#so i guess it shouldn't be surprising that i ended up doing that

[my-stories-vault]

Thank you for such a lovely comment, Beth. Left me giddy, lol. Took me the entirety of yesterday on what I wanted to say 😄💘!

This was super sweet H 😍 I haven’t read a song fic in SO LONG, and from talking with you and what little I know of Tollywood (also thanks to you), seeing this paired with Love Story and the little nod to Dean being her Romeo at the end was just so special!

Haha, yesss - I was nervous about that, lol. Didn't see too many of those here. Lol, yeah, the dramatic Tollywood - I tried to walk the fine balance between my exaggerated world and the outter sublime one. I realised while I was writing that the Romeo and Juliet is a good drama to pair with my culture in some ways, it made a good bridge between my two inner worlds. So glad you liked it 🥰!

I can’t get over how beautiful your prose is ❤️

Thank you so much 💘. As a Lit Major, it's an honour to here one of my works being called "prose" - feels like a plaque. Means a lot 🥹

On a side note, I know it has nothing to do with it, but the wrapping ribbons brings me to my first love of love stories - Sailor Moon

Oooh. Is it an Australian cartoon? I love the gif you've shown me, lol. I grew up on Doremon and Shin Chan, or Ninja Hatori if we stretched it - but Sailor Moon sounds so fluid (probably the effect of the ribbons 🤭😂).

There you go again. I love the usage of hanging the moon. I’ve only seen it used a few times, but you just know Dean loves deeply, and if he finds something like he has here, he’s going to be fiercely protective. I loved how you showed him fierce and protective of her, while trying his damn hardest to be respectful of her wishes.

Right? The phrase is so damn gooey and sexy at the same time - I wonder why it isn't used more often. Haha, thank you so much - my Deans keep changing on what season/background he has if it's in an AU - but this one thing'll never change. Protectiveness bordering on paranoia - I find if I were as traumatised, I would've been the exact same 🙂.

Hahah - thirty seven. I’m surprised the hunting ones like the dungeon are a problem when her family are hunters, but I guess it’s not the to do thing to have where you work and where you live under one roof?

Ooof, that's a good point. I forgot it might not seem that normal to a non-native eye 😂.

Okay, I'm going to break down the parental code that reigns a lot of people here: Control.

They don't have a problem with weapons, per se, but they have a problem with what house the weapons are in. They see Sam and Dean and they see two jacked men, grazing the glory of six feet without parents (elders are guides, without them you are a disgrace in our society - you will never be up to any good) - and they think that their daughter's nearly committed a sin. Because then the boys are stronger than the parents and they disapprove.

Does that make sense? I sometimes get my normals blurred lol.

Yeah - I need you to tell me more. Is it over the shoes that I’m assuming they’re wearing? The ankles? Lower leg?

It's preferable that both the blesser and the blesse (just make words but I hope you get the sentiment 😂) are barefoot. Shoes are sort of disrespectful that's why you don't wear it in temples, and that means, you shouldn't wear them while giving/receiving blessings either. However, when in hurry, you excuse it. And the blesse is supposed to bend down well and touch the toes of their elders; the elders will loving show their blessings by touching your head.

Fun side fact: some cultures don't allow girls to touch feet (before marriage) because they are considered reincarnations of goddesses.

DEAN DESERVES EVERYTHING - so does this reader!

I just copy pasted because I wanted it to be said again 😂❤️ - especially the Dean part 🙃.

This is what I’m wondering again lol. Her parents are hunters. I reckon they’re seeing a lot more that they’re saving face over. We won’t comment on that stuff, but we will show here other marriage prospects in private.

Oh, they are very conscious of society watching. They won't say anything in front of the Winchesters because they are "strangers". But if I know their mindset correct (said the author, lmao) they came prepared with the Marraige prospects - they were simply waiting to know about her virginity so they could know if the guy would accept her or not.

Please note that I hate it as I say it 🙂🔫.

How dare! I was so mad when I read that. And the line about trying to be a friend to your kids. A parents job is not to be a friend but to parent.

Very true. But here, usually the self-conscious mothers, feel like if they were their child's friend, they would be younger. A dad rarely ever feels worried about their age. I figured I should include it to demonstrate to a slight extent what the mother was going through too. I don't know if that's something in pther cultures as well?

Really I was mad with how the parents were treating her the whole time, but the contrast with Dean and the love he was showing, my heart ❤️

Also just love Dean doing what he does best!

I'm so glad I was able to convey that through, lol. I was nervous I was overdoing it or not enough. I usually don't get like that, but I wanted to show all sides in a very few words. (As you know, one-shots aren't my strong suit 🤣.)

This was a beautiful story (where’s the proposal- huh? Huh?) Thank you so much for sharing! Whenever I read reader inserts, I’m reading the y/n as an OC and I loved how you shared your culture with us and the little differences/nuances compared to western culture.

Hahaha, inserting the thought of proposal in my other series now lol.

And thank you so much for reading. Feels damn awesome to hear your comments and thoughts about it 💘😘!

Love Story King.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N

Blurb: You are in love. You have strict Indian parents. What else spells disaster?

Trigger Warnings/Tags (18+): language, overprotective parents, angst, hurt/comfort fluff.

Song Inspiration and Lyrics: Love Story by Taylor Swift (mentioned in bold and italics)

A/N: This one's close to my heart 🙃. My dear friend, Hepza from Wattpad, had this challenge with me two years ago. She wrote about Indian Arranged Marriages, and I wrote about the Love Marriage version. These were my prompts: "I don't want a Prince Charming on a white horse", Love Story by Taylor Swift, and any two Indian wedding traditions of my choice (they're explained in the chapter). If you want to give Hepza's version a go, you can find her on Wattpad - her version's amazing ❤️❤️.

Disclaimer: NOT ALL Indian parents are like how I've shown in this fic down here. Some are kind, supportive, and progressive. However, a few of these situations are derived from the real lives of a few other people I know: this is for them: I hope you all find your Deans, lovelies.

Love Story King.

We were both young when I first saw you

I close my eyes and the flashback starts

I'm standing there

On a balcony, in summer air

You trode lightly on the gravel road that hugged the Bunker from the outside. The early summer sun shone on the black rocks like an aesthetic come true. Slight summer heat licked up your neck and spiraled down your spine as you stretched languidly. Closing your eyes, you spread your arms as if waiting for the morning gorgeousness of the backwoods to douse you like the wrapping ribbons of the wind. The snow was melting, and so were you. Your melanin-plus body was appreciative of the dying winter even if you were having an internal meltdown.

You spent November through January dodging the outdoors, telling Dean you didn't want to catch a cold. The poor man, alternatively, with his brother, braved the frost to go on supply runs. You repaid them with warm meals for their tummies, tummies that had been homesick for most of their lives.

Today, a slice of your home was joining you. You couldn't decide if you were more anxiously nauseous or anxiously happy to be seeing them after two years.

But it wasn't your mom's nagging calls that had finally dogged you into an agreement. Your parents wanted to meet their future son-in-law. You'd finally broken down and told them about him - your conscious couldn't let you marry Dean without at least their approval. You owed them a meet-and-greet because Indian or not, they'd helped take care of you all your life.

Right up until Dean came along and plucked you from the crowd.

You'd always been a hunter, so that kind of introduction to Supernatural 101 hadn't really been necessary in your case. And much to both yours and Dean's surprise, you two had clicked. You had just moved out of your parents' sheltered scrutiny when you bumped into Dean on a case - one thing led to another, and you ended up in each other's company so often that one day you two decided not to part.

'Good morning,' a tastefully gruff voice met your ear; it was a warning before two arms wrapped possessively around you.

You let out an indignant huff on being interrupted during Nature Time, but you turned into a puddle in his embrace - where you felt the safest. Accepted, loved, and at home. Before Dean, you didn't think of those words as synonymous. 

'Fill up on all that affection,' you mumbled, resting your head back against his chest, and he pressed his lips to the side of your hair before lowering his head into your neck so that the scraggly scruff of his cheek tickled your skin ever-so-lightly. He brushed his lips to the juncture where your neck and collarbone met as he hummed, making a shiver run down your spine.

'Tell me why again?'

He laid a series of kisses on your shoulder, trying to make you forget your dumb rules. You also saw the tint of nervousness in his voice, through the relaxed gait he'd forced onto his body.

You smiled sadly. 'It's not allowed - hugging, or even holding hands before marriage. Much less kissing, or . . . sex.'

When you broke that news to Dean two weeks ago, you didn't know who had been more annoyed about it: him or Sam; mostly because Dean constantly complained about it, much to your amusement and Sam's horror. Dean had also been "making up" for the lost time about to happen, once again, to Sam's absolute misery.

Not that you had been exclusively and actively seeking out that "act" before meeting Dean - in fact, he'd been your first - but you did like . . . canoodling with him. You were the more one-man-woman kinda person - literally in everything. And you'd known that when you had given yourself to Dean, he would be it for you. Meanwhile, that was still unacceptable to your family. So, this visit was essentially going to be "fake it till you can make it" kinda altercation.

'I know it's supposed to be honourable,' he commented, placing another kiss up your neck. 'I just think it's stupid. I mean, what if you marry a person and you have no chemistry?'

You smirked. 'You're just upset about no sex for a week with me.'

'Of course. That, too. You're downright edible.'

It elicited a stuttering giggle from you. He turned you in his arms to see you for himself, and you snaked yours around his neck.

His freckles shone in the sun, like red polka dots for handsome faces. His cupid's bow dipped his upper lip downward, which you really hoped your kids would inherit one day. Some days you it was a tough decision to consider: what's more adorable about Dean - his dimples when he was smiling with his heart on his sleeve, or his glittering forest gems that highlighted between his crow's feet when he looked down at you as if you'd hung the moon.

He was giving you that look now. It prompted a shy, bashful smile of your own.

'I've told you before: chemistry doesn't matter,' you responded to his question. 'You aren't marrying them because of their . . . "skills", but more because you're promising them the rest of your life - despite anything.'

Once upon a time, he would have teased you for your inability to say the word "sex" so casually - one of his favourite pastimes was poking you out of your shell - and what he loved even more was that you often ventured out . . . only for him. He knew what a special pedestal he'd been put on in your heart, and it meant the world to him.

However, today he didn't have it in him to lure you out with sweet nothings. He nodded absent-mindedly, still recalibrating his mind around the fact that he won't be able to say that word for the next week either if he didn't want to be rejected.

If your five-year-long relationship had been anything to go by, you two have a multitude of differences that set you both seas apart, literally. It's evident you two've been a product of generations that belong to different continents altogether, but why should that stop love from blooming? If only Dean could get that across, everything would be all right.

'I'm having flashbacks,' you whispered.

'Of?'

'Our relationship,' you admitted.

He frowned. 'Why?'

'There are thirty-seven things in the Bunker right now that they can disapprove of.'

'That's specific,' he chuckled.

'I'm serious,' you chided. 'Sam has long hair, we have guns taped under the dining table, and don't even get me started on the torture chamber behind the archives. If my snooping mother finds it, you can say goodbye to all our dreams and hopes.'

Dean tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He knew you wouldn't leave hi,m and he also knew how painful it would be for you to marry him without your parents' blessing. Your relationship with them was complicated; it reminded Dean of his own relationship with his father. Family can rip you apart, but you still want to keep it together; Dean didn't want it on his conscience that he didn't even try to support you through it.

He tugged your chin up and gazed into you with a seriousness that the man reserved for special occasions. 'You know I love you. By the end of this week, they'll know no man, or woman, will love you more than I can.'

You strained on a smile and forced yourself to revel in his optimism. You kissed his palm softly.

'Yeah, they're humans, after all - they'll see it,' you hoped. 'And I love you, too. So damn much.' It was your habit to say it back; you couldn't not.

See the lights, see the party. the ball gowns

See you make your way through the crowd

And say, "Hello"

Little did I know

That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles

You welcomed your parents into the Bunker with a huge smiles. It was nice to see them after such a long time. Greetings were passed around, and Dean and Sam had gone as far as to lean down and touch your parents' feet.

It was an Indian thing to touch your elders' feet to seek their blessings, and you were simply surprised that they even remembered it was a thing. You were fighting tears of joy and sheer overwhelming by the time your Mom happily hugged them like her own kids. At least they'd won her heart just a smidge. While the boys backed away to take their bags, you had started leading them down, subtly fanning your face to stem the tears right where they were.

Your parents levied one question after another on you - mostly catching up about hunting (they were hunters, too - it was a family business), then they asked how America was treating you, and you questioned them about their flight before they finally steered the conversation to the reason they were here.

A few days back, Dean had proposed - he'd gone and done the whole nine yards, the champagne, a classy restaurant, beautiful music in the background, and the most breathtaking ring you'd probably ever seen in your entire life. Or maybe, it was just the man who'd been holding it. 

But you hadn't been able to say yes.

It led to one of the largest fights the two of you had had, but it ended with Dean demanding you reveal everything to your parents if it was such a bone of contention for you. Your paralysing fear had only been swayed when Dean later confessed that it felt like you were ashamed of him. You decided the world could screw itself, but you wouldn't let him feel that for a single second more. 

That had been four days ago. Now your parents were here, in your space. 

'So, you live here all alone, Y/N?' your father said with a slight edge to it.

Tread carefully, all the alarms in your head screamed at you - for this was where the beginning of the end started.

'Oh, no. This is, uh, Sam and Dean's place.'

Another look was exchanged between your parents. Oh, how you hated that look! You stuttered to dispel their worries. 'I just . . . you guys were coming over, and my house couldn't have held us all, so Dean offered . . . while you were here.'

You were a grown-up woman, for God's sakes, that lied for a profession - you should have been able to say it better than that, right?

Right.

Luckily, you'd cleared all the lies with boys beforehand, so they knew what to do in case you weren't able to hold your own.

So, even if you'd lived at the Bunker practically ever since you left your parents', they really didn't need to know that. Because forget handholding - living in close quarters with a man before marriage was a sin, and these were two strong, bulky-ass men who could manhandle you around even on their worst days (you bet this was what your father was thinking). If they found out the truth, they would declare you dead to all your family, friends, and relatives.

Dean swooped in when it seemed like you'd jammed. 'We have a lot of rooms here. I wanted you guys to be comfortable. Especially now that we're going to be a family.' He stepped up beside you and was going to put his arm around you, but the way you stiffened reminded him to keep his hands to himself, so he tucked them awkwardly in his pockets, shooting them a charming smile as a replacement.

Your Mom shot him an uncomfortable smile. 'Oh, dear, that's sweet of you. But you didn't have to go to such trouble.'

'Nonsense! Please, you're welcome here.'

Your parents didn't look convinced.

They had evolved barely to welcome the different societal norms of the culture Dean was a part of, but the idea of a love marriage was a new level even for them - heck, they were just getting used to the fact that women could drive cars.

'We should eat!' You clapped your hands and smacked your lips. 

'Yeah, good idea,' Dean breathed out, taking a lead as he often did. 'Why don't you show them the restrooms, sweetheart, and their rooms? I'll get the food; Sammy'll set the table.'

Before you could glare at your boyfriend for the very suggestion, your Mom was already protesting. 'Absolutely not!'

The ever-active brothers who were already in motion froze in their places with confusion and slight fear. The kitchen was the one place where your mother's voice rose - it was sad she'd rearranged her life around that one room, not that you had any say in that. You also realised that the boys lost all the little respect they'd gained in your mother's eyes. With your father, they went negative.

'Why would you work in a kitchen, Dean?'

Dean looked sincerely befuddled. 'Ex-Excuse me?'

Your mom looked at you as if she was waiting for you to yell "Buzinga" or something to prove this a joke - you half wished you could. You may not have gone over this with the brothers, but you were an Indian daughter, and you'd be remiss if you didn't have a suitable lie ready for it.

'Well, the boys have lived alone for most of their lives,' you were quick to supply. 'They're used to working for themselves, Maa.'

Both the Winchesters shot you a look of incredulity at that explanation. 

'Papa, Maa, why don't you take the boys with you, and relax, huh? I'll handle everything.'

That brought a smile to their faces, and they loosened the muscles slightly. Your father patted your mother's shoulder (they weren't even too affectionate after so thirty years of marriage) while Sam followed them with slight reluctance.

Dean doubled back to follow you into the kitchen, where he hissed in a lowered decibel. 'What is this?'

You sighed. 'Indian men are the breadwinners, women work the households - sometimes even the women who work, actually.'

'That's just stupid,' he was quick to aide.

You couldn't even begin to count how many times Dean had said that about the Indian way of doing things. You loved him for it, actually - he hated all the regressive things you did, but he was a willing participant in the traditions that made your culture beautiful - he happily walked the balance for you, like the little girl in you had wanted your partner to. 

'Look, just, work with me here,' you begged. 'I haven't been able to cover everything with you guys, okay? And this is just for a couple of days.'

'But that's a couple of days of you working alone,' Dean said with upset - you know how he took sharing everything with you to heart, and you adored him for that. It was a relief to be with him after the kinds of marriages you'd seen in your household, but you needed to do this if you wanted approval.

You smiled ruefully at him as you brought out dishes. Dean's hand came out to pick up the cutlery before you slapped it away, and he glared at you.

You retorted with: 'Go, Dean. I'll be fine. Trust me - for my parents doing all the household work alone is almost as important as having a college education.'

You could see he was struggling with that new information.

'Now leave, or they'll think you're helping me.'

'Oh, God forbid, you're actually taken care of,' the sarcasm was real.

You smirked before something occurred to you, and your expression turned to one of reprimand. 'Oh! And we're lucky my parents didn't notice it, but don't call me "sweetheart".'

'What, now, they have a problem with nicknames?!'

You could already see this week being too much, but you decided to inhale before you calmly explained. 'Well, yes. It's weird to call a woman with any nickname before marriage, unless of course it's a legal nickname.'

'That's just—'

'—Stupid,' you completed. 'I know.'

He seemed genuinely nettled, so you cut him some slack: 'You can say it to me when we're alone? Just . . . watch everything you do in front of them, okay? It's like fighting a monster - you must watch your every move lest you want yourself to be vulnerable to their attacks. They are vicious when they want to be - nearly as bad as sorority girls, I suppose,' you said, trying an expression more suitable to his understanding.

'Seriously?'

You smiled at him pleadingly, and Dean left with a huff, muttering under his breath.

But you appreciated him going the effort. Dean is a wonderful man, and once you passed through this week, you were sure the rest of your lives were going to be amazing.

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"

But you were everything to me

I was begging you, "Please don't go"

A knock on the door pulled you from your reverie. You put down your reading glasses to see your mother push it in before you could allow the person inside. Frankly, you were just grateful she knocked before barging in. Getting that habit instilled in your parents was equivalent to getting a child potty-trained.

You smiled softly at your mother and the warm grace she seemed to pull into the room. You felt a nostalgia towards her; you'd missed her, even if it was only a little. 

'Hey, Maa. You and Papa settling in okay?'

'Oh, yes. I unpacked everything. Your father caught on that new show,' she said with a tint of bitterness. Yet if you pointed out, you'd be the bad guy, so you didn't. 'You?' She came to sit beside you on the bed, and you staved off the annoyance that came with the invasion of personal space, making room for her.

'Yep. So. What are you doing here?'

'Oh, I just, we haven't had the opportunity to talk in the longest time . . . And now you're getting married!'

You forced a smile. 'Uh huh. Yeah. Thanks for giving Dean a chance, by the way. It means a lot to both of us.'

'Oh, sure. Sure,' she waived it off, and you felt a tingle of discomfort go down your spine. 'You two crazy kids must be in love if he's willing to put up with your extra curves.'

The last few years with Dean had taught you to take offense at things like that. He cured what he'd called your "sorry syndrome" - it was so bad that when a person told you not to apologise so much, you apologised for apologising so much. A trait of your mother's and a gift of your childhood. However, it had been five years. 

So, instead of shrinking down in shame, which would have been your old self's go-to, you actually scoffed, 'Pardon?'

'Oh, you know,' she said sweetly, casually, looking down at your body in distaste. 'It's almost like you're already married - you seemed to have stopped watching your weight.' She had the audacity to laugh in the end. Her own hands were clutching her stomach as if she were trying to hide her own bulge. 

Embarrassment colored your cheeks beet red. 'Mom,' your voice took a sharpness that made even Dean grimace most of the time - but your mother remained obliviously uncaring of your feelings and happiness.

'Oh, honey, don't look at me like that,' she chided as if you were the one who had it all wrong.

Sure, you may have gained a couple of pounds, but you were still well within the weight range that a person of your height should be at. Just because you didn't have a flat stomach didn't make you unlovable. . . .

'I don't want to talk about this,' you reeled in your emotions to stop them from disrupting your steadfast voice.

If you want to insult someone to death diplomatically, your Mom would be a good teacher.

'Oh, there's no shame in talking about weight; isn't that what girlfriends do?' she nudged. 

It was pathetic that she thought that that was what being your kid's friend meant. What was even more pathetic was that it stemmed somewhere from her need to be young, more than being a supporting star in your life.

The most pathetic thing, you ask? That you actually thought you missed her.

You cringed. 'There's nothing to talk about. Dean loves me for who I am.'

She gave you a sceptical look. 'Are you sure, sweetie? Look, Y/N, he's a man of . . . Western Culture,' she said it as if that were a despicable status to have. 

'We've been talking about that,' you gritted. 'Not all Western Culture is British - not that all the Britishers are wrong.'

'Oh, now you're going to teach me, are you?' her eyes flashed. 'How old do you think you are? I'm your mother. Who do you think is more intelligent here? My parents were in the Dandi March that Gandhi led to get something as simple as salt for his countrymen! And you think you know how the British were, better than me . . . ?'

You tuned her out for a bit. There was only so much you could listen to as she used Gandhi, a brilliant man, by the way, who became one of the original topics of conversation between you and Sam, for her own means. Parents used stories to control their children, at least in your household. 

'And that's not even the point!' she spat, bringing you out of your reverie onto a point that isn't her bragging about being wiser simply because she's older. 

'Dean's . . . an orphan. He didn't have the hand of his elders over his head. And I'm pretty sure he's had sex way before you. I mean, has he even agreed to wait? For you?'

You were so flustered by the point of sex - the first time you'd heard your mother use the word - that you couldn't address how her "orphan" point bothered you, like a knife in your back might.

'Yes!' you lied. Well, partially lied. The part about Dean waiting for you, as soon as he knew you both had feelings for each other, was true. But it was your decision and yours alone when you told him you were ready for the next level. 'Dean's a gentleman, Maa,' you punctuated - this part was a hundred percent true though.

Your mother was yet to be convinced. She pulled out from the pockets of her fully unrevealing nightgown, a few photos, and nausea seemed to climb up your food-pipe the second you realised what that could possibly be.

