#Seriously though ice age

[cool-jpgs-of-wizards-with-swords]

Cool i just read your train story and now i have a parasocial crush on you, why are you so funny?

please, call me jpgs. cool is my father's name

#the having parasocial crushes on strangers to having strangers with parasocial crushes on you pipeline ? #seriously though you cannot tell me these things. i make myself a clown on the internet and in real life #SPECIFICALLY because my ego would otherwise inflate enough to drown out the sun & plunge us into a new ice age #if people start having parasocial crushes on me i am going to become Actually Unbearable #anyways anyone with a parasocial crush on me is GOING to be used as Attunement Slot Fodder. Attune to this wand for me‚ Boy.

[andypantsx3]

MR. TOKYO BEAT HOTTEST HERO : SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Shouto finds out he’s hot. He swiftly uses this knowledge against you. CONTENT & WARNINGS: pro hero au, established relationship, afab reader (no pronouns used), shouto's general obliviousness, todoroki shouto is a little shit, fluff, aged-up characters, smut, nipple play, vaginal sex, emotional sex, 18+ minors please dni! (3.8k)

Pro Hero Shouto Voted Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero of the Year

It’s been almost six years since Todoroki Shouto swept onto the scene as pro hero Shouto, melting almost as many villains as he has hearts. Currently standing at number four in the hero rankings, he’s armed with a formidable ice-and-fire combination quirk nearly as devastating as his smile.

Shouto’s heartthrob status has created such a sensation that he’s papered the pages of our magazine hundreds of times since his UA days. Now he’s taking home the coveted Hottest Hero crown… [read more]

It was a frosty night in early December when Shouto returned from patrol, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

To an outside observer, his expression probably looked as bland as ever. But years into your relationship, you knew how to read your boyfriend’s microexpressions—the tiniest furrowing of his brows, the softest downward hitch of that perfect, plush mouth. He looked troubled—more troubled than you’d seen him in a while.

You turned off the heat on the stove, abandoning the dinner you’d been preparing, and rushed over to him as he shed his boots at the door. He’d apparently already changed out of his hero uniform at the agency, dressed instead in the high-collared gray coat that always made him look like he’d wandered out of the pages of a J. Crew catalog. He shrugged his coat off in tandem with his backpack, the tiny frown still carving his lips.

“Shouto—what’s wrong? Are you alright?” you asked, immediately taking his face in your hands.

Shouto blinked down at you, twin points of blue and silver fixing on your face. To your satisfaction, his expression seemed to soften, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth instead, and he murmured your name in greeting, his tone low and soft.

“Did something bad happen on patrol?” you asked. “You look troubled.”

Two warm, big hands came up to encompass your own, his thumbs smoothing over the backs of your fingers. You let him pull your hands away from his face to hold in his own, and he pressed a kiss to the knuckles of one, his mouth sweet and hot on your skin.

You flushed. Despite the years you’d been together, you had never been able to establish any sort of immunity to Shouto. If anything, the crush you’d had on him before you’d gotten together had only grown more out of control the longer you were exposed to him—-you still got butterflies whenever he looked at you with a fraction more intensity than normal.

“Hello, love,” he said, his mouth lingering over your skin.

Your stomach swooped, and your face got hot. Damn him.

“Hi Sho,” you backtracked. “I’m happy you’re home. But seriously, did something happen?”

Shouto’s fingers tightened around yours, and a little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Not on patrol. Something else… unexpected happened.”

You watched him, waiting for him to elaborate.

His eyes roved over you, as if searching for the appropriate words on your face, until he seemed to find the right question. “Am I… do people consider me handsome?”

There was a moment of stunned silence before an incredulous laugh burst out of you.

The most beautiful man on earth, the internet’s steadfast boyfriend—the literal stuff of wet dreams, lurid fantasies, and thousands of covert sessions with a vibrator—was asking if he was considered handsome.

You knew Shouto had never been interested in his own beauty, blinking at compliments as if unsure how to receive them, generally oblivious to anyone hitting on him as though he thought people were that friendly to everyone, never spending any significant time in front of the mirror unless it was to stare at you next to him in the reflection, undoing your hair or washing your face or brushing your teeth.

But to be so unaware of his own looks that he was asking you?

“Shouto, you know you’re handsome,” you said. “I tell you all the time.”

The wrinkle between Shouto’s brows deepened. “You think so because you love me. But—I meant… do other people who do not love me think so?”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline, floored by this line of questioning. “Shouto—every single person on earth thinks you are like the hottest man alive. Are you for real?”

Shouto blinked, those gray and blue eyes growing a fraction wider. “They do?”

You nodded, surprise coloring your tone. “Yeah—you didn’t know? Sero calls you ‘pretty boy’ to tease you like all the time. You get hit on every time you leave the house. You have twitter accounts dedicated to you.”

A tiny pout crept onto Shouto’s mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered. “I thought he said it as a joke. And I thought those accounts were fans of my work. And I thought… you only thought so because you love me.”

You laughed. Shouto’s good looks were as serious as a heart attack. So serious they might just induce one, in fact. And you did love him, and would love him no matter what he looked like—his inside was just as beautiful as his outside, and would always make him attractive to you. He was so kind, so thoughtful, and so inherently bone-deep good in so many ways that made your heart swell just looking at him.

Truly he was love-you-even-if-you-were-a-worm material. But this was no laughing matter.

“What’s brought this question on now?” you asked.

Shouto blinked again, looking slightly startled, then turned to his backpack. He produced a glossy magazine with a sticky note stuck to it, covered in his manager’s handwriting that read: check out page 43 >:). Just over the sticky note, two very familiar heterochromatic eyes peered out intensely from the magazine’s cover.

You peeled away the note to see your boyfriend’s face in full—his expression handsome and solemn. The shot must have been taken sometime post-rescue as he had smudges of ash all along his high cheekbones, and his hair was windswept, and a little piecey, like he’d just finished using phosphor. A headline next to his ear proclaimed, Todoroki Shouto: Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero Alive!

You looked back up at Shouto to find both of his ears red, though his expression was determinedly blank-faced. A grin yanked at your mouth.

“Well someone who works there has eyeballs,” you said, laughing. “Congratulations, Shouto!”

The scarlet at the tips of Shouto’s ears deepened. “I do not… I did not expect…”

Your smile grew larger, fondness blooming in your chest. He was so good you wanted to bite him. Of course he never expected anything like this—his concerns were tied to his heroics—had he saved enough people, was he living up to the hero he wanted to be? Even when he’d finally broken the top five earlier last month, he was only pleased to be so recognized because he wanted many people to be reassured by him, not out of any sense of competitiveness with his fellow heroes.

He would never think of anything like this—he was so fucking good.

“I always thought—my scar,” Shouto said, touching his face.

Your heart squeezed and you wormed your fingers under his, placing your hand over the scar in question.

“Your scar is a part of your face and a part of your identity. But to be real with you, it only makes you look more interesting, Sho.” Your own ears heated. “To be completely honest it’s—well it’s one thing that makes you look human. You kind of look, um, unnaturally handsome otherwise, like some kind of vampire or angel or something. When I say things like you’re too handsome to be allowed I actually mean it, you know.”

Shouto paused, those heterochromatic eyes flickering back down to yours. A scarlet eyebrow quirked slightly. “Then you also think that I am handsome,” he said, though it was phrased more like a revelation to him than a question.

“Did you think I was lying?” you asked hotly.

Shouto shook his head minutely. “No—but I did not realize. You found me handsome before you loved me?”

You laughed. “I had eyeballs before I loved you, so yeah. And I wouldn’t be so effusive all the time if I didn’t mean it. You think when I tell you stuff like that that I’m just playing it up?”

Shouto’s expression went suddenly blank, like a marker board suddenly erased of nefarious plans. Instantly, your hackles raised, the smile falling off your mouth, your senses suddenly screaming danger. Shouto might be the most trustworthy, reassuring, and beautiful pro hero of all time, but beneath the surface lurked a youngest child and a major little shit. His expression only ever changed like this when he was about to get up to something.

“Then you think I am so handsome you cannot think,” Shouto said.

The magazine suddenly crackled in your fingers as you clutched it between you. “What.”

Shouto moved a step closer, gaze sharpening. “When you said I was so handsome you cannot think. You meant it.”

A sound like a nervous cow escaped you as you backed up a few steps. “Did I say that?”

A tiny smile pulled at Shouto’s mouth again, a cross between something sincerely pleased and sincerely shit-eating.

“When you said I am so handsome that sometimes your brain goes static,” he said, his tone dropping low, prowling closer. “You meant it.”

You flushed hot. Hearing your words repeated back to you like that was so embarrassing.

You flailed when your back hit the wall, and Shouto stretched out an arm, blocking you in. You couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked to his bicep for a split second, admiring the way it flexed slightly under the sleeve of his shirt as he pressed his hand to the wall, the way the kitchen light shadowed it lovingly.

Shouto’s ears were even redder when you looked back at him, but his gaze was hungrier. He’d definitely noticed your inspection, and his newfound realization about your level of appreciation was clearly both pleasing but embarrassing.

“You said your brain does not work right when I am close,” Shouto said, his face looming near. “Am I doing it right?”

He was doing it right—terribly, horribly, awfully right. Your breath caught in your lungs, lights in your brain winking out one by one as that soft, perfect mouth hovered just over yours. Shouto was so warm this close, and you could feel all the fibers in your body straining towards him like plants unfurling under the sun.

You rallied yourself one last time, throwing your hands up, defeated. “I live with a literal Greek sculpture of a boyfriend, am I not supposed to admire the artwork?”

Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, you saw the smile on his lips widen a fraction, just before his mouth captured yours.

In the space of a heartbeat he’d pressed himself against you, trapping you against the wall just as your knees went to pudding. You could feel every part of him against you and you couldn’t think, all your thoughts slipping away, dissolving like sugar in water. Shouto’s hands came up to support your waist, pinning you against the wall as he kissed you so sweetly and so very thoroughly.

“Is this it, love?” he asked when he pulled back, something both smug and wondering in his tone. “Am I doing it right?”

You scraped the bottom of your mind for any fragments of human language with which to respond. “You always do it right, you little shit.”

Shouto’s mouth quirked in a smile again, and he leaned in to press it to the side of your throat, lips moving softly. You shivered in his hands and felt the way his smile widened on your skin.

You could practically feel delight pouring off of him, this discovery of his new power—a power he’d always had but never understood in full.

It figured Shouto’s beauty would only interest him insofar as he could deploy it against you.

But that was Shouto. Everything he had was something he used in service to others.

Shouto’s mouth mapped a hot trail down your throat, and you clung to his shoulders as his lips dipped under the collar of your shirt and sucked, softly but insistently. One of his hands left its place at your hip to slide up your stomach and beneath the fabric of your shirt, cupping the side of your breast.

He wasn’t touching anything, but the feeling of his hand, warm and strong and so very large that it spanned over your chest and ribcage, sucked all the oxygen right out of the air. You bit back a noise as Shouto left another mark beneath your collar, his long eyelashes fluttering against the skin of your throat as he let out his own soft groan.

“I thought you were beautiful, too, before I loved you,” Shouto said as his fingers traced the outline of your bra, just barely skimming the skin underneath.

Your ears went hot, the way they always did when Shouto got sincere in place of dirty talk. It was even hotter than the filthiest thing he could have said to you, because you knew he meant every single word of it.

“But now I love you, you are even more beautiful to me,” he said. “Is it the same for you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but cut off on a moan as Shouto’s fingers finally found their way beneath your bra, his thumb swiping over your nipple. Your head thunked back against the wall when he did it again, pinching gently as his other hand covered your other breast, mirroring the action.

Heat streaked through your veins, pooling in your core. You bit your lip as Shouto played with you, feeling those heterochromatic eyes hot on your face.

“Answer me, love,” he commanded gently.

You peeked open an eye, realizing you’d squeezed them shut, shuddering as Shouto’s thumbs swiped over your nipples again, the touch perfect and maddening. Shouto was watching you intently, as he always did, but there was an extra dimension of interest, as if he truly did not know, truly wanted to know what you would say.

“Yes,” you told him, your tone hitching higher as he gently rolled your nipples in his long, pretty fingers. “Yes I—oh!—only find you more incredibly handsome every day—ah! Shouto!”

Shouto looked pleased, leaning forward to layer a kiss over your mouth as he played with your nipples. You squirmed under his hands, panting into his mouth, the touches already overwhelming. After years together, he knew exactly how to work you.

A strong thigh slid in between your own as Shouto pressed himself closer to you. You kissed him fiercely, huffing tiny embarrassing noises into his mouth, grinding against his thigh.

“Fuck, love,” Shouto groaned as he grew hard against your hip. You felt like you were floating, thoughts distant, the only present idea the feeling of Shouto’s strong body over yours. He was all over you but you wanted more, wanted to climb inside him and make your home there, wanted him to press inside of you and fill you and claim you and keep you—

“Shouto, bed—please, please—” you managed, before Shouto was hefting you in his arms obligingly.

He dumped you on the bed with a little less finesse than usual, following you down hungrily, weighing you into the sheets.

He made short work of your clothes, and you were bare to him in what felt like seconds. Shouto’s mouth immediately sought your breast again, closing over your nipple as his fingers dipped inside of you. You writhed with the heat of him over you, the heat of his mouth on you, the gentle press of him inside of you.

His thumb brushed over your clit as his tongue did something mind-bending over your nipple, and a moan escaped you, high and shivery. Shouto’s huff across the skin of your chest told you that it had pleased him, and he sucked a little more firmly, a little more insistently.

“Shouto, Shouto, Shouto—” you babbled mindlessly, hands sliding all over him. You wanted to touch him but you couldn’t reach him in return, so you settled for sliding your fingers into his hair, clinging as he made stars fizzle under your skin.

“Shouto—I’m going to come—you have to stop if you want to—ah!” you squeaked, as Shouto rubbed you more purposefully, moving over your clit in the way he knew you liked. His fingers moved inside you unrelentingly as he licked and sucked you slowly, the contrast between his mouth and his fingers too much for you.

Your pleasure rolled over you like a wave, rushing through your veins, pooling in all your limbs. You seized up under Shouto, but his weight held you down, his mouth and fingers working you through it.

You were still whining with sensitivity when he worked his own clothes off and slid into you, filling you up with the familiar shape of him. Your whine trailed into another moan, the feeling of him so utterly perfect inside of you.

“I don’t need anyone to think I am handsome but you, love,” Shouto said, canting his hips up so that he slid in and out of you. “All I want is you.”

You shifted, wrapping your legs around his back, pulling him deeper inside of you. “I know—Shouto, you’re beautiful inside and out. I love everything about you. Your face, your voice, your kindness, your goodness,” you paused as he filled you again, grinning up at him. “Your di—”

A powerful thrust had you choking off into a squeak, and you clutched his bicep as Shouto smiled down at you, his own grin charming and mischievous. You thought he was especially handsome just like this—panting, flushed, grinning, glorious—the way no one else got to see him but you. Mr. Tokyo Beat Hottest Hero he may be, but people still would never know how truly beautiful he could be, grinning down over you.

That was all yours.

Shouto wormed an arm between your back and the mattress, catching your waist and pulling you into him. The new angle had him brushing against your clit as he slipped in and out of you, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head when you caught sight of where you were joined together, Shouto’s abs flexing tightly as he moved back and forth within you.

Sounds of pleasure slipped out of you, and Shouto caught them in his mouth. You kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders, pulling him closer. You reveled in the feeling of his hot skin on yours, shivering in delight with the contrast of his heat and the cool room around you.

Shouto’s hips worked into you, chasing both of your pleasure, his strokes fluid and sure. Those long fingers slid down your body again to press ever-so-slightly over your clit, and you bucked into his hand, delirious with the feeling of him pressing against you from both the inside and out. With the heavy weight of him over you it was like he was all around you, all over you, in your mouth, in your sex, overwhelming you.

You writhed against him, babbling a string of nonsense when he let your mouth free. Praise about how beautiful he was, about how good he was, about how good he felt, about how much you loved him.

Shouto breathed his own praise into your ear, his mouth closing around the lobe. He told you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how even if everyone liked the way he looked it was “all for you, love—everything is for you.”

His fingers slid in soft circles around your clit as he ground into you, kissing his way up your throat. You panted into the dim of your bedroom, little stars sparking in the corner of your vision. It felt like someone had lit a sparkler beneath your skin, a thousand tiny points of fizzing, burning friction, and Shouto was touching every single one of them.

“Cum for me, love,” Shouto commanded, his tone soft and low, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You couldn’t speak, could only nod, nearly there. His fingers kept toying with you, expert and unrelenting, and in another few seconds the wave of your pleasure was mounting again. It swept over you like a tidal wave, smashing through you, sweeping through every limb, every nerve ending.

You cried out Shouto’s name, clenching around him, and then he was abandoning your clit to pull you up into him, grinding hard. His pace grew faster, more frantic, and he panted into your throat, until he was following you off the edge, pouring himself into you, filling you up from the inside.

You shivered and shook against him until finally the wave of your pleasure crested. Shouto relaxed over you as your limbs went slack too. He pressed a kiss to your mouth, slow and languid.

“Definitely Tokyo’s hottest hero,” you said muzzily, your words a little slurred. “The world’s hottest hero, even.”

Shouto huffed a tiny laugh. “I only need to be your hottest hero,” he told you, his heterochromatic eyes pinning you earnestly.

You smiled up at him, running a hand absently through his scarlet and white mop of hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers.

“You always have been. Before I loved you, but especially now that I love you this much,” you told him.

Shouto smiled, then, a pleased, half-moon grin, so beautiful and so clever that it knocked the wind right back out of you again. You leaned up to kiss him again, soaking in his private beauty, pleased that you out of everyone got to have him like this. And you would make him feel it again—you wanted to show him again how much he meant to you.

He was Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero—but he was your most beautiful, beloved, cherished hero. And that was a thousand times better. So you’d show him a thousand times over.

You rolled over him, delighting in the slight widening of those beautiful eyes, the tiniest quirk of interest on that perfect mouth.

You’d show him—starting right now.

#shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto smut

[m0uchie]

Riding scara so that he can get me pregnant as soon as possible 😇🙏 I wanna hear him whimpering as he is overstimulated AAGGAHA I NEED HIM 🗣️🗣️

⟡ is it possible to get pregnant by a puppet? It’s worth a try! Or maybe two... Or three times...

— pairing : scaramouche x afab!reader

— warnings : NSFW; breeding kink; cumming inside; reader rides scara; overstimulation

— a/n : i should be studying, but I’m just too horny to :( it’s a bit short and rushed too, I’m sry

It must be the nth time that Scaramouche has had to sneak into the house. Walking on tiptoe to avoid making noise as he passed through the room with the lights still off. His hands stretched out in front of his body with open palms and taking slow steps so as not to bump into anything since he couldn't see the way.

Unfortunately, he failed miserably. Once again.

"W-wait!" he hisses, trying to take away your arms that wrapped tightly around his waist. Low chuckles leaving your lips as you look up adorably, a smile that if he knew better he would say was sweet and rewarding to see after a tired day of work.

At first it was like that, you hugged him and kissed him fervently as soon as you heard the sound of the keys being inserted into the lock, rubbing against Scaramouche's legs and taking off his clothes, saying you would do all the work for tonight.

For him it was like a dream. His beautiful wife wanting to reward him for his hard day and making him feel good. But what seemed like a dream soon became too much. Exaggerated.

Your waist wouldn't stop even if nothing else came out of his cock, and Scaramouche would never be able to raise you from his shaft once you slid down on him, whimpering and pushing you back by your breasts, his mouth making a pout that made him even more irresistible.

"You're not gonna— mm! G-get it this time..." he pants as you ease your hands underneath his clothes and pull him into your shared room. His head falls hard against the mattress, cushioned by the softness of the pillow as you push him onto the bed.

He crawls on his back and finds himself with no way out when your arms cage him against the wall, bringing his face closer to yours.

"You didn't even let me kiss you today, babyyy." you whine, lifting his face by his chin so that it leans into yours.

You swore seeing Scaramouche's eyebrows drawn together in irritation made your pussy even wetter. You knew that even though you really took it hard, he would never seriously fight you about it, because he actually enjoyed what you did to him every night, and he always lost control at the end.

He knew the reason for your sudden change. All because he decided to help a child who was lost from his parents when you went out to buy ice cream. Maybe it was the sight of him carrying the boy in his arms? Or him going out of his way to help someone other than you? Either way, it awakens something in you, and as sensitive as Scaramouche was these past few days due to your insistence, he would put an end to it today.

“You’re ovulating, aren’t you?” He questions, making you blush slightly. He sighs deeply and touches the inside of your thighs teasingly. “I’ll give you as many kids as you want tonight. Is that what you want?” Your legs rub against each other before you nod and pull your loved one in for a hungry kiss.

Even with all the discussion beforehand, he gives in to you, parting his lips so that your tongue can enter his mouth and caress his. You think he doesn't notice, but he does when your dripping pussy rubs against his bent knee, shamelessly using it to ease the aching on your clit. He looks away from your face to shamelessly stare at the action, making you blush.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Didn't want to do that?" he scoffs, chuckling. "You were so assertive until recently. What changed?"

"I wan’ it." you simply say, and he pulls your hips closer, urging you to move again. "What do you want?"

You take a deep breath, half-lidded eyes staring into his.

“I want you here." you press one hand against your stomach, and with the other you awkwardly try to undo your lover's belt. He raises an eyebrow at your attitude, but helps you take off both of your clothes that stood in the way without question.

"Fuck... So wet for me." He passes his fingers between your slit, making you breathe out shaky moans and rub yourself against his hand.

"Nnnnh... Mmm- n-no... Need your cock, Scara!" you ask. Your voice melting and so sweet that Scaramouche ends up giving in, not thinking much about it and licking his fingers covered in your sweet taste before positioning them around your waist, supporting your body before releasing you on his dick at once.

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sudden entry, but your fluids make it easier for you to get used to his girth. Scaramouche moves you against his pelvis with torturous slowness and low grunts come out through grinding teeth. You rock your hips against his, increasing the thrusts.

His eyes go wide when his hands are crossed above his head, being held together by you as his head falls back without even hearing you call him. It was too much, the feeling was intense and your walls hugged his cock so deliciously that he knew you were gonna milk him dry in minutes.

“Y-yes yes yes mmh, give it to me.” You mumbled, your face close to his and your cool breath heavy against his skin. He struggles to break free from your grasp until your hands become weak and he manages to let go of your grasp, holding your waist again in a failed attempt to slow you down.

The tip of his dick was so red and his length was so hard that he thought he would explode at any moment.

“U-ugh… stop! I-if you keep doing that, 'm gonna—“ his dick throbs painfully and releases a sticky fluid inside you. You mewl at the sensation, slowly rolling your pussy even lower his sensitive cock.

“T-too much… fucking wait…” His voice comes out as a whisper in front of you. “Just a bit.”

You smile in response, indicating that you’d heard his shameful pleading, then kissing his temple, down to the tip of his nose, and to his luscious lips. Sticking your tongue inside his mouth and clenching your walls with the heat and wet sounds that build between you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You caress his face as you separate from him, then squeeze his cheeks with your hand to form a pout, which you kiss again sensually.

He moans against your mouth in response, too weak to even question what you mean. His head shakes, and you press your forehead against his to look deep into his eyes.

“Don’t you want your cum deep inside me?” His cheeks redden, having nowhere to look, and hesitantly nods. The way you looked at him made him embarrassed, and he couldn't help but agree. “I’ll knock you up, just be g-gentle…” his voice lowers as he utters the words.

However, nothing ever works with you, because in five minutes later, you were both rutting against each other as if you were in heat. Scaramouche's eyes squeezed shut every time he thrusts his hips against yours and roughly slammed his tip against your cervix. And shooting his thick sperm into your womb at every opportunity.

“Nn-nhh take it and get pregnant with my seeds, yeah?” Your tits bounce up and down as you ride him. “‘M gonna fill you up with my cum- hah~” he arches his back, and his long fingers close around your belly. Your mixed essences flow out of your puffy pussy as he fucks more into you.

With your vision blurred with pleasure, you collapse on top of him, cockwarming him for a while. It surprises you when he slides out of you and rubs his cum covered cock at your entrance, stoping to scoop up his seed and finger it all back into your tight pussy. When he is satisfied, he sticks his cock inside you again.

“And look, you even have a little bump here now.” He touches the area where his dick is buried in you and massages it, making you hum and bite your lower lip.

If a puppet is capable of making you pregnant, you have no way of knowing. But it doesn't mean you shouldn't try your very best until it happens.

#𝜗𝜚 [ m0uchie posts! ] #૮꒰ requests ꒱ა #+18 content #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut

[macfrog]

secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

one day i'll rein my chapters back in. today is not that day. thirteen thousand words of...a little bit of fucking and a lot of fighting. i love you all and i still can't believe the love you continue to show this series. you're all actually insane. i present to you: the penultimate chapter of cowboy.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: the one where...everybody finds out.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), a big argument, a lot of guilt, angry disappointed dad, one mention of alcohol consumption, lil bit of sub!joel, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, creampie, cursing, smut, fluff, angst 

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves) 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You haven’t slept a wink. Not one second.

You and Joel were awake until one in the morning on the phone; you – panicking, spilling words into the receiver, watching different cuts of your dad realizing everything as though projected across your blank ceiling, and Joel – monotone as fucking ever, batting every single theory away.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, he’d said. You didn’t miss the way his words hung over the edge of the sentence, trembling almost.

You scoffed and hissed back down the line. You don’t fucking know that! How can you know that?

You think he just found out about us and thought, Hey, better get some shut-eye before I deal with this? Really, baby?

I think he doesn’t know what he found out. I think he’s probably tryna convince himself that he’s wrong.

So, let him. He’s wrong. We go with that.

Joel knew he wasn’t doing anything to calm you down. Wasn’t offering anything you could seriously take on. You know he wasn’t trying to.

He was as worried as you were – he was just pretending not to be, because what fucking good would it do to have the two of you bouncing off one another with panic?

Still, he stayed on the phone the entire night. When he fell asleep, you lay in bed and tossed everything over in your head like tearing back the pages of a diary. Last night, then Frank’s, then the weekend before that, then the Hillcrest – all the way back to that first ride home. The pissing rain, the boxes of nails rattling in the glove compartment with each sway of the truck. Recalling every word spoken, every move made, every expression pulled and glance stolen and fucking breath taken.

