#anyways... whoever likes that one is getting a little more than a kiss under the pale moonlight

[moonstruckme]

Hey! Unsure what happened but I copy+pasted a request into my doc and now it's gone :( Anyway to whoever sent this, thank you!

Request: can i request hurt/comofort with high!reader x buzzed!sirius (or poly!mar whatever you’d like) where reader smokes a little more then she can handle and he takes care of her but he’s like still a little high himself, if that makes sense TT just nice and lovey and dovey!!!!

cw: weed, greening out, mention of vomit/nausea

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

Sirius is trying to be comforting, but he keeps getting distracted by the feel of your back underneath his hand. The muscles of your shoulders are tight, your breathing stilted and your skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Sirius can’t stop thinking about how he’d like to rest his face in between your shoulder blades and kiss an adoring line down your spine. He worries it wouldn’t be very helpful. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quieter than breath, a soft sigh drooping your shoulders as you let your head loll forward. 

Your body starts to list forward with it. Sirius weaves his arm under yours, settling down more comfortably on the bathroom floor and pulling you back against his chest. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I should have warned you about this. I need to remember to be careful with you.” 

Caution isn’t really in Sirius’ nature, but however unwisely, you put a lot of trust in him. The weed you’d smoked tonight was a different strain than the one he’s shared with you before, but he’d forgotten to clue you in. You’d matched him hit for hit, and with your lower tolerance it hadn’t ended well. You’ve been sick more than once. 

“You’re so nice,” you whisper. Your voice sounds tight. Sirius’ chest contracts, worrying you’re starting to get teary. “You don’t have to take care of me, but you are. You’re so, so nice.” Definitely teary now. “I’m really sorry for ruining your night.” 

“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your face with something akin to desperation. He already feels like his heart is going to spill right out of his ribcage, and your upset makes it about ten times worse. “You’re not ruining anything. Of course I have to take care of you, you’re my girl, you know? I want to.” 

He peers around you, trying to see your face. You’ve got that same, slightly spaced-out look you’ve had for the past hour, a sad little line between your brows. Sirius reaches up to smooth it out with his finger, and you turn toward him like you’d forgotten he was there. He wonders if this much affection can actually crush his bones to dust. It feels plausible.

“I love you,” he says. 

You sigh, fitting your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. It’s not a happy sound, but he knows it’s not meant for him. “You, too.” 

You take his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines in his skin. Your touch is so light it tickles. He has a small scar from a failed attempt at cooking with James when he first moved out, and when you get to it you raise his palm to your lips, resting them there purposefully. 

“Can I have a hug?” you mumble against his skin. 

“Fuck yeah, always.” 

Sirius does the work of turning you around, your own coordination not spectacular at the moment, and your arms curl under his arms, wrists crossing between his shoulder blades. He thinks your hands might be making fists. For his part, he rubs up and down your spine slowly, squeezing intermittently, unsure how much you want. Sirius has always been shit at comfort. He’ll keep trying as long as you let him.

“I don’t like this,” you admit. Your face feels warm where it’s pressing into his shoulder, and Sirius realizes you might be crying again. He hugs you harder. “I can’t think.” 

He feels, very acutely, his heart fracturing. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s awful.” 

“I’m scared,” you whimper. 

“I know, sweet girl.” He may well be crushing you now. If your ribs are breaking, you don’t seem inclined to say anything about it. “You’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve got you. Just try to relax, and I’ll take care of you, yeah?” You don’t respond, sniffling. Sirius rubs your back again. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick any more, darling?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

“Alright, my lovely. Let’s go to bed, okay? You might feel better when you wake up.” 

You hug him tighter. “Thank you for being so nice to me.” 

“Wrong again,” he says, tucking a kiss into your hair. “I’m not nice to you, I just love you too much.” 

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Best friend!Stevo helps shy reader cum after hearing about all of her less than mediocre hook ups. Maybe when they’re done stevo says something like “goddamn, you should’ve told me you felt that damn good months ago. Left me completely in the dark, man 😔”

I love this sm omg. Proofread

𝒢ℴℴ𝒹 𝒻𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓃𝒹𝓈

Warnings- p in v, afab reader, mention of bad hookups, making out, oral (f)

You and Steven, or Stevo, were good friends. He found you interesting, and although you might not seem like it to some, he thought you were pretty damn cool.

You hung out on your bed, listening to the person on the tv. You didn’t expect the knock on your door. You slowly got up, in no hurry. They could wait, whoever it was.

You opened the door slightly and the first thing you saw was the blue hair. You opened it more.

“Stevo?” You asked softly, confused at the sudden sight. You had a blanket wrapped around you, it was pretty early.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind.” He let himself in. You weren’t shocked at this point, you shut the door and looked at him.

“What’s up?” You asked.

“I just wanted to see you. Haven’t seen you in a while.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Oh.”

“How are you?” He asked. You yawned.

“Tired.” You laughed.

“Why didn’t you show up yesterday? To the party.” He asked blatantly.

“You know parties aren’t my thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Well, your already here. You want coffee.. or something?”

“Sure.”

You both sat down on your bed now, as he looked at a note on your desk. He furrowed an eyebrow and picked it up.

“Had a great time last n-“ he read out loud.

“No, no!” You groaned when you heard it, trying to take it from him, but he lifted it in the air and continued to read it.

“And I was wondering if you wanted to meet up at-“

“Stevo!” You whined, as he laughed loudly, you climbed on top of the man but he continued to read it. Your cheeks heated up.

“From Josh.” He said in a swoony voice, you rolled off of him and folded your arms.

After a little while, he asked with a laugh, “So, was he any good?

"No. I can't go. He was just awful," you said with a shudder.

“Why was he horrible?” He asked, interested now.

“It’s not important-“

“No, I feel like I need to know now.” He laughed, raising his eyebrows.

“So many reasons.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t wanna..”

“C‘mon, give me the details.”

You sighed “These few months, all I’ve had is these not very good hookups. Maybe my standards are high or maybe these men just can’t fucking fuck.”

“Mm. Probably both.” He joked.

As you struck him in the arm, he quickly muttered a soft apology.

“Anyways, this guy was an asshole. First, he didn’t take off his shoes in my damn place, and he didn’t until we started to have sex. Then when he did, he was sloppy, I think he was a virgin.”

He made a face at your words.

“It gets worse. None of them have made me orgasm, I had to fake it. I haven’t had one for months.”

“I could help with that.” He shrugged. You looked at him, thinking he was joking. But no, his face made it seem like he was indeed serious.

“"Stop," you said with a small laugh as you looked back at the TV.

“What? You don’t think I could?”

“You’re joking. It’s funny, Stevo.”

“I’m not.” He said, his tone serious this time. You both stared at each other for a moment, before leaning in. He made it so he was on top of you, cupping your face and kissing you.

He slid his tongue into your mouth, making you moan out in the process. Once you both moved away, a string of saliva followed. He quickly began to unbutton his pants, and you took off your shirt and bra.

He then looked at your pants, taking them off quickly, throwing them along with the rest of your guys clothes. He was quick, and he stared at your almost naked body.

You looked away and crossed your arms, feeling shy under his gaze.

You feel his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t.” He said. He then moved his way back in between your legs. He pulled your panties down, he looked up at you, and he put his mouth on your pussy.

His hands gripped your thighs as he licked like it was his last meal. Your noises motivated him, he focused on your clit, licking a stripe up the bundle of nerves.

You moaned out his name, his ego grew at every one you let out.

You had a firm grip on his hair.

“Stevo- Im-“

He didn’t stop, in fact, his tongue worked faster, it felt heavenly on your pussy.

You came on his face, your first orgasm in months. He came up from in between your legs, licking it from his lips.

You thought for a while about how your best friend had just eaten you out. He had just helped you get your first orgasm in what felt like forever.

Your thoughts were interrupted when he pulled his boxers down, you were shocked by his size.

He asked what was wrong when he saw the expression on your face, a proud smirk on his lips.

“Are you sure that's gonna…”

"We'll find out," he shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes.

Your eyes fixed on him with an intense desire, a desire that he reveled in.

He stroked his cock a few times in front of you, as you laid in front of him. He moved his cock to your entrance, looking closely at your reaction when he slid into your pussy.

Your face scrunched up and he stayed still inside you for a little.

“Okay. Move. Please.” you nodded.

“Yes ma’am,” he said jokingly, starting to move deeper inside, his hands were on your sides as he started to thrust slowly at first.

But you needed more. “Stevo- faster-” you said

He listened, his thrusts turned quicker, a lot quicker than you expected the man to be. He was thrusting at a brutal pace, slamming his hips into yours.

“Fuck. You feel amazing.” he moaned out, throwing his head back for a moment, fully enjoying this moment.

Both of your guy's noises were the only thing that could be heard, bouncing off the walls.

He focused on the way you squeezed him, fuck, you felt amazing. He wanted to be buried in your pussy forever.

He loved the way your eyes were screwed shut and the noises that came from your mouth. It was something straight out of his biggest wet dream.

“Stevo!” you cried out, he was hitting your g spot, and you loved every second he thrust his hips into yours.

He knew you were about to come, he could tell by the way you were squeezing him so hard it was harder to move in and out.

He just listened to the way you cried out his name, and the way you came on his cock, it truly did feel like a dream, he was sure he’s never had pussy this good.

He came after you, starting to slow down his movements as they got slightly sloppy.

He pulled out of you, the both of you breathing heavily. He just looked at you and flopped down next to you.

“You should have told me you felt that good months ago. I feel left in the dark.” he turned his head to you, and you turned to him with a giggle.

“Well, now you know.”

[pedgito]

hi bestie, could i please request either steve or eddie, whoever you're feeling more, smoking weed with their good friend f!reader and learning that she gets a major oral fixation when she's high? love your writing the absolute most!

author's note: look, i couldn't choose so you get both. i also don't write steve often so if this is horrible i'm sorry lol

cw: 18+ (minors dni), established friendship, steve is a little clueless, smoking/getting high, threesomes, oral fixation (sorta, i lost focus pretty quick lol), oral (f & m receiving), mentions of steddie, lots of kissing and teasing each other, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 5k

Steve wasn’t supposed to be here—not that you cared, but it was a surprise when you walked through the door that night and he was settled on Eddie’s living room couch, shoes left by the door and his sock covered feet plopped up on the cushion that separated him and Eddie. You can’t even imagine the conversation you interrupted when they both stare at you wide-eyes, like Eddie forget to mention to Steve that you were coming over—or that possibly, he forgot about you coming over at all.

It wasn’t a weekly thing, but Eddie would pick a few random nights out of the month to smoke with you and watch a couple movies—you’d knew each other since grade school, when Eddie had much less of a mane than he did now and wasn’t nearly as intimidating to people. Not that he could ever seem that way to you, it was impossible.

“Oh, hey—” Eddie breathes, fingers tapping absently against the arm of the couch where his arm was slung over, knee tucked up under his forearm, his foot planted firmly against the cushion. He was dressed down, a plain black shirt and similarly colored sweatpants. Steve still had on his work uniform, pinned name tag stuck to his vest, “Steve’s here.”

You smile slightly, closing the door shut behind you and tossing the small bag on snacks on his cluttered kitchen counter. “I see that.” You nod, making eye contact with the culprit, Steve looked severely out of place, “Steve.”

“I should go, right?” Steve asks wearily, finger pointing toward the front door. “I feel like I’m interrupting something—“

“No, it’s fine.” You assure him, “I just—“ A small laugh bubbles from your chest, “since when does Steve Harrington smoke weed?”

“Hey—I’ve smoked before,” Steve defends, “I mean, my parents would kill me if they found out about it, but I have a few times.”

You glance over at Eddie, his face riddled with amusement.

“He’s a crowd smoker, isn’t he?”

“A what?”

“You only smoke around groups because everyone else is doing it—but to answer that question,” Eddie looks at you with a narrowed gaze, “he’s not.”

“Oh?”

You’re intrigued, you couldn’t help it—hanging out with Steve had never been on your agenda, but it wasn’t the worst possible scenario.

“We’ve smoked a few times before,” Eddie explains, “like, once or twice.”

“So, you’re cheating on me with Harrington?” You feign the shot to your ego, hand pressed against your chest as you leaned against the counter, still a large distance from the two boys.

They looked comfortable, at ease—despite your steady friendship with Eddie, you didn’t realize just how close him and Steve had become. You’ve only tagged alone to Family Video a few times with Eddie, figuring most of it was just polite small talk, but it all makes a lot more sense now.

“I could never,” Eddie smiles, reaching for the blunt tucked securely behind his ear, flipping it through his fingers, “anyways, are we gonna start a game of twenty one questions or—“

“Wayne’s gonna kill you if he finds out you smoked on his couch.” You remind him.

“Obviously—“ Eddie retorts, “that’s why we’re moving this to the bedroom.”

You grimace in subtle disgust, “God, why do you say it like that?”

“It’s a special place,” Eddie replies dramatically, “where all the magic happens.”

Steve looks up at you, eyes wide but soft, lips down-turned in a slight frown, “Is he always like this?”

“With me?” You ask redundantly, “Yes.”

Not that you minded any of it, Eddie was probably the only person that could get away with talking to you in such a manor that didn’t make you immediately want to vomit.

