#I’d tweak some things if I had the time

[glorkums]

Version without the dialogue under the cut. (Dialogue says, “Ah, the new farmer we’ve all been expecting.”)

[evansbby]

bestie what did he do????? do i need to pull my glock out or what

he fr lost the baddest bitch 🙏🏾

the usual thing that men do. he ghosted me 😭😭 after we’d went on a few dates and also for weeks we’d text ALL day and half the night like till 3am 😭 and i don’t mean sexting i mean actual conversation with cute flirting 😭😭😭 but then he all of a sudden just stopped replying and i should’ve just NOT SAID ANYTHING but then i texted him a few days after he ghosted me and then he was like “sorry i was busy :)” WHICH IS BASICALLY CODE FOR FUCK YOU I AM DONE WITH YOU 🥲🥲🥲🥲 like I can’t believe he wasted my time like that!!! and I don’t understand what was going on in his HEAD like he was sooo into it like in the beginning i wasn’t even that attracted to him i just thought he was fun to talk to!! He was the one who kept complimenting me and flirting with me!!! (another red flag in hindsight lol). I mean he was hot so i was initially attracted to him but then I got the ick but then i forced myself to be attracted to him again bc his personality was so good 😭😭😭 and we genuinely got along so well 😭 anyways he never popped up again so it’s safe to say it’s done lol even if he did pop up now i wouldn’t reply 😂😂

[all-pacas]

I finished my Rome book and have now begun one about Pompeii. I’m 65 pages in and I already love it: yes, it covers the volcano, but most of the book is about “this is what the town and daily life of it would have been like, actually.” Fascinating stuff. Things I’ve learned so far:

- The streets in Pompeii have sidewalks sometimes a meter higher than the road, with stepping stones to hop across as “crosswalks.” I’d seen some photos before. The book points out that, duh, Pompeii had no underground drainage, was built on a fairly steep incline, and the roads were more or less drainage systems and water channels in the rain.

- Unlike today, where “dining out” is expensive and considered wasteful on a budget, most people in Pompeii straight up didn’t have kitchens. You had to eat out if you were poor; only the wealthy could afford to eat at home.

- Most importantly, and I can’t believe in all the pop culture of Pompeii this had never clicked for me: Pompeii had a population between 6-35,000 people. Perhaps 2,000 died in the volcano. Contemporary sources talk about the bay being full of fleeing ships. Most people got the hell out when the eruption started. The number who died are still a lot, and it’s still gruesome and morbid, but it’s not “an entire town and everyone in it.” This also makes it difficult for archeologists, apparently (and logically): those who remained weren’t acting “normally,” they were sheltering or fleeing a volcano. One famous example is a wealthy woman covered in jewelry found in the bedroom in the glaridator barracks. Scandal! She must have been having an affair and had it immortalized in ash! The book points out that 17 other people and several dogs were also crowded in that one small room: far more likely, they were all trying to shelter together. Another example: Houses are weirdly devoid of furniture, and archeologists find objects in odd places. (Gardening supplies in a formal dining room, for example.) But then you remember that there were several hours of people evacuating, packing their belongings, loading up carts and getting out… maybe the gardening supplies were brought to the dining room to be packed and abandoned, instead of some deeper esoteric meaning. The book argues that this all makes it much harder to get an accurate read on normal life in a Roman town, because while Pompeii is a brilliant snapshot, it’s actually a snapshot of a town undergoing major evacuation and disaster, not an average day.

- Oh, another great one. Outside of a random laundry place in Pompeii, someone painted a mural with two scenes. One of them referenced Virgil’s Aeneid. Underneath that scene, someone graffiti’d a reference to a famous line from that play, except tweaked it to be about laundry. This is really cool, the book points out, because it implies that a) literacy and education was high enough that one could paint a reference and have it recognized, and b) that someone else could recognize it and make a dumb play on words about it and c) the whole thing, again, means that there’s a certain amount of literacy and familiarity with “Roman pop culture” even among fairly normal people at the time.

[leonkennedygvrl]

My father loves me with every inch of his manhood.

real dad leon x virgin reader

🌹 warning: 18+, p in v, oral (m recieving), creampies, incest, size difference, dead dove, tummy bulge, squirting, rape kink, baby trapping, murder, gore, leon’s gross and weird so beware! and enjoy :)

divider credits to @firefly-graphics

Oh, what a mistake she was! Leon felt a fool for thinking she was the one, maybe the sex was satisfying at first but God slicing through her felt even better. Her pussy was never tight enough anyways, and he’s a man with needs. That’s why he made you watch. Pretty little daughter, hardly resembles her whore of a mother. You’re trapped in a cage down in the basement, watching your daddy straddle your mommy.

And flesh was ripping. Audible. Blood was everywhere, flowing. Her eyes were wide. Just like her wounds as he slowly plunged the knife back inside her body. Again, again, and again. Ignoring your muffled cries, stupid silly girl. It’s okay, he had plans for you.

“Dad—daddy, please stop! She’s dead! Mommy’s dead!” You screamed with all your might, but it only earned a raspy chuckle. You were just… so shocked to be disgusted by your father. And even more so when he stood up and grabbed your mother’s hair, shoving her face against the glass you were behind. A gasp leaving your lips, her face was fucked up. You didn’t want to look at it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hiding behind your palms as you turned away.

“She’s prettier like this, baby. No? You don’t think so?” Leon asked, her neck was slit. A gaping cut, multiple stab wounds over her décolletage. Blood coating her jewellery that he bought her, maybe he’d pass it down to you. That shit was expensive. Plus, you liked pretty things. Pretty girls did. And you were very, very pretty. That’s why he was hard, and it was not because he’d murdered your mother.

Okay, maybe a little bit. He liked the control. He watched you sob, back hunched over that he could see your spine in the cute dress you wore. You were such a sweetheart, your closet consisted of a fashionista’s dream! Heels, frilly socks, garters, purses and accessories. Much better than your mom, she was just basic. At least to him.

“Baby, it’s alright. I love you, that’s all that matters. You don’t need mommy.” He cooed, releasing the grip on her hair and kneeling down, watching as you meekly peeked through to look at him. Soggy tears all clumped together and your lips pouted. He felt his stomach flutter. “Yeah, attagirl. Cm’ere, I’d never hurt you.”

You always wondered why you were just a little bit fucked up in the head, yes mommy’s death hurt but daddy was just so much more important. Mommy couldn’t protect you, her press-ons would probably fall off if she even tried. But daddy was strong and he’d tear down anything to help you. Your shaky hands touched the ground, crawling over to him and pressing your palm against the glass.

“But you hurt mommy.” You doubted. Foolish, right? You expected him to be irritated but his eyes were soft as he looked down at you, but there was something in there. Something dark. Something that wanted to ruin you. He pressed his own palm to the glass, so much bigger than yours. “I miss mom, please… she—she…”

“Shh, don’t worry about her. You gonna let dad come in there with you?” Leon asked, he was dirty with blood but his dick hurt the longer he looked at you. In his eyes, you were perfect. You just needed a little tweaking. His dick could do that.

You looked at your mother’s limp body, wanting to puke. You should’ve hated your dad, but you couldn’t. You actually think you hated your mom a little more, she wasn’t the greatest individual.

Little feet of yours pattered on the ground, you were just a toddler in need of some love. Dad was never around, at least not much. He was gone for weeks at a time, so you’d always go to your mother but she was busy as well. On the phone, talking to Katie. Katie was her best friend since university, and as much as you stood by her legs, grabby hands wanting to be picked up, she paid no mind to you.

“No, no, no. I told her she couldn’t just nitpick about everything, Katie! She just doesn’t listen, and now she wants my advice? That’s not happening.” Your mother scoffed into the phone, hardly sparing you a glance as she shooed you away and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Honestly, I’m glad Mark cheated on her. Maybe that would teach her a lesson.”

Or another time when you were a little older, just beginning elementary school. You were scared. You were never good at socialising, and as your mother opened the car door she ushered you out quickly, still on the phone.

“Oh my, really? That’s great news, I’m sure Graham is a nice guy. Is the ring good? I mean, if he isn’t emptying his wallet on you then he’s probably not going to be a great husband Katie.” Your mother chatted, and you looked up at her, hoping for at least some reassurance.

No, she didn’t care much about you. You were just an annoying addition to the family because Leon wanted children. That’s when she got a little turned off, but she stuck with him because he gave her cash. And while he was off on missions, you observed everything.

Also, the first day wasn’t great. You got bullied.

Teen years you were a little smarter, always eavesdropping on your mother. But she started getting a little TMI with Katie, and you figured it was just the best friend privilege. You didn’t have much of that growing up, kids avoided you.

“He’s perfect, Katie. He has it all, you know? I don’t know why I even bothered with Leon, he’s such a prick sometimes. He doesn’t make any time for me and it’s just frustrating! Like, you know that italian restaurant I told you about? A few months ago, they had an all you can eat and I told him about it and guess what,” your mother rambled, openly admitting her afair. This is where you held a dislike for her deep down because how dare she? “He went on another goddamn mission!”

You thought back to all of that as you stared at your mother’s dead body, maybe dad was right. She deserved this, you don’t know why you felt guilty. So you nodded, and the grim smirk that had crossed his face made you a little uneasy.

Leon stood back up, digging into his pocket for the key to the cage and once he entered, he almost orgasmed in his pants at the sight of you looking up at him from the ground. He shoved you back against the glass, eliciting a little confused noise from your lips before his bulge was in your face and you felt sick.

“Oh, baby. You didn’t think I was going to come in ‘ere and pamper you or something did you?” Leon asked rhetorically, not much care in his tone as he unzipped his jeans and pulled his dick out of the confines. Big, bigger than the ones you’ve seen in porn. Except they were all circumcised and bare to fit standards but he wasn’t, his pubic hair was shaggy and he pulled his foreskin back.

“D—dad, no! This is wrong!” You exclaimed, feeling the bulbous tip press against your lips making you tilt your face to the side.

And now the softness was gone as he grabbed the hair atop your scalp, tugging hard and straightening your head. It hurt, your lips parting in surprise.

“Shut up, pretty. Should be thanking me, mmm..” Leon cut himself off with a groan as he pushed into your warm, wet mouth. Your tears had come back, streaming down your puffy cheeks as your lips stretched around his cock. “Been working for so damn long, providing for you. Got you cute things to make you happy and I got rid of that fickle bitch.”

He felt your throat stutter around his dick as you gagged, making his abdomen clench. Tight mouth, tight pussy, pretty face and a cute body. It made sense though, he made you after all. And he knew that deep down, you liked this shit. You could’ve used your hands to stop him, but you didn’t.

“Hm, smart girl.” He praised, pulling almost all the way out and then shoving his hips forward. A warm and gooey sensation in his gut, he could’ve cum right there. Your mom didn’t like blowjobs, figured it’d give her wrinkles. As if she wasn’t boxed up on botox. That he paid for.

“You just need dad, I know you do.” Leon repeated the action, feeling your hands finally press onto his thighs but you made no attempt go push him off — instead your nails dug into his skin, your vision blurred with tears as you watched him, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

And his words, well, they made your panties feel wet. You didn’t know what it was because the only time it felt like this was when you got your period and didn’t realise you needed pads, you avoided tampons; doing enough research because ignorant momma didn’t want to teach you a thing, and you heard of TSS and it scared you.

Your throat was constricting the harder he thrusted, lips closing around his dick until your cheeks hollowed out. You were sucking his dick, like a popsicle. Because in a depraved way, you liked the taste. It was musky but clean, like he used soap on it or something. And your nose was buried in his pubes each time he bottomed out, different variations of grunts leaving his mouth.

“God, better than your mom. So much better,” Leon moaned weakly, tightening his grip on your hair as he thrusted with increased fervour. He just wanted a taste, he didn’t want to cum inside this pretty mouth. Save that for another day. “But you don’t need to breathe, right baby?”

“Ggmmph—“ You tried, feeling his fingers pinch your nostrils effectively suffocating you as he stilled his movements. Your throat was even tighter now, and he felt jittery, biting down hard on his lip. He always wanted to choke a girl this way.

When you started turning all blue, he pulled out of your mouth and grinned darkly, pulling his hand away as your mascara was running down your face and your nose was all snotty. Cute. He liked the messy type.

“Sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?” Leon asked condescendingly, putting his hands beneath your armpits and forcing you to stand up as you coughed and stuttered, feeling brainless and dizzy. You couldn’t reply, the world was spinning right now and your dad was about to rape you. And you were letting it happen.

For two reasons, you knew it was absolutely pointless to try and stop him and you didn’t hate this. You remember a few accounts on twitter that post incel porn and you would cum faster to that, rubbing your clit.

“Time to test your pussy, but I hope you don’t mind honey. Dad doesn’t have a woman now, you made me kill her.” Leon muttered, bunching the hem of your dress up at your hips and pressing his fingers against the soaking wet gusset of your panties, feeling your engorged clit.

“You little slut, you’re getting off to this. You’re wetter than ever,” He degraded meanly, pulling them to the side and rubbing the head of his dick against your slit, watching as you jumped and convulsed, head tilting back against the wall as you weakly protested. “Daddy’s dick is just crying for this pussy, baby. Be a good girl and take it, okay?”

You sobbed, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his dick into your entrance and then shoved it inside, breaking your hymen almost instantly as you squealed from the harsh intrusion and immediately grabbed his shoulders.

“F—fuck, fuck! Dad!” You cried, hearing his shaky exhale as you clenched down repeatedly. He was too big, you could feel him in your stomach. You tried pushing him away, but then his large hands snaked around your hips, pulling you up and straight back down onto his throbbing cock.

“You’re… a fucking virgin?” He questioned, shaking his head and then laughing mockingly. His sweet girl was cursing now, that was new. He thrusted at a slew rate, one hand moving up your body, touching the bulge in your lower abdomen, ghosting over your breasts and then grabbing your chin.

He squished your wet cheeks together, pursing your lips like a fish as whined.

“Answer me, baby. Tell me you’re a sweet virgin.” Leon said, tightening his grip painfully when you didn’t answer making you flutter around his dick. Slick gushing down his heavy balls, the plap, plap, plap noises reverberating through the basement.

“I—I’m a… sweet virgin, daddy..” You whispered, eyes opening wide to look up at his reprobated face, though he looked a little red himself as he moved his hips rhythmically feeling your chubby pussy pull his dick in like a suction cup.

“Yeah, a sweet virgin turned whore.” Leon mocked, stilling his hips until his tip pressed against your cervix, watching as your expression contorted into a mix of pain and perverted pleasure. If he was a better man, he’d feel guilty. But the blood on his hands served to say that he was maybe a little, or a lot, deranged. And it’s alright because he knew you were too.

“Dad… please,” you moaned, feeling too full. You needed him to move, to touch your abandoned clit, to give you something other than the pain you were feeling. “Please just… move, just fuck me.”

