#but still the fact that I didn't wait for the rest of you...

[amfstargirl]

Details of half return

The narrative starts with y/n going back to their old house, where they start with reminiscing about memories from their old home. They admire every mark they left in their home when they were a kid not knowing that was the last time they were gonna live and make memories there. It's also a perfect situation where you can relate to Adrianne Lenker's lyrics, specifically in which she says, “standing in the yard, dressed like a kid,” which indicates a moment of nostalgia. To me, this song is highly associated with missing the innocence, youth, childhood, or simply who you were in the past.

 If you're wondering why the reader goes to their old house, it's because it's a way of letting go for them. As they have said in the story that it was a way of letting go and mourning that version of them. Because you can never really let go if you're not mourning/did not mourn even the slightest.They saw it as a necessary step in the process of growing and becoming a new person.

In the old house scene, you can see the memory of the reader, where they see the life they want in the lives of others, making them yearn for that. The space between two windows, reader and their neighbor, indicates or symbolizes their current life (reader's window), while the other mirrors the life they long for (neighbor's window), like a window to their desired reality. So watching the Barbie movies/shows through their neighbor was them actually watching the life they wish for. 

Also, the puppy she found on a random day while she was alone. The puppy is a symbolic object of the reader. As you saw in the first scene where they both first met, it was said that the puppy was just crying for its mother and father, hoping, waiting. (That's eerily familiar, don't you think?) And! The reader named the puppy “Amara,” which, if I'm not mistaken, means forever loved, which she is. Amara was a mirror of y/n's soul. And y/n treated them the way they have always wanted to be treated. 

But Amara is not a mirror to the current reader's soul. Do you get it? Because Amara was the symbol of the past version of them, which means they were the beacon of youth Y/N once had. Amara staying and waiting within the walls of where they both grew up just connects to y/n’s journey of letting go. That is why when the reader saw her, whispered gently to her and reassured her that it was okay, that she could rest now. representing readers' way of saying goodbye to the old y/n and letting them rest. The scarred innocent of their younger self is now free from the heavy pain of the things they went through. 

The scene where the reader “made up” with their mother and the fact that their mother admitted she never hated them that much but couldn't confirm that she didn't entirely hate them is SO important. It was a moment where their mother finally acknowledged her faults and apologized bitterly but with sincerity. She was very honest in that scene, as she knew that was what you needed and wanted. No sugar-coated words, only the truth. Also the fact that they made up, but it was also going to be the last time they would see each other!! Because the reader cut them off on good terms, and that was the final step in making peace with everything that was part of their past. 

Also, if yall were wondering how the reader “moved on” with the Bat family, it was actually the first ever step they took in making peace with their past. As their way of doing it was just accepting. Accepting that they will never see them as family, and they will never be interested in them in any way. (Guess who got clowned.)

And Alfred, who was driven by his own selfish desires. Now we all know that it was Alfred who took care of the reader the moment they got to the manor, so naturally it would be Alfred who first spiraled into yanderism. I like the idea of Alfred; despite wanting what's best for the reader and what makes her happy, he is still a yandere. And that means he still has traits of a yandere, which is what made him come up with a heavily detailed plan. 

[v-eee]

── jungkook x you

scenario: you and Jungkook used to be best friend until new female staff came into his workplace, Jieun. He has introduced you to her. Jungkook starts getting busy with his work and often cancel the usual food hunting night with you because he needs to work overtime with Jieun. You know Jieun doesn't like you because she has come to your cafe a few times and told you to stop texting Jungkook during his work hour. when you told him about that, he didn't believe you. Starting that day your friendship is not like it used to be.

(v)

You and Jungkook finally met up at a quiet café you both used to frequent. The moment you walked in and saw him waiting at a table, he stood up, giving you that same warm smile you hadn’t seen in weeks.

"Y/N," he greeted, "It’s so good to see you."

"Hey...," you said casually as you slid into the seat across from him.

"How was the trip?" he asked.

"It was good," you said, keeping your tone light.

Jungkook smiled then glancing down at the table as if he had more to say but wasn’t sure how to say it.

You noticed his hesitation, but instead of addressing it, you decided to lighten the mood. Pulling out a neatly wrapped package from your bag, you placed it in front of him with a grin.

"Happy belated birthday," you said with a smile.

Jungkook stared at the box, wide-eyed. "Wait, you got me something?"

"Of course I did. Just because I wasn't there doesn’t mean I forgot," you teased lightly. "Go ahead, open it."

When he opened the box, his eyes widened in shock. Inside was the camera lens he had been talking about for months.

"Y/N… this is—this is the lens I wanted," he stammered, lifting it out of the box like it was made of gold. "How did you even—"

"Of course I remembered," you said proudly, crossing your arms with a playful smirk. "I’m the best of the best friends, after all."

Jungkook looked at you, still stunned. "I can’t believe you got this for me. I didn’t even think you were paying attention when I mentioned it."

"Please..." you said, rolling your eyes. You've been ranting about this lens forever. I figured it was about time you had it." You waved it off like it was no big deal.

Jungkook laughed, but his expression softened as he set the lens down and looked at you. "Y/N… I've got to say, I'm sorry. For everything. The group chat, the way I didn't believe you about Jieun...I screwed up. And the fact that you still went out of your way to do something like this for me…"

You held up a hand, cutting him off. "Jungkook, seriously...it's fine. I’m not mad about it, okay? I didn’t take it to heart."

"But I feel like I—"

"Jungkook," you said firmly but with a small smile, "I mean it. Let’s not dwell on the past. What’s done is done. We're good, okay?"

He looks at you as if trying to read your mind.

"Don't look at me like that," you glare at him. "Now, come on. Show me what that fancy lens can do!"

The rest of the afternoon felt easy, like a weight had been lifted. You laughed, shared stories, and teased him like old times. As you left the café that evening, you felt proud of yourself. You’d faced Jungkook, given him his gift, and managed to keep things light and casual.

— — —

Your friendship with Jungkook back to like the old times.

You received an invitation to a formal dance ball hosted by your old college friends. You need to bring a plus one.

You used to go with Jungkook, so he assumed you’d take him. He hates ballroom dance, but it's fun to dance with you.\

"So, what time are we going?” Jungkook asked casually, leaning against the counter at your café.

You blinked at him. “What?”

"The ball," he said with a grin. "Obviously, I'm stuck with you."

You laughed. "Uh… actually, I'm going with Joon."

Jungkook's smile faltered. "Joon? Our Joon?"

"Yep," you said, nodding with a chuckle. "He’s never been to one before, so I thought it'd be fun."

“Oh… cool,” Jungkook said, forcing a smirk. "Yeah, he must be excited."

But it didn't excite him. Since when did you take someone else to events like this?

[yumeaoka-chan]

And They Were Roommates...

Made entirely because of the HC sent by 🎏 anon to @the-kr8tor . Teehee❤️

Pairing: Ekko x Reader x Hobie Brown/ Ekko x Reader x Spider-Punk! Hobie Brown

Tags: fluff, modern au (they're all in Hobie's universe, really), cursing, blood, injuries, no physical description of reader, can be read as any gender really, hurt/comfort (sorta??), sparse use of y/n, hobie gets bapped like twice cuz I think it's funny, can be read as romantic or platonic

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Finding out one of your roommates is actually Spider-Man was not at all on your Bingo Card.

A loud bang startles you awake, thumps and thuds sounding outside your room. Blinking away the sleep from your eyes and scrubbing a hand over your face, you peel away the blankets with a groan.

“Fuckin’ hell”, a muffled voice huffs, making you scoff.

“That should be my line”, you mumble, stumbling across your room. You knew having more than two people living together would mean noises late in the night, knew that it was inevitable for disturbances. It hadn't occurred to you just how frequent it would be, however. This was the fifth night in a row this week that you've been woken up by them, nevermind it being almost five months since you started living here and you were tired of it. It didn't matter how nice they both were, how you cared deeply for them, how they'd apologize for it come morning. The fact that it keeps happening is enough to make you want to throttle them.

“It's three in the morning -”, you hiss lowly, wrenching your bedroom door open, “Three in the fucking morning..!” Fists balled up in frustration and annoyance painted on your features, you stomp your way into the small living room.

“I'd appreciate it if you both would…” The words die in your throat at the smell of iron as you take in the sight before you. The window behind the couch was wide open, cool night air blowing into the flat, bloodied handprints smeared across the windowsill. On the floor was the vase you had brought with you when you moved here, next to the toppled over coffee table and a banged up guitar littered with stickers. Your eyes drift over the couch speckled with crimson over to the man sprawled on the floor, masked head lifting up from the cushions. The white eyes of his mask seem to widen in what you think is shock at the sight of you and he lifts a hand up in your direction.

“W-Wait-”

“How the fuck did you get in here?!” You cry out, pointing at the stranger who you've come to realize is Spider-Man, the Spider-Man. What the hell is London's web head doing in your flat, on your floor?! The masked hero struggles to lift himself off of the floor and that's when you notice the ichor seeping past his fingers, palm pressed against the large cut on his stomach. The sight of more blood makes your pulse quicken, panic settling in your bones.

“Oh! Oh, God, you're bleeding..!” Legs wobbling, you trip over yourself and stumble as you inch closer towards the man, trembling hands hovering out towards him. “Fuck… W-What should I do? H-How do I help you…?” Spider-Man shakes his head, hand gently gripping your wrist once you get close enough to him. The way he rubs his thumb against your skin in a calming manner feels oddly familiar to you, though it does little to quell the anxiousness eating at your insides.

“‘S fine, mate, really-”

“A doctor…! I'll take you to a doctor..!” A hand gently rests atop your head just as you start to pull the masked hero up, making you freeze and stutter in your frantic rambling. Exhausted hazel brown eyes greet you as you look up over your shoulder, lips twisted in a small frown and twisted locs pulled back in a ponytail.

“It's all good, Y/N”, Ekko mumbles softly, voice still warm and laced with sleep, “I've got it from here.”

“W-What..?” You question as he kneels down in front of the injured man, a first aid kit already in his hands. He's too calm about this whole situation in your opinion, so much so that you're beginning to suspect that this isn't the first time this has happened. Your roommate clicks his tongue in slight annoyance, brows furrowing as he glares at the hero. And then he does something you never thought he would do to a hero of all people. Ekko raises a hand and smacks Spider-Man on the forehead. Jaw dropping at the scene, you watch as the web head curses, fingers shooting up to rub at the sore spot.

“Bloody wanker! Hell was tha’ for”, he grumbles, yelping as Ekko tugs at one of the spikes on his mask. “Stop! ‘M injured, remember?”

“This is exactly why I said for you to let ‘em know what's up. You never listen, man!” Your roommate snaps, frustration evident on the furrow of his brows as he helps the man out of his leather vest. Spider-Man lets out a noise and if he wasn't wearing that mask, you'd have sworn he would have been pouting.

“Give me some slack, ‘Ko. Slipped my mind, ‘s all.” The nickname leaves his lips almost naturally, and leaves you bewildered. Because, from your knowledge, the only ones Ekko allows to call him that are you and-

“You're shitting me… Hobie…”, you mumble softly, eyes as big as saucers at the sudden revelation. The masked man chuckles lowly before reaching up and pulling the mask off completely, the familiar warm russet brown eyes of your roommate greeting you. Small cuts litter his face and the area near his right eye looks slightly darker and swollen, as though he'd been punched repeatedly. Hobie gives you a lopsided smile, pain evident in the way the corners of his lips tremble just a bit.

