#because i have stared at this thing so much and read it so many goddamn times im literally just like.

[many-gay-magpies]

HELLO here’s another one

This one is the big’n, much longer at close to 17k—THIS ONE you could say is a love letter to Isaac, Scisaac, and Scallisaac (YAY POLYAMORY) and the woefully untapped potential of both in canon. Isaac’s POV, pretty much follows his journey of Loving Scott (and then eventually Allison as well) through both halves of season 3. No actual Getting Together happens (except for Allisaac’s canon Moment in 3x22) but like it ends happily (zero allison death. no allisons dying here) and they get there eventually. I plan to write the getting together but if I lose motivation before getting around to it just imagine it how you like 👍

[stargirlfics]

So Much Goddamn Talkin’

Joel Miller x Black F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes Joel has to quiet the noise in your head. Luckily he’s quite good at that.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, post outbreak—Jackson era, mutual pining, friends to lovers vibe, established relationship, some mentions of anxiety, feelings and fluff, competency kink, soft dom!joel vibes, smut: oral (both receiving), fingering, soft intense PiV, unprotected sex, praise kink, daddy kink, come marking

*reader is written and described as black but anyone is welcome and encouraged to read!

Word Count: 6k

Currently obsessed with the thought of older, domestic Joel in a relationship and couldn’t stop myself from getting carried away! Enjoy!

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d ever spoken to Joel.

On the contrary, what had started as a timid friendship became something else entirely with one spontaneous kiss that only the stars bore witness to that night. 

A silly dream of romance had landed right in your lap despite the crumbling of the old world behind you, taking everything with it and yet they took your breath away constantly, like a whirlwind, two grounding anchors were now tethered to your heart and their names were Joel and Ellie. 

So why were you so nervous? 

Sighing softly, you decided to blame it on the watchful glances Joel was giving you from across the yard, distracting you from the book you were reading. Eye contact with him could feel like the most searing heat, spreading like wildfire and at the same time the deepest depths of comfort. 

Not always being a man of many words, the things he could express with a simple look or the weight of a hand fascinated you, made you fall so dangerously hard and with a certainty you’d never felt before. 

Therefore you reasoned it simply couldn’t be your fault for being distracted and wanting him so much right now. Not when he made you feel this way without even having to try very hard. 

You just needed to take a moment to soak it all in, a blooming hope carried in on the breeze now that it was the beginning of spring in Jackson, the wildflowers and planted seeds starting to sprout, and the soil and your own souls teeming with life after so long spent just surviving. Now there was space for healing. 

Space for you to sit in the rocking chair Joel had worked on for months as a birthday present to you, or watch him get around to all the house projects (because once a contractor always a contractor) and strum out the prettiest chords on his guitar late in the evenings out on the porch. 

This felt more like living and you never wasted a moment to covet it. 

“You’re doing an awful lot of staring, Miller.” You looked up from the same page for the fifth time to catch him already looking your way. 

He blinked and put another nail into the wood post he was working on. 

“Hm, well damn right I am when you look the way you do. Now if I told you it’s been at least ten minutes since you’ve turned a page in that book you just might have to admit you’ve been starin’ too.” 

There was that little smirk you knew so well, dancing on his lips as if he knew just how much it would drive you crazy, the confirmation that you hadn’t been subtle in the slightest either. 

“Well, you’re out here giving me a show.” You make a point to turn to the next page then, looking away before he could throw you a look at the sass in your tone. 

He was right of course but what he didn’t know was that reading had started all this to begin with. 

The tattered novel had been a surprise find on a patrol one day and came with an unexpected eroticism, bits of dialogue and tantalizing imagery on the page you were stuck on making your mind wander and wonder. 

It’s why you felt a little nervous, caught off guard, suddenly wishing you were in bed and underneath him. 

He flashes his teeth at you, that smirk widening into a smile at your reply, his attention returning to the tools in his hands but your own continued to linger. Remembering. 

A few nights before in particular, when he was fucking into you so deep you had to bite the sheets to keep your moans down. You could still picture the definition of his arms as they cradled you and kept the headboard from colliding into the wall at the same time. 

Or how good you knew it felt when his broad palms swat across your ass, never failing to make you yield to him with such eagerness. 

You wished you could have your hands on him now, petting, feeling, showing him how much he was desired and cared for, how much you wanted to be filled by him, stretched out and aching with nothing but his name in your mind and on the tip of your tongue for hours.

Those stray thoughts had you turning back a page, leaning into the slow burning fire lit underneath you. 

Still unsure of how to initiate these desires, you didn’t want to distract him from something he’d been trying to get around to doing for awhile and at the same time felt a thrill at the idea of tugging him away, leading him to bed. 

With some hesitation you decided to bide your time for a bit longer, getting caught up in words that made you squirm imagining Joel doing and saying them. 

God, you weren’t sure how much more of this you could keep up, feeling the slick pooling of arousal between your thighs, the way you wanted to grind against nothing already. 

Joel finished repairing the post in no time and moved on to patch up a hole in the wall of the old shed, unaware of your internal dilemma. 

Eventually he gathered up his tools and stored them away, told you he was gonna head in and wash up but that you should keep relaxing out here for as long as you wanted and he’d get started on preparing things for dinner later. 

He left you with a kiss to your temple and the lingering familiarity of his touch. Handsome and sweet, he was going to be the death of you. 

Your mind felt too restless to keep sitting but you took him up on the suggestion just for awhile longer, trying to find the right way to move things in the direction you wanted. Family dinner wasn’t for another four hours and Ellie would be here a bit early but there was still time and you wanted to make the most of it. 

So you finished off another chapter and finally closed the novel, ushered inside with the echo of birdsongs and the steady thumping of your heart in your ribs. 

–

Joel had been so sure you hadn’t noticed his repeated stares as much as he’d noticed yours, bowing his head under the warm spray of the shower he could only think of how pretty you looked sitting there while he worked, fond of the fact that you liked to be next to him even if he was occupied.  

At first he couldn’t wrap his head around it and was almost too unnerved and bewildered by the fact that you took such an interest. 

Not at all used to someone touching him or looking at him like he was their entire world but that’s the only way you looked at him and as much as he had tried to be measured, tried not to get attached, he had come around to the idea of a relationship again. 

Loving people was frightening, something he felt he’d lost the ability to do properly after all these years, all the blood staining his hands and his conscience.

He had lost so much, seen too much death and feared he would only bring ruin, that he would lose her too, until you came along and turned everything he thought he knew on its head. 

Oh what secrets and stories of loss he had told you in the quiet of night, when old nightmares and new guilts collided and kept him from sleeping though that was much less these days now that you slept by his side every night. 

It had been a long time since he’d shared his bed and now it made him smile thinking of how natural it felt to wake up next to you, how easy it was to be around you, in the quiet moments he could see how the foundations you’d both built together had been made solid and steadfast over time. 

Silly to think how he fretted over ruining his friendship with you all that time ago, the way everyone was sick of him in the days leading up to when he would finally ask if you were interested because they all knew he had nothing to worry about and those worries in his head were swiftly put to rest when you tugged at his shirt to pull him closer and asked what had taken him so long.

He’d never forget that moment. 

Joel thought then that this was the moment he knew but quickly learned there would actually be a collection of moments–several times a day–that would remind him just how hooked on you he really was.

Like the times he showed his age and your sweet giggles and clever retorts always followed soon after, or how much he’s come to love the summertime because your brown skin basked in the sunlight is like art to him and he relishes every chance he gets to see you exactly as you are.

You brought a fullness and meaning to life here, encouraging him to slow down, to breathe. Taking care of one another made him stronger, nourished in ways he didn’t think were possible.  

“Honey.”

He grits the word out like he’s trying to call you up here, reminded of how lucky he felt to have you, to be so connected.

Watching you walk around batting your eyes acting like you don’t know that it’s the pretty, round edges of your nose, the smile lines, the plush of your hips and that glowing thing inside you beating in your chest that drives him crazy. 

Simply put, he was impressed by you. Constantly. You could handle yourself, skilled in your own right, already handy with weapons long before he was in your life and even more proficient now, deadly, with the things he’d taught you since. 

You were resourceful and calm in tricky situations or when quick medical training was needed and yet none of the carnage of infected and worse terrors ever changed the soft way you tended to people, almost like you couldn’t help but give a little extra love. 

And you had certainly spared many an ounce of that love for him; he’d forgotten how good it felt to smile this much over someone, can’t remember the last time he felt this way and definitely can’t remember the last time he’s seen his Ellie look at someone with such admiration either. 

Everything about you captured his attention and he was grateful to be able to live some sort of life again after so much heartache, after believing he could never have these kinds of things for himself. 

Those hands of his could scorch the Earth but you made him understand they could build things too, could show love and give pleasure just as well and just as fiercely. 

Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job of it. 

All he knew was that he never wanted to let you go and that was enough for him. 

–

When you venture into the bedroom you find him getting dressed, hair tousled from being towel dried, another wave of aching bloomed in your core as you thank yourself for having nudged him into letting it grow out a bit during the colder months. 

He looked so handsome doing nothing at all in particular you were sure you’d implode if you didn’t just come out with it, you just hope he wouldn’t mind doing some undressing again. 

“Hey, honey.” 

His voice was low and gentle, the familiar pet name in his usual smooth rasp made you stride forward, sending you surging into his arms so that you were squished against his chest. He tilted his head at you just slightly in question before you were pressing your lips to his.

Your mouths met so tenderly at first, fingertips bursting with a nervous energy as they reached for his shirt, grasping needily as you lost yourself in the slow ease of the way he kissed you back.

But a little spark of anxiety makes you tense, overthinking the kiss, feeling a little silly for just how turned on you were, how much he could see it written all over you, dripping quite literally in desperation even if you tried to reason with yourself that you knew there wasn’t anything wrong with that. 

“J-Joel…shit,” you whined and huffed through sloppy kisses, slowly finding yourself being walked backwards and held firm against the closest wall, “Oh…we don’t have to do this if-” 

“The hell are you goin’ on about?” Joel grumbled against the column of your neck and all ability to articulate went out the window.

Rationally you knew it was a pretty good indication he wasn’t bothered by the spontaneity from the way those strong hands of his were already underneath your shirt, pinching almost in the haste to grip your flesh but you were already overthinking and it held persistent. 

“Just…if you’re tired, I understand. We can wait till tonight. I don’t want you to feel obligated.” Your words were huffed out in nervous gasps, trying to will your knees not buckle when his scruff teased a swipe across your jaw. 

Joel pulled back then so you’d have to look at him, knowing the anxious flit of your lashes well. 

He knew what to watch for, patient when you needed reassurance that you were free to run wild with your desires, that he was never tired of having you bare and wrapped around him at any hour of the day but this was of no consequence, he’d make sure you knew where he stood.

Shaking his head, he doesn’t give you more than a moment to suck in a breath before his hands leave your waist to hold your face. 

“So much goddamn talkin’, sweetheart,” the words are a heavy growl against your lips in between heavier kisses, “Think I need to remind you of some things and put those thoughts out of your mind, yeah?” 

Your whole body felt hot, flushed with desire and aching for whatever he was going to do to remind you, nodding before your tongue could catch up with your agreeing thoughts. 

“Let me show you.” Joel caged you in against the wall, broad shoulders blocking everything else out. 

The steady rise and fall of his chest became your focal point and new arousal sparked at his attentiveness, so easily able to soothe, to make you unravel for him. 

“Please, I want you so much.” Your softly sighed plea turned into a whine when you were crushed to his chest again and this time there were no reservations to the embrace.

He was so good at this, making you burn for him so often you wondered sometimes how you were able to get anything done.

Hungry fingers pushed the collar of his flannel back, jeans already unbuttoned for your wandering attention to latch onto and he encouraged it with a push of his hips against yours. 

It’s an easy movement, dropping to your knees like you’ve done a hundred times before to see how just a simple kiss already had him stiff and straining against denim, teasing the kind of thickness you so badly wanted to fill your throat with. 

Your mouth watered, fingers outstretched to wrap around hot skin the moment his cock was free, unable to stop yourself now. Joel’s rough sigh following the steady pump of your hands made you glance up, meeting the intensity of his gaze and you held it there for a moment before your tongue was tasting him. 

“Look at you...already have it in your mouth like the quick learner you are,” He hissed through his teeth and you could feel where he throbs against the hollow of your cheek. 

Pride swells in your chest from the praise, knowing the tone of his voice meant the restrained edge of patience from letting you tease him back was slipping.

You could feel it in the flex of muscle underneath your hands where they’re braced on his thighs and you hoped he was proud watching your lips stretch around him, head bobbing nice and easy the way you know he liked it.

You’re unconcerned with being neat about it, slicking him up with your mouth and still trying to take him deeper, trying to take all of him in fact. 

You liked to flirt with dreams of your nose being pressed snug against Joel’s pelvis, wanted to feel him through your entire chest even if burned because there was sweetness in being deprived of oxygen like that. Call it an unwavering trust. 

You gave in to the feeling and kept your eyes focused upwards on him, trying to relax your jaw despite all the anticipation, happy to let him take control. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl. Stay just like that.” 

Listening is hardly even a thought when you’ve hung onto his every word, every movement, not minding the strain in your jaw as he rocked his hips into the wet heat of your mouth. Tongue swirling over his shaft, the thick head of him, desperate to earn it, to make him curse and growl out your name. 

The pressure of his fingers against your jaw and then the back of your head had you moaning, trying to speak while he fucks your mouth. 

“P-please, make me take it.” Your heart lept with each languid thrust of his hips sliding deep so he could feel the softening of your throat.

He’d give you whatever you asked for when you whimpered like that. 

Firm and sweet was his grip, raspy grunts and cursed out praises that flowed from his mouth even sweeter to your ears as your tongue slid over the soft, sensitive head of his cock and back down the length of him. 

You’re insatiable and any anxious thoughts still rattling around in your mind were quickly fading, replaced with his touch, his smell, his taste. The salty smear on your taste buds had you pressing your thighs together, craving relief.

“Good girl, yeah that’s it. Startin’ to understand now, sweetheart?” 

Your head tipped forward and the only response you could give was a heady moan, doing your best to nod knowing how much he’d like seeing that, the tears already welling along your lashes from the effort but you didn’t mind.

Knowing you made him tip his head back, a heavy palm braced against the wall above your head while he grunted out curses and filthier praise made you feel a dozen more times ravenous, encouraging him to keep going with sloppy, wet whimpers that were barely held back from your kiss swollen lips, stretched over every thick inch of him you could take. 

“Love watching you choke on it, honey. Fuck that's good, show me how much you can fit.” 

The sight of him is something you hoped to never forget, searching for and finding the slight snarl of his lips when the tip hits the back of your mouth and the flex of his biceps when you slide your tongue around to lick the underside of him. 

Joel could barely hold himself back, the urge to bury himself in your throat almost overwhelming but he wanted more than that, he wanted to reward you for listening so well, for how much you make him feel.  

It had been building all day and he knew you had to feel it too. He was loath to pull you off his cock, an ache through his chest at your desperate cries from the loss of contact but he was quick to remedy that with a searing kiss.  

You melt and are grateful your knees are already on the floor when your tongue meets his. It was so messy, hungry and neither of you cared. 

“Get on the bed. Go on, darlin’.” Joel’s voice sounded like warm syrup, covering you in adoring instruction, taking you and leading you where he knows is best. 

And god do you love when he was in this mood, nothing but a filthy edge to his affections. 

So you complied, ignoring the twinge in your tummy as you moved to the bed, sprawling out across sheets that smell like the both of you. 

He watches you get comfortable, loosening a few buttons and those jeans finally discarded on the floor before the distance is closed and he’s all over you. 

Every touch and caress was intentional as he undresses like he’s unwrapping a present, greedy for all of you but so passionate, so easily able to steal your breath at the same time, slowing down the tempo now that your legs have fallen open and there’s nothing left covering you. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy…and she’s all mine.” Joel admires you for a moment, firm hands tickling your thighs while his thumbs circled the soft, sensitive junction of your thigh so close to where you wanted him most. 

The praise has you sighing breathlessly, peeking down to see the way he was looking at where you glisten, a sureness to his features that made you feel safe all while the clench of his jaw sent goosebumps across your arms.

You want to echo that he’s right but he doesn’t let you have the chance, a broad palm sliding down over the hair covering your mound, tugging at it gently before two thick fingers are swirling over your folds. 

Muscles jolting, you were rocking up into a touch that is so expert and familiar you are helpless against it.

“Joel, oh! That feels so good,” You’re panting, trying to catch your breath while your body responds to the tight circles he was rubbing against your clit.

