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chelseasdagger · 1 year ago

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Teacher - Chapter III

Frank Castle x Inexperienced F!Reader

Summary: Frank invites you to hang out with him at a bar on the outskirts of town. After some good food, and lots of teasing, you get invited back to his place to take care of the problem you caused him.

Warnings: age gap (reader is in her early 20s), mentions of drinking and smoking, cursing, grinding, detailed handjob sorry, slight praise kink

Author's Note: I am so incredibly sorry for how long it took for this chapter to come out!! I had a lot of life issues that delayed this, but I'm pretty happy with how this turned out so please accept this super long chapter as my apology/holiday gift!! And if you want to be added to the tag list just let me know. As always, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :) Leave a comment or shoot me an ask!! I'd love to hear what you think!

Word Count: 9k

Previous Chapters: I, II

“So I was thinkin’… Said you didn’t get many experiences even after high school, right?” Frank asks. His voice slightly muffled through the phone, which is wedged between your ear and your shoulder as you drag the spatula over the food you’re cooking on the stove. He had randomly rang you out of the blue and, after attempting to control your breathing, you answered the call. This was what he chose to greet you with and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t confused by the topic of conversation.

“Good morning to you too,” you tease, the food sizzling as you flip it in the pan. “But no, I haven’t. Why? What’s up?” you question.

“There’s this bar on the edge of town,” he begins his offer. “Little bit of a drive but they got good food,” he explains.

“Tempting…” you trail off, trying not to immediately agree just because it’s Frank. “Who all is coming?”

“Just me,” he replies. “That alright?”

“Yeah!” Your answer is too loud and far too fast to be playing it cool. After cursing yourself mentally, you try again. “Yeah, I was just wondering if it was a whole… get-together thing.” Your voice grows quiet at the end, not wanting to plant the idea in his head that you’d prefer it if there were more people.

Honestly, you were surprised he was reaching out this soon after the bonfire. It was one of the best nights of your life. Whenever you think about it, there’s this warmth that rushes through you; you’re not sure if the heat was from the big flames or his strong chest you laid against all night.

“Nah, just me. Just thought it would be somethin’ you might like,” you push the spatula around in the teflon pan as he speaks. “Plus it’s another thing off the list, right?”

“Yeah, it is! Thanks, Frank,” you say cheerily as you turn the burner off and open the cupboards to grab two plates.

“No problem, kid. Just thought about you, y’know?” You sink your teeth in your lower lip to calm yourself down before another thought comes to mind.

“Oh! When are we going?”

“Tonight,” he answers nonchalantly and your eyes grow wide. “If you’re free.”

You seriously weren’t expecting him to want to see you only two days since you two were last together. In your head, Frank is so calm and collected and you’re practically certain that this… thing you two have going on isn’t as big of a deal to him as it is to you. Still, you try not to question too much why he actually seems to enjoy having you around. Instead, you decide to just take the good as it comes.

“I am, I can do tonight. But I’m not sure I have something to wear. Is it like a club? Should I dress up or is it more jeans and—?” You don’t even realize when your voice picks up in speed and the questions fly out faster than you intend for them to, but Frank is quick to center you out of the beginning of your spiral.

“Just wear somethin’ cute, alright? I’ve seen some of your outfits, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.” You bite the inside of your cheek at his comment and inhale deeply before sighing. “I’ll pick you up at six, okay?” You hum an agreement as he confirms the time and say a goodbye before hanging up.

As you pull the phone away from your ear, you see an incoming text from your best friend drop down from the top of the screen.

“I’m two minutes away! I can’t wait to hear everything.”

That night when you got home from the bonfire, she had sent many texts in hopes of finding out the reasoning behind the newfound closeness between you and Frank. In your exhausted and slightly inebriated state, you told her that you would have her over Saturday morning to explain it all to her. You were much too tired to string the words together and you also know how she can tend to put her own emotions onto words; the last thing you needed was for her to hear the little arrangement you and Frank have and blow it out of proportion.

You set the table as you wait for her, making sure to leave a mug beside her plate for her tea that tends to be the staple of her breakfast. By the time the food is divvied up for each of you, there’s an impatient knock at the door. You shake your head with a smile as you open the door and she’s pushing past you as the questions immediately begin to roll off her tongue.

After guiding her to the small dining table in the kitchen, you watch her sit down and her eyes never stray from you. Her voice continues to fill the air as she talks over herself; there’s no distinct end to one sentence and the beginning of the next. By the time you’re sitting beside her and about to dig into your meal she finally covers her mouth, stopping all the enthusiastic queries she desperately wants to know.

“I’m gonna let you talk,” she mumbles behind her palms. You laugh at her attempts to force herself to be quiet and pick up a forkful of your food.

“I promise you it’s not as exciting as you think it is,” you warn her before popping the food in your mouth.

You start at the beginning—trying to skim over the details of your not-so-controlled crush on Frank as well as the more heated parts of the things you two have done together. Excited gasps fill the space surrounding the dining table and you watch as her eyes go wide when you mention it was his idea. Her mouth gets the better of her though and she begins to ask more questions while you speak. You make sure to answer all of them in time, save for a few chuckles here and there, before finishing your last bite.

“I actually have a question for you now,” you start again, watching as confusion washes over her features. “Frank called me this morning and he wants to take me out to this bar he likes. I just don’t know what to wear and I was hoping… you could help me?” You hesitantly look up to face her and you’re met with a beaming grin.

“Is this a date?! Is this the first one? Are you going back to his place after?” You shake your head once again as the sudden influx of questions fill the air.

“No, it’s not a date. I mean… I don’t think it is?” you let your thought process be shown aloud and watch as her giddy expression comes back to the surface. “It’s not! We’re just friends and he’s doing me a favor. I’m sure of it.” You decide then and there that you can’t afford to hold out hope and expect more than what he’s given you—which is already so much.

She raises her eyebrows up from behind the rim of her mug and you scoff at her knowing look. You brush your hand through your hair and try your hardest to not let your anxiety creep in about the idea of being on a proper date with Frank Castle.

And so together the two of you spend the afternoon diving through your closet together for something that could fit. It felt similar to a movie montage where the teenage girls toss different colorful fabrics through the air. With a growing pile on the floor of your bedroom, she gasps once you stand in the completed outfit.

“That’s the one!” she says excitedly before tugging you towards the bathroom. “Time for makeup!” She eagerly pats for you to sit on the counter while searching through your, admittedly limited, makeup bag. Doing the best with what she’s got, she gets to work on the eyeshadows and blush, finishing up with a curl of your eyelashes and combing mascara through them. You always loved how focused she got when it was time for something special; her tongue pokes past her lips as she concentrates, her eyes squinting to get the very last detail to sit right.

Once she’s satisfied, she spins you around to see yourself in the mirror and you’re actually surprised at how nice it all came together. You’re wearing an oversized, comfy jumper, tights that line your legs, and a black skirt that accentuates your frame. It’s not too fancy, but the black tights make your outfit more sleek and you silently hope that Frank will like it. As you fluff your hair up to give it some more volume, you thank her behind a wide smile.

A buzz of excitement rushes through you as you wait by the front door and hear the heavy revving from the engine of Frank’s van. You physically shake your arms in an attempt to let go of some of the nerves that built up and your friend gives you a quick hug.

“You got it, baby!” she encourages sweetly. “Have fun!” she calls out as you slip past the door. Making your way down your porch steps, you hear her shout something else from behind you. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

You chuckle at her warnings and make your way to the big, black van. You open the door and find Frank sitting with his elbow on his armrest and his head in his palm as he turns to face you. You stand there for a moment and await his initial reaction to your outfit. His eyes widen slightly before they rake over your boy, his lips parting as he takes it all in.

He brushes his thumb along the defined line of his jaw before sinking his teeth into his lower lip. His eyes settle on the small slit of the skirt that rests high on your thigh. There’s a pause for a moment before he finally speaks up.

“Told you you’d find somethin’ cute.” He fixes his posture and gives you a smile as you roll your eyes and sit in the passenger seat. Being with him felt easy now—of course there’s still the butterflies, which you’re expecting to make a permanent home in your stomach any day now, but it’s mostly when you’re about to see him. When you’re actually in his presence, it all fades away and you love how comfortable he makes you feel.

If you had told yourself a few weeks ago that you’d be on a half hour car ride with Frank Castle to the outskirts of town, she probably would’ve brushed it off as some sick joke. But here you are, sitting beside him and watching as he flips through radio stations until he settles on a classic rock song. You enjoyed getting to discover little pieces of him the more time you spent with him.

As he drives under the lamp posts longing the winding roads, you watch as the passing lights illuminate his face before it’s cloaked in shadows of the night once again. Each time you move underneath them, light showcases his features in a warm glow for mere moments at a time. You think your new favorite thing might be when the gleam seeps into the small dip in the bridge of his nose. That small highlight makes you smile and he catches it as he turns to look at you once you’re stopped at a red light.

“What is it?” he questions, his eyes squinting slightly as he looks at you. With a shake of your head, you face back to the light strung up in the air. His gaze doesn’t leave the side of your face though, and you know he’ll want an answer.

“This is just nice,” you shrug your shoulders. “Thank you for thinking of me,” you add. You want to make sure he knew how happy you were to be doing this, despite your quiet nature due to your fear of somehow screwing this up with your words.

“Haven’t even done anything,” he laughs softly.

“Well, I’m still enjoying myself,” you reply in a gentle tone. Frank doesn’t say anything more as he continues to look at you. The light changes and a green glow washes over your face, queuing him to face the open road once again. You glance down as his hand moves to the gear shift, trying not to focus too long on how the veins in his hand are accentuated as he curls his fingers around the knob.

Frank speaks up again after a moment and you quickly recenter your attention. He engages you in some light conversation and pretty soon you’re laughing along to his comedic storytelling. You don’t even realize you’ve arrived until he’s put the car in park and turns the key off in the ignition. Looking out from behind the glass in front of you, you see the neon lights surrounding the big, bold letters of the name of the bar. It shines brightly in the night sky and acts as a small beacon in the dark parking lot.

You look up at the sound of the driver side door closing and realize Frank has left the car. You reach for your bag that’s resting on the floor between your feet and by the time you move for the handle, he’s opening your door for you. It’s the first time you’re able to truly take him in. He’s wearing a pair of nicely fitting blue jeans and a grey jacket, complete with the black boots you’ve never seen him without. You can’t tell what he’s wearing under the thick material that conceals his chest though, and you find yourself hoping it’s something tighter and hugs his torso.

“You ready?” he asks, and you nod in response. “Alright, watch your step,” he warns and you feel his hand bracing your upper arm as you hop out from the slightly lifted van. Once you’re secure on the ground, the two of you begin making your way towards the entrance. As you pass by the cars parked in organized rows under dim lamplights, you begin to make out the few scattered people smoking and even spot a couple sharing a cigarette just outside the main doors.

Once inside the building, he shrugs off the jacket and you can finally piece together his outfit. Frank’s broad shoulders stretch the fabric of the dark blue button up shirt. It’s tucked into his denim pants and secured with a black belt. He fits the attire of everyone else here in the bar, but still stands over a head taller than the rest—not to mention infinitely more attractive. You try desperately to rip your eyes away from him, and in doing so, take in the scenery of the pub.

The bar is crowded but not so occupied that you can’t move. The loud, overlapping voices meld to create a soft droning that accompanies the background. It doesn’t stand a chance to the band though, whose loud amplifiers cause a shake in your chest with each note they strum. Polished wood lines the walls and there’s photographs of smiling people decorating them, forever cherished behind glass frames. It feels oddly homey, admittedly impressive for a place you’ve never stepped foot into before tonight.

You accidentally bump into Frank and he steadies you with his large hands on your waist. He’s staring down at you with a subtle smile on his face. He begins to talk but you don’t have the slightest clue what he’s saying; the song that’s playing is far too loud to hear the lower tone of his voice. Shaking your head with a frown, you let him know you can’t understand him and his smile grows wider. He then leans down, his fingers brushing your hair away from your ear before he speaks.

“Asked if you wanted to eat,” he starts, his breath immediately warming the side of your neck. With just those few words, it feels like all the other noise falls away. All you can focus on is the rumble in his voice and how the words feel as if they dance down your spine. “I’m starving,” he adds, and you’re certain your new headspace gave his words a different context than he intended.