“‘S me, darlin’. Meant to tell you sooner…” It all finally makes sense. The persistent weariness you'd see emanating from him at times, all the times he'd been late to your hangouts, the fact that he almost always looked like he'd gotten into a fight. Hell, the guitar he carries is the exact one Spider-Man was always lugging around. How could you have even missed this? Now that you knew exactly who was behind the mask and how close you were to him, your nerves slowly began to spike again. Was he always getting hurt this badly, to the point that the blood flow never seemed to stop, even now? An image of a lifeless Hobie laying deathly still on the floor of your flat flashes in your mind then and you can't help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Mm, you got lost in my eyes there?” His words rouse you out of your musings and you glare at him, letting out a huff and trying to hide the way your eyes were beginning to sting with the threat of tears. Ekko snorts and smacks Hobie's forehead again, who in turn lets out a shout. “Oi! Nurses ain't ‘posed to hit the wounded!”

“Sure”, Ekko scoffs before turning to you, exasperation coloring his voice, “Can you grab a large bowl with warm water and a little soap?”

You're up almost immediately after he asks, quickly rushing to grab whatever he needs. You return shortly with the bowl and a clean washcloth, carefully placing it beside him, watching as he pulls out the tools needed to treat his patient who is already shirtless. You watch as Ekko begins treating Hobie, hands quick yet gentle in the way he cleans the wound. The silence stretches on as you move to sit next to him, your head inches away from both his and Hobie's. It's when he moves on to begin stitching the cut that you speak up, eyeing your two roommates.

“From the looks of it, you've been tending to him for a while. How long have you been doing this, ‘Ko..?” He chuckles and shakes his head, a few white twists slipping from the ponytail and falling over his eyes. Your fingers are quick to brush them to the side for him while Hobie gently fixes Ekko's hair into a bun, so that his hair doesn't get in the way of his work.

“It feels like forever, honestly, like I've known him for that long. It's probably only been about a year or two, though.” He mumbles, which makes the injured man in front of you chuckle.

“Been my saviour for a while now, yeah?”

“Yeah…” There's a look that crosses over Ekko’s face then, something akin to sadness and anxiousness. It goes away just as quick as it came but, unfortunately for him, both you and Hobie had already seen it. Fingers softly grazing his wrist, you silently urge him to stop for just a moment, Hobie following your lead by tenderly bumping a hand underneath the upset man's chin. Ekko closes his eyes for just a moment before looking up at Hobie and leaning his weight a little more against you, as if searching for comfort in your presence.

“I hate this… I hate having to patch you up after you get hurt like this”, he mumbles softly as his hands begin to resume their work, the real meaning behind his words reaching you almost instantly. Hobie sucks in a breath, glancing down at the hands working on his wound with a slightly guilty look on his face.

“...Sorry, mate… ‘S a hassle, I know-”

“He means-”, you interrupt him, hand quick to grasp his own, feeling the way the fabric of his suit rubs against your skin, "that it worries him. You getting hurt this badly is a little scary, Hobes. Makes a person think that if you'd gotten hurt anymore than you already had, that you might not come back at all one day…” You take a shaky breath, not even realizing the tears you'd held in from earlier were shining in your eyes right now. “I mean, look at how scared I was tonight. I just learned about you being Spider-Man and it already made me scared for your safety, seeing you like this. Imagine how Ekko has been feeling all this time.”

“We're not saying you should stop being Spider-Man, Hobie”, Ekko mutters as he finishes the last bit of stitches, hands moving to grab the ointment he laid out as he sniffles. “All we're saying is that we want you to at least come back to us in one piece. That's all we ask for.”

“Yeah. And don't make fun of us if we're a little shaken up at you being hurt”, you choke out, now wiping the hot tears dripping down your face. This was a little more than you'd expected to happen tonight, who could blame you for crying right now? Sleep deprivation and witnessing someone you cared about bleeding out could do it to you. You feel yourself being pulled into an embrace, Hobie wrapping you both in his arms and holding you close. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath your palm as one of your hands rested on his chest, the other gripping Ekko's hand.

“I'll always come back to you lot. Promise”, Hobie murmurs softly, voice cracking just a bit as he tightens his grip on you both ever so slightly. Ekko chuckles and bumps his head against his affectionately.

“Better. Or we'll both hunt you down and knock some sense into you.” A sniffle leaves you as you nod your head in agreement. Hobie lets out a laugh at that, arms holding you ever closer.

“Got it, Boss Man.”

[moonjellysfeast]

My Own Galatea- Crybaby x Top Male Reader Cont.

cw; Manipulation, abuse, unethical science, dehumanization, murder plotted but not described, minor hornt at the end, you answer a call while fucking, Crybaby is @yanderefarm's character

Of course, you weren't only there to train Crybaby into an obedient weapon. Elias needed a gentle touch too and as soon as he stopped remembering what he did as the other persona he was ready to be trained in a new way. After all, you planned to bring Elias home and make him yours.

"Elias, please come here" He refused to move due to his earlier training, "You know you can trust me, right? We're friends, you can listen to me"

"But... only Crybaby listens... Right?"

"Oh, lovely, no. Crybaby obeys because he is a conduit, You ought to listen of your own choice. Because we are friends, Elias. Because I want you to" You smiled at the boy who looked like a kicked puppy even as you repeated your request and he scrambled to kneel in front of you and rest his head on your lap.

"Good, thank you, my sweet" You pet his head, letting the gentleness be his reward.

"I'm so glad we're so close now, when we first met I had to be so... careful with you" You laced your fingers through his hair as you spoke, soon wrapping the locks around your fingers to pull his head up at an uncomfortable angle to ensure he was looking up at your grin. "Now you're so malleable~"

He whined a bit at the strain in his neck but made no move to escape, in fact, leaning into your touch and staring up at you with adoration. You had to stifle a laugh at how pathetic he looked, the perfect little puppet for you to toy with. So eager to please that anything could bring him immense pleasure if it were from you. This included the torture he underwent to make him a perfect warrior.

When you could not be the one to administer his treatments he had to be restrained as Crybaby to ensure your Elias would stay sweet and to help him learn to be angry and more aggressive as Crybaby. If it was you, he only had to be restrained to keep himself from pushing the tools further into himself and ruining his body. It was bad enough that you were very soon only permitted to give him injections or other, less torture focused treatments. Though, you made sure to get recordings of his torture so you knew every single thing that was happening to him, as well as to entertain yourself in times where you missed his big wet eyes.

Eventually, you decided he needed a test run to ensure he could kill efficiently. You even had a victim in mind, one of the other scientists in the building who worked with him often and yet still seemed to believe they had moral superiority over you. They always looked at you with disgust and often commented on the fact you were a darling, seeming to believe the gene made you subhuman. To guide Crybaby in the correct direction you complained a few times to him about that person, even showing him pictures so he could recognize them. You knew if he were to simply focus on killing them he'd likely be taken out by the security, so to keep him safe you told him about your usual trip home so he could have a second goal and not let himself die.

You reasoned that if it didn't work you could likely find someone else to train into a perfect doll, though you had put so much work into Elias, you couldn't say you weren't worried. You finally determined he was ready and told him very directly that you wished for the death of your coworker before you went home for the day. You did not get to see exactly what happened, sitting at home and waiting for either a masked, blood soaked puppet or a message from your boss on the death or major injury of Crybaby.

After a few hours, you became very concerned, imagining his death at the hands of some stupid guard, so far from you. Finally a gentle knock came from the door before it opened and he stumbled in, dropping to his knees and bowing down towards you like he was praying. You couldn't help but grin as you lifted his head and peeled the mask off, the adorable, tear stricken face looking up at you with baited breath, awaiting his next order.

"Very good job, Crybaby~ You finally came home~ Now, Elias, let's get you cleaned up and in bed, You deserve a reward, don't you~"

He was now ready to be trained as your housepet, at your beck and call. This portion of training would be so much easier, he was already prepared to be obedient, he only needed to be guided. As it turned out, he also needed to be subdued as he was far too excited to receive your attention. You didn't even have the chance to pull out of him when your boss called to explain that he'd escaped. You did answer and she did hear him very loudly whining about your attention being away from him for even a moment. Suffice to say, you got to keep him in your home most of the time after that.

[gorgeys]

i need to see baddie!reader and jackie during practice. like imagine jackie staring at you the whole time and acting all smitten around you or staring at you while you change but not in a pervy way. she’s just admiring the view 🙂‍↕️

jackie taylor x 90sbaddie!fem!reader at soccer practice a/n: i know you said not in a pervy way but i think i accidentally made it a lil bit pervy...

jackie's always the first one on the field and the last to leave. it's just a part of what she considers her captain duties. this particular time, she's sitting beside shauna on the bench, waiting for the rest of the team to emerge from the locker room.

shauna's telling her about the math test, and jackie nods along, listening intently.  that is, until, she catches sight of you over shauna's shoulder.

she's seen you in your practice jersey and soccer shorts about a million times by now, but her heart still stops each and every time.  suddenly, calculus has left her mind entirely, and all she can focus on is your beautiful hair cleanly slicked back into a low ponytail, giving her a full view of your perfect face, and the subtle sway of your hips as you walk.

jackie's so focused on you, she forgets how to swallow and ends up choking on her water.  she nearly spits it out all over shauna, but she forces it down and endures a terrible coughing fit instead.  shauna pauses mid sentence and sends her a look.

"um, are you okay?"

"mhmm," jackie hums, nodding frantically and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

she doesn't say anything more before she gets up, grabs a stack of cones off the turf, and practically skips over to you.

"hey, y/n!" she says with a grin, falling into stride beside you.  "can you help me set up this drill?" she asks, handing you half the cones.

you willfully ignore the fact that she was just with shauna, who probably would've been more help than you, and accept the cones from her hand.  she makes sure to hand them to you in such a way that your fingers brush against hers.  she almost sighs at how soft your skin is and feels her hand tingling where your acrylic nails subtly scraped her.

"yeah, of course, jax," you say, smiling back. her heart flutters in her chest when she hears her nickname leave your lips.

it turns out "helping" meant setting up everything yourself while jackie followed you around like a well-trained puppy, instructing you where to place each cone, but mostly asking about your day and giggling at everything little thing that you said.  you certainly didn't mind it.  in fact, you preferred it to your usual routine.

once practice begins, jackie can't think straight (literally!).

usually when coach martinez is talking, she's laser-focused on him.  but now, her eyes stray to the side where you're standing with your hands perched on your hips.

jackie swears her heart begins to race when you shift your weight to one side and absentmindedly take your bottom lip between your teeth.  she finds herself fantasizing (for the hundreth time) about how your plump lips would feel against hers.

everything else becomes background noise as her love-sick brain plays "kiss me" by sixpence none the richer while perceiving each of your subtle movements in slow-motion.  that is until she hears a shout of her name and her head whips back toward martinez.

"go ahead and give us a demonstration, jackie" coach martinez says, looking right at her.  she feels everyone turn their attention toward her, you included.

