#and at some point I'm going to figure out how to do a series of polls to pick a ficlet to expand anyway

[eyra]

stuff what I have learnt about writing good

If you've followed me for longer than two minutes then you'll likely know (because I keep going on about it) that I've been working on a novel for the past year. It's always been a dream of mine to write and publish a book and whilst I still have a long way to go before I can even start thinking about querying (whether on this book, or the next, or the next, etc.) I suppose I can now say that a book Exists. I have written A Book.

Now whether or not that book ever sees the light of day, the process of writing it has been truly eye-opening. I went in knowing virtually nothing and came out, still with a huge amount to learn, but with a whole library of tools that I didn't have before. I'm now putting these to use with the first draft of my second book and already the process feels so much more enjoyable, because I've started to figure out how to make it work for me.

I wanted to jot down what I've learnt purely for my own reference so I can keep looking back and reminding myself what worked for me first time around, but given that I get a nice number of asks picking my brain about my own writing process, I thought I might as well share all this with you lot in case there's anyone out there who finds it useful!

So here are the big things that I've learnt so far...

1. Not every trick works for every writer

This has been, by far, my biggest learning. Starting to plan a novel for me felt SO overwhelming - I felt like I was bombarded on all sides with "this is how to write a novel" content, and it felt like there was just too much to learn and like I would never find my way through it. I spent weeks (months...) doing every worksheet, every outlining method, every chart, anything I could get my hands on. Some of them, by the end, proved themselves very useful. A lot of them didn't. There are thousands of voices online that are telling you "this is the right way to write a book" or even "this is the ONLY way to write a book" - don't listen to them. Try things, but don't feel like you have to fit yourself into every single box. Just find the things that work for you.

2. It's possible to overplan

On a related note - sometimes you just need to start writing. I spent WAY TOO LONG faffing about before I put pen to paper with my first book. So, so long planning out characters and plot points, a lot of which I then had to completely reimagine mid-draft because I realised they just didn't work anymore. In hindsight, some of this was down to me being scared to actually start writing - the planning stage was a bit of a comfort zone for me, despite not naturally being a plotter/architect - I have always always always been a pantser/gardener, but I got sucked into the whole "proper authors do it THIS way" narrative.

With my second novel, I did a nice amount of planning but then just bit the bullet and started drafting. I know where my story begins, ends, what my major themes are, I know all my main characters and I know my key plot points. The rest, I'm figuring out as I draft. If nothing else - I'm having a lot more fun this time around.

3. Think about voice and tense before drafting

Yeah duh obvious right? NOT TO ME. If you were following me around April time, you may have witnessed a series of minor breakdowns when I realised that, having written a whole first draft in third person present tense, the entire book should actually have been written in first person past tense. So that meant, basically, starting over from scratch. This was a big learning for me, and not a mistake I'm likely to make again.

4. Stop looking at your word count

For someone who's never really put much thought into word count before - my approach with fanfiction has already been "it'll be as long as it'll be" - I got OBSESSED with the word count of my first couple of drafts. A lot of people will tell you that any good novel "has to be" under 100k words. I constantly see this one post on Pinterest that says "I promise you that you can tell the story you want to tell in 100k words or under." I'm definitely no expert on this (and I'll eat my words when an agent tells me my manuscript needs cutting down), but I'm sceptical - a lot of stories can and should be under 100k words, sure, but most of my favourite books are much longer than this. However, I did get stuck in a "this manuscript has to be between 70k and 100k words" mindset and felt like a failure whenever it was sitting outside of that bracket. Also - keep your genre in mind. If you're writing a rom-com, 70k could work perfectly. If you're writing fantasy, you're probably going to go over that.

5. Know whether you're an overwriter or an underwriter

And related to the above - know whether you tend to write bare bones-style then add to it, or whether you tend to dump it all on the page then cut back later. I'm the first, and I knew this, but I still panicked when my first draft was only around 70k. I felt like it was rushing through the plot at an unreasonable pace and it didn't feel "finished". This was because it was a first draft. By the time I sent my manuscript to my beta reader, it was around 126k.

6. The dumb stuff works

The title of the document for my first draft was "XXX - worst possible version" and at multiple points during the drafting process I changed the font to Comic Sans size 48. It works. Completely takes the pressure off and gives you full permission to write big, write silly, write unhinged, write mad things that you'll cut back by 90% later. But it gets it all on the page. If you're stuck or cringing at yourself in Times New Roman size 12, try Comic Sans size 48.

7. Don't compare your first draft to your favourite book

Like an idiot, I did this. I still find myself doing it. It's possibly my worst writing habit. I'll type out a page at 11pm after a full day at work and no dinner and then I'll pick up a published book and think "ah man, the page I've just written is nowhere NEAR as good as this." Published books are fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh drafts that then go through months and months of editing. Do not compare your manuscript to a published book. Just don't do it.

8. Don't try to be That Author

Good writers are good readers. Absolutely read broadly, read deeply, just read. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, everything. And it's fine to find yourself influenced by other writers - that's how writing works. But don't try to BE other writers. One of the issues I had to unpick last year was that I was reading a lot of authors whose writing styles are very different to my own. I know my own style fairly well by this point - fanfiction's a great sandbox for figuring that out - but at certain moments during my editing phases I found myself cutting away at my prose because it felt "too different" to the books I was reading at the time. This was a weird thing for me to have done, and I went back and fixed it later.

I think what I'm trying to say with this one is: take inspiration from everywhere, let yourself be influenced by different writing styles, but find your own voice and trust it. Literature already has a Sally Rooney and a Donna Tartt and a Leigh Bardugo. It doesn't need a clone - it needs you!

I'll finish by sharing what I've found to be the most useful plotting template. This obviously isn't the total extent of my planning process by any means, but after trying about a million different plotting techniques for my first manuscript, this is the one:

The 27 chapter method (more examples here)

And finally, two little character tricks that I find invaluable:

AITAH?

Character philosophy

I hope someone out there finds something useful in this post! Although I've been writing in some capacity since I was a teenager, 2024 was definitely the year I realised that I am a writer at my core. I want to be a published author, but I'm already a writer. It brings me happiness like nothing else in the world! And I love to talk about all aspects of writing, so my ask box is always very much open.

Happy scribbling! x

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

So, here are my long thoughts on The Last Voyage of the Demeter because I'm jetlagged and trying to keep myself awake.

I'm going to organize it from my biggest issues to my smallest nitpicks. Because I am aware that some of the things that bother me are nitpicks. Also this movie is old enough that I don't think spoilers are out of line.

Anyway, here are my thoughts:

I don't think I can fairly judge the movie as an adaptation of Dracula. This would be a short review if that was my standard, because it is a bad adaptation. There's a laundry list of reasons why, and I'll get back to one of them because I think it is indicative of how this movie fumbled the story. It takes a very loose approach to the book, and that wouldn't be entirely fair to fixate on. But I will point out where I think the book executed a theme or tone element more effectively.

I fully went into the movie ready to judge it on its own merits as a self-contained horror story. That's why I was surprised that I disliked it so much, because it doesn't hold up as a piece of horror media. I think the core issue is that the screenplay fundamentally was thinking of itself as a movie about people fighting a monster.

In that respect, it does away with something that makes the Captain's log such an effective part of the original book: The mystery.

The original section is an exercise in dramatic irony. You, as the reader, have already seen the thing making the crew vanish, because you read Jonathan's diary and know what is in the boxes (even if you were reading it for the first time and didn't have the cultural osmosis of knowing who Dracula). You know why they are in danger. The captain doesn't. He spends most of the log trying to figure out what is going on and if it is misfortune or something really on board with them. He only sees Dracula at the very end of the log, when there is little he can do except tie himself to the wheel.

The book answers the question of "why don't they make port or throw the boxes overboard?" with saying that the captain doesn't know for sure if it is actually something malicious related to the cargo. The Romanian first mate has to slowly come to the realization that he does know, because he's resisting believing in superstition. Only when the knife passes through Dracula without harming him does he panic because it's undeniable that he's facing a folklore monster.

That build up is entirely absent from The Last Voyage of the Demeter. Anna just tells them within the first half hour of the movie (she's also a very inconsistent character, but I'll get back to that), and within days the crew has literally seen Dracula multiple times. People aren't mysteriously vanishing; they've been killed pretty clearly and there are survivors with bite marks. The deck is littered with body parts at points. It makes the voiceovers about "some doom" being on the ship seem comical, because the captain has seen with his own eyes what is going on.

The only reason given for why they can't make port to deal with the issue is that they're too far away, I guess? Which is also not the case for a ship sailing that route. This isn't an open sea voyage.

While the pacing of a movie and the pacing of a show are different, The Terror did this so much better. You don't get to see the Tuunbaq clearly until quite late in the series. People just vanish or get mauled by...something. That sense of mystery is just gone in The Last Voyage. And it is disappointing because that was a huge opportunity to nail the tone.

If I had to come up with the key elements of what the Demeter section is, it would be: A Horror Story about a ship with a tragic ending.

They didn't nail the horror, but what about the other two?

There's also a puzzling lack of understanding of the dynamics on a ship throughout the movie. One glaring example is that the First Mate and Clemens make the decision to sink the ship without even asking the captain first. I know this is the merchant navy and not the navy, but that is still a galling lack of discipline. The captain is in charge and his duty is to the whole ship and the crew.

The original captain's log makes use of this. Dracula more or less kills his way up the chain of command because he's a sadist. He's forcing the commanding officers to feel more desperation as they fail in their duty to protect their crew.

The Last Voyage makes the captain a very minor character, which at least to me reveals a misunderstanding of how hierarchy works in a ship. While I don't think including new characters is necessarily bad, Clemens and Anna make most of the important decisions, and neither of them particularly have standing with the crew. It undercuts the idea of responsibility and letting people come to harm under your care (which carries through later to Lucy and Mina).

I'll return to other ways the ship setting feels incorrect later, because those are closer to nitpicks.

So, third element: is it a tragedy? Does everyone on board die by the end?

The opening scene may make you think so. But no, actually they don't. Clemens escapes and ends the movie vowing to hunt down Dracula. For one, this is where it is a bad Dracula adaptation because that simply cannot happen and maintain the plot of Dracula. Unless he was rather dense when he read about the Bloofer Lady in the paper and decided that wasn't related. But additionally, the tone of the ending radically changes. It isn't a tragedy where the last act of a brave man is to stay at the wheel, because he isn't the lone survivor left to be battered to death by either the storm or Dracula anymore. In fact most of the crew is still there for the multiple people vs Dracula fight.

This is where the tone really failed for me: the story has a winner, a hero, someone who can make it out alive. And it's the new character. That just did not sit well with me when the original is such a poignant tragedy.

The First Mate, who is the character most primed to come to a realization, hardly has an arc in The Last Voyage.

The insistence that they can fight and maybe even win also makes both Clemens and Anna incredibly inconsistent characters. She especially suffers from this, because she should in theory have the knowledge of how to repel a vampire (the villagers certainly have some idea in the book), but then she says things like "do you think I have the faintest idea how to kill him?" and in the next breath is urging the crew to kill him before he reaches London. She also says Dracula is going to London because "there is no one left in my home country to feed on" but her backstory is that she's on the ship as a deal so Drac can have a snack. So, clearly, he can get people to feed on if he wants.

Clemens is the "too smart and rational" character. But he also never thinks maybe they should expose the boxes to sunlight even after seeing people combust in sunlight after turning. It's all terribly inconsistent.

The decision to not write the story as a tragedy ends up cascading, and that's the root of the issue. They can't win and kill the monster without completely changing the story of the novel, so they are only competent to a point. It makes it a worse horror movie, even disregarding it as an adaptation.

Now for the nitpicks, including quite a few about boats that probably only I noticed:

The aesthetics are all over the place in terms of period. Clemens spends a large part of the movie (which is set in the 1890s) running around in a lace up pirate shirt. No one on this ship owns a period appropriate boat cloak. None of their shirts have remotely the right collars, giving the sense that nautical fashion was sort of vaguely consulted over the long 18th to 19th century-ish.

Please look at this and tell me that it is even remotely late 19th century:

Here's Olek from 1899 for comparison (note the correct high collar and undershirt):

The dialogue suffers from this too. More than one person uses the word "heathen" which just feels wildly out of place in something that is supposed to have rationality and superstition as the key touchpoints (at least if it wants to be like Dracula). It sounds weird coming from a time period 20 years before World War 1. Sailors especially were more likely to be vaguely Christian but mostly superstitious, not zealots using terms like "heathen."

Additional aesthetic nitpick: The ship looks way too old for the period. That is an early to mid 19th century ship sailing in the 1890s without any retrofitting. There's a throwaway line about the captain not wanting a fancy new steamship, but that doesn't account for how antique the captain's quarters are or the lack of metal on the hull. Again, the nautical aesthetics are all skewing too early. If this ship was still a Russian ship like the original, an older sailing vessel might have said something about the lag in Russian shipbuilding, it works less with an English merchant ship.

There's some functional issues about understanding sailing: The ship is way too spacious inside. Really tall men are standing up straight and walking around the hold with no trouble. That may seem like a small point, but imagine what actually exploiting the claustrophobic feeling below decks could have done for the ambiance.

The ship is definitely undercrewed given the number of masts they are showing. That many men would really struggle to reef all of the sails in a timely manner (which would matter in a storm). The writers put a crew of a small fishing vessel on a ship that is much larger and requires more hands. And it is puzzling because more people would mean: more kills and disappearances as well as giving a progression of being unable to raise and lower the sails and also keep someone at the wheel. Which, I will note, the original log does.

My first red flag about this movie was having seemingly no Slavic characters on a ship that was Russian in the original. But now that I've seen it, I'm even more annoyed that the one Russian character exists to: call a woman a slur, call a black man a slur (a rather British one imo), and then immediately be murdered on screen. Can't have nuance in how we portray Slavic people in Western media, huh?

I also get the sense that the screenwriter didn't know the difference between Romanian and Romani, because the first mate is vaguely hinted to be Romani (the kid mentions "Wojchek taught me some words in Romani") and has a Western Slavic first name, not a Romanian one. When in the book he is explicitly Romanian.

Rapid fire ways the movie gets the book wrong on a nitpicky level: Dracula doesn't get more human looking as he nears London, a vampire who prides himself on being aristocratic isn't going to drink from pigs or rats, the vampires in the book can go in sunlight but are weaker, religious artifacts are way more powerful deterrents in the book, and Clemens is way too casual about transfusions. It makes Van Helsing doing it seem less like an act of desperation. Anna gets Mina's ability to sense Dracula without putting in the effort to reverse engineer the connection.

Someone please tell me that Nosferatu is better. This was honestly very frustrating.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 63 Cool Posting

Hi, kind void. Today's chapter is straight out of an action movie! It's light on lore but chock-full of cool stuff (and some names at long last) so let's get into it.

Rough TL of editor's notes (don't take as competent):

Colour page: 音を割ぎ, 匂を割ぎ, 獲物の元へ忍び寄れ- [] Cut all sound, cut all smell, then sneak up on your prey- This one's fun because "cut" as in "eliminate" works in both EN and JP! Last page: 巻墨とチ-ムで!! [(Nakama) to chiimu de-!!] Teaming up with allies (the Masumi)!! The kanji for Masumi (巻墨) have Ruby over them spelling out nakama (なかま), the word that usually means ally/partner.

Really cool perspective shot on the colour page, by the by!

Code Name: Uh...?

Please live.

So, we finally got names for our Masumi Ninja Maids. But they're kind of, um. I feel bad for these guys if they aren't code names or nicknames ha ha.

"Ms. Masumi" is Sumi (炭): charcoal/coal "Minimura" is Rou (郎): son/young man (archaic) "Masumi Bro" is Moku (杢): woodworker/figure pattern in wood

Normally these kanji are combined with others to make a proper given name; they basically don't exist by themselves as a way to refer to someone outside of a family/surname from what I can find. I think I feel the worst for Sumi since her full name sounds like a Lalafell's from FFXIV: Masumi Sumi (巻墨 炭) lol. But yeah. Names at last, even if they're kinda headscratchers! Just like the nature of this ink sorcery.

Random bullshit, go!: the ability

At this point I'm definitely operating under the assumption that Sumi's sorcery is basically just Rule of Cool: Ink Version. I guess she can manifest anything she wants or needs if she has the time to write whatever inscriptions are necessary. I've never read Naruto in full (fake weeaboo, cancel me on TWT) but apparently this is similar to how Fuinjutsu works in that series? In the sense that a user can write a "seal" and concentrate their power into it to do something crazy cool that may or may not actually have anything to do with sealing something.

In the Masumi's case, I think their surname literally meaning "rolled up ink [scroll]" is a dead giveaway that this is basically how the technique functions- the user channels their sorcery into a written inscription for a desired effect. So they're basically OP if given infinite time to train and prepare for a fight, and will have all kinds of ass-pull types of clutch factor if they stick around.

...Speaking of.

I have a kind of ominous feeling about these guys beyond the jokes about how elite squads have a high mortality rate in this series. I don't want to be one of those doomsday prophecy guys, but this chapter ends pretty optimistically in a way that makes me think we'll be saying goodbye to them at some point. We have some significant emotional investment in them by now but they're not critical enough to keep around despite the deep ties to Samura. I don't think it'll be next chapter or anything, but... they could be another Elite Squad Statistic sooner or later is all I'm saying. I want them to live though. Rou's kind of growing on me, Moku's got amazing himbo energy in a series critically lacking in hunks, and Sumi can pat my head and call me a "good boy" any day.

(Warning, pure speculation ahead.) Also, referencing chapter 53 where it seems like Chihiro's hellbent on taking his own path but is trying to rely on others- if he loses the Masumi after seeing Uruha die and Hakuri be gravely injured, then he's probably going to spiral down even further and try to go it alone for real like Samura is. That could be when Hakuri comes back in for the save where Uruha tried and failed with his mentor. But I'm just spitballing with this so I'll leave it be until we get a better idea of where the Chihiro/Samura and Hakuri/Uruha parallels are going. Don't want to get too attached to a development that may well not even happen.

For now I will pray they live and keep supporting Chihiro in all kinds of silly and cool ways. Buck the trend and don't become an Elite Squad statistic!

"Quality" Analysis Section

Just in case you forgot how fucking exhausted Chihiro must be.

The author lampshading his own breakneck pace isn't just a cheeky jab at the people fretting about it- I see this as a deliberate callout that Chihiro is going to run himself into the ground and truly break. Referencing chapter 53- Chihiro thinks he's an irredeemable monster and is rushing down the path to hell. So maybe the rushed pacing of chapter 60 was intentional after all? As in Chihiro won't give himself a break so we don't get one either. I don't want to assume too much but I'll keep that in mind as we get closer to his breaking point. How he collapses and why will be very important. As will be the people who help him recover.

Chihiro looks fucking tired man. The new scars and extra thick sketchy lines under his eyes even when he's being a badass give me the impression that he's pushing himself too hard. The only other character consistently having the tired look right now is Rou and I'm willing to bet that it's done to give him a slightly more mature look to remind us of his true age- he's had them ever since he was woken up from his nap in ch. 55. I swear to God, if Hokazono-sensei has Chihiro buckle and shatter because he won't let himself rest, I will forgive absolutely everything about Chapter 60 onward and never doubt him again. Well, almost everything.

I'm not just saying this to cope. I went back through the whole story to check Chihiro's expressions up to chapter 62 and there's a pretty clear trend. Apologies for the huge cluttered images, probably should have made these on my smaller monitor.

Chapter appearances: 18 Examples: 18

Chapter appearances: 25 Examples: 22 (not present in ch. 35) I will mention Hakuri in every post one way or another.

Chapter appearances: 14 Examples: 41 (not present in chs. 55 & 56)

Basically: Chihiro is the most exhausted and emotional he's ever been in the shortest amount of chapters (even accounting for the lines under most character's eyes getting thicker starting around chapter 47). So yeah, he's tired as fuck and absolutely should not have been so gung-ho to do a rescue mission.

The real give-away is the end of Chapter 60:

Zoom in on the second to last page: he tired and burdened AF bro

Squad roll out on the last page: cool, calm, collected

Extreme zoom-in shots to character's eyes are how a mangaka draws attention to how the character's truly feeling without having them say anything out loud. Doing this to show Chihiro is exhausted before zooming back out to have him looking like his usual self reads as him burying that tiredness to get things done with the others. He is focused and ready to do whatever's necessary to protect Iori- but Rou knows how he's really feeling and called him out which is why we suddenly see all those panels of Chihiro looking as wiped out as he feels this chapter.

Like so.

Chihiro's exhausted but won't give himself a break. And this chapter's making a point of that, because now Chihiro's at the point where even shots of him being a badass have that tired look. He's going to break from pushing himself this hard sooner rather than later or I'm sixty toads in a wooden onesie. (Surely I won't regret making this assertion...)

I haven't forgotten about this flag from Chapter 1.

I feel like a colossal idiot for needing this to be pointed out to me, but I'll admit I'm dumb. At least I took the closer look I should have been doing all along for this post- better late than never and all that.

Rokuhira Chihiro: Forever Badass

Always the coolest guy in a 3781.2km radius

Yeah, Chihiro absolutely reminded us why he's the MC this chapter despite not having as much screen time as Sumi and the Hishaku. He's just that awesome- Hokazono absolutely nails every entrance this guy makes.

Shame the general public doesn't seem to agree.

Not so above it all (but we knew this)

Nice to see that people being frightened and thinking he's a mass-murderer still gets to Chihiro a little. It won't stop him from pursuing his goals, but he is absolutely not above caring about how he's perceived. Maybe fighting against the guy who broke through the window and threatened to kill defenseless students will help some people change their minds?

Iori's definitely going to have to take some time to reconcile her dismal first impression of Chihiro with who he actually is. I'm actually looking forward to how that plays out- Chihiro probably won't go out of his way to convince her he's a nice guy, so we'll get to see her evaluation of him evolve as they spend time together. Hopefully. Maybe. I can only rarely guess what's going to happen next in this manga and I'm not at all confident we'll get significant time devoted to developing the relationship between Chihiro and Iori. I'd like to see it though. Hakuri is the best character from anything ever, but Chihiro would benefit from getting to know more people his age- especially ones that have been able to lead a relatively normal life. She can bring a fresh viewpoint to this series that's so far mostly been limited to traumatized action hero types.

Kuguri Impressions

This guy is a piece of work. Definitely obsessed with "slicing" to an unhealthy degree.

Talking through fighting, that time-old tradition.

Taking a page from his... inspiration? Mentor? Whatever? Sojo, he wants to "talk" with Chihiro in a high-octane way. Sure let's go, love the fights and the spread of them engaging each other this chapter was epic! There's an interesting line from him that caught my attention, though.

The vibes are "these guys should have just let me kill them, now look at this mess."

We're reminded on the same page that "The Hishaku have no qualms about involving innocent bystanders." And this seems to hold true for Kuguri- he killed an unarmed teacher in cold blood, sliced up a bus full of people, was ready to kill students, so on and so forth. He's not a good guy. But talking about how more lives need to be sacrificed now snagged at me- it's a total 180 from Hiruhiko's joyful bloodbath approach.

He strikes me as the type of person who takes the shortest path to everything in life and killing is just a tool he can use to achieve that. He might actually be closer to Chihiro in that he doesn't really enjoy committing murder but views it as necessary. Just in way too many circumstances and with way less morality involved than our protagonist- again, Kuguri is absolutely 100% a bad guy who will deserve whatever death is coming to him. You don't have to murder your way through unarmed civilians to reach a defenseless target.

