#but i want Mr. Mike to be a short man!

[clippy]

ummmm here's my newest OCs hanging out (Mr. Mike is probably like...... 5' idk. train crossing dude is Tall)

[freelancearsonist]

Won't You Suffer for the Angels to Fly?

➔ Joel Miller x fem!Reader - 2k

➔ Joel finds religion in the last place he expected to--a preacher's daughter.

➔ Rated MA for pure blasphemy. a lot of religious imagery and defiling of holy places--please read at your own risk. unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, fingering (f receiving), corruption kink, HEFTY age gap (r is early 20s [unspecified], joel is 56), reader uses feminine pronouns and has female anatomy [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ this is for my mid to plus!sized readers :) you're beautiful and valid and i love you. this was written in basically one sitting after i binged mike flanagan's midnight mass in one night. thank you to my lovelies @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @shakespeareanwannabe for talking me through this <3 title is from "heaven only knows" by bob moses

The Bible teaches–at least according to what Joel was able to gleam from the Easter service–that everything happens for a reason. That every pelting raindrop in its descent from the sky, even before it lands heavy and dark in his hair or soaks the lush green landscape of Jackson, has a purpose.

He’s struggled a lot with purpose ever since hearing that existential crisis-inspiring sermon that Tommy had dragged him to. 

In the preacher’s defense, it went over well with everyone else. So many people are lost nowadays, adrift in a world that doesn’t seem to have space for them. They need that hope, that reassurance that they’re here for a reason. That they’ve survived hell on earth not out of luck, but out of purpose. He pulled out the big gun that everyone needed to hear on one of the two days a year that everyone in Jackson has their ears open to him. It was tactful, and Joel has to acknowledge that. Your father is clever, if not cunning.

It’s a trait that you’ve learned directly from him, whether purposeful or not. But you sat right in the front row and nodded along to every word, accepting without thought or conflict that purpose is in every action, every reaction, every change of tide and every gust of wind.

And if everything has a purpose, your purpose must be to torture him.

You never have anything but a smile on your face for Joel. Joel, a man older than your own father, a man whose hands have broken every commandment that you hold so dear. A man that should know better than to let you get under his skin and infect his dreams.

He wonders what it would be like to hold someone so perfectly untainted in hands that have killed and destroyed and sinned. Hands that are strong, hands that are experienced, hands that are greedy. He’s certain he could teach you all about greed. He could make you beg, plead, sob for more and more and more until the only thought remaining in your pretty little head is how much you want to take from him. Until you become a glutton at the altar of his generosity.

And oh, how generous he could be once he had you begging. Minding your manners and asking nicely for what you need, of course, but he would never deny you anything you asked of him.

“Can I help you with that, Mr. Miller?” He hadn’t even noticed he was struggling–and he wouldn’t be, really, if he wasn’t so distracted. Putting new legs on a pew isn’t the issue after all; it’s the fact that you’re sitting there on the stairs that lead up to the altar and absentmindedly swinging your legs as if you’re taunting him. As if you understand that his resolve is slipping with every passing second he’s alone in this room with you. 

“Joel.”

“Hmm?” You shift your posture to lean closer, and that skirt that’s already way too short to be worn by the pastor’s daughter, in a house of God of all places, rides just a little further up your deliciously full thighs. 

How is he expected to work, to keep his mind on the job, when all he wants is to know what those thighs might feel like wrapped around his head?

He clears his throat and adjusts “You can call me Joel, sweetheart.”

He sees it, then. It’s so subtle, but it’s not imagined. You squirm at the pet name, at the raspy drawl of his voice, and it changes everything for him.

He sees in his mind the sweet girl, barely out of her teens, who sits in the front pew with a Bible in her lap. He sees the girl who sings so sweetly to the tune of every hymn. He sees the girl who’s so shy that she blushes every time she catches his gaze.

And then he sees everything underneath the act. He sees the girl who’s bold enough to wear a bright red dress to the Easter service. He sees the girl who makes eye contact with him across the dining hall every night to watch the way he reacts to her lips wrapped so tantalizingly smoothly around her spoon. He sees the girl who knew he would be alone in the chapel today–the girl who wore an easily accessible skirt just for the occasion.

You bookmark the page you’re on and set down the book you were reading, eyes fixated on him all the while. “Is there something I can help with, Joel?”

There certainly is, and it’s not the pew he’s supposed to be repairing.

He remembers, vaguely, hearing something about how God spares guilt from sinners when sin is necessary. It must be necessary to teach you a lesson, then–as you stride over and kneel beside him, your eyes heavy with anticipation and lashes fluttering, he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

“Hasn’t your daddy taught you not to dress like this?” He takes the hem of your skirt idly in his hand, rubs the silky fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He’s not touching you, not really, but his hand is so achingly close. An inch or two, and he’d feel your warmth–those plush thighs that God created to rule over Joel Miller’s mind, body, and soul; ‘til death does he finally know peace, amen.

You shake your head and even manage to seem smug as you say, “No. He just teaches everyone else to resist temptation.”

“I’ve never been much good at that,” he murmurs.

He thinks that you know that. He thinks that you’re his crucible, his most important moral trial–that maybe, if he can turn you away now, he’s a good man.

Joel Miller is not a good man. His kiss is crushing. It’s hellfire, it’s brimstone, it’s everything you’ve been taught to fear your entire life. You melt into it so prettily, accepting your damnation with parted lips and eager eyes. A wanton moan gets caught in your throat when his hand slips further up your skirt. 

No panties–in a place of worship, no less. He should bend you over his knee for this transgression, make sure you understand how filthy you are. But there’s hardly time for that now, not when he’s even more desperate than you are. And you are desperate–dripping down his fingers into the palm of his hand as your teeth leave perfect little indents in the plush skin of your bottom lip.

His free hand grips your chin firmly, guiding your eyes to his. He wants to see your depravity, the flickering embers of lust in your eyes as you come on his fingers and cry out for salvation from the all-consuming pleasure.

“Oh my God–”

His hand tightens around your jaw just the slightest bit in warning. “No, baby. You moan my name when I’m touchin’ you.”

And you do–thighs trembling, eyes watering, you cry out his name like a prayer as your cunt pulses and squeezes around his willing fingers.

There’s an unpracticed tremble to your hand as you reach to work open his belt, and it makes his cock throb under the confining material of his jeans.

You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours, so desperate for it that you’re nearly in tears when he pulls your fingers away from the buttons on his shirt. He’s not foolish–no one steps foot into this place during the week, but he knows better than to tempt God’s sense of humor. This has to be quick and contained, and you know it too; you picked your little skirt for exactly that reason.

He catches a glimpse of your glistening need as you settle over his thighs, and once again he battles to resist temptation. He whispers in your ear as you settle your chest against his and grind that fluttering, sensitive cunt along his length–promises himself more than you, really, that he’ll bury his face in your folds and drink from you next time. Next time–the promise makes you clench impossibly hard around nothing.

His eyes have never been quite as heavy as they are when you start to sink that dripping heat down his cock. Head tipped back, throat exposed, completely at your mercy. He has to force himself to look up at you–to worship the goddess enshrined on his altar, all his for the taking.

You bite into your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood as your hips settle against his, completely overwhelmed by the burning stretch of his size. He’s a challenge, certainly, but one that you are determined to overcome. 

“Easy, baby girl,” he grumbles as you start to rock against him before you’re truly accommodated. His hands rest heavy on your hips–not anchoring, but encouraging. As wrong–as depraved–as this may be, he wants you to enjoy it without pain. “That’s right, nice and slow.”

It doesn’t stay that way, though; the desperation mounts to a boiling point until you’re bouncing fervently in his lap. It’s delicious, the way the thick head of him drags against something deep and sensitive within you. He guides you when your thighs start to burn, grip tightening enough to leave forbidden bruises in the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth presses to yours, breathing the oxygen straight from your lungs as he presses his hips up. There’s nothing you can do but take it, pliant in his hold, head rolling back to accommodate the wet drag of his mouth and the tickling scratch of his beard against your throat.

He feels it before you do–a subtle flutter as your cunt tries sucking him in even deeper. And maybe, if he was a good man, he’d lean away from it and have mercy on you. But he’s not a good man–he’s a greedy, wanton, desperate man. He angles his hips and thrusts as hard as he can, shoving you into your release with force.

You overflow with it; gushing over him like a flood, staining his hastily pushed down jeans and the floorboards beneath.

He pushes you onto your back like you’re weightless, adrenaline coursing as he starts to slam into you. It’s not polite or sweet or loving–he fucks into you and empties himself like an animal. He growls deep in his throat as his cock pulses within you, instructing you to “take it, baby girl” as if you’d consider anything less. 

You don’t know where your release ends and his begins. All you know is his weight on top of you, his mouth on your jaw, the collective breathless pants that fill the room as you both come down together.

You’re not sure how long it is before he pulls out of your warmth with an actual whine, breath heavy against your neck where his face is so comfortably nestled.

And you start to laugh, because you wish you’d worn panties after all–you don’t know how you’re going to get home with the mess of cum that’s dripping down the curve of your ass.

He even chuckles with you, until he tears his eyes away from your blissed face and sees the cross hanging heavy on the far wall.

“Th-that…” he gulps. “That can’t happen again.”

“It can,” you assure him, and he supposes you’re right.

You keep your head down and your eyes to yourself on Sunday, even as you spot the barely-noticeable stain on the hardwood floor next to the newly-repaired pew on the right side of the aisle. It’s so faint that no one would notice it unless they were looking for it, but it’s glaringly obvious to you. You should be ashamed; you should be begging for forgiveness. But then you meet Joel’s watchful eyes, and the shame washes away. How can you feel guilty over an act of worship?

THE END

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[shares-a-vest]

Just a Shirt (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.9k | Rated: T | cw: Mild descriptions of Steve's s4 injuries (mostly the scar on his neck), Hospital mention, Brief mention of nightmares

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Post s4 Fix-it (Everyone Lives), Hellfire, Fluff and Angst (Happy Ending), Love Confessions, Injury, Cuddling

Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him. Based off this ficlet/headcanon. But the BIGGEST thank you goes to @tangerinesteve (formally babydollbaron) for their incredible tags below. They gave me the biggest and softest brainworms. I hope I did your wonderful ideas justice!

“Here-p,” Eddie mumbles, pushing a too-neatly folded shirt into Steve’s hands.

“Uh, thanks,” his boyfriend hums, quirking a brow in confusion.

Eddie shrugs the whole thing off for good measure because it’s just a shirt – that’s all it is.

... But not really.

Like, at all.

He looks away, avoiding Steve’s gaze. While their relationship isn’t too new for gifts, it might be too fresh for a t-shirt that screams, ‘You are part of me and I can see that you are in pain and I think I can fix it. Nay, I need to make you comfortable’.

Yeah… it’s perhaps a little too premature for something that says all that.

So Eddie looks at the floor, his beige sock blending into the similarly-coloured carpet that lines Steve’s bedroom. His foot really only looks like an actual foot and not a patch of carpet thanks to the hole in his sock that is currently exposing his pinky toe.

It’s just a shirt, he desperately reminds himself as he catches Steve unfurling it out of the corner of his eye.

It’s just a shirt.

A customised Hellfire shirt he made especially for Steve.

One that is two sizes too big, made of the softest cotton and led to an emptying of his wallet to obtain. A Hellfire shirt that has short sleeves and a loose, scooped neck Eddie fashioned himself after borrowing a sewing book from the library. A neckline he sewed on Mrs Pemberton’s machine after crossing the trailer park and answering a slew of questions from an all too inquisitive Max Mayfield.

It’s a Hellfire shirt in its logo only – despite what his friends might think. Or the fuss all his pea-brained lost little sheepie buddies kicked up along the way.

They have been a total nightmare these past few weeks, scheming and plotting and sabotaging like a little hoard of gremlins. But Eddie supposes he can really only blame himself.

He should have never said anything, never asked Gareth for the original master copy of the Hellfire logo he knows his best friend keeps filed away in secret on the rare occasions they let in new members. Or to get new t-shirts printed in instances of spilled beverage-based stain emergencies. But then Gareth of course squealed to Jeff, who teased Eddie mercilessly before blabbing to Freak, who, well… Freaked about the possibility of a jock joining Hellfire.

The shock. The horror! Oh, the humanity!

And then came what was nothing short of a campaign via Dustin, Mike and Will, all collectively working to not only prevent Eddie from something he wasn’t even going to do in the first place but to also create a drama so seismic that rumours got around the whole of Hawkins that one Eddie Munson would no longer be running his little ‘demonic’ social club.

Or at least that’s what Wayne said Ernie at the plant had told him that his son had said.

The only thing is, Eddie feels more than a little sorry for Lucas Sinclair, a kid now sulking around, utterly crestfallen that his favourite Laundry Basket Friend isn’t also secretly a full-blown nerd.

It’s just that Eddie wanted to give Steve a nice, soft, comfy shirt he had hoped he would look at just like he is right now.

Besides, Steve had admitted that he liked the Hellfire logo months back when they first started dating. Told Eddie it was, “So creative, man”, after expressing some mild disappointment that he hadn’t shown up for their first date wearing it.

He smiles at the memory, Steve’s eyes lighting up as soon as he hopped into the Beemer, far too eager to head off to Benny’s Diner that he hadn’t even bothered to let Steve chivalrously walk up to the front stoop of the new and improved Casa de Munson.

“Eddie…” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper and sounding just as soft as the too-important shirt in his grip.

“Don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m not making you join or anything it’s just… You said you haven’t been sleeping well…”

He gestures with his hand, searching for the right words. Better words that won’t sound so monumental and weighted as Steve’s eyes trail right along the shirt’s scooped neckline.

The hem is probably a little flimsy, but hopefully, Steve won’t fucking claw at it like the old Tigers gym shirt he almost tore in two a few weeks back after bolting upright in a sweat after a nightmare. That is what did it – really set Eddie on his mission. Seeing Steve’s sniffles turn to tears and how he tried to hide them away, shrugging Eddie off before rushing to the ensuite bathroom.

He had come back a few minutes later, eyes red as he hugged his arms across himself, appearing small and frightened but acting cold as ice.

“Yeah…” Steve nods before mouthing what appears to be the word, “soft”, as he balls the fabric between his fingers.

“Hell, I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Eddie continues to ramble, “Just… tossing and turning. Also your… Y’know…”

He gestures to his own neck, referring to the still-reddened scar around Steve’s. One that Eddie knows leaves his throat scratchy and hoarse at the slightest provocation. A mark that nosey townspeople gawk at when Steve is at work, leaving him all embarrassed and well, not like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington at all.

And Steve hadn’t even told Eddie about that part. Nope. He found out from Robin, who swung by the mechanic one afternoon, inconsolable about her best friend spending their shift at Family Video hidden away in Keith Anderson’s stinky loser palace of an office.

“Mhmm,” Steve nods, pursing his lips.

Eddie knows he isn’t mad – it’s just something his boyfriend doesn’t talk about. That he doesn’t like talking about.

He needn’t ramble anymore, really – fill the silence between them or attempt to explain himself because, in a flash, Steve slips off his tight-fitting navy polo and replaces it with his new Hellfire shirt.

And Eddie can’t help but beam at a job well done.

It hangs nicely. Loose enough to sleep in, but not billowing so much to swallow that physique entirely. The neckline sits just where he had hoped too, much lower than the regular Hellfire shirts, scooped below Steve’s collar bones so that even if it stretches in his sleep, it couldn’t possibly pull and tug at his scar.

It’s perfect.

Exactly what he wanted to give Steve, who looks down at the devilish, very metal logo – a sight that is sure to scare off his snooty parents for good if they ever see it.

Before he knows it, Steve lunges for him and Eddie feels his cheeks squish against his boyfriend’s hands as he is kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed some more.

Kisses that last for long enough and grow softer with every peck that Eddie soon feels his legs buckling and he forgets altogether what they are even doing up here, in Steve’s bedroom, in the middle of the day on a warm summer afternoon.

It’s just the he –

“ – I love you,” Steve smiles when he comes up for air and – 

His eyes blow wide in an instant.

And Eddie is sure his own do too – maybe even pop right out of his goddamn skull with an audible gasp in there somewhere as well as they both fully realise what has just been said.

Steve loves him?

Just the same as he loves Steve. So much that he is blurting it out now, in the middle of his bedroom on a warm, mid-summer afternoon – perhaps months too early when they are probably, most likely still in the honeymoon phase.

All because of one perfect t-shirt.

Steve’s brow pinches together and his jaw goes slack as he looks away.

“I…” he trails off, drumming his fingers on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Stevie...” he tuts, smiling back at him.

He steps closer still, closing any remaining space between them as he loops his arms around his partner’s middle and squeezes him tight.

Eddie backs them a step back, then another. Then another until he is at a safe enough distance to rock Steve back and collapse onto the bed.

They fall with a conjoined, “Hmphf” – one that knocks the wind out of Eddie’s already breathless lungs and has Steve momentarily distracted away from whatever inner turmoil he had going on a moment ago. As he lands on top of his boyfriend, Eddie gets a feel of the shirt, now warmed by Steve’s permanently hot body temperature. A feeling that makes it seem even softer.

Like it is already worn in and loved.

He wants to ball a handful of it up in his fist and never let go.

But Eddie forces himself to sit upright, settling down in a straddled position to hover over Steve’s clothed form. He smiles down at the sight beneath him, his giddiness short-lived and quickly fading as a big, brown and now glistening set of panicked eyes return.

“Stevie,” he whispers, running his hand up Steve’s torso.

He ghosts his fingers with a featherlight touch over the printed logo, an illustration he had first scribbled on the back of his math book in his junior year.

Eddie leans forward and takes Steve’s hands, clasping them tight and one by one, he brings them to rest above his head where his super-soft signature swoop is sticking every which way, mussed by the bedspread.

He can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight – momentarily giving into the greedy feeling he gets when he thinks about how this Steve is the one he gets all to himself.

But Steve frowns, those expressive brows looking positively pained now as if only one thing could possibly soften them.

“I love you too,” Eddie says, freeing a hand to delicately pluck at Steve’s loosened neckline, “Obviously.”

“You do?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods as a visible relief washes through Steve’s eyes, leaving his brows to soften up so much he wonders if his boyfriend might now cry.

And before he can say or do anything more, Steve bolts upright, once again leaving Eddie feeling winded and more than a lot flushed this time as he wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, snuffling close like the world’s cuddliest puppy.

They stay like this for a long while, simply breathing in sync as they hold each other. And soon Steve begins to sink, his body going lax as his head slips down onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“I really wanna sleep,” he hums as tears seep through Eddie’s own plain black t-shirt.

“You wanna try now?” Eddie offers, pulling back enough to give an encouraging little smile.

Steve nods, refusing to let him go as they lower down together as one, his eyes fluttering shut when his head meets the bedspread.

“Wanna get all cozy under the covers?” Eddie continues, nudging at the bedding.

He really doesn’t want to move too much more – not when Steve looks like this.

Relaxed.

Loved.

Comfortable and wrapped up in a softness Eddie would like to keep him cocooned in forever.

But as he always does, Steve moves for them and rolls to the side. He snuggles in close, burrowing his head between the crook of Eddie’s neck and the mattress all protected and safe. Eddie palms around for the blanket and haphazardly wraps what sliver of it is free around them, shielding his partner a little more for good measure.

It’s good like this.

Calm. Warm.

Soft.

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Imagines: Maneater

————————————————————————-

Summary: Joe meets the Bengals’ new female athletic trainer and finds her infatuating, but other guys on the team warn him of her and her reputation.

(Part one to - part 2, part 3)

Warnings: None

Pairing: Joe Burrow x *athletic trainer* reader

Imagine Universe: Misc.

————————————————————————-

August 9, 2022

“Yo, do you know what this last-minute meeting is ‘bout?” - Ja’Marr

“There's a meeting?” - Joe

I was just sitting at my locker after practice when Ja’Marr came striding up to me.

“Something about a new trainer, I heard.” - Sam

“Oh yeah?” - Joe

“Heard its a female.” - Tee yelled from around the corner

“Why do all of you people eavesdrop?” - Joe shook his head with a laugh.

——

“Okay, settle down everyone!” - Zac

At once. the entire meeting room went silent at the sound of our head coach's voice.

The franchise owner, Mike Brown, was standing next to him, seemingly about to announce something of his own.

“Mike you can take it from here.” - Zac

The older man gave Zac a nod and stood closer to the middle of the floor.

“Thanks for all of you coming together at such short notice, but I'd like to introduce you to our newest hire. She's an astounding athletic trainer and is here to keep you guys healthy as well as get the injured healthy. y/n, would you please step out?” - Mike

The new athletic trainer, y/n, stepped out, and she was one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever laid eyes on.

“Woah.” - someone mumbled

“Hey guys, I'm super excited to be working with the Bengals this season! I grew up in Cincinnati as a Bengals fan, so this is a full-circle moment for me! I'll be in my office if you have any questions you'd like me to answer.” - you smiled

When everyone left the meeting room, there was a bustle in the locker room, with almost every player talking about y/n’s striking beauty.

Unlike everyone else, though, instead of talking about her, I went to her office to talk to her.

Firmly, I knocked on her office door.

“Come in!” - you

After taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

She sent a warm smile my way, and I sent one back.

“Hi, Mr. Burrow! Do you have a question, or is there anything I can help you with?” - you

“No, actually. I just wanted to welcome you to the organization.” - Joe

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Burrow.” - you smiled

“Just call me Joe.” - Joe smiled

“Will do.” - you grinned

Just as I was about to reply, Nick Cosgray, the director of rehabilitation, opened the door.

His eyes darted to me, then to y/n.

“Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting something?” - Nick

“No, I was just leaving.” - Joe

I stood up and reached to shake y/n’s hand.

“It was nice meeting you.” - Joe

“Vice-versa. I look forward to working with you in the near future.” - you

After nodding, I exited the office.

Ja’Marr was standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed while shaking his head.

“What?” - Joe

“You just flashed her with your blue eyes and charm, huh?” - Ja’Marr

“Maybe.” - Joe shrugged with a sly grin

——

August 10, 2022

I was getting lunch in the cafeteria today, scooting my tray around and picking through all of the healthy options.

One last banana, thank god.