Your eyes widened in betrayal as she confirmed your suspicions. 'These are a few Indian men your father and I have been talking to, sweetie-'

'No,' you shot out of your bed in revulsion at even the thought. 'What the . . . I love Dean!' You choked on the word "hell" there in the middle. 'You came here to give him a chance!'

'Be that as it may, you're still a kid, Y/N! You don't have the experience of the world - listen to me, just go through them.' She pushed them in your face.

You blinked back your predictable swell of frustrated tears because you didn't want to give her another reason to insult you. 'Why are you doing this?' your voice wavered. 'I don't want another man. I'm in love with Dean. You told me you'd get to know him-'

She sighed (cutting you off) as if she had to explain everything to her dumb little child. 'Look, now that I know you aren't tainted, I'm sure these men will be willing to accept you. It's not too late for you, sweetie. You just fell in love, you didn't indulge in . . . sin,' she said the last word as if it were taboo.

It took you a long second to process her words, "tainted", "sin", and a few more underlying insults in less than five sentences.

You were sick to your stomach. You couldn't actually believe this was your mother - a woman who was supposed to accept and love you no matter what. What surprised you more was how much you held onto hope every time, and how it was that much deeper that they hurt you. Every. Time.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

'Y/N, language!' she gasped as if you'd just told her to fuck off.

You lassoed your temper enough to not let another angry word wander out of your mouth, and you subsequently fled the room. You were faster than her and practically raced down the hall, ignoring her calls for you to get back.

Tears were already streaming down your face by the time you reached the library, and you almost jumped out of your skin when Dean's warm voice sought you. 'Y/N, do you want to join us for a beer?'

You made an abrupt halt, and it was then that Dean noticed your tear-stained face. He was already on his feet and approaching you to comfort you when you let your frustrations loose on him.

'I would love a beer, Dean,' you said ironically, 'But I'm not allowed one. Because I'm still a little kid, and my parents think we're making a mistake by getting married!'

He was shocked at your outburst. He glanced back at the other two men in the room, who looked slack-jawed at you. 

The oldest man in the room gained a furious glint in his eye as he schooled himself. 'Young lady, you need to calm down,' he ordered with restrained emotion.

'Calm down?! Calm do-!' you inhaled sharply. 'How could you do this to me!?' you cried out. 'I love Dean! And you guys knew this, but here you are trying to sell me off as a virginal, all-in-one, ready-to-be-the-mother-of-their-babies woman to a couple of losers I don't even know!'

A hurt look filtered through Dean's expression, and he longed to reach out to you and calm you down himself, but he didn't want to fuel the fire. He hated how they've been treating you, and he's starting to see your point about them driving you crazy.

It hadn't been one whole day, and they'd made you cry so. His heart took a hit everytime he peeked a look at your face. He hated this. He was starting to hate them.

Your father rose to his best height - and once upon a time, you would have shrank away from that intimidating pose that he managed to cut - but you could see it now; your boys towered over even him. And suddenly, you weren't scared of this man anymore - the one who'd controlled your and your Mom's every decision.

'The boys we've been looking for you are all perfect for-'

'That's the thing - I don't want a Prince Charming on a white horse!' you essentially screamed.

Holy shit, I just yelled at my father.

But even that wasn't good enough to stop you. 'And if you can't realise that . . . ' you shook your head at a loss for words, panting, as you rushed up the stairs and out of the Bunker.

Dean only waited for a courtesy second before he bolted after you.

And I said

"Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone

I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run

You'll be the prince, and I'll be the princess

It's a love story, baby, just say yes"

Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it's real

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess.

It's a love story, baby, just say yes

Dean knew you like he knew the back of his hand. On foot, without a car, there's only a handful of places your laziness would allow you to walk towards. So, it was no surprise when he found you at a quiet clearing in the Bunker's nearest bunch of woods. You'd gained a habit of storing a blanket and some reserve food in the trunk of a tree that you'd found a hole in. And he knew his money had been in the right place - you were already on the picnic blanket, sniffling as you'd rolled into a ball, trying to comfort yourself.

He sat down silently beside you and pulled you in his arms, tugging till you were fitted snugly between his legs. Then he tried to coax your hands away from yourself, and you broke down sobbing as you released the hold on yourself and caught him in a hug that tight.

He returned the embrace, letting you curl into him as you let your angry tears out. As you let the pain flow. He rocked you from side to side slightly till your full-blown sobs were down to smaller body wracks.

He was curling and uncurling his fingers through your soft, recently washed hair. And it was only when you could hear more than your own voice that you noticed him speaking soothing words to you, even occasionally pressing a feather-light kiss or two atop your hair.

'I thought,' you gasped, clutching the drenched shirt on his chest, 'I thought, maybe this time they'd be proud of me. This time they would approve of my choice.'

Dean waited, you continued.

'Y-You're the best thing about me, Dean,' you swallowed. 'All my life, all my decisions have revolved around their choices, their approval. Everything they wanted. But you . . . you're so perfect. How could they ever find a flaw in you?'

Dean frowned at the choice of your words, and as he often did, he disagreed, deciding to take issue with your words. He pinched your chin between his fingers and made you look up into his eyes. 'You're perfect as you are, Y/N.'

'My parents don't think so.'

'I do.' He wiped the wetness on your cheek, 'Fuck, sweetheart, I want to marry you; I want to start my own family with you, I want you to be the mother of my children - that's gotta mean something, right?'

You blew out a breath. 'I just don't know what to do anymore - I guess, I guess . . . maybe I was . . . I was trying to get them to . . . accept me, for once. I fought with you for that. I mean, what the fuck?!'

Dean ducked down his head, and kissed the saline over your mouth, releasing it a second later to kiss your left cheek, then the other one, and then leave several other butterfly kisses in his wake all over your face, just trying to calm you down.

When your breathing had seemed to get even, and you looked to have calmed down a great measure, Dean finally spoke. 'What do you wanna do, sweetheart?'

You huffed, looking down at your hands. 'Ideally? We should elope.'

He had to chuckle. 'Oh, yeah? That's not very Indian of you,' he poked your tummy, and you glared up at him softly.

'They're never going to agree to this. Us. And I'm not marrying someone they choose . . . some asshole hunter who thinks he's got all the ladies of the world wrapped around their little finger - I've already got one of those.'

'Hey,' he looked you in warning, but both of you knew his gaze held no heat behind it.

You shot him a sweet, mischievous smile, and he narrowed his gaze at you, before he articulated what he wanted to say to you, '. . . Look, I-I don't want you to regret anything. We can't simply sail off into the sunset. If that were possible, we would have already done that.'

You pouted. 'Really? I was already looking for castles on far-off islands where I could be a Princess, and you'd be my Prince.'

'I thought you didn't want a Prince Charming.'

'What I want,' you grasped the open ends of his flannel, 'is to have a life with my one true love, and to not be told how I'm supposed to feel.'

He couldn't resist a peck to your pouty lips, and he tightened his hold on you. 'Alright. You'll have all of that. But after we give this another try, okay? If I can, I want to give everything to you.'

You sniffled. 'Am I asking too much of you? I know we shouldn't care what our parents think. That this is about us.'

'This is more than that,' he said. 'You want your entire family to be there on your wedding day. I get that. I wish my whole family were there, too, you know?'

You gulped your sadness and cupped his cheek. 'I know.' You nuzzled your warmed-up face into his neck. 'I think . . . somewhere I want them to celebrate you too,' you whispered. 'It's silly, but I want to be the family you miss. I want to be there for you. I, too, want to give you everything I have - and if that's crazy relatives, you're gonna have it!'

He half-smirked. 'Well, aren't you nice?' He kissed your forehead with fervor, then he rested his head against yours. 'I love you.'

You kissed him in retaliation, fierce and loving. Long enough that both of you were panting by the time you parted. 

'We'll go in after a few minutes,' he murmured against your lips.

You snickered. 'Papa giving you a hard time, huh?'

'Shhhh,' he pressed another kiss to your hairline, and you had to smile at his avoidance tactic - you knew he was trying not to complain about your parents, and that was legit downright sweet. 'Let's not talk until we're ready to head back, hmm?'

'I can live with that,' you whispered.

I got tired of waiting

Wondering if you were ever coming around

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town

And I said

"Romeo, save me, I've been so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Is this in my head? I don't know what to think"

You beamed down at the new designs covering the expanse of your hands right up until your elbows - front and back.

As compensation for forcing you, your parents had tried to make amends - extremely begrudgingly, mind you; and after hundreds and hundreds of talk sessions with Sam and Dean, they had been prepared to finally, completely, and wholeheartedly accept this relationship.

Months. Took you two eight months, precisely.

But it was worth it.

And you didn't know who had been happier with this development - you or Dean; for once, they'd been treating him more like a son than they'd ever treated you like a daughter - gender dynamics, yada yada.

For your sake, the boys tried not to show how obviously they enjoyed their attentions, and your mom's spoiling attitude towards "her boys", but you were glad that your boys were finally getting the love and care they deserved. If your parents are overstrict, they are also overcaring, and it usually plays out in favour of guys. You'd had enough of their involvement for a few lifetimes, so you were just happy to sit back and watch them choose Sam and Dean over you. For sure, some little part of you wished they'd treated you like that when you were a kid, but you'd take the brother's happiness any day.

After all, you shouldn't be too surprised - it was practically a trope to treat the in-laws better than your own kids. And if the in-laws were men, you stood no contest.

But even your mother's pestering and nagging couldn't upset you today.

Today, you'd applied mehendi, and you were bubbling with excitement to show it to your fiancé.

After dodging most of your relatives' rooms who'd taken up residence at the Bunker for the wedding that was in three days, you'd managed to sneak into Dean's room. It wasn't like most of them were up anyway - it was way late in the night, and everyone had crashed after the Music Night (also known as Sangeet in India) that was a custom before the weddings.

Dean was already ready for bed, in his sweatpants, and was pulling on his t-shirt for the night.

You let the door click back softly, and it was a testament to how tired Dean must be if he didn't notice you up until now.

'Hey, handsome.'

He whipped around with his gun pulled on you, and his eyes went wide. 'Y/N! Dude, don't do that! It's bad enough most of your relatives don't know the concept of knocking!'

You let out an evil giggle. 'Aw, did I scare you? Do you need a hug? Do you need me to tuck you in?' you used your baby voice on him.

'No,' he replied in order, 'yes, and yes!'

You laughed this time, holding your hands behind your back this entire time. 'I have a surprise for you first,' you told him in a sing-song voice.

'Really?' he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

'Geez, get your mind out of the gutter! You just said, none of my family knows how to knock.'

'Well, fortunately, I know how to lock,' he looked at you meaningfully. 'Blows your mind, doesn't it? The science of locking?'

Your body vibrated with laughter, and your cheeks throbbed from smiling so much. 'You're incorrigible; but no, that's not the surprise.'

'Then?'

'Close your eyes.'

He sighed in a manner that said, "the things I do for you". You locked the door behind you just for a few moments of privacy (didn't stop Dean's devious smirk from growing) as you drew closer to your man.

You draped your newly colored hands over his shoulders in a gesture you'd lost count of how many times you'd already performed, and it was pure instinct when he returned the hug, keeping you close to him, attaching you to his hip.

'Open 'em,' you softly told him.

He looked down at you instantly, smiling first at your proximity before his eyes drew to the gorgeous shade of brown patterns smattered across your forearms and palms, a fragrance tickling his nostrils as he tried to guess which new tradition he was being privy to now.

'Is that permanent?' came the first question as his own palms came to capture your wrists and have a closer look as his cute brows furrowed curiously.

'No. It's called mehendi.'

He shot you a questioning glance as he turned your hand to get its full experience.

'A heena tattoo,' you clarified. 'It's temporary. You apply it like paint to your hands, sometimes legs. When the first layer peels away, only its hue is left and that amazing smell . . . it was one of my favourite things as a kid, to get mehendi done.'

'Why?' he asked, loving the childlike glee you displayed when you talked about this.

'Because they said, the darker the color of your mehendi, the more your man will love you,' you grinned.

'Oh.' But it didn't have the effect you were expecting on Dean. He frowned and looked down at you in earnest. 'But then why would you wear it at our wedding?'

'What do you mean?' getting anxious that, perhaps, he didn't like it - the wedding was in three days, and this was not going anywhere till two weeks at least.

'I mean . . . do you doubt how much I love you that you needed to put this on? I mean . . . What if it's not dark enough now? Doesn't mean I don't love you.'

You wouldn't have been able to fight the smile even if you tried, and boy, you tried because Dean seemed sincerely hurt by that. You turned your hands so that they rested face-up in his palms, and then, on both hands, you pointed at two distinct spots, making him squint to understand.

'Wait . . . is that my—?'

'When you get married, you write the groom's name amongst the designs to show that your mehendi came true. Only the man you love the most has the honour of going up on your hands in Mehendi,' you informed.

And Dean bit his lip, as his ears turned pink. 'All right, that's awesome. Can . . . Can I also put it?'

An unadulterated laugh burst out of you.

The dirty blond-haired man blushed harder, trying to understand what incited that reaction. 'What? I want to honour you, too!'

You're heart fluttered, and millions of butterflies took off in your stomach, your love swelling up in your chest to the point that you weren't sure you would be able to contain it anymore.

'You would do that for me?' your voice was gently disbelieving, and Dean could have sworn he saw tears shining in your e/c irises.

'Only if it's okay with you.'

You cupped his face in your hands. 'You can do it - just don't let any of the elders see it.'

'Why not?' his nose scrunched adorably.

'They'll think you're gay,' you chuckled.

He rolled his eyes slightly as he rested his forehead against yours. 'Oh, but sweetheart, what I'm about to do to you is so not gay.'

He pressed his lips passionately to yours, and let's just say you didn't get to leave the room like you'd originally planned you would.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

And said

"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone

I love you, and that's all I really know

I talked to your Dad, go pick out a white dress

It's love story, baby, just say yes"

There was only one other thing that proved a bump on the road to the wedding.

It was a day prior to the big day.

Your parents had cornered Dean and Sam into the library and insisted that this was more important than sleep; probably even more important than the wedding itself.

The brothers had shared a worried look, and Dean told them that he'd call you too, but your father only demolished that idea by deeming you a child, and he said that there was no possible requirement for you in an adult conversation, quote-for-quote.

Sam had been a huge calming factor to Dean's flaring temper during interactions with your parents. The younger brother, even now, had to temper Dean's rage with a warning look, and a comforting hand on the shoulder that said they were too close to the wedding to let anything ruin it.

And Dean at least agreed with that part.

Although the boys had been loving how well-treated they seemed to be once your parents warmed up to them (and how they also bought into the several lies that Dean and Sam had to pave the way with to the wedding) - it hadn't gone unnoticed in Dean's eyes how you were still treated more like an object being given away rather than his fucking bride. He hid his annoyance well from you, so it wouldn't put you in a tough position.

Sometimes he couldn't believe how unfair that system was towards women, and it was absolutely horrible as to how the woman he considered his world was nothing but an object to be disposed of in some people's eyes.

It was hurtful, and Dean's admiration for you had skyrocketed ever since he saw what kind of shit you'd had to put up with all your life - and how, despite it all, you'd turned into such a beautiful human being - one he could see spending the rest of his life with. One he craved to be with, one he prayed to God for, one he'd always dreamed of.

He wasn't saying that his culture was any better - if anything he probably also condoned it to a great extent - because the thing is, and this was his strong belief, culture shouldn't make people simply for the reason that people make culture; why should one person's thoughts confine another person's actions in such a demeaning way?

He'd sworn to himself that he would treat you like you actually deserved for once - not that he wasn't trying before, but he was going to try harder, and that was a promise he made to himself.

'So, Mr. L/N, what did you want to talk about?' Sam politely asked.

Your father had asked them to call him "papa", a term of informality and endearment that you preferred - but they hadn't been comfortable with it, and your dad hadn't been comfortable being called by his first name, so the boys simply stuck to "Mr. L/N" or "Sir" till they were ready to break that habit.

'Actually,' your father was tense. 'We probably should have talked about this earlier.'

One of your Uncles added, 'We just assumed that you would be the first ones to bring it up. We were wrong.'

'What? What do you mean? Is everything okay?' Dean sat on the edge of his seat.

The older men exchanged exasperated looks.

'What is it?' Dean pressed.

Your father sighed, and raked a hand through his hair tiredly - he seemed to age ten years in those few seconds. 'We haven't discussed the dahej.'

The brothers looked to one another for help - finding the other one equally clueless, they both raised their brows simultaneously in a very brotherly fashion at your family.

'Dowry,' the Uncle cleared up.

Dean felt bile press against his mouth, and he wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly. 'Dowry?' he had to resist grinding his teeth. 'You want to buy me to marry your daughter?' the disgust was clear as day in his voice, and Sam looked equally disturbed by that notion.

'Well . . . don't you want that?' your father looked surprised with their reactions.

'No!' Dean barely stopped himself from yelling. 'Sir, with all due respect, I love your daughter - and I want her for the rest of my life. That's all. Now, if you could stop treating her like a piece of your furniture or something, I would really appreciate it. Traditions or not, she's a human being, and what you just suggested is outrageous.' Dean stood up in anger, but he kept speaking steadily. 'I respect that woman; heck, I worship her, and now that she's becoming my wife, you'd better respect her too, or I swear to God, we're going to have a problem.'

He marched out, leaving Sam to deal with the aftermath. But Dean was too busy fuming to actually give a fuck right now.

And he would've just walked on by till he was in the sanctuary of his room, when he found his peace just at the end of the steps at the beginning of the corridor.

'Y/N,' he breathed out.

You had tears in your eyes again - and would have begged everyone to believe that you weren't always such a crier, and it was the situations really - but right now, you didn't have it in you. You were surfing on one of your most emotionally heightened moments.

Dean's heart sped up. 'Did I cross a line? Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry—'

You raised a hand to cut him off, rolling your eyes a little. 'These are happy tears, stupid.'

He sighed in relief. 'Really?'

'Well, a mix,' you shook your head. 'Did you really mean that?'

Dean was on the verge of taking offence again, but he kept his voice low so that you were his only audience. 'Of course I did!' He gestured widely and vaguely at the Bunker around you, 'Do you think I'd tolerate any of this for anyone else?'

And once again, Dean Winchester had made your heart grow three fucking sizes.

Any other time, you would've avoided getting near him in fear of being cited - but right now, you were too damn overwhelmed and too damn weak in the knees to not slot your figure against his in gratefulness. You were always amused by how much love you had for this man: you were sure you'd combust if he wasn't holding you together right now.

His anger washed away with your nearness. 'Aren't you scared someone will see you?' There was only a slight teasing lilt to his words, but he was tightening his hold on you nonetheless.

'They'd better,' you answered. 'People should be taking fucking cues from you. You're like . . . like a . . . a Love Story King,' you bestowed the title.

His cheeks decided crimson fit them as he also simultaneously fought off a grimace - but he was trying not to spoil the moment as he smiled down at you, eyes full of awe and adoration. 'Well, now that I've talked to your Dad, and everything is out of the way - I guess you're finally mine.'

You smirked. 'Oh, jaan, Juliet always belonged to Romeo.'

He blushed harder, only because that nickname did things to him. It meant "darling" in your language, and sounded incredibly sexy to him in your velvet tongue.

He then pulled away to show you the inside of his hands. And you gasped softly when you saw your name written on both his palms in Mehendi, and your eyes were pooled with renewed tears. 'Oh, my gosh, you actually went through with it!'

He chuckled at your awestruck expression. 'Yep. Turns out even Romeo only belonged to his Juliet.' He cringed a tad because he segued into your Taylor Swift reference.

But you pulled him down for that, laying your lips against his - the rest of the world be damned. If this man can quote your favourite singer, you can kiss him in a hallway.

A/N: So, what do you think? If you have any comments or questions, please feel to reach out!

And one more thing! I know I haven't updated for a while. One of my relatives passed away a while back along with the other shit that I talked about. I fell hard off the consistency wagon. When I could find my inner writer again, I decided that I would finish the TSW series before I started posting it again, so this kind of gap never repeats - I've been going hard at it, and I hope to finish writing it soon! Y'all can expect regular posting from around October. Thank you all for your patience 🥰❤️!

Meanwhile, I will try to update a few fics that I do have, like this one, on here.

Tag List.

@aylacavebear @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @emma1998sblog @globetrotter28

@bettystonewell @jollyhunter @ambiguous-avery @thegirlinmaroonsweater

[hypnopossum]

FUROR_MACHINAE is about being autistic btw lmao

i'd write a big long lyric analysis but the long and short of it is, i tried writing from the perspective of a robot who is frustrated about not being accepted for what she is, with people trying to understand her outside of her mechanical nature rather than embracing it as something that makes her different, but not lesser. but then after writing it i realized that i accidentally wrote a song about seeking autism acceptance rather than ignoring it entirely

[forcedhesitation]

I have the coolest idea ever for my next big dbd themed project but woooow finished work today and too beat to even start doing anything to meaningfully progress it. I made some sketches last night though, and some more throughout today. just working on skin ideas.

anyway-- the piece will be original characters ONLY, with the exception of vecna (and I guess technically aestri). so dnd themed, as you can infer.

BUT I plan to do a totally separate bonus steve, nancy, and lucy for sure. perhaps some other licensed characters too, depending on my energy levels.

what class do other people think steve and nancy fit? lucy is a bard, obviously, as they're a drag performer. but I feel like steve could fit fighter, paladin, or barbarian, while nancy could be a wizard or a rogue?

[discoreptile]

Beasties of Greenhollow soundtrack! Some tracks on this are from older projects like elphame but all of them have been reworked in some way. Most of them are entirely new. Enjoy!

[plethorawrites]

Imagine if Jason Todd, who 6'2, easily over 240+ pounds, always equipped with enough weapons to scare anyone away, and is practically afraid of nothing, mentions something along the lines of his girlfriend being intimidating.

His brothers are asking if he wants to stay for a bit to catch up and he thanks them but leaves, saying something like: "I would, but I made my girl a promise and she's scary when she's mad."

Of course, he's not genuinely scared in any serious way. But he does clearly mean it whenever he tells them he has to go because he doesn't want to make you upset. You sometimes really did match his temper...and his pettiness.

You had once locked him out of the apartment and pushed so much stuff in front of the door (because of course he tried to pick the lock) that he couldn't get in until he called you from the hallway and apologized for breaking a promise.

His brothers know what it takes for someone like Jason to actually be worried about the consequences of his actions. They're pretty sure the last woman they remember him really being intimidated by was Artemis. For a very good reason.

But that begged the question, if it took someone like her—6'0, Amazonian woman, with a sword and no qualms about violence, to get to Jason...what did you look like?

