#like come on y'all these people are fucking smart

[catboyollie]

Every time a batstan or another fan portrays a gl or another dc character as dumb in a post, an angel loses its wings.

[shebrakesforrainbows]

This is what happens when abusers are given a platform on social media.

[itneverendshere]

school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron blurb (+18)

warnings: smart!reader (doesn't take shit) x bimbo!rafe <3; pope being an absolute menace; mentions of sex but no actual p in v okay; this shit is football and y'all can argue with a wall <3 IT PAINS ME TO WRITE SOCCER Y'ALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT !!!

ps: this is just for fun cause someone asked me to post it (it was just a draft😬)

you’ve never been one for academic sports spirit.

what’s the point? okay, your school has incredible athletes, that’s good, but why the fuck would you kiss and praise the ground they walk on? you’re a fantastic student and no one gives a shit. why do they get all the glory while brainiacs get zilch?

the double standards piss you off. somehow academics always take the backseat to sports. maybe that explained your dislike towards jocks like rafe cameron.

up until sophomore year, you’d only heard about him, saw him occasionally around school. it was understandable why people talked about him so often. he looked like he’d just been ripped off a page of an abercrombie and fitch catalog, and apparently – you’d never attended a game to check – he was the best player on the team, playing forward. but, unlike many, you didn’t form an opinion about him until you met him.

the verdict? total pain in your fucking ass.

ever since you two were paired in a class project together, an annual class at that, he suddenly took an interest in you, like you were some sort of exotic animal he’d never encountered in his life, only because you wouldn’t flirt with him.

outrageous, never done before.

for the first four months, it was just him laying on the cheesy pickup lines and you rolling your eyes so hard you thought they'd pop out of your head. eventually, rafe dialed it down and you were able to be civil, perhaps friends. if you could call it that.

wich is why, as his friend, you’re starting to lose your fucking patience. the season was not going well for his team. at all. there’s little to no chance they’re going to be able to win the championship.

not that you care, but apparently the whole school does. everyone seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.

“i swear to god if they lose to standford next week–“

“pope, will you kindly shut the fuck up? it’s just soccer.”

“just soccer?”

you let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over at pope who looks at you like you’ve just shot someone, “can we study? peacefully?”

"it’s not just soccer! it's about school spirit, camaraderie, y’know?"

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "camaraderie? please. more like a bunch of testosterone-fueled egos chasing after a ball," you retort, disdain evident in your tone.

“you don't know what you're talking about. and i'm being dead serious, cameron’s been on edge lately. never seen him like this."

you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "yeah, well, losing does that to people. don't why you're complaining soooo much" you sigh, "i’m the one who has to put up with all the brooding and pouting.”

pope’s quiet. too quiet. you can picture the gears turning in his brain as he blankly stares at you. nothing good ever comes out of that.

“what?” you press, wondering if you have to break the school spirit out of him.

“you should fuck him. after or before, don't care. but you should."

you recoil, nearly tumbling out of your chair at pope's suggestion.

your eyes widen in disbelief, your mind struggling to process what he just said. for a moment, the room spins around you, and you feel like you’ve been thrust into some surreal alternate universe.

“what?! pope?" you finally manage to sputter, acting like you're about to go into cardiac arrest, "the fuck's wrong with you?"

“don’t look at me like that,” he merely shrugs, “that man is depressed. he needs to get laid if he’s going to win something.“

you hardly think a guy like rafe is not getting laid every other day, but that’s irrelevant. your jaw drops, stunned by his audacity. "are you kidding me? you don’t even like him!”

“but i like winning!” he whines, all but pushing his books aside to place in his elbows on the table, “and he’s so obsessed with you it hurts watching. he’s like one of those little crusty white dogs always running after you.”

you shake your head in disbelief, "he does it to be funny, okay? he’s not actually interested.. t's just a joke”

your best friend only laughs, a raucous, almost maniacal sound that echoes through the room. he clutches his stomach, "just joking?" pope gasps out, his laughter still bubbling to the surface. "oh man. you're hilarious, honestly, wow."

you stare at him, lips set in a straight line, feeling like you missed the entire joke. "what's so funny?"

pope wipes away a fake tear, trying to compose himself. "he almost ripped a new one to jj after he pulled that stunt last semester.”

your eyebrows knit together in skepticism. “and? i still don’t follow.”

rafe and jj couldn’t stand each other. both are incredible athletes and everyone always gushes about how great they are together on the field. outside, however? not so much. they don't mix. ever.

“and?! why do you think jj randomly talked about you in the locker room?”

“because he’s a horny creep and got a kink for fist fights with undressed men?”

you love jj. really, you do. but sometimes he’d win a lot more if he just kept his mouth shut or thought before speaking. you've lost count of how many times that boy has been suspended.

pope leans in, his tone low and conspiratorial, “cameron practically threatened to rearrange jj's face if he ever mentioned you again.”

you narrow your eyes, “nop. you’re making that up.”

pope shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. "nah, i'm dead serious.”

your mind races, trying to piece it all together. while your brain always clicks instantly in class, feelings...emotions are a little more complicated to grasp sometimes.

"wait, so you're saying he actually cares about me?"

he nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "yep.”

“seriously?”

pope chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "head over heels. you’re our school’s only hope.”

your brain's on overdrive trying to process pope's bombshell revelation. rafe cameron, the big-shot jock, actually giving a fuck about you? it's like some twisted plot line from a teen drama. you didn’t see this one coming. but then again, you hardly pay attention to anything outside academics.

“so what? ’m supposed to fuck the mediocrity out of him?”

he grins, clapping you on the shoulder, “there’s that school spirit!”

you slap his hand away, “oh fuck off. ‘m being serious.”

he’s still grinning like he just cracked the code to life. "come on, hear me out. it's like a strategic move, y’ know? boost his morale, boost the team's performance. win-win."

you roll your eyes, not buying into his scheme. "yeah, because my sex habilities are definitely the key to winning soccer games."

he shrugs, undeterred. "it's not like you'd be doing it for him. it's all about the greater good."

you scoff, rearranging your notes for the millionth time, "this isn't some feel-good sports movie."

it’s not like you never thought about rafe. sure, he's a yapping idiot around you most of the time, but every time you need help or an extra hand, he’s always the first one to offer. that has to count for something, right?

“the ball’s in your court.”

yeah it is.

truth to be told, you’ve been sick and tired of rafe acting like a loser over soccer. what was the point in whining about it if he wasn’t going to try and do better? god, you'd never seen him like this before and it's been irking you to beyond. even more now that pope mentioned it again.

at this point, you just want to march up to him, shake him and make it come to his senses. you can’t even remember that last time he tried to hit on you. that’s how bad it is! the memory is buried under the weight of his brooding.

so maybe….maybe pope's onto something, y'know? maybe there's more to it than just you and rafe. and yeah, okay, you're not exactly thrilled about the idea of hopping into bed with him, but only because you’d hate the attention that comes along with his name.

but...a part of you is weirdly intrigued. not because you're dying to be his next conquest, but because you're just done with watching him drown in his own misery. maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs. a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of his funk.

you wouldn’t be doing out of selfish reasons! school spirit and all. you’d be doing everyone a favor. and you wouldn't need to blame it on yourself if things went downhill.

you had pope for that.

which is why you’re standing in front of rafe's room in his frat.

a jock and a frat boy? charming. you’ve certainly hit the jackass lottery. but you’ve been here before. he always saved the day when the library was packed or when your roommate was too busy fucking her boyfriend in your dorm room. this was weirdly your safe place to work.

taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the door, trying to ignore the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. it's not about you! get a grip.

the door swings open, and there's the fucker, all brooding and rugged, like he just walked off the set of a sports movie. you roll your eyes at the cliché, but there's something weird about the way he looks at you. or maybe the tight wife-beater is doing a number on you.

you still notice the bags underneath his swollen eyes.

there's a flicker of surprise in him, like he wasn't expecting to see you, out of everyone in this school, standing there and you can't blame him; after all, you're not exactly a regular visitor to the frat house, only when your academic needs force you to.

“hey?”

“you look like shit, cameron.”

rafe's eyebrows raise in surprise at your blunt remark, “uh, what?”

you roll your eyes resisting the urge to scoff. "can i come in or are you going to stand there looking like an idiot all day?”

rafe chuckles, stepping aside to let you into his room, “come on in.”

you step inside, taking in the cluttered room with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. it was never this bad before, you know rafe’s a clean freak and this? this is not him. but it is exactly how you imagined a frat boy's room would look like—dirty.

there’s laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer cans littering the desk, and a distinct musky smell lingering in the air. you shake your head in disbelief, shooting rafe a disapproving look.

"what are you? a divorced forty-five-year-old man?”

rafe laughs at your comment, though there's a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, i know. sorry about that."

he’s doing worse than what you realized and it tugs a little at your heartstrings.

you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by his apology. "sorry doesn't cut it, cameron. you should be ashamed of yourself.”

"okay, fair point. i'll clean up, promise."

“not just your stupid room. i mean your whole attitude. you've been moping around like a loser!”

rafe's expression shifts, defensiveness crossing his features. "hey, ‘m not—"

"don't even try to deny it," you interrupt, not backing down. "everyone’s noticed. you’re pissing me off.”

you don’t know why you’re suddenly so tempted to give him the scolding of a lifetime, but there’s just something about seeing someone with so much potential and drive wasting it all away without a fight. it’s not like him.

and by the kicked-puppy look on his face, you can tell he's not used to being called out so openly. but you're dead set on breaking through to him, no matter how awkward it gets.

“see! you’re just staring at me like—like, a fucking idiot!”, you fire off, frustration lacing your tone. the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. “will you speak for gods sake? for more than five seconds? i spent months trying to get you to shut up and now you do?”

rafe's stunned expression makes you second guess your approach for a moment, but you push the feeling aside, knowing you can't afford to let sympathy cloud your purpose here.

“why are you mad at me?”

you can't believe he's still clueless after all this time.

"why am i mad at you?" you repeat incredulously, feeling the irritation rising your my chest. "seriously, rafe? have you even looked in the mirror lately?"

he blinks at you, his confusion evident, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"you've been moping around like the world's about to end.”

rafe's brows furrow even further, and for a moment, you wonder if he's playing dumb or if he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. "i don't—uh, i don't understand," he finally stammers out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

that’s it.

you’re gonna pull the feelings card and hope it doesn’t backfire.

“do you like me?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

rafe snorts as he lifts his finger to scratch his face, “course i do. pretty obvious.”

for a second you get a glimpse of the real rafe and it soothes you inside.

“and you want to fuck me?”

you’ve never seen him look so gobsmacked in his life, you’d laugh in his face if it wasn’t such a serious matter.

“what?” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. you can’t believe the rafe cameron is blushing. over you.

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "do you want to fuck me? do i need to spell it out for you?”

he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and you can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at finally catching him off guard, “’m sorry? is this—are you…is this for punk’d?”

"punk'd? seriously, rafe?" you snap, incredulous that he would think this is some sort of prank, “it’s 2024.”

rafe's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, and he stammers again "no, i mean— i just...didn't expect you to— uhh”

“yes or no.”

rafe blinks at you before breathing out, “yes.”

“okay. so win your next match and you will.”

he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, exhaling through his nose, trying to keep his agitation to a minimum. “what?”

“i’m sick and tired of this version of you. i need you to win, and if this” you gesture to the both of you with your hand, “is your motivation, then we’re doing it.”

"y’serious?" he takes a step closer, his demeanor suddenly more serious, “me and you?”

you nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilt your head up to look at his features, “dead serious. and it’s not just you and me. it’s for the team, and for the school spirit or whatever nonsense pope keeps going on about."

rafe lets out a small chuckle, a hint of his usual cocky confident demeanor returning. "is that so? can't say no to that kind of motivation."

“i figured.”

he reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing the strands of your hair, eyes fixed on your lips. "are there any rules?”

you swallow hard, feeling your heart race at his touch. “no, just win.”

rafe's lips curl into a playful smirk— the money-making smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, not necessarily in that order — as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"never would've guessed you'd be the one to offer yourself as my motivation, though," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "i'm surprised."

you try to maintain your composure, but his proximity is making it increasingly difficult to think straight. "just doing what needs to be done," you manage to stammer out, trying to sound perfectly unaffected by his words.

rafe chuckles softly, his hand still lingering in your hair as he leans back slightly to look at you. "my pretty prize, huh?" he says, his tone teasing as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you feel a flush spread across your features at his boldness. you blame him entirely for this side of you. without thinking, you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek, tips pressings against his skin lightly.

“just win the fucking match, cameron."

rafe's nasty smirk widens into a heart-stopping, soul-gripping grin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

"consider it done."

[tasiawrites]

Aot men x black reader who is feeling a bit insecure

Cw: smut, mirror sex, recorded sex and whatever else y'all finna tell me

Connie

He found out when you were adding stuff to your cart but never asked for his card to buy them, when he asked you why you just off-handedly mentioned that you weren't pretty enough to pull it off. Incorrect.

Now you were sat on Connie's lap. His rough fingers played with your clit, while his dick rubbed against your sweet spot. “Look at the phone mama,” he whispered in your ear. You whined as you watched yourself cum on his dick. You watched as your tits bounced with each thrust. You tried to look away as the camera panned up to your face showing you what you looked like as you came all over Connie's dick. “Look mamas, look how pretty you are,” Connie said kissing your cheek as your pussy fluttered around him in both embarrassment and pure arousal. “Now put the next one on, we're not done.”

Eren

You had been at a party and overheard some people talking. Saying shit like Eren could do better than you. It hurt a little bit as you looked over to where a model-like girl was talking to him. You believed it for a second.

That didn't last long. Once you go home Eren realized something was wrong now he was fucking you an inch from insanity. “Ren I'm sorry slow down,” you whimpered pushing your hand against his hips in a futile effort to get him to stop, or slow down. It wasn't working, he kept fucking you like a man on a mission. He slapped your hand away. “Nah, this is what you get for listening to bitches shit talk,” he said angrily as he plowed through your pussy making your juices fly everywhere. “Gonna come ren… please,” you begged. He just leaned down and captured your lips in a sensual kiss as you came all over him. He slowed down with his forehead against yours. He looked at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. “you know I love you right?” You nodded in affirmation. Eren smiled, “Good, now turn around and catch this nut, ion wanna hear any of that shit again.” He said slapping your ass as an indication for you to put your face down and ass up.

Armin

You had taken too long to come and watch a movie with him. He found you standing in front of the mirror looking at yourself with a look in your eye he didn't like. At all.

Your thighs quivered as Armin stopped again. “C’mon princess, keep going or I'll stop again,” he whispered against your pussy. His blue eyes looking into your brown ones. You looked away in embarrassment as the sight of his face covered in a mess you made in this situation was a bit much. “I- I'm pretty,” your voice cracked into a moan as you felt him dive back in eating you out slow and sweet. “I'm smart,” you said again trying not to cover your face in embarrassment. Armin making you affirm yourself was embarrassing enough, but if you stopped or said anything he didn't think was good enough he would stop. “I'm p-perfect,” your thighs clenched around his head as he sucked on your clit gently. “Min, m gonna come,” you begged trying to both push him away and pull him closer. He just hummed as he looked up at you through your legs. You came with a loud moan. He pulled away and brought his face close to yours. “you're sexy,” he said, pressing a kiss on your lips. “Think you have one more for me princess?” He asked rubbing his tip against your folds.

Onyakapon

His girl? Insecure? No, not possible. 

“Onya, please,” you begged, closing your eyes. “none of that,” he growled in your ear. “You're gonna be a good girl and watch me fuck my pussy and watch yourself cum on your dick,” he pressed a kiss on your temple. “Fuck you talkin' bout you ain't fine,” he kissed his teeth in annoyance as he held your face forcing you to watch yourself bounce on his dick. You watched as your pussy creamed all over him messily. Your eyes followed it down his balls and watched it drip to the floor. He tapped your face making your eyes flutter back upward. You met your eyes in the mirror. You took in how utterly fucked you looked. There was drool slipping down the side of your face, your eyes were lidded and teary, even your hair was fucked up. You closed your eyes and tried to hide your face in Onyakapon's neck. That wasn't sliding and your eyes shot wide open as he lay a slap on your clit. “Eyes in the mirror baby, ion wanna see you do that again,” he tsked fucking you harder. “Onya, gonna cum,” you cried, your nails digging into his arm as he began to play with your clit while somehow bouncing you harder on his dick. Your thighs shook as you came, squirting all over the mirror. “That's it cum for me pretty girl,” he kissed your cheek, licking off the tears that escaped your eyes.

[veronicawildest]

NAKSHATRA SERIES: OBSERVATION FROM DIFFERENT NAKSHATRAS (SEGUNDO)

(Disclaimer: If you get butthurt on my other observation just blocked me and move away from me. This observations is from the celebrity i've observe and my social circle. Just take this like a grain of salt)

PUNARVASU

The trait that I love about Punarvasu is their resourcefulness. It makes sense because of the Vimshottari Nakshatra of Jupiter. They are also very giving.

(Unevolved) Punarvasu are fake. When they're talking to you, they act like a goody two shoes type of boy/girl, but when you're gone, they talk behind your back. They don't like confrontation (very passive). Also holier than thou (This only applies if you're UNEVOLVED, otherwise don't get butthurt).

Punarvasu are also people-pleasers. They want to have a "goody-two-shoes" reputation. (I can't fully describe it, but if you get it, you get it). A primary example that I'm going to give is Elon Musk (Punarvasu rising). The way he acts and presents himself in public. He just wants to be likable, but clearly, the public hates him.

Punarvasu are smart and they will show you that through their actions (I mean actions, for example, problem-solving activities)

PUSHYA:

The casting stereotype of this nakshatra is a hippy vibe. Just like in animated movies, Matilda (from Angry Birds Movie played by Maya Rudolph (Pushya sun)) and Brooke (from Ice Age: Collision Course played by Jessie J (Pushya moon)).

Pushya isn't as auspicious as it is portrayed in the Vedic astrology community. You will go through some hardships and heartbreaks that will make you easily susceptible to mental health issues. (I have this placement so this comes from my experience).

I observed this from other Pushya natives that they're just plain and simple, not glamorous but classy when it comes to their appearance. Just simplicity and vibes and natural.

I've seen on Twitter Vedic discourse about Tikshna Nakshatra getting all the hate, Ashlesha getting all the hate, not Pushya. I have a Pushya placement on my luminary, and I can tell y'all that's not true.

Examples:

Jennifer Lopez (Pushya sun) gets hated for getting all the benefits of being a celebrity when she's just allegedly stealing (I've also read this through Twitter).

Selena Gomez (Pushya sun) is hated for having this victim mentality complex and being "obsessed with Justin and Hailey."

(DISCLAIMER: This isn't my opinion on these certain celebrities, but I've been reading and seeing them on Twitter)

ASHLESHA

Despite being a Mercury-ruled Vimshottari nakshatra, Ashlesha doesn't speak too much.