As I reached for it, another hand brushed mine, and I pulled my hand back.

When I looked at the person next to me, my stomach fluttered when I saw it was y/n.

“Oh, shit, sorry. You can have it.” - Joe

“Nah, it's okay. I might have one in my car.” - you

“Ew, car banana in the summer? Absolutely not.” - Joe

She laughed and I couldn't help but grin at the way her nose scrunched up.

“I'm not taking a banana from QB1.” - you

“And I'm not taking a banana from the new girl, either.” - Joe

“How about we split it.” - you

“Great idea.” - Joe winked

y/n grabbed the banana and nodded her head to tell me to follow her.

In the corner of my eye, I could see Sam at our usual table, giving me a confused face as I walked in the opposite direction.

She sat her tray down on the table and unpeeled the banana, y/n broke it in half, and placed one piece on my tray.

“Pleasure doing business with ya.” - you

“You too. Are you gonna sit over here by yourself?” - Joe

“No, I'm going back to my office.” - you

“Oh okay. If you ever want to, you can come sit with me, Sam, and Trey.” - Joe

“Thank you for the offer. Have a good lunch, Joe.” - you

That was the first time she’d ever said my name, and it rolled off of her tongue perfectly.

“You too, y/n.” - Joe

She nodded with a smile and walked away. I watched her till she disappeared around the corner and then walked over to my table.

Sam and Trey were giving me weird looks when I sat down, along with Ja’Marr and Tee at the table beside us.

“What?” - Joe furrowed his brows

“The hell was that?” - Sam

“What are you talking about?” - Joe

“You don't share, especially not your fuckin’ food.” - Ja’Marr

Rolling my eyes, I tried to come up with a feasible excuse.

“We reached for it at the same time, only fair to split it.” - Joe

“Joe, dude, I know she's pretty, but have you heard about her?” - Sam

“Heard what?” - Joe

“She's been a trainer for like five other teams. Before she leaves the team, there's always this article saying she hooked up with a player. After she left the Niners, Nick confirmed that she got with the player she was rumored to get with. She's weird about it too, like explicitly telling the guy he’ll never be more than a one-night stand before getting with him. Usually, she's gone in the morning and has filed her two weeks' notice with the team.” - Sam

“What the fuck? Why do teams keep hiring her then?” - Joe

“She's good at what she does, athletic training-wise. But, really, dude, the woman's wild.” - Sam

“Watch out, boy, she’ll chew you up.” - Ja’Marr

“For real, she's a total maneater.” - Sam

————————————————————————-

Authors note: This fic came from my very own brain! 😆

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[billthedrake]

SUGAR DADDY (PART TWO)

The next day I was a little bit of a wreck. Still coming down from the high of my fantasy time with Mike Keenan. Sucking his cock. Kissing him. Enjoying the privacy and the deep conversation. I thought of texting him but decided that wouldn't be welcome. It hadn't been a date, it had ust been something that had happened. A combination of Mike taking pity on me and wanting to get his rocks off. We both got something out of it, but it was surely a one-time thing.

I had class that next morning and baseball practice that afternoon, then weightlifting. It was early evening when I got done and saw I had a text from Mike.

"Hi Luke, sorry no contact, I had a long day here. Enjoyed last night. Any chance for a repeat some time?"

My heart pounded. Maybe I was the one overthinking things. Mr. Keenan just wanted his cock sucked again.

"I'd love that," I wrote.

"Nice," came the reply. "You around to talk?"

I said good night to my buddies and told them I had to get back to study for a test. Then I texted a "yes" to Mike. A second later my phone rang.

"Hey," I said. God, I was majorly crushed out on the guy.

"Hey Luke," he said. His voice was sexy as fuck. "What are you up to?"

"Just getting out of practice. Bout to grab some dinner."

"I haven't eaten either. Want to come over? We can get dinner in the hotel bar."

"I probably need to change," I said. I was still in my workout clothes.

"I bet you look sexy as fuck," he growled. It was a trip to hear him lust for another man. "But take your time."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't go to some fancy bar in my gym clothes."

"They don't give a fuck," he said. "But do what you feel comfortable with."

"All right," I said. "I'll text you when I'm on my way."

"Take an Uber," he said. "I'll pay."

"OK." Then I hung up. I was going to object, but I was eager to see the man. And truth be told I was hungry, real hungry. Maybe that's what made me decided to head right over, underdressed as I was.

"OK, I'm getting in my Uber," I typed to him five minutes later.

He sent a smiley face reply.

The man was in his suit, without tie, on one of the bar stools and his eyes lit up as I walked in. He had a smirk as I set down my backpack and pulled out the adjacent stool to sit. "I was right," he said softly. "Sexy as fuck."

I blushed. "I didn't think you went for guys that way," I whispered.

His blue eyes twinkled some as he patted my back. "No labels, remember?"

I was getting hard in my shorts. Unfortunately the thin fabric wasn't going to hide my boner, but fortunately, it was hidden by the bar. And my hunger was going to win out.

"The steak here is great," the man said as he handed me a menu.

"I dunno," I said as I looked over the option. "A burger is fine." Of course I was concerned about the price.

Mr. K could read me, though. "Get the steak," he grunted.

I felt a little chastised and said something I instantly regretted. "Is that how the Sugar Daddy treatment works?"

Mike gave me a quick glance then replied without missing a beat. "Buddy, you don't eye me up like a cash machine like those girls do. You don't know how nice a change that is."

I blushed and I felt his hand pat my bare thigh.

"I like that I can be honest with you, Luke, for real." His bossy tone was gone, replaced with the old Mr. Keenan charm.

I gulped. "I like being honest with you, too," I said. Until Mr. Keenan re-entered my life six months prior, I hadn't realized how rare it was I could be honest about things. I gave him a smile and saw him smile in return.

"Since I'm being honest," I started, but just then the bartender came over to take our order.

"Two steaks," Mr. Keenan said, ordering for me. "And another scotch and..." he turned to me.

"An IPA?" I asked. The bartender nodded and named off some brewery. Sounded good. We watched as he poured our drinks in front of us and placed them on the bar before going off to ring up our order.

"So..." Mike picked up. "Since you're being honest..."

I lowered my voice. "It's like I said before. You don't need to pay for anything, Mike. Or be a sugar daddy or anything."

He grinned. "There's always trade offs," he said. "And maybe I enjoy the control."

"Control?" I asked dumbly.

"If you're paying, you get your say in a lot of things," he said. He paused and watched me blush. "You think less of me."

"Honesty, right? You don't know how crushed out I am on you."

He smiled. "I have an idea. It's flattering." He took a sip of his scotch and looked over at me like a wolf eyeing up his prey. "I'm hoping you stay over tonight."

I was in over my head. Emotionally, but also with a man like Keenan. Decisive. "If you want, I will," I said.

"Good," he said, satisfied.

***

Mike Keenan surprised me that evening. After we ate and he paid the check, we went up to our room. We showered together, making out, feeling each other up. I was surprised how much this straight man was into my very male body and my cock. Well, he was probably bi and in any case had his no-labels motto. I was gonna embrace it.

Particularly as we made out on the bed, me beneath his middle aged, fit hairy body. I'd eventually find a real boyfriend, I knew, but I also knew it was going to be hard for any man to live up to hot how Mr. K was. His cock felt hard and even bigger as we humped our bodies together and kissed.

"So, Luke... you up for me being inside you?"

I nodded, hungrily. "God yeah, Mr. Keenan."

He grinned. "You have much experience?" That concern coming in.

"A couple of guys, yeah," I said. Then with deep candor, I added, "I wish you'd taken my cherry, Mike."

His voice got husky. "I've done anal a couple of times. With an ex-girlfriend."

His words made me actually break out into goosebumps. For some reason the idea of Mr. K doing some woman in the backdoor seemed kinky as fuck. But also the way he unmistakeably was communicating that he knew how to fuck me. "You liked it, I bet," I said with a lusty smile.

He nodded and winked just as he leaned up and knelt on the bed. His hardon looked magnificent, the thickness perfectly framed by his hairy, DILF-y body. I decided then and there I'd have a hard time sleeping with a man under 40. "Oh, yeah, buddy," he said. Then my body shivered again as I watched the confidence with which he picked up the lube he'd set out next to the bed. As he returned his focus, I pulled back my legs and spread them some, letting his slick hand in to lube up my hole. "It's probably my favorite thing. Hard to talk a woman into it, though."

"I can imagine," I hissed, enjoying the cool contact of the lubed finger on my ring. "I bet that costs extra huh?" Maybe that sounded accusatory, but from my tone it was clear that it was a joke, and Mr. Keenan picked up on that.

He laughed. "I don't hire hookers, but don't think I haven't thought about it." His cock jerked, and I was relieved that being with a dude seemed to work for him as much as fucking a chick.

He pressed in and worked me open some. "That feel OK, buddy?"

I looked at him excitedly and nodded. I kept expecting resistance as the man fingered me but there was none. At all. "Feels amazing Mr. K." My longtime nickname for him just slipped off my tongue, but the man seemed excited to hear it. His cock actually jerked.

He now slipped in a third finger, twisting me open and working in and out. "You're ready," he said, though I knew there was a questioning behind his assured tone.

"Yes, sir," I hissed.

Mike was horny, too, I realized as he scooted in to place and nudged his meaty cock right into place. I don't know the approach he took with women, but he angled his finger to let his prick push in just as he withdrew his hand. Kind of a shoehorn move that slid his meaty cock right into me. Three solid inches inside me in one go.

"There ya go," he said with satisfaction. Then he moved forward, his hips driving more meat into me, as he leaned his upper body forward. I was getting well and truly penetrated.

The thing was, my insides were starting their natural resistance, my guts clenching down on the invader and trying to repel it. Mr. Keenan mistook my discomfort for a natural stimulation of an ass on his cock. "That's goddamn nice, buddy," he hissed and like that he was kissing me, hard and possessively.

I met his tongue as well as I could, but there was something that clicked in me. I was a dude, a masculine dude. I didn't like to think of myself as feminine, and I got offended by the way people would associate gay sex with being feminized. And yet, I was pinned down beneath Mike Keenan and all I could think was to compare myself to those college chicks Mike banged. My hole relaxed around him and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Not slutty or anything, but damn I needed and wanted a Mike Keenan fuck.

He must have sensed the change but in any case pulled back from the kiss. "I guess I didn't even ask about protection," he hissed, his hips slowly pumping me.

"This is perfect, Mr. K," I growled. His dick was rubbing right over my prostate, not punching the button, but playing it like a violin string. It was a surprisingly new sensation for me.

The man liked my answer. He pulled back, further back, and pushed all the way. Then again. Not rushing it, but definitely claiming me with this cock. All the while his blue eyes bore down on mine. "How do you normally like it, Luke?" he asked.

I racked my brain. It was actually hard to think with the man's cock pressing in and out. And I'd only had a few experiences bottoming. "Slow, I guess," I replied. But then as I felt up the man's naked torso and strong arms, I wanted more. "But this is weird to ask... but I'd like you to show me how I like it."

THAT turned Mike on like crazy. "Yeah?" His nostrils flared. "I can do that buddy."

He pulled back and I felt his prick punch into me. In retrospect it probably wasn't rough, but I'd never been fucked with that much force. Then another. Slow, steady, and hard.

The fact that it was Rich's dad doing this drove me wild. I looked up into his handsome face and imagined him rough fucking some sugar baby who'd have to work for her apartment money.

"Shit!" I gasped. My prick was dripping already, a telltale sign that I was about to cum. I gripped it, just in time to let the pleasure boil to a full orgasm, all while Mr. Keenan pounded it out of me.

His own face was scrunching into a clear sign of pleasure. The man was ejaculating into my guts, and good.

"Well, fuck me," he sighed as he lay his forehead against mine. We lay like that, my hands on him and my legs wrapped around him. His more mature, fit body resting on top of me as he caught his breath. "Please tell me you liked that buddy," he hissed.

I felt weirdly emotional. I don't know, it wasn't just the crush I had on Mr. K. It was the hormonal rush on top of the mind fuck of having had such hot sex. "A little too much," I admitted.

That made him smile.

He finally leaned up and slid out of me, and off me. His dick was thick and plump but softening, and very wet. He looked down on me with a mix of surprise, paternal-like affection, and pride in conquest. I loved it all, and it was then that I realized I was hooked on the Mike Keenan experience.

"I thought I was pushing my luck asking you to meet me again," he said as he stepped off the bed and down some water from a water bottle. His middle-aged muscle was covered in a sheen of sweat. The man was sexy as fuck. His eyes barely left my nakedness. "But I guess not," he continued.

I felt all sorts of weird, and more than a little cheap now that the endorphins were wearing off. I sat up in bed, my hole feeling used and wet now. "You really do like being on control, don't you, Mike?"

My words caught him by surprise. "I guess I come on strong, huh?"

"A little," I admitted. "I should probably go," I said as I searched for my briefs.

"Will it make you feel better to stay over?" he asked.

It was my turn to be surprised. "You think I'm like a chick?" I asked. I wasn't sure I was upset he was stereotyping me as a gay guy. Or upset because maybe he was right.

"It's just a question, Luke," he replied. "I'll give you Uber money."

I swallowed my pride. "I'd love to stay. Sorry I was giving you grief."

He smiled. "It's fine buddy. I'm used to game playing. But you're a straight shooter. I like that." Then matter of factly, he added, "I get up early."

"That's cool," I said.

****

I gave Mr. K a blowjob early the next morning. And he stroked me off. I guess I was leaning toward being a bottom before Mike Keenan, but I'd never embraced the label. What the fuck, the man was making me realize the shoe fit.

I was happy and content all day. I kind of wanted a text from Mr. K, but I didn't need one. Even being young and naive, I knew I had to take this for what it was, or not at all.

Around 5:30 I got a text. "Dinner?"

I had a late game and plans with my buddies. "I'm tied up, Mike," I wrote. "Sorry."

"What time you done?" came that reply.

"I don't know. 10?"

"Come over then. You know the room number."

Maybe it should have rubbed me the wrong way, but it didn't. I was horny for this man. So bad.

Only after I replied with an OK, I got a Venmo alert. Mr. K had sent me money. Not an exhorbitant amount. But a lot.

Oh shit.

***

I was nervous as Mike ushered me in. The worst part was how fucking handsome he looked, even in his readers and plush hotel bathrobe. He didn't look exactly sleepy, but he seemed in a relaxed, tired state as he looked me up and down.

"Thanks for coming, Luke," he said. That easygoing charm I remember from going over to his place when I was visiting my buddy Rich.

"Sure," I said. Looking around, I wondered what it was like to live in a hotel like this a few nights a week, always being on the road. I smelled Mr. Keenan's cologne before I felt his hand on my shoulder and his warm body press against my back. Already he was kissing softly at my neck.

"Listen, Mr. K... can we talk about the money thing?"

His voice had a throaty growl. Maybe he'd been thinking all evening, all day about sex, because he seemed to be in a horny mode. "Sure. Was it not enough?"

"No, Jesus," I hissed, feeling his fingers already running beneath the hem of my T-shirt tracking my abs. "I don't need anything. For real."

OK, now his fingers stopped their seductive movement. I guess the man was getting it. "You offended?" he asked.

I blushed. "I dunno," I replied. "It didn't make me feel great."

I felt his breath against my neck. "You deserve the money more than Kimberly," he said. "Or the others. It's just a little something, Luke. Use it to have fun. Or save it for a rainy day."

I don't know how Mike Keenan was so persuasive a man, but he was. Maybe because those fingers are once again tracing up my abs and pulling my shirt with them. "Come on, buddy, let me see that hot baseball jock body," he urged.

I went with it. I knew I was good looking, and even if I had some bulking goals for the off season, I knew I had a solid body. But the fact Mr. Keenan was into it had me so turned on. I turned around to see a smile on his five-o-clock-shadowed face.

"Nice," he said, eyes sweeping up and down my build. "Lose the shorts, Luke," he said.

Mr. K had talked about enjoying being in control. I was now wrestling with the fact that I enjoyed being bossed around, at least by this man. I stepped back and undid my shorts, stripping down completely for him. I was rock hard.

My heart pounded as I watched Mike get a more serious look on his face, as his hands reached down to undo the tie on the robe. The white terry cloth flapped open to show off his furry fit torso and, beneath that, his thick boner. "Come on buddy," he said in a deep whisper, nodding down at his crotch in an unmistakable signal.

I gulped. I assumed my normal catcher's squat, a position which made my hard dick stick up at an angle.

"Fuck yeah," Mike said. He scooted up to offer me his prick. It was fat and veiny, and while not porn-long that dick was pretty damn big.

I leaned forward just an inch to start licking him. Top to bottom. Along his furry nuts. Tasting every inch of Mike Keenan. Maybe his relaxed vibe gave me the implicit permission to take my time.

Only by the time I actually began sucking him, working my mouth up and down on him and doing my best to coordinate suction and tongue along his shaft, the man was starting to get worked up.

"Easy there, buddy," he hissed, gently pushing me off his dick, which throbbed and jerked a little, wet with my saliva. "I almost blew there."

I grinned. I felt so fucking proud. I didn't have a ton of sexual experience and it was good to know I was doing something right to get Mike so close so soon. "Why don't you?" I asked, sitting back on my haunches and looking up at him. I was getting more confident in having sex with this older man.

He let out a heavy sigh, like he was fighting off the urge to do just that. A smile crossed his lips, though. "Guess I'm like a kid with a new toy," he explained.

It took me a second to get it. "You wanna fuck me again." Half statement, half question.

Mike nodded. "Been thinking about it all fucking day, man. Your ass is so fucking tight."

I knew this was a possibility, and I wondered if I should be giving my hole some rest. But I also knew it was going to be hard to turn down a Mr. Keenan fuck. I stood up, my dick riding that crest between pure excited hardness and nervous flagging.

"Ok if we kiss a little, Mike?" I asked feeling almost embarrassed to ask. "You know, make out a little?"

My buddy's dad nodded and grinned as he stepped up to me, placing his hands on my waist. "I guess I can come on strong, huh?" he asked.

God, feeling his dick press against mine and the heat and the soft-hard combo of fur and muscle against me was going to drive me wild. "Some, yeah," I admitted with a laugh. Then blushing, I added, "Part of me really likes it, but fuck it's intimidating too, you know?"

Mike didn't reply but just gave a sympathetic nod and leaned in for a soft kiss. We made out some, and it was incredible to feel the contrast between the gentle approach kissing and the mauling of his hands on my jock body, particularly my butt. Mr. K wasn't kidding about having a new toy. He seemed to really love my ass.

He walked me back to the bed and I went back down on the mattress with a motion of his that was between guiding and pushing. He quickly lost his bathrobe and joined me, covering my body with his older, more experienced one, feeling me up and kissing along my neck, my ear, my upper chest. Mike was in full-on horny mode and bring me there right with him.

Finally he lifted off and rolled to the side. His erection was dripping and rock hard and looked amazing against all that body hair. "All right buddy, get on all fours."

I was primed for Mike Keenan in full on control mode. I scrambled to do as the man asked, facing the headboard and feeling the man settle in behind me. Already his hands were cupping my glutes and feeling the smooth muscle.

"You got a hot fucking ass, Luke," he growled. He pawed at me another few seconds then reached for some lube. The first wet finger felt great, and went in pretty easy.

"You're looser today, buddy," Mike hissed. A second finger popped in.

"Yeah, probably," I responded. "After yesterday."

"I wanna keep you this way," came his deep voice. "Ready for me."

"Oh fuck, Mr. K," I whined. There was an edge to his tone that drove me wild. And as his prick pushed in, I felt a welcome pleasure, even with my residual tightness.

"Fuck yeah," Mike grunted as he felt my insides and pushed to bottom out. "Right back in the saddle."

His grip clenched roughly on my waist. Just as quickly as that thick cock pulled out, it barreled back in. And again. One hard thrust right after the other as Mr. K grunted deeply. "Ung. Ungh. Ung."

The man was fucking for his pleasure, not mine. Still I felt an excited thrill. I wouldn't say I enjoyed this nearly as much as the missionary mating the night before but it felt new to me. Animalistic and raw. I was hard even with the discomfort of the shafting.

Wham. Wham. Wham. That thick piece of hard dad meat was drilling steadily. Then the cadence went off. Mr. Keenan's rhythm was getting more spasmodic and jerky as he pounded me. Then I felt those fingers dig into my hips.

"FUCK!"

From his cry and the sudden stop of his thrusts, I knew the man was seeding me.

I loved every part of the experience, but I now regretted that I hadn't gotten off. The fuck had been too hard and too quick.

Thankfully I felt the man shift behind me and, prick still buried inside me, he leaned forward to press against, my back.

I loved the feeling of his kiss on my neck, but even more I loved the slickness of his palm as he wrapped his hand around my hardon. Mike didn't even need to do much. Just give slow soft pumps in and out of my guts while his fingers ran along my dick. I fired off, heavy and hard. I felt lightheaded when I came.

We were quiet as we uncoupled. The shame was coming back to me as I showered off. Shame that I enjoyed what others might see as a dominant, selfish fuck. Shame that there were funds in my Venmo account. Shame that I was falling for Mr. Keenan so hard. I knew I couldn't stay over in this hotel room, not tonight. I needed some space to think.

Mike had his robe back on. To this day a white terry bathrobe is a fetish for me. His tone was more serious. "You mad at me Luke?" he asked as he sat in the hotel chair and watched me get dressed.

I grimaced but shook my head no. "I didn't think I'd like sex that rough," I said softly.

I could see a sly grin from on his lips. But he continued. "I wasn't talking about the fuck."

God, the man could be intense, behind the suave businessman outgoingness and the friendly paternal vibe. It was like I was seeing the real Mr. Keenan. Intimidating, sure, but I also wondered if he had a hard time with real relationships. His marriage hadn't worked out, he was clearly estranged from his son, and he basically hired dates instead of having real girlfriends.

I paused, just holding the T shirt I was going to put back on. "Can I be blunt, Mr. K? You say you don't want a hooker, and yet have a way of treating me like one."

He was prepared for that. "You're not that, Luke. But I'm not ready for anything serious. I figure I can help you out, and you can help me out." He looked at me and could tell I still didn't get it. "Listen, it's not just sex. I love spending time with you buddy. You're a hell of a lot more fun than those sugar babies, I'll tell ya." He cracked a smile, and I had to as well.

