#i still need a name for that au. idk what though

[swiftviolets]

playing my au save and im sorry to say it but lori would probably unfaithful however it would only be with one person and it would be marco. i dont think it would be physical (because i think maybe marco would be respectful enough) but more emotional. lori still feels she owes something to him but she is unsure what exactly. after she got married to andy marco had kept his distance because lori had asked but had still kept tabs on her to make sure was okay and that she was safe. obviously after she got pregnant lori gave up her job and after julie is born she feels restless more so after she finds out she’s pregnant with dawn so she goes back to old habits and starts visiting the track again mostly to bet but honestly she just hoped that marco would be there. she just wanted to see him not so much talk to him and she thought she was out of sight but he knew she was there and after months of them pretending either of them saw the other marco finally goes over to her to confront and that’s how it all started basically

[starry-bi-sky]

I am absolutely loving your Danyal Al Ghul au. While I have a soft spot for the whole plotline of Danny becoming his canon personality almost right after breaking away from the LOA all because of Jazz, I'm just as much for your take in which he goes through the same character development as Damian.

Now I'm curious. You already tackled his relationship with Dani, will you eventually take a stab at when he, Sam, and Tucker meet Gregor? Given that it's one of my hated episodes as I couldn't stand Sam's infuriatingly hypocritical attitude to Danny's suspicions of him, I'd kill to see your spin on it.

Aw, thank you! Danyal Al Ghul aus are what got me into DPDC first, so I have a major soft spot for them. That being said, uh, its exactly that soft spot that causes me to have Many Opinions about the trope you just mentioned. Like the trope is all fine and dandy, i don't blindly hate it, my main issue with it is that most aus i've seen treat his backstory as an ex-assassin more like a pretty cosmetic accessory rather than something that actually should have had an impact on him. Especially if he remembers being in the league.

Like i cannot stress enough the fact that being in an ecofascist assassin cult (regardless of his standing in it) should've left him, in some way or another, screwed up morally and psychologically because that's just how development works. Nature vs. Nurture is like a game of tug-o-war that never ends, where they are constantly fighting against each other and one side usually has the upper hand or greater influence. Children model the behaviors of the adults around them (ex: bobo the clown doll experiment), and what impacts them in childhood can stick with them permanently.

Like how my psychology professor put it: a baby's brain is like wet cement; if you slap your hand on it, it leaves an imprint, and the cement dries that way. The same rings true for small children.

I could go on, but I frankly have so many thoughts on that alone that I would end up completely derailing from the second half of your ask, and I don't want to be more critical than I already have. Especially since you just mentioned you have a soft spot for the trope.

[Okay, hold onto your hats because this is long. Naturally lmao.]

Gregor! Man, I'll admit I last watched the show back in middle school on a dodgy illegal website (it had surprisingly good audio and visual graphics, and full episodes. But really annoying porn ads.) but I only made it to like season 1 before my hyperfixation faded and I lost interest. So I never actually saw the Gregor episode.

But... it is relatively easy to find free websites that stream Danny Phantom :), so finding the episode took me like. Thirty seconds. Plus the Tv.Tropes recap page because my damn earbuds just died and im out in public as of rn.

I'm not sure if I'll write something for the gregor episode like I did with Dani, since Dani's a bit of a special case in that she's a clone and tends to be a reoccurring presence in DPDC, and I thought the new dynamic with Danyal would be interesting.

Plus, I'm not a big amethyst ocean shipper for the pure reason of I'm just not all that interested in it; its kinda bland to me. I'll admit I've entertained the thought in this au due to the whole balcony scene i wrote, but I would've entertained the thought anyways if it was Tucker in that position instead. Big multishipper, me.

But, if I had to make it official? Danyal is not interested romantically in Sam when the Gregor episode happens, regardless of his relationship with Valerie. Who, speaking of I'm trying to think about how that would go, and I'm torn between including him almost-dating Valerie or not.

Because on one hand it helps point out Sam's hypocrisy (and i love her but i am always happy to point out her flaws and address them in au) in this episode in terms of Danny spying on them, but on the other hand I'll want to include a lot of set up in order to make Gray Ghost work in this au and wow will that take a while.

Especially with the Flirting with Disaster episode because it happens due to Technus' meddling, and Danny is, well, the son of the Batman? A trained assassin? An ex-assassin nonetheless, but still an assassin? A prodigy child in this au? He might not have needed to use most of his skills in the last few years, but like... there's just a bunch of 'what if' and 'well technically...' and 'would he? he could, but would he?' things that is getting in the way of my thought process and making my head spin.

.

Mmm. Okay. Flirting with Disaster occurs relatively the same as canon with a few exceptions; like Danyal noticing the strange coincidences, and he might take the idea into proper consideration because Sam has a point it is strange, especially out of nowhere.

However,,, he really enjoys Valerie's company, and he does really like her. He's been adjusting to civilian life for the last four years and while he's made a lot of progress, he's still. an ex-assassin child living like a wolf amongst sheep. This is normal, typical teenager stuff, and usually his friends like to encourage him doing normal teenager stuff.

So he's stubbornly holding out on the thought that this is normal, that ghost stuff isn't interfering here. He's a little hurt that his friends are discouraging this, he's not bothered by the fact that Valerie is a ghost hunter and he a ghost -- his mother is an assassin, and his father is Batman, and they still had a relationship. (Granted, he's not gonna tell them that)

If anything, being diametrically opposed to each other but still being in love is part of the family! Granted, usually both parties are aware of said opposition to each other, but he'll make a special exception this time around.

(And man now that i'm thinking about gray ghost, im now thinking about various like. scenes i could write between the two of them. maybe in a reblog.)

Anyways uhhh things relatively go the same as canon. Yeah. I think Sam still has a crush on Danny and still spies out of jealousy with Tucker.

.

Now, the Gregor episode! With that out of the way; the TVTropes recap for this episode isn't the best because it doesn't go into detail about the entire episode like it does with Flirting With Disaster and Shades of Gray.

(which i looked at earlier because I made a section of this post talking briefly about what changes I'd make to the Shades of Gray episode to help set up Gray Ghost, but ended up deleting because it was kinda irrelevant for the matter at hand.)

So I'm taking in bits of the episode clips at a time, I'll try not to get too nitpicky about how each scene goes because then it's gonna take me a longer time to write this.

But! First thing's first; since Danny is not romantically interested in Sam, he is also not jealous of Gregor. He is however, a bit eyebrow-raisey at him in their first introduction, but that's because Gregor is coming off as obnoxious.

Danny thinks he's kinda annoying, and it doesn't take a genius to see that Gregor is trying to impress Sam. But since they've only known him for five minutes he takes the good faith assumption and assumes that Gregor is genuinely trying to show interest in Sam's interests too because he likes her, so he keeps mum. The fake hungarian accent is weird, but it's overall harmless, so he doesn't point it out.

He does do the spying thing when he starts suspecting that Gregor might be working for the GIW. The episode only has this happen twice, but for the au this happens a handful of more times over the course of the week, with Danyal's suspicion steadily rising more and more each time.

Hah, when he brings up wanting to spy on Sam and Gregor because of this reason, Tucker still does his "woah! you wanna spy on Sam?" thing.

Danny immediately turns to him, completely unimpressed, and crosses his arms. "Tucker," he says, deadpan, "you and Sam spied on me and Valerie."

He uses a combination of his ghost powers and his regular stealth ability to spy on them. He's hiding in a tree when they're skipping rocks, close enough that he can use his powers to hear them talk but far enough away that he has a good view of their surroundings.

He's invisible in the cinema, but doesn't accidentally get in front of the projector. He checks the inside of the room for the GIW, and then waits outside the actual room itself, keeping an eye on the area and occasionally flying in to watch the movie out of boredom. It reminds him of being back on a recon mission with the League, but it doesn't end with him orchestrating someone's death.

Then when they're at the mall he stays in human form, blending in with the crowd. He runs into the GIW there, but realizes that they're not there because of Gregor; they're just shopping. They didn't show up at either of the last two locations, and he follows them to make sure they're not also trying to blend in. But they're literally just there for shopping.

Danny is rather pleased with this turnout; so far Gregor isn't a spy, he's just annoying. The next day at lunch he asks Sam how her date with Gregor went, and that's how she figures out he spied on them, because well, she didn't tell him that.

"Have you been spying on me?"

Danny messes with his food a little bit, and Tucker is sinking into his seat with embarrassment. He frowns, "Only last night. Those incompetent government dodos--"

His lip curls up; he gets all 'Shakespeare-y' (as Sam and Tucker put it) when he's insulting someone, "--kept appearing whenever Gregor did. I followed you and him last night to make sure he wasn't a spy."

A roundabout way of saying, "I was worried".

Sam is, as canon, furious. Danny understands why, he knows generally speaking that people don't like being spied on. But he's confused on just how angry she is, and is a little irritated by it.

"Why would you do that!" She exclaims, "That's way out of line, Danny."

"How? You spied on me when I was going on dates with Valerie." He narrows his eyes, and points his fork at her, "I'm not blind, I noticed."

"That's different, we told you why we were suspicious. And we don't have ghost powers like you do."

"I don't need ghost powers to sneak around, Sam, you've seen this firsthand. And I just told you why I followed you, I thought he was working with the guys in white--"

"So you think someone can only be interested in me if they're after you?" (this is a paraphrased quote, folks ;D)

"No! If that was the case I would have voiced my concern the moment I thought it. I don't get why you're so angry, you spied too."

Iiits.... a mess. Sam storms off with Gregor, Tucker tags along because okay, yeah, maybe Gregor isn't with the GIW, or maybe last night was a fluke. Either way he ends up tagging along. Danny overhears that conversation between the GIW and Mr. Lancer, and maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong; but something is up.

I've gotten to that scene in the locker room where Gregor tells Danny that he knows he doesn't like him, and I've paused at Danny's reply to say this: Danyal doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

"I know you do not like me."

"You're right; I don't."

"Ah, let me finish. I know you do not like me because you want to protect your friend, Sam, and I respect that."

"...That's correct."

"Good! Because I am going to ask her out."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he stands up, claps his hand tight on Gregor's shoulder, and leans close to him with a threatening smile, "so you understand me when i say; if you break my best friend's heart, you're as good as dead, right?"

"Ah,, yes. I am so glad we got that cleared out of the way, and now I hope after we can.. how you Americans put it, hang out?"

In the episode he hugs Danny and gives him a la bise (which is that french greeting where you kiss someone on the cheek two or more times) after they end their conversation. But here, when he goes to do that to Danyal, Danny leans away, points an accusatory finger at him, and says; "Absolutely not; we are not close."

The next scene after that is like, end of day. Sam, Tucker, and Gregor walking away. Sam looks over her shoulder to glare at Danny, then gets forlorn. Tucker looks back and just looks forlorn.

(When did I start narrating each scene?? Eh, I'm writing this in brief spurts of time throughout the day. Don't fix what's not broke)

After that there's this whole scene with the two GIW agents that have been chasing Phantom all episode. They're there because they have Tucker's PDA that Skulker took, and it's got the information of their purple backed gorilla assignment on it. They've been going around seeing who Tucker associates with in hopes of catching Phantom.

Uhh ahaha and that is where this gets a little interesting imo, and also allows me to mention that im retconning Danyal's (already) redesigned ghost form. Which I've wanted to retcon even before this moment bc it was just too busy. I'll get to that in a moment.

The GIW suspect Gregor for being the Phantom because of his white hair and green eyes, which is all fine and dandy until you remember: Danyal (and by extension Phantom) has that very noticeable, rather identifiable facial scar that goes across the middle of his fucking face. The GIW could easily suspect that Phantom hides his scar with makeup if he's in disguise, but if they meet a kid with a seemingly identical facial scar and similar disposition? Hoo boy.

Solution? I've got two: Gregor is canonically a kid from Michigan who faked everything to impress Sam. Considering he knows she's gothic and knows that she's ultra-recyclo vegetarian? He probably watched her from afar or got information on her somehow. His hair is dyed, his eyes might just naturally be green, but if he notices that she's got a crush on either Danyal or Phantom? A little sfx makeup could help him recreate a similar looking scar.

My second solution that's gonna happen anyways bc its that suit redesign; Danyal does hide his face as Phantom. Ghosts are emotional creatures and its a popular headcanon that their interests, ambitions, etc, influence the way they look as a ghost, not just their death. A big reoccurring theme of my au is that Danyal did not leave the League unscathed, and that being an assassin is an important part of his identity.

So i'm discarding the hazmat suit look entirely and leaning into the 'assassin' thing. But the general (stylized) feel is like, white ribbon/cloth vambraces that he has used as a garrote at some point, a hood, a gaiter scarf-type thing. I'm keeping the cape. I did a doodle a few days back that's not the official redesign, but a redesign for Phantom. I may reblog this post with that attached because it's got the general feel down. There's very little white involved, but the inside of his cape flares out and looks like the night sky.

Now, the hood and gaiter scarf gets rid of most of the problem, but Danny's hood doesn't stay on all the time, so the GIW have likely seen the upper half of the scar. :] Gregor's own drawn-on scar doesn't have to be 1:1, but it looks close enough, right? A small scar cutting through the edge of his brow and ends right below the corner of his eye. A 'cool, badass' one opposed to Danny's 'garish' scar.

But! Back to the episode scene. Canon Danny gets written off as being 'too prepubescent' to be Phantom, and honestly it'd be hilarious if Danyal was written off for the same reason (he's calling them idiots in his head if they do). But instead -- leaning into the GIW's incompetence here -- he gets written off as being too mature or too talkative. Or something equally as absurd.

Sam breaks up with Gregor for canon reasons, but when Gregor does his "i really like you, but, come on-!" and gestures to tucker, he adds on "and that scary friend of yours too, seriously!"

Things go relatively the same as canon after that. Danny does end up apologizing for spying, however. Sam does it first. Sorrows, prayers, all that.

.

Things usually end up changed or different when I actually write it down, so I'd likely add more or adjust different scenes according to the flow of the oneshot. This is just like, a general vibe of how things would go, and where some of the more obvious changes would be if I did write this oneshot.