He pulls away for your response and all you can muster up is a slow blink and a delayed nod. There’s no cocky smirk at your expression and you wonder if maybe he decided to spare you the embarrassment this time. He promptly turns and you fall in line beside him, letting him guide you around the crowd. His palm finds its way to your lower back as he leads you and just like that, your heart picks up in pace once more.

You’ve only seen the same small movement depicted in movies and you can now safely say that experiencing it is so much more exhilarating. Part of you is frustrated that such an insignificant touch can make you this excited, but Frank’s charm has a tremendous effect on you. Still, you tell yourself it’s the anticipation of his hand being elsewhere on your body that riles you up.

His hand stays put until the two of you reach a booth lining the back wall. There’s a small lamp that bathes the whole table in a warm glow and you and Frank place your things down before sliding into the long seats. As you stare at him from across the table, you watch as his eyes scan the crowd and then the main stage as he focuses on the band. They’re currently playing a cover of a classic rock song and Frank smiles as he nods his head to the music.

“This place is nice,” you raise your voice slightly to be heard over the music. He turns to face you and his smile grows wider.

“Yeah? You like it?” His question is accompanied by your own nod and he continues. “I’m sure there’s fancier ones close to town, but I’ve been coming here for years and they’ve always been good.”

He raises his hand in the air, tilting his head up and leaning to the side as if to catch someone’s attention. You follow his line of sight and look over your shoulder to see a woman with a black apron tied around her waist. She looks slightly past you as a grin covers her face and walks over to your table quicker than you expected.

“Frank?! What are you doing here?” Her voice is already grating and she’s only said a handful of words. Her tone is drawn out, almost flirtatiously, and she stands closer to him than you would’ve liked.

“Just showing her around,” he answers simply. He looks at you and when the waitress does the same, her face falls. You muster up an awkward smile and try to shake off the weird look she gives you. “She’s never been here before, you think we could get some menus?”

“Sure thing,” she mumbles, stepping away only to return a moment later with two long, laminated sheets of paper. She drops them to the table and you spare yourself the trouble of looking at her again.

“She sure seems to like you,” you speak up once she’s left. Frank scoffs before grabbing a menu and shaking his head. “Did you see the way she looked at me? What did I do?” You ask with a frown, wondering if you did something unintentionally.

“She’s probably just pissed cause you’re sitting with me and she’s not,” he answers with a sigh. He flips the paper around and you notice the way his eyes dart around the page. His answer wasn’t very reassuring though, and you still feel the tension in your body. As you scan the small print of the menu in your hands, you can feel his gaze on you. You try to shake the disappointment and to make it less obvious that what she said affected you, but you’re not certain how good of an actress you are.

“Y’know what?” he speaks up after a few seconds. You raise your face to him as he continues, “I know this place a couple of blocks down? Best god damn beer I’ve had.” His hand disappears under the table and a moment later you see his fingers curled around his jacket. “It’s German! You haven’t tried that one before.” He leans across the table before whispering, “You’re gonna hate it.”

His attempts at distracting you work well and you can’t help the laughter escaping you at the final thing he said. Frank’s own crooked smile returns at your reaction and a softness settles into his brown eyes.

“There she is,” he mumbles once he sees your regular self bubble back up to the surface. You bring in a deep breath and choose to shake off any residual awkwardness you felt from before.

“No, no it’s okay. We can stay here.” You finish your sentence and look back towards the music before facing him. His hands are empty now as he continues to stare at you and you feel confident in your choice to stay.

After looking over the endless list of drinks, burgers, and other appetizers, you read a description of a sandwich that makes your stomach rumble to life. You immediately decide on it without a second thought and smile up at Frank, watching him run his finger across the page between two options and looking quite indecisive.

Before long, the ill behaved waitress is back to take down your order. You pick your sandwich, remembering to take off the toppings you aren’t too fond of, add in an order of fries, and your usual favorite drink to top it off. With a hesitant glance up, you see her scribbling down your order on the small notepad in her hand. Her expression is twisted up as if she smelled something foul and you feel that uneasy feeling settling in once more.

“I’ll have the same as my date here,” Frank answers before she can ask about his meal. He gently taps the two menus on the tabletop before handing them over to her. His lips part as his eyes drag over your features and you notice the way they stop for a little longer than they should when they reach your mouth.

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You weren’t sure if he said it just to get under her skin or not but part of you didn’t really care. He said it regardless and that made a smile carve its way onto your face. An annoyed scoff is heard from above and you see a hand come into view to snatch the menus away from Frank. He never looked away from you once.

The moment the food arrives, you’re excitedly grabbing your sandwich and lifting it to your mouth. As your teeth sink into the toasted bread, the flavor hits your tongue and a satisfied moan escapes you. Frank is quick to lift his eyes at the sound, his eyebrows raising as he takes in the scene in front of him. You raise your hand to your mouth and begin to grow bashful at the look on his face.

“Sorry!” You apologize, your voice muffled behind your palm. “It was just really good,” you explain once you swallow your food down.

“Don’t gotta apologize for that, kid,” he replies through his own raspy chuckle. You bite your lip and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before reaching for the fries in your basket next.

The two of you dig into your identical meals and make some easy conversation in between bites here and there. You’re honestly impressed with how good the sandwich is and you’re glad you picked it out of the infinite number of items on the menu. Frank wasn’t lying when he said he loved this place. You watch him look up from his meal every now and then with a big smile on his face as he moves his head to the beat of the music. His energy was infectious and you found yourself tapping your toes along too.

“Y’know,” he speaks up after finishing the last bite of his sandwich. At the sound of his voice, you begin to look up to his face, but your eyes latch on to something else. Frank sucks his fingers clean of the salt from his fries, his lips pursing as his cheeks hollow, and you immediately lose any grip you had on controlling your thoughts around him.

“When we ordered I saw your beer on the menu.” You hear his words but they have absolutely no meaning, no way of stringing them together to make a continuous thought as you watch him suck the seasonings from his thumb. You begin to feel a sense of injustice at the fact that those fingers weren’t where you desperately wanted them to be. With a pout, you look back to his gaze and see the confusion clear in his eyes.

“What?” you blurt out, finally remembering he had spoken and that you hadn’t processed anything he had said. He scoffs before shaking his head, his smirk spreading wide across his face before he speaks again.

“Said they have the beer you like here,” he repeats himself, his cocky grin a clear indicator that he saw how you froze up at sight just moments ago.

“I’m actually good tonight,” you say confidently. Reaching for your glass, you take a sip of your drink and hold his gaze as you stare at him from under your eyelashes. He sits back against the cushion of the booth and his eyebrows pull together as he thinks about what you said.

“Yeah?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you.

“Mhm, not letting a few beers stop me from what I wanna do after this,” you explain. You’ve never felt more frustrated than when he stopped you from kissing on his neck. You understood why he did it, and are actually very thankful he didn’t want it to go further, but the disappointment coursed through you all the same.

“Hmm? And what exactly is that?” he questions as the band finishes up the song they had been playing. Your eyes follow the noise as the crowd erupts into whistles and claps, applauding the musicians. When you finally look back over, Frank’s in the same position. It’s like he never looked away from you—hell, you’re not sure if he even blinked.

You don’t answer him though and make up your mind to keep him on the edge of his seat. Instead, you smile sweetly before picking up a fry from your basket and popping it past your lips.

He gives you a knowing look, but doesn’t pry. Perhaps he was looking forward to the surprise of it all. You only hope you can remain as confident as you feel now so you can properly act out your plan. Before long, he swallows down his last french fry and Frank speaks up with a question.

“You wanna go dance?” Your whole body freezes at the mere thought of attempting to dance, not to mention the added nerves of doing it in a crowded room with Frank Castle standing witness. But as you look out onto the dance floor full of moving bodies, you realize most of them are probably far too intoxicated to really pay attention to you. Deciding to push past the initial fear, and wanting to be fully present with him and have fun, you nod and scoot out of the booth.

Frank stands in front of you and his hand soon comes into view of your eyeline. You place your hand in his and feel his fingers curl around your palm as you brace your weight on him and rise to your feet. You stand on your toes and motion for him to come closer so you can speak into his ear.

“Just so you know, I’m a terrible dancer,” you say after he’s tilted his head towards you.

“What part of me screams that I’m a good one?” he asks, and you chuckle at his joke. He smiles down at your laughter and nods his head behind him, letting you know he’s going to the dancefloor.

Frank keeps a hold of your hand as he leads you through the crowd. His broad body splits the sea of bodies as he walks and you follow close enough behind him to squeeze past them as well. There’s blue hues from the dim lights that shine over the people, but other than that you can’t see much beside their moving feet. He must’ve gotten to a clearing where there’s not as many people bumping into one another, because he stops walking and turns to you.

You’re sort of frozen still for a moment as the reality of it is beginning to creep in. But then Frank starts to shimmy his shoulders and you can’t help but break into a wide grin. Just like that, you’re thawed. The awkwardness you felt is starting to leave you as you begin to loosen up in front of him.

The band plays a fun, upbeat song that you don’t recognize, but he seems to be making the moves up as he goes along. You follow his direction, copying him but still keep some distance, trying to slowly shake off those nerves that are still lingering around. Suddenly, Frank does a move that you can’t even begin to describe with words alone and you burst into laughter as you watch him. Holding your stomach, you shake your head at him and he begins to laugh too.

The band then retires from the stage, saying their farewells as the crowd applauds and whistles. Frank claps along with the rest of them and you cup your hands around your mouth to give a small cheer. You really enjoyed their set and wouldn’t mind coming back here again to watch them play once more.

Once the stage is clear, music begins to play over the speakers and Frank’s face lights up. His excitement is clear after just the first few notes.

“God, this takes me back,” his wide grin causes his eyes to squint up. You smile up at him, happy at his enjoyment, but you can’t help your head from tilting to the side confusedly.

“You haven’t heard this before?” he asks incredulously and you shake your head. “It’s literally my favorite song, how do you not know this?”

“When did it come out?” you ask, and watch him look up as he starts to think.

“Must’ve been… right after graduation, I think?” He does the math for a moment longer before answering with the year it was released. The answer has you fighting back a giggle as you stare at him awkwardly.

“Frank, I wasn’t born until two years later,” you answer honestly, and the look on his face is priceless.

“Jesus Christ…” he replies, dragging his hand down his face. You begin to worry now, wondering if you shouldn’t have brought up that point. He must’ve caught a glance at your anxious frown because he’s quick to explain himself.

“You’re fine just… my back hurt when you said that.” His hand comes to the back of his neck to emphasize his point and your smile finds its way back to your lips.

Despite the initial embarrassment you ran into after being reminded again of the gap in age between you and Frank, you found yourself really enjoying the song. He was honest when he said it was one of his favorites. You’ve never seen him this lively before and you love being able to soak up every minute of it. He’s so animated as he dances, holding you close to him with his hand secured at your back. The lines to the song fall past his lips like muscle memory as his forehead presses to yours.

You can’t stand being this close to him. Your whole body feels like it’s been shot with a current of electricity and you’re desperately wanting him to stop singing and put his mouth to yours. He might have a sixth sense—or simply just picked up on the timing—because his lips are on yours a second later. He kisses you deeply, his tongue brushing your lower lip for a moment before you eagerly let him in. Your head tilts to the side as you kiss him back and your arm wraps around his wide shoulders to ensure you’ll have your fill.

All too soon he’s breaking the kiss and you immediately suck your bottom lip behind your teeth to savor the feeling of him. He suddenly lifts his arm into the air and cues you to spin. You twirl under his hand with a huge grin and then he yanks you in for the finish, timing it so that your back is to his chest when you land against him. His same palm immediately finds your hip and tightens to keep you flush to him. His opposite hand travels down the length of your torso, his index finger tracing your side as he moves.

He begins to whisper the lyrics against your ear and you can’t bring yourself to focus on their meaning. He’s all over you and it’s making you feel dizzy, as if you’re drunk on his scent alone. Each pass of his finger along your ribs alights a fire at your side and you try to keep up as he begins rocking you from side to side to the rhythm of the song. His breath warms the entire side of your face and neck with each word he whispers. You fall under his spell and roll your head to the side at the feeling of his warmth all over.

When the song starts to fade and a new one begins overlapping it, you’re left with a bittersweet feeling; part of you never wanted to leave that moment and would gladly listen to that song on loop for the rest of your life, but the other half of you was almost frightened at how easily you turned to putty in his hands. You felt the need to have a better grasp on yourself, especially if you wanted to stay courageous for what you had planned for tonight.