Eddie always called it the Munson charm, whatever that was.

Steve coughs through the first couple of drags, not allowing the smoke to reach his lungs properly. It was like watching a baby try to stand on it’s own for the first time and Steve was severely out of his element.

“Have you been letting him smoke like this?” You ask Eddie, eyes widened in shock. Eddie shrugs, pressing the joint to his lips. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“I could shotgun him,” Eddie jokes lightheartedly, “but I don’t need him falling in love with me.”

“Like, when you shotgun a beer?” Steve asks curiously, eyes watching your movements carefully, lips closing around the joint and breathing in deep, chest heaving at the action. His look lingers down the valley of your chest before quickly averting back to your eyes, “I’ve done that before.”

You and Eddie both share a similar laugh, glancing over at Steve with amusement, Eddie offers a soft, “Uh—close, but not really.”

“Not close at all.” You shake your head, looking at Eddie with bemusement. “Steve, have you actually been able to get high? I mean, do you ever feel anything?”

“Well, there was that one time—“ Steve doesn’t elaborate, eyes turned up toward the ceiling as he thought, head tilted slightly, “but that wasn’t weed.”

Your mouth hung open slightly, watching Steve chew at his bottom lip, “I’m not even gonna ask,” You respond, glancing over at Eddie, “—wanna demonstrate?”

Eddie smiles widely, “My pleasure, sweetheart.” Eddie rests his hand on the side of your face, joint shoved between his lips as he breathed in the smoke before carefully holding it off to the side, using the leverage he had on your face to squeeze your mouth open, blowing the smoke into your own mouth, laughing airily as his tongue grazed your own.

Steve couldn’t do anything but stare, eyes glazed over in astonishment as he watched the exchange, both of you pulling back with a satiated smile.

“How have we never done that before?” Eddie asks curiously, pulling back with a subtle pout.

“Because, you disgust me.” You smile, lying through your teeth. You couldn’t openly admit how quickly your mind drifted elsewhere when you got this high, how easily a simple touch could drive you crazy.

Eddie was handsy like this, always finding a reason to cuddle up against you or kiss you lazily—and you didn’t try to stop him, but it was very few and far between that you actually allowed it. You were good at burying it away, offering a small peck or closed-mouth kiss in return, but even that was maddening. If it went further, Eddie would call it out immediately—he had no problem teasing you about it.

“Here, do Harrington.” Eddie suggests with a snide smirk, watching as you rolled your eyes annoyance.

You turned to a curious Steve with a small, comforting smile and mirrored Eddie’s actions, pressing the joint to your lips and grabbing at Steve’s face, which he welcomed easily, tilting his neck slightly as your palm curved around the underside of his firm jaw. You could feel the prickle of stubble against your fingertips, something that sent a surge of excitement through your body despite how hard you tried to ignore it.

“Do I just—“ Steve stammers, quickly interrupted by a head shake from you, pressing your lips to his fully, blowing the smoke into his mouth, a small noise escaping his throat in response, tongue grazing against your top lip accidentally as he pulled away, “—fuck, sorry.”

Eddie can see it on your face when you pull away, swallowing hard as you watched Steve lick his chapped lips, blurting out a, “No fuckin’ way.”

“What?” Both you and Steve respond in unison.

“That’s why you don’t want me kissing you?” Eddie asks, a snide smirk pulling at his face.

“Eddie,” You warn, “shut up.”

Steve eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, watching the exchange between you two.

“Let’s do it again.” Eddie urges, knowing exactly the type of reaction he would get if you let him, “One more time.”

“No.” You grumble, ignoring the immediate interest your body has in the matter.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find Eddie attractive, that wasn’t the case at all—but you and Eddie had always been careful about crossing that line. However, Eddie wasn’t the one who wanted that, it was you. He’d pounce on you in a heartbeat if you allowed it, and frankly, your judgement was skewed at the moment.

“Just the one,” He begs, “and I’ll leave it alone.”

It was a dangerous move to make and you blamed your lack of hesitancy on the high that was creeping in, huffing out a long sigh before waving him forward.

“Fine.” You grumble, an eager Eddie already poised to lean forward. Steve doesn’t know where to look, feeling like he might be intruding, but he watches on anyways.

Eddie presses his lips against yours fully, with all the confidence he can muster, tongue dragging along yours slowly, smoke forgotten about as it seeps through the cracks, bellowing out of his nose as he initiates the kiss. You moan brokenly, eyes falling shut as you played into his game, unable to help yourself. It was just too good.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says lovingly, pulling back for a brief moment, “you’ve been keeping secrets.”

“Am I missing something?” Steve asks, breaking through the tense silence that had developed between you and Eddie, your eyes glaring pensively into his own.

Eddie chuckles deeply, passing the joint to Steve, “I never really noticed until just now—“ He points at you sparingly, “It’s only ever when we smoke that she acts that way and I didn’t think anything of it until I watched you two. I assumed you were just playing it up to mess with me—“

“I like being kissed when I’m high,” You offer bluntly, “or just like—my mouth gets really sensitive, I can’t explain it.”

“I think you just did.” Eddie remarks, offering a sickeningly sweet smile your way.

“Is that bad?” Steve asks, still partially confused. “I don’t see how that’s a problem?”

Eddie makes a noise of triumph, “See, Steve gets it.”

“I get it.” Steve agrees, hands motioning toward himself.

“Great—you’re both geniuses. Now, can we move on?”

Eddie was resilient though—and apparently, so was Steve. They both share a look, similar to what you walked in on earlier. Your eyebrows furrow slightly, glancing between the two of them.

“Hey—no, what was that?” You ask, finger wagging back and forth between the two of them briefly. You’re almost embarrassed to ask, afraid you might be overthinking things. “Wait, are you both, like—“

“No!” Steve responds quickly, clearing his throat to better compose himself, “No, uh—we’ve kissed before but that’s it.”

Something tells you that's a lie.

“Steve was asking if I’ve ever had a threesome.” Eddie interrupts, “I told him no—unfortunately, Steve forced himself into a tricky predicament and now he’s completely in over his head, aren’t you pretty boy?”

“Was I supposed to say no?” Steve asks, like the idea seemed ridiculous. “Who says no to that?”

“Lots of people,” You tell him, “—you don’t need to feel obligated because it’s some, like, rite of fuckin’ passage. That’s all bullshit.”

“I mean, I wanted to.” Steve assures you, “I still want to.”

You press further, “But?”

“I might’ve played it up,” Steve admits, “They’ve both never done it before and I told them I had some experience with it.”

“Steve,” You groan, covering your face with your hands in frustration, “oh my god—you know what, it actually makes total sense.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Why you two are friends,” You tell him, holding up your fingers to emphasize your point, “Clueless, full of yourself, and way too horny.”

“So, we’re just drifting over your whole oral fixation thing?” Eddie laughs, “Like that wasn’t just a few minutes ago?”

You clench your jaw, snatching the joint from Steve’s hands angrily and taking a long, deep drag. You weren’t high enough to deal with this, not yet.

“Then what the fuck was that look?” You ask, “Or are we keeping secrets now, Eddie?”

And there’s nothing he hates more than his own words being used against him, a saccharine smile spreading across your face.

“I told Steve I’d be down to help him practice, but that we’d need to find another participant,” Eddie shrugs, “kinda defeats the purpose of a threesome if you can’t find a third.”

“I might’ve brought your name up earlier,” Steve admits shyly, “I was just joking initially—but you walked in right after that.”

It all makes sense then, the weird look and tension that lingered when you stepped foot inside Eddie’s trailer. You could feel it now, but less uncomfortable—and you almost, almost propositioned them yourself. But no, you weren’t nearly as bold as either of them. Plus, with the high kicking in, you couldn’t help yourself.

“I’m not having sex with either of you,” You tell them firmly, and Eddie has the courage to laugh, plucking the joint from your fingers and snuffing it out in the ashtray at his bedside, “not in a million fuckin’ years.”

“Hey, woah—woah,” Eddie chides, “slow your roll, sweetheart.”

Eddie was wounded, but he didn’t show it.

Steve blinks heavily and you can see it on his face, the switch in his demeanor as the weed settles in.

“I just wanted to—I don’t know, test it out?” Steve shrugs, “Some kissing and stuff.”

“Unless you’re afraid to watch us kiss,” Eddie presses, “is that it? Is it too much for you?”

He’s only teasing, but it’s enough to make you retort in annoyance.

“Oh, like when you nearly busted in your pants after I made out with Chrissy Cunningham in front of you at that party last year?” You ask with a snark to your tone, “I can handle myself a lot better than you can, Eddie.”

Steve eyes you wearily, still looking ridiculous in his work uniform, the vest bunching up around his stomach where his shirt had ridden up from him laying out on his side against Eddie’s bed.

“So, is that a yes?” Steve asks hopefully.

“On one condition,” You tell him, “we never speak of this again.”

“Deal.” They both respond in unison, far too eager.

It feels like a fever dream, Steve leaning over you to reach for Eddie, meeting him in the middle of your lap. He’d finally took the vest off after some persuasion from you, striped cotton shirt riding up in his stomach, the few buttons it did have were completely unbuttoned and failing to hide that patch of chest hair hidden underneath. Eddie smiled into the kiss, the dimple in his cheek deepening at the emotion he showed, the familiar sense of giddiness spreading throughout his body.

You’re not sure what to do, where to look, until Eddie’s hand is squeezing at your thigh, over the material of your jeans, a reassuring pressure that reminded him that you were still a part of this—he wanted you to watch, as taboo as it was for you.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Eddie assures you, mouth still very much involved with Steve, both of there eyes shut in pure bliss as their mouths met at an unhurried pace, all tongue and sloppy cadence. “You can stare all you want.”

And you do it, falling back on your palms as Steve’s hands fell in front of himself, just between the space in your legs, your chest rising and falling with every slow breath you took, afraid to move, afraid to interrupt the moment—until Steve separates from Eddie without hesitation and pulls you to him, the heat of his palm spreading out across your cheek as he kissed you gently, less forced that with Eddie.

This was new to him, and you; he didn’t want to come on too strong and you appreciated that, but it wasn’t nearly what you were hoping for. You needed the intensity, all of it—if this was following you all to the grave, it was going to be worth it.

Eddie makes a noise, noting the frustration on your face.

He tuts, running his fingers gingerly through the back of Steve’s hair, “More, Harrington.”

You laugh softly against his lips, “Really, it’s okay—I don’t need you to hold back.”

“You sure?” Steve asks quietly, noses bumping together gently in the process, leaving slow, lingering kisses against your lips, the kind that had you chasing after him for another. “I can get a little, uh—“

“Intense?” You finish for him, “Even better.”

Steve chuckles at that, slipping his hands around your backside until they’re resting just underneath the curve of your ass, adjusting you gently until you’re laid out against the mattress, Eddie following along too as he sprawls out on his side, fingers drifting along the skin of your exposed stomach, shirt pulled up slightly in the process.

Steve follows through on his words, hand pulling at your thigh until it bracketed against his hip, tongue delving into your mouth without hesitation, alighting every nerve-ending possible, an audible moan slipping from your throat and into Steve’s mouth. He bucks his hips involuntarily through his movements, pulling at your hands until they’re locked above your head in his grip, freeing one of his hands to tip your chin up, kissing you until you can’t breathe, pulling away briefly to allow yourself the luxury, catching glimpse of Eddie’s relaxed state, palm rubbing at the front of his sweatpants lazily. Steve notices it too, glancing down with a soft laugh.

“You did say ‘and stuff’,” Eddie defends weakly, his idle hand still resting comfortably against the expanse of your stomach, a constant reminder of his presence—not that you could forget it, “don’t worry, I’ll keep it in my pants.”

“Don’t,” You tell him honestly, and Steve pulls back slightly, startled by your words, “—what? I said no sex, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy all the other stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks for reassurance.

You nod, “I mean, I would be doing the same thing to you, but uh—“ You looked up to your joined hands and back down at him, “there seems to be a problem.”

“O-oh,” Steve responds quickly, releases your hands gently. You smile devilishly, hands fisted into the front of Eddie’s shirt to pull him closer, “can I touch you?” Steve asks, neither pleading nor begging, rather just checking in.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” You say admittedly, shifting your legs until Steve can shove his knee in the apex, Eddie’s lips becoming curious as they latch into your neck, “—hey, no marks.”

Eddie makes a small noise of disapproval, the flurry of his hair near your face smelling of cheap weed and old spice, “Touch her, Steve.” Eddie instructs, his wandering hands following the line of your body until they reach the button on your jeans, deft fingers working away to pop it open.

Your hands feel empty, jittery with anticipation and the only thing you can think to do is busy them, rubbing your open palm over the front of Eddie’s sweats, a noise of approval leaving his throat as his lips latch onto your neck. He ruts slowly, savoring the friction as his hand finds its way toward Steve’s thigh and over the front of his own jeans—Eddie knows exactly what Steve’s packing, unbeknownst to you and the smug grin on his face is obvious as his hands search and squeeze gently, a rough, throaty chuckle leaving Steve’s mouth as he kisses you once more. It’s deep and needy, teeth dragging against your bottom lip as his hands move in time, slipping over the front of your underwear, his fingers rubbing over the soft patch of wetness.

Steve eyes connect with yours in a look of knowing, mumbling a soft, “Yeah?” at the obvious state of your arousal.