Leon tilted his head, had he really corrupted your little brain? He hummed, resuming his movements and watching as your lips parted in a silent gasp, and then the punched out moans that escaped you. Yeah, he knew it. You were a perfect little thing, toes curling the harder he got, the frilly socks were a little stained and looked miniature in comparison to his boots.

“I am fucking you, honey.” He muttered, pressing a few kissed along your jawline as your head leaned up and your eyes rolled back when his fingers ghosted across your clit, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive bud. “Cute little pussy need a baby inside it, right?”

There you go, with a shaky scream you clenched down hard on his dick. The words were enough to bring a clear liquid squirting out of your pussy, his hips stuttering as he moaned, you were just convulsing, back arching into him as your breasts bounced until they were peeking out of your dress.

“Yeah, you do. Fuck, squirting around me like a goddamn slut.” Leon grunted, voice a little more hoarse at this point. He was nearing his own orgasm, and he wanted to fill you up completely. He wanted to do so much to you. He wanted to crawl up inside you and watch his sperm take, watch the entire beautiful process of conception.

He thrusted a couple more times before pausing inside, his warm and gooey cum filling your womb up completely until you felt like it would leak out of your mouth.

The beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead made the front strands of his hair a little wet as he watched you pant and tremble in his hold, his arms wrapping around the arch of your back and holding you against him. Yeah, he was a dickhead but he cared.

“You’re perfect, baby. Such a good girl.” He murmured, kissing the top of your face as you melted into his embrace. He didn’t bother pulling out. “Gotta keep you plugged up.”

A million times better than your mother, and speaking of which he’d need to dispose of her stupid body. Maybe after another round, and then a bath. And then a night of sleep.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

[hoshifighting]

      minghao + wax/candle play

— minghao is your best friend with benefits, and you two made a deal to always test one of your fetishes, and you were always willing to fulfill his as well.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, fingering, clit stimulation, nipple play, the candle wax is a specific one, oil play, slight overstimulation, he's so careful 🥺

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

“hao, you’re gonna burn my ass,” you joked the first time he brought it up, eyes wide and a little skeptical as he set the candle down between you two. the idea of him dripping hot wax on you sounded insane, like something that could only be sexy until the second it wasn’t—until it actually hurt. but minghao, being minghao, didn’t push. just raised an eyebrow, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth like he knew something you didn’t. and of course, he did.

now, laying beneath him, your back arched, nipples taut and sensitive, you’re not sure why you ever doubted it. the heat of the wax as it dripped, that slow, steady burn, was almost too much—almost. but just enough to have you gasping, your jaw slack, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as you felt the warmth seep into your skin.

��fuck—minghao,” you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every reaction. the candle he brought wasn’t some cheap thing you pull out when the power goes out—it was something specific, something he researched. because of course he would. the wax didn’t scald, didn’t burn like you’d thought, but melted into this massage oil when he smeared it over your skin, making it glisten in the yellow light of his room.

“you like that?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing as the warm oil pooled between your breasts, and his fingers smeared it down over your ribs, sliding lower. “told you i wouldn’t hurt you.”

you couldn’t even form words at this point, too lost in the sensation of his fingers pressing into your skin, slick with the oil, and the way the heat seemed to spread through you. your legs were already spread wide, hips arching up, begging for more before you even realized it.

his fingers traced over your skin like he had all the time in the world, focused, and maddeningly slow. when he finally, finally let his fingers slide between your legs, you could’ve cried from the relief, the way his thumb pressed against your clit, slick and warm. “fuck—hao, please—”

he chuckled softly, and dipped his fingers lower, dragging the oil over your folds. “so needy. and here you were, all scared i’d burn you.” he didn’t stop though, didn’t pull away, just pressed the pad of his thumb down harder, slow circles over your clit as his other hand slid back up to your chest, tweaking a nipple between his fingers.

the mix—the heat from the wax, the firm pressure of his fingers—was a lot, but in the best way. every nerve in your body felt alive. “minghao, fuck,” you gasped again, hips bucking up against his hand, needing more, needing him inside you, needing anything.

but he was still taking his time, watching you with that same half-smirk on his face like he was enjoying this even more than you were. “you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he muttered, thumb pressing down harder against your clit as he finally slid two fingers inside you.

your back arched off the bed, the orgasm building inside you like a coil tightening, and you couldn’t stop the moans falling from your lips. his other hand stayed on your chest, playing with your nipples, fingers slick with the oil, adding to the warmth, the pleasure.

“shit, hao, i’m—” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, too lost in the way his fingers felt inside you, the way his thumb kept working your clit. everything felt so good, so fucking good, and you knew you were close, knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

he seemed to know too, because he sped up, fingers fucking into you harder, faster, while his thumb kept that steady, maddening pressure on your clit. “cum, honey,” he whispered, and oh, his velvety voice... that was all it took for you to fall apart.

your whole body tensed, then shuddered, legs trembling as you came hard around his fingers, moaning his name like it was the only thing you knew how to say. minghao didn’t stop though, kept his fingers moving inside you, drawing out your orgasm until you were gasping, thighs shaking, body spent.

finally, he pulled his fingers out, but not before dragging them over your swollen clit one last time, making you whimper from the overstimulation. he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your hip, then up to your belly, chest, until his lips were hovering over yours, a smug grin on his face. “see? told you it’d be worth it.”

[paddockletters]

unseen | jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x reader  request: yes / Reader who was bullied when young and then jude and her go to her hometown and everyone feels out cause that freaking jude bellingham and they get like, impressed by reader success as an f1 engineer and that she bagged jude? Sorry its way too specific author’s note: Hope you liked it!... as I always say... english is not my first language so pardon me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

The memories of my school days never really left me. Every now and then, they’d come creeping back — a careless comment someone made, or the way people used to whisper when I walked past. I could still picture the sneers, the cold stares, and the cutting remarks. The bullying wasn’t always physical, but the emotional scars felt just as deep. Being the quiet girl who loved math, cars, and physics made me an easy target. I didn’t fit in with the other girls who were into makeup and parties. I was more interested in tweaking engines and dreaming of Formula 1. That difference marked me.

It all began in middle school when I started to realize just how out of place I was. My grades were high, my social skills not so much. Every time I raised my hand in class, there’d be snickers. Every time I’d walk down the hall with my oversized glasses, someone would mutter a snide remark. The bullying wasn’t brutal, but it was consistent, gnawing at me bit by bit. High school wasn’t much better. The teasing continued, though by then, I had learned to keep my head down and drown out the noise by focusing on my dream of working in Formula 1.

Fast forward a few years, and here I am — an engineer for one of the top F1 teams. The transformation was surreal. Sometimes, I still have to pinch myself. Who would’ve thought that the same girl who spent her lunch breaks in the library, sketching out car designs, would one day be standing in the pit lane at Monaco?

But something even crazier happened along the way — I met Jude Bellingham.

It wasn’t some grand, love-at-first-sight story. I wasn’t starstruck when I first saw him. In fact, I didn’t even know who he was. We met at a charity event, one aimed at inspiring young athletes and professionals from underprivileged backgrounds to chase their dreams. Jude was there as the football star, while I had been invited to speak about my journey into F1. He seemed genuinely interested during my talk, but we didn’t interact much that day. It wasn’t until I received a DM on Instagram a few days later that things really started.

“Hey, I loved your speech at the event. I’m Jude, by the way — football player. Would love to grab coffee sometime if you’re up for it.”

I remember staring at my phone, thinking it was a prank. A football star wanted to get coffee with me? It felt like a joke. But I responded, and we met. Coffee turned into long dinners, long dinners turned into walks in the park, and those walks turned into a relationship.

Jude wasn’t what I expected. Sure, he was famous, but he was also kind, funny, and remarkably down-to-earth. He never treated me like I was less important than him. If anything, he seemed fascinated by my work. He’d ask me endless questions about the F1 cars, the strategies, the engineering behind the speed. I’d tease him about football, asking if he really knew what went into designing the perfect car. We just clicked.

Still, going back to my hometown was something I hadn’t done in years. The memories were too bitter. But Jude wanted to go. He wanted to see where I grew up, to meet the people who had shaped me, for better or worse. So we planned a trip. I was nervous as hell, but Jude? He was excited.

The car ride to my hometown felt like an eternity. As Jude hummed along to the soft rhythm of the music playing through the speakers, my mind was far from the road. I hadn’t been back here in years, not since I’d left for university. The thought of returning had always been… daunting. I wasn’t ready to face the ghosts of the past. Or, more specifically, the people who had made my life a living hell when I was younger.

I glanced at Jude, who was focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel, the other on my leg, giving me an occasional reassuring squeeze. His presence grounded me, but that nervous pit in my stomach kept growing the closer we got.

“You’re quiet,” he said, glancing at me.

I forced a smile. “Just... thinking.”

Jude raised an eyebrow, his tone soft as he asked, “About?”

“About how weird this is going to be. I haven’t been back here in years, Jude. People… they remember things. They remember who I was.”

“And who you were is exactly who I love. You know that, right?” he said, giving my thigh another squeeze.

I chuckled softly, leaning back into the seat, trying to push the anxiety down.

“I know. It’s just that, back then, I was the awkward girl who couldn’t fit in. Now I’m walking into town holding hands with Jude Bellingham. People are going to freak out.”

“They’ll freak out because you’re a freaking Formula 1 engineer, not because of me,” he said, grinning. “I bet half the people in town have posters of you in their garage next to their Ferrari die-casts or something.”

“Oh please,” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “No one from my town cares about F1.”

“They should. You’re a genius.”

Jude’s words were always so simple, but they held so much weight. He had a way of making me feel seen, really seen, in a way no one else ever had. That’s what made everything with him feel so different. He wasn’t just the football star that millions of people idolized; he was my Jude, the one who asked me about race strategies and remembered the names of the engineers on my team.

We arrived at the town square just as the afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the small, familiar streets. The sight of it brought back a wave of memories — good and bad. It was strange how everything looked smaller now, less intimidating. The buildings I used to walk past with my head down, trying not to be noticed, now seemed so ordinary.

Jude parked the car, pulling his baseball cap down over his head as we stepped out. I could already see a few people glancing in our direction, their eyes widening with recognition. They weren’t just looking at him, though. They were looking at me.

“Hey, you okay?” Jude asked, stepping closer to me, his arm wrapping around my waist.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t entirely sure. “Yeah, it’s just… surreal.”

We started walking through the town square, hand in hand. I tried to ignore the stares, the whispers. But they were everywhere.

“Oh my god, is that… Jude Bellingham?”

“Wait, isn’t that the girl who used to go to school here? She’s, like, a big deal now, right?”

“I heard she works in Formula 1. How did she end up with him?”

I bit my lip, feeling the familiar wave of insecurity creeping in. But Jude seemed unfazed. If anything, he walked a little taller, as if daring anyone to say something negative. He pulled me in closer, planting a kiss on my temple as we crossed the square.

As we walked into the shopping center, we decided to stop by a café for a drink. I could already feel the buzz of recognition in the air as people realized who Jude was.

Jude sat across from me, casually sipping his drink as if we were anywhere else in the world. He had his cap pulled low over his face, trying to avoid drawing attention, but it was hard not to notice him. He was Jude Bellingham after all.

The stares had started the moment we walked into the square, but he didn’t seem to mind. He had this effortless calm about him, the way he handled attention, fame. Meanwhile, I was doing my best not to feel like I was under a spotlight, even though I knew people were whispering and pointing, probably trying to figure out why he was with me.

I caught a glance from a group of teenagers at the table across from us. They were huddled together, looking our way, giggling and whispering. I sighed, already feeling a bit on edge.

Jude noticed. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, just... weird being back here.”

“I can imagine,” he said, reaching across the table to take my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in that soothing way he always did. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

I took a deep breath, glancing around the café. “It’s fine. Just... a lot of memories, you know?”

He squeezed my hand, his gaze soft and understanding. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” I said, surprising myself. I had never really told him the full story before.

He knew bits and pieces, but I had kept most of it to myself. Maybe it was time to let him in.

I looked down at our intertwined hands, thinking back to those years.

“I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid,” I started, my voice quieter than I intended.

“I was the one they picked on. The ‘geeky’ one. I loved math, engineering, all the stuff no one else thought was cool. I spent more time in the library than anywhere else. They made fun of me for it—my glasses, my clothes, the fact that I never fit in.”

Jude’s expression softened. “Kids can be cruel.”

“They were,” I agreed, a bitter laugh escaping me. “It wasn’t just teasing though. It got pretty bad at times. I used to dread coming to school. Every day felt like walking into a battlefield. I just wanted to disappear, you know?”

Jude’s grip on my hand tightened slightly. “I hate that you went through that.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off like it didn’t matter anymore.

“It’s in the past. I got out. I became an F1 engineer, so jokes on them, I guess.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to act like it doesn’t still hurt. It’s okay to feel that.”

I looked up at him, my throat tightening with the emotion I hadn’t realized was building up.

“It does, sometimes. I mean, I know I’ve made it, but coming back here... it just brings all that stuff up again.”

He stood up then, coming around the table to sit beside me. Without a word, he pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me protectively.

“You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he whispered into my hair. “You’re brilliant, and you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. They didn’t see that back then, but it doesn’t matter. I see it. The world sees it now.”

I leaned into him, letting his warmth and words wrap around me like a blanket.

We stayed like that for a few moments before pulling apart slightly, Jude resting his forehead against mine.

“You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone here,” he said softly. “You’re you, and that’s more than enough.”

I smiled, squeezing his hand. “Thank you. For always knowing what to say.”

Jude grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Well, you did bag me, so I’d say you’re doing something right.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he teased, flashing that trademark grin.

As we sat there, talking about everything and nothing, a few more people came up to us. A couple of them recognized me from school. I could see the surprise in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe the girl they used to tease was sitting here with a world-famous footballer.

“Hey, I remember you,” a girl of the group said, her voice laced with nostalgia. “You were in my physics class, right?”

I nodded, offering a polite smile. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Wow,” she said, glancing between me and Jude. “I heard you’re doing big things now. Formula 1, right?”

“Yeah, I’m an engineer for one of the teams.”

“That’s… amazing,” she said, looking genuinely impressed. “I always knew you were smart, but I didn’t realize… well, you know.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, but Jude jumped in, his arm draping casually around my shoulders.

“She’s a genius. She’ll never admit it, but she’s probably the best engineer in F1 right now.”

I blushed, nudging him playfully. “Stop exaggerating.”

The girl chuckled awkwardly, clearly a bit starstruck by Jude’s presence. “Well, it’s great to see you doing so well. And… with him. That’s pretty cool.”

After she left, I turned to Jude, who was grinning like he’d just won the Champions League.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jude grinned. “See? People notice. They’re impressed, as they should be.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning in to kiss my temple. “But I’m also right.”

As we walked through the shopping center, I could still feel people glancing our way, some whispering, others taking quick pictures on their phones. But for the first time, I didn’t feel like the awkward, out-of-place girl from school. I felt like someone who had earned her place in the world, someone who had worked hard and made it.

