digipro-tamblr80

[lollytea]

Willow calls Hunter honeybird it's important to me that you consider this

[stevie-petey]

episode three: the monster and the superhero

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?” Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?” “You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Summary: you and steve can never have a normal conversation, dustin threatens nasa, eddie sadly eats his cereal because youre mean to him, youre once again nancys biggest fan, dustin and steve have an awkward heart to heart, and you and max become felons together and trauma bond (again) !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of blood, trauma lol

Words: 13.5k

Before you swing in: hi hi hi !! so so so sorry for the wait. this chapter was a pain to write and i was so busy with school and work :( promise updates will become more regular soon. i was just simply in the trenches for a hot few weeks. things in the story are heatin up, so get ready gamers. anyways, enjoy !!

–

It’s quiet in Steve’s car. 

Streetlights glow faintly, lighting the way home. The windows are down; the thick late spring air fills the car with the bittersweet scent of honeysuckles in bloom. In the dim of the car lies Steve’s faint outline as he drives. His hands rest against the steering wheel, his chest rises slowly as he inhales all the fear that settles inside the car. 

No one speaks. The tension is suffocating you. 

In the backseat resides Robin with Dustin and Max. The oldest sits in the middle, her fingers drum nervously against the head of your seat. Dustin stares out the window, he hasn’t looked at you ever since promising Eddie you’d be back for him tomorrow. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, he begged you to let him stay in the boathouse, but you wouldn’t let him. 

Max stares out the other window. Her eyes are closed, she’s pretending to be asleep. You’ve come to learn what she looks like when she pretends. Her nose pinches slightly, her eyes can never stay still enough to convince you she’s asleep. It’s what she does whenever she doesn’t want to face your questions, your concerns and your fears. 

Tension builds in the back of your skull, a dull throb rings within your ears. Exhaustion washes over you, fear pierces her nails into your skin. You can’t get Eddie’s terrified eyes out of your head. The way his voice trembled, the sticky blood on his fingernails from the skin he picked at. 

If they’re back again, we need to know.

Vecna’s curse.

The static Eddie felt, Chrissy’s trance-like state. Her bones, the morbid angles they snapped. Barbara Holland, daughter and best friend. Bob Newby, superhero. Billy Hargrove, dearly missed son. Jim Hopper, renown chief and beloved father. 

You’re the best of them, kid.

If the gate really has opened once again… Thick molasses grief coats your tongue and fills your mouth with remorse. There has been so much loss, so many funerals you’ve had to attend. Too many bodies buried without answers, without closure. 

Over and over again. 

“We’re here, Robin.” The gravel of Steve’s voice cuts through the endless dread. He parks the car in front of her driveway, the lights are off inside and you know that Robin is afraid of the dark.

“Need me to walk you in?” You ask her, quiet, but unyielding with all the love you have for her. 

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m brave, aren't I always brave?”

“The bravest,” Steve smiles at her, soft and unbroken. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll… I’ll try.” Her facade slips, the fear that grips everyone tightens its hold. How could anyone sleep at a time like this? She shakes her head again, her smile returns, albeit forced, tired. Then she messily crawls over Dustin to exit the car, ignoring his cries of annoyance and pain when her elbow catches his ribs. “Sorry, little Henderson!”

“I don’t even let Steve call me that–”

“Too late, I’ve already decided to call you little Henderson,” Robin climbs out the car, lands with a soft thud on the pavement. She shuts the door with a glint in her eyes before poking her head through your passenger window. “Hey, uh. Y/N?” Her voice drops low, her eyes skirt to Steve, whose cool gaze meets her weary one. Robin clears her throat, you nod your head at her with slight concern. You know that she knows about your argument with Steve. He adores her, what he doesn’t confide in you, he confides in her. Knowing that Robin means well, you soften your voice. “Yeah?”

Robin hesitates, caught between her two favorite people in the entire world. Steve sees her hesitancy and sighs, turning away to provide some semblance of privacy. Relieved, Robin ducks her head down and whispers into your ear, “Talk to him.”

She’s gone before you can exhale. 

Steve starts the car again after Robin has safely made it inside her home. Max and Dustin are quiet in the backseat. As Steve drives, his fingers absentmindedly play with the frayed edges of his leather bracelet. It had been a gift from you, the word constants etched into the material. 

Constants. You were Steve’s constant, he was yours. Through everything you’ve been through together, all the heartbreak suffered in order to fall into one another, he’s the constant within your life. 

Now you’re afraid that you’re losing him. 

There’s still so much Steve doesn’t know. There are stories about your father that you still need to tell him about. Words Jonathan told you last night, the dangerous what if he brought into your life. You’re terrified of how Steve will react, he’s always been so trusting of you and Jonathan even after knowing the history you share. 

And yet Steve also doesn’t know that the future you see involves him, that he’s in it with as much certainty as the sky is blue; you just don’t know how to tell him this, how to articulate the abandonment that sits heavy within your chest that prohibits you from getting what you want in the end.

You have to talk to him. Steve deserves to know everything, all he’s ever asked of you is to be honest with him. 

The broken lamppost in front of Max’s trailer greets you. Steve slows the car, puts it into park. His eyes find hers in the rearview mirror. “This is you, Mayfield.”

“Thanks,” Max responds quietly. She goes to open the car door, but you turn in your seat and stop her. 

“Hey, look at me.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments. She listens, her blue eyes meeting your gaze. For a moment you see Billy’s eyes reflecting within hers. It’s only for a brief second, it ends before you can even realize what’s happened. Startled, you momentarily choke on your words. “I–”

Max raises an eyebrow at you. You’ve been acting strange all night, she doesn’t understand why. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her words couldn’t be more ironic, more painful to hear. “I-I’m sorry.” Billy is dead, he’s gone. You shake your head, try to get his eyes out of your head. “Just… promise me you’ll call if anything happens, please?”

You know that Max isn’t in any danger, she’s safe at home with her mother, but across the street resides yellow caution tape and boarded up windows. Eddie’s trailer is across from Max’s, the proximity makes you uncomfortable. It’s an eerie feeling, Chrissy died here last night. 

Max seems to understand your concern, and she allows herself to nod. She doesn’t want to fight you, not tonight. “I will, promise.”

Squeezing her hand, you leave Max with a soft reminder to get some sleep. She smiles, a hidden joke between the two of you. Both of you know that there will be no sleeping tonight. 

Once she’s gone, it’s just you, Steve, and Dustin remaining in the car. Tension creeps slowly upon the three of you. Dustin’s never ending annoyance towards you clashes with all the unspoken words left floating between you and Steve. 

Dustin coughs awkwardly. Steve’s fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. You keep your head down, your fingers pick at the skin between your nails. The ten minute drive from Max’s house to yours is unbearably long. Stuck at one of Hawkins’ only stop lights, Dustin can’t take the silence any longer.

“Well, this is awkward.” He says to no one in particular. “Lots of tension tonight, huh?”

Neither you nor Steve laugh, and Dustin rests his head against the seat in defeat. He understands why you and him aren’t talking, he’s still angry with you for holding a knife to Eddie’s neck. What he doesn’t understand, however, is why there seems to be so much distance between you and Steve tonight.

Normally you’d be all over one another by now. The two of you can never keep your hands off of each other. As much as Dustin hates it, he’s grown used to the way your hands are always intertwined with Steve’s. Whenever he’s in the car with you guys, your hand always rests against Steve’s arm as he drives. At red lights Steve will always turn to you, pulled in by your smile. 

Except tonight Dustin doesn’t think he’s seen Steve look at you once during the drive home. Your hand rests softly at your side, balled into a small fist. There’s a coldness between the two of you, one Dustin is ashamed to admit that he hadn’t noticed before. 

Then he remembers last night. He’d been too lost in his anger towards you to recognize the tears in your voice. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that you wanted a code blue for any other reason besides lecturing him. His stomach twists with guilt at his own selfish actions. 

Something happened between you and Steve, and you had needed your brother last night. But he had abandoned you, denied the code blue you’d needed so desperately. 

When Steve’s car pulls into your driveway, Dustin runs out as soon as the vehicle stops. He’s frantic to escape his guilt, to escape the chasm that surrounds you and Steve. Slamming the door, he shouts, “Talk to each other!” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Good luck, Steve!”

The slam of the door echoes into the night. 

It’s just you and Steve, now. 

The air stills between you, reminiscent of the night you drove him home from the Halloween party. A year has passed since then, it’s been so long since Steve’s presence made you feel anything other than peace. The strings that have always followed you constrict against your throat. 

“We need to talk,” Steve says, but at the same time you say, “We need to talk about Jonathan.”

The words come tumbling out of your mouth, slipping through the grooves of your teeth before you can stop them. They’d been building within you all day, fizzling to the surface. And now they spill out into the silence of Steve’s car. 

His head turns to you, the street lights illuminate the shock and confusion on his handsome face. It pinches with bewilderment, he doesn’t understand. He had been ready to apologize to you, despite still not being able to comprehend how you don’t see a future with him. Steve doesn’t want to fight with you anymore, he was ready to just forgive and forget and hold your hand without the weight of guilt behind it.

Steve had been ready to salvage your relationship, and now you want to talk about Jonathan?

“Jonathan?” Shamefully, his voice cracks. He feels like a helpless little kid again, his stomach twists with the foreboding nausea that something bad is about to happen. “Why… why do you want to talk about him?”

The raw frailty on Steve’s face almost kills you. He’s drawing into himself again, preparing for the final blow that will decimate him and everything he knows.

You take a deep breath. This won’t be easy, nothing you’ve ever had to do has been easy. But Steve deserves to know. To hide something from him feels foreign, to lie to him feels like a betrayal. 

“Jonathan, he–” Your voice shakes almost as violently as your hands do. Steve is looking at you but you can’t bear to face him just yet. “He called me last night, after our… after our fight.”

“What did he say, Y/N?” Steve knows, even before you tell him, where this is going. The light in your eyes whenever you talk about Jonathan is gone. His name doesn’t grace your face with a smile. Instead, the grimace of guilt replaces it. Steve’s stomach twists into tighter knots. It’s happening again.

Inhaling, you close your eyes and try to commit to memory the before. How Steve looked at you with such adoration before tonight. How his soft hands, laced with trust, felt against your skin before tonight. His open gaze, one filled with vulnerability, stared into you before tonight. 

Opening your eyes, you exhale. Nothing will ever be the same again. “Jonathan asked me if I ever wondered if… if we made a mistake. Him and I.”

“A mistake?” Steve’s jaw tightens. 

“I think-I think he was asking me if I ever… thought about what could’ve happened between us. If somehow,” you swallow, the words cement in your mouth. “If-if somehow we made a mistake, choosing you and Nancy.”

Steve is quiet. The muscles in his body pull tightly together. He fills with venom, anger and jealousy and hurt; so much hurt. “And you think he’s right.”

It isn’t phrased as a question. 

Immediately your body turns to his. “No! God, no,” your hands search for any expanse of his skin you can find. Steve doesn’t lean into you, he doesn’t react to your touch. Panic overwhelms you, suddenly all you can do is talk and plead and beg. “Steve, I don’t think Jonathan even knew what he was saying, okay? H-he was high, and he’s been so lonely and-and he kept saying things were easy between me and him but-but that’s not how love is supposed to work and I know he’s just scared. He’s scared and he’s never been so alone before and I think-he’s just lost, okay? He’s lost and–” 

“Why are you telling me this, Y/N?” The hardness in Steve’s voice cuts into you, stings your skin. He isn’t screaming, not like he did last night, but you almost wish he were. The way his voice is leveled, cold and hard, scares you even more. 

“Would you rather I didn’t?” You’re helpless against his anger, you know he has every right to be, but you don’t know how to fix this.

Steve laughs bitterly. “I’d rather you not make shitty excuses for the asshole.”

“I’m not making excuses for him, I just wanted you to understand–”

“You are!” His voice raises slightly, almost imperceptibly so, but you hear it anyways. Steve’s chest rises and falls quickly. His hands fly wildly everywhere, he doesn’t know what to do, either. Then, almost as quickly as the anger surfaced, insecurity replaces it. “Is… Jonathan why you don’t see a future with me?”

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, almost as if you’re afraid he’ll slip between your fingers any second now. “I do see a future with you–”

“Pretty fucking hard to believe when you’re wearing the goddamn necklace he got you.” The words drip with acid. They’re hissed out with a jaw clenched so tightly you’re afraid he’ll somehow hurt himself.

The words startle you, catch you off guard. Your hand slips from Steve’s wrist. He’s never once insinuated any jealousy regarding you and Jonathan. He’s always been so trusting of you two together, he’s always been kind towards him. He always knew that he could never touch what you guys have, and yet his gaze now flickers cruelly to the bee pendant that rests against your neck. 

What Steve has said hurts you, deeper than he ever intended to. He knows how you love, how deeply you care for others. It’s who you are. Regardless of the hurt he may be feeling right now, it doesn’t give him the right to throw this crucial part of you back in your face. 

“I’m made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved, Steve. You know this.” The bee pendant rests against your skin as heavily as the charm bracelet does. 

And Steve does know that you’re made of pieces of everyone in your life. It’s what he loves the most about you. His eyes follow where your fingers reside, skimming the silver chain that encases your wrist. He hadn’t meant to say what he did, the words had slipped out before he could stop them. 

“Y/N…” Your name is spoken as an apology, it’s all Steve can manage in his shame. 

But the moment is ruined, you’re exhausted and all you want to do is go home. 

You shake your head at Steve, try to hide the tears in your eyes. He sees them anyways. “Can I leave, please?”

The way you ask so delicately to escape breaks Steve. Something in his chest shatters, his mouth fills with the taste of a broken promise. You don’t need his permission, he hates that you feel that you do. 

“Yeah,” his voice is softer than it’s been all night, but it’s too late. He knows this. Swallowing, all Steve can do is be gentle with you. “Yeah, of course you can leave, angel.”

Angel.

You nod at him; if you try to speak you’re afraid you’ll break before him. 

No other words are spoken between you. Steve watches as you leave. 

– 

The next morning you sit hunched over a mug of coffee, more exhausted than ever before. You haven’t slept properly in days now. Dustin finds you with dark circles under your eyes and a pathetic bowl of cereal before you. From the dazed look in your eyes, he knows you haven’t noticed his arrival, and he awkwardly clears his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, your eyes are slow to look up at him. Pointing to your coffee, Dustin raises his eyebrows. “Rough night, I take it?”

You nod, too tired to say anything else. The cereal goes uneaten. Dustin doesn’t think your coffee is even warm anymore, he hadn’t heard you wake up this morning. He’s worried that you never even went to bed last night. You’re pale, sickly so, and Dustin hates that he hadn’t noticed the signs sooner. 

“Hey,” he pulls a chair beside you, sits down with a playful shove to your shoulder. He’s your brother, it’s his job to take care of you just as much as it’s yours to take care of him. It’s how the two of you have always been. 

For Dustin’s entire life you’ve looked after him, kissing his scraped knees and warding off monsters hidden underneath his bed. When your father left, the depression your mother fell into afterwards left Dustin clinging onto you. You were all he had left. 

Dustin leans against you, he used to do this when he was a little kid and could still fit between your arms. Resting his head against yours, shoulders pressed together, the angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s safe. “Is it too late to have that code blue?”

It’s a peace offering, an extension of an apology, and you can’t help but smile at your brother. Hand finding his mess of curls, you ruffle his hair and laugh softly. “Yeah, guess we can have a code blue now.”

“Good, you know I always love to shit talk Steve.” Dustin says with humor. You both know he admires the boy.

“Language,” you remind him as you always do. Dustin knocks his head against yours in response and the two of you break into laughter; laughing with your brother again feels good.

In between sips of cold coffee and bites of soggy cereal, you tell Dustin about Steve. You explain the original argument a few nights ago, how he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want him to follow you to New York. 

“It’s what mom did with dad,” Dustin says, looking down at the table. 

You nod at him, you knew he’d understand better than anyone. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Does he know what happened with dad?”

“No, and I know I should explain what he did, but there’s–” You cut yourself off. Dustin would kill Jonathan with his bare hands if he found out about the phone call. Even though it technically goes against the rules of a code blue, you can’t tell Dustin about Jonathan. Not yet, at least. Clearing your throat, you continue. “There’s… other things that have prevented me from explaining dad to Steve.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Other things?”

“Other things,” you look pointedly at him, standing your ground about not elaborating. He denied your original code blue. You’re allowed to lie this one time. “And now Steve thinks that I don’t see a future with him.”

“Well then he’s an idiot.” Your brother scoffs. Anyone with eyes can see how much you fawn over Steve. Dustin has watched you fall for him for years now. “You’re practically ready to marry the guy.”

Taking a bite of cereal, you grimace slightly. “Okay, marriage is a little much–”

“Tell that to mom, she’s already started planning the wedding.” 

Of course she has. She wouldn’t be Claudia Henderson if she wasn’t already planning the names of her grandchildren from Steve. 

The bite of cereal turns into cement, your heartbeat pounds against your throat. With everything going on with Steve, the hurt the two of you have brought down upon the other, you’re not even sure there will be a wedding at the rate things are going. 

As the days go on, you can feel Steve slipping away from you more and more.

Dustin must sense that the subject is hurting you, so he stands from his seat and claps his hands together. “Alright, I feel like we’ve covered our bases for a code blue. Checked all the boxes, felt the feelings needed to be felt.”

“I don’t like the feelings being felt,” you mumble, shoving your bowl away. You’re still drawn into yourself, pale and frail and unlike the lively girl your brother has come to miss. He knows things have been difficult between the two of you, a strain that can’t quite be loosened. 

Dustin falters, his bravado fades. He sighs again and his hand settles against your shoulder. He looks at you with sincerity, his expression softens. “Look, you and Steve will figure things out. You guys always do.”

And he truly believes this. Steve loves you with such a ferocity that rivals your love for him. Dustin can’t imagine a world in which you’re no longer with Steve, where he’s let go of you and allowed you to walk away. 

Except Dustin doesn’t know how to express this to you, but you can understand him anyways. Placing your hand over his, you squeeze it. “Thanks, Dustin.”

He smiles back at you and the code blue is over. The moment lingers for only a second longer before he frowns and sits back down next to you. “Do you think Eddie will be okay?”

And there it is. Eddie fucking Munson again. 

Shoving down your annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the situation from last night. As hurt as you are that Dustin wants to talk about Eddie right now, you can understand why he would. Chrissy died in front of him, he’s being accused of murder. 

You’re just being childish, easily irritated from lack of sleep and the stress of it all. 

“I don’t know, I mean…the cops will be looking for him.” With ease you fall back into strategizing, putting the situation above your own thoughts and feelings. Your mind spins with everything you need to do, trying to come up with whatever you can do to help. “If we have any shot of protecting him, we need to figure out what they know.”

Dustin nods, following along. “Cerebro can tap into the Hawkins PD system, we can easily get intel from there.”

“It terrifies me that Cerebro can hack into our town’s police system.”

“Be grateful I stopped there, Suzie wouldn’t let me use it to tap into NASA.”

You learn two things after using Cerebro to gather information. 

One, the radio is far too powerful to reside in your fourteen year old brother’s hands. He’s able to access the PD system with incredible ease, almost as if he’s done so before. It’d be impressive if you didn’t know the horrors that went on inside the kid’s head.

Two, Eddie is well and truly fucked. 

He’s the main suspect. They think he’s killed Chrissy and have every man in the force scouring Hawkins to find him. Her death was gruesome, you understand the manhunt that unfolds. Dustin, however, nearly loses his mind when he hears chief Powell instructing his men to search Eddie’s neighborhood for the teen. 

“We have to go warn him,” Dustin scrambles to his feet, the chair almost toppling over in his haste. “We need to leave, now.”

There isn’t time to argue, Dustin is already ringing Steve’s number. Either he’s already forgotten about your argument with the teen, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Regardless, the thought of seeing Steve again so soon after last night makes your stomach churn. You want to stop Dustin, make up some excuse to him about why you can’t help Eddie, but you know it wouldn’t matter. Your brother would only beg you to come, your worry for him would force you to listen. 

All you can do is drop your head into your hands and sigh.

– 

It was your idea to stop and get Eddie food. 

Steve had arrived at your house within minutes. Dustin immediately went for the passenger seat, which was more than okay with you, and Steve had mumbled a soft “hello” to the two of you. His greeting went ignored by you, still trying to find your breath around him, and Dustin, who promptly demanded that Steve pick up Robin and Max before returning to the boathouse. 

Halfway to Max’s, the silence in the car was thickening rapidly, so you offhandedly suggested stopping at the local grocery store to get Eddie some food and water. You figured he would appreciate the small act of kindness, especially considering the grime news you’d be delivering to him soon. That, and it’d give you an excuse to leave Steve’s car for a few moments and steady your breathing. 

The boathouse isn’t nearly as creepy in the daylight, but still you make sure your knives are in your pocket before approaching it. Robin walks beside you, helping you and Dustin carry the groceries, while Max and Steve walk silently behind. 

“Think we got him enough?” Robin asks, holding up one of the grocery bags. “I mean, don’t stoners eat a lot? Munchies or whatever?”

Rolling your eyes, you undo one of the buttons on your sweater, allowing the crisp spring air to soak your body. The sun is too warm to be worrying about whatever stoners eat. “If he complains, then he can starve.” 

“Cat’s got claws today,” Robin nudges you with her arm. Turning to make sure Steve is far enough away so he doesn’t overhear, she lowers her voice. “Guessing the talk didn’t go well last night?”

“Oh, it was just peachy,” you grit out through a forced smile. “But we have to focus on harboring a murder suspect right now.” Because nothing in your life can ever be simple. If you aren’t hunting monsters, you’re protecting the town. If you aren’t protecting the town, you’re fighting alternate dimensions.

Robin opens her mouth to say something, but Dustin shoulders past her and bursts through the boathouse doors, ending your conversation. “Delivery service!” 

Eddie nearly has a heart attack at the abrupt entrance. He jumps out of his skin and clutches at his chest after letting out a very unmanly yelp. The reaction is almost enough to brighten your foul mood, momentarily forgetting that Steve stands behind you. 

“Someone’s jumpy,” you sidestep your brother and walk over towards the table. Setting the groceries down, you begin to unload them. “We got you some food, but please don’t eat it all at once. I really don’t want to spend any more money on you.”

“Thanks…?” Eddie slowly approaches you, both relieved for the food and offended you seem so begrudged to have gotten it for him in the first place. From his few interactions with you since last night, he’s coming to learn that you’re far from the girl who showed him such selfless kindness all those years ago.

Eddie doesn’t think you even remember what you did for him. He had been at such a low point in his life, one failed exam away from dropping out of high school and disappointing his uncle, until you appeared. It’d been your sophomore year, Eddie’s failed one, and you had given him your pencil.

The action had been small, meniscal, yet it saved Eddie’s life. He hadn’t brought his own pencil for some stupid English exam. He’d been too nervous for it that he had forgotten his, and Mrs. Greer, the teacher who couldn’t have cared less whether or not Eddie died, threatened to fail him. 

The threat sank deep into his bones, freezing his intestines with dread. Eddie had promised his uncle he’d try harder in school, that he’d graduate, and yet he couldn't do something as simple as bringing a pencil to an exam. Close to tears, embarrassed and overwhelmed, Eddie almost hadn’t registered your softly whispered voice.

“Here,” you tapped his shoulder. Eddie remembers turning around, surprised you were even talking to him, and he remembers the immediate relief that sagged his bones when he saw the pencil extended in offering. He had nodded curtly at you before frantically rushing to begin the exam. He’d already wasted five minutes, he couldn’t afford any more. 

It would only be later that Eddie learned you willingly failed the exam because you’d given him your only pencil, just so he wouldn’t fail. In the end, he passed. It was the first exam Eddie had passed in a long, long time; his uncle had been so proud of him that he bought him his electric guitar.

Eddie never thanked you for that. 

And now you stand in front of him, once again extending your arm out to him with yet another offering, but your eyes are cold. Your body is tense around Eddie’s, he doesn’t miss the wide berth you seem to always give him. 

“Thanks,” he says to you again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He accepts the box of cereal you offer him and he wills himself to smile. “I, uh. Appreciate it. I’d offer to pay you back, but…”

“You’re wanted for murder.” You finish for Eddie. 

He drops his head. “Yeah, it kinda ruins a person’s life, ya know?”

“I don’t, actually. Never been accused of killing someone.”

Eddie blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to do with the disdain you display towards him. “Right.” He looks at Dustin for help, silently begging the kid to step in before you gut him with your knives.

“Okay, why don’t you crack open that box of honey combs while we all gather around for a fun story time!” Dustin sets down the remaining groceries and ushers everyone to spread around the boathouse. 

“‘Storytime’?” Eddie asks him, looking around in confusion. 

“Y/N and Dustin did some detective work,” Robin offers him, trying to make her voice sound as cheery as possible. “They-uh. Well they found-I mean,” she doesn’t know how to break the news to Eddie, she feels awful for the guy. Deflating, she mumbles, “They’re definitely good detectives.”

Eddie only looks more confused by this, and Dustin sits down awkwardly on a stool next to you. “So, we got, uh. Some good news and some bad news.”

You snort at your brother. Steve stands next to you, his body angled away from you so that your skin doesn’t touch. The distance is small enough to go unnoticed by anyone, yet it’s a chasm that your stomach drops into. “That’s really how you’re gonna break it to him?” 

“What are you guys breaking to me?” Eddie asks, eyes wide.

Dustin hits your leg and gets the teen’s attention. “Ignore her, look at me, alright? Now, how do you prefer it? Good or bad first?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie doesn’t even think about his answer, he responds immediately while shoving cereal into his mouth. 

“The bad news is that you’re pretty fucked.” You inform him, arms crossed over your chest. There’s no easy way to lessen the blow of what you overhead from Hawkins PD. The news is bad, it’s all bad. 

Dustin snaps his head towards you, “Y/N!”

“I’m not going to lie to the guy or sugarcoat things!” 

“Would you just let me handle it–”

“Dustin,” Eddie hasn’t moved from his seat. His hand remains in the cereal box, his voice jagged and defeated. He’s tired. He just wants to go home. “Just say it.”

Your brother’s shoulders drop, the anger in his eyes extinguished. “We… We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you.”

“Chief Powell thinks you killed Chrissy.” Unable to look at Eddie, your eyes trace the ground. As much as you hate him, you can’t help but feel awful for the hand he’s been dealt. No one will possibly believe he’s innocent. “He ordered all his men to track you down before word gets out that you’re the prime suspect.”

“Which leads us to the good news: your name hasn’t gone public yet.” Robin continues for you, her own expression pitying. “But if Y/N and Dustin could find out about you during breakfast, then it’s a matter of time before others do, too.”

“And once that gets out,” you shake your head, you know how cruel a small town like Hawkins can be. “There’s going to be a lot of angry people who know your name.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. You can see tears forming in his eyes; you’re not sure if they’re from frustration or fear. He inhales sharply, licks his lips in disdain. “Hunt the freak, right?”

It’s the way he says it, with so much despair and venom in his voice. The look of resignation on Eddie’s face breaks your heart. He knows his odds, he’s been tormented and abused his entire life by the people in Hawkins. You’ve heard all the stories. The exile he faced because of how he looked, who he would hang out with, the music he listened to and the drugs he smoked. 

Eddie Munson, the freak. The moment the town finds out he’s wanted for murder, you’re afraid he’ll never come out of it alive. 

The ice-hot contempt you feel for him begins to melt. He’s only a year or two older than you, still just a scared kid with no place to call home anymore. Despite the protests of your body, you step towards Eddie and place a hand on his shoulder. Your hand is tense, your fingers scratch on the rough material of his denim jacket, but he seems to calm at the touch. 

“Hey, we’ll protect the freak, alright?” You mean what you tell him, your hand warms his skin. Whatever history you have with Eddie, good or bad, it doesn’t matter right now. He needs you, he’s lost and alone. 

Eddie looks up at you, your kindness startles him slightly, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his eyes find yours. They’re brown, almost doe-eyed, with a vulnerability within them so intense that it leaves a lump in your throat. 

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Eddie.” Dustin’s voice cuts through, reminding you of where you are. Stumbling slightly, you remove your hand and walk back over to Steve, who gives you an odd, confused look. You ignore him. “We have to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.” 

“That’s all, Dustin?” Eddie mocks, he doesn’t stand a chance and he knows it.

Dustin draws into himself, uncertain, before letting out a feeble response. You allow yourself to smile, enjoying his wallowing. You understand where Eddie is coming from. “It is a lot that we have to do in order to clear his name.”

“Okay, I know that everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before.” Robin tries to reassure him. She’s leaning against a doorframe, she’s trying her best not to let her own uncertainty show. 

“We’ve been here before,” you say with slight bitterness. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve almost died.”

Robin laughs nervously. “Well, mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related. I didn’t necessarily almost die, but Y/N has some pretty sick scars on her body and Steve has been concussed more times than he’s had girlfriends–”

“Get to the point, Robin.” Steve finally speaks up, no hint of amusement in his voice. His hand rests besides yours, his fingers ache to curl against your skin. You’re wearing a soft blue sweater, tucked into your skirt, and your eyes shine against the spring cold. He doesn’t want to be here right now.

“Right. The bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

Unable to bear the itch in his skin to touch you, Steve brings his hand to his face and rubs at his jaw to distract himself. “Except we usually rely on this girl who has superpowers, but-uh. Those went bye-bye, so–”

“And she’s in California, hundreds of miles from here.” You add on, picking at your nails. The topic makes you uncomfortable. With California comes the reminder of Jonathan.

Robin points at you and Steve. “Both good points, so I guess you could say we’re more in the-in the…?”

“Brainstorming phase.” Max supplies, which Steve snaps his fingers in agreement and Dustin hums thoughtfully. 

“There’s-uh. There’s nothing to worry about!” Your brother says unconvincingly, voice high pitched and full of lies. 

Eddie stares at everyone around him, studying the collective mess that he somehow must place all his trust in. None of you can give him a straight answer about what will happen next, and as you listen to Steve and Dustin try again to make sense of what’s going on, you recognize how hopeless it all sounds. 

“We may not sound like much,” you interrupt the boys, trying again to ease the hopelessness Eddie must be feeling. “But we’re kind of your only option right now–”

The distant wailing of sirens drown out your words, loud and piercing. The sound sets everyone into a panic. Robin instructs Dustin to cover Eddie with a tarp while you, Max, and Steve run towards the window. Squished together, you watch as multiple cop cars fly down the street with an ambulance following them; your breath catches. 

The last time you saw this many cop cars speeding through Hawkins, they had been a dead body in the quarry. It had been Will’s body, lifeless and pale. You had watched as his body was pulled from the water, you held Lucas and Dustin as they cried.