“I told you it was a problem,” You say through a weak laugh that quickly turns into a gasp as Steve moves the fabric to the side and runs a finger through your folds, gauging your response, “I really can’t help it.”

“And thank god for that,” Eddie remarks, shoving Steve out of the way gently to pull your mouth to his, kissing you hungrily, tongue darting out towards yours in a challenge, begging you to chase him, “right, Harrington?”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, looking up at an amused Steve, his fingers working slowly against your cunt, careful touches until your face scrunches up in pleasure, finding just the spot he was looking for, “He talks too much, doesn’t he?” Steve asks with a flippant tone, glancing over at his friend who can’t be bothered to care, mouth dragging against yours as you pull away to speak, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

“Absolutely.” You nod slowly, gripping the front of Eddie’s jeans a little tighter, his cock throbbing underneath your touch.

“I know something that’ll keep my mouth busy,” Eddie hints, earning a skeptical look from you.

But, lines were already being crossed and you couldn’t be bothered to stop him, offering another nod his way.

“Fuck—go ahead,” You breath and Eddie pulls away swiftly, you glance up at Steve, watching as he tried to process what was happening, his own cock straining behind the zipper of his jeans, “come here.”

Steve shifts hesitantly on his knees, your fingers slipping past his waistband, pulling him the rest of the way.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Steve interrupts, your fingers trailing over the bulge in his jeans, “I don’t really—“

“Steve,” You drag out, “I want to.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks.

It’s endearing, how often he tried to check in with you—and maybe it’s his own nervousness doing the talking, but it’s comforting knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling as if you were losing your mind.

“It’s either your mouth, your fingers, or your dick—” You list off, shifting slightly as Eddie pulled at your jeans, interjecting with a snide, “I know what I’d chose.” You smile up at Steve, “You heard him, Harrington.”

And to be fair, you had a sense of Steve’s size, but it’s much more intimidating when he yanks at his jeans, underwear following suit until his cock was standing stiff in front of your face—and suddenly you’re jealous that you’ve shit on Steve’s flirting tactics for so long, because the confidence was absolutely justified. Eddie’s fingers squeeze at your thighs, bring you back to reality and to the realization of your bare cunt positioned in front of Eddie’s face—all weird and awkward tension completely dismissed when he smiles up at you, offering a teasing, “Go easy on her, big boy.”

Steve is just as unfiltered as Eddie in his actions and words, but while Eddie is the type to offer you constant praise and sweet remarks, Steve is nothing but a mess in his own mind, murmuring out a soft, repetitive, “Fuck, fuck,” as you mouth at the tip of his cock, tongue running along the slit to taste at the rivulet of precome resting there, the weight of his cock against your tongue driving you wild, a tinge of excitement running through your body as Eddie’s tongue flattens out over your sensitive clit, moaning from the over-stimulation.

You can’t help but stare up at Steve’s parted lips, plump and wet from how often he licked them, eyes solely focused on you as his hesitant hands came up to cup your face, fingers gliding into the hair at the base of your neck, giving him an unobstructed view as your cheeks hollowed out, mouth sinking down on him in languid strokes, leaning heavily on your elbow as you free hand reached up to cover what your mouth couldn’t reach. It only seems to spur Steve further, pleading eyes boring into his own—you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Steve nods, using the leverage he had to push his cool deeper until your eyes water from the force of it, pulling back with a strained gasp, wiping at your spit covered lips.

“Fuck, I’ve never—“ Steve sighs, “People always say it’s too much,” He’s not sure what he’s trying to say, but he’s staring down with intrigue, the gears turning in his head, “can you take more?”

Eddie’s working you up quickly, tongue flicking over your clit in hurried movements, using his hands to keep your thighs spread to the point of strain, muscles protesting the stretch. Your hand leaves Steve’s cock briefly, burying into the curls at the top of Eddie’s head, hips bucking up into his face selfishly.

Eddie shakes his head slightly, pulling away in punishment.

“Answer him, sweetheart.” He orders, “Don’t let me distract you.”

You give him an incredulous look, filling with a sense of rage at his stubborn, only interrupted when Steve’s fingers tapping at the underside of your chin, urging you to look up at him.

His eyebrows raise in question, earning a jerky nod in return, letting him guide his cock against your lips, his own hand gripped firmly at his shaft like he’s struggling to stave off his own orgasm, a small pout forming in his lips as he watched his cock slowly disappearing into your mouth until it’s just as deep again. You breath through your nose, a slow, deep intake as he pushes even further and holds you there, his head falls back, “Fuck—that’s so,” Steve lingers on the words, interrupted by Eddie’s never-ending comments.

“She likes the praise, Steve.” Eddie supplies, “No reason to hold back now.”

Steve nods absently, groaning out a broken, “Good girl,” and you swallow around him at that, pulling an even needy groan from his chest, “Oh, good fuckin’ girl.”

He pulls back suddenly, allowing you some relief before slipping back in, his hips moving eagerly into your mouth, hands still gripped firmly at the back of your neck as he fucks into your mouth just as you hoped for, taking as much as him as you could—even if it still wasn’t enough.

You can feel the deep pit of pleasure in your belly, thighs struggling against Eddie’s hold as you tip over the edge unexpectedly, moaning against Steve’s cock—and he’s not expecting it either, gasping out a desperate, “Where? Where can I—“

Steve’s never gone so far to come inside someone’s mouth without asking, but you don’t need to hear it, urging him along with your mouth, lips closing around him tightly as you work him over until he’s coming with a rough groan, pulling gently at your hair from the sheer force that his orgasm hits him, hips thrusting slightly as he rides it out, coming down your throat in long, thick spurts. It’s an afterthought to swallow as he pulls his dick out slowly, resting back on his calves and closing his eyes in exhaustion, letting go of your hair to rest his palms against the mattress.

Eddie looks up with a satisfied grin, having witnessed the exchange with a heated gaze, mouth still shining with your wetness and making him look insane as he laughed, “She’s a keeper, right?” Eddie compliments.

Steve nods dumbly, taking a deep breath as he speaks, “I’ve never came in anyone’s mouth before—that was…”

“Really?” You ask with a lilt to your voice, “Never?”

Steve shakes his head, staring at you openly until Eddie’s forcing his way back up and connecting his mouth with yours sloppily, chuckling through the motions as he pulls Steve down clumsily—he can taste Steve on your tongue, the headiness of it and you can taste yourself just as well, an intense exchange as Eddie sighs into your mouth, “Wanna taste her?” He asks to Steve, tilting his head to the side as Steve hovered over, face just a few inches away from both of you. He smile slightly, connecting his lips to Eddie’s with practiced ease, allowing the dirty exchange of Eddie’s tongue licking into his mouth, pulling on the metalhead's hair in response that has Eddie groaning playfully, teeth showing through his grin.

“I might have to give up that other threesome.” Steve jokes, loose hair bouncing against his forehead as he pulls away, both you and Eddie looking up at him curiously.

“You heard the lady—it’s a one and done deal.” Eddie explains with a hint of sadness, playing up the emotion.

But, Eddie knows far too well, eyeing you until you finally give in with an exasperated sigh.

“We tell no one,” You emphasize, “got it?”

Steve nods eagerly.

“Told you,” Eddie teases, tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he smiles, glaring up at Steve, “didn’t I?”

“Told him what?”

“Steve’s a little irresistible to the ladies and gents,” Eddie says knowingly, “even the stubbornest ones.”

You roll your eyes dramatically, “We can forget him next time.” You tell Steve, which he shrugs in response too, seemingly agreeing.

“Hey,” Eddie responds with offense, voice cracking slightly, “what—that’s not fair.”

“She’s the boss.” Steve defends, finding the time to pull his pants back up and shift to lay beside you on the bed.

“Oh wait,” The thought dawns on you suddenly, staring down at Eddie’s noticeably less prominent bulge, “—you didn’t—“

“I did,” Eddie laughs uncomfortably, shifting to reveal noticeable wet spot at the front of his sweats, “speaking of, I need to go change.”

“I’ll keep her company.” Steve grins devilishly, letting Eddie flick his vest back in his direction, the material hitting him directly in the chest as Eddie disappears down the hall.

Eddie’s only slightly offended when he returns to Steve pressing you down into the mattress again, teasing you with the slowest kisses possible. But you pull him in without question, letting him fall into a lazy rhythm of trading kisses—and maybe when the high wore of you’d regret all of it, but you can’t be bothered to care.

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

[yunablogs]

Fontaine Women x Reader, Headcannons/drabbles?

Contents : Lynette, Navia, Clorinde, Focalors || Cuddling, Court Trials, Established Relationship, All women are separate

TW : Murder

Word Count : a little under 700 in total, abt 100-200 each Extra : Not Proof Read, First time writing for a few of these characters| --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lynette

- Lynette is a hard working individual, she often will come home extremely tired after doing a show with her brother and having to be the main one in the act besides her brother who was the star of the show, she just had to be the prop and do dangerous things

- When she comes home, and you’re sitting on your living room sofa, she quickly flops down on top of you and rests her head on your chest, purring softly like a small little kitten, she feels comfortable and slowly recharging in your presence and laying on your chest

- Once she wakes up she gets immediately flustered once she notices she's been laying on your chest and purring, she sits up and apologizes, but instead you pull her down back to your chest and she accepts it while you pet her head, and she goes back to sleep

- Whenever Lynette notices you're at one of her and her brothers shows, she immediately gets 10x happier and feels the obligation to work 10x harder than she normally would.

Navia

- Navia is the type of girlfriend to instead of laying on your chest, have you lay on hers, even if she had a bad day that's what she prefers, just having your head on her chest while you both hold each other.

- She's the type to every time you have a date, bring you flowers or chocolate. Even if you're going to a place where it's not appropriate to give those, she still does anyway.

- If you ever get insecure about your body, she will spend hours kissing over your body where your comfortable at LEAST 5 times, its normally around 10 times that she will.

- Navia likes coming up behind you and holding you by the waist and placing her head on your shoulder and just relaxing her eyes, sometimes she’ll sneak up on you by flying down by her umbrella and then doing it.

Clorinde

- Clorinde despite Navia and Lynette is not mainly the cuddly type, she’ll put her hand around you every once in a while, but never in public. In fact, she acts like she almost doesn't know you in public. But you’ve shouted to the whole world that you’re dating the great Clorinde, so everyone knows.

- Despite not being the cuddly type, Clorinde still at least a bit romantic, she kisses you a few times every morning and 2 more times before you or her leave for daily duties. Its whoever leaves earlier really.

- She will bring you home small things everyday, wether it be a small box of chocolates, or a rose or two, she still always finds a way to gift you

- When a day has been rough, she kinda (surprisingly) really just wants to lay her head on your lap and look up and you, wondering ‘how did they romance me..’

Focalors

- You’re watching one of the court trials Focalors is in with Neuvillette, She's winking at you occasionally before it starts. Once the court trial does start, you hear the claims of the accused. “Do you plead guilty, or not guilty, to murdering your wife in your shared home?” and Focalors immediately perks up, she is excited for a possible execution to happen.

- Once the court trial is done, she packs up a few things she brought with her and leaves through a few doors to come see you, as she immediately jumps on your back (or if you're shorter than her, she comes up and hugs you really tightly.) as you almost fall over from the sudden actions she preformed.

- A few minutes later she drags you home to talk about the court trial details and to sum them up, this was really the only trial she wasn't bored at so she knew the details. You were just happy to hear her talk, afterall. It is your girlfriend.

- She likes laying literally anywhere on you and talking about something random, you want her to lay on your chest? Done in two seconds. You want her to lay on your lap? gladly.

Thank you so much for reading this far!! and tysm for all the likes and follows ive been getting, i truly thank you all for it

[anpanham]

Hazbin Hotel character thoughts / impressions (Episodes 1 & 2)

1/12/24

UM. what a weird first actual post for my blog for this year... this is long, and i miss making ACTUAL blog posts instead of small threads... And i've explained on my twitter my thoughts on Hazbin / Helluva from a critical standpoint and artist from art separation, yadda yadda yadda---

ANYWAY... Episodes 1 and 2 of Hazbin are (Officially) out now, and i have some thoughts on the characters i wrote down after watching (In bullet points, because most of these are fresh-from-the-brain thoughts i wrote on my tablet from my bed)

(Spoiler alert, Sir Pentious isn't ruined and I AM SO GLAD. my snake babygirl... ilu)

Read on, if you wanna, spoiler warning btw!!!!!

CHARLIE NOTES

-Charlie is good., Charlie is cute, but i fear for her safety, not everyone can new redeemed. she's like steven universe at points i stg 😭 (not a jab but i think it's funny)

-i like how they gave Charlie bags under her eyes a lot, she is a tired princess just like all of us

-She gives off elementary school teacher vibes but in a wholesome way

-Charlie's hair is SO CUTE MESSY..

-PERFECT voice /gen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VAGGIE NOTES

-GIRLBOSS (still, but more)

-Vaggie is still cool, she just loves her gf and is sick of everyone's bs but is still supportive...

-If she doesn't get into a bloody death match with Alastor (and win) i will be disappointed /hj

She doesn't seem to have as much of a temper as she did in the pilot, but seems more dead inside

-Good voice!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANGEL DUST NOTES

-Angel... hm. Angel. he's Angel, for sure. Hi, Angel!