The mix of two songs smoothen down into one and you instantly recognize the slow, sexy bassline that’s pumping through the speakers overhead. You’re not sure what came over you. Perhaps you wanted to prove to someone that you’re not that same timid, little girl. Whatever it was that coursed through your veins, you’re thankful that it gave you the strength to grab his large palm and put it back into place at your hip. You use the extra support to push your ass back into him, making sure to press hard enough until you feel the bulge in his jeans.

Frank doesn’t show any reaction except for his fingers tightening into your skin as if you were a lifeline. You smile as you continue to grind into him, your hips following the similar movements he taught you just a few days prior. Facing away from him gives you the extra boost of confidence needed to perform this act, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t kill to see the look on his face right now.

With each push of your ass against the denim fabric, you feel the heat of his bulge so close to where your own warmth had started to pool. This felt good and you felt pride surging through your chest once you realized exactly what you were doing.

And then his arm crosses your chest and pulls you flat against him once more. His forearm is pressed against your collarbones and you feel your breath hitch at the hold he has you in. With a shaky inhale, you swallow down the lump in your throat and wait for him to speak.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” the tip of his nose brushes the curve of your ear and you try your damndest to not let your body double over. “Someone’s getting confident, huh?” His arm begins to slowly drop from across your chest, and instead reaches your lower stomach. From there, he applies pressure until you’re as close as you could be to him.

“You feel that? Hmm?” There’s an undeniable hardness under the thick layers of fabric. It doesn't feel as big as the last time he got turned on from you, but it’s still noticeable. “That’s all you,” he finishes with a lower tone of voice before taking half a step back and leaving you to sit with his words.

It takes you a moment to wrap your head around this entire situation. It’s abundantly clear that the mood has changed from light laughter and awful dance moves to something more sultry. You can feel the warmth slowly spreading between your legs and it leaves you with a buzz that makes you feel like your movements are slowed. When you turn around to finally face him, he’s already staring down at you expectedly.

“Why don’t we get outta here?” he asks, deep voice blending in with the booming bass. You nod at him and it feels like you’re moving in molasses. The dull, blue light from above catches his face for a moment. There’s something deeper to his unreadable expression; his jaw is clenched as if he’s trying to hold something back.

Once the two of you make it back to the table, Frank reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. He thumbs through the notes before tossing a few bills onto the table. He reaches into the booth seat for his jacket and shakes it out before draping it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you mumble in a quiet voice.

“Don’t gotta thank me for that, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, insisting that your gratitude isn’t needed. He begins to walk towards the door with his hand in its designated spot at your lower back to help guide you once again. The chill of the night air hits you the second you step out of the building and you find yourself curling his jacket snugger around your body. His scent is stuck to the collar and it helps lessen your shivering from the cold breeze.

He walks you to your side of the van and opens the door for you to climb in. Even after he gets in and begins driving down the same winding roads, there’s not much conversation between the two of you. The tension in the car is thick and incredibly palpable. You’re indecisive about whether to break the silence or leave it untouched so as to not make it worse.

Eventually Frank pulls into his parking spot that faces the front door of his apartment. After putting the van in park and walking around to open your door once more, you take his hand and carefully step down. He unlocks the door and gets you inside quickly, trying to shield you from the chilly air. Once he flicks the lights on, you’re greeted by the familiar sight of his living room and feel that desire to touch him creep back in. Your name falls from his lips and you turn your head at the sound.

“I’m sorry if I went too far back there. I shouldn’t have—,” he begins to apologize, but you’re quick to interrupt by pressing your lips to his. A surprised grunt comes from him and you smirk into the kiss, pleased to have caught him off guard. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and begins leading you towards the couch. When you feel the back of your knees hit the curve of the cushion, you angle yourself in front of Frank and push him into the sofa below.

He looks up at you with his lips parted and his chest is noticeably bringing in deeper breaths each time he inhales. His usually soft, brown eyes have a darkened glint to them and you’re certain you’ve never seen this emotion on him before. Your pulse is racing through your own body and you swiftly straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips.

His impatient fingers grab hold of you in a way no one ever has before. The action causes a surprised gasp to fall past your lips, but it’s swallowed down by Frank who can’t seem to keep his mouth off of yours. The light stubble decorating his jaw scratches at your skin and the rough feeling does nothing but spur you on further. You begin to roll your hips into his as you fall into a familiar pattern and he uses his hold to help guide you into moving faster.

His movements are rushed and needy and it makes you feel reassured that he wants this—he wants you. That little boost to your ego has your hands tracing down his body, your palms rubbing down his strong chest, before finally reaching his belt. Your fingers search blindly for the leather and the sound of the buckle clinking sounds out in between the wet noises of your kisses.

“Woah, easy,” Frank breaks the kiss the second the sound reaches his ears. “Let’s just, uh…” he trails off and you feel his fingers gently prying yours away. “Let’s take it slow, alright?” His tone is so soft and the concern is written clearly across his features.

“Frank, please,” you try to reason with him. “I didn’t even drink tonight! And I just… last time I was all worked up and I really want to do this.” You finish with a pout as you glance up at him with pleading eyes. He swallows hard as he stares at you for a moment, probably battling something internally.

“What do you wanna do?” he asks slowly, trying to make his words clear. The question is so simple but admitting it to him makes you feel small again.

“I… I want to touch you,” you mumble, silently hoping he doesn’t ask you to be more explicit than that.

“You sure you want this?” His eyes never leave yours as he confirms your consent.

“I really do,” you reply, bringing your hand up and cupping his cheek. You brush your thumb over his skin and watch as he begins to shut his eyes and breathe deeply. “Please?”

You’re not sure if it’s the quiet plea, his own craving that’s swaying his decision, or some combination of the two, but he slowly uncurls his fingers from your wrist. You beam brightly at him and whisper a thanks as you peck him on the cheek.

“You’re still gonna have to walk me through it, Frank,” you say through a small chuckle.

He nods with an equally quiet, “I know.”

From there, he doesn’t try to deter your movements any longer. He lets you continue as you slide his belt past the metal buckle. You look up at him for reassurance and he nods his head with a smile. He takes your hand in his and pulls it to his bulge, letting you feel it properly for the first time. Excitement races through you and settles in your lower stomach as you watch your hand touch him over the denim.

“Can I take your jeans off?” Your question is met with another nod as he lets go of you. Slipping the button past the slit, you then lower the zipper past the teeth and the sound feels so loud in the otherwise silent room. You move to sit beside him and Frank helps you tug his pants down, raising his hips to lower them some more until they fall past his knees. He’s wearing a pair of dark grey boxer briefs and your eyes linger far too long on how they hug his thighs.

The thick outline stretching the fabric is enough to recenter your attention though. You start to feel the nerves coming back once you register just how big he is as he lies against his hip. You always had a feeling, given the sheer size of the man, but seeing it is a whole other experience. Thankfully, Frank doesn’t rush you as he lets you take this all in. You hesitantly move your hand over the length of him, brushing your fingers over the defined line underneath the head of his cock.

The next thing you reach for is the waistband of his boxers. You curl your fingers over the edge and tug them down, watching as more and more of his happy trail becomes exposed. He once again helps you pull them past his legs and now that he’s bare in front of you, you can’t help your eyes from widening. You had thought the bulge was big, but it was misleading; Frank is actually much larger than you had anticipated.

“What? You’ve never seen—?” He starts but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I have. I’ve seen, like, porn before but…” you find your voice leaving you as you stare between his legs. “It’s just bigger in person.” His chuckle sounds out and you raise your head to the noise only to be met by an amused smirk at your confession.

“S’not just cause it’s in person, kid,” he laughs through his words and you roll your eyes at his cockiness. You like that you can still crack jokes during a time like this and you find yourself thankful that you get to have Frank as your first introduction to sex. Feeling more relaxed, you reach forward and gently curl your fingers around his thick base.

“You can hold it tighter than that,” he speaks up after a second.

“I know,” you respond, tightening your hold on him a little more. He snorts lightly at the, apparently, subtle increase in pressure and you feel his larger hand curling around your own. His long fingers squeeze over yours, adjusting your grip on his length as he begins to move your hand up and down. He’s warm and heavy in your hand, two things you hadn’t given much thought of before now. Frank lifts your hand once more and a satisfied sigh leaves him.

The sound stirs something in your stomach and you try to swallow down your own growing arousal at the noise he’s making. He loosens his hold on you and you watch as his hands find the hem of his shirt before bunching it up and exposing the lower half of his stomach. There’s so much to look at and it’s pulling your attention in too many ways. You try to focus on him in your hand though and begin speeding up your movements.

“You can spit on it,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You turn to face him and feel your eyebrows pull together at his words.

“Like just… spit on it?” The confusion is more than likely obvious in your tone but you want to ensure that you don’t embarrass yourself with him. Not now when you’ve made it this far.

“Yeah, go for it,” he encourages gently. With one last glance at him, you lean forward and lower your head over his length. You purse your lips and part them as you let the split slowly drip until it’s sliding over his head. You watch as it runs down past the tip and Frank clears his throat.

“Shit, yeah that…” he trails off as he raises his hips slightly. “That works too.” You smile at his words and wonder if his movement was an instinctual reaction to the warmth running along the smooth skin of his cock.

With the help of the extra slick added to his length, you begin to work your hand faster on him. You know from what you’ve heard that the tip is more sensitive, so you raise your hand right underneath his head and tighten your grip. A grunt immediately falls from him and you impulsively let go of him. You face him with a worried expression and watch as he brings in a deep breath before swallowing thickly.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just felt real damn good.” The praise in his words immediately rushes to your heart and you feel yourself swell with pride. You can’t believe you made him feel that good, but now you’re determined to see what other sounds you can pull from his pretty lips. As you focus your attention back to his cock, you see a few beads of precum beginning to bubble up at his swollen tip. You rub your thumb in circles over the slit, spreading around the proof of his pleasure, and you feel him twitch in your hold.

“Shiiiiiit,” the drawn out curse sounds raspy and you don’t stop your movements as you check once again to see his reaction. Frank’s head is tilted back slightly against the couch cushion, his mouth is parted, and his eyes are scrunched up slightly. You try your hardest to memorize this version of him. You wish you could ingrain this memory so you’ll never forget how good he looks when he’s succumbing to his pleasure.

Twisting your hand as you move it over his length, you notice the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows down presumably another groan. You can’t resist the urge to feel even more of him, and press your lips against his neck. Lazy kisses are littered across his skin while you work your hand faster, intermittently tightening your hold on his thickness. His throat tightens as he feels the wet marks of your affection, and the next thing you feel is his fingers tangling in your hair. He pulls gently as he tugs your head up to his and he kisses down your surprised gasp, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You’re having trouble keeping up with his movements and you realize this must be what it’s like to be kissed breathlessly. Any moment you get, you’re greedily gulping down air before he continues his ravenous attack on your lips. You never slow the speed of your hand and press yourself against his side, trying to feel more of him to satiate your need. Frank tries to break the kiss but you push against him harder, not wanting to let go for a second. But he tries again, grabbing your wrist gently and you immediately pull away with a frown.

“What did I do?” you ask in a worried tone. He’s quick to lock his eyes with yours and speaks clearly.

“You’re okay. You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he starts, and then nods down towards his lap. “I’m almost there, kid. Just wanted to warn you before it happens.” And just like that, a wide grin splits across your face. I’m making him feel that good?!

“I really wanna make you come, Frank,” you tell him honestly and you notice his cock twitch slightly as he registers your words.

“You keep talking like that and you will,” he grumbles in a low voice. His tone almost seems as if it was meant as a warning, but all it does is add to the fire in the pit of your stomach. You’re quick to reach for him again and fall back into the rhythm you established just seconds ago. With each pass of your hand you feel the veins protruding slightly through his skin and make sure to add slightly more pressure to the ring underneath his tip—he seemed to like that in particular.

“Just like that—fuck, attagirl,” he breathes through gritted teeth while he stares down at your smaller fingers wrapped snugly around him. The praise courses through you and you hide your face in his neck. You place sloppy kisses under his jaw and listen as more grunts start to fall from his parted lips. They slowly twist into a new sound and it takes you a second to realize it’s your name that’s coming out in a twisted groan. You glance down and watch as he raises his hips for a moment to chase after the feeling of you, his orgasm following soon after.

