#get ready there's gonna be a lot of tags for this one:

[btsgotjams27]

late nights | knj

summary: late nights with namjoon turn into a heated session when you’re in need of a stress-reliever.

✨ title: late nights (don't push your luck couple) ✨ pairing: namjoon x f!reader ✨ genre/au: pwp, smut, co-workers, enemies to (maybe) lovers ✨ rating: R (MDNI!!) | ✨ word count: 2.9k ✨ warnings: cursing, fingering, oral (m. & f. receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected penetrative sex, (some) begging, use of pet names (baby, darling), both are playful in their words but ofc there are feelings ✨ author's note: after watching the rpwp docu, i haven't been able to stop thinking about this man 🫦 so here's a horny word vomit. excuse my writing because it's been a minute, so i apologize in advance if it's no good 🙃 i'm also tagging @kingofbodyrolls bc i promised i would when this came out <3 <3

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | previous ~ pitch fest

Late nights with Namjoon were becoming a regular affair—for work, not for play, at least for tonight.

The pair of you crunching numbers and proposing an improved business plan for next week’s investors meeting had your panties in a twist. The past year in publishing proved to be a lot harder than expected—you didn’t realize how tough this industry was without a big name behind you.

Your nose is scrunched and your eyes are focused as you’re furiously scanning the presentation for errors. Namjoon stares you down then covers your hands with his. “Your eyes are going to pop out of your head if you don’t slow down.”

“We have too much to lose. This presentation has to be perfect or else we’ll lose the company.” As you continue on, ensuring the slides are flawless, you can only feel Namjoon’s dragon eyes burning through you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna eat me.”

Namjoon chuckles and leans forward. “Because I do—want to eat you.”

You’re not gonna lie—your panties are twisted because of this presentation, but now they’re soaked too. You hate how easily you crumble under his words, but you won’t let him see just how easily you can come undone.

“I’m gonna kick you out of my place if you don’t stop,” you threaten, continuing to type away.

The wooden chair legs scraped against the hardwood floor as Namjoon stood up, his footsteps echoing behind you as he walked closer. “What exactly are you working on anyway?” he asks, leaning down so close you can smell the cologne that you love on him.

Clearing your throat, you reply with a gulp, “Just…the presentation.”

Honestly, you’ve spent too much time finding the perfect font, but does it really matter at this point? Investors won’t give you money because they liked your presentation looks, it’s about how much they’ll have in their pockets.

His presence overwhelms every hair on your body, and when his hands begin to massage your shoulders, you’re practically melting into a puddle. “You’re so tense.”

One hand continues to rub circles on your nape, causing you to groan. “Fuck…” you hiss when he reaches a knot. “Joon…” you whine.

He hums, then proceeds down your spine. The pads of his fingers wrap around your torso, dangerously close to the underside of your breasts. You’re already imagining him taking a handful and giving them a good squeeze.

Your eyes flutter shut as he continues. His thumbs pressing deeply into your back—you’re convinced he’ll leave marks just like how you do to him. It’s embarrassing when you see the red scratch marks peeking from under his dress shirt at work, however it does give you the satisfaction when he meets with an attractive author or investor and they just happen to see it as well. You’re petty and you know it.

The soft groans escaping your lips are undignified. But it goes to show just how much stress you’ve been under—you’re like a volcano bubbling, getting ready to burst and overflow, overtaking everything surrounding you, and Namjoon is the not-so-innocent bystander.

His lips barely touch the shell of your ear and he asks in a low whisper, “You okay?”

You’re not okay. You need more.

More of him. Touching you everywhere. Having you in any way that he wants. You’ll do anything no questions asked.

Your dignity—nonexistent.

Your morals, values—what the hell is that?

You need Kim Namjoon to fulfill every single fantasy you’ve had and it’s more than you like to admit.

And before you know it, your hands cover his, tugging them forward, encouraging him to do as he pleases, and he does so willingly. With ragged breaths, you relish in his touch, softly uttering his name under your breath.

Namjoon leans down from behind, kissing your shoulders and squeezing your breasts. A small whimper leaves your lips as his big, warm hand reaches down your top to the pert, pebbled nipple just aching for more of him.

You’re well aware of your actions when you chose to wear your dusty blue pajamas that match perfectly. The bow tie top is overly available for Namjoon to access. You noticed his eyes wandering throughout the night, and now you’re ready for him to strip you bare.

His plush lips leave trails of kisses down your neck, making you lean back into him. 

“Joon…” You’re embarrassed at how easily his name rolls off your tongue—maybe you’ve been practicing too much at night by yourself.

He hums before kissing your shoulders and pulling your top to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his mouth. When you turn around to look for his lips, they are drawn to each other like magnets and refuse to part. You stand, snaking your arms around his frame.