“Yeah? ‘Can tell. You’re so slick, honey. Did suckin’ me off get you this worked up?” 

Your nod is pure reflex, hips grinding against his movements needing to chase the pleasure that was slowly oozing its way into your system. 

It’s only something he can do and he’s so steady, so thorough with you even as you squirm, those two fingers now stroking at your entrance eliciting sounds that sparked heat in your cheeks and spread down to your chest. 

You want to be as connected to him as you can, almost pleading for him to sink inside you already just desperate to feel completely surrounded by him. 

And Joel can’t seem to grasp enough of you under his hands, gone for the way you cling to him as he fits his middle finger inside, marveling at the way your walls take him in. 

He would never get over your strangled little cry at being stretched around his knuckles. 

“I asked a question, lemme hear you.” He spoke a little more loosely, his Texan drawl slightly heavier now. 

“Yes, yes,” you’re remembering yourself after a moment, “Fuck, yes I love sucking your dick.” 

The words are shameless, falling from your lips as a promise, a proclamation that you know he feels the weight of when he leans in to kiss you again, muffling your sounds while he slides a second finger in alongside the first that’s filling you so perfectly. 

Any concept of time or day is somewhere in the background muted, far away and suddenly you know you’re right where you should be, right where you belong, no traces of anxious thoughts lurking any longer.   

You could sink into these sensations now, enjoying how his kisses had moved to your neck exploring the sensitive spots and smiling against your skin when a new one is found because he loves feeling you clench around him when he does. 

It’s a gift to Joel, being able to draw out this kind of bliss in you. 

He wanted you to feel good, wanted to be the one to make your world shatter and then piece it back together again when you came down to the ground. 

Your eyes rolled shut when he plunged deeper, the pads of his fingers massaging at your walls in tandem with what his mouth was doing between the valley of your chest and further down to where your stomach fluttered. 

Somewhere in the haze of it all you realize his mouth was at your thighs, the white hot touch of his lips closing around a stretch of supple flesh bringing another wave of heat before he’s licking gently, bruising a mark into your skin that only he will know is there later. 

“I could spend hours like this, you know that? Could have you makin’ such a pretty mess all over my hands, all over our bed…and I know you love when I do this.” Joel husks before he’s finally tasting you properly. 

He starts at your clit, tongue flattened against you in anticipation of the inevitable flex of your legs, determined to keep you right where he wants and you’re already so far gone for him and this moment that your head tilts back against the pillows in a gasp. 

You feel almost weightless as you succumb to the pleasure and how he presses his mouth into your pussy like he wants to devour it. You’re sure you’d let him swallow you whole if it kept feeling like this. 

It’s not even a question really, you know you would, until you’re between sinew and bone and part of him forever. 

The plunge and curl of his fingers combined with the flick of his tongue had you panting, heat skittering across your body while your hips circled on their own accord.

“More! Please, Joel!” It’s a chant and a sob all rolled in one and you don’t care how needy it sounds. 

He keeps going, lapping at your sex greedily until you’re clenching down around his fingers and your toes are curling, crying out for him not to stop as you hurtle towards the cliff’s edge.

Skin dewy and alive, you decide that you don’t want to spare anything, not when he’s watching you as hungrily as he eats. 

You give him all your sounds, all your pleas, handing him your body and your heart at once. 

It’s amazing how it doesn’t take long for him to have you so close, right at the precipice, forgoing his own breaths to keep pace, to give you what your body is singing out for and when you finally let go, when your orgasm is finally coaxed from you he only presses his face into you further, drawing out every bit of pleasure he could in hopes of seeing that soft sweet look in your eyes afterwards.

“Attagirl, doin so well.” The words are a tether. 

He’d take care of you and that’s perhaps what made it so easy to surrender yourself to the passion of the moment knowing it would linger long after you were both spent. 

“Mmm you should see yourself right now,” Joel hummed, licking his lips while you attempted to catch your breath, “I always want you, don’t forget that yeah?” 

The last part catches your attention through the curtain of bliss, a serious shift in his tone telling you that he meant every word; you had no reason to second guess yourself over your desires and he was making sure of that. 

You nodded and sat up to reach for him, nevermind how you still trembled, your desire to be close to him was stronger than ever now. 

“I need you, Joel! Please, I’ve been so good…” Your words tug at him, you can tell they do by the way he ruts his hips against the edge of the bed. 

He crushed his mouth to yours before you could finish speaking, a much welcome relief, the burning flame inside you quelled for a moment. 

“Sure have been, honey and I think good girls should be rewarded.” He nipped at your ear, stealing your breath with his words. 

And even further when his flannel joined his jeans on the floor, climbing back onto the bed to follow the path of your body with his own, framing your limbs and wrapping you up in his embrace like you were made to fit against his chest. 

Your legs fall open again to wrap around his waist as he settles some of his weight down against your hips, just giving you a taste, calling back memories and reminding you, funnily enough, of that novel you were reading earlier. 

It felt like you were suddenly amongst the pages, chest heaving, your core tender and dripping as the man of your dreams was about to show you how much you’re his in every way.

Fairytales didn’t exist in this world but you felt like you were in one right now.

A giddy and timid smile spread across your face when Joel trailed warm hands down your body, catching on the bend of your elbow, wrapping around your ribcage to settle on the crest of your ass as he puts more of his weight down and uses his shoulders to nudge your legs apart and back towards your chest. 

The air felt thicker but your breathing seemed to even out, everything in your body thrumming with energy and an intensity neither of you could ignore any longer. 

Reaching down between your bodies you wrap a hand around where he’s thick and throbbing, guiding him closer with a soft smile, feeling how heavy he hangs in your hand, fingers pinching his skin when he rocks against your folds, the dirty sounds of his cock gliding through your stickiness. 

Joel groans against your forehead, holding himself steady as your hips buck into his touch, the tip pressing against your entrance and finally, slowly, sinking inside. 

Your moans are twined together in the quiet room. The stretch makes you keen, hands fumbling and grasping at strong shoulders, grateful he lets you have a moment to adjust. 

But it’s not long before you’re squirming again, whining for him to go deeper, to fill you to the hilt and he made good on his promises to do exactly that. 

He keeps your hips tilted up with the press of his palm underneath you, meeting little resistance the more he splits you open and it does something to him to see how much of a mess you are and he’s barely fucked you yet. 

“You can do it, know you can…there you go.” Joel pulls back to give a shallow thrust, lips brushing your temple and a hand coming up to cradle your cheek. 

The drag of his cock against your walls was everything, steady thrusts building up the tension coiling in your belly, fantasies from your novel melding with reality.

You felt like you were floating, your toes pointing when he changed the angle, brushing against a spot that had you crying out, ankles trying to lock around his torso.

Pressing heavier and faster with his hips however, your legs stay spread, the beginnings of a tremble rippling through your muscles now that he’s caught on. 

His pace remained measured and deep, just the way you were begging for it, and he’s content to watch your brows pinch, your jaw slacken, content to hear every gasp of air and pretty sobs  mixed in with your moans driving him crazy every time they slip from clenched teeth. 

“Shit, I love watching you take me like this.” He cooed. 

You can feel the heavy slap of his balls colliding with your ass when he pounds into you again and soon your hands slip from sweaty skin, scratching down his chest to pull at the sheets, so overwhelmed with feeling but never wanting it to stop.

“Daddy...Please, please keep going.”

You’re so caught up in the moment you don’t realize you’ve said it out loud, glassy eyes moving up from where you were trying to peek between your bodies to meet Joel’s careful gaze, only half registering how they widen for a moment. 

He’s taken aback for just a second, almost questioning whether he heard it correctly but something’s been knocked loose within him now, his cock twitching from the reverence and adoration in your tone, bestowing him with a title he suddenly wanted to earn. 

Joel was a grown man and had lived through many hells to be able to have you bare and underneath him like this, he reasoned he deserved to have a little fun in the bedroom especially when he hadn’t expected to be so affected.

“Ah so that’s what you’ve been reading in that book of yours. Just wanted Daddy to fuck you all day is that it, sweetheart? Yeah, I gotcha now.” He rasped low against the crook of your neck and started to fuck you harder. 

His grip on you was less gentle but still just as passionate, the force of his thrusts stealing your ability to think properly. He wanted to make you say it again. 

The burning in your cheeks only subsided a little at his acceptance, more heat flooding you from head to toe at being called out, wondering how he knew it was something you read in your novel, if it had been that obvious. 

It didn’t matter now, you see where his dark eyes have narrowed, ready to make you come again with this newfound discovery. 

So you try and be good for him while you moan and clench down on his length, your pussy swollen and aching but tingling for everything he could give you, “Yes, daddy! Just…oh! I couldn’t help it. Thank you, daddy!” 

He knows you’re close, a familiar frenzy to your breathing, the slick wet sounds between your legs, it’s everything he dreams of and more, torn between watching your face as you come or watching the way his cock shines with your release. 

With a few more strokes and the soft rubbing of his thumb against your clit you shatter, face pressing against the meat of his shoulder while you ride it out, feeling weightless in his embrace. 

It makes you giggle when you can’t keep your head up any longer, neck lolling back against the pillow where he cradles your head in his hands, keeping you in place as he finds his own release swiftly after yours, pulling out to cover your puffy folds in hot ropes of his come. 

You would never tire of being made a mess, even if you knew you’d be sore tomorrow, nothing quite ever beat the feeling of being fucked out like the way Joel could have you.

“Baby…” you’re breathless and bursting with emotion, “Thank you for that. Think I really needed it,” You laugh against his chest and sigh.

You’re almost too nervous still to look at him after your slip of the tongue but you know deep down there’s nothing you have to be worried about. 

“Of course, honey. Anytime, and I mean that.” 

–

You’re not sure how much time has passed, drifting in and out of a dreamy slumber still cradled against Joel, only now you realize you’ve been cleaned up and tucked under the covers but you don’t mind, you know you can simply lay here and soak it all in, he would take care of you. 

Racing thoughts no longer buzz around in your head, all you can feel and see is Joel and you smile to yourself knowing the intimacy you just shared still lingered in your body, love etched in your fingertips where they’re laced in his hand against his stomach. 

His lips press against your temple and you close your eyes again letting yourself be swept away with the sweet drawl of an “I love you.” in your ears and the gentle evening sun warming you both.

—

A/N: This was actually lowkey inspired by that scene where Joel is leading Ellie, Henry and Sam down the street after they come out of the tunnels and Joel just shakes his head and goes “so much goddamn talkin’.’ while looking like an annoyed father because they’re all being too loud…got very hung up on that bit of dialogue and could not let it go so here we are!

Also hope I added the daddy kink bit here in tastefully, it’s a fave of mine and I struggled a bit to think of how to incorporate it in a way that felt real for Joel so I only just dipped my toe in with it here but I hope you liked it! 👀

Thank you for reading <3

some no pressure tags! 💫 @eupheme @ozarkthedog @moreofem @tinydramatist @black-fairy3 @federalchickensoup @fluffyprettykitty @persona-enthusiast @moonstruksandco @ghotifishreads @communism-bitches

[vivwritesfics]

Gremlin

I get paid to be his best friend.

Lance couldn't begin to describe just how much her saying that hurt him. She made it sound as though she was paid to keep him company, when in actual fact they had been best friends for years and years and years and years.

She was his assistant, but assistant was a loose title. The more Lance thought about it, the more he realised that maybe she was just paid to be his best friend. They spent any free moment goofing off together, probably annoying everybody around them.

"Lancenot Stroll," she said as she strode towards him in her green Aston Martin shirt. She had a notebook tucked under her arms, but Lance knew they were full of odd little drawings, most of them inappropriate.

Lancenot Stroll. She'd been calling him that since they were kids. Lance did a bit where he pretended to hate it, but he really loved it.

"Gremlin," he said as she hopped up onto the little table. "What do you want?"

His racing suit was around his hips and his white fireproofs covered his body. He looked good, undeniably so.

Y/N leaned back against the wall as she looked at her best friend. "Can't I just want to enjoy your company?"

"No."

Yes, she could.

Lance leaned his elbows on the table and looked up at her. She couldn't stop herself from running her hands through his hair and messing it up.

Lance gave her a joking glare and, goddamn, if he didn't look cute. Y/N booped his nose and leaned back.

As Lance prepared himself for the race, Y/N scrolled through her tiktok with the sound off. She watched through the F1 tiktoks that appeared on her for you page, most of them about Lance (if it wasn't for her, he'd never know about any of the drama).

"Did you know there's a thing on tiktok where people say how many shots it would take for them to get with drivers?" She asked as she gently kicked her legs.

Lance looked up, something of a grin playing on her lips. "How many to get with me?" He asked as he walked closer and placed his hands on her thighs.

She pretended not to notice, but his touch was warm, addicting. Y/N swiped through the slides on the tiktok until she found Lance. "Two," she answered and read out what they had to say about him. "So fucking cute, like seriously, and, I'm so freaking jealous of Y/N I'd do anything to be in her position."

His dark eyes stared unto her own. "How many shots would it take you?"

"Easy, zero," she answered just a little bit too quickly. Lance's eyes lit up. "Because it's not happening."

Lance pouted at her. In response, Y/N squeezed his cheeks together. She loved it when he pouted, couldn't get another of it.

His facial hair burned against her fingertips as she pulled away. "You're cute, Lancenot," she said and hopped off of the table to 'do her job'.

"You are, too, Gremlin," he said as she walked out of the room.

***

"I get paid to be his best friend," Y/N said with a grin to the audiences of the Aston Martin tiktok page.

Lance watched her. He couldn't help but grin as she spun and snapped her fingers towards the camera. "Gremlin!" He shouted and she walked away from the camera, leaving the editor of the video to do their job.

Lance opened his arm and she tucked herself beneath it. "Good luck, Lancenot," she said and reached up to kiss his cheek.

He tightened his arms around her, gently rocking her from side to side. It was a pre race ritual; Lance called it his good luck charm.

"Come with me to the track?" He asked, kissing the top of her head.

Y/N thought about it. Well, she made it look like she thought about it. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I actually have work to do."

"What? No you don't."

"Lancey Lance," she said as she pulled away. "I need to plan all of the fun things for us to do while we're in the United States," she said and walked away from him. "Good luuuuuck!" She called as she walked away, heading for the privacy of his unused drivers room.

Before the race started, before the driver's got into their cars, Y/N's phone buzzed

Estie Bestie x

You guys are so cute together

But you should definitely get a room

[nolita-fairytale]

Carmy as Your Baby Daddy | Social Media AU & Headcanon Series | part one

masterlist | part two now that i've finished my top gun: maverick series, it's me i'm back and gearing up for season two. after a bout of food poisoning, i finally cracked and am writing this pregnancy headcanon that i said i wouldn't bc my ovaries would explode (looking at you @allthefandomstogether). anyways, a huge thank you to @carmensberzattos who pinged many an ideas back and forth about carmy as your baby daddy and screamed into the abyss about this on a friday night. i'm writing this with my main character from the make your heart surrender-verse, but can absolutely read as a standalone piece. posting now because i'm so damn excited but i may go back and add some more things later.

oh and this a headcanon series now so. that part.

carmy as your baby daddy:

sometime after the wedding, you and carmy decide that you're ready to start a family. you're not trying but you're not not trying, meaning you've gone off of birth control but you're not carefully monitoring your ovulation cycle either. you both figure that it'll happen when it happens and if it doesn't, there are many other ways to make a family.

carmy never really thought about having kids until the two of you got together. after adopting your kitty together, carmy got to see a your more nurturing side and taking care of something together as a team made him think about how much he wants a family with you. after sugar has her baby it really ups the ante. seeing carmy become an uncle is what starts the conversation about seriously starting a family, and every time carmy sees you holding the baby, it's 'when our kids this, and when our kids that' for days after.

you swear it's food poisoning. after a somewhat questionable late night meal, you spend half the night vomiting while carmy works a later night at the restaurant. you text him to bring ginger ale and tums home. of course he comes through because are you kidding this man is a caretaker?!

you insist that you're fine and much better, even though you're absolutely exhausted. things are so busy at work for you (and have i mentioned the pregnancy fatigue) that you don't think much of it when a few nights later, you find yourself kneeling on the bathroom floor once again.

there are always little kids running around at the extended family gatherings and which led to your realization (when you first met everyone) that carmy is surprisingly good with kids.

it's not till a week or two later (after your little bout of 'food poisoning') that you're at cicero's place for a family birthday party that it hits you. one of carmy's cousins (not richie kind of cousin teehee) has just had a new baby with his wife. you've been catching up with ava, richie's daughter because you've become an auntie of sorts to her. you find some time to steal away for a some girl-time but when you return, carmy is holding his new niece/nephew in his arms.

the sight of him holding the baby not only takes your goddamn breath away as he stares long and hard your way, his blue eyes piercing right through your heart, but it's then that you realize that you're a few weeks late. it's like time stops as you look at him, seeing him coo at the baby with the softest look on his face. the realization hits you, clear as day.