I've seen Ashlesha males acting like sigma males, but they're funny. This is the nakshatra that embodies the "tropical Leo archetype," the archetype of funny, center of attention, fashionable, and dramatic.

Ashlesha either love all the attention or hate it. Mostly it's a mixture of the two. That's why the center of attention archetype for Tropical Leo.

Claire Nakti just conducted a survey on YouTube, but the leading people on Instagram (having the most followers) have Ashlesha placements. Selena Gomez (Ashlesha Venus and Mercury - still prominent because it conjuncts the Sun, which is her luminary), Kylie Jenner (Ashlesha Sun), and Cristiano Ronaldo (Ashlesha Moon).

MAGHA

If you have Magha in your big three, you're egoistic as fuck (for me egoistic above on other nakshatra). Napoleon has this Nakshatra on his sun. The new TikTok hype about King Baldwin IV (played by Edward Norton, Magha sun).

It's hard to differentiate Ashlesha and Magha because of the Gandanta point (and other Gandanta nakshatras):

- Both private

- Romantic (because other nakshatra of Leo gets all the credit of being romantic, but not Magha; they're romantic too)

- Both GREAT at their stuff/profession/talent

But to tell them apart is Ashlesha says, "I don't give a fuck," and they do give a fuck (because of the Crab cancer symbolism, it really makes sense why they put up a facade because of the shield) when Magha says nothing and literally doesn't give a fuck. They won't entertain. Yes, they're sensitive, but mostly they really don't give a fuck.

I don't get the hype of "Ketu nakshatras are not on social media. They don't usually use social media" on Vedic Twitter. Magha (Ashwini and Mula too) are active; they just don't interact or have private accounts. Ketu is exalted in the sign of Scorpio (investigating, lurking), and y'all think that they don't use social media? Joking, for real.

I still emphasize that Magha nakshatra individuals have sleeping problems. One of the Magha moon actors (in my home country) opens up about having sleep apnea and having a near-death experience. (Also, the beauty queen Magha sun talks about a near-death experience). It's common for them to experience the "Their soul is leaving the body while sleeping" phenomenon and meditation.

The impact of the death of loved ones for Magha is crucial. It's a sign that something significant will be happening or transforming for better or for worse. The best example that I can give is Megan Thee Stallion (her family).

[hanjisunglover]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒

𐙚 pairing: volleyball player!han jisung x nerdy fem!reader

𐙚 genre: smut, high school au, strangers to ??, angst, fluff

𐙚 word count: 6.7k

𐙚 warnings: reader is a virgin, jisung it's kinda an asshole, he's also lowkey manipulative, dirty talks, dom! jisung, sub! reader, jisung it's kinda needy at the end, fingering (f!recieving), oral recieving ( m! and f! receiving ), eating cum, penetration, unprotect sex ( stay safe y'all), semi-public sex (people walking down the hall) spank kink ( f! receiving), breeding kink. Jisung's friends bullies reader, ji it's pretty jealous.

𐙚 summary: y/n has the best grade in history, jisung is just a volleyball player that can't keep himself out of challenges, so why not seducing the pretty y/n?

𐙚 members mentioned: minho, bang chan, hyunjin

[ jisung 02:34 am ] what are you asking me to?

[ minho 02:38 am ] you want the money? fuck her then :)

[ jisung 02:39 am ] why her? com'on you can think someone else

[ minho 02:40 am ] because her brother is in the team that we need to piss off for the next game, we need to win this time, that's why

You love History, you like the feeling of knowing things more than the others. You always been intelligent and smart, above the people. Never been out with a guy, never really trusted yourself enough for a relationship with anyone more than your own brother. Chan always been the extrovert in the family: you loves books, he loves volleyball and parties. You never complained to see him jumping around as the captain of the Lokeys and as setter.

That's how jisung started to ask you some help with history. You were so surprised when he stopped you from going out the class after the long and super interesting lesson from Mrs. Yang, that woman showed you the best way to love the Roman Empire. His cheeky smile and his strong cologne made your mind spin, but you tried to keep it cool to refuse. Until he talked about paying the extra sessions, and then.. how can you refuse it?

Extra money, talking about your favorite subject, that's the jackpot for a nerdy like you. You still don't trust him to make him come to your house to study, that's how you end up in the car of your big brother.

"Why you didn't refuse to help him?" Chan pinch his bridge of the nose, sigh lightly, he doesn't like the idea of her little sister with Jisung. He doesn't really know him, he doesn't know that much to let her sister go with a guy like him. For Chan you're still his baby sister, to protect from the world.

"it's gonna be fine, I'll keep my location on in case, don't worry okay? it's just study at the library." just study at the library, that's your thoughts. But you have the feeling of something else happens in your head, the drive to the school it's quiet enough to let you think.

Jisung, Han Jisung, the best setter that your school ever had before. He's good, he practice so hard everyday, he loves volleyball more than everything and you unfortunately knows. You know because Chan is the captain of the Lokeys, team that wins against them every single time. The difference now?

Jisung is in the team. And he talks with his members without even explain anything, he can read people in the best way possible, he can gets the opponents' moves even before they make them. It's just a genius in his game

Your brother drops you off and as you walk out he stops you holding your wrist a little, "hey, call me if he's being an ass, kay? I still can wait in the parking lot until you're done."

"hey, I got it." You smile softly at him as he waves at you from the window of the car as he speed right in front of you, just to make you laugh. You look at the doors of the school with a big breath.

The people around there are just some professors, some crazy kids that loves the book at the school and the sport clubs with the training hours, you never understood why put so much effort on your body. You hates sweating. And moving, in general it's not your favorite thing in the world, that would be diaries from the 40' about the WW1.

You try to find a quiet spot in the library, with your bag on your shoulder and the books against your chest, you need to find the perfect table to not have too many people around. Perfect to low talk and not being caught by the hateful librarian, who frankly - hates you. The reason? You may or not have held about ten books from the school on the industrial revolution.

I mean, who would blame you? they are good books, at least for you, and some other nerds. That you don't know, you don't talk to many people, you're voice it's so quiet that everytime people ask you to repeat yourself, at least three times.

As your turn the corner you notice a little table, not bigger than one seat each side, perfect. You fix your clothes as you sitting, putting the books and the conceptual maps that you like to make, your handwriting is delicate, neat and everything is divided down in color due to your visual memory. You are envied for your notes, which are going around to your classmates every time for classwork.

You waited for two hours there. Any reasonable person would have already picked up their things and gone. Not for you. You, you stayed there, studying anyway. You tried not to waste time and clear your thoughts as you finished your notes from the last lesson. When suddenly your phone rings.

[ Channie 18:21 ] are you guys almost done? :D

[ y/n 18:21 ] he never show- As you type the text Jisung gets inside the library, a grin in his face that makes every girl turn her head to look at him, he's wearing his classic uniform to training for volleyball. His movements are full of confidence as he looks around for you, as he stands up in front of the table he start to chuckles.

"Hey beautiful."

[ y/n 18:24 ] nope, but I text you when we are ♡

"my name is Y/n," muffled words gets out your mouth as you look over him, his tonic body gets right in front of you and your side of the table.

You bow a little as you press your lips together in an awkward smile, he chuckles as he cross his tonic arms against his chest. "I know, but names are not my favorite. I like nicknames, so.. you took this thing serious I see," he murmurs.

Jisung take his seat right next to you, his sweaty body makes you feel almost dizzy for how hot he looks, shiny tears of sweats driving down his neck, going inside his shirt. You're trying to not stare, but it's really hard when you have a good looking guy next to you. "So where you lack the most?" You says clearing your throat with a light cough, moving your hair behind your ear as you look at the chapters in the book in front of you. His eyes are on your lips are you talk.

"Right, of course." he nods once and gives you a charming smile as he looks down, trying to focus on the book. Jisung smirks as he watches you blush.

"Now, now… why should I be focused when I have you next to me, looking all cute and gorgeous?" He chuckles in amusement and leans closer toward you, his arms crossing over his chest. "Would be hard to concentrate on anything else, really." he winks at you and runs a hand through his hair.

You blush hardly to find him so close to your face, try to muffles some words but everything that comes out from your mouth a some gasps, he's being clearly flirty and that makes you flustered already, "book, study, please?"

He chuckles as he presses his index finger against your cheek, the sudden contact makes you confused but you manage to control it, "why don't we play a game mh? Simon says. one each."

You sigh, because you think it's the best way to make him focus. "okay, who's start?"

"Ladies first," he moves his hand over you almost brushing his fingers over your arm and you shiver at the light touch, Jisung can read your face and your thoughts as if your internal dialogue is speaking to him.

"Simon says open your book and take notes," your light order make him chuckles, but he listen and he grab his own book opening at the same page as you.

You breathe a sigh of relief as you begin to highlight important points about the book, his focus lasts for about half an hour before he places both hands on the table and looks at you intently with a smirk.

"Simon says, let me kiss you," you almost choke yourself with his words, you shake lightly your head, "no com'on.. please.. it's-it's enough."

Jisung smirks when you turns your head a bit, getting closer again and nudging your jaw with the tip of his thumb. "I think you don't know the game, sugar. You have to do whatever Simon says. Otherwise your turn is lost." Jisung chuckles softly and raises a brow again, his other hand drifting to your thigh, right under your skirt. He keeps teasing you and playing with your mind.

You squeeze your thighs together as she whine a little, looking at him lightly as she glance at his lips, sighing deeply, "Are we gonna back to study after?"

"Yes, promise." Jisung chuckles softly and raises a hand to your face, stroking your cheek softly and tilting your head back toward him. "Can I have your answer now, sweet thing? Or do you need me to make this harder for you?" The hand on your thigh squeezes your leg gently, making you squeal, and he leans in to breathe in your scent. Jisung's lips are just inches away from yours now, his breath hot on your skin. The tension is thick as he lean on you.

He kisses you softly, biting your bottom lip with determination, he's running too fast for you; it's your first kiss. Your eyes are closed as he keep kissing you with transportation. The moment breaks as you get breathless, your cheeks red like cherries and your eyes locked in his. "it was your first kiss, isn't it?"

As you nod he chuckle like a kid, This is gonna be easier than I thought, jisung is thinking about. You cover your face with your hands he moves his hand on your thigh again, "oh don't worry angel, I'll be gentle next time, but I can't promise anything."

Next time? oh you're totally losing it. He talks about a second kiss? you only saw those kinda of things in movies or tv series that you cry yourself on during the night when you feel that you need to 'suffer' about a relationship - that frankly, you never had. But that's not a problem for you, you never expected someone to loves you like the movies, or loves you like the songs that you always listen and fills your playlists.

Between the lessons in the days after, Jisung started to talk to you, to even say hi between the periods, also doing small chats between you two.

"hey y/n!" "can you help me with the study after?" "let me buy you some coffee," "we should hang out soon."

the kiss, the kiss, the kiss. That is the only thing that run through your mind, every time he is around. You can't stop think about it! it's all over your head, as soon as you close your eyes you can feel his lips against yours again, and just the thought makes your panties extremely wet. For God sake, you're lucky that he didn't touched you in the library, you're not sure that you are capable enough to shut your mouth. He's so attractive, walking around with his confidence that build just insecurities to the people in the hallways, so hard to get it for you. But hey, you're not in the same level as him.

He's a 10, you're a 6. Your brother would say a minus 8, but it's your older brother, so his vote doesn't count. Because he would say anything to make you genuinely happy, he loves you unconditionally it's impossible for him to not give you a right number. But still, you don't believe him.

During the middle school, your class listed the girls from the prettiest, to the ugliest. Just a funny game, but you hated it, all of the competition that shouldn't be in a bunch of 16 years old girls made you feel more and more uncomfortable. With your body, your extreme intelligence, made you ended up in one of the last positions.

You started to believe it, because if everyone agree, why it shouldn't be the truth? So you started to act like one, eating alone during lunch, your assignments with a group of people you decided to made your part by your own, your friends started to hang out with other people so; why force something that already is done.

Walking down the hall, by yourself and your eyes focus on the floor, Jisung is sneaking from behind, putting his arm around your shoulder, "hey beautiful."

"uh! hi, hi jisung," You mumble as you almost drop everything that you're holding in your arms, his eyes are traveling from your eyes to your lips, the tension building up inside you. "how are you doin? still too busy to hang out with me?"

He never asked you, "you never asked me."

Your sudden change of tone makes him giggle, holding you tightly against himself, your face get dangerously close to his, "so you would've say yes? Look at you y/n, all confident to talk back to me."

Cheeks getting red, makes him just more giggly and happy, because he knows that his friends are looking right at the end of the hall, where they can see how much he has you under his power. The deal with them is simple: fucks her, bring a proof and the proof can only be her underwear, dirty of his sperm.

In his head he already created the perfect occasion for that, how to make you beg for him, to gets on your knees just because of him. Just the thought of taking your virginity makes him hard, he clear his throat, "so wanted to ask you for, another lesson. maybe somewhere else, you know.. not in the library."

You feel your body slightly tensing up, feeling your legs almost numb for his words, "where? I'm just.. see my schedule and see if I can make it."

"my house. today, after my practice." Your eyes goes wide open, your surprise make him giggle as he nods,"yes angel, my house."

"I said I need to check my schedule, don't.. don't hope too much."

"Oh but I know you're coming princess, you can't say no to me."

You know jisung's house like one of the most beautiful - also richest - spot in the city, his father is a really important manager for one of the biggest volleyball team in town. His parties are always big and always loud, nothing in compare to what you do on Saturday.

But you also know, that he never invites girls over, that something that a lot of girls - specially the female volleyball team - complains all the time in front of you instead of listening to the history lessons. The talk, and talk and talk about him, and the only occasions when girls can get in his house.. is to hook up.

And that's how you ended up in his room, waiting for him to finish his shower, a book in front of your eyes but your head fill with thoughts.

"Simon says, tell me your dirtiest fantasy," he says clicking the pen in a almost rhythmic way, his eyes on your blushing. Because even if you're just a virgin, your head always fantasized about so many things. You guys are been studying for two hours now, he's overworked to let you talk for that long, when his only thought has been bending you over and take you right there. right now.

He try to push your to the limit until you spill it out, "okay, fine. fine I'll tell you," you mumble as he chuckle happily, his hand finish on your thigh, making you blush even more, "I think.. I think I like it rough. I mean, it's just an assumption, because I'm still a virgin."

"you know what I like?"

His question doesn't sounds like one, but you let him finish talk, his hand travels up and down from your knee to your inner thigh. Your skirt moves with his touch, "I like to make happy pretty girls like you."

Your cheeks get red as cherries just making him smirk like a cheeky kid that just had the answer that he wanted, "I think I.. could make you happy, angel, if you just.. let me." You can feel your heart bouncing in your chest when he starts to kiss your neck, his hand finds his way on your panties, feeling the wetness against the thin fabric.

"So fucking wet already."

You can't actually tell how you ended up on his bed, your thighs spread open and his face right between them. "jisung.. jisung please.."

Jisung chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. He takes a moment to tease you, licking and kissing your inner thighs before finally placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss on your swollen pussy lips. His tongue darts out to taste you, his lips parting yours with one swift motion. He starts by licking you labia before sucking on your clit gently, groaning in approval at the taste of you. "So sweet.. just for me."

"Oh my fucking god," You says breathless, your back arching just at the gentle touch of his lips against your cunt, it's incredibly good to feel.

Chuckling again, Jisung complies. He slides his hands up to your hips, holding you in place as he slowly pushes his tongue into your tight entrance. He groans as he feels how wet you are, his eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure. "Fuck.. you taste amazing - want more, give me more."

He breath heavily against your skin as he continues to pleasure you. He adds a finger to her tight pussy, stretching her slowly while sucking on her clit. "You like that?”

Every single movement gives you a wave of pleasure that makes you moan so loud that his brother down the hall probably heard you. You moves your hips against his face, needy for more of his wet and warm licks, “o-oh fuck i love it! m-more!”

Jisung groans as he takes in you desperate cries. He pushes your boundaries further, adding another finger in your tight slit. His tongue works overtime on your sensitive spots, driving you wild. He has no intention of stopping until she begs for his cock. “imma gonna make you cum so hard.”

He can feel you, feel your excitement growing. He moves his fingers faster inside of her, hitting your g-spot, rubbing his fingers against it to let her reach the highest pleasure possible while still sucking on your clit. Your juices taste so sweet and he just wants more. “Fuck, your pussy is so wet, you're my good girl aren't you? so good for me.”

Jisung moves from your pussy just to change position, letting you sits on his face, your blush is heavy. He grunts as you rides his face, your pussy juices dripping down onto his tongue. He reaches up to grab your ass cheeks, spreading them apart as he continues to lap at your sensitive spots. “Fuck, you’re such a slut.”

You whine loudly as you try to keep it quiet, your hips are moving faster and faster trying to find the best friction possible. “i can’t wait to fuck you,” his muffled voice makes you clench around his fingers, he roll his eyes for pleasure.

“i want your cock in my mouth first.”

Jisung chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust. He moves from under you, sitting right in front of your sore but still shaky body. His fingers moves quick on his jeans to unzip them down and to let his hard length free. He grabs you by the hair and pulls your head towards his cock. "You're such a dirty girl," he murmurs before pushing inside your mouth roughly.

You moan deep throating his cock as you look at him, you has tears on the sides of your eyes for the sudden moves and your saliva dropping down your chin. You never had a sensation like this, so filled. so big.

Jisung fucks your mouth roughly, his hips slamming against your face. He reaches down and starts to finger your wet pussy, adding another layer of pleasure to your already overwhelmed senses. "You're going to cum for me, aren't you?"

You nods on his cock, closing your eyes to feel every inch of his dick deep down your throat, you clench lightly around his fingers but you starts to bounce in them desperately.

Jisung pulls out of your mouth and watches as you bounces on his fingers, eyes filled with lust. He slaps your ass hard, "You like this dirty stuff, don't you?” You find yourself squirming under his touch, almost purring like a cat for more attentions.

Feeling your walls clenching around his fingers, Jisung growls low in his throat. He pulls his cock out of your mouth roughly, leaving your gasping for air. "wanna get fucked angel?"

"yes jisung, please."

Jisung chuckles as he spreads your legs wide, positioning himself at your entrance. He teases you by rubbing his tip against her slick folds before pushing inside. "You're so wet for me, just for me right baby? so wet.. just for my cock."

You nods gasping for air, your head moves backward as you moan louder, "f-fuck it's too big," you whine loudly when you clench around him, trying to adjust as quick as possible, his hands goes on your waist to lift you and let you stay on his lap, your faces are so close are you stare in each other's eyes.

Jisung's hands move to grip your hips more firmly, guiding your movements on his cock. He can't get enough of the sight of you bouncing on him, your breasts jiggling with each thrust. He watches you with hooded eyes, drinking in the sight of you writhing on top of him. "you’re taking it so good for me.”

"jisung.. oh j-jisung I wanna cum.."

Jisung tightens his grip on your hips, pushing himself deeper inside you. He groans in pleasure as he feels your walls clenching around him. "Oh fuck, baby. That's it. Keep riding me like that."