One long moan falls from him as warmth spills over your hands. You make sure not to miss a single second and don’t dare slow down or pull away. You want Frank to feel as good as possible and so you’ll drag this out for as long as you can. White begins to coat his head and the rest of his length as you continue moving over him. It isn’t until he reaches for your wrist that you take notice of the way his thigh is tense and you let go to give him some relief.

“T…That’s enough,” he pants as he speaks through uneven breathing. You mumble an apology as you snuggle into his side again, leaving the remainder of your kisses on his collarbone. His hand rubs at your back while he regains his breath and you feel him press his lips to your forehead.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you follow his gaze to the mess in his lap. His cock lies on his hip, all spent and giving a weak twitch once or twice. You don’t even try to hide the smile that grows on your face at the sight.

“Oh, you proud of yourself, huh?” he asks through a fit of chuckles. “You should be,” he holds you to his side again. “Did so fuckin’ good.” You feel another long kiss to the side of your head. Pride isn’t even a strong enough word to describe how you feel at this moment.

“Thank you, Frank,” you smile up at him.

“Thank me? Nah, you did all that,” he brushes it off just like last time. “Thank you for making me feel good, kid. You were absolutely perfect.” The warmth spreading to your cheeks makes you hide your face in his chest again. You weren’t really sure how a scene like this was supposed to normally end, but Frank doesn’t say anything more. He keeps you close in his arms and you can still hear his pulse attempting to slow in his chest. For now, you don’t want to question what comes next; for once, you’re comfortable exactly where you are.

Taglist: @chellestrash @avengerstower-houseplant @musicals-and-mermaids @castle-of-ruin @justalittlepickle @boo8008 @doublevirgogirl @xxdrixx @yaminax @nabiiturner @imwaytoolazyforthis @vechkinfan @himesuedi @0-goblin-0 @soleilcastle @innebulae @punishersmainchick @eddiemunsonsbelover @tea-drinking-nerd

#new writing record WOOO! i just couldn't shut the hell up :)#frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fic #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal fic #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher fanfic #chelsea writes

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segacity · 11 months ago

Video

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The Japanese commercial for 'After Burner II' on the SEGA Mega Drive.

#After Burner II #Sega #Mega Drive #Megadrive #Genesis #SEGA

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ak319 · 4 months ago

Text

Yan G!P Princess x fem reader

(Warnings: Stalking, Possessive themes)

PART II ➺ PART I

(Kade's Pov):

Fuck everything.

"Kade, what is up with you mate? Huh? It was just a match. You didn't have to storm off like that!. What would they think of us, the seniors? That we are some sensitive babies who can't handle a single loss of a friendly match of rugger?" God, the urge to cut off her tongue right now. My temper has been everywhere since you hung up on me two days ago. And today due to less focus, we lost a rugby football match to a bunch of undergraduate freshmen. We lost. I lost. Now in the locker room, my friend Leah and others were disappointed at my behaviour. It made me more agitated since I had been playing Rugger since I was a high schooler and now I am doing my Master's degree back at Harvard. Leah and I go back to when we arrived here to do a Bachelor's in Economics. And now we are back after a year.

"At least say something, Princess." Oh so this is how it's going to be. That was the last straw. I threw away my shoulder pad and shoved Leah against the lockers immediately causing other teammates to come to pry me off her. We both held each other in a feral stare.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?! YOU DARE MOCK ME?! HUH?! DON'T FUCKING TELL ME WHAT TO DO! YOU HEAR ME! I LOST TO A BUNCH OF FUCKING NEWBIES AND I NEVER LOOSE! I ALWAYS WIN! I ALWAYS GET WHAT I WANT!" The outburst drew in a brief silence which I could tell was because of shock and confusion. This was the first time my self-control strayed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Kade?! YOU HAVE OFFICIALLY LOST YOUR MARBLES!." She snapped back.

Before I could land a hit on her, I was pulled off from Leah by Ruth and this time I let go of Leah, both of us still in the guarded stance ready to break each other's jaw if the other one makes a move.

"STOP THIS! BOTH OF YOU! God, It was just a game! Forget about it! Don't make the matter worse by making it reach the dean's office. Get it? You fucktards?!" I let out a huff trying to get my temper in check.

"Never call me a Princess, Leah. You know better than that." Without sparing another glance to others, I just stormed out and went to my dorm slamming the door shut.

I let out a huff and some curses as I threw my duffle bag on the ground and flopped on my bed. I went towards my drawer and took out the burner phone I had brought few days ago and finally decided to use it.

I wanted to check if your number is still off. Which it is. 'God, this woman.' The rage that I feel right now is unreal and the fact that I am unintentionally angry at you makes me more angry. I don't want to be mad at you but the things you do just make me furious.

I took out my own phone and dialed the only person who can assist me at the moment.

Liam. He works in the intelligence. All the information I get about Deniz, is through him.

"Greetings, Kade. How may I be of service?" As formal as always.

"Mhm , yes, Liam. Sup. Um, kindly tell me about her. Any news?"

"Actually, I was just about to call you today but something came up early in the morning."

"It's alright, just spit it out already."

He cleared his throat before continuing. " I got a call from CAA at 10 a.m. today and got told that she had a flight to (your country/city), yesterday in the morning."

What the fuck could have made you--wait, did you go there because of me?

"A-and for how long is she gone for? Come on , tell me the details!"

"It was a one-way ticket and that's it. That's what I've got so far, your grace."

Lord have mercy.

I cut the call and gripped the edge of my bed as I sat and looked down at my feet contemplating. So she ran huh? Quiet cute to be honest.

I let out a tired chuckle and took my shirt off as I leaned against the headboard. Do you want to play like this? You think you can just sit on a plane and never come back.

My eyes wandered to the envelope on my study desk. It was from the palace, informing me about the field matter as if I didn’t already know. I couldn’t help but let another wave of laughter escape my lips. The forest isn’t, well, mine. Sure, I hunted there from time to time, but it’s not in my name. It was just a little game I played with Deniz, with Richard’s help, of course. He did a great job playing my advocate. And so did the Mayor.

Father was not delighted about all of this when he got the whiff of the matter. He along with my family are by now aware of my infatuation for you.

When the first time I saw you playing, I was mesmerized and couldn't get you out of my head. Then I finally asked Reece to introduce me to you. That night, your performance was staggering as always. The way you carried yourself on the field, the sheer determination, your body's agility, everything, just absolutely sublime.

I understand that my method of pursuing you at that time was rather unconventional and serpentine, to say the least, but I had my reasons. Before I could muster the courage to make a proper confession, Reece had already conveyed my feelings to you. Even so, my heart clung to a fragile hope that perhaps you might still say yes. But… no. You rejected me with a coldness that pierced deeper than I ever imagined.

I chose Reece to subtly court you on my behalf, having observed the muted affection you showed her—so evident in the way your eyes softened when you were near her. The smile you gave her, and the shyness that surfaced in her presence, all spoke volumes. I couldn’t resist using this to my advantage, to teach you the lesson that Reece didn’t see you in the same light. Reece herself concurred with my approach.

Nevertheless, how dare you?. How. Fucking. Dare, Reece gets to have you get all fuzzy and not me? I am and will always be better than her. Better than every fucking creature on this land. Is being a Princess a joke to you? It was kind of soothing to at least get to know from Reece that you had broken off contact with her.

The reason that I was so bad at coming forward like a normal person who's interested in you was that at that time, I wasn't aware of the depth of my feelings. My thoughts were clouded by a fleeting desire to simply have you for a night but after getting to know you....I couldn't just use you like that. Even under that tough exterior of yours, I spotted innocence, and a sense of normalcy and the way you were so nonchalant around me, drew me in further. After the rejection though my heart wavered between resentment and affection for you. How could you reject me? Reject Kade Alexander Emsworth? In the end--love prevailed, and here I am.

I tried my best to kick you out of my mind but couldn't even after I dated potential suitors that were getting chosen for me, like Juniper Smith who I even got engaged to at some point, a daughter of some businessman. My heart was not in it though. Because I couldn't stop myself from thinking about you or keeping tabs on you. I couldn't do injustice to her or anyone for that matter, so I broke it off and told my family about it. About this....this sickness that I have. The fucking love I have for you. Oh, what a lethal meld it is of these confusing sentiments inside me. Love, annoyance, the constant craving, excitement...God. Then at the beginning of this year, I tried to reconnect with you but you pushed me away every time and I had to resort to these cheap measures to grab your attention even though it only ended up with me getting cursed back to seven generations, but I am used to it by now. When you go low, I will go lower Deniz.

I got up and took a cold shower. During that, I thought over the current situation and came up with an idea. A splendid one.

Ruth barged into my room as I finished packing and her expression morphed into a puzzled one. "Off to where?"

"England."

"What?! But what about our final project?! We have only worked half of it dude." She gave me a light shove on the shoulder. "For God's sake Ruth , I am not dying. I will work with you all online. Look, it's important for me to leave, princess duties. I just got a call so.."

She heaved a sigh. "Is it because of Leah-

"Of course not, you know we scuffle all the time. You know what? For your sake, I'll apologize to her? Kay?" She nodded with a tight-lipped smile. Everybody knows that Leah and I were like sisters.

════∘◦❁◦∘════

(Your POV)

After arriving at my family's home on the first day, I first relaxed and savoured the comfort of being with my loved ones. Later, I went to my bedroom to call my service provider and get a new number—it’s a routine I’ve grown accustomed to. It was only then that I realized I was crying while doing it.

Why is she doing this? Why can't I be left alone? There is a limit to how many times I can change my number. The thought that she can easily access my new numbers leaves no space for the doubt that I am being spied on heavily. Of course, it's so easy for her to do that. After calming myself down and reminding myself that I am stronger than this, I sat in silence as I took deep breaths.

The events of back in Southampton played back in my head. My job, the forest, Richard's words, 'She takes her duties very seriously.'

It's that damned city where I first met the piece of shit for God's sake.

I went to the police numerous times, even to the London Metropolitan, but they never took me seriously. Why would they? Who would believe someone accusing a princess? They looked at me as if I were delusional, schizophrenic, just another obsessed girl. Why can’t they see that it’s the other way around?

Only my family can provide me the warmth. And talking about family, I really thought about all of this. So I told them everything. From the start. And they did their best to first comfort and support me and then my father just straight up told me to resign and stay here with them. To be honest, I had thought about it after I got to know about her intervention in the field matter. But I really loved my job. It broke my heart to realize that I would have to give up so much just to have peace of mind. But I had to do it.

It was the morning after, and here I was playing cricket with two of my cousins and some neighbourhood kids in our backyard, feeling much better. In the back of my mind, I was still waiting for Clara's response to my resignation e-mail that I sent her this morning.

Your mum called you from inside saying that Clara was calling making you dash inside to answer the phone.

"What's all this? Are you for real?" Despite her firm tone I could make out the pain in her voice. What else did I expect?

"Clara-" I paused and went to the privacy of my room first. "It's--it was really hard for me to do this but I have to. I have to for myself and for our organization, your organization, Clara."

"What the fuck are you on about?! Can you elaborate here?"

Okay, guess this is time to inform everything her too. Wait--what if my calls are being listened to?. Damn it. What the hell should I do?!

"Hello? Deniz??" I stopped chewing my nails and took a breath. Honestly, I don't give a damn. Hence I spilled everything to her just like I did to my family.

She took in the information and I could just picture her posture and face as she sat on her desk chair , her leg bouncing in frustration.

"God, Deniz. I am going bonkers. This whole situation is bonkers. Why didn't you tell me this face to face!? You should have told me this sooner! Instead, you ran away! We could have confronted that Richard piece of shit in front of the Mayor there and then!"

"I didn't run away! I needed peace! A break! And I --look Clara, please. Try to understand, that could have made matters worse. The field was more important to us at the moment. Try to understand."

"I do understand, Deniz. And don't you, for a second, think that I am not on your side. I am here for you, got it?. I just--could've helped you better here. Could've gotten you hooked with some contacts. Look, I can still help you."

My pace slowed down as I stood in front of my mirror. "How?"

"Media, Deniz. There's so much you could do with the power of it. You just need the support of the people-

I cut her call, turned on my VPN and called her again. "Sorry for that, yeah so, listen --the thing is, if I were to make some video on her what proof would I show Clara?."