"holy shit." is all you say, earning a few funny looks from the berzatto extended family and friends. "carm, can i borrow you for a second?" you and carmy find a quiet place to talk inside. "you okay, babe?" "carmy i think i'm-. what if i-. i'm late." "what do you-? like.. late late?" "now that i think about it, a few weeks late, honey." "yeah?" he asks you, totally in shock and eyes wide. "yeah."

the two of you make an excuse to leave the party as soon as possible, and hurry to the nearest drugstore to pick up a pregnancy test. you wait till you're home to take it. "do you want me to come in, sweetheart?" "no, carmy! i don't want you to watch me pee, you weirdo!" you answer, even though you know he's just excited.

the two of you are pacing back and forth, practically making dents in the floor with your footsteps for what feels like the longest two minutes of your lives. when your timer goes off, you're both simultaneously freaking out about the fact that you're lives are about to change forever, while also really, really hoping for a positive result. and as the fates would have it, the test is positive.

"holy shit. holy fucking shit. we're- you're-, we're gonna-!" carmy is ecstatic as searches for words. "we're having a baby, baby!" you squeal jumping into his arms." "god, i love you so much," he says, grinning at you as wrap your legs around his waist. "i love you too, carm. so, so much."

you literally get the biggest kick out of calling him your baby daddy: to friends and family, coworkers, random strangers, in restaurants, at the gas station. you'll take photos of him at the farmers market and post on your ig story referring to him as your baby daddy because you find it hilarious. carmy doesn't find it as funny (even though he secretly loves it) and he's cherry-tomato red when you tell the checkout clerk at the bodega across the street from your place that your baby daddy is going to pick up the tab.

everyone at the restaurant is so excited for you! even richie cries a little when you tell him the news. you hadn't really gotten close to richie until ava grew super attached to you, which opened up a whole new avenue and understanding for your friendship with richie.

ever since you found out you were pregnant, carmy always has bread and ginger ale on hand for your morning sickness. he started making you your favorite soft scrambled eggs with toast, but the chives have been way too strong of a flavor for a sensitive tummy. it's slowly become eggs & toast and then just... toast, which you promptly apologize for stripping away any kind of artistic freedom he may have previously had.

you get near compulsive cravings for certain foods, and carmy is always ready to throw on a jacket and run across the street when you get midnight cravings.

carmy hates seeing how tumultuous pregnancy has been during your first trimester. he's always ready with a hair tie or a glass of water for when you're done throwing up. okay hear me out: but carmy starting to wear hair ties because he wants to always have one ready for you. he'll even take off a morning with you or call your workplace if you need a sick day just so that he can take care of you. even if you don't need care, he just wants to spend time with you and be there for you while you go through it.

we already know that carmy is an acts of service king. he is the tenderest, most gentle partner and wants to be as helpful as possible. if you're sick, he wants to make you feel better. if the pregnancy hormones are raging against the machine, he's more than happy to let you be upset, or get you off by any means if the hormones go that way too. he'll sit on the bathroom floor with you and rub your back until you need to vomit again. he'll give you the best morning head of your life. he'll run a bath for you when you need one. he checks in every hour on the hour in your first trimester, which you appreciate, but eventually have to ask him to chill the fuck out.

speaking of physical changes, the pregnancy boobs are ELITE. carmy is always there to make you feel beautiful despite your rapidly changing body, esp when your clothes start fitting differently.

the first time your bump starts showing and you point it out to him, carmy cries. or maybe he notices it first and he's just like... weeping and you're like: babe r u ok? and then you realize that you're showing and carmy is kneeling and admiring your baby bump and now you're crying. sorry, but i don't make the rules it's just a fact that this is how it would go down.

carmy is so emotional about this because he realizes that he finally gets to build the family he didn't have and he gets to build it with you.

well this just hijacked my writing plans oops. part two will be more 'you & carmy pregnancy things' and part three will be birth & post-birth.

tagging my carmy taglist in the comments below!

[potchi-fics]

Sundo | part two of 8 ball

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

sundô. imagine being so tired from studying, from using your brain so much that you just feel like collapsing. but you remember that at the end of the day, someone's waiting-- waiting for you. a simple gesture yet it makes you feel so many things all at once: happiness, excitement, comfort... and wonder.

NOTE: sundo means to fetch someone from somewhere.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Y/n leans back on the chair she has been sitting on for hours now. she checks her phone and she sees that it's 5:59 pm. she got too busy with academic work, she always wants to finish her projects as soon as possible because she doesn't like procrastinating.

she sighs through her nose, holding the bridge of her nose, she's so tired. even her ears hurt from the hours of wearing her headphones.

and of course, her friends are studying alongside with her... but they all fell asleep. thankfully, though, they got their work done.

"wake up," she gently shakes Aiki, who whined and shooed her away. she moved on to Monika who woke up with just a nudge. "Noze, it's almost time to go home."

"god," Noze cracks her back, "my whole body hurts. good thing we don't have any classes for two days."

"you're goddamn right about that. somebody wake Aiki up." Monika groans out in defeat.

Y/n tries again, "Aiks, c'mon, it's time to go home."

the three struggled to contain their laughter once they see Aiki's state: drool all over her cheek and table, and the thousand-yard stare.

"aw gross, wipe your face, Aiks." Noze hands her wet wipes.

Y/n struggled even more when Monika showed her the picture she took of Aiki when she woke her up. she looks like a toddler who just woke up.

"is it time to go home? what time is it?" Aiki groggily asks.

she was about to tell her when something caught her eye; a text message from Bada. it read:

"what time's ur dismissal?"

it was sent four minutes ago. she texts back:

"6:30, whyy?"

she didn't get to put down her phone because it buzzed. it's a reply from her:

"i'll come and fetch u. where r u?"

Y/n's weirdly excited about this? and also a tiny bit nervous? nevertheless, she replied:

"library with my friendsss."

and she waits. she can't even stay still, and the other notice it.

"jesus, can you stop with the pen clicking?" Monika complains.

Y/n mutters out a soft sorry.

Noze looks at her with a funny expression, "who were you texting?"

a beat passes before she says Bada's name.

the trio have their what-the-hell faces on. before she could defend herself, they already started teasing her relentlessly; saying things like she's excited to see Bada, or that they were gonna go on a date.

"guys," she starts, "it's not a date and why would i be nervous? it's Bada." she rolls her eyes. "i could squeeze that punk easily."

but she is nervous. she doesn't know why. is it because of what happened at that billiards place? why did she even do that in the first place.

time seems to really pass by because six-thirty comes and they start tidying their place. making silent conversation. they come out of the library and see someone squatted down.

it's her.

Y/n thinks-- god, she's so handsome and pretty, she's not even doing anything. she malfunctions because she did not just think that? that is so not Y/n coded of her, she adds.

her friend's loud voice caught their attention, "hey, Bada!"

"yo," Bada stands up, looking at Y/n. "are you guys done? can i steal her away from you now?"

Y/n could only roll her eyes, "what do you mean by steal me away? as if i would let myself be taken."

"so grumpy," Bada tease, "careful now, you look like that one angry bird."

"well, in that case, i'm a pretty angry bird." she retaliates.

her enemy pats her head, "sure, sure.. let's go. bye guys!"

the trio shakes their head, even walking, the two seems to fight. they witness how Bada tries to carry Y/n's things but she wouldn't let her. however, eventually, Y/n gives in and gives Bada her things.

bada opens her car door for Y/n, receiving a soft thank you from the girl. she puts the things in the backseat and finally enters the drivers seat.

"you hungry?" she asks.

Y/n nods, too tired to talk. she closes her eyes and feel the car start up, she assumes that Bada knows a place.

during the car ride, comfortable silence envelops the pair. it continues that way not until she feels a hand on her thigh. Y/n opens her eyes and her gaze fell on the hand that is on her thigh.

Bada couldn't resist-- she caresses her thigh, rubbing circles on it, even slightly moving it up. she notices that the girl's breath is uneven. she thinks about removing it when a hand stops her.

the tension, even before what happened at the pool table, got so much thicker. it's so thick that they feel like suffocating.

sadly, they arrive at the place they're gonna eat at.

"c'mon, we're here." Bada parks the car.

they both thought the same thing: pussy blocker.

they go in the restaurant and order, wherein Bada insists that she treats her. of course, Y/n tries to pay for her own food but Bada is stubborn gal.

they take a sit once they get their order and start eating. surprisingly, their conversation is easy-going.

"so, what made you fetch me today? missed me that much?" Y/n asks with her mouth full of food.

Bada chuckles at the cute sight, "you're delusional. i just wanted to annoy you."

"oh, trust me," she answers in a grumble, "you're annoying me so much."

"is that why we're enemies?" Bada cackles out. "'cus i'm annoying? you didn't find me annoying back in middle school, though."

yes. they're childhood friends- err, childhood enemies. they're one of those typical rivals where they grew up together. they just haven't told anyone, but not because they don't want to, but because it wasn't just brought up until now.

she pouts out, "i wouldn't say enemies.. but yeah."

a loud laughs emits from the person in front of her again, can't believe the reason.

"stop laughing," Y/n gigges, "it's not funny. i'm just glad i don't have any classes, i'm so tired. and hungry."

Bada watches her with a smile, even though the girl in front of her is stuffing her face with food-- Bada still thinks that she's beautiful.

"stop ogling at me, i know i'm pretty and all," she flutters her eyelashes at her, "are you falling in love with me?"

"you sound so stupid." this time, it was Bada's turn to roll her eyes. "say, you wanna come over to my house after this?"

Y/n makes a playful shock face, "oh my? and you say you're not falling in love with me? but yes."

Bada feels like she's on cloud nine. what is wrong with her?

they finish their meal and she checks the time. it's seven-forty. they exit the place and Y/n complains about being so bloated now. to which Bada teased her by saying that she's always bloated.

banter ensues, even all the way to Bada's house, they're still bickering like children.

time check: eight-twenty-three.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

should i make the next part smut? or continue with fluff

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

[moremaybank]

I'LL GO ANYWHERE YOU GO — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary your best friend jj gives you a token to show you how much he treasures you.

warnings none, just soft!jj with hella fluff because i said so

jj masterlist

you stood in front of your mirror, desperately trying to fasten the clasp of your necklace but failing miserably. 

“you almost ready? the kegger’s about to— oh. need a hand?” jj asks, walking into your room and tossing his backpack on your bed carelessly. 

“actually, yeah. this clasp is tricky as hell.”

he chuckles wordlessly, striding over to you so he can help. or so you thought. jj takes the necklace out of your hands and discards it on your dresser, and your brows furrow in response.

“hey,” you frown, “what are you doing? i need help putting it on, not taking it off.”

“i have a surprise for you,” he replies, as if he isn’t up to no good. he reaches into the back pocket of his distressed shorts and pulls out a small black velvet box. he extends his hand to you, but you give him a puzzled look.

“oh god, what did you do?”

he chuckles, “why are you just assuming that i’ve done something?”

“because you’re you. i know you way too well, and at this point, if you’re giving me something in a velvet-wrapped box, it means you’ve done something bad. possibly illegal.”

“not true. i’m doing this out of the goodness of my own heart.”

you stare at him warily, not sure what to make of whatever the blonde boy is handing you. he looks a little too eager for your liking, and you’re not sure if you should be nervous or aiding and abetting an escape from the law. but then he flashes you a grin, his signature dimple on full display, and you know you can’t resist him.

“come on. i worked my ass off to get you this. even had the store put it on hold,” he tells you. 

“jj, how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t want you spending your hard-earned money on me? it should be spent on you.”

“princess, i only need three things in life to be happy; weed, beer, and you.”

“so you’ve given up on food and water?” you question, cocking your head at him with a smart-ass look.

“alcohol and the devil’s lettuce will sustain me for as long as god intends, pretty girl. now will you open the box?” he asks, placing the small box into your hands. 

“you’re not proposing to me, are you? ‘cause if you are, you should buy me dinner first.”

“for the love of all things holy, will you just open it?”

you huff a sigh, “fine.” 

you open the lid, and your eyes instantly land on a breathtaking necklace. the pendant was of the letter ‘j,’ and it reflected off the sunlight beaming into your bedroom. 

“jj…” you breathe, not being able to help the tears from welling up in your eyes. “i— it’s beautiful. you sure you didn’t steal it? be honest,” you deflect. you try your hardest not to read too much into it, but you can’t help it. the thought of jj, your jj, giving you a necklace with the initial of his first name to take the place of your current everyday necklace makes your heart swell. it’s like carrying him with you, right next to it, everywhere you go.

“i swear, princess. i didn’t steal it. i saw it a couple of months ago when i was with john b and sarah in some kook store over on figure eight, and i decided to save up for it so i could give it to you. consider it an early birthday present for my favourite girl.”

“j, my birthday isn’t for six months. and it’s not that i don’t appreciate it, but you shouldn’t have had to pinch pennies to give me this. you work so hard, and you deserve every cent you earn.”

he sets the small jewelry box aside on your dresser and takes your hands into his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he gazes deeply into your eyes. the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

“listen. you’ve given me everything. a place to rest my head when i need it, the most beautiful heart i’ve ever known, and my favourite person in the world. you deserve this and so much more. plus, you’re my best friend, and i can spoil you any time i goddamn please.”

you blush, avoiding his gaze as you stare down at your intertwined fingers. “you are so sweet, y’know that? too much for your own good.”

“i try,” he beams at you but shrugs his shoulders casually as if to say it isn’t a big deal.

“you succeed,” you say. “will you put it on for me?” 

he smiles so wide that you can tell how much you and the personal piece of jewelry mean to him. “of course, pretty girl. turn around.”

you do as he says, facing your back to him and gathering your hair so you can move it out of the way. jj carefully removes the necklace from the miniature jewelry box and places the chain over your collarbone as he fastens it behind your neck. his fingers linger for a moment as he moves to retreat, and you feel a warmth, his warmth surge through you as he touches you. goosebumps erupt all over your skin as you feel the electricity from his hands course throughout your body.

you both look at your shared reflection in the mirror, and your gaze locks on his ocean-blue eyes. jj offers you a smile that’s impossible not to return as you both stand together so close. you can practically feel the quick thump-thumping of his heart against the skin of your back as he begins to blush.

his hands move to your shoulders. “now you’ll always have a piece of me with you. it’s cheesy as hell, but you’re destined for greatness. i believe that. so, no matter where you go, what you conquer, or how far you are from me, i’ll always be there for you. i’ll always protect you.”

“i love you, j,” you breathe. you turn back to face him. “you know that if i ever get out of here, i’m bringing you with me, right? i’m not me without you,” you mumble into his shoulder after throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace.

of course, you mean it more than platonically, but the words are true to your heart either way. your love for him constantly overtook your being, but it was to the most significant degree at this moment. you’re desperate to ensure that he knows how much you appreciate him. jj has gone through so much of his life thinking he wasn’t enough for anyone that crossed his path, but that was never the case for you. he always came through, no matter when you needed him. especially then. 

“i’ll go anywhere you go,” he whispers. his hand cradled the back of your head as he held you to him, instantly sighing in contentment at how close the two of you were. “and i love you too, my pretty girl. so much more than you’ll ever know. and i hope that someday i can prove it to you.”

little did he know that he proved the strength of his adoration for you every day.

jj tag list (join here!): @maybankslover @kittyqrt @v-velvetykisscs @hobiibobii @rafesdior @fool4him @hemogloban @pankhoeforlife @rafesmuse @lyn07 @houseofperfecttaste @qualitybelieverflower @dudenhaaa27 @princessbetsy123-blog @tori-loves1 @alexxavicry @kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @skydisneylover @adoreyouusugar @obxjjpouge @conniesanchor @baby-maybank @angel037 @wotfasked @rafelover

[jeardesus7]

could you please bless us fellow dabi degenerates with your illigal dabi thoughts 🙏 🙏🙏🙏

I’m gonna have to water this one down because the entire scenario might actually get me in legal trouble 😭 This one involves Shigaraki, so I hope y’all are fine with that. I have other  i l l e g a l  thoughts, this isn’t the only one. But this is the one I thought of first.

But yes, I will. I’m going to make this a series - meaning I’m just going to do this in parts.