Insecure about a lot, but also YOU CAN BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT!!!!! if vox doesn't kill val angel should. please and thank u.

Also his voice is alright, just need to get used to it a little more

Also i hope he's not too bratty jealous of sirpent / whoever else charlie praises because again, it's ON HIM TO COOPERATE WITH HER CAUSE MORE??? ignoring his other stress sources (Val)

-Waiting for him and Husk to kiss. I know it's coming

-Just fucking block Val's number and rip up the contract (YES i know it goes deeper than that...)

-NUGGS. I SCREECHED IRL /POS

THEY GAVE HIM A HEART ON HIS BUTT!!!!! S TIER REDESIGN

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

ALASTOR NOTES

-At first i was kinda Eh about his voice but it's grown on me, the radio filter is a little more subtle than the pilot but it's still there which i'm glad for

Delightfully passive aggressive

-Weird magic still, there doesn't seem to be any limits to it... we need to know what his weakness is...!!!!! please (maybe that will come later??) ....... i theorize he has underworld contact (Shadow-world, because of the shadow imagery?) , the underworld might be different from Hell maybe? (Where do those fucking tentacles come from, also weird monochrome demons)

-Interesting he was gone for 7 years. 7 is an angelic number. HMMMMMM (sealed away by angels somehow??)

-Punchable (Vaggie please)

-Weirdly enjoyable and not genuinely hateable like some of the other characters, but i also want to see his demise, maybe his sadism is rubbing off on me, but i want to see it badly...

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

SIR PENTIOUS NOTES

-Sir Pentious... u are so good.. probably has some of the best writing so far, maybe... he's my favorite so. hhHHmm

his voice is different but at the same time it's what you'd expect, i like it a lot... so silly, i pat him and his silly hat

-Pathetic old man. You win my heart (50x as much)

-Only one egg spoke so far, i wonder if they'll all have unique voices this time (the Japanese dub of the pilot did that lol)

-Genuinely a joy every moment he was onscreen (Too fucking cute... GRRRR)

-How did he get into contact with Vox? Why would Vox want anything to do with him if he thinks he's a loser? (I guess easy access into the Hotel) ...Fuck em either way (DON'T BE MEAN TO SNAKE MAN)

-Cool temporary stunning hypnosis, maybe we'll see him coil and bite next, the snake attack traits are fun

-His autism vibes grow stronger and it's canon in my heart

-We LOVE a redemption song. please stay in the hotel with everyone, don't fuck it up!!! you're a good noodle.... 😭 The song was genuinely so cute... it's probably going to be the highlight of EVERYTHING for me, besides Nuggs..

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

HUSK NOTES

-i luv u kitty

-His voice is different but captures "Grumpy old alcoholic" perfectly

-His heart needs to be melted...

-Him holding the script in front of the camera was great

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NIFFTY NOTES

-Niffty is a BIG COWARD. you can still love a "Bad boy" who's a redeemed bad boy!!!! just because he's not morally bad doesn't Not make him a Bad Boy. fuck u (i still like you)

-Her voice is really cute, also her nightgown.. though finding out she doesn't have dark bug limbs but is just wearing gloves and stockings surprised me more than it should've... put them back

-Also autism vibes, love it

-She still frightens me a bit

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

V TRIO NOTES

VOX -----

-Seems to carry the team, voice has grown on me

-I can't stop looking at his weird finger claws, they almost look like

he's just wearing things over his fingers, i dig it

-Interesting hypnosis power, i assume Alastor is immune

-Why can't Alastor and Vox just compromise and create a podcast?

-Hates Val (sorry shippers) ,,... kind of expected it since in old official sources it's been shown that he's been abused by Val too

-This isn't a note but everytime Alastor said "THE TV IS BUFFERING~" in their duet, the player kept fucking up 😭

-Decent song, I like seeing him and Al argue

-I surprisingly don't hate him! i'm glad. i wanted to like him (though, it's only been 2 episodes so far...)

------

VALENTINO ---------

-More manchild vibes than i expected tbh

-Voice is alright but his accent is weirdly inconsistent for some reason???? interesting direction

-His manipulation is shown well in the voicemail scene with Angel, he's literally got the "Nice Guy" energy

-Surprisingly didn't order Vox around as much as i thought he would

-Why does he have girl Fizzy bots...

-Die?

------

VELVETTE

-Fashion design isn't something i expected, but then again i didn't know that much about her prior other than she's obsessed with social media

-British is also not what i expected but cool

-Uh. she didn't really stick out to me that much...sorry..... she's fine tho

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ADAM & LUTE NOTES

-Personally do not like how these angels look so menacing, i get that they're technically bad, but... make them look more angelic besides halos and wings??? they could easily be mistaken for hell residents. Also again, i feel like angels should swear less and drop swears in critical / good timed moments, it would be funnier... subtlety is not a thing i guess

-Adam's guitar solo was good tho, not really feeling his character tho, he's just an asshole but that's the point

-Adam looks like the fucking dress meme. I can't unsee it

-Lute is pretty...

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

KATIE KILLJOY & TOM TRENCH NOTES

-Brandon Rodgers

-They sure were there for a second!

-i luv tom

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

All in all...

Episode 1: 6-7/10

Episode 2: 8.5/10

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: afab Character: WBP 4 main Commanders (by request, "whoever I could fit", and the answer was, apparently, yes.) Vibe: NSFW Consensual AU: Mafia AU Prompt: Forced Proximity (get-a-long shirt) Gift Giver: @swanbrooke

Summary: Marco's mad, Ace has to pee, and Izou and Thatch have a solution that doesn't involve you going into the bathroom with Ace.

Content Notes: no peeing occurs in this fic. foursome, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, messy kiss, cum play, mdni

(I try so hard to keep the drabbles short for these kinds of events, but gods willing I will I re-write this some day because it should be a 5k minimum honestly)

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

Marco roughly shoves the oversized shirt over you and Ace, holding it, and you both, snugly in place for a long moment. You can see the vein on his forehead throbbing, and the angry twitch in his smile.

“You two will stay in that until I tell you otherwise, yoi!” He barks more than he means to, looking you both in the eyes before letting go of the shirt. “You’re both members of this Family, and you’ll have to figure out how to get along.”

You and Ace exchange glances, watching Marco stomp away. “If anyone comes to me complaining about you two bickering again today, you’ll really be punished, so appreciate this and reflect!” He calls out in warning.

You both sigh, but there’s nothing to be done. It’s not like you’d been arguing in malice anyway. You and Ace just tended to get a little hot under the collar when you got into a discussion. There were no hard feelings.

Not as far as you knew, at least.

“Hey.” You prompt, looking over at Ace. He looks at you and raises a brow. “We’re cool, yeah?”

Ace laughs. “Yeah! Man, Marco really got to you, huh?”

You grin. “I think we really got to him, honestly. He’s pretty overworked, isn’t he?”

Ace snorts. “Understatement of the year.”

“Ah, I wanna do something for him that isn’t going to accidentally backfire.” You murmur as Ace picks you up and starts walking. “Where are we going?”

“I need to take a leak.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Roaring, you squirm to be let down.

“I’m not going to piss my pants!” Ace shouts back.

“Fucking hold it in!” You wiggle enough Ace loses his balance and you both topple over. “You should’ve said something to him when he put the shirt on us! You’re not dragging me into the john with you!”

“You want me to pee on you?”

“I want you to put that iron bladder to work, you-.” You stop, and both of you look up to see Izou giving you an odd look.

“… Get-a-long shirt?” He prompts and you both nod. “Marco’s not unreasonable, I’m sure you can take it off for a minute to use the bathroom.”

You and Ace exchange glances again and look back up to Izou quietly.

“Oh.” His brows raise and he laughs. “You actually angered him, huh? Alright, well, I suppose I offer a possible solution.”

“You’re a commander like Marco, can’t you like, decree a five-minute break or something?” You question and Izou shakes his head.

“In this situation? Heavens no.” Izou waves his hand. “I was going to point out that when you orgasm it usually calms your bladder down.”

You and Ace both go quiet, but Izou’s expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t offer anything different. It’s not like you’re against the idea of sex, but the small problem you’re facing right now is that you’ve been crushing on a few people in the “Family” and Ace is one of them.

Izou is another.

“… What’s the worst Marco can do?”

“Oi! Are you saying you’d rather face Marco’s anger than have sex?” Ace grumbles.

Suddenly Ace was too close. You flinch, but you can’t bring yourself to worm out of the shirt. Instead you hide your face inside the shirt and try your very best to disappear. Marco’s another, and the idea of him punishing you is suddenly entirely too overwhelming.

Ace tugs on the collar, looking into the shirt. “Y’alright in there?”

“No.”

“Seems our sweet little flower is sweet on you, Ace.” Izou says. There’s a teasing sound in his voice, but there’s also something else you can’t place.

“On… me?” Ace blinks.

“… Not just you.” You mutter from inside the shirt. “Don’t get a big head or anything.”

“Phrasing.” Ace quips and you smack his chest. “Ow!”

“Mm, and who else would be included?” Izou prompts. “You’re already mortified little flower, you might as well get it over with.”

“… Thatch.” You admit, sighing. “… Marco.” You nearly weep his name, he’s so mad at you and Ace, and there’s no way he, or even Thatch - who treats you like such a kid - sees you that way anyway. “And…” Your stomach is doing flips. You’re either going to die of embarrassment, or get kicked out of the Family.

You poke your head back out and look up at Izou. It only takes him a second and his eyes widen a little before a truly delighted smile crosses his face. “Oh-ho.”

“Greedy for someone so small, ain’tcha?” Ace teases and you glare at him until he has mercy on you. You and Ace work together to get back on your feet.

“Greedy for me?” Thatch asks and you duck back into the t-shirt as Ace ruffles your hair. “D’aww, and shy about it too.” He grins and looks over to Izou. “So what started this anyway?”

And now, here you were.

Inside the shirt and on your back, Ace buried balls deep inside you, stretching the collar of your shared shirt to its limits. You’d pulled your hands into the shirt so Ace could hold himself up easier, and Thatch was buried in Ace’s ass to “help” him out. Izou’s cock was between yours and Ace’s mouths, the two of you giving it as much attention as you could.

There’s a loud crack and Ace yelps before thrusting into you so roughly that you cry out too.

“Don’t get distracted kitty-licking Izou,” Thatch says, grabbing your legs and pushing them back. The shift makes Ace’s angle better and helps Thatch drive him deeper. “Focus on getting her off before you pop, Ace.”

Izou grabs a fistful of Ace’s hair and forces his lips against his cock, fucking himself against both of your mouths at the same time. “And don’t argue either.” He commands.

“She’s,” Ace gasps, voice a mess as he’s trying to keep up with Thatch’s pace, and please Izou. “Teasing… my nipples!” he finally manages.

“Mine too!” you add. “M’not that mean.”

“Oh?” Izou intones. He pulls Ace’s head back again, stroking himself as he enjoys the view of the two of you under him. “Open your mouth, pretty little flower, and keep your tongue out.”

You do as instructed, breath falling out of your mouth as pleasure builds between your thighs. This was not how you’d expected things to go, but you were too far gone to feel embarrassed, let alone complain. The only way it could be better would be for Marco to be involved, but you weren’t sure you could survive all of them at once.

“Fuck, this is hot.” Ace gasps. He’s wrapped his feet against Thatch’s calves and is finally getting some leverage, grinding into your clit as Izou cums on your lips and tongue.

“Appreciate the gift I’m giving you,” Izou says, pushing Ace toward your mouth. “I’d rather be the one kissing those sweet stained lips right now, but you need to thank her for playing with you.”

Ace doesn’t hesitate. He licks your tongue before kissing you deeply, the bitter and salty taste of Izou’s cum shared between you. Your arms are around Ace’s back, and you squeak into the kiss, moaning as he presses in even deeper.

Your fingers flex against his back and you claw at him, sucking in desperate slips of air between sloppy, wet, tongue-heavy kisses as you orgasm against his cock. Your toes curl and your legs tighten and Thatch pushes them back a little more, railing heavy into Ace until he breaks the kiss.

Your sweet cries fill the room as swears fall from Ace’s lips. His hips stutter and he fills you up. Thatch isn’t far behind, the slow deep finishing thrusts of his hips making you and Ace whimper beneath him.

“You cum like a fire hose,” Ace huffs, looking over his shoulder at Thatch as the older man pulls out.

“Says the guy leaking out of me.” You sigh, a blissful smile on your face as the two of you fall into a relaxed fit of giggles.

“When I said I wanted you two to get along,” Marco says, his voice tinged with a bemused edge. “This wasn’t what I was expecting, yoi.” He’s leaning against the doorway, eyes holding your gaze. You’re practically begging him to join in, but before you can form the words, Izou lends you a hand.

“Ah, Marco. Perfect timing.” Izou offers. “Just in time for round two.”

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 18

You all weren't supposed to get this until Monday, but to celebrate being released from the shadow ban! Have at it! Chapter 15 when on Ao3, MasterpostWC: 2353

Danny left the lecture with a smile on his face. It wasn’t that the lecture had been particularly enjoyable or anything, no, Danny just had been smiling more often than not the last few weeks. It was hard not to when he thought about Jason and the fact that they were dating.