Any sound from beyond your door shot a bullet of adrenaline through your veins, coursing through your body like ice. As if it was your dad, barreling in at 3AM to have it out with you.

You reckon you’d be ready if he did. Wide-eyed, fists clenched, heart hammering.

Joel groans back to life at eight. You hear the ruffling of bedsheets, the crackle down the line as he drags the phone across his mattress and pins it to his ear. You lift your own. Joel and 08:43:36, 37, 38 underneath it on the screen.

His voice drums low and groggy from the speaker. “You are gonna have my phone bill through the damn roof. I’m exhausted, darlin’.”

“I can’t think of anything else. He knows, Joel.”

He sighs. You can see his head falling into his hand, see his thumb rubbing circles into his temple. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? There ain’t any chance you left your phone in the living room ‘n he came across it, thought he’d keep it for you comin’ home?”

“I’ve barely left my room all week. Why would it be down there?”

Joel’s quiet. He just breathes down the line. After a minute, he clears his throat.

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

“Come over. I wanna see you. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

“Hey. Don’t make me ask again, alright? C’mon, now. I got some errands to run; you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t have to say much else to convince you; you’re already pulling your bedsheets back and hanging up. Your hoodie and shorts are still hooked over the foot of your bed. The sun filters through the drapes, edges you nearer the door. Your chest fills with something calling itself bravery, and slowly, quietly – you click the door open.

The hallway is silent. A blushing gold in the morning light. The house is still – eerily still. Your dad’s room door is open, bed made, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Like he had time to spend on it. Stuff to mull over as he made it.

The carpet softens your footsteps when you finally move for the stairs. The birds are singing outside. The wallpaper canvases your shadow, a little monster creeping along one step behind you, passing picture frames which dazzle with sunrays and mirror a half-lit reflection back to you. One side you – the other, missing.

You lean over the last step, craning your head and shoulders into the hallway. The clock on the wall opposite ticks to no one. Tick tick tick tick. And aside from it, from its taunting tutting, there are no other signs of life. His jacket hangs from the peg. His boots lying below, laces tangled.

The sun separates into brittle shards through the window, illuminating the way to the kitchen. You’re not fucking prepared to follow it.

Shoulders hunched, like it might make a difference, you step forward and lower your thumb and index finger over your keys, aiming for them like a shaky arcade claw machine. Tick tick tick. They jingle as you hook your fingertip through them. Your nose wrinkles.

“Hey.”

He appears around the corner like an apparition. The keys drop back to the unit with a violent clatter.

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah.” Your dad holds a palm up, laughing nervously. “Sorry. Where you headed?”

“Uh, J– Sarah’s. Some errands she wants some help with.”

He nods. “Yeah? You don’t want breakfast first?”

You drag your eyes to meet his for the first time. He looks drawn, skin like webbing, as though it’s just draped over his skull. As though you could put your finger through it like parchment, just push straight through. He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as you have.

“No, thanks,” you say, the sunken, sullen sight of him crumbling your voice to dust. Your lips move wordlessly, waiting for another lie from your tongue to offer over. But between the way he looks, weary and forlorn, and the thin veil of truth left between you – nothing materializes.

“Why don’t you – why don’t you hold back a second?” Dad beckons you forward, folding his fingers to his palm. “Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

“Just – come on. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

He disappears without waiting for a response. Shifts back into the living room, shadow following him like a cloak across the door. You hear the creak of his chair as he settles down into it, the unsettling squeal of leather and spring.

Your feet are planted to the hall floor. To move in either direction feels like a trap. To follow after him – sit opposite and swallow back what you think you know is coming. All of his suspicions stuck in your throat like a bitter, powdery pill. Or to turn away – leave him in an empty house, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and that tick tick tick affirming your guilt.

No more excuses filter through – none of Joel’s ideas, none of his explanations. You let your shoulders drop and your eyes close. The only image behind them is that six-foot, graying, droning idiot who’s probably sat waiting for you to pull up so he can take you to fucking Trader Joe’s or whatever.

And his shirt, which he’d probably drape over your shoulders before he’s even said hello. And his smile, which would draw you onto your tiptoes, draw your lips to his. And his hands, and his waist, and his pulse in step with yours as you follow him around the quiet store, the Saturday morning air daring you to hook your fingers around two of his every now and then. The longing a gnawing in your chest, burrowing deep beneath the cage of your ribs.

He's not here, though. It’s just you. And if you call him now, if he shows up unannounced – it’s only going to confirm what your dad thinks. Fuck it – what he knows.

So you unstick your sneakers and haul yourself through to the living room.

He’s rocking in the chair when you sink back into the couch. Balls of his feet pushing him back and forth. His fingers to his lips, like keeping the words at bay for now. Like feeling the jagged shape of them through his skin.

You throw a pillow over your legs, shaggy ivory fringe tickling your bare thighs. Your dad doesn’t speak. When you lift your head, his eyes flit from yours down to your restless fingers knitting the tassels of his pillow.

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He waits a beat. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to ask the first question. He’s at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he’s plummeting down the rocky side, into a fog of cloud. Nothing will ever be the same. Only – you’ve already pushed him. He’s already falling. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Maybe he feels the drop in his stomach, right now. Maybe the wind screams in his ears. He finally asks, “When were you gonna tell me about y’all gettin’ into a barfight on Friday night?”

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

Your fingertip whitens, blood halted by the knot of the cushion fringe. You chew on a torn leaf of skin from your lips. “What?”

“You ‘n Joel. When he picked you up. What the hell happened?”

Your eyes slide from his to the patio door behind him, garden lighting up with the sun scaling higher in the sky. You stare there until it burns, until it’s all just a blur of color in your vision, and then pull a half-blinded gaze back in his direction.

You’re frozen, as if he has you at gunpoint. Shoulders tense, eyes wide. Dontshootdontshootdontshoot. “Who –? Who said that?”

“Hank. Was on the phone to ‘im last night. Anna said Joel was squarin’ up to some kid in Frank’s. You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “Nothing happened. It was just some asshole. Joel was just lookin’ out for me. For us. Me ‘n Anna.”

“She told Hank he knocked the kid out. That Sam had to stop it from gettin’ outta control.”

He stares at you, and there’s no mask on his face. No cover, no disguise. He’s suspicious. And he doesn’t care that you know it. He’s not just asking about the barfight.

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

Your last thread of insane hope that he’s innocently wondering about Frank’s is snapped in two by the words that tear out of his mouth, so quick they rip into your skin like shards of glass.

“What the hell’s goin’ on between you two?”

Your body suddenly drops further into the couch, the weight of your blood freezing to ice in your veins. Your joints seize, your jaw locks. Air passes across your open lips with no intention of carrying words back out the way it came. You forget any ability you had previously to come up with excuses, to cover up, to lie. Hell, you’re not sure you’d remember your own fucking name if he asked that next.

You say nothing. And he cocks his head, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

“Nothing?” you repeat, a shrill pitch in your voice like it’s a question. Like he’s dumb for even thinking there might be something weird going on. Like he’s the idiot.

The clock in the hall ticks to itself, amused. Fifteen little snaps. Each one sounds like a plate of glass beneath your feet, cracking a little more, a little deeper, a little wider. The abyss opening its wide, dark jaws beneath you.

Your dad’s expression doesn’t change. He crosses his arms, head leaning back a little. He almost looks sad. Almost looks like he might give in. Send you on your way, on your errands with Sarah.

But something recharges him, something must flicker behind his eyes, because he sits forward again and watches your reaction intently as he says –

“Then explain the text messages you been sendin’ each other.”

Another blow hits your stomach, rippling waves of white heat through you. You feel hot, a scorching panic right beneath the surface of your skin so hot that it mistakes itself for ice cold. A panic which radiates from your heart, pulsating through your entire body, every limb beginning to shudder involuntarily. Your silence is answer enough.

He sighs. Sits forward with his elbows on his knees. “I knew y’all were close, knew you cared about each other. You sure always talked to ‘im more ‘n you ever talked to me, even before you went off to college. But I’ve been noticing things lately…Something’s different. Something’s changed.”

Your eyes trace his form as he talks. It’s fucking dizzying. He’s animated, like a character from some eighties cop show who finally solved the mystery. He knows. He knows everything. Your jaw won’t move to answer.

“Seeing you two together – talking, laughing. The way you look at each other these days. ‘n you’re always near each other, ain’t you? Always hoverin’. It ain’t anything like before. That day the three of us went to Costco, that – I –” His anger seems to boil over, cascading from his lips in an angry burst of hot breath. “I felt like a spare tire in the back of the truck that day.”

“We’re…We’re just…f-friends…I don’t –”

He holds a finger up. Doesn’t want to hear it. Not until his speech is done. The sun moves behind a cloud; the living room suddenly drains of light. “That day you said you were spending the night at Anna’s. Said you were havin’ a pool day, right?”

“Right,” you whisper, eyes closing over. They feel heavy. Tired and teary.

“Right. Except,” he brings his finger down, aims it straight at you, “Hank says you weren’t never there. Anna was at Sal’s all day Sunday.”

Fuck.

“Dad…”

You’re pleading with him now. Enough, I’ve heard enough. I know you know. As if you might still be able to stop the train, dig your heels in and hold on tight to derail it. Derail his thoughts. Salvage the situation, string it back together with shame and atonement.

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even hear you.

“’n that’s when I got to thinkin’ – last Monday, at Joel’s. I went over to fix his sink – you remember I told you about his sink?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I went over there, and he’s cookin’ this great big breakfast – pancakes, all of it – and there ain’t no one else in his house. Just him. Sarah was in Nashville, you remember?”

You take a deep breath. This is it. The ship’s beginning to disappear beneath the black waves.

“I thought maybe he had someone over, maybe expectin’ that girl from the plant hire…Anyway,” he bats his hand, bats the hopeful glint in Lois’s eye from his mind, “I’m walking downstairs, on my way out, and I notice somethin’ on the floor by the door.”

His chair squeaks timidly as he moves, his right arm lowering, scooping for something you can’t see yet. But when he shakily lifts it, your eyes fall to your knees. It hangs before you, apologetic and ashamed.

Joel was right. He knew it. You palmed him off. You told him your dad wouldn’t – couldn’t – put two and two together. And here he is, sat feet from you, holding the final piece to the puzzle in a quivering fist. Proof that, when he was in the house that day, you were only feet from him. Wrapped in his best friend’s shirt, dripping wet from his shower.

“This bag,” he hisses, and the tears finally drop onto your cheeks. They scurry to your chin, gathering and throwing themselves to your chest. Your shoulders drop, your eyes still low. You can’t look at him.

He speaks slowly. Speaks through his teeth. Every word like its own poisonous jab.

“Now you tell me: what in God’s name is your bag doin’ in Joel Miller’s hallway, at ten in the mornin’, when you’re supposed to be at Anna’s?”

Your fingers touch your forehead, a burning pain beginning to sting through your skull. You can feel your pulse in your temples. You’ve never wanted Joel to be stood in front of you so badly in all your life; just to deflect some of the interrogation off of you, just to give you breathing space. Just to protect you from the onslaught of questioning from your dad.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. The bag hits the carpet with a thud. “No, there ain’t no way. You were at Anna’s, right? You ain’t with Joel Miller, no way. I’m thinkin’, Please, God, don’t let that have been my daughter’s bag that day. But I’m right, ain’t I? You were there, weren’t you?”

You blink rapidly. The tears multiply quicker. The room is glossed in a protective film of salt and adrenaline. Give me something to say back. Give me something to say back.

“Where were you, hon? Musta been hidin’ somewhere, right?”

Give me something please think of something please come over please walk through that door please tell me what to say.

And then it comes to you. You blink the mist from your eyes. He said…he knew about texts you’d been sending Joel. How did he…?

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. Your voice feels hoarse. It sounds nothing like you. “How – did you know – about – the texts?”

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

He begins to sputter, like the heat turned up under a pan on the hob. “Look, hon, you had me worried sick. Disappearin’ and I got no clue where you are. Always having an excuse to go off somewhere alone, no explanation. Don’t even get me started on those marks on your neck.”

Your hand immediately clamps around your throat, hot skin stained pink hissing into your palm. Joel’s teeth on you last night. His words cushioning the sharp bite. I love you. The heat hurts, now, when it felt so comforting just a few hours ago. It burns. It throbs. It feels like shame.

Your dad’s voice brings you back into the room.

“There’s another thing – last night,” he flings a laugh to you, “you were so quiet. So damn quiet. Didn’t say a word the entire time, and then I leave for all of ten minutes, and suddenly the two of you are headin’ over to his for – what was it? UCLA pamphlets?”

There’s a break between his words, a gap which makes you think that he wants you to answer. Like he’s giving you a chance, extending his arm. But he fills the space with a jeering laugh, and keeps talking.

“Where are they, huh? These pamphlets? ‘s why you were at Joel’s, right? Go on, go get ‘em. Show them to me.”

Your face solidifies. Lips tremble. There’s a scowl pulling your brows together. You’ve no right for it to be there. “Stop it,” you seethe. “Tell me what you did.”

“He’s the only one. The only one who could get you to talk. I had to check, kiddo. I had to know.”

Your stare doesn’t let up. Your lips bolt shut, refusing to say another word until he confesses. Which he does. Almost breezily.

“I looked through your phone. While you were gone. I – I went upstairs, ‘n I took it.”

He says it casually, as though he’s simply checked the newspaper. As though he’s just relaying the columns to you. Someone’s had a baby. Someone else won three grand on a scratch card. By the way, I know you’ve been messing around with Joel.

So it takes a minute for what he’s said to hit you. But when it does, the wave crashes over your shoulders so violently that it throws you to your feet, tasseled pillow whipped to the other side of the couch.

There are tears searing across your eyes. A twisted grimace of a smile on your face, a laugh breaking roughly from your throat. Some crazed, disbelieving, ugly little laugh.

“You – you checked my…my fuckin’ phone. You – you fucking –”

His head jerks back, offended. “Hey, now, listen to me –”

“I’m not listenin’ to another word! Am I twelve?”

You stalk over to the kitchen. The rattle of your dad’s chair tells you he follows.

“Well – you tell me, hon, ‘cause right now, you’re making a lot of real stupid decisions.”

That same ugly laugh echoes around the house. You grip onto the kitchen island. The room starts to wheel.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” you pant, eyes tight shut. Your thumbs begin to slip, sweat gliding between your skin and the counter.

“I’m your father! I’m lookin’ out for you, damnit! You think I wanna be havin’ this conversation with you right now?”

The granite countertop blurs in and out of focus when you open your eyes. You hook onto it, using it to haul yourself around the island until there’s distance between your wobbly figure and his. And you remember one week ago, when the same counter separated you and Joel, and you think of Joel, and think of his fingers around your wrist, and his fist against Knox’s jaw, and his teeth in your neck.

“Look,” your dad’s voice floats somewhere over the image of Joel’s eyes, “let’s just – let’s calm down. You ‘n me – we’re gonna talk this out. We’re gonna have a calm, mature discussion about all of this. You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on, and then I’m gonna head over to Joel’s – alone – and talk to him.”

But his voice doesn’t sound calm. There’s a tremble to it – a tremor as fragile as glass, as thin as ice. It’s crackling as he speaks. He can hardly keep a hold on it himself.

If he goes over to Joel’s – this you know – there ain’t anything calm or mature that will come of it. Suddenly the images in your head warp, and it’s your fingers around Joel’s wrist, someone else’s fist against his cheek, someone else’s teeth and the venom spat between them.

“Dad,” you pant, “it’s over. He ended it. It’s been done for, like, two weeks now. It was nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, was it?” He steps closer. You retreat. Edge further around the counter, further from him. His head tilts, eyebrows curl. He looks like a vulture, eyeing its prey. “Then what were the two of you up to last night?”

“We – we went for ice cream, that’s all. He wanted to make sure I was alright.”

He’s not convinced. And he shouldn’t be, either. He coughs a laugh. “For three hours? You were eatin’ ice cream for three Goddamn hours?” His cheeks wobble as he shakes his head. Then, in a softer voice, like he’s arming himself with a chisel to prick at the weakest parts of the sculpture, “What’d he do to you, girl?”

The marble cracks and snaps wide open. Anger floods out in hot waves. Any composure you’d managed to scrape together flushes clean out of your body.

“Nothing I didn’t want him to fuckin’ do. Stop treating me like I’m some kid who’s – who’s been tricked, or something. I’m twenty-three, Dad, I’m an adult.”

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

“I was in on it just as much as he was,” you weep, fingers searching for a scratch of beard or kiss of flannel.

Your dad scoffs then, hands slapping against his thighs, and turns away. “There ain’t no gettin’ through to you,” he announces to the timid living room.

Still bracing yourself against the island, you take the break in his tirade to catch your breath. The only thought running through your head, losing velocity with each circuit, is Joel walking through that door. His face when he notices you with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes. His hands reaching for yours, through all the lies and hurt. Your dad, stood opposite, tight as an arrow and ready to fucking fly for him. Fists balled, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t even know,” you realize, staring at the glow on the floor cast by the front door. “You haven’t told him you know, have you?”

“’course I ain’t told him. I wanted to talk to you first. Not that it’s gotten us anywhere, huh?”

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

“I am not having this conversation on my own. There are two people involved here.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and scrawl some messy message to Joel. Three messy messages. Something like he knows everything, can you come over? I need you. Some needy, dramatic, helpless message.

The typing bubble appears for a fraction of a second. So fleeting that you almost miss it through your tears, before it drops back to nothing. He doesn’t reply.

Doesn’t pick up, either, when you call him. Three times in a row. Three missed calls; three Hey, it’s Joel, sorry I missed yous.

The phone rattles off the counter when you drop it, your head falling into your hands. Your dad wanders back over to his armchair and collapses into it with a sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. The two of you mirrored, the same storm circling between you, only ice in his veins and fire in yours.

Fear keeps your feet planted to the kitchen floor; adrenaline alone keeps you upright. Your fingers push hard into your forehead, an ache sat directly behind that dizzies you. Blood thudding its fists against your eyes, screaming in your ears.

How the fuck did this happen? It feels ridiculous to ask, but it’s all you got. When did the two of you get so lazy? Start forgetting to cover your tracks? Or – maybe worse – stop caring enough to even try?

Of course, saying you were with Anna was a dumb fucking move. Her dad is one of your dad’s buddies. One of Joel’s, too. That was always going to fuck it all up. And you were too caught up, too hellbent on seeing Joel, too fucking horny to stop for five seconds and keep your damn story straight.

There’s nothing to say, nothing that might fix this. There’s no winding your way out of it. The trap has you by the throat. Your jaw aches from trying to free yourself.

Your dad sways side to side in his chair, staring silently at the wall ahead of him. Your face burns with shame, with anger, with embarrassment. Your heart stings from the hurt, from wanting Joel here, from his ignoring your pleas for help. And, most annoying of all – from letting your dad down.

It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. How you spin it. Sure, you’re twenty-three. You can make your own decisions. That much is fucking clear now. Doesn’t mean they’re always good. Even when they make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, make your stomach flip with excitement, make you scream from pleasure.

Make your heart do things you’ve never felt it do before. Things you never knew that it could do.

You let your dad down. He can barely look at you for it. You know damn well that it was worth every second, and yet, right now, nothing but thick, awkward, unbreathable air between the two of you – it feels like it should never have happened.

You’re bent over the counter, head resting on your folded arms, breathing still staggered – when you hear it. The squeal of brakes outside. An engine cutting. A door slamming.

Two knocks on the door, and Joel pushes it open. You’re already in the hallway, watching his heavy head and loose shirt cross the threshold.

He looks up and your eyes meet. His hair’s a mess, he’s in the same tee from last night. He’s gotten straight out of bed and into his truck, and he’s braced, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Which direction to expect the first punch from.

Your knees weaken at the sight of him. The safe haven of his arms, the home of his chest. The beating pulse behind it whose language you’ve become fluent in. Even now, when everything’s fallen apart, his being here washes relief over you like cool water dousing an inferno. Your body relaxes, your breathing quietens.

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

You shake your head lightly, and he flicks his fingers. You’re in his arms before your brain tells your limbs to move.

“’s okay,” he breathes, lips lined with your ear. His chest is soft, warm; you take fistfuls of his shirt. He strokes your hair, mumbling, “Told you we’ll be alright, yeah? It’s goin’ to be alright.”

You weep into him, lips dripping with salty tears. They part to reply, when a low growl rips between your bodies. Joel loosens his grip and you step back, turning around to face the ghost of your father at the end of the hall.

“Get the hell away from him.”

He advances, takes a few steps forward. You meet him halfway, gripping onto his shirt, planting yourself firmly between him and Joel.

“Woah, woah,” you say, pushing on his small chest, “let’s all just calm down. Dad.”

He’s smaller, scrawnier, older, and weaker than Joel. He’s never going to lift a fucking hand to him. Not if he wants to keep it intact. He wouldn’t square up to a fly, never mind an actual worthy opponent – but your gut tells you to make damn sure he doesn’t even try.

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

He’s not even looking at you. You’re nothing but an obstacle. He’s staring a few feet behind.

“Baby,” Joel says, voice weary and surrendered. “It’s alright, now. C’mon, outta the way.”

“Baby?” your dad seethes. “You just call my daughter baby?”

“Called me it as long as he’s known me, Dad.”

“’s different now,” he spits. “What the f–? I mean, what the fuck, Joel? What were you even thinkin’? Putting your Goddamn hands on my daughter?”

You don’t usually hear your dad curse. All through growing up, even when you left home – you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard it. It sends a bolt of fear through you as if you’re five years old again, and he can’t do much worse than say bad words in front of you.

You don’t usually see your dad do any of this stuff. Raise his voice, ball his fists. Lean forward, feet planted on the ground, like daring Joel to make the first move. Joel – his best friend. The guy he was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone in the world.

Angry. Furious. And you think: if there were a time he had a right to feel this way, to act like this and throw threats around as though they’re light as air, if ever there were a moment – this would be it. A betrayal. A secret this big.

Joel takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem scared. More – placating. Letting the tantrum run its course. He holds his hands out. “Let’s just – let’s just talk.”

“Talk,” your dad repeats, spitting the word like it’s rotten in his mouth. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. What the hell have you been doin’ to her? Hm?”

Joel shakes his head, shoulders lifting. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ to her. That’s not what this is.”

“Hell,” your dad scoffs, “not what it is. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what it is, then, Joel? If it ain’t you takin’ advantage of a young girl? Takin’ advantage of my kid?”

Your head whips back to face Joel, hand lifting in a bracing motion. He sees it – sees the way your head shakes, imperceptible to your dad. Please don’t tell him. Not yet.

It’s bad enough that he knows you’ve been messing around. It hurts enough that he knows you’ve been lying for the entire summer. Telling him the full story – the conversation in the truck, the words exchanged over ice cream and the quiet tick of traffic lights across the street – would only hurt more. Would only sharpen his anger. He’d ask more questions; he’d drive his dagger deeper.

Joel pleads with you. His eyes do his bargaining. You don’t relent. Please.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about,” your dad interrupts, “you know what’s runnin’ through my mind? That damn garden party. Those cupcakes. You puttin’ your thumb on her lip. I should’ve known the second you touched her what was happening. You arrogant, shameless son of a bitch, Joel, you got no idea what you –”

“Dad. Enough.”

Sure, you’re trying to calm him down, palms outstretched and motioning like he’s a wild horse, rearing frantically and threatening to crush you. But it also stings to hear him talking about Joel like that. Talking to him like that.

The same Joel he’d sling an arm around, knocking their beers together when the Rangers won. The same Joel you know he’d spent hours sat out back with, talking into the night and sharing stories and secrets with the stars.

The same Joel who covered your legs with his jacket last night, who held you when you were hurting, who reminded you what it was like to feel your heart again, beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s not talking about the same Joel. Not the Joel you know. Yours.

He’s still rambling. “…’n all this time, you pair have been closer ‘n you were lettin’ on.”

“You don’t understand,” you plead, “you don’t know him like I do.”

Your dad scoffs, twisted smirk on his face. “Oh, I know ‘im. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer and a hell of a lot better ‘n you have, hon. Known him since he was fifteen, askin’ me ‘n my buddies to buy ‘im a case of beer from the liquor store. His little brother in ‘n outta jail like God only knows what. I know exactly what he’s like.”

“What he’s like?” you huff, exasperated. You spin on your heel, arms coming down on your sides with a slap. “Joel, help me.”

“Don’t you dare look at ‘im! Listen, kiddo, I know him. Know what he’s like at Frank’s, takin’ women home left ‘n right, then forgetting their damn names. Know he sure as hell can’t remember that schoolteacher’s name, can you, Joel? You remember her?”

“Quit it,” you tell him over your shoulder, still facing Joel.

Your dad laughs from behind you. It turns your stomach. “I’ll bet he never told you about that one, did he? That’d turn you off ‘im in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

Your dad’s voice cuts. Joel’s head finally lifts, his eyes ungluing from the floor to look at you.

You shrug back. “I figured it out. Sister’s name is Mia – she’s a year younger ‘n me.”

You swear he almost fucking smiles. Almost. It’s funny, or at least, it would be if you weren’t both in the middle of tearing your entire dynamic apart. Any other time, he’d nudge you, or tousle your hair, and say you were too clever for him, or something about being old again.

When you turn back to face your dad, he looks like he’s run out of words. So, he repeats ones he’s already said.

“I…Well, I know him, honey. And he ain’t someone you oughta be with.”

“How’d you figure that?”

He sighs. “I just told you my reasons.”

“’cause he wanted beer when he was a kid and he’s slept with people before? ‘cause Tommy gets himself into trouble – trouble that Joel then gets him out of?”

“No, I –”

“You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You won’t listen to me. If you’d hear me out – hear us out, then you’d –”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’d change my damn mind. Don’t – you – dare.” Your dad’s voice is quiet and slow. Dangerous. Laced with something you’ve never heard in it before. It’s not worth finding out what.

Your head shakes, knee jerking with nerves. “I don’t…I don’t know what else to say.”

The fire flickers, loses light for a second. His voice softens. “Honey…This –” he waggles his finger between your body and Joel’s, “this thing y’all have been…It ain’t right. It is not right, what y’all have been doin’. You are far too young for him. He should know better, and the fact that he doesn’t – well.”