“a-ah! ‘m so close!” You says breathing heavily, your eyes half closed as your legs’s muscles are burning for tiredness but you are too desperate for an orgasm to stop. Jisung's thrusts become more forceful, matching her desperation. His hands move to cup her chubby cheeks, slapping them gently in time with their rhythm.

"God you're... you're so big.."

Jisung groans softly, his hips jerking forward as he tries to thrust deeper into you. He pulls away from your neck and kiss you passionately - almost desperately, your tongues dueling. "You make me so fucking hard." He holds onto your throat, pulling you onto his mouth to kiss you again.

"More jisung.. please more.." Jisung smirks, his thrusts becoming even rougher as he grabs you legs and lifts them up, holding them against the wall of your abdomen. He starts to bite down on your neck, his hips bucking wildly. "I love hearing you beg."

Feeling your orgasm, Jisung picks up the pace even more, he reaches down to rub his cockhead against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Jisung grunts, his hips bucking against you once more. He pulls out of you slowly and watches as a trickle of semen drips down your thigh. He smirks, his eyes fixed on yours. "Is that what you wanted, my pretty?"

Your blush makes him chuckle, nodding lightly as your squeeze your thighs again, breathing heavily and your expression of totally fucked. Tilting your head aside, hearing someone walking down the hall and your panicking expression just makes him more and more amused.

Jisung chuckles softly again as he looks at you still laying there. Then he tries to pull himself together and stand back up, only to moan softly as his legs are a bit shaky after everything that happened. “I know, right? It felt so good to know that someone could be right outside the door and could hear me making you beg like the little slut you are."

You hits playfully his chest as he lay right next to you, your body is incredibly sore, his arms slowly moves around your waist, pulling you against his chest. "Oh shut up."

"make me," he whispers teasingly in your ear, making you chuckle as he massage your hips with his hands, his head rest on your shoulder as you close your eyes, feeling your body slowly resting against the mattress. "are you sore?"

"yeah, I'm not even sure how I am managing to talk."

"get used to it," Jisung murmurs as he buries his face on your shoulder, "I'll do this, again.. and again.. and again." closing his eyes as you feels his breath getting more steady. Your eyes gets even heavier as you feel the warmth of his body curling behind you.

Something is sure though, he never lets the girl that he fucks in his bed after, not even for sleep.

He had the perfect plan, exactly knows how and when to expose you and your no-more-virginity. He knows what he would say, even what he wanted to say.

So why now, that he's with his friends during the last practice of the week, he feels like a shit to talk about it? the balls are bouncing on the floor of the gym and his mind is just full of thoughts, mostly about you. That afternoon wasn't the only one, after that you guys started to be even closer, hanging out creating excuses with studying, procrastinating homework, a lot of love making sessions. His friends keep provoke him, asking for pictures of you after sex, every single sign of you two together. But he always respected you with this, because it's too much, he starts to like to feel you with him. Letting you sleep with him after, even cuddle and he's not a cuddler, it's just.. he feels and act different with you. It hurts, because he knows that soon or later he needs to talk with you about the challenge and the deal.

"So, did you fuck her?" His friend asked as he jumps for spiking the ball that he just sett in the perfect spot for him, Jisung groan nervously, he doesn't want to talk about it.

He doesn't want to because it felt too good to spill every single part of it, his focus are on the ball and how to serve on the other side of the court, getting ready for the match against y/n's brother. "oh, is someone too into her now?"

Another teammate tease him playfully, the spank on the ball gets louder, every time that it hits the ground jisung feels his blood burning in his veins, "shut up."

"did you fell for her?"

"love at first sight!"

"oh she probably do good blowjobs."

"should I try her now?"

"you took the deal too seriously now?"

Jisung serve the ball, hitting the floor with a loud sound that makes everyone stops whatever they are doing, because that wasn't just a serve. That was almost a punishment serve, "I said shut up, I did it for the deal, for the money. stop talking about it."

The thing that jisung didn't expect it was you, right on the corner of the gym, you were ready to talk to him and tell him how much you liked it, how much you loved slept in to his arms and waking up with him right beside you. How his kisses and his caresses made you feel alive, loved, desired, accepted. The way that the same morning you needed to sneak out from his house because he didn't wanted to let you talk with his father and his brother; "precaution." Yeah, precaution. Now you know, know you know why he didn't wanted it, why he didn't came to you this morning as he did for the last three months, he didn't smiled, he didn't waved. he didn't hugged you, he didn't try to steal a kiss from you. It was.. nothing. Like nothing happened.

The steps of your shoes echos in the hallway, jisung turn at the sound, he was sure that you heard, he knows it was you. His mind gets blurry and he let his volleyball, his team. Right now he doesn't care if he lose the practice, he doesn't care if he needs to train hard to beat your brother, he teased him enough.

You're crying, walking fast and almost not standing in your own feet, it was all a deal; all for money. You stop walking when you feel that your lungs are not functioning anymore, you feel your mind spinning. Your sobs are echoing in the hall as you sits against the cabinets, why he would do that?

Then the reality hits you hard, like a bullet in your chest.

"You."

You hiss when jisung enter in your sight, he stops his walking almost feel shaking, he knows that you're judging him now, "please let me explain-"

"you did it all because of a stupid deal! you did.. you did it to piss off my brother, because.. because you're gonna play against him next month. You.. You used me." The truth starts to pass in front of his eyes, because it's damn true.

"That was before," you can't even let him finish before stepping up from your spot, stomping a little to face him, your eyes are still tearing up and he can stop the urge to wipe your tears away. "before what? before what jisung?"

Your tone it's hard, and he feels like a kid that gets scolded, "before I started to like you." his hand try to reach your cheek but you spank it first. He's shocked by your gesture, it's not in you, is not something that you would do.

Not to him, not to anyone.

People starts to get out the classes, you are still in the middle of the hall as students stops to listen and more to watch the fight, "like me? you.. Han Jisung. like me, now this is another one of your tricks."

"y/n please calm down," his warm voice makes you almost trip in your thoughts, his hands finish on your shoulders and for a second you're back of the night before, when you went over at his place, when he was touching you so firmly for the first time.

"do not tell me to calm down! I don't wanna see you ever again." Jisung's heart almost breaks, people start to whispers and he see only you walking away from him, too distant. He doesn't like it, he doesn't want you distant anymore.

Jisung doesn't stop though, he knows that if he lets you walk out of his life now, you are never gonna be back to him. "angel, let *me* talk, let me explain."

"You had enough power over me."

You moved.

Moved school, changed your way to be, you decided to cut everything that could remind you him. Jisung was and always be someone that took something to you, something that you wanted to keep safe and always for someone special. He was special, that's for sure, but you knew something like this would happen. So when you changed school to go in your brother's high school, you're not surprised of the amount of popularity that you started to have all of a sudden, because Chan never hide your sibling ship. He never lied to anyone about you. You started to officially be the little sister that he keeps close and tight.

Jisung broke you but you decide to grab the pieces that he left and create a new shape of you, getting out more, making friends and even hang out with boys.

Like now, that you're hand by hand with Hwang Hyunjin, walking inside on a party. Never expected about celebrating after Chan's team won the volleyball game against your old school, but going to an after party? That's wasn't in your plan.

"Com'on don't be so tense," Hyunjin whispers in your ear as he walks behind you, one hand in yours and the other placed on your hip, guiding you though the crowd of people from both of the schools. You don't pay that much attention of the house, but it's okay. You're there to have fun, just that. "I'm not tense!"

"Y/n, babe, I can see your shoulders moving up every single time you talk, don't close yourself I'll be with you the whole time."

"all the time?" you murmurs trying to search for a confirm, your eyes lands on his and his smile makes you feel less anxious. You don't want anyone see you like this, specially from Jisung's team, you're freezing scared just to think about them. To see his eyes again on you. "Let me get you a drink."

"She doesn't drink." His voice reach you fast, but the grab on your wrist it's tight enough to make you turn to his direction, seeing his mad face toward your best friend.

"Are you sure?" Hyunjin bark back, almost ready to pick up a fight with him just to defend you, your eyes run from one guy to the other, stepping back and clearing your throat enough to make both of them turn in your direction. "I don't need someone to talk for me, and I don't need someone to tell me what to do, I'm fine like this." They both back off from each other, walking in different directions.

You follow your friend, and as soon as you guys step inside the kitchen he burst into laugh, his hand over his mouth, "Oh my god! he was so mad!"

"you guys won today right?" You scoff chuckling and getting yourself a sip of water from the fridge, his eyes on you as he nods, your eyes travel down his chest lightly seeing the little open of his shirt. Some buttons are undone and that makes your cheeks grow red, "where are you staring angel?"

You take a longer sip that you expect as you shrug your shoulders, moving down the dress on your thighs with a shy behavior, it's clear that you're not usual to wear dresses, they are not exactly your type of dress code - in any way. The nickname that he gives to you makes a run of chills down your spine, sighing lightly, "nothing.. your.. your shirt. it's unbuttoned." He nods as he glance down his own black shirt, he chuckle lightly, "why don't you do it for me? I'm too lazy."

You roll your eyes as you leave the glass of water in the already full sink of glasses and plates, walking close to him enough for do this favor to him, "come closer, I don't bite." The tension between you two is building up quicker than you expect but his hands that travel from your waist to your hips, pushes you against his chest, your eyes are on his and you're that close to feel his breath against your face. His eyes are slowly closing, leaning for a kiss that you're to exactly refusing.

His eyes were cold on you. "y/n, with me." His voice kills the mood of the room, making you jump lightly backward with your cheeks red like cherries, "man, she can choose." his grip on your waist get tighter, you know he's not gonna let you go, but your instinct it's running away from both of them. Your eyes are on Jisung, his presence it's charming as usual.

"Not with you holding her that tight, let her go, she needs to talk to me." Hyunjin let you go with a grunt, he's not happy about it but you walk quietly toward jisung, his body shift and he turn towards the stairs. You follow him silently as your hand it's intertwine with yours, his touch it's still delicate with you. He lead the way to a specific room and then you recognize everything, every single second of it. His house.

You're back in Jisung's house.

"sorry I, I don't have that much time I'm with my brother and his friends so-"

"why did you left?" His voice it's not hard on you, it's almost hurt, if this topic it's hurting you more than you could expect, his head is down and you can totally smell the alcohol that leave his body, making you step forward to see if he needs some help with anything, anything. "needed to."

Jisung chuckle under breath, turning and facing you, he's close to tears as he moves one hand over his cheek bushing lightly his fingers over his chubby skin, "needed to? y/n, I feel.. I feel like breaking down every second that you're not near me, I cannot breath because you left. I wanted to run, run after you. Maybe chasing you is not the best idea but I.. I wanted you to stay. Please can.. can I touch you?"

His voice is a whisper the whole time, making your legs shakes, almost melting for his sweet talks - but you're too hurt for that. "You broke me, you took something from me, don't be the victim here." Your voice it's steady but inside you your heart is shaking as much as his hands are.

"I wanna touch you wherever he touched you just to prove you that I'm better," Jisung steps closer, his hands grabs gently your waist and his touch it's 100% better than Hyunjin's, you cannot lie. You're melting under his fingertips, he's massaging your hips so lightly that makes your breath die in your throat. "Jisung we can't."

He mumble something, but his mind it's too blurry for elaborate, he lean on your shoulder as he's eyes slowly close, he takes a deep breath of your sent. "if you.. just let me.. need you so badly baby."

Jisung's lips trace his face long the nape of your neck, his hands slowly moves on your ass grabbing your cheeks in a gentle squeeze, your hands goes between his hair as you start to breath heavily, "ji we are your party."

"Simon says, let me take the dress off." His whispers makes you shivers long your spine, biting lightly your bottom lip as you let his hands grab the hem of the dress, lifting it up easily in one smooth movement - he saw you naked before but his eyes on you always make you blush like a kid. "Simon says take off your pants."

Jisung's eyes light up when he see that you are okay with that, and his hands gets busy unzipping his pants and moving down enough to let your hard length free, "com'here angel."

His hands grabs the back of your thighs, lifting you up from the floor and pushing you against the wall, you kiss him with pure passion and needs, his cockhead rubbing against the fabric of your panties.

"please fuck me Jisung," you mumble as his hand reach your panties, pulling them aside enough for him to penetrate you without a warning. Your breath catch your throat as you moan in silent, covering your mouth and laying your back against the wall, his hands grabs your thighs tightly as he moan deeply with his face buries against your neck, "fuck, so tight, thank you.. thank you baby.."

You moan shakily and his thrusts gets even more desperate, pounding in you roughly and fast, he groans and starts to pound into you, his hips slapping against yours. He holds onto you legs tightly, not wanting to lose contact with this feeling. His mouth finds yours again in a fierce kiss, his tongue invading you mouth as he takes what he wants. His pace quickens, his thrusts harder and deeper. Jisung's eyes are full of lust and desire for you.

"I love you."

𐙚 tag list: @lyramundana

[the-anime-enthusiast]

pls shoto / hawks type of women

MHA CHARACTERS TYPE IN WOMEN

#2 Keigo Takami - Hawks

KEIGO TAKAMI - PHYSICAL

He likes his women a lil shorter 😌🫶 Like 5'2 - 5-6 buuutt will GLADLY take on a model height baddie ANY DAY OF THE WEEK "what's the point of wings if I can't use them to fly up and kiss you??" 🤧

AN ABSOLUTE ASS MAN he loves the legs, the butt, all of it and in between but besides be a total tweaker for a nice ass he has a special place in his heart for boobs 🫶 specifically b-c cups though 🌚 he doesn't know why but he likes a smaller size 😉

Siren eyes are his ULTIMATE WEAKNESS something about someone who looks so intense and like they're about to eat him alive bc hes so fucking annoying GETS BRO GOING 🤩 He can tease you all day any day but if you act like he's just another guy to you HE WILL CHASE YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE DAMN EARTH ‼️‼️

Sucker for dimples 😌 Loves to see some chubby cheeks with the cutest dimples 🫡 AND SMILE LINES OMFGGG 😍😍😍🙏🙏🙏 he doesn't even know what it is about them but it makes his heart SKIP A BEAT

He LUVS a sun kissed skin look 🌞 like a slightly tanned face with some redness left over from a sunburn, freckles starting to pop up everywhere HE LOVES IT 💥💥💥

Short and stout or tall and skinny he loves it all 🫡🫡🫡 Bro is NOT PICKY 😭 As long as ur face cute hell love you until hell freezes OVVVERRR BRO 🌚🌚🌚

KEIGO TAKAMI - MENTAL

Literally just someone he can vibe with 🙂‍↕️ If you match energy he will worship you like THE AIR HE BREATHES 😍 Just someone laid back and chill but also can have a fub time and a positive outlook on the future "pessimists are my worst enemy" was once scratched from an interview 🌚

While he loves an optimist and like minded folk realism is the most important thing he could ask for -- Someone who understands his job and the things he has to do 💯 (this stems a lot from the twice incident which i will touch on at the end of this)

Can we all admit he's fs got mommy issues ✋ he would die for a lady who will hold him in her arms at the end of the day and just let him exist in the peace and quiet of his home with her 🙂‍↔️

SMART WOMEN 😍 he loves someone smart, youre working to get ur PhD? SMASH‼️ A teacher ?? SMASH‼️ Literally any job or skill that requires emotional strength and a BIG BRAIN and he's weak in the knees 🤭

KEIGO TAKAMI - RANDOM

Blissfully unaware people who will lounge in bed all day reading a magazine then running up to him as he gets home from work peppering him will kisses is like a very specific want of his - 😭 bro just wants someone to love him fr ✊😔

Has a weird thing for teachers -💀 Anytime a girl is like "Oh yeah I never told you? I'm a Pre-K teacher!' his eye twitches and he feels like he's going insane 😶‍🌫️ (in the best way possible)

You're the only person he's ever told this or would let do this to him - but give him back scratches at the base of his wings AND HE EVAPORATES 🫠🫠

NERDS 💯💯💯 A secret fangirl???? He's never living it down. EVER. He'll bring you home limited edition, u released, ect ect merch for, not only him, but ALL THE TOP HEROES bc he gets first dibs from being so high in the charts 😌

Going of off nerds again, IF YOU CORRECT HIM ON SOMETHING (literally anything...it's concerning) HE GETS SOOO HOT AND BOTHERED he's never been able to figure out why but being out in his place by someone so intellectually advance does something to him 🧍‍♀️

THATS THE POST!! (but here's some end credits and comments rq 😉)

About the twice situation, although he recognizes what he did was wrong, he doesn't regret it, because it truly changed the tide and outcome of the war, and he needs someone who sees that and defends him whole heartedly ✋

ANYWAYS I HAD SO MUCH FUN DOING THIS REQUEST ‼️ I've never been a huge fan of hawks so it was SO much fun coming up with stuff and diving more into his character ‼️‼️ I hope y'all enjoy 😉

also...idk if y'all can tell... but I NEED HIM AND FUYUMI TO BECOME A THING PLEASE HORIKOSHI ID GIVE YOU MY LIFE (the head cannons have nothing to do with that shit it's all separate it just happens to line up VERY well) 😍

BYYEEEE THANKYOU ‼️

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.2

a/n: at my young, spry age, writing a twitter thread felt like "how do you do fellow kids", y'all better appreciate the sacrifice, Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: General Creepy Behavior, Plus Sized Reader, my inability to write a press conference yeehaw

Summary: First time in front of the cameras, you try to embrace your new persona... For better or worse

Pt.1 Pt.3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

This isn't you. You're not here.

The face staring back at you from the mirror might have some resemblance, but the heavy, over the top makeup distorts your features in a way, that makes you almost unrecognizable. The moment you've signed that contract, someone took your soul straight out of your body, containing it in a box, far from your reach. Sometimes you can almost feel it, the real you, like a ghost passing through a room. The Smirnoff you've carefully crafted over the years. She's in the way you walk, shoulders hunched, like you're carrying the weight of the world on them. In the heavy feeling of cigarette smoke, settling into your lungs after a rough day.

In the shower, you can almost hear her as well. Your voice is off-key, low, and doesn't seem to remember half the words, but it's much more genuine than the chirpy, lobotomized tone they commanded you to talk in. Media training was pure hell. It only lasted an hour, as your schedule appeared to be pretty tight, but the way Ashley spoke to you, with an air of patronizing authority, made you grit your teeth at the mere memory.

This body, soft and pliable, stuffed crudely into a corset that dug itself into your skin, like it was trying to force you to fit a mold. Those exposed, fishnet clad legs, were not yours as well. They were surely someone else's. Yours were hidden under all those flowery long skirts you've gathered over the years, so proud of your thrifted collection, which is now gathering dust back home. That's where you left the box with your soul, stacked it away under flowy linens and music sheets from your lessons. 

You ponder over this feeling. This complete separation from your body. Perhaps this was your true superpower. And then your phone alarm goes off, and everything is shoved down, as your platform boots... No... Fireball's platform boots, carry you out of your room and down the corridor. 