He had a boyfriend. A very hot, very sweet boyfriend who was amazing at planning dates. Aside from the museum, they had also gone back to the beach and the little city near it, and kept up with their normal meals and exploring the city. It all really made Danny realize how much the two of them had been practically dating before their actual date. It was a nice realization. It meant much hadn’t had to change other than being able to hold hands… and take advantage of kissing Jason. Those were changes Danny was very much enjoying.

The next proper date was Danny’s to plan (he had insisted) and different ideas were filling up his head. He wanted to make it as special as the dates Jason had planned for him. The museum had been perfect, after all. It was a lot to live up to. Today, though, was just going over to Jason’s for a meal and to watch something. He pulled out his phone and gave Jason a call to see what food he should pick up.

“Hey, Jay.”

“Fish, hi, um, can I— no you cannot!” Jason answered, sounding like he had turned his face away from the phone. Someone in the background answered back. “No, do not—”

There was the rustling and muffled words before silence. And then— “Hey little fish!” Whoever had just taken over the call was much more chipper sounding.

“Hello,” Danny replied, bemused.

Whoever it was let out a sudden meep as obvious sounds of scuffling filled the background of the call. “So, I'm Jason's brother, Dick.“

“Give me back my phone you fucker!” Jason shouted, his words slightly muffled.

“Hello, Dick.”

An exhaled oof of air was followed by a loud crash and what Danny was pretty sure was one of them kicking the other.

“You can't keep him from me forever!” Dick cried. “Anyways, I'm at Jason's.”

Danny could help but grin at the antics. “I gathered.”

“Right— back off Jaybird— want to come over for lunch? Since I’m, oh shi—”

Danny winced at the sound of the phone hitting the floor. They were really going at it now. He’d give them props for creative cussing. As he listened to the sounds of the fight, he made his way to the subway stop.

Finally, a slightly breathless Jason reclaimed the phone. “Sorry about him.”

“It's fine. Want to put in an order at the Malaysian place for us and I'll pick it up? I'm already on my way over.”

“No,” Jason said (whined, really, though Danny knew he’d deny it). “Don't give into his demands.”

“Victory!” came a strangled cry. From the winded sound, Danny would bet Jason had his brother pinned, maybe even in a choke hold.

“I don't think he's really going to give up,” Danny pointed out. Jason was quiet. Quiet enough that Danny started to backtrack. “Hey, if you don't want me to meet your family—”

“No! It's not… I'll put in an order. It will be under your name. I'm making Dick pay though.”

“Still won!“ Came the shout from Dick before Jason hung up.

-

“I’ve got it!” a voice that wasn’t Jason called out from inside of the apartment.

Danny did his best to resist the urge to fidget.

Now that he was standing outside of the apartment the reality that Danny was about to meet someone from Jason’s family hit home. And Jason’s family were Waynes. He took a deep breath and tried not to panic. That, of course, meant his brain had time to run through a dozen worst case scenarios by the time the door swung open.

The Dick Grayson that stood in the door was every bit the male model that society pages liked to claim. His smile was even more blinding in person and maybe even a little infectious. Danny found he couldn’t help but smile back, even if it was a little wan and nervous.

“Oh my- Jaybird!” Dick called over his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me how adorable he was!”

Danny felt his cheeks flush red.

Dick spun back to Danny. “Are you a hugger?”

“I— yes?”

There was barely time for Danny to squeak out the words before Dick had scooped him up in a crushing hug. Oh. Okay, that was nice. Danny hadn’t been hugged like that since Jazz left for college and his parents stopped remembering he existed.

“Please stop smothering my boyfriend,” Jason called out as he came over.

“Hi Jason. Food,” Danny said, his words muffled against Dick’s chest. He blindly held out the bag of food in Jason’s direction, keeping the cardboard tray of drinks in his other hand.

“Hey, fish,” Jason said. Danny felt the food be lifted from his hand. “Do I need to get the jaws of life?”

“Oh shut up, Jayce,” Dick said cheerily. He squeezed Danny one last time before he let him go.

Danny took the opportunity to suck in a deep breath.

“Hi, I’m Dick,” Dick said, still grinning and offering his hand like a normal person.

“Don’t tell him!” Jason called out from the kitchen.

Danny leaned around Dick, absently shaking his hand as he did so. “What?”

“Don’t tell him your name,” Jason explained.

“He’s just been calling you ‘fish’ this whole time.”

“It’s driving him insane.” Jason sounded viciously gleeful.

“No,” Dick whined, drawing out the word to an absurd length. “I’m finally meeting you! You’re right here! I have to get to know your name now! I can’t keep calling you ‘fish’.”

“I mean,” Danny said innocently as he finally stepped in the apartment and closed the door behind him. “I like fish. Jason has been very creative with the name. It’s actually a little impressive.”

Dick narrowed his eyes at Danny. “I’m starting to see how you fit with Jason.”

Jason cackled from the kitchen. He set plates and utensils down on the table before coming over and wrapping his hands around Danny’s waist from behind. “My boyfriend, my side.”

Danny smiled innocently and leaned back into the hold.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick said with a roll of his eyes, but he was still grinning happily. He started towards the table. “Come and eat or I’ll take all the roti for myself.”

“No, not the roti!” Danny gasped dramatically.

“Don’t worry, I got extra,” Jason assured everyone as he nudged Danny in the right direction.

“This must be yours,” Danny said, handing over one of the two blindingly pink cups of sirap bandung over to Dick. “Which tells me you are a man of refined tastes.”

“Just because you two have a sweet tooth—”

“Refined tastes indeed, well met,” Dick said over Jason with a fake British accent that would make Alfred wince.

“Indeed. Drink your longan juice, Jason,” Danny said, handing over the third cup to Jason, who just rolled his eyes.

They popped open all the various containers of food, sticking spoons or forks in them almost haphazardly. It became a jumble of hands for a bit as everyone got the first rounds they wanted on their plates. The table was quiet as everyone happily tore into the curries, rendang, and satay skewers.

-

“So, ‘fish’, if that is your real name, tell me about yourself,” Dick said after he had staved off the worst of his hunger.

“Um,” Fish (he couldn’t believe he had to call the guy fish in his own head) stalled badly as he completely blanked on what to say. Dick had the horrible feeling that people didn’t usually listen to what Fish had to say. “I moved to Gotham for school.”

“Gotham U? Or one of the lib arts colleges?”

Fish’s nose wrinkled adorably up at that. “Gotham U, I’m a total STEM. I’ll leave the books to Jason.”

“He’s a literature heathen,” Jason bemoaned. “But surprisingly dedicated to finding bizarre Jane Austen interpretations for me to watch.”

“You liked ‘the Lizzie Bennet Diaries,” Fish said, pointing at Jason with a skewer.

Jason stole the skewer to Fish’s indignant squawk. “I did, but ‘Persuasion’ was a mistake in every way.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fair,” Fish said, stealing a piece of tofu from Jason’s plate in retribution. (Oh shit, Jason was letting Fish steal his food!) “Not everything I find can be a winner.”

“Okay, but it sounds like you try at least! That counts for something. Got it though, science not books for the fish,” Dick said. “What do you like to do then?”

“Right now life is just a lot of studying and projects and papers,” Fish sighed. “But when I have time I like to play video games. And Jason has been showing me around Gotham and New Jersey.”

“So you swam in from out of state then?”

“Bus from Illinois,” Fish said. “It’s been a change for sure.”

“But you’re liking it?”

“I am, actually. I didn’t know if I would and there’s some things I don’t like— it’s always so… loud here, but the variety of stuff to see and eat is amazing. Like, I never had Malaysian food before moving here and now I don’t know how I would live without good roti just a call away. And, I don’t know, there’s just something about Gotham?”

“The city has a way of sinking into your bones,” Dick agreed.

“You aren’t from here either, right?”

“Nope! But I’ve been here for over half my life now. It’s weird and fucked up but it’s home and I love it,” Dick said with a shrug. “Think you’ll stay?”

Years of training kept Dick from flinching when Jason kicked him under the table.

The fish glanced at Jason for a moment. “Um, well, I guess that depends on if I can find a job or not. But I think I’d like to, if I can.”

“Sorry,” Dick said with a laugh. “You’re probably just worried about your next test at the moment. So exploring Gotham, school, video games— have you faced off against Jason in Mario Kart or Smash yet?”

“No,” Fish said, drawing the word out as he turned to Jason. “I am betrayed. Wounded. You didn’t tell me you played video games!”

Oh yeah, Dick liked Jason’s aquatic boyfriend.

“Just those two really.”

“And Animal Crossing. Our sister Cass got him totally hooked on Animal Crossing,” Dick said, bracing for another kick. Yep, there it was. “You should get him to show you his island. It has a miniature golf course and everything.”

Danny grinned. “Oh you are so showing me that later.”

The tip of Jason’s ears were bright red. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Tonight though! Tonight we have an epic brother versus brother versus fish racing battle,” Dick crowed.

“Oh you’re just lucky it’s not Smash, you might actually have a chance,” Danny said with a slightly feral smile.

“It’s on.”

It was indeed on.

The races were fierce battles and the fish was no guppy, but Dick had been trained against other superheros and set after set came away with the crown.

Several sets in, Fish’s phone went off, making him jolt. “Oh, shit, that’s my alarm to catch the subway home. I better run.”

“I can give you a ride home if you want?” Dick offered, putting his own controller down.

“No, it’s fine! I know it’s still early, I’ve just got this paper to get finished up in the next few days and I’m making myself work on it some each night,” Fish said, leaning over the back of the couch to reach for his bag.

Jason reached out to steady Fish by holding onto the back of his hoodie.

Dick stole Fish’s phone from the gesturing arm. “I’m putting my number in.”

“What? Oh, yeah, sure,” Fish said, lunging forward suddenly. When Jason yanked him back, Fish had his backpack in hand.

Jason clutched Fish to his chest and sighed. “Fish—”

“I’m fine, you got me,” Fish said, grinning up at Jason.

Jason clearly tried to look stern for a moment before he sighed; his whole face softened with the act. He curled around Fish slightly, just enough to brush a kiss to Fish’s temple. “Course I do.”

Since he still had it in hand, Dick snapped a picture with Fish’s phone. He figured the two didn’t have a lot of photos as a couple yet, and they looked precious at the moment. It was clear how much adoration Jason had for Fish— and how happy Jason made Fish. Dick was glad they had found each other.

“Don’t forget your phone.”

“Thanks! It was nice meeting you,” Fish said, climbing out of Jason’s arms and grabbing his phone. “I’ll kick your ass next time!”

“You’re welcome to try,” Dick said cheerfully. “If only fish had more than a three second memory maybe you could get good.”

Fish rolled his eyes, but distracted himself by giving Jason a quick kiss. “I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Course, send me the plans. And text when you’re home safe.”

“Stop worrying,” Fish said as he swung on his backpack. “But I will. Have a good night you two!”

Both brothers bid Fish goodbye as he rushed out the door.

Dick waited till Jason had locked the door before, “Oh my god, Jaybird, you two are so adorable!”

“Dickhead,” Jason warned.

“No, I get to have this. My little brother has a boyfriend and is adorable with him! Did he send you the photo I took? Ask him to send you the photo I took and you’ll see too.”

Jason sighed, shaking his head as he came back to sit on the couch.

Dick leaned over to knock their shoulders together. “Hey, I’m happy for you. He seems like a really good guy. I’m glad you met him.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, that soft smile back on his face. “I’m glad too.”

-----

AN: And one of the Bats finally meets Danny! Or, well, Fish. That seemed to go well, right? Surely everything will be happy now. Are there enough fish puns/jokes? If not, feel free to suggest some! Much love to Moku for giving this an early read over when I was doubting the chapter.

Also I'm craving Malaysian food so badly now ;-;

Due to being shadow banned (they said glitch, but I still believe I got auto flagged for tagging too many people), I am no longer tagging for updates. It wasn't going to be doable in the new post editor anyways! To be notified, subscribe to this post instead!

[thefishermansharbor]

Poisonous Jealousy, 

The Arcana x GN!Reader 

Synopsis: Headcanons about Lucio, Asra, and Portia feeling jealous of how their partner acts with someone. 

Asra Alnazar:

Unlike how the rest of his personality is, Asra gets jealous easily and often. He can’t help his possessiveness, so he doesn’t act on it often. He’s good at containing himself.

Asra feels a big deal of guilt for all of his envy, and whether you mind or not, he worries it’ll make you feel uncomfortable or controlled. 

He respects you and trusts you to not cheat on him but still he can’t help but overthink a bit before ultimately intercepting. 

Still feels guilty about it even if you say he was doing you a favor. 

You smile warmly at the shopper. “ Let me know if I can help you find anything, sweetie!” 

Asra knew that this wasn’t special, and that you called everyone nicknames – but the way the stranger seemed to enjoy it got under his skin. He couldn’t help but curl his hands into fists as he watched the stranger’s expression twitch into a smirk. 

The stranger had a likeness to your lover, except the stranger was taller, and had a mischievous feeling to him. The man spoke, 

“ I was just wondering what time you got off work.” 

Asra knows you’d never ever cheat on him, but his blood boils. There’s a slim slick feeling in the back of his mind as he watches the stranger inch closer to you. He can’t help himself but intervene. 