Namjoon breaks the kiss, causing you to groan. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?” you ask with an exasperated sigh.

“Whiny. Needy.” He smirks, knowing he has you wrapped around his finger, though you’d rather have something else wrapped around his finger at the moment.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

He leans in, his lips ghost over yours, barely touching. He’s teasing, wanting you to beg for it, but you don’t give in. You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, hoping he caves and gives you what you want. He smiles against your lips, his warm breath fanning you.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. You can feel the rumble of his words against your chest, sending a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, urging him closer. He resists, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, a challenge he wants to win.

“Maybe,” you breathe, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting how much you want this—him.

Namjoon chuckles. His hand slides up underneath your top, fingertips tracing your spine. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, lips brushing against your ear.

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers dance along your skin. The heat of his body, the teasing touches, it’s all too much, making it hard to string along coherent words.

“You,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want you, Joon.”

His smile widens, triumphant yet tender. “Was that so hard?” he teases, but there’s a gentleness to his tone that makes your heart flutter.

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours, passionate and demanding. The kiss is everything you’ve been craving—hot, deep, and overwhelming. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you pull him closer, eliminating any remaining space between your bodies.

His hand at your back presses you firmly into him, and you’re savoring the fact that his erection is throbbing against you. He wants you just as much as you want him.

When you finally break apart, both gasping for air, his forehead rests against yours.

“Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to fuck you tonight?,” he utters, his voice rough with lust. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more.

“Cocky, are we?” you challenge, your hands sliding down to his throbbing cock, giving it a good squeeze. “Just because I want you doesn't mean I wanna fuck you. What if I just wanna cuddle?” you utter the worst lie known to man. Joon knows all your bullshit.

He growls low in his throat, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Yeah? Don't want me to fuck you, hm?”

In one fluid motion, he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carries you toward the bedroom, his strong arms supporting you effortlessly. As he lowers you onto the soft sheets, his dragon eyes never leave yours, burning into you with an intensity.

Your hand toys with the end of the tie on your top, slowly undoing them, slipping the top off your shoulders, revealing your breasts. This isn’t your first time sleeping with Namjoon, but somehow you feel even more exposed. You’ve denied your feelings for so long, and you think you’re ready to bear it all. Maybe even give him a piece of your heart.

“Thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” He asks, voice proud as he cocks his head.

His eyes don’t wander down to your chest—not yet, they’re still fixated on you. He removes his sweatshirt, exposing his taut and toned body, and the black Calvin Klein briefs shouldn’t be affecting you, but they are. His gray sweats sit low on his waist, and you want nothing but to tear it off of him.

The outline of his erection is demanding attention from you—eyes, mouth, and hands ready to feast upon the dessert you skipped tonight. You’re greedy. You don’t want to share with anyone, but you won’t let him know just how urgently your mouth wants to be wrapped around his cock.

You reach out, fingers grazing the waistband of his sweats. His breath hitches as you slowly pull them down, revealing more of those tempting briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight of his impressive bulge straining against the fabric. “Joon, fuck me or leave,” you demand, voice thick with need.

He steps out of the sweats, kicking them aside before joining you on the bed. His weight dips the mattress as he hovers over you. He leans down, tugging your pajama pants off. His hand traces the curve of your waist, and his finger is hooked underneath your lace undies.

His fingers tease along the edge of your lace underwear, sending sparks of electricity through your body. You arch into his touch, silently begging for more. Namjoon’s eyes darken as he watches your reaction, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, voice husky with desire. “I love how your body reacts to me.”

Slowly, torturously, he peels the lace down your legs, his fingers igniting glowing particles along your soft skin. You lift your hips to help him, desperate to feel his skin against yours. As he tosses the underwear aside, his gaze roams over your now fully naked body, appreciation and hunger evident in his eyes.

“Fuck—you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss your collarbone. His lips trail lower down your chest. When he reaches your breast, he takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

You gasp, arching into him as pleasure courses through you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your breasts. His hand slides down the expanse of your stomach, teasing along your inner thigh before finally touching where you need him most.

A moan escapes your lips as his fingers explore your wet folds. He groans against your skin, clearly pleased by how aroused you are for him.

“So wet for me already?” His thumb finds your clit, circling it slowly as he slides a finger inside you.

“Ah!” you gasp, hips bucking against his hand. The dual sensation of his fingers working you and his mouth on your breast is overwhelming.

Namjoon lifts his head, eyes dark with lust as he watches you writhe underneath his touch. He adds a second finger, curling them inside you as his thumb continues its maddening circles.

“That’s it, baby.”

Your body arches off the bed as pleasure builds within you. Namjoon’s skilled fingers work you closer and closer to the edge, but it’s not enough. You need more. You need him. Inside you.

“Joon,” you pant, tugging at his hair to get his attention. You no longer care about your pride. “Please, I need you inside me.”

