#the way they dress the little crinkles and folds

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。YEARS LATER — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy au!)

contents. you and your rich husband, sitting and eating sushi years later on your wedding day. the end of one chapter, but the start of a new one. enjoy your happy rich boy gojo ending. with love, tee bee <3

satoru’s eyes are pretty when the sun sets, almost green instead of that usual icy blue—you can’t help but stare. it’s shamelessly, even. you watch as he brings the sushi to his lips, pausing just before he can take the bite as he notices your eyes on him.

“if you’re so busy staring at me, you might not notice it when your food is gone,” he hums, grinning cheekily at you.

you snort, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “oh yeah? then i’ll just make you buy me more.”

“first day and you’re already admitting to marrying me for my wallet?”

you laugh—it’s a free, bright sound that he has memorized from plenty of experience. and it’s his turn to stare as the sun settles in the crinkles by your eyes, years and years of laughter and smiles evident in the lines of your skin. beautiful, he think, you’ve always been so, so painfully beautiful.

your wedding dress is expensive. a pretty, flattering little thing. you buy it yourself, despite his protests. some years ago, you’d have stared wistfully at the price tag and considered the purchase in another life. you’ve come a long way since then—satoru is proud. so proud, he feels an ache building in his chest from the way things have changed as time crept past the two of you.

not a bad ache, perhaps. a dull throb of nostalgia that settles under his heart, in that spot he has saved just for you.

“i don’t need your wallet, you idiot,” you grin, reaching over with your chopsticks to steal from his roll. he lets you, just like he always used to when you were younger.

satoru thinks now, if he could, he’d love to pat his younger self on the back. the version of himself that used to watch you walk out of class without sparing him a glance, the version of himself that ached so badly for a chance with you, he’d collect stars from the sky to trade for an ounce of your love. he’d tell his younger self that he made it—that he’s sitting here, years later with his grandmother’s ring on your hand, eating sushi go after your wedding.

for old times sake, you’d told him when you asked to stop by, we always celebrated with sushi go when we were younger, remember?

as if he’d forget, he wanted to laugh. but he drives over anyway, parking the car in the same old spot as he used to. this time, there’s newly wed! written on the back of the window—and the words miraculously enough crossed out underneath. (he thinks that’s courtesy of shoko, but she doesn’t fess up, and suguru insists it doesn’t matter. soon enough, he’ll get to the bottom of it.)

“are you sure?” he hums, “you’ll have a lot of fun with it, i promise.”

“i think i’d rather have fun with you,” you hum, giving him a small wink as you take a sip from your soda, making his lips curl into a wide grin.

“oh, isn’t that sweet,” he drawls, “i’m a lucky guy.”

“maybe if you’re on your best behavior, you’ll get extra lucky later tonight.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, folding his hands as he sits up straighter and nods seriously, “i’m a good boy.”

“you’re anything but that, toru,” you snort. and then you soften, staring at him as you reach over and grab his hand. he lets you, lacing his fingers with yours as your thumb brushes over his knuckles.

years and years worth of love resides in between your skin. the first time your hands touched him, you didn’t want him the way he needed you to. then one day, they touched him hesitantly, carefully, slowly exploring him with cautious gentleness. eventually they touched him like he was the world pressed in your palms, heavy with the weight of being your everything.

he likes being yours. more than he likes you being his—he’s always had more than enough. but there’s something about giving himself that feels better than taking, better than wanting, better than having.

satoru has always loved you. he thinks the first day you glared at him, he was doomed from the start. he thinks right now, as you stare at him with fondness, he’s even more doomed now.

he doesn’t mind it, not even a little.

“hey,” he murmurs, making you raise a brow for him to continue, “i’m your husband now.”

“i know,” you nod in amusement, “we just got married…like two hours ago. i didn’t forget that quickly.”

“good,” he wipes his forehead in faux relief, “i was getting worried for a second.”

“you’re too much,” you roll your eyes, squeezing his hand delicately.

“now that we’re officially married,” he starts, grinning cheekily as he bats his lashes, “we should list all the things we love about each other. in alphabetic order. you go first, of course.”

“i don’t have to alphabetize it.”

“why? you numbered it or something? is it organized by importance? i’ll accept that too, i suppose.”

“well, there’s only one thing,” you tease.

he huffs, grumbling a petulant, “so mean. all these years and you can only think of one thing? can’t you be a little nice to me in our wedding day?”

“i’ve worked smarter, not harder,” you shrug, “i’ve condensed all my reasons down to one thing.”

“and what would that be?” he pouts.

“everything.”

“that’s cheesy,” he snorts, but there’s a flush on his cheeks that makes you grin, snickering as you lean over and poke at his cheek.

“you’ll just have to deal with it. you’re my husband, after all.”

“did you ever think about it? when we were kids?” he asks softly, staring off at a young couple in the distance with a tiny grin. the boy pulls out the chair for the girl, pushing her in and tripping slightly on his way to his own seat. satoru chuckles softly at the sight.

“think about what?”

“us,” he mumbles, “getting married some day. before we got serious, at least.”

��i don’t know,” you admit, “i didn’t even think i’d date you, to be fair.”

“you hated me,” he pretends to sniffle, “you wanted me dead. you wanted me to blow up into smithereens and leave my poor mother a grieving mess, didn’t you?”

“maybe not then, but i might now,” you sigh tiredly.

“well, i knew i was going to marry you since the first time you insulted me,” he nods proudly, earning a loud chuckle from you.

“you were a little freak back in the day,” you laugh, “i believe it. only you’d be romanced by degradation.”

“baby,” he huffs, glaring at you (his eyes are soft, playful, even. so sweetly affectionate, your teeth could rot), “you should appreciate a man seeing the best at you. even when you put him through the ringer.”

he almost regrets saying it when your hand pulls away from his, but then one by one, your palms reach over to cradle his cheeks, brushing a thumb along his soft, familiar skin as you stare at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

he is, you make him believe. he’s the only thing that matters. the center of your universe. he fought tooth and nail to get there, of course, but he has no intentions of leaving.

ever.

“i will always appreciate you,” you say softly, eyes watering as you swallow thickly, chuckling when a small tear slips from your eyes. “thank you for loving me, satoru. even when it was hard. even when you had to fight to do it. no one has loved me like that.”

“aw don’t start with the waterworks now,” he mutters, looking away and blinking suspiciously enough that you suspect his own eyes are just as teary, “we can’t have you crying for me already—that’s for later.”

“never any decorum with you,” you huff out a breathless laugh.

his thumb reaches over to swipe at your tear, pinching your cheek affectionately as he grins. it’s toothy, boyish, hopelessly and completely in love. even back then, and even right now. he’s always so in love. it’s you—always, from the day you first rejected him to the day you said yes when he got in one knee, it’s been you.

“thanks for loving me too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his own voice choking a bit as he swallows, “it can’t be easy. i’m a handful.”

“at least you’re self aware,” you snicker.

satoru beams—and he’s yours. your rich, spoiled, beautiful boy. all yours to love for the rest of your rich, spoiled, beautiful days.

i cried writing this. what a man he is truly

[dmitriene]

cw: toxic relationship.

könig likes to create an illusion of choices for you in your relationship, to let you think that you can be responsible for where you go, and with whom you go, and that you can be responsible for your own pleasure and life, while nothing of this is held in your own hands, played by the strings like a doll.

to see the way your eyes bead with tears when he forbids you to go out for drinks with your friends at a brand new bar, he's not sure you'll be safe there, anyone can take advantage of your fragile state, dummer hase, and your friends won't be able to shield you from the dangers outside.

your plump lips pouting, tears rolling down your pretty cheeks with fat salty drops, as you say that then he can come with you, but könig ain't feeling like getting out anywhere currently, which means, you gotta strip down from this short little dress of yours and curl obediently on his lap, staying home.

könig knows better for you, knows every detail of what you like, from your favorite food to the color, every point in your body, and he knows how to make you obey him, whining softly on his lap like an adorable puppy when he makes you spend yet another evening nuzzled against his chest.

your pleasure is also in his hands, könig knows how to direct your hips and where to press to make you whimper prettily for him, gooey walls of your pussy clamping around his fat cock, tightening with gushing slick as your eyes flutter back, heat swirling in your gut, so close to cumming.

but könig denies you, easing his meaty cock out of your squelching pussy that clutches desperately to him, bright eyes crinkling as he watches the way your hole clenches, supple thighs shaking as you sob with tiny whine, looking at him with glossy eyes and clawing at his burly hands, desperate for an orgasm only he can grant you.

yet, whiny pups don't deserve to be rewarded, only to lay beneath him like a docile pet while spreading your puffy folds, letting könig stroke his veiny cock between them, coating the girth in glossy sheen and his own precum, fat tip tapping at your engorged clit meanly, until he won't coat you in the warm spurts of his thick seed.

könig makes you stay with cum sodden panties and throbbing pussy, aching badly for any attention to relieve the way you clench pathetically, but you won't get any relief until you won't understand that he just wants for you to be happy and safe, and it's gonna be in only his arms.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[sukunas-wife]

First, I adore your writing! It warms my soul 🫶🏽♥️

Second, I was wondering if you could do Sukuna x Reader w/ little Yuji asking his dad to help him make a gift for Y/N for Mother’s Day. I think it would be such a cute bonding time between them 💝

Please and thank you if you choose this 🤍

Tysm 🥹 it keeps me warm at night, So does my Sukuna plushie when I don’t knock him off the bed by accident 😭 but Yes! 🥺 I know Valentines isn’t close or far but 😫 The things I’d do for him and Yuji (as a son) on Valentine’s Day 😭😭 I wanna spoil both of them with love🥹 and maybe give Sukuna another kid 🤭

But I hope you like it Little Anon 🤍

“DDAAADDDD” Yuji came running into the living room crying running with a pair of plastic scissors almost impaling his dad. “What is brat?” Sukuna didn’t look too interested, laid back on the sofa, arms behind his head, eyes closed.

“My scissors won’t cut!” He made snipping motions on the paper he was using and sukuna barely opened an eye to watch. Yuji’s already teary eyes watered up as she trembled and sniffled. Sukuna closed his eyes, “Then fold it and tear it, you don’t need scissors to cut paper.”

There Yuji stood, laying the paper on his dads stomach. Sukuna opened his eyes watching how he was crinkling it while he tried to fold it. Failing and failing until he got it right, and tearing it apart slowly, “I did it!” Sukuna had a small smile, bringing a hand to ruffled Yuji’s hair “After half an hour.” Yuji pouted, “I gotta go!” He ran to his room again and sukuna was left with his hand flopping down dragging on the floor. “Hey!” He yelled after Yuji, Yuji popped his head out the door, “yeah?” “STOP RUNNING WITH THOSE DAMN SCISSORS!” “….Okay daddy!”

Sukuna closed his eyes leaning back, he could hear the tearing of paper before he started to nap. Then there was a really loud tear and he choked hearing Yuji’s small voice “damn it!”

“Pssst… psss… pss daddy.” He tried to swat away whatever was touching his face “ddadddyyyy are you awake?….. daddy?”

“What is it now Yuji?” Sukuna didn’t open his eyes. “I needa go…” “Yu.. you have the short toilet you can go if you need to..” “noooo daddy I need to go to the store!” Sukuna sat him with a huff, “alright let’s go. Go get dressed- are we taking the bike?” Yuji's eyes had stars while he looked up at his dad. “Yeah, we’re taking the bike cmon, get ready.” Yuji ran off to his room where Sukuna heard all the sounds of Yuji ripping open the clothes drawers. Grabbing his own jacket he got ready to go out into the cold.

—————-

“Alright what are we looking for…” Sukuna received silence, “Yuji?” He snapped around and there was no Yuji. “Ah shit.”

There went Sukuna trying to speed walk around trying to find his son who he literally brought into the store a minute ago. Finally he found him, in the seasonal section stretching on his tippy toes to get a white tiger plushie that held a white and silver box with a costume glass pearl necklace and earrings. “…what are you doing…?” “Wan it for mommy.” He gave up looking down and pointing at the plushie. Sukuna sighed, “Why do you want it for mom brat it’s not her birthday.” “Because it’s white day daddy! I have to get something for mommy!” He threw his hands up like it was the most obvious thing, unbeknownst to him the entire world was coming crashing down on his dad at that moment.

“I..it’s what?” “White day Daddy! Now hurry, I need that bear!” He went back to jumping and trying to grab it before Sukuna grabbed it shoving it under his arm, and picking up Yuji stuffing him under his other arm, “We gotta hurry-“ Yuji bounced around under Sukuna’s arm while he ande his way to the register, “wait!” Sukuna came to a stop “what?!” “Can I get candy?” Yuji pointed at the candy aisle and Sukuna turned his side to the aisle so Yuji could get what he wanted, “okay… WAIT NO” he grabbed a second candy, “I’m ready.” Sukuna let out heh noise before rushing back to the register, “I gotta pick something up at the shops so we gotta be fast hold on.”

————-

Yuji was standing on a chair at the kitchen table looking at the white Box his dad picked up. “What’s inside?” Sukuna who was focusing on spilling the glitter Yuji wanted on his card was holding his breath to not blow everywhere. Finally he sat up taking a breath, “a gift for your mom, cmon, you wanted to put your hand on this card right?”

“Mhmm!” Yuji hummed running around the table to his dads side barely peeking over the edge, “got the paint?” … “mm…no, gotta find it” Yuji trailed after his dad on the way to his room where they started looking in the closet, in the toy box, under the bed. “Where’s y/n put everything???” Sukuna was knelt face pressed against the floor flashing under Yuji’s bed with his phone’s flash light.

“Oh oh! Top shelf! Mommy doesn’t let me touch the top shelf.” He watched his push a chair over the book shelf and jump in the chair grabbing a thin box, “I touch it anyways.” He smiled proudly and Sukuna just smirked “Oh you little devil mommy would be so disappointed to know her precious little boy plays with the paint when she’s not home.”

Yuji threw the box up, “Please don’t tell mommy! I’ll never do it again!” Sukuna laughed when Yuji started to tear up, “Don’t worry, as long as you don’t tell mommy we ran that red light earlier, grab em and let’s go.” Yuji nodded like he was on a mission, “Kay.”

——

“Daddy you put your hand on first,” Sukuna sighed but pressed his hand into the Paper Yuji worked so hard to cut earlier. “Now let me see your hand Yu, gonna ink you up.”

Yuji laughed uncontrollably at the feeling of the brush on his fingers and palm which lead to Sukuna tickling him. Yuji was laughing until he turned red and started wheezing. Sukuna tried to brush Yuji’s hair back until he smudged him with paint. He cleared his throat to not laugh at Yuji, when he finally sat up catching his breath.. “My hands dry.”

Sukuna snickered, “alright, do it this time.” He carefully painted Yuji’s hand, guiding him to make the print right in the middle of Sukuna’s hand print. “Done!”

He turned to his dad in his lap and placed his hands on his cheeks squishing his face, “Thank you daddy, i love you.” Yuji was smiling, Sukuna smiled and nuzzled his nose against Yuji’s before pressing his lips to the top of his head making a dramatic muah sound making Yuji go “eewww” while laughing. Sukuna laughed while Yuji stared at his face, “I wanna look like daddy.” Which led to the two spending the next hour painting Yuji’s face to have the same inked lines his daddy did. 🥹

———

When you came home you found Sukuna and Yuji in the kitchen. Sukuna was telling Yuji about his “top secret” frying technique and Yuji was standing on a chair looking at the stove watching every move not wanting to miss anything. “mhm mhm” he had no idea what was going on while his dad was talking. You took their picture before Yuji finally turned around “Mommy!” He got so happy slowly sliding off the seat to run over to you, “Happy White day! We got you something!”

“Aww baby you didn’t have too.” Picking him up and kissing him all over he squealed in delight. Setting him down you walked over to Sukuna, he turned to kiss you when he felt you moving in to kiss his cheek. He had that smug smile when you smiled wrinkling your nose at him.

“Look, we made the bag too.” You watched Yuji’s little chubby legs and hands pop around the bag his face hidden behind the wrinkled tissue paper, “Aww its so pretty.” You took the bag from him, it was a white party bag in Yuji’s hand writing with gold marker “we lov you momy.” Covering your smile with your hand you looked at Yuji, “Did it all by myself.” Sukuna tsked “Sure ya did brat, went to the store too and used your whole five dollars too, hm?”

Yuji stuck his tongue out at his dad, “You didn’t give em back so I did pay!” You shook your head smiling when you opened the box, pulling out a white paper card, Sukuna moved closer resting his chin on your shoulder and Yuji pushed up a chair. The was Yuji’s handwriting “We lov you momy” and a wobbly drawn heart. Under it he wrote his name and Sukuna signed his name with a little note “I Love you more ;).” When you opened it it was so cute that you knew Yuji had to have forced Sukuna to do it. Sukuna’s hands were painted red in the shape of a heart, inside were yuji little hands painted white to make a smaller heart.