Only this time Will is in California, far away from danger. The onslaught of cars can only mean one thing. 

“I think…” Your mouth fills with syrupy dread, coating your tongue with grief. Breathing becomes difficult. You hope, more than anything, that you’re wrong. “I think someone else died.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Steve grabs his keys and instructs everyone to get into his car. He doesn't ask any questions, he doesn’t question how you know. Dustin quickly tells Eddie to stay in the boathouse while you leave. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as Steve drives, your hand clutches the seat in terror. Every second that passes, your body becomes heavier and heavier from dread. Steve’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Robin can’t look at you, Max and Dustin don’t say a word.

The white blanket draped over a body is what you see first. A horde of police surround it, there are lights flashing everywhere. People crowd behind a barricade, necks straining to get a look at the body on the ground. 

Then you see who the cops are talking to, and your heart drops. 

“Nancy,” you breathe out, already opening Steve’s door before he can even park the car. Something terrible has happened. Nancy stands in front of the officers, her arms crossed against her chest as if to calm herself down. She’s never looked so weak, she needs you.

Standing outside the car, the others join you. Steve has parked as close as he can to the crime scene, no one moves. Nancy releases a shaky breath when her eyes find yours. Raising her hand, she waves at you, unsure, and you wave back. She smiles, timid but genuine, and a pit forms in your stomach.

You haven’t told Nancy about Jonathan. 

Steve looks away from her, gaze turning towards you, and he’s thinking the same thing. 

– 

Nancy guides everyone to a park bench at the trailer park. She doesn’t say anything as you all walk, her eyes are exhausted. The police hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet, they had more questions for her, but you’d quickly spoke with the men to let her go. 

Sitting around the table, a bitter cold creeps into the air. The sun is out yet winter still lingers. Nancy sits across from you with Robin and Max next to her. You’re with the boys, Steve pushes his weight against you while Dustin sits stiffly beside you. 

Seeing Nancy’s sunken cheeks and glass eyes, you reach across the table and grab her hand. “What happened, Nance?”

Tears well in her eyes and for once she doesn’t wipe them away. Nancy’s hand twitches in yours, she doesn’t hold onto you like you do her. She’s grieving, you’ve come to learn all the signs of someone who has lost a friend. “It-it’s Fred.”

She explains what they’d been doing, investigating Chrissy’s death at the trailer park. Guilt laces her words, she didn’t think anything would happen to Fred. He’s always been sweet to her, his crush obvious to you but unknown to her. A shiver runs through you; Fred was smart, he was nice to you whenever you spent your days in the yearbook room. 

He didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Chrissy. 

“That makes two deaths in two days,” you say out loud, voicing what everyone else is thinking. Death is common in Hawkins, an inevitability of what lies underneath it, but there’s never been such gruesome deaths so close together. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” Nancy shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand, you guys already know what’s causing all of this?”

“We have a working theory, but it’s… not great.” Dustin slouches down, he isn’t sure how much he can explain to the girl with all that he still doesn’t know. “We think it’s connected to Chrissy’s death, something killed her in Eddie’s trailer. He told us she had gone into some sort of trance before her bones snapped and her eyes exploded..”

Nancy grimaces at the gory imagery and you squeeze her hand again. “I’m sorry about Fred.”

She gives you a tight smile before turning to your brother. “A trance? Like El? You aren’t… do you really think this has something to do with–”

“The Upside Down.” You and Max say at the same time.

“‘It’s happening again’,” Nancy echoes your words from moments ago. She understands, now. “So this-this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy is from the Upside Down?”

Steve nods at her and Dustin sighs heavily. “We think he attacks with a spell, or maybe even a curse.”

“But we don’t know if he’s under the Mind Flayer’s control,” you point out. “For all we know, he could just be someone with El’s powers. We know the lab tested on other kids, right?”

Max looks up at you and her face twists with apprehension. “I don’t know, something feels different about this, it’s almost like it’s something new. I don’t think it’s anyone like El.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Nancy mumbles.

“No, I think Max is right. Something feels off about all of this.” Your arms draw together, it’s impossibly cold for late March. The chill has set into your bones. 

Nancy nods at you, but there’s something else on her mind. “But Fred and Chrissy also don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place? They were both at the game.” Dustin offers, and you shiver again.

Billy had been in the wrong place, too. It’s how the Mind Flayer got him. He’d just been unlucky and alone.

“And the trailer park,” Max adds.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, he shifts against you and unconsciously moves you closer to him. “We’re at the trailer park, should we… maybe not be here?”

The wind picks up and a crow cries overhead. The barren grass rustles as shadows fall against it. Your spine prickles with nerves. Steve is right to be worried. There’s something eerie about the trailer park, the caution tape that guards Eddie’s door is still too fresh. 

You wrap your sweater tighter to your body, cold with unease. Nancy’s eyes flicker around the park as the wind rustles the leaves. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

Robin asks what she means, and when Nancy begins to explain how scared and on edge Fred had been, a dull throb slowly creeps up the base of your neck. The sensation builds until it’s a roar of nerve endings exploding against your temple, and you wince in pain.

Steve’s fingers skim the crest of your wrist. “Hey,” he’s lowered his voice so the others can’t hear, he knows you never like to worry others. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the concern in Steve’s eyes burns you. He hasn’t spoken to you all day, but still his skin warms yours and he wants to make sure you’re safe. Comfortable. Okay. Even with the anger between you and all the unspoken half-truths, he still cares about you. 

You want to tell him that you haven’t slept in days, that the nightmares are back and that they’re worse than ever before. You want to rest your head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s the only way you’ve been able to keep the migraines at bay. 

But you don’t tell Steve any of this. Instead, you lie through your teeth. “I’m fine,” you reassure him again. There isn’t time for you not to be okay. Two people have died already, your migraines can wait. 

Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you, he knows how you are and how much you push down for the sake of others, but before he can press you further, Robin interrupts. “Hey, lovebirds, we’re trying to solve a murder case here.”

“I’m listening,” you roll your eyes at her, skin flushing a bit with embarrassment. “Anyways, what if Fred and Chrissy saw something that made them go catatonic? I think we should be focusing on the trace-like state more, it’s a trauma response.”

“What, so they’re insane asylum patients?” Dustin asks with slight displeasure. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. But Vecna can cast spells, at least in DnD. I don’t think they just ‘saw’ something.” 

Steve scratches his nose. “If I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.”

“Would you, though?” You don’t mean for the question to come off as condescending, and you quickly try to alleviate the offended look on the teen’s face. “What I mean is, who would you go to about something like that?”

“I… I think I know who they’d go to.” Max stares down at the table, her eyebrows furrowed together. She’s deep in thought, remembering something. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelly’s office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police.”

“They’d never believe you,” you bear your weight against the table. Nostalgia wraps around you at the memory of how scared you’d been to tell Hopper about El, the years it took for you to trust him. “That’s why I never went to Hopper when I first found El.”

Max nods, she’s relieved you get where she’s going with this. “Exactly, but you might go to your–”

“Shrink.” Robin finishes, sending you an apologetic smile for the offensive language against the profession you hope to one day go into. “No offense, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, feeling defensive. “Again with calling Ms. Kelly a shrink. She’s not a shrink, she’s actually really nice.”

“You sound like you know her personally.” Dustin narrows his eyes at you. Nothing goes unnoticed by him. 

All eyes turn to you, and you sink down in embarrassment. “I’ve… had a few meetings with her.”

Simultaneously both Steve and Dustin widen their eyes. They hadn’t known you were seeing Ms. Kelly. Nancy looks at you curiously, Robin bites her lip, and Max nods solemnly. It’s a large range of reactions, one that makes you anxious to deal with. “Can everyone stop staring at me, please?”

Steve lets out a quick breath and runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing the school’s guidance counselor, Y/N.”

“She didn’t tell me, either.” Dustin mumbles bitterly. You’ve never hidden anything from him before. He wonders, distantly, when you started to.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys, it really isn’t a big deal.” When both boys bristle at this, you hold your hand up to silence them. “No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s not like I was seeing Ms. Kelly for anything serious, okay? She’s the guidance counselor, so I just. You know. Needed some guidance.”

It’s a horrible lie, you know that no one believes you, but they take pity on you and move on. Originally you really were seeing Ms. Kelly for college admissions help, but after a few sessions you slowly started opening up to her about the sleepless nights. The image of Billy’s lifeless body. Max’s screams. 

Nancy clears her throat and changes the topic. She comes up with what to do next, creating a plan to ask Ms. Kelly what she knows, and you sit silently. You’re relieved the attention is finally off of you. Within minutes a plan is formed: you and Max will talk to Ms. Kelly to try and get more information.

Steve agrees to drive to the house. As you’re walking to his passenger side door, he notices that Nancy isn’t following. Instead, she’s going to her own car. “Hey, Nance. Where’re you going?”

Nancy turns around, a guilty but determined look on her face. Her eyes land on you, knowing you’ll be the hardest to convince of her plan. “There’s just-there’s something I want to check on first.”

Predictably, your shoulders tense and your eyes ignite with worry. “Please don’t make me remind you that there are people dying right now. You can’t seriously think it’s safe to be on your own.”

“I can protect myself, Y/N.” Nancy reminds you gently, understanding your concern but knowing it isn’t needed.

“You care to share with the rest of us?” Dustin calls over to the two of you.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Nancy shoves her hands into her jean jacket. “It’s… a real shot in the dark.”

You frown at this. “If it’s something you think is worth looking into, then it isn’t a shot in the dark. You’ve always been right.”

Nancy blushes at your words, but Steve silently fumes beside you. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you guys out of your mind? No way is Nancy flying solo with Vecna on the loose.”

“I never said that she should fly solo,” you say slowly, not at all liking how he’s twisting your words. You had been complimenting Nancy’s intelligence, restoring her faith back into her work. You don’t understand where this protectiveness from Steve is coming from. “I know it’s too dangerous, that’s why I was going to suggest–”

“You’re right. It’s too dangerous. Bottom line. She needs someone to-Christ.” Steve isn’t listening. He’s too caught up in his head as tosses his keys to Robin, who only barely manages to catch them. “Here, Y/N and I will stick with Nance.”

You cross your arms and glare at him. “I’m sorry?”

Steve doesn’t look at you, he’s too busy staring at Nancy, and for a brief second you truly believe that there’s something soft in his gaze when he looks at her. They’re friends, you know this. There’s a history between them that rivals your history with Jonathan. Nancy was Steve’s first love, and now he loves you, and you try desperately to shake the insecurity that you feel. 

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not even sure why you’re suddenly thinking all of this. You’ve never been insecure, at least not in your relationship with Steve. During the almost year you’ve been with him, there’ve been times girls have flirted with him or old flings that have tried to vie for his attention. But through it all your trust in him never wavered, you knew that at the end of the day it was your bed he was crawling into. 

And yet there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you that the way Steve is looking at Nancy right now is different; it’s how he looks at you. The voice is darker, more cruel. It’s one you don’t recognize, and yet you do. 

Steve seems to come back to himself and turns to you. “Robin can go with the kids to the shrink. Max can talk to her alone, it’s no big deal.”

Robin holds the keys away from her as if they’re poisoned. “I don’t think you want me driving your car.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

Steve shakes his head with impatience. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor,” Robin shrugs, and you laugh slightly. 

Max raises her hand. “I can drive.”

“No!” You and Steve exclaim at the same time, both of you getting war flashbacks to when Max had driven you after Billy had knocked you guys unconscious. It’d been a rough night and waking up to a thirteen year old driving a sports car definitely hadn't helped. 

“Please,” you look at Max with genuine longing. “Never, ever drive me ever again.”

“Literally anyone but you–” Steve sees Dustin make a face, offering himself to drive, and the older teen snaps his fingers at him in annoyance. “No chance.”

You shake your head as well. No way in hell are you allowing the kid to drive either. “Absolutely not, Dustin. You couldn’t even drive a golf cart properly.”

“I did a decent job!”

“I still think you’re the one who gave Steve his third concussion with your horrible braking.”

“We were being chased by evil Russians!” 

Robin steps between you and your brother, holding her hands up. “Alright, this is stupid.” She grabs Dustin’s walkie from his backpack and marches to Nancy while handing Steve his keys. “Us ladies, sans Y/N, will stick together. Unless Steve thinks we need him to protect us?”

She raises her eyebrows, challenging the teen, and you watch him. He shuffles nervously, ducks his head down. Steve is guilty and ashamed and embarrassed. Your stomach clenches. 

“He knows better than to doubt you guys,” you step in for him, saving him. “Right, Steve?”

Nancy laughs at the look of fear on his face and Robin smirks. Satisfied, they turn around and start to head towards Nancy’s car. You wish them luck as they leave, tell them to be safe. They wave back at you, and although you wish you could join them, you know that Max will want you by her side while she talks to Ms. Kelly. 

Once the girls are gone, you hit Steve’s chest. “Nice one, buddy.”

He lets out a pained huff, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he had it coming. With a sigh he follows you back to his car and gets into the driver’s seat. Dustin stares at him through the rearview mirror with a shit eating grin on his face. Tired, Steve glares at him. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dustin defends himself.

“No, but you were going to, and-hey,” Steve turns in his seat and glares even more at your brother. “Did you make sure to wipe your feet?”

“Yes,” Dustin says at the same time as you and Max say, “No.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and starts the car angrily. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled. “Always the goddamn babysitter!” He exclaims, resentment marring his face.

You jump slightly at his raised voice. He hates being sidelined, you know this. Similar to you, all Steve ever wants to do is help. He does whatever he can, he tries harder than anyone. It’s what you first fell for, back when Steve originally crashed into your life. 

It’s because of his kindness and devotion to others that you reach for Steve’s hand. His skin is cold, goosebumps raise at your touch, but you interlock your fingers through his and slowly, piece by piece, Steve relaxes. 

He’s missed your touch. You’ve missed his, too.

– 

Ms. Kelly, to her credit, tries to mask her surprise when she sees you and Max standing at her door. “Oh, hello, girls.”

“Hi,” you smile kindly at the woman. “We really hate to bother you over spring break, but do you possibly have a minute to talk?”

“With the two of you?” Ms. Kelly knew that you and Max were both grieving Billy, but she hadn’t known that you knew each other. “Y/N, I’m sure you’re aware that this is highly unusual to request.”

You wince. “Yeah, I’m definitely aware that this is a pretty strange thing to ask. It’s just that I was the one who convinced Max to start seeing you in the first place, and now that I’m also seeing you, we figured we could… talk to you together?”

It’s a horrible excuse. The lie is vague and too transparent to believe. Neither you or Max had a lot of time to come up with a convincing cover story during the drive here. 

“I don’t know,” Ms. Kelly’s face strains with contemplation. 

Max softens her eyes and does her best to look small, pleading. “Please?”

You try to appear troubled as well, though it isn’t hard. Your headache hasn’t left. The pounding in your head has only intensified since leaving the trailer park. Ms. Kelly’s gaze flits between you and Max, reading for any signs of lying or ill-will, before her resolve crumbles.

“Oh, alright.” She opens her door wider, ushers the two of you inside. “Come in.”

Steve and Dustin watch as you disappear inside the house. They’ve parked across the street, opting to be the lookout in case anything happens. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting Steve’s, before Ms. Kelly closes the door. 

“Okay, they’re in.” Steve states the obvious, slightly unsettled to be stuck in the car while you’re inside.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes.” Dustin snorts. He expects Steve to say something snarky in response, but then he notices that the teen is still staring longly out the window, tracing Ms. Kelly’s door. He looks pathetic, waiting for you, and Dustin sighs. “So… we gonna talk about it?”

Steve’s eyes linger on the doorway, a far off look on his face. When he realizes that Dustin has spoken, he turns to him slowly. “Huh? Sorry, talk about what?”

“Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance? In front of my sister?” 

“Okay, first of all, that’s not what happened.”

Dustin glares at Steve, defensive over you. “Oh, really? I’m pretty sure it did, there were a lot of witnesses. Y/N included.”

“What are you implying, little Henderson?” Steve rubs his face, too tired for the kid’s mind games. He knows he was being weird earlier with Nancy, but he would never do that to you. Ever. He had simply been overwhelmed and confused and feeling a multitude of things that he still isn’t ready to face.

“I’m not implying anything,” Dustin puts his hands up. “All I’m saying is that I know you and Y/N have been fighting lately and that for some stupid reason, you’re doubting your relationship.”

Steve throws his head back against the seat. Of course you told Dustin about last night. “Look, I’m not-I’m not doubting our relationship, alright? I mean, I love her, man. So, so much. We just… things have been hard, lately. Really fucking hard.”

He isn’t sure how much you’ve told your brother. He doesn’t think you’d tell him about Jonathan, at least not until you know yourself whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you the other night. 

Dustin doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He stares past Steve, his eyes almost seem to glaze over. “It’s because she’s leaving, isn’t it?”

All the air in Steve’s lungs gets knocked out of him. “Yes,” he breathes out. His mouth is dry. He swallows, his tongue feels too thick for his mouth. “Sometimes it feels like she’s, I don’t know, like she’s outgrown me? I-I know it’s stupid, but she’s going so far for college and I’m stuck in Hawkins like some fucking moron and she-she didn’t want me going with her.” 

“Did you know that I cried when she got into NYU?” Dustin asks him, a hurt smile on his face. When Steve shakes his head, the boy inhales deeply. “Yeah, cried like a baby the whole night. I mean, I knew she applied, I knew she’d get in, but… you’re right. She is going pretty far. I’ve never,” he wipes at his eyes quickly, embarrassed that he’s crying. “I’ve never had to spend a single day without my sister.”

Steve stares at your brother, finally beginning to understand the distance between the two of you. For weeks now it’s all you’ve complained about to Steve. How much you resented Eddie for being Dustin’s new favorite person, how much you miss singing with him in the kitchen while you baked. But now here Dustin is, teary eyed, explaining to Steve just how scared he is to be without his sister. “It feels like she’s leaving you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dustin wipes his eyes again, nodding. “Yeah, sometimes it feels like she can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Even though we’ll still be here,” Steve says solemnly. 

It’s quiet again. A few birds sing in the tree above them. You and Max haven’t returned, yet. After a while, Dustin turns to Steve. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

“Who?”

“Y/N,” the boy clarifies, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “She doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want you going with her to New York. She’s just… she’s scared, and she knows that it isn’t what you really want. Nothing gets past her, it’s really annoying.”

Steve scoffs a bit, fondness running through him. Dustin’s right. Nothing ever gets past you, you notice and see everything. But then he thinks about what your brother has said, the fear he hadn’t known about. “Why would she be scared?” 

Dustin stiffens in his seat, his gaze once again blurs. He twists his hands anxiously, fixes his hat. The atmosphere shifts, Steve can see that he’s uncomfortable now. He’s about to tell Dustin that he doesn’t have to answer, but the kid does anyways. “Our parents, they-um. Met in college.”

Steve sits up as well. You and Dustin never talk about your parents, at least not about your father. Steve can’t remember the last time you’ve even mentioned him. He thinks maybe the man had called you once, during Christmas. 

“They got married right before graduation. Our mom had been pregnant with Y/N, they got hitched and in their marital bliss, our dad somehow convinced our mom to leave Indiana. She grew up here, but our dad was from Virginia and he insisted that she move there.”

Bitter. Dustin is bitter.

“Everything was fine, I guess. I liked Virginia. Y/N did, too. But our mom was lonely, anyone could see that. We lived in a pretty small town, our dad was basically a goddamn Kennedy there. Everyone adored him, but our mom… things were different for her. She was always in his shadow, but Y/N and I were too young to notice for a long time.”

Steve swallows. “And then… the divorce?” 

“The stupid fucking divorce.” Dustin spits out. “It wasn’t a surprise, but somehow we still felt blindsided. One day our dad was charming, cracking jokes with everyone and playing the guitar with us, then the next he just-he snapped. Became bitter, mean. Y/N idolized him, but when our parents started fighting every night and our mom cried over some woman named Carry… I lost my sister, for a while.”

“She told me,” Steve whispers, remembering the rawness in your voice the night you confessed to him that you were once cruel. “I had to remind her that she came back, in the end.”

The corners of Dustin’s mouth turn upwards slightly. “Yeah, she came back.” But then his expression darkens, his mood sours. “Our mother almost didn’t, though. After having to move back to Hawkins with barely any money to support us, it basically destroyed her. She had lost all her friends by that point, her own parents died while we lived in Virginia.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s throat constricts. He hadn’t known any of this. He feels like such an asshole now for assuming the worst in you. For allowing his own insecurities to blind him. “I-I didn’t know about any of that.” 

“Yeah, well.” Dustin shrugs. “Now you do. And you need to know that Y/N is being her usual selfless self because of our mom and what happened to her. She doesn't want that happening to you, dipshit.”

Steve exhales through his nose, his head is swimming with so many more questions, so many apologies he wishes he could say. Instead, he stares out the window, waiting for you to return. 

–

“So, what would you girls like to discuss with me?” The clock on Ms. Kelly’s walk ticks ominously behind her. She’s seated you and Max in her basement den. You can tell by the stack of books and messy desk that she uses the area as her makeshift office. 

Max slouches against her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing too serious, we were just–”

“I’m worried about Max.” You interrupt the girl, not daring to look at her.

Ms. Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think with all the murders happening, it might be affecting her.” It isn’t necessarily a lie. You have been worried about Max and her behavior. Especially these last few weeks. “It might be resurfacing some… memories.”

Max tries to argue, but Ms. Kelly holds her hand up. “You’ve both experienced trauma, Y/N. She lost her brother while you held his dying body.”

A lump forms in your throat, your lungs feel cold. 

The woman turns to Max, now. “And when you keep your feelings in, your pain, bottled up the way you do, it doesn’t take much to trigger them again. I can see why Y/N may be worried.”

Max doesn’t meet Ms. Kelly’s eyes. She swallows heavily and looks down at her hands. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Max.” You say softly, wanting desperately to reach out to her. But you’re afraid it’ll only drive her further away.

She frowns at you. “Like how you talk to Dustin, or even to Steve?”

Her accusation cuts deeply. You hadn’t known that she was paying attention to you. That your disguised “I’m fine’s” weren’t convincing her. Max must know this, because she lowers her eyes again and mumbles a quiet apology. 

Ms. Kelly notices the tension and leans between the two of you. “Do you think you’re ready to talk more about that night?”

Max’s eyes gloss over briefly, her face distorts with discomfort. An onslaught of memories overtakes her, just as they overtake you. The echoes of her screams for her brother replay in your mind over and over again. The squelch of Billy’s blood trickles down your spine. You were right next to her when it happened. The blood still stains your clothes from that night at Starcourt. 

“I live next door to where it happened.” Max changes the subject, her voice returning. When Ms. Kelly asks for more clarification, she continues. “Next to where Chrissy was murdered. The cops asked me a bunch of questions. Did they talk to you?”

The woman sits up, apprehensive. She hadn’t been expecting to talk about this. You sit there quietly, head still pounding from earlier as Max takes over. She interrogates Ms. Kelly, who does her best to dodge every question, and suddenly the warmth in the room becomes unbearable. 

“Excuse me,” you stand up, hand clutching your stomach. Nausea swirls within you. You feel faint, the pounding has increased and sweat trickles down your neck. Both Max and Ms. Kelly look at you in concern, but you ignore them.

Blindly you stumble towards the kitchen you remember seeing when you arrived. Too nauseous and overwhelmed to care about niceties, you dig through Ms. Kelly’s cupboards until you find a cup. After filling it with water, the icey coolness of the liquid settles uneasily in your stomach. You lean over the sink, hands clutching the edge. Everything in your body feels unsteady.

Max comes up the stairs and finds you breathing heavily. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

“Trying really hard not to right now,” you breathe through your nose, out through your mouth. “Thanks for the concern.”

No response comes. Instead, footsteps walk up behind you. You hear metal clanking against glass, and when you turn around, you find Max holding up a pair of keys. She smirks, flashing you the white keyring attached to them labeled, “office”.

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “No, we are not stealing–” 

Except Max grabs your arm and practically flings you out the front door. She shoves you, urging you to start running towards Steve’s car, and all you can do is stumble over your feet and follow after her. When you make it back to the car, panting from the exertion and thrill, Steve and Dustin turn to you with wide eyes. 

“What’d she say?” Your brother asks, noting your frazzled appearance. 

“Nothing, just drive.” Max dismisses. 

“I just became a felon.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you. “Personal property theft isn’t a felony.”

“Jesus,” Steve does a double take, baffled by this entire conversation. “What the hell did you guys do in there?”

“Steve, drive!” Max shouts at him. 

The tires of the car squeal against the pavement as Steve steps on the gas. He steadies the car, a wild look in his eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“The school,” Max holds up the keys she stole.

Dustin looks at her incredulously. “Are those–”

“The keys to Ms. Kelly’s office? Yeah.” You nod grimly. “I told you, I’m now a felon.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic–”

A voice comes through Cerebro, cutting Max off. “Dustin? It’s Lucas. Do you copy?”

Relief washes over you hearing Lucas’ voice. Between tracking down Eddie and dealing with interrogating school guidance counselors, you’d also been slowly worrying yourself to death over the boy. It’s unusual for him to be quiet for so long, and with all the murders now occurring… You’d been terrified. 

“Lucas? Where the hell have you been?” Demands Dustin.

“Just listen, are you guys looking for Eddie?”

You and Steve share an uncertain look. Why would Lucas be radioing about him? How much does he know?

Your brother tells Lucas that you’ve found Eddie and tells him where he is, that he’s safe. Immediately, the boy responds, “You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?”

Predictably, Dustin doesn’t take this very well. “That’s bullshit, Eddie tried to save Chrissy.”

Lucas presses further, not believing what he’s hearing. Max snatches the radio from Dustin, tired of all the vague responses. “Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay?”

“Technically we still haven’t elaborated on the whole Eddie thing,” you point out, which she glares at you for. 

“Y/N?” Lucas asks, surprised to hear you’re with them.

You grab the walkie. “Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Awful,” he responds bluntly while Steve snorts at your question. “Why are you guys so sure Eddie didn’t–”

“Just meet us at school. We’ll explain later.” Max instructs, leaning over the car’s console. 

“I can’t,” fear leaks through Lucas’ voice. You sit up now, looking at Steve again. He hears it, too. “I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

You feel your heartbeat pick up. “Lucas, what does that mean? Are you okay, where are you?”

“Sinclair!” A voice shouts, before the radio cuts into static. 

“Lucas? Lucas!” Max shouts into the walkie, but he doesn’t respond. She sounds scared, it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in her voice in months.

You’re no better. You sit in the passenger seat, numb. The voice, you recognized it. You’d know Jason Carver’s voice anywhere. Everything clicks; you remember how Lucas was supposed to go to the party after the basketball game. Chrissy had been Jason’s girlfriend before she was brutally killed. The cops would’ve questioned him, they would’ve told him how her body had been found in Eddie’s trailer. 

Eddie Munson, the town freak everyone hates. 

“What shit could Lucas get into?” Dustin questions, annoyance twinged with worry for his friend. 

You try to steady your breathing, nausea returning. You almost don’t recognize the sound of your own voice. “It’s Jason. He’s-he’s angry.”

The words settle in the car, linger in the air, before they crash heavily upon the four of you. The realization dawns on everyone, the inevitability of what will happen next is an unbearable weight.

Steve steps even harder on the gas. He knows the basketball team, how cruel teen boys can be. 

– 

Every time you’ve snuck into one of Hawkins’ schools, it’s never led to anything good. The first two times had been in the middle school for Will. Neither time involved very pleasant memories. This year you’re sneaking into the high school in order to violate your classmates’ privacy and read their deepest, darkest secrets.

“This feels wrong,” you huff under your breath, barely keeping up with Steve and the others as they run through the hallway. “I’d hate it if anyone read my file.”

“Would you rather risk anyone else dying?” Max responds, giving you a pointed look.

You frown but don’t say anything, figuring she’s right. As much as you hate to do this, it’s objectively the lesser of two evils. You’ll apologize to the students after this is done. If they question why you’ve baked them brownies, you’ll simply lie and say you had extra laying around. 

“Dustin, do you copy?” Robin’s voice carries over the radio. Your heart skips a beat hearing her, you’ve missed her today. After your brother responds, she starts to explain what she and Nancy found. “So, Nancy’s a genius.”

“What else is new?” You say, and Robin laughs.

“My thoughts exactly, pretty girl.�� She clears her throat. “Anyways, Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s-eye.”

The new information startles you. Vecna first started killing in 1959? Why didn’t you hear anything about it until now, and why didn’t El sense him before?

Dustin looks equally unsettled by the news. “Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.”

You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?”

Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Meanwhile, Dustin urges Robin and Nancy to meet you guys at the school. By the time their conversation wraps up, Max has unlocked the office door. She heads straight towards the drawers, long familiar with the layout; you follow after her.

Steve and Dustin look around while you and Max dig through the files. They mumble something about Watergate, but you can barely hear them over the rush of blood in your eardrums. Max’s fingers rest on a specific file. The name printed on it makes you feel sick.

Fred Benson.

“Holy shit,” she exhales, grabbing it.

“Found it?” Dustin stands next to you now, neck peering down. 

You struggle to breathe. “We didn’t just find Chrissy’s file.”

Dustin tilts his head, he doesn’t understand, and Max holds the file up. “Fred was seeing Ms. Kelly too.”

Steve and Dustin freeze. You can practically see their heartbeats still. The air in the room goes stale. Their eyes linger on you, they wish they couldn’t piece it together. Chrissy and Fred were seeing Ms. Kelly up until their deaths. You and Max have been seeing her, too. It’s one hell of a coincidence. 

But that’s all this is. A horrible, awful coincidence. 

“Y/N…” Steve breathes out, but you shake your head at him.

“Please,” your lip trembles. Not here, not now. He can’t look away from you, but you can’t bear to look at him. Instead, you grab the remaining files and hand them to Max. “We need to go through them. All of them.”

Dustin sits at the desk, Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back as you lean over Max to read the files. He shines a flashlight for the two of you, Chrissy’s file is the first one you read. The image of her once vibrant and alive smile stares back at you. There’s a column of writing to the left of her photo, the handwriting is neat, orderly, and it catches your attention.

“Are those…?”

“Symptoms.” Max softly answers, eyes skimming down the list.

Past trauma.

Terrible migraines.

Difficulty sleeping.

Headaches.

Max’s entire body tenses, her muscles pull taut against you. Your own body shakes, the tremors misalign your bones. Slowly, she looks up at you. Her eyes silently beg you to tell her that you’ve gotten it all wrong. Max’s blue eyes plead with you to tell her that none of this is real.