They'd take bets, obviously. Maybe you had a history of violence too, maybe you were an expert with knives or something, maybe you were freakishly tall or had super strength to crush Jason when he upset you.

But no. No one ended up winning the bet because none of them had ever considered you being...normal?

Not just normal, but rather petite. And sweet. What a weird combination for someone Jason was dating.

They were sure you must have a fire breathing mutation or something that makes you scary. But your grip wasn't very strong when you shook their hand, you barely came up to their brother's ribcage standing next to him, you had a cute laugh and apparently no criminal record.

That was another shock. Who in Gotham hasn't been arrested? Rightfully or not. The only real violation they found was a parking ticket and it shouldn't have surprised them when you said you were four minutes past the allowed time to be in the space.

"So... you're just...normal, then?" Dick asked, skeptically.

You nodded just as confused. "I guess?" You answered, glancing at Jason.

"No secret past as an assassin or multiple personalities that might be violent?" Tim questioned. "What about super strength? Or talent with guns?"

"That's more Jason's thing," you responded. "I don't really like guns. I make him keep them locked up."

They stared at you, blinking in confusion.

"Do you Martial arts?" Damian asked. "Or like fire to an excessive amount that makes you fantasize about starting them or perhaps hurting others with hot tools like a cattle prod?"

You pursed your lips, huddling a bit closer to Jason, gazing back at them all with growing apprehension. "I don't really know how to respond to that," you admitted, eyes wide in a bit of disturbance. "ANY of that... actually."

[wheresarizona]

but he’s the one I want

summary: All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch. 

His brown eyes squeeze shut. “Lord help me,” he says under his breath. A second passes, and then he’s looking at you. “Fuck it—I’m already goin’ to hell.” Joel’s large palms grab your face, pulling you in to crush his lips against yours, muffling your surprised sound. 

pairing: DBF!Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller/College Student f!reader (no physical descriptions)

rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, DBF!Joel Miller, slightly possessive Joel Miller, pre-Outbreak, age gap, explicit consent, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, spit as lube, overstimulation, sex on stairs, body worship, slight body insecurity, getting caught, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, Die Hard is a Christmas movie debate) 

word count: 11.5k+

a/n: Alexa, play “But Daddy I Love Him” by Taylor Swift. I don’t know where this came from (daddy issues), but I hope you enjoy it! Reader is freshly 21 in my head, Joel is 35 (it’s months before his birthday), and Tommy is 29. Let me know what you think! Big shoutout to @devineconjuring for going on this journey with me and betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Main Masterlist

Knock, knock, knock. 

It’s a Friday night; the sky is dark, but the porch light is on. You hug your jacket a little closer to your body to stave off the chill in the air as you wait outside the front door for someone to answer it. A masculine voice calls out, "Comin’!" Footsteps thud on the hardwood floor as they head your way. 

Seconds later, the door is cracked open, and you’re met with the home’s owner, Joel Miller. Just the sight of him in his jeans and navy blue t-shirt has your heart rate picking up in speed, the man looking as handsome as ever. 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion when he sees you. 

"Hey," he greets. "What are you doin' here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

University of Houston—go, Cougars!

You smile. "Three-day weekend—I have Monday off. I thought I'd surprise my dad since it's his birthday." 

The confused look doesn’t disappear. "I coulda sworn he told me they were goin' to Vegas to celebrate a few days ago." ‘They’ being your father, stepmother, and your teenage half-brother.

“Well, I guess it slipped his mind to tell me they were going out of town. He must be getting forgetful in his old age.” 

The relationship you have with your father is… complicated. It’s not bad by any means—you get along and love each other. He just wasn’t very present when you were growing up—he lived in Austin while you were with your mom in Houston, only seeing him a few times per year. Now that you have a car and your mom moved out of state last year with her new husband, you occasionally made the three-hour drive to your dad’s to visit and do your laundry free of charge. It was also where you now stayed on your breaks from school.

Joel opens the door a little wider and crosses his arms over his chest, your eyes moving from his face to admire the broadness in his shoulders and the muscles in his forearms. Having his full attention on you makes the nerves in your belly flutter around like a bunch of butterflies were let loose. 

“He’s not much older than me,” Joel says. His eyebrow lifts. “Are you callin’ me old?” 

The man in question happens to be one of your father’s best friends—or so you’ve been told. In all of the visits to your dad’s growing up, you could count the number of times you saw Joel on one hand. Over the past year that you’ve been coming to Austin regularly, you’ve had much more interaction with him, which has led to you developing a little bit of a crush. Who can blame you, though? He’s gorgeous—the chocolate-colored eyes, the hair that looks so soft, that perfect nose, and those kissable lips. 

“If the shoe fits,” you reply with a shrug and a smile. 

“Kids these days,” Joel grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. “Did you come by just to call me old?” he asks. 

“Oh, no. I was expecting at least one person to be at my dad’s, so I didn’t bother bringing my house key. I’m here to see if you possibly have a spare I could borrow—I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number.” 

Maybe he’d give it to you now…

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I don’t.” 

Hot and a sweetheart—how is he single? Is he single?

You frown, feeling annoyed that you drove all this way to Austin for no reason. You should’ve called ahead, but that was your mistake, assuming your family would stay in town for your father’s birthday. “This was a waste of gas,” you muse. “Love that for me. Well, it looks like I’m heading home, or maybe I’ll get a cheap motel room. Thanks anyway, Joel. Have a nice rest of your night!” You do a little wave at him. 

You start to turn, but stop when he says, “Wait,” and you face him again. He opens the door wider. “It’s too late for you to be drivin’ all that way, and there’s no reason you should pay for a motel when I’ve got a guest room you can stay in. You can get a good night's sleep and leave tomorrow mornin’ when the sun’s shinin’.” 

Again, a sweetheart—why hasn’t anyone snatched him up? Or have they?

“Are you sure?” you ask. 

He finally offers you a friendly smile and moves to open the door all the way. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I was feelin’ lonely anyway with Sarah gone at a sleepover. It’ll be nice to have some company that isn’t my brother.” 

Lonely? Nice to have some company? That sounds pretty single to you. Your night just got a lot more interesting. “Thank you so much! I’ll do my best to be better company than your brother.” 

With that, you make your way inside, toeing off your shoes next to a pair of his work boots.

“That won’t be too hard,” Joel says as he shuts the door. 

You stop in the entryway because you’re not quite sure where you should be going since you've never actually been inside his house. You only know where he lives because your father once asked you to drop something off here. 

“Let me get your coat and bag.” You hand him your small purse, and he moves behind you, helping as you shrug off the long jacket you’re wearing, which he hangs up on a nearby coat hook with your bag. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks, and you look at him, seeing his widened eyes staring at your body. “Were you plannin’ on goin’ out tonight?” 

You glance down at your outfit, and you can understand why he’d make that assumption at the sight of the cute little black dress you’re wearing—it only reaches mid-thigh and has a V-neckline to show off your breasts.

“Not going out—it’s laundry day. I do my laundry when I come to Austin, and this was literally the last clean thing I had.” Your eyes lift to see his glued to your chest, and you think that’s an interesting development. “I have spare clothes I keep at my dad’s that I planned on changing into.” 

It’s the truth, and you’re a little thankful this was your last clean outfit. You can only imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been coming over here in a ratty old T-shirt, granny panties, and your Spongebob Squarepants pajama pants. 

He clears his throat and looks away. A rosy blush appears on his cheeks as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I can put my jacket back on,” you tell him, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.

“No, no.” He meets your gaze, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine���do you need to use my washer and dryer?” 

“You’re already being nice, letting me stay over. I can wash my clothes at the laundromat when I get home.” 

“It’s really no big deal.” 

“Thank you, but I’m good.” 

“Okay.” His hands go in his pockets, and he seems to get very interested in the short console table against the wall, staring at the contents lying atop it—a stack of unopened mail and what you assume are his keys and wallet.  

“So, what were you doing before I interrupted your evening?” 

“Oh—” He looks at you again. “—I was watchin’ a movie. Would you like to join me?” 

You smile. “Sure—lead the way.” 

He takes you to the living room, where a movie is paused on the television, and lets you know you can sit anywhere. Your choices are one of two armchairs and a maroon leather sofa, and you choose the sofa while he heads for the kitchen. 

“Would ya like a beer?” he calls out on his way to the other room. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond because a second later, he’s back at the doorway to the living room with a confused expression again. “Wait, are you old enough to drink…?” 

The question makes you smile. “Yes, Joel. I’m old enough to drink.” 

“Legally…?”

You giggle. “Yes. I can legally drink. You wanna card me?” 

“No.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Beer?” 

“Sounds great.” 

“Okay.” He nods. 

As you sit on the couch waiting, you become very aware of the situation you’re in. You’ve spoken to Joel one-on-one a handful of times over the last year, but it always happened at a barbecue or a holiday party—places where there were other people around—you’ve never been alone with Joel. This is new territory, and you’re not entirely sure what to expect, especially considering how he was staring at your chest. 

Would you fuck him if given the chance? Yes, zero hesitation. Do you think you have a chance with him? Maybe, and that thrills you. Just two things are working against you: your age and the fact he’s your father’s best friend. Those are two hurdles you’re not entirely sure how to get over, but you’re definitely game to try. 

Your conversations were always friendly in the past, and you’re proud to say you’ve made him laugh a few times. You think you could possibly charm him. What you know for sure is he’ll need to be very aware that you’re interested; otherwise, he won’t even fathom trying anything with you—thank god you’re wearing this dress. Nerves are swirling in your tummy at what could happen tonight, and you’re eager to see where things go. 

Joel returns with two open bottles of beer, handing you one, and you thank him as he takes a seat right next to you. He leans forward to grab the remote and hits play before sitting back and taking a drink. 

He’s so close to you that you get a whiff of his cologne—it has a spiciness to it and some citrusy notes that, when combined, smell amazing. It makes you think he took a shower when he got home from work today—and, suddenly remembering he’s a contractor, you imagine him shirtless and sweaty while using a hammer. The thought causes your mouth to go dry, so you lift your bottle to your lips for a sip, focusing on the TV. 

It’s easy to figure out what he’s watching when you see Josh Hartnett in clothes from the 1940s. 

“Pearl Harbor?” you ask, now holding your drink on your lap, picking at the label with your fingernail. 

“Yeah.” His head turns your way, his beer resting on his thigh. “Have you seen it?” 

Meeting his eyes, you answer, “Oh, yeah.”

He frowns. “Because it’s a girly movie?”

“Um, kinda? The guys are pretty easy on the eyes, and the story is interesting. I wouldn't say it’s super girly. Sure, it’s a romance, but there’s so much action and drama about the war in it.” 

“The back of the DVD said nothin’ about it bein’ a romance.”

“Are you enjoying it, at least?” you ask. 

He sighs and looks back at the television. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then enjoy it! If anyone asks what we watched, I’ll tell them Die Hard.” You lightly pat his thigh closest to you, feeling the muscles tense under your palm. 

His gaze returns to you. “You’ve seen Die Hard?”

“Yes. A few times.” 

Because it’s your dad’s favorite movie. 

His upper body slightly turns your way, his arm going behind you on the couch. The closeness and the attention he’s giving you make your skin heat. 

“I want you to settle somethin’ my brother Tommy and I disagree on—have you met Tommy?” 

“Once.” At a barbecue. He didn’t catch your attention like Joel did. “What am I settling?”

“Do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”

“What…?”

“Tommy is fuckin’ convinced that Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and I say it’s just another action flick. A good one, but definitely not a Christmas movie.”

It takes you a second to process what he asked. 

“I mean,” you start, “it takes place on Christmas Eve, at a Christmas party, and I’d say it’s a Christmas miracle that John McClane happened to be there to save the day. So, yeah, it’s totally a Christmas movie.” 

“You’re fuckin’ with me. Just ‘cause it takes place on Christmas Eve at a Christmas party doesn’t mean it’s a Christmas movie.” 

You point the neck of your beer at him. “You forgot John McClane being a Christmas miracle. Makes sense to me that it’s a Christmas movie.” 

He takes a deep breath. “So, are you tellin’ me that—what the fuck is that movie called?” His eyes leave you as he thinks, trying to remember the name. “Lethal Weapon!” He looks at you again. “So, you’re tellin’ me that Lethal Weapon would also be a Christmas movie? Have you seen that one?” 

Yep, with your father. 

“I have, and yeah, it’s a Christmas movie. You’ve got drug dealers using a Christmas tree business as a front, Christmas is mentioned all throughout, they use a bunch of Christmas songs, and it ends at Christmas dinner. Absolutely a Christmas movie.” 

“Say you’re messin’ with me, darlin’. You know what a Christmas movie is, right? 

“Yeah, you’ve got the heavy hitters—It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, A Christmas Carol—then those stop-motion ones that are delightful. I’d put Die Hard and Lethal Weapon in the same category as Home Alone.”

“Why the hell do you think Home Alone is a Christmas movie?” 

“It’s set during the holiday season, and there’s a ton of Christmas imagery and music. Plus, you’ve got Kevin going on a similar journey as the main character in It’s a Wonderful Life where, in the end, he realizes how much he loves and needs his family—sounds pretty Christmas-y to me.” 

His jaw clenches, and it’s seconds before he inhales deeply and looks back at the TV. 

“Son of a bitch,” he sighs, shaking his head. “They’re fuckin’ Christmas movies.” He takes a long drink of his beer. 

You grin. “They are indeed,” you reply and pat his thigh again. 

His bottle lowers, and he looks over at you. “Even though you somehow made a dumbass like Tommy make sense, you’re definitely better company than him. He’d never let me live this down.” 

He’s visibly relaxed, and you have, too. The fact he’s enjoying you being there has calmed your nerves, and you’re having a great time talking to him. Plus, he’s nice to look at.

“Then it’ll be our secret,” you say. “Like how we’re totally watching Die Hard right now, and not—” Your eyes go to the TV, and they widen. “—the one sex scene in Pearl Harbor.” It’s nothing too risque and honestly kind of lame. 

Joel looks, too. “They’re just rollin’ around on the ground…” 

“It’s PG-13, Joel. I don’t know what you’re expecting from a movie where they can only say fuck once, and titties are prohibited.” 

His head turns your way. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, and when your eyes land on his, you find that he’s smiling—your heart skips a beat. 

“A good something or a bad something?” 

“A good somethin’.” 

You share his expression. “You’re something else, too.”

“A good somethin’ or a bad somethin’?”

“A very good something.”

His eyes darken, and suddenly, his attention returns to the movie. Joel clears his throat, then chugs the rest of his beer, leaning forward to set the empty bottle on the coffee table. 

When he sits back, his arm is still behind you on the top of the couch, and he scoots the tiniest bit your way to have your bodies touching. 

It’s clear that there’s a shift to the energy in the room, and the tension becomes palpable—he likes you, and you think there’s a possibility he more than likes you with how close he is. The thought has your heart pounding, and you’re unsure what to do next. You’ve only been with boys your own age, and Joel is so much older and more experienced. 

The panic has you blurting out, “Are you seeing anyone?” Then, backpedaling, “Not that it’s any of my business, so don’t feel obligated to answer.” 

He looks at you, and you keep staring at the TV, almost wishing the floor would swallow you whole. 

“Why do you wanna know?” 

“I’m nosy.” 

He huffs in amusement. “You only wanna know ‘cause you’re nosy?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

“No other reason?” 

“Can’t think of any.” 

“Okay—no, I’m not seein’ anyone. What about you? You got a boy back in Houston worryin’ about you?” 

“Nope.” 

“Really?” The genuine surprise in his voice has your head turning to see the matching expression. 

“What’s so shocking about that?”

He frowns. “I beg your pardon, darlin’. It just doesn’t make much sense that someone as pretty and fun as you doesn’t have a line of boys waitin’ their turn to take you out.” 

Those butterflies in your stomach are flapping around again. 

“Not really.” You shrug. “Plus, the guys my age usually only want sex but aren’t very, um, giving, if you know what I mean.”

Now he looks grumpy. “Selfish boys,” he grumbles, and it makes you smile. 

“So, not an issue with someone older like you. Good to know.” You squeeze his thigh and keep speaking so he can’t reply, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you single?” 

For some reason, he can’t look at you now, focusing on your hand. He reaches across his body to grab yours with his larger one, staring at your fingers. He lets out a long, weary sigh, his thumb rubbing against each of your dark blue-painted fingernails. 

“Women don’t particularly like that Sarah is the most important person in my life and my top priority…”

“But she’s your daughter, she should be your top priority.” 

“That’s the logic, but they want me all to themselves and don’t like sharing.” 

“Joel?” 

His face lifts to meet your gaze. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’ve dated some truly shitty women.” 

He smiles. “I guess I have. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve given up on datin’. It’s just a waste of time.” 

“That is such a shame.” 

His dark eyes get even darker. “You’re trouble.” 

“Why am I trouble?” 

His eyebrow arches. “Your daddy would kill me.” 

Your brain short-circuits for a second as you take in the statement—he’s into you, he’s really into you. Now, what are you going to do?

“Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask and move to put your beer on the table. When you sit back, you cuddle a little closer into his side. “You were worried about me driving home in the dark, so you offered me your guest room—we watched Die Hard, then turned in for the night. You’re a stand-up guy for keeping your friend’s daughter safe.” 

His eyes move from yours to your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face—his palm is so big his fingertips almost reach the back of your head. He starts leaning in, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought that he’s going to kiss you, and you stop breathing when his lips are only a hair’s breadth away from yours.

And then he pauses. 

“Tell me why you really came here tonight,” he rasps. 

That confuses you, your brows pulling together, and you sit back to see his face. “I did? I needed to see if you had a spare key to my dad’s house.” 

His eyes are on yours. “Bullshit—there’s no way this just happened to be the last outfit you had.” He looks directly at your tits. 

“It is if you wait super last minute to do your laundry, and I told you, I have other clothes at my dad’s. Why do you think I came over here?” 

His gaze goes back to yours. “With that dress you’re wearin’ and how you keep lookin’ at me, for a lot more than needin’ a key.” 

“You thought I came over here to seduce you…?”

“Yeah…?”

“Wow.” You gently pat his cheek. “You think I’m way bolder than I actually am—me coming here and the outfit was not premeditated.” You shake your head. 

His eyes round, and you’d think he was burned by how quickly his hand leaves you and how he moves away a little to put space between you. “Fuck, have I been readin’ this wrong?” 

You scoot to have yourself against him again. “The assumption I came here specifically to seduce you was very wrong. But you’re right that I definitely want you to fuck me, Joel.” 

“Shit,” he breathes out and scrubs a palm over his face. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.” 

Turning his way, you rub your hand along his jeans-covered thigh. “No, I’m not,” you tell him. “Stop thinking, and kiss me.” 

His hand lowers. “Not thinkin’ is gonna get me killed.” 

“Not thinking is going to get you a blow job and pussy.” You press your palm between his legs over where you can feel he’s already hardening. “Hell, I’ll sweeten the deal—you can come anywhere you want.”

His eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you smile. His reaction makes you brave. 

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll go back to watching the movie and pretend nothing happened. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and we’ll go as far as you’re willing to go.” Your hand moves up to hold his cheek, and it’s a good sign when he leans into your touch as you stare into his eyes. “But I’m going to make myself crystal clear, Joel. I want you—badly.  You’re beyond sexy, and the fact you’re older and have a lot more experience than me is a big turn-on. I’d love to know what good sex is like for once and maybe have you teach me some things.” You shrug your shoulder. “It’s up to you, though. Just know I’m more than willing.” 

His brown eyes squeeze shut. “Lord help me,” he says under his breath. A second passes, and then he’s looking at you. “Fuck it—I’m already goin’ to hell.” Joel’s large palms grab your face, pulling you in to crush his lips against yours, muffling your surprised sound. 

This kiss is unlike any you’ve experienced before. You’re used to overeager boys practically shoving their tongues down your throat the first chance they get, yet here’s Joel claiming your lips—you can feel his every want and his desire for you with how thoroughly he kisses you. The soft pillow of his mouth moves with yours, his scent filling your nose—hints of the beer he drank and his spicy cologne imprinting this moment in your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, and your head goes dizzy from the arousal igniting in your belly. 

Just one kiss and you know you’re ruined for anyone else. 

His arms go around you, and he mouths at your chin. “Come here,” he says against your skin. “Get in my lap.” 

You do as you’re told, bunching up the bottom of your dress at your waist and moving to straddle his thighs. His hands go under your clothes to grab your ass, and he’s so surprised to feel bare skin he leans back with the confused expression you’re becoming intimately familiar with. 

“You really didn’t come over just to fuck me?” he asks. His palms wander, and you know he’s discovered your thong when he hooks a thumb under its stretchy waistband—they were the last clean pair of underwear you had. 

“I really didn’t.” You’re curious about something. “But if I had, what are the chances that I would’ve succeeded…?” 

“With this dress and a little convincin’? Pretty good.”

You smile. “Really?” 

“Yeah. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and smart. I know this is a bad idea, and it’ll probably bite me in the ass later, but I’m so fuckin’ lonely, and you’re just too damn temptin’ to pass up.” 

The truth is clear in his eyes and makes you kiss him—your fingers comb into the hair at the back of his head, finding it softer than you thought it’d be. It starts off slow and tender, just lips to lips, until Joel deepens it, the tip of his tongue making it past your lower lip. Hearing that he’s lonely tugs at your heart, and you want to do everything you can to make that loneliness disappear. Things start to heat up, and all you can do is follow his lead, moaning as he explores your mouth with his tongue. With his palms on your backside, he helps you rock your hips, grinding yourself against his hard cock beneath his jeans, rubbing your clit just right to fan the flames growing in your core. 

When you finally need to come up for air, his hand grips your chin to turn your head as you pant, Joel kissing and nipping at your skin from the base of your neck up—tingles wash down your spine when he nibbles on your jaw. He gently bites your earlobe, and you gasp when his hot breath tickles your ear. 

He huskily whispers into it, “You want me?” His hand fondles your breast. 

“Yes.” 

“I can touch you?” 

“Anywhere.” 

“I need you to be a good girl and tell me when you do and don’t like things—understand?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good girl,” he purrs. 

The way those two words make your cunt clench has you moaning, ”Fuck.”

He easily unzips the back of your dress, tugging the garment up and over your head, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. You’re sitting astride his lap, the dark pools of his eyes taking in your mostly naked body, his big hands massaging your bra-covered breasts. It’s surprising that being under his gaze, you don’t immediately feel self-conscious, and you think that has to do with how he’s looking at you—the desire and appreciation clear as he admires you.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, nodding towards what he’s touching. 

“Yes.” 