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the ask :]

[ghostieblotts]

TOTK SPIN-OFF HYRULE WARRIORS GAME OH MY GODDDDDDDDD

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii I don’t know if you are taking requests….but if you are I have a slightly odd one of you don’t mind.

I was just rewatching the hunger games and idk if you have read or seen the book/movies but I was wondering if you could do any of the marauders x reader in a sort of hunger games AU?

Okay hear me out… it’s like the cave scene in the first movie, one of the marauders (your choice) is injured and the reader finds them and tries to help them and it’s angsty with hurt/comfort and confessed feelings and the reader is like “I need to go get medicine for you” and the marauder is like “no I don’t want you to risk your life for me”

Anyways just a silly little idea bc I love your writing smmm

<3333

Babe calling this idea "silly" is absolutely absurd of you haha, thanks for the request <3

cw: disabled Remus, typical thg universe angst, imaginings of death

tribute!Remus x tribute!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Since Remus’ name was drawn at the reaping, he’s known he was going to die. He can’t run fast or far. He’s no good for throwing spears or swinging an axe or really wielding anything that requires him to use both hands. He doesn’t have the charisma or good looks to win sympathy from sponsors. His best bet was always to survive on the vegetation in the arena for as long as he could and then curl up in some hidden place like a sick cat to die. 

But you. Lovely, generous, softhearted you. You just won’t let it happen. 

Your cave is damp. Dirt clings to Remus’ clothes and the air tastes of mildew. Every now and again, a drop of water will fall somewhere to his left, making an echoey plopping sound in some unseen puddle. It’s the loudest noise that’s passed through the cave for nearly an hour. Maybe it’s that taut silence that makes Remus’ voice come out so soft. 

“You’re not really thinking of going.” 

“I’m not?” you hum, noncommittal. 

“No. You’re too smart for that.” He watches your face carefully. You’re looking down at your hands, practicing knots on a bit of rope, but at his words your brow tenses. Remus says gently, “You know it’d be a fool’s errand, and you’re not a fool.” 

Your eyes flicker up to his. Dark in the low light of the cave, though it’s daytime outside. They’re Remus’ favorite color. “It doesn’t seem foolish to me.” 

“It is,” he practically pleads. “It is.” 

“Remus.” Your expression is resolute. “You need medicine.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You do.” 

“It won’t matter.” His right leg is as fucked as it’s always been. Remus wasn’t allowed his cane in the arena, though it hardly mattered; even when he found a good stick to use as a substitute, he was never going to be as fast or as lethal as the other tributes. The throwing knife that sliced through his left thigh seemed almost a cruel joke of fate. Now he truly is useless. “I’m no good to you.” 

“Yes, you are,” you insist stubbornly. You tug at the knot you’ve made, tossing the rope away from you.

“Sweetheart,” he gentles his tone, “I’m not. This is nothing to give your life for.” 

“What about yours?” 

Remus gnaws the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know how to tell you what he’s known for weeks; that he was never going to make it out of here. That he was never driven by survival, only a half-desperate hope to distract the careers well enough to keep you safe. Now, your safety relies on him in a different, much more frightening way. 

You move closer to him. Your hand twitches as if on instinct toward the torn-up shirt bandaging his leg, seemingly forgetting for a moment that you checked on the wound only a couple hours before. 

“If they have medicine there,” you say, your voice gone quiet, “it could save you.” 

“That’s a lot of ifs.” Remus looks at you imploringly. “If they have medicine, and if you’re able to get it back here, and if it works, I still won’t be any use to you.” 

“Would you stop saying that?” You sound pained. “I don’t care about how useful you are. You’re not a tool.” 

“Y/n, these are the games,” he says. “Please, listen to me. I’m the worst ally in this arena. You need someone who can protect you. Or if not that, at least someone who can watch your back and keep up with you. I can’t do any of those things.” 

“I don’t need you to.” Your hand lays over his on the cold stone floor of your little home. Remus thinks he might be trembling. He loves you so hopelessly it twinges like a stitch in his side when he breathes. Your next words come out in a whisper. “They said tributes from the same district can win together. All I need is for you to stay alive.” 

Remus shakes his head. It hurts him to make you so solemn, but he needs you to understand. “That rule won’t do us any good if you die first.” 

“I won’t.” You sound surer of yourself than Remus thinks can possibly be true. “I’ll go tomorrow, at night—” 

“The careers will be waiting.” 

“—and I’ll make some sort of distraction somewhere else to be sure they’re not around. It’ll be quick.” 

“You can’t know that will work.” Remus’ voice scratches against the emotion welling in his throat. “They could leave someone behind to keep watch, or they might not go at all.” 

You’re resolute. “It’s our best bet.” 

“Our best bet is for you to stay here.” He’s definitely trembling now. He doesn’t care. You can chalk his shining eyes up to the fever or whatever you wish, all that matters is that he convinces you. “Please, y/n. Please. I’m asking you not to do this. Not for me. It isn’t worth it.” 

“It’s not just for you.” Your fingers tighten over his hand. In the dark of the cave, some of your fear finally shines through. “It’s worth it to me. I need you to be okay. And I’m—I’m sorry if you want to die peacefully, but I can’t just watch it happen.” 

Remus shakes his head. His thoughts won’t stop running a feverish, horrific loop—your terrified, panting breaths as you sprint away with the careers on your heels; you not returning by the nightfall, and Remus crawling outside to watch your picture project across the false sky; your mutilated corpse being scooped up by a hovercraft’s unfeeling claws, a vial of useless medicine falling from your pack to lie on the forest floor. 

“I can’t help you,” he says. “You can’t go. I won’t do you any good.” 

“Remus.” You say his name like your throat tightens around it. Like a wish, or an ache. “I can’t do this without you. Okay? I won’t make it. I need you.” 

Remus feels like his chest is cracking open. “Why?” 

“Because I do,” you say, and now it’s you who sounds pleading. “I just do.” 

You’re both silent for a heartbeat, one that feels too heavy in Remus’ chest. And he finally understands. Maybe it’s something he’s known for a while, only he hasn’t wanted to know. Because it’s so, so much easier to think that he could just die here, with this awful, twinging, unrequited love for you, and you could simply go on. It’s worse if you both have to weather the ache. 

“I need you more,” Remus tells you selfishly. 

“It’ll be okay.” You lean against his side, letting his head rest on your shoulder and combing your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get you all healed up, and then we’ll get out of here together, yeah?” 

Remus has about a thousand and one objections to that. The first being that he’s simply never letting you leave this cave until the packs of supplies are surely gone and you need to go out again to find food. Whatever you think, his life isn’t worth you risking yours. He’ll restrain you if he has to, or threaten to crawl out of the cave and shout until somebody comes to kill him and your fruitless mission is truly for naught, or do whatever he has to to keep you from letting your tender heart get you killed. 

But for tonight, you’re still safe. He can indulge you in your sweet fantasy. So Remus only utters a soft, “Yeah,” waits for your breaths to even out, and goes to sleep. 

[mari-positas]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[rafecameronssl4t]

idk if you’ve watched love island uk s8 but for the love island au can u make a story inspired by gemma and luca where reader’s ex comes into the villa and makes rafe jealous and a scene where reader accidentally calls rafe her ex’s name

+ i absolutely love ur stories <3

Guilty as sin? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (love island au)

A/n: S8 OF LOVE ISLAND UK IS MY FAV 😭😭 (there will be a part 2 bc it was getting too long but I'll post it soon as well so the wait won't be too long!!)

Warnings: slight angst if u squint ig lol

Word count: 2,746

MASTERLIST (love island au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

You spot Rafe across the villa’s airy kitchen, caught up in a conversation with the other guys. Without a second thought, you walk towards them and call his name, excitement clear in your voice. “Rafe! Rafe! He turns at the sound, his brows knitting in slight confusion as you tug his arm, urging him to step aside with you. ���Yeah?” he asks, his tone curious as he searches your face.

The hint of a smile curls at his lips when he sees how eager you are. “Sofia just got a text,” you say, a little breathless, unable to keep the smile off your face as you watch his reaction. “A text?” he repeats, eyebrows lifting. “What did it say?” “It said, ‘Girls, there will be a surprise for you tomorrow morning," you reveal, and his eyes widen, the full impact hitting him.

He crosses his arms, tilting his head as he watches you. “Wait—another guy’s coming into the villa?” You nod, feeling his gaze intensify as he studies you with a playful smirk. But before you can say anything, Lucinda’s voice echoes across the villa, singling you out. “Y/n, you simp!” she calls out, half-laughing, clearly catching onto your excitement.

You turn and laugh, calling back with a grin, “I wasn’t telling him anything!” She rolls her eyes in good-natured mock annoyance as she walks past, but you can’t help but giggle at the playful accusation. Rafe’s attention returns to you, his smirk deepening as he takes a step closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “So,” he murmurs, leaning in, “are you excited?”

“Excited for?” you playfully tilt your head, looking up at him with a feigned innocence. His hands slip around your waist, drawing you in until there’s barely any space between you, and his eyes search yours, warm with amusement. “The new guy coming,” he challenges, his voice low and teasing.

You pretend to consider his question, tapping your finger against your lips, scrunching your face as though deep in thought. “Mmm… maybe just a little?” you tease, letting the words roll off your tongue as you watch his expression darken with playful jealousy. Rafe scoffs, his hand falling to your hip as he gives you a gentle push, his smirk still lingering.

“Oh, really?” he mocks, his tone dripping with amusement as his fingers skim the small of your back. You laugh, slipping your arms around his neck and pressing your forehead to his. “I’m joking, I’m joking!” you reassure him, your voice softening. “Why would I even look his way when you’re right here?”

His face softens, a genuine smile breaking through as he lifts you off the ground, his arms tightening around you. He peppers kisses along the side of your neck, each one making you squirm and giggle as you cling to him, laughing. “Rafe!” you squeal, struggling to keep a straight face. “I need to go get ready!”

He finally sets you down, but not before stealing one last kiss. Just as you turn to leave, he smirks, his hand sliding down to give you a playful smack on the ass. You whip around, giving him a mock-glare, but he just grins, completely unbothered. “See you later,” he calls out, chuckling as you roll your eyes and walk away, unable to hide your smile.

~

“Sofia, you look gorgeous, babe!” you squeal, clasping her hands and giving her a little twirl. She giggles, cheeks flushed, excitement lighting up her eyes. The new guy had just chosen her for a date, and you couldn’t be happier for her. With all the girls hyping her up, it’s a moment of pure joy.

Linking arms, you and the other girls make your way to the balcony, eager to catch a glimpse of the date unfolding below. From up here, you have a perfect view, though the new guy’s back is to you, obscuring his face. “What are you girls doing?” a voice asks, pulling your attention. You glance over your shoulder to find the guys walking in, curiosity evident in their expressions.

As they come closer, you shush them playfully, grabbing Rafe’s hand and pulling him toward you. He doesn’t resist, settling behind you as his arms wrap warmly around your shoulders. Leaning back against him, you focus on the figure in the distance. But something about the guy’s tattoos catches your attention.

A chill pricks at your skin, a sense of familiarity hitting you hard. You squint, taking a closer look, and suddenly, it all clicks. Your heart skips a beat, and the realisation makes your stomach twist. “No, no, no, no…” you gasp, ducking down quickly onto the lounge, unable to tear your eyes away. Your reaction sends the others into a flurry of confusion.

“What?” Rafe asks, brow furrowing as he glances down at you, concern slipping into his expression. You press a hand over your mouth, whispering, “That’s my ex!” The words come out in a mix of disbelief and shock as you look back at the girls, wide-eyed. “What?” Lucinda breathes, glancing back toward the balcony with a look of pure disbelief.

“I’m not joking,” you chuckle, though it’s a nervous laugh. “That is my ex-boyfriend.” Rafe stays silent, his arm still around you, his gaze shifting between you and the new guy below. You don’t notice his reaction, too busy processing the whirlwind of emotions yourself. It feels surreal.

“You’re lying!” one of the girls gasps, her tone a mix of amusement and shock. You shake your head, peeking over the edge once more for confirmation. The familiar way he holds himself, the tattoos, even his laugh—it’s all undeniably him. “No, I swear to god, that’s him. Shit!” You cover your mouth, feeling a bizarre mix of dread and disbelief bubbling up.

Rafe’s still silent, his eyes dark and unreadable as he watches you, a slight tension in his grip around your shoulders. But your mind races too fast to register it fully.“How long were you two together?” Leah asks, her curiosity piqued. “Like… a year and a half?” you mumble, still processing, voice distant as you dredge up the memories.

“And how long ago?” she presses. “Uh, ten months ago, I think?” you say, distracted as you peek again at the scene below. It’s hard to believe he’s here, in this villa with you. And as you try to make sense of it, the lingering tension in Rafe’s silence seems to settle heavily over you, but you’re not quite ready to face that just yet.

As you glance back at the date, you catch sight of Rafe slipping away, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, and you let him go, feeling an odd tension settle in your chest but brushing it off for now. There’s plenty to process already.

~

Once the date wraps up, Sofia rejoins you and the other girls in the makeup room, still glowing from her time with Jacques. You’re finishing up getting ready when Leah gives her an excited smile. “So, how was it?” she asks, her curiosity bright. Sofia’s smile widens, her cheeks flushed. “He’s gorgeous! So sweet, and we just talked non-stop. He’s so easy to be around!”

You smile back, watching her giddy expression. It’s clear she’s caught up in the excitement, and you’re genuinely happy for her, even with the twist of awkwardness lurking beneath the surface. “What’s his name?” Leah presses, a hint of mischief in her tone. “Jacques,” Sofia replies, her voice light and dreamy. But her answer shifts the atmosphere slightly.

The girls glance at each other, then at you, their expressions turning curious and cautious. Noticing the looks, Sofia raises an eyebrow. “What?” she laughs nervously, sensing she’s missing something. You clear your throat, managing a chuckle. “He’s my ex,” you say, unable to help the small, amused smile that crosses your face.

