#it's much better than it was two years ago

[azsazz]

Drown in Me

Garrick (Fourth Wing) x Virgin!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: well I absolutely love Garrick. I just know he is such a softie with his partner. Just imagine that you too hate each other but something change during a mission or something and in a two simple word,, you fucked ". And you're virgin and he is so gentle and after he is so sweet.. Ohh I love this man

Warnings: Angst, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, consensual sex.

Word Count: 4417

Notes: DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM.

I hope whoever requested this actually ages ago is still around. Sorry it took me so long. I'm obsessed with the beginning, it was so much fun to write 💙

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Chradh lands in the middle of the flight field with a roar that shakes the walls of Basgiath.

It’s directed at you, you know it is.

There’s no ducking away from the golden, narrowed gaze of the brown scorpiontail, nor his equally pissed rider. You swear Chradh is glaring at you, and he huffs a breath that reeks of sulfur.

Uisge, your green daggertail growls low in his throat. He stands tall behind you and equal parts of you want to preen and run, because standing between two dragons is never a good idea.

The Section Leader is not pleased, Uisge notes, and yeah, you already knew that.

Tell me something I don’t know, you retort, but lift your chin as you watch Chradh’s rider dismount with a grace you can only wish to emulate someday.

Your breath sticks in your throat at the sight of Garrick, despite the anger written clear on his face. He runs a hand through his now dry, wind-blown black hair, and you’d laugh at the way it sticks straight up if yours wasn’t still plastered to your skull after the unexpected dip you took during flight lessons today.

The Section Leader is not a strong swimmer. You wince. Yeah, that was found out during flight lessons today, too.

You’re frozen beneath that harsh look Garrick pins you with as soon as his boots hit the ground, his hazel eyes glowing with fire. He’s more than angry, he’s fucking fuming, and your boots squelch as you shift your weight to your other foot. You wince as the water from the soles of your boots floods your feet again. You hope you don’t look like a drowned rat.

More like a tiny, water-logged sheep, Uisge adds unhelpfully. Your shoulders fall in defeat. But a tiny sheep with sharp teeth. Head up, little one.

And well, a sheep with sharp teeth is better than a sheep with no teeth at all, so you raise your chin and patiently await your punishment.

Chradh pounds his strong wings, lifting from the ground, his annoyance with you and Uisge clearly over with. You’re sure the two male dragons are speaking through their mind connection, but you’re thankful that Garrick’s dragon is leaving the scene, even if everything that happens here will be seen through your section leader’s eyes.

It’s better not to have the audience for the reaming out you know you’re going to receive.

Much to your chagrin, Uisge follows.

Wait. Where are you going? We should be bearing punishment together! You can’t leave the sheep to face the wolf, you argue, because Garrick most definitely looks like a wolf right now.

I eat sheep and wolves for breakfast, Uisge replies. Is he insinuating that he’d like to eat you? You’re sure you wouldn’t taste good. And neither of them is secretly trying to fuck the other.

You gape, swinging your gaze to your dragon, but Uisge’s back is to you as he flies toward the vale, his daggertail sweeping in the wind.

Garrick approaches, the hilts of twin swords glow in the sun as it beams across the flight field. He could kill you in more ways than one with those weapons, and others, too, according to the neatly aligned patches that trail down the right arm of his flight jacket. Your jacket is bare, with the exception of the lousy wing and year patches you carefully sewed on. You’ve been awaiting receiving your signet patch, and maybe after what happened in training today, Garrick will get on that for you.

A distant roar has you realizing that you shouldn’t be lingering in the flight field lest the next wing prepare for training, so you spin on your heel and start for the courtyard.

Garrick catches up to you quickly, his strides longer than yours. His fingers are tucked into fists at his sides and there’s a low warning growl in his throat that tells you he’s not pleased with the way you walked away from him.

“What the fuck was that back there?” He questions, and you can hear him struggling to keep the anger from eking into his voice. Too late for that, you can hear his frustration clear as day.

Your boots squeak with each step you take and your damp leathers are beginning to chafe against your skin. Being in the blistering sun isn’t helping in the slightest, and you really wish your room was closer to the flight field right now.

And yeah, perhaps slipping off of Uisge’s back during flight maneuvers wasn’t your smartest decision, but you needed a bigger body of water than the bathtub to work on channeling your signet, and this was the only way you were going to get that done.

You didn’t expect Garrick to dive after you.

“I already told you; I slipped.”

“And I already told you,” Garrick scowls, and it twists the pink scar on his jaw in a way that makes you want to trace it. “I don’t believe you.”

You set your jaw as you make your way up the stone stairs, trying not to cringe when every step fills your boots with water. You release your tense shoulders and attempt to drain the liquid from your clothing with a flick of your hand, but all you can manage to do is propel the water from your leathers into your boots.

It’s infuriating.

“You haven’t fallen off Uisge once during flight training, and all of a sudden, a few weeks after your water wielding signet appears, you go tumbling off into a lake?” He asks it like you think he’s stupid. You think he’s far from stupid.

I don’t, Uisge says, and you force your walls up with all of your might.

He’s been watching you?

You mutter, “I didn’t think you’d follow me.”

“It looked like you really fell off! You were under the water for longer than you should’ve!” Garrick says, and you frown. You couldn’t have been under the surface of the water for more than a few seconds. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Let you drown?”

He was much closer to drowning than you were, little one, Uisge’s voice creeps through your mind and you have to force the smile threatening to split your lips away.

“Uisge knows what I’m capable of,” you argue, but it falls flat at the outright disbelief on Garrick’s face.

“He knows what you’re capable of?” He scoffs, then tacks on a dry, mocking laugh. “You can barely even power an ink pen, for Amari’s sake.”

That’s because you’ve been focusing all of your energy on training your signet. Much more important that being able to power a stupid ink pen, in your opinion.

You stay silent so long that you’re on your floor before you know it. With an angered flick of your wrist, your locks click and your door opens an inch. You want to growl in frustration, that door should’ve swung open and stuck in the wall with the anger you attempted to force into it.

You’ll get there, little one, Uisge’s voice trickles through your walls. There really is no getting rid of him.

Leave me alone, Uisge.

I do not take orders from you, he retorts, but you feel him draw away nonetheless.

“Look,” Garrick sighs, shutting the door behind you with lesser magic. It’s an easy move that you have yet to master. “I can’t lose one of my riders to their own stupidity. I won’t let you.”

As his words settle in, you’re all too aware that he’s standing in the middle of your room, only a few feet from you, and the door is closed.

“I wasn’t going to die, Garrick. I knew what I was doing,” you answer, shrugging out of your flight jacket. Although it is no longer water-laden, the temperature in the room has risen, and you need out. You hang it on the back of your chair, missing the way that Garrick’s hazel eyes drink in the sight of the rest of your flight uniform. Today, you chose something thin and lightweight so you aren’t weighed down by the water you knew you were going to practice in. “I promise. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do, though,” Garrick swallows, and you watch the way his throat bobs. Fuck, he can’t believe he’s doing this, but here the fuck he is, about to confess what’s been haunting him for weeks. You.

“Why?” You surprise him by saying. You cross your arms over your chest, not realizing that the move pushes your breasts higher. In your haze of annoyance, you fail to catch the way his eyes dip down for a peek. “I don’t see you jumping off dragons after any of the other riders!”

“That’s because I don’t have to worry about them,” he argues, taking a step closer. You’re a defiant little thing, so you move closer, too, which leaves your crossed forearms brushing his chest.

“You don’t have to worry about me!”

“I do!” He all but roars. You rock back on your heels in surprise but catch yourself.

Garrick runs a nervous hand through his hair. He’s no longer meeting your gaze, instead staring out the window over your shoulder. Something’s wrong. Something he clearly doesn’t want to tell you.

“Why?” You whisper.

“What?” He croaks; throat raw.

You glare up at him. You wish he would look at you. “Why do you have to worry about me?”

“I—” he trails off, helplessly, and you can see the way he’s talking himself out of admitting what’s on his mind. Maybe he’s even talking to Chradh.

“You what, Garrick?” You prod, an icy bite to your tone. “You think I’m weak?”

“No,” he answers vehemently. His gaze zeroes in on yours and he looks at you like he can’t believe you even said that.

“Then what is it?” You demand. “If it’s not because I’m the weakest link, then why are you worried about me?”

“Because,” Garrick roars, crowing in on you. You fall back but he keeps pushing forward, until your spine slams into the wall and there’s nowhere else for you to go.

Your arms fall as you brace yourself against the wall. Garrick’s chest heaves, and you swear you can feel the rapid beat of his heart from how close you stand. His front is plastered to yours, and there’s a flutter in your stomach that swirls at the fire in his eyes.

“Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head,” he admits, tone taking on a soft edge that converges right between your thighs. Your gaze flickers from one hazel eye to the other, confused at his sudden revelation. “Doesn’t matter where you are, what time of the day it is, you’re always on my mind.” He lifts a hand and gently brushes a strand of wet hair back that clings stubbornly to your cheek. The heat of his skin is searing, just like his words. “It’s like you’re a second Chradh,” he laughs drily, “Though you’re much prettier than him.”

You’re pretty sure that this isn’t real life. That your section leader didn’t just admit the very same thing you’ve been feeling for him since the first moment you laid eyes on him. It must be real, because you’re here, pinned to the wall by his big, strong body, and he’s looking at you like you might just reject him.

And you don’t know what the fuck to do. Sure, you’ve kissed people before, but you’ve never done anything more. You know for a fact that Garrick is well-practiced, with those broad shoulders and handsome face, his deep, dark hair and bright eyes that could surely turn anyone into a puddle.

The words stick in your throat. You don’t know what to say, where to start, and the longer you’re silent in front of him, the more apprehension creeps into his eyes. He shifts uneasily, and you wrack your mind for a response.

Ugh, just kiss him already, Uisge’s voice pops into your head.

Not now, Uisge, you bite, and then you heed your nosey dragon’s advice, and kiss Garrick.

You can tell he’s caught off guard by the way his body stills against yours. Still, you push onward, making it known that you’ve wanted him just as long as he’s wanted you by dragging your palms up his chest, reveling in every ripple of muscle you can feel through his flight jacket.

By the time your hands lock at the nape of his neck, Garrick’s hands are on your hips and his mouth moves against yours.

He lifts you into his arms, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist and he rolls his hips into yours as his tongue traces the seams of your lips. You gasp and Garrick slides his tongue into your mouth like he’s done it a million times. He brushes against yours tentatively, and when you don’t shy away from him, he advances.

One of his large hands slides up your waist, finding its way beneath the thin fabric of your shirt, exploring the smooth skin of your sides.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you,” Garrick mutters against the nape of your neck before sucking a harsh mark there. Your head thumps against the wall and your back arches into his body at the feeling of being claimed. It feels like threshing all over again, but this is better. Sorry Uisge.

Other than a rumble of protest down the bond, your stubborn daggertail doesn’t interrupt.

“How long?” you gasp when his lips find the spot that makes you melt into him. Your fingers scrabble against his flight jacket, nails scratching the thick fabric. Garrick growls in frustration, pulling back just far enough to drop his swords, unzip himself, and tear the fabric form his back. His black shirt follows, exposing those beautiful broad shoulders of his. You can’t help but trail your fingers across his pectorals and down his chest, admiring every inch of his body. Zihnal must be with you right now, because you’ve never felt luckier than you do right now.

“Since the day you chose Uisge,” he pants, helping you discard your own shirt. Your bra quickly follows, and Garrick’s hazel eyes latch onto your body like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. Your nipples pucker under his heady gaze and he loses his train of thought in favor of bending down to suck a pert bud into his mouth, reveling in the way that you gasp and wriggle as he circles his tongue around the hard nub.

Threshing. He’s liked you since threshing, when you chose Uisge. You think it’s an odd way to phrase what happened that day, but in Garrick’s eyes, that’s exactly what it was. You, stubborn thing that you are, staring down the green daggertail with that look in your eye, the same one you always give him. The same one that makes his cock ache.

“Garrick,” you gasp, arching into him. He’s not close enough, not with your trousers still acting as a barrier from where he ruts his thick cock into you. Your fingers claw at the waistband of his pants. “Off.”

Garrick peels you from the wall, trailing his mouth back up to meet yours in a kiss that steals your breath. He’s very good at this, gentle, too, as he lies you on your bed and he works your pants loose from your hips.

“Fuck me,” he breathes when you’re fully exposed. A flush of red crawls up your body from your toes to your cheeks under that scrutinizing gaze of his. “Look at you.”

The sudden urge to cover yourself flares to life. You’re nervous, even more so when he drops his trousers and his cock bobs, heavy and swollen. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, all rippling muscle and perfect cock, his eyes only for you.

“Garrick,” you whisper, unable to keep the fear from your tone. While his cock is pretty, it looks like it’s big enough to rip you in half. You scramble away from him as he places a knee on the bed, feeling guilty at the confusion on his face. “I’ve never…” you trail off, cheeks burning red.

His uncertainty melts into understanding. “That’s okay, we don’t have to if you don’t—”

“No,” you protest, almost too quickly. Your voice has taken on a desperate volume, and you lower it before continuing. “I want to have sex with you, I really do,” you swallow, eyes dipping to his cock. It’s glistening at the tip. “I just wanted you to know, in case…” you trail off. In case he doesn’t fuck virgins.

The furrow between his brows creeps back. “I want you,” he presses, holding your eyes so that you know exactly how much this moment means to him. “If you want me, I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You nod, almost dazed. Even though he’s told you this already, the words send a current of excitement zipping down your body where it converges between your thighs.

You want him too.

“Come here, then, Garrick.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Garrick kneels at the foot of the bed. He hooks his fingers around your ankles and carefully drags you closer to him, hazel eyes heady with lust. The effortless way that he tugs you to him has your pussy fluttering with need, a movement that he tracks.

When you near him, he slips from the bed, sliding to his knees. Carefully, Garrick tucks your legs over each of his shoulders, and you can feel each exhale he makes brushing your core. You bite your lip so you don’t release an impatient whine, but for Amari’s sake, you’ve never needed something so badly in your life.

“Is this okay?” he asks, tracing soothing circles into the meat of your thighs with his thumbs. He peppers kisses across the sensitive skin, grinning wildly when your hips buck beneath his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, circling your hips as if to chase his lips. You want him on you now, licking you and teasing you and making you come on his tongue. “Please, Garrick, I—oh!”

You moan loud and wanton as the tip of his tongue flicks across your clit in an explorative swipe. Garrick locks that sound away in the back of his mind and dips down for another taste, scooping your slick up with his tongue. He’s going to enjoy the fuck out of drawing all these noises from you.

You’re fucking wet. The wettest pussy he’s ever had. You writhe against his tongue, panting and moaning at the different ways he uses his tongue. True to your stubborn nature, it isn’t long before your fingers are locked into his hair, guiding him while you chase your pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he says as he switches from tongue fucking you to sucking harshly at your clit. He nips at the joint of your hip when you keen in frustration. You even go so far as to lift your head from the mattress to glare down at him. His eyes fucking glow in response and he holds your needy gaze. “Take what you need.”

There’s a smart retort on the tip of your tongue but it melts into a moan of pleasure when his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks. Garrick adds his tongue into the mix, flicking it across your clit like he’s flipping through a never-ending deck of cards. When he adds a finger, your pleasure grows. When he adds a second, your orgasm crashes down around you in pure bliss. He doesn’t stop his attention on your clit until you’re a whining mess and trying to shove him off for a moment of reprieve.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs across your skin, lips brushing your navel, your breasts as he climbs onto the bed. Your hands relax, melting down his shoulders, tracing the rebellion relic. “Do you need to stop, or can I put my cock in you?” He asks gently, with a firm kiss to your lips.

“Cock,” you echo, still lost in the throes of your orgasm. You’ll be damned if you miss that chance to have him wholly. “Need your cock.”

“That’s my girl,” Garrick whispers, and you preen.

He guides you into a better position, a pillow beneath your hips. His hand is warm on your calf as he directs you to hook your legs around his taut waist. You peer down at his cock, red and leaking and you’re more than ready for him. You’re a mess for him.

Your breath catches in your chest as he guides his tip in. His words are soothing, gentle as he runs his cock through your slick for easier entry. “That’s it, just like that. It might hurt at first, but I promise I’ll take care of you.” He says, and how the fuck can you not melt for him with those pretty words?

Each inch he presses into you punches the air from your lungs. Your body tightens as you stretch around his girth. His cock is hot, branding your insides.

Garrick senses your discomfort and pauses. The halt makes you whine. “How are you doing?”

“Need you closer,” you admit, screwing your eyes shut. You lift your hands and Garrick carefully lowers himself, trying not to lose his head and fuck all the way into you until his hips meet yours. He’s so gentle, so caring, and your heart swells because of it.

He presses his forehead to yours, thumbing a soft pattern against your cheek. “Relax,” he coaxes softly. Your eyes pop open, meeting those lovely hazel ones. “I can stop anytime you want.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you answer, slowly unlocking your limbs. You didn’t realize that you were digging your nails into the meat of his shoulders, and you carefully retract your claws. “I want you to keep going.”

It takes agonizing minutes until his pelvis rests against yours. Garrick’s reassuring praises helped keep you calm, even made you wetter for him with that wicked tongue of his. He distracted you with kisses and promises, lingering touches and admissions.

Gods, you feel so full. You didn’t think that you’d be able to take him all the way yet here you are with his cock fully sheathed inside of you. It feels right. He feels like home.

On your own time, you give a tentative roll of your hips. Garrick bites his lip to contain the moan that creeps up his throat, but you do nothing to hide yours. Yes, you get why sex is amazing, and you’re about to find out what sex with Garrick is like.

“If you keep squeezing my cock like that, I’m going to meet Malek sooner than intended,” Garrick pants, but fuck if he doesn’t love the way you’re squirming on his cock, drunk off of the sheer size of him.

“Move,” you gasp, fingers tightening on the back of his biceps. “I need you to move, Garrick.”

He heeds your direction like the good rider he is.

He starts out slow, letting you get used to his size. He kisses the furrow between your brow, rocking in and out until it disappears and you’re whimpering for him to move faster. You’re soaking his cock, which makes it all too easy to maneuver quicker, shifting his hips until you’re crying out and your nails are locked into his skin of his back again, raking down his spine.

He doesn’t even care if you leave red traces down his back. He’d rather be reminded of this moment than the scar that’s forever marred into his skin.

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into him. Garrick sucks a mark into the plush skin of your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Yes yes yes!” He’s ravaging you in every way, feels like he’s using his air wielding to steal the air from your lungs. You know that your lack of breath is simply just from being in his presence, his dashing good looks have always managed to take your breath away.

Garrick is attentive, tracing every part of your body he can reach. He draws a map in his mind, committing exactly what places and noises correspond. He would stay buried in you for fucking days if he could, but the harder you let him fuck into you has his gut coiling, that familiar heat buzzing down his spine.

He slides a hand between your bodies and finds your clit like he’s been fucking you for way longer than one night. You tug his head down in a desperate kiss, whimpering in pleasure into his mouth as his finger draws tight circles around your sensitive nub, chasing you toward that edge that still feels foreign yet so familiar at the same time.

“Come for me,” Garrick whispers, and you have no choice but to listen to your section leader.

You topple over the edge of oblivion. It’s similar to the feeling you experienced earlier, when you let yourself slip from Uisge’s back. A freefall, yet it’s so much more than that. It’s strong arms crashing down with you, a cock between your legs that’s hitting all the right spots. It’s soft words of encouragement from a man you’d never thought you’d get to see this much of. Hazel eyes that you’re falling into.

Garrick comes shortly after you, when he’s sure that you’ve experienced the best first orgasm of your life with him. There will be no one who will treat you like this, he’s vowed to ruin sex with any other man for you. But he’s ready to stick around if you are, as long as you don’t go jumping from your dragon with a death wish without letting him know first.

“That was…” you trail off in bliss. There’s a satisfied smile on your face, one that makes Garrick preen. Your eyes are shut and the lazy way you stroke his hair makes him fall harder, melt further into your body. “Thank you.”

“No,” he counters gently, brushing your hair from your face. It’s damp for an entirely different reason than the lake now, stuck to your skin with sweat. “Thank you,” he says, and leans down for one more intoxicating kiss.

[uranometrias]

isn't that sweet, i guess so, aaron hotchner

summary: in which you reunite with your big sister's best friend, aaron hotchner for the first time since you graduated high school, and headed off to university. the last time you'd seen him you'd been a seventeen year old with a massive crush, now you were a special agent with doctorates and degrees. when the BAU is paired up with your unit during a case, you find that unit chief aaron is completely different from the aaron you'd looked up to growing up, but for good reason. one thing that never seemed to change though, is how he seems to know you better than anyone else, which is unlucky for you considering he's married with a baby on the way. pairing: aaron hotchner! x cia! female reader category: fluff x crack content warnings: none really? made up case details. mentions of bombings, murder, death, terrorism. there's an age gap of about 7 years between r! + hotch and this takes place in s1... idk it's just a bit of word vomit surrounding hotch finding a woman that's not haley attractive. no cheating though, cause it's literally fleeting, but reader is a bit smitten. author's note. i've got hotchner brain rot, and find myself with thousands of ideas that i never can bring myself to write. the girls that love him can be a bit... scary lol. they do not play about him, but whatever... he's on my mind so here we are.

it''s been so many months omg. i went to basic training and officially became an army girl! now i'm in italy now learning how to be a paralegal (which makes me even more equipped to write badass women with legal knowledge yum!) anyways... i'm sort of back, my schedule is packed, but i'm gonna get back into writing because i've missed it so terribly. xx

He hears you before he sees you. Your voice, despite the years that resided in between the last time he'd heard it hadn't changed much. It had gotten a bit deeper, a sign that you were no longer the bubbly teen he'd last seen you as, you were older, an adult now. Still, there's an undeniable giddiness that rested beneath your words that took him back to days when you were being chased off by your big sister for hanging around too much and "being way too obvious"

Obvious about what? Aaron had never quite figured it out, but he knows it's you nonetheless. You're standing in the middle of the Langley Headquarters, the Central Intelligence Agency office. The last Aaron had heard about you, you'd been on assignment in Qatar, but that was nearly eight months ago. Jobs that required FBI Agents and CIA Case Officers to overlap were usually gruesome, and despite how polite your tone was, he could still place a level of sternness.

"If we're dealing with some sort of cluster, the last thing we want to do is proceed haphazardly." you're speaking to a group of about ten counter-terrorism operatives, voice low so as not to disturb the other pods of agents working. "That said, over the last month there's been a bombing a week in the areas surrounding the capital." you're muttering just as the team is finally breaching the threshold of your particular pod. The building was bustling, flooded with bodies working on what Aaron was certain were different cases.

One of the agents, a man about your age seems to notice the new group, and clears his throat. You turn, eyebrow raising as you take him in. "I'm sorry?" you question as if the noise was some offensive remark made. The agent, whoever he is, seems to freeze up, eyes wide as he points forward in the general direction of the team. Aaron hears Elle's quiet little snort, and wonders how the two of you will manage to work alongside one another. Elle was - or better put, she could be quite volatile. And it seemed the way you'd spoken to your subordinate had already managed to put a sour taste in her mouth.

"I hope we're not interrupting." and you're finally turning, eyes fluttering directly to Gideon. You don't acknowledge anyone else on the team, only Gideon, head tipping to the side just slightly. Your lips push together, eyes then moving to the clock that rested on the desk nearest you.

"Not interrupting, but you're late, and we can't afford to wait around for the F.B.I. to finally give a damn." and your tone isn't snippy at all, but it's clear that you're passionate about your job, and this case. It makes sense that you're in the position that you're in. You turn back to your team, hands clasping together, "Everyone, these are the Bureau agents we were promised." you motion to them loosely. "You'll all be expected to work with them, not against them." you're back to pretending the profilers aren't there, he's not offended.

He can tell though that the others aren't sure how to take you. "This isn't the time for a balls match, and I don't care how long you've worked where." your eyes shoot across the entire group, resting sternly on the same man who's cleared his throat earlier. "They're here because they've mastered the art of getting into the mind of sons of bitches like these. In layman's terms we need them, and I expect you to give them the respect they deserve," it's then that you finally look back at them, eyes sweeping over the group.

Aaron sees it when surprise crosses your features, it happens when you finally lock eyes with him, but you hide it in an instant. "W-We can expect the exact same of them." everyone notices the sudden waver in your tone, but your face is so set they've got no time to unpack it. "I don't want to hear about any of you getting beside yourselves because you're too egotistical to accept a different opinion. Our goal is the same, so for now these are your comrades, and you'll treat them like you'd treat any cadet coming out of Peary."

You sound so official, and Aaron thinks that's partly due to the fact that you were one of the youngest in the room, which came with a certain level of scrutiny, which in turn meant you had no room to show any ounce of uncertainty. You couldn't give them any reason to believe they could undermine the authority you'd been granted. "We clear?" you ask, and you've regained some of that regality to your voice, and Aaron finds that leadership suits your character.

It's not until your team has offered their affirmatives and you've issued a handful of tasks that you finally turn back to the team. Your eyes sweep over the entirety of the line, deliberately passing over Aaron, and he wonders if that's deliberate. "Welcome to Langley." you start your introduction, "My supervisor said you guys would be here an hour ago." you admit, and you don't sound inherently snippy, but it's clear their perceived lack of punctuality was a bother.

"Our apologies, we came as soon as we were cleared." Jason is saying, and Aaron is certain all minds are running directly to Erin Strauss. She'd always had an affinity of making things way more difficult than they'd ever needed to be.

"That's alright, I'm just glad we've finally got your brains in the building." and you extend a hand, a polite (but still closed-off) smile residing on your face. "Jason Gideon, right?" you question, and he's accepting the gesture gingerly. "I'm Case Officer L/N, I'll be your point person while my supervisor is away." and you're looking at the clock again. "They should be landing within the hour, I'm sure he'll be looking forward to meeting you all." you proceed.

"This is Doctor Reid." and Gideon is addressing Spencer, who offers a small wave that you reciprocate. "This is our technical Analyst Garcia.." and he motions to her, the blonde beaming vibrantly at you. She's a walking ray of sunshine, a brightness that's needed in the profession. You offer your own sort of bright greeting, "And these are SSA's Greenaway, Morgan, Jareau..." and before Jason can move to introduce Aaron, you're offering the first real smile of the day.

"Hotchner." you complete Jason's greeting, smile deepening just slightly. "I'm actually quite familiar, we go way back." and Aaron feels every set of eyes to his left and right snapping right to him. He sees Derek's smug little smirk and JJ's perturbed eyebrow raise. He's not in the mood for questions though. "Follow me, we tore apart an office to make space for you guys." and you're walking, and the team is at a loss. Most of them seem to have no clue how to respond, but Derek does, he always does.

"We go way back?" he mimics cheekily and Aaron's eyes can't help but to roll. Elle and Jennifer are releasing similar snorts, clearly amused at the entire situation. Aaron doesn't know why they're so hellbent on trying to see something that wasn't there. It wasn't like you were some mysterious woman from his past. You were the kid sister of his childhood friend, basically a neighbor. Still, he couldn't deny that the feeling that stirred up alongside the familiarity was not lost on him.

"Let's just focus on the case." Gideon is muttering, and Aaron doesn't think he's ever appreciated the old man more.

It's barely a few moments before Aaron's being pulled from his head. The space that had been allotted to the team was nice enough, it would do for the time being. You watch them appraise the space, hands clasped in front of you like you were waiting for their reactions. "Thank you, it's perfect!" he breaches the first conversation between the both of you, and your eyes seem to light up, shoulders jumping at the not-quite praise. He notes then that you must not get a lot of 'good jobs' from your superiors.