"oh, umm..." jackie trails off, gaze quickly flickering over to you just as you release your lip and it pops back into place.  damn you and those lips!  "okay!" she says walking toward one of the cones and trying to deduce what drill this could possibly be.

it's all your fault that she's so distracted for the rest of practice.  she misses a pass because she's watching you jog across the field all sweaty and graceful. and then she trips over the next ball because she's too busy thinking about how perfect you looked jogging across the field.

"what the fuck was that, jackie?" nat shouts from the endline, throwing her hands into the air.

jackie opens her mouth to respond, but you beat her to the punch.

"hey, give her a break," you say from behind natalie, grabbing her arm.  "we all have bad days," you shrug.

nat grumbles something under breath before shaking her arm out of your grip and stomping away.  you look over at jackie from across the field and give her your best encouraging smile.

jackie is ready to get down on one knee and propose to you right then and there, but she settles for a bashful "thanks" during the next water break.  she makes sure to squeeze your shoulder as she says it just so her thumb can brush over the damp skin of your collarbone.

"anytime," you say, squirting some water into your mouth.  you miss jackie's hungry stare as you do so.  "i know you'd do the same for me."

oh, she'd definitely do the same and more.

when the team is ready to scrimmage, jackie makes the two teams by counting everyone off.  she makes sure to remember the number she gives you and gives herself the same one once she's done counting.

"oh my god, we're on the same team?" jackie exclaims, feigning surprise as she waltzes over to you.  "no way!"

when you score a goal, she uses the moment to her advantage.

"yes, y/n!" she shouts, enthusiastically running over to you and sweeping you into her arms.  you're forced onto your tip toes as her bone crushing grip nearly picks you up and off the ground.  you laugh at the gesture, music to jackie's ear, but everyone else stares at the two of you confused.

"it's not that serious, it's just a scrimmage..." tai says, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"so?" jackie whips her head around to meet tai with a glare.  her arm is still intentionally encircling your waist.  "we need to have more spirit, guys!  come on!"

she only splits from your side when the ball comes back into play, though a smile stays fixed on her lips as she replays your adorable laughter in her head for the rest of practice.

"you were so good today!" she says to you once practice is over.  it doesn't matter if it's true or not, her smile shows she's too smitten to care.

she walks you back into the locker room, eyes flickering down to the hand at your side every few seconds.  she wants nothing more than to lock it with hers and feel your warmth directly.

once inside the locker room, you don't stop talking, even as you change.

you lift your practice jersey over your head in one swift motion, never breaking conversation.  luckily you're not looking over at jackie because her eyes are glued to your chest and stomach, now only covered by a sports bra.  she's practically drooling and if she didn't have self-control, her hands would already be imprinting themselves on your skin.

you tug on the fitted crop top with the low v-neck you had been wearing earlier, and somehow your tits look even better than they did when you were shirtless.  jackie has to literally shake her head in an attempt to shake the thoughts from her brain.  it doesn't work.

she goes mute when you slide your soccer shorts off.  in a state of pure panic, she really tries to keep her gaze fixed straight ahead on the lockers. she really, really tries.  but you have to go on and ruin it by mumbling:

"ugh, i forgot to wear spandex today!"

jackie glances over just as your shorts pool around your feet and holy shit.  how did you even play soccer in those slutty little panties?

when you seem to turn toward her, she diverts her gaze back to the lockers.

"uh, jackie?" you ask when she doesn't respond to what you've just said.  she can see you turned fully toward her in her peripheral vision and suddenly her mouth is uncomfortably dry.

"oh, sorry, i'm just a little...out of it today.  what did you say?" she asks, looking over at you and using all her strength to keep her eyes on your face.  still, she manages to catch a glance of you wiggling on your favorite pair of jeans that are baggy everywhere but around your hips. jackie knows that from her previous leering.

her eyes flit down as you expertly fasten your belt, your fingers deftly moving like clockwork, and she can't suppress the fleeting thought about what else those fingers could do.

when it's time to leave, her heart aches because there's nothing worse than not seeing you until the next day.  she'll fall asleep that night thinking of how you defended her to nat and how warm you felt in her embrace (and maybe even stick her hand between her legs to the image of you in your itty bitty panties) , feeling giddy to make more memories with you tomorrow at practice.

[vanillarosekiss]

preacher’s daughter!reader x simon riley 📻

part i | part ii | part iii

warnings: is this kind of long? yes i'm sorry but deal with it :b this is an introduction to a new series and !reader that i'm creating for simon... PART TWO WILL CONTAIN SMUT!

(ps. i'm an english student and i love descriptive writing, so am practicing rn! )

The air in the bayou was thick and hot, clinging to your skin, heavy with the scent of cypress and dampening wood. The house you and your father lived in near by, if it could still be considered a house, stood towards the edge of the water, it's bones old and creaking. The porch slumped slightly from the weight of old memories you'd once made in this house, now loosing it's life to the piling dust and neglect.

Whispering themselves into the cracks of creaking wood, secrets of a sheltered life hid themselves deep in the core of the house, suffocated by prayers. As night fell, the smell of rain permeated your bedroom, window open and ushering in as much cool air as possible to calm down the scorching heat accumulated throughout the day. You could hear the porch creak with weight, and the soft squeak of the front door opening, your father welcoming someone in with his low, measured voice.

It was late, and you wore your little white nightgown, just resting at the middle of your thighs, embroidered with a pretty lace pattern. Barefoot against the warped and groaning boards, you walked across your room and leant your head against the cool door, eager to listen to a conversation that wasn't any of your business.

You heard your father, a preacher for the small town you lived in, exchanging words to a stranger who seemed to have a deep and enthralling voice. It excited you, knowing that there was someone else in your house other than the man who had brought you up all these years, teaching you to stay put in the little town and not talk to anyone, let alone strangers. But now, this strange man had entered your home, blessed by your own father's prayers, for what? And so late at night?

After a short while, you heard who you thought was the stranger leave, and close the porch door behind him before getting in his truck and driving off. Apart from the fact that it was your father's truck, and it seemed to be him that was driving it...?

Not a second later, you heard a gentle knock on your bedroom door, before it opened and you saw the man he was talking to. A handsome man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties; he was fresh from a laborious job no doubt, considering his dirtied clothing and harsh boots. The cherry of his cigarette flared brightly before he put it out on the wooden floor, squashing it with his shoe. He watched you with a quiet and unreadable gaze for a moment, dragging over you like he could peel back the layer of skin surrounding you and see what you truly were.

You weren't sure what he was doing here, or what he was looking for.

"Name's Simon" he said plainly, shutting the door with his boot as he walked further into your room.

You daren't say a word, waiting for what he would say next.

"M'not gonna hurt you, precious little thing - you don't gotta be scared"

"Why are you- what are you doing?" you inquired, confused spread across your face.

"I take it your daddy didn't tell you, then?" his voice dropped an octave lower.

"Tell me? Tell me what?"

He saw you as who you were, soft in ways he didn't know how to hold, as pure as you could get. You were untouched, an angel sent to the wrong place.

You swallowed thickly as he came over, hands toying with the hem of your nightgown. You could sense the devil in his eyes, and in his brooding presence there came about a feeling of danger.

Despite this, and God help you, you wanted him to touch you. To take you as his own.

I am so painfully aware this is not going to get any notes but just get ready for part two, trust me...

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @siphon07 @figthoughts @mlthree @decaffeinateddelusionbread

[verystrxxwberry]

Hi, Alex! What about some wedding headcanons with Eldarya boys, please? Thank you!

ELDARYA; wedding headcanons! ♡

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Individual headcanons, reader x route (both TO and ANE), sfw. ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I didn’t really have much inspiration to write these headcanons, but I did my best effort! I hope you all enjoy it. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

EZAREL

Seeing you kneeling in front of him confused him. Were you going to tie his shoelaces? But he had boots on, you didn't have to. Wait, were you planning to...? Ah, no, you didn't. You just pulled out a little box... “Would you like to be my husband, Ezarel?” you asked, opening the box and exposing a small golden ring inside. A ring...? Ezarel had a hard time processing your question, the meaning of each one of the words and the connection they had in the sentence. He was in shock, unable to speak for several minutes until he was able to blink and think coherently.

He felt like saying no just to annoy you, but he nodded, “wow, wait... are you sure? I've never been married before...”

“Uh... neither have I, that's why I want to marry you,” you laughed a little at his nervousness, “so… what’s the answer? Do you want to be my husband?” The elf sighed, eyes slightly glazed over and kneeling down in front of you to hug you.

“Of course I do, yes, yes, and yes,” he murmurs, filling your neck with little kisses. He would forget to put on the ring and look at you confused when you put it on, “what are you doing?” to him, you two were already married.

Ezarel doesn't know how to help with the wedding preparations, so he leaves the responsibility to Keroshane. He's fine with it all, but he'd even think it's perfect if there are a lot of sweets at the banquet.

When the day arrives, Ezarel is very nervous, his hands sweaty and his eyes shining with constant excitement. It's adorable to see the elf so vulnerable for his wedding day. He would be constantly adjusting his suit, looking in the reflections to fix his hair and look decent.

Many times in the past Ezarel commented that weddings were tiring for him since it was so time-consuming. But the time passed quickly at his wedding, and he certainly enjoyed it as he had never enjoyed any event before.

You, Valkyon, Nevra and Ezarel would be sitting in a circle of chairs while everyone seemed to get carried away for a night, talking, gossiping and having a good time. Ezarel would have cried from the excitement, and only the three of you knew how to comfort him. The elf was so clingy! He didn't leave your side all night. 

He seemed to be constantly on the verge of tears, but it was simply the bliss of the moment. His head would constantly be resting on your shoulder while he seemed to be much more joking and relaxed than usual.

NEVRA

Never ever expected to marry someone. No one expected him to take that big step on his life and compromise himself with someone, but there he was! More than willing to be your husband. 

You didn’t even expect he’d be the one getting on his knees and giving the most precious speech you’ve ever heard before. Tears blurred your vision, but you still nodded your head. Nevra was so glad you had agreed to take that step with him. You wanted to keep it a secret from Karenn, but she ended up finding out because she insisted so much; she knew you two had a plan in mind! And when she found out, she cried a lot with emotion.

And for a year, you were organizing things, in fact, Nevra put so much attention and care into the wedding that he planned things while he was still at work, completely focused on it, as it was more important than work at that moment. He did a great combo of purple, yellow and red lights that made the environment truly romantic! He made sure the environment could keep the romantic vibes he wished to give.

It would be celebrated on the hundred years cherry tree area. He ordered a certain pattern of lights around the area, relighting the lights around the tree and causing a beautiful lighting effect since the wedding would be at dusk.

The day came, and you found yourself in front of Nevra. His trembling hands held yours gently, his voice sounded firm as he swore an oath to love you until death do you part.

As he made his emotional speech once again, you heard Karenn sobbing in the background. She was crying more than you both together.

You could see that Nevra was completely relaxed, with a smile all the time on his face. Karenn hugged you both very affectionately after the ceremony, weeping like a baby.

The party began and Nevra would lead you to a slow dance under the warm lights, taking your waist with certain firmness and gentleness while his other hand intertwined his fingers with you. Everyone was enjoying themselves, some conversing at the table dinner, others drinking and dancing around you; but it still felt like the two of you were alone. After all, it was your day. Although his voice was low, the closeness between you allowed you to hear him more than the music itself. He would tell you nice things about how he had never imagined himself at that moment, how he doubted he would be a good husband; but that he would do his best to keep things going as smoothly as ever.