"I guess," I said. Remembering Kimberly, I could imagine she'd be more work than fun.

My conciliatory tone made him happy, and I was glad to see the friendly Mr. Keenan return. "Well, it's just I don't always have the time or interest for all the other boyfriend bullshit. Checking in, looking after emotional needs, dealing with jealousy."

I gulped. I was starting to get a better picture of Mike. The side Rich hated. The side I should hate more.

He watched my reaction but continued. "I know that wouldn't be fun for you to deal with, so I want to make it worth your while."

"Make what worth my while?" I asked. Again, as persuasive as he was, I felt he kept talking around the sex part.

He laughed, almost amused at how astute I was. "Luke, I'm not going to pay you per sex act. Or per night. But..." his voice got conspiratorial. I wondered if he knew what that supportive dad-figure tone did for me, and just weaponized it to get his way. Honestly I think it just came naturally to him. "Well, bud, I'd love an arrangement when you're able to keep me company when I'm in DC." His blue eyes got an impish cast to them, and I knew he was in seal-the-deal mode. "I'm pretty sure we could have a lot of fun together."

"You wanna be my sugar daddy?" I asked, point blank. It's not that I was dumb, but I actually didn't think Mr. Keenan was outright going there.

He nodded. But his face had a caution to it. "Would it better if we ditched the labels?" he asked, a smirk on his face reminding me of his own no-labels policy.

"It would," I answered. Then. "OK if I think on it, Mike?"

"Of course," he said.

He stood up as I finished putting on my shoes. Seeing how handsome he was I almost asked if I could stay over again. But the vibe wasn't right for that.

As I made my way to the room door, Mr. K patted my shoulder. "You're a fine young man, Luke," he said. His fingers gave my muscle a little squeeze before letting go. "I mean that."

"Thanks, Mr. Keenan," I said.

***

The Uber ride was quick at that time of night. I'd have to come up with an excuse to my roommate while I was out again. I'd probably have to come up with a lot more excuses if I hung out more with Mr. K. Or, if he got me my own apartment, things would be easier. Meeting up with him. Having sex with him.

I pulled out my phone. I thought I'd hesitate before sending but I knew I knew my answer.

"You'll have to let me know how it works Mr. K," I texted. "But I'm in."

No labels. But if Mike Keenan was going to call himself my sugar daddy that was probably OK too.

I got a quick reply. "That makes me happy Luke. Talk tomorrow sexy."

I felt warm inside. Mike Keenan was going to make this worth my while. But I was determined to make it worth his, too.

[happy74827]

A Brother’s Promise

[Mike Ross & Teen!Fem!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite not being blood-related, the Ross’ are nothing but family.

WC: 2177

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff, Platonic {TW — Child Abuse, Foster Homes, Bad Parenting, Mentions of Drugs, Runaway}.

I have no idea what sparked this but now I can’t unwrite it, so you’re all stuck with it.

『••✎••』

Mike was always one who cared about those around him, so it didn't come as a surprise when you found yourself sitting inside his law firm, awaiting the man you heard so little about, Harvey Specter.

You were young, a small teenager at that. Fresh out of the foster care system with nothing but the clothes on your back and the suitcase that contained the rest of your meager possessions. You had been shuffled from home to home, never settling in for longer than a few years, before the parents grew tired of you or couldn't deal with you anymore and shipped you off.

You were about ten when you met the Ross family. Edith Ross was walking home with groceries in hand, her arms laden down with bags that threatened to spill out over her feet as she tried to make it the short distance from the bus stop to her home. That’s when she found you in the rain, curled up into a ball next to a street light. Your dirty clothes clung to your frail frame as you shivered violently, tears streaming down your face.

Mrs. Ross had taken one look at you and dropped the bags. She quickly knelt down, placing her hands on your shoulders, trying to get you to look at her. She didn’t hesitate to take off her sweater, wrapping it around you and ushering you along with her.

You had tried to tell her you couldn't go with her, but she was already pulling you along onto the bus.

The minute you were inside the Ross household, she had sat you down in the bathroom.

"Let's get you into a nice warm bath. Does that sound good, Sweetheart?" You just stared at her, confused.

"Bath?" You whispered, looking away.

"Yes, Sweetie. A bath. Let's get you clean."

That night was the best night you’ve had in your whole life. You got a warm meal, a warm bed, and a warm bath. You were given some of Mike's old clothes and tucked into the bed.

Mike’s bed, of course. He rarely visited his grandmother’s house now that he had become roommates with that Trevor, but the night you came, he was visiting.

He had come into the room, seeing you lying on his bed, and immediately thought his Gram had lost her mind.

"Gram!" He called out, "Who… What?"

Edith chuckled, coming into the room. "Michael, I want you to meet our new guest.” She smiled at you before turning her attention back to Mike. “She was out in the cold, so I took her in.”

Mike was completely dumbfounded. He stood there, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Thinking back on it, the expression was quite funny.

“You kidnapped her?!” Mike yelled, incredulous.

"I did no such thing!" She huffed. "She was sitting on the sidewalk, soaked and freezing."

“She’s not a cat, Gram. You can't just pick up stray kids like they're lost kittens."

"Well, someone needs to do something!" Edith was becoming frustrated. "Look at her, Michael."

She pulled him towards you, and he got a good look at you. You were staring back, unsure of what was going on.

"I... I..."

"You'll see, Michael. She'll fit right in. She needs a place to stay, and we have the room."

Mike had no response. Instead, he had turned to look at you. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish; no words were coming out.

Mike ended up taking you to the police station in the morning. That night, he was too tired and worn out to deal with the situation, so he, in fact, did slept on the couch.

The connection between you two was immediate, and even after everything was sorted and you were back with your father, you found yourself still clinging to the Ross family. You memorized everything you could about Mike and Edith and found yourself missing them terribly.

Your father, while not the best parent, did his best to provide for you for that little while.

When he started using again, things took a turn for the worse. The house was in disarray. It was covered in filth, with empty takeout containers and dirty dishes, along with other junk, covering the once pristine counters. Your father was constantly yelling and screaming at the television and the walls. There was never a moment of peace, and when there was, he was passed out drunk.

It wasn't the first time you had witnessed him high, but it was the first time that he made you sick to your stomach. You often left the house for an escape, and it caused you to run into the Ross family again.

Mike was a temporary mailman, if you could call it that, and was dropping off a package when he saw you walking along the street.

He was deciding whether to go talk to you or just go on with his job, but when a neighbor started eyeing you weirdly, he decided to walk you home.

After that, Mike became your official unofficial brother and Edith a mother figure. The visits to the Ross household were constant, though you never visited Mike’s apartment strictly because of how weirded out you were with the stories of Trevor. Plus, there were no cookies over there. Edith always had fresh cookies at her house, and the two of you would sit and talk about your week.

You were twelve when your father passed. That was when the visits to the Ross household stopped being frequent, and the trips to the foster homes began.

You still kept in contact, of course. You had their numbers memorized, and if you ever had a problem, whether it was a simple math problem or a bigger issue, Mike was always there on the other line.

That was why you went to him last night, in a sheer panic, running from your current home with a cut lip and black eye.

Edith was long gone now, having passed away in her sleep. So, it took you a while to discover the new home of the “Ross” family — which only consisted of Mike now.

It was late, probably around midnight, but you didn’t care. The second you found the address, you snuck out of your room and made your way there, walking the whole way.

You were hesitant when you made your way into the apartment building, only to find a woman answering the door. She eyed you suspiciously, looking up and down and asking what a kid like you was doing out so late.

Your hoodie was covering your face, so you quickly pulled it down and smiled.

She gave you the opposite as complete horror overtook her face. “Oh my god.” She rushed out.

The next thing you know, you're inside an apartment, a cup of hot cocoa in your hands and a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

She kept calling and calling the entire time, clearly being out of her element to deal with this.

"He's not answering." She sighed.

"Maybe he's working. He's a lawyer." You offered.

She nodded, not bothering to question how you knew that. She tried one more time, this time leaving a message.

You found out the woman’s name was Rachel, the very same Rachel that Mike talked about on occasion. She was nice enough, you guessed, though a bit uptight. She reminded you a lot of Edith, and it was almost painful to look at her.

As for Mike, you didn’t see him. You fell asleep on the couch before he arrived home and only woke up when you heard him calling for Rachel.

He was not pleased to see you; that much was certain. He was shocked, and the sight of your face made him angry.

You had expected this reaction, which is why you didn’t mention the circumstances. Instead, you just told him you had run away from your latest home. You seemed to do that a lot, now that you think about it.

He had sent Rachel away and asked you to tell him everything.

And you did. He was the only one you could trust, and he had listened to every word, anger, and sadness evident on his face.

It wasn’t until later that Harvey Specter was introduced. You heard about him once. Mike was talking about some big case, and he had mentioned the then-senior partner by name, but other than that, you had no idea who the man was.

Harvey had walked in, taking one look at Mike and then the stranger sitting across from him, and was not pleased.

"What the hell is going on here, Mike?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Harvey." He sighed. "But it's not good."

"Who is she?"

You looked over at him, an awkward smile on your face. You would’ve given him a wave as well, but Mike was gripping your hand as if his life depended on it.

"My sister."

Harvey was quiet for a moment, looking over the two of you. You had to admit, the two of you didn’t look alike, not at all. But the two of you did share one common trait.

"Not really,” you whispered. "I mean, we're not related. Not by blood, anyway. I don't even know his middle name."

"James,” Mike replied, smiling at you.

"Really? Wow. I totally thought it was John."

"Okay," Harvey cut in, not enjoying being out of the loop. "Are we here to talk about the name James, or are we here to figure out why there's a kid here? A kid who, by the way, looks like she just went a few rounds head to head with Rocky.”

"You should see the other guy." You joked, though it was met with two unimpressed glares. "Sorry."

"She's my sister. We're not related, but she's family. This is the first time I've seen her in years."

Harvey let out a sigh. "So, she's a runaway. Great, Mike. This is just great. We need to contact CPS and let them know she's here."

"No!" Mike was on his feet in an instant. “Look at her face, Harv. I'm not going to turn her over. I know exactly where she's going. They'll send her back, and I'm not letting that happen. Not again."

"She’s a runaway, Mike. She stays here, and it's the same thing as kidnapping. As much as I hate the system, it's there for a reason. They’ll relocate her, and she'll be fine."

"You don't know that."

"She's a teenager, Mike. She'll survive. We did."

You were staring down at your shoes the whole time, not knowing what to say or do. Your face hurt, and you were still shaken from the events that happened just hours before, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.

"Look at me," Mike turned to you, kneeling down to your level. "You're not going back, okay? I promise."

"Mike-"

"Harvey, she's staying."

"You can't just decide that, Mike. It's the law. I know you don’t care much for that, given your track record, but-"

"She's staying," he repeated more forcefully. "If I have to sign a thousand papers, then so be it. But I'm not letting her go again.”

Harvey watched the scene unfold. He had a lot to say, a lot to do, but instead, he found himself backing down.

"Okay, Mike," Harvey said softly. He glanced at you for a moment, watching your eyes flicker from his own to Mike before looking back down.

He didn't have any family other than his brother and maybe his mother. It was hard for him to understand the relationship between Mike and you, but he couldn't deny the feeling that settled in his stomach at the sight of your broken, terrified eyes.

Mike was a kind-hearted person, and while Harvey never believed in the whole 'family means everything' crap, seeing you there, scared and alone, made him rethink everything.

You needed a home, a safe one, and for whatever reason, Mike was hellbent on giving that to you. Harvey didn't have to like it, but he would stand by his decision.

"I'll get Donna to make some calls. CPS is still getting called, no matter what, but I'll do what I can."

Mike smiled at his friend and stood back up. "Thanks, Harv."

"Yeah, yeah."

He had left not soon after, leaving you and Mike alone. And as it later turns out, a couple of months later, you found yourself right back to where you started.

You were back at the Ross household, sleeping in Mike's bed (though it was technically yours now) and sitting at the dining room table with him, eating Edith's famous cookies.

Only this time, there was no Edith. There was a Rachel, a Harvey, and even a Donna.

But the biggest difference of all was that you didn’t have to sneak around anymore. You could openly call the Rosses, your family without fear.

And if that wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world, then you didn't know what was.

[kennahjune]

PART 3 OF S3 STEDDIE!!

(Hopefully the last part)

Tag list: @nuggies4life @waelkyring @goodolefashionedloverboi @forest-fogg @cometsandstardust @bird-with-pencils @y4r3luv @xxsky-shockxx @lil-gremlin-things @giopandaonice @hippieg1rl420 @yoyokiss97 @stucksolangelo (I love ur user) @pizazzmcjazz @samsoble @mugloversonly @how-about-nah-honey @newmoonydude @the-alpha-ursae-minoris @r0binscript @queenie-ofthe-void @myguiltyartpleasure @geekymagicalpotato @b-e-e-b-o-i @shunna @slitherynchiken @sweetheartprincess28 @tinyplanet95 @enoki-mushrooms @wrenisflying @pending-dope-username @gaelicblue @maya-custodios-dionach

Welcome to Part 3!!

…

Eddie watched Steve talk to Jonathan through the window of his car, checking to make sure he would be ok with Billy coming by. Apparently, from what they told Eddie, last time Billy came to pick up Max from the Byers’, he threatened to kill Lucas and gave Steve one of his worst concussions.

So fun.

When they finally drove off, Eddie and Steve stood side by side for a good minute, neither moving or even looking at each other, just standing. Until Steve made the first move to the bikes and Eddie followed.

They stayed in silence while they loaded everything into the back of the van. Mike’s bike first, then Lucas’. Then when Eddie closed the door, Steve finally spoke.

“I really am sorry about them.”

Eddie hummed and looked at him, but Steve was looking down and was biting his nails. Eddie hoped he realized it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“No it’s fine— really, man. They weren’t doin’ any harm.” Eddie tried to reassure. Steve looked up at him skeptically, still chewing at his nails. Eddie really wanted to stop him. To pull his hands away from his mouth and hold them in his own instead. He bets Steve has soft hands.

“They really didn’t bother you? Like actually? Because I know they can all seem really pushy— even Will, in his own way— but I promise they don’t mean any harm.”

Eddie sighed, watching Steve’s eyes flit back and forth between his own. “Steve. I promise, they weren’t pushy or overwhelming or anything that might be going through that pretty little head of yours.” Steve paused and Eddie reveled in the pink that rose to his face. He smirked lightly. “If anything, it was sweet. They care about you a lot.”

Steve scoffed and turned away, walking around the van to get in, but he could see the smile on his face. Eddie chuckled and followed him over to the passenger side. When Steve hopped up and got in Eddie held the door open and leaned closely.

“What? Don’t believe me?” he smirked. The pink on Steve’s face darkened and he desperately held back a smile. “They were all over me, sweetheart. Asking questions about why I wanted to help, how I knew you, how we went to school together.” Eddie listed.

Steve scoffed again and turned away. “Get in the van, Munson.”

“Oh so I’m Munson now?”

“I swear to god—“

Eddie cackled and ran over to his side. Steve closed the door while Eddie jumped in.

…

The ride was really fun. Eddie expected it to be somewhat awkward and quiet but Steve was quite the talker. Eddie was content to listen while Steve went on and on about the kids; one in particular named Dustin, who was apparently at a summer camp.

They dropped off Mike’s bike first, Steve stopping in to say hi to the Lady Wheelers before popping back out and into the van. This time with a sticker or two on his face.

“Holly,” he said, as if that explained it all.

“Ah,” he responded, and started driving.

Lucas’ was next, Steve being greeted outside by Mrs. Sinclair and apparently Lucas’ little sister Erica.

Mrs. Sinclair took the bike while Steve argued with Erica about something or other, Eddie wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than how hot Steve was when he had his hands on his hips. Those shorts did wonders for his ass, Eddie had to admit.

When Steve finally got back in the car after a hug goodbye from Mrs. Sinclair Eddie was smoking a cigarette out the window. Steve eyed his curiously. “You alright?”

Eddie finished his last drag and nodded, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray he had in his cup holder.

As Steve buckled up and Eddie pulled out he asked “Where to now, baby?”

When Steve didn’t answer for a good couple of seconds, Eddie looked over.

Steve was red in the face. Like— really red. His eyes were wide and Eddie could see a bit of green mixed with the hazel, exposed by the dying sunlight. “You alright?” he asked skeptically.

Steve nodded slowly and swallowed. He turned his head to look out the window and brought his feet up on the seat to fold against his chest. He mumbled “Your place for my car” before he folded one arm against his chest and the other against the window to pillow his head. Eddie smiled giddily and started to the trailer.

…

“Baby”. The only thing that was going through Steve’s head right now.

When was the last time he’d been called any sort of pet name? Let alone something so intimate? Short answer: never. Steve was always using the pet names in relationships— both platonic and romantic. So hearing Eddie Munson, in his western accent and deep, rumbly voice, call him “baby” had sent him spiraling off kilter.

Steve closed in on himself best he could while being confined to the van. He could suddenly feel everything on him; where his shorts slightly rode up, how his shirt brushed against his shoulders oddly, how the stickers on his face from Holly stabbed slightly at his skin, everything. It was a little overwhelming.

He didn’t even notice when they pulled onto the street of Eddie’s trailer, or when the van pulled into the driveway, or when the van stopped. He jumped and nearly hit himself in the face when a hand landed on his thigh.

“Sorry!” came the rushed apology from Eddie, who quickly retracted his touch. Steve mourned the loss the of the warmth. “We’re here. You were hella zoned out so I didn’t think you noticed,” Eddie hastily explained.

With a moments pause Steve studied Eddie carefully. He studied the rosy blush on his cheeks, his ruffled hair, his dark eyes, his pretty pink lips. Steve cleared his throat and thanked him before jumping out of the van.

“Hey, man,” Eddie called to him before Steve could reach his own car. “You wanna come in for a bit? It’s only 3 and you look like you could use a nice beer.”

“Oh— I don’t want to intrude—“

“The King? Scared of intruding on a simple peasants home? How the times have changed!” Eddie placed a hand over his heart dramatically while smirking at Steve.

Steve watched him for a moment, smiled so wide his face hurt, and finally accepted. “Fuck it. Sure, I could use a beer.”

And that’s where they were now, sitting in Eddie’s room, drinking their beers and sharing their silence. Steve didn’t think it was awkward, but the more beer he drank the more he felt the urge to fill the silence that settled comfortably between them. He always was a talkative drunk.

“Hey, Eddie.” Steve placed his beer on the crowded bedside table and rolled over on his stomach. “Thanks.”

Eddie eyed him oddly and took another swig of his own beer before reaching over Steve to place it down. Steve preened at the closeness of Eddie reaching over him and rolled back into his back. When Eddie sat back down he asked

“Thanks for what?”

Steve exhaled silently. “Thanks for helping me yesterday. Most people would’ve just left. Hey— I also need to thank your friends. Jeff and Gareth right?”

Eddie paused and looked at Steve. Steve swallowed and felt his breathing pick up slightly. Beer makes it hard for him to conceal emotions. Not that there was anything he was hiding.

Eddie smirked. “You can tell them yourselves tomorrow. I planned on stopping by the store for a bit to get the ice cream I never got yesterday.”

Steve scoffed and smacked Eddie’s leg. They’ve never really spoken to each other before this. Fleeting looks in the halls, catching each other’s eyes in the cafeteria, but never speaking. If they spoke during high school then they threatened to break whatever spell was over them.

But this; this is different. This isn’t them being scared to interact. This is them taking every risk, every threat, and hitting it head on. This was Steve leaving his comfort zone to find something better.

But there wasn’t anything else to it.

(Who is he lying to?)

A sudden thought hit Steve. “Hey, do you still have that club? That DND one?”

Eddie startled a little too hard and coughed. Steve panicked and sat up, patting him on the back and yelling to “fucking breathe”.

“Holy shit.” Eddie coughed/laughed out. “His highness is acquainted with the farmer boy’s game.” He smirked.

Steve huffed and folded his arms, leaning on the headboard. “I’ve never played it myself. But the kids are all really obsessed.”

“Even Max?”

“No, just the boys.”

“Ah. And you brought up Hellfire, why?”

“Because I was wondering if you could take them in next year. They’re starting their freshman year and I want them to be as comfortable as they can. Hellfire will do that for them.”

Eddie regarded him closely, and Steve felt himself go stiff under his gaze; his shoulders rose and his arms tightened against his chest.

“You really care about those kids, huh Harrington?”

Steve exhaled. “Yeah.” his response came out barely above a whisper.

It was near 4 now, according to the clock on Eddie’s dresser. Steve really should be going. The kids would blow up his walkie if he took any longer.

But he didn’t want to move. Steve was caught in Eddie’s gaze; wonderment, curiosity, hunger. It was endearing and Steve didn’t want it to end. When was the last time someone looked at him like that? He doesn’t think Nancy ever looked at him like— even before everything went to shit.

He took in a deep breath when Eddie’s eyes flickered to his eyes and then his lips. His eyes then his lips. His eyes then his lips.

Steve sat up slowly, not knowing what else to do.

“Um—“ his voice cracked and Eddie smirked. “I have to— I have to— um, uh—“

“You have to leave?” Eddie supplied, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nodded vigorously. Gods he could feel the heat in his face while Eddie continued to smirk.

He had a lot to think about as Eddie guided him to the front door, talking lowly as to not disturb the quietness they’ve contained for the past hour. Eddie also had a hand on the small of Steve’s back, guiding him down the hall and through the living room. Steve chose not to say anything; he liked the warmth of Eddie’s hand on his back.

Eddie sees him to his car and all the while he’s talking very quietly, the cadence of his voice soothing and calming. Steve loved the way it reverberated through his skull in a soft thrum.

Steve doesn’t remember much about driving to the Byers’, he remembers pulling out of the trailer and turning on the radio, Take On Me playing quietly in the background as if letting his thoughts take front stage. He didn’t know how to feel about anything. But he knew he needed to get to the Byers’ before Max left.

Only when he blinked into reality did he notice the blue eyes in the blue Camaro staring at him intensely. Steve gulped. He couldn’t deal with this, not after such a bad migraine. Not after what happened last year.

