#i can’t abandon my fictional babies

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 1

summary: following in the footsteps of a girl you once knew, you decide to up and leave home one morning without looking back. when you find yourself to be tired, hungry, and alone in the middle of nowhere, you're thankful when a kind stranger offers you a ride, a warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. he only tells you about himself in bits and pieces, but he seems trustworthy enough, and what you don't know can't hurt you, right?

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, talk of death/murder and blood, mommy & daddy issues, brief talk of domestic violence, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, f-receiving non-con somnophilia (no sex, but groping, fingering, dry humping, kissing, and choking), degrading language toward victims, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart), some joel pov, no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, takes place in illinois/ohio/indiana, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, this part is mostly introduction/storytelling/yapping, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 9.8k

a/n: i started this as a oneshot way back in november, and then it sat abandoned for a very long time. thank you to my lovely friends @polaroidpascal and @chippedowlmug for encouraging me to finish it, and also bestie kiers who never hesitates to match my freak. also thank you to the many writers who made me feel inspired to write something dark and not give a fuck what people think about it. i hope you enjoy this joel he's a freak and i love him and if you say anything mean about him i'll send him after you <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 2

Ruby Carpenter.

You had spent all day trying to remember her name without really knowing why. Maybe it’s because as the sun sets on what would be the first day of your junior year at the nearby state school, you wonder if she ever made it to one of the fancy ivy leagues she had always aspired to attend. You wonder if she’s even still alive.

Ruby had disappeared a few years ago now, the summer after your senior year of high school. For nearly a year afterwards, her missing posters remained stapled onto every telephone pole and stuck onto every store window around town, until the paper began to disintegrate and the ink began to fade. In that time, you couldn’t even make a quick run to the grocery store without being confronted by dozens of replicas of her yearbook photo printed onto the sides of all the milk cartons. Despite all of the efforts to find her, including several search parties and a decent amount of statewide media coverage, everyone had just stopped looking for her, eventually. Even the police. Even her parents.

It was decided that she had probably just run away, and you can’t entirely blame her, but you can’t imagine why she would, either. You remember her perfect head of blonde ringlet curls that shone a yellow gold in the sun, and her bright blue eyes that turned fiery in her more passionate moments during classroom debates. She had every boy in your grade wrapped around her finger, was the teacher’s pet in every class, and it wasn’t even a question whether she would win prom queen your senior year. She was always sweet to you, always complimented your outfits or your makeup or your art projects with a genuine lilt in her voice and a kind smile, so you could never bring yourself to hate her even though it would’ve been so easy to. You figured she was going to cure cancer or become the president after you had all graduated, which is why you never really stopped wondering whatever happened to her that summer. She was beautiful, with boundless potential and a bright future ahead of her, why would she have just given it all up?

Everyone around town knew Ruby, or at least it seemed that way. But maybe nobody ever really knew her as well as they thought. Maybe she’d had a secret boyfriend all that time who whisked her away that summer, maybe she had decided to try drugs and fell down a rabbit hole that she couldn’t claw her way out of, maybe she had finally figured out that the only thing this town would ever be good for is holding people back. Maybe she did just wake up one day and decide to run without ever looking behind her.

Maybe you should do the same.

With your dad long gone now and your step-father doing a piss poor job of filling in the hole he left, following in Ruby’s footsteps has sounded like a better idea with each passing day. Rob isn’t even really your step-father, anyway, just your mom’s sorry fucking excuse for a boyfriend. The guy’s already been married upwards of three times before, why try for another one? He’s a lazy son of a bitch who can’t hold down a job at a fast food joint for more than a couple of weeks at a time, who sleeps every second of the day that he’s not chugging through a six pack, and who leaves marks on your mother uglier than his fucking face. 

She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, of course, but it’s not like she’s winning the “mom of the year” award any time soon, either. She’s never even been nominated. She’s forgotten just about every one of your birthdays, been the reason you’ve never had any friends come over, and in her most recent offense, blew all the savings you had put away for your last two years of college. Which is why you’re not spending tonight celebrating being one year closer to at least having an official-looking piece of paper to show for yourself. Instead, you’re using the rattling of your bedroom window unit and the booming bass of your radio to drown out yet another drunken screaming match between your mother and the guy she lets live in your house now, watching the world outside pass you by and knowing that if you don’t do anything about it now, you’ll never make it out of here. You’re thinking about Ruby Carpenter, hoping she found somewhere greener and more promising and was able to make something of herself, far away from here. And you’re thinking that this rusted orange sunset is the last one you’ll ever see from your bedroom window.

It’s decided, then. You’re leaving, first thing tomorrow.

—

You’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep by the time your alarm clock chimes to life at five o’clock on the dot. You’re quick to silence the shrill beeping with a swift swat of your hand, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. The sun has just barely begun to stream in through the blinds of your bedroom window, but it illuminates the room just enough for your eyes to land on the backpack you had stuffed full of a few changes of clothes last night, waiting for you by the door. 

You don’t waste any time stripping off your pajamas and pulling on just about the only clothes left in your room that aren’t in your bag. You’ve got your teeth brushed, face washed, and hair tamed in all of about ten minutes, too anxious to spend even one more unnecessary second in this house. You swing your backpack over your shoulder, pull your bedroom door open at just the right speed so that the hinges don’t squeak too loud, and tiptoe delicately down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards that you know like the back of your hand—the one three steps from the top, the one at the landing about halfway down, and the very bottom one.

You land softly when you leap over that tattletale bottom step, successful in the most difficult part of your escape plan so far. Rob is passed out on the living room couch in typical fashion, his mouth full of crooked teeth hanging open as his grating snores permeate the calm morning air. He’s still got a death grip around an empty beer can, even in his sleep, and your mother will likely be the one to toss it into the trash for him, useless fucker that he is. You aren’t going to miss either of them, and you imagine they’ll just skip trying to replicate the first half of the aftermath of Ruby’s disappearance altogether—no posters, no search parties, no police. You’ll just be gone, one less mouth for your mother to feed. Though, you’d been mostly feeding yourself since you were tall enough to slide a couple of bills across the counter at the corner store down the street, anyway. You’re ready to disappear, the same as candle wax when it burns, the same as the end of a rainbow, the same as Ruby Carpenter.

You don’t bother looking back when you shut the door behind you, content to leave it all behind just as the sun begins to rise and set the sky ablaze. By the time it sets again tonight, you hope to be in a different county, in a different state, anywhere that isn’t here. The rest, you’ll just have to figure out when you get there, wherever “there” may be.

—

You had only realized about an hour ago that you’d forgotten your cheap digital watch in the drawer of your bedside table, where it’s laid unused for the past couple of months, because who needs to tell time during the summer? You never had anywhere to be, never had to get to class or turn in a paper by a certain time, so it’s just been collecting dust since you had unclipped it from your wrist on the last day of spring semester. It sure would have come in handy right about now, when you have no fucking clue what time it is. The sun had disappeared behind the hills several mile markers back, so it must be… eight o’clock? Ten o’clock? Fucking midnight? You have no idea. What you do know is that you’re exhausted, hungry, and your feet hurt like hell. You aren’t really sure what you expected, the reality only just now setting in that you don’t even have ten bucks to your name anymore, thanks to your narcissist of a mother. The crumpled up bills you do have in your pocket are hardly enough for a goddamn sandwich, let alone a motel room. The cool night breeze raises goosebumps on your skin, and you swear you can see your fucking breath, even in the middle of August. You wrap your arms around yourself just as tears begin to prick at your waterlines, and you let them fall as you collapse onto the scratchy patch of dead grass on the side of the freeway, not a park bench or a bus stop or even a gas station in sight for God knows how many more miles.

You sit cross-legged, elbows propped up on your knees so that your hands can support your weary head, the skin of your palms becoming slippery with salty tears as your crying just doesn’t seem to stop. The road you’ve found yourself on seems relatively low-trafficked, the heaving sounds of your sobs accompanied by more cricket chirps and rustling wheat than rumbling tires. But a few high beams do streak across your vision every once in a while, coloring the backs of your eyelids a flaming scarlet.

After several minutes, your tears seem to dry up on their own, your body likely too dehydrated now to produce any more. You wipe the moisture from under your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling as you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip and debate if you should just turn back now, give up on your stupid little plan (or lack thereof) and just call the whole thing a loss, pretend it never even happened. Your mother and Rob won’t have even noticed you’d left.

Just as you pull yourself back up to your feet, set on at least finding somewhere that isn’t the hard ground to sleep on tonight before you make your way back home tomorrow, the warm headlights of an old pickup truck are shining bright in your eyes. You put your arm up to block them as the truck slowly squeals to a halt in front of where you’re standing, and you squint your eyes at the driver as your vision adjusts.

“You need a ride, sweetheart?” A man asks in a gravelly voice, and you can still hardly make out what he looks like. Based on the southern accent you pick up on, he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here. 

“N-no, thank you. I’m okay,” you respond shakily, taking a nervous step back from the stranger and his rusted pickup.

“You sure? Looked like you were cryin’ over here, like you might be lost or somethin’.”

“‘M not lost, I know where I’m going.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

Shit. 

You take a guess.

“Um… the motel down the road,” you reply, tilting your head in the direction you had been walking in.

“There ain’t a motel down there, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ in either direction for miles, ‘s all just farmland out here. Reckon you’ve already figured that out, though.”

You pause, unsure of what your next move should be. He knows you’re lying, knows you’re alone with no fucking idea where you are or where you’re going. You could run, but even that shitty truck of his could catch up to you in a matter of seconds. You take another step back, swiveling your head around to look up and down the road as you try to figure your best way out of this.

“Just lemme give you a ride somewhere, darlin’. There’s a diner just off the exit, ‘bout twenty miles up ahead. Could take you that far, at least, get you somethin’ to eat,” he offers. A warm meal does sound pretty good right now, and you suppose you aren’t exactly in a position to refuse his help.

You think on it for a second. “What’s it called? The diner.”

The stranger huffs. “Moody’s.”

“What do they have?” you challenge.

He sighs. “It’s a fuckin’ diner off the side of the freeway, darlin’. They got greasy food and black coffee, ‘s about all you need.”

You don’t say anything.

Then, after a beat—“They got some kinda sloppy mess they call the Thunder Burger. ‘S got onion rings and shit on it. Ain’t half bad.”

You have to admit, he’s passing your pop quiz with flying colors. His answers have been too quick, too specific for him to be lying to you. There’s a pretty solid chance this diner does exist, and that he’s been there before. The man hasn’t said anything that’s indicated he wants more to do with you than to offer you a ride and some dinner. He’s probably just somebody’s harmless grandfather, anyway, judging by his motheaten flannel and gray-stricken beard you can see now that you’ve approached his truck a few paces closer.

“Okay,” you concede, your stomach growling loudly as the man leans over the bench seat to pop open the passenger side door for you. You shrug off your backpack and climb into the cabin, clicking your seatbelt into place as you situate yourself on the cracked leather seat. 

“All set?” the stranger asks.

“Mhm,” you hum, finally getting a better look at the man you might just owe the rest of your life to after tonight. For being somebody’s grandfather, he’s… kinda handsome. Really fucking handsome, actually, in a rugged sort of way. He’s got warm amber eyes that sparkle even in the dark of night, a kind smile that completely disarms you in an instant, and a splintering scar across the bridge of his nose that somehow only adds to his good looks. You try to suppress your own grin as you look away from him quickly, opting to focus on fidgeting with one of the fraying edges of your denim shorts instead. Even in your peripheral vision, you don’t miss how his eyes shift from your own to the exposed skin of your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat as he shifts gears and steers his truck back onto the road again. 

He lets the next few minutes pass in comfortable silence before asking, “You got a name, sweetheart?”

You tell him, and he flashes another charming smile at you. “I like that, ‘s pretty… Well, I’m Joel. Sure you were wonderin’. Now you ain’t gettin’ a ride from a stranger no more, are ya?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not,” you giggle, and you’re surprised at how comfortable you feel with him. “So… you’ve been to Moody’s before?”

“Handful of times, yeah. When I’m passin’ through.”

You nod. “So you come up here, like… for work or somethin’?”

Joel chuckles. “Or somethin’. You never even heard of the damn place, so… reckon you don’t find yourself out here very often, do ya?”

“No… ‘M not even really sure where ‘here’ is, to be honest. I just kinda… started walking.”

“Ah… a runaway, then, are ya?” Joel asks, with an appreciated amount of understanding in his tone rather than judgment. “‘M sure your folks are missin’ ya right about now, must have your boyfriend worried sick.”

You scoff at that. “Fuck no. They probably don’t even know I’m gone, won’t even bother trying to come look for me. And I don’t have a boyfriend, so…”

“Damn shame. ‘M sorry about that, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, placing a large calloused hand on your thigh. It makes your breath hitch, but his touch isn’t entirely unwelcome. You let him squeeze once at the plush of your leg before he replaces his hand on the wheel, and your cunt spasms out a little fluttering pulse against the seam of your shorts, despite yourself.

The rest of the drive to Moody’s is relatively quiet, save for the gentle crooning of an old country singer emanating from the cassette player on the dash. The soft singing and steady strumming of a banjo combined with the muffled chugging of the truck’s engine is enough to lull you to sleep, especially after the day you’ve had. You know that just about every mental alarm bell you have should be screaming at you to jump out of the car, to run, that sleeping alone in the dirt would’ve been a better decision than getting into this strange man’s—Joel’s—truck, but you’re too tired to hear them. He smells good, like woodsmoke and pine and cinnamon, and if he wanted to do something awful to you, he probably would’ve done it by now. So you trust him, for now at least, and let your lashes fan out against your cheeks as your head falls back against the cushioned headrest, coaxed into sleep by the lullaby of tires against pavement and fingertips against guitar strings.

—

You only rouse when you feel the truck come to a stop about half an hour or so later, slowly blinking your eyes open against the bright neon sign that reads “MOODY’S” in bold capital letters. Your jaw stretches wide as a yawn overtakes the muscles, and you hear Joel’s southern drawl replace the one from the cassette as he shuts the engine off.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead. Not too tired to eat somethin’ now, are ya?”

Another unpleasant-sounding rumble from your empty stomach answers for you, loud enough for both of you to hear this time. The air puffing out of the diner’s kitchen smells strongly of fatty bacon and rich coffee, just like Joel had promised you the place would offer. Although the digital clock on the dash read just after 10:30 before you fell asleep, you’ve never craved breakfast quite like you do right now. You absentmindedly lick your lips as you imagine the sweet and savory—and more importantly free—meal that could be waiting for you beyond that blinding beacon of a sign.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get some food in ya before you keel over, hm?” Joel says as he exits the truck, landing on his feet in the dirt parking lot with a soft groan. He waits by the hood for you to meet up with him, and you walk up the couple of steps to the entrance together. He holds the door open for you, and you offer him a shy ‘thank you’, to which he responds with a soft spoken ‘welcome, sweetheart’. You stand shyly behind his broad form as he asks the hostess for a table for two, and she leads you to a green leather booth tucked into the corner of the diner. She hands each of you a sticky laminated menu, the pages a charming mess of clashing colors and faded pictures and retro-looking fonts, then departs with a promise that your waitress will bring the two of you some water as you take your time deciding on what you might like. 

You light up upon reading that Moody’s serves breakfast all day, and that they can make you exactly what you were hoping for—a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with sides of bacon and hashbrowns. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you wiggle in your seat, excitedly anticipating the waitress to come back around so you can order.

“Whatcha so excited about over there?” Joel asks, eyeing you from across the table as he glances up from his own menu.

“Nothin’, I was just hoping I could get some pancakes, and they have ‘em on the menu,” you explain giddily. “I’ll probably get some coffee, too, really complete the whole ‘breakfast for dinner’ thing.”

Joel huffs through his nose. “Decaf, I hope. ‘S the middle of the goddamn night, sweetheart. Gonna be bouncin’ off the walls in the room later, hardly get any sleep.”

He’s right, you suppose. But wait—“What room?”

Joel shrugs casually. “There’s a decent motel another exit or two down, figured they could probably get us a couple o’ beds for the night. But, ‘m sorry, shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No! No, it’s okay.”

Is it? You only met the man less than an hour ago, and you already agreed to let him give you a ride before you even knew his name. You suppose you hadn’t really thought about what would happen after he bought you dinner, but not thinking ahead seems to have been a theme today, hasn’t it? You remind yourself that he’s only been kind and respectful to you so far, save for that placement of his hand on your upper thigh soon after he picked you up. But that could’ve just been a friendly, paternal gesture, right? And he said a couple of beds, when he mentioned the motel, which seemed to imply that he plans on the two of you sleeping in separate beds, maybe even separate rooms. You’ve found yourself having to make yet another somewhat reckless decision tonight, but one that would be in your best interest to say ‘yes’ to, at this point. What other option would you have if you declined his offer?

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go, so… yeah, okay. Motel sounds good. And decaf it is, I guess.”

Joel’s apologetic expression quickly morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Good girl,” he praises. You like how the words sound coated in his thick drawl, even though you probably shouldn’t. You shift where you sit as that familiar fluttering sensation returns to the seat of your panties, just for a moment. You’re grateful that the waitress arrives at the booth not a second later, cheerily introducing herself as she sets down a glass of water for each of you. When she asks if you’re ready to order, Joel gestures to you as if to say ‘ladies first’, and you politely prattle off your request. You make sure to emphasize that you’d like your coffee decaf, and ask if she could please bring some more of the little cups of vanilla creamer to the table. “Not a problem, honey,” she replies, and Joel winks at you as she asks what she can get for him. He orders the Thunder Burger he had told you about earlier, and a black coffee, which he doesn’t request to be decaf. The waitress leaves the two of you alone again with an ‘I’ll have that right out for ya,’ and you let your eyes follow the calming baby blue color of her dress as she glides her way back to the kitchen. When she disappears around the corner of the bar, you take the opportunity to study Moody’s other patrons. There isn’t another young person in sight, mostly just men around Joel’s age with similarly heavy bags under their eyes, likely truck drivers indulging in their first hot meal of the day within the diner’s comforting wood-paneled walls. You wonder if that’s how Joel knows about this place, because he “passes through” this area on long hauls across the midwest. You open your mouth to ask him if your assumption is correct, but he cuts you off before you can say anything.

“I gotta admit, sweetheart, I’m curious… The hell was a pretty thing like you doin’ out in the middle of goddamn nowhere tonight? I mean, I know you’re a runaway ‘n all, but… shouldn’t you be one o’ those college party girls or somethin’? ‘M sure you got plenty of friends wonderin’ where you are.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you distractedly pick at a splintered piece of wood at the edge of the table.

“I was in college. Was supposed to be going back again this year, but… my mom spent all the fucking savings I had left for the rest of it on fixing up her dumb boyfriend’s car. It’s just been sitting in the fucking lawn all summer, sure as hell not being used for something useful like going to the job he doesn’t have. That bastard…” You say the last part under your breath through gritted teeth.

“Shit… Tha’s a tough deal, baby, ‘m real sorry to hear that,” Joel comforts. “But y’know, everybody’s got mommy ‘n daddy issues, don’t mean you just up and start walkin’ all by your lonesome, not even have any idea where you’re goin’.”

“Well, it wasn’t just that. There was… nevermind, it’s stupid.” You slump into the cushioned booth, silently cursing yourself for even bringing it up.

“What is it?” Joel pushes, sitting up straighter to show you that he wants to listen, wants to get to know you. And God dammit, he might be the first person you’ve met in a long time who actually seems to care about what you have to say, as strange as it is. You flick your eyes up to his face, and he’s wearing a sincere gaze that convinces you to continue.

“There was this girl I went to high school with. She disappeared a couple of years ago, nobody ever found out what happened to her. People figured she probably just ran away, and I thought… I dunno. That maybe she had the right idea, leaving that place behind. I always held onto this hope that maybe she was still out there somewhere actually doing something with her life, that maybe she just changed her name or something and disappeared on purpose.” You pause. “I guess I just thought I might be able to do the same, if I left.”

“I see…” Joel muses sympathetically. “Maybe I oughta give you a lil’ more credit, then. Must’a been tough losin’ a friend like that, not knowin’ where she ended up.”

“I mean, Ruby wasn’t really my friend. She just—”

“Hang on. Ruby, you said?” Joel interrupts, his eyes suddenly looking a little wild.

“...Yeah. Her name was Ruby. Ruby Carpenter.”

—

Fuck.