He walks right in between you and the man, throwing his arm over your shoulder and giving your cheek a quick kiss. The man rolls his eyes, suddenly moving backwards. 

“ I’m sorry to say that my PARTNER here will be busy with me after their shift. Maybe another time.” Asra offers the man a polite smile, but under it he’s practically seething with disgust for the stranger. 

The man shakes his head in distaste, a little humiliated. “ – yeah whatever, I wasn’t that interested in you anyways.” He leaves the drapey magic shop, Asra’s grip on you only tightening while the man walks out. 

“ What was that about?” You ask. 

“ Sorry, I really didn’t like how close he was getting. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.” In part, this statement is true.. But the bigger reason behind it was to satisfy that possessiveness that had been crawling around in the back of his mind. You shrug, and he kisses you quickly. He trusts you.

Portia Devorak:

She doesn’t get jealous at all. Actually, she prides herself on the trust she has for you. She lets almost anything slide, as long as the person she’s jealous of isn’t physically or emotionally hurting you.

But if it’s a particularly bad day and someone is really bothering her - she’ll try to one-up them in some shape or form. They’re talking about how good they are at darts? She’s better and she’ll prove she is. 

She also does something nice for you, to prove that she’s the better lover than whoever the other person is. 

She’s passive aggressive because she doesn’t want to be outright rude to another person for the reason being only that they were hitting on you.

One of the other pirates was bragging to you about his exceptional axe-throwing skill. From what Portia could see, you were interested in the conversation and were happy to hear it. 

Portia smiled, she was so glad you were bonding with the ship crew. But then again, she couldn’t help this inkling of a feeling. Was she jealous? No, no.. she trusted you. She just couldn’t help but think about it. The other pirate was your type, and was far more reliable than the mischievous Portia. 

She runs the situation over in her head - she was pretty good at axe - throwing, and she could probably take him in a competition.. She walked over and sat down next to the two of you. 

“ Hi my love! What’re you guys up to?” She said excitedly. You began to speak, but the pirate cut you off. 

“ I was just telling this beauty,” He winked at you, “ about my expertise.” Portia nodded, her hand taking yours and squeezing it gently. “ – how great!” She smiled so wide it could’ve been a frown. 

“ What are you an expert on, then?” She asks.

“ Ax - throwing.” He said proudly, crossing his arms. Portia’s eyes narrowed, still holding that forced smile. “ GREAT. Just GREAT. Should we do a bit of that, then?” 

“ That's maybe not the safest idea.” You offer sheepishly. The tension in the area pooling, Portia looks at you. 

“ you’re right. Do I ever tell you how smart you are, my love? You’re just brilliant!” She says loudly. The other pirate seemed to be starting to get the hint now. But Portia kept going, 

“ You’re also a brilliant kisser. You’re so sweet to me, you’re the best partner I could ask for.” She exclaims, extra sweetly. The other pirate seems a little unsure of himself now, his eyes running around the room. 

“ – so, back to you.” Portia said finally, looking back at the other pirate. He stands and brushes himself off, “ well, maybe I should uh.. Leave you two for a moment.” 

She nods, and waits for him to leave before kissing you. She felt like a winner when she did that, as if it was some sort of ‘ impress my lover! ‘ challenge that she had won. 

Lucio Morgasson:

Will laugh it off at first. But if that person makes you uncomfortable - god forbid, he will cause a scene. 

This grown man will do literally ANYTHING to get whoever was hitting on you to leave you alone. I kid you not, this grown man will bark at someone in order for them to get away from you.

He loves you and would do whatever needed to protect you or your honor, but also a bit of his own pride and jealousy can get in the way when he tries to intercept anyone trying to romance you in front of him. 

Lucio accepts that you wouldn’t two-time him, but he wouldn’t mind showing off in front of you. He likes it when you’re proud of him. 

You were at one of Lucio’s famously good parties. Everyone was happy and excited, dancing and twirling. You were talking to a foreign diplomat, drink in hand. 

She smiled widely at you. Most of your conversation was about Vesuvia, but it started to edge onto a bit of flirting.. 

“ I knew Vesuvia to be the home of marvelous talent, but I didn’t know it was such a hotspot for gorgeous people like yourself,” She smiled, twirling her hair and being extra sweet with you. Lucio had been partying loudly and proudly like he always does, when he caught sight of you being a little too friendly with one of the guests. 

He walked over, he thought it was a hilarious and desperate attempt from the diplomat to secure some false friendship. He chuckled to himself, she couldn’t possibly be serious… but then she was. 

She was raving to you about how spectacular of a conversation partner you were, and Lucio felt.. Embarrassed? Were you liking it? Would she be better than him for you? Before his thoughts can cloud him, he walks over and smirks at the both of you. 

“ How’s the party going?” He asks you. You smile and speak, “ I’m just chatting around, meet my friend, she’s very sweet–” Lucio’s temper breaks, and he takes a deep breath. 

He picks you up. Completely up, as if you weigh nothing. “ I LOVE YOU!” He then shouts. A couple guests look over at you three, but most shove it off and go back to whatever they were doing. 

The diplomat just sort of stares, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. She doesn’t know what to make of this, so she goes quiet. Lucio then carefully places you down, and glares at her. 

“ .. sooo, your name?” He says almost bitterly. She stutters out a response, but it’s unintelligible and really quiet. After a few more minutes of awkward silence, the diplomat walks off defeatedly. Lucio grins, he thinks to himself, that’s a job well done.

[oogaboogaspookyman]

An impulsive response to @dronebiscuitbat for the recent 20th part of the nuzi fic Aka a fan creation fueled by desire for comedy

[STARGAZING AT SOMETHING BETTER THAN STARS]

.

.

.

A do-over prom, best idea Thad has ever had... Just deal with whoever has magnets and tries funny things. Yeah.

He'll be fine!

The music is blaring, the lights are bright, the band friggin' SLAYS, prom is going amazingly and much better than the last.

Thad had dealt with a... Harrasser, some guys with magnets, and may or may not have found the culprit for spiking the fermented oil. Asshole that girl, i swear, he thought. Well at least prom is doing well!

Two drones stepped into the dance floor, starting with clumsy steps and slowly progressing to faster speeds. That's Uzi and N, and she has wings?! Awesome! Thad took note of this, and so did the band currently playing.

The crowd was startled, some began to cheer and encourage, the band picked up the pace telling the duo to go all out.

Little by little, they began to rise from the floor, flying, almost about to shoot for the sky.

The band picked up the pace, more and more and more, until...

..!

Would you look at that! They shot into the sky!

All the air that surrounded the duo suddenly got blasted onto... Well, everywhere! One dude got sent back from it, too... They really did shoot to the sky huh! Okay better take a look at the guy holy robo-jesus.

Thad ran over to the potentially injured drone, as fast as he could. "Dude are you okay?! Are you hurt?!"

"Hh... Yeah i'm fine, i'll walk it off no worries..." Thad doubted the guy's response, "I'll ask for help anyway- can anyone help this guy that's hurt?!"

"No really i'll be fine, look"... Did he just fucking stand up and walk away?? Back to do his thing??

... Yes he did.

Hm.

Welp! That's sorted out faster than thought! Back into the action!

After a small few minutes of Prom Stuff™, suddenly he, somehow, managed to hear chatter in the sky... Uzi and N, they have to be. How are they doin' up there?

"Wonder how they're doin' up there!" That's exactly what i narrated here. Anyway- Thad looked up and... Couldn't make out a damn thing. Right. Sky. Very up there. Does he have anything to have a better look at them?

Yes he did. From straight outta the Convinient Hammerspace For Different Events™, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked up at the sky now with a MUCH better look at them.

There they are, curiously way closer to each other and very lovey dovey! Man, about time those two got together, it's been clear from the get-go they liked each other.

Wait a minute.

"Whazzawhat..." He raised the binoculars again and... Upon closer look they ARE curiously way closer to each other. WAY closer.

Oh.

OH!

OHOHOHO!!

"FUCK YEAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The crowd looked at Thad in concern.

...

...

"What happened??" Someone asked.

"Uh. Hm." Thad thought of a way to slip the situation under the rug.

...

Oh yeah that's so gonna work.

"Ligma." Thad spoke the sole word.

...

"What's ligma??" Oh hell yeah he waited to do this for a WHILE...

"Ligma balls, get back to your thing." The crowd exploded into unhinged cackling and wheezing. "FUCK YOU MAN" said the someone who asked. After a little death by laughter they went back to doing Prom Stuff™

"What just happened, Thad??" Lizzy ran up to him, curious about the situation, and all Thad did was give her the binoculars. He pointed up, much to Lizzy's confusion.

She looked up at the sky, where she spotted two familiar figures kissing... "Whazzawhat??" She said as she lowered the binoculars in confusion and raised them again...

"NO FUCKING WAY" Thad wheezed at his sister's reaction, "YES FUCKING WAY" patting her on the back.

Hallelujah they finally kissed!

[firewasabeast]

i'm pissed right now about a lot of personal things and I'm gonna take it out by talking about 911 shit and how people refuse to let tommy grow as a character but take up for literally all the other screw ups on the show. under a cut so you can avoid:

going on instagram is always a mistake but i went on there anyway and people are just being absolute pieces of shit. i do not know a single character on 911 that hasn't fucked up in some way but tommy is the only one not worthy of redemption. i know why, we all know why, but i do not understand why the dipshits that ship buddie so fiercely are so stupid as to not recognize that their little babies are fucked up too.

eddie left his wife and reenlisted because he couldn't handle being a dad, especially to a handicapped kid. then he got pissed when his wife asked for help, asked to go see her family. honestly, do not blame his parents one bit for wanting custody of christopher. they fucking raised him! eddie still relies on the people around him to take care of his needs. he had a one sided friendship with lena, asks buck to babysit more than hangout, was getting flights to vegas out of tommy, and used his girlfriends as glorified babysitters as well. also cheated on his girlfriend with a dead wife lookalike???

hen cheated on her wife for no fucking reason, then spent the next episode all smug when everyone else got their karma for being garbage, and they had karen take her back after like one episode apart?

bobby got his entire family killed.

athena regularly abuses her power as a police officer when it benefits her or her family.

chimney basically lied through the first relationship we ever saw him in, and was a horrible captain.

maddie doesn't know the meaning of staying in your lane and getting the fuck out of other peoples business. she should have been fired a few times over.

buck cheated on his girlfriend, asked her to move in instead of being honest with her, and basically trapped her with him. he also stole firetrucks to go have sex while at work, which he very much should have (permanently) been fired for.

they're all screw ups and that's the whole point!! that they're trying to be better and do better and learn from their past. Everyone gets a free pass but tommy. maybe it's because I relate to him so much, because I once was the old version of him (probably worse tbh) and I worked really fucking hard on myself to be better and do better. i guess it's personal for me because I honestly relate to him more than any of the other characters, but it's also really fucking stupid to be so hateful toward a fictional character and real live person because you want two specific characters (one of whom's actor has said REPEATEDLY is straight) to kiss.

and for all the assholes who want to claim that lou is racist or whatever the fuck you've decided he is this week, I seriously suggest you research a certain regular actor on the show a bit further before you come to me with that shit.

in conclusion, ship whoever you want, i don't give a shit, but stop pretending your character is an angel when in reality they all suck because all humans in general suck!

[vqrtualheartss]

ᴅ☆ᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴀʏ|

Y'ALL MY PAGE?? LIKE, no like seriously thank like all of you for supporting me🥹. It means a lot to me and all the comments mwah thank you so so much. Also, how do you reply to reblogs..

I've been sick for the last few days so that's why I haven't been producing anything so, my bad. I'll try and get started soon. swr

Also, I am not trying to sexualise Miles because, He's a minor. I'm a minor. If you're reading this I expect you to be a minor

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Warnings ─ smoking/ vaping, suggestive content (very suggestive) , kissing, miles is aged up to 19 - reader 18

𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 | So, basically, you're at a lil' get-together with your friends —These can be whoever— and like every teenage sleepover , truth or dare was being played. Unlike the traditional game of playing it individually, this time however it was in randomised pairs and you got paired with Miles. How lucky were you? He's been the person you've been crushing on for so. so. long since freshman. Casting your feelings aside, you convinced yourself that it was useless liking him given how he just sees you as a "little sister". To hell with that. They resurfaced themselves as you all grew, you aged like fine wine, he got fine-er (??) it was almost impossible not to.

"Truth or dare (y/n)?" It was past 11 on a rainy night, I didn't see the bad in any of the choices. "Dare"

"Feeling risky are we?" f/n teased as Miles let out a coarse laugh barely passing over my head. I was set between his legs that circled under mine stretching over his. "Pick a number" Resting on one of her arms she anticipated my answer, her partner rubbing his thumb over their interlocked hands.

The request confused me a bit, but I replied anyway "32" her eyes glistened with mischief passing me.. a vape? Brand new too. Just as confused as I was, Miles leaned over to inspect the item, pressing down into my back I squirmed uncomfortably . Using his hands to steady himself, he held onto my hips stopping at my ear muttering, "My bad, I'll be gentle in the future". I hummed a shaky 'mhm' in reply, trying to distract myself from thoughts .