I'm a lot more interested in seeing more of him now to find out what he's really like and what makes him tick. I especially want to see him clash and contrast with Chihiro. Our poor protagonist is getting challenged on way more fronts than ever before, and in way finer detail, but I know he's up to it. At least for now...

Miscellaneous Thoughts

"This is a surprise tool that will help us later."

I will absolutely accuse people who ask "is Chihiro using Enten?!" or "where did Chihiro get the sword from?!" of speedreading. Yes, it's very silly that the motorcycle that appeared from a magic ink scroll had a katana built in to it. We're definitely not meant to think hard about the how and why of that- it's there because Chihiro needs a proper weapon to fight with while he can't use his magic fish nuke. Hopefully it's existence isn't on a timer or something.

It will be interesting to see how he fares with a regular weapon against a guy who can cut a bus in half with his own mundane katana. How good are Chihiro's basics, really? How much did he manage to pick up from Samura and others before he started to train with Enten's powers? We're probably about to find out!

Please don't let this raise a flag for the Masumi.

These front shots always look so damn cool. Chihiro is the kind of protagonist those edgy wish-fulfillment series wish they had. If Hakuri didn't exist he'd definitely be my favourite character, no contest. Pretty rare for a shounen series honestly! He might even win an official popularity poll if/when Kagurabachi gets one! Usually that honour goes to the deuteragonist or characters with wide appeal like Gojo while the MC is in second or third. Maybe. I want to collect the data on this but I've already got a ton of other half-finished things I'm working on, so maybe that'll wait until a poll is actually announced.

A lot of shounen MCs are good guys with a lot to learn and Chihiro's not much different in that regard. But all the little details about Chihiro add up to make him the first WSJ protagonist I've been sincerely attached to in eons. ...I'll get around to finishing that "why Chihiro is a uniquely compelling protagonist" write-up one of these days.

Hooray for magic skirts that ignore physics

Not much to say here other than I'm really happy for the yuri fans. They finally have "shippable" girls interacting with each other in Kagurabachi. And an innocent-yet-brave girl is clinging to a cool, deadly beauty for safety no less- that's really potent stuff. Let the lilies bloom!

Okay, dear void. We have one more break for brain rot before resuming a normal weekly schedule on the 19th. Great time to re-read the series for the five millionth time, wouldn't you agree? Yes? Wonderful! See you in two weeks or so if I don't finish up something that's gathering dust in the drafts before then. Take care of yourself and may 2025 be your best year yet.

[asexualbookbird]

I didn't complete my 24 in 2024 list, but that's okay. I read a lot of short books and that's okay. I tried something new and wrote a small blurb in a draft after finishing it, instead of cobbling together feelings from what I remembered throughout the month, and I liked that a lot. I'll continue to do that, it made this a lot easier. Officially gave up on Ga'Hoole, and don't feel guilty about it. There are better books in the world and I will find them. That is a threat.

The Screaming Stair Case by Jonathan Stroud ⭐⭐½ - I want to watch the tv show, and I always feel weird doing that before reading the book. I'm not sure what I was expecting but it wasn't another Jackaby. I will not delete my blog over it, but it was. Not great. Fine. Fun at times. Would be more fun if the author didn't hate fat people so much. A pet peeve of mine is when the main character is a girl but the series is named after the main boy in her life. Icky. Not the worst, but I'm not sure I want to continue the series. The audio narrator was Delightful.

The Shattering by Kathryn Lasky ⭐⭐ - GaHoole book five. I know I said at the start of the year I'd read what I owned, but I'm no longer having fun so this will be the last for me. I'd rather be reading Animorphs. The owls can't save it for me, I'm sorry. Still counting it towards my yearly list though.

I'm Afraid You've Got Dragons ⭐- by Peter S Beagle This was trying to be a T Kingfisher novel but couldn't figure out the right balance between humor and devastation and how it fits into a small amount of words. It tried to be a Terry Pratchett novel but couldn't figure out what satire was. Disappointing considering I was hyped for it when it was announced. Dragons eventually showed up, but it was too late for them to save it.

A Psalm for the Wildbuilt by Becky Chambers ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - reread for book club! Still adore it! This time around I was able to pinpoint WHY I adored it! It's because I too feel Aimless and Without A Purpose. So. Ouchie. It's also helping me figure out what I want out of a "cosy" novel (or novella). Internal personal conflict! I would still do anything for Mosscap.

A Prayer for the Crown Shy by Becky Chambers ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - reread for book club! Once again, Becky Chambers has flayed me open and picked apart my soul! Reading Monk & Robot is like sitting down and being given a cup of tea while I cry my heart out.

Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson ⭐️⭐️⭐️ - "Is this what it means to lose someone? The pain never goes away, it just gets buried?" I think this ending hit me hard for different reasons than most people are going wild for. It was Fine. Not mad I read it, but don't see myself ever wanting to reread it. I like the idea of the library as a living thing and a character itself, but there were a few plot points that just seemed to be brushed aside.

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - I needed a safe tragedy I knew the end of and this did it. First time I actually shed tears over these words, but I needed it. It was fun to see and note the pieces that were laid out for later books, and I wonder, knowing some teasers we've gotten for Alecto, what TMuir means by Gideon wishing she could marry her sword.....

I don't have 2025 reading goals at this moment. Maybe that will change. It will probably change. I mean, there's the Usual, read the books I own, dangit, but that seems so. Boring. Typical. Everyone's doing that. Let me be ~Different~. I have a few fiber arts projects I'd like to do and finish, and I'd like to finish the sewing projects I started if only so I can pack all that up and put it away for a while. We're still hoping to move, so paring down my book collection is still an ongoing endeavor, and I do have a couple of art pieces I'd at the very least like to get sketched out. I want 2025 to be slow. I want 2025 to be quiet. I want 2025 to be kind. That's all I ask of it. Be kind.

[spocks-kaathyra]

my second born son <333

taking suggestions for who to make next!!

[raticalshoez]

i'm having hyperfixation drought so i did what i did best and created a crossover episode

[ladylynse]

Dipper x janna

Eyes part 3 word :curse

I actually didn't write part 3 of this fic, mostly because I try not to do more than one direct continuation of a particular fic because I don't want to write a story in three sentence chunks. (At that point, I typically only continue them as part of an exchange or a thank you or a giveaway or whatnot. Sometimes an idea will get into my head and I'll write something, but I've been beating those ideas back with a stick because I am desperately trying to finish up some of my ongoing WIPs.)

However, there's plenty that can be done with 'eyes' and 'curse' as a prompt, so.... Have another take on the idea. Variations on a theme are always fun, aren't they?

-|-

Janna blinked, but the apparition—seemingly little more solid than a fading rainbow and just as translucent—did not obligingly vanish; instead, the girl grinned as she noticed Janna’s gaze and rose from her makeshift seat on the edge of the tombstone.

“I’d say welcome to the club,” she drawled, “but you don’t want to be part of this club, because the benefits stink more than Dipper’s feet in the morning.”

Janna glanced at Dipper, who was completely oblivious to all of this as he frowned down at the page of his spell book, and was about to open her mouth to ask questions when the ghostly girl continued, “We’ve got three days before the curse claims you and you stop seeing remnants and fade to join me in limbo, but I want to get out of it and back to you guys before that happens, so I’ll start by telling you what didn’t work for me and then we can figure out how to tell Dipper I’m not any more dead than Grunkle Ford ever was.”

-|-

see more fics | crossovers 

[gothwineaunts]

Well hello there, readers!!

So, I have been lurking on our socials and in the webtoon comments of Nevermore's finale episode and have picked up some very subtle hints that y'all want to know when we're going to drop Season 2. Firstly I do want to let all the smarties who guessed we'd come back on Halloween based on our Ulalume quote know that they were onto something. When we originally left that hint for you, we were indeed planning to return in late October, but some unforeseen setbacks over the summer pushed our production schedule back. Still, I wanted to say congratulations for getting the hint right! We were impressed so many of you figured it out.

As for the updated launch of season two? While I don't have a specific date to share yet, I can tell you it'll be in January.

I know, I know. Trust me, I wish it was sooner too. I can't tell you how much Flynn and I miss updating weekly. Y'all make creating this series so exciting for us with your energy and excitement and creativity!! The talent I've seen in this community is off the charts. We feel unspeakably lucky to have readers like you along for the ride, and can't wait for you to see the episodes we've been working on.

If you're new to Flynn and I, it might not be common knowledge that we always do the absolute most all the time, compulsively, without stopping ever (save us, ahahhaa). And let me assure you that the opening episodes of season two? Are very most. A lot of most. Super long. Really, extra pretty. I wish I could post them now but I think webtoon might um. Be upset with me if I did that, so. Just trust me, ok? One thing I can share in th emeantime is some of the S2 character concepts. A few characters are getting minor glow ups. See if you can spot the differences!

Okay, well! We'll see you in January!! Or before, if you hang around our socials. I mean we're not disappearing. We'll be here, just. Plodding along on buffer in the background. If you're dying to spoil yourselves with wip streams you can hit up our patreon but I almost wouldn't recommend it on account of. You'll be so confused, at this point. Lmfao. Like. Wow, it would be a really weird time to join a wip stream with no context. This sounds like a shameless plug but I'm being serious when I say it's probably best you don't hop in at this particular moment?? But I mean. I'm not a cop. I'm just your weird goth wine aunt. 🍷

Cheers, Kit Trace

[poguehearted77]

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to your gullibility and you all fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up to Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

-

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Chapter 10: Turn the Tide

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: A devastating discovery leads you back into Joel's arms. But do you both have what it takes to make it work?

Chapter Warnings: language, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, mountains of angst, miscarriage (discussions and descriptions included, not terribly graphic, blood is mentioned, please skip if this is triggering for you), hurt/comfort, fluff, brief mention of vomit, anxiety, reader has long-ish hair, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, protected piv sex, secrets are revealed and explain some underlying anxieties/trust issues

WC: 16.6K

Series Masterlist

One Month Later

"Jesus Christ, this place is doing a number on my allergies," Celine whined when she opened your apartment door to find you curled up on your couch with a heating pad. She looked around the room and shook her head, dropping her purse and keys on your floor because every single flat surface was being taken up by flowers. Flowers Joel had been sending you every fucking day since he dropped you off. "How can you stand it in here?"

"I can't," you muttered, staring listlessly at the television while she opened up the windows as far as they would go. "Been meaning to look into places where I could donate them but I'm in the middle of the worst period of my fucking life."

"Yeah, I can see that," she replied before collapsing in a huff on the other end of your couch. Her eyes skimmed your coffee table, filled with pain killers, water and tea before she asked, "Have you eaten?"

You nodded and pointed to the empty bowl under the table. "I heated up some soup."

"Maybe you should call your doctor, are your periods usually this bad?" she asked before picking up the dirty dishes and heading to your sink.

"No," you groaned, rolling onto your back with a wince. "I'm on the pill. They're usually a breeze."

"Then you should definitely call," she said over her shoulder. "Can't hurt to get checked out."

"Yeah? With what health insurance?" you countered angrily as you forced yourself to sit up.

"Still no luck finding a job?"

You shook your head then sneezed, scowling at the roses nearby like it was their fault.

"Then use some of the fifty fucking thousand dollars he gave you and see a goddamn doctor!" she exclaimed after drying your bowl and putting it away. "I know you don't want to use it but it doesn't matter, he won't know either way."

Fifty grand. He had wired you fifty grand instead of twenty. You spent a week going back and forth with your bank, making them reject the funds over and over until you finally caved because you couldn't stand to waste any more time on the phone with them over it. You had decided you would donate it like he suggested, but you never figured out where. Between that and all the flowers he kept sending, you couldn't decide if you should be flattered or pissed off.

On that particular day, with your uterus trying to extract itself from your body, you chose to be pissed off.

As if on cue, your buzzer rang and you could have screamed at the top of your lungs, already knowing who it was. Celine got to the intercom first and pressed the button.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, it's Jim, got today's flowers."

You grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, deciding to give into your urge.

"Alright, buzzing you up."

You heard her press the other button and hold it a few seconds before unlocking your door and leaving it cracked.

"He's in love with you," she said matter-of-factly from the door.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," you replied, making her laugh.

A light tap on the door came a few minutes later and Celine pushed it open to greet Jim, an older man with a white beard that reminded you of Santa, before she signed for the flowers.

"Jim, don't you have someone you could give these to instead?" you asked from the couch. He shook his head and grinned before handing over the vase of peonies, dahlias and roses.

"You know I can't do that."

You made a face and collapsed into the back of your couch.

"Maybe if you just call him, it'll end," Jim offered, "although I don't mind. You're keeping the shop afloat at this point," he joked.

"That's exactly what he wants," you replied. He shrugged and gave you a wave with a see you tomorrow, then disappeared down the hall. Celine closed the door and looked around the room for a clear spot before giving up and setting them on the ground.

"Maybe flower guy was right. Maybe you should call him."

"He's just used to getting his way. He can pull this shit with anyone else but I'm not gonna give in," you told her while simultaneously picking up your phone, fingers tapping angrily at your screen. She grinned and found her spot back on the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Texting Joel and telling him to knock it the fuck off," you growled.

Celine tipped her head back and laughed. "Same thing! You're talking to him! You're giving him exactly what he wants."

"Okay, so I'm not perfect! What else is new?" you snapped after shooting off a text to Joel that said stop with the fucking flowers, I mean it.

Before Celine could reply, your phone vibrated in your lap.

Does this mean you're willing to see me? Or should I switch to chocolate?

You frowned and Celine knowingly tilted her head to the side.

"Girl. Come on. Hear him out. Maybe if you just meet up once and let him talk, he'll stop. I've never seen a guy text back as quickly as him, and he's got an actual successful business to run! Do you have a magic pussy or something, what the hell did you do to this guy?"

You cracked a smile for the first time in days. You didn't go into much detail with her since you came back. She knew you slept together and she knew he broke your heart, but everything else remained a mystery. And because she knew you would tell her in your own time, she never asked.

"I just think he's not used to hearing the word no," you told her, ignoring his text and setting your phone down on your coffee table.

"Or he's madly in love with you and doesn't know how to handle it," she countered with a raised eyebrow.

You opened your mouth to object, to remind her for the fourth time that Joel didn't fall in love with anyone, when a sharp pain shot through your legs and you doubled over with a deep groan. Celine lunged forward to rub your upper back, her smile long gone when she saw how you badly you were struggling.

"That's it. I'm calling your doctor," she said, snatching your phone from the table to scroll through your contacts.

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, not bothering to stop her when she dialed the phone.

You sat on the exam table, a loud and irritating white piece of paper separating your thighs from the padding as your doctor sat before you, gently explaining what was happening while a low ringing began to echo in your head.

Miscarriage... hCG levels... four or five weeks... bleeding will end soon.

You just sat there in complete shock, a dumbstruck look on your face as she continued to explain it was nothing you did or didn't do, that it's extremely common, that you would likely go on to have a perfectly healthy pregnancy if you wanted. Then she said your name softly and your eyes refocused onto her bright blue ones behind her wire rimmed glasses.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked with a comforting hand on your knee.

Those glasses didn't suit her face at all, they were too round. Why didn't anyone ever tell her?

"Uh," you croaked before clearing your throat. "I'm... I'm on the pill. How did this happen?"

"It's ninety nine percent effective but it's lower if you skip days or forget to take them at the same time. Did that happen last month at all?"

Last month. When you were on the island with Joel. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Um, well, I was in Fiji last month," you began, fingers twisting anxiously in your lap. You still only had a pink paper gown to cover you after your exam. You felt so exposed and raw that your skin hurt.

"Did you account for the time change?" she asked. Your eyes fluttered shut and you dropped your chin to your chest.

"No." How stupid. Why didn't that occur to you? "I might have forgotten a day here and there, too. There was one weekend we were away and I forgot-" you stopped yourself and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Doesn't matter, I guess."

She patted your knee again and gave it a little squeeze.

"It's alright, you're going to be okay," she assured you. You nodded and swallowed thickly before looking back up.

"I know. I just... I thought if this ever happened..." you trailed off as you struggled to find the right words. "I thought I'd feel..." you couldn't finish your sentence but she seemed to understand anyway.

"It's completely normal. You didn't even know until it was already over. You're probably just in shock, it's a lot to take in," she said before kicking off the floor so her stool would roll over to the wall that held various pamphlets. She plucked a few from the hard plastic holders and held them out to you. "These will help explain more of what you're going through, but if you have any questions or if you're finding you need a little extra help to get through this, please give the office a call. We have a twenty four hour service, they'll connect me with you, day or night."

You thanked her softly and stared blankly at the pamphlets while she gathered her things before slipping out of the room, giving you some privacy to get dressed.

It was surreal, driving back home, burdened with this brand new knowledge, this thing you had no idea how to process. Shouldn't you be sad? Shouldn't you grieve the loss in some way? Maybe your doctor was right. Maybe you were in shock.

As you walked up to your building, a familiar olive green truck rumbled up to the curb, tapping out a light beep in greeting and shaking you out of your funk.

"Oh, hey," you said, smiling weakly at Jim when he jumped out with a wave.

"Good timing," he replied before climbing into the back of the truck to hand you a teddy bear with a little rose pinned to its chest. "He's switching it up," Jim said, smile falling when he saw the look on your face. "Hey, everything okay?"

You nodded quickly and reached for the pen to scribble your name. "Yeah, sorry, just tired."

He pressed his lips into a thin line before taking the pen back and giving you one last look.

"Well, get some rest, yeah? Need some help getting up to your place?"

"No, thank you, I'm good," you told him sincerely, then gave him a little wave before heading up the stairs to your building. He called out his usual see you tomorrow and you forced a smile before disappearing inside.

You supposed it was good you hadn't found a job yet. At least you could waste away in your bed until this strange feeling passed and you could process everything.

After you changed back into comfortable clothes with the plan to find some shitty movie to zone out to, you heard your doorbell buzz. With a confused frown, you shuffled back out into the living room, wondering who it could be. Jim had already dropped off Joel's daily gift and Celine had a key.

For one stupid, foolish moment you thought it might be Joel. Like he had somehow, from across the city and with absolutely no knowledge as to what was going on, found out about the miscarriage and came to scoop you into his arms and tell you everything would be okay.

The mere thought caused tears to sting your eyes and you quickly blinked them away, chalking it up to hormonal changes and the emotional morning.

"Yes?" you called weakly through the speaker.

A man's voice replied with your name posed as a question, followed by got a delivery here for you.

You buzzed him in and curiously craned your neck out into your hall, chewing your lower lip until the elevator dinged and a man dressed in an all brown uniform emerged carrying a large, flat, square package.

When he approached, he confirmed your name again before handing you something to sign, which you did blindly as your focus was still on the box at his feet.

"Where's it from?" you asked, stepping to the side so he could set it against your wall.

"Uh..." he trailed off, distracted momentarily by all the flowers, and then squinted at the paper you just signed. "Fiji Islands. That's pretty rad. Hope it's a vacation," he joked before tucking the clipboard under his arm and exiting back out into the hallway.

It took about ten seconds after he left for you to realize what it was, yet you still shakily opened the box, your palm cupping your mouth when the bubble wrap fell to the floor and Ellie's painting sat before you. You crumpled to the ground and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the memories of pink seashells and stolen kisses and warm brown eyes and whispers of my girl. But it was staring you in the face. The painting that spoke to you before you even understood what it was saying, the painting Joel bought for you without a second thought, before you slept together, before it all fell apart.

Hot tears trickled down your face when you fumbled for your phone, your thumb hovering over the call button next to his name.

Just do it. Just call him. You wanted to hear his voice. You wanted him to hold you close and tell you it wasn't your fault. You wanted him to stay with you until the blood and the agony passed and everything from the past few hours became a horrible, distant memory.

Perhaps the shock was beginning to wear off.

At the last second, you scrolled up and tapped Celine's name instead. When she heard the broken sound of your voice, she dropped what she was doing to rush over, not even asking for details until you had stopped crying on her shoulder. You told her about your appointment. About the painting. About the seashells. About Brooks. About everything until your voice was raw and your face felt swollen and hot from crying.

She tucked you into bed and laid curled up next to you. She softly told you about her own miscarriage she had when she was nineteen. She told you the pain would go away, that the void inside would eventually fill again. But halfway through some movie she had found that mostly served as background noise, she turned to you and said the words you needed to hear. Like you were waiting for someone else's permission to give in.

"You gotta tell him, babe."

You couldn't even remember how you got there, standing in front of his hotel five days later, body now mostly recovered and fueled by caffeine from the shop three blocks away. It felt like you were drawn to him, like you weren't even making your own decisions, telling yourself you were just going to take a short walk to enjoy the weather and clear your head after downing an iced coffee.

Certainly if you had known you would have been walking through the doors of his lobby, giving the same man from that first day in the same pristine black suit a nervous smile before making your way across the room, sneakers squeaking on the floor as you walked, you would have prepared a little better.

It was quiet. The concierge looked bored and tapped her pen on a pad of paper, chin resting in her fist as she pretended to work. Elevator cars silently whirred up and down on both sides of you, the glass walls allowing you a sneak peek at guests going up to their rooms.

You cleared your throat when you approached reception, your mouth opening to give them your name when a man's surprised voice said it for you.

Swiveling around, you locked eyes with a dark haired man wearing thick rimmed glasses and a black bow tie over his tight fitting white shirt and tailored pants. You gave him a small smile, but your confusion must have been obvious because he blinked and shook his head before stepping forward and offering you his hand.

"I'm Liam," he began, "Joel's assistant."

"Oh!" you exclaimed, shaking his hand while the gears slowly turned in your head. "Oh, so you're the one who bought all the clothes and stuff."

Liam grinned and nodded, dropping your hand so he could wrap both arms around the pad-folio pressed to his chest.

"I had pictures to work with when I was choosing colors. You know, so I could best compliment your hair and skin tone. I hope you liked everything."

"Yes! Oh, yes, everything was beautiful, thank you so much," you said hurriedly, then lowered your voice when you realized you were echoing. "Uh, is he in?"

Liam's shoulders sagged and he rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Yes, thank god," he breathed, waving you over to an elevator and pressing the button. "I was afraid you were just here picking something up. I'm so glad you want to see him, he's been -"

You frowned when Liam seemed to realize he was saying too much and he cut himself off, lips pursing as he stared at the unopened elevator.

"What?"

Liam shook his head and shrugged right when the doors slid open. He beckoned for you to enter first before following, pressing the pad of his finger into a scanner and tapping a button. Only when the doors shut did he turn back to you.

"He's been worse than usual. I think he's upset about whatever happened," he explained, then waved his hands in the air and added, "I mean, he didn't tell me anything, but I'm assuming something happened because he's picking out flowers every single morning and asking me to have them delivered."

"He's been picking them out?" you repeated.

Liam just nodded. "It's none of my business, but he's never had me do this for anyone before. And I've worked for him for ten years," he said dramatically, raising his thick eyebrows at you knowingly.

"Oh," you said softly, dropping your gaze to the floor.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open, leading you out into the same hallway you walked down over two months ago when you first met. Butterflies instantly bloomed in your stomach as you followed behind Liam, keeping your gaze low while you tried to regulate your breathing. You had no idea how you were going to tell him, no rehearsed speech, nothing.

"He's in a meeting right now, but it'll be over in," Liam glanced at his watch, "twenty minutes. I'll take you to his office and let him know you're here when he's done."