He sits up straighter, and it’s quick work for him to get your bra off, it landing on top of your dress. He’s focused on your tits, holding them in his palms, weighing them. He leans forward, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and the sudden shock of pleasure has your breath catching in your throat, your fingers grabbing handfuls of his shirt for something to hold onto. When he grazes his teeth over the stiff bud, your entire body shivers—your panties have a wet spot from your pussy leaking your arousal for him. He gives your other breast the same attention, leaving your skin shiny from spit when he comes off of it with a wet pop to look at you. 

“Lie down on the couch, baby.” He pats the empty seat next to him. “Your head all the way at the other end.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You scramble out of his lap, the couch’s leather creaking as you crawl over to where he instructed and sit back on your elbows to see what’s happening. Joel grunts as he gets up to stand, watching in interest when he squeezes the noticeable bulge at the front of his jeans. His arm goes behind his head to grab his shirt, pulling it up and off of his body to bare his torso. 

At seeing so much of his golden skin, your jaw goes slack—his freckled chest is so broad, tapering down to his trim waist, his abs showing a little bit of muscle definition you think is from doing manual labor and not working out. Your eyes fixate on the happy trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Sure could get used to you lookin’ at me like that.” 

That has your attention snapping up to his face, where you find him smirking, and you close your mouth. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, your eyes darting away from him. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, darlin’. Makes me feel pretty fuckin’ great about the shape I’m in.” 

You look at him again. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re in great shape and so hot—you’re really down to fuck me?” You point at yourself. 

He kneels on the sofa by your feet, his hand on the back of it to steady himself.

“Darlin’, if I didn’t know your daddy, and you were a stranger I met in a bar, I’d bring you home in a heartbeat. I feel like a real lucky son of a bitch that someone as young and pretty as you has any interest in an old guy like me.” He lifts one of your legs and gently kisses the inside of your ankle, the sweetness of it making you melt a little. 

“Oh, I’m very interested in you.” 

“Is that so?” he asks and spreads open your legs. He crawls over you, and you lie back, Joel nestling his hips between your thighs for you to feel how hard he is as he dips his head, kissing up the column of your throat—the nerves in your stomach flutter wildly. 

“Yes,” you whisper and need to touch him, wrapping your arms around his torso to press your palms against the warm skin on his shoulders—his body shudders, a rumbling groan coming from his chest. 

You squeak in surprise when his lips are suddenly on yours, kissing you hard. 

He takes over all of your senses—he’s all you see, he’s all you feel, he’s all you taste, he’s all you hear, he’s all you smell. It’s him, and him alone—his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his weight on top of you. Your fingers thread into his hair, moaning as he takes over your very world, reveling in this feeling of being wanted. 

His lips leave yours, both of you breathing a little heavier. His teeth gently sink into your chin before kissing along the underside of your jaw. 

He speaks into your skin, his words muffled, “I’m very interested in you, too. I shouldn’t be, but I am.” His mouth ends up at your ear, and he quietly asks, “Can I eat your pussy?” 

“Oh.” The question surprises you. “I’m usually the one who asks. Do you want me to blow you first?” There was always a quid pro quo when it came to oral. 

His head lifts to look you in the eye. 

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?” 

“You’ve been with some truly shitty boys.” 

It makes you laugh, and he smiles. 

“Ain’t that the truth,” you reply. 

“It should always be ladies first—may I?” 

What a gentleman. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Good,” he says and pecks you on the lips. 

He doesn’t immediately move off of you, and it catches you off guard. Instead, his mouth blazes a trail, kissing down your body—your neck, your chest, and your belly. This is when your self-consciousness rears its ugly head. Joel is getting up close and personal with your imperfections—your scars, stretch marks, cellulite, all those little details you normally kept hidden in the safety of dark rooms or under shirts when you hooked up with someone. Now, you’re basically naked, the lamp is on, and he can see it all, which makes you feel uneasy. 

He kisses just above your belly button, then below it, going lower and lower until he places one last kiss on your panties, over your mound. He sits up on his knees, tracing the lines and curves of your thighs and hips with his large palms while he drinks you in as you lie there—you have to fight the urge to cover yourself, unable to meet his gaze.

The silence is broken when Joel speaks. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” 

Your eyes seek out his face where you don’t find any deception, but you have to ask, “Really?” 

“Really.” He nods. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.” 

His attention goes to the apex of your thighs, and the pink of his tongue swipes along his bottom lip as if he’s imagining how you’ll taste. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the visible damp spot on your underwear, his other hand squeezing his cock that’s straining in his jeans. 

“I bet you have the prettiest pussy, too,” he says, and gets his fingers under the elastic waistband on your panties, pulling them down and off your legs, the air cool against your now bared skin. He shuffles back a little, then bends forward, spreading your lips open with two fingers as his face hovers over it. You think your heart might beat out of your chest with how fast it’s thudding, your skin feeling so hot. “I fuckin’ knew it, such a pretty pussy,” Joel murmurs. He circles your clit with his thumb, and the pleasure has every muscle in your body tensing and your eyes closing. “You’re gonna taste so good.” 

He loudly groans as he drags the flat of his tongue along your cunt, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

“Oh, god,” you moan, your body squirming at how good it feels. 

Joel has to pin down your hips with an arm across them to keep you still, his face buried in your pussy. He goes straight to the source, lapping at your entrance to taste your arousal while the tip of his perfect nose rubs against your bundle of nerves, his facial hair prickling your skin. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

You’re fucked. 

It’s not even a minute in, and you can already feel your orgasm taking shape low in your belly, the muscles beginning to wind up. If you thought the first kiss ruined you, you know you’re ruined by how eagerly he’s eating you out—who knew this could be so good? You have to wonder how you’ll ever be able to fool around with anyone else when Joel is all you’ll be able to think about or compare it to—this is the only moment doubt invades your mind. You feel like this is all a mistake, but it’s quickly squashed by how unbelievably horny and curious you are. 

His mouth lifts, and you whine at its loss. “Gimme a second,” he pants. “I gotta see how tight you are.” That’s when one of his thick fingers presses to your soaked opening, and he slowly starts to push it inside. 

The slight stretch makes you gasp his name, your fingers clawing at the sofa’s maroon leather.  

“Christ,” Joel says. “You’re squeezin’ me. With how fuckin’ tight you are, I’d think this is your first time.” 

You sit back up on your elbows and open your eyes to look at him. 

“You just have massive fingers, and it’s been a while.” 

His gaze meets yours as he smirks. “Well, I’m gonna loosen you up with my massive fingers, and I think you’ll enjoy it.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. His head dips, flicking his tongue side-to-side against your clit when you feel the sudden pressure of his second digit pushing into you—there’s even more of a stretch and the delicious feeling of being full. You fall back on the couch, tangling your fingers into the brown waves of hair on his head, moans falling unbidden from your lips. His digits crook as they pump in and out of you, sliding along your upper wall when they press into something that elicits white-hot pleasure, making you keen and wiggle under the hold he has on your lower half.

Yeah, you’re totally and completely fucked. 

He’s relentless with his mouth and fingers as you careen toward your end, free-falling in the throes of pleasure. He’s really going to get you off, and you think you might be in love with him. Is that crazy? Falling for the guy you absolutely should not fall for—that you can’t even have any kind of future with—because it’d ruin both of your lives, especially his. 

Why does that make you want him more? 

You definitely understand now why Eve ate the forbidden fruit—the temptation leads to such sweet gratification when you give in. 

He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, sweeping his tongue around it, and you can hear the wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into your cunt. Your thighs are trembling—you’re so close, the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you’re coming with an unintelligible cry. Your body seizes up, euphoria exploding out from your center, radiating to your fingers and toes. Joel removes his digits, his tongue taking their place to catch every bit of your slick he can get, groaning as he lets no drop go to waste. 

You’ve never come so hard, feeling a little floaty as you ride out your high, your chest heaving heavy breaths. With how shaky your arms and legs are, you’d think you were out in the freezing cold. 

Joel’s mouth comes off of you and he sits up, rubbing his hands along the outside of your legs. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he says. “Was it good?”

“Was it good?” you parrot back at him and push yourself up into a sitting position. “It was more than good, Joel—oh my god, it was amazing.” 

The bottom half of his face glistens in the lamplight, his shiny lips turning up in a smile. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.”

“You still wanna fuck?” 

“I think I will die if you don’t fuck me.”

He chuckles, and that’s all the answer he needs. He’s off the couch instantly, and you watch as he hurriedly unbuckles his belt and gets his jeans undone, shoving them and his boxers down his legs so fast it makes you giggle. He’s balancing on one foot, peeling off his sock, and you finally get a good look at his dick—it’s hard and bobbing between his legs, the tip flushed red and shiny from precum, and your eyes round at how big he is. 

“Second thoughts?” he asks, taking off his other sock. 

Your gaze rises to his, seeing he’s frowning. “No.” You shake your head. “It’s more, ‘I sure hope that thing fits inside me.’” 

He crookedly smiles, his chest puffing up a little. “It’ll fit—I promise.” And he has the audacity to wink at you. 

Just as quickly as he got off the sofa, he’s getting back on it, kneeling in the space between your spread thighs. His attention is on your pussy, rubbing the tip of himself against your swollen clit and through your wetness. Nerves swirl in your belly, along with arousal, his free hand giving your hip a reassuring squeeze before he’s spitting on his fingers and slicking up his cock. He notches himself at your entrance, and your heart is in your throat as you hold your breath.

“Just relax, baby,” he says. “You can take me.” 

He slowly starts feeding his hard length into you, making you gasp when the fat head breaches your slick cunt, your eyes squeezing shut, your fingers digging into the couch’s leather cushions. A groan rumbles from his throat, and you answer with a drawn-out moan as he burrows his thick cock deep inside you, your tight walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. Full doesn’t even begin to describe how stuffed you are—he’s hot inside you, almost searing, and you can feel him pulsing. He bottoms out and goes completely still, his hands on your hips in a bruising grip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he rasps. “You okay?” His thumbs stroke circles on your skin. 

“Yes.” It comes out as more of a squeak. “I just need a second.” 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

Darlin’, baby, and now sweetheart when his dick is inside you? Is he trying to make you fall in love with him?

He bends at the waist, one hand on the couch holding up his weight while the other massages your breast, his lips wrapping around your pebbled nipple, the sparks of pleasure going straight to your pussy. Your fingers wind up in his hair; what he’s doing to you has you whimpering at how good it feels and only makes you wetter where you’re joined. He pulls each of your legs up to rest on his ribs while his mouth moves higher, kissing your sternum and up the arch of your neck, sucking on your pulse point and making you squirm underneath him. 

His hands end up on either side of your head, his lips leaving behind a wet streak of kisses along the hinge of your jaw to finally ghost over yours—you can feel his breaths and smell your musk. He’s so close it wouldn’t take much more for your mouths to meet. 

His nose nudges yours. “Need more time?” he whispers. 

Enough has passed that you don’t feel as overwhelmed. You slide your palms up his back to his shoulders. 

“No,” you answer just as quietly. “You can move.” 

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes back in as his mouth claims yours, muffling your sounds when he sets up a rhythm of long, hard strokes. You’re gone—all rational thoughts go out the window, and the only thing you can think about is how his cock is moving in and out of you. It’s so distracting you’re having trouble kissing Joel back because your brain keeps screaming, ‘so big, so full, so good.’ 

You’re feverishly clutching at his shoulder blades, your nails leaving crescent moon imprints and scratches you’re sure will bleed on his golden skin, Joel moaning into your mouth. It surprises you when you feel the familiar tension of another orgasm making itself known deep in your core, the pressure rising with each thrust, the angle of them causing him to slide against spots you never knew existed, and you don’t ever want this to end. 

His lips leave yours, pressing his forehead to your cheek. He’s breathing hard, sweat beginning to bead on his skin as he keeps the same pace. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this pussy. Just wanna stay inside it until my dick is all it knows.” 

Your legs are quivering, your body is burning up, and you can’t get enough of how fucking good this feels. One time—one time—and you’re addicted, you’re drunk on the pleasure and will do anything—anything—for this to happen again. 

“It’s yours,” you gasp. “Oh, god, it’s yours!” 

His lips move to your ear, huskily asking, “It’s mine, baby? Your pussy is mine? I’m fuckin’ ya that good?” 

You’re so out of it and lost in the lust you start babbling, “Yes, it’s yours—fuck, ruin me,” you whine. 

“That’s what you want, for me to ruin your perfect little pussy?”

“Please—make me feel it. Make me ache to have your cock inside me again. Make me yours.” 

He growls, and you think you’ve said the wrong thing because he’s immediately pulling out, your eyes springing open in time to see him sit up on his knees. 

His big hands grab hold of your waist. “Flip,” is all he says, and you find yourself getting manhandled onto your front, Joel tugging you up onto your hands and knees. He wastes no time sheathing himself back inside you, pushing in so deep that your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl.

Joel’s hips are flush against your ass, the full length of him seated all the way inside of you—you can’t think, your mouth open in a silent cry. He’s filling you to the absolute brim, and it becomes evident your cup has truly runneth over. 

He was right, though. It did fit. 

A shuddery breath escapes you. He only allows you a moment to get used to the new fullness before he’s pulling out until just the tip of him remains and snapping his hips forward hard enough it knocks the air from your lungs—this is how you learn what it’s like to really be fucked, and fucked good. 

His fingers dig into the skin on your waist, pulling you back as he thrusts forward at a pace that has you lightheaded, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids each time he presses against that heavenly spot inside you. 

Warmth grows in your belly, the sounds from the TV overshadowed by the filthy cacophony of skin hitting skin and the audible wetness of his cock working in and out of your used cunt—he’s grunting with each stroke, your moans stuttering from the onslaught.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust. 

It’s a struggle to gather your thoughts and form a response with how good he’s fucking you. 

A palm lands on the side of your ass in a loud smack, the sweet sting causing you to clench around him and whimper. 

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he says. “Is this what you wanted?” 

All you can gasp out is a single word. “Yes!” 

“Am I fuckin’ you good?” 

“Yes!” 

He’s pounding into you at a near-brutal pace, the fire inside you only getting hotter as each second passes. 

“Look at me,” he orders. 

It takes everything in you to turn your head and look over your shoulder. Joel is a sight to behold—a flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, the sweat on his skin making it glisten under the lamp’s light, and his hair sticking wetly to his forehead. His eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed over, his jaw clenched. 

He slows, his gaze on yours. 

“You wanna be mine?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

The moment your answer leaves your lips, he’s blanketing your back, holding himself up with a hand on the couch, the other going under you to palm your breast and tweak your stiff nipple with his fingers. 

He lightly bites your earlobe, his facial hair scratching your cheek when he kisses it. 

“I’m gonna make you come,” he says through heavy breaths. “Then I’m gonna fuck you full of me—you want that?” 

A shiver moves through you, and you gulp. 

“Yes.” 

“Good girl.” 

His hand smooths down your front over your stomach to between your legs, where he starts circling your clit with two fingers. It’s like a live wire along your spine, electricity sparking in your core—that added to the sensations of his cock splitting you open and pushing in and out of you has you rocketing toward your release. 

“You gonna come for me?” His hot breaths fan over your ear. “You gonna let me feel you come all over my cock? Come on, let me have it—come for me.” 

Joel’s bent over you, fucking into you harder and faster, his fingers deliciously swirling around your throbbing bud as he grunts in your ear with every thrust, all of it driving you higher and higher to your end. 

You’re so worked up that it doesn’t take much to have you falling over the edge—the muscles in your belly pull tight, your orgasm ripping through you, gasping Joel’s name. He sucks in a breath when your pussy clamps down on him, then loudly groans, continuing to fuck you through your high, and doesn’t stop—his fingers keep up their assault on your clit, and his hips snap into you in quick, short bursts that extend your high. You come, and come, and come to the point your arms give out, and your body shakes and twitches from all of the pleasure coursing through it. 

When you think you can’t take any more, relief washes over you that Joel follows suit. With one last thrust, he buries himself all the way to the hilt inside you as he falls forward, his front framing your back, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder. He comes with a dirty, rumbling groan—you feel his dick thicken and pulse, hot spurts of his spend filling you. He grinds his hips, fucking it as deep as it will go, then stills.  

The movie’s ending credits are playing, hearing the music and your and Joel’s ragged breaths as you both come down. He’s at the same awkward angle as you, with your hips up and your faces down—his sweaty chest is pressed to your back, your bodies sticking together everywhere they touch. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with how your limbs tremble, you’re not entirely sure you can even move. 

You asked him to ruin you, and oh boy, did he deliver—you’re absolutely, positively ruined. It kills you that after whatever this night is, you’ll have to go back to subpar sex with guys who couldn’t find the clit if they were given a map and detailed directions. This is the second time tonight that you fear you’ve made a grave mistake hooking up with Joel, and the post-sex clarity is not helping the situation at all. 

What were you thinking?

That’s easy; you weren’t. Or, at the very least, you weren’t thinking with your brain. Your pussy took the lead on this one, and it looks like she’s gotten you into a bit of a situation. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when Joel’s arm wraps around your middle, and he turns you two onto your sides, the couch just barely wide enough to fit you both. 

“Tha’s better,” Joel slurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. His hand over your stomach feels around until he finds your smaller one, lacing your fingers together and holding it to your chest—oh, he’s cuddling with you. It’s unexpected and nice. You close your eyes and enjoy this taste of intimacy. 

Many minutes pass before he mumbles something you can’t make out. 

“I’m sorry,” you start and are immediately embarrassed by how hoarse and scratchy your voice sounds from all the sounds you made tonight. You clear your throat and try again, “I’m sorry—what did you say?” 

He turns his face so it’s out of your hair. 

“I asked if you wanna stay over,” he says. 

You smile. “Are you getting forgetful, Joel? You said I could stay over when I got here.” 

“Fuckin’ smartass,” he grumbles, and you giggle. “What I meant was, do you wanna stay in my room? With me,” he clarifies. 

“Only if you’re okay that I sleep naked—I’m not wearing my dress to bed.” 

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d be naked.” He kisses your shoulder. “But if you’re more comfortable wearin’ somethin’, I can get you one of my t-shirts—it’s no big deal.” 

“It baffles me that you’re single.” 

“Why?”

“Uh, because you’re incredibly sweet, amazing in bed, a great father, very handsome, hardworking, and just an all-around catch. If I had the opportunity, and you know, there wasn’t the elephant in the room—” The fact he’s much older than you and one of your dad’s best friends. “—I’d date you in a heartbeat. If you ever give dating a shot again, you’re going to make one lucky woman very happy.” 

“Fuck,” Joel groans, letting go of your hand to press his palm to his face. “What the hell am I doin’?”

That makes your stomach drop, and you frown—he’s regretting everything, and you can’t blame him. The post-sex clarity is a real bitch sometimes. 

“Stressing for no reason,” you reply. You’re pretty sure you can walk, so you get up from the sofa, ignoring how wobbly your legs feel and his come leaking down your thigh. “Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask, looking toward the floor for your clothes. “You let me stay the night ‘cause you were worried about me driving home in the dark.” You carefully bend down to pick up your thong, followed by your bra and dress. “We watched Die Hard,” you continue, straightening to stand. “Then turned in for the night to our respective bedrooms. You’re a real stand-up guy for caring so much about your friend’s daughter’s safety.” 

You can’t even look at him, focusing instead on the TV where the Pearl Harbor DVD’s menu is on screen. 

“Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Tryin’ to pretend nothin’ happened.” 

“You clearly wish nothing happened, so nothing happened—where’s the bathroom?” You need to clean up, and you’re tempted to just leave altogether. 

“Up the stairs, second door on the right—when the hell did I say I wished nothin’ happened?” 

“You didn’t have to. Your ‘what the hell am I doin’?’ was enough for me to get it.” You hug your clothes closer to your body. “Anyways, thanks for tonight. I think I’m just gonna use the bathroom and get out of here. I don’t want you to worry, so I’ll stay at that cheap motel by the highway.” The sign said it was twenty-something dollars a night, and you can swing that. You start heading toward the stairs. 

“Hey, stop.” You don’t. You keep walking, willing the unshed tears in your eyes not to fall. 

Why are you so upset? You’re well aware that this can only be a one-time thing. It was something fun and sexy where you got to fuck the older, unattainable guy you’ve been crushing on for a while. It wasn’t anything serious, and couldn’t be anything serious, because there’s no future for you two together. Not when he’s a good friend of your father’s. That kills any chance of having a relationship with Joel. 

What hurts is he regrets it and wishes it never happened—you’re a mistake, and who wants to be someone’s mistake? 

His heavy footsteps sound behind you. “Darlin’, stop,” he says again, and you continue ignoring him. Fingers latch around your bicep and lightly tug. “Please, stop for a second. Talk to me.” Finally, you do as he’s requested, standing still in front of the staircase. He turns you to look at him in his big brown eyes, his hands holding your arms. 

“I don’t wish nothin’ happened,” he says. “You were talkin’ about how if things were different, you’d date me, but since they are the way they are, you won’t. I was thinkin’ to myself ‘what the hell am I doin’ wishin’ you’d change your mind,’ when I know it’s for the best.”

“Oh—really?” 

Hope swells in your chest, butterflies fluttering around in your tummy. 

“Yeah.” He nods. “Tell me you want nothin’ more to do with me, and I’ll grab you a towel and some of my clothes so you can wash up and retire to the guest room unless you’re truly set on stayin’ in a motel. In that case, I’ll pay for your room somewhere safer and much nicer, so I know you’ll be okay. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and I’ll take you up to my bedroom so we can shower, either together or separately, whatever you’re comfortable with. Then we can get into my bed where we can talk and figure things out.” 

It sounds like he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing, either, and that makes you so happy you let your clothes fall to the floor to throw your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his. Joel groans, his arm sliding behind your back, hugging you closer to him, his other hand cradling your cheek. Suddenly, he’s backing you up until your heels hit the first step, and he guides you to sit on a higher one, Joel kneeling on a lower stair to be at the right height that his hips slot between your thighs when he lays you back. He licks into your mouth, deepening the kiss, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades. 

With how good he made you feel tonight, how wanted, you need more of him. There’s a looming fear in the back of your mind that this is too good to be true—that you’ll never be with him like this again, which makes you desperate for him. Your hand snakes its way between your bodies, taking his half-hard cock into your palm, slowly stroking it—a low rumble comes from the back of Joel’s throat. He gets his hand to the juncture of your thighs, sliding his fingers through the puffy lips of your sex, gathering your arousal and his come on his fingertips to rub at your swollen clit. 

“You’re mine,” he says into your lips. 

“I’m yours,” you answer. 

This is how you end up fucking on the stairs, Joel thrusting into you at a pace that has your toes curled and your fingers gripping his ass—your spine tingles from his mouth exploring your neck, mapping out the spots that make you gasp and moan, and you’re in heaven. 