A few more people came up to Jude, asking for pictures or autographs, but he always made sure to include me in the conversation, making it clear that I wasn’t just the girl on his arm. I was someone in my own right.

At one point, a young girl, probably no older than ten, approached me shyly. She held a notebook in her hand, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly, “are you the F1 engineer? The one who works with the cars?”

I blinked in surprise, glancing at Jude before nodding. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Her face lit up, and she held out her notebook. “Could I have your autograph? I want to be an engineer one day, just like you.”

My heart melted, and I took the notebook from her, scribbling my name with a quick message of encouragement. “You can be whatever you want to be,” I told her, handing it back. “Just keep working hard and never stop believing in yourself.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Thank you!”

As she ran off, I turned to Jude, who was watching me with a proud smile.

“See?” he said softly. “You’re a role model.”

I smiled, leaning into him. “I guess I am.”

As we walked, Jude nudged me with his elbow.

“You handled that like a pro.”

“I don’t know how you do it all the time,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

He laughed. “You get used to it.”

Jude looked over at me, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

I glanced up at him, my heart swelling with affection. “For what?”

“For being you. For everything you’ve accomplished. And for putting up with me,” he teased, nudging me playfully.

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years. “It’s not always easy, but I manage.”

As we left the shopping center and headed back to the car, I realized something important. This place might have been where my story started, but it didn’t define me anymore. I had moved on, grown, become someone I was proud of. And with Jude by my side, I knew I could face whatever came next, even if it meant coming back to the place I once tried so hard to leave behind.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER SIX

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @xxloveralways14 @patscorner @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @makethemhoesmad @authentic-girl03

warnings infidelity, some sexual content

kalena speakss 🪽! this is easily my favorite chapter so far (for reasons that will become obvious towards the end) don’t expect another back to back update bc it’s not happening 😭 maybe thursday or friday at the earliest, i still have priorities!

June 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California 

“Paige, your shot wasn’t falling tonight like we are used to seeing from you. What was different tonight for you than either nights?”

It’s this that I’m not quite yet used to. The post lost pressers. It was different in college, where the team had way more wins for every one loss, but right now we’re at .500 and each time a loss follows a win and they ask me the same variation of the same question I get irritated.

But I’m media trained, which means I just answer the question no matter how dumb I feel it is. The real answer is that I played like shit tonight, forcing shots and getting into my head. Instead, I’m forced to say:

“We’re playing a team that has the reigning defensive player of the year and was just in the finals. It was gonna be a dog fight, for us to get settled against a defense like that, and they simply out performed us.” I look down at the stat sheet in front of me, I had 5 turnovers to my 4 assists, and I fucking hate turning the ball over. 

“Kayla McBride is a dog, she guarded me well tonight, forced me into some bad shots and got a few turnovers from me. But I gotta take all that and learn from it, it’s still too early in the season to stress out over things that are fixable.”

I'm the only one sitting at the podium tonight, Rickea and Dearica doing theirs together and Zia who had just gone before me. I knew what the gist of the questions would be, turnovers, defense, and the most gruesome: injuries.

“We saw you roll your ankle pretty bad tonight. Even though you finished the game, can you tell us a bit about the seriousness of it?” It’s a different reporter now, one that I recognize from our win the other night.

I shake my head. My ankle was fine up until he just mentioned it. Now, it stung bad. I had some extra tape around it, it was only sore, while I was sitting but walking and running full speed on the court made that shit hurt like no other. 

“It’s not serious.” I reply honestly. “We got two days off before the next game at home so I’m not worried. I’m gonna treat it like any other tweak and just follow what the trainers got for me, and hopefully we have a better night against Minnesota on Friday.”

It seems like that is a sufficient answer for the rest of the reporters in the room when I hear that wonderful “no more questions.” I stand up gingerly from my seat. They don’t miss my slight limp, but after a few steps the pain shakes off and it just feels uncomfortable. 

When I get back to the locker room it’s damn near empty except for Cameron and Rae. I give them both curt nods before heading over to my locker.

They don’t speak to me, which I’m silently grateful for because I might snap at them unintentionally. Losing is one thing, playing like dog shit is another, but my ankle really put the nail in the coffin.

I attempt to clean up my locker a bit, making life a little bit easier for the ladies who’re gonna come in and clean up when we leave. I throw my jersey and shorts in the growing pile of towels and warm ups and all other gear before reaching for my phone in the bag. 

just saw the injury on tv, pray it’s not too bad ❤️‍🩹

That’s the second most recent text in my phone, from about an hour ago from Maraye. It just briefly brings a smile to my face that I can’t even fight. It’s crazy to me that even when I’m at my grumpiest she finds a way to make me forget about it all.

I scroll through the rest of my notifications before tapping on her contact. I see that she texted me multiple times tonight throughout different parts of the game.

don’t fuck up my parlay tonight. jk good luck fav! 7:09pm

OKAY BLOCKKK GET UP THEN 7:20pm

omg the cross over??? don’t do her like that p 😮‍💨  8:03pm

I laugh fights through my lips, she told me in Atlanta she would start live texting me during games, I didn’t think she was serious. Nevertheless, I find it adorable. Maraye, throughout the busyness that is her schedule, turned on my game and watched the whole thing, keeping me posted on all her thoughts throughout the night.

I’m so beyond saving.

My thumb scrolls back down to the bottom of the thread. I can’t deny the way my heartbeat quickens in my chest at the choice of heart emoji. It’s not quite a red heart, but it’s enough to let me know she cares. I can’t believe that I’m sitting here like I’m in high school again, psycho analyzing her texts and gushing over them until my face is red.

“You headin’ out?” I look up and Cam is getting ready to leave. She’s going to be fully cleared to play this week, probably not playing with us until right before All-star. I’m excited for her, and I can tell that she is too because it’s practically beaming off of her.

I nod. “Yeah, inna minute. I’ll catch you in the morning.” Cameron takes that answer and walks out alongside Rae. I grab my back shortly after them, getting up and leaving the locker room. The arena is quiet, so is the parking garage as I make my way out there. The chirp of my car alerts me to it. I drop my bag in the trunk before sitting down in my seat.

The cushion practically eats me alive, I haven’t been this physically exhausted in months. 

Then I’m reminded that Maraye and I’d thread is still open on my phone. When I glance at the time I realize it’s not that late, I know that if I go home, I’ll just fall into the rabbit hole of watching film all night.

Instead I reach for the phone heavy in my sweatpants pocket. My thumbs begin typing away before sending Maraye a text back.

Nah it’s not all that bad 

You busy? Or can I slide?

I make sure my phone is connected to the speakers. When He’s Not There by Kehlani plays through the car while I get settled. Following that, I place my phone on its spot on the center console. It isn’t until Maraye’s name flashes on my carplay screen that I finally pull out of the parking garage.

yes please, come see meee

—

Paige sits comfortably to my left on my couch. Her leg propped on my coffee table with a bag of ice resting on her swollen ankle. 

It’s her first time at my apartment, but even then she navigates the place like she’s been here countless of times. It feels so similar to our friendship, just comfortable. 

Her arm is draped over my shoulder as I nestle into her side. When she first came over, I sat on the other side of the couch, so far away from her you would think we were fighting. And then she started talking, pulling me closer with her words until I sat right next to her. My body is leaning into her warmth.

An NBA finals game plays on the TV. Knicks versus the Thunder, it’s in the last few minutes of overtime, a high intensity game that Paige swore she couldn’t miss a second of.

“He’s so fine.” I chirp jokingly, Shai Gilgeous Alexander is on the screen, about to shoot game tying free throws.

Paige pulls her arm off of me, looking down at me incredulously before reaching for my remote. She lowers the volume on the TV, reducing Mike Breen’s commentating to a whisper.

“Who, Shai?”

“Yeah. You don’t think so?” I ask, looking up at her with a grin.

“I’m like a raging homosexual, but if you like it I love it?”

I laugh at that, pushing her hair away from my view. It cascades down her shoulders in soft bright strands that tickle my face. 

“You can never just laugh at my jokes.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny.” Paige says. The face she makes reacts to her own statement like it’s obvious, when we both know I could make her laugh until she cried if I wanted to. “And Shai isn’t your type.”

I move from my spot next to her, jumping up and turning my attention to her face, while hers are stuck to the game. The way she is seated briefly makes me forget my train of thought. Her legs are spread comfortably and she leans back on the couch with her arms against the back of the couch. She looks like a fuckboy, and in any other scenario I would make fun of her for it, but the TV glow shines on her face just right and her cologne in my nose nearly makes me go blind.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s my type then, Paige?”

A commercial cuts on and Paige finally draws her eyes away from the screen. “What, Julian’s lightskin ass wasn’t the giveaway?” She laughs at her own joke, it’s stupid, but I love that laugh. So uniquely her. “Or y’want me to say you like six foot blonde girls.”

I roll my eyes, and when my vision clears up again, Paige is grinning at me.

“C’mon it was funny!”

“I don’t like women, idiot.”

“You like me.”

“I do not. I don’t even know why I let you hang out around me.” My body turns and my back hits the couch with a soft thud. Just to annoy her I sit further away from her body.

“Yeah okay, ma. You keep tellin’ yourself that.” Paige’s voice is low, a deep and raspy tone that I have never heard from her before. With Julian that had always been a given— he’s a man with a deep voice, that’s obvious. But when I hear it from Paige, I don’t know. It’s different.

My body just barely reacts to the pet name, but it’s there. The glob of saliva that pushes down my dry throat. And my legs just slightly press together. Paige reaches for the pocket of my striped shorts, tugging me back to my original spot in the curve of her body. 

“You’ve really never done anything with a girl before?”

“Paige—”

“No, not to be annoying. I’m just wondering.” She shrugs. Her hand reaches over to flick the bag of ice off her ankle and brings her leg down to my carpet. She looks down at me slowly, a lick of her lips and scan of my face lets me know she’s listening, waiting for my response.

I return her gaze. “Yes, I’ve really never done anything with a girl before.”

“Why? We’re much better. Better than whatever Julian is doing for you, I can tell you that much.” Paige’s voice is smug, teasing almost. I don’t know if she’s trying to rile me up between my legs or in my heart so I defend Julian. Either way it’s working, my heartbeat quickening in my chest.

“You seem sure about that.”

She nods. “I am. I think you forget how often you complain to me about that guy.” She says with a laugh.

The game in front of us is dying down, a three point lead for the Knicks with 40 seconds left in overtime, Oklahoma just now calling a timeout. I know she’s into the game, way more than me, but still she looks at me with an intensity that makes it feel like we’re the only two things in the world.

“Doesn’t mean a girl could do it better.”

Her eyes darted from my eyes to my lips, I’m expecting them to move. To look back at my eyes or even at the TV but she doesn’t. Just me.

“Y’believe that?” Paige asks me.

“Uh huh.” 

I’m going to lose. Whatever is going on with Paige and I, what has been going on for the last few weeks. The banter, the tension, the constant touching, it’s all a fight. Her and I are going back and forth like a fucking tennis match and she’s about to win. She’s about to make me lose whatever is left of my composure and grab the collar of her Hopkins High School t-shirt and kiss her until there’s no more breath in my lungs.

“Yeah? Ion know, can’t knock it till you try it.” She says, leaning into me for all of 5 milliseconds before sitting back in her seat and looking at the screen. The volume raises on my TV the cheers and commentary bouncing off the walls of my home.

Paige has left me frozen. Stuck there, in the exact position that she left me in. My eyes staring into the side of her perfect skin, burning holes there if I had the capability. I need her. My thighs are damn near glued together to keep me from dripping down my couch. 

I adjust my position some, sitting uncomfortably on my heels but with the way Paige is manspreading, it gives me just enough to be an inch taller than her. She looks at me, eyes trailing from my thighs past my covered stomach and chest, suddenly I’m hyper aware of how close my tits are from falling out of my Skims top.

“There some’ you wanna tell me, angel?” She asks. I hate the way that nickname makes me feel. She’s the only one that calls me that, the only one who makes me feel so small with just a single word. “Or you jus’ gonna keep lookin’ at me?”

The words just barely die in the air before I’m leaning into her, pressing my lips to hers. 

It starts off soft, so soft. Her body hesitates, like she knows better than to kiss me back but she does so anyway, tilting her head further and deepening the kiss. Paige hums against me, her arms still pressed against the back of the couch as if she has to avoid touching me. As if the second her hands touch my body then it’s game over. 

She bites my bottom lip, making me moan against her. I further into the kiss, cupping her cheek and then it really is game over. Paige reaches for my hips, lifting my body onto her lap and settling my thighs on the outside of hers.

Her tongue is entering my mouth, warm and tasting like candy. They’re clashing, messy and sticky and so damn hot. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of her I’m not sure I want to give it up. 

Paige roams my body with fervor. Trailing just a bit further to grab at my ass, kneading it in her large and veiny hands. I pull back from her breathlessly. Her hair is messy, lips so swollen and pink. It leaves me soaked as a response.

“This is doin’ so much damage. Y’know that?” She asks. Her hand travel back up my body to the back of my neck. I know it’s wrong, but still I let her pull me back into her. 

“Mmm, Ion wanna— stop.” I speak against her lips, letting her kiss me as she pleases. Grope me as she pleases. Talk to me as nasty as she wants to. I miss it, the feeling of being so vulgar with another person. Paige is on a different level and I want so much more. More of her, more than anyone has ever given me but for whatever reason I know that she can.

My phone starts ringing. I try to pull back to answer it but she pulls me right back, navigating my mouth with her tongue.

“Don’t.” She mumbles.

“I gotta.” I tell her pulling back with such force that I’m almost falling off the couch. I need to. Because if I don’t stop, I’m gonna let her see me in my most vulnerable state and even I know how wrong that would be. 

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, swiping to answer the call before I can even see who it is.

“Hello?” My voice is wheezy, and I’m huffing and puffing into the speaker.

“Hey, baby. You home?” 

It’s Julian. Of course it is. Of course God would let this man call me in the middle of making out with Paige just to make me feel guilty. Like the asshole I so obviously am right now.

“N— yeah. Yeah, but I’m busy. Sorry.” I stutter. “Paige is over right now.” I tell him honestly. But still, my breath hitches at my mention of her name. She rubs my thighs while I speak, looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. 

Her hand travels to her mouth, holding up one finger to her lips with a snide glare. I reach to slap her hand away, barely listening to what Julian says to me on the other line. 

Blah blah blah I miss you blah blah blah needa start hanging out with me blah blah less Paige. It’s gibberish. And I don't care.

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight Ju.” I tell him, bothered by his continued talking and wanting to occupy myself with something else. Namely, the pink lips in front of me that look so fucking pretty and the gorgeous face just inches away from mine.

I toss my phone on the couch after Julian responds and hangs up.

“You fuckin’ like me.”

“And don’t.” Just when I’m about to hop off of her lap, the TV blares loudly.