Training Part 1

CW: Innocent reader, female reader, dub-con, threesome, stepcest (kind of?) fingering, goading, sweet-talking

—--------------------------------------------------------

Summary: Dabi found you when he recently ran away from home and faked his death, you both were young. You had no idea where your parents were or how you ended up where you were, and Dabi sympathized with you. You were younger than him, and reminded him of his own sister, so he took you in as one. Fast forward to now, you both live together, you weren’t taught about sex because Dabi thought you would just figure it out yourself. You didn’t. 

I’ll stop yapping. Enjoy.

We all know that Dabi is most likely a drug dealer. You didn't. There was a pound on the door, and you were the one closest to the door. The pounding startled you, making you rise to your feet. 

You looked through the peephole before standing back. It was that crusty white haired man, Shigaraki? You wondered. You knew his face because Dabi brought him around often, but you and him never directly spoke. 

You opened the door, a welcoming smile on your face as you greeted him. “Hello! Why are you here today?” Shigaraki looked down at you, a grin forming on his face as his eyes didn’t even meet yours, just traveling down your body. You noticed his eyes wandering up and down your body, but you didn’t think much about it.

“I’m uh.. Here for Dabi. Say, you got a nice pair of-” Shigaraki was cut off when you shouted down the hall for dabi, Shigaraki leaned against the door frame as Dabi strolled down the hall, his unreadable expression giving you chills. 

Shigaraki smirked at Dabi, then at you, then back at Dabi. Dabi glared at both of you, but walked forward. He let Tomura inside, putting him in the lounge room before turning to you, his voice rough and quiet like usual.

“I told you not to answer the door when I’m not near you.” He stared down at you, his stare piercing, almost making your lip quiver with regret. He’s always had that thing about him, that he could just give you a stare and you would crumble.

“I know, I’m sor-”

“Don’t open that goddamn door again, especially not to him. Do you want your ass beat?” His words were harsh and bitter, turning away before you could answer with your shaky voice. You returned to your room, eyes tear-filled as you slumped onto your bed.

In the lounge room, Dabi and Shigaraki talked, drank, shared nasty stories about how many girls Dabi has *wink wink* working for him. While drunk, Shigaraki brings up his desires for you, even daring to palm himself right in front of Dabi. Dabi was intoxicated as well, a lustful smirk on his face as he listened and watched shigaraki touch himself.

Meanwhile, you were getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth, putting your pajamas on, maybe doing some light reading. You got cozy in bed, closing your eyes until you heard Dabi and Shigaraki laugh loudly, the smell of weed and other substances stinking up the whole house.

You sighed, getting out of bed. You shuffled down the stairs, speed-walking into the lounge where the both of them are. You pouted, putting your hands on your hips as you glared at Dabi. “Can you be quiet? I am trying to sleep!”

Dabi just rolled his eyes and Shigaraki chuckled under his breath. Dabi and Shigaraki looked at each other, both grinning as they stood up. Dabi picked you up, wrapping your legs around him and maneuvering you to his room. He got onto the bed. Holding you from behind, his back against the headboard as you sat comfortably between his legs.

He sucked in through his teeth as his hands wandered all over your body, groping your chest as Shigaraki creeped onto the bed after you. You looked up at Dabi, fear in your eyes. This was all happening so fast. Why was it happening? Dabi never acted this way, why is he acting this way now?

He smirks down at you, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Just relax, we're not gonna hurt ya.”

You took a deep breath, deciding to put your trust into him and his friend. He slowly pried your legs open, Shigaraki working quickly to pull down your shorts.

Shigaraki tossed your shorts and panties to the side, his sinful gaze falling onto your innocent little passage. He curiously extends a finger, poking at your folds. Dabi reaches down, spreading them as Shigaraki gently strokes your clit before abruptly pushing a finger inside, grinning as he watches you squirm and hear you whimper.

What is this? What is this feeling? It feels good, but it feels too good. Dabi watches as Tomura fingers you, his eyes lighting up as he whispers into your ear, his hot breath against the lobe. “Oh, are you a virgin? How cute.”

Shigaraki pushed a second finger inside of you, pumping them in and out of you quicker. He laughed at your pathetic little moans and mewls, his free hand lifting your chest. He cupped the curve of it, his thumb flicking against the nipple before leaning down, capturing it between his teeth. You writhed against him, almost like you're trying to squirm out, but Dabi held you tightly against him.

Dabi growled and grinded against your plump ass, his teeth finding your neck and playfully biting. He grunts as he grabs your hips, rolling your behind against his desperate bulge, groaning lowly in his throat.

You squirmed and wiggled against both of them, crying out when the pleasure became too intense. One of Dabi’s hands moves from your hip to your clit, stroking it vigorously. He growled as he felt himself getting closer to release, Shigaraki’s fingers curling and plunging against your cervix. 

While Shigaraki held you down by your chest and Dabi by your hips, you were trapped underneath them, their breath reeking of alcohol and weed, making you feel so good, so much so it feels horrid. Your entrance clenches around Tomura’s fingers, indicating you were reaching orgasm.

Shigaraki grinned as well as Dabi. Your ass cheeks clenched against his clothed bulge, his eyes rolling back as he cums in his pants, grunting quietly. When you were reaching orgasm, they both reacted quickly, spreading your legs wider, Dabi heating up his hand on your clit.

Tomura’s eyes lit up like he was a kid in a candy store when you gushed all over his fingers, your eyes rolled back as you experienced your first orgasm. You breathed heavily, whimpering loudly as Shigaraki pulled his fingers out of you, licking his fingers before leaning forward, kissing your neck.

Dabi chuckled softly, nibbling on your ear softly as he put his fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself. He licked your ear before whispering into it, Shigaraki swapping spots with him.

“Suppose a nice licking wouldn’t hurt, would it? Part those pretty pussy lips for me, baby.”

[jenanigans1207]

“Did you ever think,” Kyu sets down the glass he had been polishing to make direct eye contact with Kazuki. Or as direct as was possible with Kazuki, who had thrown himself dramatically over the countertop and was staring up through his eyelashes. “that you aren’t the only one who’s afraid?”

Kazuki’s eyebrows rise so far up that they disappear below his hair. “What?”

“I’m just saying.” Kyu shrugs like this isn’t a vastly important conversation, shrugs like he doesn’t have the entirety of Kazuki’s attention laser-focused on him. “It’s something to consider.”

It’s silent for a moment as Kazuki contemplates this. And then he sits upright, the conversation demanding proper posture. “What does Rei have to be afraid of?”

Kyu doesn’t say anything, but his gaze bores heavily into Kazuki.

But the question hangs in the air between them. What does Rei have to be afraid of? He has an apartment, a job, and Kazuki. Between those things, there isn’t anything he could want for. Between those things, there isn’t even anything that Rei needs to do, that’s the whole goddamn problem. He doesn’t have to do the dishes, or the laundry, doesn’t have to kiss Miri’s scraped knees, or tuck her into bed. He doesn’t have to do anything because he knows that Kazuki will.

“Kyu.” Kazuki says on the end of a sigh.

Kyu lets out his own sigh and leans against the counter. “You’re complaining that Rei won’t help with Miri, right?”

“Right.” Kazuki confirms. When Kyu just stares at him pointedly, Kazuki adds. “She’s a handful, but she’s not scary.”

“He’s not scared of Miri.” Kyu answers, a wry smile on the corners of his lips at the thought of sweet, darling Miri being scary. “He’s scared of not being a good enough father.”

The words stir something in Kazuki. It’s a fear that he knows well, too. Miri deserves everything, every happiness that has ever existed. He, too, is constantly afraid that he’s falling short of their precious daughter. It’s not like he has any more experience in this than Rei, not like he has any clue what the hell they’re supposed to be doing. He’s certainly failed as many times as he has succeeded, but those failures haven’t stopped him yet.

“The easiest way to not be good enough is to not try.” Kazuki murmurs after a minute, but some of his bitterness has receded.

The thought of Rei being afraid softens something in Kazuki. Besides the fact that Rei is completely fearless with his own life— though it’s not that he’s fearless about losing his life as much as it is that he disregards the importance of his own life— he doesn’t show too many emotions and when he does show them, they’re small. Kazuki had learned to read all of Rei’s micro expressions though, had learned how to notice the emotions that he did feel. And it was true that recently there had been more of them.

When Kyu responds, his voice is quiet and somber, his words cutting straight through to Kazuki’s heart. “What if he tries and he’s not better than the boss?” Kyu stares at him, intense. “The only example he has of a father is the kind of father he doesn’t want to be.”

“Rei would never be anything like that!” Kazuki defends vehemently, slamming a fist down on the counter between him and Kyu. “He’s so gentle with Miri! He would give her anything she wanted without hesitation, and he worries about her. He would never treat her the way he was treated!”

“I know that.” Kyu answers. “And you know that. But does Rei know that?”

Kazuki feels the blood in his veins turn to ice as he considers Kyu’s point. Does Rei know that he’s nothing like his father? Does he know that the only thing Miri wants from him is just for him to try? So what if he fumbles and makes the most ridiculous rice balls Kazuki has ever heard of? Miri will love it and Kazuki’s heart will melt in his chest as he watches the way Rei tries not to smile.

But at the same time, Kazuki knows that Kyu is on to something and honestly, he feels a little silly for not having figured it out himself. Kazuki had been the one to join up with Rei almost immediately after Rei had moved out of his family’s estate, he had seen first hand all the damage that had been done to Rei and his heart. And maybe it was because Kazuki generally thought of Rei as numb that he didn’t consider the possibility of Rei being scared, but even that doesn’t sit right with him. Because Rei hasn’t been numb for a long time, now.

In the beginning he had been, completely and utterly without an opinion at any point. He moved like a robot, did what he was told, and kept to himself all the rest of the time. It was months before Kazuki found out that there were foods that Rei didn’t like and even longer before the first time he heard Rei laugh. But now Kazuki did know Rei’s food preferences, knew what his laugh sounded like, had seen the warmth of his smile. Now he knew that Rei could play the piano, and he napped like a cat in the sunlight during long summer afternoons. Now he knew that Rei had a quick wit, he just had to listen closely to hear the quips. Rei even sought him out now, inviting him to play games or just seating himself at the table while Kazuki worked on something. He may still do bizarre shit like sleep in the bathtub, but he also valued human connection now.

Rei wasn’t the cold, isolated, shut-down person he had been when they first met. And now that they had Miri, he was changing even more right before Kazuki’s eyes. He was softening, warming, learning how to be responsible. He was learning to give bits of himself to someone else— he just never seemed to realize that he had those bits to give.

“So that’s it…” Kazuki whispers, thinking of all the times Rei hesitated when Miri asked him to do something.

He wanted so badly to make Miri happy that he was paralyzed by his fear that he couldn’t bring her that desired happiness. He wanted so badly for Miri to have the kind of childhood he never had that he had convinced himself that he needed to be uninvolved, lest he bring the same tragedy to her, too. Every time Rei hesitated, or pushed her off onto Kazuki instead, it came from a genuinely selfless desire for Miri to have the best, and a genuine belief that he could never the best that Miri deserved.

It’s so obvious, Kazuki wants to kick himself for not seeing it. It’s so fucking stupid, Kazuki wants to kick Rei for believing that he was anything other than a gift to both him and Miri. He wanted to kick Rei for not seeing how much they both loved him, how happy everyone was when he involved himself in something. He wanted to kick Rei for not recognizing that Miri felt safe with him, something that he never would’ve been able to say about his own dad.

“Thanks, Kyu.” Kazuki says as he stands abruptly, the chair scraping behind him.

Kyu probably says something in response, but Kazuki is already halfway out the door.

—x

When Kazuki makes it home, he finds Rei seated on the couch, controller in hand, tv muted as he plays his games in clear attempt to not wake Miri who is sprawled out across his lap. Even from the doorway, Kazuki can see Miri’s small smile in her sleep, her cheek smooshed against Rei’s leg, her arm thrown over his lap.

“Welcome back,” Rei says quietly as Kazuki crosses into the apartment fully.

The apartment isn’t as clean as Kazuki would’ve had it if he’d been home all day, but it’s also not the disaster he had expected it to be. There was clearly at least some attempt to clean that had been made, and that realization alone makes Kazuki’s throat tighten.

“Have you guys eaten dinner?” Kazuki asks, clearing his throat when his words come out a little strangled.

Rei has completely paused his game and is regarding Kazuki wearily, obviously hesitant after Kazuki had stormed out this morning. “There were leftovers.”

“And you actually heated them up this time?” Kazuki teases.

The joke seems to diffuse some of Rei’s hesitation and he rolls his eyes, refusing to dignify the comment with a response. Instead, he just turns back to the tv and resumes his game. But even as he’s playing, Kazuki can feel the way Rei is keeping tabs on him out of the corner of his eye.

Kazuki continues to stand awkwardly at the edge of the couch for a few long seconds, trying to decide how to go about the conversation he wants to have. When Rei pauses his game a second time and turns to him with raised eyebrows and a frown, he decides there isn’t a tactful way to go about it and chooses to just dive on in.

“Rei, you know that you’re nothing like your father, right?” Kazuki says, his voice quiet. He can’t quite bring himself to meet Rei’s eyes, but he’s still looking in Rei’s direction.

Which means that he sees the way Rei’s lips part in surprise, his eyebrows rising. “What?”

“That’s what all this is, right?” Kazuki asks, gesturing vaguely to where Miri is curled up against him, feeling his heart swell as Rei looks down at her and his eyes soften. “All the things you refuse to do with her— it’s because you think you’re doing to be a shit father like he was, isn’t it?”

Rei is quiet for a long second and this time, the conflicting emotions are so clear on his face that anyone would be able to see them, not just Kazuki. Kazuki had learned a long time ago to give Rei time and space when waiting for a response and so that’s what he does— he waits quietly until Rei pulls together wherever it is that he wants to say.

And even though Kazuki expects his response to be heartbreaking, he’s not prepared for how it hurts.

“I didn’t have a good childhood.” Rei glances up, but then immediately glances away when he noticed Kazuki’s attention. “I was raised to be an assassin. And assassins don’t smile, they don’t laugh, they don’t get to experience or enjoy life. That’s— that’s all I know and I don’t want that for Miri.”

Honestly, if Miri weren’t in his lap, Kazuki doesn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from dragging Rei into a hug.

“I’ve met your dad.” Kazuki concedes with an inclination of the head, his throat so tight that it burns. “He’s not warm or patient, he’s not gentle or caring. But Rei, you are. You always have been, even before we had Miri.” Rei’s head snaps in his direction, his eyes wide as he listens. “You’ve always been the one to bandage my wounds, or to take care of me when I’m sick. You’ve always put my safety first on a job.”

“That’s different—“

“No it’s not.” Kazuki interrupts before Rei can say anything else. “For the childhood you had, those things are monumental. And I’m so proud of you for them.”

Rei swallows and looks away. “That doesn’t mean I can do shit like cook bentos and heal broken hearts.”

“Do you remember what you said to me the first time I tried to bandage one of your wounds?” Kazuki ducks his head a little to catch Rei’s eyes.

“That you sucked at it.”

“That I would get better if I practiced,” Kazuki recalls, completely ignoring Rei’s quip. It's actually not that uncommon for Kazuki to remember that day, because Rei's words had been so gentle and unexpected. For a guy who had been nothing but quiet and isolated since they had met, he'd been so quick to try to encourage and reassure Katsuki. "You told me that trying was all that mattered and if I kept trying, I would be good in no time."

Kazuki watches as the point strikes home, as Rei's shoulders hunch up to his ears in a last ditch defense. He watches as Rei shifts, just a little, as if trying to get away from the thought. But he has Miri in his lap and wouldn't risk disturbing her.

"I—"

"Rei." Kazuki finally crosses the distance between them and crouches in front of the couch. He has one hand placed on Rei's knee, the other gently on Miri's back. She stirs in her sleep, her smile growing as if she can feel both of her papas there. She snuggles closer to Rei. "Don't you see that you've already been trying? That's why Miri and I love you so much."

Rei's breath hitches and Kazuki can't stop a wobbly smile as he looks up at Rei's shocked face. "You guys—?"

"Love you?" Kazuki repeats, laughing a little. "Thanks for noticing."

"Kazuki..." Rei meets his gaze, even if he still looks a little uncomfortable. His hand finds Kazuki's where it rests on Miri's back, warm as his fingers thread through Kazuki's. "Thanks."

Kazuki's heart beats so hard in his chest that he thinks it might break through his ribs entirely. He's been fortunate enough to love a lot of things in his life. His childhood may not have been great, but it hadn't robbed him of simple pleasures and joys the way Rei's had. Kazuki had been able to experience a lot of things and had been able to love a lot of people throughout his life, but he wasn't sure he'd ever loved anyone quite the way he loved Rei and this family they had created. Because this was the kind of thing that defied all odds, this was the kind of thing that absolutely should not exist, but did. They fought tooth and nail every day to create a better life than the one they had both been given and it was moments like this where Kazuki really realized that they were succeeding.