"It's the least we could do, honestly." and you shrug slightly. "My boss won't like that I'm saying this, but we're really backed against a wall here." you lower your tone a bit. "If your team wasn't available, we'd be in a bind." you admit, and Aaron is familiar with the sentiment. His team did a lot of good work. "But, if I'm honest, I am kind of surprised to see you in the midst of the fray." you pivot, showing off all your pretty teeth as Aaron's lips quirk involuntarily.

You'd always been a vibrant person, the kind that could pull the sun out from behind storm clouds. That was something no amount of time could help him forget, and as you let your smile reach your eyes, the crinkle reminds him of a time before all the death, violence, and trauma he'd become accustomed to with the life he'd chosen for himself. "I'm hoping it's a bit of a happy surprise?" he says, because despite the circumstances, this was still you of all people.

"More than a bit." you reply instantly. "Honestly, the circumstances are God-awful, but it is nice to know that the 'little Aar Hotchner' that used to sit in our kitchen for breakfast, is the unit chief of an entire FBI unit." you say, and Aaron knows whether they want to be obvious or not, the team are eavesdropping, minds split between starting at their work, and hoping for a bit of insight into who their boss had once been. He'd deal with the fallout of that later.

"Little?" he says unconvinced, as you breathed out a small laugh.

"Okay, maybe not so little at all." you correct yourself teasingly. "I just- I can't believe that I'm actually seeing you again." and your head tips to the side like you're actually just coming to the realization.

"Yeah, you were a ghost for a bit there after your graduation." and it hits you like a ton of bricks. The last time you'd seen Aaron Hotchner it had been when he'd shown up to your high school graduation. Eighteen year old you, who'd been more than eager to leave Virginia behind and start your real life. That was almost ten full years ago.

"Yeah." you agree with a small nod. "Wow." and you exhale through your nose. "Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, I wish I could say I was surprised, but honestly you've always been the bossy type!" you tease before you can really stop yourself, and it catches you both off guard when Aaron actually laughs.

"I guess I could say the same thing about you. You know, I almost didn't recognize you coming in. Being in charge though... it suits you." and this causes you to brim with nervousness, a nervousness you hadn't felt since you were a kid. You knew you were good at your job, you'd fought hard to get it, and you would do anything to maintain it, but it didn't come with a lot of friends, or congratulations, or even just a small bit of encouragement. It was a thankless role.

Somehow Aaron saying something so minute was enough to set all your doubts and second guesses about yourself at ease. Something that he seemed to have never grown out of practice with.

"Thanks, Aar." you say quietly, and you look like you want to say more, but then your phone is buzzing in your pocket, and you're pulled back into a different headspace. The kind that had no time for laughter, for catching up, or anything outside of business. You check your phone, head pivoting to look at that big clock on the wall, and you sigh.

"Everything okay?"

"My boss is running late, won't be back until tomorrow. Which means this is now officially my case." you express, and Aaron understands your plight. The sudden pressure, the way you must have been nervous.

"That's what we're here for." he reminds you politely, treading lightly. "So you won't have to do this one by yourself." Aaron continues, as you blink away your awe. "And like I said, leadership suits you, you'll probably have the whole office in shape in no time." he offers you more encouragement, and you wonder how it could be possible to leave someone behind, and come back to them holding the same amount of space in your heart.

"Thank you." you let out a tired exhale. "I should go. I was expecting him to handle a few things, but now that it's on me... I have a lot more work to do." and you open and close your hand, flexing your fingers as you shuffle awkwardly. "I'm sorry-" you begin, and Aaron is waving you off, face pinching up in a way that was not quite like him.

"Don't. It'll give us time to think." and he's speaking for the team, who he knows don't need much to find a breakthrough.

"Right. It was-" and you look like you're not sure if you want to continue. "It was really good to see you again, Hotchner." and you stumble a bit as you take a small step towards him. "Just-" and you blink a few times. "Let me know if you need anything." you express, "Anything at all." and the emphasis isn't too lost on him as you beam up at him like you were remembering every last thing you ever recalled about him.

It takes you a second to note that the rest of the team is zoned in on the both of you, and you're immediately making your smile drop, taking a step back. "Uh-" you extend a hand, motioning to the entire group. "All of you." you offer, "If any of you need anything, my office is just up there!" and you point across hq to a large office surrounded with glass doors looking out into the bullpen. "Thank you again for your help." and you're looking at Hotch again, an almost sorrowful look on your face as you offer a smile before you take your leave.

Aaron finds it impossible to pull his eyes away from you, because you were so completely different from who he remembered. But some parts were still the same. He blinks away these thoughts, mostly because the loudest thought in his mind is of Haley and the baby they were expecting. But what were the odds that you of all people would be here. He catches the intense stare of Gideon, and both his eyebrows jump. Jason had a way of reading people like no one else.

He doesn't want to know what he found as he examined Hotch. So instead, Aaron beelines towards Morgan and Reid, hoping to hover long enough to get his head back in the game. If they notice the way his eyes would scan the office every so often, if only to catch a glimpse of you, they say nothing.

So he doesn't say anything either.

[landopoet]

two prizes.

pairing lando norris x journalist!reader

warnings smut, oral (fem receiving), mentions of alcohol

synopsis that day was not the first time you and lando had met, and he helps you remember that

author’s note posting my older works, thanks to @clovermoters for the collage up top!

♯

Excitement pulsed through your veins at the mere sound of engines roaring.

The amount of people trying to push past you made you anxious, but you knew it was all part of the experience. Everyone was bunching up to watch one of the greatest events of all time— the Miami GrandPrix.

Once you make it through the crowd, avoiding elbows and shoulders of people much taller and energetic than you, the entrance that you need comes into view.

You weren’t just excited for the interviews you were going to watch up close, but also the entire concept of the race. The hustle of engineers in all these garages, working their hardest to get the drivers in and out of the pits with minimal time to waste. Not to mention the drivers themselves, having to sit in the cars for multiple hours over the race weekend with no complaints— they chose to do this, they deal with the consequences.

That’s exactly what excited you. The reasoning for their choice to do this, you wanted to ask each and every one of them why they wanted to do this, what was so interesting?

You guessed their answer would be the same as yours if you were asked why you became a sports journalist.

Keeping your amazement at bay, you observed the race, focused on everything going on even though it was a lot to keep up with. But that’s exactly what you were there for.

You were sitting in the grandstands, intently watching the cars fly past you, when your phone rang. The caller ID said it was your coworker who had also been at the race but disappeared about ten minutes ago.

“Hello?”

She sounded distressed when you heard her voice. “Hey, love. I was wondering if you could take over the post-race interviews?”

Today was supposed to be a sort of intern day for you, meaning you were just going to watch your colleague interview the drivers and better understand what the etiquette is for it. You hadn’t expected to have your first interview today.

“Uh, why?” You asked, in a whisper. “You know I’ve never interviewed anyone before, right?”

“So?” She seemed much more confident in you than you were in yourself. “You’ve studied journalism for a few years now, yeah? I don’t think you’d have taken an internship at SkySports for nothing.”

“I mean, I guess?” You shrug. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to speak to actual drivers, though. What if I make a fool of myself?”

“You won’t if you remember that they’re just people doing their jobs, and you’re doing your job by asking them questions.” She makes a good point and you sigh in defeat.

“Alright, I’ll do it. Send over the information you’ve written.”

“Sorry.” You hear her slightly laugh. “You gotta fend for yourself with that one, hun. It’s a cruel world we live in. Cheers.”

With that, the call ended and you were left with nothing but anxiety weighing on your shoulders. The rest of the race seemed to fly by in mere minutes, your mind too focused on the pressure of your first ever interview.

Well, not first ever.

You imagined the day would come sooner or later, so you’d practise a conversation with one of the drivers by speaking to yourself in the mirror. That, and watching multiple interviews through the years, soaking up every bit of information you could about the process of it.

Before you knew it, you were standing in a sea of people with their cameras, waiting for the drivers to make their way to you.

It wasn’t that nerve wracking when you actually started talking to them, and by the time you got to Daniel, you had lost all feelings of anxiety, instead laughing along to his jokes.

You thought so, at least. A feeling of intimidation crawled up your spine when your eyes locked with Lando Norris, a driver for Mclaren. You noticed the piercing look from across the room as he spoke to a different interviewer, his green pupils tracking your every move as you spoke to Oscar.

The interview with Oscar wraps up and he begins turning away from you. “Good luck on your next race!”

Oscar smiled at you as he walked off to somewhere you could only guess.

If you had been anxious before, you were probably five times as anxious now, because Oscar Piastri leaving the spot in front of you meant that Lando Norris would be replacing him. And, for whatever reason, he was making you incredibly nervous.

You looked down at the ground as Lando approached you, waiting to hear what you had to say. You couldn’t bear looking up at him, knowing he’s already staring at you. But it was part of your job and you had to stay professional.

“Hello, Lando.” You said, cheerily.

“Hi,” he grinned at you, sweaty and all, his dimples appearing for a split second. “How are you?”

“I’m alright, thanks, how was the race?” You asked with a smile, ignoring the butterflies in the pit of your stomach when he smiled at you again.

Lando’s green eyes studied your face, soaking up each detail he missed since the last time he had seen you. He knows you don’t remember him and he doesn’t need you to, it’s kind of nice to feel something without reciprocation from the other.

After a long while, Lando shrugged. “Yeah, uh, the race was pretty good, I mean, I got first place, so I’d say it’s good. Y’know, aside from Oscar’s incident, but that’s not something we can predict, it just happens.”

You watched intently as he explained the race, your eyes oddly drawn to his lips. The pattern at which they move, and the tempting way he pokes his tongue out to tap the corners of his lips, makes you weak.

This was horribly unprofessional of you, and you knew that, but the charms of this young british racer had worked their magic on you, and you weren’t strong enough to resist it.

You felt like it was just the two of you in the room and both of you were trying your damn best not to break, one for more reasons than the other.

“Yeah, it seems like it was a lucky race for you, the pace of your car was incredible to watch.” You pointed out, looking down at the race data on your clipboard. “The RedBull’s were a bit slower this race, do you think that gave you an advantage?”

“Well, they already win races left, right and centre. They have to be bad sometimes.” Lando stifled a laugh. “But, uh, I don’t know. I think it all came down to the car and my ability to control it. The pace was insane, honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to be faster than a RedBull.”

The joke made you giggle and you quickly hid your face by looking away for a mere moment, in an attempt to recollect yourself. Thankfully, none of the cameras were on your face.

“Or it’s just pure talent, I’d say.” You look back up at him, his eyes never once leaving your face. He’s so smiley and it’s contagious, so you can’t help but smile at him, too. “Any plans for the celebration? You must be feeling ecstatic about your first win, so I assume the celebration must be as big as this.”

Lando puts the tube of his water bottle to his lips and takes a long sip, eyes still glued to you. He wasn’t even blinking, far too focused on the shape of your lips and how good they felt that night. That one night you can’t seem to remember.

“I’m not entirely sure, if I’m honest.” He shrugs, tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, biting back the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his face. “I still have to call my mum and siblings.”

“I’m sure they’re incredibly proud of you,” you smile, politely. He’s still intently looking at you, cheeks now burning red at your comment accompanied by his massive grin.

It was time to wrap up your chat with Lando, but, in all honesty, you really didn’t want to. You felt something brewing in your chest at the mere feeling of his eyes burning into you, and it excited you.

Still, you ignore it. You had to stay professional, even if it was all too much to handle. “It was lovely chatting with you, Lando. Congratulations and good luck next race.”

“Will you be interviewing me next time, too?” Lando asks, making no move to walk away just yet. His eyes narrowed onto yours when you looked back at him, an adorably surprised look on your face.

“Uh,” you look away for a moment, not sure what to say. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I look forward to seeing you again. Maybe.” He gave you another cocky smirk and nodded his head as a farewell, leaving you nothing but a blushing mess in the media pen.

After a plethora of interviews back to back, you were tired beyond words. Your feet were sore, your back hurt, you felt your eyelids close if you stood still for longer than two seconds. The image of your soft hotel bed made you motivated to keep moving through the building and find your way out.

“Oh, hey!” A familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. “Y/N, was it?”

Your eyes find their way to the person behind you and you’re happy to see that it’s Daniel. “Daniel! Hi, nice to see you again.” You extended a hand to shake and he smiled as he squeezed it.

“Was lovely talking to you earlier. You asked such great questions, honestly, it made me really think about my answers, y’know?” You hadn’t noticed how both of you started walking again and he kept up with your pace. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Oh, interviewing?” You ask and he nods eagerly, with the energy of a little boy. “This was my first official day of interviewing, actually. I had to step in for my colleague.”

“No way.” He muses, jaw slack and eyes glimmering with interest. “The way you interacted with me had me thinking you were carrying a load of experience.”

You stifle a laugh and watch the path ahead. “Yeah, well. I practised a lot in my room. You have race sims, I have a mirror and a hairbrush for a microphone.”

Daniel’s laugh echoed in the mostly empty area around you. “You’re funny, too.” He muses once again, shocked by how much fun you can be. “Listen, I know it’s not professional to ask this, but are you free tonight?”

“Oh, uh,” you look up at him and hesitate. “I’m not interested in-“

“No, no,” Daniel waves his hands in the air as if to stop the words spilling from your mouth. “God, no. I was going to ask if you’d like to come to the club later, all of the drivers are gonna be there to celebrate Lando’s win. It could be fun.”

You paused in your steps, brows furrowing as you felt a beam of energy climb up your spine. All of a sudden, your bed didn’t seem like the comfiest thing in the world and you were willing to exchange it for a pair of heels and a dress.

“I’d like that, yeah.” You smiled at Daniel and he reciprocated the gesture.

He gives you a piece of paper with something scribbled on it and you gladly pluck it from his fingers. “Shoot me a text when you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride to the club. Cheers.”

And with that, he disappeared into the car park, the only remainder of his friendly presence being his lingering smell in the air and the scribbled number on the back of a grocery store coupon.

“Thanks, mate.”

Lando’s hand felt heavy as he shook it with someone he barely knew, congratulating him on the win. He’s been stuck in this large group of people for way too long, desperately looking for an escape. And, eventually, he found it— you.

His eyes have been stuck to you for the past fifteen minutes, patiently waiting for the people to finish congratulating him so he could finally talk to you.

When the perfect moment arose, Lando swiftly shimmied between the dancing bodies and made his way to the bar. You were still sitting there, looking as beautiful as the last time he saw you, but now you were right in front of him and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Lando’s voice startles you when he plops down in a bar stool beside you.

You smile at him, feeling the same anxiety crawl up your spine as the last time you saw him. “I’d say the same, but this feels like the perfect place for a race winner.”

“I honestly hated it before,” he shrugged, looking out into the crowd. “I used to party after a podium, second place being the best I’ve ever had.”

“But now you’re here as a winner.” You’re still looking at him when he turns back around. There’s something so nostalgic about the way he looks at you, almost as if you’ve already been there and seen him before. “A victory looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” He flashes a grin your way, raising a brow. “I’ll try to win more then. Maybe I’ll get to see you again that way.”

“I’m free whenever you want to see me,” you blurt. Lando’s eyebrows raise with surprise when you say that and he bursts into a small laugh when you start flailing your hands around in the air. “Sorry, that’s so unprofessional, I didn’t mean to–“

“It’s fine,” he assures you. “I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to get out of here. But that’s so unprofessional of me.”

“Mr. Norris!” You exclaim with a faux gasp. Lando watches with an amused grin on his face as you smile back at him. “I’d like that very much.”

It didn’t take long for both of you to swivel your way past the drunk people in the club and find yourselves in a cab. Lando’s hand made a home on your thigh and you didn’t mind. It felt warm, secure and turned you on when he inched it closer to the hem of your dress.

Time flew fast in the company of a race winner, especially one as charming and attractive as Lando. You didn’t realise how many hours had passed after you had left the club and, frankly, you didn’t really care.

The moments spent with him felt somehow nostalgic, as if you had felt this way before. But you’re sure you just dreamt it. There’s no way you’ve met Lando before and didn’t remember it.

It felt silly to think that, so you just ignored that thought and continued watching the intoxicating way his lips moved as he spoke. He’s been talking about something for the past five minutes and you didn’t hear a word of it, being far too focused on the pattern of his freckles, the dip of his nose and the gentleness of his eyes when he looked at you.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, voice gentle and cautious.

You bit back a smile, eyes flickering between his eyes and lips. “You.”

The nostalgic feeling snuck its way into the back of your mind when he kissed you, his lips and hands feeling like a long lost home. You somehow already knew the melody of his breathing and the pattern of his hair, the familiarity of his kiss starting a fire in your chest. You felt the warmth of his lust spread through your torso, creeping up your neck, softly toying with the giggle in your throat.

Stars spackled on the inside of your eyelids and the harmonious sounds leaving your lips finally drew you back to that night.

Warm hands. Gentle strokes and soft kisses. Careful fingertips trailing their way down your hips. Lando’s tongue danced on your aching bud and you felt the whole world fade away. The mere touch of his fingers on your hips to keep you still reminded you of the last time.

“Mmh, fuck.” Lando hummed against you, the vibrations sending bolts of lightning through your veins. “So good. So fucking good for me, y/n.”

His tongue swirled around your throbbing clit, bringing you that much closer to the edge. The alcohol in your system mixed with the pleasure coursing through your body was a lethal combination. Your legs shook as you felt your walls close around nothing, Lando’s mouth attached to you as if he was a starved man and you were the first thing he could get his mouth on.

“I’m- I-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before making a mess all over his goatee. He licked up every last bit of you, the sweet taste of you making a perfect combination with the aftertaste of whiskey in the back of his throat.

You stayed lying there, eyes fluttering closed and lips parted, deep breaths inflating your chest. Lando watched you, green eyes soaking in every inch of you— he wasn’t sure if you’d remember him this time, so he made the most of every moment spent with you.

After a while of him watching you, you felt Lando get up and come back in a few minutes, a damp towel in his hands. He touched your most sensitive parts with the weight of nothing, carefulness sewn into every movement he made. At that point, you were drifting in and out of consciousness, not fully knowing when the bed dipped under Lando’s weight again.

You felt his arms wrap around you and pull you in, the warmth of his bare skin heating your cheek. You were hesitant to speak, cautious as to not say something wrong. So, instead of speaking, you lifted your head and connected your lips with his again, the minty taste of his lips making you smile.

“It was you.”

Lando hummed into the kiss, as if to acknowledge that it was him, but also to ask what you meant.

You pulled away, fingers immediately making home in his curls. “That night.” A familiar look painted itself across Lando’s face. “I tried so hard to remember whose lips felt like home, and only the weight of yours reminded me.”

“You were thinking about me?” Lando inquired, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face.

You nodded. “Every day since that night.”

Lando smiled before kissing you again. “You never left my mind. I kept reminiscing that night, waiting for fate to magically bring us back to one another.” He whispered against your hairline, lips pressing soft, love-filled kisses against your skin. “Didn’t expect to win two prizes in one day.”

A small laugh slipped past your lips. “What a lucky man you are, Mr. Norris.”

“The luckiest.” He hummed. “Because I finally have you.”

[queensunshinee]

So sweet- part 2 || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mention of p in v sex, oral sex), mention of an eating disorder, family drama, death in the family, cheating. It's a mess.

Word Count: 7.9k

(Part 1)

So sweet- part 2:

Art leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you. Since your back was to him, you hadn't seen him yet, and he felt like he had the upper hand. As if he didn’t need to be defensive. As if he was still part of your life. Your hair looked shorter than the last time he saw you. But then again, the last time he saw you, you told him you never wanted to see him again, so maybe he didn’t remember all the details as well as he’d like to.

Maybe he felt that "never" was subjective. That everyone could choose what to take from the word "never." That a year and a half without speaking to you was enough "never" for him, and you'd be a hypocrite if you said it wasn’t for you too. "Are you going to stand there much longer, Donaldson?" Your voice sounded the same. He'd recently discovered he hated a lot of things, but at the top of his list were all the times you called him by his last name instead of his first.

"You really do have eyes in the back of your head," he tried to joke, but he didn’t hear you laugh, not even a chuckle. He hadn’t seen your face yet, but he could guess you weren’t even smiling. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta?" you asked. If he didn’t know you, he might have thought you were fine. That this was just polite conversation between two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while and ran into each other by chance. "My first match isn’t for another two days. I couldn’t miss the funeral," he said quietly. "I’m really sorry for your loss, you know that, right?" He took a few large steps and sat on the bed next to you, hoping you’d give him this moment. Hoping you wouldn’t be angry. Not when he was trying so hard.

"She was a mean drunk," you muttered. "Not a huge loss," you added, glancing at him for a second, allowing yourself to surrender to the moment. He recognized the piercing gaze. Maybe a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, but your eyes were the same eyes. You were the same girl he used to love. Used to. Used to. Used to. Before he went on his path in life and you on yours. Before he made a decision, and then you made a decision, and then both of you made decisions. Before words were said. Before he left and you stayed. Before he opened up and you shut down. Used to.

"You’re a grown man, you should know how to tie a tie by now, don’t you think?" you asked, probably trying to lighten the sadness that filled your childhood room, located right across from his childhood room. He wanted to thank you for that. But he never knew how to talk to you honestly. Why would he start now? "Tashi usually does it," he said quietly, and you stood in front of him, starting to adjust the damn tie. You had no idea what you were doing to his heartbeat. "I’m sorry about your grandmother. I was at your parents’ house afterward. I don’t know if they told you," you mumbled.

He was so angry at you for not coming to the funeral. Because by what right did you take his tragedy and make him consumed with thoughts of you? About your absence. About your hand that could’ve held his tightly, just like you did when he was eight, and Jameson died. Instead, he held Tashi’s hand. She didn’t squeeze. She let go after a few minutes. He was so angry that at his grandmother’s funeral, more than anything, he missed you. So now, a few minutes before heading to your mother’s funeral, he squeezed your hand for a moment while you adjusted his tie, looking at him with big eyes filling with tears you refused to let fall. "Better," you said.

He didn’t think it was better. He didn’t want to argue. He just nodded. . . . Patrick couldn’t focus. Every time he hit that stupid ball, he thought about the fight he had with his dad a week ago and the dumb argument he had with you before leaving for Atlanta. He hadn’t told you yet that his parents decided to cut him off from the trust fund. He hadn’t told you that he was basically broke. Sometimes Patrick thinks you’re the only person in the world who looks at him like he understands something about life. Like he’s capable of pulling off magic at any given moment. Sparkling eyes and a smile. He wonders when was the last time you looked at him like that. It’s been a few good months. He can’t deliver. Not the damn ball and not in real life.

He hesitates. Everything he does comes with a certain delay. He knows that at 24, he’s expected to understand who he is and what he wants from life. But what he wants from life doesn’t want him back, and that’s something he’s not willing to accept. He blames his parents for the fact that he’s too spoiled. That he doesn’t know when to stop. That he can’t let go of dreams. That he has to be the best, even though he’s drowning in his own mediocrity. He moves too fast between knowing how good he is at what he does and the harsh slap of reality that comes with each of his failures. Every tournament he loses in the second round, every person who was once in his life and doesn’t want him anymore. They found something better. Something more put-together.

He saw Tashi from a distance for the second time in the last two days. Always alone, Art wasn’t with her. He wondered why Art wasn’t here. He knew Art was competing. Everyone knew Art was competing. The rising star of American tennis. Motherfucker. His dad screamed it at him when he lost it a week ago— “I wish Art Donaldson were my son, maybe then I wouldn’t be so ashamed.” Patrick won’t tell anyone that it hurt. Not because he cares what his shitty dad thinks of him. Not because he cares that Art is succeeding on an international level, breaking into the world’s top ten. Fulfilling all the dreams they once dreamed together. Patrick cares because he knows that at any given moment, he could beat Art. He’s better than Art. So how is it that Art is ranked eighth and Patrick is a nobody? No one takes him into account.

“You planning to embarrass yourself in another tournament?” Tashi’s voice crept up behind him. “You know that if he competes against me, I’ll win, right?” he asked. Overconfident. Always overconfident. “I know you’re ranked 243rd, and he’s ranked 8th. It doesn’t matter who wins this, you’ll still be a loser, and he’ll still get a Nike campaign. They asked us about a winter collection.” She was trying to hurt him. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to her—to hurt him. But he thinks only two people can: you and Art. Tashi isn’t on that list. He doesn’t think Tashi comes close to being on that list.

He thinks Tashi is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he knows. Maybe you’re the most beautiful woman he knows. He doesn’t really know- it’s blurry and messy. But hearing you moan or say his name softly, sweetly, is the most beautiful thing he knows. So maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe he measures beauty differently than he did four years ago. “Sounds good. I promise to buy a jacket with his name on it. Do you need anything, Tashi?” he tried to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to see the pathetic training session he was having with himself against a wall. “I don’t know, maybe to ask why you’re here?” She shrugged like it was obvious. Like she cared about the useless existence of Patrick Zweig. Like he mattered. “I’m competing, just like Art-” he started, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Art’s not here. How is it that you are?” she cut off the monologue he was about to throw at her. “I don’t know why Art isn’t here, Tashi.” If it were possible, his eyes would roll so far back into his skull they’d get stuck there. “Because he’s at a funeral, obviously. She’s your girlfriend last time I checked- how are you not there?” The furrow of her brows showed she was genuinely confused. But now he stood in front of her, terrified too. Whose funeral? Who the fuck died? “What are you talking about?” he muttered, feeling his heart pound. Every muscle in his body tensed. “(Y/N)’s mom passed away, Patrick. How am I the first one telling you this?” She doesn’t understand. But he does. And right now he hates Tashi. And Art, who’s with you. And himself- mostly himself- because after four years, he’s still a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. . . . You’re not crying, and you suspect it bothers your father. He looks at you strangely. As if you’re making things difficult. Because this is an event. A funeral is an event, and you need to behave the way you're expected to behave. You just can’t seem to do it. Because you don’t think you have a warm spot in your heart for the woman you called Mom for the pathetic 24 years of your existence. To anyone else, it would sound sad. Pathetic. You don’t say it out loud very often. You don’t want to make things harder for anyone. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. You considered cutting an onion before you left, just to save yourself from the weird looks from the extended family you haven’t seen in years, but Art fucking Donaldson hasn’t left you alone since the second he heard she kicked the bucket.

His hand held yours like his life depended on it. Maybe yours. Someone’s life depended on it. Definitely not your mother’s. She’s dead. You wonder if the need for sacrifice died with her. You wonder if your constant need to make everyone feel comfortable all the time died with her too. It’s exhausting. You wish you could be less like that. Your hand is sweating into his. He probably thinks it’s disgusting. He probably doesn’t like it. You miss the time when your whole world was making sure Art Donaldson was comfortable. His parents hugged you, and you’re pretty sure his mom left lipstick on you. He’s been staring at you for an hour straight. Maybe two. Maybe your whole life. You can’t know; it’s an emotional day.

You try to move your hand away from his; there’s no way this is comfortable for him. He grips harder. Doesn’t let go. Doesn’t leave you alone. Your father says the Kaddish, everyone responds "Amen" and cries. You don’t. Maybe you really are crazy, like she hinted at a few times when she got drunk and called you at an inappropriate hour. Maybe you really are the reason for every problem she ever had. Maybe you didn’t sacrifice enough. Maybe you didn’t love enough.

Maybe you just don’t know how to love, and then it makes sense that you don’t deserve to be loved. Not really. Not unconditionally. Not like your father loved your mother. Not like Art loves Tashi. Not like Patrick loved Tashi. Not like Patrick hated you. Maybe he still does- sometimes you’re not sure. Patrick isn’t here. Art’s hand keeps holding you both steady. You finally cry.