“Bang! Bang! Shai Gilgeous-Alexander takes us into double overtime!” Mike Breen’s cheers echo into my ears. Paige looks past me, obviously upset that she missed the shot.

“Damn. He’s good and fine?”

“Dont get fucked up, Raye.”

[thelightsandtheroses]

everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much appreciation for encouraging me to write this fic goes to @trulybetty for listening toand supporting my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games led to this idea I couldn't let go of. Fic title isfrom the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly what I thought was - I didn’t turn up for this specifically, you know? It wasn’t intentional.” Not that intentional.

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat if it was? Seduce me properly?” There’s mischief in his eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚅𝙸𝙸𝙸. 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, existential crisis about relationships and self-worth, insecurities, relationship growing pains, one step forward two steps back type shit | WORD COUNT: 10.6k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: Who needs enemies when you've got inner demons?

“Oh fuck,” you choke.

“Yeah?” Joel pants, pressing the fronts of your thighs even deeper against your chest as he drives into you. “Right there? That where you need it?”

“Right there! Right there! Keep going keep going keep—”

Sweat drips from the tip of his nose onto your shimmering skin, drenched from the almost hour long session you’ve had. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come already. He manages to draw them out of you repeatedly, even when you feel boneless and floaty and like you couldn’t possibly produce another climax if you wanted to. You have no idea how he hasn’t come yet or how he manages this sort of stamina. It has to be powered through sheer will alone. 

“Give it to me,” he commands in a near growl that ignites something in your spine and has your body obliging within seconds. He finally joins you with his own bliss, letting out a ragged moan as you feel the kick of his cock against your quivering walls. His motions finally begin to slow, and you both hiss at the heightened sensitivity of him easing out of your warmth.

You blink lazily as you watch him deftly unsheath his softening length from the condom, tie it off, and toss it into the trash. He sinks into the space next to you in bed with a little wince and groan that you immediately clock.

“You okay?” The euphoric fog quickly dissipates as you hone in to him.

He gives a dismissive wave at your fretting and instead tries to pull you against his sticky, warm frame. “S’nothin’,” he insists.

“But you made a face, and—”

“Just mighta tweaked my back a little there at that last bit,” he admits a little sheepishly. 

Well, maybe his stamina and force were impressive for his age, but there were still things that showed it. The age difference between you wasn’t something often discussed, but you’d gleaned from comments here and there that Joel seemed a bit more bothered by it than you did. It frankly wasn’t an issue for you in the slightest, and any opportunity to reinforce that to him was one you’d make good on.

So, you reverted to what you and Joel had always shared: a sense of humor.

“Wow, dicked me down so hard you injured yourself. Now that’s commitment,” you joke. 

He chuckles lightly at your toothless teasing and rubs an open hand along your hip. Encouraged by his reception to your ribbing, you double down. 

“Here I was thinking ‘blow their back out’ meant something else, but what do I know,” you titter. 

He laughs earnestly at that and pretend pinches your thigh. “Always got jokes after but never during. Never got jokes when you’re too busy tryna take this dick,” he poses with an arched brow, stilly cocky somehow even with a pinched back.

“Yeah, you got me there,” you giggle. You snuggle closer and let out a deep breath. “How about you lay on your belly. I can rub your back a little bit as a thank you and a sorry all rolled into one, okay?”

“Ugh, I think I’d prefer bein’ heckled over bein’ pitied,” he protests. 

He rolls over like you asked, but the sentiment of his veiled remark lingers: you wanting to take care of him must somehow be rooted in feeling sorry for him. It’s as untrue as it is unkind, and you want to squash every last hint of it.

“I’ve got some catching up to do, you know,” you challenge. “The least I can do is return the favor every now and then.”

He makes a questioning, muffled sound into the bedding.

“I was kinda thinking that it’s just what we did these days – looked out for each other. Besides, I think a back rub after making me come 500 times is the least I can do.” 

You don’t point out all the countless ways he’s stepped up for you, often without even knowing just how much it mattered in the moment. He laughs again and finally relaxes into the sheets. It feels like a victory over his doubtful mind, and you get to work kneading deep strokes into the taut muscles in his lower back. He sighs at the palliating sweep of your hands, and, after a few moments pass in silence, you realize he’s fallen asleep. You smile to yourself and keep massaging.

Kenzie: i turned down the double phoenix acct Kenzie: they offered it to me but i didnt want it Kenzie: not worth it Kenzie: not worth losing a friend over :( Kenzie: plz text if ur ever ready Kenzie: bc i rly want to talk

You push out a long, sharp lungful of air and lock your phone. Kenzie may be a lot of things, but nobody could ever accuse her of being half-hearted. You can’t recall a time when anyone has pursued reconciliation with you to this degree, and, although it might be colored by wishful thinking, it seems like she is genuinely remorseful. The fact that you also have your own misdeeds to address makes the idea of responding to her all the more compelling.

There was no way around your rotten conduct that night. You’d left a partially drunk Kenzie with two fully unsafe men, and it was wrong. She’d let you down immensely – had left you feeling betrayed and upset on top of everything Logan had done to you – but it was no excuse for how you’d acted so far out of your own character. The blame wasn’t squarely on anyone’s shoulders in the situation, and it made the entire ordeal a giant, confusing mess.

You sigh again, maybe a little too loudly, because Joel peeks a head out of his office and calls your name.

“Everything okay?”

“Um….”

Tell him. 

Tell him tell him tell him.

Tell him!

“You got a minute?” You know his calendar is clear for the rest of the afternoon, but it still felt impolite to assume you could just waltz in there whenever you wanted.

“C’mon.” He jerks his head towards the door and summons you to step inside. “What’s wrong?” he probes the second he closes the door behind you.

“I... need your advice,” you hedge.

He motions for you to proceed, and you take a deep breath before starting. “Okay, you remember my friend? The one I used to work at the grocery store with? The one from New Year’s Eve who sent you all those pictures of me?”

He nods along to your questions and flushes slightly at the mention of the pictures, one of which he’d set as his home screen almost immediately only to get caught the next day by your curious eye. “Yeah, Carrie? Er… Kiley?”

“Kenzie,” you gently correct with a short lived smirk. “Yeah, so, I was thinking about– I dunno, I guess meeting up with her? Talking stuff through?”

You’ve never told him everything that happened that night, and it leaves him at a disadvantage to understanding the nuance and extent of your falling out. You’d thought about just being upfront about the whole thing, sure,  but any time you’d get near discussing it, you always talked yourself out of it. 

Joel looks thoughtful, considering your words and all your unspoken tells, before responding. “What made you consider talkin’ it out?”

You aren’t really sure how to answer that one. “I dunno. She just keeps texting me, and… I dunno. I think she means it when she says she’s sorry. And I have stuff I should apologize for, too. I guess maybe we both need to speak our piece to clear the air or whatever, and I dunno from there to be honest. It’s just… complicated.”

“So, is meeting up to talk what you want to do or what you feel like you should do?”

There he went again with those laser focused questions that cut through all the bullshit. He was getting better and better at that, and truthfully it made you a bit nervous, like he could see right through you.

“I think I want to, actually. As much as it makes me nervous thinking about it. Confronting it all or whatever. And, I just– I really miss talking to her, you know?”

“Well, if you think it could help you decide a path forward one way or the other, then I think it might be worthwhile to set it up,” he reasons.

It sounded so simple how he put it. Was it really that simple? Or was it just Joel bringing that quiet confidence to a situation and letting some of it rub off on you? Either way, it felt good to finally have someone to discuss these kinds of things with. It didn’t feel like such a massive dilemma with him helping you weigh the pros and cons. 

With nothing more than one short conversation, Joel had you feeling worlds better about the situation than you had in months. The inherent comfort he brought was a slippery slope, one that had your foothold wavering on the determination to keep things to yourself. The urge to divulge more and more, to unpack all the things that weighed you down, grew each time his steady, gentle sense of calm cradled you.

Bringing him onboard with the Kenzie situation was a small step forward in your effort to open up to him, but it felt like you might’ve finally turned a corner.

It’s a relief to find the coffee shop isn’t too crowded. You aren’t sure how this reunion is going to pan out, and you don’t much care for an audience to the possible spectacle of it all. The paper to-go cup – your chosen alternative to the ceramic mug in case things went south – glides against your fingertips as you nervously rotate it back and forth. The rapidly cooling brown sugar caramel latte slips across your tongue and down your throat quite effortlessly despite the nerves wracking your body as you await Kenzie’s arrival.

The bell above the door peals to signal a new customer. Kenzie drifts through the frame and pauses at the front counter, surveying the cafe for you. You pop a hand into the air to get her attention, and eventually her line of sight pans your direction. She straightens up when she spots you, but it’s not the confident posture she normally assumes. She is noticeably nervous as she heads your way.

You stand to greet her out of habit, bumbling halfway through when you realize a hug might not be welcome – or even what you want – and you awkwardly settle back into your seat just as she reaches the section. She doesn’t hesitate at your awkward body language, instead just plopping into the chair across from you and sitting quietly for longer than you’ve ever witnessed. Her gaze alternates between the tabletop and the large window several booths away. She shakes her head, sighs loud and long, and finally meets your eye.

“Can I go first?” she asks, sounding a bit on edge. Grateful that you don’t have to figure out how to start this conversation, you motion for her to speak.

“I know I’ve said it a million times in texts — and I’m sorry for blowing up your phone – but I want you to understand that I am, like, actually sorry. I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” you yield. “I don’t think you’re the type to keep saying it if you didn’t mean it.”

“No, totally,” she affirms. “I wouldn’t be trying so hard if I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t be trying to– I don’t know– I wouldn’t put so much effort into something I didn’t care about.”

“It’s– I can see that. I know it’s…”

“Listen, I can’t take it back, which fucking sucks, but it’s true. As much as I wish I could go back to that stupid event and make different choices, I’m stuck with the ones I made. I acted like a terrible friend, and I understand 100% why you were upset. You had every right to be upset with me.”

Her eyes close for a moment, arms firmly crossed against her chest, before she continues.

“The next morning I woke up and couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t know who the fuck was looking back at me because I didn’t know that person. I didn’t know I was somebody who would act that way in that situation. I’m, like, I-I pride myself on being this ‘girl’s girl’ or whatever, but then I went and—”

She stops abruptly and waves a hand in the air before tucking it quickly back into her elbow.

“—and I’m fucking rambling right now. Ugh. I don’t know why I didn’t step up and be the friend you needed, but I do know that every fucking day since I have kicked myself for it. I acted like my whole entire life was on the line or something, like defending you was going to cost me my entire future career, and it was so, so stupid. No job is worth that. No opportunity or whatever is worth risking….”

Her lips press together in a tight line, and she looks off to the window again. “It wasn’t worth losing you as a friend,” she finishes somberly.

You allow yourself the passing moments to digest everything she shared, also affording her a moment to collect herself. Seeing the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes almost has you forgiving her right then and there, but this was a necessary sort of pain. The circumstances deserved to be acknowledged by you both in your own way, no matter how uncomfortable or upsetting it was.

“It’s really nice to hear you say that, Kenzie. I– That night, I just… it hurt so fucking bad. I didn’t expect it, and I think that’s what made it hurt worse.”

She turns to you again, hastily blinking tears away, and nods. “I get it, babe. I do. I really do. I didn’t even know I could be the kind of person I was that night, and it has been so fucking eye opening for me. It peeled back a layer, and I saw a side to myself that was so ugly. I’m glad I know it’s there now because I can– I don’t have to let it make my decisions for me, you know? But it’s– The cost of losing you has just been…”

She swallows hard and tips her head back, trying in earnest to not cry in the middle of the coffee shop. “Shit,” she sniffs and squeezes her hands together on the tabletop.

You’re reaching over and grasping her hand in yours before your brain has entirely caught up with your decision to give this friendship another try. “Hey, I need to apologize, too,” you say quietly.

“What?” she balks.

“No, Kenzie, I do. I might’ve had a bad encounter with Logan, but I left you with him and Charlie all by yourself. You wanna talk about the morning after and wondering what kind of person you are? I felt so much guilt for leaving you after knowing what I’d just gone through with Logan. You could’ve been hurt so bad, and I left you there to fend for yourself,” you huff with obvious disdain for yourself.

“Nothing happened,” she assures you. “I left pretty soon after you did, and they were both at the bar taking more shots.  I wasn’t even there for more than, like, 20 minutes after yo–”

“That’s not the point,” you interrupt. “The point is: I left you in a bad situation because I was upset. I could’ve been upset with you and made sure you left the unsafe situation, too. It wasn’t an either or choice.”

“I guess,” she sniffles and shrugs. “I probably would’ve done the same thing, so it’s not like either of us is perfect.”

“No,” you agree with a strained exhale of a laugh, “we’re not.”

She shoots you a small, watery smile, and you feel the tension dissipating in real time. “Can we… Do you think we could try again? To be friends?”

It hurts your heart to hear the uncertainty and vulnerability in her voice. “Yeah, I think so. I definitely think so.”

She wraps you into a hug and squeezes way too tight before settling back into her chair and demanding you catch her up on your life. You smile into your drink, knowing full well how much you’re going to savor her reaction when you tell her about you and Joel.

You hold your tongue from all the anxiety ridden thoughts that threaten to spill over when Joel finishes zipping up the medium size duffle bag full of basic workwear and little in between. You want to go with him. You don’t want to be away from him. You hadn’t realized how comforting it’s been knowing that he lives a few streets away from you and that he’s there. It’s all a bit delusional and unrealistic, but it’s where you’ve landed more often than not as of late.

Keep it simple. Keep it neutral. Don’t be needy. Don’t be clingy. You keep repeating it to yourself like a self-help mantra, but it does little to make you feel any less self-disparaging about the pathetic mindset you’ve somehow let wholly encapsulate you. You’d spent your entire life without Joel Miller and had taken on anything that came your way. Now suddenly you’re acting like a little lost puppy at the first inkling of being away from him for a few days.

You had always known yourself as the strong fortress, ready to shield yourself and Calum from whatever you could, but these days it felt like the foundation of that tower was crumbling from the ground up. Every genuine connection and slip of warmth and kindness and sincerity from Joel was another stone falling away from your intricately, expertly fortified mental stronghold.

It was terrifying, and you couldn’t make it stop. 

Sometimes you’d even been surprised when simply being with Joel made you want it to crumble. But you didn’t know that person. You didn’t know the version of yourself who’s not afraid to come down from the high defense and unlock the door at the base. You didn’t know the version of yourself who wants to pull that heavy door and have Joel pushing from the other side just so he can get in sooner. So you can let him in sooner.

But most of the time, you’re at your post in the tallest peak of that tower. Ever the vigilant sentinel for hurt and destruction because there’s never not been a time where ruination hadn’t been lurking on the horizon. A watchful eye for the anger and violence and malice disguised as love, a Trojan Horse meant to deceive and destroy you from the inside out should you ever let your guard slip.