You nodded and turned the corner, Joel's office already in view when you walked by the executive conference room. It looked the same as it did in your memory, the wall that bordered the hallway made of glass and inside, a long table with high back leather chairs. Only this time, people were inside having what appeared to be a very important meeting. Men and women in suits filled the table. Papers, mugs of coffee and laptops were scattered everywhere. The flat screen televisions projected extremely big numbers connected to various cities, presumably the locations of The Parador, but what made you stumble was seeing Joel at the head of the table.

His black tie was loosened around his neck, suit coat draped over the back of his chair as he stared at the screen, then his phone, gaze bouncing back and forth while next to him, a sweaty looking man gripping a laptop with one flat, shaky hand, spoke about the numbers.

You unconsciously slowed, unable to tear your eyes away when Joel stood up. His gaze was pinned to something on his phone, which now rested on the table. He was still listening to the man on his left but the more he spoke, the angrier Joel looked. You saw his nostrils flare and his jaw set while he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, the irritation rolling off his tight shoulders until he finally snapped.

Their voices were muffled, but you probably wouldn't have been able to understand what they were talking about, anyway. Joel's brows were knit together, lips curled into a sneer as he spoke loudly enough to the group for you to hear the deep timber of his voice from where you stood in the hall.

Liam didn't say a word, allowing you to come to a standstill and watch Joel with a sly smirk from a few feet away.

You couldn't explain the feeling you had as you watched him, never before seeing him at work with your own two eyes. You knew he was important, obviously, but there was just something about the way he commanded the room, the way full grown men practically cowered when he began to pace around, his finger pointing at the sweaty man and then the screen. It made your heart race and your lips part as your breathing grew shallow, like you were in a trance.

And then Joel spun around, his eyes locking on yours through the glass like he suddenly sensed your presence, and the room went silent. His back instantly straightened and his brows relaxed and then a moment later he was storming towards the glass door.

"Joel?" you heard one of the men at the table call out when the door flung open.

"We're done, meeting's over," he tossed back over his shoulder. If you could have looked away from him, you would have seen the relieved look on all their faces as they began to hastily gather their things.

He stalked up to you, slowing to a stop when he was a couple feet away, then scanned you up and down, like he couldn't believe his eyes.

Neither of you spoke. You just stared at one another, hearts thundering wildly in your chests.

"Hey," he finally breathed, afraid if he spoke any louder he might scare you off.

"Hi," you replied timidly. Your gaze flickered around to Liam, to other people pretending to work within earshot, and to the people filing out of the conference room before meeting his eye again.

He finally snapped out of it and held out an arm, ushering you towards the direction of his office.

"C'mon," was all he said, and you quickly scurried down the hall with Joel hot on your heels.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, tea?" Liam called. You could hear the smile in his voice before you turned around and said, "Water would be nice."

"I got water in here," Joel said gruffly, his hand gently grazing your lower back. He turned around to Liam and said, "No interruptions," before closing the door behind you both.

You looked around his office, everything just how you remembered it. Massive mahogany desk, dark green couch and chair near the well stocked bar, the entire room surrounded by bookshelves, awards, and various decor items, but no picture frames. How didn't you notice that before?

"Have a seat," Joel said, sliding past to get you ice water from the bar. You sunk down into the green couch, feeling just as nervous as the last time you were there.

"Thank you," you said when he placed the glass on a coaster. He nodded and seemed to take a moment before deciding to sit in the chair, giving you your space.

"I'm glad you came," he said, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Your eyes dropped to your shoes. Your dirty sneakers pressing into his expensive carpet and your frayed jeans... you couldn't even remember the last time they were washed.

"Yeah," you replied, voice sounding nothing like your own. You reached for your water and took a sip before carefully setting it down, fearful of even one drop landing on the rug or table. "I'm sorry. You were in a meeting, I would have waited."

"Fuck 'em," he said, and your eyes rose to find his. God, they looked so soft and kind, the way the sunlight hit them took your breath away. "Would rather talk to you than any of 'em," he added with a little smile.

"I got the painting," you told him. "It's beautiful, thank you," you added warmly, then frowned a bit when he excitedly stood to hurry behind his desk.

"That reminds me, I got somethin' else for you."

"Oh, Joel, please don't tell me it's more flowers," you begged, and he laughed lightly before bringing over a small black shopping bag. There was a designer label stamped on the side and you frowned.

"It ain't that - just open it," he insisted, handing you the bag before sitting back down on the edge of his seat.

Hesitantly, you peered inside, and what awaited you tore your heart in two.

"Joel..."

He smiled. He couldn't help himself.

"Was gonna leave it by your door or somethin' later," he said, his brown eyes sparkling as you lifted one of many pink seashells out of the bag to get a closer look.

"When did you -"

"Had to go back for a couple days and sign some paperwork," he explained. Your eyebrows pulled together and tears welled in your eyes as you stared down at the beautiful seashells he had collected, all for you.

"Thank you," you whispered, gingerly setting it back into the bag and placing it at your feet.

"You're welcome," he replied, his soft tone matching yours.

Alright. It was now or never.

You took a deep breath, rubbing your palms anxiously over the tops of your thighs, but before you could get a word out, he spoke again.

"I wanna tell you everythin'," he said. All the air left your lungs and you swallowed tightly. "I mean it. I'll tell you everythin', and not 'cause you want me to, 'cause I want to. I've been doin' alotta thinkin', and -"

"Joel," you interrupted. He scratched his eyebrow with his thumb and shook his head.

"Just hear me out."

"No, Joel, I need to tell you something," you said. He must have heard something change in your voice because he stopped talking. He searched your face for any indication of what was to come, but of course came up empty.

"Okay," he said slowly. He watched your fingers fidget nervously in your lap and suddenly you couldn't make eye contact with him anymore.

"I don't really know how to say this," you began.

Oh fuck, you've met someone else, was his first thought.

"I, uh," then you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your lips into a tight line and panic seized his throat.

Something was wrong.

"It's okay," he said soothingly. He tried to inch forward but if he moved any more he would fall off the damn chair. "Go ahead, darlin'. What's goin' on?"

One single tear slid down your cheek and he swore he stopped breathing when you said the words I had a miscarriage.

"What?" he whispered, pain and confusion clouding his face.

You opened your eyes and forced yourself to look at him.

"I had a miscarriage and I just thought you had a right to know."

Your voice trembled and cracked as you forced the words out and he couldn't hold back any longer. He stood and rushed to your side, just like you always knew he would, just like you wanted. He enveloped you in his arms and pressed his lips against the top of your head. He rocked you back and forth, strong arms curled around your midsection, and you melted. You melted into him and didn't even try to fight it. For the past week, hell, for the past month, it was all you wanted.

"When?" he choked out. You circled your arms around him and your legs were suddenly pulled across his lap. He smelled so good, like that cologne you never could identify but was so distinctly him. You dragged in a deep breath, unaware of the tears streaming down your cheeks.

"About a week ago."

Joel's grip around you tightened.

"You shoulda called me, baby. I woulda been there."

"I know," you sniffled. You rubbed the back of your hand under your nose and tried to breathe deep. "I know. But I didn't know it even happened until I went to the doctor."

You told him the whole story. Told him how you thought it was a bad period, how Celine called your doctor, how she explained what likely happened and that it was your own stupid fucking fault for messing up your pill.

"It ain't your fault," he told you, his voice reverberating in his chest. You closed your eyes and leaned into him, fingers grappling at the fabric of his shirt.

"You're not mad?" you whimpered.

"Baby, please," he begged, "'Course I ain't mad. Don't go carryin' this 'round. Don't carry that guilt. If it was meant to be, it would be, alright?"

Your tears flowed, then, unstoppable as they barreled down your cheeks. Your sobs could probably be heard from the other side of the door but you didn't care. Joel continued to hold you, cradle you, and hum soothingly against the top of your head until your tears slowed and your breath grew ragged.

"Are you okay?" he asked after you quieted down. His hand was flat against your back, rubbing wide circles as you continued to cling to him.

"Yeah, I think so," you said truthfully. "I just didn't expect it and then with the hormone change, it all kind of hit me at once, you know?"

"Yeah," he answered, "yeah, I get it. Is there anythin' I can do? Anythin' you need?"

You shook your head, biting down hard on your lip so you didn't say I just need you.

It seemed as though maybe he read your mind, or maybe he really had been giving things alot of thought because the next thing he said was, "I wanna do this right."

You felt the next wave of tears coming so you burrowed further into him, pressing your face against his neck, breathing him in and letting him slowly put you back together with each comforting stroke of his hand.

"Lemme do this right, sweetheart, please. Tell me how to fix it."

You didn't have the answer. Your eyes were dry and burning from all the tears you had just spilled and you felt completely drained. Every muscle in your body felt weak and useless, the last thing you wanted to do was think.

You continued to sit in silence, the only sound coming from the gold mantle clock slowly ticking away the seconds and some very faint murmuring when groups of people would walk by Joel's office. You closed your eyes, encased in his warmth, and let your mind drift back to everything that went wrong, wondering how you would do things differently if you could go back in time. Then you remembered something Joel had said on the plane and your eyes snapped open.

"What if we started over?"

His thumb, which was drawing slow, comforting circles over your arm, paused.

"You'd - yeah," he agreed, sounding a little breathless, "yeah, I think that's a good idea."

You sat up, untangling yourself from him so you could sit properly on the couch. You pulled your legs from his lap and tucked them underneath you before sticking out your hand and reintroducing yourself with a shaky smile.

He gave you a little grin before taking your hand in his, eyes glistening when he said, "Joel Miller."

It was impossible to keep the smile from your face when you heard the buzzer, followed by Joel's deep voice letting you know he was there to pick you up for your date.

Your "first" date.

With a skip in your step, you trotted to the elevator, tapped your foot impatiently all the way down, and practically ran out into the lobby with excitement. You caught yourself at the last second, making sure you looked more collected and cool than you really felt before pushing open the front doors.

And there he stood, in all his glory, at the bottom of your building's stone steps. His hands were in the pockets of his expensive black suit, and he grinned when he saw you for the first time, a stark contrast from the last time you each stood in those spots.

"You look beautiful," he murmured when you got closer, eyes dropping appreciatively to take in the light blue floral dress you chose, then bent over to plant a kiss on your cheek. The way his scruff tickled your skin had a wave of goosebumps flashing over your arms, making you shiver.

"Thank you," you said, scooting into the backseat of his car when he held the door open for you.

"Hi, Richie."

"Hey, honey," he replied with a smile and wink in the review mirror.

Joel rounded the back of the car and slipped in beside you, then gave Richie a nod to start driving.

"Wait, where are we going?" you asked as you buckled your seatbelt.

"Got a reservation at this French restaurant that just opened up. Supposed to be impossible to get in but, well..." he smirked a little and shrugged, letting his sentence trail off.

"Uh, I was actually thinking of something else."

Joel gave you a curious look. "Like what?"

"Like... maybe getting pizza at Sal's and then catching the 9:45 showing of Shadow Strike?" you offered with a cheesy smile. Joel laughed, eyes crinkling as he tipped his head back. Seeing him so relaxed and happy was truly a sight to behold.

"Anythin' you want," he replied, then leaned forward. "Hear that, Richie?"

"Yes, sir."

Joel patted the headrest twice and sat back, brown eyes dancing when they found you again.

"Hole in the wall pizza joint and a movie theater? I'm gonna regret wearin' these shoes, ain't I?"

You looked down at the shiny, black leather and giggled.

"How much were they?"

"Seven hundred."

"Oh, yeah, you'll definitely regret it."

The floors at Sal's left little to be desired, for sure, but the pizza was undeniably the best in town. One bite had Joel forgetting all about the stained laminate flooring.

"Right?" you asked excitedly when his eyebrows raised in surprise.

He only nodded, his mouth full until he swallowed and said, "Didn't think there was any decent pizza out here. Reminds me of New York pizza," before taking another large bite.

You giggled and leaned across the high top table to grab the shaker of parmesan cheese.

"I'll have to take your word for it, I've never been."

"You've never been to New York?" he echoed incredulously, and you shook you head as you took another bite. Joel gave you a fake look of disappointment before saying, "I'll have to take you with me next time."

"Do you go often?" you asked, tucking away the idea of traveling again with Joel for later.

"Yeah, 'sides the hotel out here, New York's my biggest source of revenue."

"For now, right?" you countered. He grinned and wiped the corner of his mouth with a thin paper napkin.

"We're a long ways off from openin' in Fiji, but, yeah, that one's projected to make the most."

You nodded, both falling into a comfortable silence while you finished your food.

"Alright," Joel said after balling up his napkins and tossing them onto his greasy paper plate. "Where're you from?"

You laughed and felt your cheeks warm when you replied, "You already know that."

"It's our first date," he reminded you with an adorable smile. His forearms were crossed and resting on the tabletop. He leaned forward like he was sharing a secret, completely oblivious to the looks he was getting when other customers saw him in his sharp, black suit, completely out of place for the setting.

"Okay, I'll play," you decided, leaning forward to mimic his posture. "I'm from Tennessee."

"And what brought you all the way out here?"

You laughed and said, "College."

"You lose your accent or did you never have one?" he asked.

"Uh, I might've had a small accent when I first moved, but I'm afraid it's long gone now. Not like yours," you pointed out.

When you first met, Joel refused to share anything about himself. You were delighted to find out that had changed.

"Grew up in Texas. Whenever I feel it fadin', I know it's time to go back for a visit," he joked, watching your eyes light up when he freely shared something about himself.

"W-where in Texas?" you stammered. You were still unsure of how much he was willing to share, so you figured you would keep your questions to a minimum. But once again, he shocked you.

"Austin. Parents are still out there somewhere. Little brother, too, pretty sure."

"Oh," you replied softly. You grew nervous at the mention of his brother, remembering how the last time he was brought up didn't go so well, so you chose to leave the topic alone and instead focused on his parents.

"Are you close with your mom and dad?"

Joel shrugged, appearing calm on the outside but he could feel his heart pumping faster and his foot began to tap anxiously. If it weren't for the noisy, sticky floor giving him away, you may not have noticed, but you did.

He was nervous, but he was still trying.

You reached out to gently squeeze his arm, making him smile.

"We don't have to," you whispered. We can go slow, it's okay.

"Not as close as I used to be," he said, ignoring the out you gave and allowing the words to tumble out of him all at once. "Y'know how families are. Stupid fights 'n all that."

You nodded vigorously in agreement. "Same with me. Well, I never got along great with my parents. I was always looking for a reason to leave. I applied to schools as far away from home as possible, then me and my best friend both got into UC and it was a no brainer."

Joel looked relieved when you pulled the focus back onto yourself. His shoulders relaxed a bit and he leaned forward.

"The friend you were tellin' me 'bout?" he asked, letting you fill in the rest of the sentence. The one who called the doctor.

"Celine," you offered, "yeah. We've been friends forever."

On the way back to his car, you told him a story from when you and Celine were in high school. Back when you were underage and dumb and drank too much at a house party to impress a boy and you ended up vomiting into some boxwoods while Celine held your hair back.

"The neighbor boy?" Joel guessed.

"You remembered," you said, sounding impressed. He gave you a knowing look, lips pulling into half a smirk, like he were saying of course I remembered.

"Well, yeah. The very same," you confirmed with a deep breath. You fidgeted with the skirt of your dress, trying to hide the sudden wave of shyness that washed over you. Even though you had history, that night somehow really did feel like a first date.

Joel took your hand when you stepped out of the car and he led you into the movie theater, only letting you go when he needed both hands to pay for your tickets.

"I had my first kiss in a movie theater," Joel said as he stood in line beside you for popcorn. You tilted your head to look at him, excited once again he was sharing something personal about himself.

"What movie was it?"

"Indiana Jones," he replied without hesitation. Then you laughed when he added, "I was so nervous the whole time, barely saw a minute of it. Kept psychin' myself up to make a move and couldn't think 'bout anythin' else."

"I can't imagine you nervous," you teased, then right before the clerk called you up to the counter, you locked eyes.

"You make me nervous all the time."

You blinked, stunned by his sudden vulnerability, and then a second later he was at the counter ordering.

"C'mon, don't wanna miss the beginning," he said as he handed you your drink and motioned towards the theaters, completely unperturbed.

When you picked the movie, you figured a standard action flick would be pretty safe. You steered clear of anything romantic, not wanting to inadvertently draw parallels to your own relationship, and you even avoided horror because you had a tendency to cling to the person you're with out of fear. Yet somehow you still found yourself inching closer to him.

At first, you crossed your legs and your foot grazed his knee. Purely accidental. You even apologized and shifted a bit to create more space. But then you kept leaning on the armrest between you and your head tilted to rest between both seats. You wanted to blame it on the fact that he held the popcorn bucket, but he was kind enough to move it closer so you wouldn't have to reach so far.

Around the halfway point of the movie, his hand found your knee. If you recalled correctly, it was during one of the rare funny parts of the movie and you both had leaned forward to laugh. His hand grabbed you for support and just kind of... stayed there.

After that, you had trouble following the plot.

"Wait... who is he again?" you whispered. Joel's fingers flexed on your knee when he leaned over and you were eternally grateful the dark room hid how flustered it made you.

"The marine? He's the brother from earlier."

"Oh, right," you replied, and you must not have sounded very convincing because he gave you a look and you giggled, slapping your palm over your mouth when the people a couple rows ahead of you turned around.

Joel grinned and remained where he was instead of straightening back up.

A few more minutes went by. You pretended to watch the movie but he was too distracting, being that close. Your gaze kept drifting off the screen and down to his hand, then from his hand up to his face, admiring the way the light from the film played across his perfect side profile.

He felt your eyes on him and he turned his head, still smiling when he asked, "You alright?"

"Mhmm," you hummed with a vigorous nod. Then you found yourself leaning a little closer and his gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again.

It wasn't your fault. He looked so ridiculous and handsome in his expensive suit eating buttery popcorn in an old movie theater. You simply couldn't help yourself. You both inched forward at the same time and gently pressed your lips together. At first, it was timid and sweet and sent a spark down your spine. It felt so nice to kiss him again after so long and after everything that happened, you easily lost yourself in him.

Too easily.

By the time the credits rolled and the dim lights slowly turned back on, you had both hands buried in his hair and his tongue halfway down your throat. When you realized that people could see you, you hurriedly pulled apart at the exact same time. Joel's hand, which had once been on your knee and had since traveled up the skirt of your dress, gave your thigh a little squeeze before begrudgingly untangling himself from you.

"Maybe we should go," you said, giving him a shy glance after fixing yourself up a bit.

"Yeah, just... gimme a minute," he replied, his eyes rolling to stare at the ceiling as he took a few deep, focused breaths. The theater was almost empty and you were about to ask what was wrong when you noticed the bulge in his pants. Heat flooded your face and you looked away to hide your laughter, but he caught you.

"Oh, you think it's funny?" he asked. He tried to sound serious but he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

"A little," you admitted when you looked back at him. He grinned and finally stood up with a groan, tugging his suit coat closed before reaching for your hand.

"I'll remember that," he warned as he led you down the steps and back out into the lobby.

Once you were settled in his car with Richie driving through the dark, quiet streets back towards your apartment, you turned to Joel and asked, "Better than Indiana Jones?"

"Oh, no contest, baby," he murmured with a sly smile.

You giggled and let his fingers thread through yours on top of the seat. Your cheeks ached from how much you laughed and smiled that night. Admittedly, you had your doubts you would be able to really start over after everything that happened, but things felt so different now. In large part, that had to do with Joel and how much he was trying. He pushed himself to open up to you a little bit, despite his uneasiness, and he had no problem agreeing to a normal first date at the last minute.

He was really trying, and he was doing it for you.

"I got it, Richie," Joel said when the car pulled up to your curb and the driver had moved to unbuckle his belt. He gave Joel a nod in the review mirror and stayed put as Joel swung his door open to step outside. Then his eyes shifted to yours and he smiled.

"Have a good night, honey."

"Thanks, Richie, you too," you said warmly just as Joel opened your door.

He held out his hand and you took it, steadying yourself to stand, and gave him a grateful smile right when he pushed the door shut. Wrapping your arms around the crook of his elbow, he led you up the steps to the front door of your building, only letting you go to search for your keys.

"Well, thank you," you said, sounding a little more breathless than you intended, but Joel seemed to like it because his brown eyes sparkled and his mouth twitched when he heard the desire laced in your voice. "I had a great time."

"Me, too," he murmured as he casually leaned against the doorframe, playfully cocking his head to the side as he sized you up and down. "Y'know, I've never seen your place," he said innocently, but when your jaw dropped in mock offense and you gave his shoulder a gentle push, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Excuse me, I don't put out on the first date," you joked, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"No, 'course not. Was just pointin' out a fact, is all," Joel replied with a matching grin of his own.

"Oh, is that all?" you echoed, leaning forward and wrapping his tie around your fist, then giving it a gentle tug so he would meet you halfway.

"Yeah," he whispered right before your mouths found each other once again. You could still taste the salt and butter from the popcorn on his lips as he crowded you against the door, both his hands flying up to cup each side of your face, cradling it gently while his lips massaged yours. There was just something about him that always had you melting into a puddle at his feet, and that evening was no exception. You had to tear yourself away with a soft laugh before you broke your rule and invited him upstairs.

"Can we do this again?" he asked as you slid your key into the door. You pushed it open and stepped inside, turning back to face him.

"I would love that."

Joel grinned and promised he would call before you waved goodnight and disappeared into the lobby.

When your elevator opened up on your floor, you hurried to your apartment, exhausted but giddy with excitement at how perfect the date went. You flicked on your lights and locked your door before kicking your heels off and throwing your purse onto the couch, but not before digging out your phone to taken with you as you got changed and ready for bed.

You had just finished brushing your teeth, not ten minutes after he left, when your phone rang. Your heart fluttered in your chest when you saw his name, and you slipped between your bedsheets before answering.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

You could hear the road noise in the background when you asked, "Did you forget something?"

"Nope. Just said I would call."

You laughed and pulled your blankets up around your chin.

"I thought that meant maybe tomorrow."

"Miss you, didn't wanna wait," he answered immediately. You bit your lower lip and even though he couldn't see you, you pressed your palm over your cheeks when you felt them grow hot.

"I miss you, too," you whispered.

After a beat of silence where you were each smiling like fools for no one to see, he spoke again.

"What do you wanna do for our next date?"

"Hmm," you tapped your chin thoughtfully for a moment. "How about you pick the next one since I picked this one? We can take turns."

You heard his deep chuckle on the other end and you grinned.

"I like it. You're on."

You figured Joel would pick something a little fancier than you, but you weren't expecting him to propose a date to the opera for your fourth date. It was a far cry from the shitty little dive bar around the corner that had a really fun trivia night you dragged him to a few days before.

Joel! I don't have anything to wear to the opera!

I kept all your clothes. I'll have Liam drop off some things before EOD.

Before you even had a chance to process the fact Joel had kept everything from your trip to Fiji and what that could possibly mean, your phone pinged with another text.

Told you you should've kept them

You grinned and shook your head.

And I told *you* I don't have the room

When are you gonna let me see this tiny apartment of yours?

You glanced around your living room, the space was cozy but definitely not spacious. It was hard to even imagine Joel there. Would he even like it? He was definitely used to a very different lifestyle than you. You were nervously chewing your nail, lost in thought, when your phone pinged again.

Sorry, not trying to pressure you, that's not what I meant

Shit, you took too long to answer and had him second guessing himself.

I know lol I was just reading an email - sorry

It wasn't entirely untrue. Your laptop sat open on your coffee table, your email program sitting before you.

Any luck on the job front?