When you walk into the house, your extended family is already there. Uncles, cousins- you think you saw the grandfather of someone your father goes to synagogue with. All you wanted was to sit quietly in your room for a second. Take off the heels and the damn dress. You felt the thong digging into your ass. That’s what happens when you let a dead woman dictate what you'll wear to her funeral. A woman who had conditions for her own funeral. Who told you what dress to wear. What underwear to put on. Sometimes you wonder how many years ahead you’ll keep dragging her advice, her judgmental looks. The tongue clicks. The general dissatisfaction with the world, wrapped in fake smiles. Maybe that’s where you learned to fake so well. To fake who you are down to your core. To fake and fake until you don’t know what you want or from whom.

“You disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Art walks into your childhood room like it’s his. Like he always did. “You’re still here?” you mutter, and he hands you a plate of food he picked up from downstairs. “Where else would I be?” he sighs. As if that’s the only answer that makes sense to him. As if you two were in touch. As if you know anything about his fancy life or he knows anything about your painfully mediocre one. “In Atlanta,” you answer and place the plate on the nightstand beside you. “When’s your flight?” you ask, not looking at him as he sits next to you on the bed like he did before the funeral.

“I can stay-” he starts quietly. You know he’s looking at you, almost begging you to see that he means it. "Ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself, but you know he hears. “When’s your flight, Art?” you ask, your voice steadier, looking at him with an almost hollow expression. One that doesn’t show any emotion or maybe shows all emotions at once. A look that scared him. A look that worried you. A look you’ll think about a month from now. You’ll sit at home, writing the structure for one of your classes, and you’ll think about Art Donaldson and the empty look you gave him when your mother died. Embarrassing. Everything is so fucking embarrassing.

“Tonight,” he sums up. You glance at your phone’s clock. Sixteen missed calls from Patrick. Instinct says to call him. But it’s 6 p.m., and his first match is at 8 in the morning. “Don’t you need to pack?” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your attempt to dismiss him. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly. “Excuse me?” you snap back, not understanding the direction of the conversation. “Now. In general. What are you doing?” His gaze surrounds you from every direction. You can’t look anywhere that isn’t Art Donaldson. He reflects off the damn mirrors in this room. “Trying to sit quietly in my room, clearly,” you reply stiffly.

You remember how all your conversations used to be warm. Soft. You’d talk about dreams. About books you’d write. About tournaments he’d win. You’d kiss. He’d touch you. You’d touch him. There was curiosity. There was love. Or at least that thing you’ve spent years believing was love. The thing where you become exactly what he wants and needs and disappear when he needs something else, something better. That was the unwritten contract between you. Lately, you’ve been thinking that’s the unwritten contract between you and everyone you know. A depressing thought. You try not to dwell on it too much. On the way you please people in your suffering. Please in deprivation. Please to the point of tears, and more tears, and more tears. You try not to think about all the dreams you had when Art Donaldson -maybe- loved you. You try not to think about the joy of life. About how much you loved seeing him happy, how much you loved making him happy. How much you loved being responsible for his happiness. "Why isn’t Patrick here?" He quietly asked what he really wanted to know. He wanted to understand if you’d broken up. If you were alone. If he could laugh and say he told you so. That he told you; you had no business being with Patrick Zweig. "Because he has a match tomorrow at 8 a.m., and he trained too hard to miss it," you said it coolly, without breaking eye contact. As if it made perfect sense that you hadn’t told your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to be your confidant, that your mother had died. "He didn’t want to come?" Art continued, confused. Ice. That look again. The immediate shift in his mood confuses you, but it doesn’t throw you off balance. You know him. For the past four years, every time he’s seen you, all he’s tried to do is confuse you, to knock you off balance. It never works, at least not in his eyes.

"Hedoesn’tknow," you mumbled the words as if they were one. Quietly, knowing that what you’d done didn’t make sense. Wasn’t reasonable. Wasn’t acceptable. Didn’t fit into the unspoken rules of a relationship. "You’re an idiot." He stood up and started pacing back and forth. "A fucking moron, really." He was angry, as if he was the one who hadn’t been told your mother had died. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t have known either, but his mother told him. Whatever. "I’ll tell him when he gets back from the tournament, it’s not a big deal," you said and shrugged. Art stopped and looked at you like you’d just fallen from the moon. Like you were some natural phenomena. "If you did that to me, I’d kill you. If you thought some shitty tennis tournament in shitty Atlanta was more important to me than you, I’d murder you and then die myself. I don’t like what you have with Zweig, God knows I hate it, but how could you not tell him? Do you even understand the concept of a relationship?" He let out this Shakespearean monologue while looking at you with a half-pitying, half-angry expression. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he thought you were Tashi.

"Art, I’m not your problem. Do you remember that?" You didn’t know what else to say, so you said the only thing you knew for sure in a defeated voice. Art Donaldson was not a part of your life. "You’ll always be my problem. You should know that by now," he said, half despairing at himself. As if wondering how you both got here. As if wondering if there was anywhere else you could be. . . . Patrick was beyond frustrated. He won his first match after two and a half hours, barely. It didn’t come easy. All he could think about was how nothing came easy for him anymore, and how everything used to be so easy.

The thought that you didn’t tell him your mother had died, and then didn’t answer his calls either, hovered over his head like a rain cloud focused solely on him. He didn’t know how to approach it. He knew why you didn’t tell him- because unlike what Art thought, unlike what your dead mother thought, he knew you. He knew how you thought. He understood the mechanics behind your strange decisions. He hated that he had become someone you had to overthink things for.

That afternoon, he went to one of the courts and caught Tashi and Art’s practice. They both saw him sit down. He thinks it made Art play better. He wondered if Art imagined his face when he hit the ball. He thinks he does. Because when Tashi checkmated his relationship with Art, Patrick wrapped his life around yours as if that was how it was always meant to be, while everyone involved knew it wasn’t. While everyone involved knew that you had embroidered Art’s name on bags from the moment you learned how to stitch. While everyone knew that Art Donaldson didn’t know how to exist in the world without you.

So, Patrick took you for himself. Most of the time, he didn’t think of it as something technical, as a game he was playing against Art. Most of the time, he looked at you, really looked at you. Most of the time, he tried to make you laugh and understand the world through your own eyes. Most of the time, he tried to protect you from complex emotions you couldn’t express, from hunger. He tried to protect you from yourself, the way you protect some helpless creature. In some way, you were. In his eyes, you were helpless.

When you first started sleeping together, Patrick treated you with kid gloves, in a way he had never treated anyone before. Like you were porcelain. Like you could shatter and crumble in his hands at any moment. You had gestures and habits, ones you thought no one noticed. But he always saw. You tried to please everyone all the time. You switched from a smile to a sad look in a second, for the sake of the feelings of whoever was in front of you, for the sake of what you thought they wanted from you.

But Patrick didn’t want anything from you. He wanted to give you all the orgasms that you missed and for you to eat at least three meals a day. Some days, he didn’t know how to make you do it. Some days, he raised his voice. When he was desperate, he cried. When he was really desperate, he asked you to eat for him, so that he would be happy. That was the easy way, it always worked. He exploited a destructive mechanism someone had embedded in you (he suspects your dead mother) and used it to get you to do something he thought would be good for you. He wanted to throw up.

Art was playing well. He was playing against Tashi in front of him, and he was playing well. Too well. Patrick no longer thinks he can beat him. Not something he would ever say out loud. He wanted to ask him how you were. He didn’t want to admit that you hadn’t answered his million calls. He didn’t want to admit that he was a loser who didn’t know where his life was going. Not when Art had been with you at the fucking funeral of your awful mother. He hated that woman with everything he had. More than he hated his own father, and that had to be some kind of record. Art looked at him for a moment. The moment passed. Patrick thinks Art won. He’s not sure. . . . Patrick finds Tashi alone in the evening. Completely alone in the middle of the lobby restaurant. She suddenly looks small and fragile to him, holding a drink he can guess is whiskey or cognac or whatever it is that Tashi Duncan drinks these days. He doesn’t know anything about her anymore. Only that a few years ago, he thought he loved her, and in return, she took his best friend away from him.

When he stands in front of her, he is like a streetlight- impossible to ignore. It dawns on him, belatedly, that he is wearing her shirt. She must think he’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t think he cares about being pathetic in front of her. Because he sees her for what she is right now, and she is miserable. She doesn’t have much in life. She clings to what Art has. Which is fucked up on so many levels, but that’s reality. They both cling to things they shouldn’t be clinging to, and his eyes wander to her ring. Massive. Flashy. A bit like her, like the woman she tries to be when she’s not half-drunk and pathetic in front of him.

He places his hand over hers just as she’s about to take a sip of her drink, stopping her. He doesn’t know what he wants. Not from her, not from himself, but his lips find hers within seconds, and she doesn’t resist. He knew she wouldn’t resist- he saw it on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe more. And what a thought that is- that Tashi Duncan wants Patrick Zweig more.

They exit through the back door of the restaurant, go up to his room. Naturally. As if more than four years haven’t passed since the last time he was with Tashi. He wishes he knew what he was doing; it would make this easier. But it’s not particularly difficult, either- otherwise, he wouldn’t be pressing Tashi against the wall. Otherwise, his lips wouldn’t be kissing every inch of her body he can reach.

Hunger. Patrick feels hunger. It’s the only emotion coursing through him as he looks at her. He thinks he wants to hurt Art. He thinks about how Art was there for you at your mother’s funeral, and that was supposed to be his role, but you didn’t call him. So he strips Tashi of her shirt. Only to discover she isn’t wearing a bra. He compares her to you every few seconds. You never go without a bra. He can barely convince you to just be at home, without clothes, without defenses. Just be. He doesn’t think you’re capable of that. He doesn’t think you know how to feel at ease. That worries him more than he’s willing to admit.

“You’re thinking about her?” Tashi’s voice is almost angry as she kisses his neck. “No.” A lie. A complete lie. He can only think about you. He realized that a few years ago and stopped fighting it. You and tennis, as if that’s all there is in the world. What else even exists? What else even matters? “You’re a terrible liar,” she mutters against him, and somehow, the ugly shirt he’s pretty sure was Tashi’s -he doesn’t even know why he wore it- ends up on the floor. ‘You’re not thinking about Art?’ he should have asked, but he’s not here to ask questions. He’s here because he’s angry. At Art, at you, at Tashi for telling him, at the world. So he’s here. And they’re both shedding more pieces of their clothing and maybe their souls, because what they’re doing now has no way back. No forgiveness. They are bad people. Patrick knows it. Tashi knows it.

And after he wrings a heavy moan from her, one that follows an orgasm, she quietly tells him she thinks Art loves you. Patrick stares at the gaudy ring stuck on her finger, the ring that, in another universe, Art would have placed on yours. “Why do you think that?” Patrick asks softly, because what else is left to do? “I didn’t want him to go to the funeral. I wanted him to stay and train, but he went anyway,” she mumbles. Patrick says nothing, just nods. He would have done the exact same thing, and that’s why you didn’t call him. He would have come. Despite the dreams. Despite the tennis. Despite everything.

And Patrick remembers all the times Art called you sweet. All the times Art never wanted to tell him anything about what happened between you two. All the times Art didn’t want to talk about you. And it wasn’t because it wasn’t good. It wasn’t because other girls were better. It was because there was depth Patrick can only put his finger on now. So much happened beneath the surface- so much that Art had no words to describe it. So much that Art drowned in his own emotions. Repressed them and kept them bottled up until he found something shiny to bury his feelings in. Until he found Tashi.

And Tashi is safe. With Tashi, you can’t get lost. With Tashi, there’s a plan. With you, he just has to be himself. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. And that’s terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick understands Art in absolute terms. He lies in a hotel room, stroking the hair of a woman who isn’t you, and understands everything there is to understand about life. Mainly, he understands again- that you are so fucking sweet. And that there’s no way he can win. . . .

You're going over tomorrow’s lesson when you hear the door open. Without turning around, you already know it’s Patrick. Who else could it be? His scrutinizing gaze doesn’t waver from you, even when he says nothing. “How was it?” You find yourself breaking the silence, lifting your head toward him with a smile. He doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted. The message Art sent you lingers in the back of your mind; He’s cheating on you. -Art Donaldson- Art has his reasons to make something like this up, but you doubt he’d be cruel enough to lie about it. Not while you’re mourning your horrible mother. No matter how angry he is at you. No matter how angry he is at Patrick. You don’t think Art is capable of that. You want to believe he isn’t capable of that. Then again, you also want so badly to believe Patrick wouldn’t do it. That Patrick wouldn’t cheat on you. That he wouldn’t find someone prettier, better, more cheerful and do all the things with her that he probably can’t do with you. You don’t want to think about the possibility that you haven’t sacrificed enough. That you didn’t try as hard as you were taught to. Your fault, your fault, your fault. You don’t want to believe it’s your fault. That another love will slip through your fingers, as if you’re trying to hold water. So, you choose to say nothing, because even if it’s true, even if he was with someone else, he came home. And home isn’t big, to say the least, not grand, not dazzling. But he came back. He’s right in front of you. You’re not alone. He knows you. He knows such ugly parts of you that sometimes you’re scared to acknowledge they even exist. He knows what you refuse to recognize in yourself, and sometimes he reminds you that you deserve more than you think. Which is a bizarre thought in itself. But you let him think it, you let him believe it enough for him to believe it for the both of you. “I lost in the third round. To Peter Michelson,” he says shortly, and you nod. “No choice but to make a voodoo doll with Peter Michelson’s face,” you try to joke. He usually laughs. At least smiles. He does neither. He just stands there like a block of wood, with the same expression. “I’m sorry you lost. I wish I’d been there,” you mumble, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Anything special happen this week?” he asks, his gaze never leaving you.

Now you could tell him your mother died, but there’s no way to say it without it turning into a fight about the fact that you didn’t tell him the moment you found out. “No, nothing special, you know. My routine is boring.” You shrug and shift your focus back to the lesson you’re supposed to teach tomorrow. The Great Gatsby. A shitty book. “Nothing special at all?” he presses. “If you count the fact that Mr. Grace forgot to put in his dentures on Monday -again- and I had to sub for his class, then no.” It’s a half-lie because the thing with Mr. Grace and his dentures did happen, just not this week. Most of this week, you were at your parents’ house, helping your father deal with shiva and all the people who came by. He was completely heartbroken.

You see Patrick shake his head slightly and close his eyes. You know this is something he does when he’s trying to restrain himself. When he doesn’t want to lash out. When something is bothering him, and he doesn’t want it to turn into the biggest fight in the world. He has a bad history with fights that spiral out of control. “No one was born? No relatives died? I don’t know, maybe the woman who gave birth to you?” he says, his piercing gaze back on you. “Shit,” you mumble. Because what else is there to say in this situation? “Yeah, shit,” he stays exactly where he is, making you feel like a child being scolded. Like you dropped a lollipop and won’t be getting a new one.

“I’m sorry-” you start. “My mom isn’t dead; your mom is dead. I think I’m the one who’s sorry.” Patrick hated when you apologized. He said it was irrational with you. That you apologized more than was normal and more than people around you deserved. “Patrick,” you sigh, scrunching your nose as you try to think of a good way to explain it. “I really need to understand this, (Y/N). When were you planning on telling me your living mother was no longer alive? Another month? Two months? Two years? What was the timeline in that head of yours?” His words drip with sarcasm, like the way he used to talk to you before you became you and Patrick. Before you learned to love who he was and before he started treating you like you weren’t the worst person in the world.

“I didn’t want you to withdraw from Atlanta. You trained for it so hard.” You sigh again, quietly. This time, you’re the one closing your eyes, not wanting to look at him- and in doing so, you miss the fact that he moves toward you in giant strides. “I wish you’d told me, Little Dove. I wish I’d been with you instead of being there.” His hands cup your face as he crouches in front of you, looking up to catch your eyes. “I’m sor-” You stop yourself mid-sentence when you see his displeased expression. “How do you feel?” he asks, and you shrug in response. Because what you feel isn’t something you can say out loud, not even to Patrick. It’s not okay to feel relieved. A lot of sadness, of course. But also, relief.

“Tell me,” he insists. He has a habit of knowing the things you don’t want to say. He can look at your face and catch the slight twitch of your left eyebrow to understand what you’re feeling. To see what you try so hard to hide. You can’t beat him at this. You can’t lie to him, not too much. Not about your feelings. Not when he spent years of his life learning what to hate about you, and then a few more years learning to love it. “She wasn’t the nicest woman in the world,” you murmur quietly, like you’re confessing the most forbidden secret. Like it’s a secret that could start a world war. Like Patrick would tell someone.

“She didn’t like me.” Patrick lets out a dry chuckle, his eyes glassy as if he’s remembering something. “She used to call me Art all the time and then correct herself, like it was an accident, but she did it on purpose. So I’d know she wanted me to be Art.” His jaw tightens slightly. You can see the anger and frustration behind the fake lightness in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to say, and he sighs. His large hands wrap around you in an almost crushing hug. Almost making it hard to breathe.

But that’s how Patrick is. Everything he feels is out in the open. Everything he thinks, he says. Everything he wants, he does. And most of the time, he wants to be present in your life, which is ridiculous because there is no one more present in your life than him. He still acts like he needs to prove something to you. “I wish you’d let me take care of you, Little Dove. It would be easier.” He whispers into your hair, not letting go for a second. You can almost feel him thinking, almost see him guessing what might help you. “I know you care about me,” you say, shifting slightly to look at him, to show him that he doesn’t need to prove anything. That you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asks, stepping back slightly, scanning you, then moving toward the half-empty fridge. “What did you eat?” he follows up. “I don’t know, Patrick. I don’t keep a journal,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What did you eat, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t let up. “A sandwich,” you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Since this morning?” His eyes stay locked on you. “Patrick, my mother just died. Can we not focus on what I eat for one second? It’s exhausting,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, turning your face to the side as he steps toward you and nods. . . . "What do you want to focus on?" he asked. Patrick felt guilty. He looked at you and saw nothing but the fact that just a few days ago, he had been with Tashi. While you were mourning your unbearable mother, he was busy fucking Tashi in a fancy hotel room, at a tournament he lost and that Art Donaldson would probably win. "You," your voice was small as you looked at him, almost pleading for a break from the interrogation and the anger. He hated when you made him the center of your focus, when you tried to do what you thought he wanted you to do. So he nodded and placed a small kiss on the crown of your head, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Patrick felt like a man on a mission as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Pat-" you tried to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to. You always tried. As if going down on you was a burden to him, as if all it would take for him to spend a lifetime just like this was for you to fucking ask. "Baby, can you take these off for me?" It was a question, but there was no question mark at the end. Not in that tone. Not when he was looking up at you like that, completely in control of the situation.

So you slid your pants down slowly, trying to hold on to the last bit of control slipping away with every second he stared at you like that. He took care of your underwear himself. Leaving you bare in front of him. "Fuck, Pat," you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the wall, making him look up at you one last time with a smirk stretched across his face. And then he got to work.

His lips explored you like you were his source of oxygen. Like his natural place was buried under you, his mouth inside you. "Baby, I’d eat you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every fucking day." His grip on your thigh was ruthless. Patrick felt like he was holding on for dear life, like this was all there was left to do. Like it was all he knew. "Sweet fucking pussy," he kept mumbling into you, until his face was coated with his own spit and your slick. He was ready to take it all, everything you gave him. In these moments, everything that was yours became his, and the little that was his became yours.

So he was milking it. He licked your clit in slow, agonizing strokes- for both of you. He took his time. The euphoria would come, but he was going to enjoy it until it did. Your small whimpers made him growl directly into you. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," like a prayer. He felt it. He felt divinity in all of it. He sped up and slowed down and sped up and slowed down. Merciless to the near-sobs escaping from you. "You're so sweet, baby. Do you want to come?" And he wasn’t asking if you wanted to come for him, because he wanted you to come for yourself. Because he wanted you to always, always come for yourself. He wanted to be a vessel. He wanted to erase all the stupid patterns in your head and make sure every orgasm you had was yours and for you. "Patrick." He thought that was the only thing you were capable of saying coherently, and he was fine with that. He was selfish enough to be satisfied if his name was the only word you could say forever.

And when you came with a moan he had learned to recognize and nearly worship, he told you how good you were. How rare you were. That he was yours and that he would always take care of you. He looked up at you from below, saw the tears slipping down your face, and pressed another kiss to your thigh. One that emphasized the word always. Because he didn’t think he could ever let this go. He was too selfish to ever let this go. . . . Art peeked through the door of the room every few seconds, searching for you among the guests. At this point, he didn’t even bother lying to himself about it. Because he didn’t know what else was left for him besides admitting the truth to himself- things he was never able to admit before. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about the nights he used to lay beside you. When you didn’t even fuck. When you just lay in that rickety twin bed in his dorm room. He was willing to take that. He was willing not to fuck you if it meant you’d hold him again. More than that, he was willing not to fuck anyone ever again. But you were too sweet, you wouldn’t let him go through life without sex. The thought made him chuckle for a second. But he was nervous. So fucking nervous.

He was about to marry Tashi, and she didn’t cross his mind even once. He accidentally saw her dress, even though he told her that he hadn’t really noticed it was there. He knew she would be a stunning bride. That months from now, people would still be talking about Tashi Duncan in a wedding dress. He knew people would envy him, he knew everything. His mind knew everything.

But all he could think about was what kind of wedding dress you would have chosen. He was almost sure it would be something less extravagant; you’d try to draw as little attention as possible. But the Art he was today wouldn’t have let you. He would’ve told you that you deserved all the attention the universe had to offer. That you deserved to be seen. He hated himself for how long it had taken him to realize that. Only when you truly weren’t there. Only when you belonged to someone else. Only when you chose Patrick Zweig of all people.

Patrick Zweig, who hated you with every fiber of his being. Patrick Zweig, who Art was almost certain had cheated on you with Tashi. It should have hurt him much more than it did. But all he cared about was figuring out if this would be the thing that made you get up and leave. You had to know you deserved better. That if not him- if not Art, the guy you both knew you loved with all your heart- then at least someone who didn’t want anyone else. That was the bare minimum you deserved. For years, he’d wondered if he had something to do with how little you thought you deserved, with how low your standards were.

He convinced his mother- who probably loved you even more than he did- to take upon herself convincing you to come to his wedding. Which was almost sadistic of him. Maybe masochistic. Maybe both. But he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. Sometimes he dreamed about that day and how his hand held yours, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to die if it meant he could hold you like that again. If it gave him an excuse.

He noticed that everything about you required an excuse. It hadn’t been like that when you were his. Except you were never really his. He didn’t even understand why it had been so complicated- why you hadn’t told him that’s what you wanted (though he could have guessed). And more than anything, he didn’t understand why he hadn’t known what he wanted. Why it hadn’t been clear to him that you were his person. That you knew the deepest parts of him.

He saw you walk in and texted you, almost begging you to come to the room where he was. You could tell him to go to hell, but that wasn’t your style. No, you were sweet. So sweet that all you did was knock on the door and push it open. Looking at him while he already had his eyes on your little black dress. While he was already studying the red nail polish. While he was already focusing on the lipstick he so badly wanted to wipe off of you.

“Your mother asked me to prepare a speech. Was that your idea?” you asked. There was no coldness in your voice, which made him happy. You stepped closer and started fixing his tie. He wanted to close his eyes, but at the same time, he wanted to see you. To remember you like this; in a little black dress, in heels, standing in front of him, helping him with his tie. “What can I say? You’re my best friend,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t the truth. “That’s really sad, Art,” you said, probably referring to the last four years you spent apart. “Are you saying you have a better friend than me?” he asked, hoping you’d deny it because a yes might make him break down crying.

“It’s a mediocre speech. I didn’t know what to say at your wedding,” you sighed, confessing a secret. “Saying you don’t want me to get married would’ve been a good start,” he said, taking a risk. Because he calculated the timing, and you were late, so he had a very short window for this risk. “Don’t be ridicul—” you started, quietly. “If you tell me not to do this, I won’t get married. Tell me not to do it. Tell me it’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay,” he whispered. Not looking away from you.

The silence in the room was deafening, and the chuckle that escaped him was bitter. Fake. He felt pathetic and small and miserable, and maybe he was all those things because he never knew what he wanted in time. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. Not knowing what else to add, because what was left to add? He could see the wetness in your eyes. He knew how unfair he was being. “I’m sorry,” he echoed. He didn’t think he had ever told you that before, but he really, truly was. “Did you write something good about me?” he added. “That you’re my best friend. And that my soul will always love yours,” you said, letting a single tear fall as his rough hand wiped it away with whatever gentleness was still left in him.

It was a nice speech. Everyone applauded. Art cried. . . .

Here we are- the second part of So Sweet! Hope it turned out good enough. Thanks for stopping by and reading what I write, it means a lot. Let me know what you think. Love you guys, stay sweet! 💕

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Stan gives the Mystery Shack to Soos, Ford ties up some loose ends that came of Stan using his name to commit massive tax fraud for thirty years, and then, finally, they take the Stan o' War II out on the high seas. Except...

They have no idea how to sail.

Sure, they had taught themselves (sorta) when they were kids, but that was... a long, long time ago. And sailing, especially sailing the 40' 'aged but beautiful' vessel they bought off the coast of California and refurbished, isn't actually... easy.

So they dock themselves up in the closest marina they could limp to on their little inboard engine, apologize to each other for the arguments that were sparked while fighting the main sheet in thirty-five knot winds and sideways rain, and shuffle their way to a sailing class.

And aren't they a sight: two sixty-somethings, identical twins, strangely haunted looks in their eyes, who seem to know everything and yet nothing about each other. Their classmates learn this quickly: Stan knows Ford's fingerprints, but not his favorite food. Ford remembers what Stan got for his fifth birthday, but not the name of his last ex. They're top of the class, of course (there's no official ranking, but everyone Knows Who's Best), and Ford keeps calling the twenty year old sailing instructor "kid," and we're pretty sure Stanley is... is that a gun? They're an entertaining pair of old men, for sure. Stan can't help it--- he's an entertainer at heart, he loves the attention--- and Ford finds he likes being recognized, but not for his oddities--- just his personality, and his stories.

Finally they feel confident enough to go out sailing on their own, and it's fulfilling, and fun, and they find a lot of cool shit. But as much as they love each other, and as much they learn about each other while sailing the deep blue, one just isn't enough company for two brothers who have always dreamed of being known. So, once or twice or four times a year, they sail back to that marina, check in on that class, and maybe do a little show 'n' tell. They become known in the area, two grunkles with a love for the sea but a heart belonging to land, and their visits are wild, fantastical things, with preserved mystical creatures and stories changing hands across each dock. Stan and Ford--- twins, but each their own personality, and appreciated for who they are. The Stan o' War II is their home, their purpose, and their future.

Fifteen or twenty or twenty-five or maybe, if we're lucky, thirty years later--- that's when the Stan o' War II sails into the marina slow and uncertain. And when they dock, it's not Stan and Ford who step off, but two young adults, a man and a woman. The sailing instructor, who is now a new twenty-year old, but has heard all the old stories of his predecessor, steps forward warily.

"You knew our grunkles, Stan and Ford," Dipper says to the suspicious crowd. He looks at the sailboat, and his face crumbles in the unmistakable folds of grief. "They... they used to say that their first breaths were by the sea, in a small Jersey beach town and--- and in order to top that, their last breaths should be on the sea. And they got their wish. And now... and now, well... Mabel and I, we don't know how to sail. We don't know how to keep the Stan o' War II alive."

It's natural, then, for Mabel and Dipper go to sailing class. They're twins who have fantastical stories and strangely haunted looks in their eyes; they're top of their class, even though there's no official ranking. When it's time, and class is over, they step onto the Stan o' War II and sail into the sunset.

The Dockmaster of the marina smiles sadly. He's not worried, though--- he saw how much they were like their grunkles while they were staying at the marina. And if he knows one thing about the Pines family, it's this: they'll be back, again and again, each discovery better than the last.