Homelander is already waiting for you, his stature imposing, looming  over a crowd of backstage workers, as they clean off any imperfections before the press conference. His eyes snap towards you, the moment you step into the room, and you swallow thickly, remembering your last, admittedly, very fucking weird interaction. Ashley flashes past you, giving you a quick once over, seemingly satisfied with your look. It's hard to tell really, she always seems to find some flaw that needs to be corrected.

- Did you read the talking points? - she asks, her eyes flickering between you, and her tablet.

- Mhm... - too low, you think, adjusting the tone of your voice slightly.

There's a lot of people, more than what you're used to. Moving past the red-head, you sneak a peak behind the heavy curtain, separating you from the reporters chattering outside. What you see, does nothing to calm your nerves, as your eyes scan over a crowd of smart dressed people, the microphones, the cameras. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, you've bitten off more than you can chew. 

- Nervous? - a familiar voice says to your side, and you pull back, like you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Homelander looks almost exactly how you remember, when you saw him the first time. When he tried to convince you, he's every bit the perfect person from his movies. There's a charming smile plastered on his face, and he holds himself with an air of heroic otherworldliness, not a trace of the creepy, leering supe you've come to know. Your eyebrows furrow, but you decide to play along. You're not alone here, there's constant buzzing of surveilence around you, after all.

- Very much, yeah - you admit, sincerely, throwing a cautious look towards the podium.

He laughs in a weirdly boyish manner. You imagine, this is how a Ken doll would laugh, if it was alive. His hand reaches up, grabbing your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. His touch feels like needles on your skin, but you smile nonetheless. Cameras, remember the cameras. There are people all around you, and as such, someone is surely watching.

- Don't worry, you'll do great - he announces, then leans forward, until his face stops mere inches from your ear, making your body freeze up at the proximity - Don't even think about embarrassing me out there. No outbursts, no remarks, just keep on smiling and be the fucking mascot they hired you to be.

Okay, ouch. He leans back, his expression never changing from that same, bright smile. You blink up at him a couple of times. It's honestly impressing, how he keeps up the appearance of a perfect, selfless hero. 

- Fucking hell, okay...

This time, the squeeze is anything but comforting, and you can feel all of his fingers dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

- Language - he scolds you with a pointed finger, and to anyone standing on the outside, the gesture might seem endearing.

You know the truth however, and it takes a lot of strength out of you, not to flip him off. It seems he's taking the role of a mentor a bit too seriously. Or perhaps, he's just a patronizing asshole. As you watch his plastic smile, you're more and more inclined to believe the second option.

Still, there is something grounding in the way he holds you close, his hand steering you towards the curtain, and as it leaves your shoulder, you find yourself feeling conflicted. Especially now, since the announcer is saying your name to the sound of moderate applause, which intensifies as soon as the curtain moves to the side, exposing you, and Homelander to the hungry eyes of the reporters. 

You knees start to wobble, as you're suddenly confronted with the reality of the flashing cameras, the lights, the voices. Your heart beats out of your chest, anxiety slowly but surely overtaking your body, and not knowing any other alternative, your hand reaches out in a gesture bordering on desperation.

Homelander flinches, when your fingers grab onto the material of his glove. His eyes flicker towards you for just a moment, taking in the rapidity of your pulse, thrumming through your veins. The shortness of breath, as your nails bite into the custom made leather. Your eyes are locked onto the reporters, and your body seems to be stuck in an awkward pose, in-between steps. Out of all the things, that could frighten you in your, frankly, hopeless situation, crowds were an unexpected turn of events. 

So much for the strong, independent whatever. Homelander lets your hand linger for just a moment, if only to amuse himself further, before he steps forward to the podium, adjusting the microphone to his height. Your fingers curl around air, and you force your back to straighten. 

- Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming - his voice booms through the conference room, and he takes a small pause, letting the applause subside - As you've probably been informed, I'm here to announce a very special, new member of The Seven. She'll be joining the team on a temporary basis, as a replacement for Lamplighter.

Shit. You swallow thickly, and Homelander's smirk grows into something sharper at the sound, hidden from everyone else but himself. 

- I give you, Fireball!

He turns to you with a flourish, inviting you to step towards the podium. Your eyes flicker towards his, and he gives you a pointed look, that makes your heart sink to the floor. Here you are, presented to the wolves by a much worse monster. Deep breaths, remember that fated hour of media training. There's a role to play, after all.

This isn't you. You're not here. 

A bright, practiced smile floats onto your features, and finally you take a step forward, your hands curling into tight fists at your sides. You can feel the texture of your matte lipstic pull at your lips, the high-end eyeliner sticking the corners of your eyes together. The reporters clap politely, and you try to focus on a point above their heads, like they taught you in high school. The last time you've been in front of such a crowd, was when your friend roped you into taking part in a student reedition of Heathers. A fucking miserable affair.

 You're a little bit too quiet, for a little bit too long, and Homelander bristles out of the corner of your eye. You can see his chest expand, as he inhales deeply. Then, he moves in front of you, standing closer to the microphone, and intentionally or not, saving you from all the curious looks. You take a moment to gather your bearings, closing your eyes for just a second.

- Now, we have limited time for questions, so let's keep it simple - he announces, scanning the crowd of raised hands. - Gentleman in the back?

- Hi, John Douglas VNN. A question for Fireball?

Homelander turns to you with that same, plastic smile, and you nod, trying to convince yourself, more than him, that you're ready to speak. He moves aside, just enough to make a sliver of space for you in front of the microphone, and you step up with a sigh. 

- Hey, what's up? - there's a tremble to your voice, which you try to swallow down. 

- I think we're all surprised by you joining The Seven - the man comments with a smirk - Can you tell us some more about the recruitment process?

You take a deep breath, imagine your friend in front of you, and lean against the podium with a lazy smile. You're not here, after all. This isn't you.

- Well, a video of me, helping out during a house fire went viral, and soon enough Vaught has offered me a temporary partnership. - there's a playful tilt to your words, and you can already see all the comments pouring in - Besides, y'all have seen the contract.

There's a murmur of sheepish laughter rolling over the conference room, and you swallow thickly, trying to fight off the dryness in your throat.

- Here, at the front? - Homelander cuts in, leaning closer as he speaks to the microphone. 

Absent-mindedly, you note he smells very, almost obscenely expensive, and your nose crinkles slightly as you take a breath. 

- Mileena Johnson, News Nation - a woman in a tasteful costume stands up - Given this sudden interest from Vaught, is it safe to assume you're not used to all this?

She looks around the room, then back to you and mirrors your smile, flashing her perfectly white teeth. With a sardonic expression, you lean towards the microphone again, some unknown, mischievous note entering your voice.

- Oh, yeah! - you confirm - I'm a media virgin, through and through.

There's a strangled sound of multiple people laughing, some reporters clearly thrilled by the joke, others shaking their head disapprovingly. There's a large portion just staring at you, and you fight off the urge to cringe at your own words. Then, there's a small noise, somewhere next to you, and pushed by curiosity, you look over at Homelander. He looks conflicted between keeping up the smile, and stepping in, eventually opting to lean back, his eyes shifting between you and the reporters with a hint of curiosity hidden behind them. 

And then he moves, shifting ever so slightly behind you, his hand finding purchase on the lower part of your back, his fingertips drumming lightly against the zipper. Your back straightens like a guitar string, a shiver of something running up your spine. With his free hand, he points towards another reporter, who stands up and introduces himself politely. 

It's hard for you to focus.

- How, in your opinion, an addition of such a young Hero will affect the team?

Homelander's hand climbs higher, towards the edge of your corset. You can feel his gloved fingertips dance across the stitching. 

- I'll do everything in my power to help the Seven fight for peace - you answer, voice slightly choked up, but your expression remains impassive.

- That's right! - Homelander chimes in, suddenly much more animated - Such a young, fresh, addition will surely motivate us to push ourselves even harder.

Another reporter raises her hand, and you're starting to scream internally, as Homelander's gloved hand abandons your corset in favor of running up your bare skin. Your smile falters for just a second, as he grabs onto the back of your neck, squeezing a few times, before letting his hand rest under your hair. 

- Something for the tabloids? - the reporter announces - I have to say, the both of you look great together, and since Homelander's recent breakup with Queen Meave, we're wondering, what exactly is the relationship between the two of you?

Fuck, fuckitty fuck fuck fuck, your brain scrambles for a proper response. That was not included in the talking points. Although eventual shipping was expected, you were aware of the culture, you though it would take some time for the thing to sail away. Unfortunately, the reporter blinks expectantly, and the longer you stay silent, the worse the rumors will undoubtedly get. Out of the corner of your eye, you can already see Homelander lean towards the mic, and knowing deep in your bones, that whatever he says, will be humiliating, you lurch forwards. 

- We're coworkers. He's my mentor, I'm his student. Do with that, what y'all want.

- Right, is there a chance that a romance may bloom? - the reporter pushes further, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

- I met him yesterday, y'all - you comment with an exasperated sigh, and force yourself to ignore the way Homelander's finger tangles itself into the hair growing at the base of your skull.

The reporter laughs and sits down, and this time you can't stop the sigh of relief from escaping your lips. Another hand shoots up in the back of the room, and Homelander points to it over your shoulder. A man in his thirties stands up, and even blinded by the reflectors, you can see the cocky smirk on his face. 

- I've seen the video - he starts, a flippant tone entering his voice - And I couldn't help but wonder, how did Vaught even let someone so inexperienced into the Tower?

It's quiet, dozens of eyes flicker nervously between you and Homelander, and his hand stills at your back. You're not here. This isn't you. And so, lips pulled back into a mean bastardization of a bright smile, you lean heavily on the podium, letting it all, proverbially, hang out.

- I flashed the doorman.

You don't have to have a degree in media analysis to notice the sudden uptake in flashing lights. Homelander's hand falls from your back in a languid motion, the leather of his glove dragging itself down your spine, before he moves, and takes up the entirety of space in front of the podium.

- And on that - he pauses, and pretends to look back at you, too lazy to actually commit to the bit - thrilling note, I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today. Thank you all for coming. God bless you all!

You wave a half assed goodbye to all the gathered people, and before anyone can say anything else, you turn on your heel and walk back towards a very pissed-off-looking Ashley. The white light of her tablet is illuminating her scowl, and involuntarily, you groan. 

- What the fuck was that? - she asks, before you get one word out - Freezing up like an idiot? Making stupid fucking jokes? 

Homelander enters soon after you, his expression unreadable. He stands in the back, arms crossed in front of his chest, observing your interaction with Ashley. Seemingly pondering over something. His inaction, somehow, makes flames of irritation rise inside your gut, and you direct your anger towards the red-headed woman.

- Stillwell is going to have my fucking head - Ashley lamments, eyes locked onto her tablet - This will be horrible for your ratings, not to mention Homelander's.

With a roll of your eyes, you step closer, grabbing the hardware and consequently, forcing her to look up at you.

- Oh yeah? - there's a note of bravery entering your voice, and Homelander's eyebrow shoots upwards - Check fucking Twitter.

For just a second, Ashley hesitates, blinking at you owlishly. Then, she taps away at the tablet, her features illuminated with blue. Homelander's hashtag is trending, as expected, but you can see your given Hero name right under it. The third hashtag makes you smirk. Ashley starts reading out loud.

"Have y'all seen that interaction between #Homelander and #Fireball?" 

There's a video, couple seconds long, where you can see yourself, frozen with nerves backstage, Homelander leaning over your form. From afar, it looks comforting, cute even. You smirk. It cuts to the moment his hand sneaked up your back. Even to you, the gesture looks like a show of support, although you're sure some groups of people will run with the romance storyline.

"I have an anxiety disorder, and #Fireball is showing clear signs of an anxiety attack"

"No media training seen in the room #iconic"

"Aww, look at #Homelander comforting her, they're so cute together"

"Did we collectively forget what he said during that graduation speech?"

"Let's normalize people learning and growing"

"It's honestly heartwarming, seeing someone with mental health problems in The Seven, I finally feel represented"

"And can we talk about how #Homelander handled the situation? Truly, #AmericasGreatestHero"

"#MentalHealthKing"

It's quiet on set for a long moment, as both Ashley and Homelander seem to take in this one Twitter thread, among many similar ones. You, holding in laughter to the best of your abilities, wait patiently, until Ashley finally looks up at you.

- I know, why I'm here - you tell her, and something passes across her features.

She clears her throat, swiping on her tablet.

- You have training with Black Noir in an hour - she informs you, her voice back to that professional, emotionless tone - We'll get some footage of it out to the public, so try to behave. 

- Yes Ma'am - you smile, and once again, she gives you a strange look, before turning on her heels, and walking away, a satisfied lightness to her steps.

It's only you and Homelander left backstage, and as you turn to face him, he's already looking at you with an appraising gaze. Despite yourself, despite his borderline creepy behavior, and the threats, and the touches, you can't help, but smile. It starts off slow, a small smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth, but soon after that, all your teeth are on display. Because fuck it, you're proud of yourself, and for the first time since you've met him, Homelander doesn't look at you like you're a cut of meat on a bucther's rack. 

- That went so much better, than I expected - you breathe out, and he nods. 

- It sure was something - he says, leaning on a nearby pillar.

You bark a short laugh at his admission, the adrenaline from your first real encounter with the press, keeping you on a high you were not expecting. There's buzzing at the end of your fingertips, and you shake your hands, trying to dispell some of the energy. 

- Oh, I was ready to shit myself - you huff, shaking your head.

Homelander sucks on his teeth, his eyebrow shooting up.

- Language. - he reminds you, and you put up your hands in mock surrender.

It's easy, riding the wave of your newly found success. As such, you ignore the way his eyes glide all over your body, stopping rather obscenely at your chest. You pretend not to notice, the way his hands twitch at his sides, and you definitely don't see the tightness in his lower area. No, all of it doesn't matter, because you've proven your worth, not as much to Homelander, but to the company, and fuck, if it didn't feel good. 

Your enthusiasm turns to ashes in your mouth, as Homelander leans forward, invading your personal space like it wasn't yours to begin with. There's a glint of barely masked anger in his eyes, the blue of his irises getting swallowed by a dangerous, red sheen. Not enough to hurt anyone, but enough to let you know, you're on thin ice. Which confuses you beyond belief, because up until this point, you thought everything went peachy.

A gloved hand sneaks up, towards you chin, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough, you can imagine them chipping the bones underneath. 

- Next time - he seethes through gritted teeth - Keep your fucking mouth in check, or I'll find a better use for it.

Oh, that's new. Your soul leaves your body once again, the box locking it away with a click, that sounds like thunder in your ears. Homelander frowns, as if he can see the change happen right before his eyes. And perhaps, even through the fog of anger, he's perceptive enough. His posture falters slightly, as you take a step in his direction, or, more likely, Fireball does. 

- Why wait, I'm standing right here - the challenging note in your voice surprises both of you.

He blinks. You blink. And then, his face changes completely. The authoritarian expression of anger melts away into something you'd never expect. An almost childish sort of giddiness enters his eyes, and if you were yourself, not Fireball, you would've found the sparkling blue of his eyes enchanting. Terrifying, but impossible to look away. You should be thankful for this separation, it is surely saving your sanity. 

Before he can act out whatever his twisted, blonde mind conjured up, you slip past him like smoke out the window, your platform boots clicking against the floor. It doesn't matter, none of it matters. This isn't you after all. You're not here. 

It's long past her working hours, when Stillwelll finally has the time to sit down and unwind. Her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her reading glasses, a recognizable, Twitter-blue illuminating her features. Her eyes scan the site for a moment, and then, suddenly, her hand comes up to cover her mouth. 

There it is. A picture of her best project to date. You're standing awkwardly, shoulders tense, a sheen of sweat on your forehead mingling with a foundation, that's worth more than your entire wardrobe back home. Homelander's hand is holding you securely, fingers splayed at the skin of your back. And above the picture... "#MentalHealthKing" 

Stillwell laughs, quietly but sincerely. Who would've thought.

[penvisions]

sweetening the deal {by the grit of sandpaper}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: Tommy Miller asked you to take his place beside his brother on patrols, and you're determined to not let him down even if you're far too awkward around the older Miller you don't know very well.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: canon typical language, pining, requited unrequited feelings, joel is so soft in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, joel miller's body needs its own warning, tooth rotting fluff, mostly joel pov, SET BEFORE THE FIRST CHAPTER

A/N: dear @copperhalfcent submitted a drabble emoji as part of the final chapter celebration and of course i got carried away, what a bummer, huh? here's this for y'all to enjoy until the final chapter comes out! ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

A rather loud crack of cartilage startles you, your gun aimed toward the direction Joel approached you and the horses from. He had dismounted to check out the small wisps of smoke with an urgent but quiet request to remain behind.

“Just me ‘n my bad back.”

“Should soak in some hot water when we get back.” You say as you lower the barrel, turning your attention to the tittering horses. You miss the way his eyes darken at the image of you covered in nothing but scented bubbles flashing in his mind. It was the middle of summer, your shirts having given way to tank tops that gave the man more than a glimpse of the swell of your breasts glistening with sweat. His hands twitch at his sides, his own gun secure over his back, pistol nestled in the holster at his hip.

“Afraid that won’t do much at my age.”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m far older than you, you can’t be more’n forty.”

“Tommy’s got a few on me, but he said you’re not much older than him?”

“I’m fifty-seven, he’s about fifty. Even older with a birthday comin’ up soon. More’n a few years, actually.”

“Oh. Well, I always did go for older guys.” And fuck if his cock didn’t twitch and his stomach didn’t swoop at the implications of your words. You must’ve realized they were uttered aloud as you spin back to face him with a twisted face, heat tinging the tops of your ears and your chest rising with a deep exhale of an apology he didn’t think was necessary.

“Shit. That was wildly inappropriate, Joel. I’m so sorry.” The worry in the lines of your face, the few wrinkles he could see around your eyes made his stomach swoop again. You were so god damn expressive once he got you talking, something relatively new as you both got used to being around each other, reading each other’s moods.

“No need to apologize, we all got our preferences.”

“Still, you-you’re…I’m just gonna shut up now.” He could hear the clack of your teeth as you snap your jaw shut, tense at what he figured you thought was too forward of a conversation with someone who you interacted with only a few times a week. But he frowned, not liking the way you interpreted their easy-going patrols that had begun to develop into something he would call genuine friendship.

“Nah, is okay. Filters are for people who actually say inappropriate stuff. You’re fine, Olive.” He watches the way you begin to lead the horses down an overgrown path, falling into step behind you. Something that paired with the smoldering fire he had found keeping his eyes and ears open to those responsible. “When’s your birthday?”

“I’m a winter baby, which is ironic because I don’t like the cold.” His eyes trace the same line a drop of sweat as it makes its way from your braided hair and down the back of your neck. The increasing heat not seeming to bother you as it did so many others who had the relieve of central air in Jackson.