Sofia’s jaw drops, and she stares at you in shock. “No! What? Are you serious?” She looks between you and the others, trying to piece together this unexpected twist. “Yep,” you reply, laughing at her reaction. “It was about ten months ago, though, so it’s ancient history.” “And… how do you feel about it?” Sofia asks, a cautious look in her eyes.

You know she’s asking if there are still any lingering feelings or unfinished business. You shake your head, waving off any notion of that. “I mean, obviously it’s weird seeing him here, but I’m totally over him. There’s no way I’d want to rekindle what we had, you know?” You smile, reassuring her that there’s no reason for her to hold back with Jacques.

Sofia visibly relaxes, a relieved smile crossing her face. “Good. That’s honestly such a relief,” she laughs, and you exchange a small, supportive nod. “How do you think Rafe feels about all this?” Hannah asks, her eyes flicking toward the door where Rafe had left earlier. Her question makes you pause, recalling his sudden silence and the look on his face.

You shrug, trying to play it off casually. “I don’t really know, but he shouldn’t be worried at all,” you say, adding a chuckle to lighten the mood as you resume getting ready for the day Still, a small part of you wonders if Rafe had taken it harder than you realised, and maybe a talk was in order. But for now, you push the thought aside.

~

After Jacques finishes his other date, the girls gather outside to greet him, buzzing with excitement. You hang back slightly, watching as he makes his way through the introductions, charm turned all the way up. There’s an odd, surreal feeling creeping up as you watch him joke and laugh with your friends. Finally, his gaze lands on you, and a knowing, mischievous smile spreads across his face.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” he says with a smirk, his arms opening for a hug. You roll your eyes, giving him a mock look of exasperation. But despite yourself, you lean in, wrapping your arms around him for a brief hug. “Nice to meet you… dickhead,” you reply, tone playful yet loaded with familiarity.

He lets out a low laugh, clearly amused. “Still the same as ever,” he chuckles, giving you a wink that’s both teasing and a little too comfortable. You shake your head, a smile slipping onto your face despite yourself, as you walk with the girls toward the kitchen. They look between you and Jacques with wide, curious eyes, and you can feel the questions bubbling up.

“Well, that was… friendly,” Lucinda says with a smirk, nudging you as you all start gathering glasses and setting things up for the night. You shrug, feigning indifference. “Honestly, it’s just weird, seeing him here. But hey, if Sofia’s into him, good for her,” you say, keeping your voice light, though you can feel Rafe’s absence tugging at the back of your mind.

He had yet to say anything about Jacques since he left earlier, and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you needed to find him. Just then, Jacques strolls into the kitchen, joining the group with that same confident smile. His gaze lands on you for a second longer than it probably should, and the other girls exchange glances.

You pretend not to notice, fully focused on making a coffee. Sofia nudges you with a playful grin. “He’s cute, right?” she says, winking at you. You laugh, giving her a shrug. “If you’re into that kind of thing,” you say with a teasing smirk. But deep down, your mind is already drifting to Rafe, wondering what he’s thinking about all of this. The day's only beginning, and you can already tell it’s going to be an interesting one.

~

The guys settle in around the firepit, the evening sun casting a warm glow as conversation shifts toward you. Rafe sits back, sunglasses on, trying to keep his cool while sneaking glances in your direction. You’re in the kitchen with the girls, laughing and seemingly at ease, but Rafe can’t help but feel a subtle edge of tension.

“So, serious question, mate,” Rob starts, giving Jacques a curious glance. “Are you Y/n’s ex?” Jacques just hums with a nod, the smirk on his face saying more than words could. Rafe’s attention sharpens at that, though he tries to keep his posture relaxed, his focus seemingly elsewhere.

“What’s she been saying about it?” Jacques asks with a raised eyebrow, glancing toward the kitchen. “Like, how’s she feelin’ about all this?” Rafe shifts, keeping his composure, though he’s attuned to every word. “Bit awkward having your ex in here, right?” he comments, his voice casual but probing. Jacques shrugs, the ease in his posture unmissable.

“Eh, maybe for her. But me? I’m pretty chill about it. Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck,” he says with a chuckle, a careless grin spreading across his face. “It is what it is. We’ve moved on.” Rafe nods slowly, assessing Jacques. He can’t help but feel a certain familiarity with the guy—there’s a vibe there, a sort of unbothered confidence he recognizes in himself. It’s disarming, and Rafe feels his initial tension ease a bit.

With a smirk, he leans forward, locking eyes with Jacques. “So… you probably know a lot about her then, yeah?” he teases, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity. He wants to understand what exactly Jacques knows—and, maybe, what he doesn’t. Jacques laughs, throwing his head back in genuine amusement." You could say that,” he replies, eyes gleaming with the kind of familiarity that only history can create.

“You want me to let you know if she’s into you or not?” he jokes, the hint of challenge making Rafe crack a genuine grin. Rafe didn’t expect to find himself relaxing, but something about Jacques’ nonchalant vibe—and the fact that he doesn’t seem hung up on you—makes Rafe feel a little more at ease. Still, he can’t completely ignore the glances Jacques throws toward the kitchen, wondering if this odd triangle is just beginning or if it’ll soon fade into the background.

~

Rob leans back, casting a curious glance at Rafe as the two relax by the firepit. The atmosphere is warm and easy, the soft hum of the villa around them, though Rafe’s attention occasionally drifts to where you’re standing in the kitchen, laughing with the other girls. “So, has she talked to you yet?” Rob asks, trying to gauge the situation.

Rafe shrugs, looking nonchalant, though his fingers absentmindedly trace a line up his bicep, his eyes following your movements in the distance. “Nah, not yet. She’ll come over if she wants to chat,” he says, a slight smirk on his face as he shifts his gaze back to Rob. “Bet she’s feeling a little shocked seeing her ex show up out of nowhere, though. I’d be thrown off, too.”

Rob lets out a chuckle, nodding. “Yeah, mate, can’t blame her. It’d be a bit of a head-spin, wouldn’t it?” They fall silent for a beat. Rafe looks relaxed, yet there’s a certain edge to him, a competitiveness that’s only starting to surface. He leans forward, voice dropping to a lower tone, though his eyes are playful.

“Here’s the thing, though,” he says, his smirk widening as he glances over at the kitchen before turning back to Rob. “Right now, my hoodie? Smells like Y/n’s perfume,” he says with a self-satisfied grin, watching Rob’s face break into a grin of his own. “Does his? Nah, don’t think so.”

Rob bursts out laughing, clapping Rafe on the shoulder. “Oh man, that’s cold,” he says, barely holding back his laughter. “You should walk right up to him and be like, ‘Recognize this scent?’ Just to mess with him a bit.” Rafe laughs along, picturing the scene and almost tempted by the idea, his gaze settling on you again.

He imagines Jacques catching a hint of your perfume on him, subtle but unmistakable, a reminder that there’s a closeness Jacques doesn’t share with you anymore. There’s no threat, not really, but Rafe feels a spark of pride knowing he’s the one wearing traces of you, even if it’s something as simple as your perfume lingering on his hoodie.

There’s a playful but possessive glint in Rafe’s eyes as he leans back, chuckling with Rob. He knows it’s all in fun, but he can’t deny that the thought of reminding Jacques who’s in the past—and who’s in the present—has a certain appeal.

[hwaslayer]

[untitled] (khj) | one.

⎾ SERIES MASTERLIST | SERIES PLAYLIST

⎾ SUMMARY: hongjoong hasn’t been worried about anyone besides himself for a long, long time. he’s spent years dodging the idea of responsibility by getting into trouble and late-night chaos and running from a broken family he has tried to keep tucked away in the past. when unexpected circumstances name him the sole guardian of his 15-year-old step brother, suhyun, hongjoong finds himself struggling to be the person his brother needs him to be especially because they’re strangers. throughout his journey of stepping up, healing and facing the past, he meets you— someone who also comes to see the best in him and sees him as more than just a lost cause.

⎾ PAIRING: kim hongjoong x f. reader

⎾ GENRE: (18+ - minors dni) badboy/fuckboy, strangers to lovers, found family/slice of life au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

⎾ WORD COUNT: 3.7k

⎾ CHAPTER WARNINGS/CONTENT: cussing, basic intros, setting the foundation for the fic lol, mentions of like... idk, being in a a friends with [some] benefits kind of situation?, club scene, alcohol consumption/intoxication, mentions of a physical and verbal altercation, police activity, mentions of being injured because of said fight, somewhat of a slow start for now hehe 🤭

Love.

That's how Seonghwa looks at you— like you hold all of the love in your arms, in your eyes; like every inch of your body was designed with most rarest form of love, to be loved, to give love. He looks at you like you are love, and he hasn't come to know any other form of it. Even if takes days, months, years, Seonghwa is willing to be patient and willing to wait because you are the most rarest form of love.

Though, you're not sure what made you so deserving of Seonghwa and his love. His care. His support. His patience. He treats you so gently, like you're his entire universe. He's everything you had ever wanted, had ever asked for.

Even now, as you lazily and groggily step out of your room to him sitting in your living room/dining area. Hair a mess, body all exhausted. Definitely not club ready.

"Sorry, were you still napping?" Seonghwa asks sweetly as he keeps his eyes on you.

"Time to wake the fuck up, sweetie!" You yawn and run your hand through your hair before rubbing at your nose. Seonghwa scrunches his own nose, pure adoration in his eyes as he watches you try and wake yourself up from the sleep you were so rudely waken up from— courtesy of your childhood bestfriend and other half, Kang Yeosang.

"Why are you guys here so early?"

"Early?" Yeosang cocks a brow up. "It's 9. We said we'd be at the club by 10 and you.. just woke up."

"Oh shit." You rub at your arms. "How about I just stay in bed and you two—" Yeosang has his hands on your shoulders and forces you to turn back into your room.

"Mingi will not have it so go get your little skirt and top on or whatever you planned to wear." Yeosang slides your closet door open, making you shove him away.

"He's gonna say that we don't always go out like this, you know?" Seonghwa adds as he leans against your door frame.

"Right, yes! He's right for once." Seonghwa glares at him as you pick out your outfit, forcing yourself to get ready even though your body is yearning for at least 5 more minutes of sleep.

You did agree as a group to head out for once to celebrate Mingi's big promotion, so it's not like you could back out and disappoint your friend. 

With that being said, even though you aren't entirely in the mood to dress up, you put on the cutest mini skirt and mesh top on in the bathroom— singing along to the songs Yeosang has playing on your TV's Spotify account in between taking shots and getting your makeup and hair together. You dance around and sing into your mic [makeup brush] while finishing the last touches, Seonghwa still having that same adoration in his eyes. 

It's cute, really. 

You two met during freshman year in college and ultimately got close through working in the Student Life Center as student ambassadors and tutors. That's also how you met Yunho, Mingi and Juniper. That's also how everybody gained this image of you two being the perfect couple over the past years. You would have thought that going into the real world, the adulting phase of your lives, things would have majorly died down—

It sure didn't.

In fact, it got worst. People pressing the idea of you two finally getting together and even getting married. Becoming one of those college sweetheart success stories that people love to hear about so badly. What's worst is the fact that you can find your own mother under this category. She was the biggest Seonghwa enthusiast, always pushing the fact that you should 'give the poor boy a chance because he cares so much.' You love Seonghwa, but you love Seonghwa as one of your dearest friends, first and foremost. He had always been kind, patient, supportive and caring but that was his nature. He never pressured you into anything despite all the talk, which you highly appreciate. But, you can't help but feel bad because you know he holds onto some kind of hope. Especially when he treats you so sweetly, like you're fragile and something he always has to keep safe. He doesn't always shy away from affection and showing you how he truly feels sometimes. And you're not gonna lie, Seonghwa was one of the most attractive people you have ever laid eyes on.

Maybe it's partially your fault that you let it happen and continue to let it happen. Letting small [especially drunk] makeout sessions happen, cuddling up against him, letting him hold your hand here and there; small, chaste kisses against the head, cheek, forehead. Never slept with the guy, but we'll leave it at that.

Maybe you should have done more to stop it. The whole friends with benefits kinda vibe you've got going on, but like, not really? Seonghwa knew it was the one way he could have you, a way to keep you close, so he deals.

Welp.

Who knows what the future holds, right? You say this now, but you could be headed into a future that does have Seonghwa in it as your partner. Or, it could be completely different and the complete opposite.

Who knows.

All you know is to live in the present and take things for what it is. Mainly focusing on your own happiness and growth. Focusing on the now;

Like where the fuck is your favorite lipgloss?

"Where's my lipgloss?" You toss your couch pillows aside, hands digging deep into the cracks of the couch to make sure it wasn't wedged in between [spoiler: it's not]. 

"Dude, why do we always run into something when we're in a rush? And it's always you!" Yeosang scolds you, peeking in between jars and containers on your kitchen counter.

"Is this it?" Seonghwa asks, coming out of your room with your favorite lip gloss in his hand. You gasp, running over to him with a smile on your face.

"Where'd you find it!"

"Underneath your nightstand."

"My lifesaver." You chuckle, Hwa's hand coming up to gently caress your chin.

"What to do with you?" He teases with a small smirk on his face.

"Seriously." Yeosang swings his keys around his finger. "So, can we go? Like, are you good or ..?"

"Yes." You playfully roll your eyes, shutting off your lights and grabbing your small black purse before heading out with the boys. The three of you step out of your in-law, one of your dads coming out to the porch to greet you while you continue to fiddle with your keypad and lock your door. Long story short— your biological father and your mom had divorced years ago. You had decided to stay with your dad being that your relationship with your mom wasn't the greatest [even until this very day]. Occasional visits would do, but even then, it served as a reminder as to why you made the decision to remain alongside your father. You feel as though it worked out because your mom got to travel, date around, and do all the things she had been dying to do post-divorce [maybe even during her marriage era]. During this time, dad found his boyfriend. Got married, moved into a new house across town and renovated your in-law so you would have your own space while still having a piece of home with you. Your mom had trouble with this for a long time, and quite frankly, you were upset that she was being selfish about it. You didn't talk to her for a good month or so until she started making the effort to reach out and slowly visit again. Make 'peace.' Stop causing unnecessary issues.