Your brows tighten, eyes pinching around painful tears. “I know why you’re mad. I get it. I’m sorry. But I can’t –” You sigh. “You are suffocatin’ me, living here.”

His façade drops instantly. He pushes his fingers into his eyes, groaning. “Hon, you’re not hearin’ me.”

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

He cuts you off, throwing his arms up into the air with another loud yell. The words melt into one long drone, a mountainous ramble which peaks and falls in pitch; one minute low and angry and the next high and frantic.

You sigh, shoving by him for the living room. Joel reaches for your hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“Baby,” he says.

“Ah!” Your dad blocks his advance, shaky finger held to his chest. “You dare, son.”

You’re swipe the bag from the floor by your dad’s chair, your change of clothes still in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Slinging it over your shoulder, you whip past your father and lock your hand with Joel’s.

“Hey,” Joel says, slowing you down. “Darlin’, where are you –?”

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

He glances over to your dad, dumbfounded by the stairs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

He doesn’t hesitate; barely thinks it over. He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you toward him. Your feet stumble over the carpet.

“Where in the hell –?” Your dad’s snarling picks up again, his final chance. “I don’t think so –”

Joel’s backing up towards the front door, led by the pull of your hand. “Emotions are pretty high,” he announces, “why don’t we have this conversation once everybody’s calmed down?”

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

“I ain’t takin’ her anywhere. She’s an adult.”

Liar. His hand wouldn’t let go of yours if you tried to pry it from his clutches.

“I’m leavin’,” he says, “she’s just coming with me.”

Your dad barks your name, and you freeze. Joel stops, too, allows you the time to turn. Like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m going, Dad,” you shakily tell him.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if y’all walk outta that door…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”

He shakes his head. “Stay, hon. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not talkin’, though. All you wanna do is argue. I wanna go with Joel.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere with no one! ‘specially not him!”

You shrug, give your head a solemn shake. “Stop me.”

Joel hears the exhaustion in your voice, the scratch of your throat. The way the words melt into one another. He tugs on your hand, leading you through the front door. Your dad doesn’t speak again, and you don’t turn back to check on him.

The neighborhood is silent in the early morning. Yards empty, curtains still closed. No one, not even the sun, tucked behind a thin veil of cloud, sees when you pile into the front seat of Joel’s truck.

“Baby,” he says, pulling your seatbelt over your body.

Your eyes fix on the asphalt ahead. “Just drive.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

When you turn to him, he takes your jaw in both hands. “I love you,” he says.

“Still?” you squeak, eyes heavy with sleeplessness and tears.

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

He nods. “Yeah. ‘n you’re worth all of it.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls when the two of you spill in through the front door. She’s on the couch, Switch console in hand. “What’s up?”

“We have a – a lodger, for the next…little while,” Joel grumbles, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. He kicks off his boots and slides them to the wall, straightens up and looks to you.

You follow suit wordlessly, slipping out of your sneakers. Joel places them by his.

“Cool,” Sarah says, standing up. “How come?”

“Just – dad trouble,” you whisper, deflated. She’s wandering around the couch. A defeated sound rings from the console hanging from her thumb.

Her head tilts. “I…I got plenty room for you,” she flashes you a warm grin, “it can be like a big-ass sleepover.”

You return her smile, a slow, grateful breath filling your lungs. Joel’s arm wraps over your shoulder as your mouth opens to answer.

“No, uh…” He clears his throat. “She’ll be in my room. With me.”

Sarah’s expression is blank. She blinks between the two of you, arms limp either side of her hips. Your eyes flit from Joel to her and back again, wide, waiting. Waiting for someone to move, or speak, or yell.

Joel looks indifferent. Unbothered. As if he just told her it’s sunny outside.

She takes a step forward, and by instinct, you draw back. “Sarah…” you mutter, and she swings around the newel post. She dodges your outstretched hand, whether accidental or deliberate – you’re not sure.

“No, it’s…Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I gotta…Yeah.”

You watch as she climbs the stairs backwards, still looking from your pleading face to her dad’s stoic. She shrugs, wiggles the Switch and mumbles something about it needing charged, before she’s spinning and taking the last few steps two at a time.

When her bedroom door closes, you slump back. Joel doesn’t let go of your shoulder, catching you and pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper, lips pressed against his tee. He smells like pine, like mint, like you.

“’s okay,” he says into your hair, hand curving the shape of your skull. “She’ll come around. You know Sarah.”

You turn, ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It doesn’t tell you anything new. You miss the days you used to listen for secret messages in the soft rhythm.

Joel’s chin rests on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “None of this is your fault, you hear? None of it.”

“Now you’re just lyin’ to me. You know that ain’t true.”

A hum rumbles against your cheek like the earth readjusting, rearranging beneath your feet. You lift your head, loosen your grip around his waist.

“You need sleep,” he tells you, thumb swiping gently beneath your heavy eyes.

You don’t protest.

Joel takes your hand, leads you mutely upstairs and into his room. His bed’s not made. The shades aren’t even open. He lifts the sea of sheets, tosses them twice in the air and then pulls the corner back, letting you sit on the edge of the mattress.

He undresses you carefully, like your limbs might crack and burst at the slightest touch. He replaces your hoodie with a fresh tee of his own, one that still smells like the world before its end, and you lay back into bed slowly.

It’s shaped like you – the divot in the mattress. You slot back into it like you never left. The curl of your back and the fold of your knees. You’ve left little pieces of evidence all over the place – all over Joel.

He runs a delicate hand across your head, the repetitive movement lulling you off to sleep. Pushing the boat out.

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

You shake your head, arms wrapping tight underneath your pillow. “I’m good,” you whisper, and the waves pull you under.

His bedside lamp is on when you stir, the left half of the room a glowing honey color. His bare leg slotted between yours, your hands intertwined on his chest. His finger drifts back and forth against your palm, the strokes matching your breathing.

You’re still tired, eyes still rolling beneath heavy lids, but when some commentator screams at the game playing on the TV screen, you snap awake.

Joel curses under his breath, begins tearing the bed apart for the remote – but by the time he turns the volume down, your head is propped against his pillow, knuckles rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, kissing your forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“’s okay.” You flash him a lazy smile. “What time is it?”

“Almost five thirty.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Slept all fucking day.”

“You needed it,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want some dinner? Or – breakfast?”

You nod. “Sounds good.”

He disappears downstairs. The echoing of pots and pans and the hum of the extraction fan follow in his wake. You groan, stretching out like a starfish across the messy bed, forgetting for just a moment why you’re here, and what’s happened, and how different everything is.

It feels the same, even after eight hours sleep. Same guilt, and shame. Same anger and resentment towards your dad. Same punch to your gut anytime you picture his face, the wrinkled frown. The trembling fist holding your bag in midair.

The blow is soothed only by the swelling of warmth across your chest, looking around the room. The safety you feel here, as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world. Your father on pause the second you left the house; Joel’s room and his bed giving you time to catch your breath and recalibrate.

You’re not thinking about when you’ll have to go back home. You’re just not.

You knot your shorts back around your waist, take one huge swig of the water Joel left for you, and open his bedroom door, your head throbbing with each movement.

There’s a figure at the end of the hall, frozen in space like a phantom.

“Morning,” she says. Her hair is tied back, oversized hoodie over her shoulders.

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Hm,” her head tips back and forth, “not today. Don’t have the energy. Watch your back tomorrow, though.”

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, a genuine laugh pushes its way past your lips. The knot in your stomach loosens, even if only a little.

“You wanna come help with dinner?” she asks, nodding to the stairs.

You smile. “Please.”

The three of you settle on pasta with some tomato sauce from a jar mixed through. You sit opposite Sarah as Joel sets the plates down, sliding into the seat next to yours with a gentle squeeze on your knee under the table.

The three of you talk. About nothing in particular – college, Rita and her cross stitch, some client of Joel’s whose wife got caught having an affair – but it soothes the ache in your heart. It feels like a blanket over your shoulders, a spot by the fire, a voice in your ear promising you that things are still okay. That they can still be this way: light, alive. The earth is still moving, the stars are still pinned up in the sky. Tomorrow will always come, and the day after that.

Sarah asks about LA. You tell her you didn’t know she knew. She grins and says, “Well, now that I do – you better put an application in.”

You hum around the fork between you lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on. The two of us out there together? For six whole months? You gotta do it. Tell me you don’t wanna do it. Are you gonna do it?”

Joel casts her a glower, his stony expression pushing her back in her chair.

Your eyes shift from hers over to his. He runs a slice of garlic bread around the curve of his plate, coating it in sauce, before he notices you staring. His face breaks into a tiny smirk.

“I don’t know,” you decide, turning back to Sarah. “I still gotta think it through.”

She nods earnestly. “Yeah, you should sleep on it. And then, first thing tomorrow, we’re doing it.”

The two of you let her have the final say, falling quiet until some new conversation is shifted onto the table, and then another, and then another. When you’re done eating, Sarah takes your hand and drags you back upstairs.

Sarah Miller’s bedroom has been baby pink for as long as you can remember. Joel painted it one summer while she was at camp, eliciting help from your dad to shift all the furniture. As she grew up, she covered the walls in posters, changed the sheets, changed the curtains, strung fairy lights to distract from what she saw as a kiddish color.

But she never asked to change it. Always wanted the same blushing pink her dad had picked out when she was ten – even if secretly.

Her blinds are tilted, golden light from the slowly lowering sun filtering through onto her carpet, stained with tiny dabs of nail polish. She throws herself down onto the bed, her curls igniting brown in the summer light, and you slowly sink down beside her.

“Nice Zayn poster,” you note, pointing to the straight-browed, dark-haired figure painted in a moody grayscale on her ceiling. “Interesting placement.”

“Was so I could dream about him every night.”

“You didn’t wanna take him to California?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sarah smiles, tapping her temple, “he’s all up here, baby.”

You snort. Your eyes flutter closed; hands clasped on your stomach. She sighs contentedly by your side, listening to the chatter of birds out front.

“I miss this,” she says eventually, her voice smooth and soothing. She elbows you lightly.

“Me too,” you reply. And then, with a deep breath: “Sarah…are you okay?”

When she turns back, the sunlight catches in her eyes. They twinkle, like she’s some doe-eyed Disney character. Someone who might be able to wiggle her fingers and make the last day disappear.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

She shrugs, mumbles an I dunno. “What can I do about it? It’s weird, but…it’s none of my business. I guess…I guess if y’all are happy, then – you know. I’m gone half the time, anyways.”

“It is your business, too, though,” you tell her. “I don’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“I think you got bigger things to worry about right now. Sounds like your dad’s pretty mad.”

You sigh, looking back up to the boyband poster. “Yeah. He’s pretty mad.”

“My dad told me what happened. Well, parts. I can kinda guess the rest. Can’t really blame him, I guess.”

You shrug. “Guess not, but then…I am twenty-three, y’know? I’m not a kid. I can make my own mind up.”

She’s still staring at you, but you don’t return her glance. Something tells you that you already know what it says. Still, she verbalizes it.

“Would you be okay if I slept with your dad?”

That is so not what I thought you were gonna fuckin’ say.

You shoot her a look. “What?”

“’m askin’. Would you be okay with it, if I –”

You lift your hand to shut her up. “That is…so totally different.”

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

“And – and also you’re not friends with him. It’s just different, alright?”

“You were friends with my dad?”

You’re laughing with her now. You can hear how pathetic your justification sounds. “Kinda, yeah. I was close to ‘im.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious, now, babe.”

You smack her arm and she giggles.

“I think he’ll come around. Your dad.”

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“Why wouldn’t he? His best friend would become his son-in-law, I would become his granddaughter-in-law –” She gasps and props herself up on her elbow, staring you down. “Does this make you, like, my stepmom?”

You spit out a laugh, and Sarah throws her head back against her pillow, clutching her belly.

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you reply, covering your face with your hands. “Aw, fuck,” you breathe, giggling.

You settle back into the bed, your heads leaning against one another as you stare up at Zayn and his audience of glow-in-the-dark stars. Sarah hums something softly to herself, her ankle rocking, her fingers tapping.

The two of you were raised together. Sisters, when neither of you knew what that word really meant. You figure she’s as close as you could find – someone who reflects all of your favorite parts of yourself and who calls out the uglier ones without hesitation. Someone who comforts you with a punch to the arm, a mocking quip about your hair or the something in your teeth. A safe little secret keeper, for all of your wildest dreams and biggest fears.

“I guess this is all why you were so down in the dumps last night, right? Your dad knew then?”

You shake your head. “Not at that point. He found out after we all left. Realized it all on his own. It’s all just…so fucking stupid…”

She sighs. “My dad – if he…if he makes you happy, then I don’t even know. As long as I don’t have to see it – we’re cool.”

One cinderblock of weight lifts from your chest, allowing a rugged breath to escape. “Wish my dad would take a leaf outta your book,” you mumble.

“He’s just mad,” Sarah says. “He’s just mad, and he’ll eventually calm down.”

“Doesn’t matter even if he does calm down,” you reply. “My dad has more of a…restrictive parenting approach.”

“Can you really parent a twenty-three-year-old?”

“He finds a way to try.”

She scoffs, saying, “I get it. My dad’s more, try it ‘n see. Your dad is, like, try it ‘n see…what your punishment is.”

You both erupt into laughter, and Sarah reaches for the TV remote.

“Exactly,” you tell her, tugging on the hem of Joel’s shirt. “Although, if your dad found out you were with my dad, I don’t think he’d be cool with it, either.”

“Yeah,” she smirks, flicking through Netflix titles, “y’all got what you deserved.”

The sound of Sarah’s bedroom door closing over stirs you. Her room is the color of rust; the stream of amber sunlight on the carpet replaced by that of the streetlights. Beneath the door, the sliver of light is shifted by the sway of a silhouette walking off down the hall.

Sarah’s snoring quietly beside you, still in her jeans. Keeping an eye on her, you roll off the bed and creep towards the door, a slow groan coming from the handle as you twist it. Joel’s at the opposite end of the hall, disappearing into his room as you shut Sarah back into her warm slumber.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he whispers when you slip into his room. He’s already sat in bed, leant against the headboard. The room a thick darkness, a black cloud of dusk spiraling around you and cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Heard you come in.” You wander over, pausing at the side of the bed. “Wanna stay with you.”

“C’mere,” he says, holding a hand out. You take it, pulling yourself into his lap. He slips his hands under the hem of your shorts, fingertips brushing the crests of your hipbones. “You okay?” he asks, thumbs swiping gently on the seam of your thigh.

“Never better. You?”

He sighs in response and looks off to the window, the light catching his eye. You tilt your head and bend forward, kissing below his ear. He smells like whiskey. You breathe it in, inhaling like the sharp scent might fold you under a numb blanket of inebriation, too.

Joel takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you from his neck, watching the shift in your expression before he kisses you – steady, bracing. The first time since everything went so wrong.

For a few minutes you pretend nothing has changed – you’re still sneaking around, shushing one another; someone’s in the next room, there are still secrets to be kept. You slip your shorts down your legs, kicking them over the side of the bed; Joel’s sweatpants follow soon after. His hands surrender and you push up on his chest, dragging your core against his stubborn crotch, lips never losing contact. Tongues rolling against one another, noses bumping; a tangle of breath between you until you’ve no idea which is yours and which is his.

It’s all you know how to do, after all. It’s how this started, it’s how it got out of control. The two of you taking out your needs on one another. Right now is no different. You need to feel something other than the dread in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart anytime you look at him and know he feels it, too.

You come up for air and suddenly the feeling dissipates; doubt sets back in and fear washes over you like ice water. Your hips cease, Joel’s hands lift from your body. He pushes the hair from your face to find his own expression mirrored in yours.

Everything has changed.

You watch his movements, the light trace of his finger on your bare skin, the pinch of fabric as he adjusts his boxers. The careful movements of his own hips, trying not to incite anything more.

“I love you,” you offer, when he doesn’t say anything. Whispered, like it’s a question, like something to dangle in front of him to make him bite.

At the very least, it unsticks his gaze from the cotton print over your chest and back up to your face – where he softens and says, “Oh, darlin’. I love you, too.”

He gives you a squeeze and pulls you by the shoulders closer, letting you feel his lips on yours again and again, until you’re out of breath. You nuzzle your head under his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart at your ear.

Joel trails his hands up and down your spine. He breaks the silence first – stammers his way through a question you’re not sure how to answer.

“Was I – was I hurtin’ you? All this time?”

You lift your head, looking blankly at him. “What –?”

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

He nods. “Everythin’ we were doin’. Everything we’ve done. You wanted me to be doing it, right?”

He looks…scared, as though forty years have been shaved from him over the course of one day. Eyes glassy like he might burst into tears; bottom lip almost trembling with uncertainty.

You sit up and cup his face; he breathes a sigh of relief when you look him dead in the eye and say, “I wanted you to be doing all of it.”

“All of it?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you nod, “nothing you ever did ever hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze. “’cept when I left.”

“You came back.”

His thumb curves beneath the slip of fabric on your hips, toying with the elastic. There’s more in his question, you know it. He’s not convinced by a word you say.

“It’s just…all such a fuckin’ mess,” he groans, fingertips massaging his forehead.

You hesitate, unwilling to agree and unable to disagree. It is a fucking mess – that much is true. But if that’s all it is, then why does your heart pause for breath whenever you see him? Why does the mere thought of his presence, the tiniest glimpse of him – why does it all send your stomach somersaulting?

How can something supposed to be so bad, make you feel so fucking good?

“It was wrong of me,” Joel says, “to flirt with you that night I first saw you again. To put you in that position. But I did, and we ended up here. And I’m glad we did, baby, you know I am, but…it’s on me. This thing with you ‘n your dad.”

“You don’t think he should back off a little? Don’t think he’s oversteppin’ a mark, even a tiny bit?”

He shakes his head. “I’d do the damn same, ‘n you know it. I shoulda known better. Shouldn’ta let it happen. You mean more to me than the world, and I – I caused all this hurt for you.”

Sure, it’s real noble of him to take all of the blame, but it wasn’t just him. You had a part in it, too: your batting eyelashes, your hands where they shouldn’t have been. Your jaw tightens when he says it, holding back from telling him you want as much responsibility in this as he’s taking, even if he won’t allow it.

But an argument with Joel, right off the back of one with your father, isn’t really something you need. It wouldn’t help anything. So, you swallow your words and whisper new ones.

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

His eyebrows flick, concern knotting them together. He sits up, scooping you in his arms. “I meant I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

“’n what about the first time you touched me?”

The memory plays between you: the weight of him on your body, the sound of the stereo system firing up downstairs. One hand between your legs and the other pinching your heart.

The light in your eyes starts to bleed through your body into Joel’s, distorting the projected image of that scene in your bedroom. It ignites somewhere low, travelling upwards until his stare locks with yours: an understanding weaving between you both.

You lean back from him, drinking in the sight. “Nothin’ but trouble, right? That’s what you said, that first night. You knew damn well where it might go. ‘n you still wanted it, just as bad.”

“Darlin’, I’m not sayin’ I didn’t, I –”

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

You push his shoulders to the mattress. Fire in your belly, some kind of twisted energy pumping through your veins, you grind down on him again.

That thing, about this being all you know how to do? About taking your needs out on each other?

Right now, you need distraction. You need something to tire you out, to drain you of energy, to stop your thoughts for five minutes. You need someone to hold you, and love you, and make you feel good. Joel’s the perfect distraction.

He’s still hard. You’re still wet. It’s easy.

You drag your hips lazily over his, cotton riding against lace. He’s growing harder, bigger; he’s pushing up into you. You respond by pushing down, and Joel groans.

“Hey,” he takes hold of your thighs, “baby, we don’t have to –”

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

You reach down past the band of his boxers and take him in your hand. He bites back a moan, his head falling into the pillow. You’re stroking him: long, hard strokes, fist tightening around him, fingers dipping between your folds to apply your slick to his length.

“Say the word, Joel. We’ll stop,” you pant, unsure if even you buy the words you’re saying. “You said it: none of this should’ve ever happened. You should’ve never laid a finger on me.”

His arms lift, throbbing biceps curving around his pillow and crumpling it against his skull. He doesn’t tell you to stop, because he doesn’t fucking want you to. He needs this – needs you as much as you need him, needs you more than he needs the air in his lungs.

And you’re right: it is different now. Now, it’s out in the open. The whole world could know, for all the two of you care. And maybe that’s the kick to it, now. No more hiding. No more fleeing from shadow to shadow.

You tug his underwear down and lower yourself, dragging your folds up and down the width of him while sticky precome gathers at his tip, dappling the trail of hair from his navel. And when you can’t do it anymore, when the mere sight of him drenched in your arousal threatens to send you over the edge, you line him up to your entrance and sink down, slow.

He moans into the pillow, fabric muffling your favorite sound in the world. And he doesn’t stop, his chest doesn’t stop rumbling until you reach his hilt, where he gasps.

“Darlin’,” he whimpers, hands coming back down to hold you in place.

You bat them away. “Uh-uh,” you tut, pinning his wrists above his head. “Not a – fuckin’ – finger.”

Joel grits his teeth, eyes locking onto yours, directly above him as you slide up off his cock, hips circling as you do, and then back down. Your free hand curves around his ribcage, the solid flesh of his torso stabilizing you.

“Poor baby,” you coo, pouting your lip. “Can’t even touch me. Can’t put a hand on your girl when you need to most.”

“Fuckin’ – whore,” he grunts, and your hips grind to a halt. You release his wrists.

“That what you think of me?” you ask, sitting upright on his lap. Joel’s still buried deep inside you.

“No,” he’s breathing, lips curling, “no, baby. Keep goin’.”

“I’m not the one goin’ back on my word here.”

He flashes a thick, filthy smile. “I know, I know. Go on. Make me proud.”

You lean forward again and he sighs, the feel of your wet cunt wrapping like satin around him.

“You think he’d trust you, anyway, after everythin’?” you mewl. “Think he thinks I’m in a different room right now? Tucked up in bed, safe ‘n sound? Nah, baby, he knows. He knows what you’re doin’ right now. Keep your hands off me? You can’t keep your cock outta me.”

Joel moans in agreement, hands gripping into the sheets to ground himself, hips bucking up against yours. You place your hands either side of him on the mattress and start to bounce, skin slapping, bed shaking.

“You like that, huh?” you moan, feeling the sharp kiss of his head at your cervix. Nudging, nudging, nudging. Blunt pain, blissful pleasure. “Like me riding it. Takin’ what I – oh, fuck – what I need.”

He lets out a guttural moan, writhing around underneath you. It’s like he’s forgotten where he is, forgotten you guys aren’t alone in the house; drunk on the sight, smell, sound, and feel of you on him, not even trying to stifle his sounds anymore.

You close your eyes and hope Sarah doesn’t wake anytime soon.

You’re keeping the façade up for Joel, but on the inside, you feel the exact same. His words echo in your ears, shouldn’ta let it happen, and how quickly that melted into make me proud. Your head starts to swim, your eyes heavy, your body trembling.

The thatch of hair at the bottom of his cock brushes against your clit, a gasp drawing between your teeth. Pain begins to rip upwards on the inside of your thighs, forcing you forward.

“Joel,” you pant, leaning over him. “Fuck.”

“Gotta let me touch you, baby,” he whispers, hands lifting beneath the fabric of your shirt. His fingers ghost across the curve of your shoulders. “You need it, don’t you?”

You whimper in response and Joel slips past the moment of weakness, taking a strong grip of both shoulders and pulling himself upright on the mattress. The tee slips from your body in one breath, and his hands follow the incline of your neck to your jaw, holding you steady as he fucks up into you.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, leaning back with a palm flat on the bed behind to watch himself disappear between your legs.

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

“Gotta ask nicely, remember? Be a good girl for me?”

“Dick,” you hiss, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He pouts. Sweat gleams on his upper lip. His voice cracks, weakens like stone beginning to crumble. “’s not v-very n-ice, baby.”

“Comeinme,” you beg, your fingers swirling around the dark hair at the bottom of his skull. “Please, come in me.”

“Atta-girl,” he groans, and his hands instantly lock on your hips. You don’t stop him this time, letting him push you down as hard as he can onto his cock, coming as deep inside you as he can.

And then – that familiar feeling of being his. Filled with him, your eyes and your nose and your mouth and your cunt spilling with the sight, smell, taste and feel of him. He coats your walls, throbs deep inside you as he claims every tiny corner of your body.

He growls as his cock twitches, and you watch his expression go from determined, to blissful, to fucking exhausted when he stills and his head rolls forward into your chest. His breath hot and staggered between your breasts; light kisses peppered onto damp skin.

You watch him through a post-sex haze, the air between you thick and blurry, as he presses his lips into your chest. He sucks along the cushion of your breast until he reaches the nipple, lips cupping around it, tongue flicking with all the effort he has left in him.

When he lifts his head again, one final kiss to your sensitive flesh, you balance his chin under your thumbs.

“You come?” he asks, the words propelled by a heavy exhale.

You shake your head slowly. “I’m tired, anyway.”

“Alright,” Joel groans, flipping you over. He pushes your thighs apart, his spend leaking from your slit and running southwards.

“Joel,” you giggle, “c’mon, I’m tired. You don’t have to –”

He’s already pushing himself lower, whipping the dark cotton tee from his shoulders and brushing his naked chest over your stomach. You lower your arms to hook under his.

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

He kneels back up to you, hovering over you with his hands under your shoulders. His limp cock lies against the inside of your thigh as he lowers his weight onto your hips. You tilt your head, mapping his face.

Your knuckle runs across his cheek, the jagged bristle of his beard on your warm skin. Like running your hand under water, unable to tell whether it’s scalding hot or freezing cold – there is no saying whether you’re so used to him now that the feel of him is unaffecting, or entirely all-consuming. There’s no middle ground. Not anymore.

“I know –” You sigh, your voice swollen with a soft cry. There’s no stopping the tears anymore. They just come. “I know you think you should’ve known better. But I am so fucking glad that you didn’t.”

It’s done nothing but pour all day. You woke up this morning to the rain battering against Joel’s window, your body hooked against his by his arm.

Day four. Still no call, no text, no nothing from your dad. You haven’t exactly returned the favor – the closest you dared was having Sarah drive you to your house while he was at work so you could dip into the hallway, grab your car keys, and drive straight back to Joel’s. You pulled up in his driveway alongside each other and she rolled her window down, checking your expression before snorting.

It’s like a damn Mission: Impossible film, she jested.