[whirligig-girl]

NWR No.1 and SLYM No.11513 at a dual gauge interchange just outside of the city center.

SLYM No.11513 is an Advanced Steam Locomotive native to Gymnome--a coal-burning steam engine operating at high pressure, with technological improvements to allow it to rival the efficiency and ease of use of a diesel locomotive, such as electronic controls, compound expansion of steam, a gas producer combustion system firebox, dual exhaust, and automatic firing and oiling. 11513 was built some time in the 2340s, and survives to 2381 as a museum piece.

NWR No.1 is a much older locomotive and from another planet altogether, built 1915 for the LBSC railway as a one-off prototype for a six-coupled shunter to replace the aging Terriers and to supplement the much larger E2-tanks. NWR No.1 made it to the North Western Railway not long after it was built, having been allocated there for the war effort. It is not clear how a locomotive built 465 years in the past on planet Earth made it intact to Gymnome, nor how its gauge perfectly matched Goo'iw Broad Gauge, at least not without invoking some kind of universe-spanning magic railroad, or perhaps the notion that this is all a simulation being run in some kind of virtual reality in some alien starship.

(no this isn't canon.)

Artist's notes:

Earlier today I doodled this in my sketchbook.

And when I got home i decided, hey, I have my Thomas 3D model, and I have the game model of the Advanced Steam Tank Engine... why not actually stage them together and draw them to-scale. The size difference is greater than I expected--partly I think this is because the Thomas gauge-1 prop was not designed with scale in mind, so it's bigger than British Railways loading gauge. Granted, they are at different gauges (standard gauge versus roughly meter-ish gauge), but the loading gauge on the advanced steam engine is very wide.

My first attempt at the drawing was from a very different angle:

But I quickly realized that you can't actually see the Advanced Steam Engine's wheels, and that's a major design aspect.

So i chose a different angle.

I constructed the dual gauge track before anything else.

And before long (the better part of 2 hours) I had the line art finished.

The Advanced Steam Engine ended up being a hybrid between the original illustration I did of it months ago, and the game model--with most of the geometry accurate to the game model, but with the subtler detailing of the illustrated version.

Thomas was meant to be a sort of hybrid of the Gauge 1 Prop from the TV series and a realistic loco. I prioritized the geometry and simplicity of the gauge 1 prop in most respects, but added details below the running board, in particular brake rigging, sanding gear, and these blade-like protrusions of the frames which i'm pretty sure are some kind of debris deflector, a british version of a cowcatcher. There's also snifters on the cylinder saddle, and the whistle is made of two different lengths to justify Thomas' multi-tone whistle.

The original background was going to be this marshland with (electricity-generating) windmills in the background, a callback to that first shot in the Thomas & Friends opening credits, but I hated how it felt like the middle of nowhere, so I introduced the retaining wall and an alien city scene.

British steam engines are generally given very shiny liveries which reflect the environment in interesting ways, so I made sure to do that justice, using a GWR 14xx autotank as reference.

By contrast, the Advanced Steam Tank Engine is kept in a more workwormlike condition, with a somewhat faded matte paint work and a fair amount of grime.

The original illustration of the advanced steam engine, for comparison.

Finally, a version with faces.

[k-chips]

Yes. YES. I'm legitimately tearing up because you were able to perfectly describe what made me so upset and sad about the finale!

(Op, I know this post is from 2022 but bear with me, I'm late.)

The fact that I literally had the same expectations and feelings and reactions to everything as you had!

Joking about Lis and Tilda being exes, Tilda caring for Beta and wanting to help her, Sylens and Tilda mirroring each other and all the possible interactions with the GAIA gang after the game. I loved the idea of her staying with the tribes after the game, it's such a cool concept to have an "Old One" living with the new people of this new Earth. Using Apollo in the right way, teaching about ART, exploring new possibilities and, as you said op, forming new connections. (I'm still a firmer believer in the "Alva and Tilda would be besties" creed. Amen to me) They were all perfect ways to deal with her character, to make her "pay" for leaving Earth and Lis behind 1000 years ago and still not treating her as a mere "twist" antagonist (even if I was kinda expecting that since every character would talk about how untrustworthy she looked).

When you first meet her the game start by telling you how tragic her past was and so you can perfectly understand WHY she would rather fly off in space TWICE than having to live through yet another catastrophic event (first Rotterdam, then the Faro Plague and now even Nemesis) so WHY they then treat the whole thing as if she was just another selfish billionaire like Gerard and Erik?

I can accept her being obsessed with Aloy, I can see why someone with her past would develop some sort of obsessive and possessive behavior after 1000 years of guilt, solitude and apathy, especially towards what is left of the only person she felt good with but don't stop there! Go further! Explore that side of her and make her change for the better! It's such a waste to let her like that, not even a finale confrontation with Aloy before dying, like Regalla had. Show me the parallel between Tilda and Sylens, show me their funny bickering but also how they both change themselves and the other because of these fights. Show me Aloy's approach with both, show me her dealing with two different yet similar brilliant minds like theirs.

To go even deeper, it would be bad and a waste even for ELISABET's character! They had a very deep and special bond, whatever you think it as toxic from the start or not, they had the chance to make Lis' dream live on not only with Aloy, Beta and GAIA but even with her former partner. Lis' character could have helped make Tilda heal and be better even 1000 in the future, showing how strong Elisabet's legacy is.

Ok, I don't want to be delusional but there is still a little hope she's still alive in the Zenith base... you don't see her body, Aloy doesn't look for her for a finale shot or words like she always does with other enemies, they don't let you go back at the base after the finale and she still has the Far Zenith technology that could very much heal her. I mean, that little explosion can't be considered fatal but still...

I still want to believe we'll see more of her character, I don't want this to be the game that disappoint me after loving it so much like I loved the first one...

okay so gonna attempt to explain why the ending of horizon forbidden west upset me so much. i do want to say that up until the last five minutes, i loved basically everything about it. obvious spoilers beneath the cut. tldr at the end.

from the moment we heard the recording between elizabet and tilda I started joking about them being exes. even though I didn't think it would happen, I was hoping that tilda would end up switching sides because of her connection to elizabet. when that actually happened, and we were able to talk to her, from what she said about the zeniths, beta and herself, I felt like her story arc fit really well into a lot of what the game was saying about how it's not money or power or technology that matters the most, but human connection. when she talked about how the zeniths should have achieved more, and that they stagnated in vi, and that she wanted to show beta the beauty of art so her upbringing wasn't purely technical, and how alone she's been/is now, I thought that she'd end up seeing the beauty of this world and forging connections with aloy and the others. sure she talked about wanting to educate people with apollo, but imo that came from wanting to see elizabets dream fulfilled, and not having had enough time yet to see that the world as it is now is still beautiful, even though it's different. I thought that through talking to aloy and beta and gaia, tilda would come to see that this world was still something elizabet would be proud of, and that it's worth protecting.

even though I joked about elizabet and tilda being exes, and even though those vibes were really strong when we saw her art collection, I never actually expected them to go there. so when tilda confirmed that they were together, I completely lost my mind. the fact that they were canon, that it's canon that the woman who saved the world was gay, was just!! so much for me. I felt like it added a new layer to her character arc too, because it suddenly became that she was motivated by love to help aloy and save the world. it seemed like that had been her motivation for talking to beta too, that she'd tried to be almost parental to her.

so I thought tilda was a character that represented someone who had what some others in the game thought was important (power, immortality, knowledge), but who actually wanted human connection, to see the beauty of the world, who was motivated by love to do the right thing and help save the world, and who would come to love it herself.

except then ? the game does a full 180 and makes her the final boss fight, and she dies. and honestly, it did feel like a 180 on her character simply because of where I thought her character was going. she repeatedly said that she regretted leaving earth, and that she should've done more to save it. sure, nemesis is a threat that seems unbeatable, but since it's basically the faro plague 2.0, shouldn't that be a chance for tilda to do what she wanted to do , and stay to help despite the odds? but okay, say they needed her to be the final boss, her not wanting to take beta, and suddenly not seeing beta as a worth anything, and suddenly seeming obsessed with aloy , and us having no choice but to kill her was so?? awful to me?

given what nemesis is and where it came from, I was expecting that after the boss fight we'd be able to spare tilda, and that we'd keep her locked up and that she'd help us throughout the next game. that gradually through talking to gaia and aloy, she'd see that this earth is worth fighting for, even if the odds are terrible. if she had to be the final boss fight, I would've been okay with it if it had been tilda wanting to take aloy and beta, both elizabets 'children', without it being a weird obsession, but that after the fight she lives and we spare her so that she can help us with nemesis, and ends up being 'rehabilitated' or properly redeemed etc.

except there's no chance to spare her, and the game kills her. the game makes me kill her. and honestly, I'd partly expected her to die, but I'd thought that she'd die protecting aloy or beta. I'd actually expected her to sacrifice herself for beta to mirror rost's sacrifice for aloy, after aloy and beta had that discussion and tilda wanting to get beta back was a thing. and I would've been okay with that. it would've been okay for me, because it would've been tilda dying to protect her ex's 'child' who she loves, because that connection is more important.

except it's none of that. instead we get tilda wanting to kidnap aloy and gaia and run away, despite everything shes said, and the way she talks during the boss fight shows a weird obsession. to me, she went from being a lesbian motivated by love and grief to do the right thing, to an evil crazy low-key predatory lesbian, which I hate.

and it's only exacerbated by the ending with sylens. I thought that sylens and tilda were opposing mirrors of each other. tilda comes from knowledge and power, but craves human connection and the beauty and warmth of art. I thought her character would 'come down' to join aloy, and become grounded on earth by forming those relationships and wanting to protect the world after seeing it's beauty and value as elizabets dream. sylens meanwhile comes from this world, but craves knowledge and power and hates the 'primitive tribes' and sees himself as above all of them. I thought that as tilda 'came down' he'd 'go up' by taking the shuttle and going on that quest for knowledge he wants so badly. except instead, he has a change of heart and decides to stay which just seemed so unearned and unexpected to me? right up until that last conversation with aloy, he's still as scornful of her and the earth as he's always been. maybe I could see him going off to space, having second thoughts after spending time alone, and coming back, but in the moment it just feels wrong, especially when I felt like he and tilda were meant to be mirroring each other.

and maybe tilda being the final boss was obvious to others, and I was just blinded by being so ecstatic that she was canonically in a relationship with elizabet. but honestly, her being gay is, in the end, why I was so upset. if she hadnt canonically been with elizabet, and it'd been a headcanon, I'd still be bothered by the end of her story, but it wouldn't have upset me as much. because confirming her as being gay before the boss fight made it a tragic love story that ends up saving the world. confirming her being gay and then making her the final boss that dies makes it seem like her love was toxic. I've already seen people say that maybe she's lying about being with elizabet, and that the love was an unrequited obsession.

it's just. I went from being so happy and excited that she and elizabet were together, to being devastated by the last five minutes. I went from feeling like a game had never fed me so well, to feeling complete whiplash. I went from oh a canon gay ! to having to kill her. I was thinking about the potentials of after the game, like scenes with tilda and the companions, like her painting and adding colour to the base for kotallo, getting back to nature with zo, answering alva's questions, spending time exploring the world with beta and aloy, bonding with gaia over sharing stories about elizabet, starting a relationship because she's an immortal and gaia's an ai and they'll never have to be alone. and now, I haven't touched the game since, and it sucks because I loved it so much.

tldr: went from being ecstatic that tilda was with elizabet canonically and seemed to tie in with the characters as someone who craved human connection over knowledge and technology, to being extremely upset when she turned out to fit the evil predatory lesbian trope, and then we had to kill her.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 8

"What has been happening in Gotham?" Bruce being a dumbass that's what.

Ch9 has more of The Grayson family interaction and I think I will follow the timeline of the comics for the death of guardians- that way there'll be more time for Nolan's A+ parenting.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 8 >>next(TBC)

Gotham Heights has seen better days.

It’s been years since the rogues simply went mad, declaring war on specifically Bruce Wayne. It’s been years since Selina and Jason stopped talking to him, Catwoman did her best to avoid him while Red Hood seemed to revert to his Arkham Knight days, pure rage running through his veins.

Bruce doesn’t know what happened, what tipped all the rogues over the edge to deem Bruce Wayne, of all billionaires, enemy number one. He tried to look back and figure out what he did- if he said anything- as soon as he realized that they were teaming up and weren’t planning on stopping anytime soon but he found nothing beyond the media calling him a neglectful father to his youngest girl, which he found absurd. He loved Cassandra, went to every ballet show, and was so proud of her, so he didn’t bother to read what they were actually saying, deeming it as nothing but useless gossip. If only he glanced at the context…

Batman couldn’t keep up with the attacks, so everyone was out all year round, the man even having to ask Nightwing for help more than once or ten times. He didn’t like this. His kids still had school, and Damian still had so much to learn- fighting criminals nightly wasn’t helping set the no-killing rule into the boy and the sleepless nights weren’t helping his mood at school.

The man was getting tired. But the rogues did seem to take a day off every month, on the thirteenth. The first two months he didn’t recognize the pattern but by the third, he thought they were planning something big, and when the next day was just like the past two months his brain was racking with questions about the possibilities, fear running through his spine and making him so paranoid he could barely sleep.

It took him so long to find out where they all met on the thirteenth- it was embarrassing honestly, but he still did it. All rogues, separately mostly, would stop by flower shops, buying bouquets of lilacs and narcissi flowers. The next stop after the shop would be Gotham cemetery where each one of them would put a bouquet on a lady’s grave, a nobody, with no ties to them, the woman could barely keep a job as a waitress when she was alive. And the last stop would be Red Hood’s territory.

Batman knew that as soon as he and Robin stepped a toe on the territory, Jason would know, so while Bruce followed the main lead, Damien became the distraction. It took a while to find the rogues, and the image that was presented made him more confused than anything.

The rogues were in the alley between a hospital and an orphanage that opened about six or seven years ago, both walls of the buildings in the alley had big painted murals, both depicting Lady Gotham in the background while the foreground had soft, happy-looking people in different styles helping each other, “To a better community. To a better Gotham.” written at the bottom as a graffiti. He assumed the scribbles he couldn’t make out on the sides of the murals were the names of the people who drew them, though, a style predominated the others, it was safe to say that it was a collaboration.

Harley was making balloons for kids, mostly dogs, crowns, and swords as Grundy sat by her, holding the equipment and letting the kids climb him. Killer Croc and Bane seemed to be focused on bringing tables and chairs to set them down in an orderly fashion, as Two-Face and Riddler helped the older ladies carry the food. Penguin was busy talking to a nurse while his goons shared care packages to the patients and kids, all the while Ivy was reblooming the plants around the building. Mr. Freeze seemed stuck on ice cream making duties while also keeping the refreshments cold.

Batman had more questions than answers.

“This may be neutral ground, Bruce.” Jason’s voice behind him made Batman freeze before he slowly turned to face his son. “But you’re not welcome here.” His second oldest finished, his hands at his side, clenched tightly, itching to fight, to punch him.

“Since when is Red Hood territory neutral?” The older man couldn’t help but ask, but Jason didn’t answer him, instead telling him to leave once more. “Or I can just tell all the rogues down there who you really are. I’m sure they’ll be happy to kill two birds with one stone.”

Bruce frowned beneath his cowl as he felt Jason’s anger in his bones. They both worked hard to reconcile- but now the progress was back to zero once more. His inquiry about what happened between them both only seemed to anger the younger man even more, but Jason’s anger snuffed out as realization washed over him, laughter bubbling up instead.

Batman could only watch in confusion as Jason laughed at him. “You really don’t know, do you?” The younger man chuckled lowly, shaking his head as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Goddamn Bruce, I know you deem protecting Gotham more important than your kids, but this is low even for you.”

“You’ve been missing a bird for almost six years, Batman. If you can’t connect the dots, then maybe it was the right decision to leave.” Jason turned his back to Bruce, walking away from the man. “I made mistakes. Like you. But when I came back, I rectified them, I don’t think you’ll be given the chance.”

“Leave. We’re being peaceful, fulfilling a promise we made to a kid. We can fight tomorrow.” Were his last words as he jumped down from the building, making his way to the little party as well while Batman’s eyes lingered on his back. Jason was just as exhausted as Bruce.

“You told him too much, kitten.” Selina purred from inside the orphanage, the kids inside too busy fawning over the fluffy cats she brought to pay attention to them. She was met with the blank mask of Red Hood. “And somehow, I’m sure it’ll still be a while until he figures it out.” Jason scoffed.

Batman sighed with defeat, calling Robin to the rendezvous point and telling the others to meet him in the Batcave, not giving them more of an explanation. He wasn’t missing anyone- he was sure. Dick, Jason, Tim, Barbara, Cassandra, Duke, Damian, even Stephanie- he just saw them, he just heard them. The drive to the Batcave was silent, Bruce lost in his thoughts while Damian was frowning, pouting really. 

Bruce made sure to count heads once more when everyone was present as he told and showed everyone what he discovered. “We should attack while they aren’t expecting us. They’ll surely talk then.” Damian was quick to interject, completely overlooking that Todd said there was a missing person. “No way!” Duke closed the idea before anyone had a chance. “There are too many civilians that will get caught in the crossfire-”

Cassandra could only watch as her family argued and tried to come up with a solution, as they tried to find out who Jason was referring to. Her brows furrowed behind her mask. He couldn’t be talking about- no. Bruce sent her away like he mentioned that one time to Alfred. Her little sister is safe in London- Bruce surely remembers... Right?

A few states over, Joker is laughing while he falls from miles in the air, three figures looking down at the crazy clown. Like Batsy hasn’t tried this trick on him before, they’re not even as intimidating, wearing those silly costumes. But then the ground kept coming closer and closer, his gleeful expression turning into a shocked frown. “Oh boy-“ The Joker gulped.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji

A/n: Special thanks to @fightmebissh for putting the idea of murals in my head- I won't be able to let it go :))

Also- the flowers I specifically used for their meanings. Lilacs of shades of purple to reflect spirituality and a specific lilac color that is associated with one’s first love or the first time one feels love for someone, and Narcissi for rebirth and good fortune, awareness, and inner reflection.

I always feel like I'm forgetting something when I post these...

[iguana-eyanna]

From The Bird's Eye View Chapter 5

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: Although you achieved your dream of being a designer, you never considered meeting a man who's also a father.

a/n: This story line has been about 4 years in the making as "The Blood Within Us" was my favorite fic to write. I really wanted to finish the Bruce Wayne saga but I have been facing a lot of writer's block now a days. This current series will have two chapters that will be published in a few months. In the mean time, thank you for reading.

“Tim! You’re going to be late to school!” You yelled, knocking on his door once again. 

As if on cue, Tim was rushing towards his bag and trying to knot a tie for his uniform, murmuring sorry under his breath. 

You paused his power walk to the dining room and did his tie for him.

“I know your nervous about your debate competition tonight, but you don’t need to pull all nighters. Especially since you asked for time off on night patrol.”

“I know, I know. I was just reviewing my notes last night and slept on my desk. Didn’t hear my third alarm.” He said, seeing how you were done with his tie. 

“There. You know, I can teach you how to do it.” You said, walking with him to the table to eat a quick breakfast. Tim grabs a toast and some eggs on his plate.

“Mom, you’re a fashion designer, you’re a literal pro. Besides, you do it better than Bruce.”

“Thanks for the kind words.” Bruce replied, making Tim chuckle nervously. He presses a kiss on your head as he sat down next to you with his fixed plate. 

You look at your son who looked a bit distant as he rushed his breakfast. Call it mother’s intuition but you felt something was wrong.

“It’s time to head to head to school, Master Tim.” Alfred announced as he made his way to the car.

“Bye guys!” Tim yelled out before making his way out before kissing your cheek.

You look over to your son as he rushed his way out from the dining room.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You ask Bruce as he was about to drink from his mug. 

Bruce knows what you meant. About almost four months ago, Tim was captured by the Joker. That monster tormented him, trying to create a replicate of the conniving villain using unspeakable methods. When Bruce and Barbra Gordon saved Tim, the damage was already done. 

Tim went through extensive therapy and had night tremors. Both you and Bruce said to take his time before going back to school, but Tim pressed on, saying he’d be behind on all his school work and the new friends he’s made. But deep down, he just wanted to feel somewhat normal again.

“He’s keeping busy with school. Tim just needs an outlet to just feel like a teenager again. I thought I had to face every struggle when I was his age, I don’t want him to feel like that.” He said, taking a sip.

“I can’t imagine. At least he has you to guide him.”

“He has the both of us.” Bruce reached out for your hand, squeezing it.

You then left Bruce at home so you could go in the office. You were more busy than ever, especially when you were opening a Japan branch in the coming year.

Later on, you got a ping of your phone alerting you it was time for lunch so you left work and traveled farther away from the city.

You walked over in the uneven path. The sun didn’t glare too much and the breeze was soft. You had a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. They were small yellow flowers that had hints of dandelions. You then got off the path to a small patch of grass, now only a few steps away from where you’ve been visiting for sometime.

“Hi, Jason.”

Your son turns around, a bit in a daze as he heard his name. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” He said, turning around. He was about to give you a hug but paused, unsure if the embrace was welcomed. You give him a sympathetic smile and closed the gap between you two, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“Sorry, not been used to this in awhile… also, not really sure what I’m doing here.” He said, looking back at the cemetery, staring at his name on the tombstone.

Jason Todd: Friend, Brother, & Son.

Son.

That word felt foreign to him. 

It’s almost been a month since he’s reunited with the family. After days of constant fighting with Bruce under his alias of The Red Hood, it was time to end this never-ending battle of his anger and come back home. 

“I usually come here to clear my head and talk to you.” You said, dusting away the leaves that were on top of the gravestone. 

He knew since his death that you took it the hardest. Even when you took in Tim, that hurt never left your heart. And now that he’s here, you’ve been healing day by day. 

The world knew of Jason’s death. It was featured in every news channel and tabloid. You and Bruce never cleared how he passed and you all decided as a family to have an interview with Lois Lane, who was the only person you trust for the most fragile time in your family. 

And people bought that he was in a protection detail of some sort, but for some reason… it didn’t sit right with you. It was like no one cared that he was gone for so long and could magically appear like nothing has happened. 

You try to have him open up, but he didn’t want to have you bear all his pain for him.

But isn’t that’s what a mother should do for her child?

“You know your room is always there for you, right?” You ask Jason as you turned to him. He’s been crashing most nights with Roy Harper, as they had a scuffle the first time they met again, but had a tearful reunion with each other.

“I know, but I think it’s time if I found a place for myself. Dick is helping me find some apartments in Blüdhaven. But I’ll pop in time to time to be with you guys.”

You smile at him, giving him a comforting side hug. 

“You always have a home with us.”

He smiles as he kisses the top of your head as he was now much taller than you.

“C’mon, let’s go get some food.”

+

Bruce looks down at his desk in his study room, looking down in his hands that held a small leather box. 

“Master Bruce?” 

Bruce looks up and sees Alfred alone, and Bruce released the breath he was holding onto nervously.

“Has the package arrive yet?” Alfred asks, locking the door before heading towards him.

Bruce softly smiles as he shakes his head yes, giving Alfred the small box.

“Just came after she left, I’ve been anxious for weeks.” 

“Well, it’s not every day Gotham’s most famous bachelor would one day be off the market.” Alfred teased as Bruce opens the box, revealing the engagement ring for you. 

“That’s why I bought out the restaurant where we had our fifth date.”

“Fifth date?” Alfred asks, sitting down opposite of Bruce.

“Well, first date wasn’t an official date, second one we had Dick join us to go to that ice cream parlor, third I had to cancel halfway due to Clayface III, fourth we had movie night at her place and fifth… it was when I realized that things can be different.” 

Bruce admits that starting a relationship with you, he didn’t have the right intentions. He could never deserve the love you give him. He swore that he’ll make it his life’s mission to make up every mistake that has affected you.

And almost after 8 1/2 years later, he’s finally decided to ask you to marry him. Yes, Bruce could have asked you many times before hand but there has been so many set backs and memories you both wish to forget, but he feels now is the most perfect time to start a new chapter with you.

“Where is she now?” Alfred asks.

“Getting lunch with Jason, he just sent me a message just now.”

“So you and Master Todd are talking again?” Alfred asks, knowing things haven’t been easy with son and father.

“We’re uh, slowly getting there. He even asked if he could spar with Tim tonight.”

“I don’t think that’ll be such a good idea.” Alfred warned.

Alfred has seen how Tim’s been reacting lately since Jason’s arrival. Tim has been questioning what’s his place would be now that the prodigal son has returned, and better yet, what his status is in this family.

“We’ll all have a talk afterwards. Everything is going to change tonight.” Bruce said, with hope in his eyes.

Alfred gave a small smile and got up, heading out of the office. 

“Indeed it will, sir.”

Meanwhile, you and Jason just came back to the manor as you mentioned that Bruce was taking you out for dinner tonight. It’s been awhile since it’s been the two of you, so you were very excited. 

Jason, for some reason, became silent once you arrived back home. Before you go up on the steps, you look over at Jason who was staring down in his lap.

“You’ve awfully been quiet recently.” You said, looking at your son.

Jason purses his lips and looks at you with uncertainty. 

“I know I’ve been keeping some stuff about what’s happened to me in the last few years. I just, don’t know how to tell you without breaking your heart again.”

You raise your hand up to his and squeeze his hand.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Jay. Ever since you’ve been back, I feel like something is going to rip the carpet under me and I’ll lose you again. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

Jason sniffles and wipes away his watery eyes. 

“Thank you.” Jason replied.

You smile at him gently and hug him.

“I uh, heard you’re gonna be hanging out with Tim tonight. I think that’s great that the two of you can talk for real this time, maybe having a big brother would help him move forward.” You stated.

Jason just nods his head, knowing what you meant.

He then followed you inside and headed straight to the bat cave, awaiting for Tim. In ten minutes, the young Drake boy looked uneasy, like he was about to meet his creator. 

“H-Hey.” Tim said, shifting on his bare feet as he entered the bottom of the bat cave.

Tim has been dreading this day.

Sparring with Bruce and Dick benefited Tim’s fighting skills. Bruce taught him calculation and timing. Dick supported encouragement and using your instincts. 

But Jason? In his time as Red Hood, he has killed men, mercenaries, you name it. And now that Jason was here ready to fight, Tim was scared that maybe Jason would use all his anger on him.

Jason bandaged his hands and took off his shirts. Every inch of his skin was etched with faded scars and bullet wounds. Tim gulped loudly as he prepped his stance.

In an instant, Jason charged first, taking Tim off guard.

“Hey! We didn’t start yet!” Tim yelled out, being knocked down on the ground.

“Lesson one, Drake: A fight can happen any time, any place. Never lose your guard.” Jason offered his hand. As Tim received it, Jason lifted him off the ground and body slammed him opposite of where he laid.

“Lesson two: never trust if your opponent has mercy. Always protect yourself.” 

Tim huffed out loud before jumping on his feet, wiping away the sweat and the cut on his brow. 

Jason looked too calm for this spar. Not an inch of his hair was out of place, even his white streak by his widow’s peak shown brightly in the dark cave.

Tim ran forward, striking with his right fist. Out of nowhere, Jason took out a small ninja star and flicked it towards Tim’s face. Just in time, Tim ducked it and body rolled on the mat, looking at Jason like a mad man.

“Are you out of your mind?” Tim screamed out loud.

“Lesson three: Be resourceful. Take anything in reach to your advantage. Bruce didn’t teach you these things?” Jason asked, circling Tim like a vulture flying around its prey.

“Bruce taught me how to sharpen my hacking skills, how to control my body in duress.” 

Jason scoffed as he looked at Tim. 