"Now if you really don't want to be like your dad," Kazuki says as he tightens his fingers around Rei's, "You can learn to do things like the dishes, and how to style Miri's hair."

Rei rolls his eyes, but his smile is the biggest Kazuki has ever seen and it's definitively warm and content. It makes Kazuki think his heart might burst instead, but he loves the feeling. He smiles back at Rei, starting to press back up into a standing position.

But Rei's hand on his his firm, and it doesn't allow Kazuki to go far.

Kazuki pauses, halfway to a standing position, hunched over as he looks at Rei.

"For the record," Rei is looking down at their conjoined hands, his cheeks dusted the same pink as Miri's shirt. "I love you guys, too."

This time, it's Kazuki's breath that gets caught in his throat as he waits for Rei to look up at him. "Yeah?"

Rei sets down his controller from his other hand, reaching out for Kazuki. Kazuki comes willingly, easily, leaning into the space above Miri's head. Kazuki has been lucky enough to love a lot of things in his life, but he's never loved something quite the way he loves kissing Rei with their daughter between them. He's never loved something quite as much as he loves the delighted laugh Miri lets out as she wakes up to her dads kissing above her, the way she throws her arms around both of their necks demanding her own kisses.

And he's definitely never loved anything as much as he loves watching Rei lean in to press a kiss to Miri's cheek, Miri's eyes sparkling as she babbles about how much she loves her papas.

The world may not have been kind to either of them in the past, but they were building a new world of their own and Kazuki was certain that they could change, could break the molds that had been cast for them. With enough love and dedication, he was certain that they could turn their future into anything they wanted it to be. And the way Rei was looking back at him over Miri's head suggested that for the first time, he believed those things, too.

[powderblueblood]

How about Lacy finding Eddie's writing? 🤭

need you to imagine me listening to a fifth of beethoven from the saturday night fever soundtrack whilst writing this because i became insane and filled it with Clues.............

it's like trying to understand the fucking zodiac killer.

it's all codes and ciphers and scrawls and-- well, she thought she might have been reading that one upside down but it's actually indecipherable any way you twist it.

and it's not like any of it is even written on paper either. torn open cigarette packs, napkins, burger wrappers from the diner. one time a leaf.

because eddie's not like lacy in the way she keeps a journal but eddie's like lacy in that if he's roundhoused with a thought that he needs to remember, he's got to write it down now immediately pronto on any available surface.

which is pretty pointless, since he keeps losing all this garbage and she has to pick it up after him.

she bears over the spread of scraps like an fbi agent, palms braced to the table. there's a thread here, but she can't quite untangle it. she's staring at a pile of shit that says shit like

crabs incident-- bruised like a peach worth biting-- violet like violence??

red tights. tingly. carnelian little carnivore.

track two. treasure.

persephone's hall pass.

seventh grade & as many minutes in limbo. shoulda ripped off band aid.

mage in a mink coat.

well, that last one--

"you dumpster diving now? hard times."

fuck! fuck. told you, rat blood. appearing out of nowhere with no noise no notice to then become the loudest thing in the room. he's like thunderclap, this fucko, like a spontaneous combustion.

he also doesn't even recognize his own handwriting, seems like. she blushes, furious. doesn't know why.

"community service. they have me picking up the trailer trash's trailer trash."

"snitty!" he shoves the bag of chips he's holding at her--an offering, he can't do anything normal around her--and reaches for one of the scraps. lacy watches him like a scientist watching a guinea pig for brain activity-- and his eyes go all wide and panicky. "wait."

"eddie-- hey!" but he's scrambling now, going for all the little pieces of writing she'd been trying to arrange on the table like a pointless puzzle. "don't--"

"where'd you get all this shit, huh?! going through my pockets now, is that it? like a cop?"

"i-- hey, don't you fucking dare-- look, you shed!"

"i shed?"

"you shed. you've got shit falling out of that stupid, enormous nerd binder every goddamn day because you just shove shit in there and don't organize anything, and i wasn't gonna stand around and let you just litter everywhere and--" now it's her turn to be like. wait. crosses her arms, eyes narrow, she's mother superior serving nailed ya bitch. "--why are you all skittish?"

"huh?"

"it's just-- trash, right?" she snatches a burger wrapper out of his grasp. oh this is delish.

"yeah," he grabs, but she's holding it behind her back and god her face is like stupid smirky, "but it's my trash. my--giveit--private... trash."

eddie munson is blushing.

"who's the mage?"

"the fucking.... the what?"

little crinkle as she unfolds a piece torn off a brown paper bag. "mage in a mink coat. who's that?"

"nobody."

"i have a mink coat."

"oh. does that really say mage? 'coz it should say mange." he's such an asshole. she's grinning so wide.

everyone says revenge is a dish best served cold but she bets she could use eddie munson's cheeks as a hotplate and eat right off 'em. it'd taste so much better. lobster bisque. filet mignon. michelin star.

"have you been writing about me, munson?"

his face is all stone-set, mouth all i can't fucking believe this and eyes all i'd cut the brake lines in her van if she wasn't the one scamming rides off me all the time. "li'l miss my life is incomplete without eddie munson wants to talk?"

"called you a neanderthal in the next sentence. don't forget that."

"you're such a beastie."

"carnelian little carnivore, you wrote."

"what makes you so sure it's all about you, huh?"

"context clues."

he glances down. she is, in fact, wearing the aforementioned tingly-feeling-inspiring red tights again today. shit.

"what happened in seventh grade?" she's pointing to the scrap in his hand, one he's managed to keep out of her snatchy little fingers.

she doesn't remember anything significant about seventh grade. but he does, and a knot tightens in his chest and he's about to lie and say something crass about my fist, a stopwatch and a view of you from underneath the bleachers at cheerleading practice-- then final bell rings.

"that is for me to know--"

"--and for me to die ignorant?" she's an active listener.

"precisely, you wench. now get the fuck outta here, i got hellfire."

lacy leaves the scraps.

"i will find out, y'know."

he knows. "you're like a bitch with a bone that way."

"the bitchiest."

[ronearoundblindly]

If its ok what if

Lloyd hansen x reader x steve rogers

🥵 smutt

ya know, it took me a loooong time--this ask is from september--to come up with something, but today's the day apparently! And, AND! The lovely @darsynia made me an awesome graphic whilst I wrote all this filth! Thank you, bestie!!! WC 3.3k

Warnings for oh fuck these two are terrors, smut, goddamn fighting (obviously, bc they can't get along in any universe), possibly the worst fucking puns ever and I no longer care, terrible/inaccurate/but very mild dom/sub vibes, not much but knife play. Please note that this work does not involve the two men together. Alternate title: Ro is 1,000% [nope, better make it 1,000,000%] going to hell. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you!

You can tell Steve is about to crawl out of his skin as the knife touches yours.

"You buy these pretty things for me?" Lloyd coos, tucking the point of his switchblade beneath a lacy seam. He knows damn well the navy set with bright red hearts is not for his enjoyment at all, so he turns his head to stare at your husband.

"Useless," Lloyd growls, flicking his wrist deftly.

The sliced fabric springs back to reveal your thatch of hair. You have no idea whether Lloyd was talking about your panties or Steve, and frankly, you're too turned on to care. There’s a certain amount of goading you expected aimed at the awkward hunk leaning on the far wall.

Steve clenches his arms tighter across his chest and sucks in a breath, eyes darting to your skin in case Lloyd drew blood, but his gaze lingers at your almost exposed core.

He hates this whole idea, but you have tried talking to him so many times about how to make sex more interesting. Steve can't stand to even listen to the words much less do what you want. This is the compromise.

Lloyd Hansen will do anyone for the right price, and sure, usually, that's killing, but who doesn't love a good fuck? Who wouldn't get half-hard just thinking about taking Captain America's wife to pound town right in front of the guy?

Lloyd simply smirks, returning his eyes to you and nudging the lace a little farther. The flat of the blade on your mound feels cold and so fucking dangerous that you shiver, neck tensing to throw your head back.

"How's that feel, pumpkin?"

"Golden," you whine, mewling when he nicks the other end and pulls your panties off. Lloyd doesn't like safe words and shit, but he agreed to a few check-ins, and you do have a way to stop him because, let's face it, the money is the real goal for him. The rest is gravy.

Lloyd stalks over to Steve's corner of the room, lifting the ruined garment for the other to take. "A souvenir--" he chuckles "--what's that smell like to you, huh, big man?"

Steve grimaces, unmoving, so Lloyd shoves your panties in his face.

"Smells like team spirit to me."

You should laugh. You really should. You should not fucking moan when you see Steve's chest expand and his eyes flutter shut briefly. You should not have such a surge of tingling heat race to your center that your thighs slam together.

But you do. And Lloyd notices.

"This is gonna be fun," he whispers, likely to himself, as he drops the fabric and walks over again.

His fingertips slide from your knee up your thigh, and Lloyd bends to nip at your neck.

"Lie back from me, sweetheart. Go on."

You have to cover a squeak while you flop onto the mattress. This sort of dominance is nothing like Steve Rogers even on his most confident day. Steve is always measured and a little tentative, his force reined in to the point of being boring after so many years. This is all flush and feral with the promise of oblivion, and in the strangest way, you still associate every second as with Steve, not Lloyd Hansen. The exercise in trust--the sheer fact that he was willing to entertain this idea, much less the practice--is a show of devotion from Steve you never thought possible.

And then Lloyd kneels down and pushes your legs apart. "Open up for me. That's it. Good girl."

"Ah fuck," you moan into your hand, and thank god if Steve does hear you, he doesn't say a thing.

Lloyd skips finesse and plunges into the dirty end of the pool by licking all the way up and down your cunt, hands spreading your ass to expose every bit of you to him, and he pauses to speak with his mouth against your clit.

"Do I need to give him a lesson or can I just fucking taste you?"

"I know how to--" but Steve's protest dies behind the noise Lloyd makes sloppily eating you out like a man starved.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, and your hips buck into the wild ride. His mustache burns in the best way. You gasp so much that your throat burns dry, too.

He says other things, things that rumble up your spine and settle deep in your brain, but you can't process what those words are until the white-hot lightning finally cracks your body apart.

Lloyd is shockingly soothing as you come back down from your high but unshockingly smug when he sweeps his face clean of your cum.

"You're doing star-spangled spectacularly for me, slut, now why don't--"

There's a thunderclap of noise that wrenches you out of your bliss. You’re knocked onto your side as Lloyd falls to the floor.

Steve raises his arm again but hesitates when you call his name.

"He doesn't...he doesn't do well with language like that," you manage to say, still fuzzy and out of breath.

Lloyd wipes blood from his nose. "Yeah, I picked up on that. Thanks,” he spits sarcastically, followed by a real spit to clear his mouth. “Down, boy. I'll play nice--" he winks at you as he rises "--but not too nice."

Lloyd climbs back to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand spreading over your throat gently. "Feels good, don't it? Feeling golden?"

You nod vigorously.

He licks more blood from his lip. “Yeah? Can we move on, pumpkin, or is your pussy still needy—“

Lloyd catches Steve's fist this time, jumping up to punch your husband square in the neck.

Steve, to his credit, doesn't even go down, but he drops his arm and steps back, rubbing the point of contact as he wheezes for a minute.

"Can I please continue?" Lloyd screams in annoyance. The man is not in any way used to sharing, or going slow, or giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room for that matter. However, Lloyd is a dedicated professional, so he’ll continue because he knows what’s in it for him. "God damn it,” he barks, spitting at Steve’s feet.

Lloyd takes a beat to compose himself and returns to your side, facing away now, his hand plunging between your legs.

"Time to earn participation points, Golden Boy." Two fingers breach your entrance without warning. "On your knees."

Lloyd snaps his other fingers and points to the ground like he's training a dog to heel.

Slowly, with wide eyes and hesitant steps, Steve places himself exactly as Lloyd did before. He strategically keeps his focus glued to yours until the squelching sound of Lloyd's fingers thrusting in and out of you becomes too loud to ignore.

That look--that fucking moment where your husband sees your core and hunger darkens his whole face--could send you back over the edge right here, but suddenly, Lloyd stops.

"Now we've got his attention," the cruel man laughs.

Like your panties before, there's no ceremony to Lloyd shoving his fingers into Steve's awe-parted lips, but the biggest shock is how your husband doesn't fight the intrusion. No. Steve grabs Lloyd's wrist to keep him there until Steve is done sucking your taste off another man's fingers.

You're pretty sure that's when your soul left your body, but it's a toss-up between that and every other moment tonight.

With more patience than you thought possible, Lloyd waits, comically making an “O” with his mouth and looking at you. “Someone’s eager for the beaver, I see.” He takes the same wet fingers and tucks them between your breasts, snapping the front of your bra sharply against your sternum. 

“Finish unwrapping your present. I wanna see what you got—” and when Steve immediately reaches behind your back for the clasp, Lloyd’s eyebrows bob up and down “—and he’s good at following orders, too.”

Your husband plants a gentle kiss on the swell of one breast before Lloyd stops him, tutting while he holds a fucking knife against Captain America’s chest to sit him back on his heels.

He ticks the blade down. “That’s your half now. This is mine.”

You’re practically panting while Steve’s eyes go hard in possessiveness, locked onto Lloyd in a challenge you don’t quite understand until the fancy man flips the blade back into it’s handle.

“Fine,” Lloyd grouches, tossing the knife farther up the bed. He shuffles closer to face you, a warm hand cupping your breast before he tweaks the nipple harshly. “Why don’t you relax for us, huh, good girl?”

Lloyd coaxes you to lean back again, orders Steve to hold your legs open and tease you, buries painful fingers in your hair, and forces you to watch.

“That’s it. Don’t you want to hear her beg? Doesn’t she sound so sweet? Oh, I like her desperate…”

Not in years has Steve Rogers whispered anything so filthy as the shit that falls from Lloyd’s mouth, but goddamn, every word is like kindling stoking the vigor with which Steve consumes you. You lap up the praise while your husband gulps down every ounce created by every word.

Lloyd lowers to suck and bite all over your chest, marks blossoming across the tender skin as he takes a sort of sweet revenge for his bloody nose. A kink for a kink.

“You want to tell him what’s next,” Lloyd rasps, straining your neck back to look at him in the last few moments before you come again, “or should I?” His devilish smile is the last thing you see before he pushes you to meet Steve’s eyes, the perfect, final flick of tongue rolling over your clit.

Dutifully—sweetly almost—Steve lifts away from you as your legs shake, replacing his face with his fingers to gently bring you down, and Lloyd does not like that. He swats Steve’s hand off to slap your raw bundle of nerves and shove his fingers in again, brutally hitting that spongy spot until the dam of orgasm doesn’t just rupture, it explodes inside you.

You cry out and flail. Lloyd pins you down with a knee to your ribcage, and it hurts but not enough to give a shit over the rush of cum soaking his hand and the sheets below. Steve holds your ankles so you don’t kick him in the face while squirming, transfixed on every move Lloyd makes to milk you stupid.

With one last wet slap, Lloyd rests his hand on your belly and tosses a gelled lock of hair out of his face.

“Wifey here wants to suck you dry,” he boasts, and your hands fly to your face in hot embarrassment.

You confessed that after drinking quite a lot during the ‘negotiation’ of terms for this little arrangement, but only when Steve excused himself to the restroom. Lloyd wasn’t supposed to repeat your fantasy.

“That’s right, big guy. She’s gonna blow your—“ his eyes drop and raise “—mind,” he continues, unpinning you and pushing your arms to the side. He leans down to smear your own slick across your mouth messily, quietly adding, “he won’t even notice I’m right behind you.”

The air rushes out of your lungs before you can stop it, making a downright pathetic sound of anticipation.

“Strip,” Lloyd commands, waving a hand casually at Steve and sauntering over to a bottle of water on the dresser. “The…uh…lady should get on her knees.”

Steve turns to the other wall, unable to meet your eye, bright red blotches spotting his neck and cheeks. He’s embarrassed, too, but from the speed at which he unzips his jeans to relieve his still-straining erection and then pulls his shirt over his head, Steve is also painfully aroused. You even catch him rubbing his cock with each conceivable pass while disrobing. It reignites that weak fire between your tired legs.

“Face up, Captain. Give ‘er some room,” Lloyd snorts, capping his water.

Of course, Steve spreads his legs in front of you, and instead of acknowledging how fucking hard he is, he helps you balance into position.