He planned a surprise trip to other safe regions on Eldarya for your honeymoon. -And pray to not get pregnant during the honeymoon, because it is most likely to happen by accident!-

If we are talking in terms of A new era context… imagine you sent a letter to Ezarel to update him about the news and inviting him to the wedding. His presence would be an absolute surprise! And Nevra would hug him so tightly it’d seem that the wedding was between Nevra and Ezarel. It’d be so cute!

VALKYON

Accidentally proposed the same day. Yes, as you read. In different situations, you had discussed what a married life would be like, and you both seemed attracted to the idea of getting married. Therefore, you planned to propose on the day of your anniversary. But you were surprised to see how Valkyon went ahead and in the middle of dinner took out a box, opening it to show you the ring. “Valkyon...” you mused and also took out the box, showing him a similar ring, ”I was also going to propose to you today...”

You both looked at each other puzzled before you both started laughing out loud. That was already an automatic yes from both parties, so that was a relief.

Very lost with the wedding preparations....but still, supports your ideas! Want him to wear a princess dress? Ok. Want to eat some nachos for the banquet? That’s cool. Want to throw a bucket of water to him to celebrate it? Alright, as you want, dear.

Wants to see you dressed for the wedding before the wedding. Although that would cause him to stay up all night thinking about how good it looks on you, and my goodness, he's so in love.

They had to change his suit because the first one was so tight that his pecs were almost waving at you, and he didn't want to look obscene at the wedding. After the wedding it’s ok, he can be obscene…, but by the gods, there would be kids during it!

You wouldn't complain about seeing him with a chest window though.

Anyway, you'd see him with his hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and it looks great on him! The ceremony was fantastic and warm, everyone was so happy to see you two start a new stage in your lives.

When he sees you dressed for the wedding he repeats countless times how beautiful you look. And he really cannot take his eyes from you.

He would save time during the night to thank the guests for coming, especially the older creatures! And he would spend some time playing with the little ones.

Valkyon would end up drunk from trying every shot, glass and tankard of beer.... Forgive him, because from that moment on he would be more clingy and cheerful, open to board games with you and other creatures. He would have his hand constantly on your knee, since he was afraid to let you out of his sight.

He would let himself be free and end up unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt, undoing his tie a bit and letting his hair down. He looked gorgeous, and it was almost mesmerizing how handsome your husband was.

That night was also truly special. So truly special and intense that next morning he was completely dead (not literally -heh-), needing almost all the day to rest. The same goes for you though.

LEIFTAN

No doubt Leiftan has thought on more than one occasion about marrying you and starting a family with you. It seems to him the strongest connection there could be. And over the years of your relationship he realized that he wanted to make that wish come true, but he was too shy to take the initiative. He was afraid, what if it wasn't your ideal life? Maybe he would have to settle for not formally marrying you and just being your boyfriend.

As usual, Leiftan took you on a date with him to an extensive secluded garden, where he liked to take you for picnics. While he kept busy making a flower crown, you plucked up the courage to take the big step. You caught his attention and began to recite some beautiful and sentimental words to him, stuttering a bit from nerves, which made you embarrassed... but it's Leiftan, c’mon, he more than anyone else knows how to be patient and bring confidence when you are nervous. He doesn't judge you for stuttering.

In fact, your words are so nice that he starts sobbing as if you were giving him the worst news in the world. Forgive him... he's really very happy! He will finally accomplish one of his goals in life. He didn't know what he had done to deserve that you wanted to have him as your husband, but without a doubt his answer was a huge yes. With trembling hands he grabbed you by the cheeks and pressed a kiss against your lips full of love and emotion.

Participate in the organization of the wedding 100%! In fact, he is in charge of most of the lighting, decoration and banquet. He would prepare sweets for the banquet himself.

It’d be more a dinner than a party, as Leiftan enjoys quiet environments where everyone can talk together and have fun without the need of overwhelming stimulations.

There won’t be much people as he prefers to have a comfortable and more relaxed ceremony, where your closest friends and family could go.

The fact that he is getting married is already overwhelming enough!

The ceremony is beautiful and quite traditional, although Leiftan ordered the playing of instruments such as piano and violin to make the scene much more special for the two of you. As the classical music played in the background, Leiftan held back tears like he had never cried before. You looked beautiful in your wedding outfit! And just as you arrived on the stage, he let you know it, with some admiration, desire and no doubt, a lot of love.

He searched and prepared a honeymoon in a cozy and warm place where you could constantly get massages, go to dates in open spaces and warm baths!

LANCE

A strange concept he never thought about, as he’d never thought he’d get to marry anyone. There was a serious conversation once. You two deeply thought about your future plans, and he asked you if you wanted to ever marry him. You said yes, which made him very confused, and he overthought a lot of the reasons for that to be your choice. It had no logic…

He consulted secretly with almost everyone in the guards. “Hey, in case you want to get married, how would you propose it? Oh, and do you think ____ would like to marry me?” Everybody told him literally yes, but he kept thinking you would say no.

It was thanks to Mathieu's insistence and his words straight out of a fantasy love novel that slightly motivated him to take the big step.

And it took years for him to take some bravery to ask it.

He won’t get on his knees because he wants to make it subtle. He’d ask you to go for a walk and then, as you two are pretty far from anyone, he’ll start his proposal.

When you said yes, Lance sighed in relief as if there was a chance for you to say no. You won’t see it but that night he kicked his feet like a happy, in love teen.

He tries to help with the wedding preparation, but it’s a little bit messy or simple… yet he contributes a lot with the money. He spends the whole time until the wedding having a little crisis every day from how life will change, how he is terrified of not being a good husband…

Whatever, the day comes, and he is so tense that you even wonder if he is enjoying himself. You gave him your hand, and he spent the whole day seeking your hand as a way to be less nervous. And it worked!

He doesn’t think that many people would agree to come to the wedding, but for his surprise, lots of people came (for his perspective though, it was actually a small wedding because he didn’t want a very big party). He prefers the ceremony short and to the point so you all can go to have dinner. He gets very congratulated by everyone and that only serves to make him proud, happy and feeling so damn lucky to have you.

Eats a lot during that night, but like a LOT.

He gets emotional at some point, sad that his brother can't see any of what's going on. It occurred to you to encourage him, telling him that from wherever he was, he would be watching you and encouraging you to continue with a happy life. You were sure Valkyon would be proud of the change Lance made and of finally getting someone to call him husband and make it official.

He hugs you and starts muttering how much he loves you and how grateful he is to have married to you. He was absolutely in love with you. And that night he filled you with that love, making sure you knew how deep his feelings are!

MATHIEU

It was proposed by accident. Literally, of all the places he could hide the box with the ring, he hid it behind a pillar of books on the desk. As you were tidying up your space you saw it, and began to laugh at how clumsy your boyfriend could be. But clearly the thought of him proposing got you excited.

You started giving him more hints over the next few days about wanting to get married. You saw him turn red with embarrassment, as well as nervous and somewhat awkward. His nervous smile and stuttering were adorable.

One day he was very frustrated, he had lost something very important. You saw him on the verge of tears, and because he refused to let you help him, you decided to help him lol. You knew where the box was, although he seemed to have forgotten... how clumsy. When he saw you pick up the box, he became very nervous, asking you, “Do you know what it is?”

You could no longer pretend and nodded your head, “of course I know, silly,” you humorously handed it to him, “but aren’t you planning to get down on your knees?”

Oh, he immediately did! He opened the box and showed you the ring, “so… you know the question, right?” his smiled didn’t fail to show his excitement. And it increased when the answer to the most awaited question was a yes- you wanted to marry him!

He would love to have a themed wedding. No need for everything to be so formal, guests could go in costume and make it a really fun wedding! However, the tradition of doing something formal was there, and he decided to adapt to having a formal wedding... and the next day a themed party with the guests!

The day came, and he was panicking a lot, Lance had to calm him down to not be so anxious during the ceremony. He almost puked last day’s dinner…

So excited he invites everyone he sees. So you might find creatures you didn’t know about invited by Mathieu since they were kind to him… a little bit risky, yes. But he’s just like that from the excitement.

Mesmerized about how you look. And he definitely started sobbing when he saw you walking towards him, a liquid snoot threatening at the edge of his nose… yeah, he was a little bit messy, but he was as adorable anyway. Lance gave him a tissue to clean himself because it’d be unacceptable to be filled of snots and tears when it is time to kiss you!

He fills your face with kisses when he gets the chance to kiss you after the beautiful speech and all of that. Mathieu was so excited to give you the first as your husband!

Spends the whole night playing games with you, yapping, dancing and having fun! And the next day there will be a themed party where you’d have even more fun.

✰; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[venturelovebot]

Fluffy February Day Two: That One Time...

A/N: Prompts by @fluffyfebruary, written in headcanon format. Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated but not necessary!

Warnings: None! Pure fluff!

🩷 "Do you remember that one time you tried to buy me chocolate, but you tripped and fell on the way to meet me?" You ask them.

❤️ Sloan smiles when they recall it now. At the time, it was not so funny.

💄 "Yes! I cried for an entire hour." They sigh. "How could I forget?"

💋 You nuzzle them affectionately in an attempt to dampen the negative feelings from the memory.

🪽 "You're so sweet. You know that?" You compliment them.

🌹 "Aww, shucks. You're making me blush!" They joke.

🍫 You nestle into them further and place kisses to their adorable face. Giggles bubble up from their chest from the affection.

💒 "You know what we should do? We should make our own chocolate." You suggest.

🧸 Once they're finally allowed a breath of air, they look down at you with soft eyes.

🩷 "How do we do that, though? Isn't chocolate making hard?" They wonder.

❤️ "I'm pretty sure they sell kits." You tell them. "I know that for a fact because I happen to buy one!"

💄 A smile crosses your expression as you lean into them again.

💋 "I thought it would be fun to try!" You add.

🪽 "Oooh! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" They jump up from the couch.

🌹 You chuckle at their giddiness.

🍫 "Because I wanted it to be a surprise!" You explain.

💒 They tug at your arm in excitement.

🧸 "Well, c'mon! Let's get started!" They exclaim.

🩷 They practically drag you into the kitchen behind them.

❤️ You prepare the counter for everything you're going to need: the cacao butter, cacao powder, powdered sugar and powdered milk. That's a lot of powder!

💄 "So, we'll need a double boiler for this." You mention.

💋 "What's that?" They ask.

🪽 You place a saucepan atop the stove and fill it with water. You patiently wait for it to begin boiling, and you place a smaller heat proof pan inside.

🌹 "Oh! I've seen that before!" They remember.

🍫 "Care to do the honors?" You place a knife in their hand, gesturing to the uncut cacao butter.

💒 You watch as they carefully cut everything down into bite sized pieces. Then, it slides into the pot and to melt.

🧸 "Cacao powder!" You add in a heaping helping of it.

🩷 Next goes in the powdered sugar alongside the powdered milk.

❤️ After a couple minutes of stirring, a pinch of sea salt goes into the melty mixture for an extra dash of flavor.

💄 You pour it all into a heart shaped mold to let it freeze and take form.

💋 "Wow. That was a lot easier than I expected!" They note.

🪽 "Mhm." You reach out to lovingly pinch their cheek. "Especially with my little helper."