"Those teammates of yours in highschool--surely they must have some photos or something-"

"Yes, photos. What do photos prove, Clara? Interference in my job? Constant calling? My phone being hacked or something? No. It just proves that we were 'friends' once. I have nothing against her! She only calls me so I don't even have texts. I would get roasted the shit out of if I post on Tiktok or anywhere. And even those teammates don't know about this current situation of mine and they also will have nothing solid on her except... words." I started pacing again and we both went silent, listening to each other breathe for a minute. As I sat down on my bed, she spoke up again.

"I still can't believe a princess is doing that. Like, she isn't getting enough attention from her mummy and daddy? She was even engaged. I heard once from Alfie but she broke it off. Weirdo." Her comment made me let out a dry chuckle. I couldn't care less about her personal life. But I wished that she had just gotten married to her ex-fiance or anyone by now.

"No, Boss. I think she gets plenty of attention from everywhere, this is the first time she isn't getting any and she is going mad...Clara. I can't help but be afraid. Why can't she just get it that I am not interested in her like that? If I ever decide to be with someone, I want them to be just a normal civilian. I don't want to be with a royal!"

"I get you. Some people have air inside instead of brains. But don't you dare be scared or paranoid! It's not your fault! It's fucking harassment at this point. Deniz, didn't I tell you that the forest was no one's property, it was government-owned, not by some royalty. It was true."

"So--the Mayor would've known about this too, right?" My chest tightened as I gripped my bedsheet in anger.

Clara sighed in frustration. "Of course. God, this is enough to sue them all. ALL OF THEM!!" Of course, she would say that. I couldn't agree more with her though. "At the end of the day--they are all rich sons and daughters of bitches. Always remember these words." She hesitated before continuing. "You know you won't believe that I am going to say this and for the record, I am not saying this to support whatever she's doing but to point it out. People sometimes do batshit crazy things when in love, Deniz."

"So!? That doesn't make it right. I don't even know why she is after me of all people."

"I know , I know. You are absolutely right. It is crazy. Hey you know what? Imma go call the Mayor's office and see if-

"Clara the matter is already settled! You cannot just call and ask 'Hey, I was wondering that did a certain Princess order you to do this cuz of my assistant?' As if they would tell you shit. They must have been paid and they wouldn't disclose anything. I am telling you this now, it's stupid." I heard a bang which indicated that she fisted her desk.

"Look! Let me handle this okay? I have my ways. A call ain't gonna hurt anyone. And I am definitely not gonna mention all of THIS! It remains between us. Imma just talk about the forest ownership, okay? Now, I'll call you later. Take a breather for now, okay? Go enjoy your time. I'll...get you on with you about your... resignation."

"Okay, thank you Clara. Goodbye. Also use VPN while calling me."

"Kay, of course, relax now. Don't beat yourself for these crazy assholes. She won't harm you. Got it?. Goodbye, love." I subconsciously nodded and cut the call. Her words soothed me to a good extent. 'Okay. Relax, Deniz. It's not that serious. Don't think of it as so serious. You are home, back with everyone. One day or another she will find someone else, after all, she is a princess, and she will get tired.'

You went back to the yard and grabbed the ball from your cousin, just praying every second to not receive a call from an unknown number any time soon.

════∘◦❁◦∘════

(Kade's Pov):

"It's getting out of hand now, Kade!. Have some self fucking respect. You seriously cannot be asking for this right now!" My gaze remained hardened as Dad and I stood facing each other.

“Language, husband,” Mummy reprimanded, but we were both too absorbed to pay her any attention.

I was now standing in the living room of the palace, my dad scolding me due to the forest matter and arriving back early.

"Father, I assure you, I am here to solve all of it—once and for all." He kneaded the side of his head, letting his hoary hair spill through the gaps between his fingers.

"Really? How? I just don't get you. Why are you so desperate over her?! You are my daughter! A fucking Princess! Have some dignity. No other girl will reject you--do you even know how many good families have their eyes on you for their daughters?!"

"THAT'S THE THING! I DON'T WANT THEM, I WANT HER!" I backed away and took a few steps to calm myself, their disturbed expressions reminded me of the same look my teammates had on their faces in the locker room.

"You all are aware of this! Why can't you just let me be?. I tried 'courting' those girls who you are so fond of! Even got engaged! It didn't work, okay?!. Look, Dad, I will have her here. As your daughter-in-law. Trust me. Very soon. Just do what I requested, please." He turned his back on me as he went to gaze out the window.

"Why can't you accept that she doesn't like you that way. How will the marriage even work, my dear?." Mummy's words made my head snap, and my eyes wandered to the fireplace. The fire mimicked the burning passion inside my heart and I raised my chin proudly.

“It will, Mummy. Are you forgetting how royals used to marry? The worst matches endured because they had to—because they were royal matches and I’m not just some random woman on the street, as Dad said. She’s just…” I paused, offering a gentle smile. “A little shy, scared thing. A bit overwhelmed. I know her. She doesn’t hate me—she’ll come around. Believe me.” I looked at Dad and stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulders.

"I won't disappoint you."

"Oh, but your future wife already has, daughter." His words made me swallow a sudden surge of irritation. Yet, his resentment is valid, I can't deny that. Damn Deniz, you already have started family drama without even being here. Such a mischief-maker you are, darling.

"You will love her, Dad. And you too...Mummy. She is lovely, everything I can ever want. Anyway...there is something else I have to discuss with you Dad, but later. For now, I have to go prepare for the event."

"Fine, I will have the arrangements made. But Kade, end all of this as soon as you can, you hear me? This is your last chance, after this, I won't allow any more of this pathetic lovelorn scheming of yours." As if I need his support. I offered a slight bow to both of them and chuckled in excitement.

"I will be forever grateful, your Highness. I promise this is the last time." And made my exit, not missing to wink at Julian who was sitting nonchalantly in a corner, the middle brother who is 2 years older than me. He was silently observing this whole ordeal. I didn't even notice him till now. He always has been a quiet one.

Being the youngest of three children certainly had its perks and did I forget to mention, being a princess too? Haha!

I gave Richard a nod as I spotted him in the hallway and couldn’t help but smirk as I climbed the staircase. Oh, there’s no finer intoxication quite like power, and when you mix it with love and passion, the exuberance that follows is simply unparalleled...

My steps were deliberately relaxed as I walked in the familiar corridors, taking in the sumptuous and grand interior. I will never get bored of this. Damn, I sound so sybaritic right now. It's just--it's like something is changing from within me...because of you. I wonder if there has been a Princess like me before, wandering these halls due to the agonizing yearning for her lover. I think I did read once in the palace's library that there was one by the name of Keira Emsworth, my great, great something. Guess I inherited her genes.

I’m the same Kade who used to feel a twinge of jealousy over my older sister Romana being the heir. But now, the throne means nothing to me. After all, who needs a useless throne in this day and age?

You, however, matter to me more than anything now, you are not my obsession at this point...you are my persistence. A goal, that I will achieve. A challenge I won't fail, and won't give up.

I reached the door of a room, the room that I always somehow return alone to. Every single fucking time. My breath quickened and my fists clenched. Why can't I open it? I straightened up and with a determined sigh, I put my hand on the knob.

"I made sure to keep it spotless while you were away, your Grace." Richard's soft voice spoke from behind me but I just nodded curtly without turning back.

"Good job." He knew that this praise was not only for doing the former chore but his contribution to my plan. Without wasting another second I stepped inside and turned on the lights, but for some reason kept my eyes closed until I locked the door.

Walking a few steps in I finally opened my eyes and surveyed the amenities. This wasn't my personal room. This room, I had specifically asked for to be arranged and decorated for the day I bring you here in this palace as my bride. It's our room. It is to be remained unused and untouched by me till then, just another little game that I made. I chose every single thing for this room. I just hope it's to your liking. I inhaled deeply, savouring the fragrance that filled the air. God, it was the perfume you used to wear. I stalked to the foot of the large downy canopy bed and stood with my arms behind my back.

"Why are you doing this to me, Deniz? You are so cruel. Yet," I was about to sit on the bed but refrained myself. 'No, it's a challenge, don't forget it. Your motivation, Kade. Bring her here first , then touch the stuff.'

"yet, I burn for you. For your love." I pulled out my phone and looked at a picture of you from high school. Although I had newer photos, I was drawn to the old ones for some reason. They evoked a poignant nostalgia for my own youth and the faint moments we shared. I gazed at the image of you in a cricket shirt, leaning on a bat with that charming, adorable smile. The urge to pull you into my arms and never let go, to hear your giggles, was as vehement as ever. I reflected your smile back, imagining you were looking at me.

"I am sorry for what I am about to do Deniz. But I have to, love."

➺Part III

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catherinetheprincessofwales · 9 months ago

Text

Kate is not your drama queen Her self-possession drives people wild - Jenny McCartney UnHerd.

Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage. In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies”, which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge. The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished”. Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character”.

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar. The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive”. Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at. That was true, but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait: which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes. Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate. That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline. The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides. Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews. Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class. She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously. The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job: to turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner. This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art. A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality. Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite. Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted? The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty. The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged. When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist. In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit. In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect. Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character”, meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others. In recent years the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health. The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy, but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story: “People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’sTom McTague. In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers. Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it. There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser”, but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends. Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children. Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood; she seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide. Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox. Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

In Jean Rhys’s Good Morning, Midnight,a middle-aged English woman called Sasha Jansen, mourning an unhappy marriage and a dead child, finds herself in Paris, a vulnerable drifter seeking solace from stray men. Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations. As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it: “Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her. When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”. Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends. The dramatic collided with the dutiful, and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys. Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic. She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution: hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon. The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem. In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations. What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency. It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery, and was taking time to recover. And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed. According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions. Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty. Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.” The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks. Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice: her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama. With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

#ktd #kate middleton #british royal family #brf #princess of wales

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thepastisalreadywritten · 9 months ago

Text

Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel (6 July 1952 – 22 September 2022) delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage.

In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies,” which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge.

The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished."

Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character.”

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar.

The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive.”

Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at.

That was true but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait:

Which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes.

Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate.

That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline.

The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides.

Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews.

Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class.

She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously.

The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job:

To turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner.

This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art.

A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality.

Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite.

Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted?

The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up.

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty.

The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema, or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged.

When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character,” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist.

In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit.

In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect.

Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character,” meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others.

In recent years, the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health.

The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story:

“People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’s Tom McTague.

In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers.

Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it.

There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser,” but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends.

Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children.

Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood.

She seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide.

Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox.

Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations.

As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it:

“Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her.

When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee,” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”

Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends.

The dramatic collided with the dutiful and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys.

Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage, and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic.

She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution:

Hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon.

The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem.

In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations.

What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency.

It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery and was taking time to recover.

And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed.

According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions.

Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty.

Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.”

The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks.

Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice:

Her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama.

With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #cancer #chemotherapy #preventative chemotherapy #disinformation #misinformation #fake news #trolls #bots #click farms #targeted attack #malicious gossips

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uselesssomebody · 2 years ago

Text

𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕛𝕦𝕝𝕪 (𝕝) - neighbor!joel miller x reader (pre!outbreak)

complete masterlist | joel miller masterlist

"𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕛𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕠𝕣 𝕠𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙, 𝕞𝕪, 𝕞𝕪" - you can be the boss | lana del rey

words || 𝟠.𝟛𝕜

summary || in which the reader gets real friendly with one of her neighbors

next part || fourth of july (II)

a/n || in honor of that one deleted dvcree edit. may it rest in peace ➵ i became ghastly ill when i tried to write so apologies that it took a while. ➵ this is set before the events of the show, back when joel and sarah were still both alive and in austin, texas. i've never been so i dunno how accurate my descriptions are, or my accents, either. don't hate them please ➵ there is an age gap in this story !! if that makes you uncomfortable, i have many other non-age-gap fics you can browse on my page. reader is like 27 and joel is like 36. he's not old, though he is mentioned as such because he's old compared to her. also canonical dilf ➵ thinking of putting out a sister blog but with darker fics? what're we thinking, guys? ➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smut ➵ unprotected sex ➵ piv sex ➵ oral (m receiving) ➵ fingering ➵ overstimulation ➵ facial & cum ig (tell me if i miss anything)

austin was hot.

she was sure that was one of her first thoughts as she’d stepped off the plane, quick to push her suddenly-heavy locks out of her face. lugging luggage and a young teen with her certainly didn’t make it better, but the light gust of fresh air when she stepped out of the airport left her sighing deeply in relief.

flagging down a taxi was simple enough, but getting her sister to help place their suitcases in the trunk was not.