No... not yet. Fortunately I have a handsome benefactor paying my rent for the next two months ;)

Your handsome benefactor would really like it if you let him help you find a job, baby

You rolled your eyes and sighed before typing out, don't you have a company to run?

I can do two things at once

You laughed to yourself and leaned back into your couch, staring at your phone longingly.

Since your first date with Joel, you had spoken every single day, approximately two weeks. What surprised you the most was the constant stream of texts he sent you throughout the day. You saw how he was in Fiji, you knew he was busy and had meetings and calls around the clock. How on earth he managed to do both still astounded you.

Because he was really trying, a little voice in the back of your head piped up.

He really did seem like a completely different man from the one you first met. Traces of him were still there: he hadn't yet come clean about his daughter or brother, but every time you saw each other, he made a point of sharing something new about himself. He told you a handful of stories from when he was younger, living in Texas. He told you his brother was a contractor but that was the only thing you knew about him. And that was okay. You wanted him to tell you about himself on his own terms, without feeling pressured, and that was exactly what he was doing.

Well I need to shower and figure out what to do with my hair for tonight. Unfortunately my phone's not waterproof so I guess I'll just see you later?

Looking forward to it - I'll let you know when to expect Liam

Like he promised, Liam arrived around four in the afternoon with an armful of dresses draped over one arm and a bag of shoes in the other.

"Oh, god, here - lemme help you," you said when you saw how much he was carrying from the elevator. He shot you a relieved smile when you grabbed a few things from his arms and helped him inside your apartment. He took one quick glance around and said, "Cute," before laying the dresses out on your couch and unzipping the bags.

"Alright. I brought a few pieces I thought would work best. You're free to do whatever, of course, but I would recommend the Chanel dress with the Valentino shoes."

Your eyes darted around at the items suddenly taking up all of the space in your living room and tried not to look completely out of your depth, but he must have been able to tell because he snatched up both items and handed them to you.

"Oh, thanks," you told him. The Chanel dress was a slinky black number you never had a chance to wear on the island, and the shoes were strappy heels you thought you wore once to a dinner with Zoe.

"Have you seen La Traviata before?" Liam asked. You chuckled and shook your head.

"I've never even been to the opera before."

Liam smiled and clapped his hands together gleefully. "Oh, you'll have such a great time! This is a great one to see. Especially from the box. You'll be able to see everything and won't have to dodge horrible hairdos or top hats."

"B-box? Joel's got box seats?" you stammered. He laughed and began to open a small toiletry bag filled with jewelry.

"Of course he does."

Liam held up a few necklaces before settling on a thin chain of diamonds and setting it aside. He then dug out matching earrings and a bracelet while he asked, "What are you planning to do with your hair?"

You had washed and dried it but otherwise, you hadn't gotten further than that.

"Uh, just wear it down, I guess."

Liam straightened up and gave you a once over. "Want some help?"

Relief flooded your veins and you quickly nodded. "Do you mind?"

He smiled and shook his head before flapping his hands, ushering you towards your bathroom.

"Not at all. Let's see what you're working with."

"Jesus, you look beautiful," Joel murmured for the fourth time since he picked you up. He had one arm wrapped tightly around your middle, pulling you close to his side as you weaved through the lobby of the opera house. You owed it all to Liam. He was a lifesaver. He picked out your outfit and helped curl your hair where you couldn't reach it, keeping you distracted while he told you about his boyfriend's parents and their lavish home in Malibu.

"Thank you," you replied softly, looking him up and down in his sharp, black tuxedo before reminding him how good he looked, too.

"You wanna get a drink before it starts? We got 'bout ten minutes," he said, looking quickly at his watch before catching your eye.

"Uh, no, thanks. I'm good," you replied, looking past him to admire the ornate architecture. "Do you come to the opera often?"

"Not as much as I like," he told you while leading you towards a flight of carpeted stairs in the corner of the room. "Don't usually have many dates," he added with a little smirk. You smiled back, heart fluttering a little in your chest at how relaxed and happy he seemed.

He had been so good about opening up lately, you decided to test the waters and see how he would react.

"When was your last relationship?"

He faltered for just a quick moment when he reached out to pull back the red velvet curtain that led to your box seats, but he recovered nicely.

"You mean a real relationship?" he asked, and you nodded. He pulled out your chair and you swept the skirt of your dress underneath you before sitting down and thanking him.

"Well, that woulda been with Sarah's mom."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you twisted in your seat to look at him. He was fixing his suit coat, looking down as his fingers nervously fidgeted with the buttons while he spoke.

"Was a long time ago. Sarah's fifteen now," he added, clearing his throat before locking eyes with you.

You swallowed and nodded before forcing yourself to reply, trying not to look too eager to hear more.

"That's a long time."

"Explains why I'm so rusty," he joked, cracking a little smile which you quickly reciprocated.

"You're not as rusty as you think," you teased. "I've been having a really great time the past couple weeks."

His smile softened and he instinctively found your hand, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles.

"Me, too," he murmured, dark eyes sparkling in the dim lighting from the chandeliers hanging over the auditorium.

His hand rarely left yours the entire three hours. The brief moments where the audience was expected to clap were the only exception, and then his hand immediately fell to yours once again. There was something so sweet and tender about the gesture, it made your chest squeeze and had you wishing you could curl into his side and wrap yourself around him.

What was wonderful was he didn't expect anything from you in these two short weeks, but then again, he never really did. Not in the way you were thinking, anyway. But that particular evening, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking about it. It might have been the heart-wrenchingly beautiful arias, or his thick fingers laced between yours, or how fucking good he looked in his tux, but whatever it was, it was driving you crazy. During the final hour of the performance, you were trying not to squirm in your seat too much and distract him because it truly was a beautiful opera, and you enjoyed it much more than you expected, but your close proximity and constant contact had your body reacting in ways that were not appropriate for the setting.

Even in the car on the way back to your apartment, you struggled to carry on a simple fucking conversation with him, allowing Joel to do most of the talking as he described his favorite parts while your eyes subtly darted between him and Richie, wishing more than ever that Joel would use that goddamn partition you knew the car had but he never seemed to utilize.

The three dates you've had before all ended the same way. Richie had figured out by now that Joel preferred to open your door himself, so he remained seated after giving you a quick good night over his shoulder while Joel slid out of the car to walk you up. He would kiss you, tell you what a fun time he had, maybe offer up a suggestion for your next date and probably give you a flirty little joke or comment before kissing you one last time with the promise to call.

This time, you only let him get to the first kiss before you whispered against his lips, "Do you want to come up and finally see my apartment?"

He pulled back like he had been electrocuted and you stifled a giggle at the serious look on his face. You could practically see the gears in his head turning as he tried to formulate a response.

"Or, you know, you could see it another time if you're tired," you added, hiding your smirk when you turned to unlock your front door.

"N-no, that's - y'sure?" he asked from over your shoulder. You pushed open the door and took one step inside before turning back around. Dragging your gaze up and down his body, you looked him dead in the eye when you said, "Absolutely."

Joel waved Richie off when you turned to drag him into your building, praying the ancient elevator wouldn't take forever like it normally did. You were in luck: it opened right away for once, and you quickly stepped inside before repeatedly jabbing the button for your floor. Joel chuckled behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist when the doors closed.

"That excited to show me your place, hm?" he murmured, his lips brushing over your bare shoulder. You leaned back into his chest, head lolling to the side and eyelids fluttering when his prickly mustache tickled your neck.

"Mhmm," you hummed, then bravely added, "especially my bedroom."

He groaned and gently bit at the skin behind your ear, teeth grazing over a tender spot, making you shudder.

"C'mon," you muttered once the doors slid open, grabbing his hand and hauling him down the hall towards your apartment. When you turned the corner, your eyes widened in surprise when you almost ran into your neighbor.

"Oh! Mrs. Adams! Hi... s-sorry," you stammered at the elderly woman wrapped in her robe with her tiny white dog cradled in her arms.

"Ma'am," Joel said with a friendly nod.

She said your name in greeting, then gave Joel a suspicious look over her shoulder before disappearing inside your abandoned elevator. You giggled and knocked your door open with your hip, pulling him inside and locking the door while flicking on your lights.

With one hand on your lower back, he looked around your meager apartment, standing in the middle of your living room slash kitchen in his tuxedo looking more out of place than you could have ever imagined, but it didn't bother you. Turned out, you liked seeing him in your space. You wanted to have memories of him sitting on your couch or eating at your table or taking a shower in your bathroom.

"I like it," he said, eyes still darting around to take in every little thing. Then he spotted some framed photographs on your entertainment center and he took a step forward.

"Can we look at those later?" you asked, tugging him back. He grinned and nodded before cupping your jaw and placing a tender kiss against your lips.

"You got somethin' else in mind?" he teased, but you just nodded earnestly and began to tug at his tie. He chuckled and watched you yank it from around his neck, dropping it on your floor before beginning to undo his buttons.

His hands fell to your sides, running up and down and plucking at the slinky fabric of your dress while you undid half the buttons of his crisp white shirt. Pleased to find he wasn't wearing an undershirt, you lunged forward and started to leave a trail of wet kisses leading from the center of his chest all the way up to the corner of his mouth.

"Missed you," he breathed, letting his eyes fall closed while you worked on sucking a bruise into his neck. Your fingers worked faster now, tugging the shirt from his dress pants and fumbling with the remaining buttons.

"Me, too," you whispered, lips still nipping at his skin, tongue darting out to press against his pulse. His shirt finally fell open and your nails lightly dragged down his chest when you added, "Need you. Please, Joel... kiss me."

You didn't need to ask twice.

His mouth collided with yours, all messy and urgent, and he began to walk you backwards towards the open door of your bedroom. He deftly worked the zipper on the back of your dress, pulling it down as he walked, mouth still seared across yours.

When you stepped through the threshold, your heels transitioning from hardwood to carpet, you blindly flung a hand out and flicked a light switch. In the corner of your room, a floor lamp turned on, casting you both in a soft glow when Joel finally pushed you down onto your bed.

His eyes, dark and filled with desire, dragged up and down your body while he unbuttoned his cuffs and shrugged off his shirt. Your dress was unzipped but still hung from your shoulders as you watched him slowly work his belt with bated breath.

"I like your room," he told you, tone casual like he wasn't taking off his pants and palming his cock through his boxers.

"Thanks," you laughed as you began to squirm out of your dress. He grinned and grabbed a heel in each hand before sliding them off and tossing them into a corner. "I can't imagine the kind of bedroom you have. Probably as big as the entire floor of this building."

"You'll have to come over and see," Joel said, eyes glued to your dress when it slid to the floor. He knelt on the edge of your mattress, old bed squeaking under his weight, then fell forward to hover above you.

He traced a finger along your jaw, mesmerized for a moment as he admired you up close. When he heard your breathing stutter under the scrutiny, his gaze flickered up to yours and he pinched your chin.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "For everythin'. For every time I pushed you away 'n every time I made you cry."

The sudden shift in mood stunned you for a second and he took the opportunity to press his lips firmly against yours, tethering you together for just a moment before pulling away.

"Thank you for givin' me another chance," he whispered, closing his eyes and nudging his nose gently against yours. "I won't fuck this up again, baby, I promise."

"You better fucking not," you sniffled, then wrapped your arms loosely around his neck to pull him into another deep kiss so he wouldn't see your eyes grow watery.

"There's my girl," he chuckled at your sass when he broke away to pepper kisses along your jaw. My girl. Hearing those words shot a bolt of arousal through you and your hips began to subtly rock upwards, seeking out some friction to soothe the ache between your legs.

"Want me to take care of you?" he murmured into your skin. "Want me to make you feel good, baby?"

"Yeah," you whined, hips bucking upwards to chase his hand that dropped between your thighs, fingers teasing at your seam through your soaked panties. Then he hooked the fabric to the side, his mouth finding yours right when he slid two thick fingers inside you, swallowing down your gasp and groaning at the sharp bite of pain from your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shit," you whispered when he began to plunge them in and out, curling and flexing his fingers inside your wet walls, soaked from the arousal building since you first saw him in his tuxedo when he picked you up.

Joel hummed, relishing in the familiar feel around him and trying to hold himself back from pulling his hand out from between your legs so he could bury his cock deep inside you, instead.

But he refused to be selfish. He said he wanted to take care of you, and he meant it. He meant it in every imaginable way.

All he wanted was you.

"So beautiful, y'know that?" he mumbled, mouth dragging over your jaw, teeth lightly nipping at your chin. "So warm 'n perfect, missed havin' you like this," he continued, lips twitching when he saw your eyes squeeze shut and mouth fall open when his fingertips brushed against that spot that had you reduced to a mumbling mess underneath him.

Joel could sense he had you right on the edge. He heard it in the way your breath came in staggered gasps and could feel it in the way your legs began to quake. He picked up the pace, breath puffing hot and fast from his nose, eyes locked on your face, eager to watch you fall apart for him after what felt like an eternity without you.

Then his face broke out into a cocky grin when the heel of his palm started to slap against your clit with each snap of his wrist. The noises you made for him were like music to his ears, a symphony of his name and more and don't stop and a litany of curses.

"Gonna come for me, darlin'? Gonna come 'n let me fuck this perfect little pussy?" he growled while biting gently at your earlobe. You whined and tipped your head back, pushing deep into your pillow as the pleasure mounted low in your belly, burning bright when it finally spilled over with a pathetic hoarse whimper. Joel groaned when your nails dragged down unexpectedly hard, leaving angry red trails over the skin of his back. Marks he would catch in the mirror on Monday and grin proudly at his reflection after he stepped out of his shower.

"Fuck, Joel," you panted, eyes fluttering open to gaze up at him. You looked so beautiful like that. All fucked out, hair a mess, skin hot, lips swollen. He dove down and pulled your lower lip between his teeth, gently tugging before letting it go and slipping his tongue into your eager mouth. His fingers had slowed to a stop inside you, but he could still feel your cunt pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. It was a feeling he was very familiar with. A feeling he craved and now that he had it again, feared he may go insane if he didn't feel it around his painfully hard cock very soon.

As if you read his mind, you dragged your mouth away from his to whisper in his ear, "Fuck me, Joel," and he swore the edges of his vision blurred from just your request alone.

A high pitched moan slipped past your lips when he pulled his fingers out from between your legs. You rolled your head to the side, the sudden emptiness causing you to writhe in discomfort, but you wouldn't have to wait very long.

He reached around to unhook your strapless bra and tossed it onto your floor, like he was mad at it for keeping you from him. Then he made short work of your underwear, which you looked relieved to finally be rid of, before pulling down his boxers and freeing his throbbing cock. He caught your gaze drop and your teeth sunk into your lower lip before sitting up.

"I wanna suck it," you announced, but when you began to lean down, he grabbed your shoulders and hauled you up.

"Not tonight," he told you, and you whined a little as you reached down to stroke him. He groaned and tipped his head back, hips thrusting into your fist on their own accord.

"Please," you pleaded, lips puckering around his adam's apple. And you almost got him. He could hardly resist when you begged, especially with the promise of your warm, soft mouth wrapped around his cock, but he knew he wouldn't last long if he let you.

"Lemme fuck you, baby," he murmured when he gave you a gentle push. You flopped back onto your bed with a playful scowl, tits bouncing a little from the impact when he suddenly reached down to the floor to grab his pants. He pulled out a little foil wrapper and you frowned.

"We don't have to-"

"Just bein' extra careful, alright?" he told you, cutting you off as he rolled the condom on.

"I have an implant now. It won't be a problem like last time," you insisted, but he already tossed the wrapper to the ground and fell onto his elbows, hovering above you.

"Humor me," he said with a little smirk right before his hips pushed your thighs apart, wasting no time lining himself up with your entrance.

Normally, he would go slow. Normally, he would take his time and feed you his cock inch by inch, but on that particular evening, he was too desperate. With one deep grunt and rough thrust, he sheathed himself inside you in one go, making your jaw drop and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Sorry," he gasped, forehead falling to your shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, the sensation of your pussy gripping him so perfectly sending him reeling. "Sorry," he repeated as the both of you struggled for air, "I didn't mean, I - fuck -" his hips began to move just a little bit and he whimpered when your fingers drifted up to get tangled in his hair.

"It's okay, keep going," you encouraged him, taking a deep breath and forcing your muscles to relax.

"Don't wanna hurt you but, fuck baby, I want you so goddamn bad."

"I know, it's okay, it doesn't hurt," you told him truthfully. His mouth was open, pressed against your chest with his exhale fanning across your skin, making you shiver. You wrapped your legs around his waist and tilted your hips with a gasp. "God, you're so deep," you moaned, nails scraping his scalp when he began to move a little more steadily.

"I know, baby, I know," he murmured, voice sounding strained. It was all too much and, somehow, not enough. You clung to him when his hips began to snap against you, jostling your entire body with each earth-shattering thrust. His groans and your whimpers getting lost in each others mouths. Tears stung your eyes when he whispered, "Think 'bout you all the time. Never stop thinkin' 'bout you." And he growled when you admitted the same.

Your shitty little bed frame screamed underneath you the more desperate Joel became, no doubt grabbing the attention of Mrs. Adams across the hall. His hands never stopped moving. They cupped your breast, the back of your neck, your ass, and then his fingers hooked under your knee, pulling your leg to open up your hips.

Your eyes flew open and you cried out at the intense angle, his cock splitting you in two but his kiss put you right back together again. One of his hands fell to grab your hip, his other arm bracing himself next to your head and it felt utterly overwhelming, being completely consumed by him, that you wanted to do the same. You tugged at his hair, nipped at his throat, wrapped your other leg even tighter around his middle.

If he was going to destroy you, you wanted to give it right back.

He appeared to enjoy it. He groaned and his lips curled into a smile when you tried to take a piece of him. It made him slam his hips into your harder, had him plunging his tongue into your mouth with an urgency that sent your back arching off the bed, pressing your bare chest against his.

"You like that?" he mumbled into your mouth, lips barely leaving yours to speak. "You like when I fuck you like this?"

"So - good -" you moaned, each word bookended by a snap of his hips.

"You like gettin' me all worked up? Like drivin' me fuckin' crazy?"

"Yeah, actually, I do," you breathed, smirking at the sound of his words passing through gritted teeth. His chin dropped and his teeth grazed your nipple a little harsher than you expected and you yelped, which melted into a giggle when you felt him smile against your skin.

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth and, with your lips still curved into a smile, reached down to grab his ass, giving it a firm squeeze while making sure to add a little pinch from your nails. It made him grunt, his hips changing their pace. What was rough, strong thrusts of his hips now faltered to deep strokes which he made sure to drive upwards so he could reach that spot inside you he knew would have you screaming his name.

"Oh, fuck!" you cried out, and he chuckled darkly against your throat. "Fuck! Joel... keep - going," you gasped. Your hands were back to clawing at his shoulders while he drove into you over and over. His forehead prickled with sweat and he could feel his curls beginning to stick to his skin but he refused to let up because you were so close. Your slick walls were clenching around him, making him see stars, while you repeatedly whined his name. He smirked to himself, pleased he got exactly what he wanted. Your voice was already hoarse and he could only imagine what it would sound like in the morning, all raw and thick with sleep.

"You gonna come f'me, baby?" he asked, voice deep and gravelly in your ear. You nodded, mouth still hung open in a silent scream. "Then do it. C'mon, wanna feel you," he coaxed. "Wanna feel your tight little pussy milk this cock. Go on, lemme have it."

The ball of tension growing hotter and brighter at the base of your spine finally broke. Your back arched up again and your head flew back into the pillows as your orgasm rolled through your entire body, his name reduced to just a mere whimper on your lips, unable to give anything else. Your muscles weakened and you collapsed back into the bedding, your brain in a fog. Meanwhile, Joel reared back and dragged your hips onto his lap, pounding steadily into your used cunt, all frantic and delirious in his movements until he slammed into you one final time with a deep, prolonged groan.

Your eyes slid closed, but his mouth was back on yours in an instant. Soft, tender kisses pressed shakily against your lips, silence filling the room except for the quiet sound of your combined heavy breathing and your bed springs occasionally squealing when Joel shifted his weight.

"You good?" he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours with a deep breath. You nodded then winced when he withdrew his softening cock from between your legs. He propped himself up on his elbows and gazed down at you, searching your face very seriously for a moment. You opened your mouth to ask but the words died in your throat. Instead, you let him study you. Your eyes landed on the little wrinkles developing next to his eyes, the cute pout he made when he was deep in thought, the way his hair stood like a halo after your fingers pulled and tugged, rearranging the product that was combed through.

He kept looking at you, something happening behind his eyes, something meaningful. But just when you thought you were on the cusp of something, he blinked and cleared his throat, pushing himself upright.

"Lemme go clean up real quick," he said, glancing out into the hallway.

"Okay," you said quietly, watching as he sauntered naked through your room and disappeared into the bathroom. You could hear the sink running, then a minute later, the toilet flushing, and you suddenly felt cold. You reached for your blankets and slid underneath, and right when your mind was about to get carried away with self-doubt and too many questions, the door flung open and he stepped out with a determined look.

"I almost married Sarah's mom."

You sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to your chest with wide eyes. He was standing in your doorway, still naked except the condom was gone. His fingers fidgeted nervously at his sides and the romantic side of you found it poetic that he was fully naked and about to reveal something so personal, but you couldn't focus much on that.

"Why didn't you?"

Joel blinked.

"I thought I loved her, but I think it was just 'cause she was havin' my baby," he began. "I was thirty, just startin' to make a name for myself, made a huge fuckin' mistake and, I dunno, felt like I had to do the right thing."

"Thirty," you repeated, and he nodded. "Didn't you say that was when you built The Parador?"

He nodded again and finally moved from his spot in the doorway to join you on the bed.

"I was naive. I met her at this networkin' event with a bunch of other guys in the hospitality industry. She was just at the bar, all alone, wasn't even part of the event or a worker or nothin'. Shoulda been my first clue, but I was young and stupid."

"What do you mean?"

He pulled the blankets over his waist and leaned up against your headboard.

"I didn't know it, but she was goin' fishin' that night."

You tilted your head to the side, confusion written all over your face.

"She was lookin' to sink her claws into someone with money. She knew everyone at that event was somebody, so she cast her line and reeled one in."

Slowly, you began to connect the dots.

"She... she was using you for your money?"

Joel swallowed and nodded, his eyes darting around your face nervously.

"Did - you said the pregnancy was a mistake-"

"I don't know if she planned it, but it sure as hell felt that way after I found everythin' out. She was expectin' me to propose, thought she'd be set for life if she had my kid. Heard her on the phone one night with a friend who was doin' the same thing to someone else. Same night I came home early to surprise her after we found out we were havin' a girl."

"Oh, my god," you whispered in disbelief.

"It was wrong, I know it, but I was so fuckin' hurt," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I kicked her out. I know it wasn't Sarah's fault and I tried, I really fuckin' tried, but every time I saw her-" he pressed his lips into a thin line and dropped his gaze to the sheets. "Just reminded me of everythin', and I couldn't handle it."

"So... you don't have a relationship with her? Or with Sarah?" you asked. He shook his head but he kept his eyes shamefully fixed on his hands.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Joel's concern with Glenn and his emphasis on family, Tammy's vague insinuation on the yacht, Joel's inability to trust you, his resistance to opening up. It was all because he was afraid of being used again.

The fact he had never been in love sounded more like he had never allowed himself to fall in love.

But he was trusting you now. Something that was clearly very difficult for him to do while he sat in fear of judgement.