“Steve,” your voice catches, unable to inhale. “Can we see Fred’s file?”

He softly agrees, handing you the file immediately. You take it from him. The paper trembles in your unsteady grasp. Laying them down, you open the file and Fred’s photo burns you. Next to it is a list of symptoms.

They’re the same as Chrissy’s. 

They’re the same as yours. 

The headaches. Sleepless nights. The trauma you’ve been through, the nightmares that will never truly go away. Everything you’ve experienced within the last week. 

Nosebleeds is starred, and for a moment your heartbeat settles. You haven’t had a nosebleed since you were five. It isn’t one of your symptoms; it can all still be a coincidence.

“This-this can’t be right.” You don’t know if you say this to reassure Max or yourself, but when you look down at her, you know. She has a far off look in her eyes. She doesn’t react to what you’ve just said. 

It’s only then that you remember her nosebleed from earlier this week; it hadn’t been a coincidence. 

“Max?” You shake her shoulders, tears already in your eyes. You know better than to be so naive, so blindly ignorant. You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that something was wrong.

Dustin and Steve try to wake Max, but she’s already left her body. She’s unresponsive, lost in whatever trance she’s in. 

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Steve demands, fear in his own voice.

You’re hysterical, screaming and sobbing for Max to wake up. Her body is so small against yours, she’s frail and weak and her skin has never looked so translucent. Over and over you shake her, your palms rest against her cheeks and you cry.

You’ve come to know what fear is. How it can blind a person, leave them stricken with such raw anguish. Fear takes whatever air is left inside you and it poisons it with sulfur and leaves you choking. 

The day Will went missing, the only air left in your body had been blood. 

When inside the tunnels defending your little brother from monsters, the air in your body had been carbon. 

Starcourt mall and the fireworks that exploded over Billy’s dangling and bloodied body left only just enough air in your lungs to scream.

But this fear, seeing Max unresponsive to your pleas, this fear doesn’t spare you any air. 

Gasping and choking, you’re a wreck. “Max!”

Faintly you can feel Steve’s hands on you, or maybe they’re Dustin’s. Someone grabs you, pulls you away, but all you can do is scream.

It all makes sense now, Nancy’s question from earlier rings in your ears. You know why Chrissy and Fred were targeted. Why Ms. Kelly was somehow the center of it all.

The symptoms they experienced prior, the same ones that plague you and Max. You know what it is.

Venca’s curse.

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ i am no longer doing a taglist, my apologies ! however, please feel free to like, reblog, and comment instead :)

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

pairing: joel miller x webcam model!f!reader

genre: no outbreak AU, explicit smut, minors dni

word count: 9k

summary: Joel, only now starting to feel the impending sense of loneliness, decides to listen to Tommy and sign up on an online streaming service called Ravish.

warnings: joel is bi in this, sex toys, paddles, nipple clamps, pillow humping, self-spanking, female/male masturbation, piv, dirty talking, possesive!joel, cum eating, oral (female receiving), size kink

additional warning: alright so there is a short moment in this where reader smacks herself with a paddle that has a heart-shaped hole and gets a heart mark on her skin, I don't use any descriptions (like calling it red or pink etc) but I'm also not oblivious enough to think everyone would get a mark when getting spanked so I wanted to let you know in case that would put you off and wouldn't want to read and that's completely fine!

a/n: this definitely ended up being longer then it needed it to be bfgbfg I want to take the anon who requested this, and the rest of you who chimed in and voted on the polls. I hope you all enjoy 💜 oh, also a special thanks to @missredherring who gave the idea of a more in-depth reason as to why Joel likes honeysuckle flowers 👀

edit!!! this has more than one part now! click here for the masterlist

Joel was lonely. 

He hadn’t really thought about it until Sarah went off to college. 

Since the day she was born, he had one thing and one thing on his mind only—to give his little girl everything that he could and make her happy. The rest didn’t concern him. He didn’t really care about dating, he didn’t have the time to think about how lonely he was. He had been on a couple of dates, all of which were initiated by Sarah as she entered her teenage years, pleading with him to go out and have a life.

But now that she was gone, studying what she always wanted to study and being happy, the emptiness began to spread like a nasty infection. Every creak and groan of the house sounded like mockery to him. He started keeping the TV open all night, most of the time falling asleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night startled by sudden shouts from a randomly playing film or show. He hated it. This wasn’t how Joel imagined his golden years to be like. 

Maybe that’s why he decided to use the damn website. Ravish. He’d heard it from Tommy first —which was an uncomfortable conversation as one could imagine— and after that, he kept on hearing the name. 

Ravish 

Ravish 

Ravish 

It was like a shitty pop song, stuck between his teeth like toffee, impossible to get rid of. The name made a home in his brain, making its presence known whenever he was doing anything, no matter how mundane the task was. 

Ultimately, he gave in. What was the worst that could happen? 

Joel groans. He stares at the screen with his brows drawn tightly together, the text cursor blinking as it waits for him to type out a username. It’s been almost ten minutes. A brief thought of asking Tommy passes through his mind but he quickly pushes the thought away and leans over the keyboard. 

JMiller. That should be alright. He doesn’t need anything fancy, and J can be any name. It can be Jack, Jacob, Jonathan, John, Jeremy. There are a bunch. Besides, Miller is a pretty common last name, so if someone asks if he's JMiller, he can just deny it. Not that anyone would. Everyone would be too busy jerking off to pretty people. The last thought anyone would have would be of him. 

He quickly decides on his password and he’s immediately overwhelmed. There are too many things happening at once. His eyes widen, heart beating a bit too fast as he moves his mouse around. In the corner, there’s a little pop-up begging for his attention, and on the screen, there are multiple thumbnails of women and men. When he drags his mouse over a thumbnail it starts moving and he jumps. 

“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’m in way over my head.” 

Joel gets up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. After that, he sits on the couch again and takes three deep breaths. The ice clicks together as he takes a swig, the amber liquid pleasantly burning as it goes down his throat. He looks around some more, looking for the profiles that pique his interest the most. 

While he scrolls, he sees one of a man with the username NicolasCageFreak, which he finds odd, but the man is pleasing to the eye with soft brown curls and natural honey highlights in between. The man has a small bullet vibrator pressed against his hard length, a cock ring at the base of it. Joel presses like and saves it for later. 

Joel has to remind himself a couple of times that the people who stream can’t actually see him. The more he scrolls the more relaxed he feels. There’s a woman with pretty green eyes he saves for later and another man with the username CammingBravo. He has his face hidden, Joel can see the red ribbon circling the back of his head as he bends over, granting the viewers a delicious sight of his ass that has a shiny buttplug. 

Liked! Added to your queue for later.

Until now Joel was fairly certain he was straight, sometimes he’d get the occasional same-sex dream but he figured everyone did at some point in their lives. He’s not so sure anymore. 

Some more scrolling and Joel starts getting restless. His cock strains against his sweatpants, aching for his rough touch. He takes a deep breath. The next live stream he sees that he likes he’ll click and that will be that. He’s starting to get worked up and, unlike NicolasCageFreak, he’s not a fan of edging himself. 

Then he sees her. A woman wearing a delicate chain vest with rhinestones that sparkle whenever she moves. His eyes flit to the username; Honeysuckle. He loves that flower, he has many memories of picking them with Tommy and sucking the sweet nectar hidden inside. He wonders if she tastes just as sweet. 

Not one to break a promise to himself, Joel clicks on the thumbnail. His eyes are instantly drawn to the live chat. There are so many people asking her to do something all at once—Jesus Christ. There are also a couple of them just chatting as if they were friends with her. He sees that everyone calls her Honey, which is fitting and a bit on the nose, he thinks. 

Noticing that he has the stream muted, Joel unmutes it, a pleasant tingle running down his spine as soon as her voice comes through the speakers of his laptop. 

“Wow, Eric47 I’m so happy you got that promotion!” 

“Don’t worry everyone, I’ve been thinking naughty thoughts all day and I’m ready to put on a show.” 

“Patience everyone.” 

“Thank you for buying a private chat, SarahBelieves! I can’t wait to be your good girl. . .” 

Joel is too focused on her tone, the smooth lilt of her voice, to hear the words she’s saying. The only thing his ears pick up on is the words private and chat. He wasn’t aware you could buy some extra time with the streamers. He loves that—

He shakes his head. Loves? Is he already planning on paying? At the thought, his cock twitches with interest, his reserve quickly crumbling to the floor. 

Joel decides to focus on the stream first. He can decide later on if he wants a private session or not. He cups himself through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, groaning as a spike of relief shoots through him. His eyes are glued to the screen. Honey’s hard nipples poke through the chains, her hands delicately kneading the tender mounds as she rises slightly by lifting herself onto her knees. She’s on a bed, wearing black panties and a matching garter. Joel’s mouth waters. The things he would do to her. . . 

His tongue pokes from between his lips, soft tendon moving with muscle memory as he thinks of eating her sweet cunt out. 

“Today my sweet bees,” she addresses them. “I was thinking of fucking myself with the biggest dildo I’ve got, how does that sound?” 

Joel’s eyes drift to the chat. Everyone seems to be cheering and asking her to show them how much she can take. There’s also a bunch of them calling her their favorite size queen. She chuckles. 

“I love all dicks, in any shape or form,” she purrs. “I’m just in the mood for a bit of pain.” 

Pain. That captures Joel’s attention. It makes him curious about all the other things she might be into. Perhaps she enjoys getting spanked, or she would enjoy the feeling of someone dragging their nails down her pretty back. He wants to know. He wants his imaginary scenarios to be as accurate as possible. 

He’s about to pull out his cock when he hears her voice again. 

“I do have one question though,” she says innocently. “Should I keep these pretty black panties on or off?” she grins into the camera, her eyes shining with mirth. “Let’s see those answers, my bees.” 

What do you want? Joel wants to ask. But this isn’t that kind of scenario so he thinks. The answers come flying in, there’s a fifty-fifty ratio. Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching. He wants her to keep them on. He likes the idea of her sliding them to the side and fucking herself deep, it feels more animalistic, more raw. He enjoys the idea of claiming someone, a curiosity he hasn’t yet fully explored yet. 

He types exactly that. His wording and grammar a bit too neat compared to the rest, but he gives Honey his answer. He wants her to keep it on. Maybe play with herself some more until the fabric is basically see-through, then she can fuck herself with the biggest cock she’s got. 

Joel watches intently as her eyes go over the live chat, there are so many answers coming in, he doubts she’ll see his comment. Still, he likes to believe she’ll see it. 

Honey’s eyes still briefly, hunger swirling in them as a canine sinks into her bottom lip. Her smile is bashful and shy, much different than the character she’s playing. Her eyes move back to the camera. Joel watches her breasts as her chest heaves, nipples grazing against the cool metal. 

“Well, well, JMiller. . . you certainly have a mouth on you,” she tuts and Joel’s eyes go wide. The satisfaction he feels leads to goosebumps coursing over his burning skin, being noticed. . . it’s surprisingly thrilling. “Are you new? I haven’t seen your handle before.” 

Joel swallows, his hands shaking as he types in a quick “yea”, Honey smiles, “Welcome to the hive then, baby. Keep the comments up,” she sighs, cupping both her tits. “I love a man who knows how to dirty talk.” 

A knot forms in his throat, his skin tight. He wasn’t expecting to be this affected. Now he understands why so many people enjoy live streams. They don’t see you, not actually, but still, it almost fills the void. Almost. He’s excited now, eager to type in more of his thoughts, eager to hear her answer him. Joel pulls out his cock, the waistband of his sweats hugging his thighs. He gives himself a firm tug, his spine straightening at the burn gathering in his lower stomach. It feels fucking good. 

“Since it’s J’s first time, and because he got me all hot and bothered, why not leave the panties on for this time?” Honey says. Joel observes the chat, there are a lot of congratulatory messages addressed to him, welcoming him. He doesn’t care. “You want to see these panties soaked, huh? You guys know how much I love making a mess.” 

Honey shimmies back, revealing more of her bare legs. She spreads them for the camera, the soft sound of delicate metal filling the air whenever she moves. Her fingers start to move lazily over her clothed clit, her head falls. Joel can see a subtle dark patch growing, his own hand starting to move slowly up and down his throbbing cock. A drop of precum dribbles down, easing the glide of his rough palm. She doesn’t look at the chat as frequently as she did before, too focused on her pleasure. Her glossy lips part and her eyes scrunch up. Her moans are loud and breathy, signs that she lives alone. 

Joel doesn’t think as he fists himself. Normally when watching porn he would think; he would think of a scenario, or what he would be doing differently, or the things he would want to do. This is different. He’s just watching, inhaling what’s being given to him. He sucks a sharp breath, his hand moving faster, the side of his fist smacking against his pelvis, dark curls damp under his palm. 

“Fuck,” Honey moans, eyes peering toward the screen. Her fingers move faster, her hips grinding to meet the graze of her palm. Joel groans, his eyes rolling back into his skull. “I think I’m going to come,” he breathes out. “Should I?” 

Joel doesn’t bother with typing until he hears his alias. 

“JMiller, since you’re new the decision is yours. Should I? P-Please answer,” she sounds desperate, her hips rutting the air as she presses her fingers hard against her clit. “O-Or do you want me to come on your cock?” 

Joel’s hips stutter, filling the tightness of his fist, “Fuckin’ hell.” 

With sticky fingers he types his answer, telling her that she should come with his cock deep inside her. Joel also adds that he wants to hear her, telling her to be loud. 

“O-Okay,” she whines, almost tearful as she reaches to grab her dildo off-screen. Joel can’t help the grin that makes its way across his face. He types again, telling her not to cry and that she’ll be coming soon enough. When he presses enter, he notices that his name is highlighted in dark orange. “You’re kind of an asshole,” she answers playfully. “I like that.” 

You're the buzzing heartbeat of Honeysuckle’s live stream! You are picked by the streamer as the treasured Drone Bee, your unwavering loyalty and vibrant energy create an electrifying atmosphere. Your presence is a key ingredient in making the honey even sweeter! 

A growl echoes in his throat when Honey shows the camera the dildo she had picked out. She wasn’t kidding when she said it was her biggest. It’s bigger than his own dick, and Joel is by no means a small man. He squeezes his cock and looks down, with a sudden need growing in his chest, he purses his lips and lets a long trail of saliva drip between his lips. He shudders when it reaches the head of his cock. He swipes his palm over it and continues to stroke himself, he wants to come. 

He wants them to come at the same time. 

Honey pushes the dildo in slowly, giving her viewers a clear sight of what’s happening. The toy stretches her wide, the ache of it pulling a gasp from her pretty lips. Joel breathes heavily, his nostrils flaring as his hand speeds up. 

Oh, how he would love to be the one fucking slowly into her, to hear those little gasps coming from her in person rather than his shitty speakers. He holds his breath. It’s buried fully inside of her now. She slowly looks down, her eyes looking directly into the camera. 

“I hope the view down there is good,” she says with a smirk. Joel doesn’t type anything. He focuses on the way his cock drools for her, aches to be buried in her cunt. Honey pulls out the toy until it’s only the tip that’s inside and then shoves it all in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her voice unfiltered. Joel’s stomach jumps at the sound, his pupils dilating like a wolf seeing its prey for the first time. 

She fucks herself hard, whimpering and crying out every time she fuck herself deep. Joel sees the way the plastic surface shines with her slick, he bets she tastes fucking sweet. 

He knows she’s close when her thighs begin to shake—he also knows thanks to the live chat going completely berserk, cheering her on and telling her to squirt. Joel, despite her own release close enough that he can taste it, rolls his eyes. 

“This one is for you JMiller,” she whimpers and Joel’s eyes go wide, his cock pulsing in his wet fist. “Hope you’re gonna fall down the edge with me, big guy.”  

Joel doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until she’s coming—she does so with a loud moan, her cunt fluttering around the large cock. Her head falls back completely, giving a clear view of her heaving chest, nipples fully erect under the see-through armor. 

His fall from grace is less pretty. He lets out a grunt, his hips fucking into his hand helplessly as come spurts from the slit, it’s almost painful. His heart beats aggressively while he tries hard to keep his focus on the screen, he doesn’t want to miss anything. Joel makes a mess of himself and his surroundings, the rug underneath his socked feet stained with his release. 

 Joel’s cock stops throbbing and with a pleased sigh, his shoulders drop. 

“That felt fuckin’ goood,” he groans, staring blankly at the ongoing live stream. Vaguely he notices Honey pulling the toy out, an equally fucked out expression on her face. The live chat is still going wild, he manages to lean over and type in one last sentence before going offline. 

Good girl. 

Joel is a weak weak man. 

Watching Honey quickly became a routine for him. She would start streaming around the same time he would come back from work and it was the perfect way to let off some steam. Tommy had asked if he checked out Ravish, to which Joel promptly said no. He didn’t need his baby brother making fun of him. 

Besides, some primal part of him didn’t want Tommy to know about Honey. It’s an odd thought, he realizes, since she’s enjoyed by many many people. Still, he didn’t have an explanation for what he was feeling. 

Once she had brought in a guest, and his body had immediately rejected it. He was ready to close the stream and head to the bathroom for a quick shower—however, he stopped when he noticed who the guest was; CammingBravo. Another streamer who had caught Joel’s attention when he was scrolling through the endless amount of entertainers for the first time. He watched Honey eat out his tight little asshole, then he watched Bravo fuck her senseless, making her soak the sheets. 

Joel never came that hard in his life before— It was exhilarating. He tipped handsomely that night and Honey mentioned how JMiller was one of her best viewers. Bravo’s smile, which was surprisingly kind, was infectious. 

He would be lying if he said his chest didn’t puff up a little. 

And, of course, he ended up buying a private chat with her after that. He just had to. It would just be this one time, he told himself, just one hour without the live chat. Just him and her. 

He turns on the laptop, already knowing that he’s kidding himself. There’s no way this will be a one-time thing. He’s too. . . smitten to leave it with one private chat. 

Maybe he can limit himself to once a month. That seems reasonable. 

The familiar website of Ravish loads and he clicks on the little gray person in the corner. He finds the section that’s titled “private chats” and clicks. Her username, Honeysuckle, pops up. On the screen, it says she’ll be with him shortly. 

A minute later the screen goes black and her face comes into view. She’s wearing a pink see-through bra with strawberries on it, Honey’s smile is bright as she looks into the camera.  

“Hi there J!” she greets him, his stomach warms at the sound of her voice. “This is your first time doing a live chat right?” 

He nods absent-mindedly while typing. Honey reads his answer and gives him an empathetic look. 

“Okay, so you don’t have to show your face—obviously—but if you want you can click the tiny microphone in the corner and talk to me directly. But if that’s also too much you can continue to type what you want me to do.” 

Joel’s eyebrows raise. Talk to her. . . with his actual voice? The thought both excites and sends cold fear down his spine. What would he even say? What if she doesn’t like the sound of his voice? 

“Are you there?” her voice comes through. “Is everything alright?” 

His fingers tense and rigid, Joel types in the questions that swirl in his head. Luckily the questions sound cheeky without any tone indicators so Honey smiles, her eyes narrowing while her lips curl seductively. 

“You can say anything you want, big boy,” she licks her lips. “And don’t worry about your voice, I’m yours for the hour. You might as well have the most shrill voice in the world, I would still tell you how sexy you sound.” 

You always call me that. Why?  . . .  Also, it doesn’t make me feel any better when you say you’ll tell me how good I sound regardless but I get what you mean. 

Joel aggressively chews the smooth inside of his cheek. Honey reads his messages, a grin stretching across her beautiful face, “Let’s just say streamer’s intuition,” she winks. “As for the other thing, I mean that you don’t need to worry. I doubt you have the most shrill voice in the world.”  she thinks over her words before adding. “Of course, it’s up to you. If you don’t want to use voice chat that’s completely fine.” 

 Joel sighs, his curser hovering over the tiny microphone. Closing his eyes, he clicks. 

“Can—Can you hear me?” 

Her eyes sparkle. 

“Crystal clear,” she answers with a wide smile. “You sound hot.” 

She sounds genuinely impressed. Joel can’t help but chuckle with the shake of his head. “Don’t sound so surprised but thanks, I think?” 

“Oh it’s definitely a compliment,” she says rolling her tongue. “Is there anything you want me to call you or should I just call you J?” 

There’s a brief moment where he thinks of just telling her his name but he bites his tongue at the very last moment. His heart does a little jump when he answers, “You can call me. . . sir.” 

“Understood, sir,” she repeats, her voice dripping with lust. A shudder crawls up his spine and he has to brace himself by holding his knees. “There is also a matter of safewords, I don’t do everything as I’m sure you don’t as well. Red is for stop, yellow is for slow down and green is for go. I think that’s the simplest one but if you want to use a different word I’m okay with that.” 

Joel blinks before answering, “Uh, yeah sounds good.” 

“Also the website doesn’t allow screen recordings—which I appreciate— so you can’t film these sessions in any way. I’m just letting you know because no one reads the terms of service and one client was very unhappy when he got a cease and desist.”

“I. . . okay, I wouldn’t even think of it.” 

She smiles and Joel’s heart feels a bit lighter, “Good,” with the rules established, a sense of relaxation washed over both of them. “So, do you have anything planned for me?” 

Joel clears his throat as a warning and her eyes glimmer with amusement. 

“Sorry,” she breathes heavily. “Did you have anything planned for me, sir?” 

“Would you laugh if I said no?” 

“Sir, I would never laugh at you,” she pouts, brows turning upward. Momentarily she looks off screen and when her eyes find the lens again she smiles giddily.  “Would you want me to show you the toys I think you’ll like?” 

Joel smiles at how genuinely excited she sounds, it’s hard to remind himself that this is all an act and that this is her job. He wants this to be real. He wants her to actually be excited to show him all the things she wants him to use. 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he answers not missing the way her lips part with a soft gasp. “Show me what you got.” 

Honey shows him a handful of her toys. She has a lot. Dildos of various sizes, vibrators, nipple clamps, kegel balls, anal plugs, anal beads, floggers, collars, paddles. . . she might as well have an entire sex shop in her room. Joel takes mental notes of all of them to use during their next sessions.  

“Anything that you like, sir?” 

“The paddle,” he murmurs, feeling a bit flustered now that they’re actually getting into it. “The one with the heart-shaped hole and. . . the nipple clamps—” 

“The heart-shaped ones?” 

Joel swallows thickly, “Y—Yeah.” 

“No need to be shy, sir,” she grins. “It’s only you and me.” Honey picks out the toys Joel requested and raises an eyebrow while her gaze searches the pile. “So, no dildos? Or vibrators?” 

“I . . . had somethin’ else in mind, if that’s alright.” 

“Ohhhh, a mystery,” she purrs, winking into the camera. “I love it, sir.” 

Honey is slow to rid herself of her bra, sliding one arm out and then the other before moving both hands to the back to unclasp herself free of the dainty fabric. Her chest nears the camera, giving him a full view of her fully erect nipples. Joel’s breathing grows heavier by the second. He can feel his cock stiffen, pleasure stirring in his gut. He quickly kicks off his shorts, leaving himself bare on the couch as he watches her secure the clamps over each nipple. She lets out a tiny sigh of bliss, pulling her arms back and planting her palms firmly against the mattress, she shows her newly decorated nipples. 

Joel groans and wraps his hand around his cock. She does a little wiggle, the soft sound of bells making his cock twitch. 

“Are you touching yourself, sir?” 

“Yea.” 

“Good, I want to hear you get off,” she quickly adds. “Sir.” 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweet thing,” his eyes flutter closed as his fist moves down, and he opens them back up after giving himself a firm squeeze. “Turn around,” he grunts. “And don’t forget the paddle.” 

She does as she’s told, which in return gives Joel an immense sense of control and satisfaction. Precome drips down his length, he uses it to lube himself further, paying extra attention to be loud for her. Just like she wanted. 

His eyes follow the movement of the paddle, she drags it over the right cheek of her ass, caressing her skin. Her panties disappear between the crease of her gorgeous ass, leaving little to the imagination. “Is this okay, sir?” she asks, her voice thick. “Am I being a good girl?” 

Goosebumps rise over his skin. He’d called her, wrote to her, good girl after every stream—his smirk is laced with something dark when he realizes that she must’ve enjoyed it. 

“You’re being very good,” he answers. “Now hit yourself with it, I want to see a heart tattooed on that pretty flesh of yours.” 

“Southern man into branding, why am I not surprised?” she purrs and lifts her ass closer the camera. “You like seeing your pretty girl all marked up by her owner?” 

Fuck. 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” he orders, adding a bit more venomous tone to his voice. Honey stills, and briefly Joel worries he’d overstep. He stops breathing, not wanting to miss even the smallest hint of the safeword. 

But then she shudders, hitting herself lightly with the paddle. “How’s this, sir?” she says, her lilt indicating that she’s highly aware it isn’t enough. 

“Harder.” 

She spanks herself harder, her body jolting. Joel can hear the bells. He circles the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb, groaning as he makes himself more comfortable on the couch. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re listenin’,” he inhales slowly, enjoying the way her muscles tense. “I want to see those hearts on your skin. I thought this was supposed to be a show.” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

He loves how breathy her voice has gotten. Heat licks the base of his spine, his cock begging for release. 

She raises the paddle, smacking her plump meat much harder than before. Her asscheek ripples and Joel can finally see a faint trace of a shape. But it’s not clear enough to be a decent heart. “Again,” he orders. 

It takes about six to nine times before the heart takes shape on her skin. She’s whimpering, tremors moving up and down her body as she fights the urge to collapse. She loves seeing his mark there, she might’ve placed herself, but it was his doing and he revels in it. 

“Good,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Good fuckin’ girl. Lookin’ so pretty for me.” 

“S-Sir,” she mutters. Joel doesn’t know what to expect until her hand comes between her legs, sliding the thin line of her panties to the side. Her cunt is a sopping mess. Joel leans further towards the screen, his tongue licking the roof of his mouth. “Do you see how wet I am? P-Please, I want to come—Can I, sir?” 

“Fuck, ‘course you can,” his neck feels warm, burning almost. “Turn around, grab one of them pillows behind you.” 

“P-Pillow?” 

She sounds dazed, Joel almost feels bad for her, almost. “Yes sweetheart, pillow,” he coos. “I want you to grind that pretty cunt against it. . . honey.” 

“Shit, say that again.” 

“Honey,” he groans again, his hips thrusting into the air, burying himself deep into his fist. His voice drops further as he begins to chant, “Honey, honey, honey, honey—” 

She visibly clenches at that, her entire body tight with arousal. With shaky hands, she brings the pillow between her thighs, straddling the soft cushion. Her head falls back as she gives it an experimental roll of her hips, Joel’s breath catches in his throat. She looks delectable. Her hands come up to her chest and tugs at the clamps, she jumps, a wanton moan echoing from the back of her throat. 

“You’re so worked up aren’t you?” Joel continues as she grinds herself further down, leaving a wet, darkened patch behind. He’s preaching to the choir. His own arousal drooling over his knuckles. He closes his eyes, allowing his mouth to roam free. “Stuff three fingers in your mouth, want you to choke darlin’.” 

With a whine, she nods and pushes three fingers between her lips. Joel smirks, “It ain’t nearly enough but at least you can get a feelin’ of how much my cock would stretch those pretty lips, honey,” he rasps. She shudders, her hips moving wildly over the pillow. “You love havin’ your mouth full don’t you?” 

“Yesh, sur,” she moans around her own fingers, she move acutely, and with every jerk of her hips, Joel can see her throbbing clit. He’s teetering on the edge of his release, heat pools between his legs, his balls go tight. 

“I’m gonna come, honey,” he groans, his tight shaking. “Come with me, show me how wet your get that pillow.” 

With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she loudly gulps around her fingers, giving Joel a clear few of her cunt before rolling her hips down against the smooth surface. His eyes go wide and before his brain can register the coil snapping, he spills over his hand. Heavy strings of come dripping down his hard throbbing length. He makes a choked sound as he tries to breathe in and out at the same time. Honey pulls out her fingers from her mouth and grins, her hands drop in front of her and she bounces up and down, mimicking the way she would ride him. 

The action manages to squeeze one last rope of come from him, his lungs collapse, his body burning. She comes right after, her thighs squeezing around each side of the pillow before gushing around it. Joel can see the shine as she continues to grind her hips. 

“Show me,” he pants, his next words quickly shifting into a growl. “Show it to me.” 

Licking her lips, Honey pulls the pillow from between her legs and shows it to him. His cock twitches with interest. “Wanna taste you,” he says without thinking. 

“Sadly technology hasn’t improved that much yet,” she answers. “But I’ll tell you this much,” she leans in and flattens her tongue against the soaked fabric. Joel’s jaw tightens, his molars digging together painfully. She moans. “I taste sweet. Like honey.” 

You hate visiting home. 

You hate the heat, the crowd, staying at a home where you’re still treated like a child when you haven’t been one for a long long time. But you didn't really have a choice when your dad hurt his leg, which meant that you had to help around with the tiny bookshop your family owned. It was a miracle that it was still standing, but people did love their old, dusty bookshops. You had to admit, you enjoyed the aura of the place.

Your mom had asked you to bring over two coffees before coming in, she opened up shop early which you were grateful for. Now that you were home, you didn’t have the luxury to do as many private calls as you wanted to. You still streamed late at night, keeping silent, your audience didn’t mind. They thoroughly enjoyed the whispering and the “we can’t be caught” act. You only indulged in one private session, a session that you couldn’t bare letting go of. 

JMiller. 

You thought a lot about what his real name might be. Jacob, Jeff, Jeremy. . . none of them felt right. It was disappointing because you wanted to scream his name when you had your hand between your legs. But since you couldn’t decide on a name, you whimpered a string of sirs over and over again. 

You eagerly counted down the hours until you could finally spend time with him. This was a funny thought on its own because you boasted about how professional you were. You kept things clear, not allowing for any miscommunication or—potentially—feelings. But there was just something about him that got your entire body yearning to hear his southern drawl. Maybe it was the nostalgia of it all. You did grow up in Austin after all. But still. It was odd how excited you got before going online. 

You briefly mentioned you were going back home, you didn’t tell him where, obviously, but you did tell him that there could be scheduling issues. He understood. 

Of course he did, he was perfect. 

Pulling yourself away from your thoughts, you impatiently drum your foot against the clean marble floors. This line is insane. You let out a groan, sending your mother a quick text that it might take you a while. A second later your phone buzzes with a thumbs-up emoji from her. You sigh again as you shove the phone down your back pocket, you hate waiting, it gets you anxious and even though you don’t have a boss that will yell at you, you don’t enjoy being late. 