But to Steve’s confusion, when Billy got out of his car and Steve did the same, there were no words exchanged. No death threats. No “I’ll kick your ass”. Nothing. In fact— Billy seemed headstand around Steve. And with a fluttering sensation in his gut and a small pick-up in his heartbeat, Steve thought for a moment that maybe Eddie said something to Billy yesterday to make him back off.

He disregarded this thought almost immediately.

Now he and Billy stood side by side on the Byers’ porch. Steve stood idly by, not wanting to get too close to Billy and risk having bad attitude rubbed off on him.

“Well?” Billy snapped after a moment. Steve loathed the way he jumped in his skin. “I’m not fucking knocking.”

“I didn’t know you knew what the hell that was,” Steve uttered while giving four sharp knocks to the door. Billy growled. Call animal control, Steve thought silently to himself.

“Clam it, Harrington. Just cause you have Munson on your side doesn’t do shit to save you. I’ll have your ass down and folded in seconds if I really wanted to.”

On his side?

“Talk all you want Billy, you’re all bark no bite. You scream and you talk and you say shit and yet when was the last time you followed through with something, huh? Does the new King find himself in a pickle? Or did everyone finally leave the damn kingdom.”

Billy looked ready to murder and probably would have had Jonathan not opened the door right at that moment. Billy eyed him cautiously, less in fear and more in “you know things you shouldn’t”. You know, the way Jonathan’s typically eyed.

“Steve, hey. Hargrove.” Jonathan nodded to them.

“Hey, Jon.” Steve smiled. Billy tutted and huffed, his arms crossed.

“Just get the girl already. Neil’s gonna have my ass if she doesn’t he out here already.”

Jonathan eyed Billy silently. Everyone seemed to be eyeing each other today. He nodded and went back into the house. When Billy noticed that Steve had made no moves to go inside as well, he raised an eyebrow and seemed to close in on himself even more.

“The hell are you waiting for, Harrington? You going in or not?”

Steve shrugged. He really wasn’t going anywhere until he saw Max and Billy drive away. He knew Billy wouldn’t try anything if he knew Steve was watching, and Steve was determined to keep Max as safe as possible— even if for a few seconds.

“I’m waiting for the boys. I’m dropping them off.” Which wasn’t an entire lie, really.

“Whatever.”

Max emerged from the house at that moment, eyeing Billy warily, as if he might shatter in a moments notice. Steve huffed a barely audible laugh. Max’s hair was sticking up in every-which-way; she must’ve taken a nap.

Billy stalked off the porch without a word. Jonathan was in the doorway now as well, watching Max step up to Steve and hug him before running off to the car.

“Stay safe, Red!” Steve called after her.

Max waved and called back “I will!”

Steve waved to her the entire way down the street until she and the car were gone. When he turned back to Jonathan, the latter was smiling at him. Steve blushed to the tip of his ears.

“What?”

Jonathan snickered. “Nothin, man. Get the hell in here.”

…

Mike and Lucas were hounding him the moment he stepped into the living room. Will clearly had something to say as well but kept his distance. To Steve’s pleasant surprise, El and Hopper were there as well.

Steve told them how they dropped the bikes off and explained the star and smiley stickers on his face. But he kept everything else to himself.

Hopper huffed and put his cigarette out. “Watch yourself around him, kid. Munson’s trouble.”

Steve scoffed. “Eddie couldn’t hurt a fly. He’d run in the opposite direction. You’re just wary cause he’s Hawkins’ best dealer.”

Hopper huffed and rapped his knuckles on the coffee table. “That’s exactly it. I don’t none of you kids getting involved in that shit.”

“And we won’t, you old man,” exclaimed Mike from where he sat between Will and El. “No one here is interested in that shit and I doubt he’d sell to any of us.”

Lucas and Will nodded. El had no idea what they were talking about.

Steve snorted and shared a look with Jonathan and Joyce.

“Anyway,” Steve interrupted before Hopper and Mike could chew each other’s heads off. “I better get Mike and Lucas home soon.”

Everyone groaned, including El.

“Why not have a sleepover?” El asked slowly, piecing together the sentence.

Steve shrugged. “I have no objections. But you’d all be going home early cause I have work.”

“Why couldn’t we go to work with you?” asked Mike. Lucas and Will nodded while El looked at him and Hopper expectantly.

“Um—“ Steve looked at Hopper.

“Steve, El. Kitchen please.” Hopper stood up and walked off, expecting them to follow. Steve gulped and followed with El. Oh what the fuck?

…

Eddie was positively floating the next day. He was convinced he actually had a chance Steve Harrington of all people. And no one was telling him otherwise.

As promised to Steve the previous day, Eddie was back at Scoops Ahoy. He was tagged along with Jeff and Gareth just as yesterday— but with the new addition Brian finally joining them.

(Idk if I gave him a name in the other parts so he’s Brian now.)

Just as Eddie opened the door to walk in, it burst open and he was surrounded by four familiar kids. There was a new face who lingered towards the back and Eddie waved at her. She waved back, but didn’t smile. It kind of threw Eddie off.

But Steve was inside the shop with Robin, talking animatedly to Jonathan, and Eddie felt right at home.

Man, when did that happen?

…

OK OK IM SORRY ILL MAKE A PART 4 😭😭

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Academic Validation | Mike Kiernan x fem!student

Summary: The principal pays Mr. Kiernan a visit after school to ask after a promising young student.

Warnings: FLUFF! I made this for me and the other girlies who crave male-academic validation lol. The student isn't actually in this story, she's just talked about but she isn't there to hear it.

word count: 1186k

Hello My Old Heart- The Oh Hellos 🎶

Not proof read, sorry folks!

Mike Kiernan shuffled through a short stack of student papers on his desk. His gradebook was sitting open in front of him as his fingers worked down the pile. 

“Mr. Kiernan?” A man knocked on the gray door frame and poked his head into the classroom. Kiernan jumped slightly when he saw the principal at the door but laughed it off and beckoned him inside his empty classroom. 

“I’m glad I caught you alone,” the principal started. 

“Oh?” Kiernan chuckled as he watched the principal move a seat in front of the teacher’s desk and sit. 

“I had some questions about a student and you seem like the best person to ask.”

“Which student?” Kiernan asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He pulled open his desk drawer and slid his finger across the row of labeled folders. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the principal responded and crossed his legs, “she’s up for an award at graduation. I said I’d talk to you first and try to get a recommendation from a teacher that knew her best.” 

“Oh, well I wouldn’t say that. Though she has been in most of my seminars.” The teacher laughed and found the file with the student’s name written across the top. 

“Well,” Kiernan started and opened the file on top of his gradebook, “what exactly do you want to know?” His blue eyes looked gray through the thick lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. 

“What kind of student is she? What kind of stuff have you noticed about her as you’ve taught her?” The principal offered. 

He smiled at his boss before looking at Y/N’s file for a moment in silence. 

“Well I wrote her college recommendation letters.” 

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.” 

“She’s going to NYU, right?”

“Oh yes, she’s done well for herself.” 

Awkward silence fell between them again and Kiernan glanced out the window for a moment. He sniffed and pushed the bridge of his glasses further up his nose.

“Well in regard to her ability as a student, she’s one of the most talented students I’ve ever had. She engages in class and tries her best to contribute even if she doesn't understand the reading…”

Mr. Kiernan stared off into the distance as he recalled the girl. She was a memorable student, one that he’d miss having in class to make the hour-long period less awkward. When his questions fell flat and he was met with silence, the girl always raised her hand hesitantly and tried to answer. She had a remarkable sense of empathy, the ability to understand his job as a teacher and extend simple gestures of support. She was a beautiful person, inside and out. 

“She's an exceptionally bright young woman,” Kiernan started again and cleared his throat, “her last essay for my seminar was on Atonement, talented writer. She wrote about the ethics of lying in memory. There were of course parts I didn’t agree with but her argument was strong and well-researched. Things like that are always promising in a young student’s work.

“She’s going to do great things, I’m sure of it. We’re holding her back here. She’s better than my class, she’s just itching to be better somewhere else.”

“You obviously think very highly of her,” the principal smiled and folded his hands together. “What about her personality? The award considers who she is as a person outside of class, how she carries herself in other parts of academics.”

Kiernan bit his lip and tented his hands in front of his puffy lips. He could see her picking up her backpack and fixing the hem of her skirt as she stood up from her desk. He loved the way that she flicked her eyes up to his to make sure he didn’t see her fix her wedgie. She stayed after class sometimes to ask him questions and academic advice. 

I don’t know what to do after college, Mr. Kiernan.

That’s ok, Miss Y/L/N. Barely anyone does. I didn’t. 

I think I may want to be a teacher like you. 

You can, or you can strive to be even better.

But I want to be like you. 

You flatter me, Miss Y/L/N, but I know you’re capable of doing better. 

But who says being a teacher isn’t ‘better?’

I do. 

She was insecure sometimes, especially academically. He noticed quickly in the school year that she flushed bright red if he agreed with her during discussions, as if she was surprised that she had gotten the question right. She wanted to learn and get better but she was afraid to make mistakes. 

“She’s a bright student, as I’ve said, but she’s also humble and even insecure sometimes. She doesn’t think she’s as smart as she is which makes me sad sometimes as an educator. My job is to encourage confidence in the children I teach.”

“Right,” the principal nodded.

“She’s kind and passionate about the topics she feels drawn to in the literature we read. She’s a very kind young woman. She helps students outside of class and spends most of her free time reading in the library. She’s the kind of student that every teacher wants.”

She was always nervous to talk to him, nervous to be natural. It was sweet, tenderly sweet. She tried her best not to stand out too much in class but her questions and thoughts were too different not to be unique. Her mind worked in incredible ways. He bragged about her to the other teachers. She was just wonderful. 

“She’s just going to blow us all away. I don’t know which award she’s up for but I’m sure she deserves it. She’d honor the award as it deserves to be. I am so so proud of her.” He smiled politely and closed the student’s file. The principal nodded and sighed. He stood up and shook Mr. Kiernan’s hand before stepping up to the door. 

“Well thank you for speaking with me, I think you’ve just made my job very easy.” 

“I’m glad I could be of some help.” 

Mr. Kiernan watched as the principal left his classroom and stared at the student’s file that was still closed in front of him. He leaned back in his chair and massaged the sore points above his eyebrows. 

Was it appropriate to say that he was going to miss having her in his class next year? Perhaps he had taken her for granted. He might never have a student like her again. His thoughts ran away from him as he stared at the empty desks in front of him. If it weren’t for the professional barrier between them, he would have told her how much he admired her talent and skill. He’d written as much in her college recommendation letter, and so others had started to notice it too, he guessed. She was the kind of student a school takes for granted. He hoped that he would never take her for granted and put the file back with the others. A sentimental smile tugged at his lips as he closed the drawer and returned to grading. 

[ljz002-world]

Assistant, Part 1

John was showing Michael around the office for the legal business. They passed a few desks where men were busy working, until they came to a halt by the desk where a girl who could not have been older than Michael sat, she was busy writing on her typewriter when the two boys disrupted her peace. “And this here is our lovely assistant and secretary-“ “I’m Mr. Shelby’s assistant and secretary, not yours Johnny-boy”, the girl cut the Shelby off as she glanced up at him sassily, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest before mustering Michael up and down, “What’s your name lad?” “Michael. Michael Gray, I’m Pol’s son.” “So you’re also a Shelby. In these parts people don’t hide that they’re a Shelby. I’m Anastasia, but my friends call me Ana.” “If she had any”, John mocked with a grin to which the girl poked the buff young man into his side drawing a hiss from, “You witch.” “Then you can call me Mike”, Michael said with a grin as he extended his hand, Anastasia looking suspiciously at it before glancing at the other two Shelby brothers. She gave Michael her hand and instead of shaking it like most boys and men do he placed a kiss onto the back of it. This action did shock the girl as a smile made its way onto her lips, “What a gentleman. Not seen often ‘round here.” “Well, Michael’s working for Tommy now, accountant. Be a doll and help him if he needs it, eh?”, John asked and Anastasia nodded with a smile. Just as the girl was about to say something the doors to Thomas’ office opened and he stepped outside seeming quite annoyed and even mad.

“Anastasia, my office, now.”

With that he disappeared back into the office leaving the girl to roll her eyes as she got up, “It’s always something with him innit?”, she stretched before plopping her hands onto her hips while smiling at Michael, “Well, Mikey-boy, I gotta go, see you boys ‘round.”

“She can talk about him like that?”, Michael asked John as the he continued showing him around, “Only her.” John had answered, “Anybody else would be dead for even tryin’ it.” “Why does she get a special slip then?” “Have you seen her?”, John said, “Her pretty face is her slip acting like that. But don’t try it. Oh and also, no touching up on her.” “Huh? What?” “Anastasia is off limits to everyone in Birmingham.” “Why? She got a strict father or boyfriend?” “No. She’s got Tommy. Every man knows it. She’s off limits even for us Shelbys.” “Are the two together?” “No. Anastasia sees him only as her boss, but Tommy? Tommy wants what he can’t have. Always been like that.” “So she’s Tommy’s girl?” “Yes. So don’t touch her unless you have to, and then keep it short and far away from her privates. No slip ups allowed.” Michael nodded, still not getting that girl out of his mind.

[americasass91]

Need You Now

Hello, my lovelies!

So listen….this is completely self indulgent and is all Mr Evan’s fault. He just had to go and win Sexiest Man Alive and have a sexy fucking photoshoot. And those pictures just had to make me feral.

This is definitely not the best thing I’ve ever written. Threw it together in about an hour. Again having nobody to blame but Christopher.

I mean how could I not after I saw the above picture? I couldn’t not write something.

Well anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

*DISCLAIMER, if you’re under 18, just go away. This isn’t for you! Kindly fuck off. Thanks!

Words: 2.4k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Language, unprotected Smut, P in V sex, Breeding Kink, talks of trying to conceive, husband and wife kink if you squint, Chris in that picture, I think that’s it

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“Why did you agree to this again?”

You rolled your eyes at your husband as you continued doing your makeup in the mirror. “Because Andy, it’s the last good weekend before the colder weather sets in and because we were invited and I want to go.”

Your grumpy husband lets out a sigh. “I would’ve much rather done our own thing than go to this cookout.”

You put the finishing touches on your makeup and turn around to look at him. “Why? It’ll be fun! They’re our friends, Andrew. We don’t see them very much.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “But I don’t even like half of these people.”

“Oh, come on. It won’t be that bad. I promise. If we get there and you are bored to tears and hating life, then we’ll go. Scouts honor!”

He walks until he’s standing in front of you and puts his hands on your hips. “Okay, fine. I’ll go but only because you want to. But when we get back…” He starts trailing light, barely there kisses along the side of your neck until he reaches your ear..”You better plan to be up all night, filled with me.”

Before the shivers finish trailing up your spine, Andy steps away with a chuckle to go get dressed. Well shit. Now you aren’t sure you want to go yourself. You shake your head. No. You had promised your friends you’d show up. Plus you were already ready. And you thought you looked pretty cute in your yellow sundress.

You turn back around to face the mirror to double check your hair when your husband emerges from the closet. You do a double take as he sits on the bed to slip on his boots.

Jesus Christ you have forgotten how to breathe.

Your usually suited up, straight laced A.D.A., is sitting there looking like sex on legs.

He’s in a pair of black slacks and a dark green shirt. But that’s not what has you open-mouthed and drooling. It’s the way he only buttoned up the shirt about halfway and you have a clear view of the chain he always wears and the tattoos that litter his chest. Including your name he has tattooed over his left pec.

Christ on a cracker. You can already tell your panties have soaked through. This piece of shit is doing this on purpose. He knows the effect he has on you.

“Sweetheart?”

You shake your head as you close your mouth, stunned to see him standing in front of you. He reaches up and wipes some drool from the side of your mouth. “You, uh, got some drool there.”

You open your mouth to retort but realize your brain has short circuited from the beauty of the man in front of you.

Sure, you’re married and have been together for a long time. Doesn’t mean you aren’t still widely attracted to the man.

He gives your ass a smack. “We better get going. Don’t want to be late.”

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After changing into a fresh pair of panties, you and Andy head on over to your neighbor's house across the street.

You both head ou tback where the party is in full blast. “Well look what the fucking cat dragged in! The Barbers!”

Your eyes instantly spot the man yelling. “Hi, Mike!”

You let go of Andy’s hand and let Mike pull you into a quick hug. You’re soon pulled out of it by his wife Kate and pulled into her arms. “Oh my god! I can’t believe you actually showed up!” She pulls away and looks you up and down. “Cute dress! Come on, let’s go get you a drink!”

You turn your head about to see if Andy wants anything, but see a beer has already been put into his hand and is standing in a circle of the other husband’s chatting. Looks like he’s even enjoying himself. You knew he would.

Kate drops your hand after you make it over to the drink table. “So, what’s your poison?”

You eye the table and decide to play it safe and stick with an old fashioned wine cooler. Kate just rolls her eyes at you. “That’s it?”

You twist the cap off and take a quick sip. Just as good as you remember them. “I don’t want to get too crazy. Plus, it’s been forever since I’ve had one of these.”

Kate looks up after she gets done pouring an adequate amount of rum into her coke. “Well, they are delicious. So, how’ve you been? How’s, uh, everything?”

You take another swig before answering. Of course she’s wondering if you’d had any luck conceiving. You shrug your shoulders. “Nothing yet, but we’ve only been trying for a few months. Plus my doctor said it may take awhile since I had been on birth control since I was 15. Might take a little bit for all those hormones to leave my system.”

She nods. “Yeah, it took about a year for me to get pregnant. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll happen!”

You shake your head. “I’m not worried. It’ll happen if it’s meant to. And if not, then we’ll adopt. I’m not going to stress over it. The doctor said stressing about it can make it not happen so I’m going to stay positive.”

Kate smiles at you. “That’s a great mindset! Regardless of how it happens, you’ll make an amazing momma!”

“Thank you! I hope so! I’m sure I’ll be asking you for lots of tips.”

She takes a sip of her drink as she looks over at her kids playing around the yard with the other neighborhood kids. “Oh, I’ve got plenty!”

The 2 of you are soon joined by a couple other women you hadn’t seen in awhile either. You guys chat and gossip about everything that’s been going on lately. As the conversation turns to something you’re less than interested in, you can’t help but let your eyes wander over to Andy.

The men have migrated to a group of lawn chairs and are laughing about something. Andy’s eyes catch yours and he gives you a smile. God you loved him. You return it before getting pulled back into the conversation when one of the ladies asks how your job is going.

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About 2 hours later it starts getting dark out. All the women had rejoined their significant others at the lawn chairs.

You were currently laying against Andy’s chest, him leaned back with his arms wrapped around you. The fire had been going for a while now and you were all nice and toasty.

A few of the couples had gathered their kids and bid their goodbyes. That left only Kate’s and Mike’s kids and a few couples left sat around the fire.

You’re just enjoying listening to the conversations going on around you, letting the vibrations of Andy’s chest as he talks to Mike lull you to sleep.

You just get your eyes shut when your phone starts going off.

You quickly grab it and silence it. Kate asks if everything is okay. You wave a hand in her direction. “Yeah, just my mom texting me.”

But that’s a lie.

That wasn’t your text tone that went off. You knew that sound well. And judging from the way Andy is now practically squirming underneath you, so does he.

You have this app on your phone to help track when you’re ovulating. And anytime you’re in a peak ovulation time, an alarm goes off. The sound has lately made your husband feral. He’ll bend you over the nearest surface and stuff you full.

Speaking of.

He is currently subtly rutting his erection into your ass.

You hold back a whimper and grab onto his arm. “Andy, stop. Not here.”

He leans down to whisper into your ear, “Should’ve thought about that when you made plans to come here. You know what that fucking alarm does to me. Need to be inside you baby girl. Now.”

Oh, fuck.

You’re about to suggest going home when the rest of the couples, and kids, start to stand up and head toward the house. Mike goes over and puts the fire out.

Kate comes over to your chair. “We’re going to head inside and watch the new Halloween movie. You guys wanna come?”

You don’t even have time to open your mouth to respond before Andy does. “Nah, I think we’re going to head home. Both of us are a little tired. Aren’t we, sweetheart?”

You nod your head. “Yeah, the fire made me tired.”

She nods. “Okay, well let’s get lunch next week?”

You agree. “Sounds great! Thank you for inviting us.”

She waves as she heads inside. You go to get up but are forcefully pulled back down. “Just where do you think you’re going, baby girl?” He moves your hair to the side and starts kissing and biting at your neck, all the while moving his right hand under your dress.

“Well I thought we could head home and take care of-“ But you’re cut off when his fingers make contact with your clothed core.

“Too far. Need you here, now.”

You go to protest but he moves your panties aside and sinks a finger into you.

You smack your hand to your mouth to keep your moan in. Andy just chuckles behind you as he adds another finger and starts scissoring them around. “Need to keep quiet, baby. Don’t want the neighbors knowing what we’re doing out here.”

You clench down on his fingers. “Oh? Maybe you do, huh? Does my baby girl want to get caught?”

You can’t even respond. You start grinding against his hand. He indulges you for a few minutes before he pulls his fingers out and flips you around so that you’re straddling him. He pulls you in for a lust filled kiss before he grabs your hands and puts them at the top of his pants. “Go on. Take me out.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Not wasting any time, you unbutton and unzip his slacks. You quickly find out he has gone commando this evening. You look up at him in surprise. He just gives you a sexy smirk. “Easier access?”

You roll your eyes and lean back in for a kiss, your right hand wrapped around his achingly hard cock, pumping it up and down.

Andy brushes your hand away and pulls your panties to the side. “Sorry sweetheart. Need to be inside you.”

Not wanting to wait any longer yourself, you grab ahold of his cock and hover over him and rub his tip along your soaked slit before sinking down on his length. You throw your head back and let out a sigh of relief. You love nothing more than to be filled by your husband.

Andy takes a minute to watch the pleasure on your face. It doesn’t last very long though before he grabs your hips and starts grinding you back and forth in his lap.

You don’t catch the moan that escapes you this time.

“Shhh. Need to be a good girl and stay quiet while your husband fills you up.”

You nod and place your hands on his shoulders as you take over the movement of your hips, picking up the pace. Andy releases his hold on your hips and smacks your ass before pulling the top of your dress down enough so your tits spring free. He pays extra attention to your nipples, knowing how much you like it.