The pain feels blunter, more distant than it did on Saturday. Like your father has bowed his head, faded some into the dark background of upstage. You realize, a few days in – the movie nights and the meals homecooked by three chefs; the way Joel’s scent starts to become yours, his T-shirts hanging loose over your shoulders and his boxers snug against your hips – that you forget to check on the shadow of your dad. Forget the spot he once stood in, the thunderous cloud cast over his head. The same one that so regularly used to pour rain over you.

Sarah went out with her friends a few hours ago. She called to say she’d miss dinner, so you and Joel ordered Chinese. You’re sat with your legs in his lap picking away at some noodles, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while he catches up on some baseball highlights show.

“Fuckin’ – idiots,” he mumbles, fork angrily picking at rice.

Your eyes don’t lift from the Instagram caption you’re reading. “Fuckin’ idiots,” you flatly agree.

Joel’s head turns. “Alright, Miss Big Rangers Fan. I remember a time you pretended to be into ‘em to get my attention.” He attempts to grab your phone, and you swipe it from his grasp.

“Shut up,” you giggle, grabbing hold of your takeout box. “Joel – be careful!”

He snorts, settling back into the couch, changing the TV channel. You give his thigh a little kick, tugging your blanket up. As the TV switches from one showing to the next, your phone buzzes.

You glance down, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and freeze.

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes glued to the flickering screen.

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You unstick your stare from the phone, looking up to meet his perplexed expression. “They got back to me.”

He squints for a second before the remote is dropped to the cushion. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just saw the first line.”

“Open it, baby. C’mon. Whatever it is, you gotta know.”

“You know what,” you shrug, “I’m good. I don’t need to know. It’s all good.”

“Hey.” Joel snaps his fingers scooping your gaze from the floral, bohemian name on the header of the email and up to his own. “Open it, or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You mock gasp. “You’d put me out on the streets?”

“Worse. Put you back to your dad’s. Now open the email.”

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen, one tap away from the biggest change in your life since you left for New York. Like it’s five years ago, and you’re sat in front of your laptop, psyching yourself up to open the response to your college application.

“Okay,” you breathe, slamming your thumb down. Joel leans in, staring at the screen from upside down.

It swipes across and your eyes flit down, focusing hard on the sentence beneath the opening line. You blink rapidly, waiting for the wash of tears to clear and dissolve it to Unfortunately, or After careful consideration, or We appreciate your interest.

But it never does.

Invite to interview stares back up at you, waiting for your face to break. Expectant, a little nervous. Jittering inside your shaking fist. Joel breaks first, when he spots it.

He almost throws his food onto the coffee table, taking your container from your hands and bundling you up in his. He pulls you into his body, presses heavy kisses to the crook of your neck as you laugh, your entire body quaking with joy and terror and relief and anxiety.

“What’d I tell you?” he says, kissing you roughly. “I knew it, babygirl. I knew you would – Fuck, I am so fucking proud of you.”

“It’s just –” sniff, “– it’s just an interview, remember. I might not get it, in the end.”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care. You’re a damn sight closer to gettin’ it than you were three days ago.”

You sit for probably twenty minutes, laughing and then weeping and then laughing again – until the food is cold, there’s a new episode of South Park rolling on TV, and Joel’s T-shirt is soaked with your tears.

“I gotta call Sarah,” you whisper, finger sifting through his hair. Your head buried in his neck, your knees either side of his hips.

“She’s going to lose her fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles into your shoulder, laughing to himself. “She’ll sit off-camera in the corner of the room, so they can’t see her, ‘n hold up cue cards.”

You giggle, letting it dissipate into something weaker, something unconvinced. In a small voice, you say, “We just got one step closer to being four states apart.”

He looks up at you, curving a hand around your jaw, and pulls your lips against his. It’s slow, tender – his every thought and feeling translated into physical movement, transformed into a spin of butterflies in your chest.

When you pull away from him, smiling dumbly, he clips your cheek. “That scare you?”

You hesitate, afraid to tell him the truth. But it’s Joel. He knows every thought that passes through your head. You nod, eyes filling with a salty sting.

“Why?” he asks.

You glance out to the street. “’cause I love you. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Joel nods. Considers it. Then says, “You know why it doesn’t scare me?”

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

“Because I love you. And we are gonna be just fine.”

And you believe him.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #cowboy like me

[mrfoox]

I am legit losing my mind over this constant nausea it's not even funny

I bolted awake at 4 am, after sleeping one hour, ran back and forth to the bathroom 5 times. Didn't pass so I laid awake in bed til like 6 am and then I managed to sleep a couple of hours

Then it's morning and I need to take my medication... Yeah still nauseas :')

#miranda talking shit #The night situation i think was my own fault. Aka i binged like 1kg of ice cream at 11pm #I woke up with the worst and weirdest kjnd of feeling ive had in ages #Aka i bolted awake and i couldnt tell what was wrobg but my body was telling me it was serious #At first i legit thought i couldnt breathe ? I think bc of the sudden panic #So yeah i got like 2 hourd of sleep and those were ruined by the ill feeling lol #I know i have whined about this for a month soon but like seriously ... It's so fuckin bad im at the verge of tears #Being on the brink of throwing up 6/7 mornings per week and at least two of those actually throwing up #Its wrecking me man. And I have to actively try to NOT throw up. Even though that will heal my nausea usually #Bc i take medicine and that needs to be taken up by my body and im guessing that takes at a minimum an hour if not more #All i do on these days is sit and shake on my couch with a bucket next to me #As i try to eat small things and drink lots of water to manage my nausea and being hungry af #That goes ob for at least 3 hours. At most 5. #I can handle a lot of bodily feelings but nausea and throwing up is honestly the worst for me. Followed by headaches/migraines #So much time and energy is taken out of my day for this shit and after its passed im exhausted

[digitaldiarystuff]

Misunderstood

summary: You and Jude go on a late night drive when he gives you a present and you freak out

pairing: Jude Bellingham x Y/N

genre: angst/ fluff

————

When Jude had to bail on your dinner date you were pretty bummed. You realized his schedule was hectic and you couldn’t meet everyday but tonight you put so much effort in your looks and felt sad. You didn’t even bother changing your dress and went straight to depression mode bringing out ice cream as dinner. You were halfway into the rom-com you were watching until your phone started buzzing.

“Hey baby.” you said a little sleepy.

“Hey love, are you at home?”

“Where else would I be Jude, of course I’m at home.” you sarcastically said.

“Okay then come out.”

“Are you here?” you exclaimed ecstatic about meeting your boyfriend. You missed him so much and desperately needed him to hold you.

“Yes Y/N just come out here.”

“But where are we going, all the restaurants are closed.” you said realizing it’s well past 2 a.m.

“Just come to me.” he said and hung up. Rude, you thought but the excitement to see him was too much that you grabbed your coat and skipped like a little girl to his car.

“I missed you so much.” you said as soon as you were seated and reached out to his side to hug him. He always brought comfort to you.

“Oh my god baby you look unreal.” he said as he’s eyeing you without shame. “And I’m here looking like a homeless man”

You chuckled “I don’t think homeless people wear Prada.”

“Some of them do, no seriously I saw one of them the other day full on rocking Givenchy.” he said and you felt all your stress lifting. Jude always made your mood go up immediately.

After that he reached for the back seat and grabbed some takeout.

“I know you skipped dinner so I brought you some.” he said and you smiled seeing how well he knew you.

“You’re the best.” you said as he started driving to a spot where you could overlook the city and eat in peace. Even though Jude’s career and his social life was a little much sometimes, these calm moments were your favorites. Just you two enjoying each other’s company with no distractions.

As soon as he pulled up, you grabbed the Chinese food from the packages and gave him his chopsticks. You ate and talked about your day and the things that bothered you since you were both drama queens. This was a fun conversation you had everyday, you told each other everyone who made you mad and gossiped about them.

“And then he said I should eat less because I gained 0.5% fat.”

“Oh no he didn’t.” you fake gasped and laughed. Jude was so extra sometimes.

You spoke for a few more minutes until you remembered something.

“Oh god, what am I even gonna get your mum for her birthday? What if I choose something hideous?” you panicked and Jude calmed you down saying how much his mum loves you and would love anything from you.

“But since we’re on the subject of presents.” he said and opened the console in front of you.

“I got you a little something.”

You noticed the blue bag immediately. It was Tiffany, and small. You felt your heart beating and started panicking. Your friends made some jokes about you being already married with Jude since your relationship was going on for 2 years and strong but you always avoided the subject. Coming from a broken household, with separated parents, you were always afraid of marriage from a young age. Jude knew that and respected your ideas though he always said he wanted to spend eternity with you.

But seeing a small box in a Tiffany bag has made you anxious, surely Jude wouldn’t propose to you right? You knew that but you couldn’t hide your horrified expression as his burrows furrowed.

“You don’t wanna open it?” he asked.

“Jude, what’s in the box?” you asked warily.

“Baby, open it and see.” he was confused about your reaction.

“Jude I need you to tell me what’s inside it. Please.” you begged getting more and more agitated.

“Y/N what’s going on? It’s just a gift, I saw it in the store and thought you’d love it.”

“What is it?”

“Y/N what are you so pressed about? This isn’t a complex situation, you grab the bag open it and thank me. Why are you acting weird love?”

When you said nothing, he snatched the bag from you and opened it himself.

“It’s just a fucking necklace, I’m not proposing to you.” he laughed a little trying to lighten the mood until he saw your face.

“Y/N I”

“I’m sorry Jude, I’m so sorry.” you started sobbing from guilt. You freaked out about nothing and have been rude to Jude. He immediately realized what’s going on and you could see his eyes fill with guilt as well.

“Baby, shh it’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No no it’s my fault, I freaked out on you. I’m sorry, I’m just a weirdo who doesn’t appreciate you enough.” he held you against his body and helped you calm down. After your sniffles stopped he leaned back and held your cheeks to make you look up at him.

“Y/N you don’t owe me any explanation, I love you with all your weirdness and flaws just like you love me. I want to spend my life with you, you’re it for me with or without a big commitment and ceremony. I want you next to me but would never push you, I’ll always be with you.”

You smiled at him and realized you’re the luckiest girlfriend ever.

“Thank you Jude, for everything and for the record I want to spend my life with you too.”

He kissed you with love and you happily reciprocated.

“I can’t believe you thought I’d propose like this. You really don’t even know me at all.” he said looking offended and you giggled.

“Now let’s see this necklace, do you want to put it on me?” you said and turned your back to him as he pulled it and clasped the back. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“But you do know me.”

“Of course I do.” he said and kissed your temple after seeing the pendant on your neck.

#football #football imagine #football oneshot #football one shot #football x you #football x y/n #football x reader #football blurb #football fluff #football angst #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x yn #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham angst

[bsxcrxts]

mess

Luke Skywalker x fem!reader

(note: written with fem!reader in mind, but no gendered language towards reader. reader is afab with breasts)

MINORS DNI. AGE IN BIO TO INTERACT WITH MY WORKS. I WILL BLOCK YOU IF NOT.

word count: 5k shameless, shameless words. teehee

Contains: This is a sex pollen fic!!!! Very mild dubious consent due to those circumstances, but reader and Luke check in with each other multiple times. Reader calls themself a slut briefly but no degradation, the nickname "bunny" and "baby", cunnilingus, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this unless you want a baby lol), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, Luke is so babygirl

A/N: This takes place between ANH and ESB and may be the closest I've ever written reader's personality to my own irl; reader is pessimistic and self-conscious at times though it does not come up during the sex in this fic, just before and after. Not to worry, happy ending ;)

The Rebellion's cover on Yavin IV was completely blown, of course. You can't get away with obliterating the Empire's most impressive weapon of mass destruction and then trying to just stick around to find out what happens– it would be exceptionally bad strategy. The Rebellion has mere weeks to relocate.

You're just not sure why you raised your hand to be placed on the mission to scout the next uninviting and dangerous planet to build a base on.

Actually, you admit to yourself, that's a lie.

You are sure why you thought it was a good idea, in fact, you're very sure, and the reason is a blonde man around your age with the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen. You've had a crush on him since the moment you saw him, and he had also volunteered for the mission.

The reason is Luke Skywalker.

You jump at the chance, thinking that being around him in a small group would be the easiest way to get to know him. To make him really notice you, not just wave in the hallway as he walks by. Except, coincidentally of course, the Rebellion could only afford to spare two people for the mission, and they stopped taking names once they wrote yours down.

So now, a mere week later, you're alone, on a transport, with Luke Skywalker.

And things have never felt so awkward in your whole life.

In fact, you're seriously rethinking the whole Rebellion thing in general; yes, the cause is deeply important to you, but how important is your dignity in comparison? Would disappearing into the woods back on your home planet forever be letting the Empire win?

It's just that in the three days and two planetary excursions you've spent together, you've fumbled over every interaction you've had with Luke, and it's killing you. You've spoken to him before, but only in short, passing conversations, the kind of thing that's easy to run from. But now? There's no where to run. You've bumped into him at least four times that you can count on the tiny transport and rushed out apologies every time, tripped over a vine on the first planet, slipped on ice on the second. Both times he caught you before you hit the ground. You could have died from the embarrassment, melted into the floor and slipped away.

Your small talk is weak, but at least you can always talk about the weather, since it's actually topical to the mission. You don't know what else to say, desperately trying to come off as normal around him, not like some over-enthused fan who just wants to get with him because he's the Hero of Yavin IV. Luke is either oblivious, or pretends not to notice, and keeps trying to make conversation anyway.

"I don't like Hoth for it. Too cold," he says, sitting down in his seat as the two of you rocket through hyperspace, heading to the next planet. "Actually, it's all the snow. How do you build anything in all that?"

What's worse about the situation is that the mission has been fruitless. The base has to be built on a planet that is next-to inhospitable, with no current population to disrupt. It's a short list of horrible places, but you have to make one of them work.

"Well," you hesitate, "Deyer is toxic, we couldn't even breathe the atmosphere there. Plus we saw Imps orbiting Anout, which we should probably tell someone about."

"Already sent Leia a comm on the secure channel."

You're quiet for a half second. Luke talks fast, and you have to answer quickly to keep up with him, but you aren't used to hearing General Organa's first name from other recruits. Of course he's close with her. Are you trying to compete with a princess? You have to wonder.

Luke sighs and leans back in his chair. "Just like places where it's hot, that's all."

"Cause you fit right in," you mutter, completely accidentally, and hearing yourself, your eyes widen. "Being from Tatooine, you're used to it," you rush.

Hardly your best save, but Luke smiles at you, bemused. You swear sometimes he can see right through your facade.

"You know, I couldn't wait to get off that planet," he says. "There was never any adventure there, not anymore."

"Really?" you ask. "None?"

"I guess I could have stuck around to bullseye womprats in my T-16 but I'd been doing that since I was a kid."

"Oh," you note. Honestly, you don't know if you're sure of what a womprat even is, though you can guess. "So, is this mission another adventure, then?" you ask.

"It can be," Luke says. "I have a feeling it's an important one."

You nod, not sure if you have the right to ask what he means by a feeling. That's the other thing about Luke, he has this power most people don't, this Force that everyone started whispering about after he arrived on base with certain things no one had seen in a long time; a lightsaber, luck, a certain type of faith.

As you're overthinking it, the transport shudders out of hyperspace, blue lines becoming dots of light as you drift into the orbit of the next world on your list to investigate. The two of you part ways as he takes over piloting while you go to prep the packs to bring with you on the excursion.

When Luke lands the small ship on the planet's surface, you hope that this is the perfect location, but something just feels... off.

These places that you and Luke are investigating are all supposed to be disagreeable by design. Something– be it the weather, the atmosphere, the creature life– is supposed to keep most people away, including and especially the Empire. Everyone should be unsuspecting that the Rebellion would ever chose such a location for their base.

The problem is that the ecosystem here is shockingly nice. Welcoming, even. You've landed in a little clearing, but just a few yards away the landscape morphs into nothing but fields and fields, valleys and meadows as far as the eye can see, and in every field grows delicate little wildflowers; with purple petals barely the size of the tip of your finger. They seem to grow on the wild grasses, some of them reaching as tall as your hips.

"We got the right coordinates, right?" you venture.

"Yeah! I don't understand," Luke answers. "This isn't unpleasant at all."

Nerthusa, if you remember the name of the planet correctly, didn't list any conditions in the records, just that there were no sentient inhabitants. Your atmospheric indicator is reading that it's safe, so the two of you take your masks off. There's an overtly sweet smell in the air that hits you right away when you do, obviously because of the flowers.

"There's gotta be some massive creature that lives here that's plotting how to kill and eat us right now. I mean, why else..." you trail off, still looking around for a threat or an incoming storm, but there's nothing.

Luke has done his own surveilling and apparently also come up with nothing in the immediate vicinity.

"We should explore some," he says, "y'know, before we definitely pick this spot instead of Hoth for the base," he jokes, smiling at you again.

For all the grief you gave him earlier, you're not too keen on the idea of living on Hoth either, and so far, Nerthusa is beautiful. Plus, you'd feel pretty bad if you signed off on it and then it turned out there were wild herds of vicious carnivorous beasts roaming around or something. A thorough investigation is only fair, you think, so the two of you grab your packs and set off.

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

For a while, everything was fine, but about a half an hour into your trek, things are decidedly not fine in a very unique way, but you would probably rather literally die than mention anything about it to Luke. For one, he was so hopeful about this place, and secondly... well. Let's just say your symptoms were unusual.

It started off with what felt like hot flashes. One moment you'd be perfectly fine in the afternoon breeze, and the next, your cheeks would be burning and you'd have the strong urge to yank your shirt off. In the beginning, it would come in waves, and pass over you, leading you to think you'd just been pushing yourself too hard through the field or something, but how could that be true? The landscape was hardly difficult to maneuver, and your pace steady but not too quick.

The flashes were slowly replaced by waves of a different type of heat, one that was much more difficult to rationalize. Shit, you know you're attracted to Luke, but you've never, ever felt like this, not in situations outside of your bedroom. And not even then.

You can't look at him for too long or you think you might lose control. He's thankfully trailing behind you now by just a little bit, your only reprieve that he can't see your face like this. When you do glance back at him, he's looking at the ground, but his cheeks are flushed just beautifully, his hair catching the light from the late afternoon sun. His toned biceps have a slight sheen of sweat and, and, and–

You rip your gaze away. You want him. No, you NEED him.

No, you're being insane, you mentally scold yourself, but it's getting more and more difficult to rationalize your way out of it. There's a perpetual feeling low inside you now, and you can feel yourself actually dripping into your underwear.

You're not sure how much more you can take, and when you pick up on the sound of Luke breathing heavily behind you, it doesn't make it any better. Is he feeling this too?

Your resolve to say something breaks when you find yourself beginning to imagine what would happen if you stopped walking and let him run into you, pushed your ass against his cock, let him bend you over and fuck you into the goddamn ground, right here, right now. You're thinking about having something, anything inside your cunt, but especially his cock. You have to snap out of it.

"Let's stop for a second," you rush out, not giving Luke a chance to protest. You start walking away from him, hoping to put some distance between the two of you as if that will cure your ailment, so you lean on a large rock a few feet off the side of the trail you'd been walking.

The atmosphere is sickly saccharine now, stifling your breathing. There's a low mist or something hanging in the air and everything feels strangely heavy. You close your eyes for what you thought was just a second, trying to figure out how to bring up that this planet is obviously poisoning you despite what the indicators read earlier, but when you open them again, Luke is gone.

For a second, you panic; your blood runs cold, and your system is too overwhelmed with the brief shock and fear that you can almost fight off the symptoms the planet is subjecting you to. You scan the fields rapidly, your mind searching. It certainly would be worse to lose Luke Skywalker on a random planet in the Outer Rim than nearly any other bad luck that could befall you, and it would mean you'd be alone here. Under any normal circumstance the thought would certainly unsettle you, but rational thought is quickly slipping from your mind's grasp, and you feel different. Maybe even abandoned.

You wheel around and finally see him standing in the valley, several yards away, with his back to you. Your relief is palpable; you feel your shoulders drop and your heart rate settle.

And then the other feelings are back, ten times stronger.

"Luke!" you can't help but call out as you practically double over, and then, fighting to straighten your posture, take a few steps his direction.

Luke turns around and puts his hands out like he's trying to corral a frightened bantha, and that's when you know he's feeling it too. The thought of Luke being as equally aroused as you are in this moment makes your knees buckle.

"Don't, um... don't come any closer, something's wrong," he says.

"I know. We have to get out of here," you shout, continuing to move towards him. "I think I'm... I think I'm getting sick," you insist. It's not a lie, necessarily. It's not the truth either.

"Yeah," Luke says, his voice trembling. "Yeah, me too."

At least both of you are determined to avoid what's really happening.

"It's the flowers," you say, stopping a foot or two away from him. "We're allergic to the pollen, or... or, something. We should take the reaction treatment in the medpacks and leave."

Luke is not listening to you. It's evident by the way he's avoiding your gaze entirely. His eyes wander briefly down your neck to your chest before he appears to zone out completely, gaze falling to the ground.

"Luke..." you trail off. No response. "Luke?" you insist. He doesn't react until you touch his wrist– it's instinctual, and a huge mistake.

"Mm?" he moans lightly as he seems to snap out of the trance he was in, but when he looks up at you, his face is flushed, his pupils blown wide. You probably look similarly messy, you imagine, as the touch of his skin to yours electrifies you. It dulls the ache, soothes the relentless arousal even just a tiny amount. Stars, it's bad. It's worse, because you could become addicted to the way his skin feels against yours right now.

You pull back your hand like you'd been scalded. You want him like you've never wanted anyone. You don't dare to look at his body any further down than his chest, knowing if your own state is any indication, that he's hard and aching in his pants, and you don't know how you'll hold yourself back if you see him like that.

"Sorry," you whisper. He doesn't say anything, just licks his lips subtly and nods.

"Luke," you protest, "we have to get to the ship, and soon. If this is... I don't know what it is," you trail off. Half-truths. You've obviously both been exposed to an extremely powerful aphrodisiac via the flower pollen, you and Luke know there's no denying that. But the extent of its symptoms, and how bad it will get if you stay, there's no way to know.

It pains you, staying focused like this. Your heart and cunt are screaming at you to just have sex with him, to just give in to the urge to use one other to get off. What's left of your logical reasoning persists in one singular thought; get away from the flowers.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, let's go back."

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

The walk to the transport is as silent as it is excruciating. You and Luke have an unspoken agreement to stay several feet away from each other, so he trails behind you once again. There's nothing to talk about, anyway.

The seam of your pants rubs against your clit with every step. You almost feel thankful for it, because if not for the merciful contact, you're sure you would have shoved a hand down your pants already. You can feel that there's a wet patch on the crotch of your trousers and you have never felt more humiliated, or more needy. Every few minutes, you sense Luke exhale a soft, barely audible moan behind you.

Don't look. Keep walking, you think. All there is to do is keep walking.

More lies, your mind supplies, like a screwed up dialogue with yourself. You could fuck him instead.

When you reach the transport, you dash inside like you're possessed. As soon as you're both inside, you seal the doors, hoping once you're out of the environment, things might change. You open one of the ship cabinets and rummage through the med supplies until you find the reaction treatment and quickly take the pill that's supposed to regulate your internal systems.

You turn to pass a pill to Luke, who's slumped against the wall, a hand conspicuously placed over the front of his trousers. You don't say anything, just watch as he also takes the treatment, then look away, seating yourself in the passenger side of the ship, crossing your legs, not knowing what else to do.

It's supposed to be instant, but nothing is happening. You wait a few minutes, hoping. Not a goddamn thing feels better.

"If you expect me to– I can't– I can't fly like this," Luke sounds almost irritated for a moment, which you suppose is fair, but you refuse to turn around to look at him. Your nails dig into the armrests next to you. If things hadn't been so damn awkward before, maybe there would have been some kind of resolution to this that involved you implying getting rid of the effects naturally instead of torturing yourself like this.

Distracted again at the idea, you imagine getting up and kissing Luke, pressing your body against him the way it craved. You imagined him pinning you to the wall, ripping your ruined pants and shoving his cock into you at a brutal pace, giving you everything you wanted, craved, needed right now.

Stars, you were on the edge of orgasm just thinking about it, clenching and relaxing your thighs rhythmically, hips doing tiny, almost imperceptible circles on your seat.

But you caught yourself before you could finish; you couldn't see your way out of it. You barely knew Luke, no matter how much you were into him, so you couldn't muster the strength to ask him if he'd consider it– if he'd consider you. You might die from this before you gave in, you thought. Maybe literally. You reluctantly uncross your legs, denying yourself release, and shifted in your chair.

"Fuck," Luke whines, suddenly across from you in the pilot's seat. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" you breathe. His close proximity is taunting you, and when you look over at him, his head is thrown back against the seat. He's absentmindedly touching himself, rutting his still-clothed cock against his hand as his hips jerk every so often, like it's not even on purpose but on pure instinct.

Animalistic.

"When you," Luke squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, "when you sit like that, I can, uhm–"

It's your turn to be a bit snappy with him. You're more than uncomfortable and there's no getting around it now. Mere moments earlier, you still thought you could ignore the problem and it would go away, but now Luke is grabbing at his cock over his pants right in front of you. Fuck it.

"Spit it out, Skywalker," you say, giving in and letting your own hand snake down your torso to cup your heat, pressing your wet trousers and panties against your pussy.

"Can smell how turned on you are when you open your legs," he rushes out.

"Oh," you breathe, barely above a whisper. It makes sense. Enclosed spaces. No longer the open field of flowers to mask the scent of your arousal or of his sweat.

When you think of it, your hips grind harder against your hand and the chair, and you let out a moan, frustrated, self-conscious, but unable to hold back any longer.

At this, Luke suddenly keens. His hips give one, two, three little jerks, and he bites his lip in an effort to stifle his own noises, his whole body tensing, blue eyes rolling back as he very obviously came in his pants, a wet spot forming on his trousers.

"Did you–" you go to inquire, but think better of it. It's obvious what just happened. "Did it help?" you ask instead. Your face is burning with embarrassment and intense arousal. The look on Luke's face when he cums is not something you ever intend to forget.

"No," Luke sighs, "no, I'm still– it's still– I think we can't get rid of it on our own. It... it's worse than before."

When you don't say anything, he keeps talking.