"Mhm." Your papa says as he slides the kitchen window open. "Hey to my handsome boys!" The two wave happily in response. "And what's the special occasion that's got miss thing looking like that?"

"Papa." You say, making him laugh while he holds a glass of water in his hand. "It's Mingi's celebration for his promotion and I'm being forced to go." You called your biological 'dad,' while your stepfather went by 'papa' to keep things simple, but meaningful and close to your heart. Over the years, Papa has been loving and supportive, and always so open, so sweet, so happy to share his culture with you. He loves to teach you new things, and he's the reason why you're able to change and shift your perspective especially when times get rough. He is patient, kind and absolutely perfect for you and your father.

"Forced?! He's your friend, if anything, you're going because you want to celebrate with him!" Yeosang bites back, making you squint and glare at him.

"If you squint, you'll see how they've got a knife held to my back."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Y/N." Papa says, making you laugh.

"Yeah, jesus." Yeosang adds.

"Is dad showering?" Papa nods.

"He sure is. Running the hell out of that hot water." The three of you laugh. "I'll tell him you were heading out." 

"I won't be out super late."

"Enjoy yourself, sweetheart." Papa leans forward a bit. "And boys, you know I love and trust you both to death, and I say this all the time but I mean it with every bone in my body. Please stay safe out there and take care of my babygirl." He says with a look on his face that make both Yeosang and Seonghwa nod in agreement.

"Yes sir!" Yeosang salutes before the three of you are waving one last goodbye before walking through the side gate and out to his car. On your way out, you catch your neighbors also heading out— unusual for them at this time of night.

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Kim!" You call out, with Yeosang and Seonghwa waving. Your neighbors were familiar with your friends since they were over often. They wave, Mrs. Kim looking exhausted next to her husband.

"Is everything okay?" Seonghwa asks.

"I've just got a migraine and chills, so we were going to go to the urgent care." Mrs. Kim says. "I was going to try to hold out until tomorrow, but it's killing me."

"I'm so sorry." You look at the time. "Where's Suhyun?"

"He's in his room. We told him we'd be right back and that he didn't need to tag along."

"Well, please be safe on your drive over. My dads are home if you need anything."

"Of course. Thank you." Mr. Kim nods. "You three be safe too, and enjoy your night." You all wave as they drive off.

"I didn't clean my car yet so—" Yeosang cheekily smiles when he pops open one of the back doors for you. "Ta-da! Enjoy sitting next to my gym clothes!"

"Kang Yeosang." You get comfortable sitting in the back seat even though you whine about it. "Can you at least pick up your empty water bottles?" You pick them up from the floor and gather them neatly onto the empty seat next to you— ontop of his pile of laundry.

"She's just like you." Yeosang mutters to Seonghwa.

"I mean she's right, you could at least do that."

"You both can walk to the club!" Yeosang makes a hard brake at the stop, causing you to brace yourself before you could crash into Seonghwa's seat.

"You have got to be joking!" You smack him upside the head. He laughs as he continues to drive off normally, the club located in central downtown about 30 minutes away. The ride is fairly calm, Seonghwa making sure to keep Yeo in check until he gets into the main area. He circles the streets for a bit until he's able to find street parking about two blocks away. 

It isn't too cold, or else you'd honestly be dreading the walk to and from. 

When Seonghwa hops out of the passenger seat, he swings your door open. He gives you a small smile and a tap on the nose, chewing his gum to keep him distracted from the breeze.

"You should wear this until we get inside." He sheds off his jacket and throws it over your shoulders.

"It's not too bad—"

"Still, don't want you getting sick."

"She'll survive." You pump-fake a punch when Yeosang responds, making him flinch and giggle. "Kidding!" You roll your eyes and shake your head.

"Are Mingi and them inside already?" Hwa nods.

"Yeah, they said to just tell the bouncer we're with him and they should let us in." You cling onto Seonghwa's arm as the three of you continue the journey down the blocks— the enormous line to get into the club coming in view. You walk past the groups waiting to pay their fees and get through the bouncers, happy you don't have to wait in that line since the wind is picking up. Seonghwa tells the bouncer that you're here with Mingi and he responds with a nod before stepping aside to let you inside the busy, chaotic club. It's almost instant when you spot Mingi's head at a table— holding a champagne bottle in his hand while he dances around with the bottle girls and the rest of your friends, familiar faces.

"Finally!" Juniper flashes her phone. "It's 10:30!"

"We're just a smidge late!" You hug her.

"You were napping, weren't you?"

"No?!"

"You didn't answer my texts."

"Okay, maybe? But, we're here now!"

"And you need to catch up! Let's go!" Mingi butts in, taking your hand to show you to the table where all the alcohol is laid out. You greet the rest of the group, Mingi leading another round of shots with everyone. You take another with Yeosang and Seonghwa alone, then Yunho and Juniper; the list goes on, the shots continue.

The world is spinning.

But, at a good level. Just enough. 

The DJ is really good tonight, and he's playing all the right hits. You dance around and enjoy yourself with your friends, mainly dancing along with the boys and Juniper. Giving Seonghwa some alone time in between getting pulled left and right. He doesn't drink much, but he's here to have a good time to celebrate Mingi with the group. So, he will take shot after shot. He'll let loose, he'll be a tad bit more flirtier with you.

The group doesn't always go out like this, you know?

You dance with Seonghwa for a bit before you grab some of the bottled water lying in a bucket of ice on the table. You hang out near the railing that separates your group from the main dance floor, eyeing the crowd. Seonghwa comes from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head before holding onto the rail on either side of you.

"Damn, it got really packed."

"Yeah, they're like sardines on the dance floor." You sigh. "Fuck. That's great timing."

"What's up?" He tilts his head to the side and looks at you.

"I need to head to the bathroom."

"Bathroom?" Seonghwa clarifies. "I'll walk you over."

"You sure? You don't have to." He nods.

"All good. Don't want you getting caught in the waves of people alone. Let's go." He holds your hand as he leads the way to the women's restroom. There's a line, but Hwa quickly reassures you with a nod that he'll wait nearby until you're able to break the seal and use the restroom properly.

Which, thank god for his patience, because it took damn near 10 minutes just for you to finally make it inside and be the next person to grab the next available stall as soon as it opens. Besides the girl and her friends occupying the large stall because one of them is sick, everything else is relatively clean for a club bathroom. You feel more comfortable having been able to relieve yourself, washing your hands and checking yourself out in the mirror before finding your way back to Seonghwa.

He's against the wall, cautiously watching the crowd with his hands in his pockets. His eyes meet yours and he gives you small smile. You reciprocate, looking up as you approach him.

"Feel better?" He brushes your hair back and you nod.

"Yeah." 

"Good." Seonghwa leads the way back to your friends at the VIP table. There's so many people that it's impossible to keep your hand laced with Seonghwa's; too many people trying to push through, move around. Hwa keeps turning to keep his eyes on you, your hands gripping the end of his shirt as much as possible while you navigate the sea of people. Suddenly, you feel a little suffocated, especially when you hear voices raising.

"The fuck did you say to me?" Is all you hear in the middle of the dance floor before the crowd is yelling for the two individuals to stop getting in each other's faces. "Get the fuck out of my face!" You continue to try to slip through the crowd unharmed, a little worried as you pass people with drinks in hand. Every time someone dances or moves too much, your anxiety just skyrockets believing you'd land right in the middle of an accident. Seonghwa continues to lead, and you're barely keeping up.

Passing through without damage does not last.

The crowd gets rowdier, waves of abrupt pushes and movements causes you to shift and bump into people, one individual damn near spill all of their drink on you.

"Oh my fucking god— excuse me!" You yell, arm and top slightly wet from their [now] close to half-full cocktail. Seonghwa's head whips back, his arm immediately coming around to block you after he pushes back. Another person's back bumps into Hwa's, causing him to push them away as well. He's lowkey getting irritated, ready to defend you with everything he's got.

"Back up." He groans, looking at the stranger next to him. The stranger glares at him, but is quick to forget when dude in front is calling for his attention with another push. Hwa steps to your side, guiding you out of the chaos before it can get worse. "You okay?" He tuts, grabbing a napkin from the table to help wipe you down.

"Yeah. What the hell is going on there?" You look at the crowd, a fight starting in the middle of it all— hence, the abrupt movements and rowdy yelling. There's two individuals going at it with each other; shoving, getting in each other's faces, punches thrown left and right.

It's messy.

And it doesn't die down, only gets worse, really. The bouncers are finally able to break them up, yelling that they need to leave the club immediately.

"Jesus, what was all of that for?"

"Drunk men being drunk men, I guess." Juniper shrugs, helping you wipe down the rest of your shirt. "Sorry you got mixed into that, bae." After Juniper and Hwa help you out, your friends trying to get back to the good vibes and good times.

But, the chaos definitely put a dent in that. 

You and your friends aren't dancing around as much, and towards the end, you all find yourselves standing around and talking to each other. The group doesn't stay for much longer after the fight breaks out— the fight lowkey killing the vibe and making you all realize it's almost too late to be surrounding yourselves with this mess. Mingi invites the group to eat at a nearby late-night diner, but you, Seonghwa and Yeosang agree to head home out of exhaustion. You bid your farewells, hugging your friends and giving them cheek-to-cheek kisses before gripping onto Yeosang's shirt as him and Hwa lead the way out of the club.

"Fuck, now it's cold." You shiver, causing Seonghwa to throw his jacket over your shoulders again.

"Better?" You nod.

"Thanks, Hwa." He smiles, but it quickly fades when you notice the police cars up ahead— officers hovering around while talking to two of the bouncers from the club. On the curb is one of the individuals— corner of his lip bleeding, brow bleeding. Small cut on his cheek. He's got his hands cuffed behind his back and he isn't doing anything but glaring at the police. He's doing good avoiding contact with anyone passing by, except, he manages to look at his surroundings the moment you three are making your way towards their direction.

"That's one of the guys who started the fight."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Bumped into him." 

"The hell are you looking at?" The stranger spits when he sees Seonghwa looking his way. He's got black hair framing his face, piercing eyes. Obviously got bite to him.

"Hey, be quiet!" The police officer says, making him scoff before remaining quiet. Head down, eyes glued back to the floor now.

"Can we get this over with? It's freezing."

"I said be quiet." Is the last thing you hear from the cop before you, Yeosang and Seonghwa have created enough distance. 

"What a way to end the night." Yeosang mutters, hands deep in his pockets. "You sure you two don't wanna eat?"

"I'm good. I just wanna get home." Yeosang nods. You finally make it back to the car, plopping into the back seat with Seonghwa's jacket still strung over your shoulders while Yeo kicks up the heat. You continue to look out the window, minding your own until Yeosang exits the highway and into your neighborhood. You see more cops down the street near the urgent care center that Mr. and Mrs. Kim went to, finding it odd that there's so much police presence tonight when it's relatively quiet.

"They're out and about tonight." Seonghwa says softly.

"Well, thank god we were still able to have our fun before it got crazy. And good thing you didn't get hurt in the crowd." Yeosang says, driving back to your place.

"Mmyeah." Is all you respond with, exhaustion hitting your bones quick. "Do you guys wanna just crash?" Seonghwa yawns.

"Sure, if you don't mind."

"And that means on the couch, buddy. Not in her bed."

"Kang Yeosang, really?" You say in a somewhat scolding manner. Seonghwa shakes his head and rolls his eyes, keeping his gaze out the window. Sooner or later, you arrive back home safely. Seonghwa already has a bag packed since he had initially planned on staying at Yeosang's. And, luckily for Yeo, he's left bits and pieces of his own clothes and toiletries in your space so he's got zero worries in the world.

When you step out of the car, you notice that Mr. and Mrs. Kim aren't back yet. You don't see their car out front, but you assume they might have just parked it inside the garage. You've learned they don't typically do that, but a one-off situation wasn't unusual. The lights are all off, so Suhyun must be asleep. 

They must all be asleep.

"Good?" Yeosang asks, looking at you.

"Just wondering if they got home okay."

"I'm sure they did." He gently pushes you on the back, making you swat him in return. "Please walk, I'm freezing." He whines, doing as you're told despite the weird feeling that's settling in your tummy.

⎾ TAGLIST: @asjkdk @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @thechaotictheoryy @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @jexizia @curse-of-art

[yoiurboi]

Just Roll With It: Matron Rose AU

[Part One: Synopsis]

"Growing up, Ava Corvey was destined for greatness. And even though they saw the darkness in their path she felt as though she could work against it. Make a change. But then the worst of the worst of the worst happened.

She tried running away. She tried drinking her problems away and forgetting. But they could never outgrow their roots. Literally, and figuratively. As those flaming orange roots came back in, something her hit her. And she realized she still had something left to do.

With the chains of her past still hanging on her, and the weight of the whiskey in her bag weighing them down, Corvey Jay set sail, looking for the answers to every question she had asked in past two years. And this time, they wouldn't stop without getting an answer."

BOOM! Ava jump scare! It was kind of tough to come up with stuff for them, since we don't actually know too much about Ava in canon. I mean, as much as they are important to the narrative, we've mostly just been given "good" and "brave". Oh, and "dead", but that doesn't apply here.

Apparently Ava is monk, so I really wanted to play with that using the Drunken Master subclass. I think the loss of Jay would hit Ava way harder than vice versa. Not that Jay somehow loves Ava less than Ava does to her, but the loss of a younger sibling, someone who you feel the need to protect, idk, that's just a lot more devastating I think.

I figure Ava would lean more into full blown abandoning the Ferin name. Especially since, being higher ranked than Jay was in canon, they would have a little more... knowledge of what happened and IS currently happening.

Anyways, sorry for the long wait! If you're interested in more of this AU, then tell me who you want to see next!

[postmoe]

Really wanna do...

A Konosuba AU type thing with Anaxa, Phainon and Mydei.

You're a God who welcomes passing souls to a new start or whatever they want, and when you get the Blasphemer, you can't help but feel smug that you get to be the deity that proves him wrong.