After a few minutes, you change from grinding to bouncing up and down on his cock as best you can on a lawn chair. You can already feel yourself close to an orgasm. “Andy, please. Gonna cum. Need help. Please.”

He repositions a little so that his left leg hangs off the side of the lawn chair and plants his foot on the ground. He grabs the back of your head with his left hand and pulls you down until you’re chest to chest, pulling you into another kiss. He takes his right hand and moves it in between you so he can rub your clit.

He uses the little leverage he has with his foot and starts thrusting up into you, hitting your g spot from this position. You moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, baby girl. Squeezing me so good. Won’t last much longer after you cum. Need to fill you up.”

You’re both now just panting into each other’s mouths. “Please Andy.N-need it. Need your cum.”

“Yeah? Need me to fill you up, huh? Yeah you do. Gonna fuck a baby into you sweetheart.”

And that’s what does you in. You cum with a silent cry, your hands digging into his shoulders.

He only lasts a few more thrusts before he gives into his own pleasure. You can feel his warm spend filling you up as he slows his thrusts down, eventually coming to a stop. You both take a minute to catch your breath before you make eye contact and burst out laughing.

“Can’t believe we just fucked on a lawn chair in our neighbors backyard.”

He pulls you in for a sweet kiss. “I fucking love you, Mrs. Barber.”

You smile. “I love you, Mr Barber.”

He cups your face and brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, smiling when you press a kiss to it. “Think we better get home, sweet girl. Before I take you on this chair again.” As he says this, you can feel him start to harden inside of you.

Startled at how quick he’s ready to go again, you quickly get up and let out a hiss as he slips out of you.

You right your clothes as best you can before grabbing your phone and helping him up.

He tucks his cock back into his slacks as best he can with a hard on and zips and buttons them up. He grabs your hand and starts practically pulling you towards your guy's house.

“Hurry up baby. That pussy isn’t going to fill itself up.”

You were in for a long night.

Tags: @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @patzammit​ @bluemusickid​ @wanderinglunarlights  

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 28: Touch and Go

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Dr. Chaplin walks into the Operation Room, accompanied by two men.

Dr. Timothy and Dr. Finn are speaking quietly, mumbling over a poor test subject that didn't survive their most recent mutation experiments.

"...I thought that the addition of his blood would have worked..." Timothy bemoans to his coworker.

"Perhaps the miracle we're looking for is not in the blood as it is now, but how it was before we changed it... There must be some secret we're missing--"

"Ahem," Chaplin says as he arrives. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Ah, Dr. Chaplin!" Abigail Finn exclaims, turning around and pasting an anxious smile across her face. "N-no, no, of course not..."

Abigail notices the two men standing behind him. One is almost seven feet tall by the looks of it, the other is bordering five feet. The taller man is the size of a bull, thick and heavy and absolutely rippling with muscles. The shorter man is thin as a rail, slicked-back greasy hair and a thin wiry mustache that almost makes him look like a mouse or a rat. The two men look like night and day, but both wear very expensive suits and ties which do not match either man's personalities.

"...Who're the guests?" Abigail asks curiously.

"These are Mr. Touch and Mr. Go. They are some... shall we say, 'men for hire' that I've employed to assist in the recapture of our lost experiment from Project Venus."

"Mikey," Dr. Timothy nods. "Good. What are their qualifications?"

"Stunning accuracy," Chaplin lists off. "Mr. Touch has enhanced strength and Mr. Go has enhanced speed. They were members of a special program designed to create super soldiers several years ago. Before then they were mercenaries for hire."

"Mercenaries, eh?" Timothy says with a soft grimace. "I'm not sure..."

"A merc doesn't know how to handle with care," Abigail interjects. "The TCRI want Mikey back in pristine condition."

"As I mentioned, stunning accuracy for these two. They've never once failed a mission, as far as the records go."

Mr. Touch cracks his knuckles loudly.

"Now now, gentlemen. These two are some of our most esteemed scientists here at the TCRI and EPF Labs. Whatever they say is law. Just ask Jeff," Dr. Chaplin jokes, gesturing to an empty cage in the distance. "Oh. Hm. Where's Jeff?"

"In a jar," Dr. Timothy grumbles. "I'm studying his brain."

"Ah! Well, there you go, gentlemen. I'm sure you all will have a wonderful time procuring the lost experiment again. And boys, play nicely with the mutant target or you'll be helping Dr. Timothy here with his brain studies. And Timothy, Finn, be polite and patient with these fine men or else we might not be getting anyone else to help us recover Mikey..."

Dr. Chaplin leaves the room in silence. Abigail grunts with irritation before plastering another smile on her face and directing the two men to a computer.

"This won't be easy for you. Mikey was designed to be the perfect genetic weapon. He also has enhanced strength, speed, agility, plus some other quirks. I'll print you out a list..."

"M'sure we can handle him," Mr. Touch chuckles. "I've yet to wrastle with a critter that can outmatch my muscle."

"Don't get cocky," Abigail snaps. "And don't hurt him. We want him perfectly intact and alive."

"Don't worry, we'll retrieve your little pet," Mr. Go snickers. "Where is it, anyway?"

"Last we saw, he was hiding out in the sewers --"

"With extra mutants," Timothy interrupts. "which we will pay extra for the capture of."

"Timothy--?"

"How much we talkin'?" Mr. Go asks, a smile creeping onto his thin face.

"How much were you promised for the capture of Mikey?" Timothy questions.

"75 grand," Mr. Touch states.

"I'll personally pay you $50,000 for each mutant you can capture," Timothy promises. "Though, the price will be reduced for any major injuries I find."

"Only 50?" Mr. Touch grumbles.

"They aren't nearly as genetically advanced as Mikey is, so they should be simpler to capture. But an extra 50,000 for any extra mutants you can find isn't that bad, now is it? We have confirmation of at least two mutants that are with him, so that would be $100,000 guaranteed. We could all use a little extra spending money here and there, couldn't we?"

"Done deal," they reply.

"Wonderful. Now, what will you be requiring for your endeavours? Any weapons, traps, something to carry the subjects in I'd assume?"

"Might as well show us whatchya got," Mr. Go says.

Abigail groans in irritation as Timothy leads the two men away, muttering to herself as he shows them all their experimental gadgets.

"I can't believe him... He has no authorization to make that call. Though, it would be helpful to have extra mutants for our tests... In the end, I guess it doesn't really matter; the goal is still the same. So long as they can find Mikey and we can continue the work..."

Abigail walks away to catch up with the men.

From the far back of the room, John Bishop walks out.

Hmm. This isn't good...

Maybe he should follow along for now, see what happens...

Doctors Timothy and Finn show the two mercenaries the tranquilizer darts they have, the frost guns, nets, communication devices, trackers, etc. They show them Mikey's last known location and give the images of the human teen and the mutant brother. Mr. Touch and Mr. Go roam the room, choosing the items they'll need like children choosing which sweets they want the most from a candy store.

Bishop doesn't have much time. He slinks around to the exit and rushes to Honeycutt's labs, calling him as he runs into the elevators.

"Professor Zayton Honey--"

"Hey doc it's me how are ya that's great I was wondering if I could borrow any gear you might have?"

The line is silent.

"Oh, this is Bishop by the way."

"Um... yes, well I figured... How's your mother--"

"Forget that for now, do you have any gear I can use?!"

"W-why do you need my gear?"

"Chaplin brought in two thugs to detain Mikey and the others that are protecting him," Bishop whispers. "Timothy and Finn are showing them the weapons they have. I'm going to tail them to keep them from getting him. Now, do you or don't you have anything I can use?"

"U-uh, m-m-maybe. How close are you?"

The elevator doors open and Bishop runs out to Honeycutt's office.

"Just about to open your door."

"Oh! Well, yes, um, I think I have something you might be able to use --"

Bishop swings the door open and runs in, causing Prof. Honeycutt to jump in fright.

"Agh! John! You're here! You weren't kidding --"

"I need whatever you can give me now," Bishop states frantically. "They could leave the lab at any point and I need to stay close."

"But John -- well, you know me, I'd prefer to stay out of it --"

"You are staying out of it, I just need something to defend myself and keep Mikey safe."

"Oh well... Yes, yes, of course! Um, there are a f-few prototypes on the table over, over there!" Honeycutt stutters. "A-are you looking for lethal, or semi-lethal?"

"Anything," Bishop says quickly. "I'd rather not hurt anyone, but they're enhanced so I might have to go fully lethal."

"Enhanced?" Honeycutt says with a nervous swallow.

"No time to explain," Bishop says as he looks over the table and grabs a futuristic-looking pistol. "What does this do?"

"Oh! That's my jelly-gun!" Honeycutt says with a soft and nervous chuckle. "It's one of the non-lethals, but it hasn't been tested yet--"

"Jelly-gun?"

"It l-liquifies your bones."

"...And this is a non-lethal weapon?"

"T-the effect isn't permanent," Honeycutt stammers. "I-it's meant to be a stunner, t-to incapacitate!"

"How do you know the effects aren't permanent if you haven't tested it yet?" Bishop asks warily.

"..."

"...I'll handle it with caution, then."

Bishop gently places the 'jelly-gun' in a holster.

"What else do you have?" he asks, picking up a series of miniature grenades.

"Those are my noise-makers, you pull the pin and have five seconds before it will emit a high-pitched ringing that causes disorientation and bleeding from the ears if you stand within a ten yard radius."

"Mm. Handle with caution?"

"Handle with caution."

Bishop pushes the noise grenades into a pocket of a satchel Honeycutt hands him as he continues to go through the tech, grabbing what looks good and intact. A net launcher, a harpoon launcher/grappling gun, and a gun that actually does shoot a jelly-like substance which hardens instantly.

"Anything else you can offer me?"

"This," Honeycutt says, handing Bishop a small device that resembles a portable dvd player. "It works like a sonar detector, scanning your surroundings and comparing them to satellite images to create a map of the area around you within a 50 mile radius. It will detect any creatures, bodies of water, or large obstacles within that radius as well."

"Thanks, this should really come in handy," Bishop says quickly. "I have to get going. Do you need all this stuff back, or...?"

"If you can," Honeycutt sighs. "But honestly I'm more worried about you coming back. You're going to go fight two enhanced mercenaries? Even if you can beat them --"

"Your faith in me is astounding, by the way..." Bishop grumbles.

"-- Even if you can beat them, Chaplin or Timothy will discover your involvement, won't they? What do you think they'll do to you then?"

"Well, I guess I'll just have to do my best to not get caught and not get dead."

Honeycutt stutters nervously after hearing the word 'dead'. He tries to respond and air his concerns, but Bishop runs out quickly to catch up with Mr. Touch and Mr. Go.

.

.

.

Bishop watches the two men from a distance, catching up to them just as they leave the building. They follow the tracker's last coordinates to an alley out of sight. Mr. Go checks to make sure it's all clear before Mr. Touch reaches down and pulls the manhole cover off the sewer entrance.

Okay, so he's a little stronger than most people, nothing to be worried about --

Mr. Touch throws the heavy cast iron covering like it's a cheap plastic frisby, sending it flying off into the wall where it gets lodged in between the bricks.

...Okay, so he's exceptionally strong. No biggie. Just... don't get too close.

Mr. Go descends first, Mr. Touch following after. Bishop waits a few moments before running after them into the alley. He peers down into the sewer. Mr. Go has already made it to the bottom, but Mr. Touch is only a third of the way down. Bishop backs away before they can see him, and goes to the next alley over, entering the sewers from there.

Bishop slides down the ladder quickly, and peeks around the corner. The two men are walking down the halls by the water's edge. Bishop continues to tail them, staying at a safe distance as they look around for evidence of Mikey or his family. Bishop spends the time following them wondering what kinds of experiments they would perform on Mikey's brothers if they could get their hands on them. What kinds on horrors they would put Mikey through again. What they'll do to Bishop if they discover his treachery...

After several minutes, they come to the last tracked location of Mikey -- the lair.

Bishop watches as the men leave their tools and tech outside the electric barrier and step through the invisible fence. Mr. Go takes a deep breath before zooming away.

Yeah, so he's quick. Saw that one coming.

Mr. Touch waits for his partner, tapping his foot against the stone floor impatiently. Mr. Go comes back out a second later, readjusting his suit and tie which had gotten windblown.

"It's all clear. The place is totally empty."

The two men walk inside, forced to leave their weapons behind the EMP barrier so they don't get fried.

Bishop gets an idea...

He quietly creeps up -- leaving his own bag of gadgets behind -- and places the weapons on the inside of the EMP barrier. One by one, each device flickers with sparks before going kaput. Once his task is complete, he quickly rushes back to his hiding spot and waits for the mercs' return.

After about twenty minutes, the two walk out.

"...they packed what they could and ran. The muties could be anywhere by now!"

"You think they knew we were coming?" Mr. Go wonders aloud.

"Probably. That computer room looked pretty high tech."

"But that doesn't explain how they managed to get out so quickly. Chaplin only just had us come in today, and there's been no chatter on the EPF net about our arrival."

"So, whaddya thinkin'?" Mr. Touch asks.

"I suspect that the Earth Protection Force might not be as 'protected' as they think. There must be a mole."

Bishop's breath gets caught in his throat. He can't let them find him out!

Yet another reason he has to stop them.

"I bet they'll pay us extra if we can find the traitor," Mr. Touch chuckles.

"But in the meantime, let's find that mutie. Remember what we're actually being paid for," Mr. Go reminds him.

"Well, can you track him from here?"

"What do you take me for, an amateur? Of course I can. Grab the gear and we'll head out."

Mr. Touch gathers up all the supplies, and the two walk away. Bishop gives chase.

Mr. Go leads them down the tunnels until they reach a wrecked cave-in. Mr. Touch is kind enough to clear the way for them, revealing what Bishop can only assume was Mikey's previous home before something terrible happened. Claw marks and long gashes across the painted walls prove his theory.

A large, gaping hole resides in the floor, tunneling down to a secret hidden world. Bishop's mouth drops in shock.

"...What'chya wanna bet he's down there?" Mr. Go asks with a snicker.

"What even is it, one of them secret societies?"

"Who cares, as long as we find what we're looking for!"

The two men jump down into the hole. Bishop watches them descend.

....Maybe he'll look for stairs.

.

.

.

It takes a few hours, but Bishop finally makes his way down safely. He finds the two mercenaries wandering the streets of this underground city, checking everyone and everywhere for Mikey.

Bishop is in awe of how many mutants there are down here! It's crazy! And Timothy offered to pay extra for any they brought back...

This whole community could be in danger!

Fortunately, the two men are focused on looking for Mikey. That's what they're really being paid for. Dissatisfied by the masses in the street square, the two leave towards a series of larger buildings in the distance.

He stays just out of sight of the Mr. Touch and Mr. Go as he goes after them. As he tails them, Bishop tries to stay focused on the two villains rather than get distracted by this otherworldly society. He feels so out of place surrounded by these monsters, mythical beasts, and magical creatures. People that resemble animals or aliens or dragons or some mix between the three walk around and watch him like he's the freak.

Maybe he is, down here... Huh.

Well, that's some existential identity crisis he'll have to go through later.

Mr. Touch and Mr. Go arrive at a building with a strange rainbow aurora borealis surrounding the area behind it. Mr. Go surveys the area with super speed before coming back and nodding to Mr. Touch.

"He's here."

"Positive?" Mr. Touch asks.

"Gotta be. That other mutie turtle Dr. Timothy showed us is here, so he must be, too."

Other turtle mutant... What did that kid call him... Leo? Leo! Wait, so they are here? Then where's Mikey?

"Do we get the extra mutants first or what?"

"No, he's busy with a bigger freak right now."

"I can take 'em both," Mr. Touch chuckles. "It'd be like bending a couple o' twigs..."

"Fine, but be discreet about it. Here, use one of the gadgets that lab nerd gave us -- Wait, what the --?!"

The two men try to activate what looks like a gas bomb, but nothing happens.

"This thing's defective! All this junk is defective!" Mr. Go growls.

"I can still take 'em both, you know that," Mr. Touch says, cracking his knuckles.

"It's almost like this guy wants to fight," Bishop thinks aloud. "What a charmer..."

"And where are we supposed to keep them once we capture them? You gotta think!" Mr. Go scolds. "Besides, they are also superpowered! One of them can do portals, and that second one I saw was almost as big as you! My guess is he has enhanced strength, too... And even if we did overpower them, they're out in the middle of everything, everyone can see us! And we have no real sighting of that Mikey mutant. Let's play it cool for now and get them later. AFTER we find Mikey."

Mr. Touch groans loudly.

"Fine. But I want that extra pay."

"And we'll get it, don't worry. By the end of the day, our biggest worry is going to be finding fatter wallets!" Mr. Go snickers. "Now let's find that freak show..."

Bishop swallows nervously. He hasn't met Mikey's brothers yet, not officially. But if they're anything like that human kid, then they would assume that he's a villain because he works for the EPF.

Just more people he has to avoid...

John Bishop runs after the two mercenaries before stopping in his tracks and awing at the strange area around him. A large opening surrounded by rainbow mist reveals a tropical paradise and a beach.

Huh. Okay. Not what he was expecting, but... yeah. Beach. Why not?

Bishop wishes he'd brought some shorts or something to help with the heat of the tropics, but sighs in resignation as he runs after the two men...

.

.

.

Casey is tanning on the beach chair just outside of the portal. He takes in a deep breath and heaves a relaxed sigh...

He's never been on vacation before.

Heck, he's pretty sure he's never relaxed before!

It's a new experience, and he's not totally convinced he's got the knack of it yet, but he's learning. Splinter has been giving him pointers.

Casey smiles at the warmth of the sun on his skin. It's so hot, he's abandoned his cloak and armour and jumpsuit in favour of a pair of Donnie's board shorts and a t-shirt. He feels a little exposed, but he's getting used to it.

He wonders if Sensei would have been sunning with him if he had made it. And Donatello would have loved the sun on his soft shell. Master Michelangelo would probably be building sandcastles or drawing images in the sand. He's not sure what Raphael would be doing, but he assumes that he'd be enjoy the safety and wonder and happiness with his brothers...

Casey sighs. He wishes Sensei could have at least enjoyed one day in the sun again... He hates that he can enjoy this while his whole family was left to die in the apocalypse. It isn't fair, it doesn't seem right.

Aaaaaaaand Casey just ruined the relaxation. Dang it. As mentioned before, he's not the best at this.

CJ sits up and sighs angrily. Why can't he just move on? Let go? It's what Leo wants. He can't talk about his life with anyone here, so he might as well just leave it behind and start fresh! Why can't... he...

Huh?

CJ notices two strangely disproportionate men sneaking around the hotel. They're pretty well hidden, but after a lifetime in a warzone where one wrong step could literally kill you, Casey Jones Jr. has become something of an expert at spotting hidden danger or people sneaking around.

He wonders what these two creeps are up to...

Three. Three creeps. There's a third guy following them... Wait, isn't that Agent Bishop?!

What is going on?? Are they looking for Mikey?

That has to be the reason. But who are those two guys? And why didn't Bishop come with them? Is he spying on them?

Well, he's not letting him do this alone! Casey may not be an expert on vacations, but he knows a secret mission when he sees one. He's coming along!

Casey grabs his grappling hook gloves and follows after them.

.

.

.

Bishop watches as the two men slither about, staying behind shrubbery and beach umbrellas that decorate the lot. They double check to make sure they don't draw any attention to themselves, then slink around the corner of the portal and vanish behind it's barrier. He tiptoes up to it and peers around the corner. Mr. Go is zooming across the beachside as Mr. Touch tries to use the fried tech again.

"What are you doing here?" a voice whispers behind him.

Bishop swings around and almost suckerpunches the kid behind him.

Fortunately, the teenager has good reflexes and ducks ahead of his punch, grabbing Bishop's arm and stopping him mid-punch.

"Kid?!" Bishop whisper-shouts. "What are -- where did -- Nevermind. Go away, before they see you --"

"But what are you doing here?" he whispers back. "My family's on vacation!"

"Is that really wise?" Bishop questions. "I did tell you what the EPF and TCRI were up to."

"Well, we're laying low. Like you said."

"At a resort?"

"Hey, it's not like the EPF knew about this place before!"

Bishop sighs.

"Look kid, I'd love to catch up and debate on whether a tropical getaway counts as 'laying low' and stuff, but I'm tailing these two bounty hunters --"

"Bounty hunters? Are they after Mikey?" the teenager asks.

"What do you think?" Bishop growls in response.

He turns back to watch the two men. Mr. Go skids to a halt after searching the area and pours sand out of his shoes as he complains to Mr. Touch about the conditions. Mr. Touch complains about the faulty tech they were given. They both end up arguing.

"Where is Mikey, anyways?" Bishop asks.

"Dunno," the teen replies. "He went out into the jungle to explore."

"You really think letting a kid go alone in the jungle is a good idea?"

The teen stares at him deadpan before raising an eyebrow.

"You have seen Mikey, right?"

"Fair enough," Bishop groans. "Look, I'm gonna go after them, you --"

"I'm coming with you!" he interrupts.

"Look kid --"

"My name is Casey."

"Look, Casey, I'm sure you're a cool kid with a good head on your shoulders, but this is a stealth mission. And this mission is already tough enough without having to worry about keeping you safe as well. It will go better if I'm alone --"

"Have you ever practiced guerilla warfare in a jungle before?" Casey challenges. "Or fought against superpowered individuals? Have you ever had to build a water purification device from scratch so you can drink your own bodily fluids while trekking across dangerous, monster-infested terrains??"

"Have you?" Bishop challenges back.

"You have no idea what I grew up in," Casey responds low. "Now let's go. Mikey should be deep in the jungle by this point, so we better hurry if we want some extra time to lay a few traps..."

Bishop tries to fight back, but the kid has already zip-lined into the brushes several meters away. Casey turns back and calls out to him.

"You coming or what?"

Bishop groans. He really shouldn't have yelled like that... Oh well. This'll be interesting.

.

.

.

Casey makes his way through the bushes and fauna, Bishop following close behind.

"Kid! Hey, kid, wait up!"

"Do you want me to slow down, or shouldn't you hurry up?" Casey shouts back.