🌹 They smile from your affection, reaching to cup your hand with theirs.

🍫 Now, it's just a matter of waiting.

💒 The two of you consistently check the progress of the freezing chocolate to test if it's ready for consumption.

🧸 And, finally, after your patience seems to wear thin...

🩷 "It's so good!" They shout.

❤️ They stuff their mouth with more heart shaped chocolate pieces, but making sure to leave some for you as well.

💄 You understand the enthusiasm as soon as you taste it. The waiting had certainly paid off.

💋 "Don't make your tummy upset!" You chide them.

🪽 They never, ever seem to listen when it comes to sweets, though.

🌹 "I won't, I won't!" They brush you off.

🍫 It's only when you forcibly remove the treats in front of them do they realize how narrowly they avoided pain this time.

💒 "I told you!" You sigh. "Now go wash your hands, let's make dinner together."

🧸 A bead of sweat forms on their forehead. Even if they avoided the pain of a stomach ache, they still ruined their appetite for the rest of the day. Good going, Sloan.

🩷 "Yes, cariño..." They nervously smile.

[everythingheard]

Although Marcelo's initial response to his urging, underscored by the gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, served as a reassurance, Joshua found unremitting chastisement circling the outskirts of his mind for allowing anyone to see him falter in anything ( much less twice ) in a fashion that wasn't unfamiliar, yet hardly welcome at the moment. Marcelo wasn't just anyone, a fact that made such thoughts better and worse simultaneously; while the other man was certainly the only person he trusted as long as he felt like this, that was also the precise reason he didn't want to be seen like this. Joshua's beloved friend had already borne witness to what he perceived as perhaps the best and worst of him, so why wasn't this easier? Would it ever be?

Despite his own disquietude, he appreciated Marcelo's quick shift between his legs for the time being, his left hand falling into the grass by his head. He wasn't sure where he wished to look, whether at the vaquero, the hand traveling down his leg, or the darkened sky overhead. The decision was settled for Joshua when the sound of Marcelo's voice immediately grabbed his attention. ' I can tell already, in your arms is my favorite place to be. ' Another soft huff escaped him, his lips somehow adorned with flustered levity even amid everything. "That's where I want you to be," he said, his tone still a little quieter as his remaining boot was cast aside. Marcelo was distracting, intentionally or not, and Joshua wasn't sorry about it.

He didn't watch as the vaquero removed his trousers, though he did lift his hips to ensure the process was even a bit simpler. It was a relief to finally free his aching arousal, the gratification of it accompanied by a sharp, appreciative inhale; shit, it felt better than he had anticipated. However, when his eyes returned to Marcelo, Joshua wasn't sure of what he glimpsed there. Palms were trailing back up his legs, yet the act of it struck him as more careful than lingering. No words came, instead leaving that dark gaze, and a quality in it that he couldn't quite read, to speak into a silence punctuated by his own eager breaths.

He wasn't pulled back on top of Marcelo, nor did he feel the touch he craved. Why? Why was Marcelo waiting? To clarify that he was comfortable, probably, but Joshua wasn't sure. Say something, Marcelo. Do something — the thought reverberated in his ears like an echo. Although he was far from self-conscious concerning anything about his appearance other than his scars, he wondered suddenly if seeing them in conjunction with the rest of him made them seem more real. Worse. Joshua's left hand slid again into Marcelo's hair, using the strands twined around his fingers to tip his companion's chin just slightly higher, as if it might help him grasp a meaning found there. It didn't. Just say something: he didn't have to fight to refrain from uttering the sentiment aloud, since it was already trapped in his throat. While Marcelo had seen more facets of him in one evening than most ever would, he wasn't certain that he could allow this last one to shatter, to reveal the part of him that was riddled with a desperate trepidation to know that what he couldn't read wasn't regret.

Joshua only realized his voice had returned to him when it was leaving his lips, his cadence laced through with a teasing he was confounded that he managed to muster. "You speechless over the most handsome man you've ever seen?" Ha! As if he wasn't speculating just the opposite even while he said it. Nevertheless, his free hand crept down his chest to his stomach and towards his flushed tip, his eyebrows lifting as if in a humored threat that he would touch himself first if Marcelo kept him waiting.

The hand in his hair already had Marcelo's head tilting back a bit, smiling lips subtly parted and half-lidded gaze fixed on Joshua's flushed face. "Good." His eyes fell shut at the kisses along his neck - then his inhale snagged before escaping in a pleased vocal sigh, lashes fluttering, when those teasing teeth caught for long enough to leave a mark near the cord of his necklace. Marcelo answered first with a soft kiss in return to one side of Joshua's head, then with a whisper. "As if I could ever forget you, what you do to me." Another kiss. "As if I would ever want to."

Marcelo already missed that added closeness again as soon as Joshua sat back, but continuing to tease around the waistband of his favorite gambler's trousers helped. That also meant he felt, as well as saw, sudden tension coil up through the man's body while reaching back to shuck off a boot. He didn't have to seek the source for long to guess it was the long scar over Joshua's side. Being healed didn't always mean a wound stopped hurting.

Then Joshua pushed off to lay beside him again. Another wave of the night's subtle chill washed over Marcelo, though that wasn't the main reason he turned on his side toward the other man. Propped up on one elbow, he watched Joshua's face, concerned but holding onto his patience. Marcelo wanted so badly to cover every inch of that scar, and beyond, with kisses and tender touch; he wanted even to just embrace Joshua, or lay a hand on his chest, but had no idea if that'd make things better or worse.

That Joshua then took his hand was encouraging, though he noticed where it was placed didn't involve any more bare skin. Still, Marcelo did chance leaning in for a kiss to one corner of Joshua's mouth. "And I mean it." He sat up and moved between the man's legs to get better leverage, first for that remaining boot and the sock beneath. One hand trailed down Joshua's clothed leg to get there, while Marcelo continued, "I can tell already, in your arms is my favorite place to be." Where else, after all, did he have the chance to just be himself instead of a wanted outlaw?

Fingertips skimmed a bared ankle before dragging up over cloth again, so both hands could hook on Joshua's trousers and underclothes. Marcelo had to sit back on his heels while drawing them down and off, but it was worth the slight awkwardness at the end to be able to drop them aside. Even so, as his touch wandered up Joshua's legs and despite the strong temptation of that naked arousal, he kept an eye on the latter's face, just to make sure he wasn't crossing a sudden line.

[hostess-of-horror]

My fellow fans, I must confess something to you all...

I watched the full gameplay of Rayman in the Phantom Show. 👉👈

[autism-corner]

always caught between 'im taking necessary rest' and 'actually im probably just avoiding hard things and am plain weak' =3=

[dilfosaur]

well i haven't spilled my guts on tumblr since i was in college but it's the platform that's felt The Most Mine thru the years, so

let's talk!

i've had a huge chip on my shoulder that i wanted off before the year ends. very bad professional experience to follow

so firstly to get ahead of the speculating, i'm not naming names or anything. some of you will puzzle out who i'm talking about, but please don't bother anyone especially not on my behalf. i've worked hard to distance myself from them the past few months. shit happens, especially when you're a dumb bitch (that's me!)

but also this person was someone i considered a close friend and it makes me uneasy to possibly direct backlash at them. "then why post about it" bc i did intermittent work for them for over a year. this is just about that. so hear me out

basically it started off fine. i initially did some commission work for good pay, then was invited to become more involved with their team. unfortunately as i became more involved with their operation it became more disorganized over time. projects started then forgotten, constantly shifting schedules, lapsing communication between roles, confusing financials, and often inconsistent if not late payments. during mid 2023 i was doing colorist work, sometimes on a one day turnaround (all while also preparing drawfee's summer merch launch). the payroll wasn't set up correctly so i wasn't paid for that work for over a year (more on that later), tho to be fair that was largely my own fault at first as i just didnt realize the payments didn't go thru lol

i always consider myself decently capable of separating friendship and coworker-ship; i run a company with 4 wonderful friends, going strong for almost 5 years. that didn't really work out in this case. by early this year our friendship was on the rocks; work issues fed into personal issues and vice versa. so as the rest of this shit plays out, we had just had our first "big fight" which i felt very bad about and added to all the upcoming tension

a huge point of friction was the fact that i really wanted to work with them to make a music video for one of their songs. i've always wanted a chance to make a music video, was confident in a concept i came up with, and even did some concept art for the idea. everyone insisted they loved the concept and that we should do it, but we kept pushing it back for various reasons. it ended up becoming a huge sticking point for my frustrations, which i tried to express productively. TLDR, we eventually got around to discussing it seriously around april.

i planned to ask for $4000 with negotiable add-on for the whole project, which was my Friend Discount price. i was offered a contract for $1000 flat rate, as they insisted that was the only budget they had for it.

don't ask me why i signed it lol. i didn't even counter offer

there was some girlmath to it: i wanted an extra 1k for a student scholarship i provide every spring and well, there it was. but if i had to guess, i saw it as something i just couldn't back down from any more. i caused these folks- my friends- a lot of problems bc i dug my heels in so deep to chase this project, so fuck it we ball

i had about 4 months to solo a 3 minute music video. they wanted it done in august so they could release it before summer ended, bc "it was a summer song". to be fair i was asked if i needed them to pay for anything extra like assistants (which i would have to find and manage) but i was so immediately overwhelmed that i didn't wanna slow down to wait on that process lol. there was very minimal communication other than brief progress check-ins every few weeks. i did everything for that project myself: the original concept, character designs, storyboards, layouts, backgrounds. i even did the editing/compositing for the final cut of the MV. the only favor i did myself was limiting the amount of it that was actually animated to simple loops and motions. hardly my best work but it was work still done

i did it all in between my full time job. i ended up having to take nearly a month away from most of my drawfee duties (with the support of the others) to make the august deadline. i only ever asked for a 3 day extension (notice given about a week in advance, around the same time i was given the final song file lol). i finished the music video at 6am on the final deadline and recorded drawfee the next day on 2 hours of sleep

but it was done, coolies. the team was very happy with the final product. honestly, without getting into it, those were a very emotionally taxing 4 months. on the professional side, i regretted agreeing to the project and especially for the dogshit rate they offered. i felt like a hypocrite- as someone who always wanted to advocate for younger artists demanding their worth in a world that's getting increasingly hostile toward creatives, i failed myself

so when i met with the manager to discuss the release plan, i told them to do whatever worked best for them as i only had one request: i wanted my credit removed from the project

tbh... like... lmao this dramatic bitch right!! but really, i decided that bad practices only breed worse business. friends or not, it was unprofessional of me to accept such a low paying job so i just didn't want my name used in association. everything felt so muddled to me and i was just really tired at this point

the manager was very understanding and then offered that i could be paid more. they said that their team "was surprised" i accepted their low rate and they would be happy to up the amount. this confused me as the initial budget seemed pretty set and at no point between april and august was i offered a better rate. i knew these guys weren't made of money. so, i declined. i didn't want to put anyone out of their means over work that was already done and agreed upon. but more importantly, i was over the whole thing and didn't want to prolong the project with a contract renegotiation. i just insisted my name be removed

they decided to use a pseudonym (which i was fine with) so they could create a story about a character who made the MV (this sounds really convoluted but i don't know how better to put it without getting specific, sorry). that way if people asked about the credit, they could speak comfortably about it without signaling that something went wrong behind the scenes. ok, kind of a silly narrative imo but whatevs. and maybe this is where i finally went truly wrong but. yolo i guess

i gave the name "D. Smithee", D as in dilfosaur and Smithee as in Alan Smithee. look it up for fun film trivia ig! was it passive aggressive of me to reference that in this context? yeah, honestly. but i thought it was kinda funny and really not that deep. if it was a problem, i have other real, non-cheeky pseudonyms i regularly use. the manager accepted it and all i had to do was wait for them to post the video and i could leave the whole experience behind me

a week later i received a message from the manager that my pseudonym had been denied by the rest of the team bc one of them got the reference. fair enough lol. however, they decided that rather than ask for a different name, the were going to make one up for me that they liked and would "fit the [story]", without asking me

and that! is when i finally snapped!