"Really want you," Luke says softly, and then he's sliding off his seat, moving to kneel right in front of you. His hands come to rest on your thighs, gently spreading your legs further open. Your eyes have to be as wide as saucers when he kisses your inner knee and inhales deeply before pulling away.

"Please? It's hurting you, too, isn't it?" he asks, his gorgeous blue eyes looking up at you, begging you silently.

In more ways than one, you think. You're being haunted by all the complications of this, no matter how badly you want him. You could fall in love with him, but Luke doesn't owe you anything; you're not dating, you've never even had a conversation longer than ten minutes before this week.

He doesn't even owe you this, and yet he's offering to give it to you.

"Yes," you breathe shakily, "I want you too."

No sooner are the words out of your mouth than Luke is pulling on the belt loops of your pants. "Take them off," he whines, and you rush, shoving your trousers off in haste. It feels good to give in to the effects of the pollen, feels right. You mind gets clouded, thinking only of Luke's skin on yours.

The flowers must be similarly affecting Luke, because before you can divest yourself of your panties, Luke's shoving his face against your clothed pussy, tonguing you lewdly over your already ruined undergarments. The feeling is amplified by whatever the two of you inhaled earlier, and you throw your head back, your hips leaving the chair as you squirm, at the mercy of the mess of a man on his knees in front of you.

"You're soaked," Luke moans against your cunt. Your mind is empty, filled with the base desire to feel his mouth against your bare cunt, and you shove your panties off your legs hurriedly. Luke helps, yanking them down.

"Oh," he whines, "These are so pretty." He's holding your wet undergarment up and staring like he's won a prize, momentarily distracted by the lace trim and the smell of you on them.

"We ruined them," he laments. "I'll get you new ones, bunny."

Luke doesn't give you time to respond, or to react to the new nickname he's given you, before he's practically pushing his face against your cunt. He doesn't hesitate; there's no teasing, no build-up, just the feeling of his tongue firm against you, starved in a way you've never felt before.

You can't help but writhe on his tongue. At the start, you try to avoid fisting your hands in his pretty blonde hair, but you can only hold yourself back for mere moments before you're tugging at him, pushing his face into your cunt and grinding your hips across his mouth.

And Luke likes it, moans into your cunt below you, panting. His big blue eyes find yours when you tug particularly hard and you swear you see his eyelashes flutter. He's doing his best to get as close as humanly possible to you, too, grabbing your thighs and pulling you forward onto his mouth, the wet sound of your cunt urging him on. He licks and sucks on your clit, and you sob.

It's heady. It's disgusting. It's going to make you cum. And somehow, he knows.

"Yeah?" he barely pulls away to answer you, "You like that?"

"Luke," you cry, pushed over the edge, grinding against his face as you let the aftershocks overtake your body, expecting your body to relax as usual into the bliss of the afterglow.

Except, the desire doesn't fade. The symptoms don't go away. If anything, they've intensified, and you moan frustratedly. The orgasm Luke has given you on any other day would have sated you completely, but not now.

Luke looks wrecked on his knees before you, pupils blown so wide that his eyes look dark. His mouth shines with your release, his cheeks a bright red.

You give into your urges.

Sliding off the chair, you situate yourself so you're also on your knees on the floor of the ship with him. You lean over, crawling into his lap, and claim his mouth, kissing him the way you've only ever dreamed you might one day. It's the first time you've kissed, you realize somewhat embarrassingly, mind reeling that he's had his lips on your pussy before your mouth.

"That was so good. You're so good," you compliment him between kisses, and he lights up at the praise, smiling against your mouth, hips grinding against yours, and you can feel how hard he is.

"D'you feel better?" Luke hesitates, almost like he's too nervous to ask.

You shake your head. "No...I-I need more."

"Me too," he answers.

"Let me help you?" you ask, trailing a hand over his cock, hard and thick in his pants. He shudders and bucks his hips, nodding.

You're quick to pull him from the confines of his pants, underwear just as soaked as yours was from his earlier orgasm. You can't even think to tease him about it though, because his cock is gorgeous. Long and pretty, flushed so much it must be painful– you know it is, just as much as your cunt aches to have him inside you.

You meant to take him as quickly as you could, to satiate the pollen, to cure yourself of the beyond intense desire you feel. You don't mean to toy with him, but you can't help it, you're mesmerized. The way his cock is leaking precum makes you stop and just watch, letting him fuck your hand, twisting your wrist a bit at the tip to make him moan and keen and cry out and– and– 

He's cumming again, all over his open pants, all over his shirt, all over your hand. You've never seen anything like it. Your cunt twitches and flutters around nothing as you watch him finish.

His little noises, his "ah, haah, mh!" sounds almost send you over the edge.

"Oh, baby. There’s so much,” you gasp, eyes wide at the way he's literally dripping with his own spend. His cock refuses to soften, twitching in your hand even as you pause your ministrations– the pollen has completely eradicated his refractory period.

"I needa be inside you right now, please," Luke begs.

By now the feeling inside of you is debilitating too, impossible to ignore. You rip your own shirt off, pawing at Luke's clothing that's stained with his cum and help him take everything off before you're quickly straddling him, pinning him to the floor.

Selfishly, you wish you had time to marvel at his body, to slowly worship him, to mark his abdomen with love bites and kisses instead of jumping to this point, but the need for him is overwhelming. You sink down onto his cock, and you feel like the air has been punched out of your lungs.

"F-fuck!" Luke exclaims as he feels the tight heat of your pussy clench around him for the first time, overwhelmed. You would love to take your time with this one day, too, you realize as you look down at him. He's cute beneath you, staring up at you adoringly, eyes darting from where his cock is buried inside of you, to your tits, to your face. Maybe he'd react well to being teased, but it isn't the time.

And the way he's desperately thrusting his hips up into you now isn't so bad, either. His hands grip your hips, fucking you on his dick as you grind down on him, the two of you working in tandem.

You don't know if it's because it's Luke, or if it's because of the pollen, or a little bit of both, but you feel amazing right now; there's a comfortable warmth spreading throughout your body, and everywhere Luke touches you feels addicting. The pace is fast and rough and perfect.

You may never get this again, you realize. You've got to make the most of it.

"So pretty," you tell him. "Look so good like this."

Luke moans underneath you, his breathing shallow and stuttered, hips never ceasing to roll perfectly against you. You notice the way his gaze continues to linger on your breasts and can't help yourself.

"Touch me," you whimper, pulling his hands from their place on your hips to your tits. "You like them, don't you? Seen the way you look at them."

Luke practically worships your breasts, running his hands along your body.

"You're perfect," he whines. "A-all of you. Feel like a dream around my– uhm, uh! L-like you're meant for me."

The idea does you in. "Oh, oh god," you cry out, clenching on his cock and cumming for the second time in a matter of minutes. It wracks through your body, making you shudder and collapse against Luke, who redoubles his efforts, holding your body against his as his hips continue to fuck against yours, which is all the better for you; you can't believe it, but you still feel that your body needs more.

It's obvious that Luke is losing all concentration, lost in his own pleasure. He chases his own orgasm, rutting into your body like a man possessed, until you feel him erupt inside of you.

“Ccan't stop cumming..." he whines as you feel his cock twitch in your cunt, and now you're dripping in a different way than before, "Again, bunny, I n-need it again.”

"Fuck yes, me too," you cry out.

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Luke is flipping the two of you over, throwing your legs around his waist. You cross your legs behind him, drawing him even closer, and throw your hips back towards him, desiring to take everything he can give you.

He gasps sharply as he sheathes himself inside you again, overstimulated, but still absolutely insatiable.

"Does it hurt?" you ask, your own pussy sure to be sore soon, you knew.

"A l-little but it feels s' good," he whines. "Can't stop. Don't wanna stop."

"Then don't, baby. Fuck me hard," you insist.

He listens, his pace brutal, completely drunk on your pussy. Under any other circumstances you'd want to tease him for it, but you were much the same for him. His moans were relentless, whining and gasping at every thrust as you ran your nails down his back, clinging to him. One of his pretty hands comes to play with your swollen clit, rubbing against you gently but firmly.

"Y'like it?" Luke asks.

"So much," you answer. And then, because you're feeling a bit brave; "Feel like such a slut f'you," you say, sultry, hardly above a whisper.

Luke's eyes go wide for a second before he suddenly kisses you deeply.

"Y'wanna be my slut? Is that it?" he asks against your mouth.

"Yeah," you cry out as his cock perfectly hits that most sensitive spot inside of you.

"That's really hot," he whines. And then, like a silly little afterthought, "We're kinda both sluts right now," he huffs out with a laugh and you can't help but to smile as you kiss him again.

Hardly thinking anymore, you kiss at his neck, yet again wishing in a possessive way that you could mark him more permanently, but this would do for now. Luke shudders against you, crying out.

"Ah, oh, m' c-close. Y'gonna make me cum again for you, bunny."

"Yeah? Good," you say, and grab a handful of his beautiful blonde hair, tilting his head back so he's looking at you, "Want you to cum inside me again."

"Oh, unh, I ccan't hold it," he babbles, "cumming."

Luke sloppily ruts into you as he finishes; there's so much it's practically spilling out of you. He's falling apart, and you are too, following him over the edge mere seconds later.

You can sense that the pollen's effect is waning, but it's not yet gone from either of your systems. Luke's cock, despite having just pumped you full of cum, remains hard inside your pussy. You still ache for another orgasm, not yet content.

"Oh," Luke whines as he shifts inside of you, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

"Baby?" you ask, "are you okay?"

"Uhn," he chokes out, "yyeah, just, oh, ffuck, sensitive s'all."

"Just one more, baby, it's gonna feel so good. One more time," you coax, despite your own aches and pains.

This time, it's much gentler; not romantic, not quite, it still feels like there's an urgency, but the two of you are well-worn out, bodies nearly giving out despite the influence of the pollen; his cock oversensitive and your cunt full to the brim of him.

Luke presses a soft kiss to your forehead and you freeze, just for a split second. It shouldn't change things, but it does. It's not the time to be caught up in the logistics of all this, but your mind is beginning to be released from the brain fog caused by the flowers and suddenly there's nothing else to think about.

He must sense something about the change in your behavior, because he holds you close, and rocks into you softer. It makes you like him even more, makes you so fond of him you could cry. You don't. Instead, you pull his face towards yours and let yourself kiss him tenderly in return, unbearably erotic, tracing his skin as you moan quietly into each other's mouths, a mixture of sensitivity and pleasure mingling.

It's not long before the two of you are close to cumming again, and in a moment of greed and blind arousal, you pull him closer by his hair and bite and suck passionately at his collarbone, knowing it will bloom into a beautiful, dark mark that he'll hopefully remember you by, at least for a while. He liked it earlier, you remember. And he likes it now, you observe. Luke absolutely melts, gasps and moans delightedly, and spills inside of you for a third time, triggering your own orgasm as you clench around him.

Finally, you feel spent. Your cunt flutters with aftershocks, but there's no uncontrollable lust accompanied with it anymore. Luke slips out of you, his cock softening at last. The two of you lay on the floor of the transport for a quiet moment, breathing together, your muscles only now feeling the burn of your exertion.

Reality has set back in.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out when you can finally think of anything to say, grabbing your clothes from the discarded pile nearby and holding them in front of your nude frame, as if there was anything Luke hadn't seen that evening.

Luke, who's been lounging on the duristeel floor quite comfortably, sits up and furrows his brows.

"Sorry? Why?"

You look at him pointedly, and gesture vaguely. "Kind of a mess, isn't it?"

"Oh, we can clean up," Luke says, his mild confusion obvious.

"I... I don't know if I meant literally," you say slowly, "I mean, the whole mission has been a mess. I'm a mess. This is a mess."

"I don't think you're a mess," Luke wagers, his tone careful yet reverent, and it shakes you. "and I don't think this mission has been all that terrible either. 'Cept for Hoth, really, but that's besides the point."

You're silent. The air might as well have been punched out of your lungs.

"If you want to pretend all this didn't happen, that's fine," Luke continues, "but I like you, and– and if you feel the way I feel, maybe you'd think about going on a date sometime? After we find a planet to put this stupid base on?"

Something in you relaxes, despite the fact that your heart is pounding. "Yeah. Yeah, I- I like you too. We can do that," you can't hide your smile.

"This is going to make a real funny story one day," Luke says, smiling back. "I told you. Adventure."

"Yeah, well... I don't know if we should put it in the mission report."

Luke actually laughs then. It's a sound you hope you get to hear for the rest of your life.

"Share the sonic?" he asks, "You weren't kidding about this mess," he says, gesturing to your shared fluids on both of you.

"That tiny shower? We'll be pressed against each other like sardines," you tease. "I'll probably slip and fall and break my ass."

"I'll catch you."

"Well then, how could I say no?" you wink.

"I guess I'll see you in there," he jokes back, starting to walk down the small corridor to the refresher. When you join him, you were right, there's barely space for the two of you to even turn around comfortably, but you wouldn't change a thing.

“One more thing," you say as you step inside, "There's no way in hell we can put the base here.”

Luke sighs, an over-exaggerated thing, and pretends to roll his eyes.

“Hoth it is.”

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

a/n: holy shit guys. I finally did it. two years in my mind. three days to write. here it is. I hope you love it.

#luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker x reader #star wars smut #luke 💛 #becca’s bs

[gayelderstourney]

OLD MAN YAOI BRACKET ROUND 2

Propaganda:

Fiddleford McGucket/Stanford Pines:

lab "partners" who broke the laws of physics and nature together but it went horribly wrong and one of them got stranded in alternate dimensions and the other wiped his memory so hard he went mad. 30 years later and they were finally able to reunite during the apocalypse. even though both had changed so much they wanted to forgive each other and move forwards

if fiddauthor isn't real then why is there only one bed in the bunker. if fiddauthor isn't real then why did they go stargazing and talk about wanting to start a family. if fiddauthor isn't real then why "my partner" and "my fiddleford". if fiddauthor isn't real then why does fiddleford subconsciously hang out around the shack decades after he stopped living there. if fiddauthor isn't real then why does ford have dreams about him every night. if fiddauthor isn't real then why did fiddleford leave his son and his failing/failed marriage to go live alone in an isolated cottage in the woods with his best friend from college. if fiddauthor isn't real then why is ford's ideal world one where he gets to work with fiddleford for the rest of time. if fiddauthor isn't real then why "life would be a nightmare without them" and "it's the most meaningful thing in the world". if fiddauthor isn't real then why did alex hirsch change that one scene in the book to sound less gay. if fiddauthor isn't real then why did fiddleford make his laptop password ford's name. if fiddauthor isn't real then why did they hold hands while hugging. if fiddauthor isn't real then why "i could have sworn that as he joyfully played, i could see the age lift off his face, and see the fiddleford who had been my friend so many years ago". IF FIDDAUTHOR ISN'T REAL THEN WHY DID FORD'S MORE HONEST RETELLING OF THE PORTAL SCENE FEATURE HIM GENTLY CRADLING FIDDLEFORD IN HIS ARMS

Bob Zanotto/Helmut Fullbear:

THEY LITERALLY MADE MR CRY THE FIRST TIME I PLAYED THE GAME. THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND THEY FINALLY GET TO BE HAPPY TOGETHER. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO ME.

they are married in canon and are epic and amazing. they had sad canon events where bob thought helmut was dead for like 30 years or something but helmut WASN'T dead his brain was still alive and they are reunited in the game first by way of stealing an evil dictator's body and then later on they put helmut's brain in a ball as a temporary fix while they go out to find his body which has been frozen in ice. the game forces you to walk through bob's memory of saying his vows at their wedding ceremony and it's seriously some of the most romantic and heartwarming shit i've ever heard, especially "just when i thought i was turning to seed, you made me bloom again" like my god. i love them

they're gay and old as hell!!!! there's a level dedicated to their wedding!!!

Helmut is voiced by Jack Black and is currently a brain in a ball, and Bob knows him so well that the mental image of him in his drunken mind says things Bob KNOWS the real Helmut would never say. Also Helmut is temporarily in the body of a guy voiced by Elijah Wood-

#polls #round 2 #gay elders tourney #tournament poll #gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines #fiddauthor #psychonauts #bob zanotto #helmut fullbear #vikingvines

[alwaysmicado]

Sink or swim

12.3k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 8

WARNINGS: 18+, no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, flashbacks (toxic relationship, bad mental health), mention of miscarriage & surgery, smut (nothing too graphic), Tommy Miller x f!reader SUMMARY: You reminisce about the late-night conversation that changed your life forever. Joel shares a secret. A/N: Guys, it’s finally here!! This part was hard for me to write, but I’m beyond happy with how it turned out. We learn so much about reader’s past and her relationship with Tommy, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to share it with you. Have fun reading (even though it’s a bit sad) and please let me know what you think! I wanna know all your thoughts!! 🤍 Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics.

series masterlist | main masterlist

The ocean stretches before you like a vast expanse of liquid silk, its rhythmic waves kissing the shore with a gentle insistence. The sun, now in its descent towards the horizon, casts a warm glow, painting the water and sand in hues of amber and gold.

You’re perched on a weathered bench, sneakers softly tapping against the sand, lost in thought as you watch the waves roll in.

Dressed in yoga shorts and an oversized t-shirt, with an ice cream cone in hand and sunglasses shielding your eyes from the brilliant rays of the setting sun, you blend seamlessly into the serene scene before you.

You appear inconspicuous, just another person soaking up the sun and breathing in the fresh air. No one can see the anguish gnawing at your heart, the tumult in your head, or the pain in your hand that makes you want to scream.

No, no, you look far too calm for that, too composed, too happy.

Besides, what would someone like you possibly have to feel bad about? Seriously. You just love to wallow in your own sadness, don’t you? You haven’t changed at all. You’re still your insecure, annoying, unlovable self. God, even your inner voice is irritating. Do you hear how pathetic you sound? Of course he wouldn’t lov–

Shut up. 

You focus on the waves as they dance and sway, their melodic rhythm a soothing balm to the cruel thoughts echoing relentlessly in your mind.

The ocean’s song, a symphony of calming whispers and gentle sighs you’ve loved ever since you were a little girl, envelops you in its embrace, drawing you deeper into a state of quiet reflection. The cool breeze dancing through the air brushes against your sun-kissed skin, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean and the promise of new beginnings. 

With a gentle tilt of your head, you take another lick of the strawberry soft serve you bought at the ice cream stand near the boardwalk, feeling the familiar comfort of the cool creaminess dance across your taste buds. It’s been a few months since you last indulged in this particular treat, sharing it with Joel after a rough day at work.

As the cold sweetness melts on your tongue, bittersweet memories of that afternoon flood back with vivid clarity. You can almost hear Joel’s infectious laughter as you scarfed down the icy treat a little too eagerly, his eyes crinkling with amusement at your inevitable brain freeze. But it wasn’t just the shared laughter and playful banter that made this memory so special. 

It was Joel’s genuine interest in hearing about your day, about you, his calming presence grounding you and making you momentarily forget all your troubles. He provided you with a warmth that seeped into your bones, a connection that felt effortless yet profound. Like it could be more.

Reflecting on it now, perhaps that should have been a hint that things were more serious than you wanted to admit right from the beginning. Oh well, dwelling on it is futile now. Because you did finally admit it, didn’t you? And not only that, you basically shouted your feelings from the rooftops last night, laying your soul bare.

Fucking embarrassing.

How are you supposed to come back from that? How are you supposed to ever look into Joel’s eyes again? 

There’s a reason why you stopped psychotherapy after a few months, there’s a reason why you don’t have any close friends beside Tommy, there’s a reason why your dating life has consisted of a series of superficial hookups over the past couple of years.

“Fear of intimacy,” your therapist called it. “A response to sustained trauma.”

You walked out of that session and, fueled by defiance, decided to fuck the first guy who caught your eye, just to prove to yourself, and to your therapist, that you were very well capable of intimacy.

Lying in bed that night, lonely and empty, you couldn’t shake the truth of her words. You hated her guts for forcing you to confront your inner demons, but she did have a point in everything she said.

It’s an uncomfortable truth.

There’s nothing in the world you fear more than people knowing what’s going on inside your head, knowing what you feel, knowing your vulnerabilities and weaknesses—knowing the real you.

And last night, that fear came true.

Your innermost thoughts and feelings were on display for Joel to see, leaving you exposed and raw. The memory of your outburst, of his shocked face, weighs heavily on your mind and heart, filling you with a deep sense of shame and regret.

For a moment in that bathroom, you felt yourself transported back to all the times you’d scream at Simon for whatever he did to fuck with your feelings that day, just for him to laugh in your face or call you manipulative when you’d inevitably start crying tears of hurt and frustration. 

Does Joel see you differently now, knowing the depths of your insecurities? Will he even want to look you in the eye after witnessing what the real you is like? Have you lost your chance with him, and, did you ever even have one?

You sigh deeply and lick around the top of the ice cream cone to catch the drops threatening to run down, humming at the deliciousness.

You haven’t eaten anything else today, too nauseous from your meds and the knot in the pit of your stomach to find food appetizing. You haven’t slept for more than two consecutive hours, too agitated to find any real peace. You also couldn’t stay home this morning, as your apartment suddenly felt like a cage threatening to suffocate you.

Instead, you’ve spent your day off window shopping, aimlessly wandering from one coffee shop to another, your hands now jittery from too much caffeine on an empty stomach. You’ve ambled down the boardwalk, taking in the sights and sounds surrounding you, before finding yourself drawn to the familiar comfort of the ocean.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the display on your phone lighting up with Joel’s name, the device resting on the bench beside you alongside your bag.

You know you’ll have to take his calls and talk to him like an adult at some point. And you will. But this moment, this moment right here, belongs to you and your thoughts alone.

And to the hermit crab making its way through the sand just a few feet away from you. Your lips curl into a smile as you watch the determined little creature, impressed by its resilience in such an unforgiving world. Maybe you would’ve been happier if you’d been born as a hermit crab. Who knows.

As you swallow the last bit of your cone and lean back, feeling the sun’s gentle warmth on your skin, you can’t help but think of the first time you found yourself on this bench, watching the sunset. It feels like that was an entire lifetime ago, and yet, you vividly remember the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed you down, the sense of loneliness that engulfed you—how utterly lost you felt.

You allow your thoughts to drift, captivated by the soothing cadence of the waves lapping against the shore.

Three years earlier

The sun is down.

Staring into the void, you’re consumed by solitude, the cool breeze coming from the water a thin barrier against the weight pressing on your shoulders. The world seems distant, the murmur of the ocean a mere backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your troubled mind and the beat of your empty heart.

This is it. This is where you were always supposed to be.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, quietly drifting through the corners of your memory. With each passing moment, you meticulously comb through the fragments of the past few months. They offer no solace, only a stark reminder of how you reached this point.

In the stillness of the evening, you find a strange sense of calm, a numbness that dulls the edges of your emotions. Tears refuse to come, leaving only the echo of relief at the resolution of it all.

You open your eyes again, fixating on the endless mirror of the sky before you. The ocean has always held a special place in your heart. The salty tang in the air, the rhythmic melody of the waves, the laughter of birds mingling with the gentle lull of the breeze—everything.

You dig your naked toes into the sand, relishing the connection to the earth beneath you. The sensation is grounding, peaceful, almost–

“Hey there, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

A man’s voice, rugged yet gentle, breaks through the silence, interrupting your thoughts. His words dance in the air, pulling you reluctantly back to the present.

Are you kidding me?

With a slow and deliberate movement, you lift your gaze from the horizon, meeting the eyes of the stranger who has disrupted the sanctuary of your thoughts. You rest your elbows on your knees and sigh deeply.

“Oh my fucking god,” you murmur, rubbing your temples in annoyance and disbelief. “The sun’s been down for two minutes, and the first creep’s already here.”

“Wha–” 

You look up at him. “Do you have like a radar or something where you get a notification every time a woman sits alone on a bench somewhere?”

The dark-haired man blinks in surprise, his expression caught between confusion and amusement. His brow furrows, his mouth slightly agape as he processes your words. After a moment of absorbing your outlandish accusation, his lips curve into a wry smile.

“Darlin’, I’m just–”

“Look, dude. If you’re here to murder me, could you at least spare me the whole blah blah you’ve got planned and just do it? Thank you.”

You look at him with a raised eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s not entirely sure if you’re joking, but your sarcastic tone tells him you’re at least not scared of him.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I assure you I got no such plans. Just thought I’d check in on a fellow soul contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his attempt at humor. “Yeah, well, I prefer to contemplate in peace.”

When he doesn’t budge and just…stares at you with those big, dark eyes of his, you take a moment to size him up. 

Your gaze drifts down from his eyes, tracing the contours of his muscular chest visible beneath a fitted white t-shirt. It lingers briefly on the obnoxiously large belt buckle adorning his waist, then travels down the length of his denim-clad legs to his cowboy boots. Despite the surreal encounter, you can’t help but notice how incredibly attractive he is. 

God, what’s wrong with you?

“Look, sweetheart,” he says calmly, his voice a blend of warmth and reassurance. “I’m not trying to get into your business or anything, but it’s gonna get pretty chilly out here soon.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he asks. “We could go grab a bite to eat if you want, and my place is right arou–”

“How subtle,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I’m not going home with you, dude.”

“Fair enough, but at least let me call you a cab and wait with you until it arrives, hm?”

His soft voice and patronizing tone are starting to grate on your already frayed nerves. You’ve been sitting here, not taking up any space, minding your own fucking business, and even that wasn’t good enough, apparently.

Okay, world. Hint taken. 

“What the hell is your problem?” you blurt out. 

“What do you mean? I’m just–I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” The question bursts from your lips like a dam breaking under pressure, laced with frustration. “Do you see me holding up a sign where I’m asking for your help? Huh? Or is this more about you and some, I dunno, bullshit white knight fantasy you’re acting out?” 

Your eyes narrow, fixing on him with a challenging glare, daring him to justify his intrusion into your solitude.

“No,” he responds calmly, his furrowed brow adding gravity to his words. “It’s because I’ve seen enough shit in my life to recognize when someone’s in need.”

The sincerity in his gaze catches you off guard, rendering you momentarily speechless. It’s as if this…stranger is peering into the depths of your soul, seeing past the walls you’ve erected to protect yourself. 

His face softens, the lines around his eyes relaxing as he meets yours. “Mind if I take a seat?”

You shrug indifferently, though a flicker of curiosity dances behind your eyes. “Suit yourself.”