A door slams shut on the other side of the railing, and your eyes fly open.

“Hey, Asshole!” a man calls. 

Joel’s hand covers your mouth, and you watch the intruder walk through the dining room to the kitchen without seeing you. 

“I brought over pizza so you can stop bein’ a sad and lonely sonofabitch!” 

Joel immediately pulls out and gets off you, using his strength to help you flip over. “Upstairs,” he whispers, tapping you on the hip, and you go as quickly and quietly as you can with Joel following. 

You make it to the second-story landing, and he grabs your hand, tugging you all the way down the hall into what you know is his bedroom by how it smells like him. He closes the door and locks it before beelining to his dresser, roughly pulling out one drawer from which he grabs a burgundy t-shirt, then another that he gets a pair of stretchy gray sweatpants. 

“Is this a dress?!” Is yelled from downstairs. “Do you have a girl over?! Who’d wanna fuck your sorry ass?!”

Surprisingly, the clothes in Joel’s hands are not for him; he shoves them into your arms and ushers you over to his bathroom. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, flicking on the light, the fan automatically turning on. “It’s Tommy. Stay in here, and I’ll kick him out.” Obnoxiously loud footsteps are coming up the stairs, and he has to take a deep breath, his eyes to the sky like he’s praying God will smite his brother right this second. “Lord, give me strength,” he breathes. 

“Where would you even meet a girl?!” Tommy asks from the hallway. “All you do is work—you never go out.” 

Joel pecks you on the lips. “I’ll be right back—stay in here,” he tells you again, and this time, he leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

There’s banging on the bedroom door, and your ears perk up as you put on the clothes. 

“Go home, Tommy,” he says. 

“Not until I know who this pretty dress belongs to.” 

“Give me that—it’s none of your fuckin’ business. Leave.” 

“Come on, Joel—we know the same people. Did you finally give in to Nikki? She’s wanted to go out with you for a long fuckin’ time.” 

“No, and it’s still none of your fuckin’ business who I have in the house I pay for. So, get goin’, or I’m gonna make you go.” 

“You can be a real dick, Joel. Why are you bein’ so fuckin’ secretive?”

“Do I ask about who you take home from the bar?” 

“No, but—”

“Exactly,” Joel interrupts. “I don’t give a fuck what you do in your spare time, and I sure as hell don’t need to tell you what I do in mine, so leave, Tommy—I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.” 

“With how fuckin’ grouchy you are, I don’t think you got laid at all—I’m gonna get goin’ ‘cause you clearly need the company of a woman. Bye, mystery woman with the pretty dress hidin’ in Joel’s bathroom!” he yells. “Hopefully you can cheer this fucker up! Enjoy the pizza!” 

It goes quiet, and you think Joel left the room, too. You can’t go anywhere, so you decide to take in your surroundings—the bathroom is cleaner than you’d expect from a single man, you have to put the toilet seat down when you pee, and as you’re washing your hands, you notice there’s only one toothbrush in a cup. 

You know you shouldn’t snoop, but you pull open the medicine cabinet and find an extra tube of toothpaste, some Tylenol, Ibuprofen, a thing of pain relief cream, then a shelf with a few medicine bottles that intrigues you—prescription pain pills, antidepressants, and heartburn medication. No red flags, but you’re a little worried about how much pain he’s in. You close the cabinet, and soft knocking on the bathroom door makes you jump. 

“You can come out,” Joel’s muffled voice says. “He’s gone.” 

Walking over to the door, you open it, Joel leaning against the doorframe in a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants he must’ve put on before talking to Tommy. 

He sighs. “So, that was my brother.” 

“Seems nice—if I remember correctly, he’s younger, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That explains how annoying he is.” 

He smiles, and an amused huff leaves him. “Yeah, he’s annoyin’ alright.” 

“We have the house to ourselves?” 

“We do—I walked him out myself.” 

You grin. “Wonderful.” You grab a fistful of his shirt. “Because I think you said something about us showering together, and I’d like to do that right now, then go eat pizza—I’ve somehow worked up an appetite,” you tell him and pull him forward; he happily comes your way with a smirk. 

“Worked up an appetite, huh?” he asks, his eyes on your mouth. 

“Yes. No clue how.” 

He closes the distance, his lips almost touching yours, when he replies, “Let me remind you how,” and kisses you. 

An hour later, you’re walking down the stairs clean and in your borrowed clothes. 

“Can we eat then go to bed?” you ask, through a yawn. “I had classes today, and that long ass drive, plus all the sex. I’m so damn tired.” 

Joel’s behind you in just his sweatpants. 

“I’m fuckin’ tired, too. That sounds good to me.” 

The only lights on downstairs are the lamps in the living room. You walk into the dark kitchen, Joel flipping on the light as he follows, and you head for the stove where the pizza is, popping open the box to see it’s pepperoni. 

“I’ll grab us some plates,” Joel says, rubbing your upper arms. He kisses the top of your head before stepping over to a cabinet.

Turning around, you’re about to ask Joel where the cups are when the dining room light comes on, Tommy standing by the switch. You gasp in shock; Joel’s immediate reaction is to grab a knife from the knife block and get between you and the unwanted visitor—it takes him a second to recognize it’s his brother. 

“Goddammit, Tommy!” Joel shouts and slams the butcher knife onto the countertop. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?!”

“No,” his brother answers, shaking his head, and he looks a little too amused. “But you sure the hell are! Her?!” He points at you and has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, god, Joel,” he says through his glee and grabs the back of a chair, his other hand on his chest as he chuckles. “Her daddy is gonna kill you—you’re fucked!”

Joel sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, perching a palm on his hip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he says. “I’m a dead man walking.” 

“You are!” Tommy calms down, and his shit-eating grin annoys you. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” he asks. “I mean, I know what you were thinkin’. I just can’t get over you not only robbin’ the fuckin’ cradle, but bangin’ your best buddy’s daughter. How long has whatever this is—” He gestures at you both. “—been goin’ on?” 

“It just happened tonight—I don’t need you lecturin’ me on right and wrong. I know it’s a fucked up situation.” 

A fucked up situation? Ouch. The comment has you crossing your arms over your chest, staring at the floor. 

“Fucked up is right, and I’ve got no fuckin’ idea how you’re gonna get out of it. Her daddy finds out about this, and he’s gonna shoot you deader than dead.” 

“I told you I didn’t want you lecturin’ me.” 

Tommy puts his hands up. “Hey, I’m not lecturin’. I’m just statin’ the facts. I wanna make sure you know this thing between you two could get you killed. You’ve got a daughter, Joel—what would you do in this situation?” 

“Woah,” you interrupt, moving to stand beside Joel—Tommy’s comment about Sarah is a fucking nuke you need to try and hopefully defuse. “First of all, I just want to point out that I am a consenting adult and can fuck whoever I want. Second, I need to set the record straight and say that my dad isn’t going to kill anyone. He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out, but he isn’t going to commit murder because, truth be told, he’s never given a fuck about my life choices. I’d also like to add that this is kinda his fault for not having me visit more often because now Joel and I are pretty much strangers, and this whole thing isn’t as bad as it sounds.” 

“It’s still pretty bad, honey,” Tommy replies, his attention turning to you, smiling. 

“Maybe, but it’s also nobody’s business who I fuck.” 

“Sure, but this person you fucked is one of your daddy’s best friends whose—no offense—way too old for you.” 

“Why does everyone keep callin’ me old?” Joel grumbles. 

Tommy looks at his brother. “‘Cause you are, you old man.” He suddenly looks like he just realized something. “Wait a goddamn minute,” Tommy says. “Joel, are you havin’ a midlife crisis? You’re around the age people have those, right? It’d make sense why you’d risk your life to fuck her.” 

“Get out, Tommy,” Joel replies, pointing toward the front door. “I’ve had enough of you.” 

His younger brother pouts. “‘Cause I called you old?” 

“Out.” 

“Fine.” He slowly starts walking toward the hallway that leads to the front door. “I’ll get out of your hair so the two of you can enjoy the rest of your night. Bye!” 

The door loudly closes as he leaves. 

Well, you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen now. Between the comment about Sarah and the other things that had been said, you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel ends this. You might as well cut your losses and get it over with to save yourself from more heartbreak. 

Your eyes are on the ground, the first tear falling down your cheek. “After all that, I know whatever this is is probably over,” you quietly say. “But is there a chance I can still sleep in your bed with you tonight? And if you’re willing, have you hold me?”

He turns and pulls you into his arms.

“Yeah, you can sleep with me,” he answers and kisses your hair. “But I’m gonna need you to stop.” 

You lean back to look at him with watery eyes. “Stop what?” 

A sad smile is on his lips. “Jumpin’ to conclusions without talkin’ to me. You’ve already got one foot out the door, and I haven’t even opened it.”

“It’s just everything Tommy said.” 

He lightly squeezes your biceps. “Tommy was bein’ a little shit. You were right when you said this isn’t as bad as it sounds, but you gotta be honest with me about somethin’.” 

“What?” you ask.

His hands come up to hold your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that have fallen. “Are you positive your daddy won’t kill me? I’ve got Sarah to think about, and even though I like you a lot, I’m not gonna risk dyin’ to be happy.” 

The sweetest man and the best father.

You think about it for a second, and the sad truth is you can’t imagine your dad killing anyone for you—he doesn’t love you that much. He doesn’t love you to the same degree that Joel loves Sarah. With how easily Joel grabbed a knife to protect you, there’s no doubt in your mind he’d kill for his daughter without hesitation. 

“He’ll be pissed off, but he isn’t going to kill you. We also don’t need to tell him anything unless this turns into something. We can keep it to ourselves for now.” 

He hums in agreement. “You know, if you wanted, you could start comin’ here to do your laundry...” 

You smile. “How will you explain that to Sarah?” 

“That I’m helpin’ you out, which is true. Plus, I’ve got the guest room.” 

“Uh huh, the guest room that I’ll sleep in?” 

“Yes.” He nods. 

“Alone?” 

“I sleepwalk.” 

You snort. “Stop it.” You playfully push his chest. “Sarah is not gonna believe you sleepwalked into the guest room.” 

He snatches your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. “Who said anythin’ about Sarah knowin’ I’m in the guest room, or you bein’ in my room for that matter, while she’s sleepin’? There are also nights like tonight she spends with friends.” 

“You really want me to hang out here?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to have company that isn’t Tommy.”

“I believe that. As long as I’m not a bother, I’ll do my laundry here.”

He smiles. “Not a bother, and you can wash your clothes tomorrow and stay another night. You could even stay over Sunday, too, since you have Monday off—you’re more than welcome.”

You loop your arms around his neck. “Yes, Joel. I will spend my long weekend with you.” 

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours. “Good.” 

Main Masterlist

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⳽ωɩtᥴᖾ ᥙρ (ᙖᥲᑲყ ᔑᥲʝᥲ x ᖴ!ᕼᥙᥒtᥱɾ!ᖇᥱᥲᑯᥱɾ) ρt 丩

summary - things get a little problematic after a certain revelation, and you struggle to fight your own demons warnings - angst, but there will be comfort in the next part!

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five • part six • part seven • part eight • part nine • part ten

"No. I'll do it."

"But-"

"I'll do it."

Trying to convince Baby to let one of the other boys twirl and dip you during the song was like trying to convince a brick wall. He was just not having it.

"You can't rap and twirl me!" You protested. "That just doesn't go."

"I'll do it," Abby offered, holding out his hand for you to take.

Baby growled and grabbed you, holding you away from the muscular boy like you were a precious toy he didn't want to share.

"After how we started here, I'm not surprised he'd react like that," Romance suddenly appeared on the other side of Baby, near you. "I never tried to flirt with her, let me do it."

The rapper growled again, pulling you to the middle and smothering you in his arms. All you could see was the pink of his sweater, and all you could smell and breathe was him.

"Mmmff!" You protested.

"Now that's just dramatic," Romance crossed his arms.

"Can I twirl Mira?" Baby asked him, still glaring and hissing like a cat.

"NO," came the unified responses of Abby and Romance.

"I see your point," Romance nodded, "Carry on."

You protested, a muffled sound like Romance's name. Baby pinched your waist again and you jumped, then fell quiet.

"So I guess Baby is twirling her and rapping that part."

He finally let you breathe, and you gasped.

It did not go well like that, so Baby ended up reluctantly agreeing to let Romance dance with you - but only for that one part. But as soon as the group started rehearsing that part...

"Wow, (Name), you're a great dancer," Romance complimented.

Baby crashed out.

You all got to see what the Saja Boys fighting really looked like. Baby pounced on Romance, growling deeply, pulling his hair as the pink-haired boy screamed. Abby was cheering them on, chanting 'fight, fight, fight', Mystery stood there and watched, silent, and Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath.

"That wasn't flirting!" Romance wailed.

"Baby!" You cried, rushing over and grabbing him by the ear.

He went still, his claws halting their mission to shred Romance's hair.

You pulled your boyfriend away as Romance sobbed on the floor, traumatised by his younger bandmate's attack. Baby was still growling, but stopped when you gave him a look.

That's when it was decided that rehearsals could stop for the day, and you'd all resume tomorrow. Baby seemed much more relaxed after that, though he didn't apologise to Romance and growled every time the pink-haired demon so much as stood next to you.

"Are you hangry?" You asked him when you got back home, tossing him a fresh packet of chillies. Yes, he ate those as a snack.

"No, Romance is just annoying," he grumbled, picking out chillies like it was a chip packet and he was trying to find the biggest and most flavourful chip.

You sighed, settling onto your bed, "It was just a compliment."

"Romance doesn't compliment," Baby argued. "He flirts."

"He's with Mira!"

"Even more reason he shouldn't be flirting with you."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath so that you didn't hurl yourself off your balcony out of sheer frustration. Arguing with Baby was pointless, he never got the point. Or maybe he just didn't want to get the point, stubbornly insisting on his own.

As you watched him snack away on the chillies, the question you'd been wanting to asked him nagged you. After a few moments, you couldn't stop yourself and blurted it out.

"Baby, can I see your demon form?"

He stiffened. His entire body went as still as a statue, not even an eye twitch. He slowly turned to look at you.

"Why?"

"Because I want to," you bit your lip, "I want to see the real you."

"You're not going to like it," he set the chilli pack down.

"You don't know that," you insisted. "Besides, I love you regardless of how you look."

He hesitated, then met your gaze and saw the sincerity in them.

Still, he said, "No."

You deflated a little, and he noticed, but neither of you said anything. For a moment, there was just silence. And then he got up and left, without a word.

The next day, rehearsal went even worse than the day before.

You couldn't seem to sync your movements with Baby, Abby and Romance were arguing over whether or not it was fair for one to twirl Mira first and the other second, and Rumi and Jinu were in their own world, secretly discussing something on the side.

"You okay?" Baby asked you, voice tinged with concern.

It hadn't occurred to him that you might be upset over yesterday. Because while he did love you, he still had some reservations about showing you his true form - what if you ran away from him? What if you said you couldn't love something so monstrous? He would never say it out loud, but he was afraid.

"I'm fine," you took a deep breath. "Just...tired." It wasn't his fault. You could be patient. You would be. He'd show you on his own.

But then why did you feel like he didn't trust you?

Then you noticed Rumi looking like she was debating with herself, rubbing her arm like she was nervous about something. You turned away from Baby, walking over to her.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Huh?" She looked up at you. "Oh, yeah."

"You should tell them," Jinu encouraged her, his hand settling reassuringly on her arm.

"Tell us what?" Zoey asked, her and Mira now turning towards you.

Rumi's eyes met Jinu's, and he nodded. Then she took a deep breath and turned to you three, starting to remove her jacket. Your eyes widened - she had never done that before.

Silence fell when the patterns came into view.

Rumi couldn't meet your eyes. But her body language told you everything. The way her shoulders slumped, her arms wrapping around herself like she was trying to hide - going into a shell. She looked...defeated.

You didn't know what to think. Not because you were disgusted or hateful, but because you had never known about this side of her. For five long years, she had kept this hidden from you and the other girls.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Mira asked, sounding slightly betrayed.

"Because!" Rumi cried, eyes glassy, "Because, we hated demons! I-"

"You didn't trust us enough to be on your side?" Zoey asked, hurt clear in her voice.

"I did! I do, but-"

"Rumi, we sing together! We hunt together!" Mira's voice raised slightly. "More than that, we're best friends! Why couldn't you trust us enough to tell us this? It's a pretty big thing to keep a secret!"

"I know," her voice cracked, "Believe me, I know-"

"Rumi," you started, your own voice shaking, "You know I'm always on your side. But this time it's really hard to understand..."

It was too much.

It was overwhelming.

No one trusts you, echoed in your mind. They have no faith in you.

You suddenly took off, racing away from the scene. Letting your feet carry you as far away from the group as possible, ignoring the calls of your name that followed you.

You stopped in front of the Huntrix building.

Glared up at it like it had offended you.

Then went inside.

You didn't get to your room, breaking down inside the elevator. Everything crashed into you, all your fears and your insecurities, like a tidal wave. You didn't know when, but you sank to your knees, hands on the cold elevator floor with your tears pooling around them.

They don't trust you.

They don't have faith in you.

The voices grew louder, louder, until you could only hear those words in your head.

"Stop!" You sobbed, hands flying to your head.

But I do. I trust you. Let me help you.

Your hands trembled as you slowly lowered them. Your breathing was heavy, chest heaving as you stared wide-eyed at the open elevator door.

And then the voice was gone.

And familiar arms were wrapping around you, engulfing you in a tight embrace. Your face was shoved into a familiar sweater, warm against your skin.

"Don't listen," Baby spoke, his voice trembling just slightly.

When you looked up, you saw him.

Purple skin, patterns stretching all over, yellow eyes.

[hard-core-super-star]

the effects were temporary [W.Maximoff]

pairing: sugarmommy!wanda x reader

summary: you and wanda make your way back to each and slowly, you begin again.

warnings: none?; slight angst; hurt + comfort; R gets drunk, kate pays for it; bishova mentions because my hand slipped; wanda doing her best to be vulnerable; SO many feelings; technically an argument, i guess?

wordcount: 2k

a/n: this fic took longer to write than i wanted it to because i ended up getting sick last week when i was working on it BUT now it's here. thank you so much for the love on the last part, i hope this meets your expectations. and not to spoil anything but...there will probably be one more smut part as a finale as my way of saying a brief goodbye to these two idiots. anyway, i hope you enjoy <3

part one | part two | part three |

* * * * * * *

Avoiding Wanda wasn't the best idea you'd ever had.

Sure, in the moment it seemed like the best course of action. To run out of her office, pretending to get lunch but truly leaving with no intention of coming back. The second you'd gotten some air, though, you'd realized that you had nowhere to go.

At least nowhere where Wanda couldn't find you.

You weren't foolish enough to think she wouldn't go look for you but you chose to run to Kate's apartment. At least she had enough security in place to warn you if the older woman came looking for you.

It turned out, however, that she didn't come looking for you. It shouldn't have hurt. It should've been a relief. But instead, all it did was fill your heart with aching.

You felt like an idiot for it but you couldn't change your feelings. If you could, you would have stopped yourself from falling for the CEO in the first place. That wasn't what happened, though, and now you were paying for your recklessness.

Well, technically, Kate was paying for it. In your defense, she was the one who came up with the brilliant plan of going out to drink your sorrows away. It was one of the archer's usual bad ideas that hid her own desires. Mainly, her desire to see Yelena and drink enough whiskey until she could gather the courage to sneak away with her to some dark corner.

Tacky as it was, you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

The bar she'd chosen this time was at least half-empty with strong drinks and a careful bartender. No one had bothered you so far and the taste of alcohol kept you enough company to ignore how lonely you felt without Kate and Yelena around.

Then again, watching them throw heart-eyes at each other didn't help your loneliness one bit either. The archer was an idiot, there was no denying that, but right now…she was doing better than you in that department.

What a jerk.

"Hey, let me buy you a drink."

You turn your head to look at the owner of the voice. To no one's surprise, it's a guy with a smirk so self-assured, it's hard to feel safe near him.

But the sound of free drinks is far too tempting to pass up.

"Sure."

As stupid as it is, you get swept up into a conversation with him, not fully paying attention to what he's saying and keeping an eye on the bartender who seems ready to step in if anything goes south. You know they're just doing their job, but still, it's sweet. And for a second, it reminds you of the woman you're supposed to be forgetting.

Those reminders distract you more than hurt you and it's not until you feel a hand land on your thigh that you realize you severely miscalculated the situation. Of course, you hadn't been foolish enough to think the guy didn't have some ulterior motive but you were too far past tipsy to have an escape plan.

You're one second away from yelling for the bartender when a strong presence slips behind you, a careful arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles tense for a second until the smell of expensive perfume hits your nose.

Not just any expensive perfume, though.

Her perfume.

"Is everything okay over here?"

The sound of Wanda's voice relaxes you far quicker than you would have liked. Without even meaning to, you lean back against her, knowing that despite the anger and the hurt that lingers between you, she'd never let anything happen to you.

"I'm just keeping the lady company," the guy replies with what he thinks is a charming smile.

The older woman laughs, the sound devoid of any amusement. "I don't think the lady wants your company."

There's a reply from the guy but you don't pay it any attention. Instead, you stumble your way off the stool and lean against Wanda. "Take me home. Please."

Even though you're in no situation to make demands of her, her concern for you outweighs all of her complaints. Her arm wraps around your waist and she leads you away from the bar with ease. "Let's go."

You practically stumble your way outside, the world around you a blur of shapes and lights and far too many smells. Every step makes you lean further into the older woman despite the urge to run from her again. In this state, though, you wouldn't be able to make it too far.

The walk to her car is a blur and before you know it, you're well on your way to her penthouse. A part of you knows that's where she's taking you and while you could complain, you don't necessarily want to spend the rest of the night alone.

So, as stupid as it is, you sit in her car and go home with her.

It's not until you're in her penthouse that either of you speaks again. Like usual, you can't be yourselves until she's out of public sight. She can say whatever she wants when the two of you are alone but it's always something different when you're out in the real world.

Being back in the familiar space only serves to remind you of that.

Even though you're still leaning against her, you're unable to keep yourself quiet anymore. "You're an asshole."

Your slurred words make her eyebrows raise in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Whatever rules used to govern your interactions with her have long faded away, leaving behind nothing but the fire of your anger. The anger of being left behind.

Maybe she hadn't physically left you, you had been the one to walk away, but emotionally, she'd shut you out before you even decided to leave.

"You heard me," you respond, standing your ground even as you sway to the side. "You're an asshole."

"For trying to keep you safe?"

"For never letting me in. Always keeping me at arms length. Acting like you didn't care about me."

She sets you down on the couch, using the excuse of getting you some water to put distance between you again. 'That's not…you're drunk, y/n. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, Wanda. For once, be honest."