i was so tired of giving them concessions at this point and having a credit made up for me without any input from me felt genuinely violating and unethical. i started to Panic bc of how stressed i was, and asked for my overdue payments (aka the $500 still owed on the MV, and the colorist rate from a year prior that was never paid even tho i reported it in january) to be scheduled ASAP as i was leaving the work discord immediately

i finally told them off for exploiting me throughout the months while i kept trying to just be nice and finish my contact cleanly. in return i was told that it was unfair to say that as i agreed to everything- i accepted their cheap rate and denied further payment so that was all settled, and it was ok to change my credit without my consent bc i "said they could do whatever with the release". i called bullshit, ended the convo as kindly as i could, and cried lol. they agreed to ditch the pseudonym and just give no credit. that night was the last i heard from anyone on that team

and the real kicker?

august came and went. then september, october... and they never released the music video

and i don't know why, because i was never contacted about it. i've been removed from the picture entirely i guess. 4 months and boatloads of stress. just. up in smoke. i don't know what i expected honestly

it's hard to not take everything that happened personally and as done in bad faith. i really do, honestly. i've had plenty of shitty deals in my almost 10 year art career, but it hits different from people you saw as friends. but to the point of "why not keep it private", i have never felt so disrespected as a professional as i did this past year. i can toy with money and credits and other formalities all i want, but my work- my ideas, my labor, my effort- is still so important to me. i felt like the biggest idiot for doing so much work, pouring so much of myself into a piece for someone's use, for what has amounted to nothing

but more importantly i hated myself for undervaluing my work, even if initially i thought this person was a trusted friend. money is not really an issue for me- drawfee is my main job and i am fine and comfortable. it's so important to pay artists appropriately but i often undersell my own work bc i value the collaboration and passion between creatives more than the reward. i think a lot of artists tend to feel the same, and it often makes us easy to take advantage of. it's so difficult to find the balance between passion and making a fair living, and i think there's some shame within ourselves when artists choose to prioritize that passion

i wanted to finally get all this off my chest bc i was ashamed of every choice i made. things like this happen all the time i'm sure and hiding these mistakes only make it easier for it to happen to other people

tldr always value your work and protect your passion from people who just see it as a product. and don't give cheeky pseudonyms i guess lol

(and again pls don't bother anyone involved about this. a lot of chaos has left my life as i moved past all this, and this is me closing a door without opening new ones hopefully lol)

this shit was truly

so ass.

but i'm moving past it now

but on a nicer note. outside of all of this nonsense, i made lots of good memories this year. i'm truly so grateful to the many wonderful people in my life who keep me going even when i fuck up big time!

and thank you to all of you strangers who, despite everything, give me the time of day. especially if you read this whole thing. you're a real one :')

happy new year!

[retiredteabag]

Wishful thinking

Arranged marriage with Nanami… next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.

"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.

When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.

You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.

And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.

Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.

All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.

But, oh, how wrong you had been.

--

You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.

Offers for your hand.

Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.

You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.

Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.

Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.

You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.

By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.

Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.

You knew little of the man you were to marry.

Here was what you had:

He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.

He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)

And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.

You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.

And that was all you had.

"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.

You huff out a breath, "Thank you."

That's what they all say.

You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.

Afraid you would turn out like her.

You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.

"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.

She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.

Great.

What were you to say to that?

"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.

"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.

"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.

The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.

"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.

You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,

"Well, are you coming?"

You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.

"Stand up straight. Serve us well."

You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.

Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.

You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.

You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.

Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.

That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?

The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.

Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.

You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.

Fear shot through you.

An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.

Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.

Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.

You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.

In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.

You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.

The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.

You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.

The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."

You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.

There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.

Oh, right. "I do." You say.

You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.

The officiant hands something to the man before you.

He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.

His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.

He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.

A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.

He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.

Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-

You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.

This was it, right?

There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.

The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.

Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.

So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.

You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.

But that was too wishful, was it not?

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

[nightingale-prompts]

Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

[dilf-docs]

You're a Daydream, Stay A While

joel miller x younger!reader

summary: you're jackson's designated bartender. well, your dad is, but after the arrival of a new face in town, maybe the inspiration to finally step up to your obligations kicks in.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., oral (f. receiving), fingering, foreplay (mostly breasts), creampie, breeding kink (kinda), angst/comfort, insecure!joel (love touch etcetc starved), needy!joel, pov switch mostly joel (he's down bad as well), collected shitty puns from across the internet like thanos collected the infinity stones

word count: 6,136 words

side note: yk what's worst than simping for old men? simping for old men who don't exist. since y'all know, tlou II trailer dropped, which got me searching for joel's ***** to brace/prepare myself. umm so, why did no one tell me jackson!joel is the hottest thing ever? can´t wait to see pedro being senior citizen level of hot and dying (again) on his bday month! 😍 anyway, this is based on this request and well, yes! i too would flirt with an old ass if he looked like that™ hope u like it bc for some reason I'm not sure of it JSJDLKDFK also 400 followers GUYS STOP (pls don't) IT'S TOO MUCH (give me more) HELP!=="))??! (that i do need tysm)

The truth is simple: you hate working.

An apocalypse later, you figure there are more important things. But on Jackson, it feels like the world before fungus and violence, and everyone's got a role to play. As the daughter of Tipsy Bison's owner, yours is to help around the bar, something no matter how much your dad scolds you, you don't seem to care enough to even do a decent job.

Of course, it could be worse: patroling, keeping the cattle or crops, but not even then you're moved enough to give a shit about it.

Enter Joel Miller.

He, who made sure his arrival in Jackson didn't go unnoticed, making heads turn at it, not only because of his emotional reunion with Tommy, the little girl with him, or the fact that he left yet still returned. But also (mainly to you) because he was hot. Very hot.

Joel was the type of handsome that was rough in the edges, his closed-off demeanor and overall mystery adding to the thrill. His face seemed to be in a perpetual state of grief and darkness, sprinkled with grey and wrinkles, that in your opinion, didn't mean about age but just something that made his features all the more attractive.

It was a lie to say there weren't any boys your age in Jackson, good-looking too, yet you felt yourself gravitate towards Joel's musky presence. Yes, he could be your dad, but again, it's the apocalypse, and there are plenty of things to worry about than some age gap.

That doesn't stop the talking, anyway. It may be the end of the world, but gossip is just like cockroaches: it never dies.

The Tipsy Bison owner's daughter is in love with Tommy's older, much older, brother.

It didn't bother you, thought. You were pretty open about it, giving Jackson more to talk. Whenever Joel arrived at the bar, all heads would turn in your direction, ready for the shameless flirting and compliments you showered the oldest Miller in.

Maria had warned you, of course. She was the closest you had to a friend―sometimes being like a big sister, and she seemed to know what he was up to before, at the QZ in Boston, thanks to Tommy. Safe to say, you didn't care, despite listening to every word she had said.

Joel could break your heart, yet in a dying world, you weren't afraid to live.

Which is why now, as he enters the bar, you offer your dad to take his place.

"Go rest, I'll take this client" you offer with kindness, but he knows better. You're his daughter: in the end of the day, he's aware Joel is here, your shift in attitude warning him about Miller's incoming presence.

"If you will take this client, take the rest too" and before your dad can throw a speech about everyone being equal in Jackson, you're accepting to do the job properly, despite your grumbling and lack of interest to anyone who isn't Joel.

"Joel" you greet as soon as he sits, one of the many flirty smiles you have for him only adorning your face. He nods, avoiding your eyes that look at him like he could give you the world. He can't, so he keeps focused on the glass you're pouring in front of him.

"See? Didn't even need to ask. I already know" you seem proud of it, and the ghost of a smile brushes his lips.

"Well" he raises the glass, "it's an easy drink"

You feign hurt, "is that how you treat your bartender? I could poison your drink" Joel now truly smiles, knowing you could never, "or I could just strip you of your my favorite customer rights"

Now he feigns hurt, playing along for the first time in ever.

"Copied" he raises his arms in surrender, not before taking a gulp. You watch hypnotized the way his adam's apple bobs, the liquid sliding down his throat until it looses itself in the peak his two buttons undone give, of what looks to be a broad soft upper body, blessed with a patch of greying messy hair.

"Have they ever complimented you before, Joel?"

You. He refrains from answering, scared as to where little encouraging had led you and your shameless mouth to. He can feel the rest of the people behind him whispering, holes burning his neck. He can't let you win again: make him seem a pathetic excuse of a man who can't say no to a sweet doe-eyed delusional girl.

But you don't stop, despite his silence and the growing pit on your stomach.

"I'll take that as a no. Wanna know why?" he takes a much needed sip, "because all the good pick-up lines are taken"

This he can handle, Joel thinks. It's silly, proper of your age-

"But you aren't"

Ah, of course. Hasn't he learned?

You have the nerve to laugh, free as a wind chime softly carresed by the wind. His face burns, and even thought he's heard plenty of worse from you ("No pen, no paper but you still draw my attention", "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?" "You must be a dog person because you look fetching"), nothing had affected him this much.

Which is why he tries to pull the mask that had accompanied him since he first knew what grief was, so no feeling would ever made him weak again in a world hardened with pain. He's so good at it, wearing it like a second skin that doesn't scrub off no matter how much he wastes Jackson's water supply away, he sometimes sees the way your face is crestfallen at his indifference.

But you're young and stubborn, as so was he, before all the suffering and broken dreams.

So you won't listen to the past or doubts: the moment he stepped a foot into the community, you knew it was over, beating so loud you could barely hear your own breathing or him, when Maria introduced you and he shook your hand with his much bigger one.

"Joel" he'd said, with the sexiest voice you'd ever heard. His hands were covered in gloves, but despite that and the cold winter, the warmth that pooled from his palms had spread across your cheeks and chest. It had taken you a while to realize you hadn't said anything.

"Y/n" you hate the way your voice sounded small.

He nods, a way of saying Nice to meet you in his withdrawn nature. Then walks away, with Tommy and the girl, who looks curiously at you, Joel completely oblivious of how he's just turned your world upside down.

"Welcome to the museum!" you had said.

He tilted his head in confusion, Ellie's stare intense. "I thought this' Jackson?"

"This is a museum, because you're a work of art"

The tip of his ears instantly reddened, and the laugh Ellie was containing bursted like a bottle of champagne.

"Look at you, old man!" she laughed at him, making you wonder their relationship and how closer they seemed to be, despite initial assumptions. "Can't believe a girl gets the big, grumpy, scary Miller to blush like a boy"

You think that's the reason behind his apathy towards you, barely reacting to your pick-up lines or "subtle" flirting. It's probably not a reason as childish as that, but you'd rather be wrong than accept he may never feel the same way you do.