There was the note in Sukuna’s Handwriting, “These are my hands and with them I will take yours to have and to hold, to love and cherish till death do us part.”

Then there was Yuji’s cute little note, “I know you wipe some away, but these prints were made to stay, So keep them forever, a treasure they'll be, A special I LOVE YOU for you from me.”

The rest of the card was decorated in gold and silver glitters dots and squiggles. Little hand drawn hearts from Sukuna and Yuji. Most of the glitter ended up on the white tiger plushie Yuji ended up taking to sleep with that night 🥹😭

Later that night when Ryo and You were in the room getting ready to sleep when he spoke up. “Sorry we didn’t take you out anywhere fancy. Kinda lost track of time with everything going on…” he paused and you just turned to look at him, “It’s not an excuse but I did get you this.”

You walked over standing between his legs taking the white box from him. He hugged your waist pressing his face against your tummy, you rested your elbows on his shoulders and he heard your small laugh. “I think this was more for you then it was for me.”

You dropped the box next to him holding up the lingerie set. It was white satin with gold hip and shoulder straps covered in crystals. The back of the panties had been customised to say “Ryomen”, all topped off with one of those dramatic lacey robes with even more dramatic feathery cuffs and edges.

He smiled up at you from your tummy with lidded eyes, “maybe…” he kissed your tummy before squeezing your sides. You out a hand on his head brushing his hair back, he had that smug smile that gave you Yuji a few years ago, “So what do you say we really make this a white day?”

Tag: @sad-darksoul @cyder-puff @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @sakuxxi @mercymccann @simpforyoubitch @certainduckanchor @domainofmarie @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 3: The Wheels of Fate Started to Turn

Previous | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

You feel sick when you wake. Muscles weak and body shaky. It takes more effort than you would like to peel your eyes open. You haven’t sat under a UV lamp in a while and it’s starting to show. The cocoon of sheets feels so good you don’t want to get up, to peel yourself away from them.

You realize Johnny and Kyle are gone as you sit up, all alone in the center of the massive bed. The room feels darker without them, somehow. Emptier. You roll over to climb off the bed, interrupted by the sound of paper crinkling under you. You feel around the mattress only to find a thick envelope with ‘Fancy’ neatly written across the front. As you open it, your breath catches in your throat at the contents. It’s nearly double what they said they’d pay. More than you could have ever hoped for. It makes your hands shake to hold that much money all at once. Once the shock wears off, a folded up piece of paper catches your eye.

Hey lovie,

Sorry to take off without saying goodbye. Had some business to attend to. Figured we should let you sleep. Hope you won’t be too mad ;)

We left a little extra for spending the night. Nothing like cuddling up next to a soft, warm lady.

Let’s do it again soon.

Kyle + Johnny

The handwriting changes to a messy scrawl that you have to squint to make out.

P.S. You look bonnie in my shirt. Gonnae be thinking about that all day. Feel free to take it with you.

P.S.S. I want it back unwashed.

You can’t help but snicker to yourself. Damn dirty dog.

You have no reason to deny him, though. So you slip the t-shirt on over your dress as you get ready to leave. The dress feels far too constrictive for the early morning. This is why you don’t do nights - walking out looking like a mess in the itchy day old clothes. You give up looking for your panties which seem to have evaporated, not too keen on putting them back on anyway.

Before you can tip-toe your way out to the front door, you find yourself pausing. The kitchen light is on, illuminating a figure working over the stove. Curiosity gets the better of you and you circle around the counter to see John sorting ingredients in nothing but a loose pair of sweatpants. Strong, nicely hairy chest on full display.

And they call you and slut.

“Good morning.” He flashes you a bright smile. Of course he noticed you. He probably smelled you before he even heard you leave the bedroom.

“Sorry… I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude.” You mumble awkwardly.

“No, no. I was hoping you’d stop f’me. My boys treat you alright?” He eyes your shirt.

Being asked that a second time throws you off. Why the hell do they care so much? “They did.”

“Good. Good.” He smiles warmly. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

You scoff. “You? No offense but I’d rather take my chances with the nearest dumpster.”

“Contrary to popular belief, some of us remember how to cook.”

You glance at the half-dozen cart of eggs and perfectly fresh vegetables neatly arranged across the counter. “And you just happened to have human food on hand?”

He pauses. “…I may have had some delivered.”

John turns back to the stove, muttering something under his breath about ‘too smart for her own damn good.’

You pad over beside him to look down at the food, staring at the spread. You point at some red thing you don’t recognize. “What is that?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “The tomato?”

“Tomatoes are purple.” You poke it. “And more squishy.”

You meet his eye and for a brief moment, you think you see pity. Something sad swirling in the blue of his irises. He schools his face back to neutral before you can be sure you saw anything at all.

“Well, hopefully you trust an old codger like me to make you a half-decent omelette.”

You snort, leaning back on the kitchen island. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

You both lapse into silence. He does seem to know what he’s doing - carefully chopping the vegetables and carefully folding the omelette in the pan. Maybe he had a human wife at some point or something. Most likely. That’s not uncommon, especially back in the 21st century. Practically a trend. You tilt your head as you watch him move, brow furrowed. He’s so weird.

What could you have said to them to make them treat you like this? You’re almost afraid to know - that block of time so buried in the recesses of your mind there’s no hope of ever recovering it. That doesn’t mean you haven’t tried since that day, but you know we’ll enough that it never works. You don’t have a single guess as to what it could have been.

Maybe you didn’t say anything. Maybe they’re just weirdly tunnel visioned. Vamps do that often enough - hone in on a target of affection. For any reason from looking like a dead loved one or they just have an enticing scent. Except they’re not usually this… nice. Normally they’d just drain the object of their affection and be done with it. Not ask them to sleep over for the night and cook them breakfast in the morning.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when a plate is set in front of you. It looks… perfect. At least you assume that’s what a good omelette looks like. Nicely golden. It looks alien. Food from another world - another time. You glance up at John as he watches you expectantly. It won’t hurt to entertain him, you suppose. Even if it does end up being shit. You cut a small bite, tentatively bringing it to you your lips. You brace for something awful.

Except it’s incredible. Perfectly cooked and seasoned. You can’t help but let out a content little hum before practically scarfing it down. You haven’t had food like this in… ever, actually. Neither this fresh or well made.

“So you like it?” John smiles.

You nod happily with a mouth full of food before remembering where you are. Steeling yourself and slowing down, returning to the more reserved persona. “It’s good.”

John huffs out a laugh, turning his back to you to clean up. “I’ll drive you home when you’re finished.”

You pause mid bite. “Oh, no, I can take the train-“

“Do you really want t’walk all the way to the depot in those heels?” John cocks an brow, blue eyes dragging from your face, over your body and down your legs. There’s a slow burning intensity in the movement that sends a shiver down your spine.

You stare at him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. The last thing you need is to owe a vampire for anything. They’ll take your debts to the grave. It happened with your neighbor once - you learned early on to be wary of any offer made by one of them. Never make a deal with one of the devils.

“You won’t be indebted for it.” John chuckles as if he can read your damn mind. Maybe he can.

You chew your lip. It’s at least an hour walk to the metro station from here. You don’t want him to see where you live, though. It will ruin the illusion. Images flash through your mind of the craggily walls of your apartment building. The syringes that line the sidewalk. There’s that massive blood stain on the front steps they still haven’t cleaned up after five years.

But then you meet his eyes. They’re so sincere. So bright. Whatever that tug is in your chest that keeps giving into them pulls again. It’s unraveling you, making you insane. Surely that’s it, you’re finally going insane.

“Okay.” It comes out weaker than you’d like.

John grins a though you gave him the greatest gift in history. It makes your face hot - leaves you shifting awkwardly. You’re not used to that much emotion carved into their marble features. This coven is too expressive. It’s putting you on edge, leaving you with your guard up. Against what, though? What’s the point? Shouldn’t you be happy and play into their more excitable nature?

It’s too unfamiliar. Too otherworldly to see human emotion on their god like features.

A cool finger hooks under your chin, lifting your face to meet John’s gaze. “You think too much.”

You scoff and tear your face away from his hand. Thinking keeps you alive. The girls that don’t think don’t survive past their teens. You have to be smart to stay alive here. To even have a hope of keeping up with creatures who contain centuries of knowledge and experience. Who are so far ahead in the race the best you can do is limp along in the dust.

A valet pulls the car around. John changed into jeans and half zip sweater. You would die before admitting to the small bit of disappointment at him donning a shirt. You expect the black SUV from the night before to pull up. Instead, you’re met with a basic sedan. It’s still nice - obviously new. The seats are a soft, well cared for leather.

“So is this what you do? Invite prostitutes over for omlettes and tea and then drive them home?” You blurt as John starts the car. That itch to dissect their thought processes continues to plague the back of your mind.

“Tea?” He repeats, a brow raised.

“Simon made me tea last night.”

John laughs. “Kyle really did fuck your throat raw, then?”

You whirl on him, eyes wide.

“Don’t act so surprised. Johnny can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Said you took it beautifully.” John sighs. “Bit jealous I didn’t get to watch the show. A good cigar and whiskey in hand? The perfect night, I think. Might have to recreate it…”

That last bit sounds more for him than for you.

You shouldn’t blush. You’ve been doing this long enough that there’s no reason to blush anymore. You have no right to be flustered over something as simple as sex. It’s the way he says it, you think. The way desire drips from every syllable as though he’s never said anything more true in his immortal life.

You just hide behind a huff and look out the window. “You’re all very weird, you know that?”

“Are we, now?” John rests his elbow on the door and his head on his hand. He weaves through the chaotic city roads expertly.

“You’re too…” You wrinkle your nose, pausing. The word gets lost on your tongue.

“Human?”

“If you say so.”

John chuckles. “You’re just as weird, you know that?”

“I am not weird!” You snap indignantly.

“If you say so.”

You have to do a double take when he pulls up to your apartment. Is it really that fast by car? What was that, ten minutes? The train is a nearly twenty minute ride with two fifteen minute walks. The walk is nearly three hours - two if you take the back way.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, voice dropping to a low drawl. You shake your head to clear it, pulling your respirator out of your coat.

“Don’t you need a-“ You stop when you meet John’s deadpan expression. “Oh, right.”

“Appreciate the concern, love.” He chuckles. It’s a surprisingly warm sound.

You reach for the door, respirator in hand and at the ready. You pause when John lays a hand lightly on your shoulder. Turning back, your eyes meeting his. There’s that storm again. The one he looked at you with before. Something roiling underneath the surface.

“Fancy?”

“Yes?”

“Before you go.” John leans forward. “C’mere.”

You assume he wants a kiss. It wouldn’t surprise you - a little thank you for the ride. Frankly, you should have thought of it first. Instead, he ducks his head to the side at the last moment. His hand tangles gently but firmly in your hair to pull your head to the side, leaving your neck craned and exposed. You freeze. Fear takes over - your heart rate immediately spiking. Your hands fist his coat, pushing as hard as you can against the unmoving mountain that is his body.

“John-“ Your voice cracks. “Please don’t-“

“Need t’ make sure you’re safe…” He mumbles.

A fang catches your skin. You freeze.

It drags across your neck, down the arch of your artery. You suck in a hear breath, the skin not quite breaking under the touch. Before you can speak or begin pushing again or even try to get out of the car, he bites down. A yelp escapes you as his teeth slowly sink in - only through the top most layer of skin. Not enough to puncture the artery or even for his other teeth to bite into your skin.

Your whole body shakes. “What’re you-“

John shushes you as he pulls away, eyes locked on the cut he made on your neck. You can feel the wet blood beginning to drip down your neck. His hand stays in your hair, holding you in place. The blue of his irises seems somehow brighter, pupils so narrowed they don’t look to be more than pinpricks. After a few beats he seems satisfied, letting your hair go and sitting back in his seat.

“Just a precaution, love.”The vampire looks you over, eyes suddenly painfully soft again. “Take care of yourself.”

Your eyes flick between his. A cold, rushing fear pumps through your veins. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish before you finally come to your senses, taking the chance to dash out of the car and toward your apartment. Fight or flight pushing away any ability to ask what the fuck that was. By the time you turn around to check behind you, John is far down the street.

You rush to your bathroom mirror, tossing your respirator to the ground as soon as you’re in your front door. It’s not deep. He didn’t even lick up after himself - a thin trail of blood pooling around your clavicle before continuing down. It wasn’t about drinking. You hiss as your fingers lightly test the tender skin.

What the fuck?

He’s a vampire. At the end of the day that’s all he is. No facial expressions or ability to cook will undo that he’s a different creature entirely. Was that what this is about? Reminding you what they are? The power they have? You wouldn’t put it past one of them, the sick fucks. What kind of fool were you to think they’re at all different.

After a shower and finally changing into some pajamas (minus a certain vampire’s tshirt that he will not be getting back) you go to grab your lamp. It doesn’t take long to set up the UV light, just dragging it out of storage and setting up the shade above it so that the rays concentrate downward onto your skin. You slowly sink to the ground. Exhaustion clings to your bones. They feel brittle and heavy simultaneously.

You sigh, curling up under the warm light like a cat. You have to be smart about how long you stay under it - the damn thing runs up the electricity bill like nothing else. Plus, too long under it can cause serious skin damage. As much as you’d rather go without, you’ve seen what happens to those that do.

You half heartedly re-count out the envelope of money, still feeling overwhelmed at the sheer amount of it. At the whole situation at hand. You realize quickly enough that despite having the money to do almost anything you don’t actually… know what to do. Despite the plan being to save up and get out of the slums you never really planned for what to do once you were out of the slums.

The realization that you never truly believed you could do it, even unconsciously, is a little heartbreaking.

Do you keep working at the club? Hope that these clients like you enough to keep up with your new lifestyle? Pray that they enjoy fucking you for long enough to save up? Do you even want to see them after what John just did? Do you look for another job? There isn’t much you can get when the whole of your resume is stamped with WHORE in bright red letters.

With a low groan you slump back on the floor and throw your arm over your eyes. Everything is so fucked. You’re lost in it and it’s all fucked.

Normally, you would avoid information about the people that come in and out of your club. They’re looking for discretion, after all. A place to hide away from the dealings of life. A fantasy. If you were smart, you’d stick with that habit. Especially when it comes to the ones that literally compel you to forget their business.

John just lost the right to any discretion after that stunt in the car.

You open up your shitty laptop that requires five hail mary’s to start. It greets you with the top headlines of the day, all just as enjoyable as you’d expect.

UNKNOWN SUBSTANCE FOUND IN FOUR MORE JANE DOES

NEW DRUG CYTH TAKING THE UNDERGROUND MARKETS BY STORM

CORPSE FOUND WITH BLOOD LEAKING FROM PORES

You close them out, for your own sanity, and type John’s name into the search bar. A few things come up - some company called One-Four-One with the most nothing description about what kind of company they are. They “develop products and services” - aka they’re a shell for shady bullshit. They’re listed as the benefactor for some lower city charities and given responsibility for several mergers and buy-outs in the upper city. All the things you’d expect from a corporation.

It’s too clean, though. You’ve been living in the underbelly long enough to know what a front looks like. Not that you’re surprised. Every vampire corporation is a cover for a million other little inner workings you will never be privy to.

The only pictures of John are a few from press reports. His imposing figure standing behind some ugly podium with a logo hastily plastered across the front. He has a commanding air about him behind all those microphones - like a preacher or a politician. Fitting.

Johnny and Kyle have a far more risqué library. Images with models and other beautiful women. The kinds of things you’d expect from young, playboy vampires stretching over the past century at least, according to the archive dates. The boys aren’t the focus of the images - it’s all paparazzi for the women - but they’re in them nonetheless. How the hell did Johnny manage to squeeze into a pair of leather pants like that?

Simon doesn’t even seem to exist. A total ghost. No matter how deep you go you can’t find a trace of him. You manage to get all the way back to the 1990s in the archive and still come up with jack shit.

You’re left with more questions than answers and a distinct understanding that you shouldn’t ask any of them. You knew that already, though, and you have no plans to let John Price close enough to speak to you anytime soon.

You didn’t realize you fell asleep up until you wake, alarm blaring in your ear that it’s time to get up and go to work. It never ends. You still feel so fucking tired, body heavy and eyes stinging. A haze settles over your mind as you fall into your constant routine. Makeup, hair, dress, respirator on, walk, train, respirator off, walk.

Your locker in the back room fights you, forcing you to practically break it open. Just another thing to leave you feeling angry and useless.