He smiles warmly as he settles beside you. “I’m Tommy, by the way,” he offers, extending a hand. You hesitate for a moment, but eventually, you decide to reciprocate by telling him your name and shaking his hand with a soft sigh.

As his hand envelops yours, there’s a brief surge of something unspoken deep inside you, a connection allowing two disparate souls to briefly intertwine before returning to their separate paths again as soon as he lets go.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, darlin’,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, his mustache curling slightly as he smiles at you.

The faint scent of his cologne drifts towards you, mixing with the salty aroma of the sea air. As you gaze at him, your eyes trace the lines etched around his eyes and mouth, evidence of a life fully lived. Strangely, there’s something comforting about his presence, something that makes you feel a little less alone. 

You give him a subtle smile before turning your head back towards the ocean, mesmerized by the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy watches you silently, noticing the vacant look in your eyes and the way your gaze seems to be fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. He furrows his brow slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he contemplates how lost you appear in that moment.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” Tommy’s voice breaks the silence, his tone casual yet curious, as if striking up conversations with strange women on the beach is a regular occurrence for him.

Well, it probably is, you think to yourself.

“I, uh, wanted to watch the sunset,” you answer softly.

“Hm. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Should’ve been here and seen it too instead of wasting my time at that damn bar.”

“Oh? How did you waste your time? Can’t have been that bad, judging by the lipstick stains on your face,” you murmur.

“What? Where?” Tommy blurts out, his eyes widening in surprise as he hastily rubs at his lips and cheeks, searching for any traces of lipstick on his fingers.

You stifle a laugh. “I’m just fucking with you,” you deadpan, shooting him a quick glance. 

He stares at you in mock offense for a moment before his lips curl into a wide grin. “Touché,” he says, thoroughly entertained by your dry humor. “But yeah, things didn’t go the way I would’ve liked them to.” 

“What, she didn’t wanna go home with you either?”

“Very funny. But no, things were going well.” He sighs dramatically and rubs his forehead. “But then her husband showed up and kinda threw a giant monkey wrench into our plans.” 

“Wow, tough break,” you scoff, shaking your head in mock sympathy, “not getting to fuck a married woman. I hate it when that happens.”

Tommy chuckles. “Alright, alright, I didn’t know she was married, for the record. She wasn’t wearing a ring or anything.”

“Sure,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you cast a skeptical glance in his direction.

“What are you up to, then, darlin’? Hm?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Besides not making out with married women?” You hear Tommy’s laugh beside you and wiggle your toes in the sand. “Just enjoying the ocean, I guess. I’ve missed it.” 

“You’re not from here?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not.”

“Hm. You’re gonna love it. There’s lots of cool things to see and do, especially for young people like you.”

You furrow your brow. “Why are you talking like you’re ninety years old and I’m your estranged grandkid?”

“I dunno,” he sighs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess…turning forty did something to me.”

“Married women apparently still throw themselves at you. You’re gonna be fine.”

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that seems to echo across the beach. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, punctuated by the gentle sound of the ocean and the occasional cry of seagulls wheeling overhead. 

“What brings you here, then?” Tommy asks, observing your profile. You look tired.

“I told you, watching the sunset.” 

“No, I mean what brings you into town? Vacation or family or something?”

You turn to look at him, tilting your head slightly as you study his expression. “Why do you care?”

“Just making conversation,” he says with a smile, a glint of genuine curiosity shining in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else if you want.”

“Like what?”

“Like did you know it’s illegal to own just one guinea pig in Switzerland?”

Your bewildered look amuses him. 

“It’s true. You’re required, by law, to get your guinea pig a little guinea pig friend. They won’t sell you just one. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?”

You stare at him, shaking your head slowly. “What kind of women do you pull if this is how you flirt?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Who says I’m flirting?”

“Uh-huh,” you say with a smirk, then turn your head back towards the water. “But what if they want to be alone?”

“Hm?”

“What if you get a guinea pig in Switzerland and you have to buy a second one to keep it company but the first guinea pig actually just wants to be alone on a bench and then some other guinea pig with a mustache shows up and asks weird questions? What then?”

“Well,” Tommy starts, happy that you’re seemingly warming up a bit. “I think the first guinea pig would quickly realize that the other, dashingly handsome guinea pig isn’t that bad and just wants to be friends. And then they’d be friends and run around together and eat hay or whatever.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and you know, I think us humans aren’t that different from them. I don’t think we’re meant to be alone either.”

You look at him. “Is that why you came to talk to me? Because you don’t want me to be alone?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I guess not,” you murmur softly, your gaze drifting to the patch of dry skin on the back of your right hand. “And I’m, uh, not here for any special reason. I just…needed a break from home, I suppose.”

“And you have a place to stay, darlin’?” Tommy’s voice carries a gentle concern as he leans slightly closer, trying to see your eyes. 

“Yeah, I booked a hotel room a few minutes from here,” you lie smoothly. “With sea-view and everything. Just haven’t checked in yet.”

“Where did you put all your stuff?” 

“My stuff?”

“Yeah, your clothes and teddy bears and whatnot.” 

You nudge the backpack sitting on the ground next to you with your naked foot. “This is my stuff.”

“Oh.” You must have really wanted to get away if you traveled this lightly, Tommy contemplates silently.

He used to do the same, packing a bag and escaping, seeking solace in the open road. But he learned the hard way that you can’t outrun your problems. They always find a way to catch up with you, no matter how far you go.

He gives you a sympathetic smile. “Have you had dinner already?”

“I had a bagel at the airport this morning,” you say nonchalantly.

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” If you had even the slightest bit of energy left inside of you, you’d find his shocked face amusing.

“Okay, that’s just unacceptable. Wait.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket and opens a food delivery app. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want pi–”

“Yes, you do. I’m not gonna have you starving on my watch.”

You raise an eyebrow. “On your watch?” 

“Yeah, on my watch. Now, what kind of topping–”

“Pineapple.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pine. Apple.”

“Oh, but I’m the weirdo,” he mutters, shaking his head and giving you the side-eye as he reluctantly adds pineapple as a topping to your pizza. “Anything else? Anchovies? Corn? My tears?”

“Jesus, don’t have a heart attack. Are you Italian or something?”

“No, just not a complete monster.”

You can’t help but chuckle, your smile lighting up your face for the first time in what feels like ages. Tommy’s eyes linger on you a moment too long, captivated by your sudden radiance, before he tears his gaze away as your smile fades once more.

Clearing his throat, he shifts his attention back to his task, fingers tapping away as he types the description of your location for the delivery.

“Should arrive in twenty minutes, the app says.” 

You nod and lean back, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you watch the waves again. 

“When did you decide to fly out here?”

“Last night.” 

“How? Why?”

“Simple. I took out a map, closed my eyes, and this is where my finger landed. And as for the why…well, home just didn’t feel like home anymore, you know?”

“Hm. I know that feeling.”

You turn your head and look into his warm eyes. “You do?”

“Oh yeah. It took me almost a decade after retiring from active duty to feel home again, or like I was safe, or like I belonged. It’s, uh, not easy to get that feeling back once you’ve lost it. I’m sorry you’re going through that,” Tommy says with a somber tone. He really is sorry. 

You look at him for a moment and give him a tired smile. “It’s okay,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “It wasn’t home to begin with. Not really.”

“Whatever your reasons are, you’re brave for leaving.”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure, I’m brave for running away.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Look, it’s okay. You don’t need to try and make me feel better ‘cause I’m not sad. But I’m also not gonna act like I’m not a coward who accepted far too much shit for far too long ‘cause I’m very much not brave.”

You sigh deeply. “I should’ve gotten the fuck out of that miserable town and relationship years ago. But now it’s too late.” 

Tommy furrows his brow and opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“Are you married?”

“No, darlin’, I’m not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend.” 

“So there’s no one special in your life right now?”

“Nothing serious, no. No attachments for me.”

“Hm. No attachments,” you murmur. “That sounds nice.” 

Tommy nods. “It is, most of the time at least. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being in love.” 

“You’ve been in love before?” You tilt your head and look at him with genuine curiosity. 

“A few times, yeah.”

“And the women you were with…they loved you?”

“Yeah, they did.” The soft smile lighting up his face tells you he has pleasant memories of his former partners. How nice that must be. 

“Do you ever wonder why it didn’t work out?”

Tommy’s expression turns introspective, his gaze drifting towards the horizon as if searching for answers in the distant waves.

“I have,” he admits after a pause, his voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. “But I guess that’s just how life goes sometimes. People drift apart, circumstances change, life changes...”

“Do you think it’s possible to hate someone you love?”

Your question catches him off guard, and the look in your eyes concerns him. “Well,” he says calmly, carefully choosing his words, “I can’t say I’ve ever had that experience, but I could imagine that’s how my brother felt about me back when I was spiraling and he had to watch me make bad decision after bad decision. He loved me, I know he always has, but he also hated me for what I was doing.” 

“Sounds like a good brother,” you say, mustering a smile. 

“He really is. Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, but I don’t talk to them,” you say, your tone betraying a hint of sadness before you quickly mask it with indifference. “My, uh…best friend was like my sister though.”

“Was?”

“Yeah, you know,” you murmur, the smile on your lips not matching the bitterness in your tone, “that friendship kinda ended after I saw her sitting on my boyfriend’s lap, shoving her tongue down his throat.”

“What the hell? When was that?” 

“Hmm, about a month ago. And you wanna know the real kicker? They’ve been fucking for like half a year. My best friend and my boyfriend. Laughing their asses off behind my back. Hilarious, isn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. They’re shitty people for doing that to you. You didn’t deserve any–”

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“How do you know that I didn’t deserve it? You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me.”

“I may not know you,” Tommy says gently, “but I know that no one deserves to be treated like that, especially by the people they trust. It’s hard sometimes to see things objectively because we’re our own worst enemies, but I’m telling you, you didn’t deserve that.” 

“I’m not sure that’s true.” 

“What makes you say that?”

You look into his eyes, and the pain he can see in yours breaks his heart.

“Because, I fucking loved it. Everything he did to me, all these years. I loved it. I could’ve left him after he cheated on me for the first time, the second time, the hundredth time, but no. I loved how he came crawling back to me time and time again, promising me the world, telling me he only loved me.”

You pull away, hands resting on his chest as you try to find your words. Simon’s intense gaze has your mind swirling with conflicting emotions, and your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, your body trembling as he presses you against the wall with his body. “You–you say you’ll change, you say you’ll never do it again, you say you regret hurting me. And I forgive you. Every time. But nothing ever changes. You do it again and again, not caring how much you hurt me.” He places a hand on the wall next to your head, pushing your shirt up around your waist with the other, his touch on your naked skin sending a shiver down your spine. He looks down at you with a hint of amusement, a devious smirk appearing on his face as he searches your pleading eyes. “I’m serious, Simon,” you insist, unsuccessfully trying to convince yourself of what you’re saying. “I’m done.” Leaning in, he traces your neck with his nose, your heavy breathing and the way your tits press against his chest making his cock twitch in his jeans. “Is that so?” he murmurs against your skin before softly sucking and kissing on your flesh. “Why are you doing this?” you breathe, instinctively wrapping your arms around him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you draw him closer. His leg between yours presses against your core, and you can’t help but whimper desperately at the feeling. “I love you,” he whispers, his warm breath gently caressing the curve of your ear, his words piercing your heart like a poisonous dart. “No, you don’t,” you murmur, your voice heavy with sadness, your eyes betraying the turmoil raging within you. Despite the ache in your heart, a part of you still yearns for the comfort of his touch, the familiarity of his presence, the illusion of affection he gives you. You need him, need to feel him, need him to love you—even if it kills you. In this moment of vulnerability, you surrender to the torrent of emotions flooding your senses, pressing your lips against his in a desperate attempt to drown out the pain, to silence the screams that plague your mind—eagerly drinking his poison straight from the source. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him closer, offering yourself up to him with each rough tug, fervent kiss, and harsh bite to his lips. He matches your energy, gripping the back of your neck with a bruising hold as he hastily opens his jeans to free his cock. “I hate you,” you choke out, the words laced with bitterness and the raw intensity of your need for him as your heart races and your vision blurs. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, baby,” Simon murmurs with a smirk, his words a cruel reminder of the tangled web of emotions that binds you to him, even as you struggle to break free. With a deft movement, he pulls aside your panties, sliding his hard cock through your wet folds as he holds your leg up around his waist. “Oh fuck,” you moan as he pushes inside you in one harsh thrust, your fingernails reflexively digging into his scalp. Overwhelming pleasure mingles with the anguish of your body betraying you, even as your mind screams in protest. Your walls clench around Simon with fierce intensity, his repeated thrusts against your G-spot having you close to orgasm within a minute. “Tell me, baby,” he pants, his eyes gleaming with triumph and satisfaction as he watches in real time how his poison travels through your entire body, your mind, intoxicating your very being with his essence. “Tell me how much you hate me while you come on my cock.”

You tilt your head and give Tommy a tired smile. “Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard?” 

“No, sweetheart, you’re not pathetic for wanting to be loved. You’re human and our feelings can be…complicated, irrational, dangerous. But you got yourself away from a toxic situation despite your feelings and that takes a lot of strength.”

“Hm.” You draw shapes into the sand with your toes, your heart heavy in your chest.

“Is he…why you left? You had to get away from him?”

“Surprisingly, no,” you say pensively, lost in thought as you fold one leg beneath you on the bench. “Things weren’t that bad after I decided not to care anymore. You know you can just wake up one day and realize it hurts a lot less to just not care about anything? Amazing. So yeah, that’s what I did.” You shrug and rub your left thumb with your right one.

“Of course, he didn’t like that at all, not being able to emotionally drain me anymore. He even told me I was depressed or some shit, acting like he cared, when all he actually missed was me giving him the reactions he wanted,” you scoff, bitterness dripping from your lips. “Coincidentally, that’s when he and my best friend started fucking.”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’, that’s beyond fucked up. Do you, uh, have someone to talk to about all this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean apart from handsome cowboys in too-tight jeans late at night?”

“Did you just call me handsome?”

“Don’t think so,” you give him a playful smile, then turn your head to watch the waves doing their mesmerizing dance. Despite the light-hearted banter, a hint of sadness flickers across your face. “But no, I don’t have anyone left.”

Tommy’s expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and concern as he listens to your words. He reaches out, but catches himself before his hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Why did you leave?” he asks gently.

“I saw her.”

“Who?”

“Laura. My best friend,” you say, shuddering at her name. “I came out of the hospital yesterday, stood at a red light, and then I saw her. Looking right at me from the other side of the street. We hadn’t talked since before I almost died a month ago, ‘cause she never bothered to answer any of my calls or texts…and there she was. Daring to look at me with those fake-ass tears in her eyes like she isn’t a fucking sociopath.”

“What did you do?”

“I just…looked at her, knowing I could never see her again. I walked away, went to mine and Simon’s apartment, grabbed a few things, and went to the airport.”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here.”

The weight of your experience hangs heavy in the air, casting a somber shadow over the conversation. Tommy nods thoughtfully as he absorbs your words, until he suddenly shakes his head, chastising himself for his own stupidity.

“Okay wait, I’m sorry, but did you just say you almost died? What the hell happened?”

“Oh,” you scoff, a wide smile spreading across your face, its brightness contrasting sharply with the dullness in your eyes, “it’s nothing. One of my fallopian tubes burst ‘cause my dumbass gynecologist failed to diagnose an ectopic pregnancy, so I was hemorrhaging and had to have emergency surgery to get it removed.”

Tommy’s reaction is visceral: his eyes widen in shock, and his mouth falls open slightly, a silent gasp escaping him as the gravity of your words, spoken with horrifying casualness, hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’...”

“But hey, the doctor said I’m completely fine at the check-up yesterday, so I guess that’s what I am.” You shrug and smile at him, but your attempt to lighten the mood falls flat.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor–”

“Don’t, please. It’s okay,” you interrupt softly, shaking your head. “My ex told me to have an abortion when I told him I was pregnant, and I wouldn’t have been a good mom anyway, so it’s best for the baby that it wasn’t born into the shitshow that is my life.”

“Dar–”

“I swear to God, Tommy, if you say ‘darlin’’ in that stupid, sexy accent of yours one more time,” you cut him off with a playful glare. 

He smiles at you, though worry lingers in his eyes and tugs at his heart.

“I’ve always wanted to live near the ocean,” you muse, welcoming the breeze cooling your hot face down. “It’s kind of poetic that my journey ends here.”

“It really is beautiful here, I’m sure you’d love livi–” Tommy starts, but you’re not hearing him.

“You know, I have this recurring dream where I drown, but instead of feeling panicked or scared I just feel peaceful, light. Like the weight of the world is lifted off my shoulders. I don’t thrash or struggle, I just…let the water take me under and I can finally breathe.”

Concern flashes in Tommy’s eyes, but he quickly masks it with a calm expression, not wanting to alarm you.

“That sounds intense,” he responds gently, choosing his words carefully. “Dreams can be strange sometimes, but that one sounds like it’s trying to tell you something. Maybe it’s your mind’s way of processing all the heavy things that’ve been weighing on you."

He shifts slightly closer to you, his tone soft and reassuring. “But you know, maybe it’s worth exploring with a therapist or someone who can help you unpack it. Sometimes talking about these things can bring some clarity and relief.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you say absentmindedly. 

“Darlin’, please look at me,” Tommy’s voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, his gaze penetrating through the fog of your mind. If you had any tears left to cry, the sincerity in his eyes would surely coax them out right about now. 

“About what you said earlier…you–you don’t deserve people treating you badly, or any of the bad things that happen to you. You never did, you hear me? You were supposed to be loved, protected and cared for, but you weren’t, and that’s not fair, and most certainly not your fault.”

You tilt your head, studying his face intently. Why does he care? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? But hey, he’s trying to be nice, and it’s not like you’re ever going to see him again. So, you’re trying to be nice back. 

“Thanks,” you say softly, mustering a smile. “But enough about me and my dumpster fire of a life.” You shift in your seat, untucking your leg and stretching it out in front of you. 

“I’d rather hear about you and how you get your hair to be this healthy. I can never get mine to look that good. Do you think it’s because I just eat garbage, don’t drink enough water and don’t get enough sunlight?”

Tommy chuckles and nods understandingly, recognizing your attempt to shift gears, and decides to play along until you both hear the pizza guy calling for you.

Your insistence to pay for your own pizza and drink falls on deaf ears, so you begrudgingly accept Tommy’s invitation and thank him for ordering food. Surprisingly, you find yourself ravenously hungry after taking the first few bites of your pineapple pizza—that you originally only wanted to mess with Tommy. But even he has to admit it isn’t half bad after you make him eat a slice.

As you’re eating together and the night deepens around you, the street lamps along the boardwalk spending enough light, you ask Tommy about his life. 

He shares his journey of enlisting in the army as a teenager, grappling with PTSD upon his return, and navigating through troubled times. He tells you about the unwavering support of his brother and how therapy helped him cope with his demons. You delve deeper, asking him about his wishes for the future, about his hopes and dreams.

You enjoy hearing about his life, about his experiences that are so different from yours. It’s comforting to get lost in someone else’s story for a bit. It’s a refuge, a welcome escape from your own tiring existence. 

Pizzas devoured, you sit side by side, enveloped in the soothing melody of the ocean’s whispers. Time seems to lose its grip as you share both laughter and quiet, the minutes and hours slipping away unnoticed like grains of sand carried by the tide.

As tranquility settles between you, the world around you seemingly forgotten, a question gnaws at your insides, its weight palpable in the silence. It’s a question you’re reluctant to voice aloud, knowing it will rupture the delicate bubble you and Tommy have found yourselves in. Yet, it persists, demanding acknowledgment, refusing to be ignored.

You take a deep breath.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He gives you a reassuring smile. “Of course, darlin’.”

“Why won’t you go home?”

Oh. Tommy looks deeply into your eyes, his own filled with turmoil, and finds that he can’t lie to you. 

“I can’t,” he admits softly, turning his gaze towards the distant horizon.

You nod slowly, turning your head towards the water as well. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” he says simply, his acknowledgment laden with a quiet understanding.

You steal a glance at him, your eyes searching for comfort in the weary lines on his face. With a tentative gesture, you place your hand on the bench between you, a subtle invitation for connection.

Tommy, sensing your unspoken plea, catches the movement from the corner of his eye. His gaze meets yours as you turn your head, and in that shared moment of vulnerability, he understands. Without a word, he responds, reaching out to cover your hand with his own. 

His touch is protective, a silent promise that you’re not alone. 

“Do you…do you think that makes me a bad person?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you lay bare the depths of your fears.

“No,” he responds softly, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “You’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

For the first time since your miscarriage, tears glisten in your eyes, shimmering like fragments of shattered dreams under the moonlight. Tommy’s words offer a glimmer of solace, touching your broken heart. 

Silence settles between you two, heavy with shared pain. You sit like that for a while, two strangers finding kinship in the gentle embrace of this summer night.

Gently squeezing your hand, Tommy turns to look at you after a few minutes. “I need you to do something for me,” he says, his voice tinged with urgency. You look into his eyes, finding comfort in the warmth of his presence.

“Please stay with me tonight,” he pleads, his fingers tightening around yours, anchoring you to the present moment as if afraid you might slip away into the night. 

“We can stay here, we can go for drinks, we can go dancing, we can break into the zoo—whatever you want, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk about anything, and I promise I won’t bother you anymore if tomorrow you decide that’s what you want, but please give me a chance to show you that I ca–”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Okay.”

As the gentle breeze around you whispers secrets of hope and renewal, you find yourself nodding in agreement, a silent promise to give him the chance he so earnestly seeks—to let him show you the light that flickers within the darkness. 

Tommy is momentarily stunned as he searches your face for any sign of hesitation. But there’s none to be found—only a quiet resolve that speaks volumes. A wave of relief washes over him, and he can’t hold back the wide grin spreading across his face.

“So, there’s a place a few minutes from here where we could dance, or there’s the bar I went to earlier, or we could–”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I’m tired. Could we maybe…could we go home?”

Tommy’s face lights up even more. “Yes, yes, of course, darlin’. My place is right around the corner.”

“Great,” you say with a small smile. 

You put your socks and sneakers back on, your movements slow and unsteady after hours of sitting. As you stand up for the first time, your legs wobble beneath you, but Tommy is quick to react, reaching out to steady you with his hands on your waist.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cheeks heating up as you realize your hands are gripping his shoulders for support.

“That’s alright, darlin’. I got you.”

“You’re so cheesy, you know that?” you say with a playful roll of your eyes before removing your hands and taking a step back. 

“Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not working,” he teases back with a smirk.

“Whatever. Can we go?” You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“After you, my lady,” Tommy says with a gallant flourish, gesturing for you to go first. You shake your head with a theatrical sigh, but play along and start walking.

He falls into step beside you, eager to lift your spirits with an array of random animal facts he’s accumulated over the years, and, much to your amusement, with some particularly funny stories about failed hookups, like the one from tonight.

As you draw closer to his apartment, he suddenly sucks in a sharp breath and comes to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask if you need anything.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, tampons, make-up wipes, solution for your contacts, hair conditioner, lotion—I don’t think I have any of that at home, but there’s a convenience sto–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, touched by his consideration. “I got all my essentials in my backpack and really don’t need anything fancy. Thank you, though.”

“Are you–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you interrupt softly. “Thank you.”

Arriving at Tommy’s apartment, you’re struck by its elegant yet welcoming nature. It’s spacious and tastefully furnished, with a modern aesthetic that speaks to Tommy’s discerning taste. You can’t help but wonder if his job as a contractor affords him such a nice living space or if he’s secretly a trust fund kid—or a very successful drug dealer.

“Must be nice,” you think to yourself.

As Tommy ushers you inside, you’re enveloped in a sense of warmth and comfort as the space feels distinctly homey, with its wooden furnishings and cozy accents that evoke a rustic charm. The polished hardwood floors gleam under soft lamplight, casting a warm glow throughout the living room.

Tommy assures you that you’re welcome to make yourself at home as he heads into the kitchen to get you a glass of water.

Despite its hominess, the apartment remains impeccably clean and organized—a testament, perhaps, to Tommy’s meticulous nature. Every surface is spotless, every item in its proper place, reflecting a discipline that may well stem from his army training.

As you explore further, you do notice small touches that hint at Tommy’s personality—framed photos of him and his friends, a worn but well-loved armchair and couch positioned opposite the TV, horse figurines on the sideboard, and a few potted plants scattered throughout, adding a touch of life to the space.

Your eyes are eventually drawn to the record player nestled in one corner, surrounded by a collection of vinyl records. The sight brings a smile to your face, appreciating the nostalgic feeling it gives you. You’re pretty sure you used to have the same model in your childhood home.  

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you hear Tommy’s voice behind you as he hands you the glass of water with a knowing smile. “You like Jazz?”

“Thanks. And yeah, I guess?” 

“Okay, wait a sec.” He moves with practiced ease, flipping through his collection of vinyl records until he finds the one he’s looking for. With a gentle touch, he carefully removes the chosen record from its sleeve, handling it delicately as if it were a precious artifact.

You sip on your water and watch in fascination as he places the record onto the turntable, the soft click of the needle finding its groove. As the first notes of a smooth jazz melody fill the air, you can’t help but smile, the music enveloping you in its warm embrace.

Tommy catches your eye and grins, nodding in approval as if to say, “See, I knew you’d like it.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his arm with your elbow. 

“Want me to show you around?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so this is the bedroom,” he says, leading you down the hallway and into the room where you’ll be sleeping. The bed sits neatly made, its dark sheets promising a restful night ahead. “I’ll change the sheets for you in a bit, okay? And I’ll be sleeping in the living room on the couch.” 

“I, uh,” you murmur, but stop yourself, shaking your head. “No, forget it.”

“What is it? It’s okay, you can tell me.” He searches your eyes as you meet his gaze, waiting patiently for you to answer him. 

“Could you maybe…not change the sheets?”

Tommy’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he doesn’t make it awkward. Instead, he nods understandingly and immediately assures you, “Sure, I’ll leave the bed as it is then.”

You offer him a grateful smile and as if sensing your need for comfort, he asks, “Do you need a shirt to sleep?” Without waiting for your response, he retrieves one of his shirts and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, taking the shirt from him and holding it close. It’s soft and smells nice.

“And here’s the bathroom,” Tommy continues, leading you through the space. “Feel free to take a shower if you want. Spare towels are here, and there’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet here. Toothpaste is over there. I even got fancy face masks if you wanna try, they’re in here. You think you got everything you need?”