“Not a fan either, being from Texas we didn’t get much of it.” Joel realizes he hadn’t told anyone of his past other than Ellie in…god knows how long. You were smart though, no doubt picking up on the twang his voice carried, the particulars of it telling of his past just as much as his answers to each new question. But he was willing to share it with you, something about you softening the edges of the walls he had built up around himself. Of wanting to find out what you had in common and what you didn’t.

“Do you…like sweets?”

“Huh?” Even if he were privy to the innerworkings of your mind, the question would still have caught him off guard, doubly so since he wasn’t.

“Uh…sweets? Like cake or tart or even muffins?” Nervous, he realized, you were nervous around him sometimes. But it was so unlike the rest of the town, nervous as in worried about accidentally offending him or saying the wrong thing, not nervous he was going to throttle them. He had done his best to work alongside Tommy, to appease Maria and the council, to show them that he was committed to turning a new leave and abiding by their way of life to ensure he and Ellie had a place to call home. It had been a rough couple of months, but you sure as hell sweetened the deal.

“Wouldn’t say no to ‘em, but never went out of my way to get any for myself.” The question of who he would go out of his way to get them fore glints in your eye, but you purse your lips and refrain from another question. He rather likes betting against himself to see if you would ask the many he sees cross your face. Your brow was twitch just before you did, if you allowed yourself. Your lips would twitch if you didn’t, like you were holding back the words springing up in your mind.

After a rather awkward first couple of patrols, he had realized the set of his face may have come across as uninterested. But you were so sweet, so quiet and he found himself wondering about you beyond the bubble of time you shared while out on patrol. Tommy had barked a laugh when he asked how long you had been here, the glimmer of teasing only a younger sibling was capable of lighting up his face. Longer than him, he had said. Which meant you had to have been a part of it for a while.

Time passes and his birthday is suddenly something Tommy makes a point to stop by the house with a classic yellow cake covered in chocolate frosting.

Figured you for a simple man, so a simple cake seemed the safest bet. Hope the day is good to you, Olive.

The note attached to it was inscribed with beautiful, looping writing. Tommy had remarked that you were the go to baker for cakes, even if the requests were made at the mess hall where he learned you were one of the cooks behind the scenes. Each new piece of you he learned making him want to know more. With the thought to thank you next patrol, he accepted the cake and his brother’s company.

Ellie had made him breakfast before school, but he had remained inside all day, busing himself with cleaning and carving to ignore the memories the date always brought up. But that evening, he smiled over a small dinner with his brother as they cut into the cake almost immediately after. Glad he had opened up to you and to find that you thought of him as much as he was beginning to think of you. He would return the favor by bringing coffee, something he was learning was a commodity few had a steady supply of. A branch of his own to let you know he didn’t think you were being too forward in any capacity.

Even more so when he noticed a third slice stolen from the platter it was delivered on the next morning, a card beside it from Ellie wishing him another year for her to tease him.

taglist: @joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal @merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon

@keylimebeag @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc @part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel @blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @r4vens-cl4ws @picketniffler @joeldjarin

[halfrican-heat]

Upstanding Gentleman (Ony)

Onyankopon was raised in a strict Ghanian household. He was pretty strait-laced...until he met you, of course. Still, Ony has many tricks up his sleeve that never fail to surprise you.

A/N: Yes, I'm high. Hello. So, this is the second Ony post I've had lingering in the back of my mind. It's in head cannon format but I think this could be something. Enjoy!

Warning(s): Explicit Sexual Content; Depictions of smoking marijuana; Penetrative Sex (p in v), Oral Sex (M receiving), Sex in childhood home, Black reader in mind, N-Word used; AAVE/Dialogue with Dialect

Pairing: Sober!Onyankopon x Stoner!Reader

Inspired by: Lauryn Hill and my bf :)

Sober!Ony was raised by a single mother who kept him in line. No drugs, no alcohol and he definitely had a curfew.

Straight A student and graduated the top of his class in high school

Spent majority of his childhood playing video games and taking apart old computers his mother would bring home from her teaching job.

Played basketball and practiced frequently with his friends

Loved taking photos and drawing

Only smoked weed once when he was seventeen and felt guilty about it for a week before he told his mom. (She smacked his head but wasn't that mad)

Never had a thing for drinking. His mom let him have some wine during his graduation dinner. His uncle, later that evening, gave him some liquor. Ony wasn't a fan.

Sober!Ony who went to college in a different state-- hours away from his mother.

He chose to go to a school pretty far away from home to study photography. He loved his mom but he felt like he needed a firm separation from his home life and college life.

That's where he met you. This sweet little thing from a town he had never heard of. So cute...

...and yet you smelled like trouble. Ony's suspicions were confirmed when you offered him a blunt in your car one night. Y'all had been talking for a minute at that point but you never gave off stoner vibes.

Ony declined but didn't mind hanging out as long as you rolled the windows down.

Turns out, you were a huge stoner. Bongs, smoking pieces, a stash larger than some of the ones he had seen back home. You weren't a plug, not really, you just really loved weed. You were super smart, too. Ony had known people like you from back home-- motivated stoners who smoked frequently but it didn't impede them getting shit done. You were like that and Ony really liked that about you.

Ony wasn't sure how to proceed at first but...one thing was sure: You had a hold on Onyankopon that he just couldn't deny.

Sober!Ony who, four years into your relationship, isn't super sober anymore.

"Mama, let me get one of them fruity drinks out the fridge." "They got alcohol in 'em Ony," You call from the kitchen. "I ain't ask you all that. They taste alright-- I feel like a classy nigga drinking them." "Okay, Classy Nigga," You say, bringing him one. "Mister Classy Nigga to you," He says, with a wide grin. "Pinkies out, baby."

Sober!Ony who branched out after meeting you but didn't partake as frequently as you did.

"Let me get a hit, baby." "Nigga, you don't smoke!" Ony kisses his teeth, side-eyeing you. "Then do that shit where you kiss me and blow the smoke in my mouth." You laugh loudly, throwing your head back at his nerve. "Okay, baby," You say, sparking up. Afterwards "Shit, where my inhaler at?"

Sober!Ony who made a great impression on your parents. Perhaps too great.

Your dad loves him, speaking highly of him every time your boyfriend comes up in conversation. "That Ony is a fine, upstanding gentleman," Your dad alway says. Little does he know... "What's that, ma?" His voice is husky in your ear as he thrusts into you roughly. His hand is over your mouth as your childhood mattress squeaks under your weight. Ony has you bent over, his pace punishing as he fucks you from behind. Tears streak your face as you helplessly claw at your sheets "Better be quiet," Ony drawls. "Don't want your folks to hear us, right? Or they gonna know what a slut you are for this upstanding gentleman."

Sober!Ony who loves the way you give head while high.

After many extensive and deep discussions about consent, Ony finally lets you give him head. At first, he was chilling. But then... "Shit, baby! Fuck," He groans, his head falling back. "Slow down, ma." You got his cum on your cheek from the first time he came but you don't care. You don't let up, taking his length down your throat. You suck the entire way down, slurping as you pull back to swirl your tongue around his leaking tip. Your tongue runs along the vein underneath his shaft before taking him back in your mouth, hollowing you cheeks as you slurp him down. "Fuck," He hisses, throwing his arm over his face. You had that man's toes curling and all.

Sober!Ony who loves how sexy you are at any given time of any given day but especially loves when you're feeling yourself while off the za.

Now the skies could fall...not even if my boss should call... Your hips sway seductively to the music as you take a pull from the blunt, in your own world. Lauryn Hill blasts from the radio as your lights change colors in a slow fade. Ony stands at the door of your shared bedroom, watching you sing and dance. You turn slowly, finally noticing him. You wordlessly hold out a hand to him with your body still moving to the music. See I don't need the alcohol...your love make me feel 10 feet tall... He takes your hand, pulling your body close to his. His hands trail your body, finding your ass as the two of you grind on one another. Yeah, Ony is gonna take his time with you tonight.

Sober!Ony who loves you as much as you love him despite your differences.

"Papa, you seen my bong?" "Judie?" "No, the other one." "She in the kitchen cabinet, baby."

"Ma, you seen my screwdriver?" "The fuck you doing drinking those?" "Bae...the tool. My tool." "Oh, it's on the counter by the microwave." a moment later "Onyankopon, what the fuck did you do to my damn radio!"

Overall, Sober!Ony who has changed a lot since the two of you got together. As long as you don't give him any cause for concern, he's happy to let you do as you please (and partake when he feels like it). You level each other up in ways no one expected. You're his lady and Ony doesn't want any one else but you.

"C'mere, my lil pothead," He says, cuddling up to you in bed. "Shut up, nigga." "Watch your mouth. Now lemme rub my legs against yours..."

A/N: I had fun with this. Asks are open!

[simp4pedropascal75]

bad guy (Joel Miller x Reader)

summary: since joel came to jackson, you only had eyes for him. but he didn't had eyes for you.... well, he did. but he hid behind a facade of a cold, mean asshole.

trigger warnings: 18+, minors dni, mature content included, some angst, fluff, explicit language, mention of guns, smut (f!nger!ng, p in v, mention of daddy k!mk, praising, degrading), age gap (reader in his 20s, joel in his 50s)

words: 2k

a/n: hey guys, so, this is my first post after a long break now. this was my first time writing smut, i'm still learning yk, but I hope you like it! Please keep in my mind that english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for spelling mistakes and stuff.

Also I wrote this while driving to Croatia and I'm still sitting in the car, so yeah. There'll be a part 2 of this ff:) now, I wish y'all a fun time reading<3

-------------------♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡--------------------

Why do girls always love the bad guy? Why can’t I just find normal people attractive? And especially men in my age, you think.

Obviously I can’t, because I love Joel fucking Miller.

Since he came with this girl Ellie to Jackson, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. You tried, you really tried. But no, Joel stayed in your mind. Every fucking time he walked past you, butterflies flew in your stomach like crazy. When he looked at you, your heartbeat speeded up. And god, when he talked to you, even for just 10 seconds, you needed to squeeze your legs together, because you couldn’t bear the ache between your legs.

But sadly, he didn’t talked to you often, he didn’t look at you, he just always walked past you. Sometimes you two had to go on patrol, but to be honest, he was an asshole. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, he was mean. He was so cold towards you. The only person where he softened up, was Ellie. You and her got along well, she is a smart girl, with a big mouth, but still smart.

But, what did you expect? He’s like doubled your age. But you always found men, who could be your dad, more attractive than boys in your age. Older men are more mature and… they have experience.

With every boy you slept in your age, has never made you cum, never.

Not to mention your daddy issues.

Actually, you’re on patrol with him right now. It was quiet, very quiet, while you walk through a abounded building with him. You’ve met some clickers on your way, but they were easy to kill. “So, was it already so quiet when Tommy was out on patrol?”, you ask him while you reload your gun. “‘haven’t talked to him”, he answers cold. You look at him confused, because they usually always exchange about their patrols.

“Why didn’t you?”, you ask curiously.

“Why would you care?”, he scoffs and doesn’t even look at you. He stands up and continues to walk.

Asshole.

“We have to move, come on”, he adds. You just roll your eyes at him, get up and follow him. “Well I care, because we have to know what we have to expect.”, you mumble pissed.

He turns around to look at you with a stern look. “If you would shut your fucking mouth, maybe we could hear what we have to expect”

Yeah, that’s it.

“You know what, I don’t fucking care. I understand that we’re definitely not friends, but that doesn’t mean you have to act like the arrogant bastard you are.”, you speak upset. “Guess what, I don’t like you either, but at least I try to be nice to you!”

“Shut up.”, he whispers harshly.

“You want me to shut up?! Did I hurt your ego because someone finally said how you really are, Joel Miller?! I swear I’ll soon kick you in your non-exciting balls-“ He suddenly slams you against the wall and covers your mouth with his hand. “I said, be. quiet.”, he growls quietly. You try to move and push him away, but he’s too strong.

As you give up and stare into his eyes, you hear it too, stalkers.

You feel how the speed of your heartbeat increases and feel the big ache between your legs again, but even stronger as the last time’s. His chest was pressed onto yours and you sense his hot breath on your neck. While Joel’s concentrated on the sound of the stalkers, you get a chance to admire his face closely. His hazel eyes, his lips… and his nose.

Fuck.

As the stalker noises get quiet and disappear, you gulp as he stares into your eyes. He releases your mouth from his hand and you take a deep breath. “s-so.. where was I-?”, he cuts you off.

“You really can’t shut up, can you?”, he raises an eyebrow at you as he asks.

“You fucking basta-“, suddenly he smashes his lips on yours. That’s when you get quiet. Your heart was beating out of your chest while you were melting under his touch. You can’t resist and wrap your arms around his neck while kissing him back.

Joel’s hands run up your curves while he’s pulling you even closer to his body. You feel how his dick begins to harden under the fabric of his jeans. He stops kissing your lips and continues to place kisses on your neck to leave you with his marks. You whimper softly as you feel how his hand glides down your stomach. As Joel slides his hand under your pants, he touches your already wet panties. “god, were you so desperate to be touched? you dirty little girl.”, he whispers in your ear and nibbles on it. “Fuck, Joel-“, you breathe. He pushes your panties aside and his thumb starts to rub your clit slightly.

“you need to be quiet, darling.”, he whispers again as you feel his hot breath on your neck again. As you nod and give him your permission he slides two of his fingers into your core. “Joel- I-“, you begin to breath heavy. You really tried to keep quiet, but as he starts to pump his fingers into you… “Joel, I can’t-“, you moan, that’s when he puts his hand over your mouth again.

“keep fucking quiet, you’re gonna’ get us killed..”, he growls as he stares into your eyes.

While he continues shoving his fingers inside you, your hands make your way to his belt. As you start to unbuckle it, he slaps your hands away. “not here.”, he whispers harshly.

“Please Joel-, I need you.”, you whine.

“No.”, he says with his deep voice, which even more aroused you. You start to feel your climax coming nearer, so does Joel as your inner walls squeeze his fingers gently. “Joel, I’m gonna-“, you cry out and he immediately covers your mouth again. “thats it, baby.. cum all over my fingers, darling…”, he whispers right into your ear and that’s when you reach your climax. He presses his hand onto your mouth to quiet down your moan and a slight smirk appears on his face. As your legs are still shaking, your hands try to unbuckle his belt again, but this time, he lets you do it.

“Fuck, y/n… you really want to get us killed, don’t you”, Joel groans quietly.

“Please Joel-, just-“, he cuts you off while slamming his lips onto yours again. He flicks his younger against yours and gasps as your hand touches his clothed dick. “Goddammit, y/n!”, he growls.

“Please Joel, I need you inside of me-“, that’s when he can’t resist your begging and he turns you around the wall and pushes you against it. “‘risking to get killed, just to be fucked by daddy’s cock”, he whispers and you hear how he pushes his pants down, which leaves a smile on your face. He takes his dick into his hand and rubs the tip at your wet pussy. His other hand glides to your mouth again, because he knows you definitely can’t keep quiet.

And he’s right.

You cry out loud as he pushes his shaft into your throbbing core.

God, he’s big.

“Fuck.”, he exhales. He begins to thrust into you while your moans get louder, he presses his hand harder on your mouth. “Such a good girl, taking my dick so fucking good”, Joel praises which makes you squirm under his grip. His other hand rests on your waist and his breath starts to get heavier. As he increases the speed, you feel how your legs begin to shake again. “how long have you been waiting for this, hm…?”, he breathes into your ear and wraps his arm around you to pull you closer. Joel begins to hit your g-spot and as your breath becomes heavier, your moans do too.

“Use your words, princess”, he groans into your ear.

“S-since you came here-“, you try to answer while he’s trying to muffle your moans again. You hear him chuckle. “‘never thought that you’re such a dirty girl”, he whispers. “‘squeezing my dick real good- you’re gonna’ cum?”. You nod.

“Words.”, he growls. “Y-yes, I’m gonna cum!”, you whine and you rech your climax. As your pussy tightens around his cock, you hear his groan and feel how he fills you up with his cum, leaving you two breathless.

.

.

.

As we walked back to Jackson, he was quiet, too quiet. “‘you’re okay?”, you ask concerned and also confused while he’s walking in front of you. “This was a mistake”, he growls and keeps walking. “What- I don’t understand-“, you mumble confused and grab after his hand so he stops walking. “What don’t you understand?”, he speaks louder and pulls his hand away. “This, was a mistake”, he points with his finger at you and himself. “A fucking big one.”, he growls and turns around to walk. “So, after you just fucked the shit out of me in a building full of zombies, you tell me that this was a mistake?!”, you almost shout and walk after him.

I can’t believe him, you think.

“yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”, he points out and it seems like he really doesn’t care. “Are you kidding me right now?! Don’t you notice how fucked up this is?! You fuck me and now tell me it was a mistake, and you don’t even feel bad!”, you shout after him upset and try not to tear up. “Exactly”, he just answers coldly.

“And now what huh?!”, you try to grab his hand again and finally get him stop walking. He turns around and just looks at you, his eyes were pitch black now. You don’t see any emotions in his face.

“Now, we’re going our separate ways”, he grumbles coldly.

.

.

.

Why do girls always love the bad guy?, you think.

It’s already been two months since it happens with Joel. And like he said, we’re going our separate ways. He didn’t look at you, he didn’t talked to you and he didn’t even went on patrols with you anymore. And you really tried to hate him, and did because of what he did, but you couldn’t get this night with him out of your mind anymore. Every time you close your eyes, you feel his lips on yours and his dick thrusting deep into you.

So, since he really didn’t felt bad and ignored you like you don’t exist, you tried to keep on with your life and tried dating again. You’ve met a really nice boy, Jack. He was two years older than you and he really was a gentleman. He was nice, kind and lovely. He made you laugh and feel safe. Since Joel didn’t go on patrols with you again, he did. And it was fun. Today you’ve had your third date already and as you walk into the bar, you see Joel sitting there.

Fuck.

And that’s when it hits your memory again. His hand pressed on your mouth, his hot breath on your neck and his dick pounding into you. You got pulled out of your mind, as you feel Jack’s hand on your waist. “Hey there, beautiful”, he says with his sweet smile. “Hey”, you smile back and go with him to your table. You thought Joel didn’t notice you, but he did. He saw you with this guy before, and god it has made him jealous. But Joel’s good at hiding his feelings, always hiding how he looks at you in secret.

You and Jack had a good time. Sometimes you took a glance at Joel, but his back was turned towards you. As you two finished eating, you stood up and wanted to look after Joel, but he wasn’t sitting there anymore. “I’ll pay real quick, you can wait outside”, Jack says and places a kiss on your cheek.

You nod and go outside. It’s already dark outside. A breeze of cold air flies against your body and you get goosebumps. That’s when you let your keys fall. “Fuck…”, you swear and try to see them in the dark. As you spot them, you bend down but suddenly someone else picks them up.

As you look up, you freeze:

“Joel.”

-> part 2

[jacks347]

So I was relistening to Sam for the billionth time and once again came across David lecturing Darlin for being dumb.