All the while berating yourself for being too clingy despite keeping anyone and everyone at arm’s length. A devilish whisper in your mind echoing that you’d end up driving Joel away if you didn’t maintain the buffer that made you more palatable. Ensuring you were lacking any of that pesky complexity that made people nervous. Because being with you wasn’t easy. Because someone getting to know you was never going to be easy. Because you were work. Your existence meant effort for everyone around you – and a lot of it. Because you’re a burden. Because you’d always been those things and didn’t know how to be anything else.

Because the effort required would never be worth the reward of truly knowing you.

“How many days did you say?” you ask again for the millionth time. He answers graciously, of course, and makes no mention of how he’s already told you.

“I dunno. Three, probably. Hopefully. Don’t wanna miss much here and definitely don’t wanna sleep on that back killer sofa of theirs multiple nights in a row, but I don’t wanna leave her and Ben to take it up with that asshole landlord of theirs, either. So, hopefully three? Gonna leave Wednesday afternoon as soon as I finish up with the Williams Project permits.”

Three days to address the damaged cabinets in Sarah and Ben’s apartment kitchen. Their landlord had discovered their blunder before she and Ben could get it sorted, and now he was apparently trying to charge them an exorbitant amount to have a “professional assess the damage and make the necessary repairs.” Luckily for Sarah and unfortunately for her money grubbing landlord, Joel was a licensed contractor, and repairing a few kitchen cabinets was light work in his world. They lived far enough away that a day trip wasn’t feasible, so Joel allotted a day on each side of a solid workday for traveling there and back.

“I guess that’s not that long,” you muse with a sullen frown. For a fleeting moment you think about how he didn’t even care that Sarah had messed something up in the apartment. He wasn’t angry with her about it, and he didn’t even seem to mind that he was now having to take time off work and make travel plans to help fix her mistake. It was a given that he’d do that for her. The thought of it makes your throat tight and your eyes hot. Keep it simple.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” he tuts. He strides over to where you’re slumped against the headboard watching him pack and sidles up next to you. “I already told you not to worry about makin’ it up to the office. You have the house key and you got what you need set up here. Whatever else can wait until I get back.”

“I know that,” you huff. “But you won’t be here.”

Keep it neutral.

“No, I won’t,” he concedes softly. He runs a warm palm up your thigh, and you shiver at the simultaneous electric and calming surge it sends through your body. “But, you just hole yourself up here, and I’ll make it up to you when I get back, alright?”

“But I don’t sleep good now unless–” You cut yourself short and flick aimlessly at his bedspread. 

Don’t be needy.

You know you’re being sulky about his very short trip away from you, but you can’t snap out of it. All those thoughtful texts and sweet goodnight calls had built upon themselves to the point that it wasn’t even just a habit anymore – you were pretty much dependent on those interactions from Joel every night if you wanted anything close to a peaceful night’s rest. Your brain felt jetlagged and erratic without the soothing and settling check-ins from Joel, and god did it feel so easy and good to just keep doing it. He was so easy to rely on.

You see him most days of the week, and even still the couple of days you’re physically away from him feel strange and empty. Those Monday morning kisses and hugs are mandatory for your nervous system to regulate itself and flatten into a smooth, rolling wavelength. It was the sort of instant salve you’d always longed for but never thought would be true. Now here you are feeling tangled and all sharp edges without his presence and immediately set right when he’s there again.

The altered brain chemistry he’d caused felt permanent at this point, and it was frightening to know you couldn’t change that. There would never be a time again in your life where you’d be okay without him.

Don’t be clingy.

You lift your gaze when Joel hasn’t responded yet, and you study the odd look of contemplation on his features. He senses the weight of your stare and turns to you again.

“What if you could stay here while I’m gone? Would that make it easier on you?”

“Joel, I’m just being—”

Stupid. Demanding. Ridiculous. You don’t get to pick which demeaning label to slap on yourself because Joel moves right past it.

“Tell your old man that we’ve got an out of town conference, and the guy that was supposed to help keep us organized had to pull out last minute. Say it was offered to you next, and you wanna make a good impression so you said yes. Be ‘outta town’ while I’m at Sarah’s. Stay here.”

What you wouldn’t give to sleep in his bed and have the scent of him lingering on the sheets to help the days pass quicker. But life was never easy like that, not in your experience at least. It couldn’t ever be that simple.

“I dunno, Joel…”

“No, listen,” he says with more emphasis now, propping himself up across your middle so you have to lean back into the headboard to make enough space for him. “A commute that’s just a walk down the stairs? Got whatever you need in my kitchen, and I can order you somethin’ if it isn’t. You can take up the whole couch every night and watch whatever you want. The whole house to yourself. Walk around naked if ya want.”

His grin widens when you laugh and roll your eyes. You aren’t sure why he seems so urgent about it all the sudden, but it convinces you to at least consider trying to pull it off. It would be nice to feel closer to him while he’s gone…

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to try,” you admit and try to hide that burning ember of hope in your voice.

For some reason it felt like you needed to manage expectations – yours or Joel’s, it depended on the day – just in case this all went awry. As if curtailing and containing the explosion of feelings pouring out between you two would somehow make it all hurt less should this not work out. But it was painful to think like that, and you were sick and tired of living in pain and fear and doubt.

“There’s my girl,” he beams, and you feel on cloud nine when he acts like this over you. Like it’s some big favor you’re doing for him by taking over his house and using up his resources while he’s gone.

“Yeah yeah, no promises. Still have to run it by my dad,” you remind him pointedly. “Anyway, you need to finish packing so we have time to fuck.”

“Oh, is that right? Got me a little to-do list with your name at the bottom, huh?” His arms snake around your body in a way that is most definitely not the type of movement that’s going to lead to packing, so you give him a playful push to finish his task.

“Alright, I’ll hurry up.” He stands and rifles through the empty outer pocket of his bag. “Hand me that extra charger on the nightstand, will ya?”

“Sure,” you reply and shimmy over to the flat surface where no extra charger is to be found. You glance down at the floor to make sure it hadn’t been knocked off at some point, but there’s nothing there either. You lean forward and slide the small drawer open to look just as Joel makes a strange noise that you think is meant to halt you in your search, which is puzzling up until it’s not. 

There’s no charger in sight, but there is Kenzie’s dress and tights crudely shoved to the back like an afterthought. Your bra is a little further back as well, but your panties from that night sit front and center in the immediate opening of the drawer. Unlike the rest of the garments, they look like they’ve been taken out and put back several times over, and you have a pretty good idea why.

“Joel Miller,” you gasp with an amused, scandalized grin. “What exactly are these doing right next to your bed, all tucked away in here?”

You’re certain if you held a hand close enough to Joel’s cheeks right now you’d be able to feel the heat rolling off them in waves. His mouth opens and closes dumbly while he stands there speechless. Getting caught red handed looked pretty damn good on him.

“It’s not what it— I didn’t — I’m not a pervert,” he sputters. “It was just a coupla times, I swear.”

“Oh, you’re not a pervert, Joel,” you contend with a honeyed, low voice as you crawl on the bed towards him. “You’re a deviant.”

His shoulders relax a bit when you start to giggle furiously, clearly amused at discovering his little secret. “Quit it,” he appeals weakly. “S’embarrassing.”

“It’s only embarrassing,” you amend, quickly standing and wiggling out of your jeans, “if the thought of you masturbating to my used panties like some dirty little secret wasn’t so hot.”

His pupils swell as he watches you tug your panties off and put your jeans back on. His gaze follows your hand as you unzip his duffle bag and drop them right on top of all his items before zipping it back up.

“So from one deviant to another, those are on the house,” you say and pat the duffle bag where the brand new used panties rest inside. “You know, for all your travel needs.”

You give him a playful wink and plant a little kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Nothin’ but trouble,” he huffs in a laugh. 

All the worry about whether or not your dad would buy the story of heading out of town last minute for a work convention was pointless because he barely even listened as you stuttered through the lines. You hadn’t been that bad at lying in a long time, and you think it might be that you wanted this so badly. You got to see Joel almost every day of the week in person and through video calls on top of that, and the idea of him suddenly being gone even when you knew he’d be back made you feel jittery.

The universe finally took pity on you, it seems, because your dad was so wrapped up in winning over Denise’s family that he didn’t even seem to care that you’ll be “out of town.” One less thing for him to manage, you suppose. You wonder if having an empty house was preferable in the event Denise or her family wanted to stop by or have a nice dinner. If you were out of town, he wouldn’t have to decide whether or not he should acknowledge your existence to them.

Regardless, once this effort of making a good impression passes, you’re sure he’ll double back to you and start something over you up and leaving. As if you could control things like last minute business trips, even if it was all made up anyway. It never mattered if something was literally impossible to control. It would still be your fault somehow.

But for now it meant enough wiggle room to get out of the house for a few days. It meant freedom to exist in Joel’s space while he was away. It meant a calm, quiet, and serene night – every night. You felt like you could cry from relief.

The day had finally come to head out to Sarah and Ben’s. It’s not been more than a few hours since he kissed you goodbye, and he already misses you like crazy. He’d anticipated it, of course, but not so soon. Not like a little lovesick schmuck, glum and pitiful without their special companion. At least he didn’t have to worry about you staying in your own house while he was gone. Your dad bought whatever line you fed him about traveling for work, and Joel’s chest relaxed the moment you told him. You staying in his house with his things around you was the closest he could get to keeping an eye on you in person.

He’s just under 30 minutes out from Sarah and Ben’s when a text notification from you pops up. He needs to stop for something to snack on anyway, so he pulls off the highway and into the closest convenience store parking lot. He swipes on his phone until your text thread fills his screen, and his eyes bug out at what’s staring back at him. 

You’re propped up in his home office chair with your legs spread wide and knees hooked over the edge of the armrests on either side. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else. One hand is lifting the hem of his shirt up just above your mound, and the other has fingers dancing close to your bare pussy. He doesn’t even think twice before clicking it open and zooming in, groaning a little at what he wants to imagine is a little wetness spreading between your folds. It takes him a solid 5 minutes of staring to realize you’d texted a caption with the picture.

You: a benefit of wfh → no bra no pants and no panties 🤭 You: miss you ❤️this shirt smells like you the most so I decided to wear it

“Fucking christ,” he mutters under his breath.

He doesn’t know where this emboldened version of you came from, but he always knew something was trapped under the surface of all your guarded demeanor. Now it’s like a switch has been flipped, and he’s grateful to see you so open if not a bit of a handful. He likes to think he can keep up with you, but you keep knocking him on his ass with this sweet, sexy confidence you’ve had as of late.

Joel: Holy shit I stop for gas and see this? 🤯 Joel: You look so fucking good wearing my shirt. Joel: Both of us just might have to have a work from home day if that’s the dress code. 🥵

You: wanted you to know I was thinking about you You: and maybe give you a reason to think about me too Joel audibly laughs at that. The notion is entirely ridiculous that you aren’t constantly in his thoughts, that he isn’t incessantly thinking about how to spend more time with you.

Joel: I’m always thinking about you!

Joel: But now I’m thinking about you while I’m in the middle of a parking lot trying to decide if I can do anything about this hardon you gave me. Lol. 😵

You: show me

Joel adjusts in his seat and fiddles with the angles for a minute or so before finally settling on a straight down shot of his hand palming the tent in his jeans. He sends the picture and waits.

You: looks good, baby You: want it right here

His cock jumps when he sees the accompanying picture of your pussy close up, being spread by your pointer and middle finger in a wide V. It’s definitely wetter than in the first picture. He doesn’t even need to zoom to see it. By the time he’s saved your photos to his camera roll, another text from you has come through. His cock and heart both jump this time when he sees it’s a video file. He taps the play icon and hunches over the screen, already fully absorbed in whatever you’ve sent.

The video starts on a closeup of your mouth with your middle finger bobbing in and out. You spit more saliva onto it when you remove it, and you let it make a long, slimy trail that connects from your fingertip to your tongue. You guide the camera down to your pussy and press your wet finger against your clit. Joel turns up the volume and rewinds the clip about 4 seconds just so he can hear any noise you make when you finally touch yourself.

It’s the smallest little dreamy sigh, and it makes his erection borderline painful. He has to take it out of his pants when he realizes the slow, deliberate motions you’re making on your clit are spelling out his name, almost like a little game between the two of you at this point. He peers around the lot and breathes a sigh of relief that it’s not too busy. There’s no occupied vehicles nearby, but that doesn’t guarantee someone won’t be walking to one of the empty cars around his truck, either. He considers digging into his bag for a half second after the worn panties you’d tucked inside, but he decides against it. He was already in enough trouble as it was keeping himself poised.

Joel: Can you send one of you putting a finger in there for me, sweet girl? Joel: Miss that sweet pussy already. Joel: Had to take my dick out it was pressing on my zipper so bad.

You: not as much as she misses you ;( You: sorry about the zipper You: hope this helps ❤️

The next video you send makes him grip the base of his cock to keep it from making an explosive mess everywhere. He grabs up some napkins and spits into his hand before tapping the play button and stroking himself. He can’t quite tell what you’ve got the phone propped on, but you’re on the ground with your ass in the air and a hand reached around from below you to slowly pump two fingers in and out of yourself. He can see your asshole pucker whenever you hit a spot that feels really good, and then his brain is thinking about if you’d ever want to try that with him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he whispers to no one as he tries to discreetly jack off. “Stretch it for me, sweetheart.”

He’s already blowing his load about six strokes in, the divine song of your whimpers and moans making it happen quickly. He’s panting, eyes darting around to ensure no one has seen him, and he doesn’t come down

before you’re locking eyes with the screen with a little smile and stopping the recording. He cleans himself up with the dry, rough napkins he’d thankfully had stashed in the console and sends a reply.

Joel: Literally just jacked off in the middle of a parking lot because of you. Joel: You make me crazy. Joel: 😰🍆✊💦😵‍💫🛻

You: feelings mutual, baby 🥰 You: just came really hard thinking about you

He hopes to god that what you’re saying is true and that you feel as strongly for him as he does for you because he doesn’t know if he could take it if the opposite were true. He saves the video to his phone for later, thinking of an opportunity to watch it again with the panties you’d tucked into his bag, all crammed against his nostrils and mouth. He feels like a dirty old man, and it makes him laugh to himself knowing how much you’d love that.

Joel made it back in record time and without having to even push the speed limit that much. It did little to quell his antsy mood, though, still eager to get back to you. Even Sarah had taken note of his distractedness and at one point even made the comment “who are you smiling at?” when she’d caught him grinning at his phone like an idiot over a dinner selfie with a cheesy little pun you’d sent him. He’d done a poor job of shrugging off her needling, and thankfully she dropped it after a little while. It didn’t stop her from making another comment about getting back home to “take care of things” and looking triumphant when he’d confirmed her suspicions by doing a piss poor job of hiding how flustered it made him.