“I heard they got Red.” The girl beside you whispers. She’s mousy, new. A gossiper. She even tried to talk to you, at least before she found out that you apparently steal clients.

The girl she’s speaking to side eyes her. “What do you mean got ‘er?”

“With that new drug - Cyth or whatever.”

“Cyth isn’t real. It’s just people making up shit to cover up what the vamps are doing. As if we don’t already know.”

“But what about-“ You don’t hear the rest of what she says, her voice drowning out as you leave the back room.

Time seems to crawl by at the club without the men. You hate it. Not just the slowness of the day but the fact that they’ve had that effect on you. That these creatures you barley know have invaded your thoughts. Wormed themselves into the nooks and crannies of your psyche. Marked you - however temporarily that may be.

The patrons avoid your eyes. You serve their drinks, and where they would normally make a salacious remark or grab onto you they just offer a huffy thanks and ignore you. The tips are garbage, even the other serving girls notice and begin to basically steal your tables. It has to be the bite.

Why, though? Plenty of serving girls have fresh bite marks and they aren’t getting reactions like that. You can count four on the main floor right now.

At least once the day is over, it’s over. You can go home and hide away. Be angry in peace. Maybe make a plan for what to do. Maybe you can leave the city you and your friends talked about as teens. Except they’re all dead now and you’re pretty sure there isn’t anything outside of the dome anymore. At least not anything you could get to.

The other girls don’t walk with you to the metro anymore. The streets are never truly empty in the main city. There’s no real day or night. It’s only the places humans inhabit that become abandoned during the “night.” As you exit the lower city station, the streets empty out. It’s just you, footsteps echoing off buildings. The smog in the air only makes it darker - even harder to navigate.

Until a second pair of footsteps appears, fast and growing louder by the second. Before you can even begin to run or check behind you a force slams into you, sending you tumbling down onto harsh concrete and into an alley.

You’re cornered. There’s nowhere to go. Before you can grapple for your garlic spray the vampire has your wrists in his hand, pulling you up to dangle in front of him. The backs of your hands and arms scrape against the rough brick of the building he’s pinned you too. It hurts, cutting deep into your skin under the pressure of his strength.

The thing hisses, ripping off the neck guard attached to your respirator. The whole thing goes clattering to the ground. You choke on the poison air, lungs immediately rejecting it.

You tip your eyes to the obstructed sky. Of course it would end this way. It’s the end for you all, isn’t it? Just another body in an alley. Another free apartment for people to fight over. Another headline for people to frown at on the train. You wonder if they would use your name or just leave you as another Jane Doe.

What do the real stars look like, anyway?

He takes a long inhale and freezes in place. You can barely make out wide, frenzied eyes. A hood blocks any of his other features. His breath hastens, chest heaving against yours. What the hell is he waiting for?

Suddenly he reels backward, hissing and spitting. Muttering words you don’t understand. It drops you so suddenly that you collapse to the ground. Unable to gain any footing, still coughing and choking.

“What-“ You’re not even sure why you want to ask it a question. Before you can at all the thing runs away down the alley. Your hand travels up to your neck.

The bite.

A coughing fit sends you doubling over and you blearing grope around the ground for your respirator. At least it didn’t get smashed, you sigh in relief - clipping it back around your face and neck.

Your hands shake and you turn, staring up at that massive skyscraper hanging above the city. It’s taunting you. You feel like you can almost see John staring down at you, toying with you. An anger flares in your body so hot you almost feel as thought you’ve caught fire. He wants to fuck with you? To make you feel weak? To try to lay some sort of claim?

Fine. You can play ball.

A/N: John “you don’t need to know what’s going on, love, just do what I say” Price and Miss “don’t fuck with my independence” Fancy

I don’t love this chapter but I gotta get plot moving and grooving.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

along for the ride

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count:

summary: when joel finds out tommy put out a craigslist ad to get him a date for valentine’s day, he doesn’t expect it to go as well as it does.

author’s note: i finally finished something! was it anything from my extensive wip list? no! don’t think about it too hard! anyways, if you enjoy this fic, please consider giving it a reblog, a comment, or dropping into my ask box 💕

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors dni), no use of y/n, pre-outbreak!joel miller, no mentions of sarah, little shit!tommy miller, blind date, internet safety whomst, vaginal fingering, oral sex, woman on top, p in v, dirty talk, pet names. let me know if i’ve missed any!

“I have a surprise for you,” Tommy says at dinner. Joel pauses, fork scraping against his plate.

“That can’t be good,” he sighs. “What now?”

“Why do you assume it’s somethin’ bad?”

“Last time you said you had a surprise for me, I had chickens in my backyard.”

Tommy laughs. “It’s nothin’ like that this time.”

“Well, then, spit it out,” Joel demands.

Tommy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper that he opens on the table, smoothing out the creases before sliding it over to Joel.

“Reservation confirmation?” Joel reads. He recognizes the name of the restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters dress in all black and the menu doesn’t have prices listed beside the items. 

“Yep. I got you your first Valentine’s Day date,” Tommy replies proudly. Joel glares at him.

“What do you mean?”

seeking valentine

36M looking to treat a lady to a date to remember. pic attached. email tmill@aol.com with a pic and bio for consideration.

[img01.jpg]

You’re half a bottle of wine deep when you stumble across the Craigslist ad. When you click on the picture, your interest is further piqued by the handsome man that appears on the screen. He’s standing in front of a black pick up truck dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that stretches across his tan muscles. His brown hair is cut short, just enough length for you to notice that it’s beginning to curl across his forehead and by his neck. His beard frames a bright smile that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes.

Whoever he is, he’s hot. He’d be the perfect way to get over being dumped two weeks ago by your boyfriend of two years.

Your logic was lost somewhere between your second and third glasses of wine, which is why you click on the e-mail address in the ad and start typing. The reply is normal, at first, facts about yourself like your name and age and occupation, but you quickly end up derailing the message with an explanation about why this handsome guy should pick you, making sure to include that you’ve already got a reservation at a popular restaurant for the occasion. The picture you add is a recent photo from a cousin’s wedding that your aunt had e-mailed to you. 

Before you can think better of it, you click send. You take one last look at the man’s photo before shutting your laptop and stumbling off to bed to dream of brown eyes and tan skin.

Joel taps his fingers against the white tablecloth, eyes fixed on the door of the restaurant. This is stupid, he thinks. Why did he agree to this? Why did he let Tommy convince him this was a good idea? He should have just told him no and been done with it but somehow he’s here, sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant and feeling like a sore thumb in the only suit he owns. 

He’s lost enough in his thoughts that he doesn’t see you when you first come in, doesn’t realize you’re here until the hostess is walking up with you close behind in a beautiful dress and he suddenly remembers exactly why he agreed to Tommy’s idiot scheme. 

“Joel?” You ask. He stands, nearly knocking the table in his haste to greet you. You lean in for a brief hug and he catches the warm vanilla scent of you before you pull away and smile at him. 

He rounds the table to pull your chair out for you and makes sure you’re settled before returning to his seat. A waiter swoops by to offer the wine menu and explain the pre fixe menu for the evening while he pours two complimentary glasses of champagne into the crystal glasses beside your plates. An awkward silence settles when he leaves, Joel’s leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table as he tries to think of something to say.

“This is weird, right?” You finally say. “This feels weird.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

"Oh, thank god." You take a long sip of your champagne. "I can't believe I actually responded to a Craigslist ad for a date."

"I can't believe my stupid brother came up with this whole thing," Joel replies. "I could'a killed him."

Your eyes go wide. "Wait, your brother made the post? Why?!"

"He seems to think that at thirty-six, I should have had a date for Valentine's Day by now," Joel explains. "Why did you respond to the ad?"

"I had been drinking a lot of wine and having a lot of feelings and the internet was unfortunately not helping the situation."

Joel laughs, tension leaving his shoulders as he does. "We're an interestin' pair, huh?"

"Cheers to that," you reply, lifting your glass for him to tap his against with a gentle clink. 

As the dinner progresses, the conversation starts to flow with surprising ease. No topic goes untouched, from jobs to hobbies to a long list of favorites. When you’ve exhausted those topics, you move on to swapping stories about your friends and families. By the time he finishes paying a hefty check (and declining your offer to split the cost), Joel feels like he’s known you for a lifetime.

"I had a really nice time, Joel.”

"Me, too," he replies. Christ, you're pretty, bright eyed as you look at him with a soft smile. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his and can wrap an arm around your waist. "This okay?"

"Mhm," you hum with a little nod. Joel's gaze drops to your mouth and he finds himself wondering what your pretty lips would feel like as he kissed you. Would he be able to taste that chocolate torte from dessert on your tongue?

“Joel?” You whisper. He didn’t even realize how close he’s gotten, a few scant inches separating you now. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He chuckles. “You want me to?”

“Please.”

Joel kisses you, warm lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. It’s chaste, until it’s not. It’s chaste, until his tongue sweeps against your bottom lip and dips inside to tangle with yours. It’s chaste, until his hands are pulling you closer with a tight grip on your hips and—

“Get a room!” 

You break apart, startled by the shout from someone passing by on the sidewalk. You can’t stop the laugh that breaks free, your shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“You wanna get out of here?” Joel asks. “I can walk you to your car.”

“I took a cab, actually.”

Joel smirks. “You want a ride, sweetheart?” 

Your face grows hot from the look in his eyes, the double meaning to his words not lost. He holds a hand out and you slip your palm against his, fingers folding together so that he can lead you to the parking lot down the street from the restaurant.

Joel opens the passenger door of the truck you recognize from the photo in the ad, helping you step up into the cab and going so far as to pull the seatbelt down, reaching across your body to fasten it. He looks up at as he pulls away, hand dragging across your stomach and making you shiver.

He shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions toward your apartment. At the first red light, he settles his broad palm on your thigh, just above your knee, giving you a little squeeze. Feeling bold, you spread your legs the tiniest bit and Joel takes the invitation for what it is, sliding his hand higher. 

The light turns green and the sudden movement presses you to the back of the seat, jostles you enough that your legs fall open further. You move to close them, but Joel’s hand moves again, high enough now that if you moved the slightest bit, you could probably get some relief from the ache that’s been building since he kissed you.

His pinky stretches, barely grazing your pussy, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, squirming in your seat from the want. At the next red light, he abandons all pretense, slipping his hand beneath the elastic of your panties and dragging his fingers through the embarrassing amount of wetness that’s already gathered there for him.

“Fuck,” he groans. You turn your head to look at him, his sharp jaw clenched tight as he circles your clit with his index and middle finger. “This wet for me already, baby?”

You moan in response, unable to form words as he touches you, alternating between soft strokes and fast circles over your sensitive clit. Your hips chase his every movement, desperate for relief from the pressure building in your core. 

“Joel,” you whimper, grabbing his forearm, digging your nails into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming sensations.

He turns the truck and hastily throws it in park, pulling his hand from you just as you were cresting that wave. You whine at the loss but he shushes you, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the truck with a slam of the door. It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped because you’ve reached your apartment complex.

The passenger door opens and Joel is there, gripping the door tightly. “Let’s go.”

You lead him to your door on unsteady legs. He follows you inside your apartment, pressed close to your back while you set your bag on the table by the door. 

“Where’s your room?” He asks, hands already rucking up the fabric of your dress. “I gotta finish what I started.”

You hurry down the hall to your room together and you silently thank your past self for cleaning up before your date. Joel wastes no time reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head and tossing it into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck, even prettier than I imagined,” he groans, dropping to his knees. “Soon as you walked in wearin’ that I knew I was a goner.” He eases your panties down your thighs, helps you step out of them without toppling over. “On the bed.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling across your familiar mattress and lying on your back, head on your pile of pillows. Joel removes his suit jacket, eyes dark as his gaze roams across your body and makes your skin prickle under the intensity. His shirt and pants follow in quick succession, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs that highlight an impressive bulge.

Joel joins you on the bed and you’re hypnotized by the movement of muscle beneath tan skin. He urges your legs apart, calves draped over his broad shoulders to give him room to settle between your thighs. He looks up at you, holding your gaze as he takes his first taste of you with a deep groan you feel through your whole body. 

Your head drops back to your pillow with a shout, legs tensing around Joel’s head. You bury your hands in his hair, holding on tight while he devours you. His tongue circles your clit before dipping down to your dripping center to curl inside of you. A thick finger follows, pressing deep and withdrawing slowly.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Joel says. “How’s that feel, huh?”

“So good,” you moan. “More, please, Joel.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He eases another finger into you, curling them along your front wall with pointed focus. That knot of release tights again, your muscles growing tense with it the longer he moves with your body. He wraps his lips around your aching clit, alternating between sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and working it with his tongue until you’re shouting a string of curses and shatter beneath him.

Joel works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, more puddle than human. He crawls up your body, leaving kisses on what seems like every inch of you as he does and you pull him close when he’s face to face with you, kissing him deeply and chasing the earthy taste of yourself from his mouth.

His hips press against yours, grinding his length against your inner thigh. The kiss turns sloppy, his breath coming in sharp pants and thrusts growing frantic, skin dappled with sweat in the warm air of your room. You tilt your hips, pushing a hand against his shoulder to get him flat on his back with you straddling his waist, stomach flexing beneath you.

He’s deliciously disheveled beneath you with messy hair and kiss swollen lips. His hands find your thighs, sliding upward over your stomach to find your breasts, pinching a nipple between his fingers and making you hiss. Your hips rock over the softness of his belly and you reach behind yourself to palm his cock.

“Look real good like this,” Joel pants, flexing into your touch. 

“Well, you did ask me if I wanted a ride,” you tell him. 

You lean over towards your nightstand, tugging the top drawer open and rummaging around for a condom. Foil packet in hand, you lift off of Joel for a moment to allow him the chance to hastily shove his underwear off before settling back down on top of his thighs and taking his length in your hand with a slow stroke that makes his mouth drop open, cock pulsing against your palm. You lean forward, licking the flushed tip clean of the pre-cum gathered there. 

“You’re killin’ me,” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Wanna feel you, quit teasin’.”

You decide to put you both out of your misery, ripping the condom wrapper and rolling the latex over him. You lift up and he holds his cock steady with a fist around the base as you position yourself over him on your knees and slowly take him into your tight heat, twin moans echoing in the room as you do.

When your hips are flush with his, the wiry curls at the base of his cock grow damp with your arousal as you rock above him, grinding your clit against him and clenching around his length. He holds your hips in a loose grasp, not urging your movements but feeling them as you chase your pleasure. 

“Christ,” Joel moans, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. He plants his feet, thrusting up as you grind down and making you gasp. “Ain’t lastin’ much longer, baby.”

You lean forward, changing the angle and allowing him to pound inside of you, his cock pulsing as his release nears. You’re right there with him, the drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you making you tip over the edge with a shout muffled into the sweat slick skin of his neck. 

He slams himself deep, cock pulsing as he spends himself into the condom inside of you. You collapse against his chest, the two of you catching your breath in the aftermath. When you roll off of Joel and onto the mattress, he’s quick to pull you back against him, your head resting on his chest.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you interrupt breathlessly. “It was.”

After a moment, Joel quietly asks, “What now?”

“You can stay…if you want.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing along your shoulder. “I want that.”

Joel’s phone rings at an ungodly hour the next morning. He struggles to find his discarded pants in the dark but when he finally unearths the obnoxious device, his greeting is a snapped, “What?”

“He lives!” Tommy cheers from the other end. “It was a fifty-fifty chance you were dead or in bed.”

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“Just checkin’ to see how the date went. Must’ve been pretty good, seein’ as how I’m at your house and you’re nowhere to be found.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. He’s about to hang up when he hears Tommy shout, “Wait!”

“What now?” Joel asks.

“Ain’t you gonna thank me?”

Joel snaps the phone shut, tossing it into the piles of clothes and crawling back into bed with you.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[comatosebunny09]

kindle [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au

warning(s): language, pining, terms of endearment (doll, sweetheart)

part 2 to this. hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️

It’s a date. Or at least, you assume it is. 

Given the way Leon had sauntered up to your desk, all smirking and sheepish, it was only fair to surmise he had asked you out on one. 

Took him long enough.

He came to you through the dull murmur of the office. When the sun crept towards the horizon, bathing your cubicle in an ethereal orange. You were elbow deep in SIR reports, gnawing on the cap of your pen. Irritation rested between your brows. If you glared any harder, the information sprawled before you would surely combust.

Paperwork was the bane of your existence. Dodging chainsaws, claws, and teeth seemed more appealing. You’d gladly take the cool steel of a beretta biting into your palm over that of a ballpoint. 

Thick, work-worn fingers splayed on your desk, drawing your attention northward. You couldn’t help the slight quirk of your lips. Couldn’t parry that pleasant, fluttery feeling in your gut at the sight of him—your partner, that is. 