Bishop grumbles under his breath as he runs up to the teenager.

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but --"

"And I appreciate what you're doing too, Commander Bishop -- uh, Agent Bishop. But this is my family we're talking about! And I'm not going to just sit back and act like I don't know what I'm doing when I do. I know you think I'm just a kid, but I've literally been training my entire life for situations like this. To be honest, this is a lot more mild than what I'm used to dealing with."

"...Where exactly did you say you grew up, again?" Bishop asks.

"Actually, not far from here," Casey chuckles. "But that's another story... So, looking at these tracks, Mikey made it to the center of the island somewhere around two hours ago."

Bishop's eyes widen behind his thick glasses.

"How can you tell?"

"Math, mostly," he says with a shrug. "You measure the size of his feet and the distance between each footprint and calculate the speed from there."

"But two hours ago?"

"I made an estimate based on when I saw him last and compounded with the fact that these plants he crushed underfoot show clear signs of recent decay --"

"Geez kid, you're like a walking science study!" Bishop sighs as he walks ahead and follows the trail as he reaches into his satchel.

"You can thank my Uncle 'Tello for that," Casey smiles. "What are you doing?"

"Honeycutt gave me this sonar tracker," Bishop explains. "I wanted to wait on using it until we were in a more secluded area."

Casey looks around at the jungle they're traipsing through.

"...I'd say this works!"

"I'd say so too," Bishop chuckles as he activates the device and scans the area around them. "Where did this jungle even come from, anyways?"

"It's a portal. It leads from the back lot of the hotel to a random undiscovered island."

"So, we're not actually in the United States anymore?" Bishop asks, raising an eyebrow. "Interesting. How does it work?"

"There's a device by the portal that can change the location if needed, for storms and stuff. But mostly it runs on magic energy, if I understand it right."

Bishop nods, pretending that it makes perfect sense. Magic, portals, underground monster hotels. Sure. Why not.

He taps a few buttons on the sonar, and several dots appear on the screen. Two in the center, two to the far left, and one straight ahead.

"Hey, would ya look at that! It really works!"

"So, those two are the bounty hunters," Casey says, peering over Bishop's arm to look at the device. "And up ahead is Mikey!"

"I guess your tracking skills really are on point," Bishop compliments. "Nice work, kid."

Casey smiles as he leads the way to Mikey.

"So, what do we do about those two guys searching for Mikey?"

"I have some other toys the Doc leant me," Bisop states, reaching into his pouch. "These should work well enough against them... though, they haven't been tested yet."

"Well, as my Sensei used to say, 'No time like the present!'"

"Aaaaaalright then, we'll find where they are and set up a few traps to drive them away."

The duo travel in the direction of the two mercenaries, following the sonar tracker. After half an hour of hiking, they finally find them. Mr. Touch is demolishing the trees as he looks around angrily for their mark. Mr. Go is watching from behind him.

"Are you done with your little tantrum yet?" he hisses.

"I'm doing all the work here, in case you haven't noticed!" Touch roars back. "It's a deserted island! He could be anywhere! And also in case you haven't noticed, all our tech is busted up!"

"Well, it shouldn't be as big of a problem as you're making it," Mr. Go groans. "After all, this is us we're talking about. It can't be that difficult!"

"Well, we've never worked in the fricken jungle before!"

"Pssh, as if that should stop us..."

The two men argue a bit about where to go and what to do. Bishop takes Casey back a step to discuss their own plans.

"So, kid... didn't you say something about guerilla warfare?"

Casey Jr. smiles deviously.

Bishop and Casey quickly set up a series of traps, digging large holes and cover them with debris and plants. Casey creates a snare trap and Bishop makes a tripwire. Soon enough, their plan is complete.

"Okay Casey," Bishop says as he takes his jacket off, the heat starting to get to him. "Here's the plan: your tracking skills are better than mine, so you find Mikey and get him out of here while I take care of the meathead and the beanpole."

"Wait, are you sure?" Casey asks.

"Not really. But I don't want you or Mikey to get hurt --"

CJ groans loudly.

"Dude, I already told you --"

Bishop quickly shushes him.

"I don't want you near the fight, you could get hurt."

"I know, I know; you think I'm just a kid and I can't defend myself, but I'm pretty sure I already proved how I can --"

"You did prove yourself," Bishop interrupts him. "But that doesn't change the fact that I don't want you getting hurt or getting involved in this anymore than you already are."

The agent sighs. He takes his glasses off to show Casey how serious he is as he tries to explain.

"...Look..... Mikey was designed to be a living weapon for the EPF. He was given the DNA of several predators, violent species, and compliant genes from species that worked in groups or families so he would be sure to follow orders. He was trained day in and day out to kill, fight, and problem solve. Do you think that's the life he wanted?"

Casey freezes, eyes wide.

"Or do you think he deserves a chance to just be a kid?"

CJ looks away sadly. He can tell where this is going. Bishop takes a breath before he continues.

"Listen kid, I have no doubt that you could keep him safe all on your own, but both you and Mikey are just kids. That doesn't mean you can't do incredible things and save the world, but it means that you shouldn't have to. For now, that's my responsibility as the adult. I think you kids have been through more than enough, and it's time you get back to being kids. Or am I wrong?"

Casey sighs again.

"...Okay, point taken. Fine. I'll get Mikey to safety and warn the others... You take care of the two bounty hunters."

Bishop nods with a smile. He watches as Casey darts off into the forest to get Mikey. He turns back and treks towards the two villains.

.

.

.

Casey runs into the jungle, backtracking until he finds sight of Mikey's trail again. He follows, using his grappling hook like a rope swing, going from tree to tree to tree...

An old recollection of his Sensei calling him 'Tarzan' comes to mind. He smiles at the memory.

After ten to fifteen minutes, Casey finally catches up to Mikey, sitting in a tree as he munches on some wild mangoes he happened to find.

"Mikey! Mikey, hey!" CJ calls out.

Mikey looks down and smiles at him, mouth full to the brim of delicious ripe fruit. He waves.

"Hiiiiiii!" he calls out, though it's a barely intelligible, muffled slur of sounds.

"Hi," CJ calls back, climbing up quickly. "Hey, so not to alarm you or anything, but we gotta get outta here. Like now."

Mikey swallows loudly and tilts his head in curiosity.

"Why?"

"Just, um..."

Casey looks at Mikey.

He's not the warrior he would be in the future. He's not a stone-cold master of magic who occasionally liked to goof off when he wasn't being all mystical and mysterious. He's not the last brother left standing for Casey's Sensei, the last reminder of hope and love. He's not forced to stay positive and optimistic, even when the entire resistance has been laid to waste and he has to sacrifice his own life in order to save them. To save him.

He isn't 'Master Michelangelo'.

He's Mikey.

And Bishop is right. Mikey's just a kid.

A kid who shouldn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder constantly, wondering if someone is coming after him or if he's safe, or his family is safe. He's a kid who should be running across the water and having splash wars with his brothers, should be sunbathing on the beach with his father, should be sitting in a tree eating fruit and enjoying life like it was meant to be enjoyed.

"...Uuuuummm, y-your brothers wanted you to come back to the resort! They, uh... didn't know where you'd gotten to! They got kinda worried."

"Brothers worried for me?" Mikey asks with concern.

"Yeah! So, we gotta go let them know you're okay!"

"Oh, okay!" Mikey says with a nod. "Mikey understand. Let's go!"

Casey follows Mikey down the tree --just a tad bit slower than him, though.

"Race you back?" Mikey asks with a smile, already crouched and ready to run.

CJ smiles.

"You're on!"

The two run, Casey using his grappling hooks to his advantage as Mikey books it through the jungle. He hopes they don't attract the wrong kind of attention, but their speed should be helpful... He wonders if Bishop is finished with his job yet.

.

.

.

Bishop watches from behind a tree, waiting a few minutes to give Casey time to find Mikey. Just a little longer...

The two men start walking. Bishop checks the sonar and sees they're walking towards Mikey's direction. He has to act now.

He grabs a noisemaker and pulls the pin before throwing it at the two. It lands in front of Mr. Touch, who leans down and blinks at it.

"...What the hey?"

"What is it?" Mr. Go asks, stepping around him.

"Looks like a toy or --"

A loud, ear-piercing screeeeeeeeeeeeech sounds off, shattering the air around them and causing a soundwave to blast around them, knocking them all to the ground. Bishop grips his own ears and yells in pain, though the cries are lost in the deafening blast. He gets up and starts running, looking back to see Mr. Touch drop the device and clutch his bleeding ears. Mr. Go stumbles backwards before running away as fast as he can. Bishop watches as Mr. Touch slams his foot down onto the orb, crushing it instantly and silencing it. Bishop's ears are ringing as he runs. Mr. Touch shakes his head around before he sees Bishop running and gives chase.

"HEY, GET BACK HERE!!"

"WHAT??" Bishop yells back, ears still ringing.

Mr. Touch bellows as he runs after him, following the agent to his set traps. The meathead gets closer... closer..... he reaches out to grab his shirt collar...

Mr. Touch's feet drag over a tripwire, activating the net-launcher. The wiry snare wraps around him and causes him to faceplant. Bishop nearly pauses to cheer at the trap's success before Mr. Touch shreds the net to pieces, simply by flexing his arm muscles. Bishop keeps running.

He jumps over one of the traps he set and watches as Mr. Touch yipes and falls down into the freshly-dug ditch. Bishop carefully pulls out the 'jelly-gun' and aims.

"Sorry in advance, I really hope that this isn't permanent..."

Bishop is thrown off his feet when something slams into him. He groans as he picks himself back up.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Mr. Go asks snidely as he leans down.

"...My job, nothing personal," Bishop responds quickly, swinging his foot around to trip up Mr. Go.

But he's gone before Bishop can even get his foot up.

He does a quick spin before looking around in shock, trying to find where Mr. Go went --

Bishop is kicked in the gut as the speedster rams into his chest and dashes away unseen. Bishop gasps for air and clutches his stomach as he slowly gets to his knees. He's dropped the jelly-gun! He scrambles as he searches for it. He drags his fingers across the ground, looking for the futuristic weapon on the tall grass and weeds... he notices a vibrating sensation from the ground, slowly getting stronger.

Bishop jumps out of the way before Mr. Go can knock into him again.

He gets an idea.

Bishop places himself into position and waits. He can feel the ground vibrate under Mr. Go's stampeding feet. Wait for it... wait for it...

He can see a blur coming at him. Bishop gets ready...

Mr. Go runs at him. Bishop reaches into the satchel and pulls out the other jelly gun, blasting a great mess of red goop at the ground. Mr. Go runs through it with great speed, his shoes getting caught in the ooze. He trips through it, falling onto his hands as the jelly hardens quickly.

"Hey! What's going on here?! What is this gunk??"

Bishop heaves a sigh of relief. It's short lived.

"Oh, you think you're clever, huh?" Mr. Go laughs haughtily. "Well, we'll just see about that!"

Mr. Go's body vibrates so quickly that he almost becomes invisible. The quick-hardening goop starts to crack, and he's free. The speedster suddenly blurs past Bishop, unable to stop. He gets another interesting idea...

Bishop whistles at him.

"Hey, knockoff of the Flash! You missed me!" he taunts.

Mr. Go runs back at him, a blur as he comes back for round 2. Bishop pulls a special gun out and points it at the mercenary. Mr. Go immediately runs in a different direction, which Bishop expected. He aims again. Mr. Go runs in another direction. Bishop aims one more time, and of course, Mr. Go goes in a new direction. Bishop smiles. He's too close to change course, and he was worried about the wrong kind of redirection. He's right where Bishop wants him.

Just as Mr. Go is about to run into him, Bishop aims the gun above his head and fires. A long cable cord shoots out from the weapon and snags onto a branch high above him. Bishop is pulled away, and Mr. Go runs straight underneath him and over the hidden tripwire. Mr. Go sees the trap too late and is snagged, a rope wraps around his ankles and pulls him up into the air.

Mr. Go's flails upside down, sputtering and yelling protests. The jelly-gun drops from his jacket pocket. He stole it when he ran past him! Bishop jumps down from his place amongst the branches and grabs at the weapon, trying not to pull the trigger until he can actually hold it steady.

"Y-you meddling inferior!" Mr. Go screams. "You ridiculous turncoat! You--"

"Please, please, save all your compliments until the show is over," Bishop says with a laugh, holding his ribs. "You had a pretty good run, not gonna lie."

Bishop shudders.

"Ugh, that pun was terrible. Is this what I've become? A guy with pad jokes and witty one-liners? I thought I was better than that..."

"Hurry up and get me down from here!" Mr. Go snaps.

"What makes you think I'd actually let you down?" Bishop questions.

"He wasn't talking to you, punk," Mr. Touch growls from behind him.

Bishop manages to duck just before Mr. Touch can break his skull open with his fists.

He yipes as he rolls to the side, dodging another blow and careful to avoid the traps he's set up. Mr. Touch is not so careful. His feet crack against the tripwires and set off the snares and springtraps, though none of them have any effect on the giant muscle man.

"Now would probably be a good time for you to run, little man," Mr. Touch chuckles with a low voice.

"I might just take you your advice on that," Bishop heaves. "But first --"

He points the jelly-gun at the giant man, who raises a fist to pound Bishop flat. The gun fires, a green light beams on Mr. Touch's fist and forearm. They go numb and limp, falling flat and flabby against his side. Mr. Touch roars angrily.

"What did ya do to me?!" he screams, flinging his other fist at Bishop.

The agent dodges it, the ground beside him cracking and splitting from the brute force used. Mr. Touch roars again and swings his floppy arm at Bishop. Despite the lack of bones, the strength is still there and Bishop is flung several meters back before rolling across the ground and hitting a tree.

Bishop gasps for air as the wind is knocked out of him. He struggles to lift himself up, coughing and hacking as his back cracks with each movement.

He looks up in time to see Mr. Touch yank the rope holding Mr. Go, setting him free. Bishop has to act fast... Casey is counting on him. Honeycutt is relying on him. That whole society under New York is in danger if these mercs get out. Mikey deserves better.

Bishop grabs one of the noisemakers and pulls the pin. Mr. Go lunges forwards. Bishop throws the device at him. He realizes in time what it is and runs in the opposite direction. The noisemaker grenade goes off, and another shockwave of sound takes out everything above four feet. Bishop ducks for cover as he covers his ears. Mr. Go is blown away by the shockwave, soaring straight into Mr. Touch.

Bishop takes the jelly-gun and aims once again. He shoots at Mr. Go's legs. Mr. Go falls. He shoots again at Mr. Touch's other arm. It becomes wobbly and liquified. But Bishop can't stay here for much longer. He limps away, regaining a little speed with every excruciating step.

He's not sure exactly how long the jelly-gun effects will last. But he'd rather not find out.

After running several meters away, he can hear the device deactivate. Touch probably destroyed it.

Bishop pulls out the sonar device and checks it. It was damaged in the fight. The screen is cracked, and it glitches every few seconds, but from what he can tell Mikey and Casey made it back to the resort. Bishop just has to find his way out of the jungle...

He keeps running, though there's a pain in his side and his head is still buzzing. He hears something crashing behind him.

Mr. Touch and Mr. Go are following close behind.

Already?!

He looks back and sees Mr. Touch carrying Mr. Go over his shoulders. They aren't as fast as he is, but with his injuries he'll never outrun them...

But he has to try. Bishop pulls out the jelly-gun and fires, hoping to temporarily liquify more of the two mercenaries.

The gun squirts out a train of goop behind him. Wrong gun! But at least it serves its purpose; Mr. Touch trips and falls face-first into the slime, which hardens overtop of him. He shouts and screams, flapping his jelly arms around as he tries to get himself free.

Bishop keeps running.

.

.

.

Leo is laying out on the beach chair by the hotel. He loves the ingenuity of this place. If you get the right angle, you can have all the warmth and brightness of the sun shining on you without the actual sun getting in your eyes. At first, he was a bit hesitant to trust this place (after the events of that other resort he has sworn never to speak of again). But this place is a certified heaven!

Leonardo exhales with utter satisfaction. It's been a pretty rough couple of days... he needs this.

Unfortunately, Leo is pulled out of his relaxation mode when a weight is suddenly and mercilessly slammed onto him. He gasps, eyes nearly popping out of his head as Mikey jumps up into his lap at top speed.

"I win!" Mikey cheers.

Casey jogs up behind with and laughs, somewhat out of breath.

"You certainly did," he gasps, panting and sweating. "Phew! That was fast, Mikey..."

"What the -- *wheeze* -- what the heck is -- *wheeze* -- happening?!" Leo hacks, coughing loudly as Mikey sits proudly on his chest.

"Mikey won race!"

"Great. I'm so very proud of you. My ribs will never be the same again."

"Is Leo not worried anymore?" Mikey asks, leaning close to inspect his face and sniff him.

"Worried? Like, about my lungs collapsing, maybe?"

"Oh, sorry," Mikey chuckles nervously as he gently climbs off of him.

"It's fine, I'm getting used to it by now," Leo groans, his body re-inflating with air. "I mean, this is like the third or fourth time this has happened..."

"But Mikey is here! So no more worries," his little brother says with a smile.

"Uh, yeah," Leo answers with a nod. "No one is worried anymore. Whatever that means."

"Oh, uhhhhh Leo, you and I need to have a quick talk about.... something," Casey says.

Leo gets the hint immediately, despite the lack of mind meld.

"Hey Mikey, why don't you go find Donnie and help him build his sandcastles? He indubitably said something about probably needing your help and creative expertise. He said he was going to be getting supplies at the Hotel front desk..."

Mikey nods with a smile and a chirping laugh as he runs off to find Dee. Leon waits until he's out of sight before turning to CJ.

"Okay, so what's up?"

"So... no need to panic or freak out or anything, buuuuuuut there may or may not be a few bounty hunters searching for Mikey right now..."

"WHAT?!" Leo shouts, grabbing Casey by the shoulders and shaking him. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, BOUNTY HUNTERS?!"

"I-I said no n-n-need to pa-a-a-nic!" Casey yells back, his voice wobbling as he's rocked back and forth. "Co-ou-uld you ple-e-e-ea-se st-o-o-p sha-a-k-i-i-ing me-e-e-e??"

"What bounty hunters are looking for Mikey? Where are they?" Leo demands.

"Oh don't worry, they're probably nowhere near here!"

"CLOSE THE PORTAL!"

Leo and CJ both look back at the beach's serene and peaceful shores to see Agent John Bishop, running out of the jungle as fast as he can. Soon enough, a man the size of a baby elephant carrying another man resembling an overcooked noodle with a ratstache barrel out of the bushes and run after him.

"CASEY, CLOSE THE PORTAL!" Bishop yells at the top of his lungs as he rushes for the hotel. "CLOSE THE PORTAL, NOW! CLOSE IT!"

Casey yells in fright and drags Leo to the box by the rainbow's edge.

"How do we close it?!" Casey demands, examining the device.

"How should I kow?!" Leo yells back.

"Uh, you deal in portals all the time?!"

"That's my ninpo, I don't actually know how they work! I don't understand magic or mystics or --"

"WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING?!" Bishop shouts. "HURRY!!"

"Do you know what to do or not?!" Casey shouts.

"NO! How would I know what to do?! Draxum would probably, but I have no idea where he is --"

"Well, try something! Anything! Maybe you can do something with your ninpo?"

"Fine! Get the device open!"

Casey jimmies the box's lid open and starts messing with the wires and other pieces inside before uncovering the mystic power source, an aurora flooding the air around him.

Leo runs to his beach chair and grabs his swords, throwing one at the machine and vanishing for a second before reappearing besides CJ. Leo stabs one of the katanas into the device and starts swinging it around in the rainbow light that spills.

Leon's markings start glowing, and the aurora turns blue.

"Don't change it yet, Bishop is still out there!" Casey pleads, running to watch the portal.

"ERRGH, MAKE UP YOUR MINDS!" Leo yells angrily, straining to keep the portal from glitching as the overwhelming power starts to spark across his arms. "Ow! Hurry up!"

Casey stops just outside of the portal and calls out to Bishop.

"Run!"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?!"

"They're catching up!"

Bishop grabs the last noisemaker grenade, pulls the pin, and throws it back at the two mercenaries. It smacks right into Mr. Touch's face, getting lodged in his mouth before he screams and spits it out, jumping out of the way before a loud screeching shockwave sends them all flying.

Bishop goes tumbling through the portal before faceplanting onto the ground beside Casey. The shockwave knocks Leo down, the sword crashing against the device and closing the portal just as the two mercenaries try to reach out for it.

The beach scene swipes away, a new view of a new island taking it's place.

Bishop pants and heaves on the ground by CJ, looking over his shoulder shakily before his arms give out and he rolls onto his back.

"...That was the worst. I think my back is now in the shape of the letter 'S'. Thanks, kid..."

"Did... did we just banish two dudes to live alone on a lost tropical island in the middle of nowhere?" Casey whispers.

"Looks that way. But I'm sure they'll be fine..."

"So, you must be Agent Bishop, huh?" Leo asks skeptically, leaning over the young man.

"What's left of him," Bishop chuckles. "Ow, my body... and you're Leo, correct?"

"That is classified information," the slider growls, crossing his arms.

"Nice to meet you," Bishop groans as he slowly sits up and gets to his feet.

"Wish I could say the same."

Casey smacks Leo's arm.

"What??" Leo asks incredulously. "Look dude, I know you trust him, but I don't know him, and he works for the people that tortured Mikey. I'm sorry, but he hasn't exactly earned my trust just yet."

"I get it," Bishop responds, cracking his back in pain. "I really do. And for the record, I don't work for the EPF anymore. What they're doing is wrong, in every sense, and it needs to end. I'm working to make things right. And hopefully, this --" he gestures to the new portal "-- helps to prove it?"

Leo sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Maybe. We'll see."

"Fair enough, I guess. Casey," Bishop turns to the human teen and claps him on the shoulder. "Nice work. Don't be a stranger. You still have my number, as well as Honeycutt's. If you ever need anything, let me know."

Casey smiles proudly and nods.

"Well, I think that might be everything, so I should get going..."

"Here, let me help you with that!" Leo says with a snarky smile, his sword slashing the air and creating a portal beneath Agent Bishop, causing him to fall through.