Joel has to adjust himself under the table, his dick now hardening uncomfortably in his jeans at just the mention of her name. He remembers Ruby, remembers chuckling to himself when he realized the irony of her name matching the color of her blood, remembers watching the news coverage of her disappearance in this very same diner, those handful of years ago. She was a sweet thing, he remembers this, too. It was a shame she had ended up being such a fighter, that she had to get put down the way she did. But she shouldn’t have thrown that fucking rock at his face, called him a sick fuck and a freak as she made her pitiful little escape attempt. Joel is lucky that all he came away from it with is that ugly little scar that mars the bridge of his nose. He can’t say the same for her.

“Why? You heard her name before?” You ask him, an unfortunate little twinkle of hope in your eyes.

“Maybe.” Yes. “Sounds a lil’ familiar, might remember hearin’ about it on the news or somethin’.”

That goddamn news coverage sure as hell taught him a lesson. Joel had spent months trying to keep the cops off his fucking tail after he had dumped her body on some forgettable patch of land behind an old decaying barn. He had even gotten pulled in for a fucking interview at the station in what he now presumes to be your hometown, where they had questioned him for an hour or so about her disappearance. He still isn’t sure how he talked his way out of that one. Ruby might not have been good for much else, other than pissing him the hell off with all of her pathetic crying and begging to just please, please let me go back home, but she did help him perfect his craft, he can give her that much. It’s because of her that Joel makes certain now that any girl he picks up doesn’t have anybody who will miss her or plaster her face on every local channel or send out goddamn search parties to find her. Girls like you.

You’re just so perfect, it would be so fucking easy for him to make you disappear for good, it’s almost comical. It had hardly taken any convincing at all to get you to climb into his truck, had taken even less to get you to agree to go to some seedy ass motel with him that might not even exist, for all you know. It does, but you didn’t even try to test him about it this time, just put all of your trust in him like a stray puppy would to the first person to pick it up off the street. That is just about what you are, he supposes. So far, you seem like the perfect candidate to become his little captive pet. If you keep it up, maybe you won’t meet the same fate as the rest of them. He’d told himself he’d be done after the last one, anyway, his body too old and achy and slow now to chase after the ones who put up a little more fight, like she had. She’d nearly escaped, made it a decent way through the woods and almost reached the main road before tripping on an exposed root and snapping her ankle. He remembers how weak and scared she’d looked before he’d used his knife to put her out of her misery, and it makes his dick twitch. Joel doesn’t plan on snuffing you out, not right now at least, since you haven’t given him a reason to. But his fingers still twitch where they rest on the table, moving out of instinct as he can’t help but imagine what they’d look like wrapped so tightly around your little throat. Would you cry? Would you beg? Would you pray? Would he have to glide his blade across your vocal chords just to get you to stop screaming so fucking loud? He wonders.

“Oh… Was that one of the times you were just ‘passin’ through’ for whatever reason you haven’t told me yet?”

Joel hadn’t realized that his eyes had been unfocused for so long, or that he’d been holding his breath, or that his hand had been squeezing his glass of water so hard he’s glad it hadn’t shattered. The airy sound of your voice brings him back to reality, and he huffs a light chuckle as he fixes his face into a more pleasant expression. 

“Yeah, ‘spose it was.” 

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Come on, Joel. I just told you, like, my whole sob story. I feel like I deserve to know at least one thing about you now.”

You have a point.

He gives in. “Fine. I got a brother, used to come through this area when I’d pay him a visit. That good enough for ya?”

You cross your arms. “No. What’s his name?”

“Tommy.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Like me. Little younger. Little uglier.”

You laugh at that.

It makes Joel smile.

Maybe you could be the one he’s been looking for all this time. Too bad he had to waste so many others before he finally got to you.

—

The waitress comes back to your table soon after that, with your steaming plates of delicious-smelling food and hot mugs of coffee balanced expertly on a large plastic tray. She sets them down in front of the pair of you with a cheery smile, and you thank her happily when she doesn’t forget the extra sickeningly sweet cups of creamer you had requested. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off you once during the interaction, not even to feast his eyes upon the monstrous burger now sitting before him, not even as he thanks the waitress for delivering it to him. His lingering gaze makes you feel a little warm, but it could just be from the heat radiating off of your plates.

“What? You’re not getting a bite of mine, if that’s why you’re looking at me,” you tease, already getting to work putting the sugary creamer to good use.

Joel just shakes his head, his caramel colored eyes still never leaving you as your coffee begins to resemble their hue. “No, ‘s not why.”

“Whatever,” you reply through a giggle, making a poor attempt to hide your girlish grin behind the lip of your white ceramic mug. 

The two of you eat your meals in relative silence, mostly enjoying each other’s company and basking in the relaxing ambience created by silverware tapping against porcelain, hushed conversations, and the local country station playing through the old radio sitting on the counter. The reception is a little spotty way out here in wherever the hell you are, so you can’t quite tell what song it is. But Joel seems to know, judging by the rhythmic bouncing of his knee under the table that creates little circular ripples in your coffee. Maybe you’ll ask him what it is later, how he knows it, if you can listen to it again in the truck together. He doesn’t seem to be as much of an open book as you’ve already given yourself away to be, and you respect that about him. It doesn’t make you any less curious, but you resign yourself to getting to know him better in the small doses he’s willing to offer you. 

You decide to begin a mental list of all the things you want to ask him later, knowing that by the time you make it to the motel tonight, you’ll be far too exhausted to do anything more than just collapse onto the springy mattress and sleep until you get kicked out of the room the next morning. You almost wish you hadn’t listened to Joel’s request for you to take your coffee decaffeinated tonight, and you still aren’t quite sure why you did. It just feels so strangely easy to give into him, to trust him, to let him make decisions for you. You suppose that’s what you’ve been needing all this time, someone to guide you and understand you and at least pretend like they care about you. Joel has shown you more concern and care and protection in the last hour or so than either of your parents have pretty much your whole life. And he’s good at this, making you feel wanted, making you feel like somebody, even in subtle ways, just by looking at you.

“A’right, why don’t you finish up, darlin’, ‘n we’ll hit the road again. Practically usin’ your pancakes as a pillow over there.”

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize sleepily, waking yourself up enough to make quick work finishing off your plate and your last few sips of coffee. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, sweetheart. Lord knows you need some rest, won’t be too much longer now,” Joel assures, fishing a few tens out of his faded leather wallet and placing them on the table. He slides to the edge of the booth and stands himself up with only a few pained noises as he straightens out his back, then offers his hand for you to take. You use it as leverage to pull yourself upright, and your hands linger in each other’s hold for a few seconds longer than they need to. The hostess thanks the two of you for stopping in when you pass her by, and Joel opens the door for you again as you leave Moody’s. He opens the truck door for you, too, and promises you that the motel is just another couple of minutes down the freeway. You make an effort to stay awake in your seat this time as Joel begins the drive, opting to gaze out the window and focus on trying to make out the sparkling constellations above the treeline. You smile privately at the moon when you find that she’s following closely behind you just as she always does, bright and full. 

She doesn’t leave your side until you reach the unassuming little roadside motel, which to your gratitude, proudly displays their vacancy on the flickering sign in the parking lot. It doesn’t look like a five star joint by any means, but you know it will serve its purpose just fine. Joel instructs you to stay in the truck while he goes about getting a room for the two of you, and you don’t object. He’d insisted that you didn’t need to be on your feet any longer than you already had been today, and you were too tired to argue with him even if you wanted to. When he returns, he taps lightly on the passenger side window so as not to startle you from the half-asleep, half-awake state you’ve found yourself in, and swings your backpack over his shoulder as he helps you out of the truck. He leads you to the room at the end of the row, and the door takes some finessing of the key and a shove of his shoulder to open. Joel flicks on the light, and you let out a disappointed-sounding ‘oh…’ when it reveals your accommodations.

There aren’t two beds like you had assumed Joel was going to request. There’s only one.

Joel catches your reaction. “‘S this gonna be alright? I know it ain’t the Ritz Carlton, but—”

“No, the room’s fine, it’s not that. I just thought… I just assumed that… I didn’t know it was gonna be, like… just the one bed.” You try to explain your discomfort as gently as possible, without seeming ungrateful for everything Joel has done for you tonight.

He looks at you sympathetically. “I know, I ain’t tryin’ anythin’, I swear. Guy told me it was the last room they had, jus’ figured it was better than nothin’.” 

You offer him a soft smile, but your eyes must still look a little wide as you begin to nervously pick at your fingernails. Joel continues, “I can take the chair if you want, darlin’. Get the bed all to yourself, how’s that sound?”

You visibly relax at that, your shoulders deflating as your smile becomes a little more genuine. “Okay, that’s good. Thank you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart. How’s about you take a nice hot shower, rinse off some o’ that dirt you picked up from walkin’ all day… Don’t suppose you got some suitable clothes in here for sleepin’ in?” Joel asks, handing your backpack off to you.

You shake your head. “Just some jeans and t-shirts, and another pair of shoes. And… y’know, some underwear, and stuff.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, then rubs his fingers across his forehead exasperatedly. “I swear… it’s like you didn’t think there’d be a tomorrow or somethin’, girl. Christ.” Joel looks out the window to his truck parked just outside. “Tell you what, think I got somethin’ in the truck you can wear. Why don’t you see if they got anythin’ on the TV tha’s worth a damn, ‘n I’ll be back, alright?”

You nod, “Okay,” then set your backpack down on the drab carpet in favor of picking up the remote perched in front of the small square television. You sit yourself down on the edge of the bed as Joel leaves the room, and begin to flick through the few channels that aren’t just a screen full of snowy static.

Local news. Commercial. Game show. Commercial. Documentary. Commercial. 

Eventually, you land on what seems to be one of those old black-and-white western shows that you can never remember the name of. You only know that the reruns used to play on Sundays around lunchtime, because Rob would always be half paying attention to it with a beer in his hand when you and your mom would get home from church. For how adamant she was that you attend every weekend, she sure never called him a harlot and a sinner for not wanting to go with her. You’re not sure she had ever even tried to get him to go, but he probably didn’t own anything decent enough to wear, anyway. Whatever, fuck them. The show seems like the kind of thing Joel would like, so you let it keep playing. 

He comes back a moment later with a small stack of folded up clothes, tossing them over to where you sit on the bed. You unfold what he’s given you and examine them—a pair of simple pink cotton shorts, and a white tank top with a ditsy floral pattern scattered across the fabric. The clothing is a little more revealing than you’d like, but you figure you’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable wearing them to sleep than the denim shorts you have on now.

“These are… great. Thank you, Joel. But…” you snicker. “Should I be concerned that you have a very convenient supply of girls’ clothes in your truck?” Joel scoffs. “‘S for when I got Tommy’s kid with me, smartass. He’s got a daughter, few years younger ‘n you.”

“Okay, well, I dunno how I was supposed to know that, but… as long as you don’t have a girlfriend who’s gonna come after me for wearing her clothes.”

Joel only chuckles in response, his attention suddenly pulled to the TV.

“Gunsmoke, huh? ‘S a good choice, definitely what I’d classify as ‘worth a damn’.”

You smile to yourself, and his approval makes that warm fluttery feeling return to your belly. “I didn’t even know what it was called, just seemed like something you’d like.”

He turns back to you. “That obvious, huh? ‘S just ‘cause I’m old and southern, ain’t it?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, making a pinching gesture with your hand.

Joel nods as he makes his way over to the armchair on the corner of the room, collapsing onto it with a groan. “Well, why don’t you go ‘n get yourself all changed and cleaned up, ‘n if you’re quick enough maybe we can finish the episode together and then get some shuteye, hm?”

You swiftly unzip your backpack to retrieve one of your clean pairs of underwear, then bound over to the small bathroom with them and your new change of clothes in hand. It’s not the most spotless one you’ve ever had to use, but you’ve honestly seen much worse. You rinse off quickly in the steaming shower, using the scratchy motel-provided washcloth to scrub the dirt from your legs, stuck to you with the sweat you worked up from God knows how many miles of walking today. 

Today. You can hardly believe it hasn’t even been a full 24 hours since you left home yet. It seems like you’ve already known Joel for days, maybe even years, as silly as it sounds. You wonder if he might just take you in after this, or if he’ll have had enough of providing for you after just one night. He seems like a man of limited means, and he’s already given you so much. If you’re brave enough, maybe you’ll ask him tomorrow, when you get to the ‘so… what now?’ part of your time together.

For now, you step out of the shower and dry yourself off with an impossibly scratchier towel, then pull on your panties and the tank top and shorts Joel provided you with.

Jesus, how much younger is Tommy’s daughter?

The shorts just barely cover your ass, and there’s a sizable gap between their waistband and the bottom hem of your top. The thin, white material of the shirt only serves to accentuate the way your nipples poke through the fabric, but you suppose there isn’t anything you can do about that.

You quietly crack open the bathroom door, and are somewhat relieved to find that Joel’s already fallen asleep in the chair. You do wish you could’ve finished the episode of Gunsmoke with him, but the end credits seem to be rolling already anyway, and you’d rather avoid being seen in your very ill-fitting pajamas. Although, you do wonder if he’d say anything, or if he’d just let his hungry gaze linger in silence again, holding himself back from touching you beyond a comforting pat on the thigh.

You pick the remote up off the bed and use it to make the TV screen sizzle to black, then tip toe over to the lightswitch by the door and turn it off, the room now completely shrouded in darkness. Joel snores softly from the chair as you blindly feel your way back over to the bed, pulling the covers back and nestling yourself underneath them. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, considering, and it doesn’t take long for your exhaustion to catch up with you. Your thoughts become slower and slower along with your breathing, and you’re asleep not even five minutes after your head hits the pillow.

—

The last room they had, yeah, right. You’re just the most pathetic little thing, aren’t you? You’ll believe just about anything that comes out of his mouth if he turns up the ‘southern charm’ dial a few ticks, throws in a feigned apologetic-looking expression for good measure. It’s sad, really. For you, anyway.

Joel fakes his snoring for another thirty minutes or so, until he’s certain you’re sound asleep. He had heard your breath even out almost immediately after you had tucked yourself in, but he had chosen to lay in wait for a little while longer, just to make sure you wouldn’t put up too much of a fight when he made his move. You don’t seem like the type, considering how you’d hardly argued with him at all tonight, like when he had convinced you to forgo the caffeine with your dinner. There’s a reason he wanted you sleepy and subdued tonight, but you didn’t know that. Joel likes how well you listen to him, how easily you do as he asks.

He also likes how warm you are, how small your body is compared to his own, the difference in size especially prominent now that he’s laying snugly against you, his front pressing firmly into the back of you. You don’t wake from his lumbering movement, only coming to slightly when you feel his arm slide underneath your body, his warm hand snaking its way beneath your tiny shirt to squeeze at your plush tits. 

You mumble out a little “Hm?”, which he’s quick to quiet with, “Sorry, darlin’. Chair was too hard on my damn back. Just go back to sleep, ‘kay?” That chair felt like laying on a goddamn cloud compared to some of the other surfaces he’s found himself having to sleep on before, but again, you don’t know that, and what you don’t know won’t hurt you. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning, how his hard cock is slotted so perfectly against your ass, especially without the confines of his thick jeans holding him back. They’re discarded onto the floor now in front of the armchair, along with his flannel shirt and jacket. Joel holds you tightly against his bare, hairy chest as he circles a roughened pad of his finger around one of your nipples, smirking to himself at how quickly the bud hardens from his touch. He knew you wanted this, and the wet spot that the fingers of his other hand are teasing in the gusset of your panties is proof of it. How long have you been leaking for him like this? Had you been soaking the seat of his truck earlier today? Filthy thing.

You still don’t rouse when he pulls your panties aside and slips a finger inside your slick cunt, or when his grip on your tit loosens in favor of sliding up higher under your tank top, his hand coming to a rest around the base of your throat as he pumps his finger in and out of your tight heat. It would be so fucking easy…

But he can’t, he won’t, because you’re not like the others. You want to get to know him, you let him take care of you, you seem to like his company, and you don’t leap out of bed and call him a fucking perv and a dirty old man for what he’s doing to you. That’s what the others would have done. It’s what they have done. And they faced the consequences.

But you’re different. You’re not like them. You’re like him. A lost soul, that’s what you are. Nowhere to call home, no one who misses you or loves you or gives a damn what happens to you. Joel’s mouth had tasted bitter when he had told you about Tommy, or rather, lied about him. Joel hasn’t seen the fucker in years, certainly doesn’t pay him any visits or watch his brat, not since Tommy had learned the truth. You better not show your goddamn face around here ever again, you understand me? Tommy had spat at him. You’re fuckin’ sick. Only reason I don’t turn your ass in myself is ‘cause you’re my goddamn brother. But if I ever fuckin’ see you again, I won’t hesitate. Better make yourself pretty fuckin’ scarce ‘fore I change my mind. That might’ve been about the only time Joel had ever taken orders from his little brother. 

That bitter flavor is cut by the sweet tang of you that he tastes on his finger now, so young and eager and fresh. The hand around your throat squeezes a little tighter, and Joel’s hips begin to move against your ass as he allows himself to suck wet kisses onto the skin under the hinge of your jaw. Softly, gently, so as not to wake you. He could come just like this, using your pliant body in your sleep, rutting himself against your still form with the taste of your pussy on his tongue and his fingers pressed against your pulse points.

He’s close when you stir again, making broken hiccuping sounds as you choke on your breath.

“Shh, shh,” Joel soothes. “You’re alright, sweetheart. ‘S just me. Just—fuck—hold still, go back to sleep, baby.” You let out a quiet whimper, squirming against him just a little bit, but return to your unmoving and silent state a second later. Joel finishes himself off quickly with another couple of shallow thrusts against you, his large hand still gripped around the column of your neck, trying to stifle his groans as he spills into his briefs. He removes his suffocating hand and keeps you pressed tightly against him for a while after that, tanned arms wrapped around your waist and breathing in your scent as he waits for you to settle back down. 

When he’s sure he won’t disturb you again, Joel releases you from his hold and pads quietly back over to the armchair, redressing himself and resuming the position you had left him in. In the morning, if you do remember any of it, you’ll just chalk it up to a very strange dream, one fueled by the desire he knows you’ve felt towards him since he picked you up. You’ll be left with a strange assuredness that he feels the same way about you, without really knowing why. 

But Joel will always know.

—

The digital clock on the nightstand only reads around 8:00 when you’re awoken by a beam of sunlight shining brightly against the backs of your eyelids, streaming in from the window’s lopsided blinds. You had gone to sleep with your back to Joel, but you find yourself facing him now. He looks kind of peaceful when he’s asleep, that permanent furrow etched between his brows finally smoothed out as he dozes. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, but they fall quickly when you adjust your legs and feel the cool dampness against your core, the sensation bringing back the memory of the dream you’d had last night. 

It had felt so real, but it couldn’t have been, could it? There’s no evidence that Joel had really laid next to you last night, that he’d really touched you like that, that you’d wanted him to keep going. It must just be some kind of strange side effect of the affection you feel toward the man who had rescued you, more or less. You’ll likely just part ways after today, anyway, so it’s probably best to just try and forget about the whole thing, put on a fresh pair of underwear and pretend it never happened. 

Joel is awake by the time you’re done freshening up in the bathroom, and he greets you with a raspy ‘Mornin’, sweetheart’ as you retrieve your backpack from next to the bed and shove your ruined underwear into the bottom of it. “You get some good sleep last night?” He asks, rubbing a hand over his eye.

“Mhm, the bed was nice, more comfortable than the one I had at home, honestly.” You finish zipping your backpack closed and sit back down on the bed, pulling on some socks and the lace up sneakers you had been wearing yesterday. “I hope the chair was okay, like, for your back and everything.”

“What makes you say that, baby?”

You pause in the middle of tying one of your shoelaces, turning to look at him with a confused pout. “Didn’t you…? I thought you had told me something about how the chair would be hard on your back. Like, last night.”

Joel frowns, shaking his head. “Don’t think so, darlin’. Chair was just fine.”

“Oh… Well, that’s good.”

Maybe it had just been a dream, then.

Joel hands you a few bills from his wallet, and tasks you with getting the two of you some breakfast from the gas station across the street while he cleans himself up. He tells you that he doesn’t eat much in the mornings, but that you can get yourself whatever you want, as long as you bring him back a carton of cigarettes and a black coffee. You obey eagerly, retrieving what he asked for and getting a pack of miniature powdered donuts and an equally as sugary coffee for yourself.

He’s just stepped out of the bathroom when you return to the room, and your face feels hot when you see him with his dark hair slicked back and wet from the shower. The few strands that fall onto his forehead as he laces up his boots almost make him look a little boyish, despite his whitened temples. 