He throws the truck into park and slings his bag over his shoulder, bounding up the front steps and wiggling the key into the lock as fast as he can without scratching the plate. You hadn’t replied to his text from an hour ago about how he’d be home soon, and it made him all the more anxious to see you. The house is quiet and dark even though it’s not far past five o’clock. He calls out, but there’s no response. He checks the living room, the home office, the guest bedroom. He finally finds you in his bedroom.

You’re curled into a little ball with his bedding twisting around your limbs. Your breaths are small and even, and you look so serene it makes his chest hurt. You look perfect here in his space. It could be your space, too. Maybe. One day. He doesn’t bother analyzing and correcting the clamorous, insistent draw to keep you closer to him and more often. He wonders if you’d ever move in with him. It’s all tricky, of course, because of the age difference and because of the work relationship and for a million other reasons that are never enough to make him slow down. It’s too much too fast, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

He wants you close. He wants to take care of you and keep you safe and make you feel happy and loved. He wants to cook for you and spend lazy afternoons together watching movies. He wants you to pick a paint color for the downstairs bathroom. He wants you to choose decor items to put all around the house so you mark your claim here. He wants your clothes sitting in the washer so he has to move them over to the dryer before he can start a load of his own. He wants to pull down two coffee cups every morning instead of one. Hell, he’d even shop around for that nasty caramel flavor syrup you love so much that it makes him gag from the sweetness. He’d learn just how you like your caramel coffee and make it for you every morning.

He wants your shoes to pile up by the front door because you kick them off the second you get home. He wants to argue with you over what to set the thermostat at, only to give in to whatever you want it to be. He wants to have a Saturday morning routine where he teaches you to drive until you feel confident enough to take the test. He wants you to bug him about landscape ideas you have for the backyard. Bug him to the point that he’ll spend hours breaking his back over, all to find it was worth it in the end when you’re sat together on the deck out back on warm summer nights as you watch fireflies. 

He wants to take you to a botanical garden so he can learn your favorite flowers and get you bouquets of them frequently. He bets you’d be so good at the corn mazes they set up during the fall festivals around town, and you could ride the ferris wheel afterward. He wants you to rope him into some random community center adult class about pottery or watercolor and tell him what a nice job he’s done even though yours will look way better. He wants to make a fuss about getting a real tree for Christmas because you like the smell. You probably won’t remember to water it, but he’ll remember to water it. Because you want it and because you like it, so he’ll remember. Because he’d do anything to make you happy and to make you his.

You stir at the recognition of someone else being in the room. He snuggles into the bed beside you immediately and warms at how even through a sleep drenched brain you place who he is. You sling two sluggish arms around him to draw him snug against you. You say his name in a little surprised, breathy whine that makes him chuckle and grin.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he murmurs quietly into your ear. “You takin’ a little nap?”

“Got my period and got super tired,” you mumble back. “Aw, Pluck,” he coos. He turns you to your side and presses a warm palm against your lower abdomen, working it in gentle, firm circles. You sigh at the welcomed ease to your achy middle. He would never wish for you to feel unwell, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to being able to take care of you the rest of the night. The best part of it was that you were finally letting him take care of you. Trusting him with it. And he’ll be damned if he wasn’t going to rise to the occasion.

“I think Rachel is working today. She usually works Fridays,” Kenzie explains as she holds the door to the Electric Pony Sex and Erotica Shoppe. 

“You seem pretty well acquainted,” you snort.

“Ugh, this place saved my life,” she declares with such sincerity you know she really believes it. “Dry spell for months. Would’ve gone insane - like, clinically - without their help and recs.”

“Fair enough,” you concede. 

The dull pink neon glow gives the blacked out entrance lobby a friendlier feel. There’s a perky looking woman with a sparkly nose ring flicking through a Muscle Bear Monthly magazine at a plastic window that reminds you of a bank teller.  Her eyes lift to you and Kenzie before lighting up in recognition.

“Kenz! Hey, girly pops!” She motions you both over and waves off Kenzie’s ID. “You’re fine. Need to see your friend’s, though.”

You dig your state ID card out of your backpack and slide it under the opening toward her. She scoots it back to you and buzzes you into the main area. Your eyes dart every which way as you take in a whole slew of products. You weren’t a prude by any means, but being surrounded by so many toys and accessories and outfits and performance enhancers felt a little bit intimidating. It was a lot different than looking at a few things online and inevitably closing out of tabs when you were reminded of the fact that you had little to no privacy in your own home and therefore could never justify getting anything for yourself.

“So, what’re you lookin’ for? Anything in particular or just browsing?” Rachel asks, mostly to Kenzie.

“I’m actually still good from my last haul, but my friend needs a few things.”

You jump in before she can blow your spot up completely about why you’d made this trip. “Yeah, I just, um, sort of wanted to step my game up a little, I think.”

“Oh, perfect. We get that a lot, so we can definit–”

Kenzie cuts Rachel short and adds, “Her boyfriend is older and more experienced and has a nice dick, so she wants to match his energy a little bit. Right now she basically just needs help with riding dick and giving blowjobs.”

“Kenzie!” you hiss.

“What?! You do! You said you still can’t really fit him that far into your mouth!”

“Okay, I think we can figure something out,” Rachel laughs in an easy sort of way that makes you feel a touch less embarrassed after Kenzie’s disclosure.

You grumble under your breath and follow Rachel’s lead to a large wall of toys. Kenzie has the sense to look a little chastised and trails behind. You’re staring down row after row of dildos and plugs, and you try to ignore your nerves and remind yourself of why you came here. You’d only just begun your physical relationship with Joel, but this being your first of that kind with a male partner had you noticeably lacking apprise of anything beyond basic technique. Neither of you were dissatisfied with anything, but you couldn’t shake the blow to your self-confidence that came with having such a competent partner.

“So, let’s just start with the basics, okay?” Rachel begins. “Have y’all been together for a while or is this something newer?”

“Newer. Like, brand new, sort of. In a lot of ways.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Just asking to see if this is a learning a new partner situation or trying out new stuff to spice things up type situation,” she explains. “Okay, so. Kenz mentioned some oral stuff and positioning techniques. Is that where you’re looking to get into or were you thinking a different direction?”

“Um, no. I guess… Yeah, just…” you stumble.

“Listen, we’re super chill here and just wanna make sure everybody leaves and has a good time when they get back home, okay? So no pressure and definitely don’t feel embarrassed.”

You weren’t sure how to explain that you weren’t really embarrassed, per se. You’d just never had this sort of chatty girlfriends dynamic where you talk about your sex life and your love life and all the nitty gritty in between. You’d always been the listener, and now being the talker was different.

“No, I’m good. I just, you know, I’m new with guys for a partner. So it’s just kind of, like, I’m figuring it out as I go along, and I’m not always sure what to even ask,” you admit.

“Well, luckily for you, guys for the most part are pretty simple in my experience,” she says encouragingly with an amused grin. “The main thing is just being into it, you know? Whatever it is that you’re doing, if you seem like you’re having a good time and he’s turning you on and ‘ooohhh oh my god’ you love his cock and all that, nine times out of ten they’ll be happy.”

“Well I’m definitely into it, so that’s not a problem. Like, very into it. He’s, um, he’s really good in bed.”

“You said he’s older and probably got more experience, right?”

“Yeah, definitely. He’s not complaining or anything. I just– this is just me wanting to…”

“Show him you’ve got a top tier pussy that he’ll want to lock down?” she offers.

“Yeah, something like that,” you exhale in a laugh.

“Okay, got it. I think first thing is we gotta see what we’re working with. Certain things just don’t work as well with, like, if a dick has a strong curve to it or if it’s on the bigger side. So take a look at the wall over here and try to find something similar to his size and shape.”

Kenzie instantly perks up at this and is practically glued to your side as you peruse the offerings. After a few minutes you find one that is pretty close to Joel except for slightly more of a curve. Kenzie’s mouth is theatrically agape as you pull it off the shelf and hand it to Rachel, who raises her eyebrows and purses her lips.

“Well damn. Good for you, honey.”

The following half hour is crammed with more information about how to be on top, what sort of lingerie would be cute but still comfortable, throat training, and everything in between. Like two best friends helping you prep for the biggest exam of your life, Kenzie and Rachel work in tandem to personalize and curate your education.

It was about the point where you were supposed to be mimicking a hip motion while straddled atop Kenzie for practice that you started to feel more overwhelmed than ever. After promising you were going to practice reverse cowgirl on a pillow in the mirror, they let you take a break from the symposium. 

“Okay, so the outfit pieces and throat training sequence kit bring you to…” Rachel trails off as she punches a few keys on the register. “$212.53.”

You choke back the panic of spending money on yourself and pull out some bills from your secret stash. It would be worth it in the end. You knew that. At a price like that, it had to be, right? With your new collection of things you’d have to figure out where to hide, you and Kenzie bid Rachel an excited goodbye and head out.

Joel was most definitely trying to get you to tell him where you went shopping and what you bought. His fabricated reason for closing up an hour early so he could “check something at his house before dropping you off” didn’t make any sense. He was clearly chomping at the bit for you to tell him. It’s like he somehow knew the contents within were for him. Never one to indulge – especially on yourself – your purchase had him hovering around like a moth to a flame trying to catch a glimpse.  

“You never said where y’all went,” he mentions casually as he pointlessly arranges and rearranges the dishes in his kitchen cupboard.

“Oh, nowhere, really. Just a few places Kenzie wanted to browse,” you supply with feigned disinterest that Joel doesn’t buy for a second.

“Mhhmm. Awfully bright pink bag with a flirty lookin’ pony on it. Can’t imagine what sorta store that was,” he hums with a little amused grin. “Find anything for yourself?”

“A few things, maybe,” you admit with a coy smile.

“And am I ever gonna get to see those few things?”

“Maybe if you’re really, really nice,” you tease.

“Right,” he snorts. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You giggle and aimlessly flip pieces of mail on the counter. “So, um, speaking of Kenzie, I never got to thank you for helping me with that. Giving me advice and the push I needed to meet up with her so we could try to work things out.”

“No big deal. Just wanna help you.” He shrugs it off, but you sense there’s more he wants to say. Suddenly turning serious again, he says, “I’m here for that kinda stuff, you know? If you need me. ‘Cause I need you to understand that. Whatever you wanna talk about or just have somebody listen to you think out loud. Whatever it is. I’m here for you.”

“I know. I’m not really the best at sharing stuff,” you admit. “It’s just… hard.”

He nods and leaves his pretend task of straightening dishes to settle next to you and circle your hand in his own. “I get that. Sometimes, though, it’s– you gotta– you don’t hafta drown in it, you know? If there’s somebody offerin’ a hand to pull you out….”

You aren’t so sure you’re still talking about sharing milder problems like rocky friendships. You play dumb and keep the conversation away from his unspoken insinuation.

“I know. I just like to try to handle my own problems, you know?” you offer up weakly. “I feel like if you can’t solve your own problems then you’re just putting the strain on everybody around you. And besides, me and Kenzie ended up having a good conversation that day. Neither of us even cried in the middle of the coffee place, so that’s a win,” you chuckle nervously.

“So, I mean– I never really got all the info on that, I don’t think. What was the main issue that was causin’ a problem?”

His gaze is steady. He knows this is the most direct he’s ever been in asking about your private life. He knows whether or not you choose to answer might just determine if your attempts to be more open with him are going to hold up or if you’re going to shrink back into yourself and push him away.

Tell him. 

Tell him tell him tell him.

Tell him!

“I.. don’t … I’m worried it might upset you,” you answer truthfully. You knew he’d be unsettled by Logan’s inappropriate advances at that New Year’s Eve event. Joel looks surprised at the disclosure, like he hadn’t ever considered it would be something that would involve him somehow.

“I’m not gonna be upset with you,” he assures you.

If only you could explain that’s only the half of it. Even him just being “upset at the situation” would probably be enough to spark all your nerves alight and reduce you to a neurotic, frazzled mess. But he was always so calm and collected. He never seemed ruffled no matter what you threw at him. Maybe you could tell him what really happened. Maybe this could be the soft launch into finally revealing the truth about your dad.

So, you give him a rough setup about Kenzie’s college degree almost being completed, how she landed this internship that could mean really great things once she graduates, and how New Year’s Eve was supposed to be her big foray into taking on a client on her own with the company. You don’t sugarcoat the first impressions of Logan and Charlie, and a knowing look catches in his eye. He understands where this story is headed.

Your heart hammers as you recall the unreciprocated flirtation on the dancefloor that was followed by Logan stalking you to the bathroom and putting his hands on you. Joel’s jaw muscles flicker as his indignation builds, and you have to remind yourself repeatedly that reaction is not directed towards nor intended for you.

You finally manage to finish recounting the terrible night, but you don’t feel any weight lifted now that the truth is out there. Joel looks confused and angered. You thought he might’ve felt happy to know the truth finally. If anything, he seems more agitated than ever.

“Have you seen him since? Does she still talk to them? Work with them?”

“No, she dropped the account. She doesn’t see them, and I haven’t seen either of them since.”

He sits in silence for a moment, turning over all the new information in his mind and reframing his past knowledge. Then–

“So.. when you… that night when we.. was that just….”

“No, no,” you object. “It wasn’t just some reaction to all that. I-I really had feelings for you already. You really made me feel… you made me feel better. Safer. I felt safe with you.”

“Not safe enough to tell me what had happened,” he points out a bit glumly.

“Joel, don’t be like that,” you beg.

“No, I just wish I’d been more– I dunno, I wish you could’ve seen me as somebody to trust with that. I wish I’d been that for you when you needed it, and I wasn’t. I let you down.”

“It was just a lot that happened really fast, Joel. I hadn’t even– I’d barely had time to process any of it. It wasn’t because you aren’t trustworthy. I’m telling you now, right?”

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me about this…..” He trails off and shakes his head before leveling you with a hard stare. “But all it makes me think is what else you’ve got under wraps because I haven’t done enough to make you feel like you can trust me.”

The hairs on your neck feel prickly at the sudden change in tone. He’s dancing right on the edge of what you’d been avoiding the most the entire time you’ve known him. Your mouth opens and closes a few times without result other than your tongue feeling like sandpaper.

“Like how come you can’t tell me why you really went to the office on Christmas Day,” he says flatly.

You swallow hard and shake your head, your chest heating to a million degrees.

“Or why your dad is so weird with all these rules and say so over your bank account.”

“He’s always been like that,” you argue. It’s not lost on Joel that you didn’t actually address anything with that statement.

“Yeah? He always been gettin’ into fistfights with Calum, too? That just how he’s always been?” he levels at you.

Your spine draws up and straightens your entire body at the unambiguous remark. “I’m not getting into all this right now, Joel.”

He huffs an unamused laugh and pushes himself from the counter, hands on hips as his head drops and shakes side to side in disbelief. He looks back at you with a look you’ve never seen from him before: disappointment. “You can’t even tell me what Calum’s deal is?” he lobs. “Just fuckin’ shows up and goes through your stuff without you knowin’, and next thing I know you’re loaded up in the car with him? Just off to god knows where? And I’m not allowed to ask or anything. I gotta just act like that’s normal and I’m fine with it.”