You scooted forward on the bed and tucked yourself into his side. You wrapped your arms around his middle and rested your chin on his chest, curling yourself around him, trying to make him feel safe. His heart fluttered anxiously under his skin, you could feel it, but he slowly picked up his own arms and coiled them around you protectively.

"I'm sorry, Joel."

"What- what're you sorry for?"

"For everything you went through. I'm sorry she broke your heart. I'm sorry you suffered for so long with this burden. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me before, but I promise you, I'm not judging you."

"I know," he replied, kissing the top of your head. You took another deep breath before speaking again.

"And I'm not after you for your money. I can understand now why you -"

"Sweetheart, I know," he said, cutting you off.

You frowned and looked up at him. "You do?"

He grinned and nudged his nose gently against yours.

"Yeah. Probably the only goddamn sugar baby in the world who didn't want money, so... yeah. I know."

You giggled and pulled away from his grip so you could look him in the eye.

"I mean, it's kind of ironic... you seeking out a woman to pay to be with you? Why would you-"

"'Cause I woulda rather had all our cards on the table and know up front it was just a business deal," he explained. "Didn't need someone sneakin' 'round behind my back tryin' to take advantage of me. Rather know from jump."

You felt your chest tighten a little at that, and you couldn't stop yourself from leaning forward, giving him a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. He pulled you over to straddle his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist, gazing up at you with stars in his eyes.

"But you wanted everythin' else except my money," he murmured. You shifted your eyes to the left and began to play with a curl above his ear, suddenly growing shy under his scrutiny. But he kept going.

"Always had a feelin', but didn't wanna believe it. Couldn't believe it, I suppose," he added, watching your eyes carefully as you continued to focus on his hair. "You never cared 'bout doin' anythin' extravagant on the island. Wanted to spend time with me at the beach, wanted to get food from a stand at the corner with our goddamn faces painted," he chuckled. You grinned and felt your cheeks grow hot.

"Then you left those envelopes," he said, and your eyes finally found his again. He let a heavy moment pass between you as you stared down at him. "Never even opened 'em. Gave you that first one the first night we were there. And you didn't open it."

You shook your head and a slow smile stretched across his face.

"Then with the hell you gave me and the bank 'bout the payment after we got back," he groaned, tilting his face to the ceiling like he was in agony.

"Fifty thousand was too fucking much!" you practically shouted, but he just laughed and pulled you closer.

"You actually fuckin' like me," he said in wonder. "Why would someone like you want anythin' to do with someone like me?"

You threw your head back and laughed, immediately recognizing your own words being parroted back to you.

"Because," you replied once your laughter waned, "you're a good man, despite what you may think. You care and you're sweet and you make me feel safe. You make me feel good about myself. You pay attention to things that mean something to me. You - I -" you cut yourself off with a quick shake of your head. "Yeah... I actually fucking like you," you finished with a slow smile.

He grinned and cupped the back of your neck, but before pulling you down for a kiss, he whispered, "How'd I get so lucky?"

The next morning, you awoke to an empty bed. If it weren't for the incessant ache between your legs and the soreness of your throat, you would have wondered if it was all a dream. You reached for the other side of the bed and felt the sheets cool under your fingertips.

It was Saturday. You didn't think he would have worked that day, but then again, it was Joel, so maybe he did. But would he really leave without saying goodbye? After you were so raw and vulnerable with each other the night before?

That was when you heard it. Faint humming and music turned on low coming from your kitchen.

Oh, now this you had to see.

When you rolled out of bed, you almost reached for your pajamas, but then you spotted his shirt neatly draped over your desk chair and you couldn't resist. You picked it up and slid your arms through, rumpling the fabric underneath your chin and taking a deep breath. It still smelled just like him. A mixture of deodorant, soap, cologne and hair products. A unique scent that was quickly becoming a favorite of yours.

You stepped out of your bedroom and peered into your kitchen, a smile pulling at your lips when you saw him pouring coffee for you both, wearing only his boxers with the sweet sounds of 80s ballads filling the air. You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall, gaze slowly gliding over the strong, broad muscles of his back until he turned around and froze.

"Was gonna make you somethin' to eat and then I remembered... I don't know how to cook."

You burst out laughing and Joel grinned when he handed you your coffee.

"But you figured out the coffee machine," you said, taking a tentative sip and giving him an impressed look.

"That thing's a piece of shit, I'm buyin' you a new one," he scolded.

You dropped your jaw and frowned.

"No, you will not. It's not in its prime, sure, but it makes the best coffee."

Joel chuckled and wrapped the hand not holding his coffee around your ribs. Taking a step forward and dropping his chin had him towering over you seductively.

"Y'look real good in my clothes," he murmured, lips brushing against your forehead with a low hum.

"Couldn't help myself," you admitted softly, "smells just like you."

He pulled back a bit to give you half a smile. "You like smellin' like me?"

"Mhmm," you said under your breath, then nuzzled your nose into his bare chest and took a deep breath. "But now you smell like me."

Joel groaned and dipped his head lower, slotting his lips hungrily against yours. When his tongue slipped past your lips, you giggled and pulled away.

"I need some coffee first," you teased. He just smirked while his fingertips rubbed his bottom lip, like he were chasing the ghost of your kiss. His soft brown eyes were glimmering, so happy and content in your little living room slash kitchen. His cheeks were slightly pink and you weren't sure you'd ever seen him smile so much before.

While you sipped your coffee, you began to crack some eggs in a frying pan while simultaneously tossing some bread in the toaster. Meanwhile, Joel was nosing curiously around your apartment, inspecting little trinkets that he didn't have the chance to look at the night before.

"Snowglobe from Disney?" Joel asked, holding it up from across the room. You looked over your shoulder with a grin.

"My aunt and uncle are obsessed with Disney. They get me Disney themed shit every year for Christmas."

Joel hummed and placed it down gently on the windowsill before spotting a vase filled with sand and seashells. He smiled as he approached, too worried he would break it to pick it up when he asked, "When'd you steal sand?"

He heard you laugh and he turned back around.

"The day we were at the beach together. I had a ziploc for my sunscreen so, you know," you said with a shrug while you flipped the eggs. Joel gave the vase one more look, smiling to himself when he saw the new pink seashells scattered throughout.

"Where are you gonna hang the painting?" he asked when he saw it leaning up against the wall next to your television.

"I don't know yet. Maybe next to the door. Or maybe behind the couch," you answered, focusing on buttering the toast and turning off the gas before the eggs burned. You jumped when you suddenly felt his hands sliding around your waist.

"Supposed to go above the bed," he reminded you. Tilting your head to look at him over your shoulder, you grinned.

"You remember everything, don't you?"

"Sure do," he replied, giving your ass a playful smack before picking up both plates of food. "Where do you wanna eat?"

You both sunk into your old couch and balanced your plates on your knees, shoveling in forkfuls of food in between explaining the story behind every little thing that caught his eye.

Then he spotted your picture frames again. He leaned forward to put his empty plate on your coffee table and stood, his hulking, mostly-still-naked frame captivating you for a moment as he picked up a photo to study it.

"Your folks?" he asked, tilting the frame towards you. You squinted and nodded from the couch. "Any siblings?"

The question came out soft as he angled it back towards him.

"Nope. Just me. I've always wanted a sister but Celine was a pretty good substitute," you smiled as he picked up a photo of you and Celine on New Years Eve.

"'S'nice," he murmured thoughtfully, taking one last look at the photo before putting it back. He pretended to study a photo of you and your grandparents from your graduation when he added, "Probably best you got to pick. My brother's been a pain in the ass since I was old enough to ride a bike."

You perked up at the mention of his brother, folding your legs underneath you and setting your plate down next to his.

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm," he hummed, still staring down at the picture. "Always usin' my shit and breakin' it. Buttin' in with me 'n my friends to do somethin' stupid. Got me in trouble more times than I can count with our Mama," he mused. He finally set the picture down and turned to look at you. "Then he got older. The fuck ups got more serious. Bailin' him outta jail every other weekend. Got a DUI one summer and had me haulin' his ass all over town."

Your eyebrows raised in surprise but you remained silent, just nodding your head and giving him your full attention, too afraid to spook him with any questions just yet.

"Then we grew up. I moved out here, six months later he follows, 'course," he said, sounded exasperated when he plopped down on the couch next to you. "Got a job at a hotel, 'fore you know it he's beggin' me for a job. Got 'em one workin' as a dishwasher in the restaurant inside the hotel but he fucked that up before I could blink an eye."

Before he even finished the story, you could sense where it was going.

"Finally, he finds his own way. Gets in with a construction company. And he did pretty good, too. I had my thing goin' on at the hotel. Learnin' from the manager 'n all that. By the time I was ready to renovate my first hotel, Tommy'd ended up owning his own company. It was small, but, hell... it was the best he ever got."

You chewed your lower lip anxiously, watching as his eyes slid over to your dusty television, staring at it blankly before he continued.

"So, I hired him. Hired his company to renovate part of the hotel. He even cut me a deal. Thought for once he'd finally pulled his head outta his ass and made somethin' of himself."

Joel fell silent for a few minutes, lost in thought while his fingers fidgeted nervously in his lap.

"Then what happened?" you whispered, worried if you had spoken any louder, it would have snapped him out of it and he would clam back up.

"Then... his company went under. He wasn't doin' shit by the book. Got caught payin' guys under the table and fuckin' up his taxes. And he had to start over."

You connected the dots even before he said, "He came to me lookin' for a loan. Lookin' to fix all his goddamn mistakes, like nothin' ever changed. And... I said no."

"And he never forgave you," you guessed. His eyes found yours and he nodded.

"Yeah. Never forgave me. Said I was turnin' my back on blood. Said he woulda done the same for me. But I just had fuckin' enough. I worked hard to get what I had. So, I refused and he had to move back to Texas. Last I heard he got a loan from our Pop and started a business down there."

You sat in silence for a moment, letting his story sink in with the only noise coming from horns blaring on the street below and your next door neighbor shouting at her husband to wake up for work.

"So... that's the brother story, huh?" you finally said, the corner of your mouth lifting when he met your eye and nodded. You shrugged and scooted closer to him on the couch. "That's not so bad. I understand why you did what you did."

"Had the whole situation goin' on with Sarah's mom at the time, too, but 'course he had no idea. Felt like he never asked me much 'bout my life unless he needed somethin'," he said solemnly.

You snuggled in close and lifted his arm to drape over your shoulders.

"It's never too late, you know," you told him softly. His thumb began to trace invisible circles over your shoulder.

"For what?"

"To make peace. With both of them," you replied. "If you wanted to, anyway. And if you ask me, it sounds like you want to."

"Oh, yeah? And how d'you know that?" Joel teased, pinching your arm and making you giggle.

"Because," you said, tilting your chin to look at him. "If you didn't want to, you wouldn't care so much. You wouldn't have kept all this a secret and you wouldn't think you're a bad person. But what do I know?" you said with a sigh before resting your head against his chest. "I'm just the sugar baby."

Joel's loud laugh echoed throughout your tiny apartment. You grinned when he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap to face him, dark eyes sparkling as he gazed up at you.

"You ain't a sugar baby, and you know it."

"Then what am I?"

He cupped the back of your neck and brought your lips down to meet his in a gentle kiss.

"You're the woman I'm fallin' in love with," he whispered, voice trembling a little. You locked eyes, the surprise and excitement coursing through your veins causing you to smile so wide that it hurt.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied with a smile of his own. "Real goddamn inconvenient," he added, making you giggle and press another kiss against his mouth.

"Told you," you said breathlessly. "But we can take things slow, seeing as you're a newbie and all." Joel scoffed and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

The dam had finally broke. All the secrets and lies were revealed. For better or worse, you both put your hearts in each others hands and trusted that the other would keep it safe.

As if reading your mind, Joel's hand dropped to your chest. He flattened his palm over your rapidly beating heart while you played with the curls on the nape of his neck.

"This is real," he stated softly, voice a little thicker than before. He had a look on his face like he couldn't believe it, and you smiled.

"Yeah, it's real."

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[honnelander]

go fish! part 2

guyssss i did NOT expect this little series to blow up. y'all are amazing! i'm turning into a Sanji writing blog and am i mad about it? no lmao i received a couple of requests and i'll work on them as soon as i can. i'm really in the zone rn so i'll ride this wave as long as i can. if you want to be a part of the taglist for whenever i post new Sanji content, lmk. i hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8k

pairing: opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: after being humiliated by Usopp earlier, reader stays in her room to decompress. however, she gets a visitor.

prequel part 1 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @smolracoon25 @mischiefmanaged71 @jovialcat123

Mortified. That’s how you felt. Still. 

Ever since you ‘forfeited’ from finishing your Go Fish card game with Usopp a couple of hours ago, you had taken your glass of water that Sanji had poured for you and boarded up in your shared room with Nami, refusing to come out due to “heat exhaustion”. 

Poor Luffy, ever the golden hearted captain, was immediately worried for your wellbeing as soon as he heard that but after multiple reassurances from you and getting up off of your hammock multiple times to prove you were in fact, just fine, he relented from wanting to stop by the nearest island so he could find a doctor for you. Usopp had managed to convince him as well that all you needed was some water, alone time, and that you would be fine by dinnertime. 

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a sigh, vowing to yourself that the next time you wanted some time by yourself, you should just take a bath or something, since any other excuse would cause someone on the crew (Luffy) to lose their mind at the thought of someone not feeling well. 

You readjusted yourself, sitting more upright, as you downed the last of your water, it being warm by this point since it had been poured by Sanji hours ago. 

Sanji. Ugh.  

Your heart fluttered once again at the mere thought of him, but that flutter was immediately replaced by a wave of crashing embarrassment at the thought of the afternoon’s sequence of events. What had happened earlier wasn’t even anything that groundbreaking or special, but to you? It was everything. It wasn’t common practice in your life for the object of your affections to be so kind towards you, so thoughtful, to read and anticipate your needs before you even knew they were even there. But Sanji? He was all of that and more. And you didn’t even know him for that long! You’ve all been a part of the straw-hat crew for 5 months at this point and it felt silly to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on one of your crewmates in that short amount of time. 

And having feelings for your crewmate? Someone who you literally couldn’t get away from since you all were trapped on a ship together (not that you would ever want to be away from him or anyone else for that matter, besides Usopp, but still), it felt morally wrong. You guys were all a team. Sure, you all were off to sail around the world and chase dreams, but achieving all of that required teamwork and trust, and that was hard to do if two of those people were caught up with matters of the heart every hour of every day. 

Like, what if things didn’t work out in the end? Would you really want to put the crew’s dynamic at stake just because you thought the blonde guy was cute? No, you wouldn’t. It would be selfish so you would never dare to put yourself or Sanji in that position. No matter how much you liked him. 

So as much as it pained you, you could never tell Sanji how you feel. You would never cross that line of being a ‘professional pirate’ into something more, like a pirate wife. Or a pirate chef’s wife. 

It definitely didn’t help that freaking Usopp of all people on the crew knew about your affections for Sanji. Ugh, you groaned. He was the absolute worst person to know about it too. Why did he have to figure it out? Why did he have to be the one that had put two and two together to equal four? That your random bouts of awkwardness and shyness plus ‘heart eyes’ and blushes whenever Sanji was around equaled to you having a forbidden crush on the crew’s chef? It was embarrassing. And complicated.  

He loved to stir the pot too, so whenever he could tease you for it when you both were alone or in front of a clueless Sanji, he would. You remembered the kiss he had shared with Kayla back when the straw-hats had acquired the Going Merry, so you definitely jabbed him right back when you had had enough, since part of you felt guilty for it since Kayla was thousands of miles away and Sanji lived on this ship with you. Your situations were slightly similar but completely different.  

Also, completely different in the way that him and Kayla were basically dating at this point, albeit long distance, and had shared a kiss while you could barely sustain eye contact that lasted more than 5 seconds with Sanji. 

You were hopeless. 

“Knock, knock,” a familiar accented voice came through the closed door. “Y/n? Are you awake?” 

"Sanji?” you blurted out in complete surprise.  

Shit. You weren’t mentally prepared to see him just yet. At all. You were still replaying the interaction you both had earlier in your head, your overthinking mind going over every minute detail to figure out if Usopp’s careless teasing had given away your affections.  

Usopp, you mentally ground out. You were going to kill him. Sanji had never stopped by your room before so what on earth was he doing here now?  

Suddenly, a thought struck you like a bolt of lightning and made your stomach drop fifty miles below sea level: if Sanji had specifically stopped by your room just to gently let you down, that no, in fact he did not feel the same way about you, that he only thought of you as a member of the crew and nothing more....then yeah, you were definitely going to kill Usopp and throw him overboard. 

Before you could mentally plot out more details on Usopp's murder, the door opened and the straw-hat chef’s blonde head appeared. His eyes quickly scanned Nami’s empty hammock on the room’s left side before turning his head to the right, his blue eyes immediately finding your surprised ones, a (relieved?) smile lighting up his face at the sight of you. 

“So, I take it you’re awake?” Sanji asked in a light, teasing tone but not making an effort to move himself away from the doorway. 

“Uh, y-eah,” you stuttered out in surprise as you just stared at him dumbfounded. You still couldn’t figure out why he was here. 

Sanji continued to lock eyes with you, making your cheeks flush the longer you both stared at each other, and your palms sweat as the silence stretched on, making the tension in the air become thicker by the second. He blinked, his eyes darting to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “May I come in?” 

“OH! Yes, of course- sorry,” you stuttered as you waved him inside, sitting up in your hammock and mentally face palmed yourself. Of course, Sanji was waiting on you to invite him inside. Like always, he was acting like a true gentleman. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Sorry, that was rude of me. Make yourself at home.” 

Sanji stood up to his full height and walked into your room with an easy smile and a small laugh, closing the door behind him. “Ah, don’t ever apologize y/n. You could never be rude to me,” Sanji rebuttalled and waved off your apology as he looked around and took in your very plain and basic shared room with Nami.  

Your room, or side of the room more specifically, wasn’t much to brag about considering you really didn’t have much to your name but for now, it was home to you. Your side consisted of your hammock, a wooden barrel next to it to act as a makeshift nightstand that housed your only book, a journal, and a lamp, along with an empty wooden crate to act as a makeshift seat and another to hold some of your other clothes and small travel bag. Nami’s side was similar to yours but had a touch more personality as she hung up some maps she found at various markets and drew up herself on her wall. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about the lack of things in your room considering your current guest was dressed, as usual, to the nines in his signature black suit and blue and white striped shirt complete with a skinny black tie. “Sorry for the sad state of my room-” 

“Sad?” Sanji stopped admiring your room and snapped his gaze to look at you. His eyebrows pulled together as another confused smile adorned his features. “Why would you say that? Your room isn’t sad, I like it. It’s a reflection of you,” his next words came out softer, “and I think that’s beautiful.” 

You could feel heat crawling up your neck at his words as you busied yourself with placing the empty glass in your hand on your barrel nightstand. There was no way Sanji was calling you beautiful, he was just commenting on your room. With Nami. On your shared room that owed any ounce of ‘personality’ to the ship’s navigator because it was obvious you literally brought nothing special to this room whatsoever.  

You stopped yourself from spiraling into ‘I don’t bring anything special to the straw-hats, I don’t know why they keep me around’ thoughts because now wasn’t the time to think about any of that. Those dark thoughts were reserved when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night.  

As you placed the glass on the nightstand, you asked, “So, what brings you all the way to my room? Aren’t you usually prepping for dinner around this time?” 

Sanji’s eyes followed your hand and lit up when he saw the sole book on your nightstand. “Oh, a book? I didn’t know you liked to read.” His megawatt smile lit up a couple of notches as his eyes sparkled, he looked like he had just learned one of the universe’s greatest mysteries as he took a seat near you on an empty crate. “What book is that?” 

“Oh, that?” You mentally deflated at the fact you now had to tell Sanji about your favorite book, “It’s Pride and Prejudice.”  

You weren’t ashamed of having that book specifically, you loved it and it was your favorite book of all time, you had lost count at how many times you had read it at this point, but it was the fact that you now had to share this part of yourself with the guy you fancied. Guys normally scoffed and turned their nose up at romance book and romantic things, so you were bracing for Sanji to scoff and laugh at you like all the other guys did (like even Zoro and Usopp did when they first saw you reading it) but it never came. 

Instead, Sanji’s smile remained bright. “Ah, so you’re a lover of classic romances? Pride and Prejudice? Romeo and Juliet?” 

Immediately, you smiled, finding yourself instantly comfortable suddenly whenever you got to talk about one of your favorite things. “Absolutely. I don’t think there’s a problem big enough out there that love can’t solve. Family backgrounds? Wealth and status? At the end of the day, none of that stuff matters. What matters is if two people love each other.” 

Sanji stayed quiet for a moment, looking into your eyes with a twinkle of an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I agree.” 

You swallowed. “You like this stuff too? Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” 

Sanji blinked and that indescribable emotion he had in his eyes was gone. His smile remained, however, and became sheepish as he held up his hands, “Ah ok, you caught me. I’ve never read the full thing, but I know the main parts of the story. My favorite part that I did read though, was the first dinner with Mr. Collins and he complimented the Bennets on their ‘excellent boiled potatoes’.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head slightly as you teased, “I should’ve known that the chef of the Going Merry’s favorite part of the book is when food is discussed!” 

The blonde cook held his hands up again with a good-natured laugh, “Ah, you got me!” His face softened as he asked, “What about you?" He nodded towards the book. "What’s your favorite part?” 

You paused for a second as you mulled the question over. “Well, I'm not sure if you know about this part since you never read the book...” 

“Try me,” he encouraged softly. 

Your face turned to the side, your eyes looking at the wooden wall to your right, unable to bring yourself to look at Sanji as you told him your favorite part of your favorite book. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves, your voice becoming quiet as you told him, “My favorite part is...when Mr. Darcy barges in on Elizabeth for the first time, while she’s at her friend Charlotte’s house writing a letter. He had come to practice ‘conversating’ with her since he admitted that it wasn’t something he was good at and she had told him to practice it. So, Mr. Darcy just barged in and they had one of the most painfully awkward conversations ever...and he did all that just because he loves her. He did something he hated and was bad at, and opened himself up to embarrassment just because he wanted to improve and be better for her. It’s so romantic and beautiful.” 

The air was quiet after your mini monologue and for a moment, nothing could be heard except for their quiet breathing and the occasional crash of the ocean from outside your small window. 

Part of you worried that your little rambling had bored Sanji, so when you finally looked at him, imagine your surprise when you found him leaning in towards you, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes watching you, completely engaged. It was like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Sanji scanned your face for a moment, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not familiar with that part in the book,” and before you could open your mouth to bring yourself down, he continued, “but, that doesn’t mean your answer is wrong.” He leaned back and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Hell, it’s a much more insightful answer than mine!” He laughed. “I just liked how they were poking some fun at boiled potatoes.” 

You laughed with him because yes, that part in the book also made you laugh as well. But at the mention of food, you realized that you still didn’t know why Sanji was here in the first place. Wasn’t he normally prepping for dinner at this time? He had to be running behind schedule at this point. 

“Why are you here, Sanji? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” 

“Yeah, it is actually but I heard you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re feeling alright and see if you have any special requests for dinner?” 

You couldn’t help the slight smile that overtook your face, trying to hide the blush at the fact that he was kind enough to check in on you and offer to practically be your own personal chef for the evening. 

You hummed for a moment, acting like you were deep in thought before asking with a raised eyebrow, "And what would you say if I requested some boiled potatoes?”  

The smile that lit up the chef’s face was priceless. He had never looked more beautiful. “To that, I would say ‘Absolutely. If that’s what the missus wants, then that is what the missus will get.’” 