“Such a good girl, thank you,” Joel praises when you hand him his items. 

You respond with a shy ‘You’re welcome’, but he doesn’t miss how you seem to light up at his words. You plop yourself down onto the worn-in chair that Joel had used as a bed last night, happily munching on your gas station donuts and sipping on your coffee. It all makes you feel warm from the inside out.

But you figure you should find out what the rest of today might look like before you let yourself enjoy the beginnings of it too much.

“So, um… We’re just gonna check out this morning and then… what?” 

“Whaddya mean, baby?”

“I mean… are you just gonna, like… take me to the nearest bus station or something?”

Joel’s confusion is written all over his face, embedded deep into those lines between his brows. You could swear he almost looks a little hurt. “Why would I do that? ‘S that what you want?” He asks softly.

You try to backpedal a little, afraid you might’ve offended him or seemed ungrateful in your question. “I just thought it might be what you want. That you probably have somewhere else you need to be, like Tommy’s or—”

“No, I don’t,” Joel says definitively.

You pause. “Okay, so—”

“You ever been to California?”

His question stumps you for a moment, seeming so random in its nature. “No.”

“You want to?”

You shrug. “I mean… sure. Maybe someday—”

“Why don’t you come with me then, baby?”

You let out an awkward giggle. “...Come with you where?”

“To California. Come with me.” Joel’s tone is genuine but firm.

“Like, today? Are you sure?”

“I mean, we ain’t gettin’ there today, darlin’. But yeah, I’m sure. We both got nowhere else to be, do we? So let’s just go, we’ll see it together.”

You beam up at him, realizing that he’s being serious. Joel does want you, wants you to be his companion, maybe even something more that you’ll discover on familiar-looking back roads and in cities you’ve only ever seen pictures of. 

“Okay,” you agree excitedly. 

Joel nods. “Okay, then. Lemme go check us out ‘n we’ll get back on the road again. Burnin’ daylight already,” he jokes. He carries your backpack out to the truck for you, setting it down between your feet after he opens the door and helps you inside with a stable hand. It only takes a few minutes for Joel to hand in the room key and pay for the night, and then he’s back at your side. You begin to feel like that’s where you always want him to stay. 

“So, where to first, baby? California ain’t goin’ anywhere, can take as long to get there as we wanna. We’ll go wherever you like, take your pick.” Joel leans across your body to dig a folded up map out of the glove compartment, handing it to you. 

You examine it, your eyes darting across the dozens of dots with the names of cities next to them, some you’ve never even heard of. You point to one that you have heard of, but have never been to, because you’ve never even left the state you grew up in before.

“Um… how about Detroit? I’ve heard it’s nice, I think.”

Joel belly laughs at that. “It ain’t, but sure. You wanna go to Detroit, that’s where we’ll go. Buckle up, baby,” he instructs, patting your thigh. You oblige, and it feels good to finally know where you’re going, and that you’re going there with someone who cares about you, who feels safe, who wants you around. You also feel a little hopeful that maybe you were right about Ruby, after all. That you didn’t start walking for nothing, that you weren’t following some childish delusion, that if something as good as Joel had happened to you when you left, that maybe she had found herself on a similar path, ran into somebody good who took her wherever she wanted to go and helped her find someplace she belonged. Maybe she found her way out to California, eventually. What you are certain of is that neither of you ever have to go back to that town ever again, and that feels good, too.

And if it feels good, then it can’t be bad.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[imaginesbymonika]

All I know is you can take me there (slide away) | Part 1

Hold me down all the world's asleep. I need you now you've knocked me off my feet. I dream of you and we talk of growing old, but you said please don't. Slide in, baby. Together, we'll fly. I've tried praying, but I don't know what you're saying to me.

Plot: Reader wants Joel. He's not getting the hint.

Pairing: Joel Miller x younger fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of everything that has happened, angst, fluff (bc i feel like we can all deserve that right now), longing, Joel is insecure about his age, age gap (Reader is in her late 20s), a fan fiction plot classic !!!

You had no idea what it was. But there was just something about Joel Miller you couldn’t figure out. And every single time you came close to pinpointing it down, the narrative once again slipped through your fingers like sand. You’d glance at him during the town meetings. Joel would linger by the doors, occasionally roll his eyes- at some point, they would inevitably anchor on you. Then he’d quickly turn his head. Sometimes you thought that maybe he does like you, on other days you reckoned he simply tolerated your presence. However, maybe both things to him were the same emotion. You’d never ask.

You like him. A lot, actually. Ragged demeanor and all. His sharp answers. Gray beard, scars, and demons. You like him. All of him.

Joel does too. But he also knows how the other men in Jackson feel about you. After all, it was one of the very first things Tommy for some reason said after introducing you two. „She’s our number one bachelorette.“, he declared, while putting a cigarette between his lips. The sound of the lighter cutting through the peaceful air:“ The women are all intimidated, the men all interested.“ If Joel ever had even a tiny bit of confidence that could have led him to ask you out, it evaporated at that very moment. He is an old man. God knows you would never be interested in that. But he didn’t ask God.

Ellie knows. She knows that you are interested and she also knows that he is interested. And while she’s unbelievably protective of Joel, she can’t help but adore you. She had no choice, after all, you granted her a piece of your garden to practice her farming skills on. You are thoughtful, nice, sweet, and more than gracious. It‘s everything Joel deserves. If only he could see that.

However, he was way too focused on how half the town's male population was after you. And the majority of them were young men. Handsome and muscular; who could offer you so much more than he ever could. So he automatically removed himself. Again, he never truly saw himself as your potential partner anyway. Although he really wanted to. Yet life isn’t fair. Especially not to him.

That is why he is only looking at you, standing next to a few of your girlfriends while soft music plays in the background. God, you’re gorgeous. It‘s one of those silly town gatherings. Joel is well aware that he doesn’t exactly have to be there. Yet, he really likes seeing you in clothes that aren’t ‚surviving an apocalypse-coded‘ (your own words). He sighs and looks down into his beer glass.

A few seconds later Ellie gently nudges him, and when he looks up again he notices how you’re making your way over to them…and God, you’re so pretty. The prettiest thing he has seen in decades. And perhaps you are a sign that God hasn’t entirely abandoned them.

“Hi.“, you say softly, a smile emerging on your lips.

„Hey.“, Joel replies, trying to smile back. Yet, it comes out more jagged than casual:“ Nice dress.“ Jesus, he’s terrible at this. He used to be so much more confident…cocky even. However, when you smile at his compliment something heavy lifts off his chest.

You scan his features while you wait. Patiently. For him to ask you to dance. You click your tongue, and observe how his eyes quickly meet yours. Joel rarely feels shy like this, but there’s just something in your stare; you’re waiting for something and he cannot figure out what it is.

Meanwhile, Ellie picked up on it the moment you walked over to them. She rolls her eyes before turning to look up at him with a ‚come on, ask her‘ expression on her face. But Joel isn’t paying her any attention. He‘s practically paralyzed. „Well.“, you say, crossing your arms:“ I‘m going to grab myself something to drink.“ A wave of insecurity washes over you. Did you imagine things again? Maybe he genuinely just wasn’t interested in you.

„I could grab you something.“, the words fled his lips before he thought about them.

„You- you would?“

„Sure, what do you want?“

„A wine, please.“

The minute they’re far enough away, Ellie gently hits his upper arm:“ Are you stupid?!“ She asks, the words coming out as mean as they were planned. Joel turns to look at her in disbelief:“ What?“ They reach the small bar and Joel grabs a bottle and a glass. Tommy was starting to become really cheap with these things.

„She‘s obviously waiting for you to ask her to dance.“

Joel nearly drops the bottle.

„Jesus.“, Ellie mutters, hands flying up to catch the empty air:“ You‘re old, but not that old. It’s so obvious, that even a blind person could’ve detected that you’re practically drooling over her. Just ask-.“ „I am not drooling?!“

Ellie rubs the bridge of her nose:“ Just- just go and ask her out before someone else does. Okay?“

And for a second, Joel merely stares at her before nodding:“ Okay, yeah.“

[celeryb1tch]

spencer reid x student!reader

18+! this post contains nsfw content

when spencer gets home from work he finds that you haven’t finished your essay, so he tries to ease your mind.

content: lots of pet names, fem!reader, you’re getting an arts degree lol, age gap but not too intense since this is early-ish seasons spencer, slight degradation at the end, reader orgasm, oral and fingering (r! receives), overstim, forced orgasm.

(i’m literally gay but i’ve been so delusional and in love with this fictional man lately i had to write something to get it out of my system!!!)

—

when your boyfriend came home from work, tie loose and satchel abandoned on the kitchen counter, you felt a wave of embarrassment flush you. you were still working on the same essay you had been last night; the one spencer made you promise you’d finish today.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asked, laying back beside you on the couch. when he leaned over to kiss you chastely, your stomach churned and you shut your laptop quickly.

you could feel hot tears start to pool in your eyes, biting back the sob you so desperately needed to get out. spencer took one look at your face and sighed, wrapping an arm around you.

“oh, baby. you didn’t finish it?”

“i tried!” you protested, your eyes squeezed shut to avoid seeing his disappointed face. “please don’t be mad at me.”

spencer’s gentle hand cupped your cheek, running his thumb across it lightly. “look at me, angel. i’m not mad.”

the floodgates opened when you finally dared to look at him, seeing his mouth pressed in a flattened line. tears streaked your face and it only added to the embarrassment. your boyfriend was a capable man, and here you were crying because you couldn’t finish a stupid essay before he got home from his 9-to-5.

he tried to hold you closer, but you struggled against him. you didn’t deserve his comfort or his sympathy. he settled for running his free hand through your hair soothingly. “hey, just talk to me. what went wrong, can i help?”

you shook your head, fighting through a hiccupped sob to answer. “i couldn’t find the last source i need. i was sifting through articles for like four hours, and i just gave up.”

ever the problem solver, spencer smiled down at you softly. “okay, let me take a look. you know i have fairly good research skills, they’re kinda required for my job.”

“you don’t get it!” you huffed, frustration evident in your voice. “you go to work all day and i can’t even find one source. one! i shouldn’t need your help for everything.”

recognition flashed in his eyes, and then he really pulled you in. it was useless to relent, you could feel the determination in his touch. he shushed you softly, one hand wrapped around you firmly while the other drew patterns on your back. when your breaths slowed and your sobs subsided, he pulled back to hold you at arms’ length. “baby, you are one of the smartest people i know.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and spencer grabbed your chin to ensure you couldn’t look away.

“i wouldn’t lie. no one i know is as sensitive as you are, as empathetic and in touch with their emotions. that’s what makes you so good at this program. i certainly couldn’t complete your degree.”

and you knew how bad at concealing the truth your boyfriend was, so reluctantly you believed him. “thank you,” you just about whispered.

his eyes cast pure adoration on you, even as your tear-stained cheeks were red and raw. “your incredible brain is one of the reasons i fell in love with you. so if you can’t find anything, there must be a reason. could you please just let me take a look?”

spencer had indisputably won you over, one arm still holding you to his side as he opened your laptop on his own lap. you relaxed into him, head pressed to his chest where you could hear his heart beating perfectly. with a hum, he scanned your tabs in a matter of seconds, scrolling to the bottom of the search result page at a speed the computer could barely keep up with. “i know what it is, but you’re not going to be happy.”

lifting your head, you squinted at your boyfriend inquisitively.

“you were typing the date wrong, honey. the last two numbers were flipped.”

you felt that feeling of incapability rush through you again, your eyes stinging in preparation to cry. but spencer was right there to prevent you from shutting down, hand on your head passing slow strokes in comfort.

his lips hitched into a small sympathetic smile when he looked down at you. “my poor girl, worked yourself up so hard your brain stopped working. too much essay writing this week.”

and of course, he was right. you’d been running yourself ragged recently trying to keep up with deadlines, not to mention the extra work you’d taken on early to prevent overwhelm for finals. when you’d told him your plan, spencer had advised against it. he didn’t want you sacrificing your sanity now for a bit more time with your boyfriend in a few months. but never not supportive, he relented and instead helped you draft a schedule to complete everything.

you couldn’t feel too stupid with spencer’s sweet voice telling you that you weren’t. “it’s not even due until next week, remember? i just wanted you to finish it tonight so i could take you out to dinner,” he confided sheepishly. “you’ve been working so hard, i wanted to reward you.”

despite knowing it was physically impossible (as spencer reminded you often), you could feel your heart swell from the overwhelming love you felt for your boyfriend. you pecked kisses all over his face incessantly until he swatted you away, blushing crimson from the unexpected affection. “okay, where are we going?”

spencer hummed mischievously in faux thought, tucking your wild hairs back from your face. “you didn’t finish your essay, so i actually think it’s only fair to punish you. at least before i take you out anyway.”

a heat bloomed in you, both in your cheeks and between your legs. it was rare that your boyfriend was anything but tooth-achingly sweet with you, saving his more dominant side for certain circumstances. apparently this was one of them. “oh, really? how are you gonna punish me, sir?”

he pulled you into his lap, mouth finding your neck immediately. “if you’re going to be stupid, i might as well treat you like you are. i know how much you like it when i call you a dumb slut, despite the fact that we’re both aware of how intelligent you are.”

your core ached with need, fluttering at his words. “that’s kinda fucked up, huh? i shouldn’t want that.”

“actually, it’s fairly common, especially for women with a high amount of stress in their everyday lives. most people enjoy some form of degradation and or praise when having sex.”

“spencer,” you groaned. his beautiful brain always had to get in the way of the fun, not that you seriously minded.

he smiled, pressing his lips to yours again. “sorry, baby. yes, it makes you a very naughty girl.”

despite the pure love in his eyes and his touch, you felt a pang of arousal when he degraded you. it felt good to be demeaned by someone who thought so highly of you. so you let him pin you against the couch, clothes long forgotten, and relished in his nasty words as he sunk to his knees before you.

your laptop was somewhere on the ground, still open to that unfinished document. but it was the last thing on your mind when you felt spencer’s mouth trailing down your front. his fingers hooked your panties, pulling them down with a string of arousal attached. “fuck,” he grumbled. “you are a little slut, aren’t you?”

you struggled to respond as his fingers passed through your folds, thumb toying with your clit lightly. “mhm, yours.”

“that’s right, baby.” all of the showy dominance dropped for a second when he smiled up at you, that familiar twinkle of passion in his eyes. and then he ate you out.

all you could do was grip the bedsheets, small whines leaving you each time he ran his tongue roughly up your clit. he’d take a moment to kiss your inner thighs, slipping two fingers inside to hit that sweet spot when he wasn’t lavishing it with his mouth. it wasn’t long before you were on the edge, feeling the knot snap in your stomach. with a start, you gasped through your orgasm, spencer’s hand finding yours to soothingly stroke his thumb across your knuckles. but as your breaths slowed, he didn’t.

“spence, i’m done,” you panted, hand gripping his hair.

“no you’re not.”

with a roll of your eyes, you tried to pull your hips away to no avail. his fingers were still pumping into you at a relentless pace. his head raised to meet your eyes, slick across his lips. he looked wild like this, disheveled, so different from your normal boyfriend, who was almost too sweet for his own good. “i told you this was a punishment.”

even knelt between your legs, this spencer was in complete control. his gaze was locked on yours, watching every tiny movement when he skimmed his thumb across your clit again. your core reignited when you realized what was going on. he was going to force you to cum again.

“please, too much” you whined, free hand pushing the top of his head away in a superficial effort. you couldn’t think properly with the intensity of the overstimulation.

spencer licked his lips, voice gravelly in a tone it only reached when he was purely aroused. “you can take it, honey. i know you can be a good girl for me. don’t you wanna be good?”

you nodded silently. there wasn’t much you could do but let him fuck you stupid.

“that’s it. gonna make you dumb, yeah? i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t think.” his head dipped down, resuming his wet, sloppy kisses to your clit. and with the combined effects of his words and actions, you were cumming again quickly.

you were unabashedly moaning now, jaw slacked open and eyes screwed shut. you were far past the point of caring what you looked like to the man furiously devouring you between your legs. your hand gripped his tighter, feeling his fingers pound a bit harder in acknowledgment.

your second orgasm felt like being catapulted into the atmosphere. it was sharper, practically knocking the air from your lungs. it took you a few moments to stop panting.

spencer grinned up at you, a sight for sore eyes in your clouded vision. “thinking about anything, baby?” he asked. and when he only received a small shake of your head, “good.”

his mouth returned to your core, soft kitten licks causing you to twitch and wince away. he squeezed your hand firmly, giving you a stern look. “only cleaning you up this time, promise.”

once you weren’t dripping arousal down your thighs, spencer pulled you onto him when he sat back down on the couch. all you could focus on were his warm, strong hands tracing sequences on your skin. he loved to imagine binary code, mapping it out on you because he knew the motion calmed you down.

you were barely conscious, brain buzzing like tv static in the post-sex bliss. you heard spencer chuckle to himself before saying, “so i think we’re getting takeout.”

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Study Days with Joel (Joel Miller x f!reader)

pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (no outbreak) word count: 3.5k of pure smut rating: Explicit, MDNI 18+, swearing, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, breath play, choking, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his 40s), no physical descriptions of reader except that Joel is able to lift her up summary: You have your state psychology exam coming up, the last step in getting your degree, but studying is the bane of your existence. Joel comes up with an alternative solution to help you study for the exam. A/N: Soooo, this was rotting my brain for the last month of my semester in grad school, pretty sure I was ovulating and I started typing it out in the library on campus. Best believe I struggled to get any studying done, thinking about this fictional man. This is also my first time writing smut so please be kind. Not beta'd cause I literally just needed to get it OUT. Comment and reblog if you like it. Enjoy! 🌚 🌹-N main masterlist

“C’mon baby, try again. Wanna hear it.”

You whine and squirm under the weight of his grip, his forearm pinning your hips further into the mattress like an iron bar.

“Jo- fuck,” you pant as your hips buck up, chasing the heat of his mouth. The crumpled study cheat sheet that you were clutching is long abandoned as your right hand snakes through his curls and grips them hard.

All you can do is mewl helplessly as Joel laps away at your aching cunt, his tongue lathing in wide strokes through your folds, before flattening it and swirling it around your swollen clit.

“Try again,” he mumbles into your core. The vibrating rumble of his baritone sends shockwaves throughout your body, as he presses a kiss to your clit, then moves down to lick into your hole, drinking up your arousal.

You gasp, canting your hips up again, trying to get him closer.

Deeper.

More of his tongue, more of his fingers, more Joel.

“I can’t,” you sob in desperation and arch your back, more wetness seeping out of your pussy.

Your mind is reduced to mush at this point. The only sensations that exist are the heat of Joel’s mouth, the softness of his curly locks, and the damp fabric of the sheets underneath you.

“Yes, you can,” he whispers against your core. “You remembered it earlier today. C’mon” He looks up at you, those sinful chocolate eyes devouring you whole.

The photographic memory you were so confident in fails you instantly, as you try to remember concepts from the cheat sheet. The only image you can see is Joel's predatory gaze peering up at you from your core, the lower half of his face drenched in your slick.

You have no doubt that Joel’s intentions were pure. Wholesome, even. The key word being were. But the way he’s sucking on your pussy lips, devouring your cunt as if it was his last meal on earth, nothing about this feels wholesome or pure.

He wanted to help you study for your upcoming licensing exam, the final step in getting your degree. When he suggested helping you out, you figured he would run through the material with you a couple times, test you on a few concepts, and then reassure you that you had nothing to worry about. Kiss you on the forehead and tell you that you’d ace the exam no problem.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re gonna do just fine baby, you’re overthinking it. You and I both know that you know your stuff.” He grabs your face, his massive palms enveloping your cheeks, as he kisses you on the forehead while you continue your anxious tirade.

“Yeah, but not with statistics!” Anxiety bubbles up through your chest, solidifying and compressing your lungs as you squawk back at him.

“This is math, my worst fucking enemy. I hate that they include this portion on the exam, it’s not like I’ll ever need to know how the different types of reliability and validity will help a client in a counseling session-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he presses his thumbs into your cheekbones ever so slightly, interrupting your runaway thoughts and bringing you back to earth. “Look at me.”

You attempt to hang your head in defeat but Joel’s strong hands keep your head in place. Pouting incessantly, you roll your eyes and pointedly look away from him.

“Hey.” He grunts and shakes your head sharply. “I saw that.”

You’re still mostly in panic mode, but the edge in his tone has warmth rushing through your body, and your gaze trailing back up to meet him.