Then, as if he popped out of the concrete like a weed, a man pushes himself between you and the other person that was waiting in line in front of you. 

Your heart races, your eyebrows knitting together, no way in hell are you going to allow someone to cut in line. 

“Hey,” you call out. The man ignores you and you tap his shoulder, he turns sharply, his eyes glaring daggers. “You can’t cut in line,” you say defensively. “You need to move to the back of the line.” 

“Look lady I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about I was always here.” 

“Ummmm, no you weren’t,” your chest heaves, heat rising to your cheeks. You don’t like confrontation—you’d do it, but you’d hate it. Your legs are already shaking slightly. “I’ve been staring at the pink paint stain on that guy’s shoulder for about half an hour so I know what I’m talking about.” 

He rolls his eyes, an ugly snarl taking shape, “Just leave it. I ain’t gonna budge. I have places to be.” 

“And the rest of us don’t?” you snort, eyebrows raised. He shrugs, makes a face, and turns his back to you once again. It takes you everything not to stomp your foot like an angry bull. 

You’ve had enough. You’re tired of the assholes of the word, you don’t care if you’re not allowed into the coffee shop ever again. Puffing up your chest, you open your mouth wide, ready to give this rude stranger a piece of your unfiltered mind. 

“You know what—” 

“Is that any way to treat a lady, moonshine?”  

You turn towards the source of the voice. It’s a man you’ve never seen before. He’s rugged looking, the salt and pepper in his beard endearing. He has a deep crease between his brows, his brown eyes dark as he stares down at the rude stranger. You take in the sight of his broad shoulders, thick neck—your heart does a little flip. You don’t know why but you’re drawn to the man, he has a nice voice. 

The man, however, isn’t as pleased as you. 

“What’s it to you? She your girlfriend?” 

You’re not but you kinda wish you were. 

“Get in the back of the line, I saw you cut in front of her.” 

The tension in the air is thick enough that you can cut it with a knife. You hold your breath, your lungs starting to burn as electricity crackles between the two men. Finally the asshole caves and sighs, going to the back of the line. You let out the breath you’ve been holding, your shoulders sagging with relief right after. 

“Thank you,” you say, your gaze finding the kind strangers. “I was right about to blow my lid before you stepped in.” 

He doesn’t answer and just continues to stare at you. Worry builds in your spine. Why isn’t he saying anything? His softened gaze flits across your face, taking in every detail before looking away. He pushes his hands down his pockets, looking almost boyish with the way he drops his gaze to the floor. 

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters. 

You raise an eyebrow. His voice still sounds familiar. Your curiosity getting the better of you, you shove the thoughts of familiarity into the back of your head and grace him with a wide smile. He blushes profusely, eyes slightly going wide, he takes a sharp inhale. 

“How about I pay for your coffee. . . or whatever you’re buying?” you ask. 

“You don’t have—” 

“I insist!” you chirp, glad that the line is finally moving. You extend your hand with enthusiasm, which he accepts a bit tentatively. Your smile never wavering, you tell him your name and an emotion akin to guilt washes over his eyes. He releases your hand, lips a tight, frigid line. “Is something wrong?” you ask. “You don’t like the name?” 

“N–No, it ain’t that,” he shifts from one leg to the other. You nearly look down, curious to see how tightly his jeans hug his muscular thighs. “I’m. . . Joel.” 

The world around you falls into a complete silence. Joel. Joel. Something electric and searing shoots up your spine, your lashes fluttering. Your heart starts beating a mile a minute but you’re not sure why. The only thing you do know is that this is a significant moment. An important moment. 

Your rake your brain for answers. 

Why? 

Why is it important? What piece are you missing to complete the puzzle? 

His lips break into a soft smile, he gestures towards the counter with his head. “We’re up.” 

“O-Oh, yeah,” you swallow, barely able to pull your gaze away from him. “Sorry.” 

You tell the kind barista your order and she writes it down on both your cups happily. The two of you move away from the line to wait for your drinks; a black coffee for your mom, a caramel macchiato for you, and an iced quad espresso for Joel. You raise an eyebrow. 

“I have a long day comin’,” he says with a small smile. “And I didn’t do much sleepin’ last night.” 

Your mind immediately flashes you memories of last night. Legs spread wide with two dildos stretching you, JMiller really enjoys it when you test your limits. Your pulse pounding in your skull, you look down. “Don’t I know it.” 

“You had a late night too?” there’s a teasing lilt to his tone. Your stomach churns and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. It looks like he’s about to say something else but the barista calls your name and both of you head towards the counter. He takes his death juice with a grateful smile, his demeanor more relaxed compared to when you introduced yourself.

“Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.” 

Oh shit. 

Shit shit shit shit. 

It is him. 

JMiller—J stands for Joel. 

Fuck. 

“You. . .” you begin, panic raising in your voice. “You’re. . .” 

He nods, “I think we both know why I didn’t sleep much last night,” he extends his hand again. “Huge fan by the way. You’re great and this is awkward as hell.” 

“It is,” you whisper. Still, you take his hand. “It is.” 

“You’ve never had someone come up to you on the street before?” he asks, curious. “I would assume you get recognized a lot.” 

“Not as much as you would think,” a cruel, humorless burst of laughter drops from your lips. “People don’t exactly want their partners to know they’re watching me. But if they’re alone yeah. . . sometimes they’ll say hi.” 

Or they’ll ask inappropriate questions and be weird about it but he doesn’t have to know that. 

Now that he’s mentioned you bumping into others, you’re not sure why it felt like the end of the world before. You feel embarrassed, flustered even, two emotions that a client shouldn’t be making you feel. 

“Well,” he breaks the silence, moving his jaw as he opens the door for you. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

“Technically you bought it.” 

“Right. . .” 

The two of you are out in the street now, staring at each other, contemplating what to say. He scratches the back of his head, then his fingers move to rub at his jaw. Arousal gathers between your thighs, it’s not your fault, now that you know that it’s him, your body acts accordingly. 

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” 

You still for a moment before answering, “Yeah.” 

He turns and leaves, you do the same, only in the opposite direction. 

After learning your name, Joel completely abandoned his rule of you calling him 'sir', making you moan his actual name as frequently as he could. His name stuck to your tongue. It might as well have been tattooed under your bottom lip. He was possessive in the way he asked, in some instances even begging for you to say it—and you fucking loved it. You loved this sick claim he had towards you now that you two had officially met. You loved how much more eager he was to see you make a sticky mess between your thighs. You love how cock dumb he made you feel without actually being there to fuck you himself. 

He even started doing his version of online aftercare. Mostly he would just talk, tell you about every-day things as you came down from your high. Or he would murmur a song. You never asked if he was a musician, he had a nice voice. 

It’s the beginning of the session and you’re getting ready. He says he enjoys watching the preparation you do for him so you decided to start streaming five minutes earlier, allowing him to watch. You really need him today. You had a rough day with an order mix-up, and your mom isn’t the best at dealing with mishaps. He clears his throat, which draws your attention to him. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask. 

“No no, everythin’ is fine, sweetheart. I just. . .” he sighs. “I want to ask somethin’.” 

“Ask away.” 

“Can we—Would you want to—” he groans in frustration and you start grinning. His frustrated pout is adorable. All you want to do is smooth the crease between his brows with your thumb and give him a kiss. 

“Joel Miller,” you tease, not missing the way his breath catches in your throat. “Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Oh god, you hope your intuition is right. If it isn’t this call is about to get really awkward. 

He flushes, eyes dropping as he nods. 

“Is that okay?” 

This is highly unprofessional, “More than okay. I’d love to go on a date with you.” 

His grin is infectious. 

“Good,” he lets out a breath then settles back against the couch. “Now show me those pretty tits, honey.” 

You can’t believe you’re actually in JMiller’s, aka Joel’s, home. 

The date had gone better than you expected. He was kind, charming, and chivalrous which were all qualities you haven’t seen for a while. Ever since you started streaming you hadn’t been on many dates and frankly, after a while, you purposefully avoided them. It just felt like asking for drama that you had no intention of dealing with. But Joel wasn’t like that. He could be blunt, a bit grumpy, yet also kind. He had taken you to one of his favorite pubs. Beers accompanied by the best jalapeno poppers you ever had equated to one of the finest dates you’ve ever had. 

He was a contractor, had a daughter in college, and a younger brother. His mother and father had passed a long time ago and ever since Sarah left, he’d been feeling lonely. He’d admitted shyly that that was the reason why he signed up on Ravish. He wanted company. 

You found it incredibly charming. 

As soon as Joel closes the door behind you two, you fall into each other’s arms. He kisses you with fervor, tongue slipping between your lips as he breathes you in at the same time. You feel him everywhere. Large hands squeezing your hips, waist, breasts—it’s intoxicating. You moan wantonly into his mouth, your lids falling when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like beer and you’re pretty sure you do too. 

Joel pushes you up against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs while you continue to chase his lips with an insatiable need. You can’t bear to be separated from him, not even for a second. He drags his lips down your neck, mouthing at your jugular, sharp teeth nipping the sensitive flesh. Your hips jerk to meet his and with a growl, he pins you back to the wall. 

“Don’t,” he grunts. “I’ve been waitin’ so long for this honey, so fuckin’ long.” 

Your lips curl, a challenge lingering in your eyes, “Show me then, big boy. Show me how bad you want to fuck your slut.” 

“Fuck,” he hisses, gripping your chin harshly and pulling you in for another kiss. Your teeth clink together, he pulls back just as quick, the muscle in his jaw twitches. “Fuck,” he breathes out again. “You have quite the mouth on you, darlin’.” 

You have no recollection of how the two of you clamored upstairs, stripping one another in a lustful haze. The time you realize you’re naked is when you feel the cool air of the room caressing your burning skin, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down between your breasts, fingers eagerly working your nipples as he forces you to walk back until your back of your knees hit the bed and you fall. 

Not wanting to give in so easily, you wrap your fingers around his heavy cock. It juts angrily between his legs, answering your touch by drooling all over your palm, slickening your movements. You jerk him until he’s fully hard, his breathing heavy as he rolls his hips to meet the tightness of your fist. He sinks his teeth into your neck, the pain that blossoms coaxes a moan from you, your own wetness growing between your legs. 

“I knew you’d be fucking big,” you whisper, tongue toying with his earlobe. “So huge—makes me wonder if I can take it. . .” 

“I’ve seen you take bigger,” he groans, hips stuttering. A whimper drops from your lips, you want him, you want to feel him inside, want to feel his come dripping out later. You feel thick fingers spreading your soaked folds, he drags down a middle finger between them, licking himself into your mouth as he draws circles around your aching clit. “So wet for me,” he rasps. “Gonna make a mess in you, honey.” 

You gasp, “P-Please.” 

He lines himself against your entrance, teasing you, stretching you subtly with the bulbous head of his cock. Your head falls back and your back arches into him. He draws a hard nipple between his lips, closing them as he sucks. Heat rushes all over your body, arousal thick on your tongue. You clutch the sheets. He smiles as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch with a lax jaw and a dazed gaze. 

He stops and waits for you to adjust to him. Joel’s forehead drops against yours, dampness growing between the skin. You feel his breath fanning your face, so warm. There’s a hint of pain, the type that makes you flutter around him. He feels it too. The way you tighten against him, your body begging for more. He obliges. Pushing further and further until his hips are flushed against yours. His jaw is clenched tight, his breathing heavy. 

“Fuck you feel so good,” he presses fleeting kisses all over your face. It’s ticklish and if all your senses wasn’t narrowed in between your legs, you would’ve giggled. 

Your body jerks as he pulls back, the pleasure you feel is instant and overwhelming. You’ve missed the feeling of actual flesh inside of you. Joel snaps his hips forward, locking your breath in your throat, with a moment of desperation you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. He fucks you in earnest. Every thrust desperate. Every thrust needy. He seems lost in you, whimpers, groans and grunts trembling in his throat and chest. You spread your legs wider, wanting more of him, wanting your cunt to take the shape of his cock. 

“Harder—” you cry out. “Take it—Take what you want—” 

Your arms fall limp, his body moving up and towering over yours. Joel grips your thighs tight before lifting them, he jackhammers into you, tugging and pulling at you like a brand new fucktoy. He splits you in half. The force of his movements making you scream. You don’t miss the way he grins wildly, dangerously. Something dark and haunting washing over his face. 

Your eyes grow wide, your heart beating in your throat, making it hard to swallow. It happens all at once, you clench around him, arousal pouring between your legs in a way it never had before. The look, the cock, the man behind it all—everything combined pushing your mind into the deep stages of want and need. Your eyes roll back, your hands coming up to pinch your tight, tingling nipples. You sob his name, your voice hoarse as you beg him for more and more and more—

“W-Wait, darlin’ if you squeeze me like that I’ll—!” 

A series of curses drops wildly and unintelligently from his lips. You feel him. The heat of his seed filling you to the brim, his cock throbs and twitches, spurting into you again and again. Your lips break into a satisfied smile. Instinctively, Joel pushes deeper, shoving your combined slick even deeper. 

“Shit,” he says catching his breath. “I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I usually last. . . longer than that. I—” 

You shush him and cup his cheek. You’re so pliant right now, floating happily in the air. You let out a sigh before willing your lips to move. Has talking always been this taxing? 

“It’s okay Joel,” you slur your words, smiling lazily. “I take it as a compliment, that felt fucking good.” 

“Yeah?” he sounds so innocent and hopeful that you can’t suppress your giggle. His eyes twinkle under the dimmed light. “Well, I’m glad you felt good, sweetheart but I’m not done yet.” 

Your breath hitches when he pulls out, your brows furrow as a chill settles between your legs. You wanted him to stay inside longer. But you’re pleasantly surprised when he slides down your body, kissing every patch of skin before settling between your legs. 

“Let’s see if you’re as sweet as you’ve been tellin’ me.” 

He kisses your cunt, lips moving in tandem with your wet folds. He drags his tongue up between them, curling it as he takes himself into his mouth, tasting both of you at one. You go limp at the pressure of his tongue, your walls fluttering and squeezing for more. With a groan, he shoves his fingers, the wet sound makes your toes curl into the mattress. It’s like torture, a very pleasurable torture. You gasp when he pulls you flush against his face, the bridge of his nose bumping against your clit as he licks you clean. 

Your build up is spontaneous. You feel it coming, the taste of your orgasm at the tip of your tongue. Joel curls his fingers, sucking your clit between his lips and gently nipping at it. You hips chases his mouth, his mustache chafing the tender skin. Your hands come to each side of his head, threading your trembling fingers through the soft locks, his fingers brush against an especially sensitive spot and you tug at his hair. His throat shakes with a groan. His eyes closing. 

“Do it again,” he mutters. And you do. He starts moaning into your cunt, his hips, despite just spilling inside of you, rutting against the bed. Your nails bite into his scalp and he flicks his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

The tension coiling in you finally snaps, your entire body locking up as you gush into his mouth. He gulps you down loudly, fingers still moving deep inside you. Your throat is dry as ou shout his name, hips stuttering helplessly, he pins you down with both hands, moving his head up and down as the fat strokes of his tongue becomes more wild. 

When he’s finally done feasting, he pulls away with a wet mouth. 

“Wow,” you murmur, curling into him when he lays beside you. “That was. . . wow.” 

“You really had low expectations, huh?” 

“Not low,” you grin. “But not that high either.” 

“Well,” he says, guiding you so you’ll lay on his chest. “I’m glad to prove you wrong.” 

You smile, heart fluttering. 

“Me too.” 

[autisticempathydaemon]

Hello... again! Are you hyperfixated on RedactedAudio?

Do you want (need) to know who to follow to cultivate your dashboard and feed your gremlin brain good, good boyfriend roleplay content and my first recommendation post of magnificent fan-artists and fan-writers wasn't enough dopamine for you?

Cool, I’ve got you, and I’ve got even more hyperlinks. Buckle up.

(Note: This is by no means a comprehensive, objective, or complete list, as I have biases and favorites and limited time. If you feel I've missed someone, please feel free to reblog with your additions! I just would have loved a guide like this when I got into the fandom back in August 2022 and wanted to spread some positivity~!)

Fanfiction:

@agentplutonium: they/them

Pluto is just one of the many gorgeous people who've migrated to Tumblr now that Twitter is, ya know, on fire. I've been following them on Tiktok for ages, and I'm so pleased they joined us on tumblr now! Highlights: "Constant" and "Inconvenience" mean the world to me, because there are just not enough aspec headcanons in the fandom, we could always have more.

@angelicaether: they/them

Aether is a fucking gem unto this fandom- not only do they run Sky Side, a friendly, closeknit (hehe) server for 21+ Redacted fans but they also were who we have to thank for Redacted Kinktober 2023, bless them~ Highlights: New Job Posting is magnificent if you’re in the mood for some David/Angel smut today and this cute couple crossover fic if you’re feeling more SFW!

@caelumsnuff: they/them

Phoenix is magnificent, creative, and endlessly sweet. I also respect the hell out of anyone that can take the anon hate that they get with as much grace and attitude as they do /gen /pos Highlights: I love this gift for the Quinn-fuckers they wrote, I do, but I have to admit I'm partial to the Imperium!Vincent/Imperium!Asher piece they did, because their tension and hatred was just too palpable to deny, I needed it.

@empydoc: any pronouns

Empy's Soul Eater AU has not only taken over my life but has also got me deeply wanted a Soul Eater rewatch. God forbid xe succeed because this post has already been delayed enough /j Highlights: I love the Marcus/Asset post, because that's my favorite pairing but also because Asset as both an android and a weapon is so, so interesting. Blake/Bestie's is also a particular gem, because being a meister just gives him a new dimension to his manipulation and I love it.

@floofdeloop: she/her

Not only is Floof a beloved fic writer but she's also one of the adored DJs of the fandom. Are you really a fan if you haven't looked up Redacted on Spotify and saved all her playlists? /j Highlights: Her whole playlist page is literally so good, but I love the cute, domestic vibes of this Geordi one or the tragic, angsty, Britrock vibes of this Porter playlist~!

@joshusten: they/them

Sten is one of if not the writer that comes to mind when you're looking for amazing Guy/Honey content! Highlights: Bitter Melon is my personal favorite of their work; what can I say? I'm a sucker for a little jealousy in my fics. You also can't miss Honeysuckle, their most recent piece which gets into Guy's canonically less-than-pure mind~

@pinksparkl: she/her

Gosh, where would we be without her? Pink never has a bad word or thought for anyone and just persists in being a delightful, sweet presence in the fandom. Highlight: I can't decide what I'm more obsessed with- their Adam-centric fic exploring the Progeny/Maker bond or their nsfw Gavin-centric with his tail exploring Freelancer nudge nudge wink wink

@redlikeredacted: they/them

Just as their blog says, they are the CEO of Dasher. In my head, they are the president of both the David/Asher and the Autistic!David fan clubs, and I'd vote for them a second and third term okay I love Red Highlights: Their "David bottoming for the first time" fic is everything to me okay I am here for nothing but this except maybe this Milo fic where he gets Aggro~

@teafairywithabook: she/they

A lovely writer, voice actor, and person, Cheri does it all! With a whole 34 Redacted works on AO3, they are a must-follow. Highlights: I'll provide the masterlist of previously mentioned works, but I must recommend her nsfw Avior/Starlight fic keeping us sated until we finally get an Avior BA and their fic of Alexis's POV of Sam's turning I couldn't not okay I'm just a person I have biases

@tepid-judas: he/they/it

My favorite Adam stan, my friend, and the person who converted me into an Adam/Brighteyes shipper, I thank Judas every day for that. Highlights: I love their series of epistolary fics, because who doesn’t love a good letter, but I would be remiss if I didn’t rec his DAMN polycule plus Xavier fic cause fuck canon let's add frosty the snowman to the orgy /lh

@themonotonysyndrome: she/her

Lady, my dearest friend and greatest foe~ How else do I describe the gorgeous, sociable, friendly person who bought Alexis/Christian into the world and ruined my life? (affectionate) Highlights: Let these two assholes in love take you on a ride, fall in love with them too. If that's not your vibe, I cannot recommend enough her insane, gen z Bright Eyes being an absolute fucking terror /pos

Fanart:

@androgynouspenguinexpert

Can YOU believe Penguin's only been posting art since, like, December? I certainly can't, because it's like they've drawn every boy at this point and each is as smoochable and adorable as the last. Highlights: Their Porter is one of my favorites; what can I say? Who can resist this high ponytail and cape combo? I also love their Hush, cause look at him~! He's adorable! Penguin gives all these boys such luscious, floofable hair; I love them!

@cute-brainz: she/they/it

Kindly, lovingly, respectfully, Cute's listeners designs reduce me to a sniveling, simpering puddle of a simp. I become nothing but a humble, simple straight man, and none of you came blame me good god their listeners are hotter than all the redacted men- Highlights: Like, look at their Lovely: the hair, the singlet, the VIBES? Fuckin irresistible; like Vincent, I'd give them anything their heart desires. And their ANGEL? The MINUTE David Shaw fumbles that bag, I'm on my knees with a ring hello earth angel will you be mine

@darling-solaire

Darl has been posting art for only a month and a half at the writing of the post, and yet I feel like I've loved their Solaires for forever. They, as a unit, are hot and tragic as fuck, and I love them. Highlights: I am obsessed, particularly, with the Solaire family portraits, but maybe that's because my girl Alexis is up there, and I love her. There's also this bust compilation of more Redacted boys in case you didn't find your favorite in the Solaires~!

@free-boundsoul: she/her

Okay so, like, vibe with me did you ever love Lisa Frank products with the bright, saturated colors and sparkling eyes but wish instead of cuddly animals that there were really hot men? Then Savvie is the artist for you~ Highlights: One, it's fun to see a Regulus that's not blue, okay? It's thinkin outside the box. Two, the CRACKS? WITH THE GOLD PEEKING THROUGH? I'm inconsolable my god. Speaking of daemons, Fool!Gavin is sort of everything to me. He's just really rocking that sweater vest!

@hotmcrodz: he/they

I know for a fact that I'm not the only one obsessed with the way Jai draws human anatomy. I have unironically seen a Jai piece in the tag and gone "WOWZA" like I'm Jim Carrey in The Mask; that's what they do to me. Highlights: This Milo was one of the pieces that made my eyes pop out my head like a cartoon wolf; I think it's the shirtlessness plus the muscle pose. I just couldn't handle it. I also reacted like that to their Babe because I am an equal opportunity pervert /hj

@izzuku: he/they

Izzuku designs characters with the most realistic and gorgeous body types; like, I love the soft jawlines and how warm and touchable they draw skin. Every Izzuku design is kissable as hell. Highlights: I have to recommend his Regulus and Hush designs, obviously, they're my favorite men. However, I can't let the world go by another rotation without recommending this special Halloween version of Vincent~!

@kilarthmac: she/they

In case we needed another reason to love and appreciate the iconic timestamping account we all recognize from the Redacted comments, we cannot neglect their fanart! Highlights: Like, look at this brought-back-wrong Vega! This Hush with his cute face and off-putting air! He's so cute and so weird! I also love this piece they've done for one of my favorite rarepairs, Imperium!Lasko/Adam~

@latenightsleeper: he/they/it/she

My kinfolk and my beloved, one of the few people who understand me and the vision that is beautiful, blonde, dumb and lovable Christian. They will give you so many feelings about Darlin and Christian, and they will cause you agony /pos Highlights: Obviously, I'm obsessed with the Tank/Christian art like this one (Christian is just so cuuute), but we're all obsessed with this Sam/Darlin animatic set to Eat Your Young.

@maxpaulll

An amazing artist that I'm so glad we managed to get to migrate to Tumblr from Twitter so I could put them on this list~ Highlights: I am obsessed always with their Indigenous character designs, especially David. Like, look at him, he's indescribably beautiful, outshone by no one except maybe Max's Imp!Vega, because oh my god look at him~

@nortyourself: she/her

I don't think there's anyone who's not obsessed with at least one of Rachel's pieces; like, I believe she'll get to every Redacted man with the speed and beauty she works. Even Reticuli has gotten the Rachel treatment and been made hot af. Highlights: Technically, this Imperium!Damien just takes me breath away; like, it would be blown up and framed in his palace (for all of his short and tempestuous reign). Personally, her Hush has a dear and special place in my heart. He's just my favorite~!

@penncilkid: any pronouns

One of the most gorgeous and darling and non-stop creators in the space! They're a true triple threat, kicking our hearts in the butt with their art, their writing, and their audio roleplay series~ Highlights: With so many mediums under their belt, it's so hard to choose. If you're looking for purely Redacted content, their art is prolific and so creative, I've got to share the whole gallery. If you're in the market for a new VA to fall in love with, you've got to check out their youtube channel~!

@pycth: any pronouns

I dont have anything creative or profound to say here- all of pycth's designs are smoking hot and would render me selectively mute with a glance, 'nuff said. Highlights: How can I PICK? Ugh, hottest of the hot that comes to mind has got to be their President Moore art; like, this pose isn't FAIR. On the other end of the spectrum, if you want your heart kicked in the butt, I don't think any of us are over this Sam piece or ever will be.

@rainingcatsandjune: any pronouns

Another new artist who's only been here since April, and yet- I would die for his and his fine-ass, touchable Sam. Like, hell, render any man pretty like that, and I'll die for him. That's how pretty this art is. Highlights: Like, look at him. How does one do anything but look at him, especially in this pose? Again, look at him! Look at the hands. The soft, touchable glow and how it lights and shades his and Darlin's skin. The broad shoulders good god~

@sainthowlzon: they/he

You can't turn a corner on tumblr without seeing some of Howl's adorable Scribble Dolls or Icons! (Or any other social media actually. I feel like I've deffo seem some of Howl's icons on Tiktok too.) They're cute, they're iconic, and there's one for almost everyone! Highlights: Here's that full set of icons for your perusal; my personal favorite is Asset's. And here's the full set of Redacted Scribble Dolls; my favorite is Regulus, I think, because of his freaky vibes, but it's so hard to pick!

@sincerelywhistler: any pronouns

Like everyone with a working set of eyes and a beating heart, I am obsessed with all of Wes's designs; like, who wouldn't fall in love at first sight with all those beautiful and often shirtless people? Highlights: There's honestly too many to pick from, but I'll TRY. Their Gavin is an absolute must, I share it with the Discord on sight, he's that it girl if you will. Oh, and one cannot neglect Avior's HBS piece; I'm not even an Avior girlie, and I was like daaaaaamnnnnnnn~

@slushiepizza: they/them

Where would all the guy-lovers be without Slushie and their absolute cornucopia of Guy and Honey delights? Like, where else would we get our homemade, MacGyver'd serotonin? Highlights: The "Everyday" series is everything to me, and I mean everything; Guy has become too relatable and has struck me right in the heart. If you're not in a Guy mood, I'm also in love with their older, cozy Anton~!

@s0lairee: she/they

Jo's style is just so clean, so cute, and I really love it when they play with lighting in their pieces. Like, we are almost, almost there to making me stan Vincent if you're gonna drape him in moonlight like that... Highlights: ...thought, if I had to pick, I'd probably lean more towards Vincent's partner. They're rocking the red eyes, I love them! I'm also obsessed with their freckle-y, sweet Lasko, because who isn't?

@strawberrybouvine: he/they

The artistic equivalent of gourmet candy, I am absolutely obsessed with the gorgeous colors of Jasper's art and cannot get enough of the sweetness! Is this sugar running through my veins or unparalleled cuteness? Highlights: I'm not even a David stan but, like, jesus christ, the long hair and hairy chest makes me want to go feral. Don't even get me started on the cuteness of his chibi art, I really will start foaming at the mouth.

@theflowersaremine

I don't know exactly what medium Haylin uses or what colors or effects they use, but goddamn it makes those men so dreamy. I'm not even a Sam stan, but that's a smoochable man right out of Gilmore Girls /pos Highlights: Like, are you seeing the Gilmore Girls vision? That's a handsome man from a wholesome show geared for women- almost as handsome as this art of David. I see this smile in my dreams; it's so beautiful.

@venuslove-28: any pronouns

Venus's art is strawberry and vanilla soft serve injected straight into my heart; it's so familiar and cute, so charming, and I want to stim and bounce in excitement when I see it. Does that make sense? It'll make sense when you see it. Highlights: Personally, I have never and I will never stop thinking about this Huxley, I am simply not capable. Their Avior is also cuter than all get-out, I must admit.

@wingless-cupid

I don't think anyone does cute and colorful and pastel and kawaii quite like Cupid. You can't help but look and admire all the eye-catching colors and then want to hug their cheery, dynamic characters! Highlights: I'm highkey obsessed with their Freelancer and DAMNily and all their d(a)emons in general. Like, look at this! Minh is such a cutie and a simp, I love them! I'm also constantly thinking about this art in particular, because look at all these PRICELESS EXPRESSIONS!

@yoteako: he/it

Would you like stunning, high quality art and tragic, old man yaoi on your dash? That's a silly question; of course you do which is why we're going to follow and love on Yote. Highlights: See how beautiful, doomed, and intimate this multi-page comic is about two characters who've never canonically spoken? That's devotion. On the less forsaken side of the narrative, their Gavin/Lasko ship art is embedded into my heart.

If you’re reading all the way here, I hope you found the post helpful and smiled while making your way through it! Or both! The RedactedAudio fandom is truly one of my favorite spaces on the internet; it’s so intimate and creative, and I’ve found some amazing, perfect friends here, so I hope you will too 💖

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ ‘sayang’ is a double-edged sword — kuroo x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: based on the headcanon of a half-Indonesian kuroo. in which he learns that the language is full of contradictions.

content warnings: ANGST, mentions of bullying, homesickness

word count: 3.5k

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

Sayang. A two syllable word that was the unofficial translation of love in the Indonesian language. Technically love was ‘cinta’, but you didn’t like how it felt in your mouth—bulky and awkward—too big for anything. You liked the way ‘sayang’ sounded better, the way it rolled off the tongue so easily—fleeting, almost carelessly. Sayang.

Aku sayang kamu. I love you.

Your mother called you sayang. You recalled running up to her after school, her arms outstretched and wide open, waiting to wrap around you. The sweet scent of her skin that was like honeysuckle and summer, the warmth of her smile—beaming at you from the driver’s seat as you babbled about your day. She would call you that term of endearment whenever she had the chance.

Sayang, come down for dinner. Sayang, it’s time to wake up. Sayang, have fun at school!