Missus. There it was again. You felt all warm inside whenever he called you that, it made you feel like he was your husband and that you were his wife. But that wasn’t the case. Sanji definitely must have called other women that before. You weren’t special to him, he was just being polite.  

You swallowed down your emotions, putting your sudden wave of sadness away for later, putting on a small smile. “Then that sounds perfect. I would like to formally request some ‘excellent boiled potatoes’ as a side for dinner, please.” 

If Sanji noticed your sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned as he said, “Excellent choice, Madam. Boiled potatoes, coming right up.” As he stood up and made his way towards your door, Sanji did one of the most unexpected things that nearly knocked the wind out of you. With his left hand on the doorknob he said, “And don’t worry, Madam. I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of extra love in there,” he turned and winked at you, “just for you.” 

With that, Sanji left your room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbstruck in your room, your mouth agape and body frozen. 

Did Sanji just say he loved you? 

You shook your head, because there was no way he did, right? He said he’d ‘sprinkle in some extra love’ into your potatoes, not 'I love you". You weren’t a chef, maybe that was a euphemism for something. 

You sighed.  

Those better be some good boiled potatoes. 

[ddodol]

sunkissed — l.cy

series ⭑.ᐟ [ kinktober masterlist ] content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, bff!anton, fem!reader, pet names, anton being thick is his biggest crime in this, muscles, unprotected sex, overstimulation. word count⭑.ᐟ 2.2k+

✩🎧⭑.ᐟ [ elevator eyes — tove lo ]

when else would you get the chance to apply sunscreen on anton’s broad and muscular back if not now?

your hands trembled miserably as you applied the sticky sunscreen all over anton’s back, an innocent gesture— or at least it should be. friends do it all the time and you were sure it meant nothing. you tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything, yet anton’s bright red ears made you think otherwise.

you were straddling his hips, sitting comfortably, the thin fabric of your bikini and his shorts being the only thing that's keeping you two from touching skin to skin. you couldn’t help the thoughts your mind would drift off to, wondering if he was thinking the same indecent thoughts as you were. your hands kept traveling lower, stopping by the hem of his shorts, swallowing thickly.

”y/n?” anton’s voice was muffled but you could still hear his soft voice calling out to you, “why did you stop?” you bit your lip at how timid he sounded, you could almost hear the slight quiver in his voice as he asked you.

”do you want me to keep going? make sure i covered everything?” you asked shamelessly, watching as his back muscles flexed with each movement. anton pushed himself off of the towel he was laying down on, rolling over with you still sitting on top of him. as you suspected, his face was red, bright red, in fact.

“i think your face got sunburnt,” you tried joking around, gently cupping his warm cheek with your hand. you expected a small giggle from anton, only for him to stare up at you with glossy eyes, his gaze filled with something you couldn’t quite point out. anton’s breath hitched in his throat as your hand went lower, gently wrapping them around his neck before going down to his bare chest.

“tell me to stop, toni.”

you bit your lip, caressing his firm muscles as if you were hypnotized. you felt him flexing under your hands, trying his hardest to contain himself as he stared up at you, the bright beaming sun creating a halo effect around you. anton made no effort to stop you, his breathing only becoming more ragged the more you touched him.

“do you trust me, y/n?” he asked softly, staring right into your eyes.

your hands stopped moving, swallowing thickly as you nod. anton flashed you a small smile, his huge hands gripping on your hips as he grinds his very prominent bulge up against your thin bikini. anton was thick in all the right ways, his muscles bulging as he held you in place. you could feel him throbbing against your core, head spinning with only a thin fabric separating the two of you.

you sighed softly, brows furrowing with each slight movement. “anton,” you whimpered, body tingling from the stimulation, “we're… we're still outside.” it was mainly a reminder to yourself, but you were too eager to chase after your pleasure to think about stopping.

“i know,” he replied breathlessly, cheeks bright red as he continued to press your hips down. your eyes wandered around, blushing when you noticed the weird looks some people were giving you. anton held your face, keeping your eyes on him, “eyes on me, y/n. only me.”

you shuddered, small, quiet whines escaping your lips. you pressed your body against his, seeking comfort in his warmth. anton held your trembling figure, whispering against your ear. “i'm the only one here, y/n, the only one making you feel this way. focus on me,” he murmured shakily.

anton gripped your thighs, leaving an imprint of his hand before they moved up to your waist. he kept pressing you down onto his clothed cock, bare chest now turning red as he heaved.

you placed your cold hands on his shoulders, shuddering when he thrusted sharply, your body almost bouncing off of him if only he wasn't pressing you down. you let out a quiet cry, gently scratching his skin as you tried to steady yourself.

“anton,” you whimper, eyes filled with tears, “anton, hurry, do something.”

anton chuckled dryly, pulling you close to press a kiss on your lips. it almost flew over your head how you were kissing your best friend, head too fuzzy to think about anything else but him and the way he made you feel.

he broke the kiss, waiting for your eyes to open with a smile on his face. “do you still trust me?”

you nodded, a small yelp escaping your lips when he lifted you up effortlessly. anton carried you in his arms, his lips never leaving your flushed skin even for a moment, soft smooching noises ringing in your ears.

once anton stopped moving, he had your back pressed against a rocky surface. you let your feet down, the cool seawater crashing gently against your legs. anton brought you towards a cove, the chattering from earlier now far away from where you two were.

your head began to cool off, the refreshing ocean breeze starting to fill up your senses. anton smiles at you, playfully tugging at your bikini straps. he leaned in, hot breath fanning over your neck as he pressed hot kisses all over your skin. you could feel your bikini slipping off of you and down the sand, sighing softly when his hands gripped on your tits. anton fondled your softness, brows furrowing as he focused all his attention on them.

“you're not changing your mind, are you?” he asks timidly, the smile on his lips faltering a little. you stared at him, finally noticing the way he's been looking at you. his gaze was filled with a mix of desire and longing, in disbelief that it took you this long to notice.

anton kept trailing kisses all over your shoulder and neck, hands trembling as he lifted you up, supporting your weight and enveloping you in his embrace. “y/n,” he whispered, “please tell me you need me too.”

your breath hitched in your throat, cupping his cheek to tilt his head back. you chuckled at the look on his face, “i need my ride back home, of course i need you.”

anton stared at you in disbelief, making you laugh. “did i ruin the mood?” you asked playfully before your expression finally softened, “i don't do things like this with people i don't like, anton.”

his eyes sparkled, mirroring the glittering ocean waves under the bright sunlight. he smiled widely, leaning in to kiss you passionately. once he was satisfied, he used his hand to push his shorts down, letting out a soft groan as soon as his throbbing length was freed.

he gave his cock a few pumps, his arm muscles bulging with every motion. anton let out shuddering sighs, brows furrowing as he looked at you up and down, as if he was trying to commit your disheveled appearance to memory. you stared at his arms, running your hands over them, too mesmerized by the way it bulged and flexed that you failed to realize just how impossibly thick anton was.

you let out a sharp cry, tears pricking your eyes at how stretched you felt only from his tip slipping inside. “are you fucking kidding me, anton?” you breathed out, eyes darting down to check. you gasped, head spinning when you saw how much more of his length was left.

anton whimpered at your tight walls swallowing him in spite of the pain you were feeling, burying his face against your neck, “it's not my fault— it really isn't. i need you to relax around me, y/n.”

you cried out, nails digging into his shoulder as he continued to push inside your tight walls. “fucking sea cucumber,” you whined, throwing your head back as you heaved. anton giggles tiredly, mumbling an apology as he kissed your neck in a poor attempt to shift your attention someplace else.

“you're all good,” anton whispered softly, “i won't hurt you. you're already taking me so well, y/n.” you felt weak at his praises, glancing down at him to see the smug look on his face. you let out a shaky breath, walls finally relaxing around him.

anton smiled widely, “i'll do anything you want later, okay? just need to feel you around me right now.” you nod, surrendering your body to anton. he chuckled when you relaxed, bucking his hips forward with a quiet groan.

anton thrusted slow, at the same pace as the gentle ocean waves by his feet. you felt every inch of him, the way he throbbed, the way he got impossibly bigger whenever your walls clenched, the way he'd effortlessly hit all your sensitive spots— you could feel all of him. your head began to spin, whimpering from the pleasure that was starting to overwhelm you.

“anton,” you whined, leaving scratches on his back. he hummed in response, wincing whenever your walls clamped down on him. “faster, give it to me faster.” anton panted, body tensing up as he stared at your dazed expression.

“anything you want, baby,” he whispered, taking it as a challenge. anton leaned in to press hot kisses on the crook of your neck, taking you by surprise at how fast he went. anton gave you no time to adjust, hips moving brutally against yours, the sound of your skin slapping against his almost mimicking the waves that would hit the walls of the cove you two were in.

you moaned loudly, crying out as the impact of his thrusts pushed you against the rocky walls. “fuck— not too fast!” you whimper, gripping on him tightly, “anton!”

he ignored your cries, too focused on the way your walls would flutter, drawing him in even deeper. “don’t tell me to go faster and then take it back,” he groaned, brows furrowing, “there's no way i can stop now— you feel too fucking good, y/n.”

you shudder, whimpering at how deep he was reaching. you could feel the thick head of his cock knocking on your deepest walls, stomach almost bulging from the pressure. “toni, toni, please,” you whined, “it's too much for me. i’m— i might—”

“gonna cum for me, y/n? do it, baby. let me see you— let me see how pretty you look for me.” anton was dazed, eyes focusing on the way your face would contort prettily, or the way your tits would bounce with every thrust, or the way your hair fell on your face. he thought you looked the prettiest when you were drowning in pleasure, calling out his name with your swollen lips.

“fuck— you're so fucking close, aren't you? i can feel you— fuck, you're too tight,” anton panted heavily, hips stuttering as your walls convulsed around his thick length.

“anton. anton, i can't— i can't think!” you sobbed, body starting to tense up. your lower back felt hot, both from the friction and your incoming orgasm. you could tell it was going to be big, already trembling as you dug your nails into anton’s back, unintentionally wounding him.

anton winced, burying his face into your neck as his hips snapped upwards, stilling deep inside. you cried sensitively, body spasming as your orgasm washed over you.

“fuck,” anton sighed out, shivers running through his body. he could feel your walls convulsing and tightening around him, eagerly milking his cock. he kissed your neck, “just a bit more, okay?”

before you could ask what he meant, his hips already started to move, setting a brutal pace from the get go without letting you rest. “fuck! fuck, anton!” you sobbed, trembling sensitively.

amidst the brutal pace, you could feel anton’s cock throbbing deep inside you, signaling his own orgasm. you cried out, leaving more scratches on his back, trembling when you felt his cum coating your walls.

anton pressed his cock deep inside, hips stuttering sensitively. you laid your body against his chest, shuddering as a second wave of your orgasm washed over you, this time more intense than earlier. anton looked down from where you two were connected, amused by the sight of you squirting weakly.

he licked his lips, a smug smile on his lips as he brushed hair away from your face. the sun was beaming down on you, perfectly framing your flushed face. anton ran his thumb over your cheek, chuckling when you leaned your head against his hand.

“you're the prettiest, y/n,” anton complimented softly, “the prettiest when you come apart because of me.”

you let out a sigh, body feeling like jelly, too tired to argue back or feel shy. “stupid. you’re so stupid,” you mumble weakly, earning soft laughs from anton.

“i know, i know. you enjoyed it too, huh?” anton coos at you, smiling at how spent you were. he kissed you cheek, lips lingering for a bit before he pulled away, a mischievous smile on his lips.

“need me to put sunscreen on you too? i’d love to return the favor.” you stared into his eyes, knowing that he already has something in mind.

”no thanks,” you frowned, “i’m too sore to play in the sand.” anton chuckles, kissing your skin softly, making you shudder. “besides, there’s something else i wanna do now,” you trailed off, hand sliding up his arm muscles. he flexed as you held his arm, muscles proudly bulging against your hand.

anton smiled widely, “me?” you nod, cheeks turning red when he laughed. “you can do me anytime you want,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “just make sure you’re prepared.”

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Seven

— Little Big Movie Night

Series Masterlist

wc: 2.4k

Max kept his word and was entirely available so far out of the ten days between races. That is, if the two hours that were spent on an impromptu online meeting set up by the team principal don't count.

Max was actually at your place when he received the call, about to enjoy a movie and some popcorn with you and Isabella.

"Christian, with all due respect, it's seven pm. Can we push this to tomorrow morning?" Max walked towards the other end of the room but you heard his question, already understanding that something had come up.

After some hushed voices over the phone, Max returned with an apologetic look on his face. He began muttering your name slowly, but you shook your head, "you don't have to explain, it's fine."

That earned a frown on his face, "what? No, let me explain."

You remained silent, allowing him to go on. "Christian set up a meeting, so I was going to ask if there's a room I could use for a bit?"

Your lips parted, almost turning up in a smile, "you're not leaving?"

Max shook his head, "I figured I'd stay and we can watch the movie after the meeting's over, if that's fine with you?" He scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish smile on his face.

You couldn't contain the smile that graced your lips, "of course, that's totally fine. I have a little room I use as an office so we can set up there."

Leading Max towards your office, you quickly closed all the excess tabs on your laptop, and opened up a new one.

Then you looked back to see that Max was still standing by the door, looking around in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't really get to clean up today."

His head snapped towards you at your words, "no, don't apologize. I'm just admiring it, that's all." He walked closer to a cork board, which was covered in so much paper that you weren't able to see the brown board underneath.

Next to it was a whiteboard, with your handwriting scribbled onto it with dry erase markers since you jotted down some notes and reminders from a few days ago.

"What's there to admire about this mess?" You asked with a small laugh, partly at yourself because you had always kept this room tidy; it simply happened to be messy on the day someone other than you entered it.

"It tells me more about you," he spoke, but before you could utter a word he continued, "and no I don't mean it tells me that you're messy because you're not. It's just nice, that's all."

Pressing your lips together to prevent yet another smile, you nodded, "okay."

Max insisted that you should remain by his side until the meeting started, just in case something happened and he needed your help.

You chose not to comment on the fact that Max clearly knew how to use a laptop and did not require your assistance. Instead, you stood by his side as he sat in the chair, slightly bending over closer each time he asked a question while pointing at the screen.

Every time you inched a little closer, Max looked up at you with a fond smile on his face. He had to occupy his hand with something else such as typing or he would have pulled you down to sit on his lap.

"Max?" You spoke with a teasing smile once you realized his gaze wasn't wavering away from you. He hummed in response, and you couldn't help but chuckle at his lack of words.

"Your phone's ringing," you simply stated, causing him to look away from you for a moment as he noted the caller id, before looking back at you, this time with an annoyed expression on his face.

"It's Christian," he held the phone in his hand, contemplating whether or not he should answer.

"What do you think? Should I just ignore the call and the meeting, just watch the movie with you and Bella?" He asked with the phone still ringing.

"Max, if it wasn't important I don't think you'd have an impromptu meeting." He groaned, "but the movie, I don't want you both to wait."

You placed a hand on his shoulder, "we're not going anywhere, if anything, we can watch it another day. Plus, it's Cars 2, you have no idea how many times Bella watched it. I think she knows every line by heart."

That seemed to convince Max enough to join the meeting. You walked a step away right before he was about to turn on the camera, but Max caught your hand in his, pulling you back.

He placed a small kiss on the back of your hand before gesturing to his cheek. You couldn't contain the blush creeping up your cheeks as his lips touched your knuckles, but tinge grew deeper when you realized what his gesture meant.

In the spur of the moment, you had kissed Max's cheek while you were shopping a few days prior without a second thought. But it seemed to stick in Max's mind and instead of being repulsed by it, he wanted yet another kiss.

"I thought you didn't notice it," you mumbled, then your gaze moved towards the meeting screen, and noted that Max's camera and mic wasn't on.

"Your lips were on me, and you think I wouldn't notice it," he dropped your hand and turned in his chair, so his cheek was facing you.

"Max, are you there?" A voice sounded through the laptop, which brought both of your attention back on it. Max quickly leaned forward to unmute the microphone and spoke, "yeah, I'm here."

You chose that moment to grab his chin, turning it to the side and pressing a lingering kiss on his cheek. Max couldn't utter a word, eyes widening since he thought you wouldn't do it.

He also couldn't utter a word because now his microphone was unmuted, and anything he wanted to say could've been heard by everyone in the meeting.

He watched as you began leaving the room, turning back for a moment to look at Max's surprised face that quickly turned into something mischievous. You smiled cheekily, knowing exactly what you did, with no regrets.

"Turn your camera on mate," the voice belonging to someone from his team, but he couldn't care less about who it was, not with you running through his mind.

Max did as requested, and the first comment he received was from Christian, "that doesn't look like your apartment, where are you?"

He wanted to roll his eyes, but that would've been very unprofessional, so he stuck to something slightly less unprofessional, "can we just get started?"

Max leaned back in his chair, or rather in your chair, as he thought about what he could've said to you if he wasn't in this meeting.

Downstairs, your daughter was sitting on the couch with her favourite teddy bear and a light blanket as she asked, "where's Maxy, mama?"

"He's in a meeting, Bella. I don't know if we can watch a movie tonight," you sighed, knowing that it was a common answer you used to give her when she was younger.

"Just like daddy?" Isabella asked, speaking your thoughts out loud. You shrugged, because you didn't know what else to say.

You wanted to deny and tell her that the meeting Max is in, is nothing like the ones Tyler had. You wanted to tell her that Max really didn't want to join it because he wanted to spend time with her.

But that would simply lead her to wonder why it is different from her father's meetings. Then, you wouldn't be able to tell her that Tyler used to schedule "meetings" merely to cancel the plans with Isabella.

"I don't know, angel, but it shouldn't take too long," was the best answer you could come up with.

It did take a while before Max came back downstairs. A whole two hours to be exact. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he exclaimed as he neared you and Isabella.

While you nodded along, telling him that he didn't need to apologize, your daughter crossed her arms and turned her head away from Max.

"Not fair, Maxy," she muttered, inching closer to you and away from him. Max frowned, "I'm sorry, Bella, do you still want to watch the movie?"

She uncrossed her arms but didn't move any closer. "I already finished the popcorn," she muttered, and Max couldn't help but chuckle. However, his smile made her frown, "don't laugh at me," her crossed arms were back.

Max instantly stopped, and you held back your own giggle watching the interaction. "It's okay, we can make more," he suggested which made Isabella look up at you.

"Can we make more, mama?" You shrugged, "I thought you were upset with Max? Not anymore?" Although Isabella tried to be upset with Max, she truly wasn't. Max, however, gullibly played into her little scheme.

"No, meetings are important, I guess," she responded and clutched Max's legs like she always did. This time, Max picked her up, "you are also very important, Bella."

You watched as they walked into the kitchen, with your daughter leading Max towards the popcorn. He did it all while still holding Isabella, and that sparked a bright smile on your face.

You finished queuing up the movie as they returned to the couch, Isabella sitting between you and Max while holding a bowl of popcorn.

Around half an hour passed by before Isabella dozed off. She was cuddled against Max's side, still holding onto the bowl which you carefully retrieved from her without waking her up.

You reached out towards her, but paused as you tried to figure out how you could pick her up and away from Max without waking her up.

"It's okay, let me take her upstairs," Max suggested quietly before carrying your sleeping daughter to her bedroom. You followed, just in case, plus Max didn't know where her bedroom was.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched as he carefully tucked her in, which was a difficult task since Isabella didn't let go of her grasp on Max.

When he placed a short kiss on her forehead, and ran a hand over her head to smoothen out her hair, you turned away, no longer being able to watch such a gentle moment.

You walked back downstairs, with Max following moments later. Both of you looked at the tv screen where the movie was paused, then back to each other. "Do you want to continue?" He spoke your thoughts out loud.

You nodded, "sure."

This time, without Isabella sitting in between, you and Max were able to sit a lot closer. You grabbed the remote while Max held the bowl of popcorn.

Perhaps the movie was just a ploy to spend time together, to give Max a reason to stay longer because neither of you actually focused on the animation playing.

"How was the meeting?" You asked, making Max let out a groan. "The worst."

"It couldn't have been that bad," you commented, watching Max shake his head. "No, I never understood it when people say a meeting could've been an email, but this meeting—oh my god— it truly could've been an email."

You threw your head back with a laugh, "oh no, poor Max," you teased with your finger poking his cheek.

Before you could move it away, he linked his fingers with yours then facing the screen as if nothing happened. You looked at your linked fingers, smiling with a slight tinge growing on your cheeks before you looked ahead to focus on the movie.

Then, you felt his gaze on you, and you couldn't help but comment, "you're not watching." You turned your face to look at him, and he shrugged, "I can't help it, you're so beautiful."

"Such a flirt," you moved your hand away, briefly unlinking your fingers but before Max could protest, you shuffled closer to him, looping your arm with his and resting your head on his shoulder.

You couldn't concentrate on the movie anymore, and you weren't sure if it was because you'd seen it so many times with your daughter or because Max was tracing shapes with his fingertips on your thigh.

Feeling him shuffle around, you lifted your head to face him, "what's wrong?”

He shook his head but continued looking at you, this time with a look that seemed like he wanted to say something.

Max's thoughts were reeling inside his mind, trying to come up with the right words. So far, he's tried to remain calm around you, but with you so close to him in a way that seemed normal, he couldn't think.

Since he couldn't think, he mouth moved and spoke the words he had stuck in his mind for a while now, "can I take you out on a date?"

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, because out of all the words you expected to hear from him, it wasn't those. Well, you hoped he'd say it, but you didn't actually think he would.

Max mistook your surprise for denial and started spluttering with apologies, "sorry—um—that was unexpected—" he tried but the smile growing on your face told him to shut up.

"I was waiting for you to ask me out," you admitted, but Max still didn't sigh in relief. He needed another confirmation because right now, he could not believe the words you were saying.

"Is that a yes?" He only relaxed when you nodded, "yes, Max, I'd love to go on a date with you."

Then he sighed, a happy smile overtaking his face. "Thank god, I thought you were going to reject me."

Since Max stopped moving, you rested your head on his shoulder again, your arm still hooked with his but you slid your palm down until you met his. Max didn't think twice before threading his fingers between yours.

"Reject you? Never," you stated, and Max began thinking of how he was truly lucky to have met you.

"It's all because of Isabella," you answered his thoughts, making him realize that he had said it all out loud. He chuckled, "yeah, it is."

"For the record, I'm glad that I met you too," you stated, causing a slight blush to rise onto Max's cheeks but fortunately, you were focusing on the last few minutes of the movie.

This movie night might've gone in a different direction than Max expected, but the outcome was gladly appreciated. He didn't leave your hand even after the end credits ended, and you didn't move away either.

Taglist: (continuing the taglist in comments) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy @formulanni @ellouisa17 @phantomxoxo

[sassysnowperson]

How Not to Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels

With the very exciting fantasy books poll bracket going on Discworld and how to read it is in the zeitgeist again. I figured I would take a crack at adding to this important topic with a guide drawn from my own chaotic mess of a reading journey:

Learn that Terry Pratchett is a fantasy author that several people whose reading taste you admire enjoy. He apparently blends comedy, good plotting, and a world that is both grounded and satirical and you're a big fan of all those things.

Fabulous! Decide to read some of his work.

Go to your local library. Love a good library. You're new to the area, so you're also exploring the library for the first time, too.

You have found Terry Pratchett! Points to you! Pull a book off the shelf at random. It's called The Dark Side of the Sun.