He lands in a pile of trash bags on the city streets of NYC with a soft yelp followed by disorientation. The confusion quickly dissipates once he gets his bearings, and he cleans himself off before heading to the EPF building.

He makes his way into the compound somehow without drawing attention, and quietly goes back up to Honeycutt's office. He knocks this time rather than bust in like earlier this morning.

"Coming!" the professor calls out before answering the door. "Oh! John! You're back... are you alright?"

Bishop hands the jelly-gun and cracked sonar device to the old man.

"...Tech works great, doc..... But, uh... I broke the tracker. A-and the noisemakers, those are gone too."

Honeycutt looks Bishop over before giving an exasperated sigh.

"I don't care about the tracker or the tech. Get in here, you look like crap."

Bishop heaves a heavy sigh himself and relaxes. He tumbles onto the old man, who leads him into the lab to help take care of his injuries.

"Have you been to the hospital?" Honeycutt asks.

"No.... too risky."

"Your entire back is bruised."

"But nothing's broken, right?"

Honeycutt looks him over and nods.

"But I'm no doctor on the human condition," he reminds him. "I just know tech. John, you should really go to a hospital or ER or --"

"If I go to a doctor, then the EPF will hear about it. They'll ask questions. That's bad. So... just some painkillers and ointment for now will do, thanks."

Honeycutt rolls his eyes.

"...You need to be more careful, you know."

"Yeah, I know. But someone needs to do this job..."

Honeycutt grumbles angrily.

"Are you mad at me, doc?" Bishop asks, as the old man starts to bandage his ribs.

"No, no... I just... why can't you stay out of this whole business for a bit? Take a break?"

Bishop turns around and stares at him.

"...Are you worried? About me?"

"Well... yes. I'm a frail old man and a worrywart at heart, so of course I get anxious about secret missions and dangerous weapons and evil mercenaries! And, at the risk of sounding even more pathetic than I realize I already am, I don't exactly have... a lot of friends here..."

Bishop blinks.

"Oh."

"So yes, worry about you, John. I don't want to lose the only person I can trust in this place. I'm... I'm honestly scared. I'm a grown man and I'm scared. I should be considering retirement plans, but instead I wake up and wonder if this'll be the day I get drawn and quartered by my coworkers. Or worse, what will happen if you get drawn and quartered."

Bishop sighs.

"Okay. I'm sorry for worrying you. But this is important, and if I don't do it..."

"Then maybe someone else will," Honeycutt offers. "You aren't the only hero around, John!"

"No, maybe not. But I know who will have to step up for Mikey and his family, and it isn't fair to ask them to fight like that. They're just kids, Doc. And I need to make things right. For all of my mistakes."

Prof. Honeycutt sighs.

"...You're right. But... what if something happens to you?"

Bishop shrugs.

"I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Let's hope that never happens..." Honeycutt mutters to himself as he helps to treat the injuries.

Prev || Next

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan describes the 'big reactions' from New Yorkers over his A Different Man transformation: 'I was terrified'

The actor and makeup artist extraordinaire Mike Marino unpack Stan's dramatic prosthetics turn.

By Nick Romano

Sebastian Stan was so determined to work with Oscar-nominated makeup artist Mike Marino on his film A Different Man that the actor was willing to undergo a social and professional experiment.

As Edward, the 42-year-old Marvel star would play an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis, or NF1 for short, who undergoes an experimental procedure that radically changes his face, only to then emotionally spiral out of control when he loses the part he was born to play to Oswald (Adam Pearson), someone with NF1 who lives a much fuller life than Edward ever led, pre- or post-procedure. Stan needed the man who made Colin Farrell unrecognizable as Oz Cobb for The Batman and HBO’s The Penguin to pull off such a feat.

Since Marino was already busy on Amazon’s The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Stan walked the few blocks from his apartment in New York City’s SoHo district to Marino’s home every morning around 4 or 5 a.m. “Then you just wait till they're ready for you on set,” Marino remembers saying to him. On some of those days, Stan would kill time by wandering Manhattan in full makeup until his call time. “I walked up and down Broadway, basically,” Stan, sitting in the New York offices of studio A24, tells Entertainment Weekly. “It was a busy street. I was terrified, but I would just go get a coffee or sit.”

Sebastian Stan is unrecognizable as an actor with facial deformity in trailer for A Different Man

Stan doesn’t consider himself to be a physical actor, and yet his body of work might suggest differently. Even when the costume shoulders the bulk of the transformation, such as playing Tommy Lee in Hulu’s Pam & Tommy, his body language molds to match the look. That skill is especially prominent in A Different Man (playing now in limited release). “Even alone, being able to only look out of one eye and then having one ear more covered immediately changes a lot,” he says of Marino's makeup effects. “It changes how you stand. It changes how far away you are from people, how you look at people. I felt oddly on my back foot more. It's a defensive reaction because you want to be prepared in case something's coming, that you have enough time to react.”

“What we get is such an incredibly passionate, skilled actor that can hide within a true character,” Marino tells EW in a separate conversation on Zoom from his SoHo apartment, part of which serves as the mini studio where Stan’s makeup application occurred. “He would actually now have a chance to live with people's reactions and how they were treating him.”

Want more movie news? Sign up for Entertainment Weekly's free newsletter to get the latest trailers, celebrity interviews, film reviews, and more.

That experience informed Stan’s entire performance, and it became important for him to do so, even outside of the mornings' wait time. He would often stroll away from set on the Upper West Side in between breaks or setups. “New York is pretty evolved in a lot of ways, but I still got some big reactions from people,” he recalls. “Like, ‘Oh s---!’ ‘Oh f---!’ ‘Look at that!’ It was scary to experience. It was hard to experience. I felt powerless in those situations in some way. And, I guess, a lot of that is how Edward feels in the film.”

Sebastian Stan transforms in the discomforting drama A Different Man

Other reactions were less intense, but equally informative. While standing at a stoplight, for instance, Stan noticed the difference between those pedestrians avoiding eye contact completely, compared to those trying to discreetly steal a look or offer him a forced smile — all bystander reactions that director Aaron Schimberg incorporates into the movie. "I don't think it always comes from a bad place," he says. "Sometimes people just want to connect or feel okay. It's actually about their own experience. It's not even about you. It's like they're in that moment feeling something that's funny to them and they're trying to deal with it. They don't know how."

Marino wanted to be involved with A Different Man thanks to his love of the 1980 film The Elephant Man, loosely based on the life of Joseph Merrick, who lived with a facial disfigurement. As a 5-year-old, the movie scared Marino. But as he fell in love with the art of makeup transformations on screen, he came to see it for what it was: "a beautiful" and "touching story," he describes. "That really made an indelible mark on my life."

He would need that motivation for the obstacles that Stan's look on A Different Man prompted. "There were many technical challenges," he recalls. "It is very difficult to do makeup that thick where they have very thick areas. So I had to really balance what was too big, what was too small. I still need the movement of Sebastian to come through. I still need his own face to drive the makeup and not have it look purely like a mask. I studied Adam's photos. I really analyzed him and tried to balance how I can make it work for Sebastian."

Sebastian Stan calls out journalist who refers to his new character with disfigurement as a 'beast'

Stan has another transformative part coming out soon, the buzzed-about and already-controversial performance of young Donald Trump in The Apprentice. Because he's now promoting both that film and A Different Man simultaneously, it's been interesting for him to think about the ways in which he approached both jobs.

"I've been finding strange parallels that I never really thought about," he remarks. "There's some similar themes being explored in terms of truth, self abandonment, denial of reality to some extent. I think these last couple of roles have required a different degree of physicality. One, obviously, is specific, a real person. But I think about that, of course. You have to, because everyone walks differently and everyone carries things in their body differently. Sometimes you gain access in a different way to things by simply changing a physical aspect of yourself."

The greatest compliment he received for that kind of work on A Different Man, even more than the glowing praise he's seen from the critics, came from Pearson's mother. "After she saw the film, she was like, 'All I ever wanted was for someone to walk in his shoes for one day, to know what it's like, and you were able to do that,'" Stan remembers of their exchange. "I came close to that, I guess, in a way, to feel that kind of invasiveness that he probably felt at some point in his life, walking around."

[charlottecutepie]

☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton)

Summary: He was a likeable middle-aged man who had wonderful children, his dream job and a beautiful wife. He never blamed himself for his own actions, or to be more exact, he never thought about their consequences.

author notes: we are finally getting closer to smut <333

tags: darkfic, unhealthy relationship, angst, smut with plot, p in v, dubcon, oral sex, rough and gentle sex, daddy kink, blood play, knife play, fear play, hurt/comfort, violence, gore/murders, child abuse, follows fnaf lore, moral and physical abuse, virginity kink, anxiety disorder, age gap, daddy issues, unreliable narrator, hallucinations, hidden pairing, William is sick, psychopathy, unhealthy narcissism

Chapter 5

Chapter 4. Date

Michael froze. Elizabeth rushed towards her father. He looked at her sternly, nodding. Girl obediently got into the car. She knew that if her father talked in that tone and looked at her with that look, then she just had to keep quiet and do what he wanted.

“Dad, i—”

“Get in the car, now.”

Mike quickly went to the car, not even looking at you. You were at a loss what to do. The situation is terribly awkward. You haven’t even thought that Michael lied to his father for the sake of hanging out with you.

“Honey, get in the car, it's cold outside. I'll give you a ride home.” Afton’s face immediately changed, he putted on a wide friendly smile. You couldn't find words, so you packed up the rest of your things and just got in the car, at the same damn front seat. Afton's kids were sitting in the back, none of them wanted to sit next to their pissed father.

William started the engine and the car moved off. The cold didn’t recede, and you already regretted that you wore only a light t-shirt and shorts.

Michael was looking at the floor the whole time, nervously playing with the zipper on his backpack. He knew what was waiting for him. He knew what he was doing, but his stupid habit of not listening to his father's orders always played a cruel joke on him. He was most afraid for you and Elizabeth, because it was him who got you into this situation after all.

“We'll deal with you at home, Michael,” man behind the wheel said seriously. Michael looked up at the mirror in the car, meeting his father's angry gaze. “you’re grown-up guy, but framed yourself and your girl friend.”

You swallowed nervously, feeling uneasy. Is Afton really that cruel? Yes, he sometimes scared you in childhood, but he never showed any hint of aggression towards you or his children, at least in front of you. When you arrived at your house, you wanted to look at Michael, but he was sitting pressed into the car seat, so you hurried out.

Elizabeth waved goodbye to you, you smiled and said goodbye to her in return.

…

A few days passed after that incident, but you still felt uncomfortable, you felt kind of guilty in front of Mike, and this guilt was eating you up from the inside, forcing you to come up with terrible scenarios in your head. What happened when Michael got home? No, William can't be that cruel.

Unfortunately, Michael started avoiding you, as if he was afraid that someone would see you next to him. When you met on the street, he tried to hurry past with his head down, like a frightened puppy. But Mr. Afton began to visit you every day, every morning he stopped by and brought food to the house: eggs, milk, meat, vegetables. Once he even gave your mom a few hundred dollars so she could buy something for herself, from his words. Sometimes Elizabeth was with him, she couldn't get enough of your company. She kept asking you to play with her in backyard, not that you'd mind, but you couldn't get Michael's behavior out of your head.

On another summer day, you spent time with Elizabeth as always, she showed you her drawings. One of them had an animatronic, although all her drawings consisted only of these robots, but this one impressed you. It was robot girl in a bright red dress and two red ponytails.

“Daddy said he's going to make me one like her soon!” girl exclaimed, looking at your reaction. You looked at the drawing in detail.

“Lizzie, that’s really… great!” you patted her on the head, giving her back her drawing.

“Elizabeth, it's time to go home.” William came up to you. She nodded obediently and headed for the car. “wait for me there, honey.” He said kindly. Still, the way he treated his daughter left you hoping that nothing terrible happened to Michael that day. “Y/n, I have a question for you…“ he began, sitting down next to you on a bench in the yard.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Sorry?” your heart started beating at a furious rate, breathing became faster. You looked at his face, which expressed absolute calm. Your body tensed. Damn, when are you going to stop reacting like that? You must do something about your anxiety.

“I asked if you wanted to go on a date with me, honey.” William repeated.

“B-but you…” you didn't know what words to answer. He's a married man, what will Mrs. Afton think? And what will your whole small town think when they see you two together in some restaurant? “I don't quite understand you…”

“You don't have to worry about such things, bunny.” Afton said stiffly, as if reading your mind. “What do you say?”

You understood that you couldn't refuse. You didn’t knew how to. He was always there for you as if he knew when you were feeling bad and anxious. And how he calmed you down at the cemetery? And how he protected you from your drunken dad when you were little? And when he helped your mom with money and groceries? And in the end, when he gave you an unforgettable birthday in his pizzeria without demanding anything in return? You thought it would be just not right to refuse here.

At some point, he replaced your father. And you was grateful.

“I agree, William.” it was the first time his name came out of your mouth. William’s impassive face immediately changed to delight.

“Good girl,” he caressed your hair. “Ill pick you up tomorrow at 7.”

…

Her doe eyes symbolizing childlike innocence, purity. Such soft lips that he wants to kiss forever. Weak, frail hands. She's so pretty, so defenseless, like a child. William, what is wrong with you? He wants to kiss her, embrace her in his arms tightly, bite her, he want to bury his face in her soft hair, inhale the sweet scent of perfume mixed with shampoo. She's all playful, flirtatious. All for him. His porcelain doll. His little angelic creature. His girl. His fucking girl. His dream.

“Daddy,” she stands in front of him in a skirt and a snow-white blouse, seductively playing with the buttons on it. “What do you want? Tell me.” her voice echoed in his head.

“I want you.” the only thing William could say. “Fuck…”

That's fucking crazy.

His pants are tight as hell, his cock is about to explode, but she doesn't seem to be going to do anything about it. She brings her finger to her mouth, sucking it, then runs it along the jaw line, going lower and lower, drawing a line around her breasts. William has completely lost track of time, who he is, where he is, why, so many questions, no answers, and no answers are needed, all he wants is a continuation of this show. In an instant, the torn shirt flies to hell, and she, as little devil approaches him, sitting on his lap.

“William,” her whisper making the blood boil. “Take me…” her playful fingers run over his hot body.

He's about to suffocate from this unrestrained passion.

Williams’s eyes shoot open and he leaned on his elbows. He was breathing heavily, trying to figure out what just happened. His own wife was sleeping next to him.

…

Afton didn’t lie, he came to pick you up at exactly 7, even a little earlier. Oh, how it cheered him up to see you in the dress he gave you for your birthday. He chose it carefully and for a long time, as well as the necklace for it. William couldn't take his eyes off you the whole way, which didn't go unnoticed by you.

Your date started at a restaurant that he personally picked up. The place was so luxurious, all those tables for two with a white tablecloth, live music and an incredibly intimate atmosphere. All of this made you feel new, completely unknown feelings, but you liked them.

William ordered the two of you a fish fillet with a vegetable side dish, which he asked the best chef of the establishment to cook, because “my girl has the best of everything.”

Still, the growing feeling that someone of neighbors might see you never left, making you nervous again.

“Y/n, don’t worry," William said, cutting the fish in half. “Think of this date as… a continuation of your birthday.”

The waiter came up to you as soon as you finished eating, but dinner wasn't over for you here, William asked for dessert. Oh, yes, he knew you were a big fan of sweets. Even as a child, when you were visiting his family, your little hands were always reaching for the table with candies, because there was never anything at home.

“What do you think, Princess?” gently, lovingly, he asks, studying your expression. You'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. There was an ice cream in front of you: chocolate, creme brulee and vanilla, all three ice cream balls were covered with caramel. Afton knew your preferences perfectly well.

“That's wonderful, thank you!” like a hungry kitten, you started eating dessert. Your thoughts receded into the background at once, now you were most focused on the taste, it is so cloying, sweet, tender, as you liked. Under all this ecstasy, you didn't even notice William's gaze piercing you. Holding his breath, he watched your actions. You were so happy, so beautiful, so… desirable. Begging to be ruined. And when you licked the rest of the ice cream off your lips, he forgot how to breathe. You're the little devil that drives him crazy.

When dinner was over, William paid the bill for the two of you, leaving a tip for the waiter.

You were standing on the street, not far from his car. Despite the evening, this time the temperature didnt drop like back then, it was very warm. Yes, apparently, this summer will be remembered by you as the hottest of all time. William was talking to someone on the old phone, probably Henry, while you stood there and obediently waited, thinking about dinner tonight. There was no point in hiding it, you liked everything. Yes, there were terrible thoughts in your head that this whole romantic setting was not suitable for a girl who just turned 18 and a man who was already 50, but nothing terrible happened, did it? That date, in your head, was just a substitute for the words “thank you” for everything he did for you.

“Princess,” you didn't even notice when he finished talking on the phone. He turned to you, "I hope I satisfied your childish whims?" He smiled. You were right, William was normal and wasnt going to go any further, you can exhale. He just sees you as a child, like his other daughter… right?

“Of course, Daddy!” you giggled, joking. William however wasn't laughing, he fell into a stupor, what did you just call him? He got speechless. That picture immediately popped into his head, that image of you that has been tormenting him for weeks, months, years. Afton raised an eyebrow, laughing nervously back at you.

“Everything for my girl, let's go to the car.”

This time, the back seats weren't occupied, but because of the state of euphoria and delight, you decided that you could at your favorite damn front seat of this purple car. William got in next to you, but he wasn't going to start the car. He couldn’t get out of his head what you called him a few minutes ago. A joke, huh? Everything is burning inside, a wild, crazy feeling gripped his brain. Whole situation got worse when your dress strap fell off your shoulder, in his head it was like a sign to act.

With a light movement, touching your skin, he tucked strand of hair behind your ear and adjusted the dress strap. His touch caused pleasant shivers that spread all over your body. Heart stopped. His hands gently stroked your neck and shoulders with careful movements. Such a… strange, inexplicable feeling. It seems that you want to continue, but something in your head screams "enough, it’s enough", is this probably the remnants of common sense? Hundreds, no, thousands of butterflies in your stomach, the feeling that you are about to melt, like this ice cream. A pleasant shiver through your body from his touches. You stared into his gray-blue eyes, fascinated, with your mouth slightly open, as if begging him to kiss you.

“You… fuck, you're driving me crazy.” Afton hissed in your ear, from the wave of all these new sensations, you couldn't even answer him. His breath burned your skin. “Let's go to my place.”

[ktwritesstuff]

The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 2

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~3,500 Summary: Outbreak day and adventures in babysitting. Lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut

Part 1 | Part 2 (below cut) | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Content Notes & Warnings: Man, oh, man, the Last of Us girlies are thirsty! This part follows the game/show fairly closely so there shouldn't be too many surprises. Just to forewarn you, this chapter includes a teenager fantasizing about a grown ass man (explicit, but short,) canon violence, & character death.

Austin 2003

You usually didn’t get into the school spirit, especially when it came to football.  You played in the marching band at halftime, but weren’t usually invited to the afterparties.  It was your senior year and the Bulldogs were headed to the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. So when your best friend invited you to a celebratory bonfire after the game, you figured it was probably the last chance you had to make fond memories of the place.

You drank a few beers while Cheryl and her boyfriend made out on the blanket next to you and listened to Mike Zurowski try to give an inspiring speech about how they would dominate the state championship.  But after the first string running back took off his pants and streaked across the highway you decided you’d better leave before someone called the cops.  You were just heading out when your phone rang.  It was Joel Miller.  You felt butterflies in your chest, wondering why he would call you so late.  

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sweetpea,  It’s Joel.  I didn’t wake you, did I?” he sounded tired.

“No,” you said.  “We were out celebrating the big game.  I was just heading home.  What’s up?”

“Listen, I’m sorry to call so late,” he explained.  “I’ve got to go see Tommy–is there any chance you could come keep an eye on Sarah?  She’s already in bed, I just don’t want her waking up in an empty house.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said.  Of course it was for Sarah, it was the only thing that made any sense.  

“Give me about 10 minutes. I’ll have Andy and Cheryl to drop me off.”

“You’re an angel,” Joel sighed.  

“I’ll see you soon.”

The short drive was surprisingly harrowing; you nearly got pancaked by a fleet of firetrucks and emergency vehicles.  You guessed some folks had partied a little too hard.  

Joel already had his keys in hand as Andy dropped you at the curb.  Thankfully, he seemed to be in too much of a hurry to notice you still reeked of Lone Star beer, despite the mints Andy kept stashed in his glove compartment.  

“Thanks again,” Joel said, meeting you at the door.  “Be sure to lock up behind me.  Make yourself at home; help yourself to anything in the fridge.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“Sure thing, Mr. Joel,”  you said.  “Drive safe; I think the drunks are out.”  

You went to the kitchen and checked the fridge.  You contemplated helping yourself to another beer, but decided against it.  The Millers didn’t drink soda, but they always kept a few cans of Diet Coke on hand for you.  You took a seat on the couch and turned on the television.  

About half an hour into reruns of Dawson’s Creek, a car alarm started going off.  You ignored it at first, but it just kept going.  Finally you switched off the television and turned to peer through the blinds onto the street.

“What the hell is going on out there?” You murmured to yourself; finally the alarm went silent. 

You climbed the stairs in the darkened house to check on Sarah, cracking her door open just enough to find her sleeping soundly in the bed.  You closed the door softly.  Your gaze drifted down the hall, lingering on the door to Joel’s room.  A little voice in the back of your mind told you to turn around and go back downstairs, but he had told you to make yourself at home.

You tiptoed down the hall and put your hand on the knob, turning it slowly.  The door creaked on its hinges as you pushed it open.  You froze, listening intently, but all you could hear was a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance.  Your heart was pounding as you stepped into the room.  

There was an exercise bike in the corner, a full laundry basket with used towels and worn clothes spilling on the floor.  You had never been in a man’s room before.  Even at home, your mother devoted considerable effort to cleaning up after your father and brother.  You noticed a framed picture of Sarah on the cluttered dresser along with an oscillating fan and radio.  The bed was unmade, a striped quilt and dark sheets looking comfortably rumpled and inviting.  You took a seat on the bed, feeling the soft fabric under your fingertips.  Against your better judgment, you laid down.