Indonesian was your mother tongue. The first language you had learned how to speak. In a way, your entire childhood was defined by it. There were things in your everyday vocabulary that didn’t make sense, or were different when translated. In that way, you always felt like there was something missing when you spoke English or Japanese. When you left Jakarta during the 1998 riots, your mother, alongside a handful of other families, managed to escape from the fiery wrath of the protestors, sought asylum from any other country that was willing to take you. Some of your friends moved to Singapore, others, Malaysia, or Taiwan—for you it was Japan, a country that once had colonized yours but was now your saving grace. With only two suitcases to your name and your mother’s limited Japanese learnt during her high-school years, the two of you tried to make home in the foreign country. You were starting all over again. Language. School. Friends. It would prove to be difficult.

Japanese kids were mean. Not beating-you-up kind of mean, but snickering-behind-your-back mean. Back home, they would say things to your face, pick fights and shouting matches with you, but here, they talked about you in hushed whispers and lingering gazes. It was in the sharpie doodles on your school shoes and the scattered laughter that echoed whenever you slipped up when you read aloud for the class. You were still bad at Japanese—the language a tangle of syllables in your mouth. Your mother told you that it was because your tongue was just used to speaking Indonesian. You thought it was because Japan was foreign to you, in the bad way. In the way that your body silently rebelled against it by fixing your jaw in ways so you couldn’t say things right—so that years later, even after you became fluent, the trace of your mother tongue still lingered.

That was the first thing that Kuroo Tetsuro pointed out. You talk funny, were his first words to you—finger pointed straight between your eyes. A rage bubbled in your chest at the mention of it. It was something that you were insecure about, something you felt the need to hide. You didn’t even know you were muttering to yourself when you played in the playground’s sandbox until he pointed it out to you, and you hated that, and you made sure to let him know how much you did—through a mash of fists and bruises and a black eye (his, not yours).

Your mother made you apologize—the Japanese way—kneeling, on the floor. You were red hot and flushed, humiliated for having done so. Not for beating up the kid but rather for having been caught, and having to apologize. Why should you? He started it. He was making fun of you. “You talk funny,” psh, he looked funny. His sharp cat-like eyes and almost permanent bed head—how could his parents let him out of the house looking like that? Someone might mistake him for a stray.

That apology was how you found out Kuroo was a little bit like you—half-Indonesian, from his mothers side. The tiny Indonesian population in Japan meant that whoever was from the motherland clung together like thieves at sea. Maybe it was because of familiarity, maybe because of homesickness. In a way, all they had left of their home country was each other, speaking the same language, knowing the same songs, the same streets—sometimes even the same people. For them, this was the closest thing to coming home. This was how you eventually became friends with Kuroo, after years and years of living down the street and your mother inviting him over and attending the same school and making the two of you befriend the other.

It was rough at first. You refused to speak Japanese around him, fearing the same insult would come and jab at you when you would. Despite his mother’s nationality, he was never able to understand or speak the language that you did—part of himself almost denying that part of him after his mother left. Maybe that was his way of getting revenge, refusing to acknowledge his mother’s culture, her homeland.

The two of you would pass the time playing congklak, the Indonesian version of the mancala. You practiced counting this way, dropping the shells in each divot one by one—starting again if there were any remaining. He babbled on about TV shows he watched, or mangas he read, trying to make a point about how Japanese he was, how un-Indonesian, and by extension, how unlike his mother. Sometimes you would watch Ikkyu-san together. Sometimes he would flip through the comics you had brought over—Mahabhrata and Gundala and Bobo. You remember the look on his face as he traced over the pages, his nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s too confusing, all these words look foreign to me,” he would say, putting them back on the shelf.

“So what?” You shot back, “I had to do the same thing when I came here. Kanji still looks like scribbles to me.”

There was no mashing of fists or sound of crying this time, just a mutual understanding of the others’ struggle. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat and pick up the book again, finger tracing the sentences, sounding out the words—like a child learning how to read for the first time. You sighed, defeated, and sat down next to him, trying to teach him. He was a persistent child, often needing to get his way regardless of whatever circumstances but here he was—docile, obedient. Something between the two of you shifted.

Kuroo began to grow out of his shell in middle school; making new friends on the volleyball team and tagging along during their after-practice escapades, oftentimes raiding the local convenience store for all the goodies. Sometimes you would come with, slipping into the background of conversations and keeping to yourself. You still didn’t like talking in front of anyone—so you kept your lips pressed together and our gaze downcast, a faraway look in your eyes. Of course, this caught the attention of some of his teammates.

“Is she mute?” One of them had asked, hands shoved in his pockets, walking a few steps ahead of you. Despite you hanging back, you could still hear him, but then again, it wasn’t like he made any attempt to speak quietly either. Or maybe he thought that you were also deaf.

“Dude,” he sounds, offended for you, “she’s right here.”

“So? It’s not like she ever says anything. It’s like she’s deaf, or mute—or both.”

Kuroo frowns at this statement. At home, he sits across from you, pencil tapping against the pages of his ignored math homework. You look up at him with your eyebrow cocked, as if, beckoning for him to spit it out already.

“Would it kill you to make some friends?” He asks, words sharp and unforgiving. Your shoulders slump at the question, and you give him a deadpan look before returning your attention to your assignment, already miles ahead of him.

“I don’t need them,” you mumble, “too much of a hassle.”

“How do you survive without them? Like seriously, nobody to lean on?”

“That’s how I like it.”

He grumbles inaudibly under his breath at your response, a mixture of frustration and annoyance echoing through his voice. He chews on his bottom lip before speaking up again, this time, rather boldly.

“You’re not alone.” You look up at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He thumps his chest with his right hand almost solemnly, like making an oath. “You have me. I’m your friend. I’m here for you.”

Your eyes widen in shock, a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You press your lips into a thin line, not knowing what else to say. Instead, you nod your head in acknowledgement, and return your attention back to your homework. When you are done with the practice questions, you flip over your notebook so that he can copy your answers.

The first time he called you ‘sayang’ was in the spring of your freshman year. He said it after having heard your mother say that as she bid you goodbye for school. He had let it slip, almost by accident, as he repeated the word over and over in his mind as the two of you walked—sounding it out, feeling the weight of it in his mouth. He liked the way it rolled across his tongue, and something about it—the curve of the letters when spelled out, the softness of it seemed so you. When you had heard it, you stopped, the hair on the back of your neck raising as you looked back at him, almost incredulously. He stares back, puzzled at your reaction. This was the first time he had ever seen your reserved demeanor crack.

“What? What did I do?” He asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.

“What did you say?”

“What, ‘sayang’?” His hands move up to straighten his tie, suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry, was that a bad word?”

“No, it’s..” your voice trails off, cheeks reddening. You turn around and stomp forward, hands tight around the straps of your backpack. “Forget it. Don’t call me that.”

He stays at his place on the street, feet glued to the pavement, wondering what he had done wrong. The guilt creeps in, and in an attempt to absolve it, he hands you a steaming hot pork bun in between classes, even though the heat burns his skin and his fingertips are still red at the end of the school day. It’s something he’s willing to do for your forgiveness. Over the years he will find that he’s willing to do a lot for it, actually. Later, over dinner, he finds out through your mother that it's actually a term of endearment, something close to ‘my love’. The two of you exchanged awkward, embarrassed glances across the table.

The second time he called you ‘sayang’, it was by accident again—spoken absentmindedly as he thanked you for explaining the assignment. Thank you sayang, he said, before realizing and slapping his mouth with his hand. You looked at him with an equal amount of shock and horror. You excused yourself to the bathroom to compose yourself, and when you returned, the two of you acted like it had never happened. He wanted to apologize, but apologizing would mean having to explain himself, and that explanation would mean having to tell you that he had tried learning Indonesian and thought of calling you ‘sayang’ the same way they did in your mother’s sinetrons (Indonesian soap operas).

And you weren’t sure the exact moment that things had changed for the two of you. Before, it was a co-existence, the understanding that you existed in each other's worlds and just that. Now, it had warped into an odd and unfamiliar shape. He was running up to you in the hall, babbling on and on about every single thing—he was more Kuroo than he ever was before around you. And you couldn’t help but notice how much bolder and brighter he seemed. In the mornings on the walk to school, next to you, smiling through his stories of his strange dreams—you couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were actually hazel and not brown, and for a moment, before your consciousness kicked in, you thought he looked beautiful.

The third time he called you ‘sayang’, it was on purpose. No longer a freudian slip or accident, but deliberately—with intention.

The two of you were in the infirmary—you, pressing an ice pack to his swollen cheek, and him, wincing at the sharp sensation. A fight had broken out. It was his friend, that same friend, calling you mute again, but this time Kuroo wasn’t as forgiving. There was the mashing of fists and bruises and a black eye again. His, not yours. Just like when you were kids the first time you met on the playground.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you speak up, finding some strength in the words. A rage bubbled in your stomach. You couldn’t make up whether you were upset at him or for him. He reaches out to touch the skin of your wrist, the first time he had ever done anything of the sort, and tries his best to keep his swollen eye open. The red will turn ugly and purple within a matter of hours.

“I wanted to,” he says softly, almost like a whisper, voice hoarse from yelling. “They don’t get to do that. Not to you.”

Your expression is almost pained, torn between screaming at him for his showmanship or kissing him for it. You couldn’t decide.

“Still,” you sound, “you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he repeats, this time, even softer. His other hand plucks out the second button from his uniform, his chest peeking through. He removes the ice pack and slips the button in between where your hand and his cheek meet. It’s still tender and aching, but the skin of his neck, where your pinkie finger grazed over, was so warm and inviting—so soft it seemed like a shame not to touch. You run your thumb over his jaw, tracing over the shape of it, and he winces. Still, he grabs your wrist and presses your hand against his cheek even harder, turning his head to plant a kiss on the skin of your palm.

You didn’t know your hands could ever feel like that. It was as if there were a hundred million nerves that you didn’t know previously existed, and now, suddenly all firing. It was almost too much.

“Sayang,” he mumbles into your hand, lips tracing on your skin—you don’t pull away. You are mesmerized, struck. How you went so long without having reached out for him you wouldn’t know. Again he calls you sayang, whispering it with his eyes closed, almost like a prayer. You bite your lip.

“Yes?” You answer.

His eyes flutter open, a small look of shock painted that is immediately replaced with relief, and then—a grin splitting his face, lips stretched as far as they could with the swelling. His hands wound tightly around yours, and again, that feeling of electricity, soaring right through you.

“You answered,” he says, almost breathlessly.

“You called,” you reply.

It would take 2 weeks for the black eye to heal completely, but even less time for him to slowly integrate ‘sayang’ into his everyday vocabulary. The word that once seemed awkward and bulky now slid off smoothly from his mouth every chance he got. He liked it. Liked the way it felt rolling off his tongue, liked the way you looked every time he did, but most importantly—he liked how nobody else (apart from your mother) called you that. Like an exclusive nickname, but thousand-fold. He tried learning Indonesian again, as an easy way to impress you. Selamat pagi (good morning). Terima kasih (thank you). Cantik (beautiful). On your birthday, he had prepared and memorized a little speech in your mother tongue. You laughed when he said ‘aku cinta kamu’. You tell him nobody says ‘I love you’ like that.

“They only use ‘aku sayang kamu’”, you explain.

“Why not ‘cinta’?” He pouts, flustered at his mistake. “Cinta also means love, right?”

“Cinta and sayang are different,” you explain, cutting into the cake your mother had baked: pandan with coconut and brown sugar frosting. She searched for the ingredients for weeks.

“Cinta is a declaration. Sayang is a promise,” you place the slice of cake on his plate, pushing it towards him, “sayang is the promise of loving someone no matter what—whether that love is reciprocated, whether it is burdensome.”

He shoves his mouth full in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. The cake is fragrant and light, a foreign medley of flavors on his tongue. He looks over in your direction, happily digging into the treat, and worries that no matter how much he tries to learn about your culture, there will always be a divide—some unabridged gap he will never be able to cross. When the two of you join a cultural exchange trip to Indonesia in the summer before your senior year, he witnesses firsthand how you spring back to life—like a wilting plant finally being watered.

The two of you ravage through the city, attending bustling night markets and festivals. He watches in shock as you devour heaps of sambal with your food. You bargain with a lady for a fair price on batik, a souvenir and reminder of Indonesia that you wanted him to have. You wear these in weddings, you tell him. His mind wanders to you wearing white, walking down the aisle. You run up and down beaches, drink out of coconuts, plumeria flower tucked behind your ear, and chat with the locals—relieved to finally be surrounded by people who looked and talked like you. He watches you throw your head back laughing, and feels his heart ache. You had been homesick all this time. Trapped in a foreign country and forced to abandon your culture for his, living in a society that merely tolerated her identity, never embracing it. His home was not yours, this he now understood.

So when you told him that you were going to move back for college he wasn’t surprised. The country had recovered from the bloodbath of ‘98 and was now brimming with potential for growth. Even Forbes had called it the tiger of Southeast Asia. Some of your friends were also returning. It was a land of undiscovered opportunity.

“I have to go back,” you explained to him. “In Indonesia, I can be somebody; here, I am always second-class.”

And it stung, because he knew you were right, and he knew that it was cruel to make you stay—like keeping a butterfly in a jar. When he sends you off, he can’t help but think of his mother. That was one of the things the two of you had in common: the both of you leaving him. However, this time he doesn’t cry or scream or beg the way he did. He lets you go, maybe even with a little bit of grace, and he does so because cinta and sayang meant different things and he meant the latter.

“Aku sayang kamu,” he tells you as he waves you off. I love you. I love you enough to let you go.

When the two of you meet again, it will be years later and you will be older. You will be dressed in white and he will be in his batik that you had gotten for him all those years ago. He will stand, awestruck, as you walk down the aisle—not towards him, but towards somebody else, and his heart will ache in the way that it did only for you.

Sayang, he will think, but not in the affectionate way. In the way that implies unbelievable loss.

Sayang. A two-syllable word that’s used to convey both love and loss in the Indonesian language. It was strange, the way something could mean the exact opposite of itself, but Indonesian was strange like that. A language that was filled with metaphors and contradictions. One that is hard to forget, and even harder to unlearn. Each word carried a weight, a duality that made almost every conversation a dance between clarity and ambiguity. It was as if the language itself knew that life was never just one thing; it was a series of paradoxes, constantly contradicting itself, where joy and sorrow often walked hand in hand.

Its counterpart definition implied grief. You used it when talking about missed opportunities, or something that goes wrong when you wish it hadn’t. It almost means: what a shame. It was just one of those things that can’t be translated just as is, because the definition was so much deeper. The same way its first definition meant to love someone unconditionally, the second meant to describe the heartache that lingers in the face of loss, a longing that never quite fades. A word that blended affection and regret all in one and could only be understood by someone who felt both at once.

He felt it then, watching you get married to somebody else.

Sayang sekali, he says.

I love you, and also, what a waste.

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

author’s note: my debut entry in the haikyuu fandom and its angst 😭😭 aNYWAYS WHERE ARE THE KUROO FANS MAKE SOME NOISE 🫵🫵🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ huge shoutout to @zumicho for having to hear me ramble on and on abt the fic and take forever to write it but it’s finally here !!!! and I’m so excited to share more w u guys aaaa I hope you guys like it 🥰🥰💥💥💥💥

[bombuni]

contains: sub!yeosang x meandom!fem!reader, idk she’s mean but it’s soft bc yeosang is an angel, dacryphilia kink, humiliation kink, collar kink, creampies, overstimulation, cum eating, little dick yeosang (lol)

minors dni

Yeosang stares up at you with glittering half-lidded eyes, his brown hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and cheeks tinted so red you start to worry.

You worry this is the peak of enlightenment and you’ve reached it on this Earth by working to make Yeosang putty in your hands. His lips part when he thinks you’re going to kiss him, but you pause right as his breath fans your skin.

You hitch a finger under the blood red collar he chose for himself, the golden bell jingling with the movement. He follows you easily and mindlessly. Like you’ve pressed a button that makes him follow your orders without question. You like how dumb you’ve made him.

He completely melts against you, shaking in anticipation. He waits there, with shaky breaths, against your lips for your instructions. Or your insults.

“Did I fuck you dumb, Sangie? Kiss me.”

He lets out a petulant whine but crashes his lips against yours. Yeosang is desperate for you. Willing to sacrifice his heart, lungs, and ego for you. It just makes him feel good to serve you and see the sickly tantalizing smile on your face when you use him to cum.

Yeosang likes being used by you. When you squeeze around him, he has purpose. He’s came twice now, but he knows he’s not done until you do too. He lets out a shaky, defeated breath when you bounce on him once. His cum makes a mess between the both of you. It’s easy for it to do so because he’s unable to plug it up inside you, but you find the mess much more fun. It spreads onto his tummy and in between your thighs, sticky and sweet.

It’s so wet with your slick and his cum and it makes him want to cry. You’re so good to him, your tits bouncing on his chest while you destroy him with your pussy on top of him.

You smile and roll your hips when you see the tears threatening to spill, “Aw, you gonna cry, baby?” A sob slips from his lips, “Such a sensitive little slut-fuck-you’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

You feel that familiar twitch inside you, his abdomen tightening against you as tears spill from his pretty, fervent eyes. They drip down the sides of his face, like little rivers on his skin. You pull on his collar harshly to reprimand him, but that only makes the gratification dirtier, better for him. A continuous string of moans falls from his mouth as you tug on his collar, your own mouth filled with venomous words that turn honeysuckle sweet when they reach Yeosang’s ears.

“Can’t even make me cum once and you’re filling me again? Your cock is useless, Sangie, tiny and useless,” His hips twitch again, “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

He sniffles and gulps before speaking, “I’m s-sorry…’s too good,”

“An apology isn’t enough.”

Yeosang springs into action like those words were a command. He pulls his cock out of you and quickly gets on his knees, lips latching onto your pussy without a second thought. He slurps his own cum out of you, licking up and down your slit so it’s as if he never touched you.

He moans into you, the vibrations of his mouth sending waves of euphoria through you. Yeosang is so happy to service you, to do anything for you, that it puts you on a high. You can treat him as you wish and he’ll still be on his knees for you that same night.

His tongue plays with your entrance, finding the right pattern he knows gets you quickly to a sea of pleasure. Yeosang also knows that the more broken he is, the more you enjoy it. He paws at your tummy, eyes boring into you from below in a bid of desperate asking.

The question in his eyes is answered. You reach down to tug on his collar, watching the way the red leather works against his pale skin when he fights against it. It’s cute how worked up he gets, the bell jingles reminding him that he’s completely yours.

He unleashes this revelation onto your pussy, sucking until he brings out that bubble of pleasure stuck in your gut. He looks up when he feels you shaking, watching as your hips grind against his face when you reach that peak. You pull harshly on his collar and he thinks he might cum again as he feels your juices coat his face.

As you come down from that high, you let go of Yeosang. Sweet, desperate Yeosang who’s puppy eyes meet yours once you see the world clearly again.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Good?”

“Good.”

bom note: this might be the kinkiest thing i’ve written so far. do y’all fw the vision ..

[nikonikonek000]

beneath branches, sun-skinned and soft. the shadows of leaves dance on your flesh. you smile and my breath crackles. i shiver. i kiss you again and again. together we make a holy tree, a sacred space. your roots run deep inside my veins. there's another version of us, over there, beneath the strings. drowned deep in silver pools. they are smiling too.

we move like twins, our bodies sticky with love. i melt into you. ants crawl on my skin. your fingers tear my soul in two. one day we paint rocks. one day we hold eachother like we never have before, two so close you can't tell where You end and i

i squirm as you trace my skin with scissors, THE SCISSORS, the only scissors that mean a thing. you push me against the wall, on the first day. you are sharp teeth and sweet laughter. the sound of a monster. a mother. a Lover. a sister. you swirl around me. there is wonder in your eyes. i watch you move like i've never watched anything before, entranced with love. you look like you want to eat me whole.

i kiss you hungrily, nervously. what does it feel like to touch the flesh of a god? there's nothing else. i'd do anything for it. Anything. i touch you gently, i touch you sweetly, i touch you like i want to tear off your skin. you speak in wind-chimes. sing in bells. there is nothing that will ever feel like you. i kiss you and you bite my lip so hard i cry.

we walk under the moon, hands entwined, watching it change shape. we change shape too, two shifting things. sometimes i am your sister. sometimes i am your daughter. sometimes i am your prey. every time, you are my Lover. heart-shaped, i can't take my eyes off of you

like if i look enough i might be able to crawl inside

where i belong

you pin me to the bed and make me red. i want you to rip me open. blood blooms from my skin as i writhe beneath you, mewling. you lick up every drop. your eyes look like the sun. you grin down at me a thousand times from a thousand places. lips of red, lips of string. sometimes it feels like i am being crushed by your tongue. inside your mouth. between your teeth. you fill me with honey. you laugh and laugh and laugh. i want to be devoured by you.

we lay under the tree every single day. it becomes more and more. we adorn it with jewels and fire, with light and beauty. we turn it into artwork. i draw on your skin. you draw on my skin. we turn eachother into artwork. the tree is alive. we are alive. She is alive. you are alive. we are all in love together.

i learn every way to hold your hand. we map eachothers bodies, inside our minds. i learn the shapes inside of your mouth. the way you taste. every perfect way you fit together with me. my bones sing. my skin screams. my mouth whimpers. i learn how it feels to be filled with light, again and again. i watch your eyes roll. you trace your fingers over my teeth. i am so hungry for you. you feel like home. you feel like the only thing i'll ever need. you taste like honeysuckle. i taste like smoke. the moon grins at us. bells ring when i kiss you. you make the wind blow. we laugh and cry and smile and stare and cling and i realise my heart is inside yours. it will never leave. it was always waiting to be here.

you put the scissors in my mouth. you threaten to cut off my tongue. i Worship you. i Love you. you taste like steel, you taste like love. there is nothing in the world but us. the scissors tighten around my tongue. i drool, i drool, i drool. you laugh and i pant. scissors against my lips. i run my tongue through the blades. a mouth of knives. i kiss it desperately. i don't care if you cut my tongue off. you look at me with an impossible expression, and i know you want to do it. i can feel your soul wriggling against mine. you look like you've never wanted something so much. i twist my tongue around the blades and you hiss. you pull them from me and snip them together so loud that it makes my spine tingle. we both gasp for breath.

it feels like we have known eachother forever. for eternity. and like we will. i know we will. nowhere feels so safe, so warm, so special. there's nowhere like you. i look at you and every single time i think you are so beautiful you are so beautiful you are so beautiful. every time i think You You You. heart swollen. filled with moths. it feels like we've met a thousand times. we have. i know it, when i think of it, i cry. when i meet you, it feels like i've met you before. we slide so easily into comfort, into sweetness, into Us

a place of no resistance

just Love

i read to you from a book filled with treasures, your head in my lap. i play with the curls of your hair. i think about how this is the only place i'll ever really want to be. my soul aches. the chimes sing. the wind blows. we put lights on the tree and lay beneath it in the dark. we light candles and set our fears on fire. apples rot in the grass. i kiss you a thousand times. you touch me like i've never been touched before. it's not like, just being touched on the outside. with every touch i can feel your love. you are inside my veins. every bite pulses. you mark me like i am Yours, because i am. you Own my soul, and i can Feel it. i can FEEL it.

[comfortless]

What dungeoneer!König wants vs what he gets:

SO TRUE. he just wants a pretty lady that can sew and cook, willing to put up with his nonsense without hissing at him at every turn!! knight!gf simply lives to bully him (she gets good sword practice that way) <3

At some point, he does ask her about her strange demeanor: “Why do you pretend?”

It’s said in a hushed whisper while they’re both fitted beneath a thin sheet at some weatherworn inn along their route, cozy and safe as every night since she took to sleeping at his side like a contented little kitten. He can’t help but want to poke at her when she’s so soft and weary (and her sword is on the far side of the room).

Not that he dislikes her with the sharp edges of her armor, the jostling of her chainmail and her expert swordswomanship— he just can not comprehend why a lady as lovely as she is would want to explore dark crypts full of monsters and bully him into dueling with her! She should be in fields of flowers, caressed by the wind, laughing soft into the mouth of her lover while he strips her of her gown…

She’s already toyed with the idea of courting him as a man would, stuffing flowers in the cuff links of his tunic and kneeling before him as if to offer her loyalty, her blade. It’s always when she finds herself keen on the idea of potentially taking him as her own that he finds a way to ruin the moment with blunt words or a too-eager hand.

“What do you mean?” She drags the words, sleep addled and dumbed down by a pint of mead from the tavern below.

“That you’re…” He pauses.

König isn’t stupid, he knows he’s jabbing at the dragon’s mouth, daring it to breathe fire the second he asks his lady knight things like this. She is what she is, and he’s given up on the hope of ever changing whichever tangled bowstring in her mind is making her this way. Though he would prefer her to be like the soft women he’s seen wearing silken bliauts, eyes shimmering as they shyly avert their gazes from him… She is something else entirely and that both fascinated and unnerves him.

“… not fragile,” he finishes, turning on his side to face her properly.

His little knight pinches her brow at that, throws the covering off of them both and rises to her knees to climb over him. She means to be intimidating, surely, but he can’t help the way his cock twitches in his pants at the sight of her downcast glare and the feel of her fingernails biting into the skin of his bare shoulders, actually thinking that her delicate form is enough to properly keep him pinned.

“I saved your life.” Ever since the gnoll, she’s been using it as leverage, punctuating her words by tracing over the scar with a light stroke of her thumb.

“Ja, but… do you not want to be more…”

“Ladylike?”

If she were, they would already have settled someplace softer; a roof above their heads where he sacrifices every shift of the sun feeding her from his palm and bringing home gifts that make her eyes shimmery and her heart fill to bursting. Every hour of the night squishing her beneath him and bringing her to beautiful ruin.

The concept only further confuses her when König nods his head, a trace of honeysuckle wafting up from his throat where she had pressed them into the collar of his shirt only earlier that day. It eases her, makes her less annoyed when she remembers that this brute is entirely hers, equally devoted even if he is more keen on fucking her in a dress than in the armor she covets.

She tells him a story when she finally retreats to her side of the thin, straw-stuffed mattress. It’s one he’s heard countless times in his own youth, of a knight she seemed to believe a hero. When she finishes, expecting some protest from him about how little girls should have never heard such tales, she’s only met with a silence that further bewilders her.

His stare is less perplexed and more loving, now. So much so, that she isn’t surprised when he pulls her closer with a gentle grasp to her forearm and rests his chin over her shoulder.

“You want to be a little hero then, hm?,” he whispers into her ear, a prideful smirk plastered across his face when he feels her shiver.

“Aren’t I already?” No matter how much cold steel she coats herself in, it could never smother out the gentleness of her laugh, and when she does giggle, he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep the urge to squish her tits and toy with her at bay.

“Knights don’t find themselves in bed with beasts,” he rasps, daring to inch his hand further down to her hip.

“You believe that a lady would be more keen to?”

“A lady would want the beast to fuck her, ja?”

Poor König finds himself entirely blueballed once more when she squirms away from him, shooting a glare as cold as a winter storm in his direction before facing away with the blanket pulled taut over the both of them.

She’s only grateful that he can’t hear the beating of her heart or catch sight of the giddy little smile pulling at her lips. It’s not his stature or his prowess in battle that’s caged him up in her heart, only the way he makes her feel as though she truly is apart of some fairytale.

[megamindsecretlair]

I wish you would write a fic….

with a submissive Tyrone.

Like he’s hesitant at first, not really with it, but as it goes on he opens up a little bit more. I think he’s think he’s too tough to “wine” or “sound like a bitch”, but maybe reader convinced him somehow, and while he doesn’t eventually makes some sounds he begs more with his words, he gets all squirmy and he keeps chasing his hips you reader’s touch….. or something like that. 🫣

Ask and ye shall receive, sweet anon!

Pretty (Pretty) Boy

Pairing: Sub!Tyrone x Dom!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (male receiving), teasing, cum swallowing, dirty talk, praise kink, D/s lite, breeding kink if you squint, all consensual. Use of n-word. Referring to female anatomy as "she".

Summary: See ask. For Valentine's Day, you decide to shake things up. You ask to take control in the bedroom and it unleashes a side of you that you want to see more often.

Word Count: 4,946k

A/N: This ask been kicking my ass!!!!! It has been in my box for so long, I am SOOO sorry, anon! I definitely got in my head for too long and didn't think I could pull it off. Whew! I had a bad day and this absolutely cured me. I need to lay down!! Sorry about the wait, but I hope you enjoy! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @nerdieforpedro @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @bratzmaraj

“Can you at least try to enjoy it?” You pouted at Tyrone’s scrunched up face. You had tied him to the headboard because you knew your man. You knew that the things you had in mind were going to make him want to grab you and touch you. 

And once he started touching you, he would get his way. He always got his way. Not that you were complaining. Tyrone was addicted to your body and couldn’t help but touch all your smooth curves. But you had been floating this idea in your mind for a few weeks and tonight was the perfect night to try it. 

For Valentine’s Day, you asked Tyrone… if you could be the one in charge. Just thinking about having the entirety of this man at your mercy had you clenching your thighs beneath your robe. 

He tested the restraints by tugging on them. “You tied these a little too good. You been takin’ notes,” he said. He gave you a smirk, licking his lips and tilting his head to try and get a peek beneath your robe. 

You grabbed his chin and pushed his face to meet yours. You gave him a quick peck. “If you’re good, you’ll get rewarded,” you said, dropping your voice to a silky purr. 

You saw your words sink into his eyes. They rounded for half a second before his eyes drooped. “Aight, aight, but I ain’t no bitch,” he said. 

You gave him another peck. “Of course not,” you said. You gave him a wink and finished checking over the restraints and that he couldn’t secretly get out. You made sure the ties were well out of reach of his long fingers.

Those fingers were capable of bringing you intense pleasure and deftly worked over every inch of your skin. If he could get out of the ties, he absolutely would take over. 

The sweet, subtle aroma of honeysuckle and orange flower blossoms filled the room from the candles you had lit. The lights were dimmed giving it a completely intimate feel despite it being a basic room you were overly familiar with. 

You glanced at Tyrone as he watched you, a bit wary. You giggled. “I ain’t gon’ hurt you. Don’t you trust me?” You asked. 

“I trust you. I just..Ion know about this one,” he said. 

You leaned down once more and got close to his face. “Hey, we have a safe word. At any point you want me to stop, I will,” you said and pecked his nose, knowing he secretly loved that shit. He relaxed onto the bed, the rumpled sheets beneath him bunching up. 

“Come on then, baby. Show me what ya got,” he said.

You grinned and stood up, surveying your work. He looked damn good, sitting up against the headboard like a concubine. He still wore black briefs fit snug over his lower half. So plump and thick in thighs and ass that you wanted to take a bite out of him. 

You held yourself back and then told him you’d be right back. You went to your phone on the dresser and turned on your “Grown” playlist on Spotify. The deep croon of Ro James floated softly through the speakers and you left the room. 