He somehow still makes you feel inferior, as though he intends to make you doubt your own existence. The back and forth is getting too much for you so you explain the rules, tell him to pick something to take with him-

"Anything? Anyone?"

"Yes, yes, now hurry up! There's a long line, you know."

And when he picks you, it takes you a second to register, then another to scoff at his decision. Well, OBVIOUSLY you weren't on the table... Right?

And then idk Black Swan or some shit come down to say "man we really should update that. Bye (Y/n)~!" and you're in tears because your comfy life as a God is about to crumble with some Blasphemer who doesn't even acknowledge you exist.

They have video games in your world, you're not new to most of these concepts. Adventurer's Guilds, taverns, NPC dialogue, it just sucks you have to start from zero. Not a Gold to your name, not even a name to your name! No one knows you and it hurts.

Anaxa is having the time of his life, taking on small, two party commissions, throwing you in the way because, "Aren't you a God? Then do something divine."

You have to explain that, "My level has dropped to 1, too! I don't have any magical powers or-" and it's when he starts snickering that you realise he knows all this, you don't need to explain yourself to him, he's just the biggest bully you've ever encountered.

Cold nights sleeping in barns are terrible, you either find yourself curled against him for warmth or if you're still awake then he pushes you off. If you do wake up against him, he makes a big deal about it, "I couldn't get you off, geez, why are you so heavy?"

Eventually, you realise you're getting nowhere. Living paycheck to paycheck is hardly an adventure, and you're starting to really hate waking up with hay in your butt crack.

The only issue is that every other commission needs 3 people or more, 4 being the sweet middle ground. You come up with the brilliant idea, "Let's hire people! We can start auditioning others who want to be in bigger groups too."

It's humiliating how little response you get. The tavern owner is nice enough to let you guys hang out there, find commissions on the board and cry when things go bad. Unfortunately, this just means you have become the laughing stock of the town. Anaxa has no qualms coming back covered in slime or goblin blood, whereas you haven't needed to wash your own clothes in centuries, let alone clean your skin of viscera and other unmentionables.

Eventually, a bright and happy man walks up to you, a simple tattoo of a sun on his neck, "It's never easy, is it? I always find it hard to get outside party members. It's easier to just do things myself most times."

"You can do that?" You ask, stunned by his confession.

He looks at you like it's obvious, "Uh- yeah. The party number is just a guideline, a recommendation but no one is going to run in and stop you if you're heading towards danger. Though I do hear it can get you into legal trouble on bigger bounties and closer to the city."

You're about to smile at Anaxa that you can do the job, only to see him laughing into his shoulder, "Did you know this too?!"

He wipes a tear from his eye, "Well, it's pretty obvious. Since when have we followed the suggestion of a commission anyway?"

Like that time you went to invade a small, goblin camp from the rear, only to fall into the river and wash up right in the middle of their nest.

Or the time a hoard of slimes had overrun a farm and you were cautioned to clear them out during a sunny day, only to get the weather report wrong and end up fighting them in stormy weather. You can still taste slime extract from that.

"What are you trying to do, anyway?" The stranger asks, taking a seat across from you at the table.

Anaxa slides over the commission pamphlet, "Demon Lord's Castle. A town nearby has been getting threats from the King and wants someone to fight him off."

The man looks wary at his explanation, "Not to be rood or anything, friend, but even with four people you'd have to be pretty in tune with each other. What's your status level at now?"

You both answer at the same time, "12."

"This says at least 32... How about this, I will gather my partner and we will help you on this quest?" The kind stranger suggests.

Your eyes light up, grasping his hands in yours, "Really?! You'll do that?!"

He laughs merrily, "Of course! To be honest, we've been eyeing this commission as well, so it works in both our favours!"

Phainon is the man with the beautiful soul that offered to team up. His constantly angry-looking partner is Mydei, an undying brute who can harness strength and expel it with every hit he takes.

You soon realise that these men aren't what they seem. Phainon is a glutton for punishment, accepting every challenger offered to him and won't even hit back most times. He just laughs it off before ending the fight in one, swift slash of his sword. He's a bit ditzy when it comes to his own safety, and you have watched in horror many times as a beast will bite him or swallow him or stomp on him-

Mydei is a pretty good cook. That's... the best thing you can say about him. You've almost been eviscerated many times by his "Godslayer Be God" attack. It's terrifying to think of how strong this man is and yet how spatially unaware he can be when fighting.

And then there's your reason for this Hell, Anaxagoras. He's become more of your savior since these two have joined, and though he's not firm on martial combat, he's created a pretty cool weapon with a monster drop and a gun. He tinkers with it frequently, sitting by the fire at night while you lay next to him and try to sleep.

You suppose it's not so bad, the four of you get closer as time goes on. You prioritised your spells on healing and water magic, but since they don't seem to need as much anymore, you start branching out into buffs as well. You can't lie that your heart does a little skip when one of them saves you from imminent danger. Their protectiveness almost obsessive.

You just wished it catered to smaller monsters too, or even plant-based enemies that aim to entrap and snare without any real danger. Yeah, you see where this is going.

They may know of your status as a God, but down here, in a world where you have to start from zero, you're well beneath all of them. You need them to survive.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

You Came Back to Me | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: He always follows through. Pairing: Reader x Solider Jungkook (non idol au) Word Count: 432 because I didn't know if I should continue or keep it short and sweet lol a/n: Just a little glimpse into the reunion of this couple. I don't have plans for a full fic but I kinda want to put one out...idk lol p.s. I was gonna post this like an hour ago but then Jikook went live so best believe I dropped everything so I could watch. Shout out to the live translator fr like they're doing God's work.

I stand anxiously outside the barracks along with a few others, shifting my weight back and forth, trying to keep myself from jumping up and down in anticipation.

I can't believe this is happening. 

I truly can't believe it.

Five hundred and forty seven days I was without him...but who's counting. 

I watch as a few soldiers stroll out of the gates, my eyes closely examining all of them, watching, waiting, hoping one of them will be him. 

Knowing one of them will be him.

I see a man come out, looking down and around, making sure he has everything he needs.

A standard issued military bag on his back, a smaller one in his hand.

A bouquet of flowers held in mine.

And when he looks up his eyes land on me.

It's him.

It's really him.

So many things were left unsaid, so many moments we could've shared, stollen. 

So many nights I spent crying myself to sleep, wishing I could hold him close.

I prayed that he was safe from harm.

Prayed that he was happy regardless of the distance. 

None of those days matter now though.

The pain.

The hollow days and stillness of the night.

The heartbreak of a love you could've had, ripped away from you all in the name of serving your country.

Gone.

It's all gone.

His smile.

His smile that I had only seen through a screen for months.

His smile that he forced when we said goodbye.

It's nothing like the one he has now.

It's full of light.

Life.

Love.

That love I had seen and tried to ignore in his stollen glances in years past. That love he would show me in his actions, his words, his touch.

All in the name of being a loyal friend.

Because that's what we were.

Are.

Right?

Just friends.

We haven't taken that leap.

It wasn't fair to either of us to give in just to be ripped apart.

I wanted to, but he wanted to give me the freedom to move on.

He wasn't sure when he'd come back.

Wasn't sure if he would ever come back.

He figured losing a friend was better than losing the one you love.

It wouldn't have mattered.

It would've been the same.

Friend, lover, the only one I can't stand being without anymore. 

They all mean the same thing when it comes to him now. 

Jungkook.

"Jungkook!" I call out, knowing he sees me but I need to say it, need to see the look on his face that he's given me time and time again. 

But it's changed. 

The want.

The need.

The desperation.

It's all been magnified to the point where I can't even find words in my vocabulary to express the way that I feel. 

Jungkook. 

My Jungkook. 

He's home.

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[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗑 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : anxiety, panic, angst, fluff, overstimulation, implied age gap, pet names, budding relationship au wc : 1.5k a/n : i’m thinking about maybe making the odd prompt list, not sure if anyone would be interested? idk i feel like i have so many ideas on what to write but not enough time to actually write them. lmk if it’s something anyone would be interested in😭

you'd always hated crowded spaces, but this - this was something else entirely.

the pounding bass from the club’s speakers seemed to vibrate through your whole body, and the flashing lights made it impossible to focus on anything for too long. it was all too loud, too chaotic. the mission had been simple: blend in, keep an eye on the target, and extract information. easy enough. except no one had accounted for the fact that a telepath like you could hardly stand in the middle of a packed nightclub without being bombarded by the overwhelming flood of thoughts and emotions from every single person around you.

the drinks, the laughter, the flirtations happening at every corner - they were suffocating. you tried to block them out, but your mental shields were already thin, your energy worn down from the mission prep. and now, with the music and flashing lights adding to the noise in your head, everything was starting to blur together. the alcohol from earlier wasn’t helping either.

you stood near the edge of the room, trying to focus on anything other than the mental cacophony around you. the team was scattered throughout the club, everyone doing their part to blend in with the crowd. but for you, it was becoming harder to concentrate on the task at hand. the target’s thoughts were buried under a thousand others, each one screaming for attention inside your mind.

you felt sick, like the world was spinning too fast. the room was closing in. your head pounded, and you could feel a sharp nausea creeping up your throat. you needed to get out of there, away from the noise, the thoughts, the people.

a warm hand suddenly brushed against your arm, pulling you out of the spiral you were falling into. you turned, blinking, and found logan standing beside you. his sharp eyes were locked on you, concern written all over his face. he’d always been able to read you better than anyone else on the team, even without telepathy.

“you alright, kid?” his voice cut through the haze, gruff but steady. it was like an anchor, something real and solid to focus on.

you nodded quickly, though it was a lie. “i’m fine,” you muttered, but the words felt weak, shaky.

logan didn’t buy it for a second. “yeah, bullshit,” he muttered, his hand still resting on your arm, grounding you. “you’re lookin’ pale as hell. c’mon, bub.”

before you could protest, logan gently but firmly led you toward the exit, weaving through the crowd with ease. you followed, grateful for his presence. the second you stepped outside, the cool night air hit you, and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

logan guided you away from the line of people waiting to get in and toward a quieter spot around the corner of the building, far from the pounding music. the noise from inside was muffled now, and without the sea of thoughts crashing into you from all sides, your head began to clear, just a little.

“better?” logan asked, his voice softer now, though still carrying that rough edge that was so inherently him.

you nodded, taking a deep breath. “yeah… yeah, much better. thanks.”

he leaned back against the brick wall, folding his arms across his chest, watching you carefully. he didn’t push, didn’t demand an explanation, but you could tell by the way his eyes narrowed slightly that he knew something was wrong.

“it’s just... the noise in there,” you said after a moment, your voice quiet, almost embarrassed. “not just the music, but the people. their thoughts. it’s... it’s a lot.”

logan’s expression softened, just a little. he might not understand telepathy the way you experienced it, but he got it in his own way. he knew what it was like to have too much going on in your head, to feel overwhelmed by things out of your control.

“should’ve said somethin’,” he muttered, though his tone wasn’t harsh. “i would’ve gotten you outta there sooner.”

you shook your head. “i didn’t want to mess up the mission.”

“the mission doesn’t matter if you’re about to pass out,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with irritation - not at you, but at the situation. “you gotta take care of yourself.”

you sighed, leaning against the wall beside him. “i know. ‘s just... hard. when you’re in a place like that, and everyone’s thinking all at once, it’s like - ” you shrugged, trying to find the right words. “it’s like being underwater. you can hear everything muffled, but it’s all too much at the same time. i couldn’t block them all out.”

logan was quiet for a moment, processing what you said. then he nodded, as if he understood. “well, you’re outta there now. you don’t need to go back in. the rest of us can handle it.”

you frowned, shaking your head. “no, i can’t leave the team like that. we’re supposed to - ”

“hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but firm. “you’ve done enough, kid. let us take it from here.” his gaze softened as he looked down at you. “besides, you ain’t leavin’ us hangin’. you’re just takin’ a breather. nothin’ wrong with that.”

you met his eyes, feeling a little less guilty under his steady gaze. he was right, of course. but it still felt wrong to step back when the rest of the team was inside, working.

“how about this,” logan added, his tone softening. “you stay out here for a bit, get your head straight, and if you’re feelin’ up to it, we’ll go back in together. but only if you’re ready.”

his words made you relax a little more. the pressure to keep pushing through was gone, and the idea of taking a break, even if just for a few minutes, didn’t feel so bad when he framed it like that.

“okay,” you agreed softly. “i think... i think i need a few minutes.”

logan nodded, satisfied with your answer. he pushed away from the wall and motioned toward a nearby bench. “sit down for a sec. no rush.”

you followed him, sinking onto the bench gratefully. the fresh air felt good, like it was clearing away the fog in your mind. logan sat beside you, silent but present, his arm resting on the back of the bench, his fingers grazing your shoulder lightly.

“how do you do it?” you asked after a few minutes, your voice barely above a whisper.

logan glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “do what?”

“stay so calm,” you murmured, staring down at your hands. “you’re always in control. even when everything’s going crazy, you just... keep it together.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “you think i’m calm?”

you looked at him, a little surprised by his response. “well, yeah. you always seem like you’ve got it under control.”

logan’s gaze softened as he met your eyes. “darlin’, i ain’t always calm. most of the time, i’m just as pissed off or frustrated as the next guy. but i learned a long time ago that lettin’ it take over don’t do any good. doesn’t mean it’s easy, but... you get used to it.”

you frowned slightly, processing what he said. “so... you’re just used to it?”

“nah,” he corrected, his voice softer now. “i’m used to dealin’ with it. there’s a difference. but i had to figure that out the hard way. you’ll get there, bub. more easily i hope.”

you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. it wasn’t the same as what you were dealing with, but in a way, it felt like he understood more than anyone else on the team ever could. and the fact that he was here, sitting with you, offering quiet support, meant more than you could express.

“thanks,” you said after a moment, glancing up at him with a small smile. “for getting me out of there. for... everything.”

logan looked at you for a beat, his expression softening. “anytime,” he muttered, his voice gruff but genuine.

for a while, the two of you just sat there in the quiet, the night air cool against your skin. the noise and chaos of the club were distant now, and with logan beside you, the overwhelming thoughts and emotions that had threatened to drown you finally felt manageable.