Leon’s hair was ruffled with errant strands sticking this way and that. Irises glimmered like sea glass, dancing over your features with boyish fascination. His smile was dimpled, and crow’s feet hung to the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble dappled his chin. His tie was loosened around his neck, while his dress shirt lay slightly untucked and wrinkled. It seemed the day had been as kind to him as it was to you.   

You found yourself resting your cheek in your palm as warmth flooded your innards. Fell under his spell, submerged beneath its shadowy depths, unable to resurface. Not that you wanted to. He held your heart in a vice. You cautioned a “Sup?” wincing at how your voice crackled. How you sounded prepubescent, and you cleared your throat to ward off your nerves.

Leon’s replying chuckle was like velveteen. You felt it in your stomach. Felt it play up your spine like a xylophone. You always found his voice endearing, the low gravel of it sticky and dulcet to your ears. 

As if magnetically drawn to them, you watched his lips, soft and rose-petal red, form around words. Your own tingled as you recalled kissing that very mouth a few nights ago. Committed their texture to memory, quelling the urge to touch your lips. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobbed and the tendons in his neck flexed. You instinctively swallowed, readjusting yourself in your chair.

“Not much,” Leon said, shifting his weight onto one foot. Still propped up on your desk in an easy slouch, swaddling you in the aroma of gun oil and teakwood. Of course, his sleeves were cuffed, baring his sinewy forearms. How badly you wanted to touch them. Drag your fingertips down the forked veins beneath, conjuring the prettiest sounds from his throat. “Just checkin’ on my favorite partner.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m your only partner, dickhead.”

“I dunno,” he taunted, standing tall with folded arms. From this angle, it was easy to make out the power of his body. His clothes did little to disguise it. Your throat grew dry, and your voice caught in the bowels of your chest. “Marie over in HR is gunnin’ for your spot.” 

It always surprised you how quickly you could move. How swiftly you could retrieve your stapler and chuck it at him. Leon snorted as he ducked, the damned thing striking a far-off window. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, a youthful crinkle to his eye. 

“Relax, doll. I’m just messin’.” 

You countered with a hmph, clearly over his shit.  

Leon replaced his palms on your desk once the dust settled. Broke the heavy silence by asking, “How’s the admin stuff comin’?” Feigning interest in the documents littering your cubicle, he retrieved a packet, skimming through it with disinterest. Like he wasn’t using you to procrastinate, a pile of pristine, white paper leering at you through his office window. 

With a weighted sigh, you answered, “It’s coming.” A quiet snicker garnered another eye-roll. “Oh, grow the hell up, Kennedy.” 

“Never. You like me like this.”

You cut your eyes at him mid-scribble. Sat your pen down with a definitive clack. These childish games you played made you feel giddy. Like two grade-schoolers in the sandbox, clearly taken by each other. Alright. You’d bite. 

“Says who?” 

It was as if you initiated a challenge. As if you’d stuck out your tongue and said make me. Leon took the bait, inching towards you, huffing out a chuckle. He crept over your desk with the finesse of a jaguar quietly stalking through the bush. Poured himself into your personal bubble, the heat of his body rolling off him in waves, staining your neck, a shiver sifting through your bones. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear. Dizzying as he deliberately exhaled against your skin.

His timbre was dark with mischief as he finally crooned, “Says that dumb little look on your face, sweetheart.”

You’d never punched him harder. 

Leon drew back, gulping down air between a peal of laughter. It became customary for him to torment you like that. To play on the attraction swimming between you, dismantling your resolve and leaking through the fissures of your heart. When the moment became too serious, he often sprinkled in a quip or two to keep you at arm’s length. It was frustrating. How he could act so cool despite the noticeable change in your relationship. 

“What do you even want, Kennedy? I’ve got shit to do,” you sighed, exasperation wading in your tone. Your forehead collided against the cherrywood with a soft thunk. A migraine bloomed on the horizon. Leon’s teasing only served to exacerbate it.

His tone was muffled. Hesitant, rivaled by the idle chatter of your coworkers. “Well, if you must know, I … wanted to see if you had dinner plans?” 

Magma filled your belly. Your eyes shot to him, a sheet of paper comically glued to your forehead. You were acutely aware of yourself, sitting up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, fretting over your hair. “Dinner? Uh, m-me? N-no. Well—”

“Cool. Now you do have plans. Seven sound good?” 

Your expression was awestruck. Well, now, this was certainly a new development. You blinked away your confusion, nodding dumbly. Caught a glimpse of a smirk canting Leon’s lips before he stepped out. Before he tapped your desk with finality, maneuvering out of your office space. 

“Wait! Wait, is … is this a date?” you called to his retreating back.

“Take it however you want,” Leon supplied, a hand raised in farewell. 

You sank into your chair once he disappeared within the maze of cubicle walls. Left at the mercy of your thundering heart and flaring nerves. The goofiest of grins lay claim to your countenance. You felt reinvigorated, taking up your pen. Scrawled away like an enamored fool, scanning through the catalog of your mind for what you would wear.             

<< part 1

[thelaisydazy]

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Second Date

Was this chapter an excuse to also write biker!Simon? Maybe..

You stand by the counter of the bakery, cleaning the counter nervously as you wait. It was early, 5AM, and you were exhausted. You'd been up all night following a date with Simon. The two of you had just talked, more than you ever had previously. He’d even opened up and showed you his face. 

A bark from the front door makes you look up. Simon is standing there with Riley. You can’t stop yourself from smiling at him. You hurry over, unlocking the door for him. 

“Good morning!” you chirp, suddenly no longer tired. 

Simon smiles down at you, his brown eyes soft as they crinkle behind his mask. “S’morning,” he says. “Y’look good.” His compliment turns your cheeks pink. 

“Ah! Thank you! So do you,” you say, stepping back so he and Riley could enter. “I was thinking, there’s a break room. Maybe we could eat breakfast back there.”

Simon’s expression turns to surprise. “Is that alright?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be up front here?”

You quickly wave off his concern. “It’s alright,” you say. “The bakery doesn’t open for a little while yet anyway. Besides, the bakers can always wrap up orders if I’m not up here for a few minutes.” You point him towards the open door behind the counter. “I’ll grab us something and be right there.”

Simon nods and walks to the breakroom, settling himself into one of the too-small folding chairs. You appear a few moments later with a pair of croissants and a couple dog treats. You close the breakroom door behind you and sit across from Simon. He only hesitates for a moment before taking off his mask and eating.

“I had a really good time yesterday,” you say. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to do that again sometime.”

“Yes,” Simon answers, far quicker than he’d meant to, making you giggle. 

“I guess you had fun too then,” you tease. “Did you want to get coffee again? Or should we do something else?”

Simon is quiet for a moment. “How do you feel about motorbikes?” he asks. 

“I’ve never been on one,” you say. “I didn’t know you rode one.” 

“On occasion,” he says. “We could take a ride up the mountain to see the sunset. If you want to.”

You watch him. You’d always thought Simon was the serious and confident type, but he was just as unsure of himself as you were of yourself. It made him far more human in your eyes. 

“I’d love to,” you say smiling, watching the way the tension in his shoulders melt. “Are you free tonight? We can meet up after I get off.”

“I’ll talk to the chief,” Simon says.

---

A few hours later, you’re locking up the bakery door. Behind you there’s a great rumbling of an engine. You turn to see a massive man on the back of a motorcycle, his helmet obscuring his face. 

“Simon?” you call out over the roar of the bike. He’s not dressed in the usual jeans and t-shirt you’re used to. Instead he’s in a black leather jacket and pants. His helmet matches his mask, a skull printed over the front of it and a pair of leather gloves with skeleton fingers on the backs. He flips the visor on the helmet up, letting you see his eyes as he reaches back and holds out another helmet for you. 

You hurry over and he helps you put the helmet on then onto the back of the motorbike. 

“Hold on tight Little Bird,” he chuckles, giving you a moment to wrap your arms around his waist before he takes off. 

At first it’s a little startling to watch the street fly past you without the safety of a car around you, but Simon knows what he’s doing as he expertly speeds out of town and towards the forested mountain. 

The ride is peaceful once you get out of town, only a couple cars passing you as they travel off the mountain. Simon drives the two of you up the mountain, glancing over his shoulder now and again to make sure you’re alright. You finally come to a stop at a little picnic area. Simon parks the bike and helps you down before hopping off himself. 

By now the sun is just starting to set. It’s colder up on the mountain, making you shiver for only a moment before Simon’s jacket is wrapped around your shoulders. Your face feels hot as you mumble a thank you. The two of you sit on a bench to watch the sunset, Simon’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close. 

“It’s beautiful out here..” you whisper. 

“You are…”

You turn quickly to look at him only to find his face just a few inches from your own, so close. He breathes your name. 

“Can I..”

“Yes..”

Simon pulls his mask down and his lips meet yours. They’re as soft as the kiss is. Gentle and wanting and all too short. Your heart is pounding and your head is spinning before you notice him standing. 

“I should get you home,” he says, pulling his helmet back on. 

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

@din0o0o  @waves-against-a-cliff  @mismatchsposts  @whos-fran  @emelie-s-h @midnights-song   @slodr4wzstuff   @shiity1   @reaper-chan666   @smitten-haematite-quartz   @kariiiel   @misshoneypaper   @nothankyew   @meganovich   @ghostlythots   @jasons-little-princess   @nunezr29   @hypersomniac000    @sheisabitchbicth   @chickennn-soupp   @yannauauau   @thebaileybugle   @phantomly27   @jeezkiddo   @meeb-meep   @darkangel4121   @infpt-zylith   @takashi-ig   @live-love-be-unique   @lilpothoscuttings   @juniperbaies   @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction   @mastertothepieces   @cringeycookies   @xxravenxstarxx-blog   @km-ffluv   @nic-stars   @plk-18   @undercover-smutlover @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @sunflowervase @ah-blossom @yyiikes @goldenfoxe @sobbingnshtting @mayorjack @tumbleweedbee

[wittlesissyb4by]

Smooches (Custom Caption)

“Thank you so much for coming to betasit!” Your wife smiled as Molly entered. 

Molly had a superior air about her as she surveyed the room, looking at everything in your pathetic little nursery like it was tacky and overdone, but when her eyes got to you, sitting on the floor in your little dress and diaper, that’s when her nose really turned up. 

“What can I say,” Molly said, hardly sparing you an ounce of attention, “it’s fun to put little losers in their place!”

Your wife smiled like she was the happiest woman on earth. “Well i’ll be gone until late in the night, so you are free to use and abuse him however you see fit! He has a bottle in the fridge, a fresh jar of pureed prunes in the pantry, and plenty of snacks if he gets hungry. If he gets fussy or misbehaves, please do not hesitate to spank him!”

Molly looked at you with a malicious smirk, “oh i think he’ll be getting more than a few spankings whether he’s good or not!!”

Both the girls laughed, causing you to tremble on the floor so hard that your diaper crinkled. You couldn’t help but fold in front of Alpha women. Their dominant superiority eclipsing your pathetic, puny excuse for manhood. 

Molly crouched down on her haunches in front of you, making her already tight gym pants squeeze and press in ways that made your legs clench. You always had the biggest fetish for gym leggings. Your wife knew it, and apparently Molly knew it too. 

Her eyes bore into you, making you squirm under her gaze, she lifted your chin so that you were forced to look at her. 

“You are a loser! Do you understand, little bitch? I mean, look at you…” she gestured with her hands open at the display of a diapered dork in a dress quivering right in front of her. “I bet you’ve already pissed your little pampers, haven’t you?”

“N-no!” You tried to say, but her hands were already lifting your skirt, pressing the padding between your legs. It was warm and plump. But…but you were dry before! When did you even do it? You were so shook by their presence that you must have—

“Oh my goodness!!” Molly exclaimed, clapping her hand to her face to cover her laughing lips. Her other hand was tugging at your waistband so she could get a peek of what was inside your diaper. “It’s so tinyy!!”

Well that wasn’t really fair. It was the cage that made it look so small. When it was out and free it could get to almost 2 inches long!! But it had been months since that last happened…

“And look how leaky he is!!” Molly giggled to your wife, as if she didn’t already know. “Good thing wittle miss pottypants has her pampers on to catch all her stickies!!”

Your face flushed a deeper pink than your dress while Molly scoffed at your shame, standing back up to speak to your wife. “It’s no wonder you found a real man to fuck!”

Your wife simply shrugged, “now you know what i’ve been dealing with for so long. Luckily Michael is ten times the man my huggie hubby will ever be! I added some of his ‘protein’ to the cuck’s bottles, maybe that’ll make my pathetic pamper pisser grow a pair…but I doubt it!”

Both girls cackled at your pitiful torment. Your wife, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, stepped forward. “Well…i better get going! Don’t want to keep him waiting!” She pivoted on her heel and jutted out her perfectly toned, voluptuous ass in front of your face, tapping a finger to her perky, springy cheek. 

You knew what that meant. You looked to Molly for help or for a lack of judgement, but neither came, her arms were crossed, she knew exactly what you were going to do and how pathetic you were for doing it. 

Sighing, you leaned forward, planting a kiss onto the soft silk of your wife’s asscheek. Once, twice, and then one on the other. 

Your wife smiled, delving in her superiority while you clenched your legs and quivered. 

“What is he doing?” Molly asked. 

“Trying to control himself.” She said, “he can’t help it, it drives him crazy. Every now and then i’ll pull my pants down just enough so he can get to kiss my bare ass, but only if he’s super good. He never gets to see me naked though, not anymore. That is all for Michael!”

Molly nodded as if she just said the most obvious thing ever. “Well you go have fun! Don’t worry about your little baby bitch husband! I’ll take great care of him!!”

Your wife smiled, gathered her things, said her goodbyes to you and Molly, and left through the door, leaving you with a 25 year old hotass babysitter with a very sadistic look in her eye. 

She bent over, hands to her knees, purring like a vixen with her prey caught in a trap. “Ohhh i’m going to have sooo much fun with you!” She pinched your cheeks, hard enough to make you whimper, shaking them back and forth. “You’re gonna be my little baby bitch for the rest of the night. I’ve got you alll to myself! You’re gonna waddle and crawl around in your filthy fucking pampers while I video you goo goo ga ga-ing for all my friends to see! I’m gonna strap you to your ridiculous highchair and force feed you mushy meals until you’re stuffed and have to use your Daddy’s milkies to wash it all down while wallowing in your own filth! You’re going to be playing in your playpen with a poopy diaper around your waist, wishing you could get the chance to kiss my pretty feet!”

She bent even closer, lowering her voice so as to emphasize her next point: “You’re mine now, do you understand me? Just because you have to be strapped to your crib by 7 doesn’t mean I can’t find plenty of ways to degrade and humiliate you until then!!”

That got you whimpering and shivering in fear. 

She laughed at your feeblish sniffles, straightening up to triumphantly tower over you. “So you like gym pants, huh?” She grinned, turning around to show you her blue, skin-tight leggings. She brought them inches from your face, so close you could still smell her sweat from her workout. 

“Kiss.” She commanded, jutting her butt out, “and keep kissing until you poop your stupid pamper! Then I'm going to make you rub your filth all over yourself before babysitter Molly has her fun with you!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a custom caption created for one of my love subs on SubStar. If you'd like one of your very own, consider joining tiers Silver or higher!

[grandlinedreams]

|| bc hey pspsps remember that I said reader liked the constellations? [AS!reader masterlist]

|| warnings: a little bit of angst, mention of reader's powers, fluff

Something is bothering you.

As attuned to you as Azriel is, he doesn't fail to notice your subdued behavior at dinner, the way that you laugh a beat too late, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. From the pleading look Feyre shoots him afterwards, he knows he's not the only one who's noticed.

He finds you out on one of the balconies that overlooks the glittering sprawl of Velaris below, your head tipped towards the sky. Azriel debates for a long moment before he joins you. Your only acknowledgement that you know he's there is the half-step closer that you take.

"...when I was little, I was obsessed with the stars," you say quietly after a couple of moments. "I begged my father to let me see the charts he kept for the ships, spent hours trying to make my own..."

Something flutters in your hand, and Azriel realizes that it's a tightly folded piece of paper. You turn towards him, offering it. It crinkles as he unfolds it, the paper battered by the worn creases and ink a little smeared by water, but it's clear that it's one of the charts you'd just mentioned.

"It was in my dress." Your voice is even softer now, and you won't look at him. "The one I was wearing when we were..." You swallow. "I forgot I'd taken it. I don't know why. Luck, maybe." Your lips curl into a humorless smile. "Seems fitting now, I guess."

Your hand comes up to graze over your chest, the tiny starburst scar that's made residence there — a marker of a power you're struggling to grasp. Azriel studies the sprawling dots of black that make up swirling spans of constellations, names scrawled next to each of them. "Which ones can you see here?"