You went to the bathroom, nerves bubbling in your gut but you stamped it out. Tyrone was being brave and letting you play out a fantasy of yours so you had to be brave as well. You took a few deep breaths and let your other side come out. Let your inner freak rise to the surface and completely take over. 

You looked good, he looked good, and you were getting everything you wanted and then some. So you threw your shoulders back and admired your sexy lingerie. You checked over the baroque garter belt with the straps pinching pleasurably into your thighs. The thigh high fishnet tights were flushed against your legs and your bra had your girls looking lovely. 

You left the room and walked back to your room. When you opened the door, Tyrone’s eyes snapped to yours. Heat brushed all over your skin as you walked further in and he took in your outfit. 

His briefs began to tent a little with evidence of his arousal standing at attention. You walked over to him, giving a dramatic swing of your hips. You trailed a finger from his legs to his thighs, to his stomach. His stomach contracted as you reached higher and he inhaled sharply as if you burned him. 

“Got damn,” he said, licking his lips. He moved his hands forward but was held back by the ties. He looked up and cursed, a smirk on his lips. “Forgot already. I really can’t touch you?” He asked.

“Ion know, maybe if you ask nicely,” you said. 

You bent down and grabbed the bottle of lotion there. It was unscented, but it would do the trick. He looked at you funny until you squirted some in your hand. He watched as your hands descended on his legs, rubbing the lotion into his skin.

“What you doin’?” He asked.

“You take care of me all the time. I want to take care of you. Now sit back and be quiet,” you said. You gave him a stern look and he smiled. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. 

You smiled, pleased that he was trying in his own way. You rubbed his legs and feet. He was jumpy by the time you got to that point, not used to anyone touching them. You kept it brief since you weren’t at the torturing stage yet.

Your eyes flicked to his as you worked on the other leg, an evil smirk on your face. He had no idea what he was in for. Was this how he usually felt? Drunk on power that he could do anything he wanted to your body and you would enjoy it? And you had no fuckin’ clue?

You advanced up to his thighs. A tiny sound escaped him, too low for you to hear what. He smiled at you to cover it up, biting his bottom lip and sitting back against the headboard. His eyes were lidded.

“Aren’t you being a good boy,” you said. 

“I like to please,” he said. 

“Mhm, you like to tease,” you said. You worked his massive thighs, spreading lotion all over. It was such a small thing, but you were mesmerized by the way the lotion sunk into his bronzed skin. 

He had a smattering of hair on his thighs as you relished in the feel of him. The power in his thighs alone. He could crush watermelons and you thought about how you were going to ride him.

You had been debating how to do just that once he said yes to doing this. Your pussy clenched thinking of riding him reverse cowgirl. Bouncing on his dick while you fondled his balls. Or you could ride him cowgirl and dig your nails across his chest. You could watch his face while you selfishly took what you wanted. 

The back of your neck tingled. You probably shouldn’t do this too often in the future if he was open to it. You were entirely too excited to use him like your own personal sex toy. 

You bent low over him while you pretended to work a problem area. A part of your arm grazed his dick and he hissed, ending with a small sigh. You pressed kisses to his stomach, intentionally skipping his dick. But your mouth was close enough that a little dip to your chin would bring your lips to the base of him. 

“You are the most amazing man ever. Do you have any idea how much I love you?” You asked. You peppered your praise in between kisses. “Do you have any idea how happy you make me?” 

You looked up at him while he had a wide smile on his face. His toothy grin brightened his face, making him as open as you've ever seen him. He was usually scowling, so damn serious all the time. His mind stayed on his money and his lady. You smiled at the joy you saw there. 

“Shit, got a nigga blushin’ over here,” he said. If you weren’t mistaken…his voice was a little thick with emotion. 

You weren’t going to point it out so you kissed his dick through the fabric. “You’re doing so good for me, Ty. You comfortable?” You asked.

“You could loosen these ties,” he said. 

“Nice try,” you said. You stood up and put more lotion into your palms. You worked your way over his chest, rubbing his solid stomach and studying his dips and grooves. You’d been together long enough that you knew every inch of him.

But it was rare when you got to explore his body. Take your time and see what you could do to him. Your hands crept up his sides and when you wiggled your fingers, he twisted away from you. 

“Aye, aye! Don’t start that shit!” He yelled. 

“Excuse me?” You asked. 

“Don’t start that shit!” He said. 

You slid your fingers upwards anyway and tickled him in earnest. He twisted and writhed beneath you, his legs flopping on the bed.

“Because I seem to remember begging for mercy and someone said no,” you said. You giggled as you watched his face in a mix of pain and happiness. He threw his head back trying to get away from you but he was powerless. 

“You’re lucky I’m nicer,” you said. You stopped tickling him and moved your attention to his arms. You licked your lips as you ran your hands over his muscles. Back and forth, back and forth. His muscles contracted and you traced one long vein down his forearm.

His tattoos were an aphrodisiac all on its own. The lion was your favorite. He said it represented his dueling spirits, both lover and fighter. You worked the lotion into his wrists around the restraints. Too bad you couldn’t rub his hands. He had such big hands, big enough to grab your ass whenever he felt like. Which was all the time. 

Tyrone loved you out loud and that was your favorite part about him. There wasn’t an inch of your soul that didn’t love and cherish this man. You didn’t have the words or the comprehension to let him see how much you loved him. How much you woke up everyday and had to wrap your fingers around your arms and squeeze them tight. To make sure that it was real and you had a man who adored you. 

You just wanted to make him feel good. To make him feel a fraction of what he did for you on a regular basis. You cleaned your hands on a towel on the nightstand. “Feel good, baby?” You asked.

Tyrone groaned, his eyes drooping further as if he could go to sleep. He smiled, wide once more. Fuck, you would never get sick of seeing that look on his face. You would take a mental snapshot and lock it in your heart. You would pull it out a thousand times a day just to remember this over and over again. 

“Yes, ma’am. I see why you always askin’ for one now,” he said with a chuckle. Hell yeah. When Tyrone rubbed your calves after a stressful day on your feet, you were jelly in his hands and would agree to absolutely everything he wanted. If he wanted to pour ice cream on your pussy and lick it off, you would not object. 

But tonight was about making him feel good. You smiled as you went to the foot of the bed. You turned your palm until you were cupping his balls. 

“Now, what do we have here,” you said. You increased the pressure a bit, squeezing his balls until he groaned a little louder. 

You turned your fingers, massaging his balls in the way you knew made him glitch. He jerked and twisted beneath you, his breaths coming in choppy and weak. Your pussy throbbed, watching the mix of emotions play out over his face. 

Oh, you could get used to this. Used to driving him wild first. “Okay, okay, okay,” he huffed. He drew his legs up to try and dislodge you. His arms wrestled with the ties as he tried to get free. When it felt too good, when his voice was low in the back of his throat, he would make you stop. 

He assured you that he couldn’t cum this way, but you wanted to know what would happen if you kept going. If he didn’t stop you by pushing your hands away. You continued fondling him and he squirmed beneath you. His arms shook more violently as he tried in vain to stop you.

“You know what to say to get me to stop, baby. You gon’ say it?” You asked. 

His eyes were closed tightly, head thrown back. You relished the look of strain on him. How he looked so…pretty. 

He sounded so pretty too. His little staccato whimpers were turning you on in the worst way. You were dripping wet already and you hadn’t really done anything yet. You were going to burn up before you had a chance to let the night play out.

You were too excited, too turned on. Electricity danced in your veins. Your fingers tingled. Everything seemed amplified. His hair is just a touch more coarse. His voice throaty and guttural. The honeysuckle scent invaded your nostrils and now you would forever associate him with the scent. 

“Hol’ on, hol’ on, damn,” he groaned. 

“Ah, ah. You’re a big boy, use your words,” you cooed to him. You leaned forward, getting closer to him so that you didn’t miss a single thing.

The way sweat gathered on his brow and slid down his neck. The way his wide nose flared. The way his pink tongue darted out to lick his parched lips. Those sharp intakes of air. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Your heart cracked in two as you finally got a sense of what he had been talking about. How him hovering over you, looking down at your face, made his entire world light up. You understood now. You felt that same light burst out of you. You were breathless with it. 

“Babe, babe,” he said. His voice was so strained. You were so wet. An empty ache pulsed at the core of you. You needed this man inside of you. But you wanted to savor each moment too. 

“Words, Tyrone, or I stop,” you said.

“No, no!” He shouted. 

“Oh, so you can use your words,” you mocked. 

“Yes,” he hissed. 

“Well then, show me. Show me you can use your words like a good boy,” you said. 

“Don’t stop,” he said. 

“Do better. Beg me, Tyrone,” you commanded. 

It was a desperate need to hear the words on his lips that crawled over your skin. 

“Fuck,” Tyrone said. He licked his lips a few times. His breathing was choppy. The rapid rise and fall of his chest had you clenching and unclenching around anothing. 

He was trying to hold onto that bit of control. That stubborn fight in him was costing him unnecessary torment. You moved closer so that you could peck him with kisses on his temple and cheek.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. You can let go, baby,” you whispered in his ear. 

You huffed and jerked as if he would cum but it didn’t seem like he was going to bust. You knew his face and that wasn’t it. 

You moved your hands to the band of the briefs. He took in deep breaths as your fingers slipped below the band. 

“You gotta tell me the magic words,” you said. 

“Come on,” he groaned. 

His hips moved side to side so subtly you almost missed it. Your fingers slid across his skin and you smiled. He was enjoying this. He really was lucky that you were so nice. You weren’t going to lord it over his head. 

“You come on. You want that nut, don’t you, baby?” You asked. You lowered your voice so that it was a little softer. He loved the sound of your voice and when you talked like this, like an innocent little doll, he said it made him brick up instantly. 

“Fuck,” he huffed out. “Please, babe. Touch me,” he said.

“Hm, that sounds like a command. Are you ordering me to do something, Ty?” You asked.

“No, ma’am,” he said. He shook his head back and forth. 

“Come on, be good for me,” you said.

“Please, please, please touch me.” he said. 

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, pretty boy,” you said.

You began to stroke his long, thick dick. Your hands barely wrapped around him. You used both hands to stroke him slow and hard. 

The song switched to Sevyn Streeter and you shivered. Her songs always made you feel so sexy and in your feminine power. Impatient, you moved his briefs down so that you could look at your handiwork.

You looked at your hands with your nails painted in your favorite color. Your hands sliding over his dick, getting all kinds of delicious sounds from him. How it seemed you were pumping the cum out of him. 

He was still so pretty. Dicks were not supposed to be pretty. They were wrinkly and hairy. You’d seen one, you’d seen them all. Perhaps that was only for men you didn’t like. Because Tyrone’s was like no other. He wielded that thing like a deadly weapon.

It had been inside of you, handing out orgasms like it was sustenance. He kept himself well trimmed and groomed. Telling you that he needed to keep your plate clean. You watched your hands and suddenly grew jealous that they were having all the fun.

You got onto the bed and straddled him in a reverse cowgirl stance. You leaned across his thighs and stomach, scooting your ass back until it was tucked high in the air. Your face was level with his dick so you sucked him down. 

“Oh, fuck,” he jerked off of the bed. You rode him, wiggling your ass for him. His breath fanned across your ass as he tried to lean forward. There wasn’t much slack on the ties so he only got so far. 

“Umf, lemme taste you, please?” He asked.

He was a quick learner. You suckled the tip of his dick and the roar in his chest almost made you cum on the spot. You let him go with a wet pop, licking your lips to collect wayward precum. 

“You know my pussy wet, Tyrone,” you sung. You wiggled your ass. You looked back at him. His eyes were transfixed to your jiggly ass, the globes shaking with its own gravity. He groaned. His hands flexed. Like if he could just grab hold all would be right in the world. 

“You got me so fuckin’ horny, baby,” you moaned. 

“Oh, I need to taste it, babe,” he said. 

“You wanna taste me?” You asked.

Tyrone nodded, tearing his eyes away from your ass just long enough to give you a quick glance. 

“You gotta earn that. Be a good boy for me and cum in my mouth,” you said.

You put your lips back on him and sucked on him just the way you wanted. You went at your own pace, bobbing your head up and down and trying to fit as much of him as you can. His hips bucked on the bed. The heels of his feet dug into the sheets as you gagged on him. 

He lifted his hips and came with an aggressive growl. You sucked and moaned as his cum filled your mouth. You swallowed all of it. Usually you stopped and went to wipe your mouth of any more. But this time, you kept going.

These sounds were different. These were raw and primal. He muttered and sputtered through all kinds of excited sounds as you sucked the fucking soul out of him. 

“Uh, u-” he moaned.

You gyrated on his chest. You felt that moan deep down inside. All the way down to your womb. 

“Shit, I-!” He bucked his hips again and came one more time. His cum splashed the back of your throat and once more, you drank him down. You slowed your strokes, running your tongue lightly down his shaft. He made tortured moaning noises that had you seeing double. 

You stopped with your lips around his tip and then finally let go. You moaned and looked back at him. He was definitely in pain now. That shouldn’t quite turn you on this much. But who were you trying to fool?

You loved this look of pain on his face. Where he gave way to his base instincts. To fuck and be fucked. 

“You earned an award, baby, for being so good,” you said.

Your left hand descended down to your pussy where your fingers instantly slipped through your wet folds. You collected your essence and brought it to his lips. He panted before smelling your scent on your fingers.

His eyes were closed so he moved by the tilt of his wide nose towards your fingers. He opened his mouth and suckled them into his mouth. His tongue ran over your fingers, collecting every last drop.

“You so pretty, Ty,” you breathed. 

“Timeout,” he panted. 

You nodded and got up off of him. The song switched once more to Victoria Monet. It was a good song to relax to. You laid down next to him, wrapping your arm around his middle and staying there. 

He groaned and shook beneath you. His eyes were so tightly closed you wondered if he was intentionally getting himself hurt. 

“Are you okay, Tyrone?” You asked.

“Too much,” he whispered. 

You nodded and focused on not setting his skin on fire. You gave him small, tolerable kisses while he calmed down. You checked on him periodically, making him talk it out like he did for you. 

“Baby, please, I need to be inside you,” Tyrone finally whispered. You looked down the length of him. He was growing by the second. He swelled against your thigh, filling up just for you. 

“You sure you want to keep going? We don’t have to. You’ve already given me so much,” you said. 

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking on the word. “I’m going to die if I don’t get to feel you. I’ll get on my knees and beg right now, untie me,” he said.

You looked up and brought your hand up to cup his face. Stroke his beard. Your hands slid down to his arms, past the tattoos all over his arms. There were some on his chest as well. You wanted to lick every single one. 

You straddled his hips and leaned up so you could look at his face. His eyes immediately went to your breast, concealed by your peek-a-boo bra. The sheer lace let him see your nipples. You played with your breasts as you began to tease him.

You slid your wet pussy across his chest and he licked his lips. His eyes dipped down to where you gyrated on him. His eyes. There was so much you could glean from his eyes alone. He wanted to devour you whole. 

You didn’t give him what he wanted. This was still your fantasy. You turned around on him, getting into a sitting position. You moved your panties to the side and grabbed his dick. You guided him inside you. He was as hard as a brick and nearly as thick as one. 

You groaned, sitting yourself down on that beefy dick. His head thumped on the headboard a few times as you seemed to continue sliding. Only Tyrone could get so deep that you felt him kissing your cervix. You clenched around him thinking of how he could fill you up directly. Shooting his load to the heart of you.

You weren’t sure when or how you became obsessed with being filled up by him but the image was provocative. Everytime he went inside you, your mind instantly flashed to how passionately he would grab your hips and slam you down on his dick.

You groaned and began to bounce, the bed creaking loudly over the music playing. It spurned you on more to hear it. You bounced faster, chasing your pleasure with reckless abandon. 

“Fuck, use me,” Tyrone moaned. “Use me, baby.” 

Your hands gripped his thighs and held on. You steadied yourself and bounced to your heart’s content. He moved seamlessly inside you, pulsing every now and then with his desire. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned. Your screeches were getting louder and louder. 

“Let me feel it, baby, please,” he said, tacking on the please at the last second. Old habits die hard. 

All the teasing you did to him only served to tease yourself. You were already close. Especially with how deep in your guts he was. At this rate, he could definitely rearrange some things in there. You bounced faster. You were so close. So close. So close.

You screamed as you came, howling into the night that you were in heaven. Soaring through the clouds with wind in your air and space beneath your feet. You paused, clutching his thighs as you shook on top of him. 

You cried, your voice too warbly to be coherent. No help from him and you were still a mess on top of him. Flooding him with your arousal. You clenched and unclenched his dick, squeezing him tight enough to make him moan. 

“Can I cum in that pussy?” Tyrone asked. He moved his hips, wiggling you on top of him. You moaned as he pulsed inside of you. You were still so sensitive from your powerful orgasm. A shiver worked its way down your spine and you arched into it. 

“Since you asked so nicely, you can,” you said. 

Tyrone moved his hips. He managed a few inches and your eyes crossed feeling him deep inside. You wanted him to stay there. You wanted to stay connected. If he wanted you to cockwarm him, you would. Just sit there with him lodged inside of you busting load after load into you. 

“Ouue,” you moaned. 

You helped bounce on him while he moved his hips up, bucking and fucking you. You tugged on your nipples, needing a little bite of pain to really drive your pleasure higher. You moved one hand down south, reaching under your panties and circling your clit. 

“Sheeit,” you moaned and came. At the same time, Tyrone moaned loud and proud as he came, flooding your insides. You felt it fill you up to the fucking brim. 

When you finished, Tyrone fell back to the bed, completely spent. Your legs were wobbly noodles. You didn’t think you could move. You took deep breaths, waiting for the ecstasy to dissipate. 

But he always had the strength to make sure you were okay. You were going to do the same, because you loved him and wanted to make him comfortable. You got off of him slowly. He groaned as he slipped out. You got to your feet on the carpet.

You rubbed the sweat from his brow. “Talk to me, baby, are you okay?” You asked. You untied him and rubbed his wrists, rubbing the circulation back into it. You went around the bed and did the same thing to his other wrist.

“Hm, sleepy,” he said. He yawned to prove his point. You smiled at him. 

“Not without me.”

You went to the bathroom and warmed up a washcloth. You cleaned him off, wiping your combined juices. He hissed a little as the cloth touched his dick, but he quickly settled into the bed.

You went to the bathroom and cleaned yourself up with a different cloth. You went back to the room to find Tyrone had slid down into the bed, resting his head against the pillow. Now the mu’fucka knew how you felt when you were overstimulated and speaking in tongues just to make the pleasure stop. It was almost like it was too much. But you couldn’t help but keep going, wanting more.

You blew out the candles and turned off the music. You turned off the overhead light and climbed into bed with Tyrone, pulling the covers up over your lower half. Your top half was too sensitive and overheated for anything more. 

You kissed his arms and chest once you settled into his arms. He flipped over unconsciously, pulling your back into his chest. You snuggled down into his hot body. Your back turned feverish just from his body heat. 

“Wait ‘till I recover,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ma get my payback.”

“See, that was all love. Why it gotta be payback?” You asked.

His hand flexed against your belly. He squeezed your flesh in his big hands and your pussy throbbed. You were already sore from earlier, you did not need another round. 

“Just gotta,” he said.

“But why?”

“Thems the rules,” he said. His voice was hoarse and seemed louder in the quiet, dark room. 

He fell silent and you thought he had drifted off to sleep. You were about to fall yourself when he hummed. 

“Baby?” He asked.

“Yes?” You asked.

“Can you call me ‘pretty boy’ more often?” He whispered into the air. 

“Of course. Anything for my pretty, pretty boy.”

Whew! If you need a cool down with another one, there's so much more! The Secret Tyrone Files

[holylulusworld]

Flowers (5) - Honeysuckle

Summary: Honeysuckle flowers represent true happiness, romantic love, good fortune, and sweetness towards one another.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angry Bucky, fluff, love confessions

Flowers (4) - Daisy

Flowers masterlist

For the next few days, you barely left your apartment. Bucky and you spent the time talking about all the things you never dared to bring up.

Your relationship, his feelings for you, and the woman almost ruining your relationship. Dolores. 

At first, you wanted to go ballistic and beat the shit out of that woman. Bucky had to hold you back and calm you. He promised over and over again that Dolores didn’t stand a chance.

You are the only woman he wants, and the one he needs. He confessed his love and sniffled when you confessed your feelings for him.

One week later you finally leave the apartment to grab a few things for your upcoming trip to your uncle’s cabin. You want to get out of the tower for a while to spend some well-needed alone time with Bucky.

“You look pretty today, doll,” he complimented while holding your hand in his gloved one. “I mean…uh—you always look pretty. But today, you glow.”

“Aw, someone wants to get laid,” you giggled and pecked his cheek. “I thought last night was enough to tame the python in your pants, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You know how I get when you are close,” he smirked. “I lose all control and need to get my hands on you, doll.”

“You’re insatiable,” you retorted, but mirrored his smirk. “Maybe after our shopping trip. We will take my car today.”

“No bike,” he sighed and looked at the list in your hands. “I bet I can store everything on my bike.”

“I bet you’ll lose half of the things we will need, and there is no space left for me,” you pointed out, sticking your tongue out.

“Fine, no bike today.”

“We should go to Maria first. I want to tell her that she can pair me up with you for missions again. And,” you cleared your throat, “to make sure she knows that we won’t work with that red-haired bitch.”

“Did I hear my name?” Natasha poked her head around the corner, one brow furrowed.

“Nope,” you grinned at the redhead. “There is only one red-haired bitch I hate. And that’s not you.”

She winked at you and chuckled. “So, you’re good? No more fighting or rom-com drama?” 

“Shut up,” you grinned at her. “We had the best reunion sex ever.” You narrowed your eyes the moment Dot stepped out of one of the offices. “We almost broke the bed, the couch, and the shower.”

“Do you want me to hate you?” Natasha sighed deeply. It’s been too long since she had animalistic and crazy sex. “You win. I’m jealous.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Dolores cooed, acting like she didn’t lie to you to steal your boyfriend. “How have you been? We have missed you during training.”

“He had better things to do than listening to your lies,” you bit back, and gritted your teeth. 

She chuckled, still believing there was a chance Bucky would leave you for good and find solace in her arms. “I asked Sergeant Barnes, not you.”

“Careful,” Bucky’s features darkened, and her disrespectful tone. “You caused enough trouble. Don’t believe for one second I will forget that you lied to me.”

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about, Sergeant,” she tried to smile her way out of the situation. 

“I’m not the man I used to be,” Bucky let go of your hand for a moment to tower over Dolores. She shrank into herself. No one faces the former Winter Soldier and doesn’t pee their pants. “But don’t think for one second that I will let you get in between me and my girlfriend. Get it in your head,” he pointed his index finger at Dolores, “I only love her.”

He slung one arm around your shoulders and guided you away from Dolores and her boring looks. “Buck, I think you made her pee her pants.”

“Good.” He said. “She deserves that much and more.”

“What is that?” You pointed at the cat Bucky carried in his jacket. He wanted to grab more things for your trip, only to bring nothing but a small white furball home. “Bucky?”

“That punk kinda followed me,” he sheepishly said. “It began to snow, and I had to stop my bike. I got off my bike, to wait for the snowfall to stop and then,” he looked at the cat poking its head out of his jacket, “I heard this guy meow loudly.”

“Where did you find him?” You pat the cat’s head. “Bucky?” You looked him in the eyes. “You didn’t steal the cat, right?”

“What? No! Someone locked him in a box and threw it in a dumpster. I fished the box out and freed him,” Bucky pleadingly looked at you. “Can we keep him?”

You looked at the cat, and then at your smiling boyfriend, already knowing the answer. 

“Do you already have a name for him?” You laughed as Bucky nodded eagerly. “How’d you name the poor cat? I hope it’s not snowball.”

“Alpine,” he said while patting the cat’s head. “He’s a fighter. A survivor and…he’s white.” Bucky wouldn’t stop smiling. He allowed you to carefully take the cat out of his jacket but followed you hot on your heels to keep an eye on Alpine.

“We will need cat food, and toys, a bed, a toilet,” you hummed to yourself. “Maybe we can cancel the trip? We need to take care of him first.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked while watching you play with the cat on your shared bed. “I guess there is a new man in town, huh?”

“We should order all the things we will need for Alpine online.” You watched the cat curl into a ball on the bed. He was still shivering, but he meowed happily when Bucky sat down on the bed. 

“Hey punk,” Bucky patted the cat’s head, but his eyes were glued to you moving closer to sit next to him. “How do you feel?”

“We can ask a vet to check on him,” you put your hand on Bucky’s lightly squeezing it. “I guess we now have a kid, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Maybe we can work on putting on into you too?” He smirked at your shocked expression. “Or at least try? I like trying…”

The End...

Tags in reblog.

[lilyruthere]

HONEYSUCKLES

synopsis: Zayne thinks you look beautiful in the snow, and that honeysuckle’s are meant for your love.

cw: reader referred to ‘girlfriend’ but other than that, no other uses of she/her, third person point of view, no use of y/n, black!reader friendly! Reader has hair, but it’s not descriptive.

ZAYNE

It’s not out of the norm for Zayne to be late for dates. He’s a very busy man, and a doctor, so of course patients should come first. What is out of the norm you might ask? Him not texting you that he’ll be late.

Surely, he has a good reason for not texting you right? You don’t want to be a bad girlfriend and just leave in case he comes back. So you wait half an hour, which turns into a whole hour.

Now things are fishy.

You’re looking around the snowy sidewalk, it hasn’t gotten cold enough for you to leave, because if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Zayne will absolutely text you to go home if he wasn’t going to show up at all.

You look up at the street lamp, focused on the bright area it swallows up. There’s a tap on your shoulder and you spin around to face the stranger.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you to wait inside somewhere nearby. I didn’t think I’d spend so much time in that flower shop.”

Right in front of your face, blocking your view of Zayne’s face, are yellow honeysuckles.

“Oh!” You take hold of the honeysuckle’s, looking up to meet Zayne’s gaze.

Beneath the glowing streetlight, Zayne looks cute. His cheeks are red from the cold, and snowflakes decorate his raven colored hair strands, as well as on his long eyelashes. You can’t help but huff out a laugh.

“Hm? What’s so funny?” He looks at you with a straight face, but you catch the curious glimmer in his eyes.

“Nothing. You look cute covered in snow.” You smile and stand on the tips of your toes to brush snow off his hair.

“Thank you…you also look very beautiful in the snow.” His hand guides up to the apple of your cheek, giving it a quick squish between his pointer finger and thumb. “I got so distracted by your beauty that I was late.” He says.

“Liar!” You tease.

“It’s the honest truth.” *he chuckles, and looks over his shoulder to point somewhere behind him. “See over there? I was standing right there staring at you.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, why the flowers?”

He offers his arm for you to hold on to, and you gratefully accept, wrapping your arm under his and resting your hand on his bicep.

“Do you know the language of flowers?” He speaks while walking, headed towards the restaurant you both decided on for this particular date night.

“Hmm, can’t say that I do. What do these mean?” You bring your eyes to the yellow flowers.

“Try and take a guess.”

“Mmm…maybe, something like ‘I love you’?” You say cheekily, and he can’t help but chuckle at how bashful you look.

“Yes, pretty close. These mean ‘true love’ or ‘affection towards one another’ and ‘first love.’ ”

“And I am..?” You question, raising an eyebrow up at him.

“You are all three.” A small smile spread across his face, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple.

“I apologize for being late again. Next time, you can just go home if I take too long. I’ll meet you back there.”

You hum. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

You smile, and tighten your arm around his.

“It’s okay. I’ll always wait for you, no matter how cold it gets.”

“That’s fine, but I would prefer my lover to not be sick on our dates.”

“You know Elsa from Frozen said the cold never bothered her anyways.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line..?”

[m1d-45]

any chance of a part 2 of opportunities arisen? perhaps tighnari finds out who we are? or someone else comes after us? 👉👈 i love him sm and ur characterization of him is perfect, that fic is 100% canon in my mind for every imposter au now

prime fortune

a/n: hope this one didn’t absolutely destroy your expectations anon. it took a hard left turn halfway through and i couldn’t bring it back—

word count: 3.1k oh wow-

-> warnings: minor spoilers for sumeru archon quest (3.0-3.2), dubious medical facts that you should not follow, likely ooc cyno, excessive use of the word ‘something’ with little reasoning to show for it, cyno’s excellent humor

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

<< part 1 || < masterlist >

adapting to life in the forest was easier said than done.

you’re often paired with collei, who’s in the middle of a bad eleazar flare that keeps her confined to the village, and though she teaches you the different salves and plants, a lot of it goes over your head.

you’re interested, you are! the liveliness with which she speaks, and the animated gestures from tighnari as he explains proper safety when preparing medicine easily capture your attention, but when she hands you two mushrooms and asks her to tell you which one is morchella….

by some strange luck, you often guess correctly, your intuition knowing more than you do, but when she nods with a smile and asks you to repeat the differences…

your mind falls blank.

something about the density of the fibers inside the mushroom floats through your mind, but you can’t remember whether the true or false mushroom is heavier.

collei’s smile falters, and yours turns sheepish. when she takes you out on walks, slowly walking up the paths so you don’t strain your ankle, you can point at the differences between portobello and death caps, you can pick out holly and honeysuckle and marigold, but here…

you pass the field practice with flying colors, but your basic by-the-books forest ranger tests always end in failure.

tighnari picks out two plants from a small case, holding them up in front of you.

“you come across amir sitting just off the side of a path, clutching his stomach. after some questioning, you determine he has a stomach cramp from dehydration, and spot these two plants nearby. you’re about a 15 minute walk from the village; what do you do?”

one of the plants has many flat white flowers blooming from the top, with yellow centers, while the other has orange petals that form a ball shape on top. you know one of them is yarrow, but not which one…

you pick the latter on a whim, spinning it between two fingers as you think. “pick the petals and crush them into a paste, taking care not to overwork them. give him about a spoonful, which should be most of it, then help him up. report to shirin once we return.”

the blank mask on his face falls into confusion. “how do you even mix up marigold and yarrow?” he asks, picking the flower—marigold, you now recognize—from your hand. “you got the procedure correct, at least, but marigold is bitter and will only worsen his aches. oh, and additionally, the leaves of yarrow—however small they-“

the door to the cottage slams open, jars rattling on their shelves, and tighnari whips around to face whoever it is, one hand steadying a stack of reports.