You capture a quick kiss and smile as your husband blushes even more.

“Jesus, I’m gonna vomit,” Lloyd mutters behind you.

He’s just so, so fucking evil, but you admit the contrast has you drooling to get your mouth on Steve. You’re already planning on adding orders to your regular routine. You buzz with excitement at all this play implies, now and in the future.

Steve isn’t just letting this happen; he likes what’s happening.

Lloyd’s warm hand pets down your spine until it rests heavily on your lower back, the heel of it pressed against your spread ass, an encouragement and a threat.

“Take him how you want. Just like you told me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to Steve’s ragged breaths amidst Lloyd's criticism.

“You don’t just lick him, do you, kitten? You can do better than that. I thought you wanted to swallow him whole. Don’t disappoint me now. More. You can take it. More.”

Your nose nuzzles into Steve’s pelvis as you feel his cock jump in your throat. You swallow around him but force yourself up for air after.

“Is that the best you got?” Lloyd teases, his hand sliding tauntingly down your crack and through your folds before he’s gone.

You open your eyes when he grabs your wrist and presses the closed switchblade into your palm.

“Go on. Hold it, pumpkin. Right there.” Lloyd makes your hand rest on Steve’s thigh. For balance, you have to open your fist and press the metal to your husband’s skin as you take him back into your mouth.

Steve fucking groans, pinching his eyes shut and grabbing the sheets beneath him.

“Oh yeah,” Lloyd chirps, “he likes a bit of danger, huh?” A flat hand cracks against your ass, making you whine with your lips around Steve’s dick.

The sound of Steve whimpering is coupled with the snap of Lloyd's belt. His fingers return, and you just know he’s unabashedly staring at your pussy.

“Whoo-ee, if you weren’t already gaping for me, I’d think you weren’t into this. Put your back into it.” You hear the rip of a zipper only moments before the thick tip of him lines up.

You can’t help but moan low and long over Steve’s length.

“Baby?” Steve breathes above you.

“She’s fine,” Lloyd answers instead, pushing in. The head of him pops past the first ridge of your walls, and his hand clamps down on your hip, the other flat over the small of your back, guiding, controlling.

The spit of both men coats your core and inner thighs, you remember, and the slow swirl of ambient air proves it. That thought makes your eyes roll back as much as the glorious pressure of Lloyd’s cock filling you.

But Steve’s fingers find your chin and raise you to look at him, repeating his question until you let him fall heavy from your mouth and lick your swollen lips.

“Golden,” you say just as Lloyd bottoms out. “Fff-ahh.” You barely stop yourself from cursing when he thrusts forward and another SMACK hits your ass. “Golden,” you promise, because you know Steve is watching with extremely mixed feelings.

You return what attention you can to stuffing your mouth full. A rhythm progresses while you rock between them, but it’s too gentle for—of all people—Steve.

His hand knots through your hair to guide you faster. You have to plant yourself steady on the mattress, the knife digging into both your flesh, and hold your hips still.

Lloyd isn’t even fazed as he takes over his own selfish pace, his balls slapping so hard they sting your thighs. He keeps talking, too.

“See how much she likes that, buddy?”

Oh, that is not going to go over well with Steve.

“Bet she’d drop to her knees for you daily.”

He’s not wrong there…

“Damn, babygirl—“ Oh shit “—sometimes a bitch just needs fucked doggy-style.”

You can feel Steve’s chest fill to correct him, the deep v-line of his Adonis’ belt pressing against your nose to cut off your air, but Lloyd purposefully slams into you. You lurch forward to deep-throat Steve with a scream of alarm, and the constriction nearly topples Steve over the edge.

Just for a moment, his hand holds you down, choking you. It’s Steve choking you on his dick, and your nails happily dig into his meaty thighs. You’ve dreamed of this day.

With a strangled sound, Steve pulls you off him, strings of spit drip from your abused mouth. You’re gasping for air but also not done enjoying yourself, so you lick and kiss up Steve’s length until ready to take him again.

All the while, Lloyd darkly chuckles and kneads at your ass.

When one spanking lands so hard that you cry out, Steve bucks down your throat and punches the bed, clearly torn between sensation and situation. 

“Such an asshole,” he grits through clenched teeth. 

“Oh,” Lloyd tuts, “she wants it in the ass? Well, when in Rome…” He swipes his thumb over the cream pooling at the base of his cock and shoves his thumb hard against your puckered hole. 

Honestly, you have no idea if it even breached because you scream and fall forward on Steve's dick. This time, Steve comes with a roar, a raging, animalistic thing you have never heard before, but you’re pulled away just as fast. 

Lloyd hauls you up to his chest, telling you to look at what a fucking mess your husband is for you. Steve desperately grips himself until it’s over, half his spend glistening on his abs, half rolling down your chin while Lloyd continues to thrust into your sweet spot.

He’s given up controlling his language entirely.

“Fuck, she’s close. Come on, big guy—“ he pinches your nipple and bites at your neck “—finish her off.”

Lloyd drops you like a stone into Steve’s waiting arms, and Steve wastes no time slamming his mouth to yours and furiously rubbing your clit. You’re so stretched out that three of his thick fingers feel like nothing until they curl.

This time you can’t help but shout your own curse. Steve just keeps kissing you, holding you two together as you writhe. You hardly notice Lloyd painting his cum across your back and ass but neither does Steve, it seems, because the next thing you know you’re laying beside your husband in bed while your guest grins in triumph.

“I’ll just take this,” Lloyd drawls, reaching beneath Steve’s bare leg to retrieve his knife. He slaps Steve’s ass, too. It’s as if Lloyd knows Steve will let him get away with just about anything in the post-coital fog. “Don’t want you to feel left out, buddy.”

Your husband makes no move at all except to kiss your forehead.

“How are you?” He smooths your wrecked hair out of your face.

“Oh wow,” you say with a rough voice and runaway breaths, “I’m golden, just golden.”

Lloyd grabs his water bottle, joking. “My work here is done, and you two—“ he swigs and swallows dramatically “—I don't mind repeat business from. Anytime. Fuck.” 

He struts to the bathroom, pants still undone and hanging open, uncaring. With a shout, he slaps the top of the door frame.

“That’s America’s Cunt!”

Steve’s whole body tenses. “I hate that guy,” he grumbles into your sweaty skin.

You snuggle closer, surrounded by familiar body heat and musk. “I know. Isn't it great?” 

Because it’s so, so true. There is nothing about Lloyd Hansen you actually want for one second longer than necessary. That's the beauty of teamwork: everyone serves their purpose.

Honorable mention to the line I promised but ultimately couldn't fit in (that's what she said):

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[coeurdalene]

looking for some light

masterlist | ao3

summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)

pairing: chuck hansen x reader

warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.

word count: 3.86k

a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.

The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.

Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.

Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.

“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”

(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)

The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy. 

Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.

Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water. 

“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.

When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.

The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.

The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.

His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one. 

And the clock continues to tick. 

“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”

He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.

“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”

And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)

So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.

“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”

“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.

He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense. 

Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.

He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one. 

As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”

The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.

He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign. 

He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades. 

“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”

Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.

“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.

“She looks brand new,” you remark. 

“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”

“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.

“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”

Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.

The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.

One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.

“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”

“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”

He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.

Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.

“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.

“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.

All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.

“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.

His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot. 

He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.

“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.

Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”

His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.

He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later. 

When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.

On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.

“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats.

On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”

“This is enough,” he repeats.

Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.

He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.

Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.

He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”

You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”

“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”

“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.

When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.

If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)

Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them. 

The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.

He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.

But–

“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”

A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”

He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.

The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako. 

“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”

“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.

“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”

Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.

“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)

In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.

“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.

“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”

“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”

When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.

In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.

[midnightdevotion]

First

Requested: Hangman x reader (age gap)

warnings: Age gap? soft! hangman

a/n: this took me a few days but I hope you love it.

You had Jake Seresin confused. You two had been hot and heavy flirting for three months now and nothing. Not to brag but Jake usually got what he wanted in three goddamn minutes. Yet here he was every time he was at the hard deck, flirting with you at the bar.

You were driving him crazy in the best way. At first he figured you were hot and you two could have some fun. Then he started to catch feelings. It didn't even take much for him to fall, the way your eyes sparkled while you laughed, your full smile in his direction when you'd see him walk in. When your hand would touch his while passing a beer to him and shoot tingles up his arm.

He could have sworn you liked him too, but then why has this song and dance been going on for so long if you wanted him like he wanted you? Hell you two had been on multiple dates in his mind, but you hadn't even kissed him. Did the beach days and movie nights not mean anything to you?

It had gotten to the point that everyone was making fun of him, and he wasn't as focused in the sky. He was making way too many mistakes and the dagger team was teasing and taunting relentlessly. Sighing he climbs down out of his f-18 and angrily yanks off his helmet.

"Hangman!" He groans as he hears rooster call after him. The last thing he needs is Bradshaw giving him a hard time. He feels a hand rest on his shoulder and he turns.

"Jake, I mean this in the nicest way fucking possible but you need to talk to her, because your flying is shit." He glares at the sandy blonde

"I know! I just can't get a read on her and I don't like it." he runs his hand through his sweaty hair.

"Just tell her that" and with that Jake is left to his thoughts. Why is it all so different with you. He knows the age gap between you is a bit much at 10 years, but he thought he'd been clear that all he wanted was you.

With a new found determination he decides Rooster is right. He needs to air it all out once and for all. He doesn't even bother heading to the locker room, just immediately going to the parking lot. He can't sit uncertainty any longer. It feels like it's eating him alive. Clawing at his heart with the fear that all this time he was hoping you were his and he was always going to be yours.

It took him ten minutes to arrive outside your house, and another 25 to build the courage to actually open the door to his truck. He spent another ten minutes just standing in front of your door staring at it.

Finally he knocks, his heart is beating hard, and his hands are sweaty. When you open the door his breath catches. You might be in just sweatpants an old t shirt with your hair pulled back but he thinks you are more beautiful than anything in the world. The way your cheeks darken with a pink hue as you look down at your clothes.

"I uh didn't know you were coming over" and jake can't help the grin that takes over his features.

"neither was I" he gestures down at his flight suit. He watches as you furrow your brows.

"Why are you here then?" you glance up at him in confusion and he curses himself for not stopping for flowers. You deserve flowers.

"well I uh- I need to talk to you" he watches you swallow and nod, opening the door a bit wider. He steps in and doesn't even bother trying to get to a more comfortable place like the couch. It's like he's finally here ready to get it off his chest and he can't wait any longer. So in the middle of your entry way he stands in front of you and drops everything that has been on his mind.

"I can't figure you out. Here I think we are dating, we hold hands, you dance with me, my whole family knows about you, but then it's like we are just friends too. You've met my friends and I haven't met yours. All I think about is kissing you. If you don't feel the same it's fine really just tell me now so I can stop embarrassing myself." He sees the shocked look on your face and he almost groans.

"I uh... I didn't know we were dating" and the blush painting your cheeks is so beautiful it rivals anything Picasso ever did, at least to Jake it does. He goes to say something, but you beat him to it.

"I'm uh really bad at dating, or flirting, or knowing when someone is flirting... I just thought you were being nice to me" he laughs when he hears that.

"You're telling me this whole time you thought I was just being nice? And I thought we were dating?" the exasperation in his tone is thick.

"I guess- I never really.. Guys never really." You groan and he just smiles at you, cupping your cheek.

"Now I really wish I would've stopped and gotten flowers." He watches as you blush.

"Will you go on a date with me then?" he asks, looking into your eyes until you look away, nodding your head sheepishly.

"I um have to tell you something first though.." His attention is fully on you, what could it be? Did you have a boyfriend all ready?

"I um- well I've never kissed anyone" and your cheeks light up with a new intensity. He's shocked to say the least, his train of thought completely derailed. He can't help the spark of possessiveness at the idea of being your first everything. He groans, and he watches the way you flinch.

"No No honey it's not bad.. I just holy hell do I want to kiss you" You look up at him to see his eyes darker than they were just minutes ago, the gleam in them something you had never seen before.

"I um-- Okay" His eye brows raise at this, he didn't expect to kiss you now.

"are you sure?"

"yeah please" and who is he to deny you?

So he back you up slowly to the door, his eyes locking on yours. You swallow hard, knowing he is going to be good at this and so scared you wouldn't be. The cold door behind you breaks your train of thought, sending a shiver down your spine. He looks like a wolf about to capture its prey, devastatingly beautiful and deadly all at once.

Suddenly he's all you can see and feel, every sense of yours is captured in the beauty of Jake seresin. His hand caressing your cheek, and the other on your waist. His thumb is rubbing your hip and you feel tingles shooting all over your body. Your breath catches when he tilts your head up, angling you so he can slot his lips over yours.

His lips taunt you, slowly. Moving so softly that you might think this kiss never happened. You decide to change that, hands reaching up and into his hair you pull him harder against you. He takes the hint and suddenly his lips are moving with need. The kind of kiss that makes your toes curl and fills your stomach with butterflies. The kind of kiss that as you two pull away, pupils blown wide and heavy breathing all you want is to keep kissing.

If it were up to you, you'd kiss this man till the end of time, but he has more restraint than you. So he smiles softly and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"if we keep going darling it's going to be harder to stop, and I want to take you on our first date, then we can do the whole heavy petting things teenagers do." You laugh and blush at the thought, so happy he implied something less than sex.

"You've got a deal"

And if you snuck kisses from each other all night, watching movies and pressed up against each other, then you'd say you don't regret waiting for your first kiss at all.

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[magniloquent-raven]

i've seen a lot of AUs messing around with what happened between Billy and Steve at the end of s2, like, what if Billy had seen the demodog, what if they made out instead of beat the shit out of each other, what if Steve hadn't lied about Max, etc. etc.

and i mean, it's not like i've read every harringrove fanfic so maybe this has actually been written before, but it just occurred to me that i've never seen someone explore what might have happened if Billy had just showed up at the Byers' like twenty minutes earlier. before everyone else left.

i just think it would be interesting because Billy has a habit of keeping his attitude mostly in check around adults, and the fact that one of those adults is a cop might keep him even more in check, so the chances of him getting violent would be much lower. but despite him being less likely to lose his shit, there's also NO chance he'd actually listen if he was told to leave without Max. and i doubt Max would be cool with leaving, no matter how angry she knows Billy is getting (maybe in part BECAUSE she knows he's already pissed, the last thing she wants is to get into a car with him right now).

the whole thing would be SO sus, because everyone would be trying to stop him from going inside but he can see Max and her friends peeking through a broken window while the goddamn chief of police tries to run interference without actually telling him anything. he'd be so stubborn about the whole thing. pretending to be polite, but not blinking an eye when Hop starts implying he's going to arrest Billy for trespassing if he doesn't back down, and Joyce has to get involved, being a mom about it, trying to convince Billy that Max is safe and he doesn't have to worry and she can call Susan if that would help.

so when nothing they say to Billy actually makes a difference they start to wonder if they should just send Max home with him, and Mike has started to get snippy with her about it, saying she should just go because if her brother ruins everything it'll be her fault, but Lucas is adamant that letting Max leave with him would be a bad idea.

and somewhere in between all the arguing Billy shoves his way into the house, where there's still a demodog dead on the floor, and Will's art project on the walls, and Will himself, knocked out in the next room. which is all very weird, but Billy's kind of on a mission here. so him and Max get into it. he can't go after Lucas this time, not with a cop twenty feet away. they just argue. loudly. angrily.

until Billy has had enough, he can't keep pretending he isn't on pins and needles, hasn't been keyed up since his confrontation with Neil. and he has to hit something. anything. nearby. he punches a dent in the nearest wall.

and it freaks El out. and something explodes.

which is just one too many weird things for Billy to ignore.

Steve steps in at the same time Hopper does, both of them unsure how Billy is going to react. except he kind of. doesn't. he's freaked out, and confused, and still angry, but he also looks just as unsure as they are.

they don't really explain it to him. not all of it. he glares at everyone in the room while they give him the stilted cliffnotes version and he doesn't seem to believe any of it.

when Joyce and Hopper leave with their respective teams, Billy gets left behind with Steve and the kids. Steve's half sure he's going to grab Max and drive off the second they can't see tail-lights anymore, and given the way Max is bracing herself, she seems to think so too.

he doesn't. he lights up a cigarette and sits on the couch by himself, ignoring everyone's uneasy stares while they sweep up glass and wood splinters.

and i mean from there it would be both harder and easier to get the kids to the tunnels lmao. could go either way but i figure Billy volunteering to drive the children to their death just because Steve was so adamant it was a bad idea would not be entirely out of character for him. and he's still not convinced any of this is real, so maybe he wants to see it for himself. and maybe he's still itching for some action. if there is some crazy shit down there...well, if he's dead he won't have to explain to Neil how bad he fucked up, so there's that.