All nerves siphon directly into prickly anger at the mention of your brother’s role in all this. “That’s none of your fucking business,” you snip.

“Yeah? And what if I wanted it to be my business, huh? What then?”

“Then I’d say you needed to take a step back and get a grip.”

“Unbelievable,” he grumbles. He paces the floor a few times before approaching you again. “So, is that what our relationship is gonna be like? You just get to hide stuff from me and leave me worried about you? And I don’t get to ask any questions or have any say in it?”

“I’m not some fuckin’ project for you to work on and fix, Joel,” you snap. “And what you feel about the boundaries I have aren’t any of my business at the end of the day.”

“So that’s it? You just get to have all these rules and all these walls up, and I just gotta take it or leave it? Pick up the pieces only when you let me and not when you need me?”

“Need you? What exactly is it about me that makes you think I need saving so bad, Joel? Huh? What, because I’ve got a–a more difficult home life or whatever? A bad family dynamic? A mom that didn’t give two shits about us and walked right out without a second glance back?” you fume. “In case you weren’t aware, I’ve been handling whatever comes my way my entire life just fine. I don’t need you and your weird fucking savior complex making things into something they’re not.”

“Wow,” he scoffs. “Savior complex? S’that what you call bein’ worried sick over somebody you care about and wanting to help them? You ever think about that? That maybe people are just tryna be helpful?”

“Who says I need help? Who says I need anything or anybody? Who says I need you?” You regret it the moment you say it as you watch Joel’s face crumple for a split second before he straightens it out again.

“Yeah, you don’t need me or anybody else, huh? You just got it all figured out.”

The air is heavy as you draw in tighter breaths. Joel stomps out of the room before circling back into the kitchen with glossy eyes.

“Dammit, why do you gotta do this shit?” he huffs. “Why can’t you just let me be there for you? I want to. I want to be there for you.”

“I don’t need your or anyone else’s help, alright? I’ve done fine on my own my entire life, and I’m not interested in feeding men’s egos anymore.”

His lips purse tight like they’re catching words between his teeth before they can become cutting projectile that would only make this conversation more hurtful than it has already devolved to. A muscle near his earlobe twitches, and then his face smooths out like a long wave washing along the shore, smoothing out the gritted sand to a flattened pane once more.

“If that’s how you feel, I know better than trying to change your mind,” he rebuts calmly and coolly. 

Despite the neutral mask he wears, the halo of a wounded heart wraps around every syllable, and your heart plummets. You did that. You made him sound that way. You made him feel that way. It’s all happened so fast that you can’t quite figure out how to undo it, how to go back those few precious seconds and stop yourself from lashing out. 

“I’m going home,” you whisper.

You snatch up your things and hurry out the door, ignoring the call of Joel’s voice begging you to let him drive you so you get there safely. That insidious voice inside your head bitterly reminds you there's no point in getting home safely when your home isn’t safe.

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@indiegirlunited @lyuir @gay4magnetobutfanfiction @ficrecreblo @gossipgirl-03

[takenbypeter]

Laundry Day

Tangerine x reader

Words: 637

Based on the prompt: “you don’t have to waste your day doing this with me.” “Nothing is a waste as long as you’re there.” From @deity-prompts I may have tweaked it a bit.

Laundry day. Such a mundane thing. Boring but necessary, is what you told yourself as you forced yourself to get up and finally wash that pile of dirty laundry you’ve been meaning to get to for the last two weeks. 

Did you love doing laundry? No, nobody loves doing laundry but you figured with Tangerine gone on a mission for the past three days, what better time to do it then while he’s still out. 

But of course, just like with every plan you make, something else always gets mixed in. 

You had just begun folding the first load, while the second one continued to spin in the drying machine and the third in the washer.

Folding just about the third piece of fabric that you’d picked out, you heard keys jangling on the other side of the front door. Peeking out from the nearby window you recognized Tangerine’s car as the door unlocked and in he came. 

He looked…messy, to say the least. His hair was all over the place, he had blood splattered over his shirt, his tie was thrown about across his shoulders. 

Although his appearance gave off an exhausted look, his expression was just the opposite as he came in animatedly. 

“You would not believe the dumbest—most boring f——g mission I just had, wait till you hear this,” he leaned close and you pucker your lips slightly, as he connected to them almost magnetically before trailing off.

He told his tale of events as he walked around the kitchen munching on a quick snack and pouring himself a small drink. You listened, continuing to fold your clothes (and some of his), adding some hums and surprised noises of your own as you got swept in to some of the details. 

Then after telling you the whirlwind of the story that he claimed was the lamest mission he’s ever been on, he went to take a shower, once again leaving you with the same load.

You folded and folded and when you were just about finished with that pile, the second load in the dryer dinged, ready for you to work on it next. 

You took the warm fabric out pressing it to your face for a moment enjoying the feeling before setting it on the couch for you to begin.

About ten minutes had passed when you heard some steps nearing before a pair of arms snaked its way around your waist. 

“I missed you,” Tangerine hummed, pressing his lips to your cheek, then to your neck, his mustache tickling you as he did so before resting his chin in the crook of your neck. 

“I missed you too,” and of course you had a smile on your lips as your hands continued working. 

“I wish I could just take you everywhere with me.”

“While the thought is nice, I’d rather sit your blood baths out.”

You felt his shoulders lift and then drop against your body as a sigh escaped, while he once again left a single kiss to your skin before letting go. 

You half expected him to leave, being that he’s been out for a few days and typically he was tired after completing missions, but surprisingly he grabbed a clean shirt that was on the couch and he folded it, setting it right down on the neat stack. 

You shook your head at his action, “you don’t have to waste your day doing this with me. Go rest.”

“Nothing is a waste as long as I’m doing it with you,” he flashed you that proper smile of his. 

Although the sentiment was sweet, you knew he was only helping you so he could steal all your attention away for himself. 

“You’re quite cheeky, aren’t you?” 

You already knew the answer to that question. But he feigned innocence. 

“Me? Never.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Machinist 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible bullying, misogyny, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your new boss sets his sights on you. (short!reader)

Characters: August Walker

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You sit out on your front porch watching the lazy sun. It’s one of the rare days off where you’re not bogged down in chores. Just you and swing and a cup of coffee. After the week you had, you need the moment to just not think. 

You close your eyes and lean your head back. It’s the simple things. All you ever wanted was a place to call your own. You got a job that pays for all that. A job you’re good at but one you enjoy less by the day. 

A honk startles you from your serenity. You open one eye and slowly put your chin straight. The shiny black jaguar is out of place on the sleepy street. A few of the kids playing ball in the neighbours driveway stop to point and stare. Your curiosity hardly awakens as you guess at its driver before he appears. 

August steps out, almost comically big for the sleek sportscar. You sip your coffee and sway on the chains. He tilts his head in challenge as he comes around the hood. 

“Didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He asks. 

“Just having a coffee,” you answer bluntly. You didn’t forget but hoped he did. 

“You’ll need the energy, I’m sure,” he comes down the walk, almost strutting.  

He doesn’t have his usual cap and flannel. His hair is combed neatly and he wears a navy tee so tight, you can see his muscles. You’re not sure they make any clothing that would fit him appropriately. You continue to drink and stare past him. 

“I’m sure google would be more helpful. That car has bluetooth, doesn’t it?” 

“Not as entertaining he insists, “you’re hardly dressed for a day out.” 

You hum and look down at yourself. You wear a pair of grey-green jogging pants and a loose tee; your usually affair for the week. Alone. You sigh and drain the last of the dark roast. 

“Go get changed,” he orders. 

You look at him but don’t move. His entitlement tweaks your eye brow. You take a breath and let it go slowly. 

“Now don’t go getting uppity,” he warns with a wag of his finger, “we might not be at work, but I’m still the boss,” he climbs the porch steps one at a time and stops, leaning on the post beside him, “aren’t I, princess?” 

You stand with the cup in hand, “sir. I’ll go throw on some jeans.” 

“Skirt,” he corrects you. 

“Don’t have any.” 

“Dress, then. I wanna see your legs.” 

You nearly crumple up in disgust. You repress a snarl and swallow, “none of those either.” 

“If it wasn’t indecent, I’d say naked,” he retorts, “since you only dress like some teen boy. Shorts, then, I’m sure you can find something.” 

You blink dully, “I’ll have to look around. Might take a while.” 

“If I have to come in there,” he warns. 

“Five minutes,” you relent and spin on your heel. 

Despite your promise, you are anything but expedient. You rinse out the mug and leave it in the rack. You make your way upstairs and open your dresser, not paying much mind to any of it. You really don’t have what he’s looking for. You aren’t what he’s looking for. You’re sure he could hit the bar downtown and find a pretty bimbo. 

You pull on a plain burgundy tee and the black jean shorts with a run in one leg. You check your reflection but don’t put much into fixing it. You look fine. Teeth brushed, moisturized, what else can you do? 

As you come downstairs, you’re annoyed to find him in your entryway. He has no shame. He shuffles through the mail on the corner table. You reach for your blue sneakers. He coughs and turns to watch you. 

“Definitely not the heel type, are ya?” He remarks. 

You shrug and tie the laces. You stand straight and grab your denim jacket and keys. He reaches to stop you, grabbing the other sleeve. 

“Whatcha covering up for?” 

You nearly roll your eyes. You won’t give him the fodder. You let go and tuck the keys into the small pocket of the short. You grab your wallet and put it on the other side of your hips. 

“We’ll fix this,” he flicks his finger up and down. “I know you think you can run with the big boys but you’re a woman underneath it all. No point tryna hide.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“I didn’t ask,” he growls, “that’s a problem too. You talk when I want you to.” 

You should tell him to fuck himself. You should spit in his face. By the smug smirk dimpling in his cheek, that’s exactly what he wants. No. You’ll let him get bored. You wipe your expression and blink. 

“Well?” He huffs. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl,” he reaches to pat your head like a dog. You try not to wince away, repulsion roiling from his touch. You lift your chin instinctively and he narrows his eyes, stepping closer as he does. He snickers as sets his jaw square, “don’t worry, I know how to break a stubborn bitch like you. Make her into a loyal little hound slobbering for my attention.” 

You look back at him blankly. He waits. You let him. No reaction. Frustration tics in his cheek and his lips straighten. 

“First thing,” he grabs your arm as he turns for the door, “we find something to dislodged the rod from your ass.” 

He drags you outside and keeps hold of you as you turn to lock the door with your other hand. He tugs you so your wrist twists as you struggle to slide the keys free. They jangle with you as he hauls you forward, your feet clattering down the steps. 

“Keep up, princess, your carriage awaits.” 

[akiuge]

anyone here a fan of both lovely runner and alnst??

As I was watching Lovely Runner, i was inspired to make an AU of it catering to ivt mainly due to it being my current fixation rn

i don’t know if im gonna continue making content protruding this idea — but if i do i’d probably tweak a lot of things so it’s not completely mirroring the drama itself

for those who haven’t watched it, here’s a summary for the drama:

a woman finds comfort and the strength to go on through an idol after he gave her some words of affirmation; this was especially touching for her because she had just gone through an accident that left her disabled (she could no longer walk). years later she would find herself as a devoted and loyal fan to him (nothing of a stalker, don’t worry). unfortunately, he would pass away as a result of severe depression. she gains the ability to go back in time to stop this from happening through a watch she auctioned which had originally belonged to him.

through this, she is also able to stop the accident from happening that had also left her disabled but… it also turns out that there was more to this accident that her memories had suppressed. she’s also finds out that there was a previous connection between her and this idol. anyways, to end this, she makes multiple attemps to save him but he keeps dying in different circumstances no matter what. she’s comes to a conclusion at some point that fate does not want them to meet.

oh and im editing this because i realized i forgot an important detail that made me think of ivt, be he was actually in love with her for 15 whole years lol. so cliche but i’ll eat up anything,,

ahh ^^ if anyone wants to lmk what they think of this it’d be appreciated ~ thank you

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Old Tricks - P3

A/N: Now I can’t stop writing…

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ themes, fluff.

Find Part 1 & Part 2 here ;)

.

Your husband was missing. Again.

And right after promising that he wouldn’t be late for movie night.

Movie nights. Something you had designated every once in a while complete with buttery popcorn and candy and lots of fluffy pillows and blankets.

Sighing, you finished your glass of wine while his lay untouched and made your way downstairs where he was probably killing his back over some invention.

As suspected, there he was, deep in conversation with his virtual best friend, FRIDAY. You hadn’t decided whether to let this go or go up to him and remind him of what he’d missed. It didn’t hurt you because you had lived with the man long enough to understand he never did it on purpose.

Curiosity had gotten the better of you when you squinted to see what he was up to, watching your husband scroll through pictures that resembled…sex toys?

“Let’s keep the face plate easily retractable too, the wife has a thing for neck kisses and so do I.”

Tony murmured, mostly to himself but he made amendments to the project in front of him, fingers gliding over the keyboard to put his words into actuality. He had lost track of time but only because it was directed towards a little present he had been working on, for you.

Unknown to him, you were standing back within earshot, watching him work with a mixture of shock and amusement on your face.

“I mean, I know Y/N loves coming on my fingers just as much. Maybe we could tweak the suit? Add additional modes on the vibrators too.”

Sure, boss.

Blush crept up your cheeks as his words fell on your ears, it was as if he was discussing any other modification to be done to his Iron Man suits. You tiptoed inside, not wanting to announce your presence just yet as Tony Stark - the successor of Stark Industries, genius inventor, world-renown superhero and philanthropist continued his back and forth with the AI.

You watched as prototypes holograms of his suit showed up, the alterations he spoke about highlighted along with detailed description of its features. The man ran his fingers through his hair, leaving them a glorious mess before walked around the table as if to get a whole 360 view.

Clearing your throat finally, you stifled a laugh as your husband jumped with a hand over his heart.

“Jesus Christ! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Chuckling, you wrapped your arms around the man and reached up to give him a soft kiss. He sighed and hugged you, rubbing your back gently.

“You know among the things I presumed you do down here, I never imagined I’d catch you doing this. I also didn’t realise we had branched out to Adults Toys R Us.” You giggled when Tony playfully slapped your butt, joining in your laughter.

“It was supposed to be a surprise and a silly little gift. For the countless dates I’ve missed, I’m sorry.” He stared at his feet, scratching the back of his neck almost nervously.

“So you’re making me an apology sex toy? You continue to amaze me, Mr. Stark.” You murmured, making him look up at you again before pressing your lips to his lightly.

The man truly was unbelievable.

“What did I miss?” He asked earnestly, guilt evidently reflecting in his brown eyes.

“Our movie night. But it’s okay, I won’t hold it against you. Especially not if promise to reveal what all of this is about.”

Chuckling lowly, Tony planted his head on your shoulder, letting out a tired sigh and a purr the moment your fingers ran through his hair, comforting him.