Now, this episode gives me...mixed feelings. It always has. And the point I'm about to make was actually one of the first I ever made on the Discord but y'all know me, never missing a chance to restate and overexplain.

I'm most definitely not the first person to point this out but Darlin's first interactions with Sam that get them chewed out are extremely similar to Milo's first interactions with Sweetheart. They both meet somewhere where the listener shouldn't be, they come to a tentative agreement, then fight something that gets them fucked up and was kind of stupid. The difference is, as far as we know, David never finds out about Milo's stupid mistake. And, if you ask me, a shade is far more dangerous than a couple of vampires.

Can you imagine that pack meeting? Darlin getting read the riot act, Milo sitting there knowing he did something just the same but got away with it. Do you think he called them out? Or do you think he stayed quiet, knowing he had no room to talk?

And more so, how do you think Darlin reacted when they found out the story of how Milo and Sweetheart first met? The indignant rage of knowing what he did and got away with, the memory of the burning shame they had to sit there and endure, the humiliation they felt getting lectured like a child. He did the same thing and got none of that. I always imagined that when Sweetheart told them that they had to go take a walk for a few minutes in order to keep a cool head and not explode and then refused to talk to Milo for three weeks so that the rage would calm down and they wouldn't have to suppress the urge to break his jaw whenever they spoke to him.

The point I first made was "Do you think Darlin holds a grudge against Milo for not getting the same lecturing that they did?" Maybe it's not a strong one, but it's there.

It's interesting how the same event characterizes people differently. In Darlin's case, we see them as reckless and stubborn, someone acting out without a plan. In Milo's case, we see him as strong and protective, wanting to help keep someone safe. How can the same even paint one character as a hero and one as a villain when they did the same thing?

Because of connotation, my friends.

Milo has been painted as the smart-mouthed but fiercely loyal and protective friend, so we (including the rest of the pack) want to see his actions in the same light. Darlin has been painted as a brooding, emotional outcast, someone who acts rashly but with good intentions, so we see their actions similarly. But that's not fair. It's not fair to Darlin, who just wanted to protect their friends, and it’s not fair to Milo, who needs to be reminded that him throwing himself in the problem headfirst in life or death situations isn't the solution.

In conclusion, Milo deserves to have his little excursion with Sweetheart revealed and be reprimanded out of respect for Darlin cause that shit ain't right and it bothers me.

(Also, one more thing. In Sam's first healing audio after the double vampire fight he asks why Darlin wouldn't just tell a healer to shut up and heal them when they started asking questions. But in reality, the healer that Darlin would've gone to while running on instincts probably would've been Marie and yeahhhh I'd like to see anyone tell that woman to shut up and do something. Don't fuck with Mama Greer.)

[highwayorgantrade]

Safe House

Pairing: Female Reader! X Soap

Request: Nooo

Summary: Oh no! A bunch of soldiers posted up in your farmhouse bed and breakfast?? Whatever shall you do!! Should you fuck them??

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, volume (keep quiet), unprotected sex, cervix kissing 

Author's note: Okay listen y'all I did not plan on doing this whatsoever. I was in the middle of writing a Graves thing when I got this idea and I knew I just had to get that damn little brain worm out before it ruined my life further. This is gonna be a series!!!!!

The mission had gone wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong. 141 thought they were smart by teaming up with Los Vaqueros again to take down a trafficking ring - “Positive international relations,” Price had called it. “We even got imported muscle.” He grinned, referring to the 6’10” man they had called in, after hearing of his ability to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

 However, the ring had decided on the same tactic, bringing in a nearby cartel to defend their location. Quickly, way too quickly, the group was overwhelmed, frantically phoning in to Laswell for extraction.

“Don’t worry,” She sighed, after directing the seven men to a relatively safe area, the black-tinted SUV already flying gravel. “I have a friend.”

You had just so happened to be the friend. Well, the relative was more accurate, being her sister-in-law. You knew what she did for work, but you never thought she would call on you for help with it.

“Please, (Y/N), it’ll only be for a few days, I swear. A week, tops.” She called you early one November morning. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” And you knew she wouldn’t. The fact was simple: You had lived relatively nearby, and the bed and breakfast you operated and lived in certainly had the facilities to house eight people, and it so happened to be the off-season.

You were eager to accept, happy to help your sister, and it would be nice to have some muscle with the chores that needed done around the property. When the SUV pulled up, you quickly regretted your decision. You had expected a house full of military boys, tearing around like a pack of dogs, but out stepped six of the most attractive men you have ever seen, all completely different, but equally as handsome and rugged. Two were masked, but Christ, were they big anyway. As they loaded packs out of the van, you stepped into the grass, the cold air causing you to draw your cardigan tighter around yourself. When you approached, you kept a safe distance - partly because you didn’t know them, but also because you were afraid that if you got too close, you’d get lost in the intricacies of their faces.

“Hey!” You spoke finally, the rustling of the dying leaves nearly drowning you out. “I’m (Y/N), I hope the trip out wasn’t too awful!” You internally cringed at yourself for giving them the usual spiel you reserved for guests, but continued anyway. “Come on in, all the rooms are pretty much the same, but you can pick, so… that’s something.”

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” One of them finally spoke, casting a friendly grin your way, and you turned quickly to hide the burning on your cheeks. 

You were proud of the way your property looked, hidden well off the road in a small forested area, the whole thing had kind of an eclectic feel to it, but you still felt kind of strange leading them into the common area. 

“Okay!” You clasped your hands together, and tried to remember that you were only a housing opportunity - they had more important things to focus on. “Well, uh, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, but you might see me flitting about here and there. What’s mine is yours.” Some nodded their thanks, others were making quick work of checking their bags for God knows what, and one, the one in a skull mask, merely stared down at you, his large arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… You took that as your cue to leave, and you quickly stepped out the back door, hoping to make progress on your chores before the sun set.

The frigid air felt nearly unbearable compared to how hot you were burning in their presence - you didn’t even realize that you were slightly sweating. With a sigh, you reminded yourself of your responsibilities. Repaint the gazebo, refill and hang the bird feeders, and fix the greenery so everything is in full bloom by summer. Leaves crunched under your step as the half-painted gazebo came into view. You could hear voices coming from your house, a few with different accents, mostly British, but you could pick out a Scottish, a vaguely German, and a couple Spanish lilts. A booming laugh echoed, and you relaxed your tense shoulders at the sound. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Kate.” You mumbled as you settled into the grass and popped open a paint can.

She was pretty. It was the first thing Soap had noticed. It looked like she belonged here, in the woods, with the wind blowing her hair and birds singing in her presence. No doubt she kept them well-fed. He had barely listened when she spoke - he was much too focused on how her sweater wrapped tightly around her body, or how her eyes seemed to physically sparkle with curiosity. She had said something, Soap had no idea, but he responded anyway. Something about the drive? The rooms?

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” He answered, stabbing that it was an appropriate response. The way she averted her eyes and a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips told him that he was successful. When she turned around to lead them into the safehouse, Price gave him a nudge and shook his head ‘no.’ No fucking Kate’s pretty little sister? Might as well ask him to walk on fucking water, next. 

She had promised to make herself scarce, and Soap was silently thankful. He didn’t want this woman caught up in what they were doing, and he didn’t want her to know something that could get her in trouble - Laswell would never forgive them. When she left, Alejandro was the first to speak.

“Nobody talk to me about this mission tonight.” He grumbled, and Soap recognized that as a request long ago, based on the way his jaw was clenched nearly the entire drive to the location, muttering what Soap assumed to be expletives every so often. He trudged up the stairs with his bag, Rudy trailing not far behind. 

“Right, then.” Ghost spoke, rolling his shoulders and pulling out a map of the enemy facility and laying it on the wood table, and Soap nearly laughed at how out of place it looked. “If they’ve gotten support from that gang, it eliminates them from support from anyone else, and makes them a target to others, not just us.”

“We need to get to them first.” Konig’s hand landed on the map, gesturing vaguely at an entrance. “This was lightly guarded.” Soap stared at the location, before his eyes flitted out the window to see you approaching a gazebo outside, and he itched to get this out of the way.

“Aye, they might reinforce that entrance since they know it’s weak now. Leaves somewhere else open to vulnerability.” Soap strategized, his eyes lingering on how your hands ran through your hair, and JESUS, how did it still look perfect after that? A light thump on the back of his head pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked back to see Gaz with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. 

“No-go, mate. Red zone. Laswell would have your head on a stick.”

“Might be worth it.” Ghost chimed in, following his gaze to the woman.

Price pointed a warning finger to Ghost, his face stony.

“Ghost, stop instigating. Gaz, leave Soap alone. Konig…” He took a breath, considering the man had nothing to do with their antics. “Good job. Soap, I wish I had control over who a soldier decides to sleep with, but I don’t.”

“That girl in Ibiza left a bad taste in your mouth, Cap?” Soap retorted, recalling one of his more infamous hook-ups, and Price laughed loudly.

“Lesson for the inexperienced,” Ghost turned to Konig. “Remember your date’s name or she will throw a knife at you.” Konig shook his head at this, and slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to call it a day.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

Soap had already tuned the ribbing out, and when Ghost packed up the plans, he was already tracing your path, walking out the back door to meet you.

A rustling of leaves caused your head to perk up, and you turned to see the one who had spoken to you earlier, a small smile on his face.

“Need any help?” He tilted his head at the gazebo. “More hands make less work ‘n all.” You looked back at your work, having made minimal progress since you began. 

“Oh! Yeah, sure. If you want.” You responded, pulling the paint tray out in front of you so he could take the spare paintbrush. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I’m Johnny. Most of the guys call me Soap, though.”

Soap? The nickname seemed to come out of nowhere, and you crinkled your nose at this.

“Why do they call you that? You shower more than everyone else or something?” He laughed at this, reaching up to cover the underside of a railing in white paint, and you fought to keep your eyes from lingering on his arms.

“Good at cleaning house, love.” Soap corrected you, your lips pursing at the nickname. “How long have you had this place?”

You shrugged, simply happy that he was making conversation with you.

“Coupl’a years. Since I was twenty. Bought it as a dump and flipped it.” He makes a noise of approval and takes a deep breath. 

“Your, uh, boyfriend live here with you, does he?” At this, you can’t help but allow a laugh to tear through you, both in recognition of what Soap was doing, and out of pure shock that he was doing it.

“Not sure where my boyfriend lives, I haven’t met him yet. Let me know if you find him, though, yeah?” Soap shook his head.

“I don’t think I will, but thank you for the offer.”

The back and forth with Soap left your head reeling, and you considered your options as you painted in silence. Kate would kill you if she found out, but she doesn’t need to find out. It has been terribly long since you’ve even been on a date, or even had sex for that matter, and Soap certainly isn’t the worst looking man in the world. He clearly had a great body, and you delved down the rabbit hole of how his arms would look pinning your arms above your head, his battle-worn dog tag trailing cold electricity down your chest.

A flash of yellow light pulled you out of your musings, and a firefly landed on your knee. You took a deep breath and turned to Soap, his attention garnered by your sudden movement of waving the small bug away.

“Do you wanna have a drink tonight? With me?” Your face was comically serious, and Soap let out a soft chuckle as he replaced the lid on the paint, taking the brush from your hand.

“Aye.” He stood, sighing a bit at the noise his knees made, and handed you the paint tray.

“I’ll, uh, go put this up and meet you inside.” You offered him a small smile, and his head tilted at you, trying to hide his own.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soap had to stop himself from running back into the house. Giddiness coursed through him, and he burst through the door to see Gaz, Ghost, and Konig sat in various places around the living room, the TV tuned in to the local news.

“Get the fuck out.” He stated simply, his eyes wide and a dumb grin on his face.

“Pardon?” Ghost barely spared him a glance, and Konig automatically stood, silently confused as to where he was supposed to go. Gaz merely stared up at him.

“I said,” Soap wrapped his hand around Ghost’s bicep and pulled, forcing the man to stand, and Gaz followed. “Get the fuck out.”

“You sendin’ us to bed, then, eh?”

Soap picked up Ghost’s bag for him, and shoved it into his chest, nearly pushing the men up the stairs.

“I am.” He turned to Gaz, his mouth already open to protest, and pointed a finger in his face. “If you fuck this up for me, I will end you.” 

The second the three men shut the door to their respective rooms, you stepped back into the house, locking the backdoor behind you.

I raised an eyebrow at the television, and grinned at Soap.

“Did you turn on the news?” I ask, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of wine from cabinets, pouring us both a fairly full glass.

“Yeah, it’s a new form of foreplay.” He laughed, taking a sip. “Learnin’ that we world is shite.” 

“Oh, so foreplay is important to you?” And that question was your first step. He glanced at you from across the kitchen island, and you could just see the gears in his mind turning, figuring out the best way to get himself into your bed. Honestly, he could have asked to bend you dead over the kitchen counter, his large hand pulling your hair as leverage as he thrusted into you from behind.

But your imagination always runs wild.

“Mm. ‘S very important.” You cocked your head at his answer, and he shrugged. “I prefer to have a girl simply beggin’ before I even think of finishing.” He took a step around the island, not quite in front of you, but leaning on the side. You sipped your wine again, trying to cover your reaction to his answer, but there was no wine glass big enough to cover how you pressed your legs together, one hand gripping the counter with slightly more force than necessary.

“How do you do that?” It was an effort to keep your tone even , trying not to show how badly he was affecting you.

“Eh.” He set his wine glass down, finger lightly circling the base of the stem. “Usually have ‘em coming a few times before I get my own.”

Holy fuck. You needed Soap, and you needed him bad.

“Ah, so only good reviews then?” Damnit, why is your voice suddenly higher? You cleared your throat to try to get it to return to normal, and the fucking bastard smirked at you.

“So far. Tell me, love.” That damn nickname again. “When was the last time you were fucked?” You opened your mouth to answer, but it didn’t matter as Soap began talking again. “Ah, lemme revise that. When was the last time you were properly fucked? The last time someone had you cryin’, had you just stupid on their cock?”

You were buzzing, shaking slightly at Soap’s vulgar words. His accent got lower, rougher as he spoke, and you could feel your arousal tying a knot in your throat.He simply stared at you, waiting for your answer with a dumb smile on his face, like he already knew.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” He began, in mock sympathy. “Never?” You shook your head at him, not wanting to tell him the truth.

In all reality, you’ve never orgasmed with someone else. It was all only you, and you learned quickly not to say this, as all men would try to be the first. Then you’d end the night by lying, and they would go with their egos inflated.

You both stood, the tension in the kitchen more than you could bear, and just as you were about to dismiss yourself for the night, Soap wrapped a hand around your forearm - Not tightly enough to worry you, but just enough so you looked up at him, your faces inches from each other.

“Love, I don’t like to, uh, think I’m all that, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like to try. Show some thanks to our host.”

In one last attempt at quieting down your own perverse thoughts, you set your wine glass down, and looked at the floor.

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me Soap.”

“I absolutely do,” He responded immediately. “I really do need to. Nothin’ better than a pretty face while I work.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering all the ways this could go bad. Every single one was overrun with the way Soap was searching your eyes, silently pleading for you. With a purse of your lips, you poured the rest of your wine down the sink, and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

You barely got the words out before Soap wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way up the stairs, searching for any room that didn’t look like it was already occupied.

“Mine’s on the other end.” You breathed in an effort not to laugh at his eagerness, and he turned on his heels toward a door that was differently painted than the rest. He placed a hand over your head, protecting you from a bump as he ducked through the doorframe, and less-than-gently set you on your bed, locking the door behind him.

When he turned, you didn’t see the sweet man offering to help you with painting, you saw a soldier. A soldier tuned into your every breath, every movement, and every thought. He kneeled in front of the bed, between your legs, and began planting lighter than air kisses on your ankle, untying your shoes and setting them to the side haphazardly.

“Red means stop.” He whispered against your skin, traveling upward to your knee. “Yellow is slow down, green is good. Repeat it.”

“Red is-“ You were cut off by your own gasp as he delivered a light bite to the inside of your thigh before kissing it again, and you could feel him smile against you. “Red is stop. Yellow is slow. Green is good.”

“And where are we now?” He breathed against the spot right where your thigh met your most sensitive area, and you felt your stomach jump.

“Green. So, so green.” A whimper escaped you, and Soap tsked, like he was about to scold you.

“Stay quiet, lass.” Teased Soap, as he slid your shorts down, along with your underwear, and he whistled lowly. “A Chriosd ann an ifrinn, seall ort, a nighean bhòidheach.” And with that, he licked one long, thick strip up your cunt, dipping down to tease your hole with his tongue. Soap was eating you out like a man starved, and you were obsessed. 

Light, breathy moans left you, ever so aware of how quiet everything else was. 

“Tell me what feels good, love.” He punctuated his command with a nip to your thigh, pulling your mind out of the pleasure-induced haze. His tongue traveled through your folds, eyes trained on you to see your reaction to his ministrations. Soap’s lips wrap around your clit, fingers toying with your soaking entrance, and it felt like all rational thought had left you. You didn’t care about who exactly was between your legs, nor if his team could hear your desperate mewls.

The pressure inside you was building, and your movement was strange - trying to wriggle away from the incessant barrage against your clit, and trying to grind impossibly closer to Soap’s lips, and by his huff, it was clear he had enough of that. One large arm wrapped around a thigh, his other pressing down on your abdomen, and the only noise Soap could muster was a few low groans as he continued devouring you.

The knot inside you was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like it was going to snap any second. A split moment of panic ran through you as your back arched off the bed, Begs and cries tumbling out of your lips before you could think of them.

“Soap, please, please.” You cried, hands aching from gripping the sheets. “Please don’t stop, please…” Staying true to your direction, Soap was unrelenting against you, the combination of his sucking, biting, and licking at your clit had dizzy spots appearing in your vision. With one hard push on your abdomen, and a particularly slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, you felt that snap, and you finally understood why it was called the Little Death.

Your mind had gone completely blank, mouth open in a silent scream, and your thighs clamped around either side of Soap’s head, where he still had yet to stop drinking you. It felt like your heart had even stopped beating, until the pounding was heard in your ears. As Soap continued, you felt your body lurch upwards, fingers tangling in Soap’s hair until he finally looked up at you, his hand coming back to slide a finger into you.The sudden intrusion forced a gasp from you, and he gently kissed your thigh, where you noticed the ache that predates a bruise.

“How we doin’, love? We okay?” His voice was impossibly sweet, a complete 180 to how he just made you feel. You nodded, despite feeling like every single sense in your body had been blown out. His finger continued sliding in and out of you, your walls pulsing around him.

“Green.” You confirmed breathily, and he smiled a wolfish grin before adding a second digit into you, his pace quickening. A quick flash of aggravation and desperation coursed through you, and you knew how to get exactly what you wanted. 

You looked down at him, eyebrows upturned in a pleading look, and your doe-eyes were working overtime. 

“Please, Soap, just fuck me.” You said, voice higher and more gentle than you thought it would come out, and he groaned, rolling his head against your leg. His fingers took on a ‘come here’ motion, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the feeling.