Joel strokes your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, back and forth. The featherlight touch on your soft skin lulls you out of panic mode, as your shoulders slump and your posture relaxes. Pulling you in for a hug, he cups the back of your head, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. The heat from his large hand bleeds through your sleep shirt, wrapping your body in his comforting warmth.

“You’re smarter than anyone I know darlin,’ told ya so from the first day we met. Hell, I don’t know anyone else who has the entirety of that damn manual memorized front to back, ‘cept for you.” He presses his lips into the crown of your head, inhaling the sweet smell of you.

You snort, but it comes out muffled as you press your face further into his broad chest.

“That’s different. That stuff is interesting to me, it’s easy to absorb. Statistics is math, and math is the devil.” You grumble, nuzzling further into the warmth of his shirt, breathing in the faint smell of his detergent and cologne. The smell of Joel.

“I know. But I’m sure in the beginning, even memorizing a quarter of the stuff was a headache, and yet you did it. You just gotta give this a chance,” he murmurs against your hair. “Maybe there’s a different method we haven’t figured out yet, that will help it click, hm?”

He continues to rub slow circles against your back when you mumble something incoherent and bury more into his chest, wrapping your arms around his middle.

Joel was right. You knew he was, as much as you hated to admit it. But above all else, he genuinely cared about helping you succeed, and if there was anything he could do to make life easier for you, or let you know that you weren’t alone in your struggles, he would do it. And he always spoke about conquering those struggles as a team, as your partner, always willing to carry the load for you if you couldn’t handle it yourself.

Not that he doubted you in the first place. But it was always ‘we’ or ‘us,’ never just ‘you,’ or ‘I.’ It’s one of the reasons why you were head over heels in love with him. Sometimes you wondered if he realized how much strength he gave you by simply existing.

“Remind me again,” he shifts his arms so that they wrap around you, gluing you to his body,.

“What’s the difference between.. Schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorder?”

Although you’re not looking at him, you know that he has a smile on his face. He fully knows that you know the correct answer. Sighing deeply, you turn your head to the side.

“Schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder where a person experiences psychosis, or hallucinations and or delusional thinking, but schizoaffective disorder is when a person experiences the same psychotic symptoms, along with symptoms of a mood disorder, like depression or mania.”

“Straight from the fuckin’ textbook,” he whispers in your ear, before leaning down to kiss your pulse point. “My smart cookie.”

Shivering in response, you tilt your head to the side as his lips trail down your neck, pressing soft, wet kisses and nibbling ever so slightly. Gasping, you tilt your head further, giving him more access and melting in his embrace.

“Mmm.” Joel rumbles, the deep vibration reverberating through his chest.

“Why don’t we try another study method and see how it works?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Little did you know that another study method would involve you laid out beneath Joel, his broad frame caging you in as he took you apart with his mouth. Every kiss, every lick, every suckle to your clit, had your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Joel tested your restraint.

“Tell me again baby, I know you know it.”

He whispers into your wetness, pulling away to press wet kisses to the inside of your thighs. When you don’t answer immediately, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, applying the slightest pressure that makes you gasp and lift your head to look down at him. He doesn’t say anything else, save for quirking his brow, patiently waiting while his tongue soothes over the indents on your skin.

“Stat-fuck.”

You swallow, your throat desperately dry from the hoarse moans and whimpers you’ve been letting out.

“Statistical significance is- is when the rela-relationsh-shit,” you pant as Joel’s tongue traces your outer lips, sucking slightly before dipping into your hole and curling, “between two or more v-variables is caused by s-something other than-ngh chance.”

The last part comes out as a rushed gasp as scorching heat runs through your veins, with Joel’s mouth magnetized to your cunt, but he praises you nonetheless.

He hums and gives you a devious smile.

“Good girl,” he purrs, grazing your slit with his middle finger, gathering up the obscene amount of wetness leaking out of you, before sliding two thick fingers into your cunt.

You barely have time to catch your breath, choking on gasp as you revel in the stretch of his fingers. So fucking long and thick. You never get tired of how they fill you so perfectly.

“My good fucking girl. So fuckin’ smart.” He growls into your cunt, curling his dexterous fingers, effortlessly pressing up against that spot that makes your eyes roll back and clench around him.

“Oh shit.”

Your mind goes blank as you whine and start to tense your stomach, hips lifting up again seeking out more friction. The stretch of his fingers is delicious, the way they hook inside you, reaching spots you can never reach yourself. It makes your head spin as he continues to lathe his tongue up and down, flattening it and making wide circles around your clit.

You can feel the heat starting to build in your core, licking up your spine as Joel keeps slowly pushing his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt. Steadily, in and out, until your hips are tightening and loosing with the building pressure.

“Joel, please.”

You sob and lift your hips up once more to meet his mouth, pull his fingers in deeper.

“Shhh babygirl. You’re doing good so far,” he lifts his mouth off your pussy, his drenched lips hovering just above it as he presses a chaste kiss to your mound.

He waits a beat, before a devious grin spreads across his face.

“But you gotta be prepared for all sorts of distractions when you’re writing that exam, gotta be able to focus and tune it all out.”

Your thoughts aren’t even coherent at this point. Your brain is just a soggy pile of mush, frayed neurons, misfiring in all directions. He’s kidding right?

Joel Miller is your biggest distraction.

Always.

You barely have time to lift your head up and watch his malicious smile disappear, as it morphs into something primal.

Pure hunger.

He rises up from his place between your legs, releasing your one leg he was holding to spread you open, while his other hand is still knuckle deep in your tight, throbbing pussy.

Coming up on the bed to hover over your frame, you’re awestruck by his size. How much bigger he is than you. How broad he is, with his shoulders spanning twice the amount of space as yours. It makes you shiver, your skin tingling under the thin layer of sweat that coats your naked body.

“Next question sugar. Ready?”

Joel licks his lips, his pupils blown black as he snaps his fingers against that spongy spot deep inside you. The air is punched out of your lungs as you choke on a gasp.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know baby, I know.”

He coos at you, leaning down to kiss you. Gently brushing his lips against yours before his tongue teases the seam of your lips, you open up to him. He swallows your moans, tongue dancing with yours as he groans, sucking on your bottom lip.

Breaking away he pants as his gaze flicks between your lips to your eyes. “Y’trust me?”

For a fraction of a second, you see the concern in his big rounded eyes. The dominance dissipates as he checks in with you, making sure you’re still with him, and that it’s not too much.

You nod frantically before you can even process his words.

“Words baby, I gotta hear those sweet words.”

“Yes, Joel.” One word falling from your lips.

“Please”

“There we go. Now, can you tell me what inter-rater reliability is?”

“Uhhh.” You wish you could answer him, you really could. But he keeps fucking his fingers into you, pressing up against your g-spot at the same steady pace. The squelching sounds coming from your pussy are obscene, causing your brain to short circuit as you feel the familiar coil tightening in your lower belly.

You try to continue, but as soon as you do, Joel’s free hand slowly snakes around your neck. His massive palm envelopes the circumference of your throat, as he grasps it loosely.

Instantly your mouth drops open as you whine, eyes glazing over. He loves playing with you. It’s all too easy to turn you into a babbling mess, drunk on his pleasure in a matter of minutes. His voice, his hands, his mouth.

Sobbing and squirming underneath him, another pulse of pleasure shoots straight to your core as you clench around his thick fingers. He’s not even squeezing, barely applying the slightest bit of pressure but fuck, it makes you dizzy already.

You love when he chokes you, love feeling his huge warm hands encircling the column of your neck. The way that those hands could so easily snap you in half, holding onto your fate. It makes you ridiculously wet, your pussy fluttering in anticipation.

Joel tilts his head, drinking you in underneath his predatory gaze, before the corner of his mouth slowly lifts into a smile.

“Distractions baby. Gotta think past them”

All you can do is look up at him through teary doe eyes and whimper. In response, his thumb starts to gently circle your clit while his fingers continue stretching you out.

“Joel, please.”

It’s all you can repeat. Begging that he take mercy on you and forget the studying, and just fuck you senseless already.

“Nuh-uh baby, answer the question.” His grip around your throat tightens ever so slightly as he encourages you again.

Swallowing as best as you can while the warmth of his palm bleeds through your skin, you try to think of the answer. But all you can feel is the heat simmering in your belly, the dampness of the sheets beneath you from all the arousal seeping out of your cunt.

“Interrater r-reliability is a measure of val-lidity-”

Joel clicks his tongue and removes his thumb from your clit. You whimper as your hips rise up, chasing his touch.

“Mm, not quite darlin.’ Try again.”

Your brain flounders, unable to conjure up any images of your cheat sheet or study material. The only thing keeping you tethered to reality is the warmth emanating from his large frame caging in your body, and his fingertips pressed into the sides of your throat.

He lets up slightly around your neck, as you pant and bite your lip.

“Inter-rater r-reliability, is a measure of consistency, or the d-degree of agreement between different people -fuck, observing the s-same thing.” The last couple words fade out as he starts running his fingers soothingly up and down the sides of your neck.

“There you go baby,” he purrs. “Very good, so fucking good for me.”

Immediately, his hand slithers around your neck again as his grip gets tighter and tighter, till you’re gasping. Euphoria floods your brain. A gush of wetness seeps out around Joe’s fingers that are still buried in your cunt as you clench hard around him.

You grasp at the sheets, grasp at the hand wrapped around your neck as you writhe underneath him incessantly, your mouth falling open as you try to say his name again.

Growling at the way your body responds to him instantly, Joel’s fingers inside you pick up their pace, thrusting into you and snapping up against that spot that makes you go cross-eyed. His thumb presses down against your clit as he starts to circle it quickly.

“Did so well baby. So fucking smart, and good for me.” His lips curl as he bares his teeth at you.

You’ve never felt smaller in your life. Never felt more aroused. You want him to swallow you whole and wreck you. Then put you back together how he sees fit.

Your lips try to press together, forming the ‘p’ in ‘please’ as you go to beg him for release again. Watching your eyes glaze over, he nods in response.

“Go ahead babygirl, can feel you squeezing me so fuckin' hard. That tight little pussy is drooling, begging for release.”

He leans over you, till his lips are right beside your ear.

"Cum all over my fucking hand and I’ll pound that pretty pussy from behind till you can’t see straight, make you watch in the mirror.”

That’s all it takes. His filthy fucking mouth unraveling your body while his hands break you apart.

All the heat in your body pinpoints towards your core, as you feel your toes start to curl and your eyes roll back as your cunt tightens around his fingers. The coil deep inside you snaps as he lets off your neck, and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you in waves.

It’s searing, white hot euphoria. Endless ecstasy coursing through your veins as your body locks up and convulses, your pussy gushing around him. His fingers don’t slow down, fucking you through it as you arch off the bed, gripping the sheets with white knuckles, wailing his name as if it’s the only answer.

Forget the studying, forget school, forget anything.

Just Joel.

“There you fuckin’ go.” He murmurs in awe, mesmerized at you falling apart for him.

“My good fucking girl, came so hard. So fucking wet for me.”

He presses soft kisses all over your face, your neck, your chest while murmuring more praise. Pulling his soaked fingers out as your body still shakes with aftershocks, he sucks them into his mouth, his eyes falling shut.

You mewl at the sight and let your head thunk against the pillow.

You feel drained. Flattened. Exhausted in the best possible way.

He rests his head on your tummy, looking up at you with adoration. Like you captured the fucking moon for him.

The hunger in his eye is gone, the depth of his chocolate brown irises replaced with warmth and love. Rubbing his hands up and down your sides and kissing the softness of your skin, he checks in with you.

“Holy fuck,” You huff out as you will your breathing to slow down.

He chuckles, the crinkles around his eyes deepen.

“How was that?”

“Well, I’m not gonna be able to conjure up the definition for statistical significance or interrater reliability without remembering your fingers deep inside my pussy.”

You reach down and bury your hands into the soft mop of curls, trailing them down to caress his jaw. You trace the patchy scruff of his beard as Joel turns his head to press his lips against your fingertips.

“But it certainly is a memorable study method.

You flash him a tired smile. "I’m a big fan”

Sweat beads at your hairline as you feel your hair plastered to your forehead, yet he looks at you with same intensity and adoration.

“I’m glad I could help darlin.’ If you can stand my distractions, I have no doubt you’ll ace the exam.”

Mischief laces his tone as he leans up and over you to kiss your forehead. Moving down, kissing your cheek, your lips, his lips brush your pulse point as he licks and nibbles.

You whimper helplessly and tilt your head, giving him more access.

“We’ll see about that. I’m just lucky I have a very good study buddy”

“Oh we’re just getting started sugar,” he whispers in your ear. “That was just the first chapter of material, we got the rest of the textbook to cover, and the rest of the fuckin night.”

Goosebumps prickle across your skin as you shiver again, warmth flooding from your pussy. His fingers dip down, slipping through your folds as he feels how wet you are. He pulls his fingers up, watching the clear webbing of your arousal coat his fingers, as his eyes darken and his gaze flicks back to you.

“Get on your hands and knees for me.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple weeks later, you get your exam results through the mail. You passed with flying colours, although you’re not really sure how to be honest. But it doesn’t matter as you fling your arms around Joel’s neck, one hand clutching the ripped open envelope as he lifts you off your feet and swings you around, elated for your success.

Needless to say you don’t study by yourself again for future tests after that study session.

[notjustjavierpena]

Where I'm Supposed To Be, a husband!Javier Christmas fic

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here’s my Christmas present for you all. I wrote this with blood, sweat and tears. I love you. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful opportunity to make myself, and everyone who reads my work, happy due to a silly, little, fictional family. Thanks to @javiscigarette and @joels-shitty-puns for being amazing and caring ❤️ and obviously thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for being my sweet Spanish tutor 😭🙏

Summary: Just Christmas morning with the Peñas. Lots of chaotic and sweet children but also some alone time between you and your husband who very much has a present for you this morning.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, domestic life, three children being cute, unwrapping of gifts on Christmas morning, dancing to the radio, butterflies, being courted by javi, some rough pussy eating (javi is a cunning linguist and a fucking menace), nose riding, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praises and pet names, rough sex, kitchen sex, lactation kink, tit play, bit of breeding kink. creampie, they are gross and in love, absolutely married to each other

Word count: 7.1k!!!!!

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52364101

Where I’m Supposed To Be

Your eyes open wide as soon as you feel the weight of two children in your bed, and the realization of what day it is comes to mind. Since you are lying on your side, facing your husband, you watch the same shock settle in him as his own slumber is interrupted. Javier is lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow tightly, and when Inés starts jumping up and down at the foot of the bed, he shoots up to look around with a confused expression. You smile as he catches your eye. He yawns back at you. 

“Wake up! Wake up!” Inés’ squeaky voice announces. She sounds out of breath from jumping continuously, “It’s Christmas!”

The whole bed shakes. Lucas has joined in on the jumping, a contrast to his usually so well-behaved and calm manner, but you remember the magic excitement that Christmas brought along when you were a kid yourself. 

You yawn loudly to tease, turning onto your back. Inés barely survives the way you drag out waking up properly.

“Alright!” You sit up in bed with a little smile, letting your hands come down on top of the covers, “We’re up.”

“I’m not,” Javier grumbles into his pillow. Inés takes it as an opportunity to jump on her father’s back, sitting down on him with a knee on either side of his torso. You can hear the air being knocked from Javier’s lungs and can’t help but smile fully now, fighting a belly laugh as your insistent daughter starts tugging at his hair and shoulders.

“Come on, Mom!” Lucas begs too but without bordering on violence. He grabs at your hand to pull it, and you throw the covers to the side to let him lead you out of bed. 

“I’m coming, mijo (my son),” you say and slip on a t-shirt that you have laid out the day before; there’s been a fair amount of Christmas mornings at this point but with Inés getting older, and thus more steadfast in her personality, you have resorted to creating a system that you hope neither of your kids has realized exists. 

When Inés sees you out of bed, she quickly abandons her father at the realization of your willingness. Javier takes in a deep breath as he loses her weight on top of himself, imitating the sound of someone falling asleep again. You’ll let him for now; after all, he’s been the one up all night to arrange the presents so it looks like Santa came to visit. 

“I have to check on Seb first,” you inform their hopeful faces. Inés groans and even Lucas looks like he might join in but you don’t give in to being rushed, simply shrugging, “If you are quiet, he won’t wake up and it’ll be quicker.”

You grab the baby monitor from your nightstand and then your kids follow you down the hallway of family photos to Sebastian’s nursery. Your baby is sleeping soundly when all three of you enter ever so quietly, a sign of contentment and feeling safe, and you don’t dare reach out to touch him in case he is disturbed from his sleep, even despite him being the easiest one of all three, so often off to dreamland that you have had Javier needing to reassure you.

You stare down at Sebastian for a few moments. He has his arms above his head, hands squeezed into fists and his little mouth slightly agape. You can feel yourself being overcome with emotion as both Lucas and Inés observe their little brother’s slumber with you, and with such understanding in their eyes that you wish you could take a picture of them. They have all of their hands clutched around the railing of the crib to peek down at the baby. 

“Mom,” Lucas whispers without taking his eyes off Sebastian, “Can we please go see our presents?”

“Pleeeeease,” Inés follows.

“Okaaaay, let’s go,” you whisper back.

You leave the bedroom with the baby monitor in your hand and Inés hand clutched in your other, only to hold her in place in case she wants to run down the stairs. 

Both your kids’ eyes go wide as they enter the living room. There are several differently sized and shaped presents underneath the lit-up Christmas tree, sporting extravagant bows and wrapping paper designs. You know that none of them are for you but you’ll relish in your children’s faces as they run towards the pile. 

“Steady now,” you say as you place the baby monitor on the coffee table, “Everything has led up to this, I know, but we don’t want it to be over in a few minutes, do we? Let’s do one at a t—“

“But Santa’s been!” Inés shrieks in delight. Lucas looks at you, only seven years old and not convinced, and you wink at him only to receive a little smile. He looks pleased with himself, sharing a secret with his mother.

“Really? How do you know he has?” You say animatedly. It’s obvious, she tells you, look at the presents, but you distract her from ripping each of them open by walking up to gape at the empty plate and glass that are on the coffee table, gasping for show as if to imitate your daughter, “Inés! You’re right! Look!”

Inés whips around, darting towards you. She stares in shock. Lucas seems a little impatient, hovering around a big present that is for him, so you hold out your hand and call him over to look at the Santa-evidence too. 

He walks around the coffee table to lean against you instead, and you rest a hand on the back of his neck. You gently run your fingers through his hair, whispering to him as Inés lifts the plate to look underneath it.

“You’re the best big brother, sweetie,” you mutter and repeat the move, smoothing his bed hair. He leans into you further. 

“Look! All gone!” Inés parrots as she stares at the cookies that are nowhere to be found. Neither on or under the plate. 

Lucas still doesn’t look very convinced. In the future, you’ll tell him about the sugary kiss his father planted on your cheek when crawling into bed after eating cookies and drinking milk at three in the morning - and his preteen self will crinkle his nose in disgust.

Speaking of your husband, Javier enters the living room silently so as to not disturb Inés’ hunt for clues. He has put on a t-shirt that hangs over his boxers, looking beautifully disheveled, and you smile like a schoolgirl when he looks at you happily. 

“Is there anything else? Did he just leave behind all those great big presents?” You still talk excitedly, grinning as your daughter’s eyes scan the floor and ceiling. 

She continues to the fireplace, pointing out the small amount of soot mixed with glitter that you’ve spread out on the wooden floor, “He’s been! Look, Mommy!”

“Wow!” Javier now chimes in. Inés recognises his voice instantly and she runs to her father the second that she hears him. Javier picks her up from the ground with the groan of a father to settle her on his hip. He kisses her cheek repeatedly until he blows a raspberry, “He did all that for you?” 

Inés giggles like only a child can. You want to melt. She claps excitedly, “All for me.”

“You must’ve been very good this year, mija (my daughter),” he says, ruffling her already messy hair. She shies away from it but throws her arms around his neck as soon as he has stopped, burying her head in his shoulder. 

Lucas shifts impatiently but he doesn’t say anything. 

“You want to open a present?” You whisper to him. 

“Can I?” He whispers back with wide eyes.

“They still have a few clues to go through, outside even,” you crouch down to kiss his cheek from behind, hugging him close to you, “If you want to, I’ll let you. I’ll choose though.”

In the background, Javier catches on. He places Inés back down on the floor, holding out his hand for her and winking at his son whilst talking to his daughter, “Do you want to see if Rudolph ate the carrots you laid out for him on the doorstep?”