You blink. "Quite a few. Velaris has very clear night skies."

"Show them to me?" Azriel isn't sure why he's asking, and it shows in the barely there waver to his tone as you look at him in surprise — and then your expression softens.

"Sure."

Azriel isn't sure how long the two of you spend outside, your voice unwavering as you name constellation after constellation. Azriel tracks your hand as it moves, watches the way your expression lights up, and decides that he's never loved the stars as much as he does now.

[jflemings]

— visiting hours

pairing: jessie fleming x reader

synopsis: five times you got a visit at work and the one time you returned the favour

warning: minimal allusions to sex

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧸 ⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

you and jessie had been seeing eachother for a while now, having met one hectic morning at a coffee shop during her first few weeks in portland. you had spilled your drink all over her training kit and stammered your way through an apology whilst attempting to dry off her shirt with some near by napkins. in your frantic effort to clean her up she had placed a hand over yours and shyly told you that you could make it up to her by letting her take you out.

you agreed with a shy smile and nod before realising the time and hurrying to your car so that you wouldn’t be more late than you already were, choosing to write your name and number on her own cup and practically flying out the door.

it all snowballed after that first date, the two of you quickly realising how much you enjoyed eachother’s company leading you to spend whatever time you could spare together.

1. FORGOTTEN LUNCH

jessie navigates her way through the school halls quietly as she tries to find your classroom. the brown paper bag in her hands crinkles slightly as she readjusts her grip, hoping that you were where the lady in the admin office said you would be.

she nervously bites the inside of her cheek as she approaches your open classroom door, peaking her head inside and rapping her knuckles against the wood three times to get your attention.

you look up from what you’re doing with a smile before a slightly shocked expression takes over your features “jess?”

jessie steps inside nervously “hey” she greets quietly “you left your lunch this morning”

your face drops in relief, your hand immediately falling to your stomach “you didn’t have to drop it off, i was just going to buy lunch”

the canadian shrugs as she walks to your desk and puts the bag down in front of you, her palm flattening on the wooden surface “it was my fault you were late” she mumbles looking down, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks “it was the least i could do.”

you smile up at her, crossing your arms and leaning them on your desk. the memory of this morning’s activities flashes in your mind and you smirk, jessie’s sudden embarrassment being a stark difference to her needy, cocky exterior from a few hours ago.

“i don’t recall me complaining” you tease as you tilt your head and look over your girlfriend’s shy form. she’s dressed in her training gear, the white shirt accentuating her broad shoulders in a way that has you reeling.

she cracks her knuckles against your desk and rolls her eyes playfully as she watches you check her out shamelessly. folding her arms, she turns and sits herself on the edge of your furniture, her posture going lax as she crosses her ankles and tucks her head into her shoulder slightly.

“stop staring” she mumbles quietly into her shoulder

you can’t help but smile slightly before you prop your chin up on the palm of your hand “am i making you nervous, fleming?”

jessie squints at you slightly, unfolding her arms and leaning back on her hands “i didn’t say that”

“you didn’t have too” you smirk before standing and leaning over to kiss her cheek “thank you though, saved me both time and money”

the canadian smiles “anytime”

2. DROPPING IN

it’s during your free period when jessie drops by unexpectedly. she stands in your doorway aimlessly before knocking, making you look up from your laptop.

you smile “what are you doing here?”

“got bored at home” she says as she walks in “thought i’d come see you for a little bit”

you push out the chair that’s next to your desk with your foot, signalling her to sit down. she does so and tucks her hands into her pockets before kicking out her legs and crossing her ankles “finished your book, then?”

she nods “this morning. then i put on some laundry and sorted dinner out but i quickly ran out of things to do” she picks at the hem of her shorts “what are you up to? i’m not interrupting am i?”

“no, i just finished up a couple emails and was hoping to put a dent in this stack of assignments i’ve got to mark but i can’t focus” you assure her whilst pushing your laptop away “you’ve given me a reason to have a bit of a break”

jessie hums “the ones you were marking last night?”

“yeah. i only got through about three before i fell asleep”

“you were up until midnight doing them” jessie points out with a cock of her head, now only noticing the bags under your eyes. she tuts “you’ve gotta stop stressing yourself out”

“i could say the same to you” you rebuttal, referring to the numerous times jessie’s stayed after training to do some practice by herself. you cock an eyebrow “you overwork yourself”

“so do you”

“but i’m not an athlete” you point at her as you prop your legs up on her own “if you don’t rest your body you’re going to do yourself more harm then good, jess. you don’t need me to tell you that”

the canadian shifts in her seat and rests her hands on your legs, running them up and down your shins over your jeans. she leans her head back and rolls it on her neck, coming to look at you half over her shoulder. she raises her eyebrows before huffing “fine” she says “dinner tonight then? sounds like we could both use a bit of down time”

“you said that you already had dinner sorted” you point out.

“i do” she nods her head “i actually came to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner, i’ll cook and you can just sit and look pretty”

you can’t help but smile at jessie “i would love to”

3. EXAM SEASON

you were freaking out. an absolute a wreck as you go through your bag, folder and every drawer in your classroom.

exam season hit you hard and fast. you had been barley sleeping so that you could finish grading your sophomore’s and junior’s midterm english exams, determined to not make them wait for their grades longer than they had to. you had finished them last night and now you had lost them.

checking your watch, your eyes go wide at the time. only ten minutes before you had your sophomores for first period. ten minutes before you had a bunch of tired highschool students in your classroom awaiting their grades, and you’d have to tell them that you didn’t have them.

it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if they hadn’t complained to you earlier in the week that most of their teachers had yet to give them their other exams and assignments back. you had of course tried to explain to them that grading exams wasn’t as quick as taking them, especially since most of the staff had more than one class, but you still promised to have them marked and ready by the end of the week.

only, you didn’t have them.

they weren’t in your backpack, your laptop bag, tucked away in your desk or misplaced in another drawer. they just weren’t here.

you hang your head and screw your eyes shut, cursing at yourself for being so stupid and misplacing them when your classroom door opens, interrupting your train of thought. you turn around to greet whoever it is with the best smile you can muster, only to be met with jessie dressed in her training gear and holding a stack of papers.

“you left these on the kitchen bench this morning” she holds them up and waves them “i tried to call you but you didn’t pick up so i thought i’d just come drop them to you personally”

you drop your jaw “jessie you are a lifesaver, oh my god” you laugh in relief, crossing the length of your classroom to meet her at the door. you take the papers off her and kiss her hard, her hand finding your hip easily “you have no fucking idea how stressed i’ve been trying to find them”

jessie smiles and squeezes your hip “babe, you have got to stop putting so much pressure on yourself” she says lowly “and you need more sleep”

you roll your eyes playfully and tap the thorns crest on her training shirt “yeah, well, i’ll be sleeping a lot better now that exams are done with” you say lightheartedly before realising what jessie’s dressed in. your eyebrows shoot up as you look at your watch “and you need to go, jess, you’re going to be late!”

she puts her hands up as you push her into the hallway protesting “i’m not going to be late—”

“jessie go!”

the canadian pecks your lips “i’ll see you later” she says as she begins to walk down the hall. “don’t stress!” she yells with a smile as she rounds the corner, winking at you before dashing off.

4. FOUND OUT

jessie’s once again sat on the chair next to your desk when a student comes looking for you. she loudly walks into your class before seeing the canadian, immediately going quiet and pausing when she realises you aren’t in the room.

the two of them stare at eachother for a moment before the teenager speaks “i’m looking for miss l/n…” she trails off.

“she just went to the bathroom, she’ll be back a minute” jessie answers, sending her an awkward smile as your student nods. the canadian was sure that all the kids had left and she doesn’t know what she’ll say if the one in front of her recognises her or asks what she’s doing in your classroom.

you approach your door from the hallway, catching your student and jessie in what looks to be a staring contest. a wave of relief washes across jessie’s face as she spots you.

“olivia, what do you need?”

olivia turns suddenly, a book in her hands “i’m not coming to school on monday so i thought i’d give you this back so i don’t forget” she explains quietly.

the rattling of a keychain gets jessie’s attention. she squints and sees it’s a little chelsea jersey with FLEMING 17 printed on it. jessie smiles but diverts her eyes back to her phone, not wanting to get caught staring.

you smile “thanks, liv” you say as she nods at you “have a good weekend!” you tell her.

the teenager smiles and nods again, sneaking a glance at jessie before she rushes off down the hall. you tilt your head as you watch her leave before turning back to your girlfriend.

“did she talk to you?” you ask as you approach your desk.

jessie shakes her head “we kind of just… stared at eachother. i didn’t know what to say”

you huff a laugh as you tuck the book away into your desk “she’s a fan” you say “she’s a chelsea supporter and was really excited when you signed with portland. she talked my ear off about it after she went to watch the first match”

“i saw the keychain on her bag” the canadian says quietly.

“she’s told me you’re the reason she plays soccer” you admit whilst putting your laptop in it’s bag “i’m not surprised she didn’t tell you though. she’s pretty shy”

all jessie can do is nod in thought. it was nice to be the reason someone fell in love with the sport she so passionately played, even more so that it was a teenage girl.

you clap your hands once as you hike your backpack onto your shoulder “right. i think we should make pizzas and watch that movie we saw on hulu last night, what do you say?”

jessie’s attention is now completely on you “pizzas from scratch or pizzas with store bought bases?”

“who do you think i am, fleming. store bought bases, obviously, i can’t be bothered making the dough”

when olivia returns to school on tuesday you have a signed portland thorns fleming jersey waiting for her. the look of gratitude on her face when you give it to her is priceless.

5. SOFT SPOKEN

“it was a hard exam” you say softly to olivia who stands in front of you. she’s gripping her paper tight and looking down on it like she wants to make it disappear “but you can get your grade back up to an A by the end of the semester if you do extra credit. i promise it’s not the end of the world”

“my parents are going to be so mad at me” she whispers “i studied so hard”

“exactly. you studied hard and you did your best, that’s all you can do”

olivia nods weakly, the paper crinkling in her grip as she looks at you “i just really wanted to keep up my grades this semester, especially after last semester” she admits to you, her voice quiet “i thought i did so well on this”

“you aren’t the only kid who got a bad grade, liv” you attempt to assure her but frown when you realise you might not be getting anywhere. you found your desk and open your top drawer, pulling out a packet “here’s a little bit of extra credit to start you off. get it back to me by monday, okay?” you hand it to her and tilt your head “we’ll fix your grade, i promise”

olivia takes the packet from you and nods before putting it, along with her graded test, in her backpack. just as you open your mouth to speak again you get a knock at your door.

you expect it to be another staff member, or maybe even jessie seeing as though she would’ve finished training by now. instead you lock eyes with an awkward looking christine sinclair. her eyes shift between you and olivia as she smiles sheepishly “sorry, i was just looking for y/n l/n?”

“that’s me!” you exclaim before turning back to your student “come see me on monday, okay?”

“how many soccer players do you know” olivia whispers to you, completely ignoring your request. you smile as her and jerk your head in the direction of the door.

she walks out, giving christine a smile and nod as she passes, before you turn to the former canadian international “what can i do for you?”

your sudden perk up makes her eyes brows raise “jessie gave me her house keys to drop to you. she’s in with the physio and didn’t want you getting locked out of her place”

you smile gratefully and beckon her in with a wave of your hand, taking the keys from her as you stick your free hand out for her to shake “i know you know, but i’m y/n”

“christine” she says smiling “jessie’s mentioned you before but i didn’t realise you, uh, were seeing eachother”

you feel heat begin to creep up your neck “yeah, a few months now”

the footballer nods “it’s good to meet you” she says, putting both hands behind her back.

you smile “it’s good to meet you too” you echo before clipping the keys onto your key ring “is jess okay?”

“she’s all good, it’s just a tweak in her calf. it was bothering her during training so she got it checked”

you nod along “alright”.

the canadian jerks her thumb in the direction of the door “you’re good with her” she says “your student, i mean”

“yeah, they’re great kids” you can’t help but smile “most of the time, anyway. they have their moments”

“don’t we all” christine jokes before checking her watch “well i’ve gotta run but it was really nice to meet you finally. i’ll see you around?”

“definitely”

+1. CLEATS

jessie was one of the most organised people you had ever met. she has a place for everything, her books, her training kit, her shoes, her spices, everything. she even leaves all her training gear by your front door when she stays over so she knows exactly where it is and doesn’t have to run around silly in the mornings.

this morning she hadn’t even been in a rush. she’d woken up at the right time, made the two of you coffee and breakfast, had a shower and got changed, and then left your place.

you had unfortunately woken up sick with a stuffy nose and nasty headache, meaning you took the day off work but even that didn’t disrupt her flow. she simply left you with painkillers, a full waterbottle and a kiss on the forehead before leaving.

so it was a surprise when you got up to make yourself a cup of tea and saw her cleat bag by the door. you checked your phone to check if she’d called, which she hadn’t, and then realised that she might not even know yet. you quickly abandoned your tea and got dressed into something you wouldn’t mind being seen in public in before making your way to the thorns training grounds.

you sent jess a text before leaving and then again as you pulled up before walking into the facility and stopping a staff member apologetically. he told you that they hadn’t started training yet and then pointed you in the right direction before he disappeared, leaving you to navigate the building on your own.

you cursed yourself and your stuffy nose as you went, just praying that you’d find jessie or at least a player you recognised.

you turn down a hallway when a door opens, revealing your canadian peering out puzzled “i swear i had them, they were with my bag when i left this morning!”

“maybe you were distracted” an unknown voice teases, earning a snicker out of a few other people.

jessie frowns and rolls her eyes “no, janine, i wasn’t distracted i— y/n?” she exclaims when she sees you, a look of surprise on her face “what are you doing here?”

“y/n!?” the voice from before — janine — shouts from the room jessie just came from.

she shuts the door quickly and holds it closed, smiling at you as you wave her boots “you left these this morning”

“oh my god” she says, taking them from you and pulling you into a hug. because she can’t help it, he places the back of her hand against your forehead “you’re not burning up like you were when i left”

“headache’s gone too” you say proudly “nose is still stuffy though”

she pouts momentarily before the door pushes open, revealing a blonde freckled woman. she grins at you “you’re y/n?”

“that’s me”

she pushes the door further and sticks her hand out for you to shake “i’m janine” she introduces as jessie rolls her eyes “jessie here has been a bit tight lipped about you”

“no i haven’t” your girlfriend groans.

janine rolls her eyes and pushes the door open fully to lean her hand on it “yes you have! we didn’t even know you were seeing her until sincy dropped your keys to her”

“but you knew she existed!”

“even that wasn’t clear!” janine exclaims again, throwing jessie a look “we thought you were making her up” she mumbles to herself.

“oooookay! y/n is sick so she has to get home” the younger canadian pushes back on the door. janine gives up and waves you goodbye, the grin still present on her face, before jessie clicks the door shut. she smiles at you “she’s joking”

“about you being tight lipped or about ypu making me up?” you half smile, grabbing her free hand.

jessie blushes “about making you up”

“ahhhhh” you say teasingly whilst nodding.

jessie squeezes your hand and tilts her head “thank you for bringing me my boots”

“anytime” you say quietly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “call me when you’re finished?”

“of course” jessie says as you drop her hand, waving you goodbye as you walk down the hall.

[tinycozycomfort]

where you sleep

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day three of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: hand kink -> read her day three here

summary: When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see. 

warnings/tags: pwp!, hand kink, oral sex (m recieving), dom/sub dynamics, masturbation (m), exhibitionism, misuse of underwear/underwear play, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), creepy!joel (/dark!joel?)

word count: 1.7k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: gotta give an extra kiss to @pascalisbaby for not only saving this from the delete button more than once but for always being the best person alive!!!

main masterlist

You hear him, first—the end of a damp squelch, the sharp intake that breaks between coupling breaths, on a loop—from your place at the front door. It’s only clear enough to be interpreted as motion, disjointed pieces of noise that make you think he might be struggling, or hurt—so you follow. 

Padding lightly down the hallway in the dim afternoon, a twinge of anxiety leans lamely against your heart with all its dead weight; guilty already, even with no cause. Your chest thrums as it tries to hold up, picturing all of the ways he could have ended up wounded while trying to fix your shower, but when you reach the bathroom, it’s empty. No blood, no horrific scene, just a pile of loose tools and a smattering of fine plaster from where he’d dug around in the wall—yet the sounds persist somewhere further. 

You continue down, not quiet by any means, a little disturbed by his lack of interest in your arrival. He’s in your room, you deduce—the only occupiable space left in the home—coming into view now with the aid of long, heavy steps. Announcing yourself, just in case.  