“I thought you had something in you, but I was wrong. What kind of Robin are you?”

That statement broke Tim as he tightened his fists and struck Jason in the chest. Jason staggered a little and looked at Tim, smirking.

“There he is!” Jason yelled out, almost mechanically.

Tim furrowed his brow and took a punch again to Jason’s shoulder. Jason looked like he was enjoying this little fight and took another punch from Tim.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” Tim asked, getting frustrated.

“I wanna see what you can do, surprise me.” Jason smiled wickedly, raising his fist.

The two of them began to strike again, wanting to know who the last man will stand.

+

“It’s been awhile since we had a date night.” You said, holding Bruce’s hand as you two were being driven by Alfred to your mystery date. 

“I know, a lot has happened and I thought the two of us deserve some time together.” Bruce said, rubbing his thumb across your thigh from the slit of your dress.

“And what would our time be spent on tonight?” You ask, gleaming.

“A night of your favorite cuisine, soft music in the background, and a melted chocolate soufflé.” Bruce replied, leaning in for a kiss.

You smiled as you kissed Bruce, losing your hand in his dark ravenous hair. You could feel his hands in the back of your dress, trying to find the zipper by your spine.

“Bruce…” You warned as you felt his lips by your neck.

“We have until 15 minutes till we get to the restaurant. I just want you to myself for just a little bit.” He whispers, feeling his hot breath by your ear.

“I bet you won’t last for 8 minutes.” You dared.

“Make it 6”  Bruce remarked, seeing a sly look in his hand.

You two smiled as you both couldn’t help but take your hands off each other.

A knock is heard from the driver’s cabin, alerting that Alfred could possibly hear every word you’re saying. 

You cover your mouth in embarrassment as Bruce couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 

“Why don’t we wait after tonight?” You ask Bruce, straightening up in your seat.

“Of course, I’ll behave just for you.” Bruce reaches out for your hand, kissing it as you blushed.

Your fingers intertwined with each other as you look lovingly in each other’s eyes.

+

The two sons were getting tired. Jason was heaving his chest, as Tim may have bruised ribs from being kicked a few times too many.

Tim, now sporting a deeper cut by his temple, tries to wipe the trickling blood from his forehead with his arm. Tim refuses to back down, especially to Jason. An idea pops in his head and he slowly circles around Jason, taunting him.

“What makes you think you could be capable of teaching me to fight?” Tim asks.

Jason huffs and gives a wicked smirk. “If you’ve forgotten already, I have a reputation. Nothing gets past me.”

“You sure about that? Heard when you were Robin, you had no control, no conscience. Just chaos at every turn you made.”

Tim caught a glimpse of Jason’s tough exterior slowly cracking. Jason resumed in silencing, alerting Tim that his tactic might work. So, he took his chance and punched Jason by his left cheekbone.

“Did I strike a nerve?” Tim asks.

Jason was silent, but his eyes grown darker from their natural color. 

Tim almost felt worried, but he knew Jason would never do anything that could hurt him seriously.

Right?

“If we’re striking nerves, I wanted to clarify that I’m only here cause Ma asked me to come. Said she’s worried about you. But I see it in Bruce’s face. He thinks you’ll never be ready to go out on the field again. And frankly, I don’t think you’re able to.”

“Who says you have the final say? You just showed up to Gotham out of the blue just to prove that you’re what, the prodigal son? Please, I survived the Joker. You were overpowered by a man with no powers or strength. He was smart enough to end the job quick with you.”

A ripple soared through the air as Tim found himself on the ground as he held his left jaw as Jason was huffing his chest, breathing heavily.

Jason could only be described like a raging animal, as his dark past was catching up to him.

He grabbed Tim by the collar and raised him high as his feet dangled in the air. 

Right when Jason was about to make the first strike, he suddenly hears maniacal laughter.

‘Show him who you truly are…’ the voice sneered.

Jason staggered away as he dropped Tim, feeling his head pound. 

“Get out…” Jason held onto the sparring mat as he grit his teeth.

“J-Jason, are you alright?” Tim asks as he holds his side.

Jason whipped his head fiercely as he bear his teeth. 

“I SAID GET OUT!”

Tim took an immediate step back with fear in his eyes. Jason can see it to you as he forced his eye sight downward as he was crouched on the floor.

“You don’t know what it’s like… to have everything you ever wanted taken away in a single second. I tried protecting my birth mom by taking every beating that demon gave to me. I tried saving her from that bomb. I felt myself dying at an instant. Then I come back with half a mind of my own, still hearing that psychotic man’s voice in my head.”

Tim can see Jason almost crying as his shoulders were slumped.

Tim treaded lightly towards Jason as he slowly got on his knees, then slowly placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder. The older brother almost flinched with physical contact, but it was when he looked up to Tim who’s eyes weren’t full of fear but with sympathy. 

The two brothers get up from the sparring mat as Jason gave a heartfelt hug. Tim was shocked at first, but accepted the embrace.

“Amateurs, all of you.” A young voice said out loud.

Jason and Tim looked around their surroundings, searching for the voice.

Tim picked up a sparring bo staff and defended his ground.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” 

A quiet whip like sound pierced the wind as a small shadow lands a couple of feet by them. 

The figure wore dark ancient clothing, asian descent if Tim could describe it. The stranger lifted their mask off and revealed a boy, much younger than both the brothers.

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked harshly as he shoved past Tim.

“Mother is on an important mission. I wished to join her but she told me to come here and meet father.”

“Wait wait wait, you know this kid?” Tim asks, lowering his staff. 

The young figure sneered from the last statement.

“I am to be respected and feared, my age does not limit my lethal skills, Tim Drake.” 

Tim had enough and tries striking his opponent but he swiftly moved out of his way and swept Tim off his balance, just like Jason has performed before.

“And he calls himself the smart one.” The child comments.

“Look demon spawn, no one picks on Drake unless me, okay? And you have shown up on the worst night possible. Bruce isn’t here.”

“I have waited for almost 10 years to meet him, what’s another hour?” 

Tim rises up from the mat as he looks at the child.

“Why do you want to meet Bruce?” 

“Because he’s my father.” The child crosses his arms

Silence filled the cave. Not even a gust of wind dare to make a whistling sound. 

Tim looks at Jason for confirmation as the elder brother bows his head.

“Then who’s your mom?” Tim dares to ask.

Damien beams with pride as he steps closer to Tim.

“Someone you should be very afraid of.”

+

After you and Bruce finished your very intimate dinner, your heart began to flutter.

"Bruce, you know that you didn't have to reserve all of the restaurant just so we could have dinner alone?"

You said, sipping your wine.

"Of course not, that's why I bought the restaurant from the owner."

"Bruce!"

You two started laughing out loud as you knew that Bruce wasn't serious. If you just met Bruce now, you'd think he's this pompous rich guy. You told him first on that he didn't need to impress you with grand gestures or money. As long as you two worked as a team who gave back to their community and their family, then you never had to question his love for you.

Those were all the things Bruce was thinking of saying to you tonight.

"What's in that mysterious mind of yours?" You ask.

He smiles to himself as he softly held your hand in his, feeling his chest tighten with slight anxiousness.

"There's been something I've been wanting to say to you for some time..."

He was about to get out of his chair until his phone buzzed. He looks at the caller and sees that it's Tim.

Bruce powers his phone off, thinking it wouldn't be important.

"Everything alright?" You ask.

"Yeah, absolutely. Where was I?"

"You wanted to tell me something." You said, trying to suppress a smile of your sudden excitement.

Bruce reaches for your hand and kisses your palm, giving you the most genuine gaze you haven't seen in a while.

"I have been wanting to do this for the longest time. Love, I-"

A sudden ring is heard from your phone as you reach towards your purse.

"It's Jason. I think the kids have been trying to reach us."

"They're fine, trust me." Bruce tries to change the subject but you shake your head.

"I don't know Bruce, something feels wrong."

You answer your phone as you place it towards your ear.

"Hi honey, we just finished eating dinner. What - J - You want to talk to Bruce?"

Bruce face turns shocked as you offer your phone to him.

"Jason, now's not a good time." Bruce says.

"Bruce, I wouldn't have called you unless it was important. You need to come back to the manor now." Jason said.

"Did you tell him yet?" Tim asks from afar but then his two sons started bickering.

"Guys, what are you two trying to say? Hold on." Bruce taps the screen and places it on speaker as he stood up facing away from your nervous state.

Tim takes over the conversation as he steals the phone from Jason.

"Bruce, some kid broke into the cave while we were sparring saying he's-"

"Wait, a kid broke into the cave? Why are you and Jason fighting?" You ask, raising form your chair.

"It's fine, I told them it's alright."

"Uh, I don't think so. Tim's still recovering from the last fight he's had and you left them both unsupervised!"

"They're fine, but can we handle the situation at hand? You're the one that wanted to call them back."

"And now you're blaming me for caring? Well excuse me for-"

"I tire of this nonsense." An unfamiliar voice said as they possibly took the phone away from the bickering siblings.

"Bruce Wayne, my name is Damian al Ghul, son of Talia al Ghul and grandson of the powerful Ra's al Ghul. I am your rightful heir, your true blood son, conceived from 8 years ago when you were on a mission with my mother."

Silence filled both rooms.

"Perhaps the connection disconnected?" Damian asks the brothers.

"Nope, he heard." Jason said as the call suddenly ended.

Bruce looks at the phone, then back at you as your eyes filled with tears of betrayal.

Bruce tries to go up to you, feeling his throat tighten.

"Love, I-"

"Stop, please." You said, moving backwards as your voice lowers.

"I think its best we go back to the manor. Let's just talk later, okay?"

You try to smile but it failed as your eyesight was lost in more tears.

You leave Bruce standing there alone as you walked to the limo that was waiting outside.

"Hello Madame, I guess a congratulations are in order?" Alfred asks cheerfully as he turned back to you.

His face fell as he saw you trying to cover your tears with your left hand that had no ring. You couldn't even muster a sentence to the one person that has your one interest at heart for this night.

Alfred bowed his head in silence until Bruce came inside and sat far from you as you couldn't even look at him.

"Where to, Master Bruce?" Alfred asks.

"Home, there's someone expecting to see me."

"Who sir?"

Bruce felt hesitant to answer, but then he locked his gaze to the window.

"My son, Damian."

Taglist:

@thisnameistaken1234

@linora09

[slimybeth69]

Que Será, Será: Part 9

Rating: Explicit- Smut, violence, drinking/drug use. MDNI!!

Summary: It's almost twenty years after some weird outbreak almost happened but the CDC took care of that...Now you're living in Austin, Texas as an adult.What happens when you meet Joel Miller who hasn't been hardened and ruined by twenty years of murder and loss?Warnings/Tags: DaddyDom!Joel/ you. no use of y/n. No physical description of the reader besides one tattoo. Reader has a background story. Drinking/drug use. Slow burn. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Graphic depictions of violence. Eventual loss of virginity. Use of nicknames/pet names (lil girl, baby girl.) DD/lg dynamics. BDSM play.

Unbeta'ed. WIP. Cross-posting from my Ao3.Chapter

Warnings: drinkings, bar fights, reader gets injured, Joel is a DICK. SMUT!! SO MUCH!!! IT'S HAPPENING EVERYONE. IT'S HAPPENING.

It’s been two weeks since your little drinking, spanking, shopping and swapping shenanigans. Joel (your boyfriend) has spent the night at least…nine or ten times and each time he brings you something. Four times it was flowers, another time he brought dinner. The next night he brought you sex toys. Real sex toys and didn’t even ask to watch you use them. Just left them on your bedside table before he left for work and then kissed you goodbye while you slept. 

He doesn’t ask you to come over after you said you feel bad about leaving your brand new cat. Who is…perfect and sweet. She is a snuggly baby and just wants love and scratches. She looooves Joel. Meows at him all the time and he acts annoyed by it but you know he loves it. He’s so nice and sweet to her. Picks her up and puts her in his lap when he thinks you aren’t looking. He just wants to pet her and be nice to her. 

It’s going to be awkward if and when Sam and Cody ever come home. Another grown man…older than both of them sleeping in their basement? Awesome. Sam–if she ever gets better– is going to lose her mind that this man is twenty years older than you. She’s also going to have a sarcastic mouth and say something about him being old enough to be your dad and… Joel doesn’t like that very much. Not at all, actually. So. 

You guys get it…more than you would think. People are just openly telling you and your dad to have a great day. Enjoy your meal. Have fun. Why are people okay with outwardly assuming the older gentleman you’re with is your dad? Huh? Weird. Joel does not let go of your hand or your ass everywhere you go because he hates it so much. It’s been a struggle.

But not enough to make him not wanna see you anymore.

Joel is taking you to the bar tonight to meet Tommy, his brother. Your boyfriend (never gets old) told you that you’ve probably seen Tommy before. He comes into the store too. You're racking your brain of every man who has ever come through your line before. Ones that look like Joel? None. Maybe. You dunno. You see so many guys all day long. 

Tommy recognizes you though. Sure does. 

“You rejected me a couple months ago.” Tommy snickers softly as he shakes your hand. “But you’ll date my asshole older  brother? I see. I see you.” Tommy gives you the universal – index and middle fingers pointed at his eye then to yours– motion that says ‘I see you’. It’s fine. You do not care. Joel is your type and Tommy is no Joel. 

Tommy is alright though. You’re shocked you turned him down as you all sat at a booth near the back of the bar with drinks. His hair is longer, shoulder length and darker than Joel’s. Mustache and a goatee. He never asked for your number… He’s lying. Maybe. 

“You like Austin?” Tommy sips on his beer after he asks. 

“It’s alright. I liked living in Jersey. I didn’t really wanna move. It was just hard finding a job up there…but it was just as hard down here.” You snort and take a sip of your drink as Joel relaxes. He said in the car he was sore and he needed a massage later. You would give him one in hopes he would fuck you. He still hasn’t. It’s fine. You’re not upset about it. 

“Hardware store treat you good? Joel told me ‘bout your truck and your computer. Sucks. Sorry.” Tommy seems like a nice guy. 

“They’re nice to me. Give me the same schedule that I like. Don’t make me work late. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it.” You shrug your shoulders. “Do you like working with Joel?” You feel a gentle and slow moving hand on your bare thigh, Joel’s hand under the skirt of your sundress.. A comforting touch. 

“S’alright. All I’ve ever done. I started right after I graduated high school— did that early.” Tommy smiles at himself proudly. 

“That’s fuckin’ cool. Did you do any night classes or anything like that to go to college smarty pants?” You tease him nicely. He chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Nooo. Stayed here and just worked for this miserable fuck. Probably will for the rest of his life.” Tommy jokes and Joel rolls his eyes. 

“I’m fuckin’ retiring soon. Fuck that shit. You take over. You do this shit.” He grumbles and sips his beer. 

“I’ll take over, shiiit. Been waiting to hear those words.” Tommy shakes his head in a sense of disbelief and excitement and is smiling. It’s a cute brother interaction and it’s good to see that they’re close. Tommy doesn’t actually hate him you don’t think. So that’s good. Joel is moving his hand all up and down your leg and moving it in towards your inner thigh, squeezing you tightly with his rough fingers. 

“I’m thinkin’ next year or two. Nothin’ too long.” Joel sounds reassuring to Tommy. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Tommy rolls his eyes and finishes his beer. “Y’all want another?” You and Joel both say yes and as soon as Tommy is out of earshot, Joel leans in and whispers in your ear. 

“Open your legs.” Then he kisses you on the cheek and leans back against the booth. You open your legs slowly and Joel doesn’t tease or anything, he's inside your panties and he slides one thick, stiff finger through your folds, pulls his hand from under your dress and offers his finger that was just trailing up your other set of lips. You open your mouth and he smears your juices on your tongue, withdraws his finger and then sucks it clean with his mouth. “Close ‘em.” Joel nudges your knee with his under the table and you snap them shut as Tommy walks up. 

They start to talk and you have no time to talk to him about what he just did. In public! Indecency!! Getting arrested?? He had scared you in the parking lot when he said you could get arrested!! No thank you. Your back is sweating from that. Kinda hot… 

“Hey,” Joel nudges you with his elbow and drags you back to the bar and out of fucking thinking about becoming a registered offender for Joel. You’re being spoken to and not responding. Tommy is asking you something. 

“Did you go to school?” 

“Um, for a little bit and then I found a job I loved and didn’t wanna go. Wasn’t going…” You chuckle that last part nervously. “Partied a little and just would sleep through class. Wasting money.” You shrug your shoulders. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you but you don’t look up at him. 

“Damn. I went to a couple of college parties. Fuckin’ pretty wild shit happenin’ there.” Tommy is doing nothing to help your case. 

“Dumb shit.” You snort and avoid the quizzical eyes that that are being given to you by your boyfriend. You left out the parties when he asked. Dunno why you said anything tonight. Idiot. 

“Hell yeah. Saw some wild shit…” Tommy’s eyes are flicking between you and Joel and he’s smirking. “Your man over there know what kinda wild shit you was gettin’ into?” He snickers into his beer glass. 

“I wasn’t getting into any wild shit. Just drinking too much.” You roll your eyes and finally look up at Joel who is just… lookin’ at you. “I wasn’t gettin’ into wild shit!” You exclaim and he smirks. 

“Sure.” Then he goes back to talking to Tommy. 

“Hey, I’ll be right back” You stand to go to the bathroom after letting Joel know and try and find it in this maze of a bar. You find it a minute later. You look nice tonight. Did your make up all pretty and actually did something pretty with your hair. You're happily looking at yourself in the mirror and two girls walk in– pretty girls. They look at you. You look at them. It’s quiet for two seconds. 

“I love your dress!” One of them exclaims excitedly. They fawn over your simple navy blue dress. It’s knee length. Nothing fancy but they hype you up in the bathroom and make you feel so nice. What a good drunk girl bathroom experience. You’re on cloud nine walking back to the booth when chaos erupts beside you at the bar. You have no time to scramble away before the tall bar chairs are being knocked over and hitting you in the legs. It hurts! People start shouting–

“Fuck you– stupid fucking pussy bitch. You won’t do shit. You fucking wont”

“Fuckin’ lets go outside. Fight me outside pussy. One-on-one. Me n’ you, fucker.” 

They do not wait and are throwing punches so quickly and moving so fast. You are overtaken by them and do not even realize what is happening as you take elbows and maybe a fuckin’ fist to the eye!? What was that!? Jeeeesus that hurt– whatever the fuck it was– but it doesn’t stop! They are fighting and now more people from the bar are jumping in to fight or break it up. 

Soft, small hands are on yours and pulling you out of the way but someone falls and breaks your grip and now you’re stumbling backwards towards more fighting men and now, fighting women. They aren’t asking who is involved. Just throwing punches and you take one to the left tit and someone kicks you in the back of the thigh!! What the fuck!! Now, you’re mad and you are also fucking punching and kicking people. What the fuck!? Who just doesn’t let the girls get outta the way first??? 

One of the two original guys is on the ground, and he definitely hit you or elbowed you (on accident, but still). You give him two good stomps to the shoulder for whatever he did to you and then… you get a real punch to the face. The fist is big, feels like a boulder against your skull. There is so much force behind it. You're stunned. One that sends you into tunnel vision and it’s blurry and you’re in pain. Real pain. None of that other shit hurt like this. Hoooly shit. Your eye is on fire. It might have fucking fallen out. Jeeeeus. You're stumbling away, almost falling down to the ground. More people are on top of you. You are fighting them off of you. 

You're trying to stand up in this mob of people and your hand gets stepped on and it hurts. Your dress is all hiked up to your stomach. The bar floor is sticky and there are hands on you. Not even trying to be groping or touching you the way they are, they're just as desperate to get out of this sea of hot, sweating bodies. Finally, you're on your knees and someone pushes you forward into someone another girl. You've never seen her before, and now the eye that hurt before it's stinging and you can barely see out of it. You see out of your good eye that she is getting ready to fight you for slamming into her, she has her first cocked back but you beat her to it, you slam your closed fist right between her eyes and now, the hand that has been stepped on and now punched into someones skull-- sends fire to your brain. More new pain as you push yourself to your feet while still being all jostled around.

More small, soft, girly hands are on yours immediately pulling you out of the way. It’s one of the girls from the bathroom. She is all messed up too, her hair and make up. Missing one of her fake eyelashes. Over her shoulder you have just enough time to see Joel with his hand around the throat of some guy, you hope the one who hit you and is pinning him to the wooden bar. Joel’s other fist is cocked back and he sends it forward. You can’t watch but you can hear it. Hear his fist connecting with that guy’s face. 

Fuck. Your face hurts real bad. Guy’s hands are on you but you already know they are not Joel’s so you start to push them off you angrily but Tommy’s voice is in your ear.

“Joel wants me to get you out of here.” Tommy is shouting over the commotion and noise and the screaming. It’s so loud. You’re still wincing as the guy Joel is holding to the bar starts to fight back. Tommy is leading you out of the bar through the fire exit and an alarm goes off but outside it’s finally… not chaos. 

“Shit! You okay!?” Tommy takes your face in his hands and inspects your eye. There is a comfort behind his touch that brings tears to your eyes before he brings ones of pain to them!

“I’m fine. It just— shit! Don’t fuckin' touch it!” You snap at him when he runs his hand over whatever is causing you pain. He pulls his hand away and there is blood on his thumb. “Is that my blood?!” You exclaim and bring one hand to your eye and the pain is coming from high on your upper lid near the outer edge of your brow. Stinging, burning and dull throbbing. Blood on your fingers!! You don’t have your purse or phone or anything. It’s all inside. Your hurt eye is still stinging. So bad. You have blood in your eye and it hurts! So badly! Where is your boyfriend!? Why is his brother taking care of you!? 

People come pouring out of the bar from every door. You and Tommy are looking for Joel for so long before he comes out of the bar… looking really angry. He’s got your bag, jacket and phone in his hand but he’s pointing at you accusingly shouting at you before he is even close enough for you to hear him but he keeps yelling until you can.

“Grow the fuck up!” He barks at you loudly. “Fightin’ at the bar? Really?!” He shouts at you and you’re so confused. As Joel gets closer, Tommy steps between the two of you like Joel… might do something if he didn’t. 

“I wasn’t fighting!!” You shout back at him. 

“I fuckin’ saw you!! Throwing fuckin’ fists! Ya fuckin’ serious!?” Joel is still pointing at you but over Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy keeps trying to talk to Joel who looks so fucking angry at you, but Joel keeps moving his head to see you. Joel has blood on his knuckles but his face is fucking fine so why is he yelling at you!? He was fighting too!

"You were fighting!! I saw you!!" You shout at him with more tears rolling down your face. Joel erupts-- pushing Tommy away, stumbling backwards until he regains his balance and get's between you and Joel again

"Beating up the fucker that pushed you!! For you to turn around and punch that fuckin' lady!" Joel screams at you. "She do that to you!? GOOD! S'whatchya get for fighting!" 

“A guy punched me–” You sob as tears roll down your cheeks, trying to explain yourself but he doesn’t let you finish. 

“Shut the fuck up! Grow—” Joel stops mid sentence and takes you in, really looks at you for the first time since he came outside. See's how badly you're beat  “A guy hit you!? Who!? Which fuckin’ one!?.” Joel is twisting his head around looking for whoever did it to you.

“Duh!!!! You fucking asshole!” You shout at him. “I don’t know who did it!! I got fucking punched in the face!!” You’re screaming a little and storm off towards his truck. You hear a scuffle behind you and look over your shoulder and now Tommy and Joel are fighting. Tommy is trying to get Joel to give you a minute, or Joel himself a minute to cool down. Joel is not letting it happen, shoving his brother in the chest, talking shit– being an asshole. You don’t even care if they fight. Fuck this. You keep going towards the truck until you hear the sound no one wants to hear. 

An expensive phone dropping on a hard surface. Pavement in this case. You close your eyes and keep walking because you already know it was yours and it’s probably broken and you can’t think about it. Won’t.You’re still sobbing as you get to Joel’s truck.

This night didn’t happen. 

Your face says a different story in the side mirror of Joel's truck. There is evidence that it did happen. You’re black and blue on your right eye and have an inch long laceration right below your eyebrow. Bleeding. Dripping down the side of your face– which is numb– and down your chin and onto your pretty dress. Your hand is all black and blue. You inspect the back of your thigh and it is also, black and blue. With a red shoe print right In the middle. You sob softly against the car and just want Joel to take you home and never talk to you again. 

The truck unlocks while you’re standing against the door. You open it before Joel has the chance to do it for you and climb in. You don’t even look at him when he gets in. He just sits next to you silently for so long. Feels like an hour of him just listening to you cry. 

“I'm sorry. Jus' slipped outta my hand. I’ll getchya a new one tomorrow. Better one.” He murmurs softly. “N’ I’m sorry fer’ yelling at you. Tellin' ya t'shup up.” He reaches over the console now to touch your shoulder but you pull away, still crying. “I am sorry. I was just mad n’ all fuckin’.. I dunno. Just...” 

“Just fuckin’ yellin' at me.” You sob. “I’m bleeding!” You turn to him and show him the blood on your face that he can clearly see. He nods and leans over the console to inspect it. You let him, let him touch your chin gently in his fingers to turn your head so you'll look at him. His other hand pulls the skin above your eyebrow up so he can inspect how deep the wound is. It hurts when he does that so you whimper and clench your eyes shut. He sucks his teeth softly and sadly. 

“I’m gonna take you to the hospital. Y'need stitches.” he leans in and steals a gentle kiss before you can stop him, you honestly, don't even want to. "I am sorry. So sorry." He murmurs against your lips with desperation in his tone. He has your blood on his cheek when he pulls away– and you mindlessly wipe it off with your thumb, and then feel fucking stupid for caring about that when he didn't care to begin with. "I really am.” He starts the truck and drives towards the emergency room. You say nothing.

You need six stitches. Joel is driving you home two hours later in silence. You don’t even have a phone to look at. Smashed to fuck. Because your boyfriend is an asshole. Neither one of you say anything until he pulls into your driveway. 

“So…I’m not leavin’...” Joel starts to explain, you try and argue with him but he narrows his eyes on yours and it silences you. “I had a lil plan fer’ tonight… n’ it looks like yer’ too mad at me for that to happen–” Joel is still talking but you don’t even really hear him. You speak over him. He keeps talking and you tune back into what he is saying. "--leavin'. I don't gotta sleep in yer' bed. I'll stay on the couch but we're talkin' 'bout this tomorrow. We have to. I gotta buy you a new phone..." He trails off shaking his head in shame for himself for acting the way he did. 

“You were gonna… fuck me tonight?” You scoff and squint your eye at him. The other one is a lil swollen. Joel nods and shrugs his shoulders.

“I thought it’d be fun, have a couple drinks… loosen up a lil. Fuck you all night. 'Cause I know ya really want it. Yer' excited for it. Not nervous n' shy.” Joel looks down at his hands as he speaks. 

“That an excuse to get you inside?” You ask softly. Joel shakes his head. 

“I been knew we were gon’ do this tonight. Couple days ago-- when we decided to have you meet Tommy.” Joel chuckles. “Fuckin’ shoulda just done it a long time ago.” He scoffs softly like he is annoyed with himself. “Was gon’ have you wear that lil white thang I got you. Was gonna fuckin'... defile you in that thang.” He turns his head to look at you and frowns. “I don’t wanna leave, Bird. I wanna talk 'bout it. Don't gotta do nothin'. Talk in the mornin'?” He pleads with you softly and quietly. 

“I don't need to talk about it. I have one thing to say." You look at him with the most honest, and innocent eyes you have because you are. You're a nice girl who doesn't fight at the bar. You want to be a good girl for him but, not if this is the kind of person he's going to be to you. "If you ever yell at me like that again…you’ll never get a chance to apologize for it. I mean it.” You snap at him and open the door to his truck and jump down. Your door isn’t even shut before Joel is beside you. He lets you lead him to the front door and watches you unlock it, his hands on your waist. 