Leaning at a lower angle, our bodies held direct contact from our pelvises, not to mention his hands that were situated on the small of my back rubbing circles and drawing lines upwards, slightly arching it. Refraining from making any type of movement —given we were around people—, I focused back to (f/n) who was instead of explaining my dare, sending me the look with a devilry ridden smirk. shit.

Knowing her by now, I knew she was most definitely planning something, and as much as I wanted to maintain a blithe expression, I couldn't. The feelings of his cold rings on my back had me weak, trembling lightly each time he used his knuckles or pressed harder. The low, knowing chuckles he released becoming frequent as I fumbled underneath his fingers, widening my eyes at (f/n) I urged for her to start.

Giggling, she began "So, for this dare, I want you to take 32 hits" I tilted my head because she pointed to..Miles, but gave the vape to me.

"Let me continue, hold on, She'll be the one giving you the smoke. Until finished you two are excluded from the game"

I hesitated looking at the vape still in my hand, pushing it out as I protested. It wasn't that I didn't want to do it, I doubted that he would

"I don't think that-"

"Shit's easy, my tolerance is high" Using a hand of his to apply even more pressure to my back, he used the other to push away my hand.

"Okay and?" I observed attentively, (f/n)'s tone was a little more annoyed than before, and knowing what I know she likes to fight.

"Just saying, if you're gonna give me a dare atleast make it interesting" where's this going? I turned away from Miles to view both faces. He pulled me back, placing both hands around my waist squeezing it before (f/n) added

"Then do it 'till he's sky high then, be my guest" Their bickering brought on the attention of the rest of the group looking at us. He shrugged, she scoffed winking at me discreetly before turning focus to the rest of the group. Okayy then, I know her reason but what's his ?

As obvious as it was that we both wanted to do this I turned around, kneeling. Placing a hand on my lower thigh he shook his head snickering "Your knees are going to go weak if you stay like that." he brought his legs together, suggesting I'd sit on them. Somewhat reluctant I brought myself over, slowly draping each of my legs on a side of his.

Taking the first hit I leaned over to kiss Miles, exchanging the smoke from my mouth to his as he opened giving me access, things went like that for a while. Around hit 15 his hands found my back, making my body involuntarily arch as they raised each time I bent over and sliding down when I retracted. I did not have a high tolerance for nicotine and you could probably tell by my state. My eyes rested low, body completely pressing into each other's as I wrapped an arm around his neck collecting myself. Nearing his mouth to my ear he cooed, "Poor thing, can't even function under a little smoke".

Pressing his lips just beneath my ear lobe I felt the corners of his lips turn upward, letting out a raspy laugh before pulling back. Taking my chin into his hand he turned my vision and focus to him, taunting as we made eye contact "Show me you can do it"

I gave a jestful scowl that turned into a smile accepting his challenge. Inhaling the fumes a smug look plastered onto his face, grinning as I took a long hit.

Leaning over with slightly puffed cheeks, I was certain he didn't see through my bluffing, if anything I was more than sky high, but what's the harm in getting kisses from Miles? Nothing. exactly. Safe to say that kiss lasted longer than needed but who cares? He wanted it. I wanted it. We'll probably forget about everything in the morning being high and all.

Pulling back I placed a hand on my fluctuating chest to atleast try to control my breathing. Miles looked down at me with the same smirk whilst chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes resting lower, hand slipping from behind my nape to the level of his other one just above my ass.

Twisting my head slightly I noticed the room alot emptier, a result of pairs "using the bathroom" lol. The others were either asleep or in other rooms, had it been that long? Shrugging to the question I hoisted myself over Miles' body to get up , well tried to. Pulling me down by my waist he took the hand I had on my shirt, intertwining them as we kissed, pushing back, I shook my head

"We can't, you're high and under the influence" I reminded him, well myself

"We both are. Drunk actions, sober thoughts right?" Slipping in to temptation I sighed placing my head onto his shoulder. "Tell me to stop and I'll do just that. Just say the word" I turned my face away from his, staying silent. He knew what was happening, he knew the effect he had on me, he knew everything

I bit back "I hate you" "I'll have you saying otherwise"

©vqrtualheartss 2023 ©dae 2023

[thecouchshifter]

Hazbin Hotel NSFT HCs

Husker

He’s a service top and probably the biggest on checking boundaries and aftercare, like more than Charlie and Vaggie. His biggest priority is making sure whoever he’s with has a good and safe time. He’s got experience and he knows how to make anyone feel good. Also whenever someone calls him a manlet he will remind them that height doesn’t matter when you’ve got them on their knees anyway.

Charlie and Vaggie

Put them as a duo because who else are they boning? As a general note, they’re both switches and Charlie is the more experienced one of the two, though mostly with men. They’re generally pretty vanilla but have some light kinks and sometimes do some roleplay.

Vaggie loves a good strap, pulling Charlie’s hair, and biting when topping/domming and has a fucking insane praise kink when bottoming/subbing. Also likes the fact Charlie is taller than her in both (shadow of the colossus type shit or being absolutely towered over). Uses princess or doll to refer to Charlie while domming and generally uses ma’am or my queen while subbing.

Charlie is super soft and romantic when topping/domming and absolutely has to touch and kiss everywhere. When subbing/bottoming, she likes some soft under the bed restraints, maybe a blindfold every once in a while, and has a bit of a mommy kink. Either way she likes setting the scene with some candles and flower petals because she’s extra like that. Has a big praise kink too that goes both ways. Uses sweetheart and more recently little angel when domming to refer to Vaggie and when subbing pretty much exclusively uses mommy. Has one very pretty old school lingerie set that she will whip out when she really wants to impress Vaggie.

Nifty

There’s no polite way to say it, she’s a fucking freak. Doesn’t matter how you do it she’s gonna do some crazy shit to you or ask you to do some crazy shit to her. Crazy on masochism and sadism in particular. 90% of the bad boys she plays with get scared after the first time and she quickly loses interest after that. Such is the way of Nifty.

Sir Pentious

He prefers romance to sex but if it helps him bond with a partner he’ll do it. Sadly, nobody has actually stayed with him past the first date before. He’s a hopeless romantic but hopes one day he’ll find someone who loves him for him. If he did bone, he’d be really awkward about it and not really know what he was doing but inconceivably keep falling upward and in the end do a really good job. After the fact he’d need a solid 20 minutes to recover while just laying there in shock before thanking his partner profusely.

Cherri Bomb

She has fucked a lot of ways and is generally open to trying anything. Has a few utterly bizarre kinks and fetishes. Not even particularly disturbing just very oddly specific. Like fleshlight between the legs while a replica dildo of her partner’s dick fucks her and their real dick fucks the fleshlight type strange.

Angel Dust

I mean sure he’s down for pretty much anything but slow, romantic, vanilla sex is his fucking kryptonite. He doesn’t get it in the studio or god forbid with Val, so when he does he’s surprised for a minute before he gets completely lost in his partner’s eyes. Don’t get me wrong he loves kinky shit, especially bondage, but getting back to basics is such a treat for him. Very into body worship for a similar reason. Boy just wants to feel loved. Has a set of lingerie for every occasion

Alastor

“Ha! No.”

Vox likes to think of him as a massive sub tho.

Lucifer

He’s a switch that will absolutely commit to the bit if he’s doing any kind of roleplay or D/S stuff. This man is a grade A actor to the point where Lilith was worried on several occasions as to if he was possessed. He has had millennia to perfect his technique and you will find no soul in hell bar maybe Asmodeus who knows how to use all the tools at his disposal better than him. Has a bit of a ringmaster/circus fantasy and has referred to Lilith as his little acrobat multiple times. Lilith also gets a bit worried when Lucifer is horny because it usually means he hasn’t taken his depression meds. Calls Lilith goddess a lot too.

[steddieas-shegoes]

i have another hc for you if you like! this is one of my faves ever since i saw someone call wayne "tio shaped" 😆: Eddie being at least partially hispanic/latinx (i lean toward hispanic) and being fluent in spanish; i LOVE the idea of him either sweet talking or just saying the absolute filthiest stuff to steve in spanish and steve gets robin to help him learn spanish in secret (just for a bit at least) so he can know what eddie’s been saying to him

(i wrote a little drabble of this idea before here, but i would love to see your take on it too!!!!)

OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL GO READ NOELLE'S POST BECAUSE IT'S GREAT WORK 10/10.

Second of all, I don't know more than the most basic Spanish. I am relying on Google Translate, which we all know is not reliable. If something sticks out as being completely wrong, please let me know.

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

"Okay, that's good!"

"Robin, you don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," Steve said, but hid the blush on his cheeks at the praise.

"Eddie estará tan impresionado," she said with a knowing smirk.

"Eso espero."

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

Robin left him with some study cards to practice being less formal with his Spanish, told him that Eddie and Wayne were used to conversational and familiar vocabulary and grammar. The last thing she wanted was for him to sound like he was reading from a textbook.

So he sat on his couch, studying, probably more than he ever studied for anything else in his life.

He needed to do this right.

He jumped when the front door opened unexpectedly, shoving his study cards between the cushions and hoping whoever it was wouldn't notice the corner of one sticking out.

"Dios, cómo te ves tan bien sentado ahí?" Eddie said mostly under his breath.

But Steve heard it.

He didn't just hear it, he mostly understood it.

"Sólo estoy usando sudaderas," Steve replied, much easier than he expected to.

Eddie's eyes got impossibly wider, his mouth opening in shock.

"Did you just speak Spanish?" Eddie asked.

"Sí."

"How-" Eddie cleared his throat. "How long have you known Spanish?"

"Not long. Robin's been teaching me," Steve shrugged.

"But like...how long?" Eddie seemed nervous, avoiding eye contact completely.

"If you're worried about things you've been saying, I still don't know enough to figure most of what I can kind of remember out," Steve said.

That was true, too. He barely remembered most of what Eddie had been saying over the last few months, definitely couldn't get the pronunciation right anyway to ask Robin and only some of the words had come up in their lessons.

But what he said today, at least a lot of it, was clear to Steve and that made him feel pretty confident that he'd been reading Eddie's feelings correctly.

"Lo decias en serio?" Steve asked, stuttering a bit with nerves.

"Por supuesto."

"Um. Beso?" Steve knew that wasn't right, but his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders.

"Claro, puedo besarte, cariño."

Steve let out a whimper when Eddie pulled him to his feet, cupped the back of his neck in his hand, and licked into his mouth like he'd been waiting years for this moment.

"You've been learning Spanish for me?" Eddie asked breathlessly when he finally managed to pull away.

"I'm trying. For you and Wayne."

Translations: Eddie estará tan impresionado - Eddie will be so impressed Eso espero - I hope so Dios, cómo te ves tan bien sentado ahí? - God, how do you look so good just sitting there? Sólo estoy usando sudaderas. - I'm just wearing sweats Lo decias en serio? - Did you mean it? Por supuesto. - Of course Beso - Kiss Claro, puedo besarte, cariño. - Sure, I can kiss you, sweetheart

[suniloli]

BOILING POINT p2

23 Jan 2024

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.34K

Warnings: Swearing, sexual innuendo, descriptions of blood/gore

Setting: Prison (between s3 and 4)

Summary: Daryl reflects on you and how you make him feel. After a lot of introspection and a very close encounter, Daryl realises that it may be more self imposed than he thinks. 

Author Note: 85 years later…..I was re-reading part one and realised I don’t like it… that's probs why I put this off for ages (why do I do this to myself?) Anyways, I'm way happier with this piece of writing. Part 3 will DEFINITELY be out in a more timely fashion…. -Sól

Part 1

Daryl felt a flurry of emotions spur through him in the matter of probably five minutes. He didn’t even know that was possible. That it was possible for himself to feel such an amalgamation of feeling in such a short amount of time. Every single time in fact. Every time you were around.  

You. 

Lately, he hated you. He loathed you. Somehow, you just always managed to do something to piss him off. You were infuriating. God, you were infuriating. You made his blood boil so much that he had to try and fight it off every time you were near. 

So, every time that you were, it was just best for him to push you away. And what better than to go on this run by himself and create even more distance from you and your complications. 

Cursing at whoever was at the gate, Daryl sped off hastily on his bike. He’d definitely leave for at least a couple of hours. You guys didn’t even have to retrieve that much anyways. Just some medical stuff and ammunition if you were lucky enough to come across it. Maybe some materials to make some bolts. Maybe actual bolts if the universe allowed it. 

Wait. That’s right. His fucking crossbow. He can’t even use it because of you. Fuck. 

Daryl guessed he should add some heavy duty string to that list then too. 

The list that you had. 

Daryl scowled. You were just always in his way. Always messing something up. It was never easy with you. 

Well, it never was, was it? 

Daryl hadn’t even realised that he’d made it to the small medical centre in town until his bike skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust, seemingly of its own accord. 

The area had been scoured before, so Daryl assumed there shouldn’t be any problems. It was specifically the both of you who took a look here a couple months ago. 

Daryl remembered the tender, heated embrace he shared with you in the middle of the main street. Contrary to today's chill in the air and its cloudy sky, the last time he was here it was bathed in blue and sunshine, warm enough to kiss his skin, but cool enough to appreciate its beauty. 