“Ah, I know what you want. You want these…” Soap planted a kiss on your thighs, interrupting his own speech. “God, these pretty thighs pinned behind your head, taking me so well, takin’ me so good.” He looked absolutely pussydrunk, his eyes darting between your eyes and his fingers, tsking and offering a slight noise of false sympathy when a tear rolled down your cheek. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel that fire building inside of you again. “Christ, love, you wanna come again, huh?” You nodded furiously at his question, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your tits. A bright look crossed Soap’s face, and while his hands continued, his mouth met your hands.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, and before you could think, he bit down - the orgasm that crashed through you was stronger than the last, and the muscles in your thighs screamed from being clenched so tightly. You felt his fingers work their way out of your pussy, hissing at the feeling of your walls clenching around nothing.

“You want me to fuck you now, pretty thing?” His face was almost smug as he climbed up on the bed, one hand going to your lower back to effortlessly raise you, and he peppered light kisses on your sweat-covered face. Of course you want him, how could you not? Your body was buzzing with the aftershocks of two orgasms, and here he was, lining himself up with you.

“God, yes, please.” You breathed, hands coming to rest on his back. Soap brought his lips down next to your ear, sending another shock straight to your core.

“Beg better.” He punctuated his command by rubbing his cock through your folds, and you twitched when the head ground against your already sensitive clit. Beg better? Fuck you, Soap. 

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you and, hopefully, how serious you looked.

“Fuck me, Soap. Now.” 

The simple instruction was all it took for him to push inside you, and it was like it activated something in him - Soap simply could not shut up.

“Ach, mo Dhia, tha thu a 'faireachdainn cho foirfe timcheall orm. So perfect.” He planted a kiss to your temple. “So perfect, my pretty girl.” 

You brought your lips up to his neck, kissing the curve where it meets his shoulder, and his babbling only continued as his cock dragged against nearly every nerve, your broken moans echoing through your room. God, his slow pace was nearly agonizing, you wanted more, you needed more. It was like Soap read your mind as he paused, hooking your knees above his shoulders, effectively pinning you into the mattress. He flashed you a wicked grin before he began his jackhammer pace, and this new position had him reaching impossibly deep inside you.

A vague, low ache began in your abdomen every time he bottomed out, his head kissing your cervix every single time. The depth combined with his pace, his groaning and endless praise in your ear - it felt like it was all culminating in a perfect storm, one that was threatening to break down every fibre of your being.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going to-” You interrupted yourself with a low, hoarse groan, your admission only spurring him on as he replaced his hold on your knees with his hands.

“Look at me, love, I wanna see it, I wanna see you.” His stuttering hips told you he was in the same spot as you, and you both were not going to last much longer. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He growled, and that was all it took for you.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as you released around him, and your ending brought his own on. Curses left him lips as he buried himself inside you, collapsing next to you.

“Ach, come ‘ere.” He breathed, reaching his arm out to hook around your waist and pulling you to him, one leg wrapping around his waist. One hand rested on your jaw, planting kisses on your forehead, cheek, anywhere he could get access to. Your body felt numb, and you knew he stayed true to his word - you were fucked absolutely stupid. You wanted to talk, you wanted to ask where this left you? Would you ignore that this happened? Would it recur? Would he tell his team about it? You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t - The song of crickets and his heartbeat was a lullaby, and one that you couldn’t fight.

The snare of sleep overtook you as your heart rate evened out, and only one thought was on your mind before you gave up the fight for consciousness:

You really fucking hope you don’t regret this.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 2: The Jailhouse]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, historical topics including war and discrimination, smoking, blasphemy, kids, parenthood, alcoholism, y'all know exactly who is in jail come on now, Pizza Hut, a wild ex-husband appears!

Word Count: 7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevir @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

Amir is sitting at the kitchen table and icing peach cobbler cupcakes; he has a single white flower from a dogwood tree poked through one of his cornrows. He wears a short sleeve button-up shirt with a kaleidoscopic geometric pattern, high-waisted khaki shorts, and eyeglasses with large rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. He has one leg crossed over the other and is kicking it absentmindedly as he works, a habit he’s had since long before you met him in your 9th grade English class. The microwave is humming. Walk This Way is blaring from the little pink boombox.

“Ho, I mean it this time, I gotta get the hell out of this town.” Amir uses a fork to place a small peach wedge—sauteed in butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla—atop the swirl of buttercream frosting, then sprinkles the cupcake with cinnamon before moving on to the next. “Guess what some inbred neanderthal swamp creature did last night. They busted a window out of my car again.”

“I told you to take that thing off it.” Amir has a homemade bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that reads, in holographic rainbow cursive: Fuck Ronald Reagan (not literally)!

“That war criminal can let 50,000 people die of AIDS but I belong on America’s Most Wanted for exercising my First Amendment rights?”

“I know you’re not wrong. You know you’re not wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“To be afraid is to behave as if the truth were not true. Bayard Rustin said that.”

“And I’m sure he was a very smart man, but he didn’t have to live in Napoleonville.” The microwave beeps, and you remove the sweet potato inside with an oven mitt and place it on the counter alongside the others. This is a trick you’ve learned: they’re so much easier to peel and slice once they’ve been microwaved a bit, thirty seconds for a small potato, one minute for a larger one. “You want me to ask Willis to do a stakeout or something?”

“He might be the one committing vandalism.”

You frown down at the sweet potatoes as you peel them over the cutting board and toss the skins into a bowl so Cadi can feed them to the squirrels later. You doubt Willis is responsible, but one of his friends very well could be.

Amir sighs, acquiescing, wistful. “Six months from now I’ll be in San Francisco.” Yes, he will; he’s been saving up for years. The thought of him leaving is practically apocalyptic. You can’t envision a future without Amir. It’s like the very worst version of when you’re a kid and some event—Christmas, your birthday, summer break, prom—is so glimmeringly monumental that whatever life will exist beyond it is incomprehensible, a haze of other people’s dreams and warnings. Surely you won’t exist in that timeline; surely you will dissolve away once that fateful checkpoint is reached and become nothing but sun and sand.

You don’t tell Amir any of this. You don’t want to make him feel guilty. Instead you tease: “You sure you don’t want to stay and get a job on one of those shiny new oil rigs?”

He laughs as he pipes buttercream frosting onto the last peach cobbler cupcake. His artistic talents far surpass yours, but you bring the baking techniques and recipe ideas. Still, you have always split the bakery profits—however meager they might be—equally. “Yes, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to lose half my skin in an explosion caused by company negligence? Or inhale toxic fumes, or have my limbs ripped off, or fracture my skull? Or fall off a platform in the middle of the night and be eaten by a gator before anyone bothers to fish me out? I will surely regret all my life choices when I’m lying on the beach in Pacifica next to my new boyfriend who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The front door opens. It’s Mr. Fontenot, the town pharmacist. You call out: “Hi there! Come right on in! We’ve got your cake ready. Blue velvet with marshmallow cream and topped with candied blueberries. We read up on how to make them just for you. So thank you kindly for the learning opportunity.”

Since you’re wrist-deep in sweet potatoes, Amir leaps up to retrieve the box. He opens it so Mr. Fontenot can inspect his order. “When you cut into it, you’ll see that it’s a dark royal blue on the inside. Cookie Monster blue, not robin egg blue, just like you wanted.”

“Will ya look at that,” Mr. Fontenot says, beaming down at the cake. Written across the marshmallow cream in blue icing is (in Amir’s most elegant script): Happy 8th Birthday, Corey! “My grandson is going to get such a kick out of a blue cake.”

“He sure is,” Amir agrees. “Now can I talk you into anything else for the party? Some peach cobbler cupcakes, perhaps? Praline brownies? A brown sugar pie? Homemade Fruity Pebbles Rice Krispie Treats? Kids love them…!”

You say once Mr. Fontenot has gone: “He works for the company, you know.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Aemond. He works for Jade Dragon. He’s an engineer.”

“Ho, you are obsessed with that man!” Amir says. “You’ve brought him up, like, four times already!”

“Yeah,” you confess, a humiliation that is futile to deny. Parts of you are still sore from what he did to you; other places are aching for more.

“And you didn’t even get to see the dick?!”

You shake your head as you cut the peeled sweet potatoes into haphazard chunks. Amir puts a pot of water on the stove so you can boil them until they’re soft enough to mash into filling for a sweet potato pie. “Didn’t see it, didn’t touch it…”

“Didn’t lick it, didn’t suck it?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Seuss. But no.”

“Secret dick, scar on his face, missing an eye…” Amir mutters. “Maybe he’s a veteran who lost his andouille in combat! Yes! That’s it! He was there when we invaded Lebanon or Grenada or Libya and now he’s horribly disfigured and can’t bear the prospect of your inevitable horror and rejection!”

“His andouille is definitely unchopped. I could…uh…tell. Through his jeans.”

Amir closes his eyes and presses his palms together. “Sweet baby Jesus, please send me a gainfully employed big-dicked blonde man too.” He looks at you again. “But he really wouldn’t use it?!”

“Aemond said he wanted me to trust him first.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you might be on the prowl for Shotgun Wedding #2. You should tell him he’s got nothing to worry about in that department. You’ve been on the pill practically since Cadi was born.”

You murmur: “And I will be forever.”

“I know,” Amir says gently, pausing to squeeze your shoulder before taking the sweet potato hunks you’ve sliced already and dropping them in the boiling water. “So! When are you going to call him?”

You startle. “I can’t call him! I called him the first time. Now it’s his turn to call me. I can’t call him again, that would be desperate. Right?” Right?!

“Does he even know your number?”

“He knows my name, and he knows about the bakery. The number is publicly listed, he can find me in the phone book.”

Amir groans. “Lord have mercy, just call him! Pick up that pink phone right there beside the refrigerator and press those cute little buttons and say, loud and proud: Come on over here, big boy, I want to see that traumatized war veteran dick.”

The phone rings. You trip over your own feet as you lunge for it.

Amir snickers. “Pathetic!” He takes over slicing the rest of the sweet potatoes.

“Hello?!”

You hear a deep, slothful drawl; Willis’ family have been bayou people for longer than the United States has been a country. “Hey sugar, you want to bring your favorite ex-husband some dessert?”

You sigh. “Hi, Willis.” From across the kitchen, Amir makes retching noises.

“So what’d ya say? I just had a late lunch and got to thinkin’ of you. Gave me a sweet tooth.”

“Um, I don’t know, we’re really busy right now.” Amir snorts; you’ve had three customers in the last hour. There’s usually a rush first thing each morning and then again around closing time.

“Ya ain’t got time for me? Well, alrighty then. Maybe I won’t have time for you when you need a wild hog chased off your porch or a flat tire changed out there on Route 401.”

This is the eternal dilemma, the balance you wrestle with like a boat in a storm: not making him angry, not letting him get too close. You and Willis don’t have a formal agreement for custody or child support. You’ve worked it out yourselves, and he typically doesn’t make it too difficult. You’ve always felt that appeasement is the wisest course of action. As the elected sheriff of Assumption Parish, Willis Boudreaux is responsible for all criminal investigations, court proceedings, and tax collecting. Even when he was just a deputy, he had plenty of friends at the little white courthouse in the heart of downtown Napoleonville. You’re better off working with him than against him. “Okay, fine, I guess I have a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you make a professional recommendation?”

You glance irritably at the kitchen table. “We have brown sugar pie, peach cobbler cupcakes, praline brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, uh, I’ve got half a strawberries and cream cake left in the fridge…”

“Definitely the cake,” Willis says. “I love strawberries. Remember how you fed them to me on the beach when we went to Grand Isle?”

That was…what, eight years ago? Ugh. “Barely.” You like when Willis has a girlfriend; then he mostly leaves you alone. Tragically, he and his most recent fiancé Colleen broke up last month. “I’ll drive the cake over now.” You slam the phone receiver into the base before Willis can respond.

“Let’s kill him,” Amir says.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“We can feed him to that gator out in the tree row.”

You grab a flat white bakery box off the pile, fold it open, and fetch what remains of the strawberries and cream cake from the refrigerator. “You’ll get that sweet potato pie in the oven if I’m gone for a half hour?”

“Yup. Then I’ll start working on the brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies. Is the recipe…? Oh, I see it, it’s right here on the counter. Got it. Have fun with your awful ex-husband. You sure you don’t want to add a little something special to that cake? Windex? Rat poison? He sure looks like a rodent to me. That nose? Those eyebrows?!”

“Amir, he’s just French.”

“He should be exiled to Saint Helena.”

“I’m going to have to put my own ad in the Bayou Journal,” you say, smiling sadly. “Who’s going to run the shop with me when you’re in San Francisco?”

Amir winks. “Maybe your traumatized, half-blind, hung-like-a-horse war veteran knows how to bake.”

Outside, the gator is sunning herself by the gravel driveway. She’s only about five feet long and dozing with her muddy green eyes closed, jagged upper teeth on display, missing toes here and there, back scarred by boat motors. It’s 90 degrees and sunny, warmth flooding over your bare legs and arms: denim shorts, lime green tank top. You can hear cicadas, doves, chickadees, starlings, goldfinches, ospreys, the benign droning of bumble bees. You throw the white box in the passenger seat and start your Chevy Celebrity, yellow paint, wood paneling, brown velour upholstery. You crank down the windows—the air conditioning is broken, that’s one reason why Willis’ brother was willing to sell it to you so cheap—and turn on the radio: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. You pull out onto Route 401, headed northeast towards downtown Napoleonville.

You pass fields of sugarcane and soybeans, shacks and trailers, grass green like emeralds. The hot mid-May air, humid and stagnant, blows through your hair. If the ride was any longer than ten minutes, you’d have needed a cooler for the cake. You find a parking spot on the street outside the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and grab the box containing half a strawberries and cream cake, probably just starting to get melty around the edges. Deputy Melancon is on his way out when you arrive. He holds the glass door open for you.

“Comment ca va, cherie? Is that for me? I hope so!”

“I think your boss would chew your arm off if you tried to get between him and this cake.”

Deputy Melancon guffaws as he ambles towards his police car. “Have fun in there! It’s a zoo today.”

“What…?” But now you can hear the noise coming from inside the building: howling, banging, Willis telling someone to sit down and shut up, his Cajun drawl lethargic and calm. Willis is not a yeller, and you’ve never witness him raise his hands in violence. The being a cop part of his job is the aspect he enjoys the least. But sitting around jawing with his deputies until long after midnight, regaling them with tales of supposed glory acquired while you were home with a screaming baby, scrubbing floors, fixing dinner, still bleeding eight weeks after birth, waiting—because it was all there was to look forward to—for him to walk through the door and shuffle to the couch and collapse there with an ice-cold can of Bud Light in his fist, dripping condensation down his sinewy forearm? That’s what Willis lives for.

Willis is at his desk and grudgingly plodding through an intake form. His sunglasses have been shoved up into his dark curly hair; his hat—which he loathes wearing—is resting atop a mountain of deserted paperwork. There’s a poster of Heather Locklear on the wall along with a dartboard with a cutout of Tommy Lee in the center. There’s a man in one of the three holding cells that you’ve hardly ever seen used. He has slicked-back blonde hair, an aristocratic wisp of a moustache, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny red shorts and thick foam rainbow-patterned flip flops. He’s the person responsible for the ruckus.

“I want my phone call!” the prisoner shouts as he beats his palms against the iron bars. “Hey! Hey, mullet boy! I want my fucking phone call!”

Oddly, the stranger has a British accent. Aemond? you think for a split second. But no; this man couldn’t possibly be related to Aemond. He is short, slouched, soft all over, uncoordinated and uncomposed, pathetic, petulant, innately pitiful. Willis ignores him. He speaks to you instead.

“Bienvenue, sugar. Ya got something sweet for me?”

Obediently—though not entirely willingly—you bring him the white box and set it on his disorganized desk. Willis produces a stack of Styrofoam plates and a Ziploc bag full of plastic eating utensils that he keeps stocked in a drawer specifically for such occasions. He opens the box and sighs euphorically, his eyes on the moist pink cake and layers of whipped cream frosting as if it’s the flesh of a naked woman.

“Hey!” the prisoner shouts, gripping the iron bars and pressing his flushed cheeks flat against them. “Hey! I like cake too!”

“Just what I needed,” Willis tells you, as if the man isn’t there. “Sit down, eat with me.”

“I really don’t have long.”

“Ya got five minutes, don’t you?”

I guess I do. You sit down but don’t take any cake. As Willis cuts himself a slice, you can’t help but watch the man in the holding cell. He stares back at you, a little ashamed, a little defiant, palpably weak. You ask Willis: “What did you book him for?”

“DWI,” Willis says with his mouth full of cake. “Driving While Intoxicated.”

“Huh. You don’t usually pick people up for that.”

Willis points at the prisoner with his fork for emphasis. “This one was very intoxicated.”

The man kicks the bars with his flip flops. “I want my fucking phone call!”

“Ya already used it,” Willis says pragmatically, and nods to something on the floor of the holding cell: an empty, grease-stained Pizza Hut box. The prisoner looks at it, regretful.

“I didn’t know I’d only get one,” he admits. “But also! You ate three slices of my pizza!”

Willis chuckles. “Consider it payin’ your taxes.” Then, to you: “It was tres bien. Meat Lover’s. Ya can’t argue with that.”

“Hey cake lady,” the prisoner says, his prominent eyes weepy, needful, a deep stormy blue. “Can I have a piece? Please? Please? I’m having a rough day here. My flip flops are giving me blisters and your redneck husband committed pizza theft. And I’m in jail.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“Good for you. Smart cake lady.”

Willis says: “You just settle down and I’ll drive you over to the parish jail as soon as I’m done with my dessert.” He shovels cake into his mouth; he eats like a gator, like a pig.

At last, you cut a portion of strawberries and cream cake—the whipped cream frosting turning thin and runny—and place it on a Styrofoam plate. Then you get up to take it to the prisoner. You have a soft spot for the freaks of the world. You and Amir, you know exactly what it’s like to be freaks.

“Don’t give him no fork or nothing,” Willis says around a mouthful of cake. “I can’t have him tryin’ to kill himself.”

“As if I’d give you the satisfaction, Sasquatch!” the prisoner flings back.

“It’s the Rougarou we got down here, son,” Willis replies, unbothered.

You set the plate on the beige linoleum floor close enough for the prisoner to reach out and drag it to his cell. When you step back, he retrieves the cake and eats it with his bare hands. “Oh, fuck, this is so good!”

You turn to Willis. “Cadi keeps mentioning some horseback riding camp that a bunch of her friends are going to this summer. Can we make that happen?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! It’s over $300! That’s a new boat!”

“I think it would mean a lot to her.”

“Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year.” Willis licks pink cake crumbs from his fork. “Why the hell’d she ever get it cut like that?”

You shrug, irritated. “Because she wanted to.”

“Never wears no skirts or dresses, doesn’t care about jewelry, always got dirt on her face…ain’t she gonna want a boyfriend in a few years? Who’s gonna take her out lookin’ like that? Who’s gonna marry her one day?”