Inés, completely ignoring the offered hand, starts running towards the front door whilst naming other reindeer too. It’s Texan Christmas, so there’s no point in putting on a jacket for going outside, and the sudden silence of the front door closing behind her and Javier makes you strike.

You let go of Lucas to get his present from under the tree, searching only briefly as if you’re choosing something random. There’s a point to this but you don’t want to take out the magic of the moment.

Lucas sits down on the floor as he is handed the gift. He doesn’t hesitate to tear its wrappings off, and when he throws it to the side, he gasps at the sight of his very own brand new Game Boy that you have wrapped along with a few games. It’s a strategic move to let him open it now; Inés won’t try to steal it in the middle of Christmas family time if she isn’t aware of him getting it. 

“No way!” Lucas’ eyes are wide. He holds the Game Boy in its packaging in front of himself, not taking his eyes off of it in case it might disappear if he looks away, “Mom!”

“It’s the one you wanted, right?” You ask, rubbing his back and looking down at the cover over his shoulder, “Lord knows if I have a clue about what it does.”

“This is so cool,” he says, mostly to himself, and then looks up at you with a wide grin that reminds you that he is his father’s son, “Thanks, Mom!” 

“But I need you to wait to use it till after Inés is done with her presents, okay? I know you’re excited but you’ll have the whole day, no?”

“Entiendo, (I understand),” he nods, getting up from the floor very carefully as he still has the Game Boy in his hands, “¿ Lo tengo que compartir? (do I have to share it?)

“You might have to share it sometimes but it’s yours first and foremost,” you say with a little smile, “I think Inés might just want to see you play and then you can let her try it a few times. If it’s too much, we’ll figure something out.”

Lucas hugs you then, tightly and lovingly. He buries his head in your stomach and he doesn’t have to say anything because you know exactly what he wants to say with his embrace. It’s enough to make you choke up a second time today. 

When Javier and Inés return back inside the living room, Inés talking loudly, Javier gets a pair of scissors and a bag for the wrappings from the kitchen. You quickly add Lucas’ gift wrap to it to conceal any evidence of having started without Inés.

“Mom! Rudolph ate the carrots we laid out!” She beams. 

“He didn’t!” You walk up to her to make it seem like you are listening even more actively. You lean down over her with your hands on your thighs, feeling Javier’s eyes on you as you bend over, “Oh boy, I’m glad you remembered to feed them so Santa could reach all the kids without them getting tired and hungry.”

“Can we open presents now?” She inquires, falling to her knees in front of the Christmas tree. She looks back at you, suddenly very serious, “Are there any presents for Sebastian?” 

“Yes, Sebastian has a few presents too,” you reply.

It takes her a moment to think this fact over. She furrows her brow in concentration, going over the logistics of an infant opening Christmas gifts. Eventually, she stares at you and places a hand on her chest, “I— I will open Sebastian’s presents.”

You want to laugh and in the background, Javier actually does, “You can help Lucas open the presents for him.”

Lucas sits on the floor beside Inés but closer to the tree. He seems less anxious to begin now that he’s had a head start on his little sister so he reaches under the tree to find a present with her name on it, checking in with his father who nods and lets him proceed.

Inés eyes go wide as the gift is put down on the floor in front of her, and Javier moves to help her with cutting the ribbon. You take a seat on the couch to watch the scene unfold, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement as receives her first Christmas gift; a stuffed toy resembling a dinosaur that she keeps tucked under her arm during the whole thing. 

The rest of the unwrapping session goes with you letting out a series of oohs and aahs as each toy, which you have picked out yourself at the toy store, is revealed. It’s all a blur of plastic and noises, cries for batteries and Javier shushing his daughter when her pitch climbs a little too high. 

Lucas is in charge of handing out gifts, and you praise him for each card that he reads out loud successfully. Whenever he tries reaching for a certain gift for Inés, Javier shakes his head, and he moves on to the next despite the curiosity nearly killing him. 

Steadily, both Inés and Lucas each have a growing pile of toys, clothes, and snacks beside them. 

Lucas receives, amongst other things, a pair of light-up shoes that he has begged for months to get. He also gets a wooden tow truck with four magnetic cars and an unbelievable stack of Pokemon cards. 

Inés gets a few puzzles, markers, a microphone that makes an echo when you speak into it (a toy that might just disappear out of the blue with no explanation), and a collection of animal stickers. 

Lucas looks overwhelmed by the end. Inés looks far from done, so she is the one who gets to unwrap Sebastian’s new mobile with small UFOs and cows on it, a pair of cute shoes, and a hat to match.

Finally, Lucas gets the green light from his father to grab the mysterious present. He looks like someone who wants to tear off the paper so he can satisfy his curiosity but Inés is already beating him to it. There’s an anticipation of it being the final stages of the unwrapping process that hangs in the air, and everything is going well until your daughter crinkles her nose at the sight of what she has received from Santa.

“Mom,” she starts to say, cogs turning in her head. She turns to you, looking skeptical. Inside the package is a helmet, more specifically a bike helmet, in a soft green color with daisies painted onto it in a pattern not too harsh on the eyes. 

Lucas catches on a little quicker, “She’s getting a bike?!”

“A bike!” Inés yells out, standing up quickly, “Where? Wherewherewhere?”

“Inés, por favor (please),” you can’t help but laugh at her excited shock, “Let Papá get it for you.”

And moments later, Javier wheels a bike, so tiny that it is cute, into the living room. Its color matches the green on her new helmet, and on the handles hang white tassels with yellow flecks of glitter in them. The also has training wheels on it but with the amount of unrelenting bravery and determination that Inés has for new things, you doubt that she will be needing them for long.

Inés has gone quiet as she stares at her new bicycle which is very much not like the one without pedals she has. She gapes at it and it makes you and Javier exchange looks. Javier shrugs.

“Inés,” you start but you are interrupted by your daughter’s infectious laughter. She jumps on the spot, yanking at the handle and pulling it towards herself. You let out a sigh of relief, warmth flooding your heart at hearing her.

“I want to try it now!” She demands, giggling happily as she runs her hands through the tassels. 

“We can do it after breakfast, Daddy will take you out for a test drive,” you say, getting up from the couch to crouch down beside her. You admire the bike with her, continuing your reasoning when she starts to protest, “One should never try to learn how to ride a bike without having breakfast. Not even the coolest girls can do that.”

“I can!” She argues. In the background, Lucas turns his back to the three of you to sneak a peek at his Game Boy. 

“Actually, mija (my daughter),” Javier interjects. He opens the box containing the biking helmet, pulls it out, and walks over to his daughter, “Bike racers need to try out their helmets for at least an hour or two to break them in and to make sure they fit. Imagine if you got onto the bike and your helmet wouldn’t let you ride it.”

Inés furrows her brow but doesn’t look like she’s about to argue with her father’s logic. She glances at the bike and then at the helmet in Javier’s hands, quickly coming to a decision.

“I want to wear the helmet!” She says. 

“Excellent choice,” he replies and you snort.

Inés proudly wears the helmet a few seconds later. You wonder how you are going to get her dressed for going outside with it on her head but you suppose you’ll pass the task to Javier.

“Wait,” Lucas says suddenly, crawling underneath the tree to reach far underneath it. A small present rests along the foot of the tree, and he pulls it out only to find that there’s no card on it. He furrows his brow, “There’s one left.”

Inés looks nearly hungry for more.

Javier turns, obviously not expecting this.

“Actually,” you say and make Lucas hand it over. Holding the gift close to your chest, you walk up to Javier, “This one is for Daddy.” 

“Me?” Javier looks puzzled but then he smirks, as if he has decided something that you aren’t a part of yet. You feel your heart skip a beat as all three of you catch onto the mischief in his eyes. If only you knew that mischief is just for you. He snatches the present from you and shakes it. 

“It’s just something silly,” you say, “But it’s for work!”

Inés and Lucas are watching curiously, standing on their toes so they don’t miss anything. 

“Rip it, Dad,” Lucas encourages.

“Yeah!” Inés chimes in, holding onto her helmet as she tips her head. You’ll have to adjust it.

“Alright, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” he does as he is told, letting the wrapping paper fall into a pile on the floor, beside the garbage bag that he has brought himself, and reveals a hideous, rolled-up tie with a Christmas theme. It is dark red with tiny cartoon Christmas lights and trees, crisscrossing across the silky fabric. It’s ugly, for sure, but it makes Javier’s face light up like he can’t quite believe that he has reached this destination; a life of kids and silly Christmas presents, and exactly where he is supposed to be.

“That’s boring!” Inés complains. 

“Mija (My daughter), that’s not very nice,” Javi tuts, smoothing a thumb over his present. He grins boyishly at you, and when he approaches you, he wraps an arm around your waist to give you a squeeze, “I love it.”

“You don’t have to wear it,” you reassure.

“I might just. The guys know I’m happily married to a catch like you so why shouldn’t I show it off?” He holds it up in front of himself, “How do I look?”

“Silly,” Inés argues. Lucas grimaces behind her.

You raise a brow, biting your lower lip as you grin, “You wouldn’t.”

“Sí. Gracias, mi amor (yes. Thank you, my love),” he kisses you in front of your kids, and both of them make disgusted faces. Inés even adds a gagging noise, saying something about cooties. 

Javier doesn’t let go of you when he turns his head towards them. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “Hey, you behave or I might do it again.”

“No!” They shout in unison.

“I should’ve gotten you something,” Javier says as he turns towards you again. You shake your head but then you feel his hand on your back travel down, “Maybe later.”

Quickly, you pull back. 

“Right,” you say, clasping your hands together and trying not to sound flustered, “Let’s say two hours tops. Then we’ll have breakfast together. Hot chocolate and all.”

When the gift rush comes to an end, Javier starts carrying all of the shiny new toys upstairs with a groan. He scolds gently as he has two tiny and enthusiastic humans bounding up the stairs, telling them to be careful. 

Meanwhile, you head to the kitchen and turn on the radio. You place the baby monitor on the counter, humming along as you prepare a sugary breakfast that you always regret afterward when you have to endure two sugar-high children. 

As you are toasting bread and filling bowls with candy canes and marshmallows, Javier enters the kitchen. You smile to yourself as he wraps his arms around you from behind, placing a kiss on your neck, “Morning. I put a movie on, so they’ll be occupied by that and their presents for a while now. Checked on Seb too, he’s fine.”

“That went well,” you say genuinely, “Don’t you think?”

“Mhm, the unwrapping? Definitely,” he murmurs against your ear, resting his forehead on your shoulder, “They didn’t even notice how I was staring at you.”

“How were you staring at me?” You ask, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“No particular way,” he teases and you try to concentrate on cutting fruit into smaller pieces. 

In the background, a slow melody hums through the kitchen. Javier’s hands wander down to settle on your hips, and you finally allow yourself to let go of the knife, give in, and turn around in his arms. 

“Merry Christmas,” you smile.

“Dance with me,” he replies. 

You walk further into his embrace, linking your arm around his waist and resting your chin on his shoulder. He entwines your fingers and rubs the back of your hand with his thumb as he sways with you in time with the song on the radio. 

As he moves you, your heads lean together, cheeks touching gently, and he radiates warmth and security. It makes you close your eyes and sigh softly, allowing yourself to be transported into a fantasy where you aren’t just wearing your underwear and a washed-out t-shirt. 

The hand that isn’t holding yours rests on your lower back, pulling you in after he twirls you once. You giggle when he beams at you but then you resume the first position, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, slowly turning, whilst Javier’s mouth rests just below your temple. 

And then you feel his nose brush against the side of your face as if he is starting to pull away, and a desperate voice inside of you wants to protest but the logical one tells you to go with the flow. The tip of his nose is warm even against your flushing skin, and by instinct, you pull away slightly to admire the gorgeous curve of it up close. Javier interrupts by kissing you instead. He captures your lips in the most drawn-out hot kiss, pouring with desire and devotion. 

“Tell me you love me like I love you,” you plea breathlessly. 

“I love you like you love me,” he tells you without hesitation, squeezing your hand, “Y  les quiero a Lucas y Inés y Sebastian (and I love Lucas and Inés and Sebastian).”

You respond by kissing him again, just about to slide your tongue across his lips and into his mouth when the song ends. 

He reluctantly lets go of you. However, instead of helping you cook breakfast, he starts moving things from one side of the kitchen table to the other; out of your reach. 

“Javi, what are you doing?” You start to protest.

“Let’s make another,” he suddenly says.

“Another?” You furrow your brow in confusion.

“A fourth one,” he explains as he stands in front of you, making you bump into the counter, “Un bebito (a little baby). Right now.” 

“Jesus, Javi,” you can feel his fingers dig into the waistband of your underwear. Blood goes to your core incredibly fast, “Sebastian is four months old.”

“If we start trying now…” His fingers start dragging the fabric down over your ass and thighs, “We’ll have one by next Christmas.”

“We can’t go at it right here,” you scold but don’t try to stop him. Instead, you step out of your underwear as they pool around your feet. 

“I told you,” he reminds you, already sinking to his knees with a self-satisfied look on his face, “That I put on a movie. They won’t even hear you.”

You lean your ass against the counter and then dare to hook a leg over his shoulder whilst balancing on the other. One hand grips the edge of the counter and the other rests on top of his hair, fingers threading through it as you wait patiently for him to put his mouth on you. 

“This your present then?” You tease him, yanking to make him look up at you.

“I think we’re both getting too much out of it to call it your present,” he points out. His eyes go down to stare right between your thighs and you find yourself clenching around nothing as arousal threatens to drip down your thighs, “Joder (fuck), look at you. Can I have it now?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. Your teasing has ceased after hearing him swear from just watching your quivering pussy. You swallow thickly, a breath hitching in your throat as Javier’s hand slides up the back of the leg you are standing on until it rests on the back of your thigh. He squeezes and you hold your breath, “Please.” 

He looks up at you through his lashes, no mischief to be found but rather absolute worship, as he closes his mouth around you, velvety tongue sliding between your folds to lap at your clit. You tighten the grip on his hair as heat flows through your lower body, your mouth falling open in a soft gasp. 

“I can’t stand still,” you half-laugh whilst he eats you. Each pulse of your heart can be felt in your clit, which he sucks and laps at until you can’t breathe. He knows how to make you come so fast that blood drains from your head to your cunt and thighs and makes you keen.

“Then don’t, mi amor (my love),” he says matter-of-factly as he pulls back to breathe, hair a mess and chin shiny with your slick, “Fuck yourself onto me, Momma, I know you love that.”

You instantly curl your toes at the suggestion. Javier dives back in, lowers his head slightly to tease your slit with the tip of his filthy tongue. God, the way he can roll those Rs, calling you his love in his mother tongue, translates so well into this. Coming on his face from your own doing? Yes, that’s exactly what you want. 

Without thinking it over much more, you tighten the leg that you slung over Javier’s shoulder earlier around him. With a hand in his hair and the other one tightly around the edge of the kitchen table, you move until Javier’s tongue is sliding inside of you and his nose catches your clit. It sends pleasure rocking down your spine, your pulse spiking instantly as you start working yourself toward orgasm.

“Fuck,” you groan while moving on him, rolling your hips. Your balance is off like this but Javier slides the hand on your thigh up to splay his palm across your side. You lean your body’s weight into his hand and use the support to press harder into his nose, feeling the flutters of an orgasm approaching as the curve of it slides up and down your clit just as you would do it if you were touching yourself, “I’m gonna- ah, gonna come. Fuck, you make me come so hard! Ah–”

Javier makes a satisfied noise against you, stiffening his tongue to let you use it even more. You don’t even need to have him speaking, know that he would tell you to give it to me, and when you finally tip over the edge, you feel him pulling your hand from the kitchen table to entwine your fingers. 

“Fuck, Javi, fuckfuckfuck, baby, don’t stop,” you pant, squeezing his hand so hard that a fleeting thought makes you worry if you might break bone. You ride his tongue, his nose, and come so hard that you make him whimper as you pull at his hair. 

He doesn’t let you go when it dies down. Instead, he slowly rises from the floor and lifts you along with him due to your leg still being slung over his shoulder and back. His mouth doesn’t leave you, even when he falters briefly, as he settles you down on the counter. 

You want to scream but even a movie cannot drown out the noise building in your throat, so you cover your mouth with your free hand. Something besides you falls over, you knock your head into the kitchen cabinets and whereas Javier would’ve checked in on you, he eats your cunt so enthusiastically that you can feel your body wanting to come again.

The whine you let out is sinful with how much you struggle to muffle it. You reach for Javier’s hair but he catches your wrist and pins it down against the tabletop. When you try to reach for it again, this time with your other hand, he does the same until you can’t take the slightest bit of control. 

He makes you come again in less than a minute. It is earth-shattering, causing you to throw your head back and bump it into the cabinet once more. You thrash and cry, burning with pleasure as he hollows his cheeks from sucking your clit.

You start giggling from the dopamine, knowing it’s a better way to get out noise than crying for him. Your legs twitch as he devours the wetness you spill into his mouth.

Finally, he removes his mouth from your sticky mess of a cunt and kisses up under your loose t-shirt until you can’t see his face anymore. He smears your slick across your belly, resting his head just above your belly button, and chuckles. 

“You’re so,” you begin but you don’t know how to finish the sentence. He lets you move your hands again and you proceed to pet the top of his head through the fabric of your shirt.

“Sexy? Devoted? ¿Loco por ti (crazy about you)?” His breathing is uneven.

“I was going to call you a goof,” you correct him, lifting the shirt up to reveal him again. When he lifts his head to roll his eyes at you, you use the hem of your shirt to wipe his mouth and thus make him grimace. 

“What a mom-move,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

“I did mean it,” he adds, stretching and placing a palm on the counter on either side of your body, “I’ll cut down on work. I’ll be home more with you and the kids. Just until everything falls into place. We could get a babysitter.”

“Javi—“ 

“I think it could work,” he interrupts, “And if we want any more - kids, I mean - I feel like we should do it now and not wait.”

“Javi,” you reach up to cup his face gently. There’s no need for this conversation now, and there’s no doubt that you want to give him many more children if he wants. Technicalities can be discussed further down the road, and Inés is somewhat already counting for two kids so how should you not be able to handle a fourth? You kiss his lips, keeping your noses touching when you pull back again, “Just fuck me, baby. We can talk about it later.”

“Right,” he blinks his puppy eyes away.

You hungrily watch him pull his cock free from his boxers before stepping between your legs which you wrap around his waist, pulling him closer and moving yourself forward to the edge of the kitchen table. You are itching to feel him inside of you, your body feeling like it is missing something after going this long since you started to feel turned on. 

“Please,” you whine. 

“Relax,” he orders simply as he aligns his hips with yours. The sweet voice from before is gone and there’s no doubt that he’ll start speaking filth soon. You obey and go back to leaning against the cabinets, eyes half-lidded with lust as he runs the head of his cock through your folds in a way that has you whimpering with how sensitive you are.

When you get impatient, you reach down to guide the tip where you want it and shudder as he dips inside of you. He holds your gaze but as you want to look down at where the two of you are connected, he reaches for your chin with a shaky hand. You pant, eyes looking up as he forces your head up again. 

“That’s it,” he praises, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger while moving forward and pushing into you. Your brows furrow at the stretch of your sensitive cunt but you still manage to hold his gaze despite wanting to close your eyes, and it earns you another praise, “Good girl, thaaat’s it, you focus on me, focus right here.”

When you smile sweetly at his words, he starts moving inside of you. The first roll of his hips makes your mind go blank and your noises climb in pitch. He fucks you against the counter, broad hands sliding up the back of your thighs to rest against the small of your back. It’s relentless, it’s desperate and it’s incredibly hot.

You settle your hands on his biceps, holding on for dear life as he thrusts hard enough to make your touching skin smack with each movement. You look up at the ceiling briefly, wondering if the moans you are letting out can be heard by your kids because Javier’s cock is hitting something inside of you that makes you want to sob. 

“El ruido (the noise)— shit, d-don’t worry about it,” Javier notices your mind drifting to concern, and so he slows down slightly to catch your attention. He kisses your lips between each word and drinks each noise you make from your mouth, “You sound so beautiful for me, amor. Forget about them, they’re fine.”

You nod repeatedly, whining feeble okays when he goes back to the harder thrusts from before, making you grab at his muscles until it’s not enough anymore and you have to dig your nails into them. His harshness makes your full tits bounce underneath the t-shirt too, and you let them until you know what’s coming; the happy chemicals in your body provoke it so often this time around. 