“nicole - please get off your ass and help me!” she said it in such a sweet voice, that her harsh choice of words seemed to both mildly bewilder and amuse the driver.

no one called nicole ‘nicole’, except, of course, her big sister - and even then, only to frighten her. to everyone else she was just nicky and, if they were real close, nick.

swallowing sharply at the implied warning - the use of her full name - she did, indeed, get off her ass and help push the last suitcase into the trunk.

they piled into the backseat, the cool of the a.c. soothing the light flush on the sisters’ skin. she’s quick to give the driver the address, and he nods, setting off.

neither of them had imagined ever moving back to austin, but here they were.

it’d been about 13 years, as far as she remembers, and the scenery had changed significantly. more people bustled around the streets than there had been before, more businesses had seemingly popped up, and everything seemed fancier.

nicky wouldn’t have noticed the change, having moved alongside her family at the ripe age of a year old, but her significantly older sister could.

she still remembers how her parents had sat her down - on a pretty summer evening before her freshman year. they’d mentioned many things - how the family was due for a new start, how austin wasn’t so feasible for them anymore, and so on. the only thing she’d heard was change and loss.

and that's what it was for her. her whole life turned upside on its head, as the family of 4 made the move across the country to the cold state of michigan. and that’s where they’d stayed - for the rest of her childhood, and then her adulthood, too.

her parents had been young when they’d had her. very young, and she sometimes sensed the sadness that she caused them because of it. they never tried to be outward about it, and her life had been as happy as she could have realistically wanted it.

and, though she loved her young sister, she knew that she became less important in the eyes of her parents after nicky’s birth, taking the back-burner to make space for the family’s golden child, conceived with careful planning and meticulous care - as opposed to the case that she’d been.

now, though, being much older, she didn’t let that bother her, though she never felt particularly at home in michigan. in fact, the last place she’d felt at ease had been austin, and when her father had stated that he couldn’t continue to find renters for their old property there, and was thinking of selling it, she was quick to discourage him, swaying him by stating she’d be more than happy to stay there, renting under her parents. they’d been excited at the notion of being able to keep the house, she was happy to get out of there, and nicky was… well, she was, frankly, devastated at the thought of her big sister being several states away.

regardless of the tense family dynamic, the both of them had remained steadfastly bonded, with her providing the role of a caretaker as much as she was a sister to nicky when her parents found themselves unable to relate to or understand their young daughter. nicky’d begged for weeks to travel with her sister, and her parents had been - to put it lightly - hesitant, worried that the big change would affect their daughter’s development.

nicky was outgoing, for sure, and she had her friends and her school - but she knew all those came and went. the only rock she’d truly had in her life was her sister, and the notion of losing her had been too much to bear.

she’d gotten ill after that first week it was announced - it was as much a physical sickness as it was a psychological one - and the wallowing she had done at the advent of the news had only spurred the sickness to be harsher.

her parents had had to reprioritize after that, finally grasping the profound effect the separation might have on the two.

and that’s what led them here - just a few blocks away from her childhood home.

nicky wasn’t sure how exactly she felt about the suburban environment after their last few years in an apartment at the heart of the city, but when she looked over, she could see her sister’s happy - nay, giddy - face. that was definitely a big plus.

she had practically fallen out of the car in her excitement, and she spent just a minute marvelling at the fact that building hasn't changed a bit from when she last saw it.

it had transported her back to her teenage self, and, lost in the moment, the taxi driver wondered if he should remind her of her bags and his fare. nicky, who had been less of a help on the ride here, started unloading them herself, and it took until the second suitcase for him to help her.

“just give her a minute,” she mumbles, making him laugh lightly. hearing the conversation, she snaps her head back, realizing that most of the bags were already on the pavement.

“oh! sorry,” she fished into her wallet, producing his fare, which he accepted with a nod and salute. she smiled, the two sisters thanking him and waving him off, before turning back to their place, “excited?” she mumbles it to nicky.

“incredibly,” she said it with a faux-bored expression, but even she could appreciate the extra space this house would provide them.

she walks up the patio steps, slotting the key she’d so delicately carried the entire journey here into the lock, and hearing the distinct click it made when it opened.

the sound of a new beginning.

it'd been a few weeks, and everything was shockingly alright. the house felt more like home to her than anywhere she'd ever been, and though nicky was still adjusting, she felt infinitely better in a somewhat unfamiliar environment with her sister, as opposed to a familiar one without her. the house had three bedrooms, and nicky’d happened to pick her childhood bedroom out of the two offered to her, and, though nicky hadn't realized yet, she could see the love she’d put into the bedroom when she was younger: chipped wallpaper where she’d put her posters, a faint ring of liquid on the windowsill from where she'd kept her potted plant, the creak of the bed whenever someone would sit on it.

hey, she never said it was perfect, and they'd been quick to make their way to the furniture store closer to the city to find some new things for the place. all she was glad about was that there was no need for renovations in the old house.

they'd found a lot of time to spend together; having moved early into the summer, they'd hoped nicky would get acquainted with the change before going to school. that’d also left her to be a somewhat bored teen, so she did what she, as a younger sibling, did best: annoy her sister.

of course, she didn't mind, simply happy they had a chance to hang out, something that had been harder to do for her between work back in michigan, and her school. currently, she was also taking a break, having left her job, and having a new one lined up in another month.

that left ample time for them to catch up on all the movies and t.v. they'd had to watch, and for the older sister to teach nicky a thing or two about good music. she couldn't have her sister entering high school with a bad taste of music - it'd be blasphemous. she'd been brushing up on her housekeeping abilities as well, so the time also consisted of teaching nicky of how to cook, and keep everything in the house in order to minimize the risk of damage.

that time had begun to dwindle as of recent, with nicky being out of the house more often. she'd come into her sister's room sporadically, in order to ask her permission to meet with a friend. she'd tend to say yes, considering her sister was old enough to handle herself, though she was always a little shocked at the speed at which nicky made friends.

on one fine morning, she finally sat her down.

“so, who's this friend you've been spending all your time with?” it'd been in the middle of breakfast, and nicky'd become frozen, spoonful of cereal sticking out of her mouth. she’s quick to realize the awkward position, pulling the spoon out of her mouth, and hastening her chewing in order to answer the question more quickly.

“you haven't met her? oh my god, you absolutely have to. she's been showing me around the place - apparently she knows all the coolest spots, cause her and her dad - they've been living here for, like, forever, and-” the sudden onslaught of information made the older sister practically recoil, before it was replaced by an amused chuckle.

“well, mom and dad were worried about how well you'd adjust, but it seems like you're doing just fine.” nicky smiled too, though it was a little sheepish, “so, where did you say she stayed?” she was still slightly confused as to how nicky had met her, as she'd never exactly strayed very far from the house.

“oh, she lives next-door. didn't I mention?” the information was jarring for a moment, as it seemed a massive oversight on her part to not even notice her adjacent neighbors, but she suddenly found herself remembering something. there had been a young girl coming out of the house next door with a bag slung over her shoulder, and her hair pulled back and under a visor to protect her from the blinding texan sun. she’d been out to attend to some of the plants she had bought for the porch, and she had looked up when she’d heard the girl’s crunching steps on the somewhat gravelly pavement.

she’d smiled and waved at her, and she’d nodded back, just slightly confused by the encounter. of course, due to the nature of it, she’d promptly forgotten about it by evening, but she was quickly coming to realize that this must be the girl that nicky was talking about.

“wait - she’s the one with the big hair, wears band shirts?” nicky nods enthusiastically, and she smiles approvingly. the young girl seemed sweet enough, and she was more than happy that nicky had already found a friend.

the next week, nicky had been begging that they invite sarah over for dinner. it’d been a chill weekend anyways, so she was definitely not opposed to the idea, but she was quick to extend the invitation.

“okay, okay - invite her over on sunday. tell her to invite her parents too; it’d be nice to meet the neighbors.” nicky was quick to shake her head.

“parent, it’s just her and her dad.” she corrected herself quickly.

“right, ‘f course. invite him over too, then.” nicky nodded excitedly, rushing over to her room to get on the phone with sarah along the street.

that sunday, she did join the sister’s for dinner, but, as she’d been ushered into the house by two friendly smiles, she seemed to putting off a phrase at the tip of her tongue.

“s’everything ‘lright, hun?” she was quick to notice her guest’s guarded appearance, as she’d sat on the couch with nicky.

“hmm? oh, yeah, yeah. it’s just - my dad’s working tonight, so he couldn’t make it.” she waved her off.

“oh, don’t worry about that, we’re just happy you’re here!”

nicky echoed the sentiment, and the two young girls spent their time talking and laughing, a couple miscellaneous snack bowls spread over the coffee table as sarah became more comfortable. they’d migrated to the dining table when they’d been served dinner. she didn’t tend to cook for guests, so she attempted to pull out all her makeshift stops and, considering the end product, she was quite satisfied with the result.

no one was more excited than nicky and sarah, though - the both of them practically scarfing down the delicious meal. the conversation had turned to include all three of them, and sarah was beginning to reacquaint the both of them to austin, while they entertained her with stories of their time in michigan.

though they’d tried their very best, neither girl came all that close to finishing all the food she’d set out, so she was quick to package it up, sending sarah on her way with the food as a nod to her father’s missed opportunity.

“are you sure? i mean, i don’t know if i can take this-”

“yes, you can. unless you don’t think he’ll like it-”

“no! absolutely not, he’ll love it, it’s just-”

“sarah.” the faux-strict tone made sarah’s face crack into a smile, before she nodded, tucking the packet under her arm as she turned to say her goodbyes to nicky.

once she’d left, she pounced on her older sister.

“isn’t she great?” startled, she laughed, before nodding.

“definitely.”

june passed quickly, and, by july, she’d finished the paperwork for the house, for her job, and for nicky’s school. she was glad to know that it was the same one that sarah went to, and, with the added comfort of her sister spending increasing amounts of time exploring austin, she’d sat her cramped joints down in front of the t.v., vying at the chance to enjoy some trashy reality or game show.

though the sun still provided sweltering heat, when she left the kitchen and living room windows slightly ajar, she could feel the hint of a breeze work in place of their energy-consuming a.c. - which she’d turned off for that exact reason.

she turned her head from the t.v., the contestants on the screen continuing to speak with the host, and she let her eyes drift over the sliver of scenery that she could see through the half-obstructed kitchen windows. some of her neighbors had put up american flags. some were old, new, tattered, printed, there was even one that seemed to be homemade. of course, she knew this behavior was really only reserved in this neighborhood during this time of year, as the texans prepared to celebrate the 4th of july.

reminiscing of her own experiences with the holiday: going swimming with friends, eating good meals, and the occasional barbecue at a friend’s place - she was caught off guard when she heard the doorbell ring. it made her jump, but she quickly composed herself, standing up and brushing off her clothes.

she ran her fingers through her hair and, hoping she looked presentable, she opened the door.

it was her neighbor on her other side, a woman by the name of martha. she was a little older - her and her husband - and they were absolute sweethearts. in fact, they were the first to greet the new neighbors, back on their second day here. she was looking up at her with an excited smile.

“martha, hi! what can i do for you!”

“well - i was just wondering if you’d join us: we’re having a little barbecue tomorrow for the 4th, and i’ve invited a few of the neighbors. we’d really love to have you and nicky.”

she was just a bit taken aback by the invitation, but she didn’t hesitate in her response.

“of course, we’d be happy to be there! shall i bring anything?”

“no, of course not, dear. we’re hosting, just bring your little one.” she let out a light laugh, agreeing. martha bid her a quick goodbye, and headed in the next house’s direction - the millers.

perfect, she thought, nicky’ll have some fun too, then.

july the 4th, and a neighborhood barbecue. it’s a nation-wide phenomenon, then.

nicky’d been significantly more excited than her, once again, proving herself to be the more social one. nevertheless, as the younger girl got ready the next morning, her older sister spent her time finishing a tin of muffins. martha’d assured her she didn’t have to bring anything, but it almost hurt her soul to show up empty-handed. if she’d calculated correctly - and she’d hoped she’d done - she’d made just about enough for the whole group.

by 11:30, they were both ready, and she’d placed two boxes of them in nicky’s hand, while she carried the other two. the both of them made their way over, and she noticed the large group mingling in their yard and backyard. she could see martha’s husband, john, commandeering their large grill, a corona in his hand. she looked around for martha, and caught the eye of the woman as she turned away from greeting another guest.