“and just what do you think you’re- w- collei? is everything alright?”

collei’s violet eyes were wide, her shoulders heaving with breath, when she spoke, exhaustion was evident. “m-master tighnari! the matra are here on behalf of the akademiya! i tried to tell them to wait so i could get you but they just-..”

emotions flashed over tighnari’s face faster than you could catch, eventually setting on a sharp determination. “alright collei, calm down. go find amir and do your best to delay them, but don’t seem too suspiscious, okay? just remember what we planned, i’ll take care of things here.”

her eyes flicked to you, worry evident, but she quickly turned away.

the moment the door closed, you and tighnari sprung into action. he collected the plants from your test and tucked them into their proper places, you standing to help return a mint plant back to its place.

he caught your wrist, taking the pot. “don’t. take your bag and go, don’t worry about this.”

you hesitate for longer than you should, then nod. he lets you go and returns to his case, and you move to crouch by the bed. feeling under it, your hand eventually brushes against a cloth handle, which you grab. you take a step to unlatch the window with one hand and sling the pack over your shoulder with the other, leaving with your good leg first. as you carefully close the window behind you, you can see tighnari moving to hide all the notes you’d taken, the only sign of his worry being his tail lashing behind him and the slightest flick of his ears.

with a soft smile, you turn away.

tighnari checked over his room once more, ensuring that every trace of your presence was scrubbed clean. your laundry was out and mixed with the rest of the rangers’, but your notes and records were carefully hidden under patrol logs and his own personal binders. he knew everything was tucked away, he had explanations lined up and answers to every conceivable question the akademiya could have, but his heart still beat frantically against his ribs. even as he pulled apart and neatened up a stack of patrol logs, repeating the action to look like he was doing something whenever the matra came to his hut, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed something crucial.

he had to fight to keep his tail from betraying his emotions, the energy not going into mussing up and then fixing the papers spent on hiding the symptoms of his distress. he knew he didn’t miss anything. the moment you told them the sages were on active lookout for you and he knew you weren’t a threat, he had memorized the plan. he was foolish to worry.

he hasn’t known you for long, barely over half a year, yet his mind is clouded with the same worry as when collei collapses out on patrol. the same numbing sort of adrenaline, the icy feeling in his bones even as his skin starts to burn up, the apprehension in every movement, as if at any moment-

somebody knocks on the door.

tighnari takes a steadying breath and fusses with the papers a final time. “come in!”

the door creaks open and he taps the papers on the table, turning slightly to speak over his shoulder. “sorry, you caught me in the middle of something.”

“no matter,” a familiar voice says, and he can’t stop the way his body freezes at the speaker.

he carefully tucked the papers into a folder, finally turning around. “general mahamatra. to what do i owe the honor?”

cyno crossed his arms, red eyes surveying the room. “oh, nothing at all. just somebody from vimara village reporting somebody that looked suspiciously like the primo fortuna walking around with collei when they’re supposed to be in liyue.”

tighnari stares. the primo fortuna…? he thought they were after you, but you couldn���t be…

“are… are you suggesting somebody is attempting to imitate the creator?”

sure, he wouldn’t deny you shared some features—you had the same shape of nose, you were around the same height and build—but for you to be the creator? no, it wasn’t possible. your eyes were much kinder, you stopped and helped nasrin when she couldn’t find the proper forms, you directed shirin to the area of the forest where you and collei found nilotpala lotuses, you were nothing like the creator he saw at pardis dhyai. you didn’t stare with glazed eyes as padisarahs and sumeru roses were brought forth, you listened in earnest when he spoke about the differences between the various kinds of ferns.

if anybody were to meet you, they’d know in an instant you were not the creator.

his heart itched within his chest. he ignored it as worry.

“that’s exactly what i’m implying. as i’m certain you know, their identity is hallowed, and anybody attempting to infringe upon it needs to meet justice.” the golden eye on his headpiece flashed, the sides beginning to narrow into eyes before he shook his head and it passed. “but in truth, that is not why i am here.”

tighnari stared. despite having a fondness for jokes, cyno was never one to laugh about his duties. “what do you mean? collei told me you were here on behalf of the akademiya.”

“the matra are here on behalf of the sages,” he clarified. “i… i am here for other reasons. personal ones.”

his eyes flicked around the room again, and tighnari’s narrowed. “well, don’t hide behind double meanings, then. what is it?”

cyno’s jaw flexed as he chewed at nothing, his arms uncrossing. his eyes focused somewhere around the bed, and he seemed lost in thought. whatever it was, it had to be a big deal, but for him to hijack the matra’s arrival instead of coming on his own time…

“the one on the throne is not our god.”

he said it with such conviction that tighnari found himself agreeing, waiting for whatever had gotten him worked up, and it was only when cyno’s eyes closed as he braced himself that it registered what he said.

“what?”

“i have gathered evidence across many sources, both academic and religious, common and exclusive, and i can’t bring myself to kneel at their feet any longer. i have been ignoring my own mind for too long for the sake of my conscience, and i am confiding in you now what has been brewing in my mind for months.”

in the silence that stretched, tighnari almost wished he hadn’t spoken.

the way he spoke, from his words to his tone, reminded tighnari of when he reported to the sages, like he wasn’t tighnari to him and was instead an authority.

“cyno, i don’t.. is this why you didn’t go when they were at pardis dhyai or sumeru city?”

he nodded. “i can’t be in a place where they’re being worshipped when i’m so conflicted. i thought about pulling you aside in the city, but…”

tighnari didn’t think he’d ever seen cyno so meek in his words, none of his normal power behind it. he’s… tired, a quality he knows he’s felt but has never seen on him, the almost nervous way he keeps glancing around the room edging on alarming.

“alright.. uh, moving past that for a moment, what does that have to do with why you’re in gandharva ville? wouldn’t you want to not be involved?”

cyno’s eyes dragged from where they were locked behind him with uncharacteristic slowness. “the person you’re hiding may be the real creator.”

the simplicity to his words had tighnari believing it, even as it didn’t fully register in his mind. he knew cyno attached a religious aspect to his work, to the point the people in sumeru city sometimes calling him an extension of their judgement—even as it was more like the akademiya’s, most time—so he knew that whatever he said on the topic was both well thought out and reliable.

which is why he was silent even after it clicked.

“what are you saying, cyno?”

“they’ve been staying here, haven’t they? in this room?”

“this is my and collei’s-“

“don’t tell me you haven’t been able to feel the difference in the air? the way it seems to flow slowly, lingering, like it has something to wait for? there’s no heavy blankets on the bed, and yet everybody else is talking of how cold the weather’s been lately.”

“that’s because this is an insulated room, and we’re right up against a cliff.”

the quick pace to his heart was back, this time less of worry and more of confusion. you couldn’t be the creator, not when you bore so little resemblance to the one on the throne. you were good at what you did, plants thriving under your care even if you forget to water them. call him selfish, but tighnari almost wished the creator could go back to wherever they’d been, since they’d been much kinder there, both to their vessels and the world.

you weren’t them. they weren’t even close to being you.

“you’re considering it.”

he crossed his arms, forcing himself to still. “i’ll admit—not that you didn’t already know it—that we have taken a refugee into the village, one the sages might call a criminal-“

“that’s not what i mean, tighnari, and you know it.”

“can you give me a minute? you can’t just drop a massive load of information on me like that and expect me to continue like it didn’t happen!”

“you’re reacting oddly.”

“well of course i am, you’re telling me the same person i took in and sheltered from your bosses is somebody you want to take away back to them, and that’s not even covering their injuries- they’ve barely been able to walk outside of the village, and you want to take them to the city?”

“when did i say anything about the sages?”

tighnari stopped, his chest heaving. his hands froze mid-air, his tail still flicking in a mix of irritation and stress, thoughts moving quicker than he could understand them.

“what?”

“i never said anything about the sages. i never said i would take them.”

“w- well it’s implied, if not in your words then-“

“i don’t deal in implications. you know this.”

he did.

he knew cyno. he knew how he spoke and acted, he knew that the small emotion in his eyes was indicative of empathy and not ruthless justice. he knew he held reasoning in high standards, he knew that if he stopped and thought about the words coming from his mouth then he would agree.

but he couldn’t think.

all of his usual composure had faltered and faded, leaving him grasping for a hold as his thoughts swam like a raging river around him, even standing a struggle amidst the tide. all he could do was watch, his head racing and hands shaking, as cyno stood on the bank of rationality, with his crossed arms and cool eyes that dared him to step forward and sink beneath the waves.

he had no real reason to fear so much for you. by now you were gone, by now you were safe and far past the statue of the seven by the chasm, hidden in a place where even cyno would struggle to find you. you were crafty, clever, and you had more than enough supplies to last until he could go to find you.

he had no reason to be afraid.

yet his heart still raced a rhythm he couldn’t follow, his mind tripping and skipping with worry.

why?

his tail wrapped around his side and he picked out a cluster of petals from it, mostly just to give his hands something to do.

as he did, he noticed it was a full flower, likely knocked off one of the samples on the desk. it was small, blue, with smooth petals, and he recognized it after a moment’s pause.

“this is a hydrangea. what is it used for?”

the flower quivered in your shaking hands. “root and stem are for… for medicine. petals are tea.”

collei nodded, smiling brightly. “exactly! you’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”

you smiled sheepishly, trying to hand her back the flower, but collei held up a hand, closing her pack with her other hand.

“no, you keep it. take it as a congratulations for all your progress!”

you were hesitant to accept it, that much was clear, and tighnari tied off the small parcel in his hands before speaking.

“you really have done well. you’ve only been here for a few weeks, but you’ve learned a lot.” he set down the packed herbs beside where he was leaning on the table, directing all of his attention to you. “i know it’s mostly for safety, and you’re not going to be a ranger-“ too much paperwork was required, he couldn’t risk it “-but still. i’m proud of you.”

you smiled.

it likely wasn’t the same flower—that ‘class’ was months ago, now—but it dragged a realization to the surface of his mind.

in the short, fleeting time he’d known you, he had come to care for you as he did collei.

even then, only after a week or two of you being there, a certain fondness had taken root in his chest. something bright, something that bloomed like a rose yet without any of the thorns. something that he watered every time you winced when you walked, something you fostered when you helped treat collei’s eleazar when he was out clearing a withering zone.

something that grew as he realized the poultice you had made had helped clear the pain faster than anything he’d made, even as you both used the same recipe, something that lashed out when kamran questioned your place in the village. something that spurred him to action when he thought you were in trouble, even if it was only cyno.

something that burned bright, something hot that blurred his reasoning even when he knew it was wrong, something that made him want to bare his teeth and keep you safe by his side.

something that should be impossible for him to feel towards you, as it was a golden and warm feeling that did not exist in teyvat, only ever glimpsed at altars.

tighnari looked up from the flower and into cyno’s knowing eyes.

“alright.”

relief washed onto his face, a small nod the only other sign that he’d heard.

“i’ll report nothing to the team—i trust you’ve gone over this, given your reaction?”

he let the comment slide. “yes, everybody here knows what to do in the case of the akademiya or the millelith coming here. it was collei’s idea, actually, and she took care to make sure that everybody had it memorized.”

cyno nodded, taking a step towards the door. “good. and if you ever need to collei matra, just get me instead.”

“…”

“do you get-?”

“i got it, cyno.”

[milkteabinniechan]

Pink Carnations - A Bridgerton Story

membership // m.list

pairing: Felix Lee x female reader x Bang Chan

summary: Weeks have passed since your letter from Chan and you have felt in a daze. Felix decides to throw an illustrious ball to cheer you up. He invited the whole town, but someone unexpected makes an appearance.

read chapter three here

CHAPTER FOUR

“You look beautiful.”

Felix had his hand outstretched to you. He stood at the bottom of the long staircase, a string quartet could be heard from the courtyard outside. Your heart fluttered at the sound of Felix’s genuine compliment. You clasped your hand into his and ascended down the stairs into the starlit courtyard.

Four weeks have passed since you received the letter from Chan. Felix had found you on the floor of your bedroom, the letter still grasped tightly between your fingers.

His footmen had carried you to the foyer and a doctor soon arrived at the estate. You only recall bits and pieces of that night, fading in and out a dark, dazing shock that gripped you furiously. Soon after the doctor had given you a clean bill of health and chalked up your fainting to lady problems, you sequestered yourself in your room. No longer joining Felix in the dining hall, even for a moment. You stayed within the four walls that now felt like a jail cell more than ever, willing yourself to fade into the wallpaper and disappear forever.

Felix silently grew more worried about you. He would pace back and forth in his study, trying to find a solution to whatever could be ailing you. He remembers that night much more clearly than you, as it brought back memories of his own childhood, and of his mother.

When Felix was very small, he used to run everywhere. To any place. He could outrun almost all the servants, much to his father’s dismay. No one could catch him. He remembers laughing a lot, he remembers sunlight and fresh flowers. But most of all, he remembers his mother’s smile. She would plant flowers all through the courtyard by hand, another thing his father disapproved of.

Just have the maids do it. You’re getting dirt and mud all over your nice clothes.

Felix’s mother would shrug and smile and continue to plant her flowers. She loved the smell of them blooming each new spring. Felix remembers her opening each large, stained glass window on the first day of spring. She would let the entire mansion fill with the smell of honeysuckle and peony and carnations. But one spring, she didn’t open the windows. She stayed in her room. Felix didn’t understand. His mother’s smile withered away like the flowers in their courtyard. He remembers asking his father, pleading with him, to tell him what was wrong with his mother. His father would huff, he would grumble, and simply say lady problems.

Felix’s mother died on the first day of spring, the year of his eighteenth birthday. The doctors said it was exhaustion, or old age. But Felix knew that it was a broken heart. His father left him the mansion on his birthday and fled the country, remarrying another, younger, woman. Felix let the courtyard decay and fade away. He didn’t open the windows anymore. He didn’t run.

“How about a party, sir?” a footman chimed in, breaking Felix from his pacing trance.

He thought for a moment. While he detested social events, he had seen you at many parties. You would dance and spin around, laughing and smiling and…

Felix felt a pull inside his chest, thinking too deeply on the thought of you. The way you looked. The way you sounded. He turned his head towards the stairs to your bedroom and truly missed the sound of your voice. He needed to do something for you.

“Yes, a party it is.”

The next few days were filled with planning and catering and noise. Felix had given free-range to the staff to decorate the halls of his mansion in a warm and pleasing way, though he truly didn’t know what he meant by that. He had to just hope you would enjoy it. He invited the entire town, which came as a shock to everyone on the guest list, as so few people had even seen the Lee Manor. Felix finished getting dressed and walked downstairs to see how everything was progressing. To his surprise, the windows were open, all of them. Servants were laying flowers around the outside of the house. Inside, long white linen clothes lined every table. Food was filled from every corner, swirling through the air a mixture of exotic and familiar scents danced around him. He heard a noise from at the top of the stairs, your bedroom door creaking open.

You cautiously walked out and your eyes met with Felix immediately. The manor was bright and warm, and the light wasilluminating his features in a way that made your heart quicken. You wore a simple gown, long and flowing with a satin finish. But in your hair was woven carnations, peeking out underneath fluid curls. You stood frozen for a minute, unsure of what to do or say. Felix had never stared at you for this long before. You felt exposed, like he was really seeing you for the first time. Perhaps he was.

Felix led you outside to the courtyard. You breathed in the heavy scent of flora that surrounded you. Flowers everywhere, it was truly an incredible sight. You glanced around to see the entire party forming a circle around you and Felix. You gave a confused look towards him. He chuckled softly and leaned into your ear and whispered, “They expect us to have the first dance, my lady.”

Your eyes widened, feeling slightly embarrassed that you had forgotten proper etiquette. You and Felix move effortlessly to the middle of the stone patio, moonlight bathing you from head to toe. You give a modest curtsey and Felix reciprocates with a firm bow. He pulls you in closer, the small space between you very evident, and gently runs his fingers up the length of your arm. Slowly he clasps his hand into yours and leads you in a swirling and spinning motion around the stone patio. Your heart begins to flutter again, quickly realizing that this is the most your new husband has ever touched you. Your body reacts to his almost instinctively as you both glide about. As easy as it had left, your smile returns again. Tugging at the corners of your mouth, you feel the grin growing larger as Felix continues to spin you in a dizzying and wonderful way.

You glance over Felix’s shoulder to catch the faces watching you, all blending into one big, colorful blur. But there is one face that sticks out. One face that you could recognize anywhere. One face you neer thought you would see again. Chan.

Chan stood in the crowd of partygoers and watched you dance happily with your new husband. When the waltz finally ended, he maneuvered his way through the clusters of people and finally came face to face with you. You stood frozen, like a ghost, a cruel apparition, standing in front of you, haunting you. He stepped towards you slowly, taking this opportunity to speak, seeing as your new husband was not by your side.

“We need to talk. Please.”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows

[crushribbons]

𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕪𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖

summary: Poppy Sweeting is a little naïve in all the right ways.

cw: 4.2k words, fluff, friends to lovers (i have a problem), smut (18+ ONLY), f/f sex, oral sex, i used a second-person POV bc there would be a lot of shes and hers getting mixed up LOL, fem reader

a/n: i may have a thing for girls who ramble and care about stuff :') also i know panties weren't invented yet shut up she's sexy! happy pride month xx laney

The early September sunshine was warm on your neck as you raced down the Hogwarts lawn to the lake. Steep downward steps carried your legs faster than your body, and you fell flat on your face when your shoe caught on a loose stone hidden on the bottom step. “Ack!” Your arms flailed wildly, attempting to break the fall. Your face got there first.

“Are you alright?” squealed the girl you were in such a hurry to meet. Poppy Sweeting hopped up from her position lounging by the side of the lake and ran over to check on you.

You stood and brushed off your robes nonchalantly. “I actually needed that. Nurse Blainey told me to add more gravel to my diet.” While you cleaned the dirt from your forehead and hoped the bruise you could feel blossoming around your nose wasn’t too horrible, you searched around for the leather traveling bag you’d been holding. It remained unscathed on the bottom step where you’d dropped it. Poppy giggled.

“There’s less dangerous ways to go about that, you know.” Her voice–Merlin. It had a light rasp and a musical quality that sounded like the windchimes that hung outside the Beasts classroom–coincidentally the first place you’d laid eyes on the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen. 

“I brought you something,” you began, trying to open the clasp of the bag without sustaining another injury in front of her. “She made me work for her.” You reached inside the bag and rummaged around for a moment before your hand magically summoned a little squeaking ball of fur into itself. “Ah, here we are.”

You held out the pink and purple puffskein to Poppy, whose face transformed into a ray of sunlight. “You DIDN’T! Look at her coloring! Oh, thank you, she’s so beautiful, I love her, I love her, I love her!” she cried in pure delight as she held the disoriented puffball to her cheek and spun around with her. 

One hundred thousand, you decided in that instant. You would catch approximately one hundred thousand puffskeins if it meant you got even a tenth of that reaction from her in the future. She looked happy enough to burst into one of her spirited rants about the properties of puffskein fur and how a well-cared for Puff could actually be used for levitating properties if you overfed it just the right amount, and God, you hoped she would. 

The two of you walked over to the secluded spot that Poppy had laid out a pale blue blanket over. The grass was soft beneath your knees as you knelt next to her and watched her fuss over her new pet and the air smelled like honeysuckle. Or was it…

“You smell so good,” you breathed, forgetting yourself entirely. “I mean, is that a new soap or..?” You prayed that your lecherous remark had come off as a friendly compliment, but Poppy wasn’t paying attention yet.

“How about Alberta? Hm? What do you think?” she asked the puffskein, tickling it’s belly with her pinky finger. “Is that your name?” 

You could have watched her for hours. The clear day offered a breeze that was wafting her short black hair around her shoulders and occasionally causing pieces to get stuck in her mouth. She spit them out without ever turning her attention from the beast, making an adorable “pthhbt!” noise when she did so. You realized you should probably be looking at and thinking about something other than your best friend. 

“So,” you grinned, as Poppy finally set Alberta down in her lap to stroke her coat. “Anything amazing happen over your summer? I can’t believe it’s our last year already.” A bitter lilt had found its way into your last words. 

Graduation. Sure, it meant the beginning of the rest of your lives, but would it also mean the end of seeing Poppy? You were friends, of course, but friends met up once or twice a year in Hogsmeade to rehash old school days then went back to their separate lives. You were excited for what the future and adulthood held. You were terrified they wouldn’t hold her.

Poppy shrugged. “Nothing spectacular! Gran’s doing well, and I got to see–OH.” 

Her story slamming to a dead halt made you look up, and you saw that her mouth was open in a perfect “O” and her eyes were glittering like the surface of the lake as it rippled and undulated in the wake of the giant squid swimming laps. “You will never guess who asked me to go get a butterbeer with them. The second I walked through the castle doors today, no less.”

Your stomach twisted into a Celtic knot of green, writhing, jealousy. It wasn’t as if you could get upset; you’d had two years now to do the same as whatever Lothario she seemed bursting with excitement over. The only thing stopping you was, well…

“Who?” you asked through a tight-lipped smile, trying to pretend you were interested in this juicy bit of gossip. 

“Imelda.”

If the giant squid had suddenly risen up out of the water and performed the climax to Carmen, you doubted you would have been more stunned. “Wh-uh, well, uh…huh, I, uh. Hm.” You searched the empty expanse of your mind for a single word. “Wow.”

“I know!” Poppy giggled again, placing her hand over her full lips as she did so. “Who would have thought she was so soft for me, deep down.” 

Hearing the words “soft for me” fall from precious, pure, and innocent Poppy Sweeting’s lips made your head spin like a top. You inwardly bemoaned your filth-ridden mind and tried to shake it straight as you made sense of the whole situation playing out in front of you. “So…” you started, slowly, not trusting the words to come out of you in the correct order, or frankly, language. “Are you going to go with her?” Poppy’s expression fell a bit, and she looked down at the grass.

“I dunno,” she said. She started ripping up chunks of grass and casting the blades into the breeze so they floated away. A nervous habit of hers, you knew. “I mean, well. She’s a girl.”

And there it was. Your heart was a blackened lump as it sunk to the bottom of your feet. “Sure.”

Poppy was sweet. Poppy was kind. Poppy rambled when she got excited, and Poppy was the only person you’d ever pictured being by your side after you left Hogwarts. Doing what, it didn’t matter in the slightest to you. As long as she was there and she was happy, you would be happy. But Poppy had been raised by a witch with traditional values, and part of her values included explaining to Poppy that one day she would meet a wonderful wizard and fall in love, and that was the only possible happy ending for her storybook. Gran wasn’t hateful, if anything quite the opposite, but she hadn’t taken the time away from her beasts to explain the more delicate natures of love and sex.

You could still remember the time in fifth year Poppy had found you in the library studying and pulled a chair up, dropping down in it to announce somewhat loudly and without a trace of shame, “Did you know that two witches could technically have sex without a wizard being involved?” Her expression had been completely serious. You had glanced down at the book you had been reading to see if it happened to contain the correct thing to say in this instance. Potions and their Properties had stared blankly back at you. 

“I mean, I suppose she’s pretty,” Poppy was musing, jerking you back to the present. “I like her enough, but she’s a bit mean sometimes.” Her brow furrowed and she looked up at you. “Plus, I’m not sure if I could kiss another girl. I don’t know if I’d enjoy it.”

Your gaze was fixed on Gryffindor tower. You were almost certain it was tall enough for the fall to kill you. 

“Have you ever kissed one?”

Blood rushed into your cheeks and you struggled to find words. Or rather, you struggled with the idea of telling the truth or not. The truth was that no, you hadn’t kissed another witch; the only kiss you had experienced was a reluctant and simpering one with Leander at a New Year’s celebration in the Three Broomsticks as the clock struck midnight. It wasn’t nice for anyone involved. But you were absolutely sure you would enjoy it if you got to kiss the girl you dreamed about nightly. However, if you told her that you hadn’t, the conversation would most likely be tabled in favor of discussing Alberta’s family backstory (Poppy had to assign a fictitious past to all her pets) and you’d lose the opportunity to execute the horrible plan that had just formed in your mind.

You were awful. Awful. If you opened your mouth and said what you were going to say, it would be a gigantic breach of Poppy’s trust, and her naïveté was something delicate that you never wanted to take advantage of. If you did this, it would be unforgivable.

“Yes,” you said and shrugged. It was surprising how easily the lie wormed its way out of you. “Once. I fooled around with an older Hufflepuff up in the Astronomy tower after a party. She was lovely and the firewhiskey made it seem like a wonderful idea.” Oh, you absolute wretch. Adding elaborate detail to the lie now.

Poppy’s eyes were wide as a mooncalf’s. “Really?” she breathed. She was studying you with rapt devotion, like you were a creature that she’d never encountered before. If you hadn’t been betraying her trust completely, you would have been swooning.

“Mmhmm.” You decided to cut it there and hope that this conveniently graduated Hufflepuff girl never got brought up again. “So, who knows? I say give Imelda a chance.” Poppy chewed her bottom lip, its pinkness giving way to white as she contemplated your idiotic suggestion. Give her a chance? You’d just blown the perfect opportunity to help your dear friend with a tough situation by snogging her senseless. As friends do.

“Maybe I will…” She seemed to have more to say, but she trailed off and looked out over the lake once more. Hogwarts loomed over the both of you, and it suddenly felt like the end of your seventh year couldn’t come fast enough. If Poppy did enjoy her little date with Imelda, you’d have to watch the two of them walking to breakfast together, watch Imelda tuck the strands of Poppy’s hair that always distracted her during Charms class behind her ear for her. The thought made you want to be sick all over the blanket you both sat on.

Poppy cleared her throat, once more rousing you from your sullen fantasies. “What if…if it’s not too strange…” Your heart plummeted backwards up from your feet to your throat and started hammering there. Was she really going to suggest…? 

It was her turn to blush now as she yanked three more handfuls of grass out. “Come on,” she muttered, too embarrassed to meet your eyes. “What if we tried it?”

You tried your absolute best to not jump up and start doing Garreth Weasley’s Quidditch victory dance, which involved a lot of gyrating and hip thrusting. You smiled. “Well, alright, Pop, anything for you. It’s fine with me. It could be useful, right?” Alright, calm down, your brain hushed. You’ve sold it, now shut up and kiss her.

“Alright,” she agreed, starting to look excited. “Maybe this will be fun!” It wasn’t the exact conditions that you’d one day hoped to kiss her under, but it maybe being fun was as good a reason as any for you. 

You cleared your throat a little and scooted across the blanket until your knees were touching. The sun, which had been high in the sky when you met up with her, now hung lazily around the three o’clock position, and shadows were being thrown across Poppy’s face by the oak tree you sat beneath. They speckled across her nose like the freckles you spent hours daydreaming of.

“Just a friendly kiss, right?” Poppy asked, and she leaned forward until your noses were touching.

How was this happening, especially so soon after you’d put your entire foot in your mouth with that Hufflepuff girl nonsense. “Of course,” you murmured. Your eyes fell from her ash blue ones to her lips, pink and perfect and then they were pressed against yours. 

You couldn’t help it. A soft moan tumbled from your mouth to hers as you brought your hands up to her hair and wove your fingers against her head. Her lips tasted like every delicious summer fruit you could think of, and you confirmed that the wonderful honeysuckle smell was indeed her hair. The two of you kissed and twisted your heads to slot lips closer for several seconds before Poppy pulled away and her huge eyes stared back at you. You could tell you were panting, but nothing in the world mattered to you anymore. Only kissing her did.

“Oh…wow,” she said. You opened your mouth to brush the entire ordeal off as a nice neighborly favor and hopefully save whatever of your dignity you hadn’t left in her mouth when she launched herself forward and kissed you again, much harder this time. You rocked back on your heels as your hands steadied her by the waist. What? What was happening? Your brain chased answers while your tongue chased hers and you felt her thin frame quiver under your fingertips. “Wow,” she moaned again, breaking just for a second to catch air. You whined at the loss of her lips. “You kiss wonderfully.” A hysterical little laugh bubbled up from her chest and you tugged her back to your mouth. As long as she wasn’t actively shoving you away, you were going to spend the rest of your days kissing this woman. 

It was her turn to thread her hands into your hair, and she actually pulled the locks with a sharp tug. “Pop!” You shrieked in indignation, but she just giggled herself giddy and moved her kisses to your jawline. You wanted to remain indignant, but truth be told, the hair tug had sent a shockwave to your core and you felt wetness pooling between your legs. “Poppy,” you panted again, trying to break her concentration, but she was determined to kiss the entire length of your neck, it appeared, and you lost the will to even try and stop her. But decency won out, and you pulled her by her chin back to eye-level and said, “Do you want to keep doing this? I mean, are we going to talk ab–”

“No,” she huffed, cutting you off with several small pecks. “No, let’s just…Merlin! I enjoy kissing girls!” The statement was just sweet enough and just funny enough and just Poppy enough to make the both of you dissolve into laughter. You laughed for several seconds before you sobered up from the high of her body pressed into yours and you wondered if you should keep at this. Your hands were still holding her waist, and hers were wrapped lightly around your neck. “I know kissing Imelda won’t be like this. This, this is…” She grabbed your bottom lip in her teeth and pulled it, relinquishing it with a pop! Gods, was this the same Poppy Sweeting who asked Sebastian Sallow what he meant by saying he’d like to take her for a ride on his broomstick, because “Sebastian, we’re in Hogsmeade. We can’t fly here!”?

You nodded. You’d agree to signing up for NEWT level Arithmancy at this point. Anything to keep her in your arms.

“Lay down,” you whispered, and she complied instantly, pulling you down with her into a mind-decimating snog that had you instinctively shedding your house robes and swinging your leg over her waist to hover above her. Frenzied lust was making the decisions for you at this point. Poppy wasn’t protesting, or pointing out the fact that this was still technically her first girl kiss; on the contrary, she was unclasping her own robes and shimmying them out from under her, then yanking you back down. 

“Hey, Pop?” Poppy replied with an unintelligible string of “mmmm”s that, judging by the way she was moving her hands down your back to your backside, seemed more like moans.

“Did you know two witches can have sex without a wizard even–”

“Shut it!” she cried, her voice raising in adorable anger. You’d teased her lightly in the wake of that question years ago, and how could you not bring it up in such a perfect moment as this? She ran her fingers down the back of your skirt, then, using her fingernails in a delicious scrape that made every nerve in your body dance, and pulled it up over your ass. Her nails dug into the soft flesh there and you groaned before moving your knee in between her legs. 

“Aaah!” Poppy gasped in sheer delight as her core bumped against your knee and she realized that you were pleasuring her. Your kisses grew sloppier as she began shamelessly grinding on your leg. Her thigh-length skirt was impeding the process, so you flipped it up as she had done yours and saw…You closed your eyes and said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. Merlin, she was wearing white lace panties. And–

“Fuuuuck,” you whined, your finger ghosting over the embroidered poppy at the top of them. “You’re so fucking sweet, Sweeting!” 