You have no doubt your words anger her but she's too far away for you to see her reaction. Something that only fuels your anger. You're tired of seeing her hold back. Of watching her be vulnerable one moment and then composed the next.

As stupid as it is, your thoughts make you rise to your feet and stumble your way into the kitchen.

She sighs as she watches you approach, handing you a glass of water you're far too shaky to hold onto properly. "What do you want me to say? You're the one that ran away."

The reminder does little to soothe your bitter feelings toward her. "Because you didn't defend me!"

"Defend you?" She repeats. "From what? Agnes was just being an idiot."

If it wouldn't make you incredibly dizzy, you would have rolled your eyes. Instead, you settle for taking a drink of water and leaning against the kitchen island. "Right, that's always what it is, isn't it? Just me overreacting."

Her eyes narrow. "That is not what I meant and you know it."

"No, Wanda, I don't know anything! All you do is tell me one thing and do another-"

"I told you I was yours, was that not enough?" Her voice cracks just enough to show the depth of the emotions behind her words. Clearly, you're not the only one who's been fighting insecurities.

"Not when you let everyone act like I'm just your plaything," you reply, defiantly lifting your chin. "You can't tell me I mean something to you and then pretend I don't mean anything when we're in public. That's not how it works."

Your words make her pause and it takes her a few tries before she can say something. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer. The rough edge of annoyance slipping away and leaving vulnerability behind. "I was trying to keep you safe."

"By pushing me away," you point out.

Wanda lets out a long sigh, turning away from you to gather her thoughts. The angle reveals the glistening of tears in her eyes and before you can think twice of it, you're moving toward her.

Your proximity unravels her and instead of moving away like she usually did, she meets you halfway. The second you're close enough, her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close as she melts against you.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, leaning down to bury her face in your neck. "I didn't mean to hurt you, y/n. Please, believe me."

The apology melts your remaining defenses. Even though you're still pissed off at her, you can't deny how much you miss her. How much you need her.

The distance might not have been enough to make her realize her mistakes but she seems ready to face them now. Ready to understand her best intentions didn't always lead to the best outcomes.

You know you're not completely innocent either. You're the one who ran away, the one who didn't want to talk anymore. The one who decided to give up on her as if you'd ever want anyone else after being with her.

"I believe you, Wands," you whisper, wrapping an arm around her neck and tangling the fingers of your free hand in her hair. "And I'm sorry too."

"Don't be, angel. You didn't do anything wrong."

Her words ease some of the weight you've been carrying since that day. It's not much but it's a start. And maybe a new start is exactly what you two need.

You're not sure how long you spend wrapped up in her arms like that, just that it's long enough for your exhaustion to start catching up to you. It's been a long night, one spent drinking far too much and eating way too little. To say you're tired is an understatement.

Wanda seems to read your mind because she untangles herself from you without another word. "Let's get you to bed, I can take the couch tonight."

You shake your head even though it makes you a little nauseous. "No. I don't want to be alone tonight."

She stares at you for a second before nodding. "Okay, if you're sure."

Instead of answering, you take her hand in yours and lead the familiar path toward the bedroom. While there's a part of you that craves a very specific type of intimacy, you force yourself to wait. You're still tipsy and upset and a little angry and the last thing you need is getting sent headfirst into subdrop again.

When you reach the bedroom, Wanda drops your hand, going off to pick out clothes for you from her closet. It's something she's done a thousand times and yet it makes your heart skip a beat all the same. Everything's the same and yet completely different at the same time. Complicated and yet the easiest it's ever been.

You don't speak again until you're cuddled under the covers, your whole body covered in the scent of the older woman. She's stiff as a log as she lies there next to you and you giggle to yourself as you rest your head against her chest. "Why're you so nervous, Wands?"

"I…I don't know," she answers, the uncertainty in her voice more than clear. "I don't want to hurt you again."

"You won't," you say. "We can start again. All you have to do is try."

The room is quiet while she thinks. Despite the silence, her arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer to her. You don't rush her, though. You can tell she's fighting with herself, with the insticts that make her push you away instead of being honest with you.

"I can do that. For you, I'll do more than just try. I'll be better."

"Just be yourself. I can handle it."

She hums and your eyes drift shut, her presence bringing you a peace you haven't felt in a long time. The last thing you feel before you fall asleep is her lips against your temple and her whispered words of affection.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics @rosekjsses @milflovers4 @sevikasoneandonlywife @dextur @tobeawriter98 @angelicbrats @upsidedowndanvers @justwosoimagines @jizzuo308 @m4ddie3 @alwaysgoodnight

[sourle]

What if killer reader were visibly in pain after the whole transformation into a killer, as in limping or using their dominant arm less or somthing

Reader IS in pain. Mentally.

Though i think Taph's the one who felt the most guilt.

Watching you getting stunned by either Chance, Guest, Shedletsky, or Two time while screeching in pain. You're already hurt, but with the add on stunned you're hurting a lot worse.

When he's low and is at your mercy, he tries to comfort you. Holding you close, STILL trying to get sense into you.

I talk A LOT about Taph, let's get the other survival, shall we?

Injuries

I kiss the scar on her skin

WARNINGS: DESCRIPTION OF INJURIES, GORE(?), BLOOD, ETC.

Note:

Noob

They felt guilty

They think one of the reasons you become like that is because of them. Which is true.

Noob felt bad whenever you screech or whine in pain.

He tried to reassure you once.. didn't end well.

Elliot

He felt slightly guilty

Whenever you whine or screech in pain he holds the urge to throw his pizza at you. To try and heal you.

He regrets never healing you, maybe if he did you'll be alright.

Even so he relatively moves on from it quicker than the others.

Shedletsky

He felt bit guilty

He held back whenever stunning you, hearing you screech in pain and whine makes him do so.

He's the second to be quick on moving on.

He kept the doodle you made of him at all times

He tried reasoning with you. Didn't end well.

Builderman

He knows this will happen, he knows it's coming.

He moves on quickly and he has no remorse about your pain.

Call him heartless yes but he did try to reason with you.

Sometimes plan for Taph to distract you half of the round or use him to get to your sense.

Though if you show you have no interest in reasoning, he'll focus on helping the others survive.

Dusekkar

A little birdie told him it's gonna happen. Sooner or later.

He's the one comforting Taph in his grief the most.

He too grief about you. Though not as much as Taph.

Whenever you wail in pain or cry out he's the second to be brave enough and comfort you.

He almost successfully convinced you to stop in one round but thanks to Shedletsky thinking we're about to attack Dusekkar.. yeah.

(idk what else mb soups)

Two time

The spawn warned them about it.

They're not surprised, they become more manic thinking the others might also turn like you.

They would stare whenever you wail in pain after they backstabbed you. You remind them of someone dear that they hurt.

Chance

He would instantly sword to never use his gun on you again.

They felt bad, even worse when he's the main reason you switched up.

They shouldn't have left you, they should've helped you. Maybe then you would still be the same.

He did apologize once, he was spared with only 1 hp left.

They don't know if that is a forgive or not.

Guest 1337

He tried to ignore it.

He's quick to move on from you transforming into a killer.

Whenever you cry or wail he would pause, and held back to charge or punch you for a bit.

Only a bit though if he thinks you're dangerously close to killing someone he has no choice but to stun you.

Taph

Full on crashing out whenever you cry

He doesn't have the heart to hear you wail in pain

The moment you let out a sob he will appear and hug you

Bro fr gives you a Taph bean, he does not explain where he got it.

007n7

He felt bad and guilty, even as he's not in the round.

He wished he was, to help you.

The third to be brave enough to comfort you, he tried. He did but sometimes it doesn't work.

It almost once. Thanks to Builderman's turret nearby. Yeah, you can guess no one survived.

Note: urhrhuh KillerYFAT!Reader needs a hug

[hanniescookie]

glasses - jww

pairing - wonwoo x f!reader

genre/warnings - idol au, fluff, skinship, use of petname, messy baking, reader wears glasses and obv wonu does too, jeonghan cameo bcs i miss him

summary - you and your boyfriend are both blind.

wc - 723

A/N - i can't bear the heartbreak of today so posting some wonu fluff :( as someone who wears glasses, i can confirm that being blind sucks. but also as someone who wears glasses, the idea of this fic made me v giggly, hope y'all like it 🤍 (jeon wonwoo, ilysm)

| @maestro-net

A lovestruck smile spreads on your face as soon as you step into the kitchen early in the morning. The sight is blurry, but you can make out that it's your boyfriend standing behind a counter full of stuff you can't see from afar.

You had just freshened up in his apartment. Some of the guys had dropped by last night, and you ended up staying over mostly because you fell asleep while the movie was still playing.

In the morning, you didn't find him cuddled up with you, but you could hear some sounds from the kitchen. So you decided to freshen up first, and when you couldn't find your glasses, you decided to walk out carefully in search of him.

“Good morning, love.”

You hear him as you begin walking in his direction, careful enough to not bump into the counter. And only when you're one arm away from him you realise that his eyes are painfully squinted while he pours some flour into the mixing bowl.

“Where are your glasses?”

Wonwoo looks up at you, the muscles of his eyes relaxing as he sighs. “I don't know. Can't find them.”

You frown, moving closer to inspect what he's making. “I can't find mine too! Are you baking?”

He nods, cracking an egg into the bowl with a frown similar to yours now etched on his features. “I wanted to surprise you. I thought I'll bake some cupcakes before you wake up. That's why I didn't waste time finding my glasses too. But doing anything without glasses is sickening. I can feel my head spin.”

Your frown turns into a pout, head whipping up to look at him. You reflexively press a kiss to his arm—the only part of him that's in your reach from where you're standing beside him. “Thank you. You're too sweet.” You add. “Can I help you?”

He shakes his head, smiling softly at you before it turns into a small pout as well. “Can you find our glasses instead?”

You laugh, sidehugging his arm that he's now whisking the batter with. Immediately, he stops and shifts the task to his other hand. “You know that I can't find either of our glasses without my own glasses, right?”

He sighs, exasperatedly. “This blindness is beginning to annoy me. I cannot differentiate between the sugar and the salt. I almost added an extra pinch of salt thinking it was sugar. And now I'm worried I might have grabbed the wrong type of flour."

You laugh harder, rubbing his back and trying to offer what little comfort you can. "Don't worry, we'll find our glasses and start again. Or we can try to muddle through together."

He smiles slightly, still frustrated but appreciative of your attempt to lighten the mood. "I guess that's the best option now. But if these cupcakes turn out to be disasters, I'm blaming our lack of glasses."

“No, but seriously, where could they go?! I fell asleep on the couch last night? Didn't I keep mine on the coffee table?” You ask, head twisting to look into the living room. Wonwoo shifts, layering the batter into the cupcake liners. “I think I took off mine while I was getting a drink from the kitchen. I can't remember that well now.”

“Let me try search—” you are cut off mid speech when Wonwoo pulls you into his chest after successfully keeping the cupcakes in the oven. You gasp a little, eyes widening at the sudden contact.

“Hi.” He smiles at you, and if you weren't already blind, you'd have thought his smile is what blinded you.

“Hi.” You smile back, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“I know we're both frustrated without our glasses, but that shouldn't take my morning kiss away from me, right?”

You giggle at his statement and how he managed to speak with a straight face—only smiling after seeing yours.

“What if you become so engrossed in kissing me that you burn the cupcakes?”

“You do realize that there's a time set in that oven, right?”

You hum, already pressing your lips against his awaiting ones. The cupcakes turn out just great, but you both don't find your glasses up until Wonwoo checks his phone.

[11:03 AM] Jeonghan hyung: Check the top right cabinet of your kitchen for your glasses ;)

[gyuubear]

Obsession

Kai loves his wife…maybe a little too much…

Pairing: husband!Kai x wife!reader

Warnings: themes of obsession and perversion, dom!Kai, bent over, missionary, fingering, no protection, creampie, slight power dynamics, possessiveness, intense/emotional sex, pet names, anything else I missed, MDNI

A/N: I've been wrestling with this for so long but I finally finished!! And I decided to give it a cute ending cuz why not. I personally really love this one and I hope you guys will too! Enjoy! (≧◡≦) ♡

WC: 3.5k

If there’s one thing Kai loves to do, it’s make love to his adorable wife. Without a doubt it’s his favorite activity. And no matter how much he fucks you, he can’t ever get enough. He's insatiable, the need to be consumed by your warmth a constant hunger in his body.

He’s obsessed with the sweet noises you make when he’s pumping you full of cum, the sight of you being utterly ruined on his thick cock, the way your eyes glaze over when he gives you too much and you can't do anything but take it like a good girl...

And when he’s not fucking you his thoughts are consumed with lewd images of you, and all the filthy things he wants to do to you. 

Doesn’t make a difference if he’s in a meeting or watching tv; he’s always craving you.

Which is exactly why, even though he’s sitting at his desk doing work, he can't pull his eyes away from your pretty thighs. It wasn’t your intention to distract him; you simply wandered into the room looking for the only stapler in your house, which is on Kai’s desk. But since the stapler won’t cooperate you have to stand there fidgeting with it in an attempt to fix the problem.

From his peripheral vision he notices the hem of your short skirt swaying here and there. His eyes immediately latch on to the movement. Fingers hovering over the keyboard of his computer, work is completely forgotten as he eyes the smooth skin disappearing beneath grey fabric and bites his lip. The deadline for the current project report is due in a few hours, it would be a bad idea to get distracted now…but then again…he can’t help the fact that his wife is so cute and desirable.

His hand reaches out, grazing the back of your thigh, sliding up along soft skin. The gentle pressure makes you jump, especially when you feel the cool metal of his wedding band.

“Oh!”, you relax once you realize it’s just your husband. “Kai, what are you doing?”

“Nothing?”, he replies innocently, as if he’s confused what you’re even talking about.

But the slow upturn of the corner of his mouth and his half lidded eyes suggest anything but innocence. Unaware of the indecent thoughts running through his mind you return your focus to the stupid stapler. However, the lust flooding Kai’s senses is only growing.

His hand trails a little higher, just enough so the tips of his fingers vanish beneath the hem of your skirt. Your struggle with the stapler falters. Goosebumps break out over your skin. The familiar silence of the room is now charged with something else, a faint buzzing that can't be ignored. The two of you haven't been married very long, but you've been together for some time now, and yet it always surprises you how sensitive you still are to his touch.

You quickly push your suspicion aside; maybe it’s not what you’re thinking. After all, it’s not uncommon for Kai to have his hands on you.

Kai fights a giggle. He knows you so well, the way you’re so naive and trusting, he can always tell what you’re thinking. As he toys with you, his mind wanders to your panties. The color you might be wearing, the style and fabric type...He loves guessing; maybe it's the pervert in him, it’s like a secret game he plays with himself. Even when he knows he shouldn't, he thinks about you and your underwear, mind forever lost in thoughts of you.

Pink, he decides. It’s your favorite and you have so many in this color, it’s always a safe bet.

His dick throbs at the thought of you in your underwear, wanting to fuck you so bad. In fact, it’s not a want, it’s a need. The need to fuck his pretty wife dumb is like his need for air, and sometimes just the thought of you has him straining in his pants.

His fingers creep up farther under your skirt and ever-so-slightly pull the skin of your thigh away from your core.

“Kai!”, your breath catches in your throat, realizing his true intentions.

He pouts teasingly, “What?”

“D-don’t you have a deadline or something?“

He scowls at that. The deadline is the last thing he wants to think about right now. He can't even bring himself to care when there's a more pressing matter to attend to.

“Shh, don’t worry your pretty head about that, honey. I’m focused on something much better right now.”

Before you can respond, Kai’s fingers brush your clothed pussy, and a bolt of hot lightning runs down your spine. It’s crazy how you never get used to his touch. You try to ignore him; ignore how he softly traces the most sensitive part of your body, how your stomach flutters at every caress.

Maybe he’ll get bored and go back to his work, you hope.

But kai could never get bored of you. His love for you is like a sickness, one that has no cure—not that he would even want a cure.

He observes you carefully, fascinated by the reactions he's coaxing from you, the way you think you’re hiding the effect he’s having on you, but Kai can see the slight trembling of your thighs and the pink spreading across your cheeks. His muscles tense as he resists the urge to fuck you already, because he knows if he goes to fast you might come to your senses and tell him to get back to work. He’s gonna have to get you whining and begging for him, and luckily, that’s something he enjoys doing (and is also very good at).

Slipping a finger beneath your panties, he curses under his breath at the wet warmth of your pussy. You thought you could resist but when you feel his finger directly on your folds you know you’re a goner. The stapler in your hands is worthless as you drop it on the desk with a gasp and rest your shaky hands on the wood. Kai takes his time with you as he spreads your slick along your folds, drawing out pathetic whines from you with every stroke. He slides his finger back and forth a few times before tracing agonizingly gentle circles around your fluttering hole.

When he finally slips a finger into your gummy walls you can’t stop the moan that escapes you. Your fingers curl, nails digging into the wood as you turn your face away from Kai. Cute, he marvels. It’s endearing to him how you still get embarrassed by your own moans.

The pad of his finger prods at the inside of your pussy, finger sinking in an out, knuckle dragging deliciously against your opening. Applying gentle pressure at first but increasing in intensity as he begins to pump his finger in and out.

“K-Kai…”, you whimper.

Smiling smugly, he inquires, “Something wrong, bub?”

You whine at the tone of his voice. You know he’s damn well aware of what he’s doing to you, he just loves teasing you. Especially when the trembling in your legs is getting more noticeable. You squirm against the pleasure, whining and biting your lip to prevent more moans from pouring out. "Don't", he urges, "you know I always wanna hear you".

"But-"

He cuts you off with a gentle, but stern, warning, "Don't force me to be mean, bub."

You whine a bit more, but ultimately concede with a surprised moan when his thumb brushes your clit.

Head clouded from the pleasure and barely able to keep yourself standing upright, your arms drop onto the table, and you lean all your weight forward so that you’re completely bent over Kai’s desk. The sight of his wife surrendering herself to him, putting herself totally at his mercy, ignites a rush of adrenaline through his veins. The high he gets as a result makes his dick strain painfully in his pants. He could probably cum just from this.

His breath hitches once he realizes your skirt has risen up, revealing the color of your panties.

Pink.

Getting the color of your underwear right always feels like a reward. He palms his dick over his pants to get some relief, while simultaneously increasing the speed of his finger in you. “Kai!”, you gasp for breath at the way his finger curls against your walls. “M-more..”

Hueningkai's heart swells in his chest whenever you say his name like that, breathless and calling for him like a lifeline. It's the sound that plays in his mind 24/7, a sweet melody meant only for his ears, because only he can do this to you; only he can make his wife feel so good.

"Yeah?", he rasps, voice thick with desire, "My baby needs more of me?"

Too embarrassed to speak, you nod meekly. He slides in another finger and as he ramps up the speed your jaw goes slack, leaving you unable to formulate a single word. Every nerve, tendon, and muscle in your legs is useless as the pressure builds and you completely slump over his desk, boobs flattened against the wood.

When the stickiness between your legs starts to drip down Kai's hand, he teases, “What a mess baby, dripping everywhere…” And he’s right, you are a mess, nothing but a puddle of bliss on his desk as he parts your walls over and over again. " 'm cumming!!" is all you manage to choke before your orgasm takes over you, knocking the air out of your lungs and leaving you breathless and heaving.

Once your orgasm subsides, you get up on shaky legs, but you grip the edge of the desk for support at what you see when you turn around. Kai is running his tongue up his hand, licking your juices off his fingers, groaning at the flavor cuz he's completely obsessed with the taste of his wife. You gulp and attempt to keep yourself steady, but he keeps his eyes on you while he cleans you off his fingers. Your knees buckle when he says, "mm, taste so good, honey".

He gets up from his chair, warm hands pulling you close, tight grip on your waist in case your legs give out. Your hands instantly tangle themselves in his shirt, clutching him for dear life to stay afloat in this feeling of absolute intoxication.

He cups your face with his clean hand, and leans in for a loving kiss, pressing his lips softly against yours. Breaking away only to come back harder. He tilts your head back to deepen the kiss, brushing his thumb softly over your cheek. He opens his mouth against yours, sucking the plump fat of your lips, running his tongue and teeth over the skin. You respond in kind, letting him devour your lips but also running your own tongue all over his mouth. The kiss quickly becomes wet and sloppy, driven by passion as you both consume each other.

The hand on your waist runs down your back, pressing you into him. His kisses are all tongue and saliva as he curves into you, always wanting more, more, more. You have to physically force him away to be able to catch your breath. Even then, he only gives a few centimeters, breathing you in while he watches you pant.

“My darling wife”, he whispers, his breath warm and moist against your cheek, “all mine”. The words would sound sweet to anyone else, but you know him like your own skin; you can hear the intensity in them, the silent threat that he’s going to devour you. It’s that threat, that promise, that sends heat coursing through your blood, leaving your tummy and fingertips tingly.

He sits you on the desk, easing you down so that you're laying on your back. Nimble fingers slip your panties down and off your legs, tossing them aimlessly, as he hurries to unbutton his jeans and push his underwear down just enough. You watch with eager eyes as he takes out his beautiful cock, so big and veiny you feel yourself salivating immediately.

"Your shirt", you mumble quietly, wanting to see more of your husband's perfect body. He smirks as he goes to grant your request, but the small reminder of your desire for him sends a shiver through his body, because he still can’t quite believe his luck, that this is his reality. The knowledge of it makes him dizzy.

"Eager for me, honey?" He drawls, voice slow and deliberate. One hand pumping his dick, the other finds the flimsy fabric of your skirt, flipping the material over your stomach with a flick of his wrist, and exposing your puffy, swollen pussy.

You inhale sharply, not so much from the cold air, but from your husband’s predatory gaze. The weight of his attention sinks into you, searing your sensitive skin as he eyes you like a delicacy made just for him. Your bottom lip quivers at his fervor, " 'c-course I am...always am for you. You know that.” At the sight of your sweet, devoted expression, eyes wide with adoration, his patience snaps. He can't wait anymore. He needs to feel you around him right now.

One hand on your hip, he aligns his tip with your hole, rubbing it a few times against your folds to get it nice and wet, before parting your walls in one long, slow thrust.

"Fuck, bub..." he sighs at how your pussy welcomes him, your body so willing and compliant for him. He goes slow, wanting to savor the moment, the heavenly feeling of your tight, hot pussy enveloping him, slick walls making way for him and pulling him deeper and deeper.

“Ah..! Kai—nng—too much!” Your mind reels at the feeling of being stuffed full of your husband's fat cock. But he barely gives you any time to adjust, pulling out half way and slamming back into you, stretching your poor pussy so good you’re wailing on his dick. Your arousal is out of control, sticky syrup coats him with every thrust, and you mewl helplessly at the way he splits you open.