The door is split open enough to see a long strip of empty space—the corner of your unmade bed, the swirling edge of your dresser, a sliver of mirror posed straighter than usual. 

As you sidle up to the frame, the sounds pitch up—strained hissing and sloppy glide of skin reaching a peak—and so you risk a deeper lean to see what it is he’s gotten himself into; what it is that isn’t worth hiding. 

A weak wash of daylight squeezes through the kinks in the blinds, allowing you only the fuzzy edges of what he’s doing. 

Joel sits on the far side of the bed, body angled so that you can see just a little more than profile, hunched roundly over his lap. He’s almost fully dressed—button-up intact right up to the neck, crinkled tops of his jeans still upright on his legs—everywhere except his center. 

He has one hand braced on his stomach, wide and solid and threaded with thick cords of vein, the fabric of his modesty folded up into his thumb. The waistline of his pants is zipped and peeled open at the thigh, the buckle of his belt jolting with faint clinks on every off-beat. A crude frame for the action resting within it.

His cock is slick in his right hand, a band of bright wet flashing between his fingers as he makes rough passes along it, stuttering minutely when he moves down to the base. He fucks the column fervently, the hard muscle of his clutched fist sending a push of arousal between the tops of your thighs. 

He touches himself as roughly as he seems able to tolerate—the sinew between his first set of knuckles dipped harshly, peaks white from strain, the tips of the hand on his stomach turning in against his own flesh enough to ripple.

Something pink, unnaturally so, peaks between his fingers every so often, calling you away from your observation of his abdomen. He’s particularly enamored with whatever it is—panting every time it swirls over the head, dulling the sheen of his pull. 

Fabric, you realize, absorbing the slip on his skin. You squint, assessing the texture of the material as it darkens with each stroke. Lace fabric; scallop-edged lace fabric that looks starkly familiar to what had been discarded in a shallow grave on top of your too-full hamper the night before. 

He shoves into the cloth, webbing it around the points of his fingers like a pocket, canting his hips off the bed to slot into it and he huffs in frustration when he manages to miss a few times, stunted. 

You glance up to see he’s maneuvering himself blindly; despite his intricate goal he looks straight ahead, eyes still open from what you can make out, concentration elsewhere as he fumbles against the make-shift cunt. 

You track his focus, only half-way across the room when you remember just how much the door had been left open, the crease of the frame very visible in the newly-positioned mirror at your bedside—the intention of it. 

The realization rushes between your ribs like ice-water, little knocks of frozen pellets as they swim between the bones on the way down. The force is so fast you feel like you’re going to keel over—not assisted by the way your knees already feel tight from the strain of keeping yourself motionless. 

You hit the end of the line, his expression wild where he meets you in the reflection, pleased.

“You just gonna watch, sweetheart? That’s all?” 

When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see. 

“Joel—Fuck, I’m… I didn’t mean to-” 

He uses his unoccupied hand to help him rise to his feet, his right not ceasing to work himself as he rounds the edge of the mattress. You cower, still mostly inaccessible behind the wood, so he reacts accordingly—slows, tames his grin, knits the inner corners of his brow to look disarming. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You caught me in a bit of a bind here, honey,” he pumps lazily, head bowing to direct your attention as if you would need the assistance, “No big deal. Wouldn’t hurt if you offered to help—might as well work for the show.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, afraid to pierce the illusion, the dream in front of you a few words from melting away, and he pouts something disappointed.

“Don’t need to invite you into your own room, do I?”

“Joel,” you try again, weak. 

“Heard you the first time—didn’t mean to. We’re past that. I forgive you. Now c’mon, come take a closer look—like I know you want to.”

Hesitantly, you hook an ankle around the edge of the door, willing yourself forward. Joel nods encouragingly before cutting the distance with his own wide steps. 

He uses his clean hand to cup the swell of your cheek, thumb twisting to dig into the fullest part, the pads against your neck pressing down like a suggestion, and you fold without question, tucking a knee beneath you to guide yourself to the floor. 

Joel releases you, draping the curve of his shirt up into his palm again to reveal what had been only momentarily concealed beneath it. Even so, your eyes stay fixed on the spread of his fingers against his belly, right past the place where his cock hangs between his legs. 

“Didn’t seem to have a problem looking when you thought I didn't know. Don't be shy.” His words are encouraging but his tone is laced with annoyance, frustrated maybe that you aren’t responding with the enthusiasm he wants.

He resumes playing with himself, the stretch of lace in his clutch not enough to claim your favor—the way his nails pierce his stomach far more intriguing. 

He seems to understand, trailing his palm up to his chest, still holding the hem, a smile curling on his lips when you follow the movement. 

“Oh, that’s what you like?” 

He releases his length, letting the lace slot between the crease of his thumb like a bracelet. “You want me to touch you with these, sweetheart?” He waves the wet hand lewdly before offering it to you, “Want me to put them in your mouth?” 

You nod, and he lets the rough tips of his pointer and middle tap on the center of your bottom lip, watching shamelessly as you open up for him on instinct. 

“Look at that. I think we can figure out something here that works out for both of us, hm?” 

He doesn’t bother letting you answer, lining the row of his longer fingers outward against your lower lip, his thumb braced against the upper. You stick your tongue out, curling it around his first finger to try and coax him inside but he has another idea. He spreads his legs, settling his weight before leaning to feed the tip of his cock through the channel he’s created with his hand, breaching the open space of your mouth. 

You take him enthusiastically and he makes a choked sound, the plane of his chest pushing out hard between firm breaths, a stripe of pink crawling up his neck and across his face. He’s ruffled, composure broken, his own mouth agape in veiled mockery.

“There you go. So pretty. You wouldn’t say no if I asked you to come down your throat, would you?” 

You do your best to shake your head, working him deeper, the row of your bottom teeth secure under the line of his pointer.

He shudders, the nail of his thumb pushing you open wider as he slides in as far as he can manage at this angle, with so much already occupying the inside of your face. 

“That’s right, honey. Good girl for me, aren’t you? Walked right into my little gift, eager. Let’s reward you, hm?” 

You hum in response, lost to anything other than the brush of his hand against your chin when he thrusts too quickly, the drag of the inside of his knuckles against your tongue. 

“Fuck. You like it, too. Should’ve come by sooner.” 

Pressure builds in the pit of your stomach, hot and rolling as where it falls over into the cradle of your core. You rub your legs together in an attempt to relieve it and he whines, bucking up quicker into the hollow of your cheeks, the fabric of your forgotten underwear slipping in with the rest of his mess on a jostled punch. 

Joel starts to unwind, heaving in hard gulps and elbow craning out in a jagged, rhythmic sway. He unhinges his jaw like he wants to say more but you bend, taking more of him than you should be able to, the soft wedge of his head prodding your throat and he grunts, rounding out his spine as he comes as far down as he promised to. 

You puff up your cheeks around him, an almost-smile, swallowing as much as you can before pulling off of him with a gentle pop, your own palm sliding up to take hold of his forearm. He lets you, deflated from his orgasm, and you run your tongue over what you couldn’t catch on his skin. 

“Should’ve known,” he chuckles, peering down at you between soaked lashes before assisting, sliding two fingers into your parted lips, “Let’s find out what else you like.”

[deakyjoe]

Burnt Cake & Melted Ice Cream

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader

Category: friends to lovers, and they were roommates!

Summary: Gaz returns home from deployment earlier than expected.

Warnings: fluff, kissing, best friends to lovers, reader can’t bake, reader is a bit of a chaotic mess, that’s it I think

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: How am I supposed to pay attention to anything this man is saying when he’s got those big beautiful brown eyes? They’re distracting! Dedicated to @sofasoap who I asked ages ago for advice on this and then never actually got it finished <3

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The cake was burning.

You were blissfully unaware.

Blissful may have been an exaggeration. Unaware was not. In fact, you were entirely too busy cleaning up your living room for the arrival of your best friend and roommate whose plane was scheduled to land in two hours time. You were trying not to panic as you were nowhere near ready to welcome him home and certainly not prepared to leave to go and pick him up from the airport within the next hour. You hadn't even showered yet!

It was a regular thought in your brain about how it was possible for you to make your home such a mess when Gaz was away. It's not like he was regularly doing the housekeeping. But maybe his absence meant that there was no one to keep you in check.

So this happened every time he was on his way home. You'd sweat as you desperately tried to scrub away any evidence of your sinful sloth state while he was away. And hate yourself for leaving it to the last minute as always.

You were knocked out of your hypnotic cleaning state by someone at your front door. Not knocking. Just making a vague scratching sound against the wood. Your first instinct was to attack. In self defence of course. So you grabbed the item closest to you - a bottle of furniture polish.

With the metal tube gripped tightly in two hands, you made your way towards the door where it now sounded like someone was attempting to pick the lock. You desperately tried to remember the moves Gaz had taught you to ward off stranger danger. None of it was coming back to you.

So with the furniture polish held high above your head, and a scream ready to leave your lungs, you waited for the intruder.

You were pleasantly surprised when a familiar face emerged from behind the door and sent you the smile that made the edges of his brown eyes crinkle.

“Hey- what are you doing?” Gaz’s face dropped as he took in your attack stance, gaze flicking over the bottle in your hands back towards your open mouth.

Your hands fell back to your sides, your heart rate decreasing rapidly in relief. “I thought somebody was breaking in!”

“With a key?” He held up the little metal object for you to see.

You sniffed and folded your arms across your chest. “Picking the lock.”

“Ah, right.” He nodded in understanding.

You suddenly realised that he shouldn’t be standing in front of you in your home at that time. "What are you doing here? Your flight isn't supposed to land for another two hours! I'm supposed to be picking you up at the airport!"

Your best friend shrugged. "Yeah, I lied."

You frowned. "Why?"

"Wanted to surprise you."

"But I wanted to surprise you! I baked a cake!”

He unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. “Why did you bake a cake?”

“Welcome home present or something, I don’t know.” You sighed and looked at him properly for the first time, suddenly thankful he was home and healthy. "I missed you."

Gaz visibly relaxed. "I missed you too."

As the two of you embraced with a warm hug, you remembered what state you were in.

You pushed away from him and looked down at yourself. "Shit, I haven't even gotten dressed yet."

He reached out and playfully tugged on the hem of your shirt. "I like you in your pyjamas."

"Not exactly the prettiest sight to come home to though, is it?" You scoffed and slapped his hand away.

He closed the door behind him and kicked his bags to the side. "Do you think I care? I'm just happy to see your face again."

"You've got that photo of me." You countered, starting to walk back to the kitchen.

He followed. "Nothing beats the real thing."

"Well, I can agree with that." You said with a mock arrogant sniff.

With a laugh, Gaz thought about something. "You been wearing that t-shirt I gave you?"

"Yeah.” You glanced away bashfully. “Stole another one from your wardrobe too."

"Why?"

"First one stopped smelling like you." You confessed, stopping in your tracks when the distinct smell of burning hit your nose. You ran towards the oven, switching it off and wrenching the door open. Smoke spilled out in a black cloud. "It's all gone to shit."

Gaz looked over your shoulder. "It's okay. I wasn't very hungry anyway."

You knew he was lying. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He smiled softly at you. "Ice cream?"

You nodded, appreciating how he was sparing your feelings. "Ice cream."

Ice cream was always the solution for the two of you. Bad day at work? Ice cream. Terrible first date? Ice cream. Feeling down? Ice cream. It always worked.

As you pulled the piece of charcoal that was supposed to be a cake out from the oven, Gaz seemed to hesitate at the sight of the ice cream.

“Uhhh…”

You groaned. “What? Don’t tell me we’re out.”

“No, not out.” He paused.

“What then?”

He looked at you with apology in his eyes. "I think our freezer's broken."

“It’s what?!” You gasped, running to his side only to find out that he was correct. Everything in there was very defrosted. Including the completely thawed ice cream which had leaked from its tub into a large melted puddle. “Aw, shit.”

“It’s okay.”

You could’ve cried. “No, it’s not. I just wanted it to be all nice for you when you got home this time and look! I fucked it all up.”

“Broken appliances aren’t your fault.” He swung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close next to him, burying his nose in the top of your head. Physical affection wasn't uncommon between the two of you. It was, in fact, the back-up plan for when ice cream was out of the picture. “Besides, coming home to you is enough.”

“Shut up, Garrick.” You mumbled but didn’t push him away, instead choosing to wrap your arms around his torso to hug him closer to you.

“Let’s just sit down, order some food and watch a movie, yeah?”

“Alright.” You sighed, letting him drag you back to the living room when the two of you collapsed into the pile of cushions and blankets that you had failed to tidy up before his early arrival.

“Did a bomb go off in here or something?” Gaz looked around the room and took in the disarray.

“Was cleaning.” You grumbled into his shoulder. “Wanted it to be nice.”

“Mhm, you said.” He paused. “Do you always do this before I come home?”

“Yes.” You sat up to look at him again. “You deserve it.”

The two of you held eye contact for a few seconds, probably too long to be called platonic but you pushed the thought away. Until Gaz spoke.

"I thought about you a lot while I was away."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the possible connotations behind that broad statement. "I'm flattered. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to remember your best friend back home. Really appreciate it."

He shook his head. "No, I mean- I mean I thought about you all the time. All the time."

That caught you off guard.

"Really?" You squeaked.

Gaz chuckled. "Yeah."

"Why?" You knew why.

He uttered your name softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. Why did it suddenly feel wrong to touch you? “I think you know why.”

“Say it.”

He didn’t want to be too forthcoming with it. So he settled on something he hoped to be more gentle and subtle. “The thing we’ve always avoided talking about. Even when people imply it.”

“Kyle…” You rarely used his first name. Nobody did. It was reserved for particular moments. You decided this was one of them.

He took it the wrong way. “No, I get it. You don’t feel- that’s okay. I’m sorry for-“

“No, that’s now what I-“ You cut yourself off with a frustrated huff. "I just don't want this to be some fleeting thought you had whilst getting shot at because I'm the closest person in your life."

His eyebrows shot up. "It's not."

“No?”

“No, I promise.”

You watched him for a moment, the sincerity that was pouring off of him. Maybe he was being serious, maybe he truly meant it. You figured there was only one way to test it.

“Kiss me.”

He looked shocked. "Kiss you?"

"Yes, kiss me."

"You want me to kiss you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, Kyle. I want you to kiss me."

He sat up straighter, fixing his posture. "Okay, I'm gonna kiss you."

"You better." You laughed.

"Alright, I'm about to kiss you."

"Just shut up and kiss me, Garrick."

And he did. With one hand on the side of your face, the other on one of your thighs and yours tangling in the front of his shirt. The two of you kissed for the first time. It was long overdue, the both of you knew it as soon as your lips touched. It was sweet, and tender, and almost a little desperate, and it felt right.

The two of you pulled back for air with a slightly shy giggle.

"Please tell me that worked for you. Because it really worked for me." He mumbled, swiping his thumb across your cheek.

“Oh, it really did.” You replied, leaning back in to kiss him again which he was only too happy to reciprocate.

The burnt cake, the melted ice cream, the untidy room, and any previous doubts went forgotten for the rest of the night.

A/N: it’s a crime how long it’s taken me to write for Gaz :(

[sweetsirenscribbles]

Morning After

John Price x Reader

A/N: This is legit only my second fic ever. I don't have anyone to proofread, sorry for any mistakes.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: smut but not detailed, drinking, a teeny tiny bit of angst, fluff

When you woke up, you didn’t open your eyes. The sheets against your skin felt odd. Your mouth was sour, letting you know you had fallen asleep without brushing your teeth. Taking a deep breath in you stretched your limbs in the bed. You let out a satisfied groan before you realized you were completely naked. That made you stop mid-stretch and open your eyes. The room was dimly light by a floor lamp next to a chair in the corner. You didn’t recognize the lamp or the chair. As you sat up and took stock of the room you found yourself in the events of last night flood your brain. You had gone out to dinner with a friend for their birthday, but you ended up at a bar playing pool. The group had gotten nostalgic over your days as young adults with less responsibilities and better tolerance for alcohol. Which is how you ended up at the bar in the first place. You personally had only planned on staying out for a little while, but your friend had pulled the birthday card on you knowing you didn’t have any real plans the next day. While playing pool your group began chatting up the guys at the table next to yours and learned it was a group of military guys. There had been a guy who was so pretty you had initially thought he was a model. He had been introduced as Gaz. There had been a guy with a mohawk and Scottish accent who went by Soap and a man wearing a black face mask and a beanie who seemed impossibly large that Soap called Ghost. Ghost had been quiet the entire night only communicating in one word answers and grunts. Then there was John. When you had spotted him a zing had run up your spine. He had fixed his steady cerulean eyes on you when your friend had introduced you to his group. John had made a point to shake your hand during the introduction process which had caused heat to rush up your neck into you hairline. You remember hearing your friend snicker next to you while you stuttered out a greeting. The way John’s eyes crinkled around his eyes made your heart skip. You had vaguely thought the he was the only person you’d ever seen that had muttons chops that you found insanely attractive. During the course of the night you had chatted with him while you all played pool and drank. John had been surprisingly easy to talk to and you had soon found yourself chatting and exchanging flirty remarks with the man. You had planned on working up the courage to exchange numbers with him before you left. However, as you friends settled their tabs and ordered Ubers, John had asked you if you’d like to come back to his place. You’d had just enough to drink to be tipsy and agree before too much thought. You sent your friend a quick text and also starting sharing you location, because safety. Once you’d gotten to John’s house he’d pushed you against the inside of the front door and made you cum on his tongue twice before he carried you to his bedroom.