“you ready to head back in?” logan asked after a few minutes, though his tone wasn’t pushy.

you hesitated for a second, then shook your head. “not yet.”

he smirked slightly, nodding. “good. let’s stay out here a bit longer.”

you smiled, leaning into his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. instead, his arm settled around you, holding you close as the night stretched on, the two of you finding a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

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[tsuyalovebot]

new person, same old mistakes.

minors & ageless blogs do not interact.

xia yizhou / caleb x reader.

cw. drabble (~1k wc, written in one sitting). slightly nsfw (suggestive scenes but nothing explicit). modern au (present times, canon divergent, no evol). military veteran & pilot caleb. non-mc fem reader (use of she/her pronouns at some point). mentions of drinking.

mimi's missive: hello... i am back. also, please disregard any typos or errors. i wrote this in one sitting, in one hour because i needed to get this off my chest. also, this is probably the closest thing to a non-mc reader piece that i will ever write. knight caleb is on its way i promise, i've just been so busy. please have these crumbs instead, idk if i'll expand on it though. U( . . U)

Fuck — that's the first word that comes to Caleb's mind when he wakes up in his apartment to the faintest smell of a foreign perfume on his pillowcases and the memories of you from last night.

Caleb doesn't sleep around. Even before he was drafted and entered the Air Force, he never once fooled around with girls in middle school, high school. The most it ever reached was something beyond friendship but less than lovers with a girl. With her.

Something tender yet never tangible. Slipping through his fingers like morning dew that disintegrates at sunlight's first rays, he never once dreamt of anyone that wasn't her. From childhood to adulthood, the chambers of his heart were distorted to pump her name in morse code. A childhood friend, something more.

When he returned from his service, years and years of continual deployment, what greeted Caleb wasn't the arms of the girl he kissed when he had to leave. He was greeted by her, sure, but there was another man at her side. And she'd been beaming, eager to introduce him to her boyfriend.

A boyfriend. A boyfriend he didn't even know of from the rare times he could contact her. And Caleb would contact her. How could she fail to mention that she's now entangled with another guy?

It takes a while before he could recover from the shock of it all. PTSD weighs heavy on a veteran's mind, years and years worth of service that exhausts him beyond the physical and mental. Not even from that alone, but the sheer heartbreak and emptiness that came with seeing who he thought was the love of his life find her happiness with someone that wasn't him. Years worth of yearning for a girl who was always in his reach yet he never latched onto. What could he have done when he was seventeen and entered active duty with dreams of glory and clouds on blue canvases?

But he gets back on his feet, at the insistent voice in the back of his brain.

It'll take a while before he can get used to the hollow sensation of emptiness around his neck, a silver necklace that sits somewhere in his desk drawer neglected. A long while, before he could rediscover a purpose in life that wasn't inherently tied to her smile. He's still young, honorably discharged from his service with talented piloting skills under his belt. A passion for the skies, a love for aerospace engineering.

He'd find that spark again. And he did.

Caleb goes into civil aviation after a couple of years. Becomes a pilot, laughs it up with his crew and the countless connections he's made in the industry whenever they'd ask about his past career. After all, it was probably the most cliche thing a person could do after being in the Air Force. Really? Airlines?

In his thirties, he thinks he's healed. She doesn't haunt him as much as she did years ago. His chest feels lighter in the rare occasion she'd cross his mind. He could even go out with Gideon and his friends without hesitation now — though it's an entirely different thing to actively seek out partners.

The most he could fathom was sexual partners. Even then, he doesn't quite get it. Not until you.

And you're his worst fucking nightmare. Meeting at a club, catching a few drinks together. You aren't alone; you had girl friends, a full squad that kind of merged with his own on a night of him and old military mates catching up. Hypnotic yet casual, the conversation between the two of you felt natural. Right, and oddly comforting amidst his painfully blank resumé in the romance department.

He learned you graduated from a nice university in the state, tourism management or something along those lines. Caleb tells you of his time in Air Force, the time he spent in piloting school for civil aviation preparation. Banter here and there, a few casual touches of skin. A dance to the strobe lights on the dance floor.

Maybe it was the alcohol speaking to him, maybe he was simply craving some sort of physical intimacy, but he sleeps with you. Jumps the gun a bit. Hours ago he'd been assured that he'd go yet another club night without sleeping with anyone or swapping spit. What a joke.

The next morning, you weren't in his bed. You most likely left far, far earlier than when he woke up, because your scent was practically fading away from the sheets when he sniffed the place where you slept. Totally not in a creepy way, by the way.

Truth be told, he doesn't remember every detail of that passionate night — the important tidbits, yes. The taste of you on his tongue, the softness of your body against his, how you looked up at him as you ran your mouth over his abdomen.

It was arguably the best night of his life. Ever. It was a thousand times better than what he ever dreamt of, the image of sex glorified and something he used to associate with her. But what transpired last night felt oddly intimate, shared breaths over ghosting lips. A rawness to a passion without bounds.

If it weren't for the several hastily placed bills on his bedside, Caleb would've gotten a hard-on right there at the memory.

You left money. Not even a note. Nothing else, simply money. Like he was some sort of cheap service worker pleading for a tip. Caleb scoffed a disbelieving laugh, yet he wasn't really mad about it, for some odd reason. He should feel offended at the implicit jab, but instead, he feels curious.

Unfortunately for him, not even Gideon nor his other friends knew your name. When he rang them up, they simply said stuff along the lines of you didn't even get her name before sleeping with her? or I got the names of her friends but none of their socials. It's disappointing, but he eventually gives up. Simply thinks of your face every now and then, fresh and memorable in his mind as the girl who rewrote some part of him in a one night stand.

But the thing is, he does meet you again. But it isn't at some club, late at night with a sultry ultramarine and fuchsia light glimmering over your face. It's a week or two after that night, when you're decked out in a flight attendant's uniform and he's the captain. He does a double take when his eyes land on you during the pre-flight briefing, stuttering momentarily when your eyes meet and his heart seems to pause.

Caleb doesn't know why he's panicking — he doesn't even know you. Isn't even sure if it's you, or if he's misremembering because you don't even bat an eye at him. Your gaze simply going to your fellow crew members, nudging elbows sometimes to exchange refreshing smiles with a tilt of your head and a windchime-like laugh.

His heart does that thing again. Arrhythmia. It is you.

Gideon laughs up a storm when Caleb calls him in a panic, and really, he isn't helpful at all. Caleb groans into the receiver, running a hand through his hair in exasperation as he paces around the crew room. Even then, he can't stop the odd smile tugging at his lips. He's found you. He doesn't know why that makes him happy — again, he doesn't even know you — but it does and he goes with it.

As per the airline, you all will be staying at the same hotel. Different rooms, of course, but same hotel nonetheless. More opportunities to potentially talk to you. He drowns out Gideon's harping laughter; the idiot was probably rejoicing over how Caleb was finally "getting some," as he so eloquently put it. Why were they friends again?

Regardless, after the flight, he does muster up the courage to talk to you. He walks up to you when you all are dropped off at the hotel lobby, his heart racing and mind spiraling despite his resolute expression. You're in the middle of talking to another flight attendant when Caleb taps your shoulder.

You earn a curious look from your friend, but you seem to take it in stride. You smile and accept his offer for a chat, telling your friend that you'll go up to your room in a bit. She leaves you, saying she'll go to one of the hotel cafes to wait for you, while the rest of the crew goes to the elevators. Leaving you and him in the lobby, your luggage in one hand and Caleb's luggage in his own.

Shit. His brain's blanking. What does he say?

"Ahem." He clears his throat with a cough, suddenly sheepish. His nerves claw at his nape in heated pinpricks, like the scalding sun. "Sorry to take up your time like this."

"It's nothing. Did you need something, Captain?"

The way you were looking up at him was polite, but dear God, it had Caleb thinking back to that damn night. Your smile of glossy pink, your eyes peeking from your lashes and your hand over his on the countertop. He wills himself to smile, albeit awkward.

"Uh, yeah, actually. It's— I'm not gonna ask you to do anything, of course," he rambles. God, he has absolutely no idea how to do this.

He clears his throat again. "But, I wanted to ask, have we met before?"

Caleb feels the visceral urge to gouge his own eyes out at that very moment. Really? Have we met before? The corniest sounding pick-up line in the history of flirting? He wants to cry, feels his embarrassment well up in a way it hasn't since he tripped over his own two feet in middle school but he somehow manages to keep his calm expression.

You, however, don't falter. Instead, you're remaining placid. Polite. Distant. He gets it — technically, this is still a working environment. But something about your nonchalance only exacerbates his flustered mentality.

You hum, tapping your nails on the handle of your luggage. "I don't think so."

His heart drops to his chest. Inhaling sharply, Caleb shakes his head despite the sting of rejection. His chest warms with newfound determination. "No, no. I think we have."

There's a bit of challenge in his tone. Something like assertion. It sparks something in you, clearly, because you narrow your eyes and something licks at the back of Caleb's neck at the scrutiny in your face.

"Then why'd you ask if you already had an answer?" You reply, dry.

Oh. Well. Caleb coughs, hacking like an old asthmatic man. He lifts a hand, rubbing the back of his head.

"It's just— I wanted to confirm. You look familiar, and I think we slept together?" He blurts out. Smooth, Caleb. Real fucking smooth. She's really gonna want to talk to you now. "And you kinda left money on my bedside table, so as much as I'm flattered that you think I was good enough to pay, I think I should return it, at least."

Your brows lift in surprise, like you didn't expect him to outright say it. Before you could reply, Caleb extends his phone to you with one hand.

"And I also wanted to ask if... I could get your number?" He adds your name on at the end, testing it from his mouth. He likes it. He's grateful to have learned it today by some odd serendipitous encounter in airlines and plane flights.

But then he notices it. The way your brows furrow deeply as you gaze at his phone, eyes flickering between something disbelieving and bitter before you scoff and look up at him.

"Are you serious right now?"

Caleb nearly flinches at your tone. It's biting, but he settles for a slight frown instead. "Did I say something wrong?"

The mysterious animosity comes off of you in ways as you cross your arms, pointedly glaring at him now. He feels like he's missing something, like he's forgotten something. Gone was the polite customer service smile, the warm look in those eyes of yours that drift in and out of his dreams. It makes him tense; you're looking at him like you can't stand him and he has absolutely no reason why.

You then sigh, breaking him out of his confused state. You turn your attention away from him, testing your grip on the handle of your luggage. "You know what, keep the money."

"What?"

"Keep it. You should put it into your therapy funds," you tack on, and Caleb feels some of his confusion fray into something more frustrated now. You aren't looking at him and giving him any answer.

"What are you— who are you to tell me that?"

You laugh, the sound grating on his ears. It isn't the charming one. Yet this one still feels as authentic as the other. Sparing him a glance, you take his phone from his hands and he's once again confused. Why did you seem so upset if you were just gonna put your number in anyway? Was this some new flirting tactic he wasn't aware of? Does he have that little game?

But then you're flipping his phone over, and in his clear phone case is a polaroid picture of him and her. He hasn't changed his case nor that photo in years. It was something as easy as breathing, someting natural and regular. Even though Caleb feels almost nothing when he sees it nowadays. He never once thought it would bite him in the ass like this.

His blood runs cold, blanching. Oh, fuck.

The smile you give Caleb is tight-lipped, not an ounce of mirth in your expression. "Next time you sleep with someone, try to not be a cheating asshole."

As you start to walk past him, you pat his chest while he stands there, dumbfounded.

"Maybe you could put the money into getting some Viagra too," you offer, faux sympathy and all. "They'll probably give you a discount if you mention how you moaned her name when you finished after fucking me, Cap."

The last thing Caleb thinks when you're long gone and off to the hotel café and he's finally snapped out of his mortification is, also, fuck.

[hwallazia]

SILVER DIVE – 정우영

synopsis . in which you and your boyfriend enter an abstinence zone against your own will since he decided to get his lip pierced. the wait is worth it though.

pairing . jung wooyoung & fem!reader

genre . smut (mdni!), wholesome fluff at the end ofc, established relationship, non idol!au

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho @yyaurii | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3,6k

DISCLAIMER! dom! wooyoung, sub! reader, needles included for our wooyo to get his piercing done (well duh, but still goes as a warning), sex in the couch (they didn’t make it to the bedroom y’all), lots of kisses (like fr, they’re desperate for each other), desperate touches, creampie, cum eating, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (we don’t sponsor that here), dirty talk, praise, pet names (love, babe, youngie, angel & more), auralism? (idk, wooyoung’s dick twitches when hearing reader’s moans), explicit aftercare (doesn’t include showering tho heh), it is still a wholesome post-sex moment. lmk if i missed anything pls!

NIC’S NOTES i know i posted two days ago but wooyoung posted that pic on ig and… yeah that’s it, i have no more excuses. you can blame jung wooyoung. aaalso, this is my last post until my winter break ends *cries* textbooks, lectures and 5-hour classes await for me !! (pls save me). it’s not proofread, i’m way too tired to do so, sorry for any mistakes you may read!

wooyoung had spoken to you about his notion of getting a piercing, more precisely a lip piercing. and all you had thought at the moment was how hot he’d look with a silver ring wrapped around his plump bottom lip. the idea was excellent and so were the results. you had accompanied him to the appointment, limiting yourself to only lending him your hand to squeeze if he needed to because you definitely didn’t want to see the needle introduced to his bottom lip. wooyoung was amused by your action. actually, you were the one who was almost crushing his hand when it was supposed to be the other way around.

after torturous moments, wooyoung patted your hip so you could turn around. and the view did not disappoint you at all. “what do you think?” he modeled playfully as he cupped his cheek with his hand and his gaze turned somewhat innocent.

“fuck, he’s so fine” were the words your not-too-naive neurons expressed. and that was the head start for your mind to start playing your favorite nasty fantasies over and over. but still, your astonished reaction was more than enough for wooyoung to understand that if you were too stunned to speak, it was because he definitely looked good.

