#(i don't actually know the real length of time but i hope it's not too distracting)

[javiscigarette]

Teacher's Pet, part II

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: Joel gives you a few more lessons and a few more feelings start to surface. (Picks up right where part one left off so I recommend reading that first!)

Warnings: unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, oral (m!receiving), fingering, thigh riding, dirty talk, ungodly amount of pet names, unprotected sex, virginity loss (it's the real deal this time), he's back and more annoying than ever but still just as sweet, disgustingly fluffy at times, reader has hair he can run his fingers through but no other physical descriptions, no use of y/n

w/c: ......10.5k I am so sorry

a/n: It's here! I kept changing my mind with how I wanted this to go so hopefully I landed on something good. I'm absolutely still blown away by the amount of love and support you guys gave on part one :'))) you are all incredible. Hoping and praying this one lives up to everyone's expectations

Part One

my masterlist

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me" he huffs, but the feigned offense  is betrayed by the way he’s positively beaming down at you.  "I'm about to give you the best fuckin' lay of your life, and here you are makin' fun of me." "The best fuckin' lay of my life? I haven’t even had one lay. Don't exactly have anything to compare it to." "Yeah, well, trust me. Best you're ever gonna get.” "That's some big talk, cowboy. Let's see if you can live up to that."

Getting on your knees for Joel Miller wasn’t exactly on your agenda for today. 

Not that you’re really complaining. 

He doesn’t look bad from this angle, you have to admit.  His chest looks broader from where you are on your knees in front of him, if that’s even possible. His hair is messy and tousled from where your fingers pulled and tugged with a pretty red flush spreading down his neck and chest, and the soft curve of his belly looking positively sinful. 

“First lesson is how to take a man’s pants off,” Joel starts. “Think you can handle that? Or do you need a demonstration first?” 

You scowl up at him, his words pulling you out of your transfixation on his body. 

“Shut up,” you hiss. “I can take your pants off.” 

He grins and raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah? Go on then. Show me.”

You roll your eyes but take a steadying breath, trying your best to calm your pounding pulse and trembling fingers as you reach up for his belt buckle. The metallic jingle has your heart fluttering in your chest, and you make quick work of the rest, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans until they’re hanging open in front of you.

You stop for a moment and glance up at him. He’s looking down at you, a soft encouraging smile playing on his lips. 

“S’okay, baby. Keep goin’,” he murmurs, nodding his head once. 

You give him a small nod and a tight swallow around the lump in your throat, dropping your gaze back to the task at hand. Gently, gingerly, you hook your fingers in the waistband of both his jeans and boxers, pulling them both down simultaneously. 

A tiny, barely audible gasp escapes you when his cock springs free and bobs heavily in front of you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper, too stunned to stop the words from slipping out. 

“Just Joel if fine, actually.” 

You barely even register his jab and you definitely don’t have the bandwidth to come up with any kind of witty comeback right now, your mind too busy processing the sight before you. Sure, you’ve seen plenty of dicks before, the internet can be a magical place. But this, in person, up close and so real, is an entirely new experience. 

He's big, thick, heavy, and long with a slight upward curve. The tip is flushed a deep pink, shiny with smeared precome with more beading at the slit. A few thin veins run from his base to his tip up the length in a twisting pattern, the dark hair at his base neatly trimmed. And he’s hard, so much so that it looks nearly painful and your stomach flutters know that you're the one who did that to him.

"You can touch it, y'know." Joel says softly after a few moments of silence. "It ain't gonna bite."

"Oh my god" you groan, bringing up a hand to scrub down your face as he pulls you out of your awe. 

"Again, just Joel is fine."

He laughs proudly at his own joke and you drop your hands in your lap and stare up at him in disbelief. 

"Oh c'mon! You walked right into that one, no need to get all-"

He cuts himself off with a hiss, the air escaping between his teeth and his head falling back as your hand wraps around him, squeezing just a little too tight to be pleasant. He staggers half a step backward, hips jerking away from your grip.

"You were saying?'' you ask sweetly, grinning up at him.

"Fuckin' christ, woman. You're tryin' to get me off not break it off"

You loosen your grip a little but keep your hand still and look at him with expectant eyes, waiting for further instruction. It's not that you don't know what to do, you just don't know how to do it well. How to do it for him.

You want to do well for him.

The realization should alarm you, scare you even. But you find it only spurs you on, only makes the want burning inside of you even more potent and pressing. You want to make him moan, gasp, make his body writhe beneath your touch. You want him to be breathless, shivering, and panting with pleasure. You want to make him come undone, just like you did for him.

"Okay" he starts, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. "Lesson two is learning what he likes. Everyone's a lil different, but the basics are the same."

The nerves in your gut twist almost painfully, the anxiety of it all getting you half a second away from tapping out. 

But your decision is set in stone when he drops his hand to yours where it’s wrapped around him, giving a light squeeze before he starts to gently guide your movements. 

"Start slow,” he starts, a light strain tainting the edges of his voice. “Nice and gentle. Wanna work up to it."

You nod and watch, focused intently as if you were actually a student in class as the head of his cock disappears and reappears in your fist. His hand covers yours nearly entirely as he drags it up and down while you try and memorize where he squeezes a little tighter, when he swipes his thumb over the head. 

“Can give a little twist at the top,” he murmurs, voice low as he demonstrates what he means. “There you go, baby. Just like that,” he sighs when you do the same. 

Once satisfied, he removes his hand, letting you take control. You continue to pump him, trying to replicate the movements he just showed you. His cock is a warm, heavy weight in your hand, twitching and pulsing every now and then when you twist your wrist just right or swipe your thumb over his head like he showed you, collecting and spreading his precome to ease your strokes. 

Your confidence builds with each stroke and soon enough you start to experiment with your pace, switching between faster and slower. He gently rocks his hips in time with your hand, unable to resist thrusting forward just slightly.

The fire inside you burns even hotter at the shaky breath that he lets out above you, heat spreading through your veins like wildfire before settling low in your belly, your core aching and pulsing with it. 

"This good?" you ask concerned, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He lets out a breathless chuckle and looks down at you with heavy lidded eyes.

"Yeah, honey. Real good," he rasps, a small smile spreading across his lips.

You match his smile, biting your lip and basking in his praise, a warm, gooey feeling spreading outwards from your heart to the tips of your fingers and toes. It's like he has a direct link to the inner workings of your brain and body with how effortlessly he can make you melt, with just a soft, easy smile and a few well chosen words.

"Should I...do you want my mouth?" you ask, glancing between his flushed, leaking cock and his hooded eyes.

"God yes, baby. J-just start slow. Lick the tip, get a feel for it. Don't try to take too much right away," he instructs, his voice constricting more and more with each word. 

"So I shouldn't try to fit all of your giant cock in my mouth on my first go?" you quip, raising a brow.

"Please don't" he chuckles. "Don't want ya pukin’ all over the place. Might kill the mood," he adds with a grin.

You shake your head and let out a light laugh, the sound trailing off into a content hum when he brings his hand to the top of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, dull nails scratching lightly at your scalp.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh, leaning into the touch.

"You love it."

You do, so, so much.

"Now c'mon. You've got work to do," he teases, his hand gently tugging at your hair.

You comply easily enough, leaning forward and tenderly swiping your tongue across the slit, licking up the precome that's gathered there. He hisses, a rush of hair pushing past his clenched teeth as  his cock twitches in your hand, a fresh bead of precome forming. 

With your confidence renewed by his reaction, you do it again, pressing your tongue flat against the slit and swirling it slowly around his swollen tip all while your hand still works him at a steady pace. 

Emboldened, you take it a step further and close your lips around him, sealing them around the head to give him a slow, experimental suck. The groan he rewards you with has sparks shooting down the length of your spine.

"That's it. Good girl. Just like that," he pants, fingers tugging and tightening in your hair.

His praise washes over you in another wave of warmth, a feeling akin to a full-body shiver that has goosebumps breaking out over your skin. It strokes your ego, pride and confidence filling you as his soft moans and grunts fuel the fire burning in your belly.

Encouraged by the way he’s already falling apart, you take him a little deeper. It’s only a few inches but your lips are already stretched wide, a slight ache already settling in your jaw from how wide it's being forced open. 

You keep your tongue flat against the underside of his cock while you start to bob your head, trying to match the pace of your hand. But the motions are new and unfamiliar, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated and when he hits the roof of your mouth, your gag reflex kicks in forcing you to pull off quickly, coughing and sputtering.

"Easy. Easy," Joel soothes, his fingers scratching at your scalp again. "Try to breathe through your nose. And don't don't force it, yeah? Feels good, just the way you were doin' it."

"Sorry," you apologize sheepishly, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Ain't nothing to be sorry for. S’your first time. It takes practice. Now, c'mon. Try again. Nice and easy. And if this man tries to-"

But you're not in the mood for another Joel Miller Life Lesson, especially when he’s about to mention the other man who's name you can barely even remember anymore. 

Thankfully, his words dissolve into a groan when you take him back in your mouth, your lips wrapping around his sensitive head, tongue flat where it slowly glides down the underside of his cock as you take him deeper. 

The ache in your core is quickly growing more and more incessant. You can still feel the ghost of his fingers and tongue on you, your inner thighs wet and sticky with the memory. And the sinful sounds he’s making, whispered curses between breathy moans and grunts, are not exactly helping your case. 

You manage to take a little more, his thick cock stretching your mouth wider, forcing your jaw open even further. You gag slightly around him again but you’re determined to push through it this time. YOu squeeze your eyes shut and breathe in harshly through your nose as saliva dribbles past the tight seal of your mouth and drips onto your hand, your fist diligently pumping what you can't take.

He responds with a low, guttural groan, his hips jerking forward, chasing after the sensation of your throat convulsing around him. 

You're still only a little over halfway down and it's a quick realization that you'll never be able to get it all down your throat. Maybe you can try and practice, but it’s practically a pipe dream to even think about getting his whole cock into your throat without choking to death on it.

But that's a problem for another day. 

For the next time. 

For now, you hollow out your cheeks and suck as you pull back, tongue swirling along the underside until his cock leaves your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your swollen, spit-slicked lips to his glistening tip. 

You use your hand to spread the wetness, mixing it with the precome that's leaking steadily from the flushed head. The smooth glide allows you to speed up your pace as you look up at him through your lashes, trying to gauge his reaction.

He's staring down at you with hazy, lust blown eyes, his jaw hanging open, panting heavily.

"How am I doing, Professor?" you tease with an innocent smile. A lazy grin slowly spreads on his face in return.

"You’re a fuckin’ natural, baby," he mumbles, his hand moving from where it's tangled in your hair to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of your flushed cheek, "My good girl."

And maybe, most likely, the words slipped out unintentionally, the heat of the moment forcing out things that he doesn’t really mean. But all the alarms and sirens in your head warning yourself to not fall too deep into this trap that is Joel Miller with his pretty words and sweet praises and soft smiles are all dead silent right now. There’s not a single part of your brain that’s trying to resist him right now. You doubt you could even if you wanted to. 

Because he just called you his girl. 

His.

To say you’re fucked would be the understatement of the century. 

You hum, pressing your cheek into his palm, wanting, needing, craving more. More of his touch, his taste, his warmth, his cock, his praise. So you take him back in your mouth with a renewed determination, spurred on by his words, wanting to prove to him that he's right, that you are his good girl. Determined to show him that you can make him feel good, that you can please him, that he'll want more of you, need more of you.

And judging by the way his grip on your hair is almost painful, his thighs trembling as he holds himself still, fighting the urge to jerk his hips forward and shove his cock down your throat, you'd say you're doing a damn good job

"Makin’ me feel so good, baby. So fuckin' good," he pants when you take him a little deeper.

You whine quietly around him as you press your sticky thighs together. White hot heat pooling low in your belly, your neglected cunt throbbing and aching, slick, wet, and messy. 

You squirm in your spot, rubbing your thighs together and grinding down on nothing in desperate search for the slightest bit of friction. You pray that the movement is subtle enough for Joel not to notice. 

As if that’s possible.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Joel starts, his tone annoyingly saccharine and condescending as he smirks down at you. “Did we forget somethin’ important?” 

Another small whimper is all you can muster, too focused and preoccupied with the way his thick length is filling your mouth, the weight and taste of him on your tongue dizzying and addicting. 

“Well look at that,” he coos, his hand leaving your hair and sliding down your cheek to cradle your  jaw. He swipes swiping over your bottom lip that’s stretched around his length, smearing the spit that’s gathered there.

“Think I finally found a way to shut ya up. We should’a done this a long time ago. Woulda saved me a lot of headaches,” he chuckles, the sound dissolving into a sharp hiss when you dig your nails into the tender skin of the back of his thigh, hard enough to leave a mark.

You pull off his cock with a wet pop, jaw aching as you glare up at him. 

"I'd shut up if I were you" you warn, the threat of your words completely lost in the breathless, desperate way they leave your mouth. "Just one good chomp is all it would take" you add, clicking your teeth together for emphasis.

But Joel's face just splits into a grin, a full blown, infuriating smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

"Biting huh? Now that’s a little kinky. Didn't know you had it in you, sweetheart."

"Shut up," you snap, but it still lacks any real heat, not with the way your lips are twitching at the corners, fighting a smile, your eyes undoubtedly sparkling, your heart definitely leaping out of your chest at the way his eyes are boring into yours.

"Careful, sweetheart. Might have to knock you down a whole letter grade for that type of talk. Gotta respect your professor ‘n all, y’know."

"You're insufferable," you grumble.

"But yet, here you are, still on your knees."

"And I'm gonna get up and leave if you don't stop talking."

"Leave before or after you chomp my dick off? Cause I'd really like a heads up for that, if ya could."

"Jesus fucking christ, Joel!" You huff, rolling your eyes so hard it actually hurts. "Do you ever just shut the fuck up? I'm literally on my knees right now with your dick in my mouth and you're still finding ways to piss me off!"

“What can I say? It’s a special talent of mine,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, the smug smile on his face making you want to genuinely bite his dick off now.

You drop the wet hand you had wrapped around him and start to move to your feet.

"You know what, I'm just gonna go. Maybe I'll call my coworker. He's not nearly as irritating as you," you huff, pushing yourself up onto shaky legs, your knees stiff and sore. 

But you can't even take one step before he's grabbing your waist, his large, warm palm resting firmly on the swell of your hip. His fingers flex, his grip tightening, not enough to hurt, but it's enough to halt you in your tracks. You're not particularly fond of the way your heart skips a beat in your chest, the way you can feel goosebumps breaking out all over your body from just his touch. 

He pulls you in closer until your chest is pressed against his, hard, wet cock pressed against your bare thigh.

"You really think you’re gonna leave with your pussy drippin' all over the place like that?” he says, his voice seamlessly switching from teasing to low and rough as his dark, hungry eyes bore into yours. “You're about to ruin my floors with the way you're leakin' right now, baby. Wouldn’t want that, now would we?” 

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment from how easily he was able to see your desperation, and with anger at how right he is. 

"Shut the fuck up, Joel," you mumble, giving him a weak push at his chest. "I'm not leaking I-"

The rest of your sentence stays lodged in your throat when his free hand slips between your thighs. Two deft fingers drag through the slick mess, collecting your arousal and spreading it around, a soft, wet, obscene sound filling the space between you. 

You don't even think to stop the high pitched, breathy whine from escaping your lips when he slides a thick finger inside you with no warning, your pathetic sound dissolving into a moan when he immediately follows it up with a second one, his palm pressed flat against your clit.

"Not leaking, hmm? Sure don't seem like it, baby," he purrs, his voice a low, rumbling drawl, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. "Feel that? How easy it was for me to get two fingers in ya?"

"Fuck," you whine as you dig your nails into the bare skin of his shoulder, hanging on to him and desperately searching for any semblance of stability as you try not to sway on shaky legs.

He crooks his fingers in you, fingertips digging into the spongy spot on your front wall that has your knees buckling, tiny stars dotting your vision momentarily as a rush of arousal gushes out of you, a pitiful whimper falling from your lips. Joel chuckles, low and dark and the sound shoots straight to your neglected clit, a bolt of lightning arcing down your spine.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he murmurs, nosing at the sensitive skin below your ear, the faint scrape of his beard against your cheek sending a shiver down your spine. 

The feeling of him removing his fingers is a cruel, sudden jolt, the emptiness and lack of pressure and friction has you keening, a needy, impatient noise bubbling up from your throat.

He's moving before you can complain though, stepping around you to sit on the edge of the bed and then promptly pulling you down onto his lap. You let out a small squeak of surprise as he forces you to straddle his thigh, pulling you down until your aching cunt is seated firmly against his bare skin. The position has his cock pressing against your hip, a drop of precome smearing against your skin.

"Fuckin' soaked for me, honey,” he drawls, his fingertips dimpling the soft skin of your hips. “And to think you were about to leave without gettin' what you came here for.” 

You can't even speak, too enraptured with the feeling of his strong muscles flexing subtly under your hypersensitive clit. So you ignore his teasing and just grind down instead, past the point of desperation. 

But he would never let you win that easily, would he? 

He laughs and tightens his grip on your hips, stopping your movement and holding you in place.

"Ah-ah, not so fast, baby. Let's talk about the terms first."

You give him the best glare you can muster while suppressing a needy whimper. 

"Terms?"

"Yeah. Terms. Of all this. Like if this is a one time thing, or if we're gonna be havin' regular...lessons," he replies, his hands slowly sliding up your waist and coming to rest on your ribs, his thumbs stroking the undersides of your breasts. 

"If you're gonna go out with this guy," he continues, his thumbs brushing over both of your nipples. "Or if I'm the only one who's gonna get to see this," he says, leaning forward, his warm breath fanning over your skin. You bite your lip, holding in the soft, needy moan threatening to spill out when his lips press to the hollow of your throat.

"If I'm the only one who gets to have you like this. If I'm the only one who's allowed to touch you. To kiss you," he says, punctuating his last word with a kiss to the center of your chest, his hands squeezing the swell of your breasts, his tongue flicking out and licking at your nipple.

"Or do you plan on letting him have you too?" He asks, the tip of his tongue swirling around your nipple before closing his lips around the pebbled peak, sucking it into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing it before he pulls back. "'Cause I'm not too keen on sharin', baby."

You take a deep steadying breath, trying to clear the thick haze that's clouding your mind and focus on his words, his questions about the fucking terms. 

And you do think about it, about your coworker who's been nothing but so sweet to you, who doesn't get on your nerves in under a millisecond. The coworker, Micheal, you think, his name finally returning to you, who doesn't tease you and play games and leave you a panting, needy, dripping mess. 

And while he is really such a perfect gentleman, he isn’t the one that’s been there for you, listening to you complain about all the shitty things that have happened to you in the last year. He isn’t the man that lets you use him as a punching bag whenever you’re frustrated, has never been the calm, reasonable voice that challenges the anxiety that overwhelms you and threatens to pull you under. 

Michael has never held you when you've cried, never helped you cook dinner after a hard day at work, never fixed the flickering light in your bathroom. He certainly has never dropped a key to his front door in your palm accompanied by a lopsided smile and the words just in case ya need anything. 

Michael isn’t the one who’s been the one to pick up your pieces and put you back together, so gently and tenderly, making you even better than you were before.

It's useless, trying to avoid it. Trying to push it down, bury it, ignore it, how you've been feeling and what you want. 

It’s Joel.

All of it. 

You want Joel. 

All of him. 

You've wanted him since the day you showed up on his porch with a six pack. You've wanted him all those times you watched from a distance as he fixed something in your house, so capable and competent, casually waving away your slew of thank yous. You wanted him every single time he invited you over for a movie night, sitting close enough to you on his couch that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. You wanted him every time he made your blood boil and your eyes roll so hard you swore you could see the back of your brain, and every time you genuinely thought you were going to smack him. 

And now, you have him.

Right here, naked and hard and underneath you, your pussy leaking on his thigh. 

The answer is so painfully obvious, the words falling from your lips before you even have a chance to process them.

"M'not gonna see him," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Want this. Want you."

Joel hums, indicating that he heard you. But again, he would never let you win that easily. 

"Speak up, baby," Joel says, releasing your nipple with a soft pop, his eyes dark and intense, a predatory, feral glint in them. "Can't hear you."

And it's infuriating and annoying, absolutely maddening. And it's the last straw.

You're not sure if it's the frustration, or the pent up desire, or the heat burning inside you, or the fact that Joel's still hard, and still leaking precum against your hip, as your cunt slides against his thigh, but you break.

You absolutely shatter.

"I want you!" you practically shout, hands balling into fists where they're resting on his shoulders. 

"You, okay? You! You and your stupid, fucking, annoying ass, and your dumbass pickup truck, and your stupid, charming grin, and the way you always call me 'baby', and 'honey', and 'sweetheart'. It drives me fucking insane!  And the way you're always fixing shit, and being so fucking helpful and sweet and you always, always make me laugh, and smile, and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by in the past year that I didn’t think about you and I can’t get you out of my fucking head, not even for a single fucking second.” 

The words spill from your lips in a breathless tirade, and it feels good, freeing. It's like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, like a great burden has been taken off of you. 

But the feeling doesn't last long.

Silence stretches between you and it's suffocating, oppressive, and you feel like the walls are closing in on you, panic rising in your chest.

Your cheeks burn, nauseating embarrassment and humiliation coursing through you as you realize the full weight of what you just word-vomited all over him. Your chest heaves, and you hang your head, unable to bring yourself to look at him.

But then, a bright laugh sounds through the otherwise quiet room. And your eyes snap to Joel's face, only to find him smiling.

He's fucking laughing.

"Joel!" you scold, a mixture of mortification and confusion washing over you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he placates, but the laughter in his voice doesn't help to ease your nerves. "I didn't mean to laugh, it's just...I just can't believe how dense you are."

The daggers you shoot at him are truly deadly. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think I just go around callin' everyone 'baby' and 'sweetheart'?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I..." you stammer, trailing off as his words sink in. 

"I mean, my southern charm is one thing,” he says, obnoxiously wiggling his eyebrows. “But you’re seriously thick if  you think I'm like this with anyone else.” 

You stare blankly at him, trying to process what he’s saying. 

“Do you think I let all the neighbors just use me for free handy work, think I cook dinner with all of them, think I keep a stash of everyone’s favorite snacks in my pantry, give everyone a fuckin’ key to my front door? And you think I just go around agreeing to sex lessons to anyone who asks?” He rambles, squeezing your hip. 

Your brain is reeling as you try to wrap your head around everything. 

"Well...no” you stammer, your brows pinching together.  “But…"

"How many other girls you seen me bringin' home? Huh? How many other girls you see me with?"

"None" you admit sheepishly.

"Mhm. Because I don't. Not since you moved in next door."

You frown, confusion clouding your features. You open your mouth to speak but Joel cuts you off.

"I like you, baby," he admits with a sigh. "A lot. Maybe too much. But I wasn't about to lose you as a friend just because I'm crazy about you. And if being your friend is the only way I can be close to you, then I'd take it and die a happy man."

You can only stare at him, the words he just spoke bouncing around in your brain, and a warmth blooms in your chest, your heart fluttering wildly in your ribcage.

"Are you kidding me?!" You exclaim suddenly, hitting his shoulder.

"Hey! Ow!" he barks, his eyes widening as he grabs his shoulder. "The fuck was that for?!"

"You've been trying to sleep with me for a whole year?!"

"I wouldn’t say trying," he says with a casual shrug. "Just waiting. Wanted you to take the lead but you’re a little stubborn, baby."

You scoff, glaring at him, not missing the way his lips twitch at the corners, the way his eyes sparkle with amusement.

"So, the reason why I haven't been able to catch a break the entire time we've known each other, has been because you've been trying to get in my pants? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Well, that part is just natural. You're just too easy to get riled up. And that’s not my fault."

You open your mouth to argue with him but his sliding over your hips to palm at your ass and his lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear, his beard scraping against the sensitive skin.

"But no, I can't deny that I like it," he rasps, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "The way you get all fired up and angry, your face all flushed, your chest heaving. Mmm, it's nice. You look real pretty when you're all worked up and pissed off," he whispers, his lips curled in a smile when he presses a kiss to the spot below your ear before pulling back to look at you. 

"Why didn't you tell me,” you say, voice softer now, the rough edges of your tone smoothed out by the feeling of his lips on your skin.

"Didn't want to make it weird. Didn't want you to think I was some creepy old man and ruin our friendship" he explains with a small shrug. "But then you came over here tonight askin’ for a sex lesson, which was not easy by the way, acting like I wasn't already about to burst outta my pants as soon as you asked. Thought for sure you were onto me. But then you started going on about that douche canoe Michael-"

"Joel."

"And then I got jealous and pissed, and figured it was time to cut my losses and just enjoy it while I can, but-"

"Joel."

"Then we were kissing and you were touchin’ me and you're so fucking sexy and-"

"Joel!"

"What?"

"Just kiss me, you idiot" you breathe, and before the words are even fully out of your mouth, his lips are on yours, crashing into you with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs.

It’s bruising, searing, all consuming.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass as he pulls you forward, the seam of your pussy dragging deliciously against the strong muscles under warm skin. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and tug, the base of your spine tingling when he groans softly into your mouth, and you grind your hips against his, the wet heat of your cunt grinding into his thigh, pulling another soft, low sound from his throat.