He looks up, shaking his head. “Not yet, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want to taste you first.”

Before you can say anything, his mouth is on you, tongue laving through your folds. You cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he devours you. You moan louder, uninhibited, as he brings you closer to the edge. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for.

He seems to understand, and with a final, deep thrust of his fingers, he withdraws them, leaving you aching and empty.

Fucking Namjoon. Of course, he doesn’t finish the job.

There’s a devious smirk on his face. He knows what he’s doing.

He removes his briefs, his impressive length springing free. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length and giving him a few slow strokes.

Namjoon groans at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. You flick your tongue before kissing the tip of his cock. Your lips wrap around him, taking him deeper, savoring the weight of him on your tongue. His hands tangle in your hair as you bob your head, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick, teasing licks.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips jerking slightly. “Your mouth feels so good, baby.”

You hum around him, the vibrations making him shudder. His grip on your hair tightens, guiding your movements as you continue to pleasure him. You can feel him getting closer, his breathing becoming more ragged.

Just as you think he might finish, your pace fastens.

“Baby, baby, baby…” Namjoon stutters.

You continue to bring him to the brink before he has to pull away, making you pop off.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he rasps, leaning down to kiss you.

You can still taste yourself on his tongue, and it only heightens your arousal. Your hands roam his broad back, feeling the muscles beneath your fingertips.

“Condom?” he asks against your lips.

“I’m on the pill,” you breathe. “I want to feel all of you.”

It’s risky, you know that, but Namjoon is a risk you’re willing to take.

He groans, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you sure?”

You nod, pulling him closer. “I trust you.”

His eyes soften at your words because he knows you don’t give away your trust so easily.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, pouring every ounce of his emotion into it. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you arch your hips, begging him to hurry.

You both moan into the kiss, overwhelmed by the sensation when he finally pushes into you.

“Fuck—” he mutters. He pauses for a moment, his breaths slowing down. He knows he needs to pace himself or he won’t last long.

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. Namjoon groans, burying his face in your neck as he begins to move. His thrusts are slow at first letting you adjust to his size, but soon pick up pace as your bodies find their rhythm.

“Could do this forever if you let me” he pants against your skin, nipping at your pulse point.

“Shut up.”

“Don't deny it, darling,” he persists with his teasing.

“Joon—shush!” You pull him down, crashing your lips against his, then you throw your head back, lost in the pleasure of having him inside you. Your nails rake down his back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, causing him to hiss and thrust harder.

“Right there—” you gasp, holding in the moan you want to let out.

“Let me hear you,” he rasps.

Namjoon lifts his head, his dark eyes locking with yours as he continues to buck into you. The room fills with the sound of your moans, and the slap of skin on skin as he picks up the pace.

“Faster,” you plead, digging your heels into his lower back.

He obliges, his hips snapping against yours with increased fervor. The change in angle causes him to hit that spot deep inside you, making you roll your eyes back. It’s as if you’re flying through space, seeing stars go by as he pounds into you.

You feel the familiar tension building in your core, your body tightening around him. Namjoon seems to sense your approaching climax, his movements becoming more focused and deliberate.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his voice strained with his own impending release. “Come for me.”

The pleasure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. Namjoon’s movements become more erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck.

“Joon,” you moan. “I’m so close…”

His hand snakes between your bodies, finding your sensitive bud and rubbing tight circles. The added stimulation pushes you over the edge, and you cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Your walls clench around him, and Namjoon groans deeply, his rhythm faltering. With a few more thrusts, he buries himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he finds his own release.

For a moment, you lie there, panting and intertwined. Namjoon’s weight on top of you is comforting, grounding.

But the moment doesn’t last long.

There’s a loud smack.

“Ow!” Namjoon exclaims, rubbing his shoulder as he rolls on the bed, laying next to you. “What was that for?”

“As if you don’t know!” You roll over, facing away from him.

He cuddles you from behind. “Is it because I didn’t let you finish?”

Your non-answer speaks volumes.

Namjoon chuckles, throwing himself back on the bed. “You said you wanted me inside you. I was only doing what you asked. Am I wrong?”

You turn to him. “I hate you…” you say, in a sing-song voice.

He pulls you on top of him. “Oh, it didn’t sound like you hated me earlier.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” he threatens, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Gladly,” you quip before kissing him.

You’re beginning to wonder if these late nights should move back to the office, so you don’t always end up sleeping with him. Regardless, you’re sure Namjoon will push his luck.

[dino-anarchy]

trans-coded color wheel

[hypmicdaydreams]

is anyone still in the mood for a hypmic imagines blog these days lol

[hauntingblue]

Last arcane episode ever..... here we fucking go....

[mars-ipan]

i’m curious

yadda yadda reblog if you wish it’d make me happy. happy pride month!!!

