decency to look remorseful in the least.

"baby i told you to invite me when you're putting on a show!" his gaze was shameless, roaming around every inch of your skin like he haven't seen it before. "what show? i'm changing, you silly man," you said rolling your eyes at his usual antics, bending your hips as you slid down the black shorts you were wearing.

satoru groaned at the sight.

"this show baby. with a gorgeous body like yours everything is a show, anywhere is your stage. you're the star," he insisted exaggeratedly, his stare still glued to every moment you made. it was clear that the man was infatuated. you could only shook your head in response, a smile couldn't hold itself in.

you immediately noticed he had come to stand unnecessary close after you grabbed fresh clothes from the wardrobe. his greedy gaze was perplexed, as if he couldn't decide where to settle its stare. then he stopped at your chest, lingering a second too long before resting it there, not even trying to be subtle.

"you're staring, toru," you chuckled, pointing the obvious. "fuck, have i not been clear enough about it? sorry baby i'll try harder." he closed the distance between the two of you with ease, putting an arm around your lower back. the shirt that's in your hold dropped to the floor at the sudden genture, your chest all pressed up against him.

"such pretty tits," he whispered, his eyes full of heat. he planted some kisses on your collarbone, trailing all the way down to your bust. his hands squeezed your sides, "perfect hips," he mumbled to your skin. his kisses didn't stop, it really felt like he was singing praise to every part of your body, making sure he didn't miss a single inch. every touch had left your skin aflame, yet you didn't mind.

he kneeled, kissing the side of your thigh. "don't even get me started on these thighs," his bright blue eyes stared at you from below, the rush of excitement that's on your chest was something you couldn't even begin to explain. to have the strongest person kneeling in front you as he worshipped you so lovingly... you must've done something right in your past life was your only conclusion.

satoru began to stand, carrying you along with him. you squealed at the abruptness, but soon your back was met with the familiar softness of your bed. he put his hands on either sides of your head, looking at you like you're his world. he peppered kisses across your face as you laughed, it really felt like he just swallowed sunshine. the funny feeling flowing down his chest was something he'd never get used to, but in no way that it felt bad. not at all.

"you're so perfect baby."

you cupped his face gently, kissing him deeply. whispering words of gratitude against his lips, you felt him smile. which worried you a little since it's one of those mischevous he wore when he's up to no good.

oh you.

so oblivious.

oblivious to the fact that satoru's stream of compliments is far from over.

[pianocat939]

Yandere Player 230 (Thanos) Headcanons

(Since at the time of this post I finished episode 5, I'll only include the first 2 games, but I'll probably finish the season in like a day or two, so I'll probably write a part 2 later)

All my headcanons of Squid Game from here on out are the players trying to keep MC from being killed. For non-players, I'll think of something else.

Part 2

Tw: aggressive behaviour (slight violence), [Murder is probably gonna be the next part]

Probably notices you because one: you pretty. Especially when 196 dies right away. Before the game even starts though, he's already trying to flirt. He tries so hard to glorify himself so that maybe you'd be interested in him.

I say 100% what would pull him in even more is if the reaction from you turns out to be either: "No thanks" or "???". Like you're just trying to get the money. This Thanos dude is weird.

As soon as the first game starts and player 196 dies, he immediately focuses all of his attention on you. Other than winning the game of course.

Let's you lose your footing and start to fall when the doll the turns around. But just in the perfect moment, he hugs you from behind, keeping you pressed against him. He snickers, staring at you.

"Senorita, don't die yet. I haven't you made you obsess over me."

You know how high this mf is. He will try to get you to gallop with him lmao. He be like "Yippeee"

As you make the finish line. He pulls your cheek, laughing like a psycho.

"You're so cute. Don't worry. Thanos will destroy the evil with his infinity stones."

During voting, he tries to convince you to vote blue. He wants you on his team. He wants to keep playing this hellhole of a game with you. He's a psycho, he knows that.

If you don't, he'll just be clingy af and stick to you as much as possible. He literally doesn't give a single fuck what everyone else thinks. He just wants you to acknowledge him and maybe show interest.

During meal time, he probably tries to feed you or get you to feed him. He probably pokes you with the spoon until you eat.

"Come onnnn, you need to eat if you wanna survive with me, yeah?"