(and on a related note i kind of love the idea that Billy would be shit at fighting monsters. like they just freak him out and he can't do it. so he goes down there into the tunnels all sure of himself and confident because he knows he can fight but the second they run into trouble he freezes up and Steve has to save his ass. which totally doesn't turn him on at all, shut up)

[chvoswxtch]

Hey girl!! I’m so happy for your milestone! You deserve it! You’re writing is incredible and you’re an amazing person. I look forward to your posts and writing all the time! Can’t wait to continue reading your work!

I have been debating song lyrics since you posted about the bar opening because of course I’m gonna order a margarita on the rocks with Frank! Bet you’re surprised about that one 😂

So I’m ordering a margarita on the rocks and I hope to meet Frank there, and in my little world, “Holding Out for a Hero” is playing in the background. I’m partial to the lyrics “I’m holding out for a hero till the end of the night/he’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast/and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight”

I might order a few more drinks. 😏Let’s get this party started!! 🍹🍺🍾

my lovely meg,

I think you give me far too much credit, so I need to confess that while writing this, I forgot the word for hourglass and literally had to google "sand glass thing you turn over time". so maybe humble me a bit. 😬

thank you so much for always being so sweet. frankie's got your margarita on the rocks at the end of the bar waiting for you. 😏

as a reminder: margarita on the rocks means it's spicy (minors dni)!

blurb below the cut

holding out for a hero

he’s gotta be fresh from the fight

Your knee bounced anxiously up and down as you sat perched on the edge of the couch, eyes continuously darting over towards the clock on the wall. 

11:47pm.

Frank was supposed to come home today. You spoke to him this morning, and he was in the process of packing his limited belongings he’d brought to the motel he was staying at. He promised he was coming home to you today.

“Be on the road in ‘bout ten minutes, should be there in a couple hours. Can’t wait to see ya, sweetheart.”

That was this morning, and it was almost midnight. When Frank didn’t show up by the afternoon, you’d called him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. You tried not to freak out about that, but the more you kept getting greeted by an automated message instead of his familiar gruff voice, panic began to spread through your lungs like air stretching out a balloon. 

You’d lost track of how many times you had called him. How many hysteric voicemails and frantic messages you had left him. You were on the verge of breaking down and reaching out to Madani to demand an all out manhunt to find him. This wasn’t like Frank. He always checked in with you if he was going to be late, even by a minute. He knew how much you worried when he was away, and he did everything he could to put your mind at ease.

It was hard not to let your mind wander to the worst possible case scenarios. The fact that Frank Castle was still alive and kicking despite all of the numerous times he should have died already was a goddamn miracle. You can only cheat Death so many times before Death decides to retaliate. What if his stubborn luck had finally run out? What if the last grain of sand had slipped past his hourglass, and you weren’t there to catch it?

Before you could spiral any further, the sound of a lock turning caught your attention, and you were rushing towards the front door. Just as you reached the threshold, Frank was closing the door behind him, and he paused to stare at you when he caught the look on your face. You must have looked like an absolute wreck; hair a tangled mess from running your fingers through it anxiously, nose glowing red from intermittent breakdowns, eyes glassy with tears and fears of the unknown. A soft gasp emitted from your lips when you took him in.

Frank’s hair was disheveled and sweat glistened across his forehead and down the column of his throat. There were fresh cuts actively bleeding above his right eyebrow, across his large nose, and you caught the flash of white gauze beneath the sleeve of his henley on his left arm. Even in the dim light you could see a fresh patch of violet blooming underneath his left eye, just along the crest of his sharp cheekbone. The movement of his hand caught your attention, and you watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket to show you the completely shattered screen and-wait, was that a bullet lodged in the middle?

Frank grunted quietly as he motioned his head towards the demolished phone.

“Sorry I didn’t call, baby. Ran into a little trouble, and this goddamn thing got blown to bits.”

Once your nerves started to dissipate and you realized Frank wasn’t a cruel trick of your imagination, you rushed forward to cup his face gently in your hands, a fresh wave of tears approaching the shore of your waterline.

“Jesus, Frank. What the hell happened?”

“Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”

For a moment all you could do was close your eyes and let your forehead rest against Frank’s broad chest, deeply inhaling his scent and gripping onto the collar of his shirt to ground yourself. 

Frank was home. Frank was okay. Frank was alive.

“I was…I was so-”

Your voice broke off towards the end in a choked sob, and Frank moved his hands from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist, hugging you tightly into his chest as he peppered kisses into your hair.

“Hey, I’m alright. I can take a lot, you know that. Always come home to you, don’t I?”

“I thought…I thought-”

“Hey, shh shh shh. C’mere, baby.”

Frank lightly grasped your face in his large hand, tipping your head back gently to press his lips delicately to yours. Tears slipped down your cheeks in pure relief, but Frank simply swallowed them as he kissed you even deeper, holding you as close to his body as he could. You weren’t sure if it was the pure adrenaline coursing through his blood or the physical reassurance your body craved to make up for all those hours of helpless mania, but both of you seemed to silently understand exactly what you needed from each other in that moment.

Bending down slightly to wrap his arm around your waist, Frank abruptly lifted you up into his arms as you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, grabbing onto the back of his neck while slipping your tongue into his mouth with a content hum. He blindly walked you both backwards until you bumped into the kitchen table, setting you down on the surface as his large hands tore your shirt over your head as yours fumbled with the buckle of his belt. The second he slipped your panties past your ankles, Frank spit into his palm and slipped it between your thighs, warming you up with his thick fingers while your hand slipped past his jeans and into his boxers to wrap your hand around his eager cock. 

Not a word needed to be spoken in that moment. You needed to feel that Frank was here with you, and Frank needed to show you how much he missed you.

The delicious sting of your walls accommodating his thick cock lulled you into a calm sense of serenity as he locked his arms around your body like unbreakable chains.

Frank was home. Frank was okay. Frank was alive.

[stick-ball]

I WAS LOOKING FOR A JEREMY BPD/ANGER ISSUES POST I THOUGJT I HAD SEEN THIS MORNING PLEASE WRITE YOUR HEADCANNONS AGAIN I BEG OF YOU GIVE JEREMY KNOX THE LOVE HE DESERVES

Okay so this is long overdue, but might as well. I guess this is an observation of fandom Jeremy as much as the canon one, so don't come at me.

I dunno read Jeremy as having BPD bcs... bcs honestly have you ever met anyone who has Sunshine shining from their ass? Me neither. Though I have met ppl with severe personality issues who had a coping mechanism like that, of course they weren't young and talented sportsmen looked up to by many ppl and rooted for by many, so they had enough free space and privacy to go absolutely fucked up at other ppl when they were having bad brain hours.

Yes im including myself here.

The name of the game is If I Give Them No Reason to Leave Me They Won't.

Or If I Give Them No Things To Hate Me For They Won't Hurt me.

But spice it up with black and white thinking, paranoia and unhelathy behaviours jumping off the standard spectrum of bottling things out into like, going on a 4 hour run to cool off bcs you are undeserving bcs you are a bad captain bcs you're annoyed at the freshmen bcs they dont care about your shared goals enough and is thay really a them issue? Or is it actually a You issue? Are you blaming others for your own failures again? Look at yourself, you're fucking pathetic, and egoistic at that, you demand things from others but how do you show you care for what others need huh? You think you're a good captain? Keep telling yourself that, before you know it they will all turn against you. Because you're a failure, bcs you cant even make them care? Maybe you're just not a good enough player , or maybe they can see straight through you, see what you are udnerneath the happy exterior. Yo have just not good enough, not trying hard enough, and you want them to look up to.. to That???

Or maybe it is a them issue bcs fuck that, fuck the smiling, fuck the caring, you don't actually care, if they don't care, why would you? 🤔 you don't owe anyone anything you are so done with everyone and everything cant they LEAVE YOU THE FUCK ALONE, HAVENT YOU DONE ENOUGH TO HAVE AT LEAST ONE SMALL THING GO RIGHT ONCE? YOU ARE SO FUCKKNG ANGRY so you have to do something you feel like smashing something, you could, your body is literally a machine, you could show them what you actually think about their Opinions, how pathetic and annoying they are and actually fuck that you have to leave you cant stand being in the same room as them for one second longer.

But the sunshine Jeremy 🌞 exterior slips on so even though you want to crash the doors closed you smile and wave and say something stupid and cheery you even have a fucking spring in your step.

Bcs you're a fucking liar a fucking impostor you can't help it at this point you are a clay figurine that's hollowed out inside.

You are so tired it's like there's a lump of cloth absolutely soaked weighting on your lungs

You actually feel like crying while you wave at alvarez from the stretch of the corridor, making goddamn plans to meet up for group studying maths later in the evening while your lungs constrict holding down a sob.

You hate them all for the next 3 hours.

And then on hour four while you're circling the campus heading back from your walk/jog/run/staring into the distance/jog again you tap into the very comfortable very familiar hating of yourself.

This is a light version of course but I bet Jeremy is that person that dissapears sometimes like at parties ect bcs they are doing some absolutely stupid shit like having sex with a complete stranger or getting drunk but they know enough about the emptiness and self hatred they will feel ten minutes after they succumb to thay behaviour that they learned to do it when the judgment of the ppl who know them won't touch this piece of him. Bcs it feels like a separate piece.

Like he is parcelled into different breeds of fucked up inside and they are all set on a loop in a music playing machine from a highway diner. One song ends another starts you can choose which one if you throw in a dime.

And also we gotta add in the sensory issues, he sees things, he hears them, sometimes he does a dodge while there's nothing coming bcs he thought it was. Some weeks it feels almost he lives from one training to the next bcs he doesn't remember a minute from what's in between. Good thing he taught himself this sunny persona bcs its an autopilot mode that gets him having to answer the least amount of questions when he doesn't fucking remember what happened from 8 am till late afternoon that day.

[xpao-bearx]

"Partners In Crime"

Officer Callahan x Bad Girl!Reader

SUMMARY: As the resident "bad girl" of Hawkins, you truly only want one thing: to get into the pants of the resident dorky and dedicated police officer, Phil Callahan (and hey, maybe steal his heart too!).

NOTES: I recently just finished Stranger Things and yeah, great show, but have you SEEN the men??? 👀 Anyhoe, being the ✨️whore✨️ that I am, it really comes as no surprise that I'm simping over all the hot dudes but one of the hotties I've become obsessed with is CRIMINALLY underrated 😭

And so, of course, I took this grave offense ✨️personally✨️ and wrote this lil piece! Though I can't really call it little because it is SHOCKINGLY long (for me) and I sacrificed hours upon hours of sleep 🥲 But hey, when Phil fucking Callahan (and his gorgeous actor John Reynolds) makes you horny and inspired, YOU👏SEIZE👏THE👏GODDAMN👏MOMENT👏

If it isn't already obvious, this fic contains 18+ SMUT AND MATURE CONTENT and it gets preeetty steamy if I do say so myself~ It's also set roughly around Season 2, and I say roughly cuz I suck at remembering plots and shit so I just went with the flow 😅 And as always, PLEASE don't be a silent reader! Likes, comments, and reblogs are VERY much encouraged and appreciated!! \(^o^)/

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this baby! This is my first ever humble contribution to the ST fandom and, who knows, MAYBE not my last ;)

In the small town of Hawkins, you were popular as the "bad girl". You were loud, headstrong, and constantly got into trouble--completely unlike any of the "proper" ladies that talked shit behind your back. But the trouble you caused, despite the chaos it unfailingly left behind, was never anything actually hurtful. Hell, you were even caught a few times using your colourful language to make some middle school children cry when you saw them bullying some poor boys (one of them, you remember, being the Wheelers' son who always looked like trouble followed him himself).

A bad girl with a golden heart; a cheesy, living cliché. But that's what you were. You just wanted to have fun, to live in the moment. But in this bumfuck town where pretty much nothing happens before that Byers kid mysteriously disappeared then reappeared, how could anyone really blame you for trying to stir shit up simply for your own entertainment and for your damn sanity?

But some of the locals knew you on a personal level. Particularly, the Hawkins Police Department. Before you stumbled upon Hawkins a few years ago, you were a drifter; chasing after the high of wherever life would take you, free yet lost. Whether it was by chance or by fate, you only stopped at Hawkins to fuel up your motorcycle and have a quick bite at the local diner until suddenly--like something out of those fucking romcoms your mother used to watch--you met him.

Phil Callahan. He was only a rookie officer at the time, having not even grown out his beloved moustache yet. You noticed his police cruiser parked at the gas station with an evident bump on the front of the car. He was fuelling up, but his hand holding the pump was limp and he was as pale as a ghost; eyes comically wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses, brunette locks tousled and sticking out every which way after frantically running his free hand through it god knows how many times.

And staring at this clearly stressed, slightly pathetic man, all you could think was: HOT.

Before your brain could process what you were doing (though, let's be honest, you never really used your brain much in most of your life decisions), you found your feet walking away from your bike of their own accord and towards him.

Once you were by his side, it's only then that you realized just how tall he was. So much taller. He easily towered over you and it made your mind drift to other, much less innocent thoughts.

Namely him bending you over his car and fucking you within an inch of your sorry excuse of a life.

"Can I help you?" Your head snapped up from the stranger's voice, eyes meeting his narrowed ones. And--dammit!--he was much more unfairly handsome up close. His light brown eyes reflected almost green, raising a suspicious brow at you as his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Sorry, Officer--" Your gaze strayed to his shiny name tag, a grin tugging up the corners of your mouth. "--Callahan. I just couldn't help but notice you. You look like you just died inside, man."

His brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to the bump on his car before quickly darting back to you. "Thanks for your concern, ma'am, but I'm fine. Nothing a civilian should be worried about, anyway."

"If you don't mind--" You piped up once more as he set the pump away. "I think it's got something to do with that nasty bump ya got there, huh?"

"Uh, okay, actually I do mind." He sighed exasperatedly, no longer able to hide his growing aggravation. Today was just not his day, it seemed. "Ma'am, like I said, it is none of your concern." He put on his police hat, tipping it to you. "Good day."

As he turned away from you, you sidestepped him so that you were in front of him again. Your grin was much bigger this time, practically reaching your ears. "Uh-oh, are you in trouble, Mr. Policeman~?" You purred, one hand reaching out and playfully drumming your fingers along his chest. You intently studied him from head to toe, as if admiring an artistic masterpiece before biting your lip and giggling. "Lemme guess... You're a young, new police officer who doesn't know any better. You got so excited driving a police car for the first time that you drove it a bit too fast and crashed into a tree or some shit. Sound about right?"

His face flushed scarlet, and you weren't sure if it was from the shame of having his dumbass misdemeanor exposed or from your fingers making a shiver run down his spine--probably both.

"How do you--"

"This ain't exactly my first time having a lil run-in with the law, so I know how men like you work." You winked. "Hey, tell ya what, how 'bout I help you? You can tell your other piggy buddies that I'm some crazy bitch with anger issues you caught for speeding and in my oh so scary rage, I purposely crashed my motorbike to the front of your car just to fuck with you. You can even put cuffs on me~"

He blinked, utterly dumbstruck as he stared down at the total menace that was you (and the fact that a certain part of him reacted at you graciously allowing him to cuff you), feeling like forever until he finally found his voice that cracked slightly as he spoke. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Y/N L/N." You hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned up on your tiptoes and dangled slightly off of him with the few inches left between the two of you. The sudden action caught him completely off guard, his hands dropping to your hips to support you and making him blush even redder. But you didn't care, smiling mischievously up at him. "Feel free to search me up in the system, Officer. I've got a permanent record, after all~"

And that's how you met Jim Hopper, Calvin Powell, and the rest of the Hawkins Police Department when Callahan brought you with him back to the station. They definitely didn't believe you guys, especially when you didn't have a single scratch on you that indicated you "crashed your bike to his vehicle" (Callahan cleaned up your choice of wording a bit). But it was amusing to see Callahan dragging you along in handcuffs, who appeared all too joyful with a shit-eating smile as if you just won the lottery. Meanwhile, Callahan's cheeks were flaming hot and his voice adopted to a nervous high pitch as he lied to everyone who were just barely containing their laughter.

It also wasn't long before you decided to settle into Hawkins in some shitty trailer park, but you couldn't really complain considering your drifting years weren't all sunshine and rainbows either.

Besides, Callahan made it all worth it.