[fruitsofhell]

[still talking about this but i feel like this would be lost if it was just a reblog addendum]

For real my greatest regret with my time in this fandom is not finding enough people who talk about Kirby STORIES nor doing that enough myself. Like its always kinda just between "ah my adorable and/or tragic blorbos" and "MOST FUCKED UP KIRBY LORE!" as I've complained about 100 billion times now, but I really wanna talk about the evolution of the series' storytelling under Kumazaki's direction more and how you can really feel them finding their footing on What Kirby "Lore" Means.

Ever since Robobot the games have tackled more direct themes and science fantasy tropes and it's also when it's really started coming into it's own. Return to Dreamland and Triple Deluxe and wonderful but you can see where the team holding back on detail and leaning into more cliche platformer-y things didn't let them reach full potential. Robobot and KatFL on the other hand excel at the more sci-fi themeing because they really let that more out there stuff absorb into the fabric of the gameplay and visuals, and while I've touched on KSA not being as lush as those other two, it makes up for it with sheer volume of content in the end. Evil cults are more fantasy than sci-fi so it didn't have ideas as extreme as those other two to latch onto, but it could still be more purposeful with the levels in the middle yknow. But still, the writing of the Jamba and the design of Void Termina have a lot packed into them that make it work once you unpack it.

RTDL and Tripluxe you can maybe say theres like a theme of greed in a nebulous sense, but it is genuinely fluffy platformer fair with an interesting villain thrown in at the end, Robobot, KSA, and KatFL are like actual great sci-fantasy stories wrapped up in fairytale-like bow. RTDL and Tripluxe become good when you fill in blanks*, but the last 3 just Are Good, Straight Up*.

*I know some of you people out there think pause screens are supplementary but it is literally The Game's Text, so I mean good with the pause screens.

Like Kirby "Lore" HAS gone from What If There Was A Platformer Villain But Really Fucked Up to actual really cool commentaries on imperialism/industrialization, bonds and religion, and life. I think its really fucking cool and what actually has kept me a Kirby fan. I can find a platformer that gets really complicated the more you look into it's flavor text, or one with cute character designs, or sad moments, but you don't find one so often that like cares. That really cares about the characters and the world and stuff, but about saying something confidently. Kirby storytelling may not come off as confident to people because it's not overt, but the confidence is in the details that surround and support those ideas that in any other series would just be pedantic "lore".

Like Robobot doesn't have "lore" about Susie and Haltmann, it has a backstory complimenting a power struggle in the plot's climax that ties into the idea of imperialism being a cannibalistic pursuit. Star Allies doesnt have "lore" about doomsday cults and gods, it has a story about how real bonds and connections can form even in dark places and its important to cherish those and not let circumstances corrupt them (or something, it has been a whilehgjh). And KatFL doesnt have "lore" about ooooo all the humans are dead this IS THE DAHKEST KIRBY GAME!! Its fucking aboyut how animals and joy and whimsy will reinherit the earth!

im justfuskdgs WHOS DOING THE KIRBY LITERARY ANALYSIS?? Where are they? They have to be out there im so fr ghsf

[mildmayfoxe]

no pic but i just cooked up some steak i got for ONE dollar as an add-on from my meal kit box (ONE DOLLAR??? i WISH i'd gotten more) and fried up the last ~chalupa shell~ that i bought that time i wanted pita but there wasn't any pita at target and spread that with the last of the fancy garlic dill spreadable cheese i got at the farmers market and then put steak on there and more cheddar cheese and then the last of the red cabbage cucumber spicy slaw from that other meal and then red onion and then put on more sweet tangy hot sauce and it was sooooooo good

[mishtershpock]

.

[tvrningout-a]

i'm creating a whole frikkin fantasy world with a conflict and everything, lord help me

[bonestrouslingbones]

i'm locking in

[mercless]

i have no lore or other content but dw im already cooking

[keeps-ache]

ooo that's minty babyyy

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[hauntingblue]

Strong world is the nami and luffy twins manifesto written by oda this is my one piece.

You see luffy's finishing attack with his giant hammer being fueled by lightning which is nami's main weapon with her clima tact and she even made the guy steer the islands towards the cyclone so even if the lighting isn't produced by her the lighting is provided by her either way so luffy AND her finished that guy and even luffy attacked after nami announced how he will lose which also means nami knew and trusted luffy to end him after that and of course he did and

Oh my god luffy making nami explain herself about the message he left on the tone dial and being pissed that she didn't trust him to save and protect her but he got so mad and didn't hear the whole message and she asked luffy to save her omg....... she knew after all that they will come and win..... I love this ending I am going to walk into the sea now goodbye.

Why are whitebeard and ace on the ending credits I already cried. Watching aces part again cause he looks so good. Hello alive dead wife

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”