You cover your breasts with your palms and squeeze until you feel your pussy flutter, somehow creating a direct line to your pulsing, untouched clit. You follow it up by tugging slightly on your nipples too, all the while you repeat Javier’s name as if to get his attention, as if to say it in prayer. His gaze drops and his eyes nearly roll back into his skull as you start soaking through your shirt with milk. 

“You filthy girl,” he growls, “Pull it up for me. Lemme see.”

“Fuck, I— I think I’m close,” you half-moan and half-giggle, yanking your t-shirt up and watching the steady trickle of your milk. The way that Javier watches makes your cunt want to pull him in further but you don’t think he can go any deeper, so instead you hold him tightly with your legs so he can only grind roughly into you. 

Your stomach flips as Javier’s expert tongue laps at a trail of milk. He sucks along the streak it has already made until he can close his lips, swollen from kisses, around your nipple. When he sucks, you almost cry for your maker and you swear that you can hear how much wetter you get. 

“Where was this for my cookies last night, huh, Momma?” He asks with milk-stained lips and a smirk, cock touching inside of you just how you want it. 

“You’re so - fuck, baby, I’m gonna come soon - you’re so gross,” your eyes close, your belly tightens and so you concentrate to get there, “What wouldn’t Santa think? Cookies and breast milk?”

Javier laughs genuinely at that and you moan at the feeling of him being inside of you whilst doing it. He shifts so that his hands end up flat against the counter, underneath your knees, and he can lean into you further, “Watch it. Maybe Santa’s a kinky fucker like your husband.”

“My husband,” you repeat as if it’s turning you on just to refer to him like that. Even after years.

“Fuck yes, I’m your husband. Wife,” Javier aims to kiss you hard but the strain on his body to make you come makes him press his lips to your jaw. He continues upwards, mouthing along your chin and cheek. He speaks with ragged breath into the corner of your open mouth.

“Listen to you,” he pants as you reel with pleasure, sweat collecting at his brow. He is concentrating too but he still manages to tease, “Who are you making those pretty noises for?”

“Para tí (for you),” you moan with furrowed eyebrows, “Sólo  para tí, Javi (only for you, Javi).”

“I know— fuck, I know, baby, oh fuck, I can feel you,” he gasps as you clench around him without warning. Everything snaps and then launches into overwhelming spasms that overtake your whole lower body, clenching and unclenching in waves of pleasure. You sob as you come a third time this morning, arms falling to the counter and thighs trembling as you ride it out.

Javier looks like he is in awe as he always does. His pace picks up to near his own peak, and he kisses your mouth before going down your chin, neck, and shoulder, “You’re going to be the death of me, mi amor. You and this pretty pussy… So good at taking my come and making me a Papá.”

You can only cry feebly as he drives his cock in and out of you. The sound sends him into a frenzy, and he makes you whimper at the feeling of him coming inside of your cunt. He twitches with oversensitivity and pulses with each spurt of his warm seed, his breath is shaky and his forehead is against yours. His skin is burning hot, flushing with the way that his heart is hammering in his chest as he contorts his face with a groan of pleasure. It goes on for a moment until he slumps, head falling to your shoulder instead. 

Javier chuckles against the damp and hot skin of your neck from dopamine, pressing a long open-mouthed kiss to it and glancing down at your chest that still heaves for breath. Your gray shirt still sits above your tits and it clings to your body from how it’s been soaked through by your milk. Javier reaches out to circle a flushed nipple with the pad of his thumb, causing your body to shiver. 

“Stop,” you moan through post-coital bliss, not able to do much but rest against the kitchen cabinets. It almost feels like you want to cry in his arms, “Too sensitive.”

Javier removes his hand, “Sorry, mi vida (my life). You okay?”

“Mejoramos cada vez, ¿no? (We get better each time, no?)” You smile lazily. 

He hums in response, agreeing. With his palms flat on the counter, he catches your mouth in a long kiss and you reach up to cup the back of his head. The hair there is sweaty, creating a patch on his shirt right around his neck. 

You want to drown in him, not letting him pull all the way back when he breaks the kiss for air. He rests his nose against your cheek and exhales deeply, “We can’t stay here forever. I gotta fucking sit down too.”

“I need to finish breakfast,” you mumble with your eyes closed as if you’re in the state of being able to do that.

“What you need is a shower,” Javier laughs, kissing the corner of your mouth. He sighs deeply as he stretches to his full height, stepping away from you to let you jump down, “I’ll finish up here. Disinfect the counter, maybe. Then I’ll shower after you.” 

You look at the clock on the kitchen wall before hopping down, “We have a little more than an hour.”

“Think we can manage,” he shrugs. 

You put on the underwear that Javier discarded you of earlier, snapping the elastic as you pull them up over your hips. Javier grins at you, not hiding the way that he is eyeing you up as he puts on his own underwear.

“Wash your hands too, yes?” You tease, leaving him in the kitchen to watch your ass when your back is turned.

“Yes, Mom,” he calls after you.

You try to ignore the feeling of come dripping into your panties as you walk up the stairs, grimacing to yourself and quickly throwing them in the wash along with your shirt when you get into the bathroom. 

The shower spray feels amazing against your skin but nothing feels as good as when you hear Javier talking to Sebastian further down the hall as he gets him out of bed. Even better when you hear him burst the door open to the kids’ playroom, Inés giggling and Lucas following behind as he makes a remark about them being up to something. 

“Who wants to help me and Sebastian make pancakes?” Javier asks. When you close your eyes, you can see Inés and Lucas’ hands shoot up and then you hurry to finish so you can join them as soon as possible. You’ve never given it any real thought but you find that you, too, are exactly where you’re supposed to be.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 13

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Michigan, October 31, 2019

“Hey, we’ve landed.” He said softly, leaning close to your face while nudging your side. “You can open your eyes now.”

You cracked one eye open to check if you were still alive and in one piece after that flying machine had shaken so much on the way from Los Angeles to here. You felt his body shift with a faint laugh. Once you were reassured of your mere safety, you opened the other eye. Finally, the plane had touched down, and you could let go of Noah’s arms, which you’d been clutching onto like a monkey on a branch.

Bad Omens had released their second album just a few months ago. Finding God Before God Finds Me was the perfect blend of everything they’d worked on while locked in the studio for nearly two years, experimenting with new paths until they achieved the final result. The band had crafted a set of tracks that combined melodic elements with heavy riffs. They managed to balance the sound, carving out their unique identity, and leaving behind the comparisons to other bands from their debut album.

Since its release, the critics’ reviews couldn’t have been more positive.

The band’s rapid growth since their debut, along with the approval of both old and new fans, secured them a spot at another festival. A gathering of bands celebrating Halloween and the famous Devil’s Night—a local tradition, as you’d researched online.

“That was awful. I never want to fly again in my life!” You grumbled, adjusting in your seat and crossing your arms. “I can’t believe anyone still has the energy after surviving that turbulence that almost killed us!”

“GOOD MORNING!” Folio shouted, standing on the seat behind you, his high-pitched yell shaking your eardrums. “BAD OMENS IS GONNA DESTROY DEVIL’S NIGHT, BABY!”

You and Noah exchanged a glance and simultaneously rolled your eyes.

“Of course, he’s happy. He snored through the whole damn flight!” Your tone threatened to turn sharp as you were still annoyed, but it softened as you threw the neck pillow you were using at your friend, a smile tugging at your lips. “Pipe down, will you?”

Folio tossed the pillow back, hitting you in the neck with the fluffy object. Your mouth opened as if that action were a direct invitation to war. Once again, you hurled it at his face. While all the normal adults were lined up to exit the plane, you two were playing as if you were at home.

In one of your attacks, the pillow hit Noah’s face. The way he grabbed it, slammed it onto the other seat to end the game, and turned his attention back to his phone was enough to tell you something was wrong. Folio pursed his lips and abandoned the battlefield, retreating to his seat like a well-behaved child after a scolding.

He’d decided it was better to bother someone else.

Maybe Matt.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, nibbling on your lower lip as you tucked your leg under yourself and leaned back into the seat.

“Look at this…” His voice was filled with indignation, and his eyebrows drew together. Noah shoved his phone into your hand, and you took it slowly, seeing a single post on the screen. It was the lineup announcement for the Halloween festival, and initially, you couldn’t spot anything wrong.

“Sorry, but what’s the issue?”

“Gerard said we’d be the headliners of the night, but Landon’s band’s name is bigger than ours.” His eyes narrowed, his expression tense. Noah’s lips thinned, and his perfectly sculpted nose flared slightly.

“And this is a problem for us?” You squinted, puzzled. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the time zone change, but you genuinely couldn’t grasp where he was going with this.

Noah had always been the first to say you were too critical of Gerard, seeing problems where none existed.

“It’s a problem for me when they use my band’s name to sell tickets but place us on the same level as an inferior band on the poster. In what world does Landon’s band, which has only one viral song, deserve to have their name above mine?” His tone hardened. “In the initial announcements, the festival didn’t even mention their name in the banners, and now, after tickets sold out quickly, a new band magically appears on the lineup?”

“I think you’re putting too much energy into an issue that’s not that deep.”

Noah laughed bitterly, slapping his thigh in disbelief and shaking his head. It wasn’t news that out of all the members, he’d developed a bit of an ego issue over the years. Sure, Bad Omens had more hit songs, more listeners, and were better known than Landon’s band. But from an outside perspective, his tirade honestly sounded identical to a case of inflated pride.

“Hey!” Tapping his arm lightly with your fingertips, you managed to grab his attention again. It broke your heart to see him upset, but the little pout he made, puffing out his cheeks, was unbearably cute.

Slowly, you leaned over him, resting your chin on your hands on his broad shoulder covered by his hoodie. Like a needy puppy, he tilted his head and accepted the string of kisses you planted along the warm, soft skin of his face.

“If the problem is the font size they used for our name on there, I’ll make a new poster where Bad Omens will be the biggest name of all, and the other bands will be so small you can barely read them. How’s that?” Your question came with raised eyebrows, and it was impossible not to smile when he gave in, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, trying to suppress a grin.

“The biggest of all?”

“Yep.” You followed up with another kiss on his cheek. “And you can stick it on your wall as a keepsake.”

Your fingertips traced a slow path from his neck to his face. Noah chuckled reflexively from the ticklish sensation and startled you when he suddenly turned around, pulling you into his arms and pinning you near the window. Hovering over the divider between the seats in an awkward position, he refused to let go.

With your faces close enough to share the same breath, you felt warmth bloom in your stomach again as his expression regained its usual light. Some days, peace seemed to bless you both like a divine gift, and seeing him radiant was enough to make your body react.

In a shamelessly unfair move, he attacked you with a flurry of quick, loud kisses all over your face, finally stopping at the tip of your nose and pressing his forehead against yours.

“Will I get your autograph on it?” he asked in a hushed tone, as if sharing a secret.

“Have I ever said no to you?” you whispered against his lips, which then brushed yours in a tender kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmured with a soft smile, grazing his nose against yours. Knowing him as well as you did, you could tell from his low tone that a slight emotion was laced in his voice. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Your life would definitely be a total bore,” you teased, watching his smile grow.

For a moment, it felt like you weren’t on a slow-disembarking plane but rather caught up in one of your silly, casual conversations in a park. The way he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear sent shivers through your skin, stirring your flesh and igniting your veins to pump furiously toward your heart in an almost unbearable rhythm.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t even remember what life was like without you,” he confessed, his bright eyes tinged with melancholy, and his brows knitted in a pained expression. “I caught myself thinking about it last night for no reason, and I couldn’t shake it. I know for sure that without you, I’d be nothing more than a breathing body, living on autopilot, just waiting for the next day. You’re part of me—you guide everything—and I’d never know how to do that without you. Without you, I wouldn’t even be Noah.”

Wrapping him in your arms didn’t feel like enough. You silently begged some divine force to merge the two of you into one at that moment, so overwhelming was your need to shield him from his fears. With the touch of your skin, you promised to always be there; with your lips on his, you vowed never to let anything tear apart what you had.

You found it equally terrifying to imagine life without him. You knew you’d be no more than a breathing body too. You wouldn’t be anything. You’d much rather self-destruct than endure being separated from the one thing that saved your life when even you didn’t believe in it.

He was as much yours as you were his, and nothing in heaven or hell could change that.

“I love you, little storm,” he whispered against your lips, his eyes still closed.

“I love you, my love,” you replied with a smile that always blossomed whenever those words left your lips.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe we’re running this late, and you two are making out on the plane instead of moving! Do I have to babysit you all the time?” Matt bellowed, smacking Noah’s back. You and Noah exchanged glances, rolling your eyes as you muttered something incomprehensible before standing up. “I don’t remember getting paid for this! Move it! Move it! Let’s go!”

The show was in full swing, adrenaline running high. You and Noah couldn’t have been more in sync with the audience, which was the largest you’d performed for to date. Everyone screamed, shouted lyrics, and responded well to the interactions.

It felt cliché to say, but you felt even more alive up there, as if the stage’s euphoria sustained you. Every break between songs to catch your breath and take a sip of water filled your lungs with air and gave you the energy to keep giving your best.

They deserved it.

You focused on keeping your tone steady during the penultimate song, gripping the microphone tightly with your eyes closed. It was impossible not to wear a smile every time you heard them finish the lyrics for you.

In a swift motion, you opened your eyes to keep moving across the stage, but something in the crowd caught your attention, freezing you in place. Your voice faltered, and the smile disappeared instantly as the drums continued to beat feverishly in the background. Amidst the sea of faces, you saw only one—his. It was as if the others were dimmed, and his presence was the only one reflecting the light.

Wearing a cap, dark sunglasses, and a turtleneck, he seemed to be trying to blend in. But you would recognize him anywhere, even in a crowd of millions, even if your vision was impaired. Your body reacted instinctively. Your hands grew cold and clammy, making it hard to grip the microphone, your right eyelid twitched faintly, and your jaw locked so tightly you feared your teeth might crack.

Snapping you out of your hypnotic state, Noah took over the rest of the song, his voice gradually becoming a distant noise as the walls seemed to close in around you. Dark and claustrophobic, you felt like you were swimming against the current when, in reality, you were in the middle of a whirlpool pulling you down by the legs. Slowly, your breathing grew erratic, and your heartbeat pounded in your ears at a frantic pace.

The microphone slipped from your trembling fingers, and with hurried steps, you left the stage behind without even checking if what you saw was a delusion or if he was truly there. It didn’t matter—this time, you had the choice to run, and you took it.

Panting, you gripped the sink tightly, splashing water on your neck as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Nothing seemed to calm the agony his presence in the same space caused—a mix of fear and despair that paralyzed your body. It didn’t matter how many years had passed or how far you had traveled; he still felt so alive in your skin that you could sense every memory as if it were yesterday.

The years hadn’t masked the torture of living in a body like yours. After being violated, it was never the same. No matter what you did to erase the traces of your former self—tattoos, surgeries, nothing could remove what was beneath your skin, coursing through your veins, lighting up every time something reminded you of him, no matter how small.

Your first reaction, after staring at your flushed, red reflection for what felt like an eternity, was to trigger an endless wave of vomiting into the cleaning bucket nearby. Everything in your stomach melted into a green liquid. The disgust was so overwhelming you kept inducing the next wave with your fingers until the acid from your stomach was the only taste on your lips.

You were desperate to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. The absence of release led you to lash out at yourself, scrubbing your mouth aggressively, scratching your face with the tips of your nails. The memories tangled, blurring the line between past and present. Both hurt so much you pressed your chest with all your might, your fingers clawing at your scalp, yanking your hair mercilessly. Low, hoarse screams tore from your throat.

You couldn’t make noise. You couldn’t forget this was your problem to bear.

After erasing the streaks of powder from the sink, you raised your face, breathing heavily as your heart pounded fiercely in your chest, heating the blood coursing through your veins. Slowly, you wiped the smudged makeup from the corners of your eyes and forced a smile, tucking your hair behind your ear. But your eyes remained sorrowful.

Pain.

Something hurt.

You just wanted to go home.

“Finally found you!” Noah said, placing his hands on his hips when he saw you leaving the bathroom. He was leaning against the couch in the dressing room, eating an apple. “What was that? Were you still feeling sick from the flight?”

From a distance, you observed him in silence. He didn’t seem angry about you leaving the stage or for being here. His bright eyes only showed concern, but the walls of your mind were compressed under such intense pressure that you wished he would disappear for a few seconds.

Before you realized it, Noah approached. In your peripheral vision, you saw him reaching out to touch your arm, but you sidestepped him, walking to the other side of the room.

"Okay, I got it!" He raised his hands with a smile, treating it like a joke, and something about that made you feel even worse. "We've got some people outside wanting to take pictures. Let's do a quick interview, and it’d be nice to talk to them on the way."

"What people?" You turned to him, stopping the massage on your neck. Noah narrowed his eyes slightly, analyzing the hesitation in your voice. "Where did they come from?"

"They’re fans who came to see us. I don’t think I can memorize every face..."

He could be among them. He could be among them.

Your mind repeated the thought as your hand moved from your neck to your hair. Your gaze fixed on a spot on the floor, and it was as if a projector replayed the scene in your head. He was there in the crowd, watching you, and now he wanted to pass himself off as one of your fans.

"I’ve told you before, I don’t like when you do that—you’ll hurt yourself." Noah startled you by gently pulling your fingers away from your hair at the back of your neck, where you had been tugging at it.

Carefully, he positioned himself beside you, lifting your chin with his finger. Softly, his hand wiped the dampness under your eyes, and you looked at him with something stuck in your throat, words failing to escape.

"Please, don’t make me go out there and take pictures with them," you whispered, clutching Noah’s torso so tightly your nails dug into his shirt. "Please, please, please... I don’t want to go."

Desperation and disorientation. Your eyes couldn’t settle on a single point, and your voice came in gasps as if you were running a marathon.

"Alright, but Gerard won’t let us leave without doing the interview. It’s part of the event coverage, and he thinks it’s important we talk to them." Noah explained, running his fingers over the top of your head as if the gesture might calm you. Something landed there—a kiss between your hair. He rested his chin on your head and sighed deeply. "Think you can handle it? Three or four questions, and then we’re free to go back to the hotel."

"Promise?" You asked, lifting your head after sniffing. Noah smiled and kissed the tip of your nose, resting his forehead gently against yours.

"I promise."

Facing yet another woman with dyed hair and fishnet tights. Interesting.

Since arriving at the makeshift studio where a camera and sound equipment sat on a table, the interviewer had only said a brief "hi" to you. You could tell she genuinely cared about the band, but that interest was entirely directed at one vocalist.

"This is Bad Omens’ first time as a headliner at a festival like this, and I wanted to know, what were your expectations, Noah?" The girl with the red-dyed hair and microphone in hand directed her sixth question to him. "Were they met?"

It wasn’t surprising anymore that they ignored the fact the band had five members, including two vocalists. Most interviews only requested one of you, and when the label forced you to accompany the poster boy, it was obvious you’d be overlooked.

To them, Noah was the centerpiece, and in their minds, everything Bad Omens had achieved was thanks to him alone. As if you and the other members were merely the crust of the pizza.

"I thought it was amazing!" He began. "From backstage, we could feel the energy of the crowd, and it got us pumped to get on stage. It’s the first time we’ve played for such a large audience, and I won’t lie—I was nervous."

"Do you usually have any specific preparation for that?"

"I like to take a few minutes alone to focus. I think it helps me stay grounded," he replied, and you rolled your eyes.

Playing with the microphone cord was already becoming tedious.

"We have to talk about the new album! It definitely has a different vibe from the last one, and people say you did that to put an end to online comparisons with another famous band. Is that true?"

He hated discussing it that way, and you noticed his discomfort as his smile faded slightly.

"It’s normal to compare—we were newcomers, and no one knew what the hell Bad Omens was." You jumped in, cutting Noah off before he could answer. "But this album truly shows who we are and what we’re here to do, putting an end to any comparisons by those who can’t tell the difference between styles. Without identity, we’re just another small-name band on a festival flyer, and we’re definitely not that kind of band."

Maybe you sounded arrogant. That’s what being around him does.

"That’s really cool!" She responded, nodding in agreement. "But Noah, how was the creative process for the softer songs, considering you guys weren’t used to that?"

It couldn’t just be your imagination, but something about her gaze said otherwise. Sure, you were used to being ignored in interviews as though you were a production assistant, but she not only directed all her questions to him but smiled sweetly and looked at him with a glimmer of fascination that made your chest throb.

All that irritation doubled as you gripped the microphone handle tightly, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Maybe your question would be answered if you directed it to the songwriter who worked on every soft track alongside Jolly." You interrupted again. "I don’t recall Noah announcing a solo career."