“I’m sorry. I'll be better. I will.” Joel whispers in to your ear as he trawls his hands along your sides and over your stomach. Once the door is open, the front of one of his thighs press against the backs yours and he pushes your leg into the house slowly, and then does it with the other as he walks you into the entryway. “Sorry.” He whispers once more against the nape of your neck as his hands roam across the front of you. 

“I know.” You lean back against his chest and now he pulls you into him, kissing your skin softly. “I’m still mad though!” You pull away from him but he holds you against him and speaks quickly to stop your pushing and fighting hands on his arms around you.

“You should be.” It's spoken firmly against the crook of your neck and makes you stop fighting him. “I get.. I dunno– seein' you get pushed by that guy... I got fuckin' scared. N' then I turn around n' see you fighting? I got mad. Like an asshole-- I say shit I don’t mean.” He sounds ashamed. 

“S’why your wife left?” You ask sharply and are not even scared because if he gets mad again, he can fuckin’ leave. 

“Partially.” Joel sighs. “She was just as bad, Bird.” Joel holds his arms out from behind you and twists them in each direction so you can see all those scars. “Not from workin’.” Joel kisses your neck again and his warm breath feels staggered like he is nervous to be talkin’.

“She did this to you?” You whisper quietly in shock. 

“Fer’ three fuckin’ years.” He groans and then pulls his arms away. “I hate talkin’ ‘bout it, don’t fuckin’ wanna, really. What else you wanna know?” Joel sighs softly from behind you. 

“You ever hit her back?” You’re not sure you wanna know, but you kind of need to know. 

“Once.” Joel whispers and his body is gone from behind yours. You turn and he’s leaning against the front door with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. “Fuckin’... the night ‘fore she took off. We were fightin’, n’ she just wouldn’t let up.” He doesn’t remove his hands, sounds angry to be talking about it and is starting to speak a little more aggressively. “Non stop. All night. Scratchin’, wailin’ on me somethin’ fuckin’ terrible. Callin’ me a bad dad– been a dad for two weeks mind you, workin’ my ass off day in n’ out for those that lil girl n' that bitch who fuckin' hit me.” Joel finally rips his hands away from his eyes and is shaking his head, with an angry smile on his face. “I fuckin’ just… I dunno, lil tap on her mouth-- t’ shut her up. After three fuckin’ years of puttin’ up with it.” Joel tosses his hands in the air and puts his hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t go–” You try and stop him even though you are still mad at him. Those patterned scars on his arms? Her fucking fingernails and that's heartbreaking. Makes you so fucking sad that he put up with that for so long because he just wanted to be a dad.

“I need a fuckin' minute—” He says sharply. “I'm not takin’ my bullshit out on you– again.” Then he opens the door, steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. 

What the hell is going on? 

You go to the basement because, poor Joel. Your battered and beaten– That fuckin’ bitch of an ex-wife of his better hope you never have to meet her. You’ll put your hands on her in ways Joel couldn’t. Sure fuckin’ will. You’re so mad thinking about it while you change out of your bloody dress and into that lil white lace thing Joel got you. 

You’re losing your virginity tonight. You don’t care what he says or if he wants to (you’re not gonna do that), you also don’t care that you have a black eye and a laceration with stitches. No. You’re going to fuck your boyfriend and make him less sad for having a terrible ex-wife that he— You gasp audibly even though no one is around to hear– thankfully. Joel is going to have to see her at his daughter's wedding. Stupid, man beatin’ bitch. Joel should have just left but… you’ve never been in an abusive relationship. So…you have no room to talk. You are going to fuck him. You're partially a little mad at him, mostly feel kinda bad that his wife used to hit him. Want him to remember how good n' tight your pussy is if he ever sees her again and gets sucked back into whatever bullshit she was dishing out that kept him around for so long. 

You're gonna do your damnedest to seduce your boyfriend and get him to fuck you. You need it more than he does honestly. You got punched in the face--- fuuck. Your PHONE!? You cannot even think about it because you'll lose all sense of feeling bad for him and go out there and spit on him not nicely. Okay. Sex with Joel. 

You’ll just be there for him if and when he comes inside to see you ready in bed. Splayed out so he can fucking use you if he needs to. You don't care. You cleaned up all the blood and honestly…ya don’t look half bad. You look sexy as hell in that lil white thang and your black eye. He won’t be able to resist. If he ever comes inside…he’s been out there for so long. 

It’s hard to not go inspecting when he’s out there for a half hour. Just sitting on one of the chairs on the porch. You could go outside. Sam and Cody’s house faces a giant field and has no neighbors across from them and it’s late. You’re fuckin’ in your lil white thing. Shit. Fuck. Doesn’t matter. He is your boyfriend and he is sad. You open the door and take a deep breath, getting ready to be almost naked outside. 

“Hi.” You stand with your feet together after you step out and turn to him. He doesn’t look up at you, just stares at his hands. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He grumbles to himself. “I just feel like an ass.” He still doesn’t look up. 

“I know. You should for what happened at the bar. But, we can talk another time about it. Come inside with me.” You feel like an ass to for being out here like this. Cody and Sam…have neighbors on either side of their house…so someone could fuckin’ see you. 

“I need another minute, babe. I'm so--” Joel turns his head to look at you and stops mid-sentence. “Woah.” He sighs softly. “Yer' like a pretty lil angel.” Joel smirks and his eyes trace every voluptuous curve of your body before his eyes find yours. “You want Daddy t’fuck you tonight– all night? S'why you put that on? For me?” He asks softly, turning his body in the chair, resting one elbow on the armrest. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You nod at him and he pushes himself out of the chair. 

“Where you want it?” He growls softly. “Out here?” Joel raises one eyebrow and you freeze in fear and start to panic but Joel smirks and takes three steps so he can be in front of you, turning you so your back is to the front door. “Get yer’ ass in that bed, right now.” His kisses are long and desperate as your hand searches for the doorknob that is somewhere on the door behind you. He finds it for you and leads you inside, downstairs and to the bed. 

There is a trail of his clothes from the front door to where he has you now. On your bed. Naked between your legs. Both of you are quivering and searching endlessly for more air as you’re reduced to a puddle as he slides his length over your cunt through that little triangle of white fabric that separates the two of you. 

“Might hurt a lil.” Joel whispers down to you as he rolls his hips into yours softly. He’s been doing this as he kisses you, teasing you with nibbling bottom lip kisses and naughty words for several minutes and now he’s is like hot steel between your legs. “I’m sorry if it does hurt at all. Imma go slow the first time as long as y’need me to.” He whispers as just the tips of your noses touch softly. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah..” You’re so fucking nervous and excited and feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. 

“I like bein’ this close to ya, but…I gotta watch.” Joel kisses you softly and leans back so he can look between your two bodies that meet right in the center. “Fuuuck.” Joel whispers to only himself as he grinds himself into you. “You wanna keep that sexy lil thong on? Don’t care?” Joel flicks his eyes up to yours as one of his strong hands slips into the delicate string on the side. 

“You gonna rip it?” You ask with a smirk. He nods silently. “Do it.” Joel purses his lips together and yanks the elastic from the triangle of fabric and then does the same thing with the other side- discarding it on the floor. 

Joel seems just as nervous as you as he wraps one fist around his throbbing length. He strokes himself a couple times as he kneels in front of you. It’s already so hard and… so big. Fuck. Okay. You got this. He’s not doing anything. Just looking at your pussy and his cock he’s stroking right above it. He’s breathing just as heavy as you are. 

“Ready?” Joel flicks his eyes up to yours and you nod. “Gimmie.” Joel taps your hips with his hand and you push your hips up as he reaches forward and grabs two pillows and puts them under your hips. When you set them down, you’re angled up to him. “Perfect.” 

The tip of his cock is so much hotter than you could have ever expected him to be. So fucking hot, it’s like it’s burning you as he traces the outside of your cunt with it. You’re staring at him– watching his cock tease your pussy and you cannot help but wonder who he is teasing more. Himself or you? 

“Fuck me, Daddy.” You whine softly, batting your eyelashes. Joel’s eyes flick up to yours and they are dark and a little scary and he’s got his brows pinched together softly. 

“Shut up, lil brat. Daddy’s doin’ something.” He growls at you, the one hand on your outer thigh strokes you gently and comfortingly as he speaks. Doesn’t grip you or spank you at all. He drops his eyes back down to your dripping center and he sighs softly. “M'Fuckin’...lookin at it. Shut th'fuck up.” He sighs much softer now as he pushes the head of his cock between your folds to drag it up and down the length of your slit. 

“You shut up.” You coo up to him softly, biting your bottom lip. Joel smirks, snorts softly and looks up at you. 

“You like bein’ a lil bratty, bitch?" Joel hisses this question at you angrily, "'Cause this old man fuckin’ loves it.” He smirks, leans down to kiss your forehead before pulling away to watch as he continues to torture you. “Fuckin’ tellin’ me t’shut up. Who’re you? A lil bitch.” Joel speaks softly as the tip of him reaches the entrance. “Fuuuck. Fuck. Okay. Ready? I’m gon’ go slow.” Joel’s eyes can’t leave where you two are about to be joined, honestly, neither can yours. 

“Yeah, please. Put it in me.” You whisper softly and make Joel sigh softly. 

“Say that again.” He demands quietly.

“Put it in me, Daddy. Please.” Your voice is trembling like you might fucking cry from the anticipation of all of this. Been almost close to two months of teasing and licking and fingers. You didn’t even use those toys he got you…not yet. You will. You didn’t want to put anything inside of you before him. 

Joel says nothing as he pushes the tip inside of you. That’s not bad. It goes in with no resistance. He pushes in a little further and there is stretching. A lot of it. Stretching you full. So tight. You close your eyes and let your head fall back. You breathe through that pinching and uncomfortable rasping— pulling inside of you. Pulling you apart. Your pussy was leaking and made it so easy for him to slip into you though, you didn’t resist him, your cunt accept him happily but it still was so full. 

You’re reduced to whimpering through your nose at the new mix of pleasure as the length of him slides across your spongy, raised patch for the first time. It’s…incredible. Fingers are awesome, and toys are cool. 

Joel’s cock is so unyielding, so fucking rigid and hot as it’s stretching you, but when it snakes across that good spot– it’s like silk, smooth and comforting asthe tip of him, or anything ever, kisses your cervix for the first time. It’s a jolt that snaps your eyes open and makes you squeak. Joel’s eyes snap up to yours as his dark patch of pubic hair and the patch right above your slit intermingle as he sinks into you. 

“Lil squeakin’ baby okay?” God the way he fucking talks to you should piss you off. It should make you so fucking mad. You should make him get off of you but you do not because you love it. Joel holds his hips into yours, pressed tightly against you as you adjust to him. Your muscles and walls are clenching and unclenching around him as he delays his pleasure for your comfort. Joel likes it though, you keep doing it even after your cunt stops doing it involuntarily. The tempo change in your squeezing him makes him pull back out of you slowly. 

How can someone be so incredibly soft and hard all at the same time? His whole body. All of it. Soft n’ hard. Fuck. You’re staring up at him while he watches the entire length of him reappear from the interior of you. You see it, your slickness on him, it’s fucking glistening on the throbbing veins and almost purple skin of him. 

“Jesus.” You sigh softly as he pulls everything but the tip from inside you. 

“Fuckin’ tight as hell. Holy shit.” Joel gasps like he had been holding his breath. You sigh and then are reduced to nothing but a moaning mess on the bed as he starts to thrust into you rhythmically. It’s slow and soft. Gentle as to not make you squeak too much, only a little. Your eyes are closed, he’s not telling you to open them. He is leaning over to take on your nipples in his mouth through the sheer, white lace of the bra. He wraps his lips around as much of your breast as he can, sucking it gently as his tongue laps and swirls around your sensitive peak. 

“Oh fu–uck! You can only speak harshly as that mix of pleasure and pain start to mix differently. More stretching and dull aching as his cock moves inside of you– but it’s not as intense or nearly as bad now that you have something constantly moving against that fucking spot. Fuck. He feels so good and warm– hot. He is red, hot steel under the satin, smooth skin of his throbbing dick. “Jeeeesus. Fuck ”

“You like this hard dick Daddy’s givin’ you?” He barks down to you softly, snaps it out of his mouth like you aren’t a melting mess below him. “Yeah you fuckin’ do, sexy fuckin’ brat.” Joel chuckles as a groan escapes his mouth. 

“Y-you like this– fuck– tight pussy– fuuucking god— your lil girl’s givin’ you?” You part choke the words out and then moan some of them. You’re interuppted with bliss as you try and use your voice for him. 

“My fuckin’ god.” Joel’s hips snap into yours— on accident or on purpose you’ll never know– but it feels like all of your bones buzzed all at the same time and every inch of your skin tickles for two seconds until he’s pulling himself away from your cervix and massaging that spot that’ll make you gush on him. You wonder in your euphoria filled brain if he’ll like that– you gushing on him like that and clench your walls down on him even tighter than you thought you could. 

Joel’s whole body jerks gently when you do that and he snaps himself forward again and buzzes your bones and tickles your skin again and it’s… not a terrible feeling. Definitely knew and something you’d have to get used to because when he does it you cannot think for a second after but when you regain your senses he’s already buzzin’ you again with the drooling tip of his cock. You want him to come inside you. Badly. You’ll be fine. It’s the twenty-first century. Emergency contraception works. But then you’re going on the pill so he can do it whenever the fuck he wants. 

“Come in…side me.” Your drawn out whimpering moan makes Joan groan loudly and he is trembling under your touch. You don’t even remember grabbing onto his biceps but you did, sometime during the buzzing you assume. Your fingernails are digging into him and you feel bad, so badly after knowing what you do, but he’s pumping into you quicker now. 

“Dear God.” Joel groans and closes his eyes tight. It feels so good making him do stuff like that. Hearing him moan your little pet name he made up for you. “You want it, Birdie?” His moans are deep and rumble like thunder when they come out of him. You can feel the vibrations from them in his arms. 

“Yeah… I want it…..Claim my pussy….I’m yours Daddy.” You’re keening the words up to him between gasps for air. Where did these high pitched sounds come from? You have never made such noises in your life…not even alone!! He is pushing them out of you as he thrusts inside of you but his sweating body is still trembling, like he is struggling… You think he wants to come, so you try and get him to. “Please Daddy…I beeee-oh fuck– I belong to you.” You whimper as he buzzes you once again. 

“How ya feelin’ Bird?” Joel groans and lets his head fall forward like he is exhausted. “Hu–Hurtin’ still?” He stutters as he withdraws from you slowly. 

“N-nononoo.” You whimper as he thrusts into once more and then holds himself against that blinding, body vibrating stop deep inside you. You’re silenced by this and staring up at him as he tilts his head up to look at you. 

“I gotta…” Joel hangs his head in shakes it in shame, panting softly. “I can’t anymore.” He is still panting and looking up at you again. 

“S-So c-come.” You stutter up to him as body and mind melting tremors course through you. 

“Not talkin’ ‘bout comin’ Birdie.” He adjusts his hands on the bed and rests for a second, wiping his sweat covered brow with the back of one of his hands. “Gotta while ‘fore I do that now…” He’s grinning down at you, his chest– also dripping sweat– is rising and falling as he tries to slow his puffing. “I gotta fuck ya.” He nods. 

“You are?” You can think… a little bit. Not much. 

“No. We’re makin’ love right now.” Joel admits with another shake of his head from side to side. “I wanna fuck you.” Joel nods now, up and down, quickly. “If ya can’t handle it… might gotta take a lil break.” He sighs. “Havin’ trouble controlin’ myself… don’t wanna hurt ya.” He sighs loudy and then hoots like he just has energy and sound inside of him he needs to expel. 

“Like… fuck me real hard?” You dunno. The buzzing. The buzzing is not terrible but it is a lot and he is still doing it right now. Pressing on that little button that lets you know he has arrived at your most inner location. 

“I’ll hold back a lil.” He reassures you but then adds. “Just gotta go harder’n this.” Joel sighs like he is disappointed with himself for having those needs inside of him but it’s kind of turning you on that he can’t control himself with you. Needs to take a break!? He is taking a break right now!

“You’ll stop–”

“Baaaaby.” Joel groans. “Don’t gotta ask. Of course.” He nods quickly. “Never fuckin’ hurt you. ‘Less you ask for it.” Joel snickers. “Then I will.” The tremors are turning into little itchy scratchies inside of you and not so much tickles and vibrations and alarms going off all over your whole body. No, this isn’t too bad. 

“Okay. Fuck me, Old man.” You nod up to him and Joel snickers to himself and leans all the way back so he is on his knees, holding you where your thighs meet your sides at your hip. Your legs are splayed out on either side of him. 

“You just give me a good whack right here–” Joel points to his forearm. “A good one. Don’t grab me, don’t tap. Whack me. I’ll stop n’ we can do it the other way.” He speaks firmly so you’re listing. You’re trying but, still twitching underneath him. He pulls his hips away from yours and you can relax. A deep sigh and almost– a feeling of being empty. Like you’re gaping now that he’s only at the entrance. “Whaddya got’a do?” Joel asks now, catching your watering eyes. 

“Whack.” You choke out after swallowing in a big, noisy gulp. You make Joel snort silently, just his body jerks softly and he smiles. 

“Yer’ pussy is fuckin immaculate, baby girl.” Joel sighs loudly and sinks his hips into yours. Your pubic hairs touch softly before he pulls away and then slams into you with a loud smack of his skin on your skin. 

“Jesus!” You exclaim but do not whack him because your whole body jolts back away from but then he is pulling you by where he has a grip dug into the soft skin on your lower sides where they dip into your leg. Another second long convulsion and flesh rippling titillation. Then another and another. More. It is endless. “Oh my go– Oh. Oh. Daddyyy.” You whine up to him with your eyes shut tight– your one eye hurts so bad but you do not care, the pleasure is everything you wanted it to be. This is amazing and perfect and you’re so glad it’s Joel. So glad he is the one doing this to you for the first time. “Th-Thank y-you.” You whimper as he really fucks you, his hips never slow down. Never cease their forceful driving into you. 

“Thank me again.” Joel barks an order to you through his pleasure. There is more sweat on his brow and he wipes it away with the back of his hand again and then grips you tighter. His chest is red and glistening as he focuses all of his energy and force on you. Right where your groins adjoin for half a second before he leaves and does it all over again. 

“Thank y-you Daddy Joel, fuck! Thank youthankyouu!!” There are tears in your eyes from the bumbling rapture inside of you. They’re rolling down the side of your face and…you might…be sobbing through your shrill, endless ululations as you tell him you’re coming. “It’s happening…. OH god… fuck Daddy… I’m gonna— I’m coming.” 

“Open yer’ fuckin’ eyes, lil girl.” Joel snaps down at you. “Open yer’ mouth.” You don’t even have to open your eyes to know that his mouth is pressed tightly together when he barks down at you. You manage to open them and look up into his eyes as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even have to open your mouth because it is already hanging agape, waiting for him and what he loves to give you. 

It’s warm on your tongue and upper lip when you receive it both times. He doesn’t spit it this time, he drips it down to you as he slams his body against yours through your orgasm. You swallow it hungrily and then lick your lips to clean off what he over shot the first time. You gush staring up at him and now his jaw drops open and his rhythmic thrusting turn into sloppy, jagged jerking as your gushing juices send him to ecstasy filled release. 

“I’m gonna come,” Joel sighs breathlessly as his hips snap forward two more times and then he holds himself into you. “Fuck! S’mine. You're mine.” Joel nearly shouts down at you while he comes. Your gush flowing out against him as he does it. It’s dripping down the curve and crack of your ass and soaking the pillows below you. “Fuuck. Fuckk. Yer’ my gushin’ Princess.” Joel stutters once as he fills your pussy for the first time. “Daddy’s Princess.”

You do not fuck Joel all night. Your body gives out after that first good fuck. It’s disappointing but…Joel fucked the life out of you. You are dead against the mattress staring up at the ceiling. You honestly can’t even feel anything, your whole pussy is numb and it aches a little. He fucked you. Fucked you so good. He didn’t kill you with his cock, no…

Joel maybe ruined your life though, because how do you ever get fucked… not like that?  

Get fucked by anyone who is not by Mr. Daddy Joel Miller? No. 

He has done something horrible to you and now you want him to do more treacherous things to you. He might be evil , actually. This is what you get for praying to Satan all this time— as a JOKE . Then he sends you this evil man with a tongue that lashes at you in the best, and worst ways possible. 

Your evil, sonofabitch boyfriend is moaning as he sucks his release out of your cunt, licking at your walls now that he has gaped you with his fucking monster cock– what the fuck? It didn’t look as big as it fucking felt inside you.. 

Joel is laying with his head between your legs. He’s been down there this whole time. Just… licking. It’s been… maybe forty-five minutes since he fucked you for the first time. His hands roam across your stomach and caress you gently. His tongue smears his come along your cunt and clit as he swirls around it. It’s the only part of your pussy that feels good anymore. Sucking and lapping at your dripping and gaping hole like he is desperately trying to get back what he gave to you.

“Ohhh.” Is all you have the energy to say. You can only hum a happy, pleasing sound to him and your hand lazily finds his hair and you twirl your fingers around in it mindlessly as he licks you. He’s not even trying to make you come, not even teasing you… just collecting. And once he has his mouth full, he climbs over your lifeless body and nods his chin for you to open your mouth. You do.  

You stare at him the entire time he leans down and spits into your mouth, not letting you do anything before his mouth is on yours. The mix of your gush and his bitter release does something to give you life. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him to you as your tongues pass that blend of the both of you back and forth. 

Once you're done with all that– you’re looking at him standing at the edge of your bed. You still haven’t moved. Haven’t been able to. 

“We’re good?” Joel asks seriously. 

“What?” You close your eyes and try to imagine an ice pack on your pussy. 

“You still wanna be with me?” Joel sounds nervous. You cannot even open your eyes to look at that stupid slut. 

“Yes.” You snap at him sleepily. “Shut up. You’re the slut.” You point one, almost ded hand at him. 

“What!?” Joel sounds so shocked. “I’m not!” Now he’s offended. You do open your eyes and look at him now. 

“You’re the slut.” You bark at him and then close your eyes again and talk mostly to yourself. “Fucks like that n’ says he’s not a slut? Fuckin’ lair.” You grumble and roll over onto your side. “Slutty old man.” You are so tired. 

“Because I’ve been with a couple ladies??” Joel exclaims and crawls onto the bed beside you. “I’m not a slut.” 

“You are. Callin’ me a slut the first time we hung out. Mr. I Been With Ladies.” You mock him and he chuckles but it sounds like he didn’t really want to. 

“I only been with you since I met ya. Didn’t give my number out.” Joel teases you back and touches your sides. 

“You’re still a slut and we’re talking in the morning about why you didn’t just leave your ex-wife.” You snap, remembering that you are still actually kind of angry with him. 

“Uuuggghhh.” Joel groans loudly. “I’ll fuckin’ tell ya right now. Then we’re never talkin’ ‘bout her ass again, got it?” He snaps at you. 

“Dish.” You snap back. 

“We got married ‘fore I started my company. I was worried she was gon’ try an’ take all of it. Bankrupt me. Take my house. Eventually– I was worried she’d leave with Sarah. So I just let her hit me.” Joel is… not yelling but he is– excited? Speaking quickly and with gusto. “I was too embarrassed to ask for help, Birdie... Who could help me? Who was I gon’ fuckin' ask? My mom is dead. My dad should'a been, at that point. Tommy is just barely done bein’ a kid… so? I stayed. N’ I fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper shyly.

“Don’t fuckin’ be sorry fer' me, you didn’t fuckin' do shit!” Joel exclaims and then his eyes soften. “I’m sorry. I get loud when I’m angry, I’ll work on that shit too. Jesus Christ.” Joel looks at the floor. “No one knows ‘bout my ex. Just her and I. I never told anyone else. Not even Tommy or Sarah.” Joel turns his head to look at you. “Like to keep it that way.”

“Why…not tell people what she did? So they know?” You wrinkle your nose. 

“‘Cause then they’ll know I did it to her. N’ all they’ll see is me… hittin’ his wife. Even though it was only once n’ barely a tap– I did it. I hit her, n’ I hate myself fer’ that.” He admits sadly. “Our dad was fucked up towards the end, but he raised us better than that.” 

“What…was wrong with—” You start but Joel shakes his head. 

“Not gettin’ into that… not now. Maybe not ever. It just wasn’t good. Real bad. He struggled.” Joel says curtly. 

“Alright… I also had an asshole dad, too—” You start but he cuts you off quickly and with a sharp tongue

“My dad wasn’t a fuckin’ asshole, got it?” Joel narrows his eyes on yours. “Not an asshole. I can’t talk ‘bout it, Bird. I don’t like to.” 

“I don’t like talking about my Dad but it fuckin’ helps.” You roll your eyes at him. “Not keepin’ all that shit in…kinda fucking helps sometimes. So, maybe you should go see a therapist. I talk to one all the time.” 

“I’m not goin’ to see no fuckin’ shrink.” Joel scoffs again. He's such a fucking man. Ugh. 

“Whatever. You don’t have to, but it does help and it is good for you. I meant what I said last night… I won’t let you aplogize next time if you ever speak to me like that again…” 

“I know… but now we gotta talk ‘bout something else…” Joel sighs and turns to you. "I was gonna bring it up...n' then you said you were a virgin...n' I thought I was gon' scare you away if I told you the things I like...'cause I don't need 'em. Not at all. I just like 'em...and they're not all...nice." He speaks cautiously-- the taming a rabid animal voice is back and you're shaking.

“What?” You groan but he places his hand on your thigh besides your bruised hand. You almost pull away but it's hard to resist the warmth of him. He's...so handsome. His brown eyes are locked on to yours, his hair is all messy from getting pulled and tugged on by you-- it's sticking in all directions and you have to stop yourself from smirking. He didn't clean up his facial hair at all this morning before work, so he's scruffier than normal. You could reach out and touch him, but it's hard because he's going to tell you scary things right now.

“The things I like can get a lil…” He pauses and searches for the word he needs to use. “Bein’ on the receiving end of what I like can fuck with yer’ head sometimes… if you don’t know yer’ cared for or get mistreated. I do care ‘bout ya. N' I'm sorry 'bout last night.” Joel stresses this point. 

“Okay…” You’re hesitant because what the fuck is your slutty, evil boyfriend talking about. Are you going to have to kick him in the chest like Jackie Harris that one time? Break up with him?

“I like ya more n’ more every day– but I am jus’ a big, strong guy that wants to Dominate ya.”

“Like you have been?” You ask and Joel nods, adding to your statement.

 “N’ then I wanna take ya out… treat ya — ‘cause I can and like to … I call ya sweet things so you know that when I say that— eh, it’s not a show..or fake. I like makin’ you feel all cute n’ special– cause you are, but also ‘cause s’just what I like…”

“Uh… then what?” You blink and swallow audibly. 

“I turn ‘round n’ humiliate you while my cocks inside you.” Joel says simply. “Make you feel naughty n’ dirty. Use yer’ lil fuckin’ pussy however I want, use you. Be real mean to ya sometimes…”

“This is an excuse so you can yell at me?” You roll your eyes and almost think about telling him to leave but he rubs the outside of his pinky against yours. 

“Never. I’m gon’ work on that. I will. Gettin’ angry n’ sayin’ mean shit. I will.” Joel speaks so calmly and evenly. “I just wanna call ya names in the bedroom. Do naughty stuff in there… sometimes let it playfully carry into our relationship too”

“Like? I need you to expla—” Joel hooks his pinky with yours and looks down at it. 