“guess it’s fine,” he replied for you in an amused tone, yet looking at you tenderly.

“you’re fine.” you blabbered before your brain could process any coherent information. blush striking your cheekbones as a wave of bashfulness consumed you in less than ten seconds. and you’re so glad that wooyoung is madly in love with you because he laughed at your idiotic, yet endearing state.

the prominent pink ink that drowned your cheeks provided all the clarity he needed to understand that you were ashamed of your words. so he continued with his healthy teasing to enlighten your mood. “i know right?” he posed once again, this time exaggerating a pout, pulling a cute giggle out of you. the urge to kiss him right there was too strong to fight, your hands moving on their own to reach his waist and pull him closer. wooyoung’s expression faded from fun-loving to mischievous, a smirk instantly drawn on his fleshy lips.

the author of your boyfriend’s piercing passed you by as he looked for something. but his features went from unbothered to slight worry, stepping backward in an amusing way, interrupting your adorable moment. his head appeared in the blank space between the both of you. “yah, jung wooyoung. you do know that you can’t kiss her, right?”

you and wooyoung rotated your face comically, confused features hitting you. “what do you mean i can’t kiss my girlfriend?” wooyoung was the first one to complain. that sulky voice he always used to get whatever he wanted being present.

“man, you got a piercing done less than ten minutes ago.” the piercer stated the obvious. “you can’t touch the piercing while it heals. constant rubbing or friction can irritate the skin and delay recovery.” he explained. “and i bet you wouldn’t want your dear girlfriend to kiss an infected lip.”

wooyoung gasped lightly just from the thought of it, a concerned look on his face while you constrained yourself to make a disgusted reaction. “that’s what i thought. so be aware of that.” he warned one more time before making his way out of the room to the restroom, probably to wash his hands. you and your boyfriend dedicated to staring at each other sadly, but the specialist’s voice interrupted you once again. “oh i almost forgot” he turned his body to meet your distant figures slightly darkened since you were behind the clear glass wall which reflected seoul’s bright sunlight. “most piercings heal within six weeks, so..” he saw your disturbed features and knew better than to stay there longer. “good luck!” he wished the both of you before disappearing behind the door.

the week after that appointment was hell. if you thought wooyoung was whiny and a sulky baby 24/7, he proved you wrong. countless times you had been so close to kissing but instantly reminded of the piercer’s words, forcing you to take a step back. the ignited fire you both created every time now disappeared against your own will.

“okay but. only one kiss.” he had said once, pleading eyes meeting your just-showered figure. the fact that he was just a towel away from touching your perfect core was consuming him little by little. you stopped your movement after hearing his petition.

“babe, you know we can’t.” you got closer to his pouty face, caressing his cheekbone affectionately. lips only a few inches away from each other. “don’t make it harder than it already is, youngie.”

he pulled off your touch, throwing his back against the mattress as he whined childishly. “ughhh, this is unbearable! do i really have to wait five more weeks until i can kiss you again?” he complained again, his eyes dancing on the edge of a waterfall.

“don’t wanna break it to you but you were the one who decided to get a lip pierced.” your reminder struck a lighting of pain against his memory. an even louder mewl from wooyoung bounced off the walls. a sweet smile painting on your face, “we only have to endure for five more weeks. we’re stronger than that, jung wooyoung!”

your radiant cheer made his heart swell. “you’re right, love.” he got up, straightening his back and pulling you into a much-needed hug, his chin resting on your shoulder to avoid the silver ring rubbing against your skin.

after a few moments of adoration and mildness, you unlinked your arms to stare at each other, glittered hearts falling from your beaming irises. but wooyoung spoke. “can’t wait for this to heal and kiss the shit out of you.”

your face seemed amusing to him since he choked an adorable giggle that you would’ve loved to hear. “what a charmer.”

even though there was an obvious and major painful side of the whole situation, it helped you to develop more boyfriend and girlfriend activities that didn’t necessarily include kissing. but the sex drive you and wooyoung had needed to have a scientific discussion, if not saying it was high as the fucking empire state. so of course the conversation of “what should we do when it comes to sex” was dropped at the table. and you concluded that you could masturbate or use toys only if the other wasn’t near. and that resulted in either of you literally asking the other to leave the apartment for a bit just to get a short self-pleasure session. exaggerated, but it worked.

still, the void of the other being filled with silicone toys or your own hand was unendurable. so you once tried having sex, but it was.. empty, to say it in some kind of way. while you were riding his hardened cock, bouncing up and down, panting for air, utterly lost in the feeling, you placed your hand on the side of his neck for support and started leaving lingering kisses and licking it. but your shoulder accidentally brushed his bottom lip.

an unpleasant whimper left your boyfriend’s red lips, and you detected it in an instant. your movements stopped completely. “whatwhatwhat.” you blabbered as you looked down at him concerned, meeting his furrowed brows as he guided his finger up to his recently touched lip.

“nothing, angel. just a little rub on the piercing but that’s all, don’t worry.” normally, he’d kiss your concerns away, but given the clear impediment, he only dedicated himself to giving you a reassuring stare, caressing your arms fondly.

“it’s not bleeding, isn’t it?” in less than a second, you scooped his face between your palms, lifting it for the little moonlight that intruded the blinds to light up his ringed lip. but wooyoung brushed your hands off him.

“it’s not, babe. i’m okay.” he reassured once again. and even though he was still deep inside you, your unbridled horniness faded out by then.

and you waited, not too composedly, but waited for the three remaining weeks to pass by. and the day finally came, the final appointment for the piercer to check on wooyoung’s piercing and see if everything was in order. but unfortunately, you couldn’t accompany him this time due to your work schedule, demanding you to stay behind your desk at home for two more hours. “‘m sorry i can’t go, baby” you had apologized to wooyoung, but he was more than comprehensive and wrapped you in a tight hug.

“you have nothing to apologize for, angel.” he replied once he pulled back, heading to the front door, rummaging his key into his pockets. “i’ll text you later.”

you smiled and answered him before he exited the house. “i love youuu” you expressed with all your heart, and wooyoung’s soul vanished in a mist of endear. “i love you way more.” his sincere eyes reflecting his adoration to you.

a couple hours passed, you finished your very coffee-required paperwork and wooyoung was still nowhere to be seen, his two last messages being an “i love you” and two red hearts. since watching your favorite movie with a bowl of ice cream next to you seemed like a good idea to unwind, you did so, setting the mood and adjusting your figure so you could be in a comfortable position.

you don’t know when you lost consciousness and fell into the depths of sleep, swimming through the ticklish feathers of your pillow. a very familiar voice made your eyes flutter open sluggishly. after blinking once or twice, your boyfriend’s gorgeous face unblurred.

“there she is,” he whispered quietly, as if his voice was the sharpest knife and you were the finest leaf. a tender, unrushed caress lingered in the flesh of your cheek.

“hi.” you managed to mutter back, a sheepish smile appearing on your sleepy face before you adjusted your position to sit on your elbow and stare at him. “how did everything g-“

he interrupted you by the slam of his lips against yours, devouring you entirely. god, you had missed it so much, the addictive taste of his lips, now more exciting as the silver ring brushed on and on against the outer lines of your mouth. a relieved, soft moan engulfed in the heated kiss. you broke it once you ran out of breath and joined your forehead as you gasped for air. there they were, the breathtaking, toe-curling kisses of your boyfriend you had yearned for such a long time.

“guess everything went just fine” you replied to yourself, a shared laugh echoing through the room. “we did it.” you congratulated, referring to the eternal time you had suffered without the collision of your mouths together.

“hell yeah we did.” he answered, not doubting the slightest second to clash his lips against yours again. saying you were desperate was an understatement. your tongues, tired of neglection, danced with each other in a fight to determine the dominant one, and… there wasn’t a winner. too excited to surrender. the remaining sleep in your core vanishing away.

at some point, wooyoung jumped to the couch and imprisoned you between his strong arms. but you turned the tables by tossing your body against him, forcing him to sit down with you on top. wooyoung’s mischievous smirk appeared in the scene. “just woke up and wanting to fuck already?” his eager palms traveling up to your sides, seeking the removal of your oversized shirt. “mm, nasty.”

his teasing sent shivers down your spine, your back straightening naturally. “guess you have that kind of effect on me.” you confessed through breathy hums. after wooyoung spread feathery kisses all along your neck and ran his piercing up and down its sides, your hips stuttered and started rocking against his clothed dick. so you muttered. “bedroom.”

“why? when i could just take you right here.” his masterful hands vanished your cloth off your upper body, exposing your perfectly erected nipples and devourable chest and collarbone. a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you threw your head back. “do you want that, sweetheart?” he asked in vane, already knowing what your answer would be. but still, you took the trouble to reply to him with a faint, breathy ‘yes’. “of course you want to. you’d let me fuck you even in your parents’ house. wouldn’t you, angel?” your whimpered affirmation sent him to heaven. “what a dirty girlfriend i’ve got.”

“fuck, youngie!” you moaned out loudly. the wet slam of the flesh of your ass and his hips was divine. wooyoung stared at your bouncing figure from beneath you as if you were some sort of goddess. and for him, you truly were. head thrown back, eyes shut from the overwhelming pleasure, mouth partially opened as it left a string of whimpers with wooyoung’s name in the middle. yes, he had proven his point.

you were so close to cumming, the coiled heat starting to snap as droplets of your clear liquid escaped the sides of his wet dick, your breath sharpening even more. “oh god, love. you’re squeezing me” his eyes closed for a bit, enjoying the comfortable warmth your walls provided.

“i’m gonna—fuck. woo i—“ you tried to announce your release, gripping his arms tightly as well as your walls did with his dick. his reassuring hand reached your stuttering hips and caressed them fondly.

“cum, love. show me how much you missed me.” he ordered sweetly, and that was all you needed for your orgasm to almost knock you out. it was so intense you could barely see straight. your body kept moving on its own as if that was its sole function. your exhausted core trembled above him as you rode your high, faintly touching the gates of overstimulation. three consecutive rounds had you on the floor and getting way more sensitive than necessary wasn’t a good idea. it’d be too much for your poor, ravished body to handle. a few more thrusts were needed for wooyoung to fill you with his white essence to the brim, your belly feeling swollen in consequence. you had forgotten how good it felt.

normally, wooyoung —if he was tired enough— would wash you with praises, soothing hands coming in help, and after staying still for a few moments for your uneven breathing to find balance, he’d grab the nearest blanket and pull it over you, too tired to go shower or changing the sheets —if you were in bed. instead, he spanked the flesh of your ass and earned a surprised gasp.

“sit on my face.” he demanded.

“what?”

“you heard me.” he started adjusting his figure, the completely messed-up blanket you had used for your little leisure session grazing his sides. you pulled off of him so he could comfortably position himself and once he laid his body on the cushions, he pointed his face twice with his index finger.

“a-are you sure? i wouldn’t want to hurt—“ you stammered. it’s not like you didn’t want to, you just were afraid of suffocating him underneath you. the mental image freaking you out, but he interrupted your thoughts.

“you won’t.” he encouraged you once again with a honey-dripping voice. your defeated gaze being more than enough for him to smile. “now c’mere, mama.”

the pet name made your toes curl unconsciously. with worry and self-doubt still striking your expression, you moved towards him, walking on your knees. once your calves stopped right next to his cheeks, you casted your eyes down at him, your body only succeeding in covering his mouth. “are you sure you—ngh!”

his hands reached your hips and pulled them down in less than a second, diving into your cum-covered insides. his tongue immediately moving in the most exquisite way as his silver ring grazed your folds as well. as much as you enjoyed the feeling of his skillful tongue inside you, you felt like you were far too sit, concerned about the possibly blocked airways of your boyfriend. your hips shook as they tried to elevate, but wooyoung dragged them down in an instant, his tongue reaching deeper spots. an unashamed moan from you was heard in reaction.

he pulled off your folds for a moment just to demand in the most gravel-like voice. “shut up and let me enjoy my meal.”

your walls clenched around his tongue just from hearing his voice. he continued to pleasure you with his mouth, keeping a steady pace with his licks and slurps, the nasty melody wooyoung was creating from beneath you and with your loud, whiny moans bounced off the walls. all doubts you had in the beginning were fading away with every lick wooyoung applied against your clit. with enough confidence, you started to rock your hips back and forth.

a muffled moan from him was perceived, turning into just suppressed hums. “please, youngie. please make me cum.” you mewled, desperately searching for release. overstimulation didn’t matter at this point, you just wanted to come undone on your lover’s tongue. anxious hands finding support on the armrest.

“don’t rush me.” your pulsating cunt overshadowed his command. he kept his ministrations on going, this time pulling away to tease your folds by brushing them at a fast pace with his index finger, the sudden shudder of your core pulled a shit-eating grin out of him, humming in satisfaction before speaking. “guess there’s no hurry. you’re so close.. look at those walls clenching around nothing.” he teased, choking a chuckle. it’d be too mean to laugh at you in a moment like this, and he’s not that evil. “come on, sweet girl. beg for it.” he uttered, slowing the pace of his finger which now was only grazing your lips faintly, already causing you to yearn for the absence of his tongue and pierced lip. you could only whine pitifully. his heavy hand flew to your ass to spank it harshly, your broken whimper echoed through the room. “i said beg for it. don’t make me repeat myself.”

and as if he had pressed a button, your woeful pleading began to unravel. “please, youngie i wanna cum so badly. pleeease, wanna make a mess on your tongue, babyy.” you mewled pathetically, a few pants breaking your supplications. “please, will you let me?”

and that broke a string inside wooyoung. he cursed under his breath before surrendering to your eager walls once again. “good girl.” and he dived in, submerging in a fog of lust and overflowing desire. your thighs shook when he sank your hips down once again, your parted mouth releasing pornographic sounds as your boyfriend nuzzled in your welcoming heat. the pace increased in a ridiculous amount of time. and your eager core seeking for his piercing to rub against your clit and cause you the most exquisite stimulation. another spank landed on your ass though.