"Hey," he murmured, trying to calm you.

Of course, he didn’t want you to say anything. Something stroking his ego was still appealing, but you weren’t in the mood to play a supporting character today. You didn’t even want to be there, not when your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might consume your entire body.

"I’d really like to be seen as a vocalist in the band I’ve worked in for five years, and I’d appreciate it if you acknowledged me here to ask questions about the album I helped create instead of asking dumb questions to my pretty boyfriend!"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Noah chuckle softly, quickly composing himself. The interviewer shifted in her seat, trying to smile discreetly to mask the blush spreading across her cheeks.

"I’m sorry..."

"But I won’t be sorry next time when I rip your eyes out for focusing too much on someone else’s boyfriend instead of doing your job. Misogynistic bitch."

In a fit of anger, you stood up and hurled the microphone at her face before storming out like a furious thunderbolt. For the first time, something felt off as you marched back to the dressing room, hearing the girl say the cut on her brow was minor. You felt rage, discomfort, like being trapped in clothes far too large for your body.

For the first time, you started to hate all of it.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff

[ms-scarletwings]

Endearing through the Alien Lens: A Clue About the Primitive Irken?

I love literary xenobiology. I love it a whole lot, in fact. There’s a paradoxical line I dance across, between criticizing intelligent fictional aliens for their likeness to our species, and criticizing them for their unlikeness. It’s a pretentious and laughable dance between “Come on, the sky’s the limit, there’s no real reason for a bucket of different extraterrestrial races to just all be more flavors of quirky humanoids! Boring, show me something actually alien!!” and the yearn for the use of alien races as a funhouse mirror of mankind’s own evolution. I think the way Irkens nonchalantly dwell somewhere on that subjective tightrope is a good part of why I can’t seem to stop thinking about them.

They are inspired and yet creatively original. They are truly alien, and yet, they can still play foil to the bottomlessly decadent humanity that Vasquez’s Earth has set the stage for.

Before, in the very first brain dump I let loose about them, I noted a few of their parallels to the worst in Homo sapiens and the insects they resemble. This time, something is chewing on me that i haven’t seen another put into perspective. A something that seems contradictory to our collective view of the heartless, sexless, atomized conquerors that all of the cosmos will fear:

They… have parental instincts.

I didn’t necessarily say drives or wants; however, they undeniably havewhat seems to be an actual, instinctual “cuteness response”. Like us, like social pack animals which invest a great deal of resources and time into their young. Given that the closest thing that 100% of smeets born on the home world get to call a parental figure is a literal cold, unfeeling, automated machine, this seems kind of weird, doesn’t it? They’re not even born like mammals or nested like birds, they’re mass produced, like hived wasps or ants, miles beneath their actual society and out of the business of the adults. So, what the heck with them being written to be humanized with this baseless, arbitrary trait?

But, ah ah ah, nitpicker Scarlet, it’s not baseless. It’s only ✨vestigial✨

Y’all could probably make a good guess to what the cuteness response is and why it exists in Homo sapiens, but to sum up- it’s the phenomenon of when we see something we find “cute” and it makes us react to it in a protective, nurturing fashion- or also want to bite/squeeze things, weirdly, if it’s just too damn cute. Well, what do humans find cute? Things that resemble human infants, basically. It’s a biological reflex that makes us want to defend and provide care for our kind’s absurdly dependent and slow-developing young, rather than abandon them in the shrubbery like they’re just screamy, food-leeching paperweights.

“Pff, really? Well I must be special cause I don’t even LIKE babies. I think babies are icky gross, not cute! So, genetic instinct my ass!”

I hear you, sure, but what about… harp seals? Or koalas, or pandas and puppies and fawns and kittens? Or funny little cartoon blorbos? At bare minimum you’d have to be an alien yourself to feel nothing looking at photos of young hedgehogs

See, the fact that a lot of us may often find baby animals a great amount more endearing than even humans’ is not even in conflict with this understanding of cuteness.

The concept of the “baby schema” was formally proposed in 1943 by Konrad Lorenz, an Austrian ethologist. Fun fact is he was also the same researcher who originally observed and described imprinting behaviors, as seen in newly hatched waterfowl. Point is that his “Kindchenschema” idea grouped together a handful of infantile traits that make fireworks go off in the parts of your brain that wants to keep things alive and baby-talk to them. Included on the list were features like proportionally large heads, big eyes, round faces, short noses, etc. despite the name, the baby schema’s effect is something applied not to just actual babies, but children generally, and even in our reactions to non-human animals.

It’s the hypothesis behind both why we’ve jacked up the skulls of so many small dog breeds in the name of aesthetics and why we generally find the portraits on the left side of this image more appealing to look at than the ones on the right.

The consistency of these features across many species may also give some hint that they experience a similar phenonemon, especially given that these are traits shared among bird or mammalian offspring which require significant attention and protection to survive. And, it may also explain why this image likewise gives me a huge dose of that sweet, sweet response.

Awww, look at that lil’ mans! Look at his teeny noodle arms!! I just wanna pinch him like a marshmallow!

YOU are not immune to cuteness psychology, and neither are the proud Irken warriors. I’m going to cite Zim’s proclivity to what I can only describe as paternal bonding as a demonstration of this response, but before you go reminding me about his pak defects, it’s far from the only evidence that this is a natural Irken trait.

Check out little Timmy (importantly, the surrounding response to him), a hilariously out of place youngster who appeared briefly in the trial transcript for the sole purpose of a dark gag and to get us some lore revealed.

Take further note of the complimentary nature of smeets themselves.

Suddenly finding themselves alive, fresh Irken babies too, like the hatched gosling, begin to immediately seek an emotional attachment with the first animate thing they see. While mobile and fast learners, smeets are far from being able to truly fend for themselves. They’re tiny and naive and they need lots of mental enrichment/teaching. They also play and form something akin to friendships, much like human children. In the bygone era before Irkens were so reliant on Paks and all of the advanced technology of the modern empire, smeets would have been exceedingly vulnerable. All signs point to a phase in Irk’s natural history where they were once nurtured after by adults of their own kind, and commonly bonded with their caretakers. This could mean compact family units, or maybe even a communal raising situation, akin to penguin crèches (Personally I like to headcanon that the tallests/queens were traditionally the only breeding members of the population but that’s neither here or now). Either sense, the evolutionary remnants of a parental creature are still around.

Taking all that to note, instead of perceiving Zim as the bizarre outlier to the Irken condition when it comes to having this soft spot, I instead see him as an opportunity to see natural behaviors in action without the suppression of his militarized society and its distractions. Even someone as warped and selfish as he can be is still very, very full of love to give that he doesn’t even understand enough language to describe. He pretty clearly shows he has no cultural understanding or reference of cuteness, and still, he’s not so different in this “weakness” than the very humans he manipulated into fawning over Ultra Peepi. It just took an example his own sensibilities could relate to instead of an unfamiliar, repulsive alien rodent.

And when he’s given the rare circumstance to show that potential, well-

*(With the rough shape/size down, no nose, and huge, bug-like eyes, Li’l Meat man may actually be a great approximation of the key “smeet schema” features. More importantly, it was made to specifically resemble Zim himself)

- I feel that’s downright adorable.

[lightningboltreader]

Fics I'm Proud Of, a Trio

Dinner, Party of Three is the 1st little Tarlos baby I posted, after 4x6.

Carlos puts down the corkscrew and just stares. Maybe he should abandon dinner, carry TK to the bed and spend the night demonstrating how much he loves him.

All Up in Your Mind was my 1st multi-chapter, E-rated Tarlos. It's entirely too silly, but also smutty?

“Carlos?” he continues quietly, “I wasn’t exaggerating before. You are without a doubt the most beautiful person I have ever seen. In person, in magazines, on tv - it doesn’t matter.” He tilts his head. “You’re a vision. I still can’t believe I get you.

Finally, Love From the Other Side was my 1st real AU, angst w/a happy ending.

It’s not that TK hates Carlos Reyes. He just doesn’t need to see him again, doesn’t need to dredge up old feelings and force polite conversation when they inevitably run into each other at the most awkward time.

I'm obvs not much of a fiction writer so I didn’t select poignant passages, but I'm a happier fandom girlie when I participate more regularly. I should finish a WIP or two and post them too.

Thanks @chaotictarlos @lemonlyman-dotcom Npt: @birdclowns @catanisspicy @goodways @noxsoulmate @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @iboatedhere @sugdenlovesdingle

Rules: Post your favorite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

[nijigasakilove]

The fact this 6 month long journey comes to an end next week is breaking my heart. Idk what ima do without my babies 😔 going out with a bang though with a beach trip these last two eps! This is really a perfect capstone for the season because we see all the girls realise how much they care about Okumura and vie for his attention, but also Okumura starting to realise he needs to start seeing the girls as more than just their cosplays if he’s gonna take his photography to the next level.

Mikarin and Aria had the best moments today for me. I love all the girls so much, but I can’t choose a best girl. They’re all great. Aria making Okumura tear up because she’s the first person to really get him on a deeper level in terms of the trauma his mom leaving gave him was beautiful. I know the “no 3D girls” gimmick is funny, but it also makes a ton of sense. I mean if your own mother abandons you, why would you ever trust anyone not to again. Finding solace in 2D fictional characters who are permanent and unchanging is a natural escape. While people do change, it doesn’t make your experiences and time with them any less valuable, so hopefully his continued time spent with the girls will help Okumura realise that.

Mikarin 💔 .. always felt like she’s been done a little dirty in this story. Got introduced and stole our hearts then we kinda didn’t see her for like 8 episodes or so and now she’s back and still kinda getting overshadowed by the other girls. She always has such sweet moments like today when she stayed with Okumura the whole two hours he slept. “I’ve held out 10 years already” 😭 pure angel. Totally understandable why she broke down when Ririsa came in the room. It’s like she does everything to make herself more attractive to Okumura and he still has never looked at her the way he looks at Ririsa who he relatively just met.

She finally admitted to being in love with him now though so next week should be a spicy finale. I really hope we get a second season I’ve enjoyed every moment of this show.

[silentglassbreak]

Fragmented

Here’s a short part that I was able to get written prior to my relationship exploding on me. I wanted to put this out now, because it’s a completed thought. Hopefully I’ll be able to get the next one out sometime this weekend. It’s filler, but I liked it. No real plot development here.

Warnings: Very mild smut, and still got descriptions of vomiting (not as bad as the last part).

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86 @thisbicc @xx-like-a-villian-xx @diabolicdiatonics

Part 8 - Running Up That Hill

The first thing I noticed when my eyes cracked open was that the bed was empty. My arm stretched out long to her side of the bed, and a breath fell out of me.

Mileena and I had fallen asleep sometime around 10PM, another movie started. I turned to look at the clock on my nightstand, seeing it was about 5AM.

Something had woken me, but I wasn’t sure what. I noticed her jeans still folded neatly on the dresser, so I doubted she had left. Maybe I felt her get up?

I let my eyes fall closed again, but they shot open when I heard the sound of gagging from the bathroom.

Uh-oh.

I stood to my feet, noticing the now familiar ache in my back was more relaxed, and my stomach didn’t heave at becoming upright as it had the last two days. I silently praised the universe for it.

Making my way to the bathroom, I noticed the door was cracked, so I swung it open, leaning a shoulder against the frame.

“Leena?”

The sight in front of me was just short of pathetic, and my heart pulled as I saw her, knees tucked underneath her, sweat built on her brow bone, body arched over the toilet, spitting the last of the vomit out of her mouth.

She held a finger up at me. “Not a fucking word.”

I smirked, smug.

I’ll be fine. I’m not worried about getting sick.

“I’ll go get the Zofran.”

“Yeah, she’s got it.” I shrugged into the phone.

“Ugh, I warned her to just let you suffer through it alone.” Laura’s voice was annoyed.

“I’m sorry?” I snorted. “Look, I’m feeling pretty good now. If you want to drop Addie off, I’m sure I can handle her while helping Leena get back into good health.”

“And risk my sweet precious angel baby getting the virus? Absolutely not.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know, we are her parents.”

Laura scoffed. “And I am her Godmother. Me and Nick are taking her to the aquarium. We can handle her one more day. But I will have to drop her off Tuesday morning. I have to get back to work.”

I shrugged. “Can we at least FaceTime with her later? She’s going to think we abandoned her.”

“Yes. You can. Just don’t float your germs through cyberspace. Keep that shit away from us.”

I chuckled before hanging up, bounding back up the stairs.

“Babe?” I walked back in the room, armed with water and nausea meds, but what I found made me soften a moment.

Mileena was curled up on the bathroom floor, head resting on a folded towel, eyes closed and shivering.

“Oh, baby.” I set down the items in my hand on the bathroom counter and walked over to her.

She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m done.” Her words were muddied together and whiny.

“Well, we’ll bring the can in bed. You can’t lay on the floor, that’s gross.”

She groaned. “I’m gross.” A cry came out of her and her big brown eyes peered up at me, full of despair. “I puked in my hair!”

I couldn’t help it, I let out a hard laugh at that. Her eyes narrowed,

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m dying!”

This only made me laugh harder as I put a hand under her head and lifted her from the rug, forcing her to stand,

“Then let’s get you cleaned up and laid to rest, yeah?”

She just nodded, a pout on her lips.

I pulled at the hem of Leena’s tank top, her arms lifting while I pulled it over her head. I reached an arm around her back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall.

Taking in a sharp breath, I noticed the goosebumps rising on her breasts, her nipples hard from the feverish virus running through her. I tried to maintain my respect while I pulled her pants and underwear down at once, noticing the tuft of hair between her legs.

I was definitely feeling better.

In an attempt to distract myself, I turned and flipped the shower on, turning it to warm.

“You want help?”

She looked so small. Nodding at me, she stepped a foot in the shower, hissing when the water touched her skin. Wasting no time, I slipped my own clothes off, and stepped under the warm spray. Her eyes were closed as she balled herself up in the corner, avoiding the sensation.

I reached a hand for her, pulling her arm to bring her under the water, making her lean her head back so the warmth could cover her head and scalp.

“Mm,” She let her eyes close, leaning into me for as much warmth as she could get.

Respect, Noah. Be respectful.

My dick apparently had none, as I felt it growing against her, so I shifted my hips to relieve the contact.

A dark, raspy laugh came out of her mouth. “If only we weren’t so sick, huh?”

I squeezed some shampoo into my hand, reaching behind her to lather her hair. “Yeah, if only.”

My fingers massaged her scalp, and worked the soap into the ends of her hair, leaving no evidence of throw up behind. She pressed her head into my chest as I maneuvered her under the water to rinse.

Making quick work of washing her, not dwelling on the parts of her body I ached to touch, I turned the water off and grabbed the hanging towel, wrapping it around her.

“Give me a sec.” I had to step onto the rug, grabbing another towel from the underneath of the sink, and wrapped myself.

When I opened the curtain, Leena had a look on her face that startled me. Her mouth was held tightly shut before she stepped out of the shower hastily, leaning back over the bowl and beginning to vomit again. I slumped forward, catching her hair before it landed in the line of fire.

It was going to be a long day.

-

Three Zofran, two water bottles, five movies, and one sleeve of Saltines later, I was laid on the couch, Mileena dead weight on top of me, while I finished the last half of The Exorcist, munching on a piece of toast I had made several hours earlier. Her breath was soft, brushing across my face as she slept. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but I would rather die than disturb her.

Her waist was laid over my right hip, her chest pressed against my stomach. One arm was tucked underneath her head, and the other fallen off of the edge of the couch. She had one leg on either side of my right, and I had the large blanket draped over us both. I was wearing my boxers and a t-shirt only, while she was in my newest Omens merch shirt, and also a pair of my boxers.

The hand that I wasn't balancing the slice of bread in was holding her to me, weighted comfort helping her sleep off the stomach flu that had gripped us both.

I had been feeling better today, no puking spells or fever, just taking it easy on my stomach and staying hydrated. Mileena's fever had broken a few hours ago after the last time she puked. She said she didn't have body aches so bad after the shower, and she was hoping she had a lesser version of my illness. I hoped so too; I hated seeing her so miserable.

I set the crust of my toast on the plate, using my now free hand to lift her fallen arm and tuck it into my side, nuzzling the top of her head with my nose, relishing that she smelled like my shampoo. Once again, I was taking all I could get.

I felt her stir, so I stilled, fearing I would wake her.

"Mmm." She hummed, and I wasn't sure if she was still asleep or not. One of her knees bent up, adjusting.

I took the opportunity to shift my hips into a slightly more comfortable position. My body froze, however, when I felt her body rut against my leg, her crotch grinding hard into my thigh. My hands lifted off of her, eyes blown wide.

She was just adjusting...right?

I stayed stone still, fearing I would misconstrue the situation further.

That is, until she gasped hard, pressing herself into me again.

Oh my fucking God.

She was sleeping, eyes still closed, lids fluttering gently.

"Noah." The word came out as a breath, so low that had I not been laying underneath her, I was sure I wouldn't have heard it.

My brain scrambled, racing and stuttering all at the same time, my own arousal growing between my legs. Fucking hell, this girl was going to actually fucking kill me.

"Hmm." She wined, now picking up a rhythm against my leg, fingers now digging into my side. For fear that she was going to throw herself onto the floor with her movements, my arms came back down, locking her into place.

It was wrong, and I knew that, but Jesus fucking Christ if this wasn't the sexiest fucking thing I had ever witnessed, I was insane.

"Noah..." The words drew out slow off her lips, her face turning slightly to breathe into my shirt.

She was going at it hard now, grinding onto the skin of my thigh, the center of the boxers she wore growing more and more damp as the seconds passed.

I swallowed hard, losing my fucking mind at what I decided to do. "I'm here, baby." My voice whispered low into her ear, not wanting to pull her from her dream.

"Mm, fuck." Her breathing was so rough, her voice hoarse.

"That's it, Princess." I urged her through it, listening to her soft whimpers, my cock twitching with each of her thrusts. "I've got you."

Her mouth was open, panting like a dog against me.

"Ugh, I'm-" Her words cut off, fingers gripping my shirt hard enough to rip.

"Come for me, baby."

I heard a short cry, followed by a long, satisfied sigh before the skin of my leg was drenched in her climax.

I groaned quietly, my dick begging for friction, which I couldn't grant.

It was bad enough I talked her through a sex dream without her knowing, but to then touch myself while she was still asleep? How much of a creep was I trying to be?

Instead, I pulled her closer, snuggling back down under the blanket.

[givesuethemoon]

how long have you been writing fanfic? are there any other fandoms you write for? ~from a lover of your work❤️

I say it a lot but when I say “I grew up here” I genuinely mean it. I would consider myself a reader first before a writer, so I’ll tell you a bit about that.

This may be a dubious thing to admit but I started reading Larry fic young, like really young. I think I was 12/13 when I read my first fic? The consequences of being given unrestricted internet access at an early age, lol.

As a huge reader (my aunt says I never went anywhere without a book) I remember fic feeling so limitless and wonderful because it was about these two people I really loved. Once in the seventh grade I got my Kindle taken away so I printed out an entire fic to bring to school for in-class reading time 😭 I don’t remember which one, but I’m pretty sure it was footballer!louis. My crush asked if he could read a chapter and I let him.

Okay, looking back, I probably would like to have not started reading fic at such a young age, but at the same time, that experience built so much of my writing foundation. I’m not being disingenuous when I say larries taught me how to write. I’m getting a little emotional even typing this! I think about that early community of larries, the ones who wrote the most beautifully characterized, thoughtful, engaging fics and just feel so grateful. Poring over those stories day-by-day played a huge part in my own storytelling capabilities. It’s the reason why I’ll never say a bad word about this fandom. Larries in the 2010s built this place brick by brick, they gave us a space to feel free in who we are, and they set a precedent for the quality of the fiction written here! I think anyone writing today should have that in mind. Despite the fact that it’s RPF, which is largely looked down upon in most other Internet spaces, we’re given the ability to freely express and communicate our love.

Anyway, in high school I got a little pretentious and stopped reading fic. I was taking creative writing classes and thought I would be the next Lispector. But a few years later, the pandemic hit, I stumbled upon (Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites, and I fell in love again.

With nothing better to do, I was inspired to start writing Larry fic at last, 6 years after I first discovered it. This is such funny timing because the fic I started writing (which I know a veeery small number of you remember) was a CEO nepo baby Harry fic I eventually orphaned. I didn’t realize the way everything had circled back until after I published WCTS! Life is kinda silly like that.