During sleep time, istg 10000% he will try to get into your bed when you're asleep. He doesn't care if it wakes you up. He just wants to see your reaction. He would try to convince you to sleep beside him too. He doesn't really care if it's cramped or not.

He definitely will offer his pills to you. Nothing's better than making sure you're not panicked and getting yourself killed.

During game 2, he'll pull you into his team along with Namgyu. He'll let you pick whatever game you're good at. He'll definitely make sure you're next to him. Preferably on the edge so you're only connected to him.

"You stay next to me. You're good at 딱지 No?"

During the 2nd voting, he'll be much more aggressive with trying to get you to continue the game. If you choose no, he'll be much more pissy and follow you everywhere. If you choose yes, you'll just feed into his interest with you. He'll hug you or hold your arm.

During the 2nd night, he'll just pull you to his mattress and not let you leave. He's surprisingly very perceptive. He won't hesitate to squeeze your arm a little tighter to make sure you stay.

"Don't leave little mouse. Wouldn't want to get stabbed to shreds by someone, right?"

He likes showing off his raps to you. He doesn't care if someone thinks he's stupid or weird.

"It's Thanos yeah? Wouldn't wanna kill yourself yeah?"

—————————————————————————

I'm sorry if my grammar is literally all over the place. If you couldn't tell, I am down bad for Thanos (and his actor being T.O.P. doesn't help).

- Celina

[multific]

The Dreamer Empress

Emperor Geta x Reader

Warnings: mention of murder, blood, and spoilers of the movie. The reader's character is based on Helaena Targaryen from House of the Dragon. 

Summary: You always dreamt—dreams of death, happiness and the Empire. But your dreams always come true.

The Dreamer Empress.

That is what the people of Rome called you.

What not one of them knew is how your dreams always come true.

Even as a child, you had dreams, and soon your suspicions were confirmed.

You dreamed of a man with firey hair whom you would marry. Who would love you so much, it was unimaginable. 

But whenever you see him in your dreams, he always has fire and death surrounding him.

You knew that had to be a sign.

A sign of his true nature.

But his eyes were so soft as he looked at you.

He couldn't be that bad right?

Perhaps you shouldn't have assumed so much. 

Perhaps you should have believed your dreams.

Emperor Geta was sadistic, angry and impatient.

But his eyes as he looked at you, seemed to change.

You saw it in them.

But you got scared, turned around and left.

After all, how would you explain to him that you have been having dreams about him? About a life you two can have.

The Emperor.

Of all men.

Of course, it had to be the Emperor.

You thought about running far. Never meet him again, but you still went to the Colosseum.

You still sat so you could see him. 

You watched as he decided on the fate of the men.

How can you already love him?

You only met him in your dreams.

Never even spoke a single word with him.

And yet you knew, you loved him.

Then, he suddenly looked at you. Of all the people there, his eyes locked with yours. 

And you immediately knew, there was no point in running. 

You were destined for him.

You met him the same day.

He was drinking some wine while his brother was laughing.

Geta was drawn to you the moment you entered. You tried your best to avoid him, but you knew it was pointless.

He found you and you gave yourself to him fully.

"Marry me." he whispered into the night before he kissed you.

---

You woke up in his arms, like many mornings before. 

You stirred and so did he. 

"My Love?" his voice was always so deep in the mornings.

"I had a dream." you whispered and he moved his head into your neck, you hugged him. "I dreamt... your brother was holding your head, but, your body wasn't there and Macrinus was behind your brother with a bloody knife in his hand."

"My Empress and her dreams. My Beautiful Wife and her gift from the Gods."

Geta learned about your dreams almost right after you two wed. You mentioned to him a Gladiator he would like. The next day, a new Gladiator showed up, earning the amusement of both Emperors.

Later, you mentioned to him a plan. The Senator's plan to overthrow him and his brother. You told him that in your dreams the Senator gathered with his people behind a lion.

Geta's soldiers found the Senator and his group of men hiding in a room with a lion statue blocking the door.

Geta believed in your dreams. He had no reason not to. They were all true.

He was the first to call your dreams a gift from the Gods.

"I will make sure Macrinus' plan falls." he said before kissing your lips. "My wife cannot lose me."