“I think so,” you smile at him before leaving the bathroom to grab your backpack. 

As you’re about to head back, Tommy slips in ahead of you. You watch as he discreetly removes all the razor blades, a silent but clear gesture of concern for your well-being. You understand what he’s doing, and although it stirs a pang of humiliation and shame inside you, you don’t say anything and act like you didn’t see it.

After he leaves the bathroom, you take a moment to compose yourself before closing the door, peeing, taking off your clothes, and catching a glimpse of the small surgery scars on your belly. They appear to be healing well, already looking much better than even a week ago.

With a deep breath, you turn on the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over your body, soothing away some of your tension. As you lather up, enveloped in the steam and the rich scent of Tommy’s body wash, there’s a knock on the door, interrupting your thoughts.

“Darlin’?” Tommy’s voice sounds through the door.

“Yeah?”

“Just wanted to check if you were okay.”

“I’m okay. But you seriously need to start buying body wash for adults, dude. I’m gonna be smelling like a fourteen-year-old boy now, and I don’t know how to feel about it,” you tease. 

“Ha ha, you brat. Enjoy your shower.”

You smile to yourself and appreciate how clean Tommy’s shower is as, in your experience, that is not something you can count on with men who live alone.

As you lather shampoo into your hair, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of peace amidst the chaos of recent events. It’s all so surreal.

Once rinsed, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in one of Tommy’s plush towels, the soft fabric hugging your body in a tight embrace. With the steam still lingering in the air, you take your time cleaning your face, brushing your teeth and detangling your wet hair, these simple acts of self-care something you’ve neglected in the weeks prior.

Luckily, your past self decided to pack a fresh pair of panties and a pair of soft yoga pants you can change into now, Tommy’s shirt completing your pajamas for tonight. 

Slowly, you step out of the bathroom, the soft light of the living room floor lamp casting a warm glow on the scene before you. Tommy’s sitting on the couch, bathed in the gentle ambiance of the record player’s music.

With a glass of whiskey in hand, he seems lost in thought, fingers rhythmically tapping against the glass, his eyes focused on the spinning vinyl. As you approach, he looks up, a small smile gracing his lips as he welcomes you to join him.

“Okay yeah, I get it,” he quips, his tone playful as he notices how perfectly his shirt accentuates your eye color. “You look better in my shirt than I ever could. There’s really no need to rub it in.”

Chuckling, you settle into the cushion beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence. It feels oddly comforting to be close to him again, his cologne a familiar scent.

But as you sit beside him now, something shifts in the air, a subtle change that you can’t quite pinpoint. It’s as if a newfound awareness has settled between you, casting a different light on the space you share. And as you steal glances at Tommy, you start to feel restless, your heart rate quickening.

Oh.

The realization dawns on you slowly, creeping in like the first light of dawn, illuminating the depths of your emotions. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him, mesmerized by the way he sits on the couch, his posture relaxed yet undeniably confident. 

Your eyes trail over the breadth of his shoulders, down his strong arms, his sculpted torso, and settle on his spread thighs, the subtle flex of muscles visible beneath the fabric of his jeans. Each movement, each shift of his body, only serves to deepen the intensity of your attraction to him.

You’re in trouble. 

His handsome face holds a certain allure, drawing you in with its rugged charm—especially with those warm eyes and the beautiful facial hair. As you look at him, really take him in, you can’t deny the flutter of arousal stirring deep within you.

A flutter that’s enough to urge your scrambled brain to make a move.

Tommy catches your prolonged stare, and his brows furrow slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. You gather the courage to ask for a sip of his whiskey, unwittingly biting your lip as you wait for his answer. 

“Of course, darlin’,” he agrees, leaning in with a broad smile, bringing the glass closer to you.

As your fingers brush against his on the glass, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you. His pupils dilate ever so slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. You take the glass from him, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.

Raising the glass to your lips, you take a slow sip, relishing the smooth warmth of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. Your eyes never leave his as you lick your lips, the gesture not lost on Tommy as he watches you intently.

The flicker of desire in his eyes tells you that he’s captivated by your silent invitation, but as Tommy accepts the glass back, a faint frown tugs at his brow, his expression suddenly tense.

“Darlin’, don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, his voice husky with restraint.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence as you ask, “Why not?”

“Because,” he breathes out, “it’s making me want to do things I shouldn’t.”

“Hmm, but what if I told you that I want to do those things, too?”

Tommy swallows hard as you scoot closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours. His pulse quickens, evident in the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, unsure of what to do or say next.

When your hand lands gently above his knee, his body tenses at your touch. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak, but all he manages is a heavy breath.

“Tell me to stop,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean in slowly, searching his eyes. You can see the conflict raging within him, desire warring with restraint, and you wait for his response.

With a shaky exhale, his gaze drops down to your lips, his entire being filled with longing and uncertainty. But as your palm wanders up his thigh, drawing closer and closer to his growing erection, his resolve begins to crumble like sand underfoot. 

Unable to resist any longer, he leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet fervent kiss. His hand instinctively finds the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your wet hair as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet urgency.

Feeling you so close, feeling your soft lips against his, he surrenders to the moment, to the sweet sensation of your embrace, letting himself be consumed by the taste of you.

And yet, in the back of his mind, he’s painfully aware of the circumstances of your meeting.

“I don’t think…this…is a good idea,” Tommy mumbles breathlessly against your lips as you whine needily for more.

“I don’t care,” you breathe, pulling back for a moment to hold onto his shoulders and straddle his lap. His cock twitches in his jeans as you scoot forward, your warm core putting delicious pressure on it. Smiling, you put your hands on his chest and lean in to kiss him again. He cups your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply before nudging your nose with his. 

You open your eyes and meet his gaze, his pupils so dilated his brown eyes are almost completely black. 

“Let me look at you, baby” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. With a smile, you straighten up and place your hands behind you on his thighs, giving him a great  view of your spread thighs and torso.

“Is this okay?” Tommy asks softly as he traces your thighs with his palms, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body.

You nod your head yes, and his lips curve into a smile as his eyes roam your body and face with adoration. His hands wander over your hips, under the shirt you’re wearing, along your waist and further up, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, his eyes piercing yours as his hands come to rest on your waist. 

“I’m sure you say that to every girl willing to sit on your lap,” you tease with a smirk, putting your hands on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm. 

“Yeah, but with you I mean it.” His words carry a weight of sincerity as one hand reaches out to tenderly caress your cheek, while the other glides over the soft skin of your back. “C’mere baby.”

As you lean in, his lips capture yours with an almost desperate hunger, his kiss rough and deep, as if he fears you might vanish if he doesn’t hold onto you tightly enough. His hands glide to your lower back, hovering just above your ass, hesitant to go further yet craving to pull you closer, to feel every inch of you pressed against him, to consume you whole. 

“You don’t have to be so gentle. I won’t break,” you say softly, leading his hands down to your ass. You hum in satisfaction as he grabs it, feeling the strain of his arousal against your aching pussy.

“Tommy,” you whine quietly against his lips, begging him to understand how desperately you need him.

Lost in the moment, you both sink deeper into the kiss, the world around you fading away until there’s only the heat of each other’s bodies and the rhythm of your shared desire. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands roam your back, igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch.

But as the intensity of your kiss grows, so does the weight of uncertainty. Tommy pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy as he searches your eyes for reassurance.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers. “We don’t have to…”

“I want you, Tommy,” you purr, your eyes glazed. 

Your hips rock against him, trying to relieve the tension that has grown between your thighs, eliciting a deep groan from him. His hands move to your waist, helping you grind against him. 

“Oh shit,” he pants, reveling in the needy moans leaving your lips. “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he admits with a soft shake of his head, looking at you with wide eyes, still moving you against the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you breathe, leaning in to kiss and suck at his sensitive neck, leaving purple marks behind. You feel his grip tighten, his restraint slipping as he responds to your touch with a low groan.

Lost in the overload of sensations—feeling your warm body, your soft lips and wet tongue, your urgent movements on him, hearing your moans and whispered pleas—Tommy is ready to give you what you both want.

But right as he’s opening his belt with deft fingers, he inadvertently turns his head and catches his reflection in the window. Watching you writhe on top of him, clutching his shirt, his own face twisted in ecstasy, a sharp pang of guilt shoots through him.

This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this.

You move to kiss his lips again, but as you do so, you catch the concern in his eyes, and your heart sinks. “Hey,” you whisper, your brow furrowed, an anxious smile on your lips. 

Your fingers trail gently through his hair, seeking reassurance, but when his movements cease and his touch withdraws, panic floods your senses.

“No, no please don’t stop,” you beg, your desperation evident in every word. You press against him, your hips moving with urgency, aching for the connection you crave so deeply. “I need you.”

Your hands gently cup his cheeks, your pleading eyes flitting between his. 

“Please? Tommy?”

Feeling something bump against your leg, you’re called back to the present.

“Oh, hi there, buddy,” you coo, looking down at the toddler who just faceplanted in front of you. You lean down and offer your hand to help him up. “What are you up to, hm? Just running around?”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, his face breaking into a toothy grin. “You wanna sit up here and wait for your mommy?” You lift him up, putting more pressure on your bandaged hand than you should, and set him down beside you. “Great view, huh?”

He babbles something unintelligible, his little arms flailing as his excited laughter fills the air. “You’re so right, buddy,” you agree, following his gaze to the sparkling blue, “the ocean is beautiful.”

“Benji? Oh, there you are,” a lady in a swimsuit calls out, walking towards you with a relieved smile. “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she says to you, her tone apologetic. “Benji, how many times have I told you not to run away, hm?”

The toddler giggles in response to his mom’s reproach, his little arms reaching out for her. You can’t help but laugh along with him. 

“Think twice before you decide to have kids,” the lady says with a deep sigh, lifting her son onto her hip. “They’re not always as cute as they look.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you chuckle.

“Say bye to the nice lady,” she prompts, her voice warm and gentle.

Benji turns to you, his eyes bright with innocence, and waves enthusiastically with his chubby little hand.

“Bye Benji,” you coo, returning his wave with a big smile, your heart warmed by his adorable gesture.

You sigh and look at your phone. You have two new messages from Tommy.

Maria says she can’t wait to see you tomorrow. And that she’ll personally drag you here if you decide not to show up. 

You’re family and there’s nothing you can do to escape us ;)

You swallow hard and can feel your puffy, irritated eyes starting to water behind your black glasses. What the fuck did you ever do in your insignificant life to deserve this kind of love?

Your phone lights up with another text from Tommy. 

just accept it <3

You snort and shake your head. You’re so grateful for his friendship. It has changed a lot over the last couple of years, of course it has, especially after he started dating Maria, and more recently since you started…seeing his brother without telling him. 

But the fact that you’re still honoring your yearly tradition to have your late-night talk on this very bench, is a testament to the depth of your bond. It’s a cherished ritual, marking the anniversary of your first meeting. You meet here, under the evening sky, exchanging stories and laughter, and indulging in pizza after sunset.

Two years ago, Tommy told you he met someone before you left his apartment the next morning. 

“Sweetheart?” “Yeah?” “I, uh, I got something to tell you.” “Shoot.” “I met someone.” Your fingers halt as you’re tying your shoes, the world around you suddenly still as his words sink in. You stare at the floor, tension building in your heart. “We’ve only been on two dates, but I–” “Really like her,” you finish his sentence as you tie the laces into a knot, straighten up and meet his gaze. “Yes.” That’s it, then. You’ve been replaced. “Does that,” you clear your throat that feels incredibly tight now, your voice shaking, “does that mean we can’t hang out anymore?” Tears well up in your eyes as you feel a rush of panic flood through you. You look down and try to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. “Of course not,” Tommy says, his tone gentle yet firm. “Nothing and no one in the world could ever keep me from spending time with you.” “Okay,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper as you hastily wipe away a tear with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry for crying, I–I don’t mean to.” “Hey, you don’t need to apologize for that,” Tommy says softly, closing the distance between you two. His hands find their place on your shoulders, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Darlin’, look at me.” You lift your gaze to meet his, your eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I mean it,” he says with a comforting smile, looking intently into your eyes and cupping your face with his hands. “I promise I’m not going to leave you. I will always be here for you.” You study his face and tell the nagging voice in your mind to shut the fuck up. This is Tommy. He deserves love, he deserves happiness, he deserves someone who can give him everything he wants.  And that’s not you. You give him a kiss on the cheek and a sincere smile. “I’m really happy for you, Tommy.”

You did continue spending time together—Tommy kept his word and didn’t abandon you—but as more and more time passed, you would see him less and less as his relationship with Maria deepened.

You expected that to happen, it didn’t hurt any less though.

One year ago, he told you he was going to propose to her, and you spent all night brainstorming ideas on how he could do it. After she’d said yes, they both let you know one day over dinner that they were going to elope, just the two of them, and you were the only person they’d tell beforehand. 

A few weeks ago, Tommy beamed with pride as he shared that they were trying for a baby, the twinkle in his eyes warming your heart. Despite the joyous news, you couldn’t resist teasing him for planting that image in your mind.

After you’d shared your stories, and your pineapple and pepperoni pizzas, he very casually asked you if you were seeing anyone, and you said, “No.” 

“You’re a horrible liar, darlin’.” “I’m not lying. I don’t like anyone except you.” “Stroking my ego’s not gonna get you off the hook, baby.” “Hmm, I’m pretty sure it’s working though.” “The longer you deny it, the more obvious it gets, you know.” “I’m not seeing anybody, Tommy.” “You really wanna play semantics with me?” “Alright, alright. I guess I’m…kinda seeing someone.” “Why just ‘kinda’? Does the guy not realize what a lucky bastard he is?” “It’s not him. It’s, uh…you know me.” “Yeah, and that’s why I know you’ve caught feelings.” “Ew, don’t say that.” “Well, it’s true. It’s written all over your pretty face.” “You suck, you know that?” “Yeah, it’s part of what makes me so charming. Does he know?” “I dunno, probably not.” “Are you gonna tell him?” “Uhh, I don’t think so.” “Why not? All this time I’ve known you and I’ve never seen you in love before. You can’t just…ignore it.” “Tommy…” “Don’t even try it with the puppy eyes, I’m immune to them.” “Liar.” “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t tell him.” “Easy. If I never tell him, it’ll never hurt.” “That’s not how it works.” “You just couldn’t let me live happily in my delusions, hm?”  “Sweetheart. I know you’re scared, and you have all the reason to, but…sometimes you gotta take a leap of faith, you know?” “I’m not sure I can.” “What does your gut say?” “My gut says he’s too good for me and that he wouldn’t like me if he knew who I really am.” “As someone who does know who you really are, I can assure you that it’s a privilege I wouldn’t miss for the world.” “I just…don’t wanna mess things up, Tommy.”  “Look. Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost if you try. Everything changes and everything is alright.” “Wow, that was beautiful…you’re really starting to feel that rum and coke, huh?” “You know I’m right, baby.”

It’s funny, really. 

You actually entertained the idea that Tommy might be onto something, that perhaps opening up to Joel could bring some semblance of peace, that perhaps you could be happy together. Yet here you are, back where you started, the familiar ache of loss settling in your heart, whispering that everything is far from alright.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the sky transforming into a canvas of vibrant colors,  reflecting off the rippling surface of the water, you take your shoes and socks off. You sink your toes into the soft, grainy sand, relishing its comforting texture. 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, allowing the rhythmic sound of the waves to soothe your racing thoughts. With each exhale, you remind yourself that you’re safe, embracing the tranquility of the moment as the colors of the sunset dance across your eyelids. 

You feel grounded, peaceful, almost—

“Hi, darlin’.”

“Jesus, you scared me,” you startle with a gasp, snapping back to reality as Joel’s voice unexpectedly breaks the silence.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you saw me,” he says with an apologetic smile on his lips, his big puppy eyes looking puppier than ever.

You sigh exasperatedly and take off your sunglasses. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he begins, his words stumbling over each other, “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just...I thought I–I mean, I wanted to...”

“Joel,” you interrupt him, too exhausted—physically and emotionally—to beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His brow furrows slightly and his heart plummets as he sees your bleary eyes, a pang of concern settling heavily in his stomach. “I wanted to see you, darlin’,” he confesses softly.

Your gaze sharpens with curiosity and suspicion as you ask, “But how did you know I was gonna be here? And can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

Joel hesitates for a moment, then sits down beside you, his movements cautious as if afraid to spook you. With a nervous glance in your direction, he clears his throat, his voice low and hesitant.

“I, uh,” he begins, his words faltering slightly, “I went to your place after work to see if you’d maybe talk to me in person. But you weren’t there. And then I went to your office to see if you were working late, but I saw Kristen and she said it was your day off. You could have been anywhere at that point, so I went to Tommy’s and…told him.”

His eyes flit between yours, anxiously searching for your reaction. 

You blink slowly, processing Joel’s words with a sense of resignation rather than shock. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you realize that, at this point, nothing surprises you anymore. With a tired nod, you acknowledge Joel’s actions, feeling too drained to muster any significant reaction.

“How’d he take it?” you ask quietly.

Joel exhales deeply, a wry smile on his lips. “He isn’t too happy with me right now, but I think he’ll get over it.”

“Hm.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice wavering with emotion. “I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but after last night, I just…I couldn’t bare the thought of you not knowing how much you mean to me.”

As Joel speaks, you keep your gaze averted, unable to meet his eyes, your focus fixed on the sand beneath your feet. You hear every word he says, each one echoing in the silence between you, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your reluctance to face him, Joel’s unwavering gaze remains fixed on you, his eyes silently pleading for understanding.

In the midst of the tense silence, a sudden clarity washes over you, and your heart speaks before your mind can catch up. Just as Joel opens his mouth to apologize again and explain further, you interject with your own question, the words tumbling out softly into the stillness.

“Do you ever feel like there’s something missing...like a piece of your heart is somewhere else? And no matter what you do, you’re always gonna be incomplete?” 

You meet Joel’s gaze, your eyes searching his, peering into his soul with a vulnerability that lays bare your deepest feelings. 

“I don’t feel like that when I’m with you,” you whisper.

Joel’s brows furrow in a mixture of surprise and tenderness as your words sink in. His lips part slightly, his expression softening with understanding as he processes the weight of your confession.

“Would you, um,” you clear your throat, “would you hold my hand and just sit with me for a bit?”

Joel’s eyes beam with adoration as he gently envelops your hand that’s clutching your shirt, delicately prying it away and intertwining his fingers with yours. With a soft, reassuring smile, he places your entwined hands on his thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin.

As you both gaze out at the vast expanse of the water, the waves lapping against the shore in a mesmerizing dance, you feel a sense of peace settle over you like a warm blanket.

You still carry the weight of unresolved issues and uncertainties in your heart, acknowledging that they loom on the horizon, demanding attention. But for now, they can wait.

Your hand in Joel’s feels right, and in this shared moment right here, that’s enough.

Thank you for reading! 🤍

previous | series masterlist | main masterlist

tag list: @dugiioh @eviestevie-14 @koshkaj-blog @jupiter-soups @mattmurdockstateofmind @missladym @paleidiot @pattwtf @runningmom94 @serenadingtigers @staywildflowahchild @the-orange-tabby-cat @tuquoquebrute @witchofthedeepwoods @yassspose let me know if you want to be added

#fwb!joel miller x f!reader #fwb!joel miller #series: you wanted this #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #tommy miller #joel miller x you #tommy miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #tommy miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #tommy miller fluff

[wosoluver]

Healers got to date protectors - Headcanons

Misa x Physio!reader

Your first kiss

"Hey guys, good game tonight!" - You came in smiling. They were all in the ice tubs.

Misa looked particularly moody.

"Hey. Are you in any pain?" - You asked coming closer to her.

"No. Just disappointed with the results. We couldn't manage to get a goal."

"Well, you didn't suffer any either. It's the best defense we've had, in the last couple of games. Give yourself a little credit."

Misa cracked a small smile. She was the type to always focus on the things she considered to be bad, then to try and find the silver lining.

Differently from you, she spent most of her time, looking in.

Something that was hard for you to do. Hence your career based on taking care of others.

"Y/N!" - Brunn caught your attention. - "We're going out to celebrate, are you coming?"

By now you had already settled in. You had a great relationship with the players. You had earned each others trust. Friends almost. It was clear for everyone that even though you got along greatly with the medical staff, you just hadn't much in common with them. They were mostly middle aged man who took everything too seriously. You stood out like a sore thumb.

The girls practically took you in as one of them.

"Am I being the designated driver again?"

"You're off duty today. I already volunteered. - said Misa.

"I'm in. I have to check up on Athenea and I'll head home, to get ready."

"I'll pick you up at 8." - Misa let you know.

By 8:30 you were all at the club, having a drink at the table you had reserved.

Into the night you guys went. Between dancing bodies and drinks you finally decided going to the restroom, you let the girls know and made your way there.

Misa had gotten back from ordering another round at the bar and she realized you were not with the group.

"Where is Y/N?" - she had to scream over the loud music.

"She went to the bathroom."

"Alone?!" - as soon as they nodded yes, she was already running after you. Maybe where they're from, it is safer for women who were drunk and alone, but that wasn't the case here in Spain.

You were just coming out of the bathroom when I man you didn't know corned you against a wall.

"Please let me go."

"I just want to know your name. Are you single?"

But before you could say anything else, he was pushed away harshly. When you looked to check by who, you saw Misa. Angrier than you had ever seen her before.

You were about to thank her, when the man pushed her back. And before you could register anything else, She had landed a punch on the man's face.

"Misa!"

Soon security was there.

The man was escorted out. But you didn't feel like partying anymore. And Misa could tell.

"Come, I'll drive you home. We can text the girls to let them know we've left." - She took your hand to guide you through the crowds of people.

"How are they getting home?"

"They can share an uber."

Arguing with her would be of no use. So you just let it be.

Once you got to the car, you could see her knuckles holding tightly to steering wheel. They were already bruising, one of them even had a small cut.

"Misa, your hand."

"It's fine, don't worry." - her facial expressions still in a scary-angry way.

"I'm so sorry."

"The girls shouldn't have let you go alone."

You sobered up real quick after the scare you had.

Arriving home you didn't even say goodbye to her as you got out of the car.

"You can park here."

"What?" - she asked confused.

"Your coming up with me, so I can take care of your hand.

And I'm not taking no for an answer."

She parked the car and got out to follow you up to the apartment.

"Come in, sit down while I get my aid kit." - you said unlocking the door and turning the lights on.

Misa followed your commands quietly. Something everyone had noticed when you were around each other.

She would act like you were god on earth.

You came back to stand between her legs as you took her hand to check it.

You started cleaning the small cut, and proceeded to bandage it up.

"Does it hurt too much? I can't get you some pain meds."

But she only shook her head no. As you applied a healing ointment to the bruises.

"All done." - you said as you looked up from her hands to her eyes.

You were so close you could feel each others breath.

"Thank you." - You said it gently, with a low tone.

By now her face had already softened. In a way you had never seen before. It always felt like she couldn't let her guard fully down. So this sight was new to you.

"You worried the hell out of me." - she said in a similar tone to yours. Giving a small laugh in the end.

"I'm sor-" but you were cut off by her lips on yours. As she pulled you in. After a minute or so, you both pulled away to breath properly.

"Healers need protectors, at least once in a while."

Hope you guys enjoy! Please leave your comments! There is a third part already planned, but if you have any ideas, you can send them in.🩷

#woso #espwnt #misa rodriguez #misa rodriguez x reader #woso x reader #real madrid femenino

[hanyjar]

do stars return?

itoshi sae x reader

summary: your childhood friend leaves, and you question if he’ll ever come back.

notes: [1.2k words.] i like to think this man has super angst potential but that won’t be unearthed today LOL no beta we die like men <3

disclaimers: childhood friends trope, angst (if u squint) to fluff, making out for a lil bit, poetic dialogue, forgiveness theme.

masterlist.

Itoshi Sae shines.

It's a truth you've come to realise at the budding age of seven. He, with his tepid stature and equally cold attitude, is destined for greatness.

A star, you whisper, once upon a time. A time where he lived without a million eyes watching his every move. You will become a star, I just know it. 

And back in the day, it wasn't just you who believed it. Everyone did. From his teachers to his classmates, to his parents and his brother. It was an indisputable fact that the boy who dedicated himself wholly to soccer, a prodigy who made the sport look like an art form, had his future set out for stardom.

So it is no surprise to anyone when your naive declaration comes into fruition.

His face is plastered on every billboard - as far as the eye can see. Japan's pride, he is known as. The Ice Prince; he who dominates the field; a force to be reckoned with.

Itoshi Sae: the star.

You are proud. No doubt. Though, it’s false to say that you aren’t envious. Sae is a trailblazer: one that surpasses all of his enemies with a nonchalant stare, and transcends into the sky with the other geniuses. He is a part of the lucky few who are destined to be gazed upon with awe. Everything and anything you have achieved pales in comparison.

(You’d surely hear reprimands if you voice those thoughts out loud, though. In your time, you have made a name for yourself. An expert in your passion at the mere age of seventeen; a trailblazer in your own right.

…It’ll just never compare to the name Sae built for himself, you think with finality.)

But above the awe and envy you feel whenever Sae’s name comes up, is love.

Love: a trap that is inevitable for a childhood friend of his. A pitfall that you have fell into. Your love for him is a bittersweet fact, one which tugs at your heartstrings whenever his face shows up on your phone. Sweet, because childhood love is a beautiful, rare thing - you’re glad that it has happened, in all honesty - though bitter all the same, because he is a star.

And stars shoot past. They never go back.

(He, will never go back.)

So for the years that Sae is gone, you float by on that knowledge. Merely acknowledging him as the one who crashed into your life, and left as turbulently as he came. You work diligently to mute the love that festered in your heart, knowing it will never be. 

You wholeheartedly believe that your life will continue in this fashion.

Then, the impossible happens.

The star returns, seven years later. On your doorstep, nonetheless.

"Itoshi?" 

Somehow, even in the ungodly hour of 12:56AM, Sae manages to look as beautiful as the day he left. It's unfair. Unfair for him to show up at your doorstep unannounced; unfair for him to have grown into his boyish looks as gracefully as he did.

It’s unfair for him to still make your heart race, even after all this time.

"Who else would it be?" He scoffs, the bite of his words not quite reaching his eyes. "And, Itoshi, seriously?"