Just thinking about how things had gone down (pun intended) made your skin flush. You must have passed out at some point in the night. The man in question was not currently in the room. You get out of the bed and search for your clothes. Everything was folded neatly on the chair next to your lamp. Thankfully your phone was still in your pants pocket with 20% battery life and about ten messages from your friends asking how you tonight had gone. You dressed quickly and made your way out of the bedroom. Once you were out of the room you could smell coffee and hear movement in the kitchen. You walked down the hallway and found yourself standing in the living room. “You’re awake.” A voice called from your left. You turned to see John standing in his kitchen shirtless smiling at you softly. “Yeah, I figured I’d worn out my welcome.” You rushed, feeling only slightly embarrassed at being caught. “Oh sweetheart, you haven’t worn anything out. I think I might have worn you out last night though.” John remarked with a gleam in his eyes. Heat flushed your cheeks and ears as you opened and closed your mouth, at a loss for words. A dark chuckle rumbled through John’s chest as he made his way to where you stood. “Don’t be shy now love.” John caressed your cheek gently as he peered down into your eyes. The urge to close your eyes and lean into his hand was so strong, but you just stood and stared at him. Your heart thudded in your chest quickly. “Come on, I made us breakfast.” He dropped his hand from your face and turned back to the kitchen. 

You waffled between trying to make a break for the door and sitting down at the kitchen table. You watched John start to make two plates, before you finally walked into the kitchen with a small huff of resignation. You really liked John a lot. He seemed like a good guy, but he was career military and you were under the impression he wasn’t exactly looking for more than a fling. While you didn’t regret having sex with him, because truthfully it had been the best sex you’d ever had, you didn’t really want a situationship.

John pulled a cup out of a cabinet and turned to you. “How do you take your coffee?” He asked turning to the refrigerator. “John, this really isn’t necessary.” He turned back to you with a frown tugging at his eyebrows. “Do you prefer tea? Let me put the kettle on.” He said turning back away from you. “No. John. I mean all of this. You don’t have to feed me. I’d rather not draw this goodbye out longer than needed.” You blurted out. John took a step towards you. “What are you going on about?” He questioned with an unreadable expression. You took an uneasy step back. “T-this,” you stammered. “Who does this for a one night stand?” The edge of the table pressed into the back of your thighs. You realized then you’d been backing away from John and was now stuck between him and the kitchen table. “One night stand? Is that what you think this is?” John crossed his arms over his chest.Your eyes flickered down to take in the way his arms bulged across his hairy chest. When you meet his eyes they had a knowing gleam to them. “I mean I’d like to see you again, but I figured that with your job you wouldn’t want to.” You sputtered feeling like you were being scolded somehow. John grabbed your hand gently and brought it to his lips before softly kissing each of your knuckles. “I might have gone about things out of order, but I very much want take you out on a proper date and get to know you better. I know me being in the military isn’t ideal, but I want to try if you’re willing.” He declared staring into your eyes. His words surprised you and you couldn’t help the goofy grin that formed on your lips. “I’d like that very much actually.” You breathed out. “Good.” John mumbling staring at your lips as he leaned into your space. Your eyes fluttered shut when his lips pressed against yours delicately. John’s tongue ran along the seam of your lips. You pulled back. “John, I have really bad morning breath.” You tried to deter him. “I don’t care.” He growled before capturing your lips again. A whimper escaped your throat and John took the opportunity to tangle his tongue with yours. Your hands come up to his chest to ground yourself. The steady thump of his heart pulses where your hands rest. His hands rested on your hips as he pressed against you. You could feel his length harden when he wedged himself against you. You pull back to catch your breath. John took the opportunity to trail kisses along you jawline and neck. Before things could get more heated, your stomach takes the opportunity to voice its discomfort. John pulls back and lets out a bark of a laugh. “I suppose I should feed you first.” He says pulling a chair out for you to sit down in. “Now then sweetheart, how do you take your coffee?” 

[cosmal]

aerial!! I need your thoughts on casually dominant remus and shy reader!!!

sit down

yes!!!! okay I love this idea thank u

summary remus helps you find an outfit when you're stressed.

note this is a little boring sorry.

content remus lupin x fem!afab!reader

You’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to get your hair to sit right. Your arms ache from the effort. Your fingers tingle and your shoulders feel like they’re about to slip out of place.

To make things worse — or better you’re not sure yet — Remus knocks at your door and you haven’t even picked out what to wear.

You open the front door wrapped in a towel and a little flustered. “Remus,” you sigh. Half relieved because he’s here, half anxious because you’re running late. "I'm so sorry, I promise I won't be long."

He lets himself in and locks the door behind him. "It's okay, dove, take your time. The reservation isn't for another hour."

"Right," you pant, turning to rush back down your hall. Remus's lovely dress shoes click slowly behind you until he meets you in your room.

You're so stressed you don't notice the bunch of flowers in his hand. You drop your towel in only a pair of tights and a bra, and whizz around the room, back and forth between your dresser and your wardrobe. Holding your options up to the light, muttering things about how stupid you feel.

"No, god," you curse, letting the skirt in your hand fall to the carpet, "I can't find anything."

Remus catches you before you can speed past him again. He wraps a soft hand around your bicep and you snag, "Dove, take a breath."

You breathe in quickly and drop your head, "Shit, sorry," you mutter.

"What's the matter?" he asks, snaking his arm down to grab your hand. He squeezes gently, pressing his soft fingertips into your skin. It's grounding.

You step into his space and push your cheek into his soft button-up. "I can't find anything to wear."

He wraps his arms around your back and you hear the cellophane around the flowers crinkle. "Do you want me to help?"

"You got me flowers," you say instead, feeling stupider by the second.

"I did," he says off-handedly. "Go sit down, sweetheart, and I'll find you some clothes."

You pull your face back to look at the flowers. A bunch of pink tulips in paper and plastic, the smallest yellow ribbon keeping them together. "They need a vase."

Remus laughs. "You need to sit. I'll find you something to wear and then I'll put these in some water."

"Pass them over."

"Sit," he says, sterner than you're expecting.

You sigh and let him go. He's infuriating. Infuriatingly kind. "Can I have a kiss?"

He smiles widely and you feel better already. Kissing you quickly he nudges you kindly towards your bed. "You can have a proper kiss when you relax."

You frown but sit down anyways. You sit with your chin in your hand and watch Remus rifle through your clothes. He passes through hangers and you hate him for how pretty he looks and how stupid you feel. He's dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button-up that's rolled up his arms and folded at his elbows. You wish you had it as easy as him. He's so flawlessly pretty.

You hate him even more when he finds the dress you've been looking for all night. He trods over with the material between his fingers, holding it out and says, "I think this one."

You take the blue dress from him with the loveliest smile you can manage.

He encourages you to stand and you step through the hole to slip it on. Spinning you around he does the zip up without forgetting to let his knuckles trace your spine along the way.

He kisses your neck before saying, "Perfect."

You turn and look him in the eye, "It doesn't look funny?"

He holds you by your hips, fingers spread over your stomach, looking you up and down until you shiver, "You look amazing. Gorgeous."

"Thank you," you say softly. You hold him by his wrists and you hope he knows you want a hug.

He hugs you because he's your boyfriend, wrapping you up in long arms until his chest presses into yours. Breathing deep and you match it. "You worry a lot," he says with a kindness. You know what he means.

"Stressed," you tell him.

"You could've shown up in a paper bag and you still would've been the prettiest girl there," he says back, squeezing you hard for emphasis.

You laugh and smother your face in his shoulder, startled by it. "Sure."

"It's true!"

You hold him closer like it's possible, breathing in the still strong scent of his lovely cologne. The softness of his detergent. "Can I have that kiss now?"

He pulls back with a look that says, of course, you can, leaning in to kiss you. Longer than the last and much warmer. You stand on your tiptoes and lean your entire weight into him. He grunts and pulls you up until your dress bunches in his arms. You'll both be a wrinkled mess by the time you leave.

Pulling back he says, "Now go put your shoes on and I'll find a vase."

"My Doc Martens?" you ask.

He kisses your nose quickly, "Definitely."

[passivenovember]

This just fell out of me, team. I hope you enjoy it!

--

Steve’s wearing a sunhat.

Billy spots it on his tromp down the front steps, a nondescript canvas bag balled and clutched in one hand like wilted butcher’s paper, and thinks it could be a dinner plate on top of Harrington’s quaff. A trick of the early morning light slotting an obvious hole in the world.

It’s a sunhat, though.

The bag crinkles in Billy’s fist. Its folds and edges could draw blood. He tugs Steve’s passenger door open with his free hand and settles into the cab. Catches his breath. Says, “Why are you dressed like that?” When Steve only stares at him.

“We’re going to the Farmer’s Market,” Steve says. “It’s a special occasion.” 

They go to the Farmer’s Market every weekend, Billy doesn’t say. Since March, stretching all the way to last summer; off and on while Billy settled into it like a drowned cat, Steve eventually snapping, “We can do this,” Hands on his hips. Jars of pickled vegetables fresh from his little tote bag, glittering on Billy’s kitchen counter. “We can have this.”

“Non FDA regulated vegetables?” Billy had asked, grinning when Steve flushed, turning to dump Billy’s half of the loot into the refrigerator. 

Billy never asked what ‘this,’ meant. What they could have. Thinks he has a decent idea.

“You didn’t need to put a fuckin’ hat on,” Billy says now. Didn’t need to wear that hat. Particularly. 

He’s cute, though. Younger, where its wide, formless brim hides the salt and pepper that’s been slinking up Steve’s temples for the last couple of years, reminding Billy of the decades that rest like rain slickers on their backs. Floppy hats on their heads.

“It’s supposed to be in the low hundreds today.”

“It’s seven-thirty, pretty boy.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Steve says. He throws the car into reverse, but really it’s more a gentle nudge of the gear-shift until the car rolls with gravity into the street. Harrington always driving like a fifty year old man long before he was one. “I read an article that sunscreen isn’t enough anymore,” Steve says bluntly.

“Isn’t enough to what? Keep you celibate?” Billy digs around in his jeans pocket for his cigarettes. The white lighter that Steve had had an aneurysm over when he first saw it.

“No, to stop skin cancer. These days, how the Baby Boomers fucked up the Ozone, you’ve gotta wear sleeves, and sunscreen, and sunglasses, and fuckin’, sunhats,” Steve yanks the lighter out of Billy’s hand before he can spark up. Ignores the punch Billy lands on the one that came, fresh from 1993, with the car. 

America used to be a country. Smoking used to be good for you. 

Steve shoots him a side-ways glance, as if reading his mind. “You’re gonna kick rocks at sixty, Bill. Way you smoke.”

“They don’t make sun hats for lungs yet,” Billy says. The car lighter pops free so he snags it, waiting patiently for the hot-plate coil to catch his cig. When it does, he puts it back. Inhales slowly, peering out the window as the early morning shoots by at 30 miles per hour, a dying star.

He can feel Steve watching him. Now. Always.

“You could stop,” Steve says softly. “Smoking. You’re still young.”

Billy snorts. “Yeah, and you could mind your business.”

“Fuck you, you are my business.”

Billy’s stomach flips. He’s surprised, still, that his guts aren’t knotted and non-functional after all this time. Decades of friendship; career changes and new houses, new wives that slip steadily into ex wives. Kids. One kid. Billy’s. Decades of Steve, worrying about Billy’s diet and nagging at his bad habits, and. Saying shit like that. Flipping Billy’s stomach over on itself.

Billy puffs on his cigarette, rolling his eyes when Steve coughs dramatically into one elbow. He blows a huge cloud, just to be an asshole.

“Dude,” Steve says, leaning away so the car jerks suddenly to the left. 

Billy yelps, jostling against his seatbelt, “Harrington, you’re driving.”

“This is your lungs on nicotine,” Steve says, “A shitty old car driven by a lunatic middle-aged divorcee. Out of control. Veering into a ditch, or–”

“--It’s just a goddamn cigarette–”

“--With every pack you’re killing babies,” Steve tells him. The next streetlight turns gold. Steve runs it. 

Billy hangs on. His heart thumps with every twist and turn of the road. Hawkins races by, a blur of neon green oak trees and dark, supple earth. The grass is burned away in some places. Steve’s ancient car groans in the rising heat, its tires buff their tread against hot pavement.

At the next stoplight, Steve slams on the breaks. 

Billy almost flies through the goddamn windshield. He sits back against car seat leather. He breathes through his nose, counting to ten before he realizes that he’s covered in cigarette ash. His cigarette isn’t lit anymore.

Steve watches him evenly, soulful brown eyes calm.

Too calm.

Billy frowns. “What the fuck is going on with you, man?”

Steve shrugs. 

“It’s just a cigarette,” Billy presses forward, turning in his seat to give this his full fledged fucking attention. “You’re acting like you did when I was moving back home and you thought you couldn’t ask to come. Right before you broke Tommy Hagan’s nose when he said–”

“I know what that asshole said, I’m fifty, not a hundred,” Steve snaps. “I’m not acting like anything.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, shifting, “Yeah, you are. Like that time Alice wouldn’t let you come visit because she was doing that bullshit Home for 40 Days thing after Serena was born,” Billy tells him. He watches Steve’s face. Notices the crack before it happens because they’ve been friends for decades. 

It hurts him. “Steve–”

“I asked to come eventually,” Steve says, voice soft as feather down, neglecting to mention that he didn’t stay in California. “You moved back after the divorce. When Alice–”

“The light’s green,” Billy says. 

“I’m fine,” Steve tells him. “It’s fine.” He breathes through his nose, pawing at the brim of his dorky sun hat like he forgot it was there, for a moment. Like he wants to rip it off. 

Suddenly, with the force of a riptide, Billy misses the wave of Steve’s hair, still impossibly thick even into their middle age. He wants the hat gone, the sun free of all its massive danger. 

“I won’t smoke anymore,” Billy says, “If you want me to stop, I will.”

The moment hangs between them, and then, behind, someone honks.

“I want you to live forever,” Steve admits. Soft. Sweet.

Billy almost breaks in half. Isn’t sure why they’re talking about this now, in a car, on their way to the Market. But that’s what happens when you get older. Every moment like an oak leaf on the wind, slipping like water through clenched fists. 

He frowns, asking, “What about you?” Because. He wouldn’t want to spend forever alone.

“Why else am I wearing a fucking sunhat, Billy?”

Billy’s stomach knots. He opens his mouth to admit that he’s been in love with Steve for forty years, and he’ll always be the kind of man who burps and says the wrong thing and pushes too hard and smokes cigarettes, but. 

He loves him. 

Steve waits. When the second honk comes, he turns away, pulling his shitty old car onto Menard Street without another word. 

Billy swallows love, the movement as familiar to him as their friendship. It tastes like cigarette smoke. He tosses his unlit fag out the window, feeling like the shit hole scum of the earth when Steve reports that 30% of wildfires start with a carelessly discarded cigarette.

There’s a drought, too, Billy doesn’t say.

He should’ve thought it out. But it’s Steve. He only wanted to suck the wound.

–

Steve’s been twitchy for as long as Billy’s known him. It’s worse when he has something to say, when the skeletons in his closet regrow their ligament to stand on knocking knees, banging on the door, asking for an escape. 

Billy’s been around long enough to know that it’s best not to push, even when that’s all he does, all he’ll ever do. But. When it comes to Steve Harrington, things are different. Always. 

“What should we do first,” Billy asks. Knowing Steve’ll talk when he’s ready.

Harrington parks his car, the last in a long line of hybrids and hatchbacks, near the edge of the park. “I’m looking for honey,” He says, voice pulled tight like an out-of-tune string instrument. In a hurry. One wrong stroke and he’ll snap.

“‘Kay,” Billy says. 

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands once they’re out of the car. He resists the urge to lick his palm for a breath check, knowing he’ll find coffee and burnt toast and filmy pink love; tries to stop himself from tucking his shirt into the waist of his jeans, unfurling into the type of man that stops smoking and goes to Farmer’s Markets every weekend because his best friend asks him to. Against all odds.