It wasn't love at first sight, but there was absolutely attraction. Hell, you were practically (if not literally) throwing yourself at him during your first encounter, and after that it would be the same--if not more intense.

You were no stranger to trouble, but often times you would seek for trouble yourself on purpose just so you could wind up in the police station to bother--ahem, I mean, very persistently try to hang out with Callahan. Or you'd just go to the station despite having no business there, but Flo the secretary usually kicked you out before you had the chance to even lay eyes on the gorgeous four eyes.

Today, however, Flo wasn't there. You didn't believe in some higher power, but it was a fucking miracle that you were grateful for and didn't dare to question. And so you more than happily made yourself at home in the station, sitting down at Callahan's desk as you curiously pried into his stuff before a deep laugh from behind you broke you out of your little reverie.

"This is just ridiculous now, Y/N." Hopper shot you an incredulous though very much amused expression. "If you like Callahan so much--which I have no fucking idea why--then just ask him out on a date already."

It was no secret that Hopper can be a total grump, but oddly enough you became fast friends with him. He never gave you a hard time and you never bullshitted him, which in turn formed a weird sort of respect between the two of you.

You rolled your eyes at the huge man, turning back to Callahan's desk and inspecting his assortment of pens--which you thought was way too much and he probably doesn't even use all of them, but that only amped up his dorkish charm to you by, like, a thousand.

"You're one to talk, Hop." You scoffed, snatching a pen and beginning to click it continuously. "I bet your hand's tired from jerking off to Joyce Byers."

Hopper scowled, but a faint rosiness dusted his cheeks. "Okay, first off--" Click. "I do not jerk off to Joyce--" Click. "and unlike you--" Click. "I actually have the balls to ask her out--" Click. "she just hasn't--" Click. "WILL YOU STOP FUCKING CLICKING THAT GODDAMN PEN?!"

You didn't even flinch, casually stashing the pen away in your pocket before you stood and faced him. "Enough about you." You huffed, crossing your arms as your eyes levelled with his. Hopper may as well be a living brick wall walking around ready to punch whoever crossed him, but you were never intimidated by the chief of police whom you've admittedly grown a soft spot for. "Callahan on for patrol duty tonight?"

"Yeah, and you owe me big time." He frowned when you blatantly ignored him, but what was new? "I need as much manpower as I can get to investigate what the hell's going on with the pumpkin patches yet here I am, like a fucking idiot, helping to set you and Callahan up."

"You looove me~" You teased, patting his shoulder and granting him a Cheshire Cat-like grin. "This is all for a good cause, big guy. And just think, the sooner Callahan and I get together, the faster I'll be outta your hair!" You chuckled. "And hey, you're thinking too much into those pumpkin patches. Probably just some pumpkin farmers having a pumpkin war. Go big or gourd home, am I right?"

Hopper watched as you laughed obnoxiously loud at your stupid pun, looking so proud of yourself as little snorts wracked your smaller frame and your shoulders shook from sheer glee. He shook his head, sighing heavily to himself.

"God, I actually feel kinda bad for Callahan..."

•••♡•••

Night couldn't fall any quicker, but once it finally did your entire body was practically bursting with excitement like a child who's about to go out for trick or treating.

You hopped onto your bike, revving up the engine and driving even more maniacally than your Munson neighbour did out of the trailer park. You didn't even keep track anymore of how fast you were going, your hair flying as you raced down the road and were greeted by Halloween decorations strewn about in various houses' lawns.

A few minutes later, you found yourself on the empty road leading out of Hawkins. And just as you predicted--had hoped--the shrill blare of a siren sliced through the air and the all too familiar red and blue lights nearly blinded your vision as a police cruiser followed close on your tail.

You couldn't suppress the giddy grin that tore across your face, slowing down by the side of the road and the car pulling up next to you.

The butterflies in your stomach were doing fucking somersaults now as you heard the car door open and shut close, boots thudding on the ground as your favourite officer approached.

"Well, well, well... Lookie who we have here~?" The singsong voice made your grin widen even more if it was possible, making your cheeks hurt. The beam from a flashlight hit your eyes, and once your sight adjusted there was none other than Callahan, staring down at you with his pretty brown eyes. "If it isn't Lil Miss Trouble."

"Cally!" You giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl, and if we were being honest, you pretty much acted like you are. "Fancy seeing you here~ Halloween ain't 'til tomorrow, so why are ya out on patrol?"

"Beats me." He shrugged. "The chief suddenly put me on duty. Also, you know how much I hate that nickname." He grimaced, turning the flashlight off. It was quite dark, but you could still see him well enough due to a lone street lamp a couple feet away. "Get off."

His sudden commanding tone sent a shiver down your spine, a certain part of you getting wet. And it didn't help that you decided to forgo panties, your slick coating the seat of your bike. You then jumped off, your breasts bouncing slightly. This action didn't go unnoticed by him, his eyes dropping to your chest and trailing down your figure until his gaze landed on your skirt--if it could even be called that.

You were wearing a leather mini skirt that left little to the imagination, hugging your curves just right and showing off your thighs. He thought that if you made one wrong move, you'd flash him your panties; of course, not knowing you weren't even wearing any.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love your moustache?" You purred, heart leaping when he went speechless and his mouth hung agape.

His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, snapping out of his trance. "Only the first hundred times." He then cleared his throat, pointing an accusatory finger at you with a hand placed on his hip like a parent scolding their child. "Flattery won't work on me, Y/N. Do you know how fast you were going? And why weren't you wearing a helmet?"

"I know I was going pretty fucking fast!" You guffawed. "As for not wearing a helmet, well, what can I say? I don't like feeling restricted. I like being free. If I could, I'd totally go naked."

You saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped at your emphasis of "naked", a death grip on his flashlight as his jaw squared. "That's public indecency." He stated simply. He was getting better dealing with you, but the ever so slight crack in his voice was a telltale sign that you still very much had an intoxicating, beguiling effect on him. "And where the hell were you going? Were you...leaving Hawkins?"

You didn't miss the plaintive way he had asked the question, your heart melting. He cared for you. No matter how much trouble you caused everyone, caused him... He would still check up on you, and you even caught him several times keeping watch outside of your trailer when Will Byers went missing a year ago. He claimed that the police were patrolling every nook and cranny after the kid's disappearance, but you never saw Hopper or anyone else guarding other people's homes like how Callahan did yours.

"I'm not leaving, Phil." You breathed out, nothing more than a whisper as you looked up at him; serious, for once. Because as boring as this town was, you've grown fond of it. And Callahan played a big part in that and even if you weren't together, he was the closest to home that you've ever felt in a long fucking time.

He searched your face for any lies, brown eyes soft before a genuine smile graced his features. "You better not, Lil Miss Trouble." A beat passed between the two of you, breaths mingling together and you only just realized how close you both were standing to each other. He had you caged against your bike, and you had to strain your neck just to be eye level with the tall man.

Then something in his expression shifted, and soon he was drawing away from you. "W-Well, I'm gonna let you off with a warning. Just this once, though! Think of it as thanks for that time--" You cut off his rambling when you reached out, grabbing his hand.

"I didn't leave." You declared, an almost pleading tone in your voice. "So don't leave either, Phil."

For what felt like a dreadful eternity, you were swallowed by a deafening silence. You, who was usually so confident, found your will breaking with each passing second. Your grasp softened until you let go, feeling your heart sink to your stomach.

"...Forget it. Thanks, Cal--" But you couldn't finish; because in a blink of an eye, his lips were on yours. It was brief, feather light. But the chaste peck made your heart explode, and you didn't even question if this was just one of your silly fantasies. It felt too real--too good.

He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours and his warm breath tickling your nose. "I'm not leaving." He murmured, such beautiful, sincere greenish brown eyes locking with yours. "I'm not leaving you, Y/N."

You felt tears prickle your eyes, but before you would ever allow them to fall you wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled your nose with his. "Then prove it." And you crashed your lips with his, this time fiercely, passionately. You felt the rough brush of his moustache, but that only made everything feel astoundingly better.

He finally closed the gap between you two, looming over you, the flashlight clattering to the ground as his much larger hands clutched on to your hips before he easily lifted you and plopped you down on your bike's seat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, nipping on his bottom lip that elicited a gasp from him which you gladly took as the opportunity to slide your tongue inside his mouth. His tongue tangled with yours and coaxed it into a sensual dance, earning him a most heavenly moan from you.

You two only pulled away for breath, a thin string of saliva connecting your tongues. But his glasses were foggy and tinkly laughter bubbled out of you, feeling like a druggie high off of life--high off of him.

He chuckled, taking his glasses off to wipe them before putting them back on. "Sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "That ruined the moment, didn't it?"

"On the contrary..." You were still laughing, but you held one of his hands still on your hip and guided it lower, lower, lower...until his palm was right on your bare pussy. "You always turn me on, Cal. It's pretty fucking ridiculous, honestly."

His breath hitched sharply when he felt how drenched you were, his pupils dilating and mouth forming an 'O' at the realization that you've been half naked this whole time. He pressed his palm closer to your core, your laughter instantly dying down as his thumb slowly rubbed circles around your clit. One of your hands flew to his hair, something you've always dreamt of doing ever since you saw the incredibly sexy messy state it was in the day you met him. Your other hand clung onto his shirt for dear life, a gasp escaping you as he pinched your nub and began to stroke his fingers along your slit.

He leaned down to your ear, his fingers gradually increasing their pace and you trembled from the pure ecstasy that overcame your senses just from his deft fingers. "You really are a little troublemaker, huh?" He chuckled, voice dropping an octave lower. "You planned this all along, didn't you? Fucking slut..." His lips dragged down your ear to the crook of your neck, biting down and leaving a mark that had you crying out. "My beautiful fucking slut."

"All yours, Officer~" You mewled, your hand latched onto his shirt making its descent to his crotch. You palmed him, feeling his prominent erection aching to spring free as he groaned. "Just be mine, too." You peered down at him, eyes hazy with desire and desperation. "Pretty please?"

"I think I've been yours ever since we met. Not like I had a choice on the matter, anyway." He snickered before capturing your lips once more in a sultry, intimate kiss. Your mouth moved in perfect tandem with his, but you both took your sweet time as everything else faded away. There was only you and Callahan, Callahan and you. And it's all you ever fucking wanted; all you needed.

Not breaking the kiss, you shucked your leather jacket off and carelessly tossed it to the ground. Your hands came up to cup the sides of his face, fingers caressing him tenderly while his hands crawled beneath your white tank top; imagine his pleasant surprise to discover that you didn't wear a bra either.

"Jesus..." He muttered, yanking your tank top up before kneading and squeezing your perfect breasts as his lascivious gaze met your own. "You're gonna kill a fucking cop here." He grunted, making you giggle which immediately turned into an elated whimper as he tweaked your pert nipples.

"Get down. Turn around. Ass up." He ordered, and you didn't at all hesitate to obey. In your haste, you nearly tumbled off of your bike though Callahan steadied you. "Eager, are we, Y/N?" He chuckled, but something about the way your name smoothly, seductively rolled off his tongue had you wanting to fall down on your knees and reverently suck him off instead. But you didn't dare disobey, spinning around with your back to him and bending over your bike.

Though something dropped to the ground as you bent over, making Callahan arch a brow as he picked it up.

"My pen?" He scoffed, and though you can't see him, you can feel his disapproving stare boring into the back of your head like daggers. "Naughty girl, now you're stealing? Tsk, tsk." He flipped up your skirt, your ass now in full view as he licked his lips. His hands groped the pillowy soft flesh, releasing a low whistle of appreciation as he squeezed before suddenly raising his hand and spanking you.

"Ah..!" You exclaimed, looking over your shoulder with glazed eyes and flushed cheeks. "M'sorry, Officer~"

Smack! Another slap had you reeling in the best way possible, your pussy clenching at--unfortunately--nothing as you whimpered.

"Uh-uh. Didn't say you could look at me, did I, naughty girl?" He chided, seeing that you were wiggling your ass and trying to inch closer to him.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Three slaps, one right after the other. Your flesh glowed red with his handprint, making him smirk devilishly.

"M'sorry..." You said again, your voice coming out as a meek squeak. But more. You wanted more, more, more. "I'm a good girl, I promise!"

"I'm sure you are~" He hummed leisurely. "Just gotta prove it to me, right, baby?"

Before you had any chance to reply, he prodded your legs apart with his knee and his pants unzipping sounded like the most divine music to your ears. Both of your breaths got caught in your throats as the tip of his cock pressed against your pussy, stroking up and down your entrance slowly, teasingly. Your lustful impatience getting the best of you because, fuck, you deserved this, you were just about to slide down onto him when he suddenly pushed his entire cock in with no warning.

And fuck he was big. Much bigger than you ever fantasized, completely stretching you out as a long moan was drawn out of you and your upper body fell like a ragdoll on your bike. You vaguely heard him laughing huskily before he started to move; carefully, as if he was afraid you might break.

But with you? That didn't last very long, any pathetic thread of patience he had snapping as soon his thrusts started to become rapid, hard, wild--hitting that amazing spot deep inside your gummy walls over and over again, the lewd squelches of his cock slipping in and out of your pussy perfectly harmonizing with skin slapping against skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuck..!" You screamed, toes curling and grinding your ass in time with his thrusts as he watched, utterly transfixed, with how you seemed to just fit him like a puzzle piece; the fucking addicting way you slammed back down onto him, your skin rolling with each bounce, your pussy clenching his cock like a goddamn vice and effortlessly accepting all of him.

He then wrapped a hand around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head before pulling you up so that you were standing and your back was pressed against his chest. He nuzzled his face just beneath your ear, hot pants grazing your skin as he never seized his pleasurable assault to your cunt as he continued to pound relentlessly into you like a beast in heat.

Suddenly, he pressed his pen to your clit. Your eyes widened as you felt the long, thin object rubbing against your sensitive mound, stroking and poking at your folds as his cock drove in and out, in and out.

"Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" He whispered, planting butterfly kisses along the delicate column between your neck and shoulder, his grip on your neck tightening ever so slightly as he humped against you.

"Y-Yes, fuck, yes Officer..!" You choked out, rocking your hips desperately as you could almost see stars.

"Then cum, Y/N."

And you did; your walls fluttered and clamped down on his dick, your body stilling and eyes crossing as waves of the highest rapture coursed throughout your body. Callahan soon followed, a nearly animalistic groan accompanying the spurts of cum that gushed into your deepest, most intimate part as his hips stuttered to a halt.

You basked in silence, revelling in the satisfying afterglow. Then, agonizingly slowly, his twitching cock slid out of you, making you convulse and you could feel the hot cum trickling down your legs. He spun you around and gently grabbed your chin, tipping it up and examining your completely fucked out expression. You stuck your tongue out, and he didn't waste a precious moment as he leaned down and entwined your tongue with his. He held you closely, securely; hugging you to his broad chest as he stepped backwards until his back bumped into his car to support the both of you.

You were the first to pull away from the sloppy liplock, laying your head on his chest and sighing deeply. "That was..." You looked up at him, blinking dazedly. "...not what I expected."

"Did you not have fun?" He chuckled, though there was a hint of worry in his voice as his thumb lazily caressed your swollen bottom lip, kind brown eyes seeking yours. Shit, did he overdo it? Or worse... Did you realize that you actually weren't that into him?

"I did, it's just..." You trailed off before a giggle erupted out of you, shaking your head. "Y'know, the first time we met, I actually thought of you bending me over your car and fucking me. I never imagined I'd be bent over my bike."

"For fuck's sake, Y/N, you really are gonna be the death of me!" He whined dramatically, making you laugh and soon he joined you.

"So..." You grinned, fixing his glasses that had fallen to the bridge of his nose and running a hand through his sweaty, unruly curls that you loved too fucking much. "Was I a good girl, Cally~?"

"The fucking best." He returned your euphoric grin, booping your nose and, though he'd never admit it, he actually liked your nickname. Just for him, only by you. "Buuut you're a good girl that's coming back to the station with me."

"Huh? But I thought you're gonna let me off the hook for speeding?" You questioned, confused.

"I am, but you're forgetting your other crimes." He cleared his throat, rising to his full height and looming over you yet again. "Public indecency..." He traced his pen on your pussy, making you shudder as the cold metal glided across your skin up to the valley between your breasts. "...and theft."

"Well, Officer, if that's the case then you're not innocent either~" You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck and dangling off of him much like you did the first time. "You stole my heart, after all~"

His face was as red as a tomato, smiling like a doofus as he hooked his hands under your plush thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Taking you by surprise, but definitely not unwelcomed as he stared up at you with a stupidly smitten expression.

"We're partners in crime, then, Lil Miss Trouble~"