"Fuck" he groans, pulling away just far enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath coming in quick, sharp pants, his chest heaving. "Baby, are you still okay with this?" he breathes, voice ragged and gravelly.

You look at him as if he's grown a second head.

"Are you serious?"

""I...well, I was serious when I said I'd be fine with being your friend, and I don't want you to think I'm tryna pressure you into anything."

You can't help but roll your eyes, the soft, endearing side of Joel coming out at the worst possible time.

"I literally just admitted that I've had a crush on you for months, and now I'm sitting on your lap, soaked, and grinding on your thigh and you're worried I don't want this? I think you might be the dense one here."

He grins, wicked and wide, a flash of sharp teeth, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

"Guess so," he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

You don't respond, and instead choose to silence him by pulling him into a kiss, licking at the seam of his lips and sucking his tongue into your mouth. He groans softly into your mouth, and you swallow the noise, rolling your hips again, chasing the sweet friction that's sending a delicious heat through your veins.

"God, baby," he breathes when he pulls back for air, hands on your ass gripping and guiding you against his leg, encouraging your movements. "Makin' such a mess, ain't ya?"

You bite your lip, nodding as a wave of arousal surges through you.

"Yeah, you are. Soakin' my leg, sweet girl," he says, his eyes flicking down between you, watching as your pussy drags along his thigh, coating him in a shiny, slippery sheen.

"Fuck, Joel, please" you whine, your hips jerking and rolling against him.

And that's all the encouragement he needs.

In the blink of an eye, you're on your back, Joel hovering above you, a wild look in his eyes.

"Don't worry, baby," he says, his voice low and husky, and he trails his fingers over your hip and up your ribs, his touch light, teasing, barely ghosting across your skin and it's almost ticklish, making you shiver. "M'gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good."

Your heart thunders in your chest, and your cunt throbs, your arousal leaking out of you. It feels like you’re about to crawl out of your own skin, the desperation growing with every passing second. 

He trails his fingers down your sternum, and over the flat expanse of your stomach, goosebumps breaking out across your skin in his wake, the muscles under your skin rippling and twitching at the soft, fleeting touches.

And when he reaches the crease of your thigh, you let out a shaky, trembling breath, and he chuckles softly, his lips curling into a crooked grin.

"Eager, are we?" he teases, dragging his fingers over the slick flesh between your legs, gathering the wetness pooled there before slowly sliding a single thick digit inside you. "We're gonna get there, baby. But gotta make sure you're ready first. Don't wanna hurt you.”

You whimper, your walls fluttering and clenching around his finger, and your hips roll forward, seeking friction, wanting, needing more.

Joel curses under his breath and groans softly when your wet, warm walls constrict around his finger. His cock leaks and twitches where it’s pressed against your thigh, and you whimper, both of you caught up in an endless cycle of keying each other up. 

"Please, Joel" you beg, and the words come out soft, pleading, and desperate. You should probably be embarrassed at how quickly he's reduced you to a begging, quivering mess, but the way his eyes go dark, and his pupils blow wide, makes the embarrassment worth it.

"Please, what, baby?” He prods with a devilish smirk. “Use your words"

"You're such an asshole" you snap, but the venom in your voice is diluted with pleasure as he slips another finger inside you.

"You keep saying that. What d’ya want me to do about it, sweetheart? You want me to stop?" he taunts. 

"No!" you cry out, reaching down and grabbing his wrist with an iron grip when he starts to pull out. 

"Then tell me what you want, honey."

"Fuck you,” you mumble weakly. 

"Mhm. Okay, honey" he drawls,  his thumb moving  to circle around your clit as his fingers curl inside you, still pumping in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. . "I'll just wait then. Take my time. Tease your pretty little pussy until you can't stand it. I'm in no hurry, baby. Gonna take all night, if that's what it takes. I've waited this long."

"Joel, please" you whine again, the ache between your thighs turning to an unbearable burn.

"Tell me what you want,” he repeats casually. 

"You," you try with a needy whimper.

"Me? You got me, sweetheart. What else?"

“Oh my fucking god can you please just fuck me? Or do I have to spell it out for you, old man?"

"There she is," Joel says with a laugh, his grin splitting his face "There's my girl"

And then his fingers are gone and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But before you can protest much more,, they're sliding back in, this time joined by a third.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping him, nails digging into the soft flesh of his muscles.

"Oh fuck" you pant, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he starts pumping his fingers again. 

"Gotta get ya ready, baby" he breathes, and his lips are ghosting along your jawline and up the shell of your ear, his breath warm.  "Such a tight little pussy, but we'll get you nice and open, don’t worry.  Then I'm gonna sink in ya, fill you up real nice. Take real good care of you, baby. Fuck you nice and deep, make you forget your name. Would you like that? Hmm?"

A strangled moan is all you can manage in response. His words, filthier and more deranged than any you've ever heard him speak before, sending your brain into overdrive. 

You can’t help but roll your hips, and bucking, and gyrating, meeting his thrusts as his fingers pump in and out of you, the lewd, wet, sloppy sounds filling the otherwise quiet room, and the coil in your gut is threatening to snap.

"Joel, Joel, fuck, oh fuck" you chant, your hazy and thick with pure arousal. It drips down your spine and flows through your veins, liquid heat burning, searing, and  scorching you from the inside out. 

You manage to open your eyes long enough to look down and see the tendons flexing in his wrist, the muscles and veins in his forearm bulging as he works you, his face brows pinched in concentration as he focuses on your reactions. 

"Oh shit, honey," Joel curses breathlessly, a smug grin stretching across his lips as he feels your slick pooling in his palm. “So messy, baby. You gonna cum? Hmm? Gonna be a good girl and lemme feel your sweet little cunt clench and drip even more around my fingers?"

You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he thrusts his fingers into you, the heel of his palm rubbing deliciously against your clit. Your fingers scrabble for purchase, desperately seeking something, anything, to ground yourself. You settle for the firm muscle of his arms, your nails biting into his skin and leaving bright red marks that'll undoubtedly leave little half-moon bruises later

"Fuck, yeah, c’mon, sweetheart, lemme feel. Give it to me."

You come with a cry, the dam breaking, the tension in your gut exploding outward, a wave of euphoria crashing over you, washing through every inch of your body. Your legs tremble and shake, and Joel works you through it, his fingertips nudging that spongy spot inside you, dragging his thumb across your throbbing clit, milking you through the aftershocks, and when you start to come down, you're panting and breathless, your chest heaving.

You look up at Joel, and his eyes are blown wide, the deep, rich brown of his irises nothing more than a thin, dark ring around his dilated pupils. There are no words, at least none that you can manage to articulate at the moment, so instead you let out a breathless laugh, and a contented hum, a smile spreading across your lips.

Joel grins, laughing, and he leans down to capture your lips in a chaste kiss.

"Good girl" he breathes against your mouth, his words a low, rough rumble that has you keening. "That feel good, baby?"

"Fuck, yeah" you sigh, melting into the matress. 

"Good,” he says before pressing a kiss to your forehead then pulling back to look you in the eyes again. “ Think you're ready for me now?"

“Mhm,” you murmur with a lazy nod. “Want you, Joel.” 

Joel laughs, the sound sweeter than it’s ever sounded before.. "You've got me, sweetheart. You've had me. Always will."

"That's awfully fucking sappy," you tease breathlessly, threading your fingers into his soft dark hair. 

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me" he huffs, but the feigned offense is  betrayed by the way he’s positively beaming down at you.  "I'm about to give you the best fuckin' lay of your life, and here you are makin' fun of me."

"The best fuckin' lay of my life? I haven’t even had one lay. Don't exactly have anything to compare it to."

"Yeah, well, trust me. Best you're ever gonna get.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, raising a brow at him. 

"That’s some big talk, cowboy. Let's see if you can live up to that."

Joel barks out a laugh, the sound coming out more like a snarl, his eyes flashing with something feral, predatory, and dangerous at your challenge.

And then he’s abruptly pulling his fingers from you then  bringing them up to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the slick coating his fingers. The sight nearly puts you into cardiac arrest.

"So fuckin' sweet" he murmurs, his eyes slipping closed momentarily, and a low, satisfied hum rumbles in his chest. It's downright obscene, the way his lips wrap around his fingers, how he licks and sucks, cleaning your arousal off of them. 

"Joel," you breathe, your voice nothing more than a shaky exhale.

His eyes snap open, and he gives you a lopsided smirk. 

"Sorry, baby,” he starts, pulling his fingers from his mouth and wiping them on the blanket underneath you. “Can’t help myself. Just had to taste ya again. Gonna have a hard time not doing that every time,” he finishes with a sly smile. 

Every time. 

The words are like a shock of electricity shooting through your veins, setting your blood ablaze. Every time. As in multiple times. 

How the fuck is this real? 

He  stupid smirk is still glued to his face as he leans over to rummage around in the drawer of his nightstand. Your brows furrow when he pulls out a condom and goes to open it. 

"I...uh..." you start, but the words die in your throat.

"What's wrong?" Joel asks, his smug expression immediately morphing into one of concern.

"I...well...it's just, I'm- I'm on the pill… We can use a condom, but...it's not necessary…just wanted to put that out there. In case, you know…you didn't wanna use one. Since it's not...like, not entirely necessary,” you say quietly, casting your eyes down to where your fingers fiddle with the edge of the blanket. 

"Ahh, I see,” Joel responds, all too pleased. “You just want me to raw dog it, huh?” 

"Wha-no! Oh my god, Joel, you are so fucking embarrassing," you groan, covering your face with your hands. 

"S'okay, honey, don’t be embarrassed. It is all part of the full Joel Miller Experience anyway,” he reassures you with a sickeningly sweet tone.. 

"Oh my fucking god, I told you not to say that ever again,” you groan, shoving at his shoulder, which only makes him laugh. And you can feel yourself smiling too, despite how irked you are.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop," he relents, still laughing a little. "If you really don't want me to use one, I guess I can make an exception, just for you"

And it's as if he knows that you're about to lash out at him again, because he leans down and presses his lips to yours before you have a chance to say anything, all the fight in you draining away as soon as his mouth is on yours.

"You tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers when he pulls back. “Or if I do anything you're uncomfortable with, or if you just need a break. You let me know, okay?"

You nod.

"Promise?"

"I promise, Joel. Please just get on with it."

"Impatient" he breathes, but  kisses you again nonetheless, soft, slow, and tender. And when he pulls away, his eyes are searching yours like he's looking for any signs of hesitancy. But all he sees is the same raw desire reflected back in your wide, eager eyes. 

You see the exact moment that the last vestiges of his self-restraint disappear, his gaze growing darker and hungrier as he pushes himself up to sit back  on his knees, one  hand around the base of his cock, the other  on the inside of your thigh as he tenderly spreads you open and settles himself between your legs.

He teases you of course, dragging his length through your folds, letting the swollen, leaking tip catch on your clit before sliding back down to nudge at your entrance. You whimper, and try to grind against him, but his hand is firm, holding your hip still, not allowing you any friction.

He hushes you softly, his thumb gently stroking the soft, delicate skin where your hip meets your thigh. "Just let me do what I need to do, baby. Let me take care of you.” 

"You're evil," you whine, squirming underneath him.

"Yeah, well, that's a matter of opinion" he grunts, your breath hitching when he lines himself up and finally, finally pushes the blunt tip of his cock inside you.

Your lips part on a gasp, the feeling of his thick head stretching you open, the slight burn of the intrusion, a mixture of aching and pure pleasure. And you can feel his eyes practically burning holes in your skin, drinking in every little reaction, every flutter of your lashes, every twitch of your brow.

"How's that?" he asks, his voice tight and strained. He looks just as wrecked as you feel, his jaw tight, a sheen of sweat already on his brow, the muscles in his forearms bulging with the effort of restraining himself.

"More," is all you manage to rasp out, pushing your hips up, trying to get him to sink deeper.

Joel grunts, and then obliges, his eyes screwed shut in concentration as he tries to feed you only a little more of his considerable length. You can see him chewing on his lip, his nostrils flaring, a slight tremble in his thighs, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Jesus fuck, you're tight" he grits out, his chest heaving as he tries to regain some of his composure. "I-I didn't…fuck, I didn't think- shit. God fuckin' damn, baby"

You smile a little, the corners of your lips curling upwards. It's the first time you've ever seen him truly at a loss for words, and it's a very welcome change. 

You reach up and card your fingers through his hair, his eyes fluttering closed, a sweet sigh escaping his lips at the feeling.

"I can take more," you say softly.

Joel shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "Not yet."

But you don't listen. Not that you ever really listen to him. 

Your impatience gets the best of you and you push yourself further down the bed, forcing another inch of his cock inside you, your walls fluttering wildly around him as you let out a low moan. 

"Ah fuck, honey," he groans, his eyes flying open.

"C'mon, Joel. More. Please," you beg, grinding down on his cock, taking just a little bit more with each roll of your hips until his fingers dig into your hips so hard, you're sure they'll leave bruises.

"Baby stop fuckin' movin'" he hisses, his grip tightening even further. "Please."

You can hear the strain in his voice, and you can feel him trembling above you, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing and tensing.

"Why not?" you pout.

"Cause m'tryin' not to fuckin' come right now, alright?" he grunts, his teeth gritted. "So please, just stop. For a minute."

"You can't possibly be serious," you breathe, a smile creeping on your face again. "You're not even all the way in yet."

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing. "Not my fault you're fuckin' tight as shit. It's like your cunt is tryin' to strangle me."

You giggle a little, the sound coming out breathy and light. You don't miss the way Joel's cock twitches at the sound.

"You're being so dramatic," you sigh, rolling your hips again.

"Fuck, honey, please," he begs, his eyes pleading, and the sight is almost enough to make you stop teasing him.

Almost. 

You can't help the devilish smirk that crosses your face as you bring your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb across the stubble on his chin. He lets his eyes fall closed again, leaning into your touch. 

"This isn't very 'best lay your life' behavior."

"I will fuckin' strangle you," he mutters, his eyes still closed, a smile playing on his lips.

"Is that part of the Joel Miller Experience too? Because I don't remember seeing it in the brochure. Was it next to the premature ejaculation section? Or maybe the-"

The air is knocked right out of your lungs, cut off mid-sentence when Joel pushes forward. He keeps it slow but unrelenting, sinking into you in one smooth, fluid motion. You cry out, your back arching off the bed, eyes screwing shut as your fists twist in the blanket underneath you. 

It's more than overwhelming, it's absolutely mind melting the way he buries himself completely, stretching your walls, forcing them to make room for him, to mold perfectly around his length. You gasp for air between harsh pants and weak cries, the sensation of him filling you up, so much bigger than you expected, so much thicker than his fingers. You squirm underneath him, trying to get used to the feeling of his tip pressed against your cervix, the pressure building deliciously as the ache radiates from your core through your belly, to the tips of your toes.

"That what you wanted, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice strained and gruff, one hand still gripping your hip as he presses the other into the mattress by your head, holding himself up. "Is that enough for you?"

You struggle to find words, but you're not even sure if there are any in the English language that can convey just how good it feels.

"Uh-huh," you nod, blinking rapidly as the edges of your vision start to blur. "Fuck, Joel. You're so fucking big, oh my god."

You hear him chuckle, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Not too much though, is it? Cause you were begging for more just a second ago. Thought you could take it, sweetheart," he croons, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

"No, no, 'sgood, " you whimper, the words slurring together as he starts to grind into you. "F-fuck. Joel. Shit, that feels so good. Holy fuck.

"There's my good girl," he murmurs, pressing more kisses to your cheek and your jaw, trailing down the column of your neck. His lips brush against the sensitive skin, his breath hot against you. He lets you get used to the feeling, cursing under his breath and trying to think of anything else but the tight, wet heat convulsing around his cock.

"Doesn't hurt?" he asks with a sudden tenderness, his voice vibrating against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"No," you sigh, finally starting to relax around him.

"Good. You gonna let me know if it does, right baby? Or if you need me to stop?"

You nod weakly. "Mhm."

He kisses you then, a soft, languid, and lazy drag of his lips against yours. He slides his tongue along your lower lip, and you let him in without any hesitation, parting your lips with a breathy sigh. He takes the opportunity to swallow down every little sound that spills from your mouth, kissing you with a kind of reverence, a kind of tenderness, a kind of patience and passion that makes your heart feel like it might beat right out of your chest. 

He pulls away leaving you even more breathless and dizzy, your lips tingling and swollen. And you're not sure if it's because of the kiss or the way he's stretching you so fucking wide, but your fucking drunk on it. 

He kisses you once more, on the corner of your mouth, his lips curling up into a smile when you nuzzle against his cheek, seeking out more.

"You still with me, honey?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here," you answer, your voice sounding far away, distant and dreamy. Joel chuckles, the sound making you smile. 

"You wanna keep going, sweetheart? Or d'ya need a minute?"

"I'm good, I'm good," you assure him, trying to lift your hips a little. "You can...keep going."

"Alright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?"

You nod and then close your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath as Joel pulls out, just a little, his cock dragging along your walls. It's another wave of overwhelming sensation, your entire body shaking. But it's nothing compared to the feeling when he pushes back in. The same full, aching, almost painful stretch, except it's somehow even better this time, your walls gripping him tighter, pulling him in, trying to keep him there.

"Fuck, oh my god, oh my god," you cry, your breath catching in your throat, your eyes fluttering open to look up at him. "Oh, Joel, fuck."

He's hovering over you, his brows furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his arms, chest and stomach flexing and contracting as he moves above you.

"Good?" he asks, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, his eyes hooded.

You answer with a nod, followed by a long, low moan when he starts to slowly pull out again, pushing back in a bit faster this time. He builds a rhythm, the slick drag of his cock filling you up again and again, each thrust a little deeper, a little harder, a little faster.

"You're taking it so good," he pants, his hips snapping against yours with a particularly hard thrust, the force of which has you keening and crying out his name. Your walls clench around him, a gush of slick pouring out around his cock as you subconsciously try to pull him in even further.

"God you're so fucking tight, baby. Fuckin' soaked too, dripping all over me. Fuck. So fucking wet and perfect," he groans, his voice sounding strained, almost like he's in pain. "Such a good fucking girl."

You can't do anything more than just lay there and let him fuck into you, the sounds that spill from your lips a mix of moans, whimpers and desperate little cries. Your brain feels like mush, all thought processes reduced to a single loop of his name, your lips chanting it over and over.

And Joel's not much better, the only coherent words out of his mouth a string of praises, calling you his good girl, telling you how well you're taking him, how fucking tight you are, how heavenly you feel. His hands are everywhere too, caressing, stroking, kneading, squeezing, leaving no inch of your skin untouched.

He finds a steady rhythm and you know it's not nearly as hard as he could go, not by a long shot, but every thrust and drag of his cock hits you so deep and so hard, it's a miracle that you don't shatter beneath him. And the sounds, god the sounds are so obscene, the slapping of skin against skin, the wet, squelching noises of him pounding into your dripping cunt. It's a chorus of pure debauchery, music to both of your ears, only adding to the building pleasure. 

And just when you start to think that it can't possibly get any better, he hits a spot deep inside you that has your body bowing, a strangled cry tearing from your throat. You clamp down around him and he curses, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering for just a moment.

"There it is," he grunts, and you can hear the smug smirk in his voice, the absolute bastard. "Right there, huh? That the spot?"

He doesn't wait for you to answer, pulling almost all the way out, and then driving back into you, hitting the same spot dead-on. And you keen and wail, your body thrashing wildly as a new wave of ecstasy washes over you.

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, clawing at his back, digging your fingers into his shoulders.

"Yeah, I got ya," he husks, leaning down to suck and bite at the skin just below your jaw. He keeps pounding into that spot, making sure to hit it every damn time, and your vision starts to blur again, black dots dancing at the edge of your eyes.

You don't even realize you're about to come until it's crashing into you, a sudden and violent wave that threatens to tear you apart. And Joel can tell, from the way you start to shake, the way your walls are clamping down around him, the way your legs lock around his waist, and the way you're desperately gasping for air, that you're right there.

"There you go, sweetheart," he coos. "You're so fucking close aren't ya? I can feel it. You gonna come on my cock? Huh?Gonna let me feel that tight little pussy coming all over me?"

"Oh god, Joel," you sob, tears welling in your eyes, his words alone pushing you even closer.

"I know, honey. I know. Just let go, baby. C'mon, that's it. You can do it."

And then he's snaking a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing rough, tight circles against the swollen bud, and the pleasure reaches its peak, the coil in your belly snapping, sending you careening off the edge. Stars burst behind your eyelids as the most intense, powerful orgasm of your life tears right through you. Every muscle in your body tenses and contracts, the rush of blood roaring in your ears as white-hot bliss erupts throughout every fiber of your being, your walls pulsing wildly, gushing slick around his cock.

He's there with you every step of the way, murmuring praise in your ear, fucking into you and grinding his cock against your cervix, prolonging your orgasm, extending it for what feels like an eternity. And then you're boneless, spent, and helplessly limp, barely aware of the way he's still rutting against you.

"So good, baby," he rasps, his voice sounding wrecked and broken. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

And then you feel him start to swell and his thrusts become erratic and you know he's right there with you, teetering on the edge, ready to fall. A few more pumps of his hips, his pace frantic and uncoordinated before he pushes himself back up on his knees and pulls out of you with a hiss. He jerks himself for half a second before spilling all over your belly and your cunt, hot, thick ropes of cum splashing against your skin. He grunts and hisses through clenched teeth, a few last drops spilling out onto your pussy, his cock throbbing against you.

You feel completely and utterly destroyed, every part of your body buzzing and tingling, still trembling. And your head feels stuffy and foggy, a hazy, peaceful kind of bliss settling deep in your bones.

Joel slumps down next to you, breathing heavy, a low, rumbling groan escaping his lips. You glance over at him, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He's a sweaty, disheveled mess, and the sight makes your heart ache and swell, a rush of warmth flooding through your body.

He notices you looking at him and turns his head to meet your gaze, his own satisfied smile matching yours. You can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of your throat and spilling past your lips in a breathy giggle. Joel's smile spreads even wider, his eyes sparkling.

"What's so funny?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbow and rolling onto his side.

"Nothing, I just," you giggle again, and it's almost a hysterical kind of laugh, a nervous kind of relief flooding through your body. "That was…"

Joel chuckles, brushing a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers trailing across your forehead.

"Yeah, it was," he says, his voice a low rumble.

"And I…I just really like you, Joel. A lot. I don't know. I guess I'm just happy."

His face softens and he stares at you for a moment, his expression so fond and tender that you forget how to breathe for a moment. He leans down and kisses you, his lips gentle and warm before he pulls away. 

"I guess I like you too," he murmurs, his signature smirk playing on his lips. "I dunno about a lot, but-"

"Shut up, you ass" you giggle, slapping his shoulder. "I'm trying to have a moment."

He hums delightedly and presses another kiss to your forehead."M'kay, you have your moment. I'm gonna clean you up, alright?"

You pout but let him go, letting the afterglow of your climax envelop you until he returns a moment later with a warm wet cloth. His touch is tender, gently cleaning between your legs and then wiping the cum from your belly. You're still shaking, every touch sending little aftershocks through your body.

"So," he starts, tossing the cloth into the corner of the room before looking at you expectantly. "Best lay of your life?"

You laugh, your heart bursting at the seams, your cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so hard. 

"Not even close."

Thank you for reading!! I apologize in advance for any errors I do not enjoy editing!!

tagging those who asked and who might be interested:

@shewantstoknow @pedritoferg @khindahra @wand-erer5 @akah565 @thereaperisabitch @first-edition @lilyevanstan1325 @lovelyjess69 @elliesswearjar @iloveenya @harriedandharassed @c2ss1e @paleidiot @starry-eyes-love @lola8888673 @saguchiya @milla-frenchy @cayleejz @missyorkswhore @farrowroyale @abbyandersonsragdoll @glimmering-darling-dolly @katiexpunk @worhols @thecasualnope @ahintofkiwistrawberry @lulawantmula @sawymredfox @prismaticpizza @serenadingtigers @venturawriter @kyloispunk @millercontracting @jjhayhay20 @bitchesuntitled @bean-is-reading @lvl-2005 @kamcrazy123 @covetyou @survivingandenduring @pinkiec6-rubi @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @pedroshotwifey @perfectlyfreeanalyst @plsdontmisfire @lokigonnakmsforbucky @kr-ickl3

I will not tag ageless/faceless (no pfp) blogs. If you asked to be tagged and weren't you either did not have an age/pfp or Tumblr wouldn't let me :(

[barleyo]

BARELYYYYY write another daddy Leon fic, AND MY LIFE WILL BE YOURSSS

867-5309.

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: this fic is shitty and short, sorry ^_^ i literally have no drive or desire to write anymore, idk what's going on with me. probably some type of brain worm! but i thought i should at least try to get something written :3 (ily whoever knows what song the title is referencing)

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), phone sex, age gap (21 and 50-ish), mutual masturbation, no actual sex, idk dude i'm not sure what i was going for with this

Wordcount: 719

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

"Little note wasn't lying," Leon said into his phone, sitting in his car near the back of the bar's mostly empty parking lot. "What's this about a good time, doll?"