"I truly cannot." you looked into his eyes and he smiled, knowing just how serious you were.

He made sure Macrinus failed. 

Geta promised you a long and fulfilling life. And he would make sure to give you just that. 

Weeks passed, then a whole year.

Rome was growing and the people were happy.

They all loved the Empress, as much as the Emperor did.

"You haven't been having dreams recently." Geta noted one evening when you got ready for bed.

"I do have them, Geta. They are happy ones."

"You said those are rare."

"They are. But they do happen."

"Will you tell me what it was?"

"I had a dream of you with a boy."

"A boy?" he asked confused.

"Your son, I believe he was. He called me Mother as he ran to me when you told him to and he looked much like you."

"You dreamt of us having a son and didn't tell me?" he sounded rather hurt.

"I am sure I'm not pregnant."

"I know but... sometimes I wish I could see your dreams. The happy ones sound truly spectacular."

You smiled at him as you lay down in your bed.

"I am so used to seeing bad things, I rather not get carried away when I see something happy. I didn't mention this one to you because I was afraid it wouldn't come true."

"Of course it will. All of your dreams come true. This won't be any different. We will have that beautiful boy you saw. And we will be happy. I promise you, My Love."

"I like your promises. They are much like my dreams. You always make sure they become real." he kissed you on the lips after he joined you in bed. Moving to lay you on your back and he moved on top of you.

"That is because I simply love you."

"And I love you too." you said with a tear in your eye and pulled him in for another kiss.

Just how glad you were for not running away.

You were glad you stayed and decided to face your destiny. 

You were glad to have such a man by your side.

The crazy and violent Emperor of the people, who was also your loving and caring husband.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[renthony]

There's a post going around right now about women being allowed to wear pants, and the way that relates to discussions on gender nonconformity, etc.. There's a long thread of folks talking about how women very much do not have absolute freedom to dress masculine, and a few other posts that have spawned off the main discussion.

And I haven't added onto that main post because I didn't feel like I had much to add, but now it's been a couple days and I can't stop thinking about how I was forced to wear a dress to my high school graduation in small-town Mississippi. I'm not a woman, but I didn't know that yet, so it's a relevant story.

The school administration threatened every single girl with the punishment of being banned from walking across the stage if we wore pants beneath our graduation robes. We got an entire lecture about how it was inappropriate for us to wear pants to such an important formal event.

My school had a strict uniform policy, and the graduating seniors being allowed to wear our own clothes to graduation was seen as a huge fucking deal. We'd spent four years not being allowed to wear our own clothes or accessories, and graduation was supposed to be our time to finally wear what we wanted. This was a bigger deal than it might have been otherwise, because my school also refused to allow us to decorate our graduation caps. We were not allowed to display any customization at all. One girl put her name on hers so her family could find her from the crowded stands, and the school administration made her throw her hat away and buy a new one or else she wouldn't be allowed in the event hall.

The school, knowing how excited many of us were about picking our outfits, gave us a strict dress code. Our outfits wouldn't be seen until after we took off the graduation robes to go home, but still, we had a nightmarishly strict guide for what we were allowed to wear beneath them. They had to be formal outfits, they had to fit a certain color scheme, they had to adhere to the school policy about skirt length and skin visibility, and, naturally, they were extra harsh on the girls, as dress code policies always are.

One guy joked that he was going to go naked underneath in solidarity with all the girls who were upset about the dress requirement. He got pulled aside by an administrator and told that if he made that joke again, he wouldn't be given his diploma. Which I'm pretty sure is illegal, but it was still the threat that got made.

Everyone was pissed, several people were livid because they had already bought an outfit they were now not allowed to wear, because the administration had actively misled us for weeks into believing we would be allowed to wear what we wanted. There had been no mention of dress code requirements until they dropped them on us at rehearsal the morning of graduation, less than 12 hours before the event.

We had no power to override the school administration. We were given a strict lecture at rehearsal about how flouting dress codes is unprofessional and if we gave that kind of attitude to people over dress codes in the workplace, we'd be fired.

We were ultimately told that, "if it's not appropriate for church, it's not appropriate for graduation." Those of us who asked "what if we aren't Christian and don't even go to church" were told "you still know what kind of clothes church clothes are, so stop being rude."

This happened in May of 2011.