That’s what gave him the courage to say anything at all; gazing at your glowing complexion, soft radiance and your loose hair moving in the slow breeze, Daryl said that you were somehow even more beautiful than he’d ever seen you. It was just so innocently the truth at that exact moment. He’d murmured it to you, although Daryl thought he sounded so incredibly stupid and corny and regretted it immediately afterwards. 

Well, he almost did. 

Because just as he said it, he realised that you mustn’t have thought that at all. Daryl had witnessed the most emotion he’d ever been privileged to observe swirl in your eyes when he spoke those words. Your gorgeous, expressive eyes took him aback when suddenly, you’d pulled him into you — arms around his neck, the side of your face touching his. He nearly pulled back at the abruptness of it. Daryl hadn’t meant to be that vulnerable with you, but he could only describe the feeling of your body, your scent, your overwhelming appreciation of him, as bliss. 

Any sort of embarrassment or insecurity was completely drowned in the little world that formed between you two at that exact moment. 

He hasn’t been that close with you since. 

Daryl shook his head as if that would make him forget. Get it together, he scolded himself. 

Hiding his bike under some roughage on the side of the road, he armed himself with his knives, aware of the pistol wedged in the back of his pants. 

He banged on the front entrance once. Twice. No walkers. 

Opening up the centre’s doors, he was met with the faint scent of cleanliness, and an eerie quietness permeating throughout the building. Trying to focus, Daryl moved with purpose from room to room, his senses on high alert. It was possible for anything to jump out at him. 

Alrigh’. Bandages, ointments, gauze, anythin’... Daryl couldn’t at all remember what Hershel suggested the two of you bring back. He assumed stuff like paracetamol would be pretty acceptable, so that’s what he went in search of. 

Approaching the storage rooms, Daryl went towards the shelves and traced his fingers over boxes of medical supplies. Grasping what was suitable and shoving it in his pack, he zipped it up and carefully made his way around the back of the building to discreetly move up the main street. 

Daryl was surprised to actually find a couple of weapons in the hardware store. A hatchet and a hammer to be exact, as well as some of that godforsaken string he needed. And it was godforsaken alright, because it was something else Daryl had to waste his time on. 

Slowly weaving through the aisles to reach the front, Daryl coiled the thick material around his fingers, reminded again of how he left the prison. Everything about you managed to weave its way into his mind, but the more he pushed you away, the more you lingered. Looking down at the string in his hand as he walked, a bit of the pure anger bubbling inside seemed to dissipate as he reflected. 

Daryl became aware of his harshness. At the end of the day, it was just an accident. It’s not like you wanted to inconvenience him like that. Did you? Did he have to call you a good fer nothin bitch? 

Daryl found that he was guilty of being like his father — quick to anger and attack. He hated himself for it. He tried so hard to be anything BUT like his upbringing, and it was slowly creeping back into his life like the loser he was. 

I’m the one who’s good fer nothin’… he brooded. With the way he’s been acting, he’d never deserve someone as strikingly beautiful as you. Someone as intelligent and witty and sensitive as you. As if you’d ever think his redneck ass was worthy of your affections. Especially when he’d been holding you at length and treating you like shit.  

Daryl was slowly losing you, all of his own volition. The self loathing and insecurity hounded into him ever since he can remember was causing his own relationship with you to diminish. Although Daryl knew he had evolved since the end of the world, Merle’s crude loud mouthedness was still faintly echoing in his subconscious. The closest thing he had to his own blood was one of the things to bring him down. 

Daryl was angry at the fact that even though Merle had started to come around, ever since he left, his past words and toxicity still managed to affect him. 

“Ya aint’ gud enough fer anyone boy”

“I told ya ya were useless”

“She’s never gon’ wanna be with any hillbilly trash like us”

“Sweet ol’ Y/N’s only gon’ use ya. Us Dixon’s need ta’ stick together”

That didn’t seem to work out, did it? 

As Daryl distractedly opened the door to the outside, within a split second, grotesque, bloodied hands were on him, and he was thrown to the ground. 

“Shit!” Daryl exclaimed. Landing in a small puddle of stagnant water, his string was flung to the side. He struggled to reach for any sort of weapon. The only sounds which flooded his ears were strangled moans and the gnashing of teeth. The walker managed to plunge the right side of Daryl’s face in the puddle, causing him to inhale some of the stinky water. 

Spluttering and gasping for breath, Daryl tried to fend it off. With his left arm extended on top of him, he attempted to push the walker off to no avail. It was relentless. 

Reaching his right hand towards the knife sheath at his hip, Daryl’s fingertips found the hilt, and after a couple seconds of struggle, he gripped it fully. 

Daryl ripped it free from the sheath, and without thinking, grasped the tattered shirt of the walker, heaving his own body to the side to get on top of it. “Uunngghh!” In one swift motion, Daryl slammed it into the ground, and violently pierced the blade through the walker’s head. 

Face dripping with sweat and stale grossness, Daryl heaved and heaved until he felt lightheaded. Still straddling the corpse, he stared at it. He was reminded of when he had to put down his brother... 

Averting his gaze and observing his reflection in the puddle of murkiness, Daryl watched as deep, dirty crimson slowly dispersed into the liquid from the walker's head. It oozed and spread until it covered his own reflection entirely, until all he could see were two adrenaline filled eyes shrouded in red. 

He didn’t like what he saw. 

A bit shaken, Daryl noticed that the sun was starting to set, and he picked up his things and hurried to his bike. 

Daryl entered the prison with a heavy heart. Acknowledging anyone looking at him with a nod, he dropped off the supplies, and made it to his cell. 

Pulling the crossbow string out of his pocket, he laid on his bunk, and began to fix his crossbow. 

“Daryl?”

"Ya?"

Carol moved from around the corner. “Hey…” she exhaled. “Are you alright?”

His steely eyes met her inquisitive ones. He stayed silent.

“Where’d you go off to?” She asked. 

“Into tha’ nearby town Y/N and I looked at…still needed ta’ go on tha’ run.”

Carol made her way into his cell. She slowly sat on the edge of the bed, next to his feet. Daryl fixed his gaze on the crossbow in his hands. 

“I see you found something to fix that thing” She said, pointing to the weapon. Daryl grunted in the affirmative. “You know, I don’t think she meant to do it on purpose —”

“I know” Daryl interrupted. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled. “I know…”

Carol observed his expression. He seemed more thoughtful, his brows slightly drawn. Before she could say anything, Daryl spoke. 

“I’ve been such a goddamn prick ta’ her. I — I don’ know how ta’ fix it…”

Carol felt for her best friend. “Well, the fact that you’re even feeling guilt about it tells me that you will eventually. All she wants is to talk to you.”

“Yeh’ right. I don’ deserve her goddamn attention. I’ve ruined it…” Daryl muttered sorrowfully. 

“No, it’s not that you don’t deserve it. You just need to earn it back...You’ve been an asshole.”

Daryl sighed, his gaze still fixed on the crossbow. "I just... It's like I can't control it…I feel like I’m gonna mess her up. All this thinkin’, that…”

“That what?”

“That I’ll never be good enough...” he admitted. Carol placed a hand on his knee but for the most part remained silent. He appreciated that she wasn’t making a big deal. 

“You’re a good man Daryl. Whatever is haunting you, you need to let it go. Nothing justifies treating her how you have, but if you just talk to her about how you feel, I think you’ll be surprised.” She gave his leg a pat. Assuming he’d already done enough self-reflection on his little trip, she changed the subject. “If you really wanted to make amends, I’m finishing up dinner. You could head to her cell and give it to her?”

Daryl looked at her and nodded his head upwards. Chewing his bottom lip, he placed his now fixed crossbow on the bed, gave Carol’s shoulder a squeeze, and followed her out. 

“Y/N?” 

Daryl knocked softly again. “Y/N, can we talk?”

Not hearing any movement, he slowly pulled the curtain from the doorway. Your slightly disheveled, sleeping form was what greeted him. 

Walking in quietly, Daryl placed the steaming bowl on your makeshift bedside table. He stood there for a moment, just watching you sleep. His face softened as he saw your puffy eyes and slightly dampened cheeks. You must’ve really been upset. 

Daryl took one small step towards your frame. He leaned down quietly, and moved some hair from out of your face. Tucking it gently behind your ear, his fingers continued to trace along your jaw and he held them against your cheek. After a minute or so, Daryl chewed his bottom lip again. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. Daryl reluctantly stepped out of your cell, and occupied himself until you woke.

It took him about half an hour to gather up the courage once more to follow you outside when he’d seen you leave. Walking through the prison, he felt a warm hand grasp his shoulder. 

“Thanks for the supplies, son” Hershel smiled warmly. Daryl acknowledged him with a pat to his hand, and kept walking. He saw Carol from across the way give him a knowing look. He ignored her and kept on. 

He hadn’t realised it’d become so dark outside. Lighting up a cigarette, he inhaled the thick smoke and took a drag. Allowing the nicotine to enter his system, he spotted you on the grass. But you were talking to…Rick? Damnit. 

About to make his way over, he stopped in his tracks. All he could do was watch as Rick moved closer and placed his arm around your shoulders. And you leaned into it. 

Daryl was now extra aware of his heart beating in his chest. But as he saw Rick kiss your head, he felt an overwhelming heat take over his body. Seeing you both cuddle up to each other was making him feel sick. 

He again felt anger. Embarrassment. Betrayal. 

Maybe Merle was right. 

Daryl could hear him in his head — “Ya aint’ good enough fer her Darylina.”

Feeling too overwhelmed, he threw his still burning cigarette onto the ground and stormed back into the prison, taking out his emotion on the door, slamming it shut. 

The image of you and Rick was what cursed his mind until he faded away into slumber. 

Part 3

*I DO NOT give permission for my work to be used/adapted/copied in any way.*

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I saw fanart and now I’m doing a thought/prompt dump. Most of these are SoapGhost

1) Soap is a fuckin atrocious eater 😂 like man’s gets food all over his mouth (and on one occasion his hair cause he didn’t realise he had food on his hands) and Ghost finds it both wildly endearing and so so fuckin annoying. He still cleans him up anyway though

2) Soaps a brat. No question, without a doubt, he’s a brat. And Ghost lives for it. He loves pushing Soap to be as bratty as he can be just so he can turn around and teach him a lesson. Soap knows Ghost does this and sometimes he’ll up it just a touch more cause he also loves the game they play

3) Ghost finally figuring out Soap’s been proper flirting with him (and not just as a game) and freaking tf out and Soaps just there like ‘thank you for noticing my heartfelt feelings for you after so long’

4) 2022 Ghost and Soap meeting 2009 Ghost and Soap would be so funny and so chaotic and just- yes. But also, throw 2009 & 2022 Price in the mix to add on the angst of knowing the other two died and shit

5) Soap going around kissing everyone but then when he gets to Ghost and tries to give him a short kiss on the cheek the others dragging him away to thoroughly ruin him

6) Ghost using Johnny’s ass to stabilise his sniper instead of his shoulder or whatever cause ‘Johnny your muscles are getting in the way, turn around’ 🤣

7) Someone else said this once but Johnny stealing one of Ghost’s skull masks and painting it red and then claiming he’s always had it and doesn’t know why his Lt is accusing him of crime

8) Soap using Ghost as a recharge for his social battery. One small kiss or hug from the man and he’s ready to light up a room again

9) Soap’s got a hardcore oral fixation and it’s hard to find him without something in his mouth. Most times he’s got lollipops in his mouth (cause he really doesn’t wanna go through the mess of accidentally breaking a pen with his teeth again) and Ghost is so weak for it

10) Soap using Ghost’s shirts to sleep in cause they’re comfy and bigger than him (Soap loves feeling small sometimes cause he’s a big dude)

11) Alejandro locking Soap in a closet somewhere on base (cause the man wouldn’t shut the fuck up) and then having to deal with the consequences of an angry (scared) Ghost that goes on an absolute warpath thinking Soap’s been kidnapped

12) Soap being an amazing cook but none of the 141 knowing cause they pissed him off and he cooked them borderline poisonous food as revenge. They won’t let him near the kitchen now

13) This wasn’t a fanart I saw but my brain took it to these two idiots anyway. But Ghost squeezing the absolute shit out of Soap’s ass and Soap just letting him cause he’s low key proud his ass made his Lt. Act out of sorts 😂

14) Soap putting on a harsher accent when he’s shy cause he hopes to god that whoever he’s talking to will give up on trying to understand him and leaves it alone

15) Alejandro learnt one bit of Gaelic so he could swear at Soap and Soap lost his fuckin mind at him in Gaelic and Spanish. Nobody’s ever tried doing it again

16) Soap’s so fuckin pale under all that gear that if you shine a light on it directly you will be blinded

17) Ghost catfishing Soap on tinder but Soap knowing about it cause his Lt. is an idiot that’s never put a password on his phone, he’s still rolling with it cause he wants to see how far he can get

18) Ghost marks Soap up to hell and back before he goes out for drinks so people know he’s taken even if Ghost isn’t there to tell them himself

19) Soap makes random noises with literally every little thing he does (it gets worse when he’s bored) and Ghost doesn’t understand it but he finds it funny and will sometimes join in (though denies it if he’s caught)

20) Last one, Soap’s got an entire journal filled with pictures from the end of each mission and they all have little messages or the names of anyone they might’ve lost. It stays on base and hidden cause it holds a lot of value to him