His voice makes your heart leap. It's like you are ten again. "Well… You haven't been Sae for a while now," you say. "Not since you ghosted me, anyways."

Sae's eyes flicker with an emotion you thought he is incapable of feeling. "I didn't mean to." Regret. The Ice Prince is feeling regret, all for you. And if you were ten again, maybe that alone would shake you. But you aren't. You are several years wiser. You know better.

"It's fine if you want to be the best in the world. I don't blame you for that - not at all. But you can be number one and not neglect the ones that love you, y'know?" You slowly retreat back into the comfort of your apartment, hand creeping onto the back of the door. "Goodnight, Itoshi. You should go home; it's late."

You push the door, preparing to end the conversation then and there.

It’s not supposed to be like this, you realise. He, your first love, is supposed to stay in the past. Itoshi Sae should not be at your doorstep past midnight, suitcase in tow, as if he came straight from the airport to your house. The feelings you hold for him should be locked up within the depths of your heart - not surging in full force from just the sight of him.

But alas, fate plays its mischievous tricks once again. And Sae is not the type of person who lets blunders get away scot-free.

"…You love me?” He says, barely above a whisper, foot wedged between the door and the entrance. An impenetrable silence follows from your end. 

Seven years older, but still a fool in the face of love, it seems.

“I did,” I still do, your mind yells. “But you’re a star now, Sae. Just like I said you would be.” Your breath hitches, nails forming crescent-shaped indents within your palm. “…And stars don’t fall in love with the big, black sea of nothingness, do they?”

A beat of silence ensues from his end. You cringe at your own word choice. Maybe he left, you think. Great. Itoshi Sae was at your door, and you scared him away with your stupid love and even stupider confession. How stupid can you even get—

The door hinge creaks as you topple over, shattering your inner turmoil. Sae announces his intrusion with a loud sigh.

“Hey! What are you?— This is considered trespassing—“ You begin. Sae shuts you up with a forceful kiss, pinning you against the door that you were hiding behind minutes before. It’s messy, tantalising, addicting. The smell of his aquatic cologne fills your senses, and he cups your face in between his hands. He feels so warm. He feels like home.

Sae’s whole body screams of need. The need for you; the need to make up for the lost time. 

You hate how you are so weak for him. 

“Idiot.” He deadpans as the two of you part. “If you’re going to get all poetic on me, fine. Stars don’t fall in love with the galaxy.” 

You remove yourself from his arms, eyes scrunching in offence. Bold thing for him to say, especially after he just kissed your lips raw. “So… You’re not in love with me?”

“Let me finish.” Sae is quick to pull you back into his embrace, voice impossibly soft for the otherwise stone-faced boy. “Stars don’t fall in love with the sky. They live in it; I live with you.”

Sae hopes that the implication is clear.

You, alone, are his hope; you are the reason he sparkles as much as he does. Even while you were miles apart, his childhood friend was the sole thing on his mind. A star cannot shine without its galaxy, after all.

“You’re not off the hook, by the way.” You breathe lightly, laying your head against his chest. “Seven years is still a long time. I don’t think you can cuddle your way out of this one, Itoshi.”

A small smile elicits from his face, “I can try, can’t I?”

…And this star is willing to wait for his galaxy to forgive him, no matter how long it takes.

#blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #blue lock #blue lock sae #blue lock imagines #blue lock fanfic #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #blue lock collection ! #honey pot !

[glorysbox]

I would love to see a continuation of those bihan fics you have but after he's gotten his son. Like how would he act afterwards?

(pregnancy talk, bihan lowkey/highkey has mommy and daddy issues)

bihan loves you, in his own way.

i can see him having a "marriage" (for lack of a better term), essentially letting everyone know publicly and officially who you belong to. if you bother him enough, he'd probably give you a wedding—though small, most likely only having the people he trusted (like cyrax and sektor) and maybe some of the people you'd request like family or close close friends. you'd really have to convince him, though…

he'd definitely start kissing you more. he loves the feeling of your lips on his; finds himself seeking the warmth of your lips and body on his more than he'd like to admit. bihan would definitely be opening up to you (physically), allowing you to cling to him in private or acquiescing to your pleads to be in the room with him while he's doing paperwork or foreseeing future battles with his second in commands.

bi-han would be wanting to see you often, going as far as making you sleep in his quarters instead of your own. you're barely halfway through your pregnancy by the time he's ordered you to stay with him in bed. at first, i don't think he'd been to receptive to any cuddling. but if you complain enough, he'll give in.

he's protective; the grandmaster of the lin kuei does have many enemies after all. (really, they'd never be able to breach the temple of the lin kuei. he uses it as an excuse to be with you constantly and oversee you during pregnancy. he doesn't want to lose you like he'd lost his mother or his brother.)

when it comes to the labor + aftermath… he doesn't really leave your side, ever. he's there when you give birth. he insists on being the one to cut the umbilical cord (with a blade made of ice). in the meantime, all of his responsibilities are passed down to sektor and cyrax, leaving him with more than enough time to nag you about the way you handle his son. he's often telling you how to do what since he "cared for kuai liang while he was a child", which means he knows more than you. (he doesn't)

surprisingly enough… he's "sweet" with his son, especially as he gets older. i think bihan's father wasn't the best to him (which i believe is why he let him die and acted the way he did in mk1). knowing how it feels to be treated less than favorably by his father, he would never repeat the cycle onto his own child. this doesn't mean he'll allow his son to be soft, though. expect your son to go through a LOT of training in the future to be a formidable grandmaster himself.

your relationship with him definitely undergoes many changes, too. you used to consider him much higher than you, but as the years go on, you start to see him as more of an equal. he does the same, considering you his equal way earlier than you him. you're not allowed to call him grandmaster anymore, only "husband" or "bihan" (he will still pull the obey your grandmaster card on you to get what he wants, though)

and yes, bihan wants another son too. he wants his first son to have a brother as soon as possible (which strangely parallels his own life… he'd never admit it to anyone but you, but he finds himself missing his little brother at times.)

you're expected to be a good mother as well. he expects you to be like his mother—who he thinks did a great job at raising him. you'll have to be tough and no nonsense, and willing to discipline your children to teach them lessons at a young age. he'll definitely get on your ass if he finds you coddling his son far too much and making him "weak". if you have a daughter though… imagine his protectiveness times one trillion. seriously. she'll probably be just as spoiled as you are. and yes, you are spoiled. the members of the lin kuei basically treat you as an extension of bihan. and he always makes sure you get what you want.

he was comfortable having just you to defend and protect, knowing that his sons also could protect you… but with a daughter thrown in the mix, expect the both of you to never be let out of his sight. he would be soooo annoying about it!! god forbid he has to go somewhere without you—you're stuck listening to sektor ramble on and on about whatever silly scientific experiments while he babysits you and her.

you'd probably catch him more than a few times being uncharacteristically sweet to your daughter—especially if she resembles you or resembles his mother. he'd definitely soften up with her (not in front of anyone but your family, however.)

still, bihan is a cold man. literally and figuratively. don't expect him to talk much about his family life or his feelings. he does demand to know everything about yours, though...

#TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY?! #mk bihan #bihan #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #concepts #sfw #sydfw #mk #mk1 #bihan x reader #headcanons #mortal kombat headcanons

[onlycrystal]

a night to remember

cw: smut (obvi), reader is a virgin, dom! toji, sub! female reader, age gap (reader is in college), reader is shy, ddlg, size kink, praise kink, tojis a lil mean andddd i think that’s it

authors note: this is my first time writing i’m so sorry if it’s bad😭

rave music blared in your ears, while at the same time, the flashing colorful lights began to hurt your eyes. you looked across the club at your friends and their boyfriends, drinking and dancing (pretty much grinding) with eachother. you sighed, mixing the ice in your diet soda with your straw. you had never been a party girl, but today was your friends 21st birthday.

“it’ll be fun, y/n! pleaseee please come,” she begged as she saw the hesitation in your eyes, but you couldn’t say no.

which led you to now. alone at the bar, developing a headache from the setting you found yourself in, and wanting to go home. it didn’t help that you were wearing a short dress too, sure it was cute, but you shamefully kept pulling it down to avoid it riding up.

you sighed and continued to sip your drink, when all of the sudden out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of someone sitting down next to you. he was definitely an older man, probably late 30s early 40s. at least 6 feet tall and buff as hell. his raven covered locks slightly covered his gaze, and he had a scar on his lip that enhanced his grin. you looked up at him, to find him already staring at you. although you were both sitting down, you still had to look up to meet the man’s gaze. he looked at you like he wanted to devour you, those green eyes looking you up and down. and that smirk, it never left his face.

“i’ll take a beer, and how bout a shot of vodka for this lovely lil’ lady?” he asked the bartender

“i-i uh… i actually don’t drink…” you said, looking down and fidgeting with your hands. oh, he was having a field day with this. you were just sooo cute <3

“that’s alright sugar, then how bout a diet coke instead?” he winked at you and you felt your face start to heat up. who was this guy?

the bartender walked away and he didn’t waste anytime. “now, what’s a lovely lil girl like you doing in a place like this alone?” his tone was playful, though you still had trouble being in his presence. he was just so intimidating. “o-oh my friends ditched me.. they’re somewhere over there.” you huffed, looking off in the direction of your friends. had they seriously forgotten about you?

the bartender came back with your drinks, handing you your drink that you immediately began drinking. “you got a name, darling?” he said, taking a gulp of his beer. “it’s uh… y/n”

“pretty.” he said, looking straight into your eyes with lust, “names toji”

“‘s nice to meet you t-toji…” you kept your gaze down, feeling his eyes never leaving you like a predator. your headache worsened, and his head tilted at you, seeing you wince in pain. “you need to go outside, doll? you ain’t looking well… i’ll come with ya”

you nodded your head meekly, beginning to stand up and wobbling slightly as you did. this was all just too much. suddenly, you felt an arm grasp at you side, pulling you close. it was toji. he walked you both outside as you shyly kept your blushing face close to his toned chest. you reached the outside and already felt yourself feeling better, breathing in the fresh air carefully.

you realized you were still snug up against his torso, when you moved away quickly. your face turned pink “s-sorry! i didn’t mean to uh… i didnt-“ he grinned looking down at you from a foot distance “it’s alright babydoll…” he brought you close again, kneeling down to match your gaze. he tucked a fray hair behind your ear and kept a hand on your face “pretty lil thing… aren’t ya?” you were frozen, his face was so close to yours and he was just so handsome… those green eyes are so entrancing, you thought. and that scar…

suddenly, he closed the gap between you two and kissed you. you felt his tongue swirl into your mouth as he bit your lip, causing you to whimper in pain and pleasure. he pulled away, “whaddya say we take this to my place, darlin’?”

you considered. your friends were already drunk off their asses and had forgotten about you. you looked at toji again. he was a very attractive man and as much as he intimidated you, he also enchanted you. you had never had such a fine guy come up to you, and he seemed nice. what’s the worse that could happen, you thought to yourself.

you looked at the ground blushing harshly and fidgeting your fingers yet again, “s-sure…” he grinned as he called you both a taxi.

————————————————————————

you arrived at his apartment, and walked in. it was far from unkempt. the kitchen was clean, and he had an organized living room with limited furniture. you didn’t know what to do with yourself, and looked at him. he was unbuttoning a couple of the buttons on his sleek shirt and looked down to see you gazing at him, looking away quickly and shyly as he caught you looking. “ah! s-sorry…” you turned the other way, hearing a deep chuckle come from behind you.

“adorable…” he muttered, as he walked behind you pressing his body against yours. you froze as he began to pepper kisses along your neck, sucking ever so slightly just enough to make you moan quietly. his grip was harsh as he laid kisses all over your body. you turned around and starting making out with him. he groaned into your lips, and his gaze angled down as he say you standing on your tippy toes wobbling in order to barely meet his lips. he chuckled and picked you up suddenly to place you on his marbled kitchen counter. your legs wrapped around his body as you both embraced harshly.

he pulled away, your lip stick had smeared on his lips, leaving him with berry marks all over his lips. “come on shorty~” he picked you up and began walking to his bedroom.

he placed you on his bed, which was made neatly and quite comfortable. he started to unbutton the rest of his shirt, and took it off. his exposed chest was toned perfectly. this man was muscular af, like he could crush you easily. he gazed at you and smirked sleezily.

“what, do you even need help undressing, lil girl?” he began walking over to you, and the height between you grew. you looked up and gulped, “no! i just…er- i…” you nervously fidgeting in your place as toji began to piece things together. he let out a booming chuckle which only further embarrassed you. “my fucking god. i landed myself a virgin, didnt i?~” that same playful tone, but you could hear the lust and desire behind it. he put his hand on your chin and forced to look up at him. “daddy’ll take care of you just fine~”

he began taking your dress off, leaving you in just a bra and panties. toji pinned you down on the bed, interlocking his fingers with you passionately as you made out with eachother sloppily. he unclipped your bra sleekly, and fondled your pretty boob in his hand while sucking on the other. you moaned in pleasure. as he continued to suck on one, his hand moved down further and slipped your panties down your legs.

“shit babygirl, all this for me?” he grinned at your wetness, causing you to blush into the pillow beside you. “nuh-uh, i wanna see you while i fuck you on my fingers.” without warning, he shoved one of his thick fingers into your hole. shit, this was enough to get you off. “toji~ hahh~” you pawed at his chest, moaning loudly. “keep making those pretty lil noises, honey”

he roughly jammed his fingers in and out of your hole, sinful noises filling the bedroom. he rubbed your clit harshly, and tears began to pool at your eyes. “hnnng! t-toji, i’m c-cumming~” his pace didn’t slow. “on my fingers, like a good girl, come on you can do it”

you cum all over his fingers, coating them in a white slick. he brings the fingers up to his mouth and sucks at them. “shit doll, i need to get a better taste of you” he licked his lips and began sloppily eating you out. the pleasure was so immense, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. this man was eating you out like it was his last meal, tongue hitting all the right spots perfectly. you felt your second orgasm forming. as you began to moan louder and louder, toji backed away from your pussy. you whimpered at the loss of pleasure, looking at him to see him fidgeting with his pants.

he let his cock spring free from his pants, and your face went white. it was like nothing you’d ever seen before, he was huge. you were kinda expecting it based off of his build in general but holy shit.

“you gonna keep staring or let me fuck you?” he asked playfully, laughing at your shocked expression.

you began to back up a little into the bed and muttered “‘m scared…”

“oh darling, there’s nothing to be scared of~ let me take care of y’a, alright?” he sat against the headboard of the bed and carried you into his lap. he kissed you again, and you began to become less scared.

you nodded meekly, and he gave you that sleezy grin of his. you could not get enough of this man. “i’ll go slow hun’, don’t wanna hurt you…” he lined up at your entrance and slowly began lowering you onto his dick. you began letting out whimpers and moans of pain, he was so big. “t-toji! hah~~ so f-full…~” you panted and tightened harshly around him. he groaned in pleasure “keep squeezing me like that darlin’ holy fuck.” you were now completely engulfing toji, legs shaking from the pleasure and arms around his neck, scratching at his back. tears formed in your eyes as your whimpers grew louder. “d-daddy, i-it hurts~”

“you’re okay, kid.” he continued groaning as he slowly began bouncing you up and down on his dick. “fuck, you feel so good princess~” you moaned and squeezed your eyes shut as his pace quickened. however, it was starting to feel a lot better. the pleasure was like nothing you had ever encounter “f-fuck toji~ ‘m close!!” he continued to bounce you up and down as his grip against your hips tightened and his pace quickened. “already princess? you can hang on a lil’ - fuck - longer for daddy.” he let out low moans in your eyes which sent butterflies straight down to your pussy. you whimpered directly in his ear as you fought back your orgasm for him. “toji p-please~” he looked into your eyes “come on my cock princess~ gonna fill you up so good, you want daddy’s cum? yeah you want it?” he chuckled at you, but you didn’t care. nothing mattered to you, you needed a release. your moans loudened as you came all over his dick, a white slick glistening on his abs. “fuck, ah~” toji moaned lowly as he came inside you. you fell onto his chest, so mind-fucked.

“t-that was…” you panted, out of breath against his chest. “i’d say the same, princess” he winked at you and smiled. “let’s get you cleaned up, k?”

GUYS this is my first time writing anything like this i’m sorry if it’s very bad. also send me requests if you want!

#jujutsu kaisen #toji zenin #jjk toji #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji smut #jjk smut #anime

[gffa]

Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

MINOR FANDOMS: Ones that probably only have under 100 bookmarks (often around the 20-30 bookmarks range), but will at least give you a place to start! ANIME/MANGA: Bleach | Cardcaptor Sakura | Dragonball | Finder no Hyouteki/Viewfinder | Katekyou Hitman Reborn! | Kuroko no Basuke | One Piece | Sailor Moon | Madoka Magica | Naruto | Princess Tutu | Trigun | Weiss Kreuz | Yuri!!! on Ice

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

TV SHOWS/MOVIES: Community | Game of Thrones -OR- ASOIAF | Good Omens | Hannibal | Highlander | The Old Guard | Our Flag Means Death | Stranger Things

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

#lumi.txt #fic recs #star wars fic recs #batman fic recs

[harrowharkwife]

thinking thoughts about how nona was so obsessed with crown, and crown specifically- not coronabeth. crown, with her boots and her cargo pants and her guns and her hair tied back, with all her charm and strength, all her rage and determination.

was that really just nona? or, walk with me here- is there a chance that that was actually alecto, too, bleeding through and rising to the surface?

alecto, seeing a kind of kinship in crown- in this big, tall, strong blonde with a sword strapped to her back, hot and lovely and kind and awful and powerful and perfect. this woman who refuses to give up- on her sister, on saving jody, on BOE's resistance. who's unafraid to throw one hell of a tantrum, if it means being listened to, for once. crown, who everyone thinks of as dumb, who everyone underestimates, who no one ever takes as seriously as they should, even though she's clearly capable of plenty of atrocities in her own right. this woman who's been described over and over again as someone who positively radiates life, and energy, and vitality, and strength. this woman who wanted nothing more than the chance to be herself, to be free, to serve as cavalier and guardian and protector, but was instead sentenced at birth to a life of being a princess and wearing dresses and looking pretty and loving less and staying out of the way and keeping her mouth shut and playing second fiddle to a necromancer obsessed with power and glory. familiar, no? this woman who was betrayed, left behind, left alone, and left utterly in the dark by the one person who's supposed to love her the most- only to then be told that being abandoned was in her best interest, really, for her own safety.

thinking about all the times we've seen ianthe insult crown's intelligence and praise her beauty in the same breath. you big dumb bimbo, what can you do? of all the times we've seen ianthe fussing over crown's appearance. thinking of the sister-lyctor makeover-montage ahead of dios apate minor, and how harrow hated every second of it, and how ianthe treated it like nostalgic second nature. thinking about the third house: fucked-up planet gossip-girl with all its betrayal and espionage and flesh magic and debauchery, three for the gleam of a jewel or a smile. thinking about the pressure that must have come with keeping up the double-necromancer ruse, about ianthe having successfully played the part of two necromancers from the age of six. exactly how much practice must that have taken? thinking about the casual, automatic, possessive, offhanded, violating nature of ianthe playing god and giving harrow a full head of fast-growing hair without asking, without even telling her, just to make harrow prettier, just to piss her off, just because she could. how she did it so easily, and without hesitation, almost as though she's maybe done that sort of thing before.

thinking about preservation. about a perfect body frozen in ice for a myriad, about ianthe spending all her downtime on the mithraeum figuring out how long she can keep an apple core in perfect stasis before the rot sets in.

thinking about corpse puppeting: a deceased world leader here, a trusted cavalier and friend you've known from the cradle there. about i picked you to change, and this is how you repay me? about she took babs. and who even cares about babs? babs! she could have taken me!

thinking about alecto, and hollywood hair barbie, and you have made me a hideousness.

thinking about crown, who's by her own admission boobs and hair and talk and a hell of a swordhand.

thinking about something as simple as stud earrings, and about how much grief ianthe gave her for daring to wear them.

nona loved crown.

something tells me that alecto might, too.

#the locked tomb #alecto the ninth #alecto #coronabeth tridentarius #crown him with many crowns #ianthe tridentarius #locked tomb meta #am i tagging this right? idk #nona the ninth spoilers #harrow the ninth spoilers #to be PERFECTLY clear i love ianthe. and i still think it's ENTIRELY possible that corona will turn out to be Badtwin in the end #but truly who's to say. women's wrongs and whatnot #also ik nona WAS alecto but like. she was also her own person. To Me. a study in 'would i be a different person without all the baggage' et #tridentarii #what a fascinating fucked up little dynamic with those two

[missxmav]

new beginnings - tom kazansky

tom 'iceman' kazansky x reader

Summary: Tom finds his pregnant wife in the heart of their shared home, the sight of her simply takes his breath away. Word count: 1,120+ Warnings: fluuuufffff, SERIOUSLY FLUFFY SOFT TOM, pregnancy, afab!reader (still working on gender neutral tone as best I can), assumptions about size (I play into the plus size side of things because I am plus size, but there's no direct mention), no use of y/n (just she/her pronouns) A/N: This is only rough edited by myself, I'm so sorry for any mistakes. (Im rusty as f*ck at fic writing) I've had this fic in my back pocket for months, please enjoy all the fluff. I'm head over heels for val kilmer as a person, and I'm well aware that the gif is not from Top Gun... this is however an aged up version of Commander Kazansky (;

Tom wasn't typically a man of many words, even after Top Gun and becoming a commander... He was still on track to becoming an admiral in a couple years and his stoic ice-cold exterior has carried him far in the Navy. No, there wasn't much that could get in his way now. 

Except for her.

She melted his every icy edge. Especially now that she's 7 months pregnant with his baby. The way she waddled around the sizable estate that he purchased the year they got married. It'd been nearly 7 years since that beautiful day, but Tom and his wife decided to focus on their separate careers before committing to living with little ones under foot. He was nearing his mid-to-late 30's now and with his career excelling, his mind constantly settled on imagining what her beautiful features would be like mixed with his. 

Would they get his ice-like stare or her warm bright irises that see right through to his soul? Would they get his pin straight hair that stuck up in all the wrong places or her beautiful, textured hair that fell beautifully in every light? 

His mind would run rampant every time he looked at her, his eyes never failing to trail up and down her whole figure. He would linger on her face, taking in how absolutely mesmerizing she was in the pregnancy glow before darting down to her ever-changing belly. It was very noticeable now, and the way she braced the underside of the bump softened his stare every time. Even through the literal growing pains of making a human, she looked ethereal. He subconsciously pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Tom was fully convinced that she could never be more beautiful than she was in this exact moment. 

With a warm but soft chuckle under his breath, he stood slowly and made his way over to her. The book she'd been perusing at the kitchen counter happened to be a cookbook he got her for Christmas in the early years of their relationship. He'd assumed she must be craving something specific by the way she quickly flipped through the pages. He placed his hands over the tops of her shoulders, giving a gentle rub to the tense muscles in her shoulder blades and leaned in to kiss her neck. The smell of her conditioner and body wash from her shower this morning is almost intoxicating. His body was warm, causing her to lean back on his chest.

"You're absolutely radiant dear," Tom stated, a smile forming across his lips. "And absolutely distracting..." He hasn't been able to take his eyes off her since she entered the kitchen adjacent to the doors of his office. He'd been trying to get through some paperwork before finding her to ask what you might want for lunch as she graced her way into the heart of their shared home.

She was one of the only women that could ever truly take his breath away, though many tried. Even in a moment like this... with his wedding band heavy on her finger and growing the fruit of his love for her in her tummy, he still had to remind himself to breathe.

His large arms made their way down her body until they gently embraced her and her bump. He supported her belly gently, the same way the two had learned in the parenting classes Tom insisted on attending once she confirmed her pregnancy. The soft hum that escaped her throat told him that she needed this. Her eyes fluttered closed as he stood there, swaying gently with her in his arms.

“Blueberry.” Was the only thing that snapped the quiet of the moment between the two of them. Her words were soft in his ears. Tom raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he leaned forward to place his chin on her shoulder. The pages of the cookbook landed on a muffin recipe that had been dog-eared and made enough times to sport the stains of baking chaos. 

Another low chuckle reverberated through his chest. “Cravings?” Tom placed another gentle kiss on her neck as he slowly released his childbearing wife to turn to the refrigerator behind him. This recipe was one he was familiar with, having made it several times over the years. He grabbed out the bowl of blueberries, buttermilk, butter and eggs while his wife gathered the remaining dry ingredients. 

A quiet melodic sound filled the kitchen as Tom watched his wife pull up the large glass bowl from the cabinet. The smile spread across his face as he recognized their wedding song falling from her lips. “I wanna know what love is…”

Tom set the cold ingredients out on the counter, crossing the kitchen swiftly to pull her back into his arms. “I want you to show me…” He whispered to her, a hum parting his lips as he twirled her around slowly in the afternoon light of their kitchen. He mirrored her radiant smile as they slowly swayed together, her baby bump separating them a little more than usual but neither of them cared. 

After enjoying the embrace of her husband, Tom’s wife pushed him away gently as she resumed making the muffins lil’ kazansky was craving so badly. The blonde commander only laughed as he kissed her hand before parting their embrace. He too busied himself making muffins again wordlessly as he reached into the bottom drawer of the oven. Grabbing out the old muffin tin, he paused to preheat the oven as he lingered there for a moment.

Tom’s hand immediately found his wife’s lower back as he brought the tin over to the island countertop, using the other to place the white liners in each cup. A devious giggle caught his attention and before he could even blink, she’d managed to touch his nose with a flour-covered hand. His steely eyes closed suddenly as she swiped at his face, unable to hide the slow grin that parted his lips as he dipped his own hand into the bowl of flour. 

He laughed as he pulled her back from the counter slightly, his flour covered hand landing gently over the top of her baby bump. The white handprint was stark on her dark dress. The gasp that escaped from the woman in his arms only made him laugh harder as she rolled her eyes and shook her head at her husband’s antics. 

"What am I going to do with you, Thomas Kazansky? ” She said exasperatedly despite a smile growing on her face.

“Love me.” He said simply, his eyes gazing deeply into hers as he pulled her in close again. “And make muffins with me forever.” She laughed, her heart full, as she accepted his proposal.

#tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #top gun iceman #top gun #top gun maverick #tom kazansky x pregnant!reader #fluff #val kilmer #pregnant reader