It was too late for him to be out like this. Too late for him to be this far from sober. Too late for him to be calling some random number that was stuck to the urinal partition. And, of course, it was much too late for him to be this horny.

"Depends," a voice, your voice, spoke on the line. "What kinda night is it, mister?"

Thank god he was drunk, or else he would've heard right through your overly sensual, fake tone. Thank god you were stupid, or else you would've known it was him right from the sleazy nicknames he used.

"Tonight?" 

Dirty fucking man. His hands were practically already in his pants. Roughly palming at himself over his tented jeans to the sound of some mystery broad's voice. 

"It's a real good night, babydoll. I think you could make it better though." He pulled his zipper down, cock pulsating desperately. 

You giggled on the other line, absolutely drowning in the sudden flush of attention. That's why you slipped the damn sticky note with your burner's number into the men's room all those nights ago, hoping some horned up man old enough to be your dad would ring your line and validate you. Little did you know, that man would truly be your dad. 

"Sounds like you could use it. I don't mind 'chatting' for a bit," you said, hand finding its way all over your body. "Tell me, y'touching yourself already?"

"To a voice like yours? Of course I am."

Leon freed himself from the confines of his pants, eyes shifting anxiously as he looked around the sparse parking lot. He was a grown man, he'd jerked off to hotlines and voices on the phone all the time. In public, though? New territory completely. 

He squeezed his shaft, feeling it pulse in his hand. Thing had a heartbeat of its own at that point as it practically begging to catch some friction and relief. 

"Glad you called," you said, sliding your panties off while you spoke. You tossed them in the corner of your room mindlessly. "I've been waiting for someone to find that little note."

Leon opened his mouth to respond when he heard a soft moan escape your mouth. That was enough for him to start. He wanted to take it slow, to enjoy himself, but who was he kidding? He was a needy fucker and he wanted to cum ASAP. 

"What'cha doing right now?" he was finally able to ask, swallowing thickly as he pumped his length. "Using those cute fingers, doll?"

You hummed through an over exaggerated moan, dramatizing and putting on a show for your 'mystery man.' 

"Sure am," you said, finger curled, reaching your g-spot the best you could with the limited length it had. "But it's not as good as the real thing."

He could practically hear the pout in your voice, and it drove him crazy. You sounded like a bratty little baby, just his type. 

"Awh, aren't you a poor thing? Bet some older cock would do you good, huh?" 

He heard the squelch of your cunt through the phone speaker. It picked up the sound of your palm hitting your clit, and the little gasps of air you let out each time you slammed your fingers in.

"Guess so." You bit your bottom lip, holding back an excited squeal at his words. "You offering?" 

Leon chuckled dryly, watching the tip of his cock weep with pre as he stroked himself. "Oh, someone's eager. Sure," he said, amused smirk on his face as he started to near his climax, hand still working furiously over his cock. "I'm offering. I could use a cute thing like you, anyway. It'll be much better than just hearing ya through the phone."

"We'll see about that," you teased, phone clicking off of the line just as he started to cum. 

(XXX)-867-5309: *sent location* 

(XXX)-867-5309: pull up ;)

Wait, that address? That was his house...

"Fuck."

Leon's head fell back on the car seat headrest, brain going a mile a minute. Hand still covered in stray spurts of cum.

"Fuck!"

[authorhjk1]

Teaching their hoebae the “real” side of the industry. They heard rumors of you making your “rounds” through different idols around your age/generation. And decided they want to see what the fuss was all about. “You’ve fucking all these cute girls trying to act like grown women. So why don’t I show you what a real woman can do with a beautiful cock like this”

You guys send me so many great ideas for SNSD, so I just had to get at least this one off my chest. This got way out of hand, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Sunbae

(Choi Sooyoung X Male Reader)

"Oh god, yes!"

Ningning's voice echoes through the changing room as you take her from behind.

You usually don't meet other idols that often, since you are in boy group that is mostly keeping to itself within the industry. Your own practice room, your own schedules, your own recording studio and so on. For the last three years, your group has taken Korea and the rest of the world by storm, so you do deserve this special treatment.

And there are more benefits. For example, being very popular with the female idols. Especially the ones your age. They all have busy schedules themselves, so there is no time for boyfriends. You are happy to help out though. Between schedules, you enjoy the company of Korea's most beautiful idols. You remember Wonyoung from three weeks ago. She is insanely pretty and the sex was great. The only downside is your own busy schedule. Not enough time to actually become proper fuck buddies with one if the girls, your schedules mostly conflicting.

But not on a day like this. The company got a great deal with a clothing brand. A big deal. And that's why a lot of idols are here, at this photoshoot location.

Just like you and Ningning.

"Right there, please!"

She cries out again as you hold her by her waist, her upper body resting atop the makeup table.

"And now turn right, please!"

You do as you are told, barely hearing the director's voice over the shutters of the cameras.

Your group already finished it's photoshoot half an hour ago. Your individual shoot is coming to an end too. Not knowing who it is, you are still waiting for your partner for the next couple of photos.

Since your agency isn't the only one now signed with the brand, you are not completely surprised, when you see that the idol approaching you is from another company.

"Hello, sunbae."

You bow respectfully. Trying not not stare. Choi Sooyoung. From SNSD. You can't believe your luck. Your favorite girl group. And Sooyoung herself. In that dress. You have to stop yourself, before you start drooling.

"Hello. (Y/n) is it, right?"

"Yeah."

You smile back at her, honored that she knows your name. The two of you haven't met before.

"I've heard a lot about you."

Her smile is genuine, but you could swear, her eyes are trying to tell you something. Like a secret. A secret only the two of you know.

"I'm honored."

You bow again, before turning towards the camera again. Wanting to hide your nervousness, you try to be professional.

The two of you just stand next to each other for a couple of shots at the beginning. Sooyoung, in that gorgeous, pink, shoulder less dress and golden heels and you, black suit, black vest, and a burgundy tie, which matches the red watch on your wrist.

Eventually, you find yourself holding onto her waist, while Sooyoung's hand rest on your right shoulder. It's only show of course. Trying to be respectful, you don't actually touch her, your hand just above the pink fabric.

She takes a couple of shots alone with the chair, your leader sat on during your group's shots. Afterwards, you take your place on that chair, while Sooyoung lifts her leg. You are captivated by its length and smoothness for a moment, until you feel her heel, slightly digging into your thigh.

A couple of camera shutters later, Sooyoung places her hand on her knee, bending forward. You are very aware of the fact that, with one look in the right direction, you would be seeing something that would keep you up all night. Instead, you stay focused on the camera.

"Now, (y/n)! Please place your hand on Sooyoung's thigh! Sooyoung, put your hand on his head!"

She does what she is told, immediately. You hesitate for a moment.

"You can touch me."

You look at her face for the first time in a while. Then you nod, wrapping your hand around her warm thigh.

"You are cute when you are being respectful."

You bite your lip, hoping the heat in your cheeks won't show in the photos later on.

"Just like that!"

The two of you look into the camera, until Sooyoung drops her first bomb on you.

"Don't look into the camera. Look straight ahead."

"What?"

In her position, she is almost pushing her chest into your face and now she asking you to look?

"Trust me. It's gonna come out great. Plus, you can see it as a reward. For making me look so good next to you in those pictures."

You gulp, debating internally, if you want to put your career on the line or not. But the temptation quickly proves to be too much. You only glance at her cleavage once, her smooth skin tempting you to lean in closer. You eventually do turn your head.

But instead of staying in place, Sooyoung suddenly changes position. Her lower body stands still. She removes her hand from your head and places her elbow on her naked knee, her chin now resting on her bend pointer finger and middle finger, as if she is thinking about something. You could still look at her cleavage if you wanted to, but now, Sooyoung's eyes are on the same level as yours.

And you can't escape her gaze. The camera crew gives you two applause and complements for your amazing chemistry, but you barely hear them. Sooyoung stares into your eyes, into your body, into your soul. You don't even dare to breathe, yet alone bluntly stare at her chest.

"Bad boy. Did you just try to look at your noona's tits?"

Your head starts spinning as if you have been dancing for ten hours straight. What is going on? You do, what you do best in these kind of situations, when you don't know what to do. Try to be funny.

"I didn't know I already have noona privileges."

You do make her chuckle as you point out her slip up. She just indirectly offered you a less formal way of talking with her.

The unwavering, sexy look she had put on, turns into a loving smile.

"From what I hear, you already have your fair share of privileges."

Her teasing and her overall sexy look makes it difficult for you to not become hard in public. A taks that proofs to be very difficult to pull off.

For everyone outside your little bubble, it must look like the two of you changed your concept from seductive strangers, to loving couple.

Unbeknownst to them, Sooyoung keeps talking in that voice of hers, sweet honey seems to be dripping from her lips.

"Do you enjoy your privileges so far?"

You are not slow, when it comes to thinking. And you desperately hope that your guess is correct. That Sooyoung isn't talking about actual privileges anymore.

"I-I do."

You can't help but let a shaky breath escape your lips. This is too good to be true.

"Oh, really?"

Sooyoung seems genuinely surprised.

"You don't care for noona privileges, then?"

She almost sounds hurt.

Like a well oiled machine, Sooyoung changes her position again, without even waiting for directions. A true model to outsiders. A skilful seductress to you.

She spins around and sits down on your right thigh. Instinctively, you reach for her waist, but hesitate, not knowing if you should touch her or not.

"Since you're my hoobae, I expect you to do as I say, from now on."

She suddenly sounds cold. And since you can't see her face anymore, you're afraid that you just blew your one and only chance of getting intimate with Choi Sooyoung.

But your worries of missing out are quickly replaced by new ones as she takes your hand and places it on top of her dress. But not around her waist, where you first intended to put it. Your palm rests on the hem of her pink one piece, your fingertips touching her upper thigh, which is draped over her left one. You are aware that only that piece of fabric and a couple of centimeters separate you from her core.

Eventually, your personal torture ends. The crew thanks the two of you for your hard work, promising you that your pictures will captivate the world, thanks to your chemistry.

You find it a little over the top, but you don't have the energy, or will, to argue.

"Come."

Sooyoung tells you, after saying goodbye to the staff. You walk after her, heading towards your changing room. But you never make it there. In the middle of the small hallway, Sooyoung turns around. Her arms now crossed in front of her body, she looks you up and down.

"Did you have fun with Ningning, earlier?'

You are stunned and visibly embarrassed.

"Well, I did hear her having fun, but I'm wondering about you. How often did she make you cum?"

"S-Sunbae... I-"

"Oh please. Don't play innocent. I heard about you more than I should've."

"Y-You did?"

You thought she was referring to your group's music, when she first said that an hour ago.

"Yes. I can even tell you their names, if you don't believe me. You seem to be leaving behind quite the impression."

"N-No I-I'm good, thanks."

Sooyoung ignores you with ease.

"Huh Yunjin, Shin Yuna,..."

You close your eyes in embarrassment, while she keeps counting with her fingers.

"...Baek Jiheon, Jang Wonyoung, Ningning..."

Sooyoung's eyes move from her fingers to you.

"You are going through these girls, like they go through their shoes, playboy."

"I-It's not like that."

What kind of stupid defense is that?

"Oh really? All these young girls seem to fall so easily for your tricks, is it that?"

"Sunbae, please..."

Sooyoung chuckles.

"Have you even been with a proper woman before?"

You get what she means. Someone older than yourself. You shake your head.

Sooyoung shakes her head in disappointment.

"Those girls are inexperienced themselves. How could they take care of my hoobae properly?"

She takes a step closer, slightly tilting her head as if she is trying to figure out what you could be possibly seeing in those girls.

"You've been fucking all these cute girls acting like grown women. So why don't I show you what a real woman can do with that big cock of yours?"

A wave of pleasure and anticipation rushes down your spine. For a brief moment, you wonder why Sooyoung would call you big, specifically. But you see her glancing down, biting her lip. You do the same, realizing that you have a hard on. You don't know for how long already.

Without waiting for an answer, Sooyoung reaches forward, cupping your cock over your pants

"I like the feeling of that. Maybe it's not only tricks you have going for you."

She gives you a quick peck on the lips, a cheeky smile playing around hers.

"I want a proper taste of you. All these rumors I hear sound way too exaggerated."

"Wait, sunbae. I-"

"Shush."

Sooyoung glares at you. Instead of her lips, her finger is now sealing your lips.

"You thought you were sleeping with all the female idols, right?"

You give her a weak nod.

"You are so naive. I'm gonna show you the real side of this industry."

You expect another kiss, when Sooyoung leans towards you. Instead, your lips only graze hers as she makes you miss, heading straight for your ear.

"Let me give you some senior advice, hoobae."

She nibbles on your earlobe for a second, before she continues to whisper into your ear.

"When someone offers you noona privileges, you take them."

Sooyoung takes your face into her hands, now looking at you again.

"Because real women like me, know what a boy like you wants."

She leans forward once again. Your lips barely touching hers as she keeps talking.

"We have what you need."

A moan almost escapes your lips.

Sooyoung pulls away, giving you a victorious smile.

"Follow me."

You do as she says and soon find yourself inside a spacious kitchen. Way bigger than your dressing room. Probably for the staff, if they have to work here the whole day.

"Isn't this kinda public?"

Sooyoung rolls her eyes. In that moment, you promise yourself not to say anything stupid ever again. She almost looked terrifying.

"Lesson one, playboy."

She placed her hands on the counter, slightly leaning over it. It takes an incredible amount of self control to not glance at her cleavage.

"Learn how to take a blowjob."

"What?"

You are mentally not quite there yet. You are still trying to figure out, how you went from a simple photoshoot to this.

"What do you-"

Sooyoung cuts you off with a gesture, motioning for you to come closer. Following her order, you find yourself trapped between the older woman and the countertop behind you.

"You are asking, what do I mean?"

You swallow your reply.

"I mean, that you have to learn how it feels like to receive proper head. We don't want you to cum too quickly."

Sooyoung leans in. Instead of kissing you, she tilts her head, kissing your neck.

"You see..."

Her words are interrupted by another kiss.

"Your noonas know how to worship cock. We know how important your pleasure is."

Sooyoung now moves towards your lips, leaving a trail of kisses behind.

"Now, try to hold on."

She whispers against your lips, before giving you a quick but deep kiss that leaves you breathless.

You watch in amazement as Sooyoung lets her finger wander from your cheek to your chin, along your throat, past your chest, until she reaches the hem of your shirt. At the same time, she lowers herself further and further, until she is squatting in front of you.

With a lustful look in her eyes, Sooyoung holds your stare as she opens your pants, without having to look at them. They glide down your legs and a moment later, you feel her give your clothed cock a kiss.

"Not half bad for a boy."

Sooyoung licks her lips, before she slowly pulls down your underwear.

"Hmmm."

Her warm breath plays around your cock as she hums in satisfaction.

"Girls your age don't know how to appreciate a dick like this."

Sooyoung closes her eyes, savouring the first taste of your cock as she lets her tongue glide over your tip. She follows that up with a couple of quick kisses along your shaft, before placing her tongue at your base. Your breath hitches as she drags her tongue along the underside of your cock.

"You really are blessed. It tastes amazing."

Sooyoung purrs, before finally opening her mouth wider. You bite your lip, watching how she slowly moves forward, her mouth around your cock without touching it. Once she reaches the second half of your length, Sooyoung finally closes her mouth around your cock, her lips forming an airtight seal.

"Oh, god."

You groan out, your head rolling back.

She starts to let her lips glide along your shaft as she pulls back, her tongue pressing against it from underneath. Once she reaches your tip, her tongue swirls around it, before she starts to take you into her mouth again.

Sooyoung doesn't stop doing these motions. Back and forth. Her head moves back and forth. Her lips glide along your shaft, back and forth. Her tongue drags along the underside of your shaft, back and forth.

Your knuckles quickly turn white as you hold onto the countertop behind you. Sooyoung is doing this at a way slower pace than all of the girls you've been with so far. She visibly enjoys sucking you off. You can tell by how her eyes are closed. How a slight smile plays around her lips. How she slightly hums around your cock, whenever she is about to take you in again.

It becomes harder and harder for you to keep your composure. There is no way in hell you're gonna last much longer. You try to tell her that, but your words are suddenly stuck in your throat, when Sooyoung decides to up her game even more.

You are now forced to take heavy breaths as the woman in front of you takes more of your cock. She glides further down you length than before. And soon, you realize that you've hit the back of her throat.

"Oh, shit."

You can't help but groan as the muscles of her throat flex around you. The act makes her throat squeeze you even more than before. Sooyoung slowly retreats, this time only halfway, before she pushes forward again.

"S-Sunbae."

You groan again, wanting to tell her to stop. If this is only the appetizer and you actually have a chance of feeling her pussy around you, you don't want to blow this. No pun intended.

Sooyoung does eventually listen to your warnings, feeling your cock throbbing in her throat. She leans back, until your tip only rests on her parted lips. She lets it fall off. Now, only a string of saliva connects her lips with your cock.

"That was..."

You can't find the right words.

"Good?"

Sooyoung shoots you a mocking grin.

"Good."

You repeat after her as you try to hold onto the feeling you just experienced.

"Judging from your reaction, these girls don't know how to take a cock down their throats. "

You weakly shake your head, confirming her assumption.

"A shame."

She mumbles to herself, before wrapping her hand around your cock.

"Time for lesson two, then."

Sooyoung stands back up again, her face inches away from yours.

"Learn to be patient. Older women don't like quick and meaningless wild sex. They like to take their time."

She pushes you towards your left, signaling you to sit down on the chair that is standing in the corner. After having done so, you watch Sooyoung stepping in front of you, before leaning down, her hands rest on your knees.

"This is also the perfect time for you to recover. Don't rush into this. Let me take the lead and enjoy the show."

Sooyoung puts her heel onto your thigh again, just like during the photoshoot. Except this time, she puts her finger on the top if her foot and slowly starts to drag it upwards. You watch it move along her smooth skin. Once it reaches her knee, Sooyoung speaks again.

"Learn to appreciate a woman's body. How it looks, how it feels and how it responds to your touch."

She reaches down again to take your hand. Slowly your fingers move up her leg and past her knee. Her thigh feels incredible as you explore more of her body. You eventually reach the hem of her dress. Before you can even try to push further, Sooyoung swats your hand away. In a swift motion, as if she is dancing to an inaudible tune, she lifts her foot off your thigh and spins around.

Her back is now facing you. Sooyoung raises her hands and then, slowly, lets them travel down the sides of her body. At the same time, she sways her hips seductively, until her hands reach her waist. She slightly bends forward as they run over her ass.

You almost reach out to grab a handful of her cheeks. But Sooyoung now lowers herself and sits on your lap. Her ass slightly grinds against you. She reaches behind herself, finding the back of your head, before forcing you to lean it forward. Your lips land on her naked shoulder and you start to kiss her skin. Thanks to the angle, you finally have a clear view of her cleavage for the first time. No bra, you notice. The dress seems to be tight enough to keep her breasts in place by itself.

Sooyoung must've caught you staring somehow, because she now place another finger on her collarbone. Her pink nail glides over skin, eventually reaching the upper hem of her dress. She hooks her finger into it, slowly pulling it down.

Just enough to make you drool, without revealing everything.

Sooyoung seems to have enough of your kisses. She gets off your lap and turns around again. While maintaining eye contact, she hooks both her thumbs into her dress on either of her sides. Sooyoung starts to strip in front of you. When she is about to free her tits entirely, she leans forward and lets them fall out of her dress. You watch with a dry mouth, unable to say a word.

She wiggles her hips as she gets the rest of the dress off, until she is standing completely naked in front of you. Her pink dress a pile of cloth around her ankles. She steps out of it and towards you.

"Good boy."

She straddles your lap again. Your cock is now resting on her stomach at the hight of her belly button.

"Lesson three."

Sooyoung reaches down to slowly stroke your cock. Her other hand grazes your cheek, before she lets it rest on your shoulder.

"Be a good fuck toy for your noona. Trust me, I know how to ride you so well, that you pass out from the pleasure."

She gives you another kiss on the lips, before she lifts herself off your lap.

"And feel free to explore a real woman's body."

With that, Sooyoung aligns her pussy with your cock. She slowly sinks back down.

"Oh, god!"

You immediately groan.

"Fuck!"

Even Sooyoung lets out a loud moan.

"You feel way bigger than before."

She now places the other hand on your shoulder as well, only your tip resting inside of her right now. That changes, when Sooyoung slowly lowers herself further. Looking down, you watch more and more of your cock disappear inside of her.

"Were you even able to fit all of this into your cute little girls?"

Despite her mocking tone, you can tell that Sooyoung is struggling. She stops for a couple of seconds halfway down, before she eventually keeps going.

When she does reach your base, her eyes roll to the back of her head.

"Damn, I can feel your cock push my organs out of the way."

Before you are able to reply, Sooyoung starts to lift herself off of you again. When only your tip remains inside her core, she lowers herself back onto you.

You grit your teeth at the pleasure and you remember what Sooyoung told you earlier. Your hands start from her hips. They move across her midriff and sides, until they reach her tits. You begin to grope them, while Sooyoung keeps her slow pace. Maybe you are a little too much to handle. Even for her.

Her soft skin underneath your palms and her tight pussy around your cock send spikes of pleasure through your system. When Sooyoung finally does get used to your size, she starts to ride you, just like she promised.

Her pace increases with every other thrust. A minute or so later, she is bouncing on your cock, a satisfied smile on her face. You lean forward to catch one of her nipples with your mouth, which makes her moan.

Sucking on her tits, you enjoy the ride Sooyoung is giving you. Once in a while, she changes it up a little. Instead of constantly impaling herself on your cock, she occasionally stays glued to your hips. She would then move hers in a circle motion, making your dick rub against all kind of places inside of her.

Sooyoung alternates between both styles of riding, making sure you are on a steady way towards your orgasm. But you manage to catch her off guard with how well you suck on her tits. Sooyoung moans more and more, never having expected you to be this good. She doesn't lose her rhythm, but it's obvious she is beginning to struggle to keep it together.

"Yes, keep sucking on them! Good boy!"

She praises you, while her hips smash down onto yours. You can't tell how long it as been, but Sooyoung's prediction might actually become true. Her pussy keeps draining your composure out of you. Whenever she circles her hips, your legs quiver. Your hands have found their way back to her waist by now. You are squeezing her sides, trying to not lose grip on reality.

Sooyoung is in no better condition. Your cock keeps hitting just the right spots. Whenever she impales herself on your cock, she can feel it push upwards against her guts, forcing the air out of her lungs. Eventually, she can't take it anymore. Only able to grind herself on top of you, back and forth, she becomes a mess in your lap, while you keep sucking on her breasts.

"Ah, fuck! (Y/n)!"

She didn't call you by a nickname for the first time in quite a while. Her pussy pulsates around you, trying to make you orgasm too. Her nails dig into your shoulders, probably leaving stinging marks behind. Sooyoung shivers and shakes on top of you.

Once she finally does come down, she gives you a lustful stare.

"Not bad, playboy."

She captures your lips with hers. You instinctively wait for her to announce another lesson.

"Last lesson."

There it is.

"Learning how to cream pie your sunbaes."

"Cream pie?"

"You heard me the first time."

Sooyoung bites her lip and resumes her riding.

You've never done this before, for obvious reasons. Your career, the other idol's career and so on and so on. But now, she isn't really giving you much of a choice. And it's not like you're complaining. Every fan would dream of having a chance to cream pie Choi Sooyoung.

That dream becomes reality a couple of minutes later.

"Oh, god! Sunbae!"

Now it's your turn to shout out her name. Well, at least the formal version of it. Your heels dig into the floor, you thrust upwards into her waiting pussy. And then, you start to fill her up.

A deep moan rolls off Sooyoung's tongue as she feels herself getting cream pied by someone way younger than herself. Your warmth enters her stomach and she makes sure that nothing of your precious cum escapes, by not moving at all.

"You did a great job, playboy. You are a fast learner."

After her praise, Sooyoung gives you a curious look.

"How many more rounds do you have in you? I won't be leaving this place, until I've made sure that you are taken care of properly."

She leans down to kiss you again, her tongue dancing with yours for a while.

"And there is one more thing older women do, that younger girls don't."

After breaking the kiss, Sooyoung whispers into your ear again.

"Swallow."