“Remember my promise to you?” He asks quietly. You nod. “Keep that in mind n’ know… that’s how I wanna treat you ninety-nine percent of the time.” 

“The other one perce--?” You ask fearfully but he cuts you off and is ready to tell you.

“Call you terrible fuckin' things, worthless n’ stupid.” Joel whispers softly. “Spit on ya. Fuck you real hard n’ fill your holes– all of ‘em.” His eyes never leave yours. “Fuck you anywhere…everywhere I want.” Joel is still so calm. 

You’re fuckin’ trembling. This sounds..equal parts horrifying and also incredible. Sexy and scary. Right up your alley— dark and horrifying alley. 

“What if I don’t want that? Getting called fuckin’ stupid every day?” You wrinkle your nose. That sounds like it could be... tiring? Mentally? But, you're not stupid and...have a therapist. So, this is something you might explore but... you dunno.

“Don’t gotta. We can just keep doin’ what we’re doin’. I'm used to it bein' normal." Joel shrugs his shoulders. "I enjoy this though. Don't need it-- like it. Like exploring. Like pushin' mine and yer' boundaries... s'kinky." Joel nods then frowns "I haven't been with many who like it-- s'why I'm used to it normal, lil rough. Nothin' craz--"

“Slut!” You snap, cutting him off and Joel snickers softly. 

“Maybe… not anymore though.” He smirks. “I just wanna fuckin’ ruin you, baby girl. Only you.” Joel Miller whispers this to you and your pussy (you thought it was broken, really broken) twinges when he says it. “I mean it. I like it rough…but if you’d let me. I’d like to… try things with ya. Keep showin' you things like I have been.” 

“What if I don’t like some of the things you show me?” Your interest outweighs your fear. 

“‘Kay, now yer’ asking good questions…” He smirks at you and pulls your hand into his lap by your pinky. “Yer’ in control in all this, babe.” He nods. “You don’t like it, I stop. I like watchin’ ya squirm n’ cry… but for the right reasons. I don’t wanna…really hurt you— I do. I wanna spank ya and whip yer’ ass ‘till its red. Smack ya a ‘round a lil…fuck you real good when I do it. Make ya feel good, give you pleasure with yer' pain, baby.” His voice is so comforting that it’s calming even listening talk about he wants to mildly abuse you in the bedroom. 

“I have to decide right now?” You blink at him. 

“You..don’t ever gotta decide nothin’. I like that shit, but I’m not gon’ die without it. I'm just warnin’ ya so I don’t take things too far…on accident or… in misunderstanding.” He leans in and kisses you on the forehead gently. 

“Okay… we can talk about things first, always?” You look up at him and he’s already nodding his head. 

“Do you wanna change outta that lil white thang and go to bed? We’ll getcha coffee and a new phone in the morning?” He whispers. 

“Yeah.”

Then Joel undresses you and gives you the comfiest pair of shorts out of your dresser. Then this stupid, evil Red Devil goes into his ‘spend the night bag’ and gets you a clean t-shirt of his to wear. 

“I have some…” You whisper up to him, but he motions for you to lift your arms and he slips it on for you. 

“I know. Don’t care– want you in this.” He leans down and kisses your lips softly and for a long time before he runs upstairs and performs his little night time routine here at your house. Checking all the doors and windows. 

Joel is…actually perfect? No. He’s angry and is a dick and is making up for that. Unless you already forgave him? You dunno. You honestly can’t even care because you’re asleep before Joel even comes back.

The next morning is interesting. It takes a lot of convincing from your boyfriend. 

“Just for me.” He nods. You shake your head. “My. Eyes. Only.” He nods. 

“Why?” You’re smirking.

“Picture it, okay?” Joel stands besides you and holds his hand out in front of him like he’s trying to get you to see what he’s seeing. “Me…in my truck at work…watchin’ it..thinkin’ ‘bout you… touching mysel—”

“You do that at work!?” You exclaim. He chuckles and smacks your ass. 

“Uh, if I had this yes– I would.” He is already getting his phone out of his jeans from last night. 

“No one’s gonna see it?” You blink at him. Joel scoffs. 

“I’m not sharin’ this with anyone. You fuckin’ nuts?” He pulls a chair up to the end of the bed and messes around with his phone. ‘S’fer me. Me alone.” 

Now, Joel is laying in bed with you. He’s behind you with your back to his chest. Your legs are spread over his and his hard cock is pressed against your back. You're grinding yourself against him, massaging his cock between your bodies as his fingers work on your clit. 

“You like this naughty shit?” he asks softly in your ear. You nod and can only focus on breathing heavily, trying not to look directly into his phone that he set up on a chair at the end of the bed. “Say it.” He growls in your ear. His two thickest and longest fingers are just circling your clit slowly and lazily. 

“I like being naughty, Daddy.” You mewl quietly. Joel’s other hand is gripping one of your tits and thumbing the stiff peak as he rocks his hips up against you gently, moving his body against yours as you drag your body up and down against his slightly. Just an inch or two in each direction. Giving Joel just enough pressure and friction and movement on his throbbing cock between your ass and on your lower back. 

“You like that I need this?” Joel growls, moving his head to the other side of yours now, kissing across your shoulder and up your neck as your sweating bodies glide across each other. “ Gotta have you like this in my pocket, lil girl.” Joel whispers. “So I can see this pretty pussy.” While Joel speaks rubs all four fingers across your cunt slowly. 

“I love it.” You moan softly. 

“You want Daddy to give your pussy a good slap?” He coos in your ear. Honestly, not really. But, you’re going to let him do whatever he wants to you. 

“Please don’t hurt me, Daddy.” You whine nervously. Is he gonna smack it like he did your ass? Joel’s breath hitches in his chest and you feel it happen behind you. His hips buck up into your back gently. “Slap it soft. ” You whisper. Joel sighs and rubs your clit quickly with his four stiff fingers– so quickly. He’s putting so much effort into it, his body stiffens below yours and he leans forward slightly to put more pressure behind his rubbing. 

You are moaning and writhing, eyes closed as he quickly brings you right to that edge. When you’re almost there he pulls his hand away and swiftly brings them down onto your red, slick and puffy cunt lips. It focuses it to the top of your mound where your nerve bundle is. It is a different sensation. The hard, fast, sudden pressure and shock of the slap on your clit makes you moan, it doesn't even hurt at all. 

“Do it again, Daddy.” You press yourself into him and turn your head so your closed eyes are pressed into his neck as he leans over you the best he can. 

“Awhh, the cute, pathetic, lil girl likes gettin’ her pussy slapped? Course you do, ya naughty lil bitch.” Joel laughs softly. "Look at the camera, talk to it." He growls into your ear and gives your mound another soft smack and it’s wet and audible. You turn your head forward and rest it against his shoulder as he lens in and presses his lips to your cheek, kissing you softly. Then he gives you another tight rasp on your pussy. And another. He’s doing it so rapidly, slapping and swatting your clit and not hard enough to hurt, it’s…so good? So fucking good for some reason. Joel and you are still working together, your glistening bodies sliding and slipping against each other. 

“Fuck. I do like it.” You murmur to the camera, your eyes are still clenched and now, you're rocking your hips up to meet his quick, noisy— more than patting but he’s not spanking your cunt like he did last night. The force all comes from his wrist, not his shoulder. It’s incredible and almost reminds you of his shower head but not as wet or warm. Joel growls softly against your cheek and presses his forehead to the side of your skull with slight force. 

"Louder. I wanna hear it." He snaps softly into the soft skin just below your cheekbone. He is grinding up into your back. "I wanna hear you fuckin' say it. Mean it." It's so fierce when he says it, that it almost startles you but... you just talked about all this so you know it's...just a thing. Not mean, not scary. 

"I fuckin' love when you spank my cunt, Daddy. So fuckin' much." You speak with force and it comes out in moans as he chuckles against your cheek and rubs your clit now in between those little, tight rasps of his fingers against you.

"There it is..." Joel kisses your cheek softly as his own moans start to slip from his mouth as he holds you around the waist with his other arm now, moving your body up and down against the front of him. You can feel his movements becoming more desperate as you stroke his cock with ever single move you make. 

"Oh fuck...yes...please don't... stop.The light breeze he makes with his fingers gives you goosebumps on your inner thigh as your legs begin to tremble. “I think– oh god– I… think–” You’re cut off and choked by pleasure as that real bliss and ‘letting go’ feeling builds. 

“Yep. Do it. Gush for Daddy, baby. I wanna see it.” Joel moans loudly as your body moves against him more desperately, searching for more than just his slapping fingers even though he is bringing you there doing that. “C’mon baby. Yer' such a naughty fuckin' girl. Such a pathetic, lil, gushin' girl.” He whispers in your ear. "Yer' fuckin' amazing." The fact that he wants a video of you doing that so he can watch whenever he wants is what sends you there– it’s what makes you gush. 

He gets a clear shot of it happening as his abuse of your clit never ends. He spanks your pussy through your gush and sometimes his fingers slip down so he can touch it as it comes out of you. You’re still moving against him, now shaking and moaning loudly against his neck. You can feel his body working against yours for his own release and you push back against him to give him more pressure. When you do that, he groans softly and pulls his hand away from your spasming pussy. Then his fingers are inside your mouth. 

“Suck.” He moans as his body jerks underneath yours. You lap at his fingers hungrily and taste yourself on him and moan softly. You part his digits with your tongue and run it down the length of each extremity in your mouth, swirling and lapping at his knuckles and then flicking your tongue against the web between his fingers. You’re doing this and Joel is coming between the two of you. His release is trapped between his stomach and your back. “Such a fuckin’ good girl.” 

Joel sits you up and crawls from behind you and grabs his phone off the chair at the end of the bed. He sits beside you and starts to play the video. 

“I don’t wanna watch that. It’s for you.” You roll your eyes as the sounds of your moaning and whimpering fill the room. It makes you blush as Joel teases his cock again, watching what you two just did. He gets halfway through it with a big dumb smile on his face before he turns it off and turns his smile to you now. 

“Why? S’hot as hell. Jeeesus. Yer’ fuckin’ naughty n’ sexy. I like it.” Joel smirks and leans down to kiss you. “We’re makin’ more.” He teases. 

“Fine. I like seeing you—” You point at his face and then to his stomach covered in his milky release. “-- smiling and covered in cum. So, fine.” You blush and he touches your cheek gently.

“I want to do the naughtiest things with you.” Joel whispers. You blink. 

“Like what?” You pur up to him as he rubs his thumb across your lips gently. 

“You’ll see.”

(sorry it took me so long, i'll try and be better.)

tag list: @immyowndefender @korikolove @untamedheart81 @fanficlover1414, @creepycorbeaux @ohmillerbaby @rosebuds-and-moonlight @harriedandharassed

[riiwriting]

Another Year | Lucifer (Obey Me)

summary : after a big, rowdy birthday party that you were not expecting, you end your birthday the way you really wanted to -- getting the eldest brother to open up.

a little blurb based on your year 2 birthday call from luci in the og game! based on the original dialogue, though it won't be exact.

warnings : none! just a lot of fluffs hehe

You silently thanked the stars as you fell backwards against your mattress, your eyes immediately shutting around a pounding headache. You were so genuinely grateful to see another birthday come and go in the Devildom, but you were undeniably exhausted. You loved the boys, and you loved how much they had grown into showing their affection for you, there was no doubt about that. However, it would be nice if once in a while they asked before doing things.

For the second year in a row, your birthday was celebrated with a surprise party at the House of Lamentation, complete with decorations, am esteemed guest list of your favorite people, and a cake baked by Barbatos himself. While the effort was most definitely appreciated, it still wasn't how you would have chosen to celebrate the day.

Since you first arrived in the Devildom, it was rare that you saw an uneventful day. If Mammon and Asmo had taken a moment to consult you before going into full party-planner mode, you would have told them as such. Of course, such wasn't the case, and you ended up having quite an overstimulating evening. Though you did manage to have fun throughout the night, you were extremely happy to be in bed.

You were just beginning to feel yourself drift off when your D.D.D began to buzz on your pillow. Unintentionally, you let out a groan as you peeled one eye open to glance at the glowing screen. As soon as you recognized the contact photo, your expression brightened, and you found yourself immediately regretting your temporary annoyance. You hit answer, a content smile on your face as you pressed the speaker to your ear. "Hello?"

"MC, hello. I'm sorry my brothers caused yet another ruckus this year," Lucifer was immediately apologizing, his deep voice quiet in your ear.

His consideration made your stomach flutter. A year ago, you would've convinced yourself that he was just seeing it as his duty to make sure you're surviving in the Devildom. Now, you knew better. "I am a bit tired, I won't lie to you," you admitted bashfully.

Your words were met by a sigh, "I apologize. They went a bit overboard this time." After a moment of contemplation, he added, "I'll make sure to scold them accordingly tomorrow."

You couldn't help the slight laugh that left your lips. "Oh please let them be, Luci. It was a nice party, really. The effort was nice," you insisted, feeling a bit guilty. The thought really was what mattered, and the boys went to great lengths to make the night special. The last thing you wanted was for them to feel as though they had done something wrong.

Lucifer hummed, before conceding with a begrudging promise not to mention it. You enjoyed a comfortable silence as Lucifer apparently shifted about his room on the other end of the line. Just as you felt your eyes begin to lid once more, his throat cleared, and his voice returned. "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday again. I admit I'm quite happy we got to celebrate another of your birthdays together," he admitted sweetly.

A smile naturally curved onto your lips as you quietly thanked him. "Of course," he responded quickly, and if you could see his face, you imagined his cheeks were, by this point, probably a bit flushed. "I'm sure humans get to celebrate far fewer birthdays than we demons do."

The thought brought a twist of fear to your chest. Being here, it was so easy to forget about your mortality. Other than Mammon's casual insistence on calling you "his human," it was easy to ignore the fact that you didn't really belong here at all. And yet, here you were, and after two years and two wonderful birthdays, you couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

"I've loved spending my last couple of birthdays here," you told Lucifer, your eyes closed as you snuggled further back into your pillows. "Even with the parties."

Another low chuckle drifted through your D.D.D. as Lucifer took in your words. "I feel very lucky to have gotten to spend not just one, but now two birthdays with you," he gushed, the admission the most open you had heard him in a while.

Before you could sort out what to say that would be just as meaningful, he surprised you again. "If possible, I'd like to celebrate many more of your birthdays in the future," he murmured. There another brief pause, before his gravely voice returned soothingly to your ears. "If we do get to spend your next birthday together, perhaps I can see that it's a bit more relaxing for you. More special."

You weren't sure if it was the exhaustion beginning to seep into your bones, or the way his voice sounded in the silence of the night, or your sudden realization of how short your time here might really be, but a spark of confidence lit up your chest. "Do we really have to wait a year for that?" you asked quietly, your sleepiness evident in your tone.

There was a very brief pause, ended by Lucifer saying, "It's getting rather late, MC. You said yourself that you're tired, you should get some sleep."

You hardly gave your next words a thought before they were tumbling out of your mouth, "Is that not something we can do together?"

This time, there was no pause. "I'll be there in a moment, then," he said curtly. The call dropped before you had a chance to respond.

Turning on your side to face your bedroom door, you waited patiently for the forty seconds it took for him to reach your end of the hall. There was a light knock on the wood, though from the way the door immediately creaked open, you knew it was more a formality than anything. The light from the hall illuminated a familiar physique, clad in nice blue pajamas and a messy bedhead. "MC?" Lucifer spoke quietly into your room, his gaze falling onto you almost immediately.

Rather than respond, you simply stretched your arms out in his direction, wordlessly inviting him into your embrace. He wasted no time in letting the door click shut behind him before taking a few long strides to cross your room. You shuffled over to make space as he peeled back your blankets and slid between the sheets beside you. Immediately, his arms were around your waist, holding you tightly against him. As soon as your head found a comfortable place on his chest, you felt his entire body relax.

You couldn't help the sigh of contentment that left your lips. "Perfect," you murmured dreamily.

Gentle fingers traced up and down the length of your arm, making it increasingly harder to resist the sleepiness rising behind your eyes. "You are, yes," you heard Lucifer murmur into the top of your head. "I hope you've had a nice birthday."

At his words, you tipped your chin upwards, dragging your eyes open to look up at the handsome demon in your bed. "The day was nice," you responded. Then will a small smile, you added, "but this has made it much better."

Lucifer's smile grew to mirror yours, his eyes drifting as he admired every inch of your face. "I'm glad I could make your birthday special," he responded softly, his fingertips moving from your arm to your cheek. Delicately, you felt his thumb brush down the outline of your face before coming to a stop beneath your chin. You leaned into his touch, a change in body language that he read perfectly.

Your eyes slid shut as he pulled you closer, eliminating the little bit of space left between you. When his lips met yours you melted, your fingers gripping the silk fabric of his open pajama shirt. With one of his arms wound around you waist, he held you as though he was afraid you might disappear. After a moment, you pulled away, opening your eyes to see Lucifer's affectionate smile.

"Happy birthday, my darling," he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Now I think we could both use some rest."

Humming in agreement, you snuggled into him and let your eyes drift shut. With his arms around you, and your weight pleasantly pressed against his body, each of you slept better than you had all year.

[kpopsexstories]

One-shot #20: NCT Jisung "Mind Blowing" Sex with Haechan's Sister Pt. 1/3

This is the 20th story of my broader Mixed One-shots series. It's a response to this request: "Can I request a story about NCT Jisung having sex with Haechan sister, but these days Jisung is more experienced and better, which leads to mind-blowing sex. (This is loosely related to Jisung's mmse story.)Please!!"

Celebrity: NCT Jisung

Sex Content: Intense foreplay, Getting naked together, Licking/eating pussy.

Type of Sex: MEDIUM

Word Count: 3.3k (8.6k including all three parts)

This is Part 1 of 3 which includes some great and intense foreplay. Part 2 will be posted tomorrow (February 4, 2025) and that's where the great sex happens 😉

Timeline: This story can be read on its own but relates to my previous stories about Jisung and Haneul, Haechan's sister. They first had sex in the Most Memorable Sexual Experience of Jisung Part 1-2. Then I gave you a timeline of how Jisung grew up in the two years that followed (Jisung 'Boy to Man').

There is a gap, about when they hooked up again for the first time after those two years. That's a story I haven't written and a reunion that is left to your imagination.

In this new story, however, I imagine that Jisung and Haneul have already started a new sexual relationship. The reunion reignited an old spark between them, and now Haneul comes to Seoul for “a visit” 😏🍆🍆🍆

They're older, more experienced, and want one thing: sex. But is sex really all, or is there more between them? That's where we're at now in their relationship 😊

Haechan was a great excuse for Haneul to come visit Jisung in Seoul. Her brother knew about the sexual relationship she had with his friend, but she still lied for no reason and claimed it was Haechan she wanted to see. The truth remained unspoken between them, but both siblings knew the facts: Haechan was just a bonus, and Jisung was the real reason for her sudden eagerness to travel.

Since their last encounter Haneul had been unable to stop thinking about the boy who once had a major crush on her. He had grown into a fine man, and catapulted into adulthood, though she had always considered him mature beyond his years.

The youthful infatuation that once existed between them, years prior, might no longer exist and would probably never return. But they had found each other in other ways, and for the past two months Haneul had desperately been craving more.

Jisung had consumed her mind. He had kept her awake at night. He was like a drug she could no longer have, and from which she suffered severe withdrawals. In a way, you could say that the tables had turned.

Except in her case, she could have the drug. It was available whenever she wanted it. All she had to do was come and get it.

Jisung no longer felt the same strong and painful withdrawal symptoms he once did. There was a time when thinking about her naked body caused him heartache, yet he thought about her every day nonetheless. That was two years ago, and a lot had happened since then.

But he was genuinely excited about the visit. A sweet, cute girl was going out of her way to see him, and considering the sex they had before, he could imagine what her visit would entail. It had all but been confirmed that they would sleep together.

The time when Haneul hardly even replied to his horny and desperate texts was ancient history. Now, they texted and even video called almost daily, and it was not unusual that their chats turned dirty. They were adults with needs, a need the other could fulfill. Jisung was a couple of years younger than her, but he certainly wasn't a teenager anymore.

In short, they had already had fun in bed on several occasions and both wanted to do it again. And as much as Haechan knew why Haneul wanted to visit even though he had never been told so, Jisung knew it too. That's why he was so happy and giddy on the day of her arrival.

Chenle made fun of him for it but was glad for his friend. Haechan made a snarky comment in passing, still without stating the obvious real reason for the visit. And Jisung tried to act calm and indifferent, though everyone could tell he was not.

To him it was, by all accounts, a great day indeed.

Haneul arrived in the late afternoon. Haechan picked her up at the station. At the dorm Jisung was waiting on the living room couch, where he acted cool and pretended to not be waiting at all.

Because the nature of her visit had not been explicitly confirmed, however, neither Haneul nor Jisung wanted to make the first move. There was a small risk that they were making assumptions and that their thoughts were just wishful thinking. Flirty and dirty messages were one thing, but the fact that they had sex in the past was not a guarantee that they would again.

Jisung especially suddenly started to doubt everything now that the moment had come, and wondered if, maybe, they were not on the same page after all. Maybe she was really just there to visit her brother like she said.

Making a move and being rejected would be a total embarrassment. Especially since they weren't alone for the rest of the evening. It would be difficult to find the time and space to do what he really wanted to do, and a rejection in front of everyone would be painful.

That said, their months of daily texting – and weekly sexting – combined with their history of sleeping with each other meant that there were bottled up desires of a sexual nature. The attraction between them was undeniably strong, and from the moment Haneul walked through the door the sexual tension weighted heavy in the air. Everyone in the room could feel it.

The climax of this first evening of Haneul's visit happened in the hours before bedtime. Jisung was seated on the couch chatting with their common friends – his bandmates. Haneul sat down beside him, leaning closer and closer to him with each passing minute. Jisung put an arm on the backrest behind her, and before long it was clear to every dreamer present that there was – still – something going on between them.

The friend group found it interesting and fun, especially considering that – more than two years ago – some of the boys had walked in on Jisung and Haneul in a hotel room, still naked after they had sex. The relationship between the previously innocent maknae and Haechan's twin sister had been a hot topic behind closed doors ever since.

This first night of the visit was a fun and wonderful time. But the sexual tension was building up to the point that it was becoming unbearable. And the fact that nothing further happened between them was a major disappointment.

That night Jisung went to bed with butterflies in his stomach and his heart beating out of his chest. The fact that Haneul was sleeping just behind the wall was a fact that suddenly occupied every part of his mind. Sleeping became almost impossible, with such a strong attraction pulling him and radiating from the wall.

Okay, maybe he still carried some of those youthful emotions of young love in him.

He looked at Chenle who was snoring at the other side of the room. For the first time in his life he wondered if it wasn't about time they all got their own apartments. Had he been living alone he could have brought Haneul over as much as they pleased, and it would have been so much easier to figure out her thoughts and intentions. That would have been a dream come true.

As he lay awake he became hard, and he couldn't stop thinking about one thing: what amazing things he could do with Haneul if only they had some privacy.

*****

When Jisung woke up on a lazy Saturday morning – on Haneul's second day in the capital – he was immediately curious to learn where she was and what the day might bring. He genuinely believed that she was there to see him, not her brother, and that they'd likely spend the day together. But her visit was rather spontaneous and hasty and no plans had been made.

The sense of uncertainty returned, and he braced himself for disappointment. If he got up and she wasn't there, that would feel like a kick in the gut.

If she was around, he had several ideas he thought he could suggest, places in the city he could show the countryside girl. The last thing he wanted was for the trip to become awkward or boring for her, or for her to end up spending all of it with Haechan. They had to do something together.

I'll let you in on a totally-not-secret secret: They never made it out of the apartment, because they were too busy fucking each other's brains out. In case you were wondering, that's exactly where this story is going.

Jisung stayed in bed longer than intended, contemplating all of his options. He was perhaps a bit afraid, unwilling to face Haneul while the others were around. Chenle had already left the room for breakfast, and he was unsure of who else was lingering outside the door. He listened intently for sounds and hints while his friends shuffled about on their rare day off.

Eventually he did get out of bed, simply because he couldn't stay away from her any longer. And once he did he was surprised to find the apartment completely empty. It certainly hadn't been just half an hour ago, when he listened and imagined what everyone was doing.

It didn't feel like a kick in the gut though. In fact he wasn't worried at all. Surely she would return soon enough, because she didn't want to be away from him either.

At least that's what he convinced himself in the moment, as he walked in his pyjama's through the deserted apartment, got himself something to eat in the kitchen, and sat down in the living room in complete silence.

They had probably all gone out to do their own thing. For a moment he felt a little left out, the way his friends had left without saying a word to him. But he would soon understand why he was left alone.

When he finished his breakfast he peeked inside Haechan's room, fully expecting to not find anyone there. He did find someone though. There was a mattress on the floor, the one Haneul had spent the night on, but it was empty. Haneul was instead lounging on Haechan's bed, wearing an over-sized t-shirt and pyjama shorts, aimlessly playing on her phone. She had been waiting for Jisung to wake up for hours.

“Oh, hi,” Jisung exclaimed.

“Hi,” Haneul said and her face lit up in a big, beautiful smile. She had heard him in the kitchen but wanted to play it cool, just as he did the night before.

“Where's Haechan?” Jisung asked.

“They went out.”

“Why didn't you go with them?”

He was hoping for a specific answer and Haneul gave it to him: “I was waiting for you,” she said and kept on smiling.

Jisung's heart started racing. He quickly entered the room and sat down by Haneul's feet. She pulled them up to give him space, but gradually relaxed as they started talking. Before long they were deep in conversation and her feet were in his lap.

He casually put his hand on them while they conversed. They sat there for maybe ten minutes, first making smalltalk but then joking and laughing together.

It felt pretty great. Things had always been this easy between them. But Jisung really only had one thing on his mind: they were alone, and whether that was by design or a lucky coincidence, it was a golden opportunity to act upon their desires.

Jisung was the one to finally make a move, something which would have been unthinkable just a few years ago. He leaned in closer and closer, his hand wandering higher up Haneul's bare leg. The attraction radiated from her skin to his heart which put all his senses on high alert. Before long he was on his side next to her on the bed, and when the gap between them was so insignificant it was no longer an obstacle, he closed the gap and kissed her.

The kiss was soft but long. Haneul's heart skipped a beat and she sank into the mattress. It took them both a second to realize that this really was happening.

Once it did she slid down the bed and Jisung pulled himself higher. They started making out, long and passionately, and explore each other's bodies with their hands. Over the course of another ten minutes their touches became firmer, their hands wandered further, and their bodies rubbed together. The sexual desire was so strong they forgot all about their friends and the outside world.

Jisung was hard within seconds of that first intimate kiss. Haneul took longer to get wet but got there when Jisung touched her boobs over the t-shirt. The way he felt her and put his lips on hers while being so sweet and funny did great things to her, and by the time he stuck his fingers inside her shorts she couldn't wait for him to fuck her.

This moment was indeed why Haneul had come in the first place. It was why Jisung wanted her there. Forget outdoor activities, forget Seoul, and forget their friends. There was nowhere they'd rather be right now than right here, locked in an empty apartment, cozied up in bed together, with their hands all over each other.

And with their history and experience this wouldn't be like any time before. The sex that was about to follow would be the greatest sex Jisung had ever had. If he were to tell you about his most memorable sexual experience today, he wouldn't tell you about his first time with Haneul. He would tell you about this time.

As they made out, passionately rocking their bodies close together in the sheets, and Jisung fingered his girl while pressing and rubbing his bulge and boner against her hot body, the pleasurable sensation in Jisung's pants became so strong pre-cum made his pyjama's wet.

Haneul felt a similar sensation in her shorts. She was so wet by now Jisung's fingers were soaked. She was fully immersed in their intimate bubble, and Jisung's fingers made her pant and squirm on the bed.