He leans over your frame, one hand caging you in while the other skims over your skirt, finding your plush tits. A cloud of haze has fallen over him, wrapping around his brain, and his eyes, drowning out everything—except you. “My pretty wife”, he whispers, almost as if to himself, “Mine, all mine. Mine, mine, mine.” He punctuates each word with sharp thrusts, rocking your small frame. 

He kneads your breast like it’s his own personal stress toy. Roughly groping you, relishing in how you cry out for him, but never relenting. He pushes your shirt up and hastily unhooks your bra, lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He sucks your sensitive bud harshly, biting and nipping, a cruel eagerness that has you squealing and writhing below him. "Oh...shit, so cute….just wanna ruin you over and over again”. Kai’s hands and lips ravage your body, hips quickening their pace, ramming into you as his worship of your body increases in its desperation. He trails sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over you, slobbering like a dog, leaving your boobs red and shiny with his saliva. More profanities fall from his lips at your sweet noises of pleasure.

There’s something different about him right now, something foreign in his intensity…at least that’s what you tell yourself.

Deep down, you know it’s always been there. His love, his touch, has always been all-consuming. You never let yourself acknowledge it before, because you couldn't face the truth. Not that your husband has an unhealthy addiction to you, but that you can't help but be turned on by it. It’s so hot. 

“So perfect— god….” His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed. Kai’s usually very teasing and mischievous during sex, never this vehement. He knows it. He’s aware of it; of the cracks forming, his obsession— something he always tries to keep at bay— flooding out.

It’s getting harder and harder for you to stay afloat. You dig your nails into his shoulders, frantically trying to hold on to your sanity, but Kai has long since lost his. He’s unraveling completely. “Sweetheart", he groans against your neck, half delirious with desire, “my sweet angel...what are you doing to me?”

You whine at his sudden declaration, unable to stop the room from spinning around you.  "nnng- ah!" His dick pounds into you so perfectly, slamming into your sweet spot with every thrust. You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting to feel him even deeper. 

“Oh god oh god!” You cry out. It seems as though your husband wants you to lose your mind, just like he’s losing his. Because he’s not holding anything back. His dick pounds into you unforgivingly, stretching your little cunt beyond what it can take. The nasty squelching noises only fueling his desperate chase for release. If he keeps going like this you’re not gonna last very long.

His hand slides up your arm, removing your hand from his shoulder and bringing it to rest above your head. His wedding ring presses into your fingers, and it brings your attention to your own wedding ring pressing into his shoulder— a reminder of your vows to each other. That you're bound to each other.

Your eyes meet his as if you both had the same thought.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and in this moment, that has never felt truer. Kai's chocolate brown eyes seem to engulf you, silently communicating what words can’t. The intensity within them sets your skin on fire. Earlier, he asked you what you’re doing to him…but does he realize what he's doing to you?

In a moment of shyness you look away, but he grabs your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. His grip is gentle but firm, never letting you look away, wanting you to see his every emotion as he makes a mess of the both of you. He wants you to feel his love, his infatuation. Wanting you to see just what you do to him. “Hyuka”, you whimper, overwhelmed at all the sensations he’s giving you— the way he utterly loses himself in you. He forces you to bear witness to how you're undoing him.

“You belong to me”, he rasps, voice heavy with love and desire. His eyes never waver from yours.

You make a choked noise of confusion, hardly able to process anything over your approaching orgasm.

“Say it", he groans, urgently, "say you're mine!"

“I’m yours!” You gasp. 

At that, Kai's hands tighten around yours, knuckles white as his hips stutter against yours. A few erratic thrusts and he deposits his cum deep into your pussy with a loud, broken grunt. His whole body shudders against you, eyes shut tight and face buried in your neck. Your own orgasm hits you like a tsunami, wave after wave pulling you under, drowning you in his love, in his obsession. “Fuck”, he moans at how you tremble beneath him, and the way your pussy clenches around his dick, milking him dry.

He collapses against you, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity. Quiet, except for the sounds of panting, as you both try to catch your breath. Even once you’ve calmed down, you stay fixed in place, both stunned and anchored in the moment, not wanting to face what just happened as the haze starts to lift.

The minutes stretch, and you finally feel him shift against you, slowly, almost reluctantly. His hair, damp with sweat, skims your neck and jaw as his face comes up to look at yours. “You alright, bub?” he asks gently, his voice a contrast to the intense desperation it held just minutes ago. The second his eyes meet yours, heat sparks under your skin, and you clench around him involuntarily. His eyes flutter at the feeling, momentarily caught off guard. When he meets your eyes again your blushing and biting your lip, suddenly shy and embarrassed. God, you just had him all to yourself, don’t you have any self control?, you mentally scold yourself. Maybe you’re just as badly obsessed as your husband.

Kai sees the wheels churning in your pretty little head and chuckles at your cuteness. “Only you could be so shy and cute after such intense sex…” He plants a kiss on your lips, lingering a bit, before pulling away and repeating, “But seriously, bub, you alright? I wasn’t too much? ‘Cuz I know I kinda went a little crazy there…”

“I mean, i-it was a bit too much”, you mumble, “b-but I liked it!”

He huffs, grinning at his adorable wife, heart swelling with pride and cockiness, and a little something else too…but he quickly gets rid of the thought. You’ve had enough for today. He slowly drags his dick out of your soaked pussy, hissing at the feeling. After tucking himself back into his jeans he picks you up bridal style, taking you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up, murmuring softly about how well you did, and how good you are to him. 

——

Taglist: @beomgyusluver

[yapperingtinaa]

A box of Gemstones.

Your old Hunter's Watch.

And poor clueless Mephisto.

Three objects placed in the middle of the room, atop a wide red blanket. Three objects with each of its own meaning. And three objects awaiting to be chosen by your innocently curious one-year-old daughter.

"You do realize even if she picks one of these, it doesn't mean it'll eventually determine her future, no?" Sylus mused, eyeing you sitting on the floor across the room from where he sat, his gaze softened at the sight his baby daughter giggling and jumping excitedly in your lap. "Who knows this might end up jinxing us and our daughter became a future Evol Police instead."

"Oh shush you party-pooper." You jested playfully with an eye roll, cooing at your baby daughter sweetly, earning an adorable squeal from the toddler. "There's no harm in indulging in old traditions you know. Even the twins think so too."

As if on cue, both Luke and Kieran whooped in excitement from the living room couch. Both betting which their Mini Boss would choose amongst the three objects on the floor.

"Mini Boss might become a badass hunter like Boss Lady, I bet my life on it she'll pick the Hunter's Watch!"

"Nu-uh! Mini Boss is a baby prodigy! My gut tells me she'd be an awesome engineer by picking good ol' Mephie!"

"And the Gemstones?" Sylus questioned, glancing at the twins with raised eyebrows. "I'm guessing it'll mean she'll succeed my place in Onychinus?"

"Bingo!"

"Right on, Bossman!"

Sylus shook his head with an amused smile, shooting you a look that read 'you believe in this?'

You let out a hearty laugh, shrugging nonchalantly as you gave your baby daughter one last squeezing hug before slowly placing her in front of the three objects.

Despite his neutral expression, Sylus waited with bated breath as his daughter slowly inched forward towards the three objects. His little daughter's eyes shine with an innocent twinkle, her small body crawling forward and for a moment, time still around them.

This tradition, the Zhuazhou ceremony, it shouldn't be this nerve-wracking as Sylus should've expect. But he'd be lying if he wasn't both curious and scared for the future of his precious daughter.

There's no doubt Sylus will support his daughter through whatever she wants for as long as she grows up. Even if one day they might argue on certain value, beliefs and whatnot. But by God, Sylus prayed it would never have to take a turn for the worse where the father and daughter end up against one another.

The thought of that kind of future would filled him with nothing but pure dread.

Multiple surprise gasps pulled Sylus out of his muddle thoughts as he was just in time to see his little daughter pushing the three objects away (whereas a relieved Mephisto flew away in an instant) and crawled towards him.

"Pa! Pa!" His daughter beamed brightly, reaching her chubby arms out to her stunned father. Her giggles echoing through the sudden quiet atmosphere and Sylus instantly picked her up into his arms, his heart swelled with affection when his baby daughter nestled into the warmth of his hold.

Luke and Kieran didn't even have it in themselves to feel disappointed when their Mini Boss didn't pick their chosen items. The heartwarming sight of their fearsome leader becoming such a gentle soul around his daughter made them hold back their tears - It was one of those rare moments where they got to witness their Bossman look so vulnerable, so loving and so.. human.

And it was a moment both of them silently agreed not to ruin, especially for you as the twins watched you quietly tiptoed across the room to sit beside Sylus.

"Looks like our Little Dove can't choose a future without her papa in it." Sylus finally tore his gaze from his daughter at the sound of your voice just as you laid your head on his shoulder. You smiled softly up at the awestruck daze in Sylus's eyes, your finger playfully yet gently poked his cheek. "Now you have one less thing to worry about, my dear."

Sylus blinked in surprise, before letting out a small shaky chuckle. One arm holding his snuggling little daughter while the other arm wrapped around your waist - pulling both you and his daughter closer into his embrace.

"Yeah.. I suppose so." Sylus murmured quietly, a tender smile graced his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss on his little daughter's forehead and then another kiss on your cheek, laughing softly as two of his beloved treasures returned the gesture of the affection tenfold, happy laughter and cheers reverberated in the cozy living room.

Whatever the future may hold, for now, the present moment should be savored more than dwelling on uncertainty.

And at that moment for Sylus, it is what he needed the most.

[bigwishes]

Big's Perma Bulk!

(Community Requested Story, about me perma bulking) What's good bros! It's your favourite wish granting genie here to go on my own transformation journey. Normally I send this kind of thing off to another writer but a lot of you wanted me to be transformation using my own Genie gifts so I've waved my hands and started it off.

I made sure to completely forget about what you guys wanted for me to make it even more surprising but considering all you lot drool at a bicep vein I think I'm in good hands.

After waking up I definitely didn't have anything to worry about. I knew all of you just wanted me to become some big sweaty himbo. Just take a look.

Big arms, thick thighs and a solid chest. I won't lie if I were to make a choice I would of ended up so much bigger than this but hey, it's what you all wanted to I guess I gotta get used to being a himbo stud.

Woah...I guess day two was a little different. I'm a lot bigger ladz so cheers for that but damn, some of this definition is starting to fade. It looks like I'm sliding more to the tank side of the spectrum that the stud side. I'm pretty sure if I move wrong this tank is gonna split in too and my fucking stomach won't stop rumbling, every time I walk in my kitchen I down half a box of cereal, fuck, I should probably take a couple sandwiches back to my desk before I load up some games with the boys.

'BUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPP'

aw fuck, sorry about that ladz but damn. I woke up this morning and my stomach feels so tight, it feels like my abs are about to split in half. My shorts are so tight around my ass.

Damn what the fuck did you guys wish to happen to me? A slab of muscle instead of abs is one thing but fuck my gut is so bloated, ah man

'UURRRRRRRRRRPP!!!'

whoops, sorry dudes, fuck this is so tight but I still feel hungry, maybe a protein shake and a bowl of rice wont gut, surely this can't get any tighter.

ahhh fuck what time is it? 3am?? why the fuck am I so hungry. I didn't even know it was possible to feel hungry and bloated at the same-

BUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPP

ah man, what do I have in the fridge, mmmmm half a pizza, well I'm sure a couple of slices won't hurt. I hit the gym pretty hard today, its probably my body wanting to fuel up. mmm yeah just 3 maybe 6 slices and I'll be good for the night, probably best to turn the light switch on so I don't make a mess...

w--what the fuck happened to me! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I'M SO FUCKING BULKY, OH FUCK

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPP

DAMN....fuck well....at least it doesn't jiggle, probably just bloated from how much I've been eating recently, who knew having such big muscles would make me so hungry all the time...

hmmm, I probably shouldn't leave just 3 slices of pizza in the fridge on their, own, that's not even a snack, 9 slices is alright at this time of night yeah?

On the bright side, my muscles have continued to blow up to freakish size, my bicep is bigger than most dude's heads. On the other hand....I can't shift this tank around my mid section. I've been trying to eat less to get my abs back but fuck I can't help it, my stomach growls and I gotta eat enough to feed at least 3 people or else it feels like my stomach is gonna eat itself. It's okay, Ill just cut when summer rolls around, use this time to grow as big as I can, bet my abs will look fucking insane in a few months/

Guess the bright side is I can order that nice chocolate cake with my pizza tonight...I'm pretty sure it's cheat night tonight, or was it last night? hmm, no yeah it is definitely tonight?

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP

ah fuck, wh- UUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP

what happened - uurp - to me?

a few *hic* days ago I was a lean mean lifting machine

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPPP

and now...fuck *hic* uuurp- I'm a big, bulky brute

fuu-UUUUUUUURPPPP-ck, my gut is so tight, moving feels like a chore....I'm so fuckin stuffed and hungry at the same time. Who knew my fans would want me to blow up into a 300lsb bulky beast...

damn...I need a shower but, I could really go for a double cheese burger and a snickers protein thick shake, I'm sure it can wait -uuurrpp- maybe I should grab a couple protein bars for the road..

BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPP!!!!

I can still feel the spell under my skin, I wonder how much bigger these guys will make me, or what else they'll do...

[authorhjk1]

Read the one on how each snsd member would react to a big cock. Can you write one for Red Velvet?

Irene

Irene bites her lip as you take off your underwear. She is kneeling in front of you, hands on your thighs. When you told her you had a big cock, she gave you an amused chuckle.

"Guys always say that."

But now she is silently starring at your dick for a couple of seconds, before looking up at you.

"Oh, wow."

Irene moves a little closer to kiss your tip as she wraps one of her hands around your base. Then she positions herself right underneath it, basically letting your cock rest on her face.

"You weren't exaggerating. You're huge."

Before you can respond, Irene moves back a little and then wraps her lips around your tip. Her other hand joins the first. The sight alone has you completely hard. Irene kneeling in front of you, both her hands holding your cock while she tries to fit it into her mouth.

Seulgi

The look on Seulgi's face is priceless. After you ate her out, she wanted to return the favor, so she moved to the end of the bed and let her head hang off the edge. Now she's starring up at your cock in disbelief, eyes wide open.

"H-Hold on a minute. That can't be right."

She reaches upward, placing her hand flat on your abdomen. Her eyes grow even wider when she sees your cock right next to her forearm.

"You want to fuck my face with this? Do you want me to pass out?"

"Why not?"

You chuckle, trying to make a joke.

Seulgi looks up at you. Then she focuses on your cock and them on your face again. As if she can't decide what to do next.

"A-Alright then. But go slow at first."

Seulgi opens her mouth, waiting for you to feed her your cock.

Wendy

Your third date with Wendy went really well. You took her out to dinner and a walk in the park afterwards. Now she's lying in your arms as the two of you make out in your living room.

"I want you."

Wendy whispers between kisses.

But your excitement doesn't last long.

"I'm not safe though."

And you didn't buy condoms. Because you never thought you'd have a chance to sleep with Wendy this early on.

"I guess there's only one thing we can do."

Wendy's suggestion makes you hesitate, but when she stands up to remove her clothes, you can't say no.

"Have you tried this before?"

"I have."

She moves to undo your pants as she straddles you.

"Anal is so much better than normal sex anyway."

Her words make your blood rush to your cock. And when she finally takes it out, you see her eyes growing wide.

"Oh my god."

She wraps a hand around your cock.

"I've never tried it with something this big before though."

"Is that okay?"

You asked, hoping that it's not a deal breaker.

To your relief, Wendy nods.

"It's gonna take a while for me to take all of it. But damn, it looks like it's gonna be amazing."

Joy

Time seems to have come to a hold. You don't know how long you and Joy are already standing in the bathroom without moving. Judging by the phone in her hand, she must've walked into the men's room by accident while looking at it.

Now her eyes are glued to your cock, her mouth wide open. She seems to be unable to form words, her mind blank while she's staring at your cock.

"Oh my god."

She finally whispers in disbelief.

To your surprise, Joy takes a step closer.

"C-Can I touch it?"

You expected her to apologize and leave. You always dreamed about sleeping with Joy. But if that is what is going to happen now, it's already surpassing all of your expectations.

"You're so big..."

She whispers, almost talking to herself. You groan when she lets het fingers dance along your length.

"Y-You can stroke it, if you want."

You try to sound nonchalant, but you doubt she missed your excitement.

"I-I shouldn't. I have a boyfriend."

But she's still staring at your cock, not even attempting to leave.

"He doesn't have to know."

You know you're pushing your luck, but this is a once in a life time opportunity.

Joy lets out a shakey breath when she tries to wrap her hand around your base.

"He is gonna know. If you fuck me with this, I'm never gonna feel his dick again."

You know she's exaggerating, but just the thought of ruining her pussy makes you even harder.

Yeri

Because the flu is going around among the SM employees, Yeri offered to help out with dance practice for the trainees. When she walked into the practice room this morning, her eyes immediately clung to you. Being taller than average, you always stuck out a little, but when Yeri stood right in front of you, she noticed how she barely even reached your chest. The hight difference made her think about things she shouldn't think about. Especially since you're just a trainee. But Yeri couldn't help herself. While one side of her brain focused on teaching, the other side dreamed of you throwing her around in the bedroom.

But she wasn't the only one thinking about your height difference. You too couldn't stop imagining yourself carrying Yeri around the practice room while making her bounce on your cock. After daydreaming for too long, you could feel how you were slowly hardening underneath your sweatpants.

When Yeri glanced at your crotch at one point, dreaming about how big you are, she noticed your bulge. She started to stutter while she was speaking, her eyes glued to your clothed cock. When she finally stopped talking, she looked up at you again. Your eyes met and for a second, you could see how shame and embarrassment coloured her cheeks. But she must have noticed the same look in your eyes as the one she has right now too. The look of pure lust.

Yeri bites her lip. Slowly. Almost like a signal. A silent message, telling you that you'll be getting lucky today.

[bunny-jpeg]

sinful sentences (seven)

max verstappen - "i don't think you've had enough already."

tags: smut/pwp, mad!max, crybaby!reader, norris!reader, lying & manipulation, drinking/intoxication, dubious consent, unprotected sex, dark themes, this fic is insane don't look at me, doggy style, baby trapping/breeding kink

sinful sentences catalogue

hunger. that was all max could think of when he saw you. he knew that lando norris had a sister, he had even seen photos of you while scrolling aimlessly throughout instagram. but in the photos with your brother, you were often in baggier clothes. while they were trendy pieces, you liked hiding your figure rather than showing it off. so imagine the surprise that max had when during a sunny weekend at silverstone, there was you in a lovely sundress.

who would've thought you'd make mclaren orange look good. but when he saw you in that colour, he wasn't thinking of mclaren. he was thinking of home, thinking of himself.

and whatever higher power was out there happened to put you right where he needed you.

partying after a dizzying weekend felt good. and you were at the same bar he was at, without your brother however. he noticed you were with some other women, but you stayed behind once they left for their ubers. you were happy to be there, even as you got a little more wobbly as the night progressed. max watched you from his seat, you were too drunk to catch him staring. you weren't in that sundress anymore, but max couldn't help but still eye you.

and then like a siren's call, he was pulled from his seat and into the empty one next to you. you looked up from your phone and looked at him and jumped a little. there was a certain haziness in your eyes as you tried to process.

"max verstappen? what are you doing here?" then broke into a big, silly (drunk) grin before you put your phone down and had another sip of your rather strong cocktail.

"enjoying the night before the next flight to the next race. what are you doing here still?"

you finished the drink, "i was with my friends, but they left early. i was supposed to be picked up by lando... but i think he's either asleep or with that girl he's been into. some model, don't know her." you replied as you looked at your phone that you left on the shiny wood of the bar.

"a brother shouldn't leave his sister all alone at a place like this. someone could hurt you, and that would be on lando's head." he placed a hand over top of yours and said, "i guess i'll just have to look after you tonight." he smiled softly, the kind of smile that pulled drunk you in.

you giggled and tried to pull your hand away, "i can look after myself, max." but he tightened his grip on your hand on the bar, "after all, lando is your top rival right now." you tried to sound a little cheeky.

"then let me buy you another drink. i don't think you've had enough already." he said with what you thought was humor in his tone, but as the bartender made another sweet alcoholic drink, max had other intentions with you.

you ended up in max's car after one drink became two. you weren't paying attention when max asked for the drinks to have two shots in them instead of one. so sugar plus four shots of vodka in your already drunk system made you one tipsy little angel. by then you were a little more agreeable to max's offer of protection.

you wobbled a little more and clung to the front of max's t-shirt. you pressed your nose into the fabric of it and gave it a deep inhale. then giggled, "you smell good."

max held you by the back and guided you towards his car, "well, i can't be smelling bad, can i?"

you looked at him and pouted, "nuh-uh." then rubbed your soft cheek up against the softer fabric and exhaled deeply. except that exhale sounded a little like a moan and max felt his cock twitch in his jeans. you were just perfect, huh? max loved it, he loved the feeling of you up against him. it was hard to depart when he had to get you into the car.

and by the time he was in the driver's seat, you were looking at him with a frown and tears in your ears. max raised his eyebrows at you and you sniffled pathetically, "i thought you weren't coming back." and max near had to bite his fist to keep it together. holy fuck.

he reached over and cupped your face and wiped your tears with his thumbs, "aw, don't cry. don't cry. i'll make it all better." he said with a hint of love in his tone. but he wouldn't call the feelings for you loving. rather he carnally needed you. the way a hawk needed a rabbit. or a wolf craved the flesh of a deer. he tested the waters by kissing you and when you didn't recoil. he knew he had you.

it was only a matter of time before he had you in his hotel room. the skirt of your dress was pushed up and you were barely focused enough to get your heels off. when you bent over, you were uneasy as you tried to get the straps undone and max was rubbing up against your slightly exposed ass like a hungry animal.

"i should text my brother." you said.

"after, after." he wrapped a strong arm around you, "like you said, he is either asleep or busy. you don't want to bother him do you?" when he could, he kissed behind your ear and then said softly, "plus, i can protect you better. i won't leave you out to dry." his grip on you tightened, "you'll be good for me tonight, right?"

you asked, "what are you going to do to me?" your voice was uneasy.