[tthoroughfare]

kerosene (part 2) // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the one where she breaks up with cat.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 0.8k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

I AM ENJOYING WRITING THIS SO MUCH i literally don't want them to get together because i just love yearning so much sighhh. i'm already up to the part where things finally happen and i know i'm gonna end up posting those, then going back and writing little extra parts to slot in where they're still friends. anywayyy hope you enjoy <3

something about the conversation makes ellie deliberate for weeks. it was the way you’d spoken about your relationship just not feeling ‘right’, the way she couldn’t really verbalize anything she felt like she should say about cat. she doesn’t know if she’s just overthinking everything. cat’s great. sure, she can’t see herself spending the rest of her life with her, but she makes her happy. they have fun. they have things in common. she feels like she starts to make a mental list of all the reasons they’re together, analyzing the relationship, analyzing her own feelings. she can’t shake the notion that now they’re settled in, the excitement of newness gone, she, too, feels like something isn’t ‘right’.

she hopes it just goes away on its own. but when just over a month passes and nothing has changed, she knows she has to just do it. 

it starts off as a regular day; she meets cat at a spot they frequent, stomach churning at the anticipation. she wants to just rip the band-aid off, but she can’t. the words won’t come out. she flounders around for a while, talking about nothing, knowing full well cat can tell something’s up. finally, when she straight up asks her why she’s being weird, she just comes out and says it. she wants to break up.

of course, she feels awful. cat’s confused, and crying, and asking all kind of questions ellie can’t really express any answers to. she’s upset about it, too. but she just knows in her heart it’s for the better.

it’s cemented when she’s walking back home, realizing she feels a little lighter.

she sees you properly again about a week later, when there’s an event in jackson. she really wasn’t planning on going, not wanting to risk seeing cat (not wanting to have to interact with anyone, pretty much), but dina had convinced her, saying she ‘can’t lock herself away forever.’

she walks in late, party already in full swing, and immediately spots you in the corner chatting to jesse. you haven’t actually spoken in a few weeks, just a greeting when you saw each other out and about, but you seem happier than you were before. she kicks herself mentally when she finds herself hoping it’s not because you’ve found someone new.

she awkwardly hovers around, getting herself a drink and sipping it, people watching. these things were never her idea of a great time.

after about ten minutes, dina appears at her side, visibly tipsy. “what the hell are you doing?” she asks playfully, gesturing at the room full of people. “you’re a single woman now, c’mon. get out there.”

ellie pulls a face, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her drink. “yeah, that's definitely my style.”

dina lets out a short, exasperated sigh, taking ellie by the wrist and tugging her across the room, towards you and jesse. “at least socialize. you’re all… weird. more than usual.”

“oh, shut up,” she retorts lowly, but allows herself to be hauled over to the two of you. her stomach flutters slightly when she gets a proper look at you; you’re a little more done-up than normal, eyes sparkling in the warm light as you greet her.

she doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or something else, but that night is the first time things start to feel explicitly different. on one hand, it’s similar to how it was before — the odd pleasantness dissipated in the air. it feels more like a real friendship again, rather than two people dancing around each other. but on the other, something just feels… new.

she actually ends up having a really good time. she spends the majority of the night with you, drinking more than you both probably should, conversation flowing easily. and when it’s over, she insists on walking you home, despite you saying dina’s staying the night and you weren’t going to be alone anyway.

she just shrugs and smiles.

on the short walk back, dina’s chatting your ear off, thoroughly drunk, but you can’t really focus on anything she’s saying. not just because of the fuzzy feeling in your head, but because of the way you’re so, so aware of ellie’s presence. you’re walking in between them, noticing the way she seems to gravitate towards you, swaying away slightly, then back in. you cross your arms, not wanting to accidentally brush against her, not really understanding why.

she lingers at the door when you get home, dina heading straight in and kicking her shoes off, flopping down on your couch.

“well… thanks. you’re free to go,” you joke after a small pause.

ellie shoots a lopsided smile, leaning against the doorframe. “welcome.” she pauses, like she doesn’t want to go, like she wants to say something. but she doesn’t. she just taps the doorframe and stands up straight. “see you later.”

dina yells out a ‘bye, ellie’, and you wave goodbye as she turns around to leave, trying not to think about the way that smile sent your stomach all funny. “get home safe. update me on the hangover.”

she looks over her shoulder at you as she walks away, chuckling. “will do.”

you go to close the door, watching her stuff her hands into her pockets and make her way down the street for a moment too long.

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 5

Summary: You and they boys decorate the Christmas Tree together.

CW: Vague mention of chronic illness.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

--

It was early evening and the city lights were twinkling outside the window of your apartment. You were standing in the living room in cozy Christmas pajamas while carols emanated from the speaker on the TV stand.

"Got it!" James grumbled as he ventured into the room holding the box that contained the Christmas Tree. It had been buried somewhere in the top of the linen cupboard.

He sat it down on the floor, his gaze drifting between you and Sirius. "Where do you reckon we should set it up?"

"What about near the window?" you suggested. "That way, when people look up from the street, they'll be able to see it."

"Good idea, doll," Sirius replied as he ripped open the cardboard and started pulling out the branches. You were surprised to see Sirius getting so into a Christmas tradition. In the time that you'd lived with the boys, you'd realised that while James absolutely adored Christmas, Sirius only tolerated it for the sake of his friend. You figured it had something to do with his upbringing. James had mentioned in passing, without going into too much detail, that it hadn't been very good. The thought made your heart clench but you'd chosen not to get into it with him in case talking about it made him uncomfortable.

You could see now, however, that despite his lack of festive spirit, Sirius would go to great lengths to make his best friend happy. He was nothing if not loyal.

As a team you managed to put the tree together. You weren't used to having a fake tree but you supposed that it made sense for where you lived. You cringed at the thought of attempting to carry a real tree up all those god forsaken stairs.

"So how are we for decorations?" James asked, looking between the two of you.

"There should be some in the cupboard," Sirius stated.

You smiled sheepishly. "I also have some if you don't mind me adding those."

"Of course not, love," Sirius winked at you.

You all hurried off to grab your supplies. You unpacked the box in your wardrobe labelled "Christmas".

As you walked back into the living room, James placed a large cardboard box, overflowing with a mess of tinsel and ornaments. He looked up at you like a playful puppy.

"What should we do first?" he queried.

"Hold on, shouldn't we get Remus to help with this bit?"

You looked over at Sirius and felt your shoulders droop ever so slightly. It made sense that his friends would want Remus to partake, however, you had kind of been hoping to enjoy the event with just Sirius and James. Nevertheless you nodded, putting your discomfort aside.

"Okay, I'll go and get him!" James decided, bouncing over towards Remus' closed door.

"Oi, Rem!" he called, knocking unnecessarily loudly on the wood.

The door swung open to reveal a playfully disgruntled Remus. "Do you need something?"

James smirked. "Yeah, you. We need your help decorating the Christmas tree!"

He glanced out in the direction of the living room and noticed you and Sirius standing there in anticipation.

"Oh.. I don't know-"

You frowned.

"Come on Rem, don't be a party pooper! Come and help us!" Sirius teased.

"Alright," the boy sighed. He was rarely able to say no to Sirius, you were learning.

He walked out into the living area and you noticed a slight limp in his gait. You wondered if his knee was bothering him again.

He paused upon reaching the group of you, raising a brow as he assessed the tree.

"We decided to put it here this year?"

"Yeah, I thought it should be in front of the window," you murmured defensively. "What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, nothing," he corrected but his tone left you unconvinced.

You decided to ignore him, instead turning back to the box of decorations.

"Lets get started shall we? What do you think? Tinsel first?"

"Actually, we usually start with lights," Remus cut in.

You quirked your brow. "But that makes no sense. Won't the tinsel cover up the lights when we put it on afterwards?"

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry, but that's just how we've always done it."

You rolled your eyes but relented. "Fine, whatever."

It was tense between the two of you at first. Remus was a perfectionist, that much was clear, and it was obvious that he had a way he was used to doing things, even with something as trivial as the Christmas tree.

You swallowed it down like you always did. It was Christmas afterall. You weren't going to let him ruin this for you.

However, the more you worked together, the more you managed to find a rhythm. The styling of the tree began to come naturally to the two of you. You both had Christmas traditions embedded in you from childhood. Ones that you were determined to do justice.

"Guys, where should this go?" James called at one point, while you were hanging another bauble onto the tree.

You turned around and almost screamed. In his hand was the ugliest Christmas decoration you'd ever seen. It looked like a disfigured version of Santa with red eyes and horns sticking out of it's head.

James smirked at you devilishly.

"What on earth is that supposed to be?"

"It's Krampus," James told you innocently. "I was thinking we could hang it by the front door!"

"No, absolutely not. Whatever he is, is going back in the box!"

"Come on, y/n! He's cute. We hang him every year!" Sirius teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Cute?? He's ghastly. I feel like he's going to put a curse on us or something!"

You looked between them, but they weren't budging. The evil Santa stared further into your soul.

Then you eyes drifted over to Remus who had been decidedly quiet during the discussion. You sent him a pleading look. Despite not being your biggest fan, Remus wanted the place to look nice, and you were sure that this demon creature didn't fit in with his theme.

He looked at you for a moment and then sighed.

"I agree with y/n." You smiled smuggly towards the other two boys. "I've always secretly hated that thing."

"Ugh, you guys are no fun!" James complained.

Sirius shrugged. "Sorry bud, it's three against one."

James raised a brow. "Hold on, weren't you just on my side with this?"

"I was but you know I have to side with Rem. He'll stop driving me to work if I don't."

James rolled his eyes dramatically as he turned to look at the Krampus statue. "I'm sorry my friend. Looks like you're going back in the box for now."

"I vote we burn it," you teased and James turned to you in mock offense.

"How dare you!"

You couldn't help but chuckle at the display and soon enough the boy's attention was back on the tree, Krampus hidden safely away in a cardboard box, where no one had to look at it.

As you went back to the tree, you found yourself next to Remus. A small smile graced your lips and you leaned towards him.

"Thanks for siding with me back there."

He shrugged.

"It wasn't a hard decision. That thing is horrible. I've wanted to be rid of it for years."

You chuckled. "Well, either way, thanks."

"Don't mention it," he gave you a small smile and you couldn't help the butterflies that burst inside your stomach. He had a very pretty smile, you noticed.

The next few hours consisted of lighthearted bickering and playful teasing as you threw together, what ended between the four of you, being a very chaotic, mismatched tree. James was a bit of a maniac when it came to tinsel and Sirius kept trying to hang mistletoe from the ceiling fan when you and Remus weren't looking.

Eventually you stepped back to take a look at your masterpiece. It was a mess of silver and red tinsel, with baubles and ornaments of all colours filling up almost every available branch.

It was wonderful.

"Now all that's left is the star," James stated, clearly very proud of the work you'd done.

"Would you like to do the honors, doll?" Sirius prompted, holding the gold object out towards you.

You took it from his hand gently, feeling a little flattered by the gesture.

"Um, I'd love to," you observed. "But I don't know that I can reach."

"Oh, no problem!" James exclaimed.

Before you realized what was happening, James had you by the waist. You squealed in surprise as he lifted you like it was nothing, and sat you on his broad shoulder.

You felt your cheeks flush at the smoothness of the action. You were not expecting that at all.

Quickly you leaned over, placing the star on top of the tree, slightly worried that James would start to find you heavy. However, he didn't even so much as grunt as he gently dropped you back onto the floor.

"My god, you're strong!" you blurted out when your feet were planted safely back on solid ground.

He barked out a laugh and adjusted his glasses. "Yeah, well being an athlete will do that."

You groaned placed your head in your hands, embarrassed beneath the James' playful gaze.

"Come on, love. You look like you could use an eggnog after all that," Sirius teased, placing a hand on your back and guiding you towards the kitchen. His touch only made your face grow hotter.

--

A little while later you found yourselves sprawled around the living room, a spiked eggnog in hand as the boys shared some embarrassing high-school stories (mostly involving Peter).

Remus had even chosen to stay and hang out, an unusual decision for the man who usually really valued his time alone. For a moment, you felt completely at piece with the boys around you. For the first time, you really felt at home.

"I'm going to grab us another drink!" Sirius announced, jumping up from his place on the couch and heading towards the kitchen.

Has he walked back, he wandered past the tree, admiring it once more as the glow from the twinkling Christmas lights emanated around the room.

"Hey guys? What's this ornament? I don't think I've seen it before."

He was gesturing to a crystal dragonfly that hung near the top of the tree.

"Oh, that's one of mine," you explained. "My Mum gave it to me before I left for university. Dragonflies symbolize luck and new beginnings. She wanted it to represent the start of a new chapter in my life."

"That's beautiful, y/n," James smiled, pulling you affectionately into his side.

"Well then," Sirius announced, sitting back down in his place and handing everyone their drinks. "I propose a toast."

He lifted his glass. "To new beginnings."

"To new beginnings!" James echoed, clinking his glass against Sirius'.

"To new beginnings," you repeated and as the boys all cheersed, your eyes drifted across the room to Remus, who sat in the loveseat.

Even though things still weren't perfect, you hoped that maybe there was a chance one day, of a new beginning for the two of you.

--

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy @navs-bhat @shushbruv @magicwithaknife

@eeviee4 @notapoetjustscar @gugggu6gvai @robertsmithclone

@ilovesugurugeto69 @taytayy178 @its-notkiee @bugworldsworld

@switchingfandomslikecrazy @evangelquill

[directdogman]

Dialtown is the most USA-core game I've ever played. It's so fucking American that it's scary, and I've lived there my entire life! Like, this feels fundamentally tied with the game's themes and narrative, that's how extreme it is. And it's not even alienating OR nationalist?? It makes such genuine commentary? And then there's so much other shit to think about too; Dialtown has a very real identity outside this that anyone could love?

One: I am VERY impressed that you have done the USA and its people this well. I am actually astounded, bewildered, and chuffed. I've never felt so seen by a video game, culturally-speaking. I didn't even know there was a culture to see.

Two: WHY did you do that. Dialtown is like USA Culture Absurdified: The Visual Novel. What drove you to make a game this rich with American culture and ideas???

Hello!

It would've been odd for an outsider (non American) who enjoys reading up on history to make my setting nationalist or alienating. America is a country with a lot of serious issues. You can't really study how America is (and has been) internally run without facing glaring and obvious systematic issues. DT's setting is one of scarcity and most of the main characters you follow in DT are kinda just scraping by without much hope for true mobility/advancement. A lot of Americans (especially younger generations) would agree this sorta encapsulates the national mood of the country right now.

Of course, the systems that run a country don't define its citizens - many of the finest people I've ever known are American and are victims of the whims of those with power, not willing participants in this system. I could be wrong, but that's why I think the setting connected with a lot of people. We all know Randys, Olivers + Karens, people who've fallen through the cracks in some way. To them, America's spirit of self-determination isn't about individual identity - it's more "you're on your own."

Why I chose to set DT in America would be a novel length answer in of itself, but it mainly came down to history + narrative opportunity. I wanted to set the game in the epicenter of where the phone-revolution came from and Crown likely couldn't have pulled his plan off anywhere else and probably not during any other time. It had to be 1960's America.

Of course, some parts of DT are sorta universal and were inspired by the the Great Recession and what followed. I remember there was an area not that far from my house that was full of green fields when I was born and when I was a kid (and when real estate boomed), stuff started being built there. Parts of it looked really nice, not quite like anything nearby. Like the future was coming. Then the economy crashed and stuff was left sitting there, half-built for like a decade. Skeletal, unfinished buildings. DT is much the same.

There's a feeling that the city could've been something better and while things could be more equal, it does feel like there are no easy solutions to fix everything - unless someone very smart and determined somehow bypassed every safeguard that was set up to halt radical change and enacted a genius plan to somehow eliminate scarcity. It happened once and might never again.

I don't think most people understand the intricacies of stuff like global commerce all that well (myself included), but when you're sitting looking at a half built neighbourhood mere hours after speaking to a friend who just kicked out of rented accommodation and doesn't have a stable family unit to fall back on, you'd have to be a real dolt not to understand that things aren't great right now. Most people are scraping by and feel if they could just get affordable housing locked down, if they had maybe one good opportunity - maybe there's hope that things could change for the better.

The end of DT isn't really utopian, things don't massively change for the better and indeed, the town has a lot of rebuilding to do. But, a collection of lonely people are now looking out for each other and through the relationships they have, now feel like they have a place in this world. That no matter how bad things really get - they aren't truly by themselves anymore. Most individuals don't have the means to significantly advance change on their own - but you can live your life, love those around you and support others and plan for when the opportunity to affect change comes about.

I guess that's what life is, in America or anywhere else. Sorry I rambled for so long. Hope this answered the question!

[juicedaloe]

Mithrun and brain damage

I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this, but I wanted to make a post talking about why I think that Mithrun has brain damage from a traumatic brain injury instead of him being a representation of other neurological disorders or mental illness. I'm not that involved in the dunmesh fandom so I don't know how common this headcanon is, though I've seen a few people mention it here and there.

This is just my own opinion so if you disagree then that's fine. Some of this is just speculation and I can't say what Kui's intentions were. This post isn't meant to be that serious. I just wanted to talk about it and hopefully inform about how brain damage can affect some people in a way that I hope is interesting and relevant.

This will be kind of long because I like to talk so it will be under the cut. Apologies for the length and how much I ramble. Feel free to give input especially if I got anything wrong or if this is too confusing.

Okay let's go

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is incredibly complex. The long-term effects of a TBI include a wide array of symptoms. Each injury is different, and some people can completely recover rather quickly while others can become permanently disabled, even for seemingly "minor" injuries. What I'll cover here isn't a definitive representation of the experiences of all those who have long-term effects from TBI, nor do I speak for everyone with brain damage.

Here are some long term symptoms relevant to this post:

Alexithymia (inability to process and name emotions)

Inability to process and name physical perceptions

Mood swings and emotional regulation difficulties

Communication difficulties

Social impairment

Apathy about caring for oneself

Lack of motivation

Alexithymia and inability to process physical perceptions

This one is rather obvious. While Mithrun is shown to feel emotions and have physical sensations (for instance, describing his location when he gets lost in the dungeon as "a cold place"), he is also apathetic to how this affects him. This means that his physical and emotional perceptions are reduced in some way. He says that becoming lord of the dungeon will leave someone "empty", showing he is aware of his dulled emotional state.

A good example of this is can be seen here in a bonus comic where he doesn't give much of a reaction to burning his mouth on hot food.

(I love these two a lot, by the way. Pattadol is really under appreciated.)

He is also not able to recognize bodily signals, such as hunger or when he is tired. Despite collapsing from exhaustion and not eating for long periods of time, he still insists he is not tired or hungry.

Mood swings

Mood swings in combination with alexithymia can be an especially disorientating experience. Those who struggle to perceive their own emotions can still feel them even if they don't know how to recognize it.

Individuals with brain injuries often experience drastic mood swings, particularly anger. To those around them, they can appear to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.

This is more speculation/headcanon on my part, as the strongest emotion Mithrun has for most of his appearances is anger. However one could interpret this as being unrelated as he is seeking revenge for a traumatic experience.

Communication difficulties and social impairment

Not only can naming personal experiences be incredibly difficult with a brain injury, but other areas of communication are often affected as well.

Mithrun is not able to set boundaries for himself even if someone is doing something he would not actually want them to do, which can leave him in a vulnerable position.

People with brain injuries can sometimes have a paradoxical experience when it comes to communicating with others. They can go from being very quiet to speaking at length about one topic, seemingly without regard for the importance of each bit of information. (I see it like Newton's first law of motion. It is hard to start speaking and it can be just as hard to stop.)

I really like this aspect of Mithrun's characterization. Usually, he is very quiet because he has no reason to speak. However, once he starts talking he is shown to be overly specific and goes on for long periods of time. Kabru has to spend multiple days figuring out his story.

In a side comic, Kabru tells Mithrun he should condense some of the personal details that Kabru finds irrelevant to the topic of the dungeon.

Mithrun shares many details about himself because his desire not to do so is gone. This mirrors the experience of many people who have brain damage to overshare and not understand how their words will come across to others. Sometimes they say or do things that are insensitive or inappropriate for the situation.

Caring for oneself and motivation

In the dungeon, Mithrun becomes reliant on others for self care. He also seems especially incapable of motivating himself to take care of his body when he is particularly focused on his goals.

In these panels, thus far he had been fairly receptive of Kabru trying to take care of him. However, he could sense that the demon was close and was too focused on that to care to eat.

Refusal of care and treatment is often an effect of traumatic brain injury. This can be for seemingly no reason, even if the person knows that this will help them. Sometimes people will lie about receiving treatment or doing things to take care of themselves, either so they can avoid it or avoid having someone take care of them.

He knows that eating regularly and not pushing himself too much will help him - he's been told multiple times on-screen - but he still has to be continuously told by others to give him that motivation to take care of himself. He's very apathetic to his physical state, even if it seems his only desire is for revenge and he should be doing anything he can to achieve that.

Other things of note

I wasn't sure where to put this, but while Mithrun's sense of direction is speculated by Kabru to be left over from his time as lord of an ever-changing, confusing dungeon, having poor sense of direction in the way he does could also be indicative of brain injury as well.

While the dungeon is confusing and illogical, he is known to have a poor sense of direction and to get frequently lost by those around him, even trying to exit an entrance he just came through. He is shown to be very intelligent, but memory is greatly impacted by brain injuries which affects a person's sense of direction and location.

Something that really stands out to me about Mithrun is how much the things that help him are particularly helpful to those with brain damage. He is physically capable of performing tasks, but he needs an outside source to remind him and get him started. He relies entirely on routine, and when that regularity is taken away he shows extreme difficulty taking care of himself.

Sometimes, the care that some people need is simply someone else to encourage them or to tell them when to do things. The care that he needs is pretty consistent with a person with a brain injury who does not need a full time caretaker and would prefer to have some independence.

Also, healing magic is specified to not work with brain injury unless the person is killed and revived. Mithrun had not been revived after his injuries, so it is entirely possible for him to have sustained a TBI. I don't think this matters that much because one is still allowed to have headcanons even if there is a magical explanation or isn't really possible in canon, but I thought it was an interesting detail.

In conclusion

Because of all this I don't believe that his lack of self care is due solely to mental illness. While mental illnesses like depression or PTSD can cause a decline in self care, the reasons why the affected individual is avoidant of these tasks differs. These disorders can also cause cognitive difficulties and emotional regulation issues, but not to the same extent or in the same way that brain damage would. I think that he does have both depression and PTSD (both are common after a TBI) but those are not his only disabilities.

And on a personal note, I just think that having a character with brain damage is really cool. Most of the time I've seen it the characters are not given very much respect and they are treated as comic relief and a joke. Regardless of whether you agree with this post or not, it is still nice to see a character with a disability like this.

Thank you if you read all of this. I hope it was easy to understand and I did not ramble too much. I don't have anything else to say but I've been wanting to write this out for a while.

Okay bye

[jenomi]

i love you, i'm sorry

pairing: idol!jeno x idol!reader c/w: light physical abuse (reader falls on the floor) a/n: you ask and you shall receive! i got a lot of requests for a part 2, so here it is :3 read part 1 here!! but this can be read on its own :)

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

I push my luck, it shows Thankful you don't send someone to kill me

"why??" you cried tears streaming down your face, "just tell me why, and i'll go."

jeno could only look down at his feet as you asked him for a real reason why he was breaking up with you.

you were fully aware how pathetic this looks from an outsiders perspective, crying and begging for an explanation from a man. but it wasn't any man. it was jeno. your jeno.

"is it something i did? tell me, i'm sorry! let me fix it and make it up to you" your knees stung from crouching on the couch and your eyes and throat hurt from the tears you're shedding.

"i don't see a future with you, y/n" jeno whispered.

you looked up quickly, your eyes opened wide in shock. your voice is so small, you weren't sure if he heard you when you said, "what?"

you always talked about your future. in all honesty, jeno would talk about it more than you. how he'd buy a house for the both of you to start a family and a place comfortable enough to stay home and never have to leave. you loved talking about your future with jeno. it brought you so much joy and comfort. so him using this as a reason to break up didn't make sense but it also hit you where it hurt. how could it bring you comfort when it was the same reason jeno was leaving you?

"look at us now!" jeno was frustrated now, "we barely do anything together, we can't even go outside without being scared. you barely have time for me. how would we ever last?"

you sat there stunned. you were at a lost for words. you thought your love for each other rose above all those problems. you talked about them at length with each other, and you would always assure each other that it was no problem. even last week, you had reassured each other. but now, jeno's coming back and saying it was all a lie? and he's not happy?

jeno shakes his head as he gets up off the couch, "i'm going out, when i come back, have your stuffed packed up and go"

you chase after him and grab his hand. "please baby no. i'll tell my company, i'll find a way to make it work please just don't leave right now. let's talk." you were back to begging.

jeno tried to shake your hand off his. overcome with emotion, jeno used too much strength, and when he tried to shake you off, his force caused you to fall on the floor.

you cried out when you landed on your hands and knees. jeno was so shocked and confused. it was an accident, he never meant to hurt you.

you started sobbing but jeno couldn't comfort you, so he left. he left you crying and bruised on the floor of his apartment.

jeno winces at the memory. he couldn't believe he hurt you, both emotionally and physically, at the same time. what possessed him to do that? he was raised to be a gentleman, but in that moment, he was everything but.

he's surprised he's even alive right now. he knows you told all your closest friends, including his best friend, jisung who you were closest to. he knows the only reason his life wasn't threatened was because you told your friends not to come for him.

and now he's at your door. he knows there's a high chance you'll slam the door in his face, but he needed to see you and speak to you to ease the pain in his chest. he hopes with his whole heart and soul that you'll let him in, because if you don't, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to recover.

jeno takes a deep breath before knocking on your door.

I tend to laugh whenever I'm sad I stare at the crash, it actually works

you open the door only to pause in shock to see your ex-boyfriend at your door with take out from your favorite restaurant.