Because for a moment, despite the times you lived in, life made sense.

So no matter the stares, Joel's guarded posture and lack of reciprocation, you'll always be there, waiting: riding the roller coaster, enjoying the high.

The speed brings you closer, even if that means you'll crash.

Unfortunately for Joel, he knows who you are.

He's not even ten patrolling jobs closer to owning a bottle of whiskey of his own (he thinks earning it is bullshit, hasn't he done already enough?), so he's forced to go to the only place where he can get it.

And of course, there's you: a name and face he couldn't place upon his arrival, even if you had introduced yourself with your shitty line (which made him blush and Ellie laugh, so maybe it was a grudge what made him bent on removing you from his head) yet now is ingraned into his mind.

He doesn't know what's worst: your flirting or the fact that you seemed genuine about it. Or maybe it's the fact that he can tell you apart from the rest now, with a face full of life, always ready to give him your best smile and serve his glass the way he likes.

He needs to be the bigger person in this mess and stop it, Joel thinks. He isn't one to care about the talking, years of being brutal hiding any possible feeling that isn't rage. But then Ellie smuggled her way in his life, he found Tommy again, and Jackson was a reminder of old days when he would allow himself to feel anything else. So, in a way, he's become a bit susceptible to the talking behind his back.

How could he entertain a girl that could be his daughter? hushed, behind his stool. But then your fingers brush "accidentally", and his dick twitches between his legs when you bite your lip, pronouncing a Sorry like no one has said before: a tone so low and sultry, he's convinced wasn't even possible. Then you bat your eyelashes, and laugh (a sound both as delightful as addictive) before you're saying: "Don't mind them. They're just jealous you've got all my attention" and for a brief second, Joel let's himself believe he's special and worth of your time.

It's now a while since he's been there in Jackson, slowly settling into a life that doesn't involve running and fear.

If he thought your little crush was a phase, he's wrong.

You're still giving him time.

He's not supposed to get attached to you, Ellie, Tommy and Maria (future nephew in the way) more than enough. But then, when he's alone in a house too big for two people, Joel misses the way your loud voice fills the eerie silence that's followed him since death has been tracking his every step. Or how your interest on his life doesn't seem an act, listening to every word he says with tender eyes and soft smile, sometimes even making the effort of bringing things he's said before into new conversations; remembering. His heart flutter at your compliments, no matter how dumb they are, probably because he's not used to that stuff. As he lays awake at night, brain clogged with wounds too deep to bear, he finds comfort in things he has a feeling he's too old to get worked up about.

"Joel" you had said one day. God, he loved his name on your lips. The way you say it so sure, as if you'd follow him wherever he'd go.

He coughs. "Yeah?" and you smile, because at least he's looking in your direction.

"The chance of meeting a person like you is the only reason I talk to strangers"

The way your tone was straight, not flinching or faltering scared him. How something akin to sincerity dancing in the sparkles of your eyes, that now seemed to waver not out of whimsy but out of vulnerability, perfectly hidden in what could pass as another one of your attempts to woo him, but Joel's lived and seen enough to know it means much more.

So now, whenever there's darkness, he finds light on replaying those small moments on his head.

Dear God. What's he become? Ellie can't find out or he'll never hear the end of it.

But this things you don't know. All you see is a wall, and you're getting tired of hitting it.

The few words he spares your way are now a punishment you endure, cruel reminder that it's all you'll ever get.

Could you be in love forever? Could you even love?

It was a new feeling. Foreign, in fields of inexperience, but familiars in others. You may have never felt it, but the way your beat was steady when he showed up, worn out boots against the wood creaking under his weight, makes you believe when you know, you know.

"Hello, Joel" your father greets before you speak. Today, no matter how much you tried to shoo him away, he stayed.

You send a small smile his way, but he doesn't return it. You feel small, like a kid, undeserving of his attention. There's a bit of relief knowing your dad's there, so you let him take Joel for you.

There's always a first, and when both your dad and Joel notice, the latter feels a little sting on his chest.

But he's caused this, he thinks. It's what he wanted, after all: for you to stop chasing a man with scars in and out, bearing sins and blood where you had innocence and love.

"We're having a party tonight" he comments, making Joel quirk an eyebrow as he sips.

He gives you a brief glimpse, lost in the curve of your ass in those tight jeans, you giving him your back. He dryly scoffs on instinct at your deliberate choice to ignore him.

"Why's that?"

"My daughter's birthday"

He sees your body tense in the corner of his eye, wiping the glass in your hand with a bit too much force.

"Happy birthday" Joel speaks up, and you mutter a weak Thanks.

That's all he gets? No smile, no looking his way. Just a dry thank you that sounds more like something he would say.

Oh.

Was this how you felt?

"Time sure flies by" your dad sighs nostalgic, completely oblivious to the whole thing. "I feel if it was yesterday we came home from the hospital with you"

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, despite the obvious adoration for your dad.

"Don't get sappy on me" you sound embarrassed.

"I don't care. Twenty-one years later and an apocalypse in the mix, you're still my baby"

"Dad!" your cheeks heat up, and Joel almost forgets he's there, his body back to life when your face goes back to its normal color and happiness.

"Which means" your dad goes back to Joel, "you're invited"

Your laughter dies and Joel's chest tightens.

"You need to stop saying that. All Jackson is invited" you respond, making him flinch. The bite is obvious.

You're not special, is what you try to say in between lines.

"I'll be there" tone daring, and your father feels something has shifted in the air.

You don't answer after that. What are you supposed to say? Don't come? I hate you for making me feel small? He doesn't owe you anything, but it still hurts.

"It's at seven" there's a sharp edge to your tone when looking at him.

"I'll be there" he repeats, still, but it sounds more like who he really is trying to convince is himself.

Joel is there, as promised. You don't know why, but after what happened earlier, for the first time ever, seeing him brings you dread.

He catches you in a corner, sipping on some drink.

"Hi" it's soft, the tone new, and it doesn't help the pit in your stomach.

"Hey"

"Why are you here?" he's curious., "ain't this supposed to be your party?"

It's funny, really. The way everyone else mingles around you, laugh and talk, yet here you are, bitter inside the shadows of your corner.

You raise your glass and chuckle dryly. "Well, cheers to that"

"You shouldn't be here" he insists, and you roll your eyes. Then, his voice goes soft. "Is... Is this because of me?"

You scoff, venom falling out of your bitter laugh. "Wow, big ego you got there. Newsflash: the world doesn't revolve around you"

He's so used to your pinning, it's hard to bear the change.

"I wasn't saying that, I just-"

"Please don't" you cut him off. "Don't ruin my birthday more than you already have, thanks"

You decide to walk away, but Joel won't let you.

"I don't want that" he insists, blocking your steps. "I want you to be happy"

"Don't bullshit me" your tone is icy, cutting like daggers. "Please, leave me alone"

"Not until you're fine"

You scoff at his incomprehensible behavior.

"Oh, now you care? Drop the act; you're just angry I'm not stroking your ego anymore like a lovesick puppy. Truth is, you don't owe me anything, Joel"

He looks like you've slapped him across his face.

"I know" his voice darkens, filled with tension. "But-"

You get tired at Joel's sudden insistence, overwhelming you with confusion. This is the same guy that has uttered less than fifty words your way, indifferent to your flirting and special treatment. Of course, it may have been a little silly of you to expect so much from a guy older even than your dad, but his apathy was borderline rude, and that you can't excuse. Or understand. Or let go.

So yes, you're being petty. And yes, it also feels good to have him begging to have your attention, the roles reversed.

"But what, Joel? Is there anything you can say, really? It's not that serious" you empty the glass in a chug, feeling dizzy. "Live a little and stop being so obssesed with me"

He shoots you a look hard to decipher. There is hurt: from all the emotions available, he chose the one thing you didn't think he'd be capable of feeling. Hell, he looked rather more like the cause than the affected on the other end. But then auburn fires flash behind his eyes, and the circle repeats itself, the danger and rage Maria warned you about.

"Obssesed with you?" his eyes carry a wild light in them. "If anyone is obssesed, well, it ain't me"

"I need air" you push past him, done with his shit.

"I'm sorry-"

The cold wind hits your face as you storm outside the bar. Is this a lesson to be learnt? Was this how heartbreak felt? The only thing you know is you need to get the farthest you can, even if your footsteps feel heavy with the weight of the snowed streets and frigidness of your heart.

"Y/n, wait!"

You turn around. Unbelievable: Joel Miller is running after you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!" you shout, "why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"Because I-"

"There's nothing for you to say" you counter, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "If this is some sort of guilt thing, I need you to let it go. What I did- I mean, you should probably forget about the whole thing. It's my fault, and I'm sorry my reaction is immature and what not, but I should've known to read the signs. You're simply not interested in a girl who hasn't truly lived or known what pain is"

After you confession, you hear a laugh. You raise your eyes, anger and hurt flashing in tears.

"And you have the nerve to fucking laugh?! Fuck you, Joel" you want to walk away to save yourself from further embarrasment yet your feet seem to be stuck.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not interested?" you roll your eyes, but he pins you by your shoulders, as if knowing you'd walk away. "Listen, I need you to know somethin': I'm not who you think I am"

"I don't care" you interrupt, defiant. "You're right, I don't know who you are. But I want to. Who you where outside this walls... It doesn't matter, not to me. You did what you had to do to survive, and that brought you here. Jackson... think of it as a second chance. You can still be happy, you know?"

With me, dies in your throat, not wanting to give more of yourself away.

"It's better this way" Joel insists, "hell, you'll even thank me one day. There's plenty of young boys here who'd love to be with you, trust me"

"I don't want them, Joel. What's so hard to understand?" what makes you get closer to him, you don't know, but in a sudden rush of force, you find the courage to look at him, body standing still as you exhale, fears condense in the air. "I only want you"

"You don't" you should roll your eyes again at his stubborn character, but his voice comes out so small, almost as if resignated, that it tugs your chest.

"I do" you reply firmly, cupping his cheek with tender care. He leans in your touch, despite it revealing his true desires when it comes to you.

"Why me?" Joel whispers, bigger hand covering yours, as to prove it's real and the warmth isn't a joke. "Why not a younger, charmin', happy boy your age? Why a broken violent older man?"

His voice breaks after the admission, quietly seeping into heavy silence that falls like the snowflakes in his hair.

"Joel" you call his name softly, making those sad brown eyes look at you. You gulp, nervous at the storm of emotions inside them, "is it so hard to believe you can be loved?"

Your words make him falter, his grip loosing strength as he tumbles back.

"Love?" he repeats with disbelief, as if you'd just say some kind of tale. "There isn't love in this world left for me. Men like me don't deserve good things, especially if they comin' from a pretty girl as yourself"

You shouldn't be blushing at times like this, but the maroon splash on your cheeks betrays you, warm as the drink from before and red as the dim lights casted by Jackson's Christmas tree in the middle of the town.

"Joel" you call again, and he's surprised you're still there. That you hadn't turn your back on him, or looked into his eyes and saw the monster in him, running away to never come back.

"If you let me" you hold his hands to steady him even as they tremble, "I could"

I could love you.

The promise hangs unspoken in the air, the wind now barely above a humming.