But Poppy had devolved into a needy mess by now. She was barely holding onto her composure as she demanded, “Please, please! Show me how to do this, I want this, puh-leeease, I want this!” You’d never seen Poppy demand anything in her life, let alone sex. You couldn’t have imagined the sight being as perfect as it was. Her cheeks flushed, hair splayed out behind her on the blanket, her chest rising and falling rapidly as a dark, wet spot on her panties rubbed against your leg. Then her words really registered in your lust-addled mind. 

Show me how to do this.

Fuck. 

The last thing on Earth you wanted was for this to end, but the one remaining shred of decency that hadn’t escaped when her underwear was exposed forced you to choke out, “Ok, wait.” Poppy wanted to do nothing of the sort.

“Talk later, do this now,” she breathed, attempting to pull you back into a kiss, but you climbed off her fully and sat back on your heels. She pulled herself to a half-sitting position and pouted with swollen lips, “What? What’s wrong?” 

You swallowed. Your throat was dry as sand as you attempted to get the words out. Everything had been going so well, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But your idiotic lie had come back to bite you, and you had to come clean now.

“I’ve, uh…I’m sorry, Pop. I lied.” You couldn’t meet her eyes and looked instead at the bald patches of grass where she’d earlier done her gardening work. “I’ve never done this before. I’m so, so sorry, but when you asked, I thought maybe–and I’ve wanted this for ages, to be honest, so I made up that stupid story about the older girl and—when really, I only wanted to kiss you but now I’ve gone and–well, you never want to see me again, I’m sure of it, so I’ll keep out of your way, and again, I’m so sorry, I–”

Poppy’s laugh went from a low chuckle to ultrasonic. It was so intense and so overwhelming, no sound was issuing forth from her mouth. She clambered onto all fours and promptly fell over again, doubled over from the apparent hilarity of it all. Your brow furrowed.

“Poppy.”

She was still beside herself, her normal giggle replaced with a raucous hysterical belly-laugh that was shaking her entire body. “You thought–” She gasped between breaths, but then laughter overtook her once more. If you hadn’t been so dreadfully nervous that you were about to lose the love and the great friend of your life, you would have almost been annoyed. 

When she finally managed to sit up and form a few sentences, they were, “You colossal git! Oh, really, there was not actually a suave older witch who showed you how to explore a woman’s body?” Poppy clasped her hands on either side of her head in mock shock. “I can’t believe this. You’ve utterly betrayed my trust.”

You sputtered. “What? Well, haven’t I?” Poppy descended into laughter again.

“Of COURSE not! Come now, you bellend! I knew you were lying the second you opened your mouth! As if I wouldn’t have heard about this little Astronomy tower encounter the second after it happened? Please. I had to hear about Leander Prewett missing your lips entirely for a month after it happened.” You gaped at her. 

“Then why–?”

“Because!” Poppy threw her hands in the air and smiled at you, prettier than a sunset. “I wanted this, too. I didn’t know what to say.” She reached for one of your hands and took it in her own. “You are everything to me, darling. You’re my best friend and confidant, and you make me feel strong and beautiful, and like I can do anything.”

“Well, you can do anything,” you whispered, smiling now too. She waved off your sentiment and continued,

“Not to mention, my God. Your ass is downright heavenly!” Your jaw dropped at precious little Poppy Sweeting’s words. All this time, you’d been being ogled, even as you were ogling?

It seemed you were an oblivious pair, well-suited to each other.

A thought occurred to you. “So, Imelda…?” 

Poppy blushed, bashful at the extent of her own deception. “Er, no. She did not ask me to get a butterbeer.” She leaned forward and kissed the tip of your nose, twisting a strand of your hair around her finger at the same time. “But you get jealous easily.”

“Fucking hell, Poppy!” You were writhing under your best friend, whose second and third fingers were currently sunk knuckle-deep inside you, curling up into a spot that made your view of the top of Poppy’s four-poster swim. You clutched the sheets beneath you until your knuckles were white, her fingers pushing in and out in the most perfect way you could imagine. 

“Am I doing alright?” She purred, knowing full well the answer. 

After the feelings between you were confessed, you’d been unable to stop from stripping one another bare and fucking repeatedly behind the gigantic oak tree at the edge of the lake. Her body was everything you’d dreamed and more. Small but perky breasts that you were addicted to kissing, grabbing, and biting at every available opportunity, long legs that kept pulling you in for a snog when you were trying to finger her, and her tongue…fuck, that tongue. When she’d first dropped herself between your legs and looked at your drenched cunt, she’d murmured, “Well, here we go!” and bumped her nose against your clit, causing a twisted cry to fly from your throat. 

You’d both quickly figured out the pros and cons of two witches having sex; one of the pros was that Poppy was a tease of a top, on the rare occasion she did not feel like fulfilling her duties as resident princess of the pillows. They were precisely no cons. You ate her out a minimum of once a day, sometimes twice if you could manage to pull her away from the beast paddock long enough. Her taste was sweeter than anything at Honeydukes, and you were surely addicted to it. Even after two months, you couldn’t get enough.

You two were currently wrapped up and sweating in her bedsheets and praying that no one would notice a lock charm on the Hufflepuff girl dormitories in the middle of an unseasonably warm November afternoon. 

“Come for me, baby,” she giggled. She fucked her fingers in and out three times in rapid succession then slowed her pace greatly, causing you to thrash and whine with want. 

“T-tease!” You choked out.

“Only a tease if I don’t make you come,” she reprimanded, and as she continued moving her fingers, brought the heel of her hand up to rub against your clit. Stars sparked in your eyes and you screamed, pleading with her for release. She bumped and ground against your clit repeatedly until–

“Shit, baby, Poppyyy, I’m–!” Your orgasm crashed over you. A tidal wave would have been gentler. Poppy kept moving her fingers gently, a self-satisfied smile that she always wore when she got you to scream playing across her lips.

She collapsed next to you, watching your chest heave with the effort of catching your breath and coming back to Earth. Gods, this woman was so much more of a minx than she had ever seemed to be. “Hey,” she said softly as you panted. “My gran wants to know if I’m coming home for Christmas.” You sat up on one elbow. “Oh? Are you?”

Poppy chewed her lip, and you could tell she wished she had a handful of grass to rip up right about now. “I’d like to,” she began, “but I really only want to go if–”

“I’d love to, Pop.” And her face broke into that honeysuckle-sweet beaming smile that made you want to keep it in place forever.

masterlist

[leoruby-draws]

Kid Villains, pt 2.

Decided to post more kiddy villains, bit of a sequel to this. First up is Kitten, Mothman's bratty daughter from the 2003 teen titan cartoon:

Modeled her costume after the Rosy Maple Moth, while there are species of moths with the name kitten on them I figured she would prefer a pink outfit.

Thought it'd be kinda cool for her to be a villain for the batkids, she's already evil so why not. I don't imagine her to be all that talented at the job tho she would still be very dangerous if you underestimate her. I think she would work particularly well against Steph, being that Mothman started as a villain for Barbara (Cass might be too high level for her tbh).

Here's some more doodles:

Here's my Scarecrow's sidekick oc, I should probably name her something like Rag Doll or Raggedy Scream maybe? The three boys are oc's modeled after the Terrible Trio, criminals who commit crimes wearing animal masks. Their identities change a lot over continuities, so these kids are probably aspiring to be the next incarnation of this group.

Here's another random oc, a sidekick for White Rabbit (Jaina Hudson). Thought it'd be funny if it was just a kid in a silly rabbit suit, like what the kid wore in that movie, A Christmas Story. I'm not sure on what his personality should be. Maybe someone genuinely nice, a cheerful, polite boy who likes to hand people bombs (unintentionally dangerous) or maybe someone pretending to be nice but is actually malicious. Whatever's funnier I suppose.

Here's some characters inspired by the Super Friends enemies, the Super Foes. You'd see some of them return for the Robins 2021 mini, except for Toy Boy. Giggles and Guffaw are newer, only appearing in the mini.

I messed with their designs a bit to make them more unique looking. Honeysuckle for example was shown with either red or brown hair but I gave her a sorta dark maroon, thought it contrasted well with her green outfit. Honeysuckle btw, is older than the rest, and is more of an enemy to Dick and Barbara, tho her teenage self has no problem attacking the younger sibs.

Also Giggles and Guffaw might look a little similar to a certain anime starring a group of sextuplets, just being a little funny there. I gave these kids some made up names, mostly taken from whatever writer created them. Couple of them worked out pretty well actually, like Bridwell (well, spring, stream) and Estrada (Road).

This next one is a character from the 2004 cartoon The Batman, which I never actually watched but I did see commercials of. His name is Prank ( Donnie ?), a protege of the Joker. He wasn't evil enough to stick it out, but I gotta say I just loved his costume (esp how the jacket resembles Robins coat a bit). Made up a last name for him, just a random one from searching up famous clowns.

Being Barbara's peer, he's also more of a antagonist for the older kids, decided he and Honeysuckle should friends. I kinda want to use them as a sorta contrast to Babs and Dick, that could be fun to do. Also look at baby Dick, I don't draw him enough at this age.

Speaking of Barbara, I've been going back and forth between having her start out as either 12 or 16. All the other kids start out really young, so it makes sense for Babs to do so as well. But I kinda like the thought of her starting out much older, makes her more unique among the batkids (in pre-crisis she became Batgirl in like her 20s btw, cool huh?)

More various rivals for the kids to fight, excluding my oc Pink Rabbit, all of them more antagonists for the kids themselves rather sidekicks of the villains that Batman fights.

Here's Jason and Steph torturing poor little Enigma, who would be considered the bad guy here?

Here's some more proteges, Holly probably exists in this world, she's a bit too old for all this nonsense tho. Kitten is also a Super Foes member and was in Robins 2021 as well, she's been shown to be a sidekick to the Cheetah and Catwoman. Maybe she's just likes to attach herself to any cat-themed villain.

Crazy Quilt is more of an enemy to Robin than Batman, plus he has his own legacy in Crazy Quilt II, so obviously I had to include them. I wonder what name should I give the younger one, Duvet? Silly Blankie? idk

Lastly here's Earth 3(?) Jason Todd as Talon II paying a visit to the Training Wheels universe, seems like hes a bit of a crybaby. I don't think we've seen a earth 3 variant of Jason, so I'm just making up my own version of him. Wonder why he seems so nervous...

Anyways!! That was a lot, hope you liked all that!

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Joel (41) / F!reader (25) | 4.7k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky attitude or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: hi guys!! I’m fresh off finishing east side of sorrow and couldn’t wait to hop into this work. I can not thank everyone enough for the fun we had with esos, but i am beyond stoked to meet this joel because i am ferallllll for him all dirty on a ranch with a cowboy hat on a horse ughhhh, give it to me already. anyways, let me know if you like it 🤍 thank you to @sawymredfox for letting me idea dump on you and give me all kinda of ideas! i love you to pieces! this ones for you my dear!

A03 Link | Spotify Link | Masterlink

Pt. 1: Oklahoma Smokeshow

Half a mile from the turnpike, two miles from home, along the winding and twisting asphalt of Cold Creek road, Joel Miller rasps his gloved hand against the steering wheel of the Rising Sun Ranch’s newly bought—second (maybe fifth?) hand old pickup truck. A beat up nineties chevy with rust on the floorboard and a new-car tree hanging from the rearview mirror. Beside him, his brother Tommy bounces his knee while he takes a long drag off his second cigarette since this drive started. The smoke plumes through the window, then back inside when the chill outside pushes the hot smoke back into the cab, whirling around Joel's senses like it belongs there. The smell is insufferable and makes Joel’s skin crawl, takes him to a time before ropers scars and belt buckles.

“Know that shit’s gon’ kill you, right?” He doesn’t need to look over at his brother's form beside him to know the younger man is anxious, like he usually is on long car rides. “You used to do it too, big brother.” Joel scuffs at him, keeps his one gloved hand on the wheel as he keeps on driving. He’s not wrong, if he wants to talk about the Joel of ten years ago, a distant, ragged and angry version of himself. “Don’t remind me.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the snow coated road ahead of him. He’s cautious at this time of the year, the winter storms usually leave them stranded on the ranch for a few weeks, but he’s lucky enough to have caught the dark clouds before they started to let down too much. The salt on the roads seem to do the trick for the time being, so long as he stays away from the embankment and keeps his eyes on the dimming road ahead.

It was mid day, but the sun sets early in the winter, so it hangs low in the sky amongst the cold abyss, like it’s desperately reaching out for the horizon—like it wants to run from this place too. He looks ahead and silently wishes to himself that he could follow those last rays of sunshine into tomorrow, like maybe he would find something there.

He shakes the thought and sets his mind back on track, why they were out here. “When we get back to the ranch, you need to find a way to apologize to Miss Lou. She really was just tryin’ to be helpful, Tommy. She ain’t wrong for that.” Louise had always been more than welcoming and kind to them, she’s saved their asses more than once and she feeds them more than she needs to, but his brother can never seem to let a good thing be, always biting the hand that attempted to feed him.

“Don’t like it when people go through my shit, man, you know that.” He’s nearly done with his cigarette, thank fuck because Joel wants to grab it from his hand himself and chuck it out the window. “She wasn’t goin’ through your stuff, dipshit, she was doin’ your laundry! Doesn’t give you any right to snap at someone like that. Especially a nice lady who’s husband give’s us a dollar in our pocket and a roof over our heads. Do you have any Idea where we’d be without that?”

It cuts deep because Tommy flicks his butt out the window and sinks down in his seat, he knows Joel is right because they are incredibly lucky to be where they are now. They would probably never find somewhere as appealing as their little shared hunting cabin a half mile from the main house. “Hank ain’t happy,” he adds, like Tommy doesn’t already know that after the argument that led to them leaving. “We wouldn’t be out in a goddamned snow storm for fuckin’ flowers if Hank was happy.”

Joel finally glances over, but when he does, it’s at the bouquet of flowers sitting beside him on the bench seat. “Doesn’t matter, you still need to apologize—to both of them. We wouldn’t have shit if it weren’t for them—“ they wouldn’t, they were on their last leg, hitchhiking across half the country when they found an ad outside of the feed store in Jackson looking for a ranch hand in exchange for room and board. Joel gave them two for the price of one and the rest was history. Tommy makes an annoyed sound and interrupts. “Joel, what's that?” Directly in front of them, on the side of the road caught in an embankment is a little blue car sunk all the way down to the lug nuts. It doesn’t look like the person lost control, but they just drove into the embankment.

This road isn’t frequented and the cell service is spotty, but the taillights on the car tell him there's someone inside. “I’m stoppin’ to help,'' Joel informs him, but Tommy shifts and rolls his eyes—he’s never been the humanitarian type. “Why? I’m sure they can pay for a tow truck. Besides, if they are stupid enough to get stuck in an embankment, they can suffer.” Usually, Joel would agree, but the closer they get to Christmas, the more that iced over heart of his starts to thaw out.

Joel stops the truck on the road and leaves it running while he looks over at his brother. “Ain’t leavin’ nobody stuck out here in this storm, even if they’re stupid. They won't make it through the night.” He shuts the door behind him and stuffs his hands into his pockets. An agitated gust of air leaves his lungs in the form of cloudy condensation amongst the snowfall. He walks up to the car, leaning down so he can glance inside without getting too close. Through the fogged window, he can make out the figure of a woman leaned against the steering wheel, her face casted by her hair hanging all around while she slumps her head against the wheel. Stupid—stupid girl. What the hell is she doing way out here?

He rasps against the window and she jolts just as Tommy comes up behind him, finally having left the comfort of the truck cab. “S’a girl, should have guessed.” Tommy interjects with a crude tone, thankfully before she rolls the window down. She looks a little scared and a lot embarrassed, her eyes are red like she’s been crying her heart out. It doesn’t make Joel sad, it makes him uncomfortable. Emotions make his skin crawl, make him uneasy. He doesn’t handle people crying well, he doesn’t know how to react to it, what he should say or do.

“You need someone to pull you out?” He asks, trying his best to sound mellow tempered and helpful. He’s not, but he won't be able to sleep tonight if he has to drive by the coroner unsticking her frozen body from the seats in the morning. “I’m so sorry—I was checking my phone because my mom texted me and I didn’t see the corner—“ stuck in the snow because she was on her fucking phone? “You hit a snow embankment because you were textin’? You dim or somethin’, girl?” She gives him a hard glance, eyebrows pulled together tightly. “I’m not dim, but I can tell you’re dense.”

Tommy scuffs from beside him and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll grab the chain,” he tells his brother as he heads towards the truck. “I’m gonna pull you out, but after that you’re on your own, kid. This storm is just starin’, might be smart if you headed back to whatever city you blew in from.”

She’s the furthest thing from appreciative when Joel hooks a chain to the frame of her car and the hitch on the front of the old red chevy. When she gets out of the little blue car, Joel gets the full extent of how unprepared she is for a full on impending whiteout snowstorm. Her pants have rips and holes, like they are meant to be there, no way they are offering any kind of protection from the chill. Her boots have a three inch heel like she’s walking along some new york sidewalk with a tiny dog in her arms. She has a jacket, fur lining the hood and yet she’s still shaking like it all does nothing to protect her from the snow.

“Thank you for doing this, but I really could have called a tow truck or something. They probably would have been a lot nicer about it.” Her voice is dripping with disdain when he stands upright again. “You want nice, or you want to be dead? Because there ain’t no company sending a driver out here when were forecasted to get two feet overnight.”

She puts her hands on her hips in an attempted threatening manner, like that might scare Joel into an apology when she looks like an angry child who didn’t get their way. Joel hated people like this, too good for the world with their nose up in the air. He turns around to head back to the truck when he spots the piles of boxes in her back seat. Great—another fuckin’ know it all who think’s living out here is romantic and rustic. “You movin’ out here somewhere? You know there ain’t a mall for like, a hundred and fifty miles, right?”

She’s irritated now, with all the rude comments Joel is throwing her way—but he doesn’t care because the last thing this place needs is more city people thinking they can tame this untouched land. It shouldn’t bother him, because how long could she really last out here anyways? With those three inch heels and clothes fit for a concrete jungle, not muddy plains and cattle. She won't make it a month out here in the dead of winter.

“Just pull my car out, or leave me be, because the last thing I need right now is to get harassed by some old dumb fuck cowboy.” Dumb cowboy? Old? Like he’s the fucking moron out here in the middle of a blizzard in a car with bald ass tires and pants with holes in them. Maybe he should fucking leave, let her strand around trying to find a signal to call a tow company that wont come. “You know what?” Teach her a lesson, maybe then she’ll learn this place isn’t for people like her. With her done up hair and makeup—she’s pretty, unnaturally so—like she’s trying to damn hard to look that good—god damnit—“walk around in those stupid fucking shoes and see if you can find your own way out,” he leans down and undoes the hook under her car roughly. “Come on Tommy, were out of here.” She stomps her foot in the snow and starts to pace back to her car.

Joel makes his way back to the truck and unhooks the chain from the front. He’s had a long fucking day of taking care of his idiot bothers problems and he doesn’t have the patience to help some girl who doesn’t know what’s good for her.

“Hey, big brother.” It’s Tommy’s voice in his ears when he finally closes the door behind himself, huffing in discontent as he puts it in gear. “What.” He snaps, backing away from the stuck car and those sinfully tight jeans on that tight little—mother fucking son of a bitch, stop it!—he cant stand people like her, fucking with his head and getting under his skin. The type of girls who have looked him up and down and laughed in his face at the thought of someone like him being up to standard for someone like them. That snot nosed brat can sit in the snow, for all he cares.

“No need to get all hostile at me, man—I’m just checkin’ on ya. You’re all red and pissy, and nothin’ gets you all worked up like that.” He shrugs beside him with a cocky sort of snort. “I mean, unless—“ Joel jerks on the wheel and sneers over at his brother. “Drop it. Not another fucking word or I’ll leave you here too.”

Tommy’s jaw snaps shut and he looks out the passenger window, the radio playing quietly while the storm picks up, and the road carries on. Joel doesn’t think about what he’s done, only how his knee bounces and his hands flex the whole way back to the ranch. How his heart pounds and his blood rushes and it makes his head throb.

When they pull into the muddy drive, he shuts off the truck and turns towards his brother and the bouquet of flowers. “You really need to mean it when you talk to them, I’m serious. They are nice people who’ve looked out for us for two years. We owe them that, at least.” His little brother seems serious when he nods, so Joel passes him the flowers and heads inside. They have sacrificed so much to help Joel and Tommy. They’d been through dark winters with them, when they lost half the herd to the cold and Joel spent the night in the barn with what was left to make sure they all stayed upright and dry. They’ve all had empty bellies at night, didn’t have two nickels to rub together between the four of them and they’ve stood by each others sides through it. They’ve seen Tommy lose his shit a few times, too—so they know he’s capable of coming back from it. He just hopes this time wasn’t too far—Tommy had yelled at her for simply washing his clothes for him.

When the door to the big white farm house creaks open, Joel steps inside to the warm scent of roast in the oven and potatoes on the stove, Hank in his recliner with the newspaper in his hand and his reading glasses on while the game plays in the background. Hank was a large man, kind of chubby in the joyous kind of way, kind eyes and balding on the top. He laughs a lot, but he takes no shit while he’s at it.

“Kitchen,” Joel directs Tommy, who makes his way to the conjoining room where Louise was probably busy cooking dinner. Joel makes his way over to the couch across from Hank, who drops his paper and gives Joel a long look. “You talk to him?” He nods his head and glances down at his snowy boots. “He’s been real anxious all day. Storm comin’ in is messin’ with him and he knows it's no excuse to snap at anyone. He’s in there apologizin’.”

The older man nods at him and glances over his shoulder where Joel can barely see Tommy handing her the bouquet. “She was really shaken up over it, I hate seeing her so upset. She’s been excited all day and trying to make the house looks nice. I think it was just a misunderstanding, but don’t give him any excuse to yell at her like that.”

Joel twists his hands around and looks up at Hank who wears a solemn expression. “I know, I’m real sorry, Hank.”

The man across from him sigh, then offers a faint smile as he stands from his chair. “It’s alright. You boys are like family, families fight—it happens. Lets get some dinner, forget about all this mess, alright?” Joel is thankful for the reason to drop the conversation and stands with the older man as they head towards the kitchen. Louise and Tommy are talking quietly, smiling at each other until she reaches out and embraces him in a soft looking hug. It's an ease on Joel’s wound tight mind, thinking Tommy had finally thrown a wrench in the only good thing they’ve had in ten years.

Dinner is delicious, savory roast that he can dip soft bread in, let is soak up all the juice that he tries and fails to not get all over his beard. When his bowl is empty and his stomach feels distended, he leans back in his chair and sighs contently. “That was amazing, Miss Lou—I don’t know how you do it.” The smile she gives him isn’t like one of her usuals, it’s slightly saddened and disheartened when she looks across the table at him. For a moment, he worries that Tommy’s words are getting to her again. “Everythin’ okay?” He sits up a little in his chair.

“I'm a little worried. Our daughter was on her way home from college today, she’s finally graduated and she called me this morning to tell me she’d be home before supper, so I made her favorite.” She looks towards the window. “The storm is getting worse, I’m worried her little car wont make it,” Joel’s whole stomach lurches into his throat and he nearly throws up in his hands. “I told you we should have gotten her a truck, Hank, you know she’s not the best driver in snow.”

Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck!—he’s such a fucking idiot. He knew she was coming home today, Lou has been talking about it for weeks, the impending return of the prodigy child, home with a degree to save the ranch—or whatever it is that she was doing. He’d heard them talk about her so many times, she was all brains and no know-how, Hank always talked about how clumsy and awkward she was, but how brilliant her mind was at the same time. He’d always questioned how uncoordinated she really was, based on the photos of her as a young woman roping in the rodeo. Fuck—he should have recognized her... “What’s her name again?” Tommy asks like he has no fucking clue Joel is losing his ever loving shit right now. They left her stranded on the side of the road in the middle of this damn snow storm. He hears Louise say her name but it doesn’t register because he feels like he’s on fire and drownings at the same time. “But everyone’s always called her Honey. Since she was a little little thing. She was always so ornery and stubborn until one day she got into a bee box and got covered in bee stings. Ever since that day she was so sweet, so we started calling her Honey.” Lou has this soft smile and all Joel can think about is how he’d told her to crawl back to whatever city she came from in her stupid fucking shoes. “She’s got a real mouth on her till something puts her straight.” Hank chuckles and Joel abruptly stands from his seat.

“I’m finished, I can go out and have a look incase she got stuck somewhere.” He slings on his jacket, but Tommy is still eating and doesn’t think much of it—dumb ass. “Are you sure? She’s probably fine, she knows better than to get caught out in these storms, she probably got a hotel in town.” Joel shakes his head at them and throws on his thick Carhartt jacket that Hank gave him his first winter here after watching him shiver in the fields. “I’m sure, it’s gettin’ bad, just gonna make sure she ain’t stuck somewhere.” Joel makes his way out the door quickly, grabbing the keys to the truck that they had given to him—“how are you supposed to manage a ranch if you don’t have a way to get around?”

He starts up the old chevy and it fires to life despite the snow coming down in heaps now. He’s worried about the road back to her car, about the probably eight inches lining the long driveway, but he throws it in four wheel drive and tries his damndest to get through it because despite all the things stacking up against him, his biggest worry is the police finding her frozen to death in the morning and her parents faces when they find out it was Joel who abandoned her there to die. God—he’s such a prick.

The road is slippery and tricky, a winding snow covered path along the hillside leading towards Jackson. It takes him twenty minutes in this blizzard to get there, all he can think about the entire time is the half freezing girl hiding in her car and the warm food in his belly that was meant for her. He stops the truck when he gets to the car, the lights are off and it looks abandoned—his gut lurches again, what if he’s already too late? Two hours have passed since he left her stranded and the sun has set now, real cold is creeping in.

He jumps out of the truck and walks up to the window. He can't see inside because the glass is fogged, so she has to be alive in there. He knocks on the window and the door jerks against the cold. “Hey,” he pulls the door open more, she’s sitting in the driver seat, pale and shaking with a small blanket pulled around her to keep in some warmth. The look she gives him could kill a man if he didn’t feel like he was already going to die the second she tells her parents that he left her there.

“Y-Your conscious f-finally get to y-you, asshole?” She’s absolutely shaking, her fingers look purple. “I’m so sorry—C’mon, it’s warm in the truck.” He reaches for her hand, but she snaps it away from him like he might burn her. “I c-can get o-out on my own.” She can and does, wobbles on her too tall heels and starts to head towards the running truck. Joel grabs the door for her and she sneers at him—yeah, yeah—he deserves that. He closes the door behind her and runs over to the other side. When he jumps in, she’s got her hands pressed against the heater while she relishes in the welcomed heat.

He pulls away from her trapped car, he’ll come back for it when the snow has cleared up a little bit, but for now—it’s too dangerous to try and yank it out just for it to get stuck in the road because it has no traction. It's ten agonizing minutes of silence while Joel taps his fingers against the steering wheel, trying his damndest to keep a close eye on the woman beside him. She’s warming herself up and thawing out that burning rage Joel knows is inside of her. When they get closer to the driveway, she starts to fire off. “You takin’ me to some backwoods shack to tie me up and keep me?” He scoffs and looks out the windshield, trying to keep the truck steady in the snow.

“If I was going to tie up and keep some girl, I’d make sure she was less bitchy.” She growls at him, growls lowly and it actually does the job, makes his skin prick in goosebumps while he drives. “Wouldn’t be so bitchy if you didn’t leave me on the side of the road. You know I could have died, right?” He is painfully, agonizingly aware of that fact. “I came back, didn’t I?” The driveway is in view, a long fenced path up to the old farm house. “How’d you know I was comin’ here?” Her voice is a tad quieter now, less abrasive on his ears.

“Cus’ I’m comin’ here too.” He says quietly, halfway hoping it won't reach her ears, but her mom was right—she is quick, smart too. “You’re Joel, aren’t you?” She laughs menacingly, crossing her arms across her body and her left leg over her right with a scoff. “You know, my parents said it was Tommy I wouldn’t like. Said you were this big southern gentlemen.” She laughs a little harder, looking over at Joel. “They were half worried they’d have to chase me out of your bed, that you were right up my alley. My daddy said you were the type to charm any woman’s pants off. Guess they don’t know you like they thought they do, huh? Under all that chivalrous facade is just another self centered, selfish cowboy.”

Joel shuts off the truck and glances over at her. “Look, I’m real sorry. First impressions aren’t my strong suit, got a thing for people who don’t belong out here. Didn’t know you were their kid. Would’ve pulled your car out if I’d known.” She opens the door of the cab and steps out into the snow. “So you’re only a good person when someone’s lookin’, I’ll keep that in mind, dickhead.”

She slams the door and storms off towards the house while Joel slumps against the wheel with his head in his hands. Fuck…if it’s not Tommy risking their welcome, their jobs, then it was him, making an absolute ass of himself in-front of the bosses daughter. The bosses fiery, too good—too good looking—

“Son of a bitch!”

—

He gets into the house ten minutes after she does, his hands stuffed in his pockets and half expecting her parents to kick him out right then and there. He pretty much told her to fuck off and left her to freeze to death. There’s no doubt in his mind that they would have found her dead in the morning, the temperature was below freezing already.

To his surprise, it's quiet when he gets inside. Hank and Louise are in the dining room with their daughter, laughing and smiling and surprised to see her, to see her with Joel. “And he just found you there?” She looks so…so..chipper standing there beside her dad with her arm on his shoulder while he sits at the table. “Yep, got my car stuck because I was texting, I know—not bright.” She sounds so fucking fake and dramatic in her tone, Joel’s hands flex and unflex. “And I couldn’t get out and find a signal because of my stupid fucking shoes. I probably would have died there if not for…good ol’ Joel.” She cocks her head with this shit eating grin on her face that makes Joel's gut clench up and his heart pound.

This fucking bitch—is she blackmailing him right now? In those stupid fucking pants and that top he’s finally getting a glimpse at—and then…shit…

Look at you…just—his brain is going haywire right now. He hates your fucking guts right about now but his brain makes other notes about your guts and its desire to be in them—and that tight ass shirt with your tits just pourin’ out of it—Jesus CHRIST, Joel, get it together here.

He shakes his head, bites the inside of his cheek and meets your eyes, everyone else is looking at you, but you’re looking at him, fully aware of the way his eyes just ate your body up for dessert until he was stuffed. “Real winner you guys have here, mom and dad…real winner.”

If there’s one thing Joel is certain of, it’s that he is in big, big fucking trouble.