“oh, you two ‘re here, perfect.”

“hey, martha. look, i know what you said, but-” martha gasped in delight at the boxes as she neared and noticed them, lightly taking them off of her.

“they look great; you haven’t stressed making them, have ya?”

“no - no, it’s my pleasure, really.” martha smiled at her, a mix of graciousness and happiness, before turning her attention to nicky.

“hey, nicky. how’re ya holding up?” nicky nodded.

“good, pretty good. thanks for having us.” she waved her hand at the notion, ushering the both of them inside.

for the first hour, she got acquainted with martha’s husband, the smiths from across from them, and marriots from down the road. they were all very curious about michigan and she, in turn, curious about how much exactly austin had changed since she’d last been here. at the same time, nicky was talking to a pair of twins a year younger than her who lived about two houses down. they were pretty cool, and were going to the same school as her, so they were filling her in on some of the school-wide drama: stuff sarah never cared so much about.

speaking of which, by about 12:30, she hears sarah’s voice greeting someone, and she turns her head, waving at her. behind her is her father, two packs of cold ones in his hands, that he sets down as he greets the hosts. sarah’s quick to detach from him, saluting him goodbye, as she instead makes her way over to nicky and the two other girls.

nicky's older sister had been enraptured in a conversation about the new dog the marriots were getting next week, when she felt someone come up to her.

john had brought joel over to the group, and he integrated without interrupting the story, letting mr. marriot express his excitement for the miniature pinscher they were getting. once he was done, he notices the newest member of his audience.

“hey! joel, how’re ya doin’?” his words turned the attention of everyone in the group, and she realized that this was the coveted joel miller: the man she missed for that one dinner. she turned her head to look at him, flashing him a friendly smile, but it almost froze on her face as she drank in his appearance.

good god, was he fine. messy hair that he’d pushed back, a full beard and an intense gaze. jesus, he was piercing straight through her, his eyes boring into hers while his mouth reflected a polite smile. she averted her gaze for a moment, before john is quick to introduce them.

“and this is joel; him and his daughter live right next door to you guys.” she nods, reaching over to shake his outstretched hand.

“nice to meet you; you’re sarah’s dad?” he nods, smiling at the mention of his daughter. she made the mistake of looking up to catch his gaze, and she felt her breath hitch. the moment passed as she released his hand, but, when she looked back up at his face for a half-second, as ms. smith began talking about her daughter, she swore she saw a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

the lunch had been lovely, and the company had been better. she’d heard stories of four neighbor’s dogs, and seven neighbor’s kids, and then stories of john and martha’s holiday the previous winter, and she felt much closer to the entire neighborhood. nicky had been bustling between her and her friends the entire time, as had sarah, but with her father.

speaking of whom - joel was interesting. he seemed just a bit tired, and maybe bit quiet compared to the others, but he had managed to find a keen amusement in making her squirm. and how could she not? this attractive, sweet, hot, funny, hot, gentlemanly, hot single dad was meeting her eyes every few moments with a gaze that made it look like he wanted to make her forget her name.

did she mention he was hot?

as was she, after a few hours of this strange back and forth, where the both of them seemed to be enraptured in the conversations they were in, but couldn’t seem to take their attention off each other.

jesus christ - he’s your neighbor. and he’s 10 years older than you. and he’s got a daughter who is best friends with your sister!

she jumped when nicky had come up to her, shocked by the feeling of practically materializing her sister.

“hey, i was wondering if i could go over to sarah’s place? i’ll be home in the evening.” nicky seemed a little tired of the party, obviously not the absolute best scene for a teenager like her.

“huh? oh, um - is she and her dad okay with that?”

“i’m alright with it,” a deep voice came from behind her, and she whipped her head around. joel had a kind smile on his face, and he was looking over at nicky, nodding.

“oh, thank you mr. miller! i appreciate it.” nicky smiled back up at him, before looking at her sister with practically puppy eyes.

“alright, nicky. be home by 5.”

“by 6, see you!” nicky rushed off before she had a chance to argue, and she opened her mouth, stuck between bemusement and amusement at her gall. joel laughed behind her, a deep, quiet noise. she didn’t realize how close he was to her, feeling the vibrations of his body in her own. she turned to properly face him, taking a half-step back to allow herself a more comfortable angle to look at him.

“nicky’s always so excited to hang out with sarah, and i can see why: she’s really sweet.” he smiled at the compliment for his daughter, his eyes holding a far-away quality that indicated his reminiscing of her.

“yeah - yeah, nicky too. sarah’s always harpin’ me to be able to go out with her.” he took a breath as he snapped back to look at her, “you’re new to the neighborhood then.” she smiled.

“yeah, we just moved in last month.” he nodded, gesturing around.

“it’s not a bad place, when you’re used to it.” there’s a joking twang in his tone.

“it’s not a bad place, even when you aren’t.” a light chuckle fell from him, as he took another swig of his beer. she could feel the proximity heating her up, so she brushed some hair out of her face, “i think i’ll step out for a moment. d’ya wanna join me?” she gestured to the door, and he shrugged.

“why not.”

the yard was more empty now, as people had begun leaving the gathering, or entering the house as the food had dwindled. though, still placed on the table, were a few of the many muffins she had made. she walked over, him in invisible tow, and she took one, handing it over to him.

“do me a favor, tell me what you think.” he seemed a bit confused, but obliged her, eating the muffin with great care. maybe exaggerated, but the expression on his face made her laugh, so she didn’t mind.

“this is great! martha went all out for these.” she nodded at the praise, him oblivious that it should have been directed towards her.

“martha definitely did. those were mine, though.” he looked back at her, in a mixture of impress and awe.

“well - you’re as good a baker as you are a cook, then.” she laughed at the reference to their lost dinner.

“oh, you did get it from sarah. perfect, what’d you think?”

“i thought that i regretted missing the chance to meet you then.”

suddenly, she felt the conversation had veered away from her ability to make food, and more towards - well, her. she went to retort, but heard her phone’s tone go. she snapped her head to her pocket, mumbling an apology as she did so.

it wasn’t anything important, thankfully, but it did give her an opportunity to check the time and, true to belief, it seemed that, very soon, she’d have overstayed her welcome.

“shit, it’s later than i thought.” she looked up at him, almost apologetically.

“you’re heading home?” though she wasn’t a master at reading faces, she could almost swear there was a hint of disappointment on his.

“well, joel, you’re a hard man to get a hold of. so, mind helping me bring these boxes back?” she gestured to the four boxes, and, in her own roundabout manner, made the bold move of inviting him over.

was it even bold? he lived a few meters from the place anyway. he smiled though, and, in his own gentlemanly manner, agreed immediately. he grabbed three of the boxes before she could stop him, and she almost sheepishly took the last box back up the street with him, pausing for only a moment to unlock the door to hers, before ushering him into the place.

he seemed almost hesitant to step too far in, but she waved it off, telling him to make himself comfortable as he set the boxes down.

“want anything? water, beer? something to eat?” he held his hand up, shaking his head, but did indulge in sitting at her dinner table. she ignored his gesture, taking out two cans for the both of them, before sitting in the seat beside him. he didn’t seem to mind, though, taking the cold beverage gratefully. it made her smile: at least the heat was affecting the both of them.

she took a long, almost wincing sip of hers, having almost forgotten how strong the liquid tasted in her mouth.

“sarah mentioned you’re a contractor?” it was a feeble attempt at reigniting their conversation; truly, she just didn’t want him to leave yet. he seemed to notice that notion, as he took a moment to answer, looking up at her between sips.

“yeah, yeah. me and my brother.” it was new info, and she nodded, rubbing at her nose lightly as she concentrated on the tab of the can, “so, how’d you find the place - the people?”

“they’re - uh, they’re really nice, i guess. everyone seems really friendly.” he nods.

“sure, sure. i’m sure it’s a little annoying though - everyone’s a bit older, right?” she looked up at him, and he had an unreadable expression on his face.

“well, i don’t mind older.” she maintained eye contact as she saw his smile twist, lip curling into a smirk, one he tried to hide behind his drink, “in fact, i think it’s better. older guys tend to be more mature - put together, you know?”

“guys?” his face betrayed his shock at her directness, and she suppressed a laugh.

“well, that is what you’re asking, aren’t you?” he held a hand up in surrender.

“and if i was?” she stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek, surveying the space between them.

“well, mr. miller. i’d tell you to stop beating around the bush and just take what you want.” he set his drink down with a light thud, something more desperate swirling in his eyes.

“and what would that be?” he wanted her to iterate exactly what she thought would happen.

“you tell me.” she didn’t give in, hoping the older man would break before she would.

he didn’t need much convincing, though, placing a firm grip on her arm, and pulling her closer to him, leaning forward and taking her cheek in his much larger hand.

“you’re asking too much of me, sweetheart. what’d the neighbors think?” his breath fanned over her face, and the tone of his voice indicated his teasing nature.

“what?” he laughed against her, shaking her body, before he gestured to the window just adjacent to him.

“only been here a few weeks, and already seducing one of your neighbors? it’s bold - i’ll tell you that much.” his cologne - a soft, but distracting smell - was overpowering her, and she couldn’t exactly think clearly as he sat so close to her.

“joel.” it came out as more of a plea than she had maybe wished, and he smiled, his eyes flicking across her face, “should we go upstairs?” she detached from his eyes for just the slightest moment, to look up at the staircase leading to her room.

“if you want to, sweetheart.”

fuck. being called sweetheart? by him? she was done for.

she led him up the stairs, her steps just slightly shaky as she walked up.

what was she doing? him, she supposed.

her bedroom was messier than she’d hoped as they walked in, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that as he pulled her towards him while she shut the door behind her, pressing his lips to her ear as her back hits his thick chest.

“you sure you want to do this?” his voice is huskier than it had been before, and it made her let out a shaky breath.

“please.” he smiles against her soft skin, turning her to face him. she doesn’t waste a moment, leaning closer to his face as he pulled hers closer to him, capturing her lips in his own.

his beard tickled her chin, his breath warm on her face as she closed her eyes against him. he tasted like an interesting mix between the barbecue, her muffins, and the beer he’d been drinking, creating a festive, american aftertaste in her mouth.

the kiss made her moan against him, as her hands finally began exploring the man in front of her. his shirt was flimsy against his torso, and that made her almost more inclined to pull it off of him, as she placed her hands under the thin fabric. he broke the kiss with an amused exhale, pulling her hands out from under it with a smile playing on his lips.

“think you owe me something, first, sweetheart.” she looked back up at him in confusion, but, noticing the fingers at the ends of her own top, she as quick to pull it off of herself. even he seemed a little shocked by her eagerness, but that didn’t stop him, pulling her into him with such force that the both of them fell onto her bed.

he sat back up in a heartbeat, redirecting her thighs so that they straddled his own, pulling her towards him. the angle left her neck at eye level with him, and his nose traced the skin of her collarbone, the ghost of kisses leaving a trail up her neck as she wrapped her fingers in his scruffy hair. she let herself get lost in his touch, the softness of his lips on her chest, the sharp sting of his teeth occasionally grazing her skin, the harshness of his fingers against the skin of her thighs.

before she - or he, for that matter - could get too carried away, she pushed away from him lightly, reaching back down to tug at his shirt.

“you got what you wanted, now come on-” he laughed as he pulled the offending cloth off of him, and she sighed happily at the sight.

god, he was hot. she pushed him further back until he was laying down, and attached herself to his jaw, placing chaste kisses in a similar manner he’d done, tracing the edges on his beard with her lips. he kept his hands firmly on her sides, squeezing gently as she made her way down his body, over his chest, where the hair tickled her nose, making her smile. then, over his stomach, until she’d gotten dangerously close to his rapidly hardening cock.

he gripped her tightly, making her squeak in shock which, surprisingly, did nothing to quell his arousal.

“you’re-”

“let me, c’mon.” she said it as though there was a measure needed to persuade him. that definitely wasn’t the issue; rather he was worried he’d finish far too quickly for the mature older man he’d portrayed himself to be.

but how could he not - this fucking gorgeous woman with her head between his legs looking up at him with those eyes. fuck, those eyes.