"hi?" jeno meant to say but it comes out as a question, a scratch of nervousness and sadness in his voice. "did you eat yet?" he raises the takeout to his chest.

your heart throbs at the question. he would ask you that all the time when you were together and would always nag you to eat something. in the end, he would always order the perfect thing for you, exactly what you wanted even if you didn't know yourself.

"no.." you whisper.

"can i come in?"

ashamedly, you open the door further to let him in without any hesitation. relief floods through jeno's veins.

jeno moves through your apartment with ease, knowing where all your utensils and plates are, knowing which drawers have soft close and which don't, it's like he never left. your heart splints down the middle once again remembering that your relationship isn't what it once was. despite that, you let out a small laugh.

"why are you laughing?" he faces you, eyes curious.

"i don't know," you reply, "i guess i'm sad."

now it's jeno's turn for his heart to split, since when do you laugh when you're sad? is he the reason why? he hopes not, he wants you to remain the girl whose laughter is full of joy, not a girl who laughs to cover for her sadness.

jeno doesn't know what to say, so instead he asks, "how have you been?"

you think it's ironic that he's asking you that knowing full well that he saw you cry during your performance last week. your performance dedicated to him. that night brought up a lot of memories for you, happy memories and seeing jeno on the verge of tears there made you think he missed you too.

but then you remember how it ended. how he left you broken on his apartment floor and then told you to stop reaching out to him. looking back at the mess that was the end of your relationship, you found yourself pushing the memories towards the back of your mind yet again as a feeble attempt to move on.

"fine," you lie. jeno only nods in response.

I wanna speak in code Hope that I don't, won't make it about me

jeno pulls out a chair for you and gestured for you to sit down, then takes the seat closest to you. he begins plating the take out food for you. you want to stop him and tell him you can do it yourself, but its been so long since someone's taken care of you that you can't help but just let it happen. jeno's glad you're not retaliating since he wants to take care of you. it's like second nature to him. he wants to take care of you for the rest of his days. but he doesn't want to scare you off. especially after what he did.

"i saw a smiski at a cafe the other day," jeno says before digging into his food, "i thought of you."

you loved smiskis. they were scattered all around your house, with one sitting with you at the dinner table now. you loved how they were little companions representing a silly, comfortable home life. it reminded you of your own life, and your life with jeno as homebodies.

you smiled at jeno before taking a bite as well. it was cute that he saw those figurines and thought of you. "my friend went to watch the f1 race in the UK and I thought of you when McLaren didn't win," you tease.

jeno chuckles, flashing his signature smile making your heart throb, in agony or love? you're not sure.

you fall into a comfortable silence as you share your meal together. it was alarmingly easy to act like this was just another day after work with your boyfriend.

"how have you been?" you finally ask in return. it was only right.

"busy," he admits. he doesn't want to say there was a reason he purposely tried to keep busy. he didn't want to burden you. and he definitely didn't want you to think you were the problem because he knows it's all him.

"are you taking care of yourself?" you ask him.

"not as well as i was when i had you," he looks into your eyes.

you're stunned into silence, yet again, but with hope and not dread like the last time he spoke to you.

he sets down his chopsticks before folding his hands and facing you, "i came here to tell you i'm sorry. i'm sorry for how we ended and how i left you. it was a shitty thing to do and it haunts me every time i close my eyes to sleep. i don't expect you to forgive me, i wouldn't forgive me. but i know i hurt you with the way i treated you, you didn't deserve that. and i just want to say i'm sorry and you didn't do anything wrong. i was out of my mind. please don't blame yourself."

the wind is knocked out of your lungs at his confession. you were overwhelmed by him admitting his wrongs and calling you out to tell you not to blame yourself, because you were. he apologized but didn't do it to make you forgive him, he wanted to help take the burden of wondering what you did wrong off your own shoulders. it was the closure you needed.

the back of your eyes tingle with tears.

"don't cry," he says wrapping his warm hand over yours on the dining table, "i'll go. i don't want to bother you any longer."

he grabs his plate and rinses it quickly in the sink before heading towards the door.

much like the last time, you quickly get up and grab his hand, "don't go."

jeno turns around, eyes wide and looking into your soul.

"don't go. stay. it's late. you can sleep on the couch." you say still grasping his hand with tears in your eyes.

"okay," he whispers slowly. how could he leave when you ask him to stay?

you grab an extra pillow and blanket from your bedroom and bring it to the couch. as much as you wanted jeno to sleep in bed with you tonight, you needed space to think about what he said and sort out your own thoughts. but you wanted the comfort of knowing he was at home. with you.

you and jeno work together to set up the couch, working in silent synchrony and harmony. the domesticity of it all makes you both emotional.

as you stand back up after tucking a sheet into the couch, jeno wraps you in his arms and says what he came here to say all along,

i love you, i'm sorry

[wrangleandtame]

Clouds Don't Perish (They Dissipate)

Think you could get off this road?” Kate hollered, “feel like I’m in a paint shaker.”

Tyler glanced at her with that mischievous smile, the one her mom had deemed his “shit-eating grin.”

“Short cut!” he yelled back.

“I can see the map, you idiot, this is twice as long!”

He shrugged, “I got you alone in this truck for the first time in a week. I’m goin’ the long way ‘round.”

“Your plan is to fuck me in some random field, isn’t it?”

He snorted, “sure as hell is now!”

He released his full-throated laugh, revealing all of his perfect teeth, crow's feet splaying out from his sunglasses. She loved that laugh; it should be labeled a contagion. The man could suss out the fun in nearly any situation, and his exuberance nearly always stirred Kate from her occasional tendency towards re-erecting emotional barriers. 

This was one of THOSE moments wherein Kate perceived her own contentment: bouncing around the cab of his truck, Tyler singing (not well) along to Lydia Loveless blasting, windows down, kicking up a trail of rocks and dust behind them. 

Backward cap, button-up green flannel, and the now ever-present perfectly manicured two-day scruff (possibly motivated by Kate mentioning the pleasing sensation of his unshaven face between her thighs) were absolutely doing it for her. He caught her gazing and leered back suggestively, waggling his eyebrows over the top of his sunglasses. She dissolved into laughter. 

She felt her phone vibrate so she lengthened her torso and yanked it free of her side pocket.  The lit screen displayed, “Mom.”

  “I was just thinking about you,” she said by way of a hello.

Tyler’s head whipped back to her in interest, tipping his head low enough for his eyes to be seen over his sunglasses. He raised his eyebrows in question.

Kate mouthed “mom,” and the easy smile returned to his face. He twisted the dial, lowering the volume of the music and raised the windows with a flick of his finger.

“Hi Cathy!” he called.

“And where are you guys at today?” Cathy questioned.

“Close actually. Like, uh, 20 miles north of Tulsa,” Kate peaked at the radar projections again, hoping for something more promising. “We’ll probably stay in that area today, unless things change.”

“Well, if things don’t change and you want to come home, you can invite your crew to save a few dollars and stay at the farm.”

“Did she say hi back?” Tyler nagged, and Kate scowled and waved him off. Her mother’s aloof demeanor brought out a rare obsequious quality in Tyler, and this usually amused Kate. At the moment, she just wanted him to shut up.

“That would be amazing.  I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

Tyler interrupted, “appreciate what?”

“Mom invited us all to stay at the house tonight.”

“Just made my day Cathy,” he yelled at the phone.

“It’ll be nice,” Cathy continued. “I’ll make a mess of barbecue.”

Kate’s mouth watered at the thought of real food, “that sounds so so good.”

“Call me later and let me know.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up, stowed her phone in her pocket, and Tyler asked again, “did she say hi back?”

“Yeah, she says hi,” she lied, and then swung her head towards the backseat to tell Addy and Praveen about the barbecue food waiting for them. 

Later, even with hindsight and self-awareness intact, she would be astounded by her certainty that they had been an arm's length away, faces lit with excitement. Addy even pushed her glasses up with her wrist, just as she always had, her glasses ever-slipping and her hands ever-full.

Kate gasped and caught a peripheral of a smiling Jeb at the wheel. She threw herself against her passenger door and screwed her eyes shut, pressing the palms of her hands into her sockets.

“Kate?” Jeb said, concern lacing his voice. No, not Jeb. TYLER said, concern lacing HIS voice. Tyler Owens, she corrected her stupid brain. 

“You okay?”

She didn’t look up, keeping her palms planted firmly against her eyes. A sob escaped her mouth instead of the reasonable explanation she intended. Why did she sound like that?

“Whoa, whoa. Kate? Hang on.” She felt a hand on the top of her head, but she still didn’t move. If she didn’t move, she reasoned, perhaps this nightmare would conclude quickly.

She felt the truck swerve and stop, the rumbling of the engine cut out. What should have been silence overflowed with the sounds of hyperventilating and an approaching freight train. 

She felt sure her death was imminent. Her body shook uncontrollably, and her heartbeat pounded ferociously, attempting to break out from her chest. She had unconsciously pulled her knees up and had formed a tight ball with her body.

“What’s going on? Can you hear me?” Tyler sounded as if he was in a tunnel. Shit. Maybe an underpass.

She thought she might be able to speak, but gasps and sobs colonized the space where words should be.

“Can you try and look at me?”

Kate released the pressure on her eyeballs and attempted to tip her head up to see Tyler but her vision was completely blurred by tears. Was she crying?

Her teeth chattered, and Tyler placed a hand on her cheek, “I think you’re having an anxiety attack.”

“No,” she sobbed, “I don’t, I don’t have them anymore.”

Was that her voice? Kate doubted it. That didn’t sound like her. 

Blurry Tyler’s head nodded, “Let’s say we just try to take some deep breaths anyway.  It can’t hurt.”

She realized that the thunderous freight train was an oncoming tornado. People always describe the sound of a tornado as a train, but she wouldn’t have described it as such before now. 

For her, tornadoes sounded like monsters, growling and roaring. She looked out the windows, frantically searching the bright horizon. Where was it?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tyler cooed, “You’re okay.”  

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was fucking okay. 

HER tornado was coming for them, and she couldn’t even see it! She could hear the change of the roar to the cacophony of whooshing and clanging when it’s devoured Praveen and clamoring for Addy. The bellowing while yanking Jeb from atop her. The deafening barrage when it’s aiming to suck Kate out from an underpass. Fucking stop. Stop. STOP!

“Kate?” Tyler tried again. 

“I can’t. Can’t make it stop,” she cried, her thoughts jumbling, her mind jumping time. Past, present, past, present.

She suddenly launched herself forward, peering into the back seat to see if they were still there.  They weren’t, of course, because they were dead. They wouldn’t be eating barbecue today. Not any day. They were dead. She knew this. She’d known this for a long time.

She planted herself back in her seat, and looked into Tyler’s face, clenching with concern. Maybe worse than concern. Shit, he thought she was crazy. He had a point. Sane people don’t see ghosts.  Sane people don’t hear invisible tornadoes. 

She clamped her hands over her ears, trying to dampen the bellowing and keening, “Stop. I just…please stop.”

Tyler carefully pulled her hands from her ears, “Kate, look in my eyes. Can you see me?”

She focused on his vivid seaglass-green eyes. Where did his sunglasses go? She nodded and stammered, “Yes. I. Yes.”

“Okay, good. You’re doing good. Now listen to me. Stop trying to make it stop.”

Stop trying to make it stop. What the fuck was he talking about?

“Just focus on me if you can. Be here with me.” He kept her trembling hands in his, but she pulled them back from his grasp. She quickly checked the backseat again. Empty.

“Keep your eyes on me.” 

She refocused upon his face, nodding. 

“Atta girl, okay, we’re going to breathe together now.”

  His movements seemed exaggerated, his chest and mouth moving slowly, “okay, breathing in two three four, and out two three four, breathing in two three four.” 

She attempted to mimic him but couldn’t figure out the actual mechanics of breathing, and this terrified her even more than riding shotgun with her dead friends. 

“Can’t,” she shook harder, her teeth clacking together. How do you breathe!? How?

“That’s okay, that’s okay. I’m going to breathe and you just listen. You’re doing fine.”

“Not fine,” she stammered. 

“You will be. Y’hear me? This won’t last much longer. It’ll be over soon. You’re gonna be okay.”

She shook her head; nothing was okay.

“C’mon Kate, let’s get some air. It’ll do you good.”

“No!” she grabbed his forearm, frantically looking outside. Didn’t he know how much danger he was in? A new wave of fear rippled through her body.

“You’re safe. I promise,” the sincerity in his voice almost made her believe him. “Let’s look at some clouds. You’re not in any danger. It’s going to be okay Kate. Trust me.” 

He placed his rough warm hand over hers, and she looked at his arm where she clutched him, knuckles white, fingernails plugged into his skin. She felt paralyzed. She couldn’t even rotate her eyes off the soft hairs on his tawny arm. 

“I’ll be with you, and we’ll just look at some clouds. Just you and me. Just Tyler and Kate, okay?”

She had no memory of agreeing, of releasing his arm, or of him exiting the truck and moving to her door. She blinked, and he leaned in the open passenger-side door, expectantly waiting for her. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do or say. Did he ask her a question? 

His face was achingly soft, eyes balmy with affection. He slipped his arm around her back and one under her knees, “this okay?”

She nodded, and he scooped her into his arms, lifting her from the truck cab and using his booted foot to close the creaking metal truck door.

He crossed the road and ambled into a low-growing field of green.  He carried her, but she was the one panting in uneven sporadic bursts, clutching handfuls of his soft flannel shirt.

He murmured softly to her as he walked through the field, “it’s alright. You’re alright Kate. I’m right here. Just going to look at some clouds. Just breathe. You’re alright.”

She tucked her head against his chin, desperately attempting to anchor time to his voice.

“This looks like a good spot. We’re going to sit for a spell and see if we can find some clouds, okay?”

“K,” she mumbled, and she felt him nuzzle her forehead with his scratchy chin.

“Smell that?” He lowered them to the earth with a soft grunt, her body draped across his lap.

“Do you smell the clovers, Kate? They’re blooming. Love these. White ones smell better than the crimson ones.”

She could smell them. The growing ground heat released the morning petrichor from last night’s rain - wet and sweet with a light floral perfume. 

“Smells nice,” she mumbled, and he gave her a praiseful squeeze in response.

“Bumblebees are louder than the damn birds. You hear em?”

He was purposefully engaging her senses, she realized. How did he know what to do?  Why couldn’t she remember? She was the one who had over forty of the damn things. New York rules: if at work, run to the restroom, hide in the stall, and endlessly flush the toilet to cover sounds of crying and panting.  Fucking useless skills in this situation.

He considered the sky for a moment and then smiled down at her face, “look up Kate.”

She tilted her head back, neck cradled in the crook of his arm, and saw the sky bluer than it had a right to be. To the east, she spotted a big bouncy cumulonimbus tower with a bulbous bottom layer. 

“What are you seeing?”

“Mammatus,” she whispered.

He chuckled happily, “yep. What else?”

She watched them move for a moment, a gorgeous slow roll. Her eyes caught another edge of the sky, and she lifted her heavy arm, which felt weirdly unattached. She wiggled her fingers. They did what she told them, so they must be hers. Raising her thumb to the sky, she measured a cloud.

“What time is it?” She croaked, throat dry, her voice slightly foreign to her.

He raised his wrist, “let’s see, it’s uh nine fifteen am.”

“Altocumulus.”

“Damn straight, altocumulus. Beautiful, huh?”

“Beautiful,” she agreed. She knew they were beautiful, but she didn’t actually feel the beauty.

He shifted her off of his lap, arm still curved under her neck and tentatively lowered them both to the soft bed of green clovers, “better vantage.” 

She barely noticed, following the white clouds with her eyes like a meditation.

After a few moments, he pointed at the sky, “dragon.”

She followed his finger and spotted the dragon in the clouds, “I see it.”

She pointed next to it, closing one eye to better focus her vision, “banana.”

“Yup.”

The dragon’s torso elongated and detached, and its head resembled a dot to a dot from her childhood activity books.

Tyler pointed at the dissipating dragon head, “oatmeal.”

“Cheating.”

“It’s not cheating. It’s oatmeal. Oh, oh, wait, no, now it’s grits.”

She smiled - the impulse natural, the action dull and stiff.  She only heard birds tweeting, Tyler’s soft breathing, and an occasional bee buzzing by. 

This was when she realized that she wasn’t panting, crying or hallucinating. She felt slowed like moving through water, and a debilitating mix of shame, embarrassment, and guilt settled within her chest.

“We should go,” she frowned and tried to sit up, seized by dizziness.

“Should we?” Tyler sat up and placed his hand on the middle of her back. She pulled away with none of the subtlety she intended. 

“We were supposed to meet up at that QT off seventy-five ages ago Tyler.”  Look at Kate, stringing a full coherent sentence together.

“I called Boone. Remember? Told everyone to meet us at your mom’s.”

When did that happen? Tyler’s face telegraphed that she should easily recall this memory, and she hadn’t even a hazy version floating around in her mind. Nothing.

“Oh,” she said dumbly.  “Sorry.”

“For what?” He asked, cupping her elbow with his hand. 

“Don’t,” she pulled her arm from him.

“Okay,” he scooched himself back a bit with a kindness she interpreted as pity. 

“Sorry,” she snapped, knowing she sounded irrationally angry, but completely unable to control her tone.

“S’okay Kate,” he folded his elbows over his knees and picked a white clover flower, spinning it between his index and thumb. 

She lay flat on her back so she could again stare at the sky and not his sweet ridiculously understanding expression.

“It’s not okay. I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Not your fault.”

“It really is,” she glanced at him.

He cocked his head, “a panic attack isn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not that.”

He tentatively lowered himself alongside her, giving her more space than she now actually wanted. A moment ago she felt too ashamed to have his hands on her, and now she wanted to climb inside him and disappear.  Make up your mind, Kate.

After a bit of silence, he asked, “your friends? Is that what you think is your fault.”

“That was my fault,” she scoffed. “It’s pretty well universally agreed that they died as a consequence of my reckless actions.”

“Who the fuck would agree with that?” His outraged tone astonished her. She found it unnatural to see the fire in his eyes presenting as fury instead of desire. “Someone blame you for what happened? Who?”

Instinctually, she tempered his anger with vague assurances, “it doesn’t matter. It’s stupid. My point was that I don’t need you to tell me that it wasn’t my fault. Can’t change it anyway.” 

He sighed audibly, “I know you’re freakishly good at finding tornadoes, honey, but you don’t got dominion over ‘em. Got some omnipotent power I’m unaware of?”

They quieted, and she tried to not mentally replay her panic attack in a feeble attempt to avoid a self-conscious rut.

“It’s just so beyond fucking humiliating.”

Surprise flashed in his expression, “but, Kate, it’s just me.”

She couldn’t look at his face, so she looked at the sky again, “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“Beautiful and brave?”

“I’m not sure I’m either of those things at the moment.”

“This is grief and trauma and your body reacting to that.”

“It’s been almost six years!”

“Not a set time for this shit, Kate. So just try to be gentle with yourself, will ya?”

She reached for his hand, grasping at his rough fingertips.

“Hasn’t happened in so long. Just surprised me.

“Do you know what happened?”

“I, um, I saw them. In the truck.”

“Saw who?”

She blinked and tried to say their names.

Tyler filled in the blanks like he majored in it, “oh, Addy and Praveen?”

She nodded.

“Jeb too?” 

Their names sounded wrong in his mouth, but she drew comfort from his familiarity with what mattered to her.  They mattered.

“Mmhm.”

“I figured.”

“You figured?”

“Yeah.”

She almost laughed, incredulous, “you FIGURED that I hallucinated my very dead friends sitting in the backseat of your truck?”

He smirked, “Something along those lines. My brother, he had panic attacks. PTSD from Afganistan.”

“I didn’t know that; you never talk about him.”

“We don’t see each other much; he lives in Idaho. I was only ten when he came back. Brain injury from an IED. I sat with him a lot during his panic attacks.”

She mentally conjured an image of child-Tyler, “that’s an awful lot for a ten-year-old.”

He winked, “well, I was an exceptional kid.”

“I bet you were,” she smiled genuinely, her face now just a foot from his.

“Once we figured out most of his triggers, that helped loads.”

“I think it was the barbecue.”

“What?

“Barbecue.  My mom, when she called, she offered for the team to stay over and said she’d make barbecue, and she said the same thing the day they died,” her speech gradually took on a frenetic pace, “and just like I was on automatic, I started to tell them, Praveen and Addy, you know, and they were there, and then it was happening all over again, and you know the shittiest thing? It’s that really here I am, and they’re not. And did I learn anything, no, I’m just doing it all over again really, just in a truck with you, taking people I care about to their deaths and am I doing the same thing, did I learn a fucking thing? No, no, I just keep doing what I want to do because I’m so goddamned selfish and -“ 

Her chin started to quiver, and she became breathless again when Tyler interrupted, “you’re the least selfish person I know.”

He brushed her hair back from her face, “also the most logical, so listen up: the team was here doin’ our thing before you met us. We’d be here if we’d NEVER met you. But Kate, with you, we just do more good, get more accomplished and generally have more fun. All because YOU are with us.”

Her eyes began leaking again, and she whispered, “want you to be okay.”

“Me? I’m here, next to you, on this gorgeous day. Kate, I’m better than okay.”

  With the shuddering breaths of a child all cried out, “I’m so fucking scared. I just. I don’t want. I don’t want you to die.”

She couldn’t fathom why she would say this out loud, when she barely recognized the truth herself. She felt pathetic and vulnerable, a combination she attempted to avoid at all times.

  “Oh Kate, darlin’ I’m not going anyplace.” He smiled his sweet little smile, soft wet eyes pleading with her, “thought I told you to be gentle to yourself.” 

She leaned her face into his hand, and inched closer to his chest. Tyler wrapped his arms around her pulling her flush against him.  She buried her head in his chest and wept, grateful he didn’t shush her. They let the tears and the little hiccups fade in their own time, his hand tenderly holding her head against him.  Her body relaxed into him, and she didn’t feel out of control. Just absolutely fucking heartbroken and so incredibly exhausted. 

She didn’t remember falling asleep; all she knew was awaking sweaty and confused within Tyler’s embrace.  

“I fell asleep.”

His voice was deep and rumbly, “sure did.”

She rolled onto her back, studying the grey sky, the sun’s blanketed halo in a confusing position.

“Jesus, what time is it?”

“One O’clock.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s fine Kate.” 

“It’s fine?”

She peered up at his ridiculously handsome face, “where’s the team?”

“Remember, they’re at your moms?  I texted them to meet us there.”

“Are they angry? That we missed an entire day?”

“No one expressed anything other than being thrilled to go to your mom’s house.  Everything fizzled out anyway.”

“Do they know? That I…?”

“Hm? Oh, no. That’s your call to make.”

She kissed his jaw and he peered down at her, “okay?”

She answered him by climbing onto his lap, straddling him. He sat up, clutching her, thumbs rolling around her hipbones.

“Feelin’ better, honey?” 

“I don’t know,” she responded honestly. “I don’t want to think about it right now. Just so tired.”

She brushed her thumbs along the grey hairs at his temples and kissed him slowly, stilling her mind to focus only on his soft salty mouth.

He ended the kiss after a moment and pulled his face back, examining her expression.

“What?”

“Just catching up,” he whispered.

“What does that mean? You don’t want to -“

“I want you now and always,” he pulled her hips tightly into his hard-on to punctuate his point. “Just checking in first.”

He captured her mouth with his, asserting his desire, and they made love in that clover field, just as Kate had predicted at the beginning of this unexpectedly fraught day.

A comfort-cloaked drive to her mom’s house further eased any remaining anxiety. Tyler played Songs: Ohia, Magnolia Electric Co, (for her, she knew) the windows down and warm air whipping her hair around as they distanced themselves from the morning’s pain.

When they approached the signs for her hometown, she turned down the music, “Tyler?” 

Her voice hitched, and she swallowed down tears that threatened a comeback.

“Yeah?”

She summoned all her sincerity, “thank you.”

“Anytime, Sapulpa,” he smiled, “You know that, right? Anytime. Anyplace. Whatever you need. Whenever. I’m all yours.”

She ran her hand lovingly down his arm, shoulder to wrist, “ditto.”

When they pulled up to a stop in the driveway, the sun rested low in the sky.  Besides daybreak, this was Kate’s favorite time of day, even as a child. All the work usually done, the day’s heat assuaged, dog-day cicadas quieted, and the sticky air would a call for iced sweet tea in jelly jars and unchallenging conversations on a creaky porch. 

Tyler and Kate walked together through the cool grass. As they approached the picnic table flush with their friends, everyone turned towards them like flowerheads to the sun.

“What kept ya?” Boone yelled as they got closer.

Tyler began to answer, but Kate cut him off neatly, “I had some trauma hallucinations, an enormous panic attack, passed out for hours and then seduced Tyler in a clover field.”

Tyler held up the grocery bag in his hand, “and we brought chips.”

She only let the awkward silence, shocked stares and open mouths sit for half a minute, “so, is there any of my mom’s potato salad left?”

Lily recovered quickly, “yeah, totally, Kate hand me one of those plates, and I’ll get you some.”