"if your brother wants to take my title. then i guess i'm just going to have to take his sister." he felt you hold onto his arms around you and he kissed you warm, sweet flesh once more.

it was dizzying getting into max's bed. his large hands on you. you didn't realize how large they were until he slid one up the skirt of your dress and grope your ass. basically the whole cheek in his grasp as he pressed himself up against you. you both in bed together, his lips on yours as he slowly got your panties off. your brain was too muddled with liquor to properly consent, but you knew the feeling was electric.

all rationale was out of the window once he tossed the cotton panties over his shoulder then worked the dress off of you, it ended up around your waist. he then bit at your breasts through your bra. he said to you with a heated tone, "fat tits." he rubbed his clothed cock up against your bare thigh, "see, i know how to take care of you. bad, bad men out there." but not him, never him. even as he groped you until you whined.

"bad men?"

"yeah. those who wouldn't treat a woman like you correctly. take advantage of you." he said as he took the dress off of you fully off from around your hips. and it ended up on the floor. his hands were back on your breasts, "men who are more animal than human. monsters." he peppered kisses across your tits and rubbed against you further, "i'll take care of you. protect you. no one else can have you."

you were trapped under him but as he toyed with your clit, the thoughts couldn't fully form. the consent of all of this felt complicated, but as he teased you, your body seemed to submit to the dutchman. you couldn't tell that his obsession for you grew deeper as he bit heavy bruises onto your chest.

"do you think i can keep you safe? protect you, keep you safe from all those monsters." he rubbed his cock up against you for a moment long before he stripped out of his clothes, "i want to hear you say it." then pressed a hand around your throat, "tell me, i'm the best."

you looked at him with wide eyes for a moment and when he loosened the grip you said, "you're the best, max." your tone wavered due to the liquor in your system, "are you going to use protection?"

max just smiled after he got his shirt off. the kind of smile that made front pages, a winner's smile. he patted your cheek a little rougher and said, "of course. i said i'd take care of you, no? can't have little norris' running around." little verstappens were a different story though. the rustle of his belt and the zip of his jeans. he stripped of his clothes.

he got you onto your stomach and raised your hips to be leveled with his erect cock.

"condom?" you squeaked.

he looked at your wet cunt for a moment and replied, "already on." a bold faced lie as he sank into you, completely unprotected. call it a sick obsession, call it a need for claim. a small voice in max's head told him to back out now, before he got in too deep. but it was overshadowed by the larger urge to keep going. to bruise your poor little cervix with his cock, to finish right up into your womb and make sure it all took.

you were so out of it, your noises loud as he fucked you. his pace was quick and his movements were fluid. you felt like heaven, just as he expected. your cunt seemed to pull him in deeper. even in your inebriated state, your body knew what it wanted. five-eleven blond dutch driver with a cock that could ruin you.

his movements felt good to you, your noises weren't restrained thanks to high blood alcohol level you had. he took you from behind and made sure that your head was pressed into the covers. just in case you found out max's little white lie. he held you down by the back of your neck with his other hand on your hip. he pressed into you, as deep as he'd go.

his cock hit all the right places, slammed against your sweet spot that made you sputter out a sweet moan. you felt almost degraded, that he fucked you like an animal. on you knees he rammed into you and it left your brain feeling dizzy. the pleasure and the burn of liquor left your head cloudy and your words jumbled.

he was fucking you, as filth poured from his mouth. you could find little to react with. his breath hot against your warmed skin as he thrusted in and out of you. you couldn't process what he was saying, but the word pregnancy made your cunt clench at instinct. that only made him chuckle as he kept moving. you prayed that the condom would protect any mishaps.

when he spoke dutch to you, the confusion only grew. you didn't know a lick of the language. you learned french and italian, not dutch. so max's words went over your head, "you drive me crazy, little rabbit. the way you look, the way you move around the paddock. your stupid brother made a big mistake not picking you up tonight. letting me have you all to myself. maybe i'll send him a bottle of something expensive when i get his sister knocked up. how does that sound? out of mclaren orange and into proper dutch orange. would be fitting because when i'm done with you, you'll be at least nine percent dutch with how much i'll finish inside of you." his mouth ran and he sounded insane.

you sniffled as the flood of emotion made you cry a little. and max only shuddered from the feeling. he kissed your cheek as he rocked into you. you whimpered as you felt his cock just invade every inch of you. he fit perfectly, didn't stretch you too much that it would make you cry more. he fit in a way that made it hard to focus on much else. hence why your little cry-baby self was brought to tears from the feeling. when max asked what was wrong, you replied, "what are you saying to me?"

"nothing to worry about." he said, "you felt so good that i got my languages mixed up." he knew you didn't know the language, so it allowed him to speak more freely. his want for you. his intentions with your sweet body. he kissed your pulse point as leaned into you further. bodies flushed together like two halves of a whole. "you'll never need to worry about anything again." his words like a promise as he continued to fuck you.

"no more dutch." you whined drunkenly, "not fair!"

he let go of your neck and kissed you on the lips with your cheek against the pillow. the kiss was at an awkward angle, but it established dominance in a certain way. you were under him, taking his pleasure after he basically poured liquor down your throat.

he was mad for you. insane in a way that would shock most. max was a nice guy off the track. but tonight was fucking a fellow driver's sister raw. bad behavior, verstappen. that could land him a slap on the wrist! more community service for flooding your cunt with his cum. a penalty for getting you drunk. hell, even disqualification for touching what wasn't his. he should know better, but with a cunt like yours, the fia could throw the book at him! lando norris could choke his lights out, but that wouldn't make you un-pregnant. and max wasn't letting you raise the next best without him.

the pace quickened. his want for you grew with each heavy thrust. he could taste the pleasure like blood in his mouth. while he couldn't spew out filth, he thought about it as the sounds of your fucking filled the room. the scent and heat of sex was apparent as he ruined your sweet cunt.

a good pussy for him, keep his satisfied. he licked his lips as he kissed your back once more as his pace staggered. his want was apparent and his climax was near. you choked out more moans and even let out a few more tears. he shushed you and said, "don't cry, don't cry. doesn't it feel good? see, this is what being protected feels like. to be taken care of. am i the best?"

you nodded, "yes, max." your cheeks stung with heat and you could feel the twist in his stomach. you swallowed and asked, "is the condom on right?"

"it's on perfectly, now stop worrying." he thrusted all the way in and held his cock pressed up against your cervix for a moment. the pressure made you moan and your mind go blank for a moment. someone like you shouldn't be asking so many questions, it wasn't an endearing quality.

pleasure became all consuming quickly. your pussy could only take so much before you clutched onto the hotel sheets and arched your back as much as you could. your slick cunt held onto his cock, like it knew what it wanted and climaxed around him.

"that's it." he cooed, "perfect." his words were more intoxicating than the liquor. you felt in a haze as he continued to fuck you. you stopped asking about the condom so he let go of your neck and held onto your hips with both hands.

he moved quickly, he moved with a fever in his blood. and he tensed up for a moment before he relaxed as he finished inside of you. the damage was done and whatever happened next he'd stand by you. bright smile on his face and a protective hand on your swollen middle.

just as you should be. knocked up and tied to max in every way he could get you.

he got you onto your back with his cock only out of you for a second. but you weren't focusing on anything. your eyes were hazy and completely unfocused. perfect for him to sink back in, another round for extra measure.

-

the thing about hunger is that it always returned. and despite a night of unprotected passion with you, max wanted more. he wanted to feel the tight wetness of your cunt. so when you were shown tickets to the next race, you were more than happy to go see your brother.

and while max smiled when you said that, he only cupped your cheek and tapped your face gently with your thumb. soon enough, he thought, you'd be cheering him on in redbull's colours with a firmer slope in your middle. maybe it didn't work in silverstone, but there was more than enough season left to fully claim lando norris' sister. because once the hunger set in, max wanted nothing more than to keep sinking his teeth into your soft skin.

marked, claimed and owned by max verstappen. <3

[rivalswrites]

Valentine's Day special 3/4

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

Summery: giving everyone on the Marvel Rivals roster a kiss (with plot!!)

Valentine's Masterlist

Underage characters and animal characters will be platonic (there will be a reminder for each one)

Characters involved: Mister Fantastic, MoonKnight, Namor, Peni Parker (platonic), Psylock, Rocket Raccoon (platonic), Scarlet Witch, Spider-Man, Squirrel Girl

Reed sighed and leaned back into his chair, resting his head on his hand that in turn sat on his brow- he looked hot like that, but that feeling lessened knowing that he was so stressed. New York's infestation of vampires had Reed pushing himself to his limit to find solutions to help not only that, but every other problem as well. Too much for one man to take on all alone.

“You look so tired, Reed, take a break?” You asked, though you both knew it was going to end up as an order if he didn't listen on his own terms. “In a moment, dearest, I just need a bit more time.” more time- he's said that a thousand times, you scoff.

“Reed Nathaniel Richards if you don't swivel that chair away from work right now I swear to whatever God may listen-” “alright!” He cuts you off before you could finish your threat. He knew from experience you'd never give up, and at times like these he didn't want or need something like that. “Alright” he repeated, swirling his chair around to look at you.

His eyes were tired, you could tell- anyone could've. Reed’s arms reached out to you, stretching inhumanly to grab onto your shirt “don't get mad at me.” he whispered, his hands gripping onto you tightly.

“I'm not, sweetheart, I just want you to take care of yourself.” your hands rested on his own that were on your shirt as you walked over to him, watching as his arms slowly retracted back to a more natural form. He let you move as you pleased, him in tow, let you sit down on his lap and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Doing so much.”

The lab was quiet as you both sat on the chair, his head just barely staying up as your hands played with his hair- and practically held his head up; his hands still gripping your shirt. “So tired” you comment, watching as his eyes slowly blink, like he was high, you giggle as you think.

Reed whispered something, but it was so unintelligible that no one could hear- even with super hearing.

Leaning down you pressed a kiss to his lips, holding it for a little before pulling back- his face pushed against your hands to follow when you did. “Let's get you to bed, yeah?” feeling him nod in your hands you stood up, bending to kiss him again before helping him up.

It was a rough night, no one felt like being inside and so there they were- standing on a balcony with an iron grip on the railings. God only knew which one they were right now, they were all active. It was so loud, and the moonlight wasn't able to help, not this time.

“Marc?” was called out behind them, from the door of the building, but they didn't move. “Steven?” was called out again, and again there was silence in return. “C'mon, don't make me guess them all…” the door shut as you stepped onto the balcony.

“I'm not anyone” he finally replied, turning his face away to avoid looking at yours. He flinched when your hand rested on top of his. “Someone's gotta be there,” you replied, grabbing onto his arm to snuggle into “it's alright. I don't have to know, I love you all either way.”

Your reply shouldn't have been surprising, they all knew you did, always so sweet to them. With a sigh he turned his head back to being straight, looking down at the pavement from what was like fifty stories, no one ever counted. A guttural sound left him as he attempted to talk back, but he just couldn't even when he tried to force himself. He continues to try until you start shushing him, patting his back and leaning him into you.

“Don't force yourself, it's alright” the reassurance was something he needed, that they needed. It was so small and yet there it was, a butterfly feeling deep in his stomach.

His suit was still on, including the mask, but that didn't stop him from doing whatever he wanted. Quickly he turned and grabbed your shoulders, looking at your wide eyes that looked at him in return. It was an intense staring competition for awhile, unfair as well because you couldn't see his eyes so who knew if he was blinking the whole time and cheating.

Before you could voice your complaints he pulled you close to him, leaning his head down. His mask pressed against your face, all over it. He'd pull back and then press the jagged face mask over a different part of your face. “Butterflies” he said quietly before pressing his mask against your lips in an uncomfortable final kiss.

“My dear, how are you feeling?” He asked, peaking around the door of the bedroom to get a glance in. It was late in the evening, and you had stayed in bed almost all day.

The simple reply of a groan and turning around in the bed was what he got back, which did concern him more. Throughout the day worry had built up, and seeing your reaction to being asked how you felt only raised the concern.

He walked into the room fully, closing the door behind him, and went to go sit on the bed. The look he gave you was full of some sort of guilt- probably for not coming to check up on you later. “Is something ailing you my dear? Please talk to me.” He murmured, reaching over to grab onto your hand with a soft grip.

“I'm fine” you whispered back, scooching around the bed before turning back to him. “Just so tired today.”

“Ah, I understand” he sat and thought, unconsciously bringing your hand up and pressing it against his lips; not putting it down or letting it go, just keeping it on his lips. “You could have called me, I could have helped earlier.” The moonlight highlighted on his face, showing the worry etched into it.

“Sorry.” Your reply only made his face give off a small scowl, slightly reprimanding you, “do not apologize, I know it's hard.”

“How can I help?” Finally, Namor lowered your hand from his face, giving your forearm a rest. He still kept your hand in his and even intertwined your fingers with his. “I'll do anything to help get you better, even just for a moment.” He practically proclaimed his love, tightening his grip on your hand.

You didn't respond, at least not verbally, motioning him down with your free hand to which he obeyed. Namor laid down next to you, resting his hand along with yours down in between you two, “anything” he whispers while staring at your eyes with all the admiration in the world.

Before he could get the chance to ask once more, you practically jumped him, using your free hand to wrap around his shoulder as you leaned on his upper body, surprising him with a passionate kiss. He could feel the sorrow you carried, and when he said anything- he meant it.

“If you wanted my affections, darling…” Namor took a deep breath when you just barely pulled away, continuing his sentence between slow kisses, “you could have asked. I'd never-” he paused to kiss you deeper for a moment “-I’d never refuse you.”

(platonic)

The laboratory was practically empty, which made sense due to just how late it was, but that didn't stop you from working away. SP//DR hung in front of you, being held up gently by chains to help with easier access to the full body.

Peni sat on the floor, leaning under one of the desks with blankets and pillows around her. She had made her own makeshift bed there after insisting on her watching you to fix any damages done to her beloved robot- which you didn't fight, figuring her connection to said robot was too deep to be able to.

“How does it look? Will SP//DR be okay?” She pipes up, breaking the silence with her worried questions. “Of course, SP//DR is very strong. Just some scratches and maybe a wire or two exposed, nothing I can't fix.” You swivel your chair around to offer her a reassuring smile, knocking gently against the robot's torso as an example.

She nodded, keeping hold of her pillow as she climbed out from underneath her desk spot and standing closer to watch you work. You moved your chair back around and continued to work, smoldering the metal plates to clean up any of the scratches and indents. Her stare was prominent, practically all over your shoulder to watch as her dear robot was fixed brand new.

“You should go back to resting” you said, setting down the tools in your hands and turning your head to look at her. “It's late, a kid like you needs sleep.”

“I just can't help but worry, SP//DR is all I have left of my dad…” she replied, giving herself permission to start leaning on your shoulders with all her weight. “And you won't lose it, not today.” Your statement brought comfort to her, a warmth she hasn't felt in a while spreading through her- a warmth that felt like a home.

The feeling only doubled when you pressed a kiss onto her cheek, smiling at her before going back to work. She couldn't help but smile, wrapping her arms around your neck into a tight hug before letting go and taking your advice- resting under the desk in her little makeshift bed, listening to the soft sounds of you working away as white noise.

“I'm not sure how you plan on meditating like that” she observed, watching as you threw pillows off the couch and onto the floor. “Easy! You said I have to be comfortable, right?” You smiled at her as you worked vigorously to make the floor a giant nest of blankets and pillows, “I'm doing just that.”

Your explanation was about what she should've expected from you, and by no means was she mad- it was just something she's never seen before, usually meditation made people want a clear space. She sat down on the couch and watched as you worked silently.

Not even five minutes later you were tugging at her hand, trying to get her to stand up. “What are you doing?” She looked up at you as you tugged on her arm. “I need the finishing touch.” You replied, tugging on her arm. Believing she was sitting on whatever you needed she graciously stood up and looked down at the couch to see what it was, but there was nothing here.

Before she could even question what the ‘finishing touch’ was, you tugged on her arm again, this time taking her with you as you sat down on the nest you had made. “Perfect” you muttered while pulling her into your arms, making her rest on your side.

The two of you sat in silence, her head resting on your lap while you played with her hair. You had pulled her down to lay on you soon after the two of you sat down, and she's just been laying there since- processing what was going on. When she did eventually get it through her head she turned to look up at you.

“This is not at all about meditation” she said, narrowing her eyes up at you. “You caught me” you smiled down at her, resting your hand on her cheeks and squishing them to make duck lips. “I do not enjoy being tricked” she murmured out through her plump lips, the words mushing together by the artificial lisp she was given.

Instead of replying, you lean down and press your lips against hers, letting go over her face so it could be normal again- instead resting your hand on her bicep and rubbing gently. Only when you pull away do you speak up, “am I forgiven?” Psylocke takes a moment of silence to stare at you, and for a moment you think she's genuinely pissed, but quickly those thoughts are dispersed when she speaks up, “it is a satisfactory apology.”

(Platonic)

Rocket sat on the porch steps of your dingy home and looked out, watching as the rain poured down from the sky. The wind was cold as it blew into his face, but he paid no mind as he continued to just sit there.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The question snapped him out of his thoughts, making him look up to you as you sat down next to him. “Unless you've actually got a coin, flark off” he spouts out, leaning away from you. He sighs almost dramatically when you pull out a penny from your pocket and offer it to him- “flarkin’ hell, did you actually just have that on you?”

“I knew you'd say that,” you reply, putting the penny into his lap “you've become predictable, Rocketeer.” Leaning back on your hands you cross your legs and watch the rain fall with him. “Me? Predictable? Oh please” Rocket scoffed, waving his hand before picking up the penny and examining it. Silence set in between the two of you, the rain being filler for anything that could possibly be said.

Rocket tossed the coin back to you, raising an eyebrow when you quickly caught it instead of having it hit you in the head and make you fumble like he thought. “So why'd you come out here? Couldn't resist my charm or somethin’?” He teased, nudging your arm with his. “Oh, right. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“That's it?” He questioned, looking up at you with an oddly confused face, “you came out here just to tell me you've made food?” there's a pause, “well, yeah, I wanted to make sure you got some first- you know how much Quill eats, best to get some before him” you chuckle at your own statement about Peter, Rocket joining in with a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, that's true.” He agrees, standing up and moving to stand on the top step of the porch. “What'd you make anyways?”

You turned and grabbed his face, pulling it down to place a big fat kiss on the very top of his head, letting go soon after to stand up yourself and turn to go back inside the house. “What the flark! Dude, not cool” Rocket complained, standing on the porch for a moment before chasing you inside, “and what'd you make!”

Wanda stared down at you, watching as you laid on the floor almost lifelessly if it wasn't for your head moving from side to side and complaining about your job.

“You should've heard him, Wanda! He told me to get it all done by Thursday!” You cried out, your arms raising to cover your face, “Thursday! Even Friday would've been nice.” With a dramatic sigh, your arms fall back to the floor with a thud.

Crouching down and moving to sit on her knees, she brushed hair away from your face and watched it fall. “Sounds very rough, dear” she says, and while she sounds pretty monotone you know she's being sympathetic over your painful boss. Her words bring you comfort, the understanding she offers makes you feel warm in the chest as you let out a deep breath you were definitely holding in. “Yeah”, you mutter back.

Your hand comes up and reaches out, palm to her awaiting. It's obvious what you want, and she obliges, putting her hand on top of yours to hold as she shifts to sit next to you. Her legs are on one side, she's half resting on one of her calves. Ever so gently, her free hand lifts your head and maneuvers you to have your head resting on her lap- her hand staying on your head and brushing your hair back into her.

“Anything I can help with?” She whispers, looking down at you as you bring her hand holding yours to her chest, to simply lie there. The rise and fall caused by your breath was a steady rhythm, which she liked.

“Just this.” You replied, looking up at her with a smile, turning your head gently to lean in her arms. A hum of approval was all she gave you.

The two of you sat like this for a while- even though both knew how uncomfortable the position was for the other, neither said a word, too scared to break the peace.

It was a surprise when she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your chin- a miscalculation on her part- before pulling back and going in for another kiss, actually planting it on your lips this time as intended.

“I love you,” she said, cutting you off before you could respond with more “my back hurts, mayhaps we could move to a more comfortable place?” she asks, though it was more of a suggestion - one that you could get behind. “Perhaps the couch, or maybe our bed, hm?” Her hum at the end only sweetened the deal- This was something you could get behind.

The rain pitter pattered against the windows, New York rain wasn't uncommon- just untalked about. You stood in the kitchen and watched the raindrops run down the window next to the fridge, taking a swig from your mug every few moments. It was a comfortable silence.

That was until the thud of footsteps interrupted, his bare feet stepping on the hardwood floors of your apartment- the yawn he let out was a knife cutting through the silence. He scratched at himself under the shirt he wore, groggily looking at you from across the room. “Morning” he let out another yawn halfway through.

You smile over at him, setting down your cup and leaning against the counter. “It's almost noon.” You corrected him, watching as he blinked slowly and just stood halfway in your living room.

“No,” he said before elaborating “I just woke up. That means it's morning.” The way he said it was so matter of fact-ly, walking over around the kitchen counter and coming up behind you. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on the back of your neck- snuggling in like a cat would.

Nodding slowly, you rested a hand on his. “So that's how it works” you feigned understandment in a teasing way, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Yep, little do you know, I also have the power to control time.” He said, laughing at his own dumb statement.

“Really?” You turn your head to look at him, though you only see the top of his head, “The more I learn about you, Peter.” Both of you silently chuckled at how ridiculous it was, him lifting his head to look up at you a little.

Slowly, his hands grab your shirt and turn you around so you face him. Your back is now against the counter, his arms still around you as you both look at each other with loving eyes. “Good morning, then” you say before pressing a kiss to his lips, it was simple but filled with love.

“Morning” he repeats, leaning in for another kiss.

Tippy Toe sat on a pillowed chair, watching the TV that played some random show on one of the millions of streaming services you owned. Doreen sat huddled in your arm, hers wrapping around yours, her full weight practically on your side.

“Wait, so he doesn't love her?” Doreen asked, subconsciously her hand moving to rest higher on your side. “Doesn't seem like it.” You answered her question, ruffling her hair gently while your other hand fiddled with the remote to play the next episode.

She lets out a frustrated huff, “well I can't see how anyone would do that.” you glanced over at her, letting out an ‘oh?’ to question her. “Not loving someone you're dating, absolutely absurd!” She complains, raising a hand to point at the guy that was the topic of your discussion as the episode recap played.

“Yeah,” you agreed, pulling her close “I can't either.” She looks up at you with a bright smile. “I know you can't resist my pretty squirrel charm” she says with pride, pushing up more against you as her tail comes to wrap closer to you.

“I certainly can't” you said back, leaning down to peck at her cheek, pulling back to skip the show intro. Though she wasn't satisfied with that, moving to grab the neck of your shirt and pulled you down so she could get another kiss. Her lips met yours in a playful kiss.

The two of you sat like that for a bit, simply enjoying the others embrace and the kiss. But then the two of you pulled away with smiles, Doreen going back to resting on you.

“Wait, rewind, we totally just missed something important.”

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