The bed smelled faintly of sweat and old spice.  You closed your eyes and rolled over, pressing your face into one of the pillows.  You liked the idea of sharing Joel’s bed.  Not now, but in a few years.  You’d be 22 when Sarah graduated from high school, Joel would still be in his early 40s.  That wasn’t so unthinkable, was it?

A weight settled onto the bed beside you, warm and firm.  A soft whisper of a moan by your ear.  Your right hand followed the path of his as it snaked over your waist and between your legs.  You reached behind you with your left, fingers twisting in thick curls.  His breath was warm and his beard tickled the delicate skin of your neck as he kissed you.  You felt safe.  You felt peaceful.  You felt loved.

You leaned into him as his mouth traveled across your shoulder and down to the top of your breast.  You opened your legs so he could slip inside you, fingers stroking through your hot folds up and down and up and down as hips rocked into you.  You felt a knot tightening in your belly.  You wanted to feel him there.  You pressed back into him.  Your toes curled.  You were so close; you were already so full of him, but you needed more.  Just a little more.

You jolted out of sleep at the sound of the front door opening.  Your face felt hot and flushed with sleep with one hand stuffed down the front of your jeans–how embarrassing.  You pushed yourself up and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.  It was after 2 in the morning.  You had no idea what had kept Joel out so late, but you did not want him catching you in his bed with your hand down your pants.  You jumped up, re-ruffling the sheets as quickly and quietly as you could before slipping out of the bedroom.

In the hall, Sarah’s bedroom door was open and her bed was empty.  From the top of the stairs you could see the front door had been left hanging open as well.

“Shit,” you gasped, pounding down the stairs.  “Fuck!  Shit.  Sarah!  Sarah!”

You spotted her in the neighbor’s yard, dragging their dog toward the house by the collar.  It was fighting her hard, like it didn’t want to go.  

“Sarah!” you screamed.  Your heart pounded as you ran to her.  “What the hell are you doing?!”

The dog finally managed to slip its collar and took off down the street.  

“Mercy!” Sarah yelled, lunging after the dog.  “Mercy got out.”

You grabbed Sarah by the arm, harder than you intended.  As you stood there on the dark street, there was a deafening roar.  You looked up to see a plane flying low, too low.  A wave of icy dread washed over you.  

“Leave it!  Get back in the house!” you yelled, pushing her in front of you as you rushed back to the house.  “Now!”

Once you were inside and had locked the door, you took a breath.  Sarah rubbed her arm with a frown.  You felt terrible, realizing you had really scared her.

“I’m sorry,” you said.  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I didn’t mean to yell.  I just got scared.”

“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked.   “Where’s my dad?” 

“He had to see your Uncle Tommy,” you explained.  “He didn’t tell me why, but he asked me to come keep an eye on you.”

Sarah went to the living room and grabbed the remote from the coffee table to flip on the television.  The station that had been playing reruns earlier was now nothing but static.  She began to scroll through the channels, still nothing.  

You screamed at the sound of a key scraping in the lock and threw your arms around Sarah.  The front door swung open, Joel and Tommy were on the other side.

“Jesus, you girls alright?” Joel asked.

“We’re fine,” Sarah sighed in relief.  “You just startled us.”    

“What’s going on?” you asked.  

“There’s been an accident,” Joel said, breathlessly, pushing Sarah up the stairs.  “Tommy’s going to take you home.  Sarah, go get your backpack, come on.”     

You remembered the morning of September 11th–sitting in the auditorium as the kids with parents at Camp Mambry got called out of the room–all the teachers would say was there had been an accident, a plane crash.   

You watched with increasing anxiety as Joel disappeared up the stairs with Sarah.  No more discussion.

“Come on,” Tommy said, ushering you out of the house.  “We gotta go.”

You had met Tommy only a few times, but you knew him by reputation.  He had served in the Gulf War and spent over a year in Afghanistan before an honorable discharge.  Given that he was such a hothead, you sometimes wondered about the honorable part.  

“What’s really going on?” you asked, as he climbed into the cab of the truck beside you.  

“I don’t know,” he said, starting the engine and peeling out of the driveway fast enough that you grabbed on to what your mother referred to as the ‘Oh, Shit’ handle above the door.  Somehow that answer managed to scare you even more.  

“Are we going to be okay?” you asked.  

“You just get inside and lock your doors,” he instructed.  

You thought you heard a scream and turned to look out the rear windshield, straining your eyes in the darkness, but there was nothing.

“You got a basement?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah.”  You met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Get in it,” he instructed.  “You grab whatever food and water you’ve got.  Take your family down there and seal up the windows and doors, you hear me?”

You nodded.  You were shaking.  Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you wiped them away with the cuffs of your sleeves.  You felt like you were going to be sick.  Tommy’s driving didn’t help; he took the turn down your street hard enough to slam your body into the passenger side door.  

“If they don’t listen to you, you make them listen,” Tommy warned.  “Or leave them.”

You nodded.  Tommy pulled into your driveway, slamming on the breaks just shy of running into the back of Paul’s Jeep.

“Get your keys out now,” Tommy instructed, he flipped on the overhead light as you fumbled through your purse with shaking hands.  “Get inside, quick.”

You sprinted up the stone path and steps to the door.  The porch light was off and you scrambled to get the key in the lock.  After a few seconds the door finally swung open and you glanced over your shoulder to see that Tommy was still parked in the drive.

As you turned back, you realized Paul was standing in the hallway, but he didn’t look right–his head cocked to one side as he watched you.  There was something in his mouth.  He was covered in blood.  It coated his arms and dripped from his chin, staining the white and gold of his football jersey.         

You screamed.  Paul ran at you, slamming into you like a freight train.  You threw your arms in front of your face as he snapped at you like an animal, grabbing for your throat.  You screamed again, trying to fight him off–he grabbed your breasts with both hands, like he wanted to tear them from your body.  You knew you were going to die; you kept fighting anyway.   

There was a deafening bang…

The next thing you were aware of, you were in the bed of Tommy’s truck.  It was dark except for the headlight beams stretching out across a deserted cotton field.  

“She ain’t family.  Doesn’t mean she’s sick; I’m just saying we don’t know.”  

You blinked, willing your eyes to focus.  Tommy and Joel were standing at the tailgate speaking in hushed tones.  Tommy had his rifle in his hands, not aiming it, but still too close for comfort.

“I know,” Joel said.  “But she goes to school with Sarah–been with her all night.  If she’s sick…”

“Sarah,” you started to panic, trying to push yourself up.  Everything hurt; your arms felt like jello.  “Where’s Sarah?”

“Daddy,” a soft voice called from inside the cab of the truck.  

“You stay in the truck, baby,” Joel yelled.  “Don’t come out here.”

You smelled metallic, copper penny.  You were covered in blood.  Whose was it?  Your momma’s?  Daddy’s?  Paul?  Your chest hurt from where he had grabbed you.  He was so strong.  How had you gotten away?  Your eyes drifted back to Tommy’s gun.

“Do it,” you said.  

Joel and Tommy both froze, realizing for the first time that you had been listening.  That you understood they were debating what to do with you.  Paul had tried to kill you; Tommy had killed Paul.  Your parents, you realized, were almost certainly dead.  And whatever happened to them, that was making people go crazy and hurt one another, would happen to you, too.  

“Do it,” you repeated.  You didn’t want to die, but if you were going to hurt someone, maybe even Sarah.

“Please.  I’d do it myself, but I’m scared.” 

“Shit,” Joel sighed, lowering the tailgate of the truck.  “C’mere, Sweetpea.  Come here, let me take a look at you.  You’re gonna be alright.”  

You inched forward on hands and knees.  Joel ran his hands over your arms, your face, your neck, you weren’t sure what he was looking for.  He took an extra moment, adjusting the collar of your shirt to examine the bruises blooming across your chest, probing them with his fingertips.  You realized it was the first time he had touched you, not rough, but insistent, hurried.  

“Open your mouth,” Tommy instructed, shining a flashlight into your face, still holding his rifle in the other hand.

You blinked against the bright light, opening your mouth.

“If she’s got it,” Tommy concluded.  “She doesn’t look like the others.”

“You stay down and hang on,” Joel instructed, slamming the tailgate closed; he and Tommy got back in the truck.  “We’ll head north and cut across toward Barton Creek.”

The road back into town was rough, but once you were back on the main drag things got a lot worse.  Most folks were running and screaming–others had gone violent, feral, grabbing on to whoever they could reach and tearing them apart.

You were terrified that one of them might jump into the bed of the truck.  You grabbed onto the handle of the big toolbox and hunkered down as best you could, squeezing your eyes closed while Tommy struggled to navigate through the chaos.

By some stroke of luck, you were thrown clear of the wreckage when the truck turned over.  You must have had a concussion–you lost consciousness for a moment–your head was screaming but you were alive and as Tommy hauled you up by the collar of your shirt, you were able to get your feet under you and stand.

“Come on, girl,” he said with surprising tenderness.  “You got this.”

Your vision cleared; Joel was digging Sarah out of the wreckage of the truck.  Her ankle had been pinned, probably broken, and wouldn’t bear weight.  You stumbled toward them and ducked under Sarah’s arm to help support her as Tommy went around to the other side of the truck to retrieve his rifle.    

“Look out!” you screamed, watching helplessly.  Tommy dove out of the way as a police cruiser slammed into the overturned truck.  The officer inside slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving.

“Don’t look, baby,” you reached to cover Sarah’s eyes.  “Don’t look.”  You had read how seeing human remains could really mess a person up.  You didn’t have time to wonder how what you had seen tonight would affect you.

“You go!” Tommy called from the other side of the wreckage.  “I’ll find another way through.”

You and Joel started down the sidestreet supporting Sarah’s weight between you.  You turned down the adjoining alley, trying to get away from the crowds and the chaos, and nearly ran straight into more carnage.  Joel froze in place; there on the other side of the alley one of those things–you wondered when they stopped being human–was, well, you could only think to describe it as feeding.  Like a vampire.  You had never really cared for Tom Cruise.  But its victim was still alive.  He saw you, reached out for help with a low moan.

“Here,” you whispered, lifting Sarah’s weight into Joel’s arms, slowly, carefully.  “Here.” 

“Don’t,” Joel hissed back, holding Sarah in his arms like a new bride. 

“Go,” you said, taking another step into the alley.  

You didn’t know what you were going to do, but you had to do something.  If sharing air and close contact with these things is what made you sick, then you were already dead.  But Joel and Sarah still had a chance. 

Then the thing sat up.  You met its eyes and it met yours and you knew whatever it was, it wanted you.  You had fucked up.

“Go!” you called, sprinting back through the alley after Joel and Sarah.  You were just a few feet behind them with the thing closing in fast.

You did have one advantage that perhaps even Joel or Tommy did not.  Like every girl you knew, you had devoted a considerable amount of your brain power every day to planning what you would do if there were a predator after you.  

You followed Joel through the back door of an abandoned bar, pushing tables and tearing down stools into the path behind you as you went.  The thing stumbled and clawed its way through–one leg jutting out at a sickening angle, but it still kept coming impossibly fast and unfeeling.

As you followed Joel’s path through the kitchen you used the extra seconds you had bought to push the standing cooler in front of the swinging door.  It took all of your might–adrenaline flooding your body.  But as you raced from the kitchen, you could hear the thing forcing its way through your blockade.

You heard a shot, staring down the road at a humvee and a soldier, but even with the thing chasing you clearly dead, he didn’t lower his gun.       

“Take her,” Joel said, handing Sarah off to you.  “Stay behind me.”  

You lifted Sarah, she was too big to be carried like a child, but you cradled her with her legs looped around your waist, covering her head with one hand.

“What about Uncle Tommy,” Sarah said.  

“He’ll be fine,” you said.  “We’ll go back for him.”

The soldier was talking on his radio, you strained to listen, but your hearing hadn’t recovered from all the gunfire.  Then the soldier was lifting his gun.

“Run!”  Joel shouted.  “Run!”

He was turning toward you and you turned to run, but then you heard the shots.  Joel slammed into your back.  You tried to hold on to Sarah, but you fell–all the wind knocked out of you–rolling down the hillside.

You pushed yourself up from where you had landed on your belly.  You saw Sarah on the ground a few feet away, a dark stain spreading across the front of her shirt.

“No,” you chanted, scrambling toward her on hands and knees.  “No, Sarah.”  

Sarah moaned as you drew her head into your lap and pressed your hands into her belly.

“I have to,” you cried, pressing down hard.  “I’m sorry.  I have to.”

You didn’t even notice the soldier had followed you to finish the job until you heard the second shot and saw Tommy standing beside Joel with the rifle, the dead man at his feet.

Then they saw you, struggling to keep Sarah’s blood inside her.  Joel lunged at you, pushing you off her.  Sarah cried in pain as he tried to lift her.  You watched as life drained out of her and she went limp in his arms.  You felt cold.  You felt sick.  You felt numb.  

“You’re hit,” Tommy said, kneeling down beside you.  You didn’t know what he meant until he pressed his hand into your shoulder and searing pain ripped through your body.              

[formosusiniquis]

🪱 Wiggle Wednesday🪱

Thank you @paperbackribs who tagged me last week, I saw it while I was in class and immediately forgot until I saw people posting their things today. But I'm always excited to share my current brainworms

This is a scene from a fic that I pick at every now and then, so it's basically always on the brain. It started as something about Lucas and Steve and trying to explain away the slight anachronism of Steve (popular and rich) being in Nikes before Jordan made them cool (thank you Air) and it has turned into something much more about Lucas and also his Mom relating through a shared love of basketball and Steve is also there.

It’s a Friday night after the end of the world, and strangely Lucas is at a basketball game.

Or maybe it’s only strange because it’s so normal.

A Friday night in a small town and there isn’t much to do except support the home team. Only Mom won’t watch football, she calls it barbaric, so she reserves all her team spirit for November when basketball season starts. Lucas’ skin itches a little under the Hawkins Tigers shirt he’s wearing, as he’s pretending to be normal when a couple weeks ago he learned monsters were real. What can he do though? Mrs. Byers has Will on house arrest, Mike is still mourning Eleven, and Dustin hasn’t been allowed out since Will’s Lazarus act.

Maybe he’s being too sensitive. Steve is here, who Lucas mostly knows from Mike complaining about being Nancy’s stupid boyfriend. Steve is playing like everything is fine, even though Lucas knows Steve knows. He heard whispering about it with Nancy when he went to the bathroom the last time he was at Mike’s. But Steve is smiling as he paces down the court. Miles better than the other players around him, when Steve has the ball Lucas feels like he does when he’s watching a real basketball game on the couch with his Mom.

If Steve can act like things are normal. If he can sink three pointer after rebound after assist, maybe it’s okay that Lucas is wearing his Tiger green. He floats down the court and everyone cheers. But no one cheers right. When #21 Hagan gets a rebound off of Seymour’s best player, a girl’s voice screams so loud it makes his throat hurt. No one cheers that way for Steve. It’s just excitement for the game, not for him and the way he is playing.

When the game ends, Hawkins 73: Seymour 42, and the crowd storms the court Lucas stands by his Mom in the bleachers. She hates feeling the push of the crowd against her and as he gets older, and people’s hands get rougher, he’s starting to understand. He’s too old to be caught standing by his Mom though. After everything, he knows better than to move too far away from her; going to the game with your Mom is one thing, being the kid getting called out over the intercom because she can’t find you would be life ruining.

Lucas watches the thinning crowd while he waits. Parents and girlfriends crowding their sweaty players. He doesn’t want to get caught looking at any of those boys for too long now that they aren’t playing. He isn’t sure why. So he keeps looking for something familiar.

Steve is standing beside a short, dark haired man who’s got what his father calls a beer gut. He doesn’t look anything like Steve, but he’s also the only adult anywhere near him. He’s the only person at all that’s really near Steve. They’re talking excitedly about something. He claps Steve on the back and whatever he says next has Steve looking down toward the floor.

“Is that Steve’s dad?” he asks his mom before thinking about why that might be a weird question to ask her.

“Who?” The way she says it makes him sure she hadn’t actually heard the question. She’d caught a name, when he interrupted her conversation with the lady next to them, but not enough to answer. It’s a free chance to drop the issue. To say sorry, never mind, and go back to watching people move on the floor below them.

“That guy,” she slaps his hand down as he goes to point. “The guy next to Steve, number 8, is that his dad?”

“How do you know him?” The question, instead of an answer, startles him enough that he looks at her instead of Steve. Stern, he knows he doesn’t want to lie to her, but he also isn’t sure how to say that this random high school boy saved two of his best friends’ older siblings' lives.

“He’s Nancy’s boyfriend. Mike talks about him.”

If he’d just waited. He would have gotten his question answered without asking Mom. They both watch as that man says one more thing to Steve, shakes his hand, and walks out of the gym. “I don’t see Nancy here.” Because they both know he doesn’t really need his other question answered anymore.

“I don’t think she really likes sports.”

Mom sucks her teeth, a judgmental tchk that has heat climbing the back of his neck when it's not even for him. "Well that's a shame, he's a good player." There's finally enough space on the floor that they could leave. He wants, desperately, for them to just go cause something about this conversation is making him feel guilty again. "Do you want to to say hi?"

There's nothing he wants less than that. Lucas thinks if he has to go up to this guy, who went toe to toe with a monster, while his mom trails behind he'll die. Lucas thinks if he says hi to a guy who has only seen him maybe twice in the context of Mike Wheeler's house, and has to sit there while Steve blankly accepts his congrats he'll melt into the floor.

"Can we just go home? I still have homework."

And some tags to @fuctacles, @cauldronoflove, @thefreakandthehair, @stevespookington, @stevieharringtonwifeguy

@eriquin, @grasslandgirl, @augustjustice, and anyone else who wants to play!

[star1yx]

Pretty Girl

Two lovers working during summer break while having their own little fun and helping kids sneaking into the movies

♡Steve Harrington x f.reader ♡Small fluff & super short fic ♡Nicknames are used in this story ♡note: first fic

Summer 1985

If someone told you two years prior that you would be dating Steve “The Hair” Harrington, King Steve, or King of Hawkins High, you would have never believed them without a doubt.

Yet here you are in his embrace as he kept on kissing your neck during your break time. In Scoops Ahoy. It was unbelievable.

Steve wanted you to work with him here during summer break since he would be lonely. And you can’t say no to the man you adore so much. You couldn’t babysit Dustin with him at summer camp anyway. But, Harrington decided to be affectionate with you during the time Robin, a friend of yours, is working at the counter.

Honestly, he changed immensely from how he was with his previous friends Tommy H. and Carol Perkins. He went from a jerk to in your opinion a great babysitter and mother.

He’ll never know you think that of him.

The feeling of his lips on your neck was warm and familiar. It was one of his favorite spots to kiss. If you got a dollar for every time he kissed you, you be pretty rich according to the Party’s definition of ‘rich’.

You wished that the moment would never end. You both have been through a lot in two years. From protecting some kids to being on the verge of death. And yet that’s what created a bond between you two which led to developing feelings and a relationship. You’ve been together for some time now.

“Steve, my break’s about to end…” You said in a low tone so that Robin wouldn’t hear you. It would not be the first time she caught you both red-handed. If your boss ever came to work here, you would have gotten fired alongside him.

“Relax pretty girl, I’ll be done in a second.” Your boyfriend responded with a nickname he gave you. It never failed to make you blush which Steve loved seeing.

Suddenly, the sliding window opened up with the face of Buckley appearing. You both jumped out of each other’s embrace as she let out a small disgusted sound for doing this in here. You still had a few minutes until break was over so Robin shouldn’t be calling you now.

You were flustered and standing behind Steve while he told her “Could’ve warned us first.”

“For your information, I called your names five times Steve, Y/n. Five.” Robin stated unamused which embarrassed you and surprised him for not hearing.

“Anyway, your children are here Dingus and Mrs. Harrington.” She continued teasing you in the last part as you looked at the counter to see Lucas, Max, Mike, and Will. Wheeler rings the bell at the counter continuously waiting for Steve and you to let them in the back.

“Again?” Steve said now his turn to be unamused as he stared at the four teens while leaning onto the counter of the window.

You let out a sigh as you went to the front and welcomed them in as usual. This was a secret between you all to let them get to the movie theater for free. These kids used your job to their advantage. They sure were a lovable pain in the ass.

Your lover went on and opened the back door for them to pass through. He then gave them his usual warning.

“I swear if anyone hears about this-“

“We’re dead.” The members of the Party completed on his behalf which led him to sigh and you chuckling at the interaction.

You and Steve watched as the kids walked away into the mall’s back corridors towards the theater like parents watching their kids leaving the house to go somewhere.

You smiled as you remembered how they looked like 1983 and 1984 compared to now. They grew up fast. To fast. You wished that they had gotten a better childhood. Not one where you had to go defeat some threat to save Hawkins.

This is the least you could do for them.

Steve noticed you in deep thoughts and frowning a bit. He immediately knew what you were thinking about and grabbed your hand reassuring you that everything would be alright.

“There’s no more danger love. We closed the gate. No more Upside Down, Demogorgon, or demo-dog.” He told you as he placed a kiss on your temple making you melt under his touch. This guy never failed to put a smile on your face.

Still charismatic as ever.

Maybe being in grave danger isn’t that bad. After all, you both would have never interacted with each other.

“You think Dustin’s gonna be back soon?” You asked him since you both did miss his presence.

“Maybe,” Steve said while shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, do you think he got a girlfriend during his time in summer camp?” You asked while also expecting a ‘no’. You wouldn’t believe it either anyway. If he did get one, it was probably his imagination.

“Not in a thousand chances,” Steve said also hardly believing the possibility.

You nodded and decided to try something. You planted a small peck on his cheek which caught him off guard. He decided to continue with a kiss on the lips dropping the subject of Dustin while saying “Love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you too Harrington.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Y/n! Break’s over so stop kissing each other and get over here!” Robin yelled out loudly for you to hear leading to a chuckle.

“Coming!” You yelled back as you pulled away from your boyfriend’s kiss and dragged him back inside Scoops Ahoy as he made a sad face making you laugh.

God, you wished that you could stay every minute of your life with the man of your life.

Hello! This is my first fic on Tumblr. It’s a small one so do bear it with me (also feeding my delusional self). I hope you liked it! (Maybe there are a few mistakes here and there, but oh well)