Kate passed her a plate, and Lily smiled as she scooped a generous glob, “sorry bout your panic attack. I got them for awhile back in the day. They suck. Hard.”

“They do. Thanks Lily,” Kate nodded grateful for the generous normalization Lily offered.

Dexter, adept at all types of navigating, added, “It's a good thing you got here when you did. I was going back in for another helping. Your mom could tempt angels with this potato salad.”

“Right?” Kate laughed, “where is she, anyway?”

“I think she was getting watermelon,” Dani said and jumped up from the table, “I’ll go help her. I gotta pee anyway.”

She quickly squeezed Kate’s arm affectionately as she passed and raised her eyebrows at Tyler when she sauntered passed.

“So tell me, what did this clover field seduction include?” Boone queried.

“It includes you shutting the fuck up,” Tyler’s voice was playful, but he shot Boone a disapproving look, as he pulled a plate from the stack and began piling on ribs, brisket and chicken drumsticks.

Boone raised his hands in surrender, “that’s fine, that’s fine. I’ve got an imagination.”

Lily rolled her eyes, “don’t be gross, Boone.”

“What?” he laughed, and with every passing moment, their usual ease of comradery returned. 

While she was conscious that evening, Tyler positioned his hand either upon her shoulder or entwined in her fingers, tethering her to the moments in front of her. At night, he settled in her bed, ready to pull her back should she start to slip into the past. 

He was generous, loving, kind, and patient. So, of course, she didn’t believe it could possibly last. She consciously tried not to stew in the terror of its inevitable end (their relationship, not his life, she isn’t thinking about that.) 

Instead, she attempted to soak in the (likely evanescent) Tyler minutiae: memorizing his specific expressions and predictable reactions, the dust and detergent smell of his soft flannels, his thin pink lips, his stiff jeans that invited lascivious thoughts, and that devastatingly infectious, nearly ever-present smile. 

**AUTHORS NOTES

I saw Twisters a couple weeks ago and came home and wrote this and three other stories. Then I went on AO3 and read EVERYTHING, and saw that others had written goddamned BRILLIANT pieces on the same subject. Discouraged about my own writing quality, I wasn’t going to post it. Since then, I’ve read nearly everything else posted in this fandom and realized that maybe creating and sharing imperfection is part of our fanfic social contract. This is writing potluck. As in, consume < create. In that spirit, here was one of my little fics. Hope it brought you a few minutes of the joy so many others bring me in their writings. 

[puppyguppy]

You've been down this damn aisle way too long. Despite not having actually checked the time, you just know it. You can feel it. You've seen others come and go; grab what they need, like a pillow or some new sheets, then leave. But not you. Since apparently, choosing a new mattress has solidified itself as a life or death sort of situation inside of your head. It shouldn't have been this hard -- wouldn't be this hard, if you hadn't seen the sale going on. They're offering the next size up for the price of the next size down. So, like -- you could get a king, for the price of the queen you'd come here for. You've almost always had a queen, at least since being a teenager. And a queen is fine, a queen is good, just enough space for you to roll around some, pick a cooler side if need be, with a corner or two left open for the pet you might actually own someday. All in all, a queen is perfect, so really, there's no need to upsize. You've never even considered it until now. It just seems kind of stupid to turn down such a deal. More comfort, for less? But then...you'll need new sheets. A new comforter. A new duvet. Hell, might as well just get a whole new set for the whole new mattress, right? And, it doesn't make much sense to put old pillows on a new bed, so -- "They never tell you that beds will be one of your biggest battles in adulthood." You jolt, startled out of your spiraling thoughts by a deep, rich mumble. You hadn't noticed the man you've been sharing the aisle with for...gods, you hope it wasn't long. Long enough for him to piece together the puzzle of your struggle, though. You shake off the little scare with a laugh, the feeling only lingering in the goosebumps down your arms. "It wasn't supposed to be this hard. I came here with a plan, believe it or not." The stranger hums, and while he seems to peruse the options, you take a quick few seconds to, well. Peruse him. Tall, dark, and handsome is the gist. Wavy hair thrown half up his head, like maybe he'd been in a hurry, or working out, or just woken up. A bit unkempt, but not unattractive. Stalky, scruffy, and decked out in all colors almost black despite the season. At least they seem loose, everywhere except for where his hands are shoved into his pockets, straining the fabric slightly, and you can't help but wonder -- "One should always have a Plan B. Even maybe C through Z." You laugh again, because really, this is ridiculous, and you should just grab the goddamn bed you'd come here for. Mattresses shouldn't require complex mathematics, an entire alphabet's worth of backup plans, or the entire length of the human emotional spectrum. "Yeah, yeah," you huff, now a bit embarrassed. You're a grown ass adult and yet you feel like you've just been scolded by a highschool teacher or something. "The sale just caught me off guard. I don't want to regret it if I just settle for a queen and miss the chance. Besides, if I get a king and don't like it, I can always just return it, right?" The man shrugs. "Or you could save yourself the trouble. It's not like your room is big enough for a king." You laugh for a third time, because oh, oh my god, he's right. Here you've been fretting and stressing (and honestly? sweating) over beds, when really, there was never a choice. There was just the illusion of choice. You got excited over a sale, about the possibility of an upgrade, and completely forgot about the very real dimensions of your bedroom. And why you've stuck with a queen. "Fuck, you're so right. I couldn't possibly fit a -" You stop. You stop and blink. Because he is right. The goosebumps from just minutes ago shoot straight down to your toes. You swallow, saliva thickening in your throat like cement. "...How do you know that?"

[vampaiaz]

— he’s mine

NOT PROOFREAD!!!

pairing: billy hargrove / reader

length: short and fast LOL

cw: neigbors, older!billy & slightly younger!reader, he's 35 and you're 20 something, AFAB reader, alternate universe (modern), use of feminine pronouns & nicknames, mention & use of alcohol, friends to fwb/lovers (?), flirting, sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, rough sex, ONLY oral sex, drunk BUT consensual sex (you are sober enough), dacryphiliac billy ( my fav...), perv billy (he's gross), praise, spitting, squirting...

synopsis: you trust billy a lot, he's a bit mean but he cares about you. what if he invites you for a ride on his motorcycle?

a/n: the title is suuuch a throwback (when s4 was out and ppl kept using ‘he’s mine’ for edits UGHHH miss those times) anyway, i’m back !!! so crazy so insane … i hope u like this !!! ty for reading <3

you watched as billy's camaro roared up to his driveway, the engine cutting through the stillness of the night. his signature smirk was barely visible in the dim light, but you knew it was there.

wrapped around him was another girl, her laughter spilling out into the quiet neighborhood as they stumbled toward the front door. it was a routine you'd seen countless times—billy hargrove, your neighbor who just couldn't stick to one.

you couldn't deny that billy was attractive. his charm, the way he carried himself, and those piercing blue eyes—he was everything that could make a girl weak in the knees. he could even make you feel that way.

but beneath all that, you'd seen glimpses of the real billy. he was capable of more than just shallow one-night stands. whenever you needed a ride somewhere, he’d be there. after a long day, he wouldn’t hesitate to share a cigarette with you, offering silent companionship.

you let out a sigh as they both disappeared into his home. billy could have anyone, literally anyone, yet he seemed determined to prove something. you found yourself wishing that this time, he might actually let someone in—really let them in.

three knocks on your door.

it was afternoon and you were still in your nightwear—lacy and pink, your favorite. you quickly put on a robe to look at least somewhat presentable.

as you opened the door, your eyes met billy's. he was in his usual getup: a white tank, blue denim, and a leather jacket. "you busy, sweetheart?"

there he goes again with the nicknames... makes it harder not to like him.

"hi billy, you need something?" you smiled at him, suddenly conscious of how you looked, and crossed your arms over your chest.

"y'look real pretty for someone that just got up." his lips curled into a grin. "just wanted to know if you want to come with me for a ride on my bike."

you noticed his eyes scanning you up and down. "in this? i'd rather not," you joked. his eyes lit up, and he laughed, the sound rich and warm. "i'll give you time to get ready if you're up for it, princess."

you chewed your lip, weighing the options of spending your morning with him or just peacefully spending it at home. "fine, where are we going?" you asked.

he flashed a satisfied smile. "you thinking about what you're gonna wear?"

"obviously." you rolled your eyes.

"just wear something pretty for me. i'll figure out where we could go by then." he winked.

he walked back to his house, calling over his shoulder, "30 minutes!" you gave him an 'okay.'

you were all dolled up—for him? who knows, but you knew you looked beautiful. as you locked your door and turned around, billy was already there, waiting by his bike. "don't you think your skirt's a little too short?" he pushed his sunglasses down to take a good look.

"i think it's just right." you smiled at him playfully. "you got a problem with it?" you raised an eyebrow.

"not at all, princess." he replied, leaning back on his bike. he patted the seat, and you rushed over, sliding on behind him. "arms around me," he instructed, and you followed without hesitation.

the two of you rode through the windy, cold streets of hawkins. your heart sped up with adrenaline, and you held onto billy tighter. he could feel you move behind him, but you couldn't see his reaction to it.

he stopped at a local pub. "we're here." he waited for you to get off before doing the same. "well, aren't you romantic? taking me out on a date, mr. hargrove?" you teased.

"want it to be a date?" he shot back, his voice smooth and teasing. you felt your face warm. "whatever."

he chuckled softly at your childishness, his arm snaking around your waist as he led you both into the pub.

you listened to the band playing as billy paid for another drink. "you like 'em?" he asked.

"not bad." you nodded, keeping your eyes on the band.

your skin prickled under billy's gaze. "you been doing okay?" he leaned closer, his voice gravelly right after taking a sip of his beer.

you turned your attention to him, noticing how much taller he was—you had to look up to meet his eyes. he could already tell the alcohol was starting to get to you. "i've been fine. my cat keeps me company." you grinned.

"adorable," he murmured.

you heard it, but you couldn’t tell if he meant your cat or something else. "i’m just more tired recently 'cause of work. where do you get your energy, billy?"

"you don't want to know the answer to that."

you rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him away. "really funny."

the night went on, and the two of you spent it talking about each other the whole time.

"you tired, princess?" he asked, noticing you yawn.

"kinda, wanna head out now," you replied.

he gave a soft smile, stood up to gather his things, and took your hand in his. his hand was rough and calloused, suggesting he did some tough work. "your hand's pretty big," you blurted out.

billy chuckled and hopped onto his bike. "hold onto me, 'kay?" you nodded and wrapped your arms around his waist. "tight, princess."

you rested your head on his back and complied. "good girl," he said, patting your hand. it was cute how considerate he was. you leaned up to his ear and whispered, "go fast, billy."

he went still for just a moment. "no can do, baby."

you pouted, "why not?"

he shook his head and started the bike. "if i go too fast, you won't like it."

you shivered at his words; he was talking about the ride, but your mind wandered elsewhere. "might like it," you replied.

billy's chest shook with laughter. "alright, but don’t cry about it."

he accelerated quickly, and the bike roared to life.

you happily yelled, feeling your arms loosen around his chest as the wind whipped through your hair. the stillness of the night was filled with your screams and the engine’s growl.

your heart raced, but you felt secure knowing billy was there, keeping you safe.

you finally arrived at your house, hopping off his bike. you waited for billy to do the same.

"had fun, sweetheart?" he asked, flashing a genuine smile.

you responded with enthusiastic yes’s, and he laughed in return. "let’s call it a night," he said.

you paused, feeling a pang of disappointment. you had hoped he might want to spend more time with you. hesitating, you reached out to tug on his jacket.

billy noticed and turned back to you. "uhm," you stammered.

"what’s wrong, princess?" his voice carried a note of concern.

you closed your eyes tightly and sighed. "don’t you want to spend the night with me?" you chewed on your lips as you waited for his reaction.

he smirked, "oh baby, i don’t think i can do that," his voice deep. "we don’t know what could happen."

your face flushed with warmth, the heat spreading through your skin.

but alcohol gave you a boost of confidence.

"why? are you scared of me?" you leaned your head to the side, feigning innocence.

"scared? not at all, baby," he shook his head, stepping closer. "for all we know, you should be scared of me." his eyes locked onto yours with an intense gaze.

you hadn’t noticed him get off his bike and move closer until now.

you challenged him with the same intensity in your stare. "do you want me to just say what i want out loud?" you asked.

he was taken aback, "what do you want, hm?" his face getting even closer.

without another word, you leaned in and caught him in a hungry, passionate kiss. your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his hands gripped your waist. your bodies moved in sync, drawing closer with each passing second.

he broke the kiss, his breathing staggered. you watched as he licked his lips. "lead the way, baby." he breathes out.

as you entered your house, billy was already helping you out of your top. his hands explored the softness of your unclothed waist while you skillfully unbuckled his belt.

"now, where’d you learn that?" he murmured, placing wet kisses on your neck.

you giggled. "i’m not exactly inexperienced, you know."

you felt him smile against your skin. "trying to make me jealous?" he stepped back to remove his top.

"is it working?" you asked, watching him as he tossed it aside. "nah, i’m pretty sure no one else could make you feel the way i do."

with a sudden move, he lifted you, causing you to yelp in surprise. he carried you over to the sofa and gently laid you down on your back, his body covering yours.

he resumed kissing your neck, moving down to your collarbone, chest, and stomach. his gaze then fixed on your skirt.

"need this off," he muttered, his hands gripping the edges and pulling them off forcefully.

his eyes widened just a bit seeing what you had under the skirt. "pink, huh?"

"i like pink." you responded, defensively.

he bit his lip and slid the thong off you, holding it out in front of him. "you like it?" you asked, playfully batting your eyes at him.

"mhm," he said, bunching it up in his hand and bringing it to his nose. your jaw dropped as he inhaled deeply. "billy! oh my god!" you exclaimed, reaching up to snatch it from his hand.

embarrassment flooded over you.

"what?" he feigned innocence, a smirk playing on his lips. "a man can't do what he wants?" his fingers traced your inner thigh, brushing against your sensitive skin.

you gasped at the teasing touch, whimpering as you clung to his belt loops, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

his fingers inched closer to your core, just barely touching your wetness. you guided his hand, trying to bring it closer to where you needed it most.

"oh no, baby. i take the lead, okay?" he said, gently pushing you away. you whimpered, "please, billy," your eyes welling up with tears.

his gaze grew darker. "you gonna cry?"

you shook your head, "please, just—please do something," you pleaded, a tear threatening to fall.

billy shushed you softly, caressing your cheek. you leaned into his touch, comforted by his gentleness. he slowly moved down, positioning himself between your legs. you instinctively held your thighs together, but he pushed them apart. "don’t hide," he murmured.

he leaned in, his tongue tracing a stripe up your folds. you heard him grunt softly, "been waiting to do that for so long," his voice vibrating against you.

you moaned at his words and his touch. he ate you out, his tongue working in and out, mixing with your wetness. the sensation of his saliva and your own desire intertwined, heightening the pleasure.

your insides were pulsing, and he could feel it. "wait—billy," you said, trying to push him away. his grip on your thighs was firm, and he remained steady.

you squirmed and whimpered, your legs trembling as he continued, but then he stopped.

"ah?" you said, surprised, as he licked his finger and maintained eye contact with you. that same finger made its way inside you, earning a gasp out of you.

he moved his finger in and out without mercy, and you cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation of something thicker inside you. "billy, i think i'm gonna—"

tears stained your face as billy observed you closely, his eyes focused intently. he added another finger, and you arched your back, your head hitting the sofa as the intensity built.

the sounds of your pleasure and your voice prompted a satisfied smile from billy. he continued his movements, his thumb now gently tracing circles on your clit. "fuck!" you scream out.

your fluid shots out as you wail. "oh my fucking god..." you cried out.

"it's just me baby." he smiled, a wide smile. he shimmied his jeans off, he was leaking.

you lazily smiled at him, "my turn?" you asked.

"you got enough energy to ride?"

you shook your head a 'no'. you wished you lied but you really couldn't get up after that, even if it would make him feel really good. your body felt limp.

"that's okay, baby," he spat on his hand and jerked himself a bit, "just need your throat." he continued.

you already knew where he was going with this. you giggled, opening your mouth, your tongue lolling out. he whistled, "so pretty like this," he spat into your mouth. "swallow, princess."

and you did as you were told.

he climbed over you until you were face to face with his long, hard dick. he was big, not even kidding. "if you can't take it, tap me three times, okay?"

you hummed a 'yes'.

he entered your mouth slowly, he filled you up real nice. your hand moved to your clit.

bily exhaled and moaned as you took all of him. your moan made his body shake, the vibrations made him weak. "i'm gonna go fast, sweetheart. think you can handle that?" he said, his hand wrapped on your throat.

before you could answer, he moved in and out. he hit the back of your throat multiple times causing you to gag and sputter. billy leaned his head back, whispering out a 'fuck..'

he wasn't going fast yet. you wanted him to go faster.

you whimpered around him, billy looked down at you. he saw your eyes, pleading for more. he smirked and did what you wanted.

he changed his pace and went faster, you felt so full. his dick made your head feel heavy and your fingers on your clit doubled the pleasure.

billy kept going until you could feel his pace slow a bit, he was getting closer and you knew just what to do. you purposefully tighten up your neck and he moaned out loud.

"fuck, sweetheart. taking me so good," he breathed out, encouraging you, "you're so good, can't believe you finally let me do this to you." he shut his eyes closed.

you were making all types of sounds hearing his words, you weren't the only one who wanted this. he was thinking about you too.

as billy pushed his hips in, you felt his cum shoot out down your throat. you swallowed, drinking it all up. "holy shit..." he exclaimed, taking out his softening dick and watched you lick your lips.

"might need to keep you all to myself."

[loveandleases]

LOOVVVEEDDDD the demo and can't wait for the update! I hope you don't mind that I got two questions, but I gotta ask: what kinda hobby options do you have written down for the MC? Also, how would all the ROs, plus Chris, Jade, and Aunt Em, react if MC's cooking is five-star restaurant levels good? (I imagine Chris is kicking themselves over losing a god-tier-chef MC who cooks as a hobby)

💗 Glad you enjoyed and I don't mind at all! 1. We have writing/reading, art (drawing, painting), gaming/watching anime, cooking, photography, music (could be singing/playing instrument), exercising.

I'm going into it with the thought that depending on the hobby the MC will have the chance to spend time with RO's even in a platonic sense as well as be used to further their business. (For example: an MC who likes to exercise has the chance to run into two RO's. MC who is into art can create a logo for their business) (2 is under the cut due to length)

2. 💩 Chris - Butthurt. Which is what we want! Clarke family curse is that they can't cook right? So Chris before MC relied on fast food or their parents chef. The only real homecooked food they had was from MC or Em when they visited. It's like throwing salt on a wound. Because now they're back to fast food, easy snacks. Because Jade can't cook a damned thing. Chris is pretty sure doggo enjoys watching as Chris mumbles about wanting a hot meal from time to time.

💀 Jade - In her eyes she doesn't have time to waste on things like cooking. Why would she bother when she can just have Chris take her out to some fancy dinner? The only reason MC bothers is because they have nothing else to do obviously. (She's jelly very jealous)

😇 Em - If MC is great at cooking then Em was the one who likely taught them the basics. So for Em, it's like winning a prize. All those little dinners they have Em can have MC help. It's refreshing to be able to have someone else in the kitchen with her, it's something she hasn't had the luxury of in many years. (She's really relieved that MC and Cam won't starve. Cam could screw up warming soup, so for Em it's a blessing.)

❤️ Cam - Oh it's like he won the lottery, and it's Christmas and his birthday all at the same time. Cam is an eater, he loves food. An MC who can keep him fed is like the cherry on top for him. MC would have to tell Cam not to bother them late at night, when he's up all alone on his laptop. He just wants one snack, honest!!! He will use puppy dog eyes, don't let them deter you!

💙 G - To them it's a nice ability to have. In fact, G will be curious as to why they only get cake's on their birthday. Shouldn't they be allowed more? Do they look like someone who doesn't enjoy the delicious taste of dessert? They would want to watch MC cook from time to time, see if they can pick up some of the things they do and surprise them later with a nice home cooked meal.

💚 Kara - Finally, someone who can cook and not kill her! She's thankful all too much, this will be the one time you see her tearing up when she realizes she doesn't have to eat another cold sandwich for work. She would want to help, Kara wants to bake. She wants to be able to make cute cakes and cookies. But, she should never ever be allowed in the kitchen. She's worse than Cam.

💛 M - Won't even notice at first, even when they see MC in their kitchen. They have no idea why MC is in there, M kinda lives off easy food, until their moms send them something. Even then they kind of forget to eat. So imagine their surprise when MC has a five star meal ready for them when they finally look up from their computer. Absolutely flabbergasted. Can MC try and make recipes they've seen in anime? Is it weird for them to ask? Sorry MC, but your cooking expertise is going to be wrote about.

💜 Isaac - They aren't the worst in the kitchen, they can make some delicious stuff but Isaac sticks to what they know. They haven't had someone actually cook for them since their mother died. It would be a bitter topic at first, Isaac not wanting to seem thrilled by the notion. Then they would make the offhanded jokes that MC knows the way to their heart is through their stomach. But they would begin to truly appreciate it, and eventually want MC to try making their mothers signature dish. (The one Isaac makes when they feel lonely.)

🖤 Ardent - As a wiz in the kitchen, don't think that's going to impress him so easily. In fact, don't think that MC can make better baklava than him. It would become a competition, Ardent far too cocky for his own good thinking that there is no way MC can be better in the kitchen than him. When he finds out that he actually enjoys MC's food, he will play it off like he's allowing MC to cook for him. Like he's allowing them to do him a favor. (he will be making moans of how delicious mc's cooking is) play it off like he's sore from working out.

[writingmeraki]

eyes don't lie masterlist

a roronoa zoro series !

summary : In a twisted series of events that rendered you useless and completely hopeless, you would laugh at yourself if you knew that a cheery ball of sunshine and his crew of crooked pirates would end up saving your life and apparently also changing the whole trajectory of what you'd always thought was your future.

( or in which you learn what it's like to live as you embark on a journey with the supposed king of pirates and his crew where one particular mold green headed dumbass always irked you in ways you couldn't really describe. )

genre : fluff, angst, romance, humor ( as always, attempts of it ) pairing : live-action!roronoa zoro x gn!reader, s2e2l, strangers!2enemies!2lovers!,reader is a martial artist and a knifeman. warnings : death, cussing, kissing, suggestive content in the future, violence, mentions of weapons, warnings will be added for each chapter.

also ft : the rest of the cast of the live-action one piece series.

start date : 18/02/2024

TAGLIST : open ! ( just send an ask or reply on here )

CHAPTERS !

i. bravery or stupidity ?

ii. welcome aboard !

iii. to be annouced.

author's note : ahh here we gooo, this man has inspired me soo good to write something and actually has removed me from this rough writer's block! so here we have my first official written series on here 💀 I honestly don't know how long it'll be but it might be long/medium length! hope you guys enjoy this as much as I do and together we shall simp for this beautiful human being <3 also changing up my style and adding the author's note at the end cause I realised if I add it in the beginning, it looks so long sjshsksk but also guys I promise I haven't forgotten any of the requests even the very old ones, I'll literally trt to finish those too during this time, just yk when inspo hits, it hits. have a good day <3 !

!!! also based only of knowledge from live action ( yes ik some might get offended if I don't include stuff from the manga/anime so imma be honest and say idk anything other than the live-action!)

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest. I don't own any of the characters from the movie, rightfully belonging to One Piece creators and the Netflix franchise and also this is a fictional work, not relating to any of the cast in real life.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023-24

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

And I will call it home, this curse of ours (despite, despite, despite)

Day 7 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 8.2k

genre: horror, fluff kinda, hurt/comfort

warnings: vampire timmy, werewolf reader, reader gets shot and it's pretty bloody, lots of blood talk actually but in a vampire way, fade to black rooftop smut scene idk guys

a/n: pls god I hope everyone likes this one I fell asleep with my face on my desk writing it. but it's the classic !! I had to finish the event with the classic. ask me abt the jason todd cameo that I couldn't find a place to fit in

"Oh, god, not this again." You're walking down one of the endless streets of Gotham, your hood up and your shoulders hunched, when you hear someone sigh and groan while the person she's with goes on and on.

"No, I'm serious. There's something wrong with those Waynes -"

"You're just jealous because they're rich and they run the city. Come on -"

"No, I mean it," he insists, stopping to stand on the sidewalk and frown at his friend. You stop abruptly, too, nearly bumping into them from behind before you make a sharp turn to veer around them to keep walking. Thankfully, they don't pay you any real mind. "They're vampires - I know it. If you would just listen to me -"

"When are you going to stop believing in those ghost stories? They're not real," the woman is insisting, but you've trailed too far away by that point to hear the rest of her sentence.

The Waynes.

The biggest vampire coven on the coast. The only vampire coven left in Gotham.

And yes, they run the city, you think dryly as you continue to weave through winding, narrow streets and look up at the sliver of moon that just barely shines through the damp, foggy night. Yes, you think, they're unbeatable - and they've got the nasty, self-righteous responsibility of keeping this city in check.