Billy trots with Steve over the hill and into the market, his heart in his throat. They find the honey booth quickly and wait in line together, Steve tapping out an impatient rhythm on the cobblestone.

“You’re so squirrely today,” Billy says. He claps a hand on Steve’s neck, trying to squeeze out the tension. Wanting to touch him. 

Steve shrugs him off. 

Dick.

Billy rolls his shoulders and crosses his arms for safe keeping, having learned long ago that his hands will gravitate to Steve Harrington if given the chance. Billy aches for a cigarette, squints into the strengthening sunlight, yearning for his sunglasses, sunscreen, a sun hat–

“Lot of Pride Flags,” Billy says gruffly. His palms sweat, tacking unhelpfully to the hair on his forearms. It’s like he blinked, came up for air, and Indiana got progressive.

Steve stiffens next to him, “It’s June first, I think,” He says, hiding something.

“No shit?” Billy turns just in time to catch Steve watching him, a weird look in his eyes. “Should call Serena this afternoon.”

“Let’s go lesbians,” Steve says, a soft, pink smile on his face. 

Billy wants to ask about Robin, even though he just spoke to her on Wednesday when she called to demand how he keeps his tomato plants blooming into November. He wants to grab Steve by the face and say see, I’m alive. I’m here. I have a garden, and a daughter, and Robin remembers how I used to drink shitty Miller Lite and blast Elton John when you went out with girls. She remembers how much I wanted you. I would carve your name into every piece of driftwood that I threw into the quarry because my skin would scar over. Useless. Old and bereft while the driftwood would float forever, dissolving into the earth with your name sheathed in its very matter, bright and evergreen—

Steve buys two jars of honey.

He buys two of everything, at the Market, one for himself. One for Billy. Billy tries not to think about it.

“Where should we go next,” Steve makes room in the folds of his bag for the first of their loot. 

Billy only ever buys books at this thing. He raises one eyebrow, sidestepping a pair of lesbians that send a shock of tenderness down his spine. Heather and Robin in ‘87. He bites his tongue, though, thinking through their usual haunts. “What about the corn booth?” 

Steve loves sweet corn. He’s a cliche, shrugging his shoulders, “Could do that. We could try something else, too.”

Billy looks at him, grinning, “Okay, what do you have in mind?”

“Well. We started with honey.”

“Yeah.”

“The bakery booth is supposed to be out this week, I heard.” Steve hasn’t shut up about the orange-cranberry muffins he got on a lunch break two weeks ago. He shrugs, thinking better of it. Feigning nonchalance. Billy would fall for it if they hadn’t known each other for years. “Or we could go to the book stand,” Steve says. 

Dangling hope in the starched summer air.

Billy startles a laugh, “Already? We haven’t done your grocery shopping for the week.”

“It’s hot, we don’t have to stay long,” Steve says, watching the crowd thrall around them, “You deserve something for coming out with me today.”

“I come out with you every weekend.”

Steve groans, “C’mon, I’m trying to be nice. Either we go to the book stand, or we’re getting muffins.”

“I’m trying not to eat so much sugar,” A blonde boy skitters into the Market lane, turning to grin past the swell of Billy’s shoulder. There’s a pride flag painted on his cheek bone, smeared delicately by the slide of lips. Billy tries to look away, “Gluten, either.”

Steve gapes, “So you’re not eating sugar or gluten anymore but you’ve never met a cigarette you didn’t like?”

The blonde waits in the sunlight, fingers stretched out in front of him until a boy with huge, soft brown hair knits into all his boyfriend’s empty spaces. 

They kiss. 

Billy looks at Steve, flushed. 

Steve holds his gaze. Finally, “Let’s go to the book stand,” He says, catching Billy off guard. Throwing him a bone.

–

Hawkin’s Public Library was forced, a screaming, tantrum filled child, into the new millennium about a month after Billy and Alice divorced and Serena told the judge she wanted to move back home to Indiana. 

To be with Uncle Steve. That’s what she’d said to the judge. “Daddy and me want Uncle Steve,” Billy had noticed how Alice went ram-rod straight at the name. Like she always did, sour by the way Billy and their daughter, both, couldn’t seem to live without him. “We want to go home.”

So, they went. Alice didn’t try to stop them.

Really, home in the textbook sense was always California. Serena was born in Long Beach. She could stand on a surfboard by the time she was two years old and she abhorred the winter, any item of clothing that sat too close to the base of her neck. The smell of barley. None of that mattered, in the long run. 

Hawkins was home to her. Their clumsy, earnest, well loved vernacular to the court’s stuffy, clinical language.

It didn’t matter to Serena that Indiana was a relic in Billy’s history. She had never moved past sleepy summers spent landlocked, running through sprinklers with Max and Lucas’ wheat-fed kids and eating bomb pops in the swimming pool with a slew of found family aunts and uncles, her halo of blonde ringlets crunchy from too much chlorine. 

Even into her adolescence, the only person she let brush her hair straight out of the pool was her Uncle Steve. The only person she cried to was Uncle Steve. The adult she loved most in the world, except her dad. Maybe.

Billy’s own memories of that time were worn thin. Throbbing with heartache, like a damsel who was bound to find her way back home at the end of some terrible, cruel romantic comedy. He ached on the plane ride to Hawkins. Burned when they moved into the new house. Crumbled as he slept alone every night, grateful in tiny, hidden places that Serena had seemed to process her parent’s divorce and their subsequent move across the country before the first box had been unpacked.

For Billy, things weren’t so easily digested.

He needed time to let the guilt swallow him. The sting of hurt to lick at his fingers. Alice and the tattered flag of their loveless marriage paled in comparison to the way Steve had slipped wordlessly into her place.

It almost killed Billy that they were happier, here. That neither one of them had tried to hold on to their life back in California. 

–

Point is, they used to take Serena to the library together.

Billy’s own mom had believed that books were the key to everything. Children learn by watching colorful characters trail their way through the hills and valleys of friendship. They’re introduced to death and loss in the fold of a page, the monochrome glint of words on yellowing cardstock. They learn to let go by watching someone else do it first. 

Really, Serena hadn’t needed the library. Even at that age she was more level-headed than Billy had been in his entire life, but Steve suggested they go, anyway. “We have to raise a reader, like you.” He’d said. As if Billy was the best thing a person could be.

We.

We have to raise a reader.

–

Hawkins Library sells used books at the Farmer’s Market these days. Budget and funding cuts forcing their hand, Billy caught in a violent spell of fifty-cent paperbacks. 

The memory of Serena holding Steve’s hand, trailing excitedly down every aisle. Even the grown-up ones. Scowling when Steve would snatch every book from her hand, spitting they were, “inappropriate for little girls, Serena.”

Demanding to know when she’d be old enough to read anything with vampires in it.

Billy smiles at the memory, heart fluttering as Steve trails in front of him now in his dorky sun hat, calloused fingers dancing over the spines of every book on the Memoirs shelf. 

Without his salt and pepper showing, and if Steve’s face wasn’t furled in concentration so that his laugh lines gouged deeper into the split around his mouth; Steve looks the same as he always has. 

Billy side-steps another pair of lesbians, running head-first into the LGBTQIA+ Romance section. His heart thuds. He looks around, trying to catalog this territory. Pride flags, Cher playing over a pill-sized bluetooth speaker.

The portable shelf has a flier stuck to it. A disco ball with rainbow streamers falling like wet rags from the words Hawkins Community GSA Presents: Queer Prom. Get Your Tickets at the Booth!

Billy turns, heart in his throat. He watches Steve mouth along to the back of whatever book he’s holding. Catches sight of some president, or something, staring nobly through the break of Steve’s fingers. 

Some twink, sandwiched between the next row of shelves, laughs, and Steve looks up. Catching Billy. He deposits the memoir back on the shelf. “You drug me all the way over here and you haven’t even looked at anything.”

Billy swallows the lump in his throat. “What’s going on, Steve?”

“I don’t know–”

Billy rips the flier from the book shelf, thrusting it into Steve’s wide, waiting palms. 

Steve mouths along to the words. Like he did with the memoir. Like he always has, with the instructions on Betty Crocker Cake Boxes, and the confusing swirl of the How To’s for little girl’s play sets, stretching all the way back to the spring of 1985 when he would pay Billy in saccharine smiles to read Kafka out loud. Write Steve’s essays for him.

“Huh,” Steve flushes bright pink across the bridge of his nose. “Get your tickets at the booth,” He says, artfully avoiding Billy’s gaze, “Cool idea. The instructions aren’t very clear, though, there’s so many booths–”

“You said today was a special occasion,” Billy accuses flatly. It’s getting harder to breathe. “You said you weren’t acting weird, but you’re acting weird, and I–”

“--Will you go to prom with me?” Steve says. Then, Immediately, “I don’t want to freak you out.”

Billy snatches the flier back from him, shaking all over. 

“Okay, alright,” Steve swallows, fingers splayed like Billy’s a junkyard dog who’s backed into a corner. Who’ll attack any minute now. “Look, I just. I thought if I was gonna grow a pair of balls, like. If I was ever gonna do this, I should do it here.”

That doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

Steve inches closer, his lined, aging, familiar, beautiful face open like a sunroof. Like a hole in the sky. “Billy,” Steve says, “Ever since I met you–”

“--What the fuck is going on–”

“--Stop, okay? Just. Let me say this?” Steve waits, patiently, for a confirmation. Billy doesn’t move or breathe or blink. Steve presses forward, “Ever since I met you when I was seventeen years old I thought. You were someone I could spend the rest of my life with.”

Someone exhales all the wind in their lungs. Billy. 

Steve bristles at the sound. He pulls inward, seeming to notice that people are looking at them over the bookshelves with the kind of intensity that puts a basketball court under Billy’s feet. That reminds him of how Steve would defend Billy to the world before he got better.

Before he was worth anyone’s love.

“So,” Steve lifts a hand to his forehead before realizing he’s still in the sun hat. He takes it off, “I had a speech,” He tells the sun hat, folding the brim between two fingers. Hair a mess but still perfect. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“I think I’ll pass out,” Billy admits earnestly.

“I’d catch you,” Steve says, so. Billy takes a timid step forward, flinching out of his skin when Steve looks up and says, “I’m in love with you.”

Once upon a time, Billy thought the world would collapse if they said those words out loud.

It doesn’t.

“So,” Billy rasps, wringing the flier in his fist, “You thought. You could ask me to prom?”

“We didn’t get to go to prom when we were kids.”

“You went with Nancy,” Billy snaps, strangling the flier. “You danced. I watched you dance–”

“--We didn’t get to go together.”

“You wanted to go to prom with me?”

“Of course. Billy, I moved to California because I was in love with you.” Steve says, like just saying it out loud points to the bread-crumb trail of what they’ve been dancing around for all these years. Like ah-ha. Checkmate.

Billy sniffs. Something wet on his cheeks. “You left California.”

“Because I was in love with you.” Steve nods slowly, “You. You met Alice, and. I thought–”

“--I can’t go to gay prom with you, Steve.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye, used to Billy’s flair for the dramatic. “Why not?”

“Because,” Billy says, looking around desperately. All he finds are lesbians and twinks weaving in and out of the aisles, caught in their own little crystal-clear worlds, useless. “Because I’m in my fifties. And so are you.”

“The event is all ages,” Steve tells him, bored, “Well. Really it’s for old people. Because we never got to have one.”

And. 

The fact that Steve went to prom with Nancy, that he bought flowers and pinned a satin pink corsage to her dress, holding her hand while they danced under seafoam lights, but it wasn’t what he wanted. 

Who he wanted–

Billy sniffs. Trying to stamp out the fire in his chest. “I have a mortgage and and a tomato garden, and a daughter in New York–”

“--This was Serena’s idea,” Steve admits suddenly. “She’s the one who sent me the information on Facebook.”

Of course.

Billy nods, “You’re wearing a sunhat.” His chest, opening like a springtime rose. Stupid. “You can’t say you love me and then ask me to prom when you’re wearing–”

“I took it off,” Steve says. A smile in his voice.

“I stopped smoking for you,” Bill accuses. 

Steve snorts, “Like you aren’t gonna finish the pack first.”

Billy laughs, and it’s wet-sounding. It rattles in his chest and then bursts into the air between them, somehow pulling Steve across the cobblestone. He pushes Billy’s hair back from his face, fiddling with the same earring that’s been there for forty years. Changed only once, for prom.

Billy looks at him. Catalogs the years, the love that grew like ivy over everything else. He hiccups, “I never thought you’d love me back.”

“Of course I love you back.”

“But,” He says, thinking of how their lives could have been so different, “Why–”

“--We can have this,” Steve tells him, pulling Billy close. “We deserve this.”

Another thing Billy will have to settle into. 

It’s nice. He wants to kiss Steve, so he does, because Hawkins has turned into the kind of place that hosts gay prom, where lesbians and twinks roam freely in their little rainbow outfits. 

Steve licks into Billy’s mouth and they melt into each other, gone soft by the years, and the heat of June. When Steve pulls away, his lips press like stamps to Billy’s forehead, his chin, both eyes, his mustache–

Billy giggles. “We should get our tickets.”

“I already have them,” Steve says.

Billy pulls back, gawking.

“I ordered them online.”

“You know how to order things online?”

“Serena ordered them,” Steve says, shrugging. 

And.

Billy grunts. Wanting to say that he could’ve said no. He’s still himself, after all, smoke free organic or not, but. Steve knits their fingers together, “C’mon,” He says, and Billy doesn’t ask where they’re going next. It doesn’t matter. 

They’ve been in love since they were seventeen. Billy’s just happy that it gets to live out in the open, now. Glittery with pride.

[moonbeamwritings]

haikyuu boys and little moments of joy .*･｡ﾟ

↳ ft. nishinoya, bokuto, kuroo, and atsumu

NISHINOYA calls to you from the end of the freezer aisle, the freezer door propped open with his hip as he clutches what appears to be a small box in his hands. When you come up on his left side, he fixes you with what you can only describe as a face-splitting grin. His eyes sparkle as he holds the box of mango popsicles out to you. "They have them! These are my favorite." You remember the box all too well; it's one that had sat in your freezer for three, maybe four, days max before the popsicles disappeared entirely. "I thought they stopped carrying them! I'm getting them." Yuu's excitement is contagious, and you find a smile of your own working its way onto your face. As he drops not one, but two boxes of the frozen treat into your shopping cart and starts to push it again, his joy refusing to wane, you loop your arm through his and squish your cheek into his shoulder.

BOKUTO starts pulling clothes from the dryer and plopping them into your laundry bin to be folded. And as a bundle of socks makes its journey to the basket, a stray purple one jumps from the pile, but before it can hit the floor, Koutarou catches it with his foot. His eyes immediately shoot to meet yours, disbelief clouding his features for only a moment before his slacked jaw is morphing into a grin so wide it squishes his cheeks and crinkles his eyes at the corners. You catch a glimpse of his sweet dimples and your heart catches in your chest. "Baby, did you see that!? That was awesome!" You grin back, adding to his excitement by gushing about how cool it was and that you can't believe he just did it. He beams under your attention, his smile so bright you feel like you need to squint to view it properly. With unrestrained joy, he kicks the sock up and catches it in his hand. "I'm on a roll!"

KUROO stands before you in your shared bedroom, a new outfit adorning his body. He'd been so eager to share it with you after his trip to the store that he could hardly contain himself, pulling you up from the couch and down to your bedroom mere seconds after coming through the front door. The outfit is simple but sleek — a soft black sweater and perfectly-tailored black slacks. He lifts his arms a bit and does a little spin, a proud smile evident on his features when he turns back to face you. "Well," he starts, eagerly, "what do you think? Do you like them?" Before you can even respond, you watch as his eyes shift to grin at himself in the mirror. "I was thinking of wearing it with that white collared shirt you bought me underneath and those nice dress shoes I bought last year." He's so pleased with it that it makes him, and his new outfit, all the more handsome. You tell him as much, and his excitement only mounts, pulling you in to pepper kisses all over your cheeks.

ATSUMU's eyes widen as soon as the song starts. You could recognize the opening beats of it anywhere — a song Atsumu has proudly proclaimed is his favorite almost every time you've heard it. And this time, like all the others, he cranks the dial on the radio and shifts his eyes away from the road for only a moment to tell you with a cute grin, "Ahh, I love this song!" He sings along, bobbing his head to the beat and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before reaching across the center console to tap the beat against your thigh. You're so wrapped up in his excitement that you can't help but join in, singing along with both Atsumu and the radio. The action leads to an impromptu, and very passionate, karaoke session — one that leaves you both with an ache in your cheeks from smiling.