Sex with other guys was good, but with Jisung there was a deeper connection. He made her feel like a teenager again, and despite the addition of experience it was about so much more than just his dick and their body contact.

She gradually spread her legs wider and wider, while Jisung pressed closer and harder against her pelvis and body. They kissed and touched with an ever-increasing lust and intensity, and finally their expectations of the trip were confirmed.

Jisung pulled his fingers out. He raised his lower body and climbed on top of his lover who wrapped her arms around his back and shirt. It felt like they were back in Manilla doing something exciting and slightly forbidden, yet at the same time things were very different. It wasn't like Manilla at all.

The final tipping point came when Jisung stuck his hand inside Haneul's shirt and felt her naked breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra. Simultaneously he pressed his pelvis against hers which sent a powerful shiver through her body. It prompted her to push him off her and abruptly sit up straight.

Jisung kept his lips on hers until she was out of reach, at which point he moved down to kiss her stomach. She panted while she pulled the shirt over her head, and Jisung looked up and on in amazement as she exposed herself to him.

She tossed the shirt on the matress on the floor. He quickly reached up and felt her breasts again. Then he sat up too and attacked her chest, shoulders and face with his lips and tongue.

Haneul kept panting and started tugging on his clothes. She unbottoned the front of his pyjama shirt and slid it over his shoulder, revealing his smooth skin. He hastily undid the last button and opened the shirt wide, exposing his chest and flat tummy.

They kissed and giggled while he held out his arms and she pulled the shirt over them. It soon joined her t-shirt on the floor. Then Jisung, shirtless and horny ass hell, moved away from her and got out of bed.

They kept giggling and smiling wide as he rushed to the door and locked it. He was sure they'd have plenty of time but why risk it? He wanted all the time alone with Haneul he could get – naked, in bed, with his dick deep inside her warm pussy. It was the moment they had both been dreaming of.

“Condoms?” Haneul asked while she raised her ass and pulled her shorts down. She wasn't wearing any panties either.

Jisung abruptly stopped. He grinned and turned around again. His pants were hanging low, revealing the seams of his boxers, and his boner created a big, narrow lump on the loosely fitted fabric.

He unlocked the door and left the room with haste without saying a word. He rushed to his bedroom and found a box. He brought the whole thing with him, but when he returned to his lover he had already unwrapped a condom.

When he saw Haneul smiling and flaunting her body completely in the nude on the bed, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Wow,” he said. “You're so beautiful.”

Haneul felt all warm and fuzzy inside. She couldn't stop grinning. Jisung was genuinely mesmerized, and for the thousand’ time in his life he thought: I can't believe I get to touch her*.*

Of course he hadn't actually touched her that many times, but he had dreamt of it. And once his mind had processed the sight and his body was responding again, he locked the door and took off his pants.

Their eyes met and they smiled wide when he walked naked back to the bed. Haneul admired his dick and slim figure. As she pulled herself higher, eagerly awaiting Jisung's warm return, she realized that she had a bit of a crush on him.

It was a fact she had been in denial about, but which had become harder to avoid in the two months since their big reunion.

Jisung sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed his boner. Haneul looked on and enjoyed the show when he put the condom on. Then he crawled on all four toward her, and she spread her legs wide as they lay down and kissed.

His body sank onto hers. His lips wandered from her mouth to her neck. She panted softly when he continued down her chest and stomach, his hands gliding down her sides and his dick waving in the wair between their bodies, just above and below her dripping pussy.

Its presence lingered. She felt the heat between their organs. His lips on her skin and the hard dick pointing right at her hole made her so fucking horny.

But she had to wait for it a little longer. Jisung straightened his legs behind him and lay down, to bury his head between Haneul's thighs. She raised her hips in pleasure when he kissed her folds. He briefly looked up at her, proud of the intense experience he was clearly giving her, and was encouraged by seeing her squirm.

While his kisses intensified he spread his legs as not to fall off the foot of the bed, and moved his ass up and down to rub the boner against the mattress. It felt so good, so hot, and Haneul was amazing.

He ate her out like he'd done it a million times before. Haneul was surprised by how good and confident he had become with his mouth and tongue. He altered between softly engulfing her folds with his lips, sucking hard, blowing gently on her clit, and licking her wet vagina at a depth just deep enough to make her want to beg for more.

“Ahh, Jisung, fuck that's good!” she moaned. “Mmm, yeah, yeah, yeaaah!”

It all sent Haneul into a frenzy. She jolted and squirmed, panted and moaned, and quickly showed Jisung that what he was doing to her was incredible.

“Mm, ahhhh, Jisung! Mm, MMM, YES!”

Pre-cum was once against seeping out from his dick, this time accumulating in the condom. The sensation was intense, and all his senses were activated by the sexual activity.

He wanted to fuck her, and he wanted to fuck her good. In the next part of this story he did 🥵🔥🍆💦😏

-> Part 2 will be posted tomorrow, February 4th, 2025.

[meowmoew3]

IN MY ROOM - Satoru Gojo

- PLAY! ˚⋆⭑:: SATORU GOJO ONESHOT

summary - Based on Julia Wolfs, In my room <3 word count - 1.3k content warning - angst, gojo sucks, mentions of smoking, slightly implied cheating if you squint masterlist // not proofread

February 7th, Friday 8 pm

You miss him. You couldn't deny it, you couldn't deny the way your eyes were tearing up at the sight of his old sweatshirt sitting in the corner of your room. You couldn't deny it when you came home crying, you couldn't deny the way you stumbled on your words while you informed your roommate on what the hell your boyfriend had done.

Satoru Gojo, the love of your life, well you thought he was. Until he dumped you right in front of his friends at the same restaurant he had asked you to be his girlfriend at two years ago.

"We could never work out, you know this. We both want different things baby." He had said, both of you were sitting down at a similar table to the one you had grown fond of sitting at during each of your anniversaries. You remember the tug at his lips when he had mentioned it being a nice tradition, but even while breaking up with you he was still using that same damn nickname you were growing tired of.

Was it so wrong to want to settle down with the man who once told you that he too, wanted kids and to have matching rings that go further than the promise rings he had gotten you both for your one year anniversary?

That all led up to now, packing up his things in a large box for the exchange you two will be having two days from now. You were dreading the day February 9th came.

February 9th, 10 am

Despite the lack of sleep and motivation you had, you still got up. Your roomate, Shoko, being there every step you took, you could tell she's worried about you.

"You know, you don't have to go. We could stay in, order food, have Suguru pick him his shit." His, Shoko being nice enough to avoid saying his name. The name Satoru had become a sacred word, a word you felt as if you didn't have a right to say.

"I know, but I also have some stuff I had left as his place." Your breath came out shaky, your sitting down on the shared couch and yet you still feel like you're out of breath. Shoko walked from the kitchen to sit across from you,

"Do you want me to come with you?" Before you could answer with a simple ill be fine, it died on your tongue at the sound of her next words. "Look, you didn't hear it from me but, he's seeing someone else. Suguru blurted it out on accident when he found out you're still cooping yourself up in your room." She finished with a loud sigh, well, you definitely didn't expect that.

"Oh." How do you respond to this? During the break up he had mentioned staying friends, you agreed. Not willing to give him up completely. "Uh, do you," you looked up, finally looking her in the eyes, "Do you know who it is..?" The silence consumed you both as she shook her head.

You stood up, grabbing the box full of Sat- Gojos stuff. "I'll be back in a few 'ko." You gave her a weak smile, you had better things to do than allowing the fact he had moved on so fast to bother you.

Dropping the box off in your cars backseat, the teddy bear you had purchased for his birthday a few months back bounced out of the box and onto the floor. It smelt like him still, he had left it behind the last time he had spent the night, much to Shokos to dismay.

Instead of putting it back in the box, instead of listening to your thoughts screaming at you to not bring it into the frontseat with you. You did anyway, grabbing the passengers seat seatbelt where Gojo used to sit, you plugged the seatbelt in across the stuffed animal and continued on your way to the park where he had asked you to meet him.

Upon your arrival to the park you pulled out your phone, he had a thing for being late.

He had unfollowed you on all social medias when you had broken up, not wasting a second on switching your matching profiles and taking your initial out of his bio. You had laughed it off on how his social media presence was a hint you missed on the breakup. His bio changing from, "I love my cute girlfriend y/n <3" to " I love my gf" to "i 💙 my gf" to "y/n <3" all the way to "y/i<3" and finally, to just the plain first letter of your name.

The tears welled up in your eyes as you unprivated your account. Hoping that one day he'll stumble upon your profile and realize that he didn't completely break you, he totally did though.

Reorganizing it, changing your profile pic, your bio, removing highlights and deleting posts on your instagram.

Stalking yourself on the internet just to get a glimpse at what he might see.

When you see his profile you can tell he's barely affected by the breakup, his story lingered with posts of him smoking, partying, and of course,

his arm wrapped around a girl, offering her the same smile you had loved, looking at her with look in his eyes that screams, I love you.

How does he make moving on and throwing you away look so easy?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw him and his new girlfriend walking towards a bench nearby, he hadn't noticed you. His girlfriend was holding the box full of your stuff, she set it down and dug through it. If you didn't want your things back before you definitely don't now.

"Hey," Gojo giggled out at his girlfriends wondering hands, "She'd notice if anything of hers is missing, if you want it that bad i'll buy you a new one."

"Aw cmon! Look at this!" She held up the teddy bear. You both had bought each other bears, you looked down at your passenger seat to see the other half of it, one that represented him a little too much.

This wasn't worth, it was it? Seeing him again, hearing his voice only kills you more, would he even care? The junk in the box in your backseat was all easily replaceable and worth nothing to him.

As you continued to let your thoughts scatter you noticed the tears falling, yeah, it wasn't worth it. You told yourself it wasn't worth hearing his silky voice being directed towards you, the voice you knew would make you fold and beg him to take you back.

So you pulled out of the parking lot, the sound of your breaks that you definitely needed to get fixed based off the loud squeak they just let out, had caused him to look up. Looking into his eyes had only motivated you to drive faster. He saw you drive away, your phone didn't ring, not even after you had pulled into your apartments parking lot.

Shokos cars gone, so as you marched up the stairs and threw yourself onto your bed to sob into your pillow you were met back with silence.

He didn't call to ask for his stuff.

You thought he'd call at least.

The box of his stuff sat nicely on your desk.

Despite it only making you miss him more

You've learned to accept the fact you'll miss him all of the time.

You could deal with his stuff in your room.

#BREAK ROOM!⭑─

AYY FIRST ONE SHOT!! lmk if this sucks + tell me if a part doesn't make sense or if i spelled something wrong.. I think i got the ao3 writer effect bc i have been feeling like crap 😭😭 Im so behind in school too but im using my break to write this >o<!!

CREDITS ⭑─ 

Inspired by In My Room by Julia Wolf

please do not copy, translate, or reupload my work to different platforms. I do not own music, photos, or characters used. Things written in quote ( that isnt a character talking ) does NOT belong to me, I am not claiming to own any of it.

RULES ⭑─ 

Honestly there are no rules.. but try to keep it positive. Idc for mdni but small warning, i am not responsible for what you see on social media. if you see something you dont like please scroll it is not my responsibility to tell you who and what to interact with.

[messrsrarchives]

Hi Robyn. I appreciate you taking the time to always articulate your thoughts on Rowling and topics like that. I was wondering if you have thoughts on this or an answer to this question:

In a recent post you said things like "there's no ethical way to engage" and that you're trying to do "the least amount of harm possible." A few years ago, I believed these things very literally and believed it was completely immoral to engage in HP at all or engage in the fandom at all, and therefore I did not. Now obviously my beliefs have changed and I no longer believe it's so immoral I can't interact with it, and obviously neither do you or any of the rest of us. Are you able to articulate why? If there's no ethical way to engage, how do you justify being in the fandom? If you're trying to do the least amount of harm possible, do you believe you're still doing harm by being in the fandom and how do you justify that? If this is all inherently unethical and harmful, why are we doing it? How is it morally justifiable to be in the HP fandom at all, to post about it and therefore "promote" it? How do you justify to yourself being in the fandom?

I don't know the answer to that, and since you're someone who often has thoughts on this sort of subject I hope you are able to articulate this in some way that makes sense. I know it's a big question that may not even really have an answer, but I would like to know your thoughts or feelings about it if you'd like to answer.

Secondly, have you ever written up one single list along the lines of "things I believe we should not do"? Like listing it all out in one post: don't watch the hbo show even if you have a subscription, don't post about the show, don't comment on fancasts' posts, don't spend money on merch, don't post merch even if you didn't pay for it, and so on.

Thank you so much <3

HIII !!! always here to yap about these things <33 this is going to be so long i'm sorry !

i think one of my pinned videos on tiktok talks about guilt. there's so much guilt for engaging here and i know that i'm not the only one who, not only feels that, but feels as though it's a lot heavier recently. regardless of how you're engaging, we're promoting her universe and we are complicit, and there's so much guilt that comes with that.

but i think sometimes guilt is useful. i think there's a certain amount of guilt in this scenario that,,, i don't know? makes you better?? i think if you feel a bit guilty for being here, then you're aware and you're more likely to be conscious about your engagement. i think if you're not feeling at least the slightest bit guilty for being here, chances are you're unaware about the effects (whether direct or not) and you're too comfortable. we see a lot of people say "well i'm queer she hates me anyway" or "well i read stories she would hate" or "this fandom is everything she hates" etc etc as if our mere existence here is,,, an act of protest? but i don't see it as that. i don't see me engaging here as an act of protest, i see everything else as one.

and i guess that's why i came back to these spaces. i was told about ATYD by a friend and i already knew the basics about JKR, so my first action was to reread the books for the first time in years and try to see if anything read differently - a lot more stood out because i was more aware, and i spent a solid two weeks just doing research and thinking "okay, if i go into this, what do i need to do?"

at that point, all i thought i had to do was boycott and not put the same ideals into fanfiction, but it's a lot more intense than that. there's the risk of promoting a fic of someone who doesn't stand with us, or of commenting on something in a promoting way, or of showing off old merch and not specifying etc etc - there's a lottt of hidden ways we promote her without realising. that's also why i don't tend to talk About the books unless i'm recalling canon information for a plotline. or the movies unless i'm doing the same.

i think where you say "how do you justify being in the fandom" the most important word there for me is You.

there's the basics, of course: don't profit her, don't post things that profit her, don't perpetuate her ideals, don't promote harry potter in random comment sections, don't talk about the reboot even if you aren't watching it etc etc.

and then everything else is You. once you've got the basics of ethical (as much as possible) engagement, the justification part comes down to you personally. what do you need to do? what will make it feel safer for you? what will make you feel more comfortable? what balances it out for You?

for me, that's talking about it. and it comes off very lecture-like and like i'm scolding people and on one hand,, yes. it's a lecture, it's education, it's demonstrating what to do. but on the other, it's for me? it's for Me. and for Me to justify being in this space, it's to be loud and vocal. i've always said not everyone needs to be loud about it! i think forced activism is harmful but for Me personally? it's the talking about it that justifies it. for every negative comment that i get, i get 10 people that didn't realise the impact. for every person that says "this is such a non-issue" i get a DM from someone else asking more questions or thanking me for talking about it.

for every person in the fandom that doesn't value trans lives and lets me know that, i get 10 trans people who thank me for being loud about it.

and i think that's it for me. formulating a safe bubble for me and everyone else that has been harmed feels like justification. i won't ever be able to change her views or make a mass change, i'm just one guy without much to offer, but i can get one dm from a trans person who is glad to have found a space and,,, yeah. i can make A difference. i'm glad.

and then that all comes together when it comes to me posting. posting even fics is promoting her but i like to think (maybe potentially ignorantly, i'm not sure) that if someone new(er) to the fandom fics a video i've made on the fyp and they want to know more, they'd swipe across to my account, hypothetically. and then they'd find the jkr playlist, they'd find the pinned videos, they'd find the yap playlist and the jkr powerpoint etc etc, and i - definitely ignorantly - like to think that it balances out somewhere. maybe. hopefully. it definitely does more than just posting about the fandom/studios/merch on something like tiktok with an incrediblyyyy loose algorithm and not mentioning anything at all.

it's a hard balance. it's a hard balance of wanting to educate but not wanting to come off kind of,,, like superior? dictorial? placing myself above everyone? but also not wanting to sit back. and i don't think i've found that balance yet, but that's okay! it's all a curve.

for someone else it could be that they add the disclaimers to their fics and don't talk about it publicly often. like here on tumblr is very different to over on tiktok, and i'm sure justification works different on a systemic level here than there. or for someone else it could be that they simply read someone else's talks about it and try to adapt. it could be anything really, it's so individual!

you can justify it however you need to, as long as you have the basics down and you're not causing harm. as long as your justification isn't rooted in assauging your guilt (by that i mean for example, "im queer and jkr hates me anyway so i'll go the studios in protest" because that causes harm)

but at the end of the day i think it comes down to not letting TERFs win. at the end of the day i think we all justify it by not letting them take away another thing we love, even if it's something as silly as a magical universe. it means a lot to us, we aren't going to give it up for someone like her.

so we make a change. we don't separate art from artist, that causes harm. we don't call it reclaiming, you can't reclaim IP of someone still living and profiting.

but we can claim a bubble within it, and we can surround ourselves with people that get it and some of us will step out of the bubble and try to get more people to join us, others will be happy just staying in there and enjoying their time, and we all just get to Breathe.

i don't know. this is long and rambly and i don't think i'll ever justify it fully. i think i'll always feel guilty and i'll always talk about it and i think i'll always have moments where i wonder if maybe i am doing more harm, or times where i feel like i'm screaming myself hoarse and people don't seem to get it but,,, i also have 20,000 people that i didn't have before. and lifelong friends. and communication skills i didn't have, and a rekindled love for something that dominated my childhood.

and i feel good, i think. about the way i've gone about it. i think the version of me that bought crusty and dusty falling to pieces books off of etsy and sat there highlighting things would be proud that this is the way we take it, and i think the 15 year old version of me that realised he was trans and threw everything away would be proud too.

and i think that's how i justify it.

am i making myself proud with this? am i proud of how i went about this, and will i be proud when everything unfolds and we see the harm reach it's peak? will i be proud of what i did to Try?

and i think that's the big question to be asking ourselves.

(and in terms of one post, i have a PDF powerpoint here that explains a Bit, but - not to just promote myself lmao but who's reading all of this actually - i will be releasing three episodes of my podcast this week ALLL about jkr! (1) things in the books (2) twitter, political action, robert galbraith books and (3) fandom responsibility - and that third one will contain everything. for now at least. it's constantly changing but for now, it will include everything we need to do to keep this space safe and comfortable and as ethical as possible)

[foundnthestars]

HI. I bring Questions. >:]

How long are Dipper and Stan in the portal for? I remember you saying it somewhere a while ago but I can't remember

Does Mabel ever get sent back home? (Home being Piedmont)

Tell me more abt Ford. Just. Anything about him. How does he come to terms with the fact his identity was stolen for 30 years? And that he can't even ask Stan about it? Does he ever learn about the kids interactions with Bill? How does he feel about the new entries in his journal? Just. Tell me abt Ford.

Are there any characters you haven't introduced yet who will be important later on, canon characters or otherwise?

HI! THANK YOU FOR THESE QUESTIONS COPPER!! i was out of town so i wasn't able to answer these until now but i've literally been thinking about them all weekend!!

I. this is a question i've given a lot of thought, and i think i've settled with a date i'm pretty satisfied with! i think stan and dipper would be in the multiverse a MUCH shorter time than mabel and ford would be in your traditional drifting stars au. that would mainly be because ford knows where to get materials faster than stan or dipper would in the same scenario — i.e. crash site omega. but it'd still take a while because ford will have to figure out a way to pinpoint their exact location in the multiverse rather than just rebuilding the portal as according to its original design.

so, they'll be coming back right around early summer/mid summer 2014. right before mabel and dipper's sophomore year of high school. mabel would have gone through the 8th grade and freshman year without dipper :( so about 2 years overall — just in time for the twins' 15th birthday!

i have so many headcanons about the twins' high school experience post-portal. sheesh. so much angst potential. but dipper would have to get up to speed in time to enroll in school with mabel, and ford would definitely spend a lot of time tutoring dipper to get him ready for 10th grade. (no better person to teach a triangle-averse, traumatized teen trigonometry than a triangle-averse, traumatized old man!! yay for trauma-informed mathematics!)

II. THIS. THIS. THIS. The Parents. They Haunt Me.

i'm a sucker for realism in fics (i mean y'all know how i obsessed over the capacity of stan's hearing aid batteries for weeks and couldn't let it go) so working out the twins' parents' role in this was definitely a struggle. it needed to be realistic while also allowing very vital plot points to happen. like mabel staying in gravity falls, for one thing.

so many drifting stars fics don't really talk about the parents, and trust me, i get it! it's hard to write and enjoy ford and mabel bonding when you have two devastated, grieving, hysterical, protective parents trying to yank one party back to boring old piedmont where nothing ever happens and plot goes to die. but i also didn't want their parents to wind up being two shallow, underdeveloped background characters who couldn't care less about where their sole child ended up.

in my opinion, no reasonable, sane parent would let their daughter stay with an adult who was the sole party responsible when their son went missing. i also couldn't really see two grown adults from some random californian suburb suddenly becoming okay with the idea that their son went through an interdimensional portal, no less still letting their daughter stay there after hearing about it.

the only way i could see a parent letting this happen was if they decided somehow that staying home was somehow worse than all possible risks. sure, great uncle stanford let dipper go missing right under his nose, but at least he's apologetic about it. that 70-something year-old man is running around the woods at night looking for their son (apparently). that lumberjack girl is crying at the mention of him while swearing up and down that she'll protect their daughter with her life. there's a 20 year old kid who keeps shoving photos of their son and daughter on some fishing trip in their face and bringing homemade baked goods and dishes his abuelita made for them to take home with them.

and what's waiting for mabel in piedmont? nothing good. nothing resembling a healthy family environment. it's apparently bad enough that their normally spritely, energetic, kind, allergic-to-lying daughter is running away from home in the middle of the night. the pines parents are Not Okay, and they know mabel won't be okay with them either right now. there's a messy divorce and an alcohol problem sneakily brewing and until they can get their shit sorted out they'll have to trust ford to take after mabel for a while.

that's the focus of the next chapter! and it's coming real soon! a lot more will be delved into (it won't be as clear cut as them just shipping her away to gravity falls for 2 years) but mabel's here to stay! [TTDR: Nope!]

III. ahhh ford. i can tell you many things about ford.

mabel is just constantly, always talking about stan. what shows he watches. what color he begrudgingly admitted he liked best when they were finally able to take off his bandages after the Color Incident. the way he takes his coffee in the morning. it doesn't matter what. she just Keeps. On. Sharing. ford has no idea what to make of it at first. stan sacrificed the entire universe and put his own niece and nephew at risk and stole his identity and entire life. how is he supposed to forgive him for that? (he secretly wants to know more and never, ever interrupts mabel when she starts talking about him. blue's his favorite, too. the color of the sea.)

ford gets really freakishly good at acting like stan. he hates doing it but he knows he has to if he wants to keep their story going. when he has to make trips into town, he puts up with people asking him about the shack and dipper and why he's passed the mr. mystery torch over to soos. even though he hates that his identity has been entirely stripped from him, he has to admit that it's nice to be liked by so many strangers. his view of stan gets pretty warped because of this. he has to reconcile a lot with the stan he thinks knows (a.k.a his anger) and who he really is to those around him.

mabel is entirely responsible for making ford the soft, family man he was always destined to be. that will play a HUGE role in his and stan's reconciliation and the way he'll treat him when they come back :) (there will be no punching or arguing, thank you very much)

he learns about bill and the kids in the next chapter. he feels many things. none of them good. i'll let you guys read that for yourselves. i loveee when fics touch on ford's reaction to dipper's possession and bill's interactions with them, and ford will NOT be pleased to hear about any of this or bill's recent rendezvous in mabel's dreamscape

when he reads the entries in the journal, there's far less of the "i can't believe this kid scribbled over my life's work" than there was in canon. mainly because ford is deeply, palpably guilty that dipper got pulled into the portal HE created. here's a child that revered him and ended up losing a huge chunk of his adolescence because of it. he can't pin the blame on stan forever. not when he reads dipper's entries and sees the potential in a life that might be lost to bill or to the harsh realities of the multiverse. (he spends nights reading them and imagining what could have been if things didn't go so horribly wrong).

IV. yes! more important characters on the way. pacifica is the only one of them who is actually included in tags for now :) take from that what you will and for what that says for the future, hehe. super excited to introduce her and to write her dialogue !

there are also some other canon characters who are not tagged yet, because it'd be too big of a spoiler, but are MAJOR to the plot. super excited for those chapters!!

as for OCs, they are vital for plot progression and world building for a fic of this nature but they will never overshadow canon characters or be inserted in any major way. just a bit of fun world building coming for those guys!! i had a lot of fun writing acksyien for that short bit so expect more wacky side characters for dip and stan to meet!

[fanganfessions]

I personally don't like Project Eden's Garden, and I feel like it's trying far too hard to not be Dangan Ronpa to the point that it seems frankly embarassed about having any association with it from its writing and its consistent attempts to try and subvert DR writing, from the characters to even the execution we've seen (that IMO, lacks the kind of "style" canon executions have in an attempt to be far more brutal and drawn out without anything actually interesting to it in an aesthetic sense. It feels gory for the sake of being gory, even moreso than another execution I'd criticize like V3-2) and like it's trying too hard to subvert the series it's inspired by to the point it genuinely doesn't feel all that fun to engage with.

Things like the idea of a character presenting themselves as an "Ultimate Liar" just feel, for lack of a better word, fanfiction-y. A lot of the actual meat of the project feels amateurish to me, likely a result of the project changing hands due to the fallout between the old director and the original writers parting ways due to abuse 3 years ago or so, like old plot points were left behind and people tried to make them work rather than scraping things that I personally think go against his attempts to make its characters more grounded or realistic.

I don't enjoy any of the characters as they are and feel no attachment towards them or their designs, and I think the decision to replace the mascot with a guy in a mask was a poor one in a somewhat misguided attempt to make the game feel more, I dunno, mature? But to me it just comes off as another attempt to distance itself from DR, which the game fails at anyway because the twist of "characters who seem important both die chapter one" is very much a DR-esque move, for example.

There's a lot I could get into, and these are just mismanaged thoughts, but I feel like the project lacks style and any affection for the original series, and also comes off as exceedingly pretentious at times. (I personally hate the orchestral soundtrack, and I feel like something like "here's a real life orchestral composition of our theme" feels a lot like showing off at that point) I also just don't see the project being sustainable, especially with the prediction of it taking another two years for the second chapter.

All in all, though, I just can't enjoy it personally because it comes off as a very generic Fangan dressed up with high production value that people aren't willing to criticize both for fear of being attacked by an honestly rabid fanbase, and because it's definitely the big kid on the block and it can be hard to criticize a fan project being done for free. I just find it to be, well, not that good, and unworthy of the massive amounts of praise it's been receiving, but I'm biased to finding it kind of irritating due to my own personal tastes and the large amounts of praise its been receiving I personally disagree with.

But beyond that, it just feels like it doesn't want to be Dangan Ronpa, and maybe it shouldn't be, and its attempts to distance itself from it while still being clearly derivative of it (SHSL talents, the artstyle, the format) come off as more irritating to me than anything. I just don't think it's that good or the second coming of Dangan Christ or whatever, and it falls into the same trappings I'd criticize pretty much every other Fangan, and even the official series for, but it sticks out even more due to how desperate it is to be not Dangan Ronpa, or more than just Dangan Ronpa. This one just has more budget.

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