Start reading. Realize that this feels more like sci-fi than fantasy. Sigh in smug superiority about people who get the two confused.

Realize about halfway through that this is not, in fact, a Discworld book.

Nobody warned you the guy wrote other things!

It's still good, tho. Maybe a little rough but this was an older book and the author clearly has potential. Let's try again.

Review his works. The vast majority are Discworld. You are highly unlikely to grab another non-Discworld book. Go back to the Terry Pratchett section of the library.

Oh hey he wrote a book with Neil Gaiman! You've hears of that guy!

Grab Good Omens off the shelf.

Take it home, realize, much sooner, that this is also not a Discworld book. Still enjoy yourself thoroughly. You should read more of this Gaiman dude, too.

But okay. For real this time. Go back to the library and don't leave without *CONFIRMING* you have a Discworld book this time.

Grab a book. Look at the cover. Read the back Discworld! Ha HA! You've done it!

It's called Thud.

You are utterly gripped by a story of a man wrestling with himself, his growing child, the political tensions of a city and extremism that echoes reality beautifully while still being entirely true to itself. It's a story of responsibility and love and building communities and Fantasy Chess. You are driven nearly to tears by the sentence *WHERE IS MY COW?*

You emerge from the book fundamentally changed as a person, and finally understanding what all the fuss is about. You are now a Terry Pratchett reader for life.

You realize Thud was in the middle of a series. That was a part of another series. That explains why there was a feeling that you were supposed to know some of these people already.

You finally find one of those flowcharts and figure out a more sensible reading order.

I always sort of laugh when people ask where to start reading Discworld, because Thud would be first on absolutely nobody's sensible Terry Pratchett reading order. I'm still tempted to recommend it though!

(My actual advice: Going Postal if you love con men being stuck doing the right thing, Wee Free Men if you like YA and smart angry girls owning their own power, Guards! Guards! *and* Men at Arms if you like crime shows with heart and are okay giving earlier work a try (the quality gets better and better, but I think it needs at least two books to get you into it), and Monstrous Regiment if you like gender and queer feelings, anti-war books told in the middle of a war, and/or would prefer a stand alone novel...and, you know, Thud if you want a great read and don't mind some chaos.)

[awearywritersworld]

she mumbled that i was peculiar

sukuna x reader summary: impressively, sukuna is still trying to find ways to deny his feelings for you. nevertheless, he keeps you safe from harm when a late night trip to the store doesn't go as planned. will seeing his violent nature for yourself change the way you feel about him? he seems to think so. w/c: 4.2k (oops) tags/warnings: angst to fluff. attempted kidnapping. canon typical violence. depictions of blood. reader throws up. reader is in shock for a bit. cursing. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: i'm sorry this took so long! im ngl, i struggled quite a bit to write this chapter. i'm still unsure about the pacing, but here it is anyway. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! series masterlist // masterlist

it's not often that you go out for the evening, but tonight is one such occasion. you leave around seven, excited to meet nobara and maki for dinner.

when yuuji falls asleep a few hours later, sukuna doesn't take over right away. he spends a while in his domain, engaging in what some people might call sulking.

before long, however, he begins to feel restless and he tells himself it's because he's grown accustomed to his finite hours of freedom. of course, it has nothing to do with your absence.

so he assumes control of his vessel's body and pulls a short novel from your bookshelf. settling on the couch, his fingertips brush over the cover: the stranger by albert camus

it's the first time he's ever been alone in your apartment, a fact he's well aware of, and his eyes wander to the front door. it'd be all too easy to pull it open, to make his way downstairs and out onto the street.

how long would it last before yuuji regained control? are you nearby? would you get caught up in the havoc he'd doubtlessly wreak?

the thought makes him grimace. returning his focus to the book in his hands, time seems to pass by faster as he makes his way through the pages.

even so, he deems the narrative a bit boring. in his (what's the opposite of humble?) opinion, dead mothers and nagging girlfriends don't make for the most captivating story, so his mind begins to wander once he happens upon the quote:

"so why marry me, then?" she said. i explained to her that it didn't really matter and that if she wanted to, we could get married. besides, she was the one who was doing the asking and all i was saying was yes. then she pointed out that marriage was a serious thing. i said, "no." she stopped talking for a minute and looked at me without saying anything. then she spoke. she just wanted to know if i would have accepted the same proposal from another woman, with whom I was involved in the same way. i said, "sure." then she said she wondered if she loved me, and there was no way i could know about that. after another moment's silence, she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

sukuna thinks about you— the woman who forced her way into his solitude.

although, what if it hadn't been you? what if the brat had been involved with another woman? would he have eventually taken an interest in her too?

are you really that special, or is he just going crazy inside the cage that is itadori yuuji? the latter is much more likely, right?

he supposes he prefers the idea of madness over... feelings for some human.

all of a sudden, your apartment door seems much more inviting. would it be so bad if he were to step through it? what did he really have to lose?

yeah, that's right. he'll get up any second now and act on every horrible impulse he's been repressing. any second now... any second...

he can't quite figure out why he's unable to bring his limbs to move, weighed down by some force that's beyond him.

it's at that moment the door clicks open and for a split second, he thinks it must be his sign to go, but then you come waltzing in.

"'kuna!" you greet in an excited manner, disrupting the peaceful quiet.

kicking off your shoes haphazardly, you make your way over to him and promptly drop yourself into his lap. it elicits a bout of unwelcome clarity for the king of curses.

no, he wouldn't have taken an interest in just anyone, that much becomes obvious. it wasn't through a medium as flawed as chance that he came to... tolerate you. you're much too annoying for that to be the case.

"hello???" you wave your hand in front of his face. "i'm home."

"i can see that."

"welcome home, darling," you say in a deep voice, a poor imitation of him. "i missed you so much— that's what you're supposed to say."

yeah, definitely too annoying.

"but i didn't miss you." one of his hands comes to rest on your thigh, a betrayal of his preceding assertion.

"you're sitting alone reading—" you pause to inspect the book lying open beside him. "existential fiction about a nihilistic frenchman. of course you missed me."

he changes the topic rather swiftly. "you're drunk."

"i'm tipsy, at best." you roll your eyes. "can't i just be happy to see you?"

"you'd be the first."

"i don't mind making history."

you place a kiss on his lips, casual and affectionate in way that makes sukuna's body stiffen, and stand up.

"i need to get ready for bed, then we're gonna watch tv together because i missed you— gosh, see how easy that was?"

you run off to the bathroom and his body doesn't fully relax until he hears the shower turn on.

the thought of missing someone is a strange notion to him, because it implies eagerness and desire. for as long as he cares to remember, those emotions have been reserved for proclivities much more sinister.

so he hadn't missed you. he just would have preferred it if you stayed home. that's all.

when you return to the living room around fifteen minutes later, you're wearing one of yuuji's shirts, and as far as sukuna can tell, very little otherwise.

making yourself comfortable on the floor between his legs, you pass a hair tie behind you. "can you braid my hair?"

he's watched you get ready for bed enough times that he's fairly certain he can manage it. taking the tie from you, he still asks "why can't you do it?"

"because i'm sleepy," you frown, reaching for the tv remote.

gathering your hair in his hands and carefully dividing it into sections, he sighs. "you require so much looking after."

"you're not going to die if you can't have cookies tonight." sukuna states dryly, glancing at the clock that reads eleven o'clock.

"please don't trivialize my struggle," you begin, pulling on your jacket. "i want miso butter cookies— my grandma's secret recipe."

most of what you need can be found in the kitchen, but a trip to the store is in order for a few final ingredients.

"my mistake," he huffs, rising to his feet. "how insensitive of me."

"oh, it's alright. just don't let it happen again."

"sure. i'll keep that in mind, princess." sliding the apartment door's chain lock off the track, he does little to hide the vexation in his tone.

just as he reaches for the handle, you stop him and wrap a scarf around his neck, forcing a hoodie into his hands. "put this on. you'll be cold."

he looks at you as if you're crazy. "i don't have to worry about things as insignificant as the weather."

"well, put it on anyway," you insist.

he decides that acquiescing will be easier than arguing for the next five minutes and slips the hoodie over head. when you both step out into the chilly air of night, there are still a decent number of people traveling the streets.

stopping at a crosswalk the next block over, you begin to prattle on about what you need to pick up and the different steps in your recipe. naturally, you completely miss it when the pedestrian sign turns green.

"come on," sukuna commands, his hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you along with him. "i don't have all night."

you scoff. "to be fair, i didn't say you had to come with me."

"yeah well it's late. you shouldn't be out alone." there's a hint of exasperation in his voice, like he truly had no choice in the matter.

despite that, once you reach the other side of the street, his fingers slide down your palm and thread through yours.

you glance over at him and find he's looking off to the side, so you bite your lip to suppress your pleased smile. is he avoiding your gaze intentionally? you decide that bashfulness suits him better than you would have expected.

offering him a light squeeze of the hand, you hope it conveys your appreciation of his small display of affection.

"so, are you going to help me make the cookies?"

his lips press into a thin line. "as thrilling as that seems, i don't particularly have a penchant for baking."

"you think you'd humor me a little! you know, since i'm your only friend and all."

"if anyone else asked me such a ridiculous question, they wouldn't live to see tomorrow." you ponder whether he's joking and quickly decide that he isn't. "this is me humoring you."

"you're so mean to me."

"hardly."

"fine," you pout. "then you can't have any!"

"now, hold on." the threat does make him hesitate. you've come to learn that if there's one thing he loves as much as reading, it's food. "let's not be hasty."

you're approaching the store, the sliding doors just a few strides away.

"it's only fair! besides, you're not going to die if you can't have cookies," you throw his earlier words in his face.

he exhales deeply. "have i ever told you how irritating you are?"

"woah! now you're definitely not getting any, mister!"

"alright, alright," he groans as you step inside. "i'll help you bake your stupid cookies."

"perfect!" you exclaim as if you knew he'd give in eventually (you did). "then you can start by finding the miso paste while i get everything else!"

you scamper off before he can tell you not to order him around like some common servant. he's never even been grocery shopping, how the hell is he supposed to find anything in here?

wandering the aisles, he stews over how domestic this is. for god's sake— the king of curses, shopping for ingredients and making baked goods. what have you reduced him to?

just as he considers giving up, he spots the item he's looking for and grabs it so aggressively that it knocks a few packets of instant miso soup to the floor. wrinkling his nose in distaste for the entire experience, he sets off looking for you, though his efforts are to no avail.

he wonders where the hell you could have gone off to when a flickering light catches his eye, filling him with a strange sort of unease.

it's emanating from a narrow hallway tucked away in the back corner of the store. at the very edge of the hall, a phone with a familiar case is lying on the floor, the screen shattered.

his blood runs cold, a sensation that is fully unknown to him, and the miso paste slips from his fingers. he appears in the hallway the very next second and the sight that greets him ignites a furious hostility in the center of his being— heavy and consuming.

you're struggling against one man as he drags you out of the backdoor and into an alley. another man is holding the door open, urging his partner to hurry up.

the hand over your mouth keeps you from yelling, but you're unsure you would have been able to make a sound regardless.

one second you're cast into darkness, and the next, the light seems blinding. the flashing is unceasing and it makes your head hurt.

two limbs are wrapped around your torso, keeping you firmly in place, and your arms are trapped at your sides. you might be kicking your legs, but they may just be dragging along too. you really can't be sure.

there's a thrum of a heartbeat at your back. it's pace is unforgiving, the intensity mirroring that of your own. you've a vague concern that your heart may very well beat right out of your chest.

then there's an abrupt shift in the air and a sickening crack echoes through out the night. crumpling onto the concrete, you think it must have started raining before you realize that the droplets on your face are warm.

you wipe at your cheek and your fingers stain crimson, the color matching that of an increasingly large puddle seeping across the pavement beside you.

there's a heap lying a few feet away and you recognize that it's wearing clothes. it's a sight you struggle to make sense of.

needing to focus on something else, your eyes find sukuna and the expression he's wearing is fierce and unreserved. "tell me what you wanted with her."

you've never heard him speak in such a way. his tone is low, his cadence nothing short of threatening.

"s-s'kuna?" your own voice sounds foreign to you and it goes unheard by him.

he has your attacker pressed against the brick wall of the alley, both hands wrapped around his throat. he's too livid to realize the pressure on his windpipe is preventing him from answering.

sukuna throws him to the other side of the alleyway out of frustration, the man rolling onto his back and wheezing to appease his lungs.

"tell me!" sukuna commands again, louder this time. less collected.

the man scrambles away from his looming figure. "th-they sent us, told us they needed her for an important matter."

"who?"

"they'll kill me if i tell you—"

sukuna crouches down, laughing dryly. "and what do you suppose i'm going to do?"

his eyes are almost unrecognizable to you. they're frenzied— a few shades deeper than the scarlet you've grown so fond of.

"you'll k-kill me either way, so at least i'll die with honor—"

"tch. useless." sukuna waves his hand, and you can hardly comprehend what happens right in front of you.

neat red lines appear across the man's body, then it ruptures into nothing at all. the only evidence that he was ever there in the first place is his blood.

the stench of which is perhaps the worst part— intense, coppery, and hot. it makes your eyes water, and before you know it, you're hunched over and emptying the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

sukuna is at your side in an instant, pulling your hair away from your face, but while one of your hands is braced against the concrete, the other endeavors to push him away.

his body doesn't budge at the contact, but he takes a step back anyway in an attempt to respect your wishes.

your mind is a mess filled with racing thoughts— what the fuck? this cannot be happening. what the hell even happened in this first place? that man was there and then he wasn't.

inhaling sharply, you wipe at your mouth and shift to pull your knees to your chest.

"what..." you trail off, surveying the unutterable, incomprehensible scene before you. "what did you do?"

he doesn't respond, though his features noticeably soften. somewhere in the back of your mind, you know very well what he did, but you can't help repeating. "what did you do?"

"we need to leave." it's not that sukuna couldn't handle whoever might show up, but seeing as this is your reaction, he has no desire to. "if you let me touch you, i can take us home."

you take a moment to think about it, then nod wordlessly. as soon as his hand falls on your shoulder, you're met with that same sensation you felt the night gojo teleported you and yuuji home after one too many drinks.

though this time, the sick feeling in your stomach isn't caused by liquor. you don't stand up, you don't so much as move a muscle when you feel the surface beneath you shift from concrete to carpet.

sukuna breathes out your name, his uncertainty evidenced by the way he's shoved his hands into his pockets. meeting his eye, you reiterate the same inquiry once more. "what did you do?"

it's almost as if you want him to tell you that he didn't do anything. that the whole experience was some disturbing nightmare.

"those men would have hurt you."

"that doesn't mean they deserved to die." you choke on the final word.

"yes— it does."

with that, silence hangs in the air like a suffocating miasma.

looking to your hands, you're reminded of the blood you've been spattered with. "i need to wash up."

you still don't move from your spot, too fixated on your flesh and the dreadful hue that it's been painted with. sukuna notices now that you're trembling.

he approaches you hesitantly before extending his hand. "let me help you."

you decline his offer, shying away from him. "i think you've done enough already."

god, the look in your eye is utterly despondent. he struggles to swallow the lump that forms in his throat.

his arm falls limply to his side and he looks across the room, your copy of the stranger earning his attention.

he's overcome with chagrin when he realizes that his concern brought about by camus' quote the other night was wholly misguided. he'd been focused on his own feelings, whether they were genuine or simply wrought by his isolation.

how foolish was he to ever question what you truly mean to him? with the anguish that's settled in his chest at the sight of your current state, the fact he ever doubted it makes him feel like a hopeless idiot.

had he any sense at all, the part that resonated with him would have been—

she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

disgust. is that what you're feeling now? he's certain it is.

it was just last week that he relayed the story of his past. you're the only person alive to know the truth of how his wickedness came to be, and you met him with unconditional sympathy and understanding.

you pulled him close and embraced him, but now that you've seen him for what he truly is...? you can barely stand to touch him and it's like a knife to his heart.

you're so fucking warm— like the sun against his skin after weeks of endless rain.

and if you're the sun, surely he is the moon— cold and barren on his own, but brilliant when in the presence of your light.

to be without that? to be without you? it's a prospect too terrible for him to bear. it makes his stomach twist miserably.

you're startled (as is he) when his form falls to the floor, his knees meeting the carpet with a dull thud. he calls out your name again, but this time, his voice cracks as he speaks. "please."

he doesn't have a clue what he's even asking for. a chance to explain? forgiveness? a way to turn back time?

you don't say anything, but you do shift your gaze to him. he knows that he needs to fix this, so he wracks his mind for the right words.

"i didn't enjoy killing those men." he's somewhat surprised to find he's telling the truth.

"you didn't?" your voice is so small and timid that he can hardly decipher your words.

"no. my only concern was to keep you safe— to make sure they never put their hands on you ever again. all i felt was rage and... and... guilt. i should have never left you alone and it's my fault—"

"stop," you interrupt him.

there are tears welling in your eyes, making it difficult for sukuna to breathe. he's positive you're going to tell him that his intentions were of little consequence and that you never want to see him ever again.

instead, you push yourself forward and collapse against his body, your own wracked with violent sobs. the reality of the situation is only just now hitting you. it'd been much easier to focus on what sukuna had done, rather than what almost happened to you.

"i was so scared, 'kuna."

and still, despite the way you're clinging to his shirt and burying your face in chest, he's under the impression that it's him you were afraid of.

"i'm sorry," he tells you earnestly. "i never meant to frighten you."

"n-not of you. those men." you're struggling to speak in between desperate gasps. "why did they do that? what did they want with me?"

"i don't know." though, he is going to find out.

sukuna is not a man well versed in comfort, so he's not entirely sure why he begins rocking you back and forth, but he does it anyway.

when you finally start to breathe a little easier, he mumbles into your hair, "come on. let's get you cleaned up."

he doesn't give you a chance to respond before he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. setting you down on the counter gently, he searches the linen closet for a cloth.

it's quiet, save for your intermittent sniffling, as he runs it under warm water and wrings it out. his free hand moves to rest against the side of your neck and he dabs at the blood on your face, rinsing the washcloth every now and then.

he tries his best not to show it, but sukuna is agonizing over what might be going through your mind.

do you still feel safe with him? have your feelings changed? do you still love him, even when you've been so harshly reminded what he's capable of?

when you speak for the first time your words are hoarse, barely above a whisper. "thank you for saving me, sukuna."

he thinks about telling you not to thank him, not when it shouldn't have happened in the first place. he left your side, an error in judgement he'll never forgive himself for.

he considers your mortality— your weakness— in relation to his feelings for you. he's always seen this exceptionally human quality as despicable.

but now? all it does is terrify him.

"in the past, i was only concerned with my own whims and desires." his hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb running over your cheekbone. "though after tonight... you have to know..."

it's clear that he's struggling. his eyebrows draw together and his mouth twitches as he ponders his next words.

"i care about you, angel." his voice is hushed when he adds, "very much."

your eyes widen briefly and you murmur his name, but your mind is still reeling from the events of the past twenty minutes and you can't think of anything more to say. you're emotionally exhausted in a way you would have never thought possible.

it's plain to him too, so he knows his next question is selfish, but he can't go on without knowing. "does what you saw tonight change things between us?"

the silence preceding your answer seems to stretch on forever.

"i thought it would," you confess eventually. it was as if you'd put up a wall in your mind separating sukuna the king of curses from sukuna the man you spend your evenings with.

and it's difficult to reconcile the fact that the hands you saw used to murder two men are the same hands that are caressing your face so delicately.

at some point, however, you realized that the only time you felt fear tonight was when you were without him. his arrival and ensuing actions inspired shock and apprehension, though in some twisted way, you knew it meant you were safe. "but it doesn't."

the next question tumbles from your lips thoughtlessly. "does that make me a bad person?"

he chuckles and some of the tension in the room dissipates. "i think i'm the last one on earth that can pass moral judgement on you."

he tucks your hair behind your ear and scans your face, relief coursing through his body when he sees you smile. in this moment, there isn't anything else in the world he would have asked for.

"i guess you're right."

and now, the hand over your mouth is your own, an attempt to stifle your tired giggles. the light of the bathroom is warm and steady. sukuna's hands rest atop your hips, his touch firm but comforting. while you can't feel your own heartbeat, you're positive it must be beating in time with his.

when you crawl into bed that night sukuna pulls you close, your back pressed to his bare chest. you're thankful for the softness of his demeanor, because you need it tonight more than ever.

he doesn't recede to his domain until yuuji wakes up the following morning. he's determined to keep an eye on you as you sleep, to watch the slow rise and fall of your chest with newfound gratitude.

he knows he needs to speak with the brat about what happened. someone is after you and while he hates to admit it, he knows he can't ensure your safety alone.

and he will keep you safe, no matter the cost.

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[msmk11]

Best Friend's Mom Part Two

MILF!Wanda Maximoff x college age!fem!reader (Billy and Tommy's best friend)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Word count: 5.6k

CW: Age gap (legal), best friends' mom, MILF!Wanda, fluff, consumption of alcohol, mentions of food, mentions of absent parent, hints of angst, light smut in the middle, full smut at the end

Summary: You and Wanda had just slept together. You had just slept with your best friends' mom. But what happens after? Will the best night of your life be a one-time thing?

A/n: GUYS. Thank you SO MUCH for all the love on part 1. I was so anxious to post it because I had never written for Wanda before, and I thought it was lowkey crap. But you guys have been so kind, and loving, and supportive, and it made my week. I was feeling a little bit of pressure to write this next part because part one did so well, but I'm happy with the finished product. I've also decided to have a part 3 and 4 to finish up this story because I want it to span the whole week of reader's spring break. I hope that you all enjoy it and if you want to be added to the tag list for this series just lmk.

Seriously all my love, MK <3

There is something hot blowing on your neck when you first wake up, and your sleepy brain is a little more than confused. Through your bleary eyes you look for the source, and that’s when everything from the night before comes rushing back.

Wanda.

You and Wanda.

Sleeping together.

Not only are you currently sharing a bed with your two best friends’ mom, you slept with her.

What makes it worse? It was fucking amazing. And you want do it again.

You know you’re going to hell. You’d just crossed so many boundaries, and you aren’t sure Billy and Tommy will ever forgive you if they find out.

When they find out.

“Detka,”

Your racing thoughts, and also heart, comes to a halt at the soft whisper of Wanda’s own personal nickname for you- one that sounded so different less than 12 hours ago as you made her hoarse with pleasure.

Cautiously, you roll on your side to meet Wanda face-to-face. Even in the morning she looks so incredibly beautiful, with her red waves sprawled out on her pillow, her green eyes soft and warm, and her pink lips just a little swollen from the night before.

“What’s that pretty little mind of yours thinking about so early,” she asks quietly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You lean into her touch and close your eyes, “You. Us. Last night.”

Her hand pulls away and you open your eyes, “Do you regret it, Detka?”

“No Wanda, of course not. I don’t. It’s just, this-“

“Makes things complicated?”

You sigh and nod. You chew on your lip anxiously as all the racing thoughts come back.

“Honey, stop,” Wanda says, placing her thumb on your bottom lip, “you’ll hurt yourself.”

She pulls you into her arms and places the softest, sweetest kiss against your lips. You melt into her embrace and decide to ignore all your problems for just a little longer. Anyways, how could anything really be wrong when Wanda holds you as if nothing could hurt you?

“We’ll figure it all out in time, baby. But for now, just lay with me for a while, yeah?”

You press a gentle kiss to her neck, an action that speaks far louder than any words, and snuggle closer into her. With her fingers running gently through your hair, and the rhythmic sound of her heartbeat against your ear, you are lulled back into a dreamless sleep.