“please, joel?” he’d grunted in that moment, releasing his grip, and she had a smug smile on her face as she unbuttoned his jeans. he couldn’t see it though, his head thrown back as he tried to even his breaths.

she wasted not a moment to tease him, tracing the outline of him lightly through the thin fabric of his boxers. he’d groaned her name - almost in warning, and she smiled as she relented, pulling him out from the confines of the cloth.

she hadn’t exactly been proud of her expression in that moment - akin to an actress on a certain screen, if you caught her drift - except hers wasn’t a fake one. older men had always been a hit or miss for her in terms of dick size, but this one seemed to be the fucking hit.

he’d recovered in time to catch that look, leaning on his forearm to be able to reach his hand over and push her hair out of your face.

“shocked, sweetheart?” she didn’t take her eyes off him.

“excited, more like.” she pulled her hand lightly up and down his cock, spitting in her hand before continuing. the added lubrication made him moan through his teeth, and she didn’t give him a moment of reprieve, readjusting so she was at the perfect angle to lightly lick his tip.

he practically shuddered at the contact of the wet muscle on him, a hand going to weave the hair falling over her face away, and gripping her head maybe tightly than he intended to, as she placed feather-light, open-mouthed kisses from the top to the bottom of his cock. he didn’t say anything, his appreciation for the act moreso communicated through the squeezing and releasing of her hair, and his shuddered breaths and quiet, almost broken moans.

deciding she didn’t want to wait any longer, she wrapped her lips completely around him, taking him deeper and practically feeling him twitch as she sunk lower on him. he guided her movements slightly with his grip on her, pushing her down as he let loose to the feeling, and pulling her up lightly as she came too close to unraveling him.

breathing in deeply through her nose, she pushed down further on him, swallowing to suppress her gag as she felt her nose being tickled by the hair at his base.

“fuck, sweetheart.” the curse left his mouth almost aggressively, as he twitched behind her lips. her throat constricted around him, and she resurfaced, breathing heavily to make up for the lost air. he looks down at her, taking in her cock-drunk appearance as she sighed between his thighs. she lazily pulled her hand up and down his cock, as she caught her breath, “come up here, baby.” through both of their pants, she made out his request, getting up so that she was sitting on her knees, as he also rose to rest better against the headboard. he gestured her to some closer, and she placed a knee of either side of him, practically crawling up his legs.

the shorts she was wearing were his biggest obstacle at the moment, and he was quick to pull her up by the front of them, unbuttoning them in the process. a squeak emitted from her, shocked by the manhandling, and he was quick to pull them down her legs. her hands cover his, the both of them almost desperately taking them off and, once he’d finally done so, he focused his eyes to hers, his fingers sliding up her thigh and to her cunt. he traced her lower lips lightly, and she could feel her thighs tense, her breathing hitching.

noticing her reaction, he smiles, pulling her lips to his, and kissing her as he traced up and down her slit, placing the ghost of pressure on her clit. she almost jumps at the sensation, but the firm grip his other hand keeps on her hip stops her.

“don’t run away now, sweetheart.” it’s a whisper into the space between them, and she wordlessly nods, her hand going to his biceps and gripping as he applied more pressure, “tell me what you want.” she looked up at him, a mix of disappointment and frustration at the request.

“i…”

“you?” she cleared her throat, averting her gaze, and he used his free hand to direct her chin to look at him, “what d’you want?”

“i want you to fuck me.” she felt almost ashamed saying it, but he smiled in pride - a smug smile.

“we’ll have to get you ready, first; don’t ya think?” he dips the tip of his finger into her and she shudders again, her hips jumping lightly, causing him to squeeze her. she nods, humming, too focused on the movements of him fingers to properly answer. taking pity on her, he obliges, pushing a finger into her, and curling it up.

“oh, god.” the sensation makes every muscle in her tense, the sexual frustration piquing at the feeling, and simultaneous lack thereof. her head falls into the space between them, and he places an almost comforting kiss to the top of her head, before beginning to move his finger.

initially, he moved it in and out of her almost exploratively, as if he was trying to determine what exactly made her tick. it resulted in soft moans and cut-off breaths, before he heard something akin to a whimper when he’d found a particular spot inside her.

he pushed another finger in, making her noises only grow, gripping him tighter. he started moving in and out of her at a more rapid rate, his fingers curling, to the point where she was moaning so loudly that he was worried the neighbors would hear regardless of their relocation.

he took his lips to hers again, hoping to muffle her noises, and it worked, her mouth focused on feverishly returning his passion that she managed to swallow the majority of her moans. though, it didn’t help when she felt the knot inside her begin to tighten, her hips grinding against his fingers.

“y’gonna cum, sweetheart?” she couldn’t speak, worried she’d be too loud if she opened her mouth, so she nodded frantically, pushing more quickly against him as she chased her high, “that’s it, baby, cum for me, cum for me-” his encouragement almost made it easier, and she did cum, in something akin to a burst: her body fully stilled, as did his movements, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head, the hint of a squeal leaving her parched mouth. her voice sounded almost broken because of the intensity of it, and she practically leaped off of his fingers, unable to take the overstimulation as he had begun to move again.

“sorry - fuck, it’s too much, sorry-” he shook his head, assuring her immediately.

“it’s fine, sweetheart, you’re fine. ‘re ya ‘kay?” his accent came out more aggressively as he checked on her. she’d placed her hands over her face in an attempt to cool its warm flush, trying to catch her breath, as she nodded shakily.

“i’m - i’m, fuck, yeah, i’m fine.” she practically stuttered through her gasps, and he found it endearing, giving her a moment to compose herself. he adjusted the way she sat on him for her to be more comfortable, him fingers kneading the flesh of her thigh gently, hoping the contact would ground her.

it worked, with her taking her hands off her face after a few moments. her eyes had a far-away look to them, but she had a sheepish smile on her face.

“that was - uh, it was really good.” he smiled at her reaction, but it dropped after a moment.

“we can - we can stop, if ya want, sweetheart. if it’s too much-”

“no!” her response was so aggressive that it made him look at her in light amusement, “i mean, no. i don’t want to stop.” he surveyed her with an analytical eye.

“are ya sure?”

“joel, please?” she’d moved closer so her cunt sat inches from his cock, her warmth radiating onto him.

“i-” he went to say something, but seeing her flushed skin, her lust-blown eyes and the plea to fuck him, he seceded.

he pulled her up by her thighs, so she hovered over his cock. she used her hand to hold it steady, before he helped her lower onto him. it took a try or two, with his cock bumping against her clit and making her jolt. his tip caught her entrance in just another moment, though, and she took in a deep breath as she sunk onto him.

“fuck-” his response made up for her wordless one, her face contorting in pleasure as she tried to handle the size of him in her.

“joel-” she needed a moment to adjust, and it seemed as though he’d realized even before her.

“take your time, sweetheart.” she took a deep breath, sinking into joel’s arms further as she felt his thumb over her clit, trying to make the process easier for her.

finally, she mustered the strength to grip onto his shoulders, his hand finding a firm place on her waist, as she strained the muscles in her thighs to lift herself up. she felt a moment of aching emptiness, before she sunk back down on him, his cock catching practically every sensitive spot inside of her, making her moan.

it was a bit laborious, but along with his own effort, they came to a working rhythm seamlessly, and her moans began to be matched by his grunts at the feeling of her warm cunt, enveloping and twitching around him. she felt fucking amazing, and the warm breath of her gasps spurred him to push against her with just that bit more force. her eyes widened, her moans breaking as her breath caught in her throat. she felt her muscles turn to jelly with each thrust, practically being held up just by his hands. her head falls against his shoulder, her breath stuttering. his pace didn’t relent, though, with him readjusting just slightly to do the brunt of the work, fucking up into her as she tried not to let the pleasure consume her.

“joel - joel, you’re, oh, fuck-” she became a mess of mumbles as she attempted to just take it, but she felt her second orgasm oncoming, and way too quickly.

“c’mon, c’mon-” even joel wasn’t really registering what he was saying, focusing on feeling her cunt pulse again, like it had around his fingers. she didn’t make him wait too long, as her mouth fell open and her body tensed, clamming up as her orgasm crashed over her. his name came out in a squeak, and he resisted the urge to moan too loudly by attaching his lips to her neck, taking in the feeling of her pulsating cunt.

she slumped against him, desperately trying to catch her breath, before she was reminded her was still inside her. he helped her off of him and, before he could do anything else, she kneeled back in front of him, positioning her face right in front of his cock and stroking him to completion, his warm cum falling over her face in ropes.

“jesus christ, sweetheart.” he had to physically turn away from her, worried he’d get hard again at the sight, and she let out a tired laugh at his reaction. she rose from the bed after a moment of catching her breath, turning into her bathroom in order to clean herself up. it only took a minute or two, and by the time she’d walked back, joel had managed to pull his jeans back over him, and was desperately searching for his shirt. it was just by her feet, and she could give it to him.

but did she want to?

both of their heads snapped up when they heard the sound of the front door opening.

nicky - she’d come back at her sister’s previously preferred time, 5, and that had become increasingly problematic.

“shit-” she threw his shirt at him, and he caught it with one hand, trying to adjust the button of his pants with the other, “what do we-?” she questioned, as she pulled her shorts over her legs and shirt over her own head.

“just say ya were showing me around?” he suggested, and, through a shaky breath, she nodded.

“smart - smart, uh, do we-?” she gestured to herself, hoping she looked presentable, and the both of them gave each other a once over in approval that neither looked too disheveled, before they opened the door.

of course, those post-orgasm should never be told to rationally judge anything, as nicky and sarah could tell something was off from practically the moment their family members stepped out of the room.

“nicky? you didn’t have to be back so early, you know.” she said it quickly, without thinking, and, upon seeing joel’s what the fuck? expression, she realized how bad it sounded. nicky had, too, her brows furrowing as she turned to sarah, who simply shrugged in similar confusion.

“i’m sorry?” she watched as her sister - and then, to her surprise, mr. miller - came down the stairs.

“that’s not what i meant.” her sister mumbled, a sheepish smile on her face.

“dad, what’re you doing here?” sarah looks at her father quizzically, and he opens his mouth to speak, as she does at the same time.

“just - showing me around-”

“i’m giving him a tour!” they spoke over each other, and she glanced to look at him in slight embarrassment. he was trying his absolute hardest to keep from chuckling.

“anyways, sarah, we should get going. you two have fun?” sarah still looked between the both of them inquisitively, as nicky bore a glare at her sister, as if asking a question telepathically.

“lots of fun, dad.” it’s got an awkward delivery, so he coughs in an attempt to dissuade the tension, turning to her once more.

“it was nice meeting you, then - the both of you.” he smiled at nicky as well, before reuniting with his daughter.

“of course! it was great to see you again, too, sarah.” she mentioned, as she opened the front door for the both of them.

“see you around, sarah. good evening, mr. miller.” nicky spoke from behind her, and the millers nodded in goodbye. the front door shut with a click behind them.

there was a moment of silence between her and nicky, as she leaned against the door, before nicky broke into a big smile.

“i can’t believe you did that.” panic flashed over her face, and she whipped her head to face nicky.

“huh?”

“he’s so much older than you. and my friend’s dad, c’mon!” she sounded annoyed, but the exaggerated nature indicated that it was fake. she immediately tried to deny her sister’s completely true assertion, but the younger girl practically laughed in her face. she rolled her eyes at the reaction, brushing her off.

“shut up, nicky. he’s not even that much older than me.”

only a few meters away, sarah was trying very hard to suppress her own laugh.

“she’s really nice, right, dad?” joel, who had a faraway look in his eyes, hummed in response, prompting her to continue, “nicky’s sister. she’s really nice.”

“yeah - yeah, she is.” joel shrugged, unsure of how exactly to respond to his daughter. he looked down at her, and she had this glint of mischievousness in her eyes.

it worried him.

as he ushered her in when he’d unlocked the door, she’d made a beeline for her room. though, before she made her way up the stairs, she turned back for a moment, looking at him.

“and dad? you’re shirt’s on backwards.” she doesn’t wait for his response, walking up the stairs. shocked, joel looks down at his shirt, where the tag was practically looking him in the face. he sighed, closing the door behind him.

“shit.”

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