A bat flies somewhere overhead and you flinch before huffing and shaking your head. Stupid, you think as you drag your feet. Stupid to move to a place that drove out your kind centuries ago. Stupid to come here knowing that it would carve a bloody target onto your back. Stupid to think that you could just keep your head down and stay hidden and let the rest of the world pass you by.

"That's impossible," Damian says indignantly, sniffing as he crosses his arms. His eyes glow in the dull glint of the Cave and a swarm of bats fly overhead.

"It's not," Dick huffs, frowning down at his brother. "People have been talking about it, I'm telling you."

"There are no werewolves in Gotham, Grayson," Damian snaps, stomping away. "Father's made sure of that." Dick looks to Bruce as Damian disappears in the shadows of the Cave, swept up by the darkness and the crushing echo, and Bruce just sighs thoughtfully. 

"It's a war that we won centuries ago, Dick," Bruce says in a smooth, deep rumble. "The wolves were driven out of my city a very long time ago."

"I know," Dick snaps. "That's why it's - Don't you think it's strange? What people have been saying? Wolf prints in the forests by the manor, rumours of people seeing some kind of creature in the city at night, it's -"

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, Dick," Bruce says placatingly as he holds up his hand. "I'm only saying… if this is true… if wolves are back in Gotham, that means war is back on our doorstep. We need to tread carefully, that's all."

"Might be fun," Tim chirps, silently slipping into the conversation between the two of him, his fangs glinting as he grins. "I've always wanted to really see one."

"Don't be reckless, Tim," Dick groans. "They're dangerous. Don't go out and get yourself -"

"If there really is a wolf out there," Bruce continues, ploughing over Dick and Tim's squabble, "it'll do us no good to have people grow suspicious. This needs to be dealt with quietly. Those of us in the shadows… must remain in the shadows. You know this."

"Yea," Tim snaps his fingers and turns to Dick. "How's that, uh, situation with the gargoyle doing, hm? You dealt with that one yet?"

"I'm working on it," Dick snaps, crossing his arms and letting his fangs glint through the darkness. 

"This coven is stronger than we ever have been before," Bruce continues, ignoring the feud in front of him. "There's no reason for this to get out of hand. However… we'd be fools to think this thing has really come here alone, and killing it quickly will only bring the rest of the pack. Tim," Bruce spins to face him and Tim straightens under the attention. "Find the creature - track it, find out what it's doing here."

"What - me?" Tim splutters. Bruce merely turns and begins to walk further into the Cave, leaving the two of them in shadow and the echo of his words.

"Of course," he says without looking back. "You wanted to see one up close, after all. Just watch its teeth."

Werewolves, fortunately, have a smell incredibly distinct from humans, so it doesn't take long for Tim to pick you out from the crowd. He's trailing after you as you wander down one of the many twisted streets of the city, keeping you in his sights as you move quickly with your head ducked low. 

You're nervous, he realizes quickly - because he can hear it, the frantic beating of your heart and the blood pumping through you. Tim finds himself running his tongue over one of his fangs and tipping his head back for just a moment, letting himself take his eyes off of you for just a second. But then he refocuses and you're suddenly…

You're gone, disappeared from in front of him. Tim freezes, staring at the spot where you'd been before glancing around. Night rose hours ago and, at this ungodly hour, the streets are deserted. It had just been the two of you out here and now, he thinks as he listens to the sudden silence - now it's just him. 

The silence stretches on. A street lamp somewhere flickers and a bat flies overhead.

The vicious, rumbling snarl that he hears from behind him isn't enough warning before the force of a wolf slamming him to the ground knocks the wind out of him. Even with his heightened reflexes, he wasn't fast enough to dodge before the two of you are tumbling across the empty road with snapping jaws and clawing hands. 

You roll, the both of you, through the yellow, pooled light of a street lamp and into one of the dripping, dirty alleys of the city, and that's where Tim finally rights himself. He smooths his hands through his tousled hair as he hisses at you, baring his fangs as the creature in front of him snarls and snaps dripping, yellowed teeth back at him. 

But you don't lunge again - not yet, at least. You circle him, keeping your pale, moonlit eyes focused on him as you growl and shake your fur out from the ordeal.

"You're the wolf," Tim blurts out, and you pause, faltering at the obviousness of it all. Tim crouches in front of you, cocking his head to the side with a curiosity that outweighs any fear that he should feel in this situation, and the action makes you stop completely and square yourself with him. 

"I've always wanted to really see one of you," he murmurs, staring at you with sharp, red eyes. "Can you do that whenever you want? I'd always thought it was just… on the full moon." Tim reaches for you then, like he's entranced by whatever morbid curiosity he's wrapped up in, and the sight of it all makes your hackles rise as you bare your teeth.

It's when you finally lunge at him, aiming for his outstretched hand, that Tim snaps back to the present moment and jerks back, up and onto the safety of a fire escape and away from you. He leans over the railing and watches you circle him from below for just a moment before he tips his head back and stares at the blotchy, darkened sky. 

"I think," he says slowly, beginning to tip his head back down, "that there's a lot more I'd like to learn about you before this is through." But by the time his eyes are trained on the ground again, you're… gone, disappeared into the blackened night again and leaving him alone. 

The next time that Tim comes after you, he feels like he's learned. Dick had chastised him properly when he'd told his brother about his first wolf encounter. He'd reprimanded Tim for not realizing that werewolves are just as supernatural as the vamps - they're fast and deadly and a lot harder to catch than humans.

So, this time around, Tim feels that he's learned. He's trailing you from the rooftops, sticking to vampire domain and staying in the skies as he watches you wander down below, weaving through streets and alleyways. 

But he finds himself… confused again. Because you're acting the way that you did on that first night - sharp and skittish and nervous, looking over your shoulder and keeping a hastened pace. 

But it can't be because of him, Tim thinks. So what…what are you so afraid of? 

Tim glances down to secure his footing for just a moment, but it's long enough for you to have disappeared a second time.

"Fuck," he spits, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "Oh my god, Dick's gonna kill me -"

"You're sloppy." A voice makes him whirl around and it's you standing there, your breath heaving with the effort of climbing up onto the roof. Your hands are clenched at your sides and your feet are braced like you're ready for a fight, but Tim just cocks his head to the side and stares at you.

"How'd you do that without me noticing?" he asks. You grit your teeth,

"You're not the first vamp I've hunted. Doubt you'll be the last," you snap, but Tim just hums and nods and turns fully to face you. 

"I'm not sloppy." He says it slowly, like he's unsure of the insult. You smile menacingly and something that feels a bit too much like fear crawls up Tim's spine. 

"The Waynes have ruled unchallenged for too long," you continue. "You don't know how to hunt anymore. You're sloppy, careless - can't even corner a lone werewolf properly."

"Ah," Tim responds, his voice hardening. "So it's true. You are here for a fight."

"No," you shake your head. "It's just an observation. I'm here," you say clearly, stepping towards him and quirking a brow when he takes a step back, "to tell you to stay away from me. Leave me alone."

"And leave you to come after us? Yea, no chance," Tim scoffs and you just glare at him.

"I don't have anything to do with your family and I don't want anything to do with your family," you snap. "I'm just trying to get away from all that."

"…What?"

"There's no war in Gotham City anymore. That's…that's what everyone says," you say quietly, your voice tapering off. "I just…I'm just trying to get away from it. I just wanted to find somewhere where no one would follow me."

When you dart off the roof, then, heading to the edge and kicking your legs over the side to drop down into the abyss below, Tim finds himself too bewildered to stop you. Your words turn over and over in his mind and he finds that he can't quite grasp why someone would come here willingly. He can't quite understand why someone would flee to a place as cursed as this. 

The game of cat and mouse that the two of you begin to play is a bit too much for Tim to want it to end, and he finds himself slinking off, away from the Cave and his prying family more and more often just to chase you down. 

He's shocked, startled into frozen silence when he finds you one night hidden in the corner of a deep, dark alleyway. You're plastered against the rough brick wall, unmoving and holding your breath, and when you lock eyes with Tim he sees how wild you look - like an animal caught in a snare. 

"What -" Tim begins, but you press a finger over your lips to shush him silently and you look at him desperately, your eyes wide and heart hammering against your ribcage. He slinks into the shadows next to you, keeping himself hidden as he watches you with furrowed brows and concern clouding his eyes. But he listens, nonetheless, straining to hear any sort of sound beyond the typical ruckus of the city.

He does hear something when he really listens, and it's enough to make Tim freeze, a cold sort of terror seeping into him. He can hear it, the bickering conversation of a group of men - and they're talking about you. They're asking where you went, following the trail of your footsteps and the sound of your howls. And Tim can hear it, the sound of a silver bullet clinking in the barrel of a gun. He can hear the grating clank of a wooden stake pressed into someone's palms.

Hunters.

There are werewolf hunters in Gotham… and they're here for you.

Tim stares at you, at the way your eyes squeeze shut in panic and you gasp in a shuddering breath. He stares and something burns in him. 

There have been no hunters in Gotham for centuries. The Waynes have been too powerful for too long for anyone to try to go up against them, especially humans with pitchforks and burning torches. 

But now… one lone werewolf is enough to bring all of that crashing down. One small person is enough to drag that fear back into their lives, even if it was against your own will. 

Tim grabs you by the collar of your shirt, tugging you toward a fire escape. When you resist, when you dig your heels in and shake your head, he hisses and bares his fangs. 

"Would you rather I hand you over to them?" he snaps. "It's me or them. Choose." There's a sort of betrayal that flashes through your eyes, then, but you knock his hand off of your collar and begin climbing up to the roof, anyway, trusting him to follow after you. 

The night sky, when you make it to the top, is as shrouded and dark as ever, the moon large and looming past the fog that bears down onto you. You stand with your back to Tim, your fists clenched as you take deep breaths and stare out toward the narrow, twisted city. 

"You've endangered us all," Tim spits, and your fists clench tighter.

"I'm sure you can handle it."

"No, that's not the point," he snaps as he reaches for you, grabbing you by the shoulder to make you spin and face him. "Why are they after you?"

"Because I'm a werewolf," you say dully. Tim grabs onto the collar of your shirt again and shakes you just a bit.

"Don't be stupid. You have to tell me what's going on or - or… just - please. Tell me," he trails off at the end, keeping you close to him with his fingers bunched into the fabric of your shirt. You put your hands on top of his, your warm palms meeting his ice-cold skin, and when Tim glances down he startles. 

He'd never seen you in just a t-shirt before, he realizes, and he sees it now - long, jagged scars on your arms. He knows what they're from - he recognizes them from what he's learned. They're scars from werewolf fights, deep gouges from claws and teeth marring your skin. 

"How," he falters. "What - you…"

"You're not supposed to leave your pack," you respond quietly, letting your hands rest atop his as he keeps his grip on your shirt tight. "It's… it's a crime, in a way. You're not supposed to run away."

"Why did you…" Tim looks up at you desperately, something akin to anguish flashing through his cold, red eyes, and a frown tugs on your lips as you try to understand why he's so upset by it all. "What…what happened? You have to tell me what happened."

"Well, I -" you shift on your feet. "I left, Tim. I - there's a war going on out there. My kind and - and yours - we're slaughtering each other. I… I left. I ran away from it. I ran away." Tim lets go of you, then, stumbling back and running his hands through his hair while you continue. "The… the rest of the world isn't like Gotham, Tim. Not all of us have the protection that you do."

"Why Gotham?" he asks abruptly, snapping his head back up to stare at you. "Why come here? You're not safe here."

"I'm not safe anywhere," you point out, but then you sigh and walk to the edge of the roof to sit with your feet swinging over the edge. The frigid winds of autumn are beginning to waft through the city, but the blood that pumps through you keeps you burning always and Tim, as he sits next to you slowly, finds himself unaffected by the cold against his frozen skin.

"There was a time," you continue to explain, "before the bats took over Gotham, when it was still lawless and… and wild. There was a time when my kind was still welcome here. It was… it was centuries, I know, but… I don't - I don't know. In a way, I guess, it's… it's just like coming home." You laugh then, a bit hysterically, at the trap of it all. Through generations and generations, the city has tugged you and pulled you harder and harder and harder until you couldn't help but stumble here. You couldn't help but try to begin to build a home here. 

"I…" Tim begins slowly, like the words are being tugged from him against his will. "I know what it's like to be… lonely. I - I know what it's like to feel like you don't belong somewhere."

"Is that so?" you sigh, tipping your head back as a patch of clouds part and the light of the moon shines down onto you. 

"I do," he insists rather earnestly. "I… I felt like that. When - when I was human." That makes you pause, makes you tip your head back down, abandoning the light of the moon to look at him, instead.

"You're not… upset about being bitten, then?"

"No, I -" Tim laughs. "I wanted it. I begged Bruce for it."

"Who would ever want such a thing?" you murmur, but there's no real accusation in your voice as you watch him. Tim just shrugs, clenching his hands in his lap.

"It's like I said, I… I was lonely. I didn't - I wasn't anybody or anything. I - I just… I just wanted to belong somewhere. That's all."

"Ah," is all you say in response, tipping your head back again to face the sky. But you're just a moment too late, this time, and the clouds have already swarmed to cover the moon again, leaving the two of you in heavy, damp darkness once more. 

Tim, meanwhile, stares down toward the ground, letting his eyes trace over the maze of streets that form the city that he's grown to love. It sort of burns when he remembers it, what it was like to be alone and lost and desperate for a soft place to land - desperate for a place to call home. 

"I don't get you," he says suddenly, his voice heavy as it cuts through the night.

"Hm?"

"You gave that up. You had that and you gave it up."

"Tim, I -" you sigh. "No… it wasn't like that. It wasn't that simple."

"Then explain it to me," Tim says quickly, as he turns to face you, propping a leg up on the ledge of the roof so that his knee presses against your hip and you can feel the coolness of his skin seeping into you through your clothes. "Make me understand."

"Why?"

"Because, I -" Tim trails off, staring at you like he's just realized the truth, himself. "Because, I… I want to understand you. I want to know you."

"I… did have those things," you sigh, reeling from Tim's confession and bulldozing on so as to not think about it. "I had a pack and a family and a… a purpose, I suppose. And I did - I gave that up. But it's not…it's not our war, Tim. It's not mine."

"Of course it is," he says immediately, but you sigh and place a hand on his knee, your thumb brushing against his inner thigh.

"No, listen. We are puppets, Tim, fighting a war that doesn't belong to us. Do you know how it started? Do you know why we're sworn against each other?"

"Well…" Tim says slowly. "No, but… I - I just don't remember. But I'm sure it's… I'm sure…"

"You don't even know why you're fighting anymore, do you?" you say gently, and Tim feels a bit like all of the air has been punched out of him. "What do you really believe in? What do you really want to do with those teeth of yours?"

"Well, I don't," Tim begins, and the panic that he feels makes a defensive sort of venom drip from his fangs and pool in his mouth. "I don't want to live like you, shivering alone in an alleyway in a city that you don't belong in while you're - you're hunted like an animal."

"I am an animal, Tim," you smile gently, and a guilt begins to eat at him while his head spins. "We both are."

But he finds that he's not listening to you very well now, too busy spiralling and reeling and feeling the world tip around him as your words ring through his mind over and over and over. 

Because you're right, he thinks. You're right because he's sitting here on a rooftop with you, his sworn enemy, and you're warm and kind and looking at him like you care about him. Your shoulder's brushing against his and the warmth of your palm is seeping into his thigh and all that he can think about is how lovely you look under the pale light of the moon.

"Maybe you have a point, though," you laugh, and it's a humourless, hollow sort of thing. "What's the point, really, if… if you're alone?" He wants to scream at you when you say that, wants to grab you by the collar and shake you and say that he gets it now, just a little bit. Because what's the point, really, of living, if you're living someone else's life?

But you're just sighing and closing your eyes and tipping your head back again and Tim finds that he can't speak. He finds that the words get caught in his throat on the way up. 

"Curled up in a corner of the world and left with nothing other than survival," you murmur, your eyes still firmly shut. "God, what a life. What a… a lie. What a way to pretend."

"You're not pretending," Tim blurts out, and his hand shoots out to wrap around your wrist and hold onto you, anchoring your palm to his thigh. "You're not because - because this is living, right? This is - you're doing it, aren't… aren't you? Isn't it - isn't this what it means to be alive?"

"Alive?" you say quietly, having opened your eyes to stare at him and watch his outburst unfold. "Do you… remember what it was like to be alive?" 

Tim lets go of you like you've burned him when you say that. He winces, curling into himself as he feels like he's collapsing under the weight of it all. He can feel his own cold, pale skin and the press of his fangs poking against his bottom lip. He can hear the sound of your heart beating, the rush of your blood through your veins. He can… he can remember - almost, what it was like to have his own beating heart.

"I'm… sorry," you say quietly, looking away from him and making an effort to tug your hand away. "I shouldn't have… I don't mean it like that. I'm sorry." Tim watches as your hand leaves his thigh, as the warmth of your palm melts away and the cold sets in. Looking out toward the endless, looming city, Tim wonders if it was ever really worth it - being alive here.

"Well, maybe…" he begins slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe neither of us are really living. Maybe we - I don't know, maybe you always want what you don't have… or - or something."

"I guess," you laugh, and it's a hollow, lifeless sort of thing. "I guess I… I don't know, it's…" You pause, chewing on your lips as you weigh your words. Tim watches, letting his eyes flick over your lips.

"Lonely?" he offers quietly. You turn to look at him again, shifting so that your sides press together a bit more.

"I'm… I'm not lonely right now," you say quietly, your voice so soft that he's sure he would've missed it in another life where he hadn't turned into this thing. "Are… are you? Lonely, I mean. Right now?" Tim looks at you carefully, weighing your words in his soul as he listens to the unsteady beat of your heart and feels the warmth rolling off of you in waves and splashing onto him.

"…No," he admits, and it feels like a confession of sin, like an unholy action… to find love in an enemy and peace in the middle of a war. "No, I… I'm not - I don't feel lonely right now."

"It doesn't really make sense, does it?" you muse quietly, and as you lean back onto your palms, he finds himself missing your warmth desperately. When he chases after it, following your movement with his own and leaning over you, you let him, a lazy sort of grin slipping across your face. 

"What doesn't?" he murmurs in response, although the more he leans into you, the more his mind hazes over and he finds it difficult to listen to reason.

"This," you offer. "This… feud. This war. Are we not just… the same? Are we not creatures of the night, both of us?"

"Creatures, sure," Tim says easily in response as he flashes his fangs at you. You just roll your eyes in response and he listens for the scared uptick of your heartbeat that just… never comes. It's a steady, even beat and he feels it drawing him in and in and in until he's leaning so close to you that your noses are almost touching.

"There are real enemies down there," you murmur, but your voice has grown sombre and your heartbeat has jumped in a way that makes him snarl, all fangs and flashing eyes. You reach to tangle a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and press your forehead against his. "Those hunters… they never stop, you know. They never slow, they never give up. They'll circle endlessly until they find me."

"I won't let them get to you," Tim says in a rush, his words jumbling together in his haste to promise himself to you. You smile ruefully, like you can't quite believe it and you're too tired to try.

"Why?" you challenge.

"Because you're mine."

"Your… enemy? Right…? Right, Tim?" 

"Yes," Tim says haltingly, leaning closer to you. Your lips brush against his and a shiver wracks through him.

"I don't think so," you whisper. "I don't think there's any need for us to fight each other. I don't think there's any need for us to fight this…"

That's all it takes, really, to have him lunging for you. Tim's lips are ice cold against yours and the grip that he has on your hips is firm, anchoring you to him. It's only when you reach to tangle both of your hands into his hair that he moves, cushioning the back of your head with his hand as you fall backwards until your back is pressed against the rooftop and he's pressed against you.

"Are you… sure?" he asks tentatively, breaking the kiss to skim his lips down the column of your throat and let his fangs scrape against your skin. "Are you sure you want this? You  - you want me?"

"Well, who else?" you quip. "Would you rather I let someone else do this to me?" That's enough to get another snarl from him before his lips are back on yours, taking and taking and taking.

"My love," Tim's voice wakes you slowly, his hand shaking your shoulder gently as you blink your eyes open.

"Hm?"

"The sun will be up soon… I have to go," he says, a bit sullenly. You huff and move to sit, rolling your shoulders out from the hard rooftop as he watches you. There are loving bruises from his lips and fangs littering your neck and collarbones and Tim smiles when he sees them, reaching forward to brush a thumb over some of them and delighting in your shiver.

"You should get out of here," you murmur, your voice thick with sleep still as you lean into his touch.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You…" Tim pauses, frowning at you as he glances around the rooftop. "Those hunters are still out there. You need to be careful. You need - you need to be protected."

"I can protect myself, Timmy," you assure him gently, standing and stretching out your back and shoulders. "I've been doing it for a long time."

"But you don't -" Tim shoots to his feet to look you in the eye while he speaks. "You don't have to - not anymore. I'll… I want to - I just want to look out for you."

"Look out for yourself first," you quip gently, eyeing the light just beginning to crest over the horizon. "You need to get inside. And besides…"

"What?" Tim cocks his head to the side. You shoot him a sympathetic look.

"I'm not sure it's me you should be worried about. What do you think he'll do? Bruce, I mean. What - do you think he'll be happy about this? About you spending the night with something like me?"

"He…" Tim falters. "He doesn't know. Of course, he doesn't know. I wouldn't - I wouldn't do that to you."

"I…" you sigh, stepping forward to press a kiss to the corner of Tim's frown. "I didn't mean it like that. I just need - I want you to be careful. You'll get yourself into trouble if he finds out."

"He won't," Tim assures confidently. "He… he won't."

Tim thinks, as the sun sets once again and he slinks out of the Cave, that he's probably a coward. He considers it as he makes his way out into the crisp, cool air of the night and chases after you - he thinks back to all of the lies that he's begun to tell Bruce.

Your words ring through his head over and over, claims that you have to stand on your own two feet and carve your own soul swarming around him as he thinks of how small he's gotten under the shadow of someone else's war.

He thinks that he has to talk to you about it, has to fall to his knees and ask for guidance, ask for a direction to throw himself into. He thinks -

He smells blood. He sees blood, splattered across the pale concrete of the sidewalk and dripping from a nearby street lamp. He smells it, sweet and thick and heady and… it's yours. He knows it, can taste it in the air. It's your blood… and there's lots of it. 

It's a bit of a mad scramble, then, to chase after you. Tim’s senses, usually sharpened to perfection and designed to hunt, become fuzzy as waves of nauseating panic roll over him. He stumbles a bit, tumbling into an alleyway as he follows the scent and the sight of your blood smeared over the cracked, winding roads of this cursed, darkened city. He stumbles and he lurches and then… and then he comes face to face with you.

A great wolf, snarling and snapping and curled into the corner of a shady alleyway, pressed against the rough, brick wall as a silver bullet sits embedded in your shoulder. Tim sort of… freezes at the sight, at the blood oozing from the open wound and the way the smell of it hits the air, his tongue pricking and his fangs pressing against his lip. 

"My -" he lurches toward you. "My love, I - holy shit." He falls to his knees before you, the jaws of a wolf snarling and exposed above his head as he stares at the bullet and the silver poison that seeps into you from it. He can hear it, the scattered, frantic beat of your heart - he can hear the wheezing of your lungs and the slowing of the blood pumping through you.

You're dying, and all he can do is fall to his knees in front of you like a prayer. All he can do is curl into himself and grip onto his hair like he's going mad.

"Aw, Timmy," your voice is quiet and shaky and Tim's head snaps up to look at you, now curled on the hard, cold ground in your human form, a pool of your own blood seeping into you. "You look awful."

"Speak for yourself," he snaps weakly, but he reaches for you all the same, dragging your trembling form into his arms as you sway and your eyes blink sluggishly. You wonder, somewhere distant and unimportant, if you're here because you really trust him enough to save you, or if you just… have no choice. 

You wonder it as you see him pull his hand away from your shoulder to stare at the blood on it, at your blood, and when his pupils dilate and his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, you think that this must be a cruel, cruel way to die. Not by the hand of a hunter, but by the hand of your partner. Not by the hand of hate, but… but by the hand of love.

"I'm going to save you," Tim says, though, and the force that rings through you as his words knock the little bit of air that you have left from your chest. He grips your face with a bloody hand, forcing you to look at him and shaking you slightly when you try to let your eyes flutter closed. "I'm going to save you."

"I'm not sure you can, Timmy," you murmur, your voice heavy.

"Hey, no," he taps against your cheek to keep you awake. "You need to stay with me. You need to tell me - I need to know. Who did this? Who did this to you?"

"This isn't really the moment for vengeance, don't you think?" you offer in lieu of an answer. Tim groans and hunches over you, the smell and the sight and the near taste of your blood making his mind spin and his body sway with dizziness. 

He gets a bit too close, he realizes, when his fangs are suddenly scraping against the exposed skin of your throat. It's intoxicating, he finds, the feel of it all. But -

But then he feels it, the weakening flutter of your pulse under his tongue, and it's enough to make his head spin for an entirely different reason. 

"I'm going to save you," Tim repeats, and this time he's pulling you further into his arms as he stands, holding you securely against him. "I … I can't do this on my own, but - I'm… I know someone who can. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, right? I - I promised you, didn't I?"