When you wake up a little while later, the spot next to you is cold, and you know that at some point Wanda slipped out while you were sleeping to avoid suspicion. You know she did the right thing, and that it’s for the best, but the secrecy of it all is just a little painful.

You shrug it off, however, and crawl out of bed. Until you can assess the state of your skin- Wanda’s mouth had been all over- you throw on sweats and a hoodie. As you traipse down the hall you’re met with the smell of pancakes and quiet chatter. Before you step into the kitchen, you admire the pretty picture before you- Wanda sat between her two boys at the table as they all eat pancakes and reminisce about the past. You almost feel bad ruining it.

Almost.

But your hunger wins out.

“She finally decides to join us,” Tommy teases as you step into the kitchen.

You stick your tongue out at him as you sit down to his right and begin to pile pancakes onto your plate.

“I was starting to worry that you were dead,” Billy adds, and you roll your eyes.

“I must’ve just been worn out,” you reply, briefly glancing at Wanda before looking down and shoveling food into your mouth.

“Did you not sleep okay, honey?”

You look up at Wanda again and notice a glint of mischief in her green eyes, “Just always a little restless sleeping in a new bed, but I fell asleep eventually.”

“You just let me know if I can do anything to help,” she says sweetly. And then, she winks.

You choke on your pancake a little and Tommy starts patting your back. When you finally get a little air back in your lungs you cough out, “okay, thanks, Wanda.”

She’s gonna be the death of you.

*****

The boys decide that the four of you will head into the beach town today to look around the shops and restaurants. You’re more than grateful for this, especially with the alternative being that you’d have to see Wanda in a bikini yet again.

You’re dressed simple in cutoff blue jeans and a plain white tank top, and you’ve tucked your hair under a white baseball cap. Wanda, it seems, is still trying to tease you, wearing the cutest flowy, white skirt with a maroon tank top. It’s maddening and you almost scoff at her audacity. If her boys weren’t with you, you’d probably drag her off to a bathroom right now and take her right then and there. Alas, they are, and so you have to practice self-control. It’s still easier than maintaining self-control around her in a swimsuit, so you feel grateful to walk around with your friends and fawn over little trinkets you absolutely do not need. You plan to do your very best to forget that Wanda’s even there, but she has other plans.

Wanda’s hands are all. over. you. all. day.

Mind you, all of her touches are subtle enough that Billy and Tommy would never suspect a thing. But they’re not subtle to you. You feel every touch tenfold, and it leaves you a little dazed after each interaction.

When you get to the first shop, a mini boutique, Billy, ever the gentleman, holds the door open for you and Wanda. The redhead doesn’t just motion for you to go inside first. No. Instead, she places her hand on the small of your back and guides you into the store, letting her hand linger a little near your ass until Billy and Tommy step inside.

At the book store, you find a copy of the romance novel you’ve been dying to read but couldn’t find anywhere. Unfortunately, it’s up on a high shelf that you can’t quite reach. Just as you turn to look for one of the twins, Wanda saddles up behind you touching your shoulder, “I got it, honey.”

She uses you as a balance as she stands on her tip toes and grabs you the book. It’s in your trembling hands the next moment and then she’s disappeared to another aisle.

The local thrift store in town is packed full of clutter. Realistically, only one person can walk down a row at a time because of how narrow they are. Wanda, of course, ignores this unsaid rule entirely, at least when it comes to you. As you sift through the racks upon racks of clothes, Wanda wonders over and begins to make small talk about your thrift finds. Then, without warning she says, “excuse me, honey,” and grabs your waist, shifting you so that she can pass by. Her tits rub up against your back when she does it, and you shiver.

The four of you have lunch at a cute cafe, and sit at a circle table on the outdoor patio. Unsurprisingly, you end up sitting next to Wanda, and her hand magically finds its way to your thigh. You desperately try to keep your cool throughout lunch and hope that your face isn’t too flushed. Near the end of the meal, her hand begins moving up and down your thigh, creeping a little closer to where you want her. You cough and stand abruptly, getting startled looks from your friends.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

You rush inside and splash water on your face.

Throughout the day, even when Wanda isn’t touching you, she somehow always manages to drive you crazy. At the tourist shop, Wanda decides to try on a sweatshirt. When she’s taking it off, her shirt rides up a little and you see a little patch of her soft, beautiful skin. When you grab a treat from the ice cream shop, you nearly lose your mind as she licks whipped cream off her fingertip to “sample it.”

Wanda’s teasing is nonstop and relentless all afternoon. By the time you get back for dinner you’re a complete and utter mess. But you’re not guaranteed any relief because Billy and Tommy drag you away to swim. Even though you shoot Wanda a desperate glance, she only winks and gets back to cooking.

*****

The evening had been spent by the pool, getting out occasionally to eat a little, and then jumping back in. You competed in races with Tommy, dove for pool sticks, and convinced Wanda to join you three for Marco Polo. As night settles in, the air cools down and the pool becomes much too chilly to bear. Not wanting to go inside just yet, you move to the hot tub. As you sink into the bubbling, hot water you sigh loudly. Your tense muscles ease and you begin to regain some feeling in your chilled fingers and toes.

You rest your head against the edge of the tub as you call out goodnight to Billy and Tommy. Wanda goes in with them, taking the dishes to the kitchen, and you have to admit that you’re a little disappointed she doesn’t stay outside.

The door shuts with a resounding thud, and you are left alone with your thoughts. It’s quiet, and the only thing you can hear are the crickets chirping and the bubbling water in which you sit. You’re blanketed in darkness, even the moon asleep for the night, save for the stars that sprinkle the navy sky.

The peaceful evening soothes you, and you close your eyes. You hear the wooden door open and close again, and soft, padded footsteps across the deck. You’re too scared to open your eyes and see who it is- for fear of disappointment. This time, you’re not disappointed.

Eyes still closed, you feel soft lips capture yours and you gasp softly. When Wanda pulls away your eyes flutter open and you find hers staring back at you fondly. She hasn’t yet joined you in the hot tub, but is rather standing at its edge, leaning over to kiss you from upside down.

You smile softly at her, “Hey, Wanda.”

“Hi Detka. I missed you,” she whispers against your lips.

“You were with me all day.”

“Not in the way that I wanted to be.”

“Well you sure got your fair share of teasing in,” you fake scold, “did that satisfy you enough?”

She slowly shakes her and rasps, “no.”

“We’ll have to fix that then.”

Wanda walks around the hot tub to the stairs and wades into the water. She slowly, tantalizingly, makes her way towards you. You sigh out her name impatiently and then finally, finally, your lips connect. You grab her waist gently and pull her closer to you.

Wanda’s hands find a home in your hair as she tugs on it a little and you moan.

“God, I’ve been dying to touch you all day,” she murmurs.

“I could tell,” you pant, “such a fucking tease, grabbing my hips, touching my shoulders, rubbing my thigh. It’s too bad Billy and Tommy were there, or I would’ve had my way with you.”

“Not very nice to say about your best friends.”

“Hard to care about them when you’re in front of me,” you admit, “all beautiful, and interesting, and alluring.”

You press a final kiss to her lips and then pull away, kissing her cheek, then her jaw, then behind her ear, her neck, her collarbone, and then right between her tits.

You keep your mouth there, hoping to leave a mark behind that will be just out of sight when she wears a tank top or a revealing dress. She grabs your head and pushes it forward, burying it deeper in her chest. Her soft moans and sighs make you grip her waist harder, and you pull her onto your lap where you’re sitting in the hot tub. When you nip slightly at her skin she whimpers and you moan against her.

“You sound so pretty Wanda,” you tell her, voice muffled.

You place kisses back up her chest as your hands move downwards to squeeze her ass. She squeals a little and you press another kiss to her lips to silence her.

“Wanna see you, baby,” Wanda tells you.

Her hands creep around your back and slowly untie your swimsuit. Your top falls away revealing your tits to her. It’s too dark for her to see much, but she still whispers, “so beautiful, Detka.”

She leans forward and presses a kiss to each before reaching out and groping them. You throw your head back and sigh. It’s a relief, finally having her hands on you again after all the teasing. She slowly massages each of your tits and you pant, gripping her waist so tightly you’re surprised she hasn’t yelped in pain. When her thumb runs over your sensitive nipples, your hips buck up into hers.

“Wanda, I-“

“I know, baby.”

Just as she is leaning down to take you into her mouth the door to the house squeals open. You jump apart, a string of curses leaving your mouth as you cover yourself and sink lower into the water.

Tommy peaks his head out, “Guys, come watch a movie with us. We’ve got it queued up.”

You quietly groan.

Thankfully, Wanda responds for you both.

“Okay, moya lubov. We’ll dry off and be in.”

Tommy closes the door, and you groan much louder now, letting your head fall back against the hot tub in defeat.

Wanda chuckles lowly, “we’ll finish this another time, baby. Promise.”

You sigh and nod.

“Here, let me help you put this back on,” Wanda says kindly, picking up your discarded top.

You turn away from Wanda, and she wraps it back around you. She breathes on your neck as she ties it back in place, and her fingers just ghost over your back. You hold your breath, savoring every moment.

When she’s done, she places a kiss to your neck and pats your ass, “there, all done. Now let’s go watch this movie.”

*******

The rest of your evening had been 2 hours and 12 minutes of torture, and then bedtime. You’d sat in an armchair cuddled up to Tommy while Billy and Wanda had laid on the couch together. You don’t recall a single second of the movie because you had been too busy watching Wanda the whole time.

You adored the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, how her frown during sad scenes was a little crooked, and the way her brows furrowed together when a character was being particularly ridiculous. No matter what face she was making, she was beautiful. And you couldn’t understand how anyone could have been interested in watching a movie when the picture of grace herself had sat before you.

It was mind-numbing, the way Wanda seemed to consume every waking and sleeping second of your mind. There was nothing you could do to ease her from your thoughts, and she was so clearly not keen on helping you out either. You desperately wondered if you’d ever get another moment alone before you headed back to college in four days. If you didn’t, you weren’t sure what you’d do.

Was death by longing even a thing?

Your bed had been cold that night, and you weren’t sure how you’d ever slept without Wanda by your side. Her warmth eased your tense body, her arms kept you safe, her tender kisses reminded you you were alive, and her sweet words whispered into your ears filled your heart to the brim. You knew you were totally fucked, but in a state of denial, you hoped that just one more good fuck would get it out of your system.

The next morning is calm and peaceful, the late night before having kept everyone confined to their beds until a much later hour. You opt out of breakfast and instead lay sprawl out on your bed, fan blowing cool air on you and the windows cracked to hear the waves. You decide to finally start the new book you got in town, and you cozy up in your comforter excitedly.

You open the paperback and crack the spine a little with a resounding pop. This and the smell of fresh pages sends a shiver up your spine and you kick your feet happily. Your eyes eagerly scan the first few pages as you take in the plot, setting and characters. You can feel yourself slowly sinking into the magical fictional world before you and you feel triumphant. Finally, finally, you’ve found something that distracts you from Wanda.

And it does. For a little while. But about twenty pages in a flash of red hair crosses your mind. You shake it off and read another page. Green eyes pierce your vision. You blink it away rapidly. Her perfume seems to waft into your nose, and you stuff your face into your shirt. You try to persevere, but when you realize that you’ve read the same line about ten times now and have yet to process it, you know it’s hopeless. You’re never one to treat a book unkindly, but you’re so frustrated that you toss it across the room and bury yourself under your covers.

Since your brain seems so keen on it, you let yourself indulge in a fictional scene of your own- one of domestic bliss between you and Wanda.

It’d be a hot summer day, just like this one, and you and Wanda would be at your shared cottage home in the countryside. The fan would be humming softly above you while birds and bugs chirped and buzzed through the screened back door. You and Wanda would be on your long, white couch with colorful throws, bare legs tangled. It’d be too hot be fully dressed, so you’d each just be in a pair of underwear and the other’s shirt. Maybe Wanda had made you two some ice-cold lemonade that you sipped on slowly as you casually drew patterns on her leg. Wanda, on the other end, would have a book propped open. She’d be reading it to you, in that soft, sweet voice that makes you melt. When you’d get lost in her eyes instead of listening to her read, she’d playfully scold you.

You could almost hear her now saying, “Detka, Detka. Are you paying attention?”

It’s when an arm touches your shoulder that you realize the real Wanda is actually before you, talking to you.

You jolt and inhale quickly, “huh? What? Sorry I was daydreaming.”

She chuckles and you notice that she’s sitting on the edge of your bed as she smoothes out the wrinkled corners, “I just came to tell you that we’re going out for a nice dinner tonight and that our reservation is at 6:00. Do you have something to wear?”

You do, luckily, and you thank past you for thinking ahead, “yes, I have a few options to choose from. What time should I be ready by?”

Wanda thinks for a moment, “5:00 probably. I want to get some pictures of everyone dressed up too before we head out. And you know how my boys are about photos, always so particular.”

You snort out an understanding giggle, recalling the many times you've taken ‘unsatisfactory’ photos for your friends, and then having to redo them all.

Wanda stands then and smiles sweetly at you, “well, that’s all I had to say, but I’ll leave you to your daydreaming now.”

And when she’s sure no one is coming down the hall, she presses a few hurried kisses to your lips and then leaves the room and you, yearning for more.

*****

You decide to doll yourself up extra nice for the occasion and try to convince yourself it’s all for you and not… others.

You’re wearing flowy blue pants made of a silky material and a white tank top with a scoop neck and wide straps. A dainty gold necklace sits prettily against your collarbone and one or two gold bands rest on your fingers. Strappy white sandals are your shoe of choice, and you make sure to paint your toes a blue color similar to your pants. You keep your makeup simple, only a few swipes of mascara and a quick brush of your brows.

You head out into the living room and whistle lowly, “what a group we are.”

Tommy and Billy have dressed up rather nicely. The former is wearing a nice, short sleeve white shirt and khaki pants. Billy has on a nice red polo and black slacks.

Instead of rustling the boys’ hair like you usually would, you pat their cheeks like a fond grandmother, “look at you two, my boys. All handsome and grown up.”

You wipe away a fake tear and they roll their eyes at you, exasperated.

“I’m just glad you were able to dress up nice,” Tommy retorts, “instead of your usual sewer rat look.”

You scoff, more than offended, and this time do go to ruffle his hair, “did your mother never teach you manners?”

“She taught us to respect those who earned it. You haven’t yet,” Billy deadpans.

You smack his arm rather hard, and you don’t miss the way he winces and rubs the sore spot a little.

“Would it really kill you to tell me I look nice?” you ask, hands on your hips.

Billy dramatically groans, “fine, fine. You look… nice.”

You look at Tommy with a raised eyebrow.

“You know you look beautiful,” he replies, “do I need to say it?”

You sit on the arm of the couch next to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, “just feels nice to be appreciated sometimes.”

Tommy scoffs playfully, “as if we don’t spoil you rotten with attention.”

You wave him off dismissively and reach out to grab Billy’s hand, giving him a kind squeeze.

It’s in this warm embrace that Wanda finds you all when she emerges from her room. She looks absolutely breathtaking. Of course, she always does, but this. Wow.

Wanda has pulled her hair back into a slick bun and is wearing a slim-fitting, long green dress. It’s an emerald green that looks so nice against her pale skin, and the red lipstick on her lips makes them look even more kissable than usual. She has dangly silver earrings in, a chunky silver necklace, and a small chain bracelet for jewelry. You’re literally speechless, your mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Well, how do I look?” She asks with a little spin.

Tommy stands and gives her a side hug, “beautiful as always, Mama.”

“The prettiest lady ever,” Billy agrees, joining his family on his mom’s other side. She presses tender kisses to the sides of each of their heads, a big beaming smile on her face.

“Honey, could you get a picture of us?” She asks you sweetly.

You simply nod, too dumb to talk, and take Tommy’s phone. They stand together, arms around each other, and they look like a perfect little family. Wanda is clearly so proud of her sons, and them so devoted and loving to their mother. It makes your heart ache, not only because of fondness but also regret.

Billy and Tommy have opened up to you about how hard it was for Wanda to put their lives and family back together after their dad left. And now, seeing them together, so happy and complete, you feel like an intruder. Out of place. And when you think about Wanda, you want her so badly. But you wonder if you want her enough to risk tearing down everything she’s worked so hard to build.

“There, that should be good,” you say quietly.

Wanda steps forward, “here let me get some pictures of you three.”

When she takes the phone from you, your fingers brush, and you jolt away a little. You try to play it off coolly and go stand in Wanda’s place between the two boys. You smile widely, your arms wrapped around each brother, but the ache is still a little present in your throat.

“Okay, I’ve got some,” the redhead tells you, “but I want a few with you too, honey,” she says, looking at you.

“But why, mom?” Billy asks.

“Well I have to document the best Chicken duo this world has ever seen,” she says with a teasing voice.

The boys groan simultaneously and roll their eyes.

“No need to rub it in, mom.”

She smirks a little as she goes to stand next to you.

“They’re just jealous,” she says, with a stage whisper.

And then, when they’re not paying attention, she actually whispers, “and stop worrying, Detka. Everything is going to be okay.”

“How did you-?”

She briefly glances at your lips and you realize that you’re chewing on them yet again. You stop immediately and she squeezes your side reassuringly. You face the camera and wrap your arm loosely around Wanda’s shoulders. This time, your smile is much more genuine.

*****

Dinner had been amazing. Red sauce pasta with a delightful layer of cheese, and rolls that seemed to be coming out as soon as a basket was emptied. You all had indulged in a little red wine too, and you felt perfectly relaxed and full. The night had been near perfect. But something was missing. Dessert.

You don’t have to go looking far, because it presents itself in the form of Wanda Maximoff, sitting there at dinner looking so delectable in her emerald green dress, teasing you with her sneaky looks and seductive red lips. It feels like ages since you’d last really touched Wanda, and you don’t think you can hold off much longer. You hope your eyes tell her so as the four of you sit around the living room coffee table playing various card games. Eventually, you feign a yawn, and proclaim that you are calling it a night- wine always making you a little sleepy.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. You are wide awake and alert. You waltz off down the hall, but you don’t go into your room. Instead, you take a turn into Wanda’s and quickly shut the door behind you. You wait for her on the soft, bouncy mattress.

It seems as if you’re waiting for Wanda for ages. But you suppose impatience on your end and her need to prevent suspicion only makes it seem so. Finally, you hear the faint creak of the floorboards coming closer and closer to the door. It cracks open and there she is in all her glory. She shuts it softly behind her and you both share a giddy smile like scheming little kids. She uses the door handle as a balance as she slips her heels off and tosses them to the side. Then, she reaches to her hair and pulls out all the clips and hair ties holding the bun together, and her long red waves cascade down her shoulders mesmerizingly. She slowly slinks towards you, drawing you in with her seductress powers. She slots herself between your legs at the edge of the bed and bends down to kiss you deeply.

You inhale sharply against her lips and hold her jaw with your hand. After a few deep kisses she breaks away and whispers, “take that shirt off for me pretty girl. I want to see you.”

To her surprise, and maybe even a little to yours, you say, “no.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock and then they furrow into worry, “do you not want this? I’m sorry if I misread the room I-“

You place a finger to her lips gently, “No, Wanda. You didn’t read anything wrong. I do want this. I want you. But I don’t want you to do anything. I just wanna take care of you. Is that okay? A woman like you should be worshiped.”

Her features soften into what you’d almost coin adoration, but you don’t get your hopes up.

She moves around the side of the bed and lays down up against her pillows, “okay baby, you take charge. Do whatever you want.”

You groan at how soft, and vulnerable, and open she is to you.

God, there are so many things you want to do to Wanda right about now. But what you need most is to taste her. You crawl up to Wanda and place yourself between her legs. You place your hands gently on the back of her neck and lean in for a tender kiss. It’s slow and deep and Wanda just sighs softly. Her hands find a home on your back as you continue to kiss her, slowly adding in tongue. As your hands begin to travel from her neck and down to her sides, just barely grazing her breasts, the kisses get a little more passionate and your breathing heavier. Like last night, you begin to trail kisses down her body. But this time, you don’t stop at her chest. You keep going, pressing kisses to her clothed stomach. When you get to her legs, you teasingly slide your hands up under her dress, fingers dancing around her ankles.

“I need you higher,” she rasps, and you smirk smugly just a little.

“Anything for you, gorgeous.”

You slowly push the hem of her soft, green dress upwards, revealing more and more skin as you go. You push it all the way up, letting the dress pool around her waist. You start at her ankles again, this time pressing soft kisses up her legs until your hot breath is on her thighs. She nearly whines at you being so close to touching her, and you giggle, “be patient, sweetheart. I’m almost there.”

And then with one or two more gentle kisses to her inner thighs, you place the softest, teasing kiss on her clothed center. That alone causes Wanda to moan, her hips bucking up into your face a little.

“Detka, please,” she sighs.

You grab the top of her underwear and pull it down her legs, tossing it across the room somewhere.

“Such a beautiful pussy, Wanda,” you sigh.

You lean forward and press another kiss to her, this time, bare cunt. You know she likes it because her legs squeeze your head encouragingly. You lick one strip up the middle and she moans so prettily you squeeze your own legs together. After you’ve gotten one taste, you’re ravenous. You immediately dive in headfirst, licking and sucking at her soft, pink pussy.

She continuously lets out sighs and moans of your name, honey, or Detka. You hold onto her thighs as you continue to eat her out and squeeze them gently, letting her know how good she’s doing. You can tell when Wanda starts to get close because she only gets wetter and wetter. She reaches down and grabs your hair roughly, shoving your face further into her pussy. She lets out a whine and her back arches, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“F-feels so g-good,” she stutters out.

You hum against her and you know it feels good because she lets out yet another moan. To get Wanda to her orgasm, you decide to double the stimulation. Your face moves downwards, sending your tongue in and out of her wet hole. Then, you add a finger to the mix, rubbing small tight circles on her clit quickly. Her back arches again at the newfound pleasure, and the grip she has on your hair is almost painful. But you don’t stop. You continue to thrust in and out while pinching and rubbing her clit. Her moans are so consistent and fairly loud that you’re a little worried her boys will hear. But you’re so lost in her pussy, and she in her pleasure, that you don’t care. With one final hard thrust of your tongue, Wanda plummets over the edge. Her thighs squeeze tightly around your head and your hair is wrapped around her fingers in a coil. Her back arches off the bed significantly and her body shakes in waves of pleasure. The pretty little whines and moans she lets out as she comes makes you want to instantly go for round two. But you don’t, letting her come back down from her high. When she does, she looks a little dazed.

“Well?” You ask slyly.

“Detka,” she sighs, and then she pulls you upward by the shirt and passionately kisses you. When she tastes herself on your lips, she moans again.

You and Wanda are all over each other for quite awhile, and you’re both left feeling pretty fucked out and spacey. Everything with her felt and feels so good. And you know you’re ruined for anyone else. You lay on her bare chest, legs intertwined, and she strokes your back softly. Your eyes flutter shut at her featherlight touches and you’re sure you could fall asleep right then and there. Paired with her slow, quiet breathing, you are in bliss.

“You’re so perfect and beautiful, Detka,” she whispers into your ear.

It tickles and you shiver a little. You place an affirming kiss on her bare chest and snuggle in closer to her side. And as she holds you, as you begin to fall asleep in her arms yet again, you know for sure now that you are fucked. You know then that you are not just attracted to Wanda. You have feelings for her. And the once pleasurable, fluttering butterflies in your stomach are replaced by a big, solid rock.

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