“Am I going to get a demo or what?” You turned towards his work station while still keeping your arms around him.

“Nope. It’s still a work in progress.” Tony shrugged, swiftly shutting down his work.

“Oh come on, Tony! At least tell me something about it, what does it look like, how do I use it—”

“Oh no, you’re not going to use it. I am.”

You frowned, coaxing him to continue, now that he’d really got your interest piqued. It wasn’t surprising that he would design something like this without involving an element of ‘him’ in it.

“You’re giving me a present that’s meant to be used by you? Hmm, I’m not so sure if I want it now..” you teased, welcoming Tony as he slotted himself between your legs, caging you in by placing both his arms on either side.

“Oh you want it, alright. I’ve made sure it’s everything you’d wished for and more.”

“Hmm.. I would like some more details before I decide how I feel about this present.” Your arms naturally found their way behind his neck, excitement already building deep within as your little banter continued.

“Well?”

“Let’s just say all of your suit kink prayers have been answered, Mrs. Stark.”

No smut just yet 🤭

[bisexualiteaa]

Is it ok to request ? I’m obsessed w/ Gale from BG3. Any loving is wanted / needed. I feel he would be ok w/ a strong partner after Mystra .

Love Within a Moonlit Tower

Gale Dekarios x Fem Reader (fluff and SMUT MDNI!!)

CW: established relationship, slight deviation from the game, slight OOC Gale, nauseatingly sweet fluff, mentions of steamy romance book, mentions of his past relationship with Mystra, established marriage, cursing, body worship, p in v, unprotected seggs, multiple 0rgasms, multiple creampies, slight dumbification, possible grammar/spelling errors.

AN: another one I’ve had in the vaults waiting for the right time to tweak it and drop, I’m so sorry it took me this long to get to Anon! 😭 Thank you for your lovely request, I hope I did it any justice because I too love our resident wizard man. 🥺🫶

The quiet sounds of the birds chirping their mid-day song softly infiltrated through the half opened windows of the library. You could feel the warm rays of the sun flooding in, the gentle breeze washing over you, tousling your hair slightly as your fingers glide amidst the parchment pages of your book. The smell of books new and old filled your nose with its familiar and calming scent, mingling with that of the candles which lit your lovely reading space. You were fully immersed into the story that you were reading, the title of it having stood out to you amongst the others when you found it whilst perusing the bookshelves a few days prior. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as your reading reached a rather raunchy romance scene. The images played out in your mind, built from the well versed description inked upon the pages, every detail recounted as if you were there to experience it yourself. You crossed your legs, clasping your thighs together and biting your lip as you read onwards, finding yourself rather picturing you and Gale in such a scene rather than the two characters within the story. Almost watching as the two characters caught up in each other’s embrace, from well drawn out foreplay to tastefully described sex, you couldn’t help the tingling buzz of arousal that began to drum deep within your core. It left you so bothered, you hadn’t realized the room had begun to grow hot around you, or that a certain wizardly husband of yours had entered the room. You let out a little excited giggle as you read on, your mouth going agape in pleased shock on occasion as you read some of the interesting, and rather thrilling, things the characters were doing with one another. It almost reminded you of the good old days spent adventuring together, finding many a nights a bed beneath the stars and wine not far from reach as your limbs tangled with Gale’s in your best attempts at a romantic rendezvous.

“My, someone certainly seems to be enjoying themselves. I was wondering where you’d run off to. You’re starting to take after me with the way you lock yourself away and read all day” your husband spoke teasingly, making your face turn red as you snapped the book shut in embarrassment and turned your attention to him. “Oh! Hello love! I got so caught up in reading that I hadn’t realized how much time had passed, my apologies” you said sweetly, with such saccharine coated innocence to your tone as you looked up at him, praying your actions wouldn’t raise his suspicions. He smiled at you before his eyes peered down towards the cover of your book then back up to your flustered face. No wonder you reacted the way you did, he interrupted a rather intimate reading. “Ah, I remember reading that one! I had a rather similar reaction upon even my Tryssm entering the room whilst I was nose deep in it. Certainly wouldn’t have been my first guess at what you would pick, but it would be far from me to judge my wife’s tastes in literature” he said, moving closer to you. “Though a part of me deep down has been hoping that you’d stumble across it. Judging by your reactions I’d say you find it quite enjoyable, hmm?” he asked, his suave, deep voice right by your ear, his breath fanning along your neck as he spoke, sending pleasant tingles to your core that fanned the burning embers within you.

You gave a giggle to his response, finding your bottom lip trapped once more between your teeth as you leaned your head to the side, granting him access to your neck as your eyes held a dreamy gaze. “I do. Reminds me a lot of our days adventuring together. The carnage, the battles, the…midnight trysts” you responded, making him chuckle as his lips pressed soft, but tingling kisses to your shoulders, taking note of the dip in your tone that reflected a mood that words had yet to confirm. “I rather enjoyed our late night rendezvous, especially the ones after a heated battle” he replied with a grin. “How we could hardly keep our eyes off of one another while traveling. Then once we’d return to camp, all bloody and adrenaline coursing through our veins, hardly able to keep our hands to ourselves either” you added as his hands smoothed down your shoulders and down the expanse of your arms, the added sensation only fueling the growing fire in your belly. “Perhaps one day we could collaborate on a steamy, action packed story of our own. Recant the epic tales of our concurring of the elder brain! And all the juicy, lascivious bits in between” he excitedly suggested, making you chuckle before turning and placing your hand to his scruffy cheek lovingly, pulling him into a kiss. “Mmm…I rather like that idea. Though I’m afraid if you put it in my hands, I may find myself writing more of our flitting romance and steamy sexual adventures rather than focusing on the biggest victory Baldur’s Gate has seen in centuries” you said into it, a small giggle slipping past you and a smirk growing to your lips as seduction dripped from your honeyed voice. Before you knew it, your once chaste kiss grew a little deeper. “Who would I be to stop you?” He asked, a grin of his own stretching to his lips as a chuckle resonated from his chest, pride swelling his heart that was filled only with the undying love he held for you.

“You know…we’ve yet to break in the library, darling” you stated after your lips parted to allow you both a chance to breathe, your eyes half lidded and holding that mischievous, yet loving gaze of wanting that he loved seeing so much. He only ever wished he could immortalize it in a painting to hang all around the tower, but seeing it every time pointed in his direction because of his doing, was plenty enough to satisfy. He grinned and gave a hum with intrigue at your proposal. “We haven’t yet, have we?” he replied before standing up, grabbing the book from you and placing it aside as he moved in front of you. “That mistake can be easily remedied. IF you’re up for it of course!” he said, making you grin up at him as your hands found his before standing, placing them on your hips to allow him to hold you close. “Gale, my love, has there ever been a time where I haven’t been?” you asked in response, making him grin and chuckle once more. “Certainly none that I can recall, but as gentle as you have been with me, I intend to do the same in return. The last thing I’d wish to do is misinterpret your desires” he responded, making you snake your hands up his chest before resting them on his shoulders. “You haven’t, but I thank you for taking the extra care” you replied sweetly, resting your forehead softly against his as you closed your eyes to bask in the moment together. “Anything for you, my treasure” he spoke in kind, words you knew that held genuine promise behind them rather than empty falsehoods. “Then I say we break in the library, perhaps even relive some old times while doing so” you said, pulling him in for another kiss as his hands traversed your curves. “You mean…like this?” He asked, picking you up and backing you against a bookcase, your legs wrapped around his hips as he held you up. The ever growing smile on your face, paired with the look of pleasant surprise made his dick twitch with excitement from beneath his robes. Gods how he loved you, no goddess could ever make him feel the way you do from just one look alone. “Remind you of the nights we’d spend by the water? Teasing one another as we bathed in the waterfalls and we’d have each other up against the rocks” he recounted as his kisses trailed down your neck, leaving shameless hickies in his wake. “Reminds me a lot of the time where I made you jealous, so you drank a potion of hill giant strength, then proceeded to pick me up and slammed me up against a tree and have your way with me so Wyll, Astarion and Halsin knew I had eyes for only you” you replied with a giggle through your moans as he found every sensitive spot he could, knowing the map of your body like the contents of his favorite book. “Certainly not my smartest use of a potion, but worth it in my eyes to have had you screaming all night” he added as he ground his hips against you, making you tilt your head back against the bookcase as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment in bliss. “Seemed a good use to me. I never was one for being quiet but that night was certainly one I’d never forget” you said teasingly through a fit of giggles before a louder moan escaped you as his hardened cock rubbed against your clothed clit from the confines of his robes. “It’s one of the many things I love about you” he responded. “Fuck, Gale please…” you begged breathlessly.

Your mind was lost on the way that your back had met the hard wood and leather covers of books within the bookshelf you were pressed against. To you, all you felt was the pleasurable stretch of him sheathed inside of you, then the feeling of his tip nestled against your bundle of nerves deep within you, pistoning in and out, nudging the entrance to your cervix. You laid your head back against the bookcase for stability as your eyes shut tight, moans escaping your throat like a symphony to his ears as you cried his name like a prayer. “Fuck, Gale…just like that” you praised as his lips once again littered your skin with soft kisses, as if he was worshipping you. In truth, he was. No goddess bestowed him the kindness you have, no goddess offered him the love and patience you so graciously have given him over the time you’ve spent with him. No one could ever compare to you, no legendary hero, no god above, you were a category of your own. Someone who not only sated, but *saved* him, offering him a life he could have never imagined to become a reality. There was nothing in this world anyone could ever offer him that would even closely rival that of your affections, and with each time he made love to you, he wanted to make that sentiment known to you.

You paid little mind to the dull ache beginning to rise in your back, nor for the thought of how tense or sore you would be later and even into tomorrow for it, what mattered was having your husband in your arms with you, enjoying this tender moment. You two had been going like this for gods only knows how long, your brain muddled from your previous orgasms as his stayed deep within you, only to occasionally drip down to the floor and coat your thighs with his essence. “Just one more. You can give me one more, can’t you love?” He asked, making you nod your head yes in response as words were all but lost on you, your mind effectively reduced to mush as the only words able to leave you were cries and pleas of his name. He loved when he could get you like this, so high from adrenaline, so drunk from pleasure that your usually bustling mind became blank as a sheet of fresh parchment. Before you, he isolated himself from the world, isolated himself away from people where books were his only form of stimulation. While it wasn’t conducive for pleasures of the flesh, he loved the way that he could reduce you to such pleasurable mindlessness. To make you feel good despite his insecurities. Over time he’s only gotten better, memorizing your body inside and out, noting where your most sensitive places lie, what pace and positions you like most. You’ve helped him, not only through physical touch but through everything in between. Where once stood a man who thought the only way to prove his worth to the world was to allow himself to be consumed by the weave, now stood a man with more confidence and happiness than you’d ever seen in him. He only wished you’d see it from his eyes, what all you’ve done for him and how you make him feel, but he would always be more than happy to show you on days where the words just could not explain it.

“I love you” he proclaimed, making you smile as you leaned forward and kissed him sweetly. “I love you too” you answered in kind, pressing your forehead to his as you panted and moaned, finding yourself nearing your end once more. His gaze fell to where you were both connected, watching himself move in and out of you, watching you stretch and the way you coated his dick in your slick. The way you squeezed tightly around him, throwing your head back as you let out a cry of release was what did him in for the final time, feeling your walls milk him of everything he could give you. You both stood there, panting and trying to catch your breath as the pleasurable feeling of your after glow fell upon you, allowing you both to find one another in a soft, loving kiss once more. “The one part I don’t miss from our late night misadventures is certainly the back aches from being had up against any solid thing around” you spoke, your shared laughs filling the otherwise quiet room as you recounted the many times of tree bark practically mauling your skin, or the aches and bruises of rocks once being your only form of stable ground. “A shame, means the stairs are out of the question then” he replied playfully, making you laugh. “At least we can check the library off the list, but I’ll think about the stairs if it fancies you so much, it would be only fair” you said with a giggle. “At least the balcony has a nice love seat” Gale added, making you grin as he helped you down and in getting stable on your feet, helping you clean up before you slid your robe on and he got redressed. “Maybe later we can put it to good use” you proposed with a smirk, kissing his cheek as he grinned. “With an ocean front view like that? Bound to be a romantic night for sure. Perhaps we can have dinner out there as well, have a date night in of sorts with a few glasses of wine and maybe a handful of those decadent desserts you love so much” he added, making you hum with intrigue at the idea, nothing but pure love residing in your gaze as you looked up at him. “Then consider it a date, Mr. Dekarios“ you replied, making him chuckle as he leaned down to kiss you softly once more before releasing you from his hold. “Maybe pull out that dress you’ve been wishing to wear, I’d love to see it on you” he said, making you smile. “Perhaps I will, but first I intend to freshen up. Feel free to join me” you said, leaning up against the doorway as you spoke before leaving to find the bath. He watched as your hips swayed and you sauntered teasingly out of the room, waiting to see if he would trail behind you.

It was little moments like these that he’d never felt more lucky.

[hana-no-seiiki]

but like . . . yandere loser vampire partner that somehow doesn’t have game even after 200 years of living. and dom reader why not we miss em.

the only thing going for them are their looks, extensive knowledge about niche topics, and natural body glitter (like omfg i would become a vampire myself if it means im permanently covered in shimmer-)

they were in most of your classes in university but never appeared unless it was for exams. apparently they had a ‘skin condition that made them extremely sensitive to the sun’ and were therefore excused for classes. a student was usually paid to hand them notes.

that student was your friend. they were a bit of a bum if you were being quite honest. the only thing that urged them to complete the job was money. but after being too lazy to do it so many times, the job was thrown over to you to agonize on.

you quickly find out that your friend was underplaying the pay significantly after the first check. this student must have been the kid of a rich billionaire cause goddamn you didn’t know who the hell else would pay a grand for every subject you completed.

i’d say that you feel kind of bad receiving all this money and therefore improved your note-taking skills out of the kindness of your heart but i mean c’mon you’re reading from my blog- you definitely tweaked it just to earn more of that sweet cash. even drawing doodles at the wee hours of the night and little mnemonics you thought up.

yan sees the effort you put and begins subconsciously keeping your notes in better places. they find themselves grinning like a madman whenever they see that one character you drew that dumbs down some parts that might be too difficult to understand. you even provided translations in subjects that use two or more languages.

yan, despite being already down atrocious for you, never makes the initiative to meet up. they have however, already made extensive research on you. so much so that they’ve made several papers on just your magnificent self.

and so came the time you offered to meet with them. mostly cause y’know, connections with a rich ass dude would be great, but also because you were curious to see who tf pays someone this much to go to school for them.

and you then you meet this socially awkward, super shy, speaks hella old and formal (insert preferred language/dialect here), and oh they’re like super fucking cute it’s actually making you have that sort of aggression you get from pets/toys.

oh.

you want to fuck this dude’s brains out alright.