"Sure," you say sleepily, your words a bit jumbled together as you cling to him. "But who really expects it, hm? A creature like you or me to keep a promise? Who really believes there's a life for things like us?"

"I do," he responds quickly, holding you closer. There's an earnest tilt to his voice that you've never heard before and you wonder, somewhere far, far away, if it's the first time that he's heard that from his own voice, as well. "I - I believe it," he continues. "I believe in a life for my- for you. I… I do. I believe in a life for myself."

"Well, isn't that nice," you murmur, and you mean it as much as you can right now. "I hope you get that, Timmy. I… I really do."

"We'll get it," he pleads with you, and there's a pain in him that feels new to you both. There's a love and a loss that feels so human, so alive that it's sort of… foreign. It's almost out of place coming from a dead thing like him. 

It's sound that first greets you when the beginnings of consciousness begin to stir inside you. It's the sound of water dripping from stalactites, of a waterfall crashing somewhere and a rushing river flowing against rocks. It's the sound of bats chirping and squeaking as a thousand wings flutter and flap somewhere high up. It's the endless echo of it all spinning and spinning and spinning and -

And it's Tim, sitting next to you and picking at his nails nervously.

You can smell him, of course, with that animal nose of yours. Just like you can smell… the cave that you're in, wet and damp and dark, reeking of vampire. Vampires beyond just your nervous, stressed-out lover.

The realization makes you shoot fully awake as you rip your eyes open, struggling to sit up right away and wincing at the searing pain that rips through your shoulder. Tim makes a panicked, strangled sort of noise and reaches for you, shushing you gently and trying to coax you back into a relaxed, lying position.

"Tim," you say earnestly, and there's a panic in you - a fear in you that feels as if it's about to crawl up from your throat. "Tim, I'm -"

"It's ok," he says soothingly, smoothing a hand over your hair as he pulls you into his chest, trying desperately to get you to relax as agony blooms from your bullet wound. "Shh, shh, it's alright. You're safe, I promise."

"I'm in a vampire cave, Timmy, I can't - I'm - it's not -"

"It's ok," he says again, firmly this time as he clamps you against his chest, forcing you to stop your struggling and squirming. If you weren't so hurt, if your head wasn't spinning and your eyes weren't blurring, you'd be able to fight back. Especially now, when the full moon hangs overhead, miles above this endless, blackened, twisting cave that you find yourself lost in. 

"Timmy," you all but whine, tired and trembling and curling into him as he holds you, shushing you and smoothing a hand over your hair and pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

"It's ok," he repeats. "It's alright. You're… you're safe here, I promise. Nothing's going to hurt you in here."

"You can't know that," you say quietly, pushing against him just a bit. He sighs and readjusts himself so that he can look down to you.

"I  - I said I would save you, didn't I? I said I'd bring you to someone who could save you," Tim says earnestly, tightening his grip on you. You freeze at his words, staring up at him with wide eyes as the pieces of your ill-fated night come back to you in burning, painful flashes.

"Who… Tim. Tim, who - what happened? Who…"

"It was…" Tim shifts, looking away from you pointedly as he twists his fingers with yours nervously. "Bruce. It was Bruce."

"It was… Tim -" You laugh a bit hysterically, the sound echoing around the endless, looming cave. "Tim - no, it's… No. he didn't."

"He did," Tim insists. "He did. He… I don't know. I don't know why."

"Is he… is he here?" You shrink a bit as you say it, pressing against Tim's chest as he frowns and wraps his arms around you a bit tighter.

"No," he assures, shushing you again gently. "He's out - they all are."

"For what?"

"Well, see, there's a bit of a pest problem in Gotham," Tim drawls, a hint of mirth in his voice that makes you narrow your eyes. "Werewolf hunters. Nasty things, I'm sure you know. The rest of the family is just… doing a bit of clean up."

"You're -" You squirm out of Tim's grip just enough to sit up and he takes the opportunity to drag you into his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist as you smooth a hand over the hair on the nape of his neck. "Your family is out… to go after werewolf hunters?"

"Yes," Tim says plainly. You give him a withering sort of look. 

"Bruce Wayne, King of the Vampires, saved the life of a werewolf and now he's out, running around under the full moon and tearing apart hunters?" you say dryly.

"Yes," Tim repeats. "It's his city, after all. It's his job."

"It's not," you say quickly, frowning as you tilt your head back to look at Tim, at his red eyes and pale, cold skin. "This is… this is something else. Timmy, you've - you've got to tell me what happened."

"Well - it's," Tim shifts where he sits, looking away a bit bashfully in a way that makes you follow his gaze with your own and narrow your eyes suspiciously. "I don't think he's ever seen me like that before," he continues quietly, a trembling sort of quality making his voice waver. "I've never… I've never begged him for something like that. I don't - I don't think I've ever cared enough about anything to beg like that. It - I don't know, I think maybe it scared him."

"It didn't scare you?" you say gently. The smile that Tim gives you is pained and frail.

"It terrified me so much that I swear to god my heart started to beat again for the first time," he whispers, curling against you so that he can press his face to your neck and feel your pulse against his tongue. 

"Oh, my love," you offer gently, curling your fingers in his hair as you pull him closer. He laughs a bit wetly and pulls away from you just enough to look down at you again, smoothing his hands over your hips to pull you closer on his lap.

"But, you know, I…" Tim pauses as he cocks his head to the side and you watch as the thoughts roll through his mind. "I think, maybe, he… I don't know - maybe Bruce wanted me to, just a bit."

"What… what do you mean?" you ask, cautiously.

"Well, I - I don't think I'm a very good liar. I don't think there's much that really happens in this city that Bruce doesn't know about." Tim shrugs. You straighten as you stare at him.

"So you're saying he - what, he knew? The whole time?"

"I don't - I don't really know. I'll probably never know for sure. Bruce doesn't -" He cuts himself off with an echoing sort of laugh. "He doesn't really share. But - I don't know… I feel like I saw something in him when I showed up with you. I feel like he was almost… proud." Tim shifts in his seat and looks out to the endless darkness of the cave. "I feel like he was proud of me, maybe, for going out and starting to lie. For… I - I don't know, maybe he was proud when I went out and started to become something beyond a shadow of this place."

"Tim, I'm -" you start, your heart flipping in your chest at his confession, at the earnest waver in his voice. 

"It's lucky, you know," he barrels on, like he can't stop all of it now that it's started, like he's split open his chest and cracked open his ribs and can't keep his unbeating heart contained anymore. "Bruce said that it's lucky, I mean. Because it's the full moon. It's - he said that if it was a different time in the cycle, if you hadn't been as strong, you wouldn't have…" He trails off, then, holding you tighter to his chest as he makes a choked, painful sort of sound somewhere in the back of his throat.

"But, I… I didn't" you offer gently, letting him hold you against him as tightly as he needs. "I didn't leave you. I wouldn't - I won't." Tim laughs a bit frantically, burying his face into your neck.

"What an odd thing," he murmurs, his voice muffled, "to belong in such a place."

"Yes," you agree, "but what a place to belong. What a place to call home."

"I don't think you should be here," you quip without looking back, and you hear a sigh in response before Tim breaks out into a jog to catch up to you where you're strolling down one of the endless, darkened sidewalks of Gotham. "It's too late - early. You don't have much time until the sun comes up."

"Was I close this time?" he asks rather sullenly. You pretend to think about it for a moment.

"I only caught you, hm… three blocks ago? Not bad," you shrug. He groans and reaches to tug you to him, holding you against his chest so that he can bury his face into your neck and nip at the delicate skin there with his fangs.

"I don't think you should be out right now," he murmurs gently and you sigh, patting him on the head.

"The new moon happens every month, Timmy," you placate softly. "I'll be ok."

"You're not at your strongest right now," he says in defence and you can't help but shrink a bit under his piercing, red gaze when he pulls his head back up to stare down at you. You don't look well, you know, the effects of being so far from the full moon wearing on you as the dark circles under your eyes grow and your hands tremble.

"It's only temporary," you offer soothingly, pulling him against you to let him wrap an arm around your shoulder as you continue walking down the cracked sidewalk. "It will pass. It always does." And it's true, you think as you step one foot in front of the other. It will pass, it will pass, it will pass. It always does. 

And it's made easier, of course, by the sturdy weight by your side and the arm that holds you so steady. It's made easier, somehow, by the fluttering of a bat's wings overhead and the looming, watchful gaze of a Vampire King. 

"Temporary," Tim huffs, grumbling under his breath. You reach for his hand so that you can tangle your warm fingers with his cold ones and press kisses to his knuckles.

"But you're here, right? Hm? What could possibly happen to me?" you ask teasingly.

"Nothing," Tim answers seriously, and you smile gently as you squeeze his fingers with your own. "Nothing. I'm here - always."

"Well, isn't that nice," you say, and you mean it. How nice, you think, to have something constant- something permanent, even as the world shifts and changes around you. How safe to have something so sturdy to fall back on. 

"I don't mind it, really," you continue as you tip your head back and look up at the empty, blackened sky. "It's just a part of it, you know. It comes… and it goes."

"Like… like all things, I suppose," Tim admits a bit stiffly. You offer him a loving smile.

"Like most things," you correct. "Not… not you. Not us."

"Never us," he responds quickly, his arm around you tightening as a cold breeze blows through and you shiver slightly. "Never us. I - I… I love you. And that's - I mean… that's as constant as anything can be."

And how odd, you think as you stop abruptly so that you can pull him in by his collar and kiss him, to find safety in the arms of a vampire. How strange to have the heart of your enemy pressed against yours and to feel it come back to life just so that it can beat in time with yours. 

How right it all feels… despite, despite, despite.

Because it's one thing, you suppose, to trust him when you're at your strongest. But it's another thing entirely, you think, to trust him at your weakest, to place your glittering heart into his undead hands and watch him hold it with tender care. 

How interesting, you think, to build a home in this of all things. But it is home, you consider as he presses his cold lips against yours and holds you ever so gently against a darkened alley wall. And the home that you build is found where you least expect it sometimes.

Home is the open blue sky and the full moon hanging in it. Home is deciding where you belong and carving a space for yourself into the night. Home is the crisp, cold air of a cursed, tangled city that never sleeps and never really dies.

[thebibliosphere]

I saw your post about ingram, and out of curiosity, is there some advantage to going through the whole self-publishing thing with retailers when you're just starting out? like I mean the way that fandom zines work is that they don't even bother going through ingram or amazon or whatever. they just set up a social media site (usually twitter) to gain followers, open preorders (usually 1-2 months in length) to generate the costs of printing upfront, and then sell anywhere from a few dozen to several hundred copies of their books (usually artbooks, but anthologies exist too). I've seen some zines generate over a thousand orders. they're kind of like pop-up shops, except for books. maybe the sales numbers aren't so impressive to a real author, but the profit generated is typically waaaay more than the $75+ apparently needed for Ingram Spark, so I still feel like new authors could benefit from this method too, especially if they just need some start-up cash to eventually move to ingram if they want to for subsequent runs of their book. I think authors would also have to set aside some of the pre-order money to buy an ISBN number to have printed on their book, and I'm not really sure what other differences there are, but I just wanted to ask about it in case there's some huge disadvantage I'm missing!

So, popup zines work well for some people, and I know some authors who kickstart their work successfully. But for a lot, it's just not feasible as a long-term stratedy. Or even as a means to get off the ground.

Fanzines succeed primarily because an existing fanbase is willing and ready to throw money at something they love. They’ve got a favorite writer or artist they want to support. Supporting all the others is just a happy by-product. They also take a HUGE amount of short-term but intense planning that just doesn’t always jive with how some of us work.

I, for one, would never offer to organize a fanzine. I’ll take part in them as a creator, but I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than subject myself to wrangling that many people and dealing with the legal logistics.

When it comes to authors doing anthologies, it'svery much the same. The success of the funding often hinges on having other big-name authors involved whose existing fans will prop up the project. Or having a huge marketing budget.

Most self-pub authors have zero marketing budget. I’m one of them, and I’m under no illusions that my work would not be as popular and self-sustaining as it is if I didn’t have a large Tumblr blog.

When I thank Tumblr in my forewards, I am utterly sincere. Tumblr brought fandom levels of enthusiasm to an unknown work and broke the Amazon algorithm so hard, that Amazon thought I was bot sniping my way to multiple #1 spots and froze my sales rankings.

That’s not the norm. And while I could probably kickstart my own work as an indie creator, that’s because I’ve put literal decades into building up a readership. I’ve been doing this since I was 16 and realized people thought I was funny. I didn’t know what to do with it or if I’d ever actually write anything, but it meant the groundwork was already there (thank you, past-me). I basically fell upward into my success by virtue of never being able to shut the fuck up and wanting to make people laugh. Clown instincts too strong.

New or first-time authors trying to sell their work without that will find it infinitely harder.

All of that aside, even if an unknown author somehow gets lucky and manages to fund their work, there’s still the question of shipping and distribution logistics. Are you shipping everything yourself? Better hope you’re able-bodied and have the time for it. (for reference, it took me months to ship out 300 patreon hardbacks because of my disabilites. It damaged my back and hands. I couldn’t type for several weeks after I was done.)

Are you going to sell primarily at conventions? Better hope you’re able-bodied, have the time and don’t have cripling anxiety about being in large groups...

Also, will selling a dozen to a few thousand copies in one burst be sustainable in the long run as a career? Not for me. Doing things via Ingram and Amazon means I earn a steady trickle of sales for the rest of my life provided the platforms remain and so long as I keep working and can generate interest in the series, not just when I have funds to pay for physical copies to sell. The one-time (in theory) cost of $75 to distribute through Ingram gets paid off pretty quick that way. And it doesn't require the same logistics as doing the popup/crowdfund.

Ultimately, it comes down to what you are capable of but also the type of work you’re doing. If you’ve got an extended network of fellow creatives who will back you or you’ve got a large following elsewhere, doing it like a popup might work for you.

If you’re an exhausted burnout who can’t fathom the short but intense amount of organization that sort of thing requires, not to mention doing it over and over and over... Ehhhhh. No thank you.

[stardewremixed]

So... I was scrolling through fanart which turned into impromptu stream-of-consciousness writing prompts. I hope you like how it turned out.

WARNING: (Mild) smut, references to alcohol, drugs, and smoking. (Does not assume Farmer's gender).

Abigail - Organizes the town charity softball games, breaks a few windows (and a few hearts). Tough girl to hide her insecurities - you know the ones - her parents don't get her or support her and she's lonely as an only child (still living at home with her parents). She has this smug side smile when she's got you right where she wants you and will argue with you over trivial matters because she has to be right. She pitches in when there's a town disaster, the first to roll up her sleeves, not afraid to get dirty and work hard. Would absolutely be the tank in your DnD party. She dominates no matter what sphere she's in, including the bedroom. And Abigail is as wild and adventurous in bed as she is out of it. Oh and you always do it at the farmhouse because she's loud (and her parents are light sleepers).

Penny - shy and sweet as usual, intimidated by the ladies of the town, especially Abigail and Haley. Always carrying books, keeps her head down, and her heart is plagued by being the daughter of an alcoholic and a sailor who abandoned her mom. Dreams of a Beast to rescue her Beauty, would kill (metaphorically) for that library and yellow ball gown, but doesn't actually believe she's that pretty, even though she's stunning and educated and articulate, when she's not stumbling over her words in painful shyness. Reads everything she can get her hands on. Would write a children's novel if she could ever work up the courage to ask Elliott to be her editor. She is the blushy kind of lover and reads up on tips and tries to apply what she's learned. You think it's freaking adorable when she asks for 'sex lessons.'

Haley is not a natural blond (*gasp*) - we know! We were shocked too. She's notoriously vain but it's to make up for the fact that her mother was a supermodel and never had time to be a real mom, so she desperately wants attention and to be noticed as beautiful and worthy. Critiques her nose, the shape of her breasts, her thighs, her brows, her hair style, and hopes to someday love herself as much as her mirror does. Got the Dino tattoo on her lower back as a drunken dare from Emily and now she kinda likes it because it makes her not so perfect for once and that's a relief. She wears the best lingerie - pretty, feminine, lacy. And her fantasy she shares with you after a few too many Cosmopolitans? To do it in front of a full length mirror.

Emily - yes the girl absolutely presses paste jewels on her face because why not? She's the cool big sis (stepsister of Haley). The free spirit. Blue hair. Who cares? Other people's opinions don't really define her. Always wearing multiple necklaces and bracelets and rings. This girl has rings. Believes in crystal healing. Lets her sleeve slip off her shoulder after one too many drinks at half-price karaoke nights. She gives you that side-eye, daring you to take her home. And this girl has got some freaky passion (in a good way of course) and yes, she's flexible. It's not that she is really into one night stands, but she doesn't get hung up on the morality of sex. She just goes where the wind blows and enjoys every moment. No expectations. No labels. Just serious fun.

Maru - is a powerhouse genius with a sort of perma-frown on her face when she's concentrating that's somehow annoyingly cute. It's never quite good enough - whatever she happens to be working on. She has those glorious thick curls always bouncing around as she moves from project to project with eager determination. Summer humidity might create the great frizz storm, but she's too focused to bother taming it. Her rims keep it out of her eyes. Always a gadget or two in this girl's hands and she doesn't mind the Inspector jokes. She is far too serious about science and technology to worry about (or even notice) the random taunts of a more average intelligence population. But just because she's super smart doesn't mean she isn't kind. It just might take her longer to notice you, but that hyperfixation, those beautiful eyes, when they are on you, it's really special.

Leah- when doesn't she have paint on her nose? Dried clay on her clothes? Ink beneath her fingernails? Art is her life and the forest outside her door is a veritable landscape of dreams, the mountain tat on her sleeve a mere imitation. Her thick and wild red braid flows free and swishes back and forth as she moves and every once in a while she gets self-conscious. She knows she is pretty but she would rather have someone notice and appreciate her art. But there's something super sexy about the half-buttoned shirt, suspenders, and the nervous tuck of hair over her ear. People fall in love with her everyday but not everyone stays, as she's learned. Still she perseveres and pursues her love of art, capturing raw, pure moments away from her former bustling city life. When you offered to pose for her and be a subject for her art, it wasn't initially meant to be sexual. But she couldn't hide the flicker of interest in her eyes. And then a few weeks later when you finally kissed good night in her doorway, it was like a fire had been released. You tore each other's clothes off and did it right there standing up, then again halfway to the bed and finally made it to the bed for the third round.

Sebastian - the wild, just-rolled-outta-bed hair that's too long and his mother is always saying he should cut it, but he doesn't listen, just like the warnings she gives about the cigs perched between his lips ("those things will kill ya"). Multiple piercings, skulls on shirts, arm bands, the ripped hoodies - all symbols of his rebellious youth carried on because he can't shake the ghosts of his past. Secretly afraid that he is just a teenage boy trapped in an adult body. Hiding behind clouds of smoke and blue glowing screens make it easier to deal with the fact that he didn't follow his dreams. Freelance programmer. Dungeon master. Designing s video game. Lives in his mom's unfinished basement because it's quiet and Maru used to be scared of the dark. So when he does surface and you remember he's alive, it's actually a big deal. He made an effort and when you thank him, he just shrugs in that sexy casual way and says he wanted to see you today. It's simple but so meaningful. He's quiet but he loves you in simple ways - stealing glances from his computer, using coupons to buy your favorite foods at Pierre's, and delivering a piece of furniture you bought at his mom's shop (and conveniently 'forgot' so he would have to bring it to you, and he knows this and did it anyway). Oh and there was the time your computer crashed in the middle of the night (yes, really) and you were in the middle of applying for a farm grant and thought you lost everything you'd been working on for weeks, and you cried and called him, and he came over to fix it and recovered the data. And you may have made out and landed in bed together after (it was a dark and stormy night and the rain is like an aphrodisiac for you). You apologized a dozen times and said this isn't what you called him for and it wasn't supposed to be a midnight booty call. He laughs and kisses you gently and says he wouldn't have minded it if it was because he's wanted you badly for so long. And you went for round 2.

Sam has so much energy, too much, and he usually channels it into making mix tapes, half-finishing songs, pranking Morris and Shane at JojaMart, and skating half-pipe. But if you thought he was an empty airhead, think again. Behind the beanies, cut off sleeves, and ripped jeans, the crazy hair, and goofy smiles, there's a heart of gold. He will kneel down and tie Vincent's shoes for the five hundredth time, even though his kid bro should know by now how to do it. He'll carry those groceries all the way back to Evelyn's house for her, chattering about animal shapes in the cloud and a wicked sweet song he heard on the radio. Maybe someday he will write a jingle for the airwaves too. He will work a double shift so Shane can take Jas to swim lessons or the dentist or because Marnie was irresponsible again and left his god niece alone again late at night. And he will always buy his friends a round at the Saloon. Even if he's broke and spent all his coin on some vintage rock vinyls and the sugary cereal obsession of the week. He's a kid at heart, but he rocks hard and loves hard. That youthful exuberance is just what you need - bubble baths with rubber ducks, half-burnt pizza, dollar stor rose petals, and (root) beers in bed, making you giggle when he gives you foot massages, and tickling you with his tongue (oh yes, he knows all your sweet spots)!

Harvey may be older and mild-mannered, but he remembers little details about all his patients, whom he has come to know as friends and surrogate family. He never met his dad, his mom passed when he was a kid, and he was raised by his grandpa on canned pork and beans, microwave dinners, and model planes. His grandpa was a man of a few words, but they would paint models every evening. Sometimes they'd go out to the airstrip and watch planes take off and Grandpa would reminisce about the "good Ole days" when he still flew in the Air Force. And he always wore ties so the doc has kept up the tradition, and he still wears the coats with the elbow patches that smell of pipe tobacco and peppermint. And even though grandpa has been gone for a dozen or so years, Harvey still paints models most evenings. And every once in a while, he drives out to that airstrip with you to watch the planes while eating tunafish and pickle sandwiches and sipping wine in paper cups. And when he holds your hand, when he puts his arm around you, when he makes love to you, it's like he fits in your life and your body perfectly. Oh yes! The doctor is in!

Elliott - for all his flowery prose, his day to day speech is actually pretty down to earth once you get to know him. Maybe he comes across as a bit of a snob with his extensive vocabulary, but he really just wants to impress you, not turn you off. He (literally) likes long walks on the beach, dreamy piano sonatas, and long soulful ballads. On Chat nights you can find him loosening his ties, letting his hair down, and kicking back a pint with his BFF at the bar. He is never awake before 9:30 or 10 because his writer brain comes alive late at night. He has a flawless complexion (and he's proud of his skin care and hair routine). Inspiration might strike anywhere so he always carries a pen and notepad in his pocket and says things like "can I quote you on that?" for the Pelican Town Times, a newspaper he's trying to revive and has a circulation of maybe 3 people. He's always publishing poems under a pseudonym but his unpublished novel is his pride and joy and he doesn't let anybody read it so when he finally shares an excerpt with you one day it's a really important moment. And of course, when he does finally publish, the dedication is to you, which will make you cry, and he also dedicate it to the particularly bothersome seagull, which makes you laugh, the one that always squawks at the most inopportune times like when you two are trying to "have a romantic moment." His bed might be a little creaky and his cabin a bit drafty, but he treats you and your body like royalty (and to regular nightly full body massages).

Alex - yeah, he's not a complicated guy. He likes sports, surf, and sun. Granny has been his favorite, the first woman in his heart, and he's kinda spoiled by all her love and attention (yes she still cuts the crusts off his sandwiches and does his laundry), but he isn't a brat. He can fix a leaky roof, a leaky sink, a leaky sprinkler system. He mows the entire practice field at the high school in the spring, rakes leaves in the fall and shovels snow in the winter for his neighbors. He still sells ice cream from time to time in the summer, but usually works as a seasonal lifeguard on Ginger Island. Sure, he might be a bit disconnected and doesn't always know what his partners want, but when he's wrong and you tell him, he admits it. And while he can lift you up on his shoulders so you can pick fruit in the orchard and he has the stamina of a Greek god in bed, he doesn't brag about it (at least not very often). He really just wants to make you happy above all else. Oh and he wants to be a dad someday.

Shane was like a drug, in the beginning - you're addicted to this man, dad bod, scruffy face, and all. You love him in spite of his mean and grumpy exterior. Somehow insults turn into foreplay. Maybe it's toxic but you don't care. This man sets records in bed, and he's not a one-hit wonder. As you start showing him affection and stick around despite his numerous attempts to scare him off, he realizes you're here to stay and maybe he can have something of a life again. So he cleans himself up, goes to therapy, quits drinking, and detoxes. Boy! It's not pretty. But it's worth it to him if it means he can have you. And that makes you love him all the more. Sure he's still addicted to Joja colas, but that's really not so bad. Nothing fazes him. Chasing down cows in a thunderstorm, setting Jas' broken arm, putting out a barn fire, rescuing you from a capsized fishing boat, carrying you out from the mines for the umpteenth time, even a chicken landing on his head while you're discussing favorite sex positions in the garden. Come on. That should have elicted a laugh. He's come a long way from that scowling drunk in the corner at the Saloon who just wanted angry hookup sex. He has become your rock just like you were for him all those years ago.