“stay still and let me do my work.” he commanded, referring to the anxious movement of your hips. “i’ll give you just what you need, you greedy angel.” and with his words, you were a promise away to touch the most delightful heavens. your legs quivered, threatening to lose balance, but then, you feel his divine ring nuzzling your sensitive bud, just as you would’ve required if you weren’t too fucked out to speak. wooyoung’s name and needy, desperate prayers were recited in response.

“oh, fuck—ahh! youngie, right there—oh right the fuck there.” you melted under his touch, sinking further if that was even possible. wooyoung moaned beneath you, your moans never failing in making his cock twitch. and when his tongue swirled on your clit, you lost it. coming undone under his ministrations would always be the best experience, bright dots whitening your vision and you arched your back in the perfect crescent moon form. the scene being so breathtakingly beautiful that it seemed as though it had been lifted straight from a painting.

he rode you high as calmly as always, his lips covered in your divine liquids as he lapped your sensitive folds to clean you simultaneously, pulling away every once in a while to hum praises under his breath. a muffled “you did so good for me” twirled on your ear.

while you regained the ability to formulate rational thoughts, wooyoung helped you to straddle down his face, cradling you in his arms, still showering you with compliments, as he gave you enough time to recompose.

“baby?” he whispered, your arms, enveloped on his toned back, tightened their grip faintly, chin resting on his shoulder. a soft hum vibrated against his core as you answered him the best you could. “what did you think when you saw me with the piercing?”

a cute blush struck your cheeks. too tired to feel an extreme wave of embarrassment, let alone invent excuses, you confessed. “honestly? what we did before, but not this. definitely not this.” you shared a wholesome giggle, comforting each other with your body warmth.

“does that mean we’ll do this again?” he lifted his chin from your shoulder, forcing you to do so as well, and locked gazes with you. a small, radiant beam shining in his dark orbs, almost in a pleading way.

you chuckled one more time before raising your hand up to his messed, sweaty hair, combing it affectionately. “yes, woo. we’ll do this again.”

your words seemed to make wooyoung’s tired state fade into an excited feature of himself. even though, you’ll try it again in your next sex session —which will probably be in less than three days—. still, excitement rushed through his limbs, and couldn’t help but wrap you in a tight hug as high-pitched squeals muffled against your exposed, hickey-covered chest.

your giggle tingled against his flushed cheek, fingers still brushing the sides of his raven hair. “what am i gonna do with you?”

| masterlist

[red5cars]

been cooking some pricegaz x reader concepts (and one primarily pricegaz) bcs of @/fulltacs

cw; pregnancy, oral mention (m receiving), hannigram mention, denial of homo-erotic relations, mentions of kidnapping and semi-dark themes.

1) price who is about to retire confessing to gaz he’s always seen him like a son. he also confesses that he wished he had grandkids, his (few) memories with his gran the only highlight from his childhood.

“little tyke runnin’ around, spoiling them to their hearts content, doesn’t that sound nice?”

and gaz, being the good man son he is decides to see his wish through. two months later, he shows up to price’s door with you on his arm. he never knew gaz had a partner (he doesn’t), but price could care less when gaz tells him he’s gonna be a ‘pop pop’

2) established pricegaz but it’s a secret considering it’s against the rules and also the (smallest) power imbalance. newly sergeant-ed you ends up catching them in the act. despite the wrongness of it all, you promise not to tell. it’s their business! and it isn’t hurting anyone! still, your words are not enough so why don’t you put that pretty mouth of yours on your captain’s rim while gaz works on his balls. show them that they can really trust you.

3) established pricegaz BUT price is not out to his friends or family which is fine because they don’t even visit his side that much. until they visit him. price would be your dad’s best friend in this scenario, opting to stay with him while you explore london. and though he knows how accepting you are, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let gaz say anything.

cut to gaz viciously flirting with you right in front of price bcs his partner refuses to tell reader in fear of embracing an essential aspect of his life.

4) bratrecruit!reader my beloved. idc if i talked about it before i’m going to talk about it again. i want to clean up that post but yeah just thinking you’re better than them and that you’re protected by your name. this is loosely based off of what @/yeyinde had to say about price’s background (ty lev <3) with him also being a nepo baby. having a nepo off. only thing is he has gaz and you don’t.

5) reader who divorced price and wants nothing to do with him only to be with his left hand man, gaz. don’t even know the two know each other but gaz knows everything about you. besides, price just told kyle what he wants for christmas, and you happen to be on the list.

6) reader who was constantly picked on by kyle when they were cadets, forced to discharge because it always went way over line but their co’s just called them ‘too weak’. fast forward years later when the two cross paths and reader is honestly worse for wear but gaz seems better (he isn’t). reader is on the verge of homelessness so when gaz asks if they’re okay they just.. break down. ends up with kyle allowing them to stay at his and price’s place, saying they have a guest bedroom.

(gaz who has always been way too obsessed with reader but his attempts at isolating them for himself pushed them metaphorically and physically away. however, he is presented with another go at this. price’ll understand, he knows how much kyle needs his toy)

7) hannigram au pricegaz but gaz is hannibal and price is will graham. idk i feel like price would be more likely to witness the horrors of his own mind while gaz just sits in the back sipping on his wine and chewing an arm.

[sweetlittlefawntears]

my sweet baby ♱

au : okay so this is kinda different than my normal takes BUT !! ... this isn't w my normal typing style btw !! this is just a drabble i might make it longer idk we will see ...

cw : fem reader x ellie williams, pet names, fingering, strap on sex, smoking, established relationship, not proofread, intentional lowercase !!

wc : 1k

౨ৎ you and ellie had been going out for a few months and nothing could make you happier than seeing your girlfriend. you loved her so much, and she took the best care of you, always cooking for you, bringing you gifts, and helping you around the house.

౨ৎ one night, you go over to your girlfriends house to see her sitting on the couch, already smoking a blunt. you giggle to yourself as you sit down next to her. "hey, bun." she says as she exhales the swirling smoke out of her pretty pink lips. you smile at her before giving her a small "hi" in response. even though you haven't been going out for too long, you still got nervous around her.

౨ৎ she places the blunt down on an ash tray carefully before telling you to come sit in her lap. you happily oblige as you straddle her, your legs resting beside her thighs.

౨ৎ she picks the blunt back up and puts it in her mouth, before passing it to you. "think you can smoke for me?" ellie says as she hands the joint towards you.

౨ৎ you take the blunt from her slender fingers and put it to your mouth. “inhale, just like that, yeah…” ellie says as her eyes become fixated on you inhaling. you cough a bit as you exhale the smoke. “s’ ur first time?” ellie says, holding your waist.

౨ৎ you grab her shoulders, still straddling her, and start to sloppily kiss her neck. you wanted to do more than just smoke now.

౨ৎ you knew she couldn’t resist you when you were so needy for her. “you want it, pup? need me to help you?” she says, cupping your face. you started trailing your hands up her shirt, with no intent other than to palm at her tits.

౨ৎ she starts to move her hands down to your hips, groping you as you start to kiss her. she moves her tongue over yours, deepening the kiss as she moves her hands slowly to the bridge of your underwear.

౨ৎ “getting needy f’me already? cmere…” ellie moves her hands under your pajama shorts and slips them off to look at your pale pink underwear. she moves her hand to softly trace over your clothed cunt.

౨ৎ “so fucking wet for me, you want it that bad, huh?” ellie traces a finger over the wet spot in your panties as you whine with desperation. she moves fingers and carefully slides your panties off your dripping sensitive slit.

౨ৎ ellie traces her finger over your puffy clit as you whimper in her ear. “ellie, fuck…” you whine, wanting more. “shh…let me take care of you, bun.” she whispers to you softly, moving a finger inside you. you knew she had her strap, and you were desperate to feel all six inches of her silicone cock stuffed inside you.

౨ৎ “ellie…please, more…” you beg as she coos at you. “jus warming you up, be a good girl for me and you’ll get what you want soon enough.” she smiles as she breathed in soft and sweet scent of your shampoo.

౨ৎ ellie unbuckles her pants and tosses them to the side, getting out the strap that you knew she had concealed. “think you can take it?” she asks as she guides your hips onto her. you whine out as you feel the tip of her dick reach your aching hole. “ellie, s’too big” you tell her, but she responds with a swift “shhh, you can take it. i know you can.” she pressed herself into you, feeling you squirm as she sees her cock get sucked in by your pussy.

౨ৎ ellie knew you could take all of it, so she pounded into you, hard. she heard you moan and whimper as she saw you move your hips to better grind on her dick. “fuck, baby, you look so pretty, bouncing on my dick, just like that…” she continued to help you pound onto her cock, as you grabbed her back, hiding your rosy face in her neck. “c’mon, feeling shy already?” ellie rubbed your back, feeling under your band tee that ellie had gifted you.

౨ৎ she knew you were close, and made sure to pound a few more times before your milky white cum seeped all over her strap. “fuck, baby, you alright?” you were totally fucked out and could barely mutter an “m’okay” in response to her question. “so cute, bun. look at you.” ellie grabs your underwear and shorts and slides them back on you, muttering apologies because you were still sensitive.

౨ৎ she helps you to bed, and hugs you from behind, whispering about how good you were for her. you fall asleep in her arms immediately, babbling out something like a goodnight to her.

♡ kay that’s it this is really fucking bad lmao ;; i’m really sorry i feel pressured to write more on this account because i really really want it to grow and stuff but holy shit this sucks actual booty cheeks lmao … thanks for reading this if ur still here i hope u have an amazing day / night and feel free to message me whenever ! ♡

[anundyingfidelity]

WHAT IF...? — Soldier Boy/Ben (1)

Summary: Ben, now as your husband, gives up Vought for good and retires along with you far away from the spotlight and the big cities once you're pregnant with your first child. He knows better than to make the same mistakes his father did.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 800.

Warnings: some angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, AU where Soldier Boy was never with Crimson Countess, some OOC from Ben? idk he's soft in here.

Notes: this is an AU I had in mind, based on this one shot I did before, but now with Ben and the reader being the good parents Homelander always needed. Is not necessary to read that one but this takes place in 1984, before Soldier Boy goes to Nicaragua. I might update with short drabbles with random scenarios and domestic situations between them, but for now take this. Hope you like it!

GEN MASTERLIST! — DRABBLES MASTERLIST!

taglist is here!

PART 1

1984

“So, how is it now for America’s son to retire like this?” the journalist asked.

Ben gave him a charming smile, eyes bright like diamonds as the camera flashes took pictures everywhere at the press conference.

“Is what I always wanted,” he beamed.

The time for questions was over, but still you heard through the crowd all the inquiries and thirst for gossip from the journalists in the room. Soldier Boy stood up, posing for the last time with his green suit and shield hanging on his arm.

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Do you plan on having kids?”

“Will your kids be supes like you?”

“How many children you want, Soldier Boy?”

“How’d you meet her?”

“Soldier Boy, give us her name!”

You turned off the TV as the conference ended and took in sight of your surroundings. It was your home, finally. The place you’d share with your husband forever. And even though the conference was filmed a couple of weeks ago, Ben agreeing to retirement was still fresh in your mind. Ever since you talked about marriage and settling down a year ago, this was one of your conditions. Being a supe was dangerous, more so with Vought behind, and you wouldn’t expose your future legacy like that. You were lucky enough for Ben to understand that. He wouldn’t want to put the same faith he had with his father to his children.

In silence, you looked up for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. You checked the last room, which happened to be his dispatch; his personal space to show his achievements and his own story as America’s greatest hero. His back faced you, as he seemed to admire for the last time the suit hanging on the wall behind a glass that’d keep it as a trophy for a long time. Leaning against the doorframe, you wondered what was going in his head now that the announcement was public.

“I know you’re there,” he said, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

You approached him, clinging into his strong arm and watching his handsome, stern face. “I’m so proud of you,” you mumbled softly. Ben turned his eyes to look at you, his face softened as he heard your words. “Thank you.”

His lips curved in a smile and he wrapped his arm on your waist, pulling you closer to his broad figure. “How’s the baby doing?”

“Considering I’m around five months now, I’d say he’s doing amazing,” your smile grew, feeling his warm hand on your baby bump.

“He?”

You shrugged. “You want a boy, right?”

“Yeah, but we haven’t checked that. We agreed to wait until birth…”

There was a hint of hope and confusion in his words.

“I haven’t done an ultrasound behind your back, if that’s concerning you,” you reassured him too quickly, putting yourself in front of him so he could look at you. Your hand rested on his cheek in a delicate manner. “I just have a hunch.”

Ben nodded, leaning into your touch. There was something he wanted to say out loud, to let you know, but he never had the courage to say it. The intrusive thoughts and the traumatic past he was carrying on his back used to torment him enough already. And you knew he was hiding something since you told him you were pregnant. You could see it in his eyes.

“What is it, Ben?”

He sighed at your question. He couldn’t lie to you, could he?

“I’m… scared,” he confessed. “I know I don’t want to be like my father. I don’t wanna disappoint our children.”

“You won’t, I promise. Please don’t torture yourself with things you are not, you’re not your father. And I know you’ll be a great dad,” you pulled him for a soft kiss, to which he responded, his hand cupping your cheek and then wandering to the nape of your neck. “They all will love you,” you whispered once the kiss was over.

Ben arched his brow in a playful manner. “They?”

“I’ll give you as many kids as I can, is that okay?”

He pulled you in for a hug, your head resting on his chest as he kissed your forehead lovingly. There was no other place he wanted to be but here, with you and the future baby growing up in your belly. Ben already pictured you together with a bunch of rugrats running all over the house, scolding them for being so reckless as they played silly games in a sunny afternoon by the pool. It was everything he yearned for. A normal life and becoming a loving father. His heart fluttered with joy, realizing this was the beginning of what he always really desired.

“It's perfect.”

>>> Next part here!!

Soldier Boy taglist:

@delaynew @k-slla @thesilmarillionblog @onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester

@daisy-the-quake @jackles010378 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-spinster-witch @drasticemotions

@stoneyggirl2 @sapnaploves @believeinthefireflies95