"You'd take me" his voice falters, "with all I've done, knowing I've hurted people?" Killed people, but he can't bring himself to say it when you look at him like that: like he could learn to love you.

"Yes" your voice doesn't waver a bit, "every part of you"

"And you'd take me knowin' that I'm years ahead in hurt, age and life?"

"Yes, Joel" you giggle. "Are you making me do an exam on your life? Because that's not fair, you've barely spoken to me, or anyone else for the matter!"

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I s'ppose life ain't fair, sometimes"

"But it could be" the moonlight of the now clear sky shines over your eyes, and Joel is sure that the stars would be jealous.

"It could" he repeats, as to believe it himself.

Silence settles again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

"You know, we should probably get inside"

You dissmiss his words. "Nobody has even noticed we're gone"

"What about the cake?"

Your chest feels warm at his concern. He may not believe it, but the old-world Joel, the one who was a contractor in Texas and had a daughter, is still there, somewhere.

"Jackson is real, but miracles not" you laugh, "we don't have those. The party really is just an excuse for dad to drink with his friends during labor hours"

"And yours?" Joel inquires, "where your friends at?"

"Left early" then you lean to his ear, hot where skin meets cold. "I told them to"

He tries, but all words die on his throat.

"Wanna know why I did it?" your fingers wander to his tense jawline, tracing your sharp nails until they descent to his neck, sprinkled with loose hairs from his beard.

"Why?" voice barely above a whisper, his cock painfully hard between his legs. That you don't know: just the glint of dark on his hazel eyes.

"Why don't we find out?" and your hand takes his to lead the way. When he doesn't move, you try other way.

"I'm the birthday girl" you tease softly, but your orbs sparkle with something akin to dangerous. "You better make it up to me"

You've walked this road so many times, yet it's never felt longer.

The house is alone, you'd say, and Joel followed you because well, he'd follow you anywhere. He notices you said 'house', an indicator you still live with your parents. He wonders if you're embarrased, but by the way you smile, inviting him inside, to a part of you intimate and unknown until today, he knows he's chosen right.

When you open the door, cold creeps in through the cracks of warmth. You lead the way to your room, and once you're inside, he thinks it's very you.

"Very me?" you giggle, taking a seat in the bed. Joel watches from the doorframe, his bulky arms crossed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's cute" and you think it's not a frequent word in his vocabulary, thanks to the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I'm cute?" you repeat delighted, and the shade of pink turns darker.

He just nods, avoiding your gaze.

"Joel" you call, then pat the spot next to you "why are you so far away? Are you scared?"

He grumbles something under his breath before walking over to where you showed. The bed creaks under his weight, and now that he's closer, you hear the wavering beat of his heart and ragged breaths.

"You are scared" you repeat, a statement now. He thinks you're mocking him, until your sure hand grabs his. "It's okay"

Before he can add on that, your face is too close, your breath tickling over his nose. He feels the moist of your lips press over the brigde of it, with a tenderness that brings ghosts of tears he has since long shade to his eyes.

Then they smoothly move to catch him in a kiss. He lets out a shaky gasp against your mouth, letting himself loose on the whiskey drops inside, an intoxicating mix against his own. His hands find your waist, gripping the soft skin with calloused fingers, refusing to leave it. He squeezes your curves while infiltrating your mouth with his tongue, until he pulls to breath, making you whine.

"Fuck, sweetheart" he nips your lower lip, "ain't you the sweetest thin' to ever exist?"

The kiss gets more heated, his hands now traveling to your face as they hold onto you for support, rough digits meeting peachy skin. Just the mere act of kissing makes him groan against you, too old to be shameful about the needy sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Joel" you whimper his name. He stops and takes the time to bore his gaze over your flushed face, your own dazed eyes mirroring his.

His fingers find their way to your hips again, pulling you closer. The moment caughts you and the bed off guard, the furniture creaking while your eyes move to the hardness visible on his worn-out jeans. You move your head to free your mouth to talk, but that doesn't stop Joel, who hungrily kisses the trace of your jaw and the road starting in your neck and finishing on your collarbones.

"Is that because of me?" Joel whines against your lips, yet you can't stop staring at the very big silhouette. "Oh, happy birthday to me"

Joel whines when you tear way from him, his hands loosing grasp on your body. You move up against the headboard, spreading your legs for him to put himself in between them.

You take off your clothes, and his eyes don't leave your body as if it's a show for him. He can drool at the sight of your breasts, rosy skin waiting for his tongue and teeth to sink on it. He leans closer, eyes looming at moles he could beg to kiss.

Now you, your expectant eyes plea. Joel's posture adquires a guarded air, as he grows self-conscious.

"Stop staring at me like that" he nervously chuckles.

"Is there something wrong?" your sweet voice inquires, laced with concern. He gulps, kind of afraid and embarrased of what you would say.

"I'm..." his voice comes out strained, "I just-"

His mind briefly wanders to Tess, how she never said anything, rather busy seeking the warmth of his body without commenting about it. The act mattered over the feelings, which where in her eyes but not his heart. But now, his heart beats in a different sound, one where he wishes you won't judge a body crossed with the roughness of scars yet the softness of extra weight.

"M' just warnin' you, doll" the nickname brings butterflies in your stomach, "this body's seen better days"

He removes the layers of clothing: flannel first, and then tight white long sleeved shirt. He's left in his jeans, unbuckling his belt that falls to the floor with a thud. His breathing turns to panting, afraid to meet you in the eye.

"Joel" you repeat his name, bringing him back to reality. "Look at me"

He's killed people, faced raiders as much as infected, and other countless things, so he dares himself to look up, breath hitching when he finds you eating him with your eyes.

"Fuck, Joel. I didn't know you were so pretty under those dirty ass flannels"

You knew he'd be handsome; that's literally the reason why you chose to flirt with him. But now that he's completely stripped off his layers of warm clothing, it's even better. You can't stop your hungry eyes from roaming his body, lingering on the soft swell of his stomach, hanging over the waistband of his underwear. A scar that looks deep is near his belly button, and you wonder if he'll ever tell you why. There's a patch of hair over his soft chest your tongue wants to lick. And of course, his strong arms packed with broad shoulders that make you want to scream.

"Stop lying" he chastises, but there's a smile adorning his features. A true smile on Joel fucking Miller's face. What a rare sight; you need to see it more.

"W-where your condoms?" he asks, nervous.

That catches you off guard, too busy cooing over how a man so big and sturdy could fold that easily, looking and sounding small.

"I'm not sure. I mean, maybe on my parents room but I-"

You cut yourself. Joel's concerned gaze finds you. "Yes?"

"I want you, Joel" the intensity of your stare terrifies him. "All of you"

He falls closer to you, forehead against your own. He can't bring himself to look at you, so he closes his eyes and dares to ask:

"Are you sure you want this?"

Are you sure you want me?

"Don't you trust me?" you're all smiles, even if your voice is soft. "I want you. I truly do"

He's hiding his face into your shoulder until you feel his lips pressing against your now bare skin, making you shiver.

"Where you want me, birthday girl?" he says between kisses. "Tell me, sweetheart. I'm all ears"

"Please, Joel" you unhook your bra, letting your breasts free. His lips begin to kiss his way to your breasts, tongue teasing the skin before nipping it. Joel's teeth catch the hardened nipple, grazing it lightly.

"S'pretty" he sounds drunk, and you love the way he looses himself in the pleasure haze.

He continues kissing your breasts before positioning himself right so he can hover above you. The kisses turn wet and sloppier, as if all his energy was to be spent into the rosy skin.

"Can I taste you, sweetheart?" he lowers his head to your entrance, already soaking wet with your arousal. "Fuck me, if this ain't a meal"

"The best in all Jackson" you joke, but the laugh dies in your throat when Joel's nose ghosts over your throbbing pussy.

"I- fuck, Joel" you moan when he licks your folds, his tongue an expert. For a brief moment, you think of who came before you, and if this is what they got or you're getting the best version. His saliva mixes with your dripping juices, making you whine as his tongue licks your swollen folds. His fingers then slowly inserted themselves inside at the same time, moving in and out of your puffy walls. His groans mix with the sound of your whines and the furniture creaking, the sounds obscene and feeling so far from the outside world.

"You're so good at this, baby" his sweat mixes with the blush on his face because of the nickname, nose pressed against your clit as he keeps up the ministrations. "D-don't stop"

"This pussy's so pretty" he says, "and s'only for me, yeah?"

"Yes, Joel. Only yours" you whine, your orgasm approaching. All of your body feels on fire, every touch inching the burn in your stomach closer as his head remains between your legs, tongue insatiable. You come all over his face, your hands digging into his damp locks as you scream his name to the air.

Joel raises his head to capture your lips on a wet kiss, the taste of you inside your mouth and dripping from his coated beard.

"Ain't you sweet" you open your legs further. "You're such a tease, sweetheart. Gon'be the death of me"

"I just like seeing you like this" you admit.

"Means?"

"So fucking needy"

A borderline primal grumble births from his throat. "You've a filthy mouth on you, sweetheart" he chuckles while wrapping your legs around his waist and lining himself up. Joel's tip runs up and down your folds, grazing your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"And you're s'fuckin' tight" he mumbles under his breath. You gasp for air as you try to adjust yourself to the huge size of his girth, afraid you bit more than what you can chew. His pace starts slow but gradually picks up a rougher and quicker pace. Joel grunts between thrusts, yet takes his time to make sure his lips kiss every mole sprinkled across your face and chest, his favorite just above your left eyebrow.

"I want ya' to come first, like a present" blush crosses through his face again. He leaves teasing kisses against your face, as you wail, finally hitting you.

"I'll wait for you" you whisper, your hips aiding you to sustain his sloppy thrusts, "want you to come too. Inside"

You feel his softening dick twitch, suddenly rock hard again. Oh, so he was into that.

"Don't worry, I have a pill" you explain. "So go ahead, pretty boy. Show me if the size matches the talk"

"Bet" his voice acquires a darkness to it. "Gonna fill you with all of it, until you milk my cock dry. Gonna fill this pretty pussy until it's full of my seed and it leaks for days"

He follows right after, groaning into your shoulder, where he bits the skin. His tongue wets the area, to relief the pain, yet you like it. Thick ropes of cum paint your puffy heat creamy, Joel panting as he stares down at you.

"What?" you chuckle.

Maybe Jackson was a safe haven. Heaven incarnate. Maybe second chances were real, and for the first time in years, he feels safe.

"I don't deserve you" he voices his thoughts, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to even his breathing, yet each breath seems more labored than the last.

Your hands travel to his face, cupping it with tender hands. He leans on the touch, because despite his crimes and past dawning upon him, he's a man: one seeking comfort on a pretty face and anything that'll remind him of distant emotions that can still exist despite what the world has become. Joel's hands travel to yours, thumb brushing skin free of scars and pain. He envies and loves the beauty in your face, eyes full of something akin to affection looking back, blurring the pain mirrored on his own. You kiss him again, and he can feel the emotions in the tip of your tongue.

"You're wrong" your voice holds a quiet determination. Time was a precious gift, but in Jackson, time could be, and the resolve longing tells him you'll be there. I'm not going anywhere, Joel. Not without you. "We all deserve love, Joel"

Joel Miller is a man who finds it hard to trust, yet, when he takes a look at your eyes―warm as coffee, he allows himself to believe in you.