So, yeah, I abandoned that fic and got really focused on college apps. And then I got into college and fumbled around and changed my major and realized nothing matters to me as much as writing. So I started writing more regularly, with more intent, in 2022 with the start of the canon series.

I don’t write for any other fandoms and I can’t imagine myself ever doing so. The main reason is, again, I grew up here, and at this point if I’m done with One Direction I’d probably just be finished with fandom altogether. I often find myself restricted when writing fic so I do anticipate moving on at some point. But I don’t know when. I’m far too attached.

These long-winded answers I’ve been giving you guys lately must be so tiresome I’m sorry!! But honestly I think it’s quite fun. Hahaha love u too

[bohemian-nights]

It will forever irk me how some people blame Laena for Daemon’s “unhappiness” in Pentos. Let’s be for real here, it was COMPLETELY his fault why they were still in Pentos. I doubt Laena would have denied Daemon the idea of returning to Westeros; she was the one who wanted to go back to driftmark in the first place. Any unhappiness Daemon had was his own fault and no one but him can be blamed (maybe viserys too but that’s another thing). Everyone who is like “poor baby, he was just longing for Rhaenyra…” blah, blah, blah - just makes me sooo heated!! Laena was right there, they need to stop acting as if she was just this means to an end. I know she’s a fictional character but it still angers me to see how minimalized she is by the fandom (especially when they race-bent her and changed the important relationships in her life - that’s one of the reasons why I say that the book is the only canon canon universe, not the show). The racism this fandom has is so crystal clear, but then everyone is all “stop making it about race”, like that’s exactly what you are doing 😭 why can’t I be upset about it?? I doubt anyone would act the way they do if Laena was white and it hurts to even admit that!

No one should sympathize with daemon in ep6, he was being a shitty person and incredibly selfish, in my opinion. (I know you love him and I’m sorry to bash him, but I know you also see his faults unlike a lot of other Daemon stans, so I hope you can understand me on this). Laena was more patient and forgiving than she should have been, I would’ve liked her to call him out instead of whatever bullshit the writers decided on. Laena was not a shy or docile person, she was brave and fierce, that’s literally canon, and the writers shouldn’t have excluded that.

And don’t even get me started on how icky this deleted script makes me feel: https://www.tumblr.com/darksvster/744315340102762496/excerpts-from-the-house-of-the-dragon . “I loved him well.” But then when Rhaenyra asks Daemon if he loved Laena, THE NIGHT OF HER FUNERAL, he says “we were happy enough.” Shut the fuck up, Daemon! 🙄

I don’t personally think Laena and Daemon’s entire marriage (in the show) was an unhappy one, but it was in such poor taste that they made their scenes the way they did in show ‘canon.’ Laena did not deserve to be shown as unhappy, certainly not right before she died. I’ll never stop saying that she deserved better because she really really did. And that’s another reason why I’m writing my fix-it fanfic for her. I just want her to be happy in the end 🫠

Thank you for reading this incredibly messy rant. I hope you don’t hate me for this lmao.

That’s nothing, but cope cause these walking napkins once again forgot about chokegate.

By their own logic Daemon must have been on the verge of jumping off a cliff with Rhaenyra cause no matter how miserable he was with Laena he never laid a hand on her or abandoned her when she was giving birth to their children🙃

He’s literally always 0.2 seconds from sending Missy Anne to join Gollum. If he truly was longing for her like that he wouldn’t even think of laying a hand on her.

Lol, jokes aside, no way he was completely miserable with Laena and she definitely didn’t make him miserable. If anything she calmed his psycho ass down. The man wasn’t miserable because of her(he was just missing the walking corpse he called a brother). That was the most stable time in his life. Which isn’t saying much, but it is what is even if they don’t want to admit that.

You know what he would’ve done if he was actually miserable, wanted Missy Anne, or wanted out of his marriage? He would’ve broken out the good old divorce rock🪨

We are talking about a man who does what he wants with no impunity. He has no qualms about killing family or abusing/murdering his wives.

He could’ve easily killed Laena(especially while she was in labor), but he didn’t do that. He wanted to be with Laena(which is why he married her even though Miss Maegor was begging him to choose her back in episode 5). For all intents and purposes he was content with the means to an end.

Yeah they are all fictional, but these are people are blending real life with fiction cause it’s clear that the main reason why they keep saying this crap is because Laena was made Blackish. These Karen’s refuse to relate to Black(ish) woman on any level so they now are hyping up their titanic ship because Missy Anne is white and blonde.

Real talk, I don’t even think most of them actually care about Missy Anne as a character. She’s just a mascot cause they want to ride Daemon’s dick(no judgements cause Miss Maegor is lame, and Daemon is hot, but they need to be honest about it. I’d never ship something where my fave is being beaten upside her head by her man).

Now Daemon and Laena’s marriage was far far far from perfect in the show. He was not the best husband to her. She definitely deserved better than what he gave her, but they really are trying it when he keeps going Ike Turner on their self insert.

Yes, Laena dies and she’s a minor character, but she does have an impact on the story and on Daemon’s arc. They won’t admit that though because they actively trying to limit her impact.

(See how they keep trying to associate her girls with Daemon as Miss Maegor’s daughters cause the queen of flops gave birth to a lizard instead of a daughter “who looks like” Daemon to replace the half-breeds).

And even though they took away her fire in the show and made her into some poor helpless unloved woman(aka a stereotype), she still made an impact because if she was truly a bump in the road they would’ve stopped talking about her as soon as she offed herself.

The bar is in hell yes, but they need to recognize where they stand.

Honestly this whole discourse is once again pathetic and riddled with Casper the unfriendly ghost sociopaths being butthurt that their ship is pathetic.

They have to use headcanons to prop it up cause the books make it clear Laena was Daemon’s most beloved wife and Valyrian Karen was abandoned for Nettles(let’s not get into that cause she sends the methheads into a rage) while the show has him beating their self insert black and blue.

No one is trying to make this about race, but when you have people calling fictional characters the n-word, comparing them to monkeys, saying it’s okay to cut a Black character because there are too many Black people on the show, saying that it’s a shame Daemon doesn’t have any daughters he can relate to cause the ones he has aren’t white, and saying that it’s a determintal character trait to have Daemon sleep with Black women, well how else are we supposed to view it?

This doesn’t even cover half the demented crap they’ve said and we aren’t even getting into how they start gang stalking you, and trying to gaslight you into believing their lies, when you call them out on the bullshit.

Someone who isn’t racist would say those things. You can dislike a character or characters, but when you base your hate on racism, well congratulations! You’re a racist!

It’s so frustrating dealing with this fandom because any time you point out the obvious misogynoir you become the bad guy, the hater, the bitch, whatever. People only like you when you don’t rock the boat(aka don’t say anything about this because you’re bringing down the vibes), but how are you supposed to turn the other cheek when you see that?

The moment Laena became Black she became worthless to this fandom and the showrunners, to the point where they are only comfortable with her fitting into a stereotype.

Well now we are both ranting so I think we are even 🤣 I do love Daemon, but I love to drag him when he does wrong(I love my girls more than him so he’s in the doghouse. Book!Daemon would be ashamed of show!Daemon). Thank God fanfiction exists(and the books). Can’t wait to read yours. I’ll be updating mines this weekend)🙌🏽

[popbloganddropit]

The Tortured Poets Department - Taylor Swift (Part 1)

I’ll be posting 8 songs at a time to break this lengthy album up a bit.

Initial thoughts: She’s raw and unfiltered in a way she hasn’t been before.

But Daddy I Love Him and Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me are the immediate insane stand outs

The Black Dog? 🤮 CoSoSoM? 🫨 how did it end? Drag meeee for being nosy.

1. Fortnight (feat. Post Malone)- This is a very interesting introductory track/lead single. There’s some blending of (as far as we know) truth and fiction, which i think stays throughout the album. However, there’s not a ton for me lyrically or sonically for me to connect to here. The missing rhyme scheme in the first lines is distracting. I would have liked a little more Post Malone overall and a bit more duetting. I’m sure there’s some symbolism in their voices rarely overlapping in meaningful ways, but the hints of it we get sound good, and I want MORE. 3/5

Best Line: “All my mornings are Mondays stuck in an endless February. I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary.”

2. The Tortured Poets Department- I like the sound of this, the melodies, most of the cheeky humor (“I think things I never say, like ‘Who uses typewriters anyway?’”), but the Charlie Puth and Golden Retriever lines really ruin it for me. They totally take me out of the vibe and are distractingly out of pocket. 2/5

Best Line: I like the “I’ve seen/read” lines in the pre-chorus, but the unhinged-ness of putting something as raw and exposed as, “But you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave. And I had said that to Jack about you, so I felt seen” in a public space really sets the tone of the album.

3. My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys- I love her echo-y, layered vocals. Her cadence sounds like war drums that really fits the toy soldier metaphor. I think some slight production tweaks would have really taken it over the top. The vocals sound so cool, but there’s still room for a little more than a thwacking drum machine and a hint of sparkly synth. 3/5

Best Line: I love “I’m queen of sandcastles he destroys”. Runner up goes to “‘Cause you should’ve seen him when he first ✨saw✨me”.

4. Down Bad- I love the alien abduction theme and the trippy production to match. The dichotomy of the space-y verses and daily-life drudgery of the chorus works on a metaphoric and Down bad crying at the gym? The self awareness to call it teenage petulance before just saying “fuck it”? People not getting that Miss Swift is sometimes jealous king around and doesn’t take herself seriously 100% off the time will never make sense to me. 4/5

Best Line: “Did you really beam me up, in a cloud of sparkling dust?”

5. So Long, London- once the beat comes in, we’re off to the races and you can’t quite catch your breath through this whole song, especially with the gut-punching lyrics. A beautiful arrangement from Aaron Dessner here that effortlessly carries the weight of anger and heartbreak. 5/5

Best line: “And you say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it, my white knuckle dying grip.”

6. But Daddy, I Love Him- I love everything about this song. It sounds like a sunny, summer day. Maybe the narrator is a little delusional, but whomst amongst us hasn’t been? The bridge telling people off a bit is a great moment for her. “I’ll tell you something about my good name, it’s mine alone to disgrace,” feels like something she’s needed to say for a while. 5/5

Best line: there’s a lot of great moments, but, “I’m having his baby. No, I’m not, but you should see your faces” is such a hilarious double-take moment upon first listen that it has to take the crown.

7. Fresh Out the Slammer- I have seen the steaming numbers and y’all are SLEEPING on this track! It’s sad, it’s wistful, it’s a little sexy, it’s everything. I love the rolling cadence of the verses and the slower, haunting choruses. The decelerating outro is perfection. 5/5

Best line: “Now, pretty baby, I'm running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to”.

8. Florida!!! (Ft. Florence and the Machine) - Florida has committed various atrocities on the people of the United States of America, but this is absolutely not one of them. A song of escapism, ghosts, and a banging drum chorus that earns those three exclamation points. Hurricane Florence is a beautiful addition to the track and it wouldn’t sound out of place on an album of hers either. Every line of this is an earworm that you’ll catch h yourself singing over and over again. Fuck me up, Florida (!!!), indeed. 5/5

Best Line: “Barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine. Well me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.”

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #155

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

A cold wind blew on an uninhabited car-clogged street. Leaves piled up against the side of an abandoned minivan whose hazard lights still flashed, days later. It was the apocalypse, and Madison needed to charge her phone.

The battery was entirely dead from doom scrolling, and she knew her mother must be worried sick. So she went from door to door, knocking, charging cable and brick in hand. Nobody seemed to be answering.

She arrived at the front porch of 155 Gopher Avenue and knocked on the front door. Once again, it sounded like no one was home. She sighed, pulled her cardigan over her chest, and began to walk away, but stopped short as a crashing noise came from inside.

The door opened, creaking, and standing in the doorway was a tall man, hunched over a bit, with pale skin and a vacant expression. He stared at her and drooled.

“Oh, hello sir! I was wondering if it would be okay if I plugged my phone in for just a few minutes so I can call my mom?”

“Errraaugh?” He asked.

“It’s got fast charging so I can be out of your hair in ten minutes.”

“Ourrgh.”

“Thank you so much!” She brushed past him and made her way to the nearest outlet. “What’s your name?”

“Aurrghhhun.”

“Oren? Thank you so much for the help, Oren. My name is Madison.”

Oren shambled over to the couch and collapsed onto it as Madison perched her phone atop the power brick. Already it was at five percent.

“I’m not from around here. I came to visit the university to see if I want to go here, and I got stranded when the train lost power. I’m just gonna call my mom and see if she can pick me up.”

“Brrraaaaainns?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty smart, I guess. I have a 3.6 GPA. But I’m a little bummed out because I didn’t make it into my dream school.”

“Urgh?”

“Yale.” She checked the charge on her phone. Ten percent. She held down the power button. “But it’s like, whatever. I didn’t want to go so far away from home anyway.”

Oren’s stomach grumbled. He took a bite of the couch and chewed it like a cow chews grass.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to eat that…”

“Grrrraugh!”

“You’re right, sorry, it’s your couch and you get to decide what to do with it.”

“Graughgh.”

Her phone came to life and she tapped her mom’s contact. The phone rang. Madison smiled at Oren, who had memory foam bits running down his chin.

The ringing stopped. “Madison? Madison! My poor baby! Are you okay?!?”

Madison chuckled. “I’m fine, Mom. This nice man let me charge my phone at his house. Can you come get me?”

The sound of a shotgun blast reverberated through the phone. “I’m a little busy at the moment, dear. And my car is blocked into the driveway.”

“Dennis parked his car in front of our driveway again?”

“Yea, but I can’t ask him to move it this time.”

“Why not?”

“I just shot him.”

“Geez, Mom…” Madison scratched her head. “Doesn’t that seem kinda harsh?”

Distant from the microphone, Mom screamed out, “Oh shit! He’s still alive!” and fired off two pistol shots. She picked the phone back up. “Listen, I’ll see if I can find his keys and move the car myself, okay? Get somewhere safe and we’ll figure out a way to get you home.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you!”

“I love you too, honey.” The call ended.

“Ruaaagh!” Oren pouted.

“I know, it’s been ten minutes already. But can I just have a little more time to get up to eighty percent? It’s only seventy right now.”

Oren let out a deep, guttural groan and slumped into a groove in the couch cushion.

“How about I make you breakfast as a thank-you?”

“Reh.”

To be concluded in Brain Curd 157 on Wednesday. Don't miss it!

[prodigal-explorer]

YESSSS I HAVE SO MANY

alphys from undertale. shes such a unique character and i’m obsessed with not only her growth, but the way she navigates the world, her guilt and her shame mixed with her strong desire to help others around her. the way she’s constantly battling severe social anxiety because she’s determined to use her gifts to make the world a better place, but she has a bit of a dark side because she’s willing to lie and cheat to get where she wants to go. but sometimes, things just go too far, and she loses control over the things she does. it’s so tragic and she’s just so fucking interesting. also she was the first openly gay character i’ve ever interacted with in my life and she’s the one who introduced me to the lgbtq+ community so uh thanks girl! for being the reason why i know i’m gay!

aubrey from omori. idk why the fuck y’all be hating on her cuz she’s the realest character in the whole damn game. she has such strong core values and she never backs down from them, even when they hurt her or put her in danger. aubrey would rather be hurt and true to herself than perfectly safe and a traitor to herself or others. she comes off as so strong and sure of herself but she’s just a little girl who was abandoned multiple times throughout her life, desperate for someone to just BE REAL with her. her life was ruined by what the two main male characters that get all the attention from the fandom did. she lost the one person who truly understood her. and everybody around her had a support system but she had none. she acted out of desperation, she wasn’t a bully like a lot of people like to say. i’m not saying she’s perfect (lowkey i am tho cuz fictional men get free passes all the time so i think she deserves one too) but everything she did was completely justified by the heartbreaking fact that she was ALONE. all alone. she’s my blorbo and i’m holding her in my arms. stop fucking attacking her and then defending those two guy main characters and calling them uwu baby gay boys AUBREY DESERVES SOME OF THAT TREATMENT CUZ SHES THE ACTUAL VICTIM HERE. but y’all won’t give it to her cuz she’s a fucking girl.

mari from omori. WE ARE BACK WITH MORE OMORI WOMEN CUZ THEY CANNOT CATCH A BREAK WITY YALL TOXIC BITCHES. first of all let’s get this out of the way she didn’t fucking abuse sunny. y’all just made that the fuck up because you can’t handle the idea of women being innocent victims who did nothing to earn their tragic ends. it ruins the whole fucking point of the game if she abused sunny. okay now that that’s out of the way MARI IS AN ANGEL. she’s such a beautiful character, the way she’s so fiesty but also so gentle and sweet. she cares so much about other people, and she just is so fun-loving. she goes out of her way to make life SPECIAL and meaningful. everywhere there’s beauty in the world, mari sees it. shes my blorbo too she’s so precious and wonderful and she deserves everything. and she’s not just an amazing big sister or an amazing girlfriend. she’s an amazing PERSON. she’s so beautiful and she spreads so much light in every room she walks in she MEANS SO MUCH TO ME.

nao egokoro from your turn to die. she is deadass the best character in the entire game and it’s CRIMINAL that she doesn’t get the attention she deserves. and don’t be telling me that it’s because she died early on cuz JOU DID TOO AND YALL HAVE NO PROBLEM GIVING HIM ATTENTION. anyway, her growth is AMAZING. her journey is beautiful and engaging and i am obsessed with the way she eventually started to find herself in her adulthood and discovers the strong, capable, amazing woman she had always been. she cares so much about her friends, sara and reko, and she works so hard to repay them for all the times they helped her. she tries to shoulder burdens so that sara doesn’t need to. she’s so protective over the people she loves, not letting people badmouth them. and she’s just SO PRECIOUS. a beautiful painter who’s so emotional that she sees the whole world in the most vibrant colors.

sara chidouin from your turn to die. idk why she gets so much hate (oh wait i do know. she’s a GIRL.) cuz she’s actually the perfect main character and i haven’t encountered a more perfect main character since link from legend of zelda. sara is so uniquely designed to the point where she’s completely iconic. she’s the perfect balance of self-insertable main character and individual with a personality and life of her own outside the whims of the player. her personality is so interesting too! she’s reliable and trustworthy and has an insurmountable charisma, which is typically a trait that’s given to male characters but sara wears it so well. she’s such an amazing main character and she’s definitely one of the biggest reasons why i think the game is so successful. and she’s just COOL AS FUCK.

all this to say: FICTIONAL WOMEN ON TOP. yeah i get it you guys want uwu little baby gay boys blah blah whatever but DO NOT DRAG WOMEN JUST SO MEN CAN BE ON TOP. we get enough of that irl so leave my baby girls alone please and thank you.

favorite character from any media BUT it has to be a woman. in the tags now go (pls talk to me about your favorite fictional women pls pls pls pls)

[vitos-ordination-song]

Two of my novels have pretty comforting endings. One of them has a horrible ending when seen from a certain light, though I don’t really feel it that way myself. It’s about the main character escaping and transcending through death. Not too sad in my view.

However I’ve had this sense that I want to make a really cynical, miserable story. I don’t know if I’ll do it. There seems to be some part of me that likes to include at least a glimmer of hope. Either way, the themes I’d like to explore are modernity, divorce/bad relationships, and isolation.

A less depressing but still sad story arc I could pursue would be this sense of like… losing everything. Becoming completely adrift and totally totally abandoned. Ending up in the worst possible position. But still coming to peace with it.

As I’ve been reflecting on where I’ve come to in life, I can still see ways in which I’ve grown through everything that’s gone wrong. As much as I like to feel sorry for myself, there’s always a little corner of me sneering at that self-pitying, self-victimizing, innocent act. Capturing that dynamic is something I’d be interested to do. As I’ve gotten older I’ve at least gotten a bit tougher and less self-centered. I can’t play the baby game the way I used to. I also find it easier to remind myself that I don’t suffer uniquely; I find it less acceptable to demand that the universe give me special treatment. It’s easier for me to say, even I never experience love, at least I know it exists, and that’s enough. A thing does not have to be “mine” in order for it to be real and important. I don’t think that’s explored all that much in fiction, because stories are so often about relationships, or because they either end “happily” (with the character ensconced in love) or “tragically” (with the character destroyed by lack of love). I’d like to explore, how do you live in the absence of love? How do you hold on to the knowledge of love when you don’t “have” it? There’s religious aspects to these questions too…

Of course I’ll also write about misery and degradation of the spirit ‘cause I’m also getting worse in many ways and so is the world around me ☠️