“She’s ten years old, Willis.”

“She’s been spending too much time with your little friend, that’s the problem.”

You glare furiously at him, but are interrupted before you can say something unwise. The man in the holding cell has finished his slice of cake. He sucks frosting off his chubby fingers and then yanks on the iron bars in vain. “I gotta go home! I gotta feed my ferret!”

“Guess ya should have thought about that before driving 70 miles per hour in a school zone, Mr.…” Willis glances at the intake form to refresh his memory. “Targaryen. What the heck is that, Italian? Polish? It ain’t French, that’s for sure.”

“It’s Greek, you dumb hick.”

Willis jabs his plastic fork at him. “You oughta watch that, son, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty case of what the liberals call police brutality.”

“He’s a Targaryen?” you ask, stunned. The man in the cell peers back at you with large, ever-wounded, ocean-blue eyes, glassy but not entirely unintelligent.

“So what?” Willis says.

“Willis, those are the oil people. Jade Dragon, the new rigs on Lake Verret? The Targaryens own that company.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” he marvels. “Really? This bon a rien right here, his family are a bunch of millionaires?”

“Yes. And you should probably let him make another phone call.”

“Yeah!” the prisoner says excitedly. “Listen to the cake lady!”

“Alright, alright,” Willis grumbles. “Guess I don’t need no legal trouble.” He picks up the phone off his desk and walks it to the holding cell; the cord stretches just far enough. “Make your damn phone call, gros couillion.”

Mr. Targaryen snatches up the receiver, punches some buttons, and listens as it rings. “Hi. Okay, don’t yell at me. Here’s the deal. I’m at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and I need you to pick me up. Wait, I said don’t yell at me! Stop yelling!!”

“I really need to get back to the bakery,” you tell Willis as you make for the door. “I’ll see you around, okay—?”

“Hey, sugar.” You stop and wait for him to finish. He’s considering you in that way he does sometimes: mild, thoughtful, vaguely sad, how’d we end up like this? He should know, you’ve told him a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean he understands. “I’m supposed to be gettin’ a new deputy next week. When he shows, I’ll send him down your way, recruit ya another customer. Charge him a little extra if you want. He won’t know no better.”

“Thanks, Willis,” you say, and you mean it. Then you step outside into sun glare and the shrieking of cicadas.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost dinnertime when the phone rings. You’re heating up the turtle soup that Amir brought over earlier, stirring the pot as the sky outside turns from a crystalline blue—just like Aemond’s eye—to rust and amber and fool’s gold, as the twilight air breathes into the room warm and ancient. There’s a plump nutria nibbling on grass at the edge of the backyard. Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go pipes from the boombox. At first you’re too startled to race for the phone—too terrified that it won’t be Aemond, too afraid to get your hopes up—and you hesitate just long enough for Cadi to answer instead.

“Hello?” she says, and then: “Yeah, school was good.”

Everything sinks in you, heart, spirit, the sweltering pressure of blood ebbing in your veins. Oh. It’s Willis.

Cadi continues chatting away obliviously. “Uh huh. Not really. We learned about robber barons and cannons of Italy. Yeah, captains of industry, that’s what I meant. Uh huh. Yup. It was okay, I guess. Yeah. Today it was pizza, but it’s always shaped like a rectangle. Exactly, no crust. It’s weird. Pepperoni. I always sit with Michelle and Erica. Erica has this totally tubular book about horses she showed us. Yup. I like the Appaloosas the most. Uh huh. Okay, I will. Yup. Bye.” Then she hands you the phone. “For you,” she says, then resumes setting the counter: cups, bowls, spoons, folded Bounty paper towels, dinner for two. You never eat at the kitchen table. The table is reserved for business.

You raise the pink phone receiver to your ear with some uncertainty. What does he want now? “Willis?”

“No,” Aemond says, amused. “Though we’ve been to some of the same places.”

You try not to let the smile fill up your face. You fail. “You were asking Cadi about her day?”

“Evidently.” You don’t know what this means; you don’t ask. “When are you free?”

“I usually have the house to myself on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” It’s currently Monday.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“I should be done in the bakery at around 5:00.”

“I’ll be there at 5:01.” Then Aemond hangs up. So do you, your skull suddenly abloom like springtime, colors and promise and warmth. He’s going to be here in less than 24 hours. I really am going to see him again.

You turn towards the counter. “Cadi, what are robber barons?”

“Rich people who are mean to their workers to get as much money as possible. They don’t care about others. They just want more and more and more. They’re very greedy and are never satisfied.”

“So like the Rockefellers and Standard Oil,” you say, thinking back to your high school American History class. It feels like a lifetime ago, it feels like trying to catch lightning bugs in your bare hands.

“Yeah.” Cadi pours herself a cup of Tang. She’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and green corduroy pants; her father would not approve. “Or Jade Dragon Energy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Tuesday, 5:03 p.m., rattling cicadas and golden light like the lit coil of a stove burner. You’re still scrubbing dishes, and Amir is icing the last of the orange creamsicle cupcakes for the next morning. Aemond opens the unlocked front door and strides purposefully into the kitchen: ripped jeans, red t-shirt, Converses to match, Marlboro jacket. He is carrying a neon teal duffle bag that he drops on the sloping wooden floor where the living room meets the kitchen. He is momentarily taken aback when he sees Amir, then recalls what you told him about your friend who helps run the bakery. Aemond pulls out one of the kitchen table chairs and sits. He lifts the glass lid from a cake plate, takes the last peach cobbler cupcake for himself, makes unflinching eye contact with you as he licks the frosting off it with long, slow, sensual drags of his tongue.

Amir says: “Hey Scarface, that’s $1.”

“Amir!” you scold, mortified. But Aemond doesn’t seem offended. He smirks, extracts his black leather wallet from the pocket his jeans, and fishes out four singles. He slides them across the table.

Amir sighs. “This bitch can’t even count.”

“I’m sure he can count,” you say, smiling. “He’s an engineer.”

“He’s mouth-fucking this cupcake right in front of me, he’s clearly unstable.”

Aemond looks to you. His voice is low, imposing. “I need to know what your limits are.”

“Oh my God!” Amir squeaks, bent over the table and icing as quickly as he can.

“Okay,” you tell Aemond. You rinse the pearlescent soap bubbles from your hands, wrists, forearms. Then you step out from behind the counter and watch him, remember him, imagine what will happen next.

He gives the peach cobbler cupcake another lap. Buttercream frosting coats his mischieviously curled lips and then is swiftly licked away. “Can I spank you?”

“Yes.”

Amir mutters to himself: “Grandma is never going to believe this.”

“Can I tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you hard enough to leave bruises?”

You pause. “Only places that will be covered by my clothes.”

“And what should you say if you ever don’t like what I’m doing?”

“I just tell you to stop.”

“Exactly.” Aemond grins. His right eye skates from your face to your chest to your hips to your thighs to your ankles, drinking you down like the earth swallows rain, like the vines and cypress trees and Sanish moss of the bayou thieve sunlight and never give it back. His left eye doesn’t move at all, though this is not something you would notice if you didn’t know to look for it. “Good girl.”

“Done!” Amir announces triumphantly, completing the swirl of frosting on the final orange creamsicle cupcake.

“Can I pull your hair?” Aemond asks you.

“Yeah, I think so. Not hard enough to yank it out though.”

Aemond scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t actually want to hurt you. That’s what some doms are after, but not me. Not here, not with you. You don’t want real pain, do you…?”

“No, definitely not,” you say, relieved.

“Brilliant. Then we’re on the same page.”

Amir could leave, but he doesn’t. His eyes dart between you and Aemond from behind his large rectangular glasses, fascinated, scandalized, too astonished to move.

Aemond continues: “Birth control?”

“I’m on the pill and have been for years. I can show you the pack if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. I saw them in your bathroom last time I was here. I’m in the practice of using condoms regardless.” He tilts his head impishly. “Can I fuck your ass?”

“Um.” You hesitate. This is uncharted territory, though you cannot say that you are entirely unintrigued. “Maybe one day.”

“Noted. Some people find the sensation, the taboo, the fullness…quite pleasurable.”

“Do you?” Amir asks flirtatiously.

Aemond gives him a lazy, ludicrously charming smile. “Well I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m game to give it a try if you are.”

Amir bursts out laughing, then says to you: “He’s alright. He can commit abominable sins with you, I guess.” He stands and shakes Aemond’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Kind of.” Then he saunters off through the living room and out the front door. After a moment, you and Aemond listen to his blue Ford Escort rumble to life and then the crunching of gravel as it rolls out of the driveway. From the boombox drifts Just What I Needed by The Cars.

Aemond licks the last of the frosting from the peach cobbler cupcake and says: “Now you’re going to be the cupcake.” He crosses the kitchen, kneels down in front of you, roughly yanks down your denim shorts. He presses his face to your royal blue satin panties—hastily purchased this morning while Amir watched the shop and changed into just one hour ago in anticipation of Aemond’s arrival—and inhales deeply, desperately, like a drowning man gasping for air. Then, through the sheer fabric, he begins to tease you: nudges of his nose, nibbles of his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his short blonde hair. Blonde like the drunk man in the holding cell, you think randomly. “Aemond, why didn’t you want me last time?”

“I wanted you. I wanted you then and I want you now.”

“But I disappointed you. You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, I came,” he purrs. “Went home, got in the shower, thought of you. It didn’t take long. I would have disappointed you terribly. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you. Tried to miraculously get some work done yesterday while thinking of you. Crawled out of bed this morning thinking of you. Are you noticing a theme?”

You smile as his tongue presses forcefully against the satin. “I might be.”

“How many times in your life has a man treated his orgasm as essential and your own as an afterthought, if he considered it at all?”

Oh God. That’s the fucking truth. “A lot more than once.”

“So consider what we did on Sunday as one little notch in the other column. Just restoring a bit of much-needed balance to the universe.” He hooks his thumbs under your panties and tugs them off. “Open your thighs for me,” he orders as he pushes them apart with his palms: large, smooth, artful hands. You brace your own hands against the kitchen counter as he buries his face between your legs, not lapping in a tentative, exploratory sort of way but feasting on you, drowning in you, lips and tongue and then fingers that skate up the downy inside of your thigh to taunt you, enter you, fuck you expertly yet leave you wanting more of him, all of him. Your nerves are on fire, your blood is simmering. Outside the birds of prey are emerging from their liars and battle-scarred gators stalk boldly through the green prehistoric wildness of the Deep South.

What happened to his eye? you think through the lust-pink haze, knowing you cannot ask him. Aemond respects your rules. You must abide by his as well. How was he injured so gravely? Who hurt him? Did they atone for their misdeeds, did they pay the cost?

Suddenly, Aemond stands and pulls you against him by your waist, rips your yellow tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, kisses you fiercely. His mouth is dripping with you, clean mineral longing; his right eye is gleaming, famished, not just lustful but half-mad. No one else exists. No one ever has or ever will. “Go to the bed and wait for me there.”

“No.”

He spanks you once with his open palm; the sound is sharp and exquisite. “Go.” And this time you obey, counting the seconds in the dusk-lit splinter of time before he joins you.

In Aemond’s duffle bag—among other things, surely—are silk scarves the color of sapphires. First he fastens one over your eyes as a blindfold. Then he ties one around each of your wrists and binds both to the same bedpost, low enough that while your hands are kept up by your head, you still have some room to maneuver on the freshly-laundered, wildflower-patterned duvet. “Not different posts?” you ask Aemond.

“No. Tying your arms far apart like that can cause cramps in your back and your shoulders. It can even make it difficult to breathe. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be focused entirely on what I’m doing to you.”

You moan as his fingers slip between your legs and circle over the place that makes your muscles yearn and twist and tighten until you feel they might snap, until you can imagine every string of you breaking and dissolving from the prison of flesh into water, air, gravity, the eternal silent progress of time. He bites and sucks at your nipples, flicking his tongue over them, admiring them, praising them, ravenous for them. You are enraptured by the weight of him on top of you. Without your sight, everything else is more noticeable, more real: his warmth, his sweat, his every brush of skin against yours, his smoke and cologne and gasps and sighs, the grinding of his bare cock against your thighs as he makes you ready for him. And you beg for it long before he gives it to you.

“Roll over,” he commands breathlessly, and then guides you: your fingers clutching the scarves that secure your wrists, your elbows propped on the mattress, your back arched and hips angled up towards him, his lips murmuring against your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your throat. He’s telling you so many things, perfect things, delicious things you’ll never hear enough of: how beautiful you are, how badly he wants you, how well you’re doing. There is the sound of Aemond opening a condom wrapper, and a strange sorrow ripples through you. I wish I could have him raw.

One of his hands reaches around to stroke you, keeping you soaked and supple for him. The other begins to guide his cock into your aching, starving wetness. You stretch for him, you accept him eagerly…and then there is resistance. He stills immediately and tries a slightly different angle. Nothing. He could force it, probably, but he won’t. He recedes from you, agonizing emptiness, dire unfulfillment. I’m disappointing him, he’s too big, I’m too tight, too nervous, too inexperienced at being dominated, I can’t please him. You whimper: “Aemond, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, more ferocious than any words you’ve ever heard from him. You are not allowed to criticize yourself. You are not allowed to give up so easily. He leans down and whispers into the shell of your ear, his ribs against your spine, his heat entombing you: “Relax. I’m in charge now. I’ll take care of you.”

You want him to. You need him to. His commandment rolls through your blood and bones like a wave, loosening those last vestiges of anxiety, shaking grim psychological heirlooms from the highest shelves. You can surrender yourself completely to Aemond. He is worthy, he is safe, he is euphoria made flesh. His fingertips are still stroking you. He pushes your thighs just a little farther apart and—slowly, cautiously—eases his cock into your throbbing warmth. He hisses in a breath, though he tries not to break character, to show you that he might just be a little bit at your mercy too.

You moan loudly and shamelessly, letting him know you’re alright, more than alright, in ecstasy, in bliss, in torment, on the edge. When Aemond thrusts, he finds a place that’s never been hit so directly or so well. The climax is on you before you are aware of it, one of those swells that rises out of nowhere, capsizes the boat, fades back into the endless blue of the ocean. It jolts through your pelvis, your spine, your skull, and then evaporates like steam from a bathroom mirror. And now Aemond is trying to finish too, but something is off. He tries a few different rhythms, can’t seem to get it right. You think you can feel him beginning to soften. No no no, I can’t leave him unsatisfied again.

You look back, though you cannot see him through the blindfold; instinctively, you want to be closer to him. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.” He turns your face so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing you down, entangled in every way possible. And only then he is able to come: powerfully, trembling, crying out like he’s in the kind of pain that leaves scars for life.

He glides his cock out of you, and you can hear him snap off the condom. Then he unties your blindfold and your wrists. You reach for him, then stop yourself; he reaches for you—a reflex, surely—and then shakes the notion away and collapses beside you on the duvet. You both lie there panting, gazing dizzily up at the long shadows of centuries-old oak trees that cascade across the ceiling, minds drained, bodies spent.

After a moment, Aemond clambers off the bed to grab a lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jeans pocket. Then he flops back down next to you, lights a cigarette, takes a deep, slow drag. “So, cupcake,” he says nonchalantly, exhaling smoke, hand shaking. “Where’d you get married?”

You laugh; this is ridiculous. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“I want to know things about you. Things other than your tits and your pussy. I mean, those are great. I enjoy them tremendously, and I plan to keep enjoying them. But I also enjoy you.”

You sigh. Aemond waits, puffing on his cigarette. “The parish courthouse.” Plain, boring, economical. “I wanted a wedding at Saint Honoratus, but…”

“Saint…who?”

“The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens,” you say. “It’s this gorgeous place in a town called Belle River on the other side of Lake Verret. Very small, very old, it’s a historic site or something, they can’t ever knock it down.”

“Why couldn’t you get married there?”

You shrug; how much could the details matter now? Someone needed to organize it, someone needed to decorate, someone needed to pay for food and drinks, someone needed to send out invitations, someone needed to care enough to make it happen, and that someone would have been you, just you, seventeen and broke and bedridden with morning sickness until noon every day. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Sounds like a lot of things didn’t work out for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Aemond winces.

“Sorry. That was…not the way I meant to express that sentiment.”

You forgive him. You’d forgive him for anything right now, right here, in a bed stained with his sweat and your wetness and the seed you wish he could have spilled inside you. You taunt him: “Should we meet up at your house next time?”

He recoils, horrified. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why? What’s at your house? An abandoned wife and six tall, blonde, prominently-jawed children?”

He chuckles; he has collected himself again. “No. It’s just that…well…I have family in town currently. They’re staying with me while I get set up with the new job and everything. Quite a lot of people. And my family is…unorthodox.”

You wish he would stop using words you don’t know. That’s the hazard of affiliating with a highfalutin petroleum engineer, you suppose. “So they’re strange?”

“That’s a kind word for it.”

“I like strange people. I like you.”

Aemond smirks warily. “You wouldn’t like them. Just trust me on that.” He traces the border of your face with his fingertips, contemplating your secrets, tending his own like a nightscape garden. “Do you ever want to do something…not in your bedroom?”

You grin and he kisses you, nicotine and quelled desire; he can’t help it. You say when you break away: “What, like dinner or flowers or any of the other activities that were very clearly not a part of this arrangement?”

“Arrangements are flexible.”

“Are they?”

“This one is. Increasingly so.”

You ponder his proposition. “There’s this new restaurant I really want to go to. I’ve never been before, but it looks pretty rad in the commercials on tv. It’s up in Gonzales.”

“The same town as your illustrious Kmart engagement. How fortuitous. Pease continue.”

“It’s an Italian place,” you say.

“I love Italian.”

“It’s called Olive Garden.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He is bewildered, appalled. His cigarette smolders forgotten in the crook of his fingers. You might as well have told him you wanted to run over puppies with lawnmowers. “You want me to take you to Olive Garden? Seriously?”

You are wounded. “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?”

“Cupcake, Olive Garden is not real Italian food. That’s like saying Taco Bell is Mexican.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Okay,” he capitulates. He smiles as he smooths your disheveled hair and touches his lips to your forehead. “It’s fine. We’ll go to Olive Garden.”

“Really?” you reply, beaming.

“Really. You’re free Thursday?”

“Unless Willis has to switch nights for some reason, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go Thursday.” Aemond rolls off the bed and finds a mug—Return Of The Jedi, Princess Leia and the Ewoks—left on your dresser to put his cigarette out in. He looks through the screen of your open bedroom window as the sky turns ever-darker, as the moon and stars begin to rise, and he breathes in the verdant, humid, ageless witchcraft of the bayou. “You have no idea what the last few days have been like for me,” Aemond says softly, his bare back turned to you, the ridge of his spine like a road cut through a swamp or a forest or a field of sugarcane. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”

[eva-of-the-sea]

Y'all ever notice that Fujiko receives a disproportionate amount of hate in the fandom? I'm sure it's something we've all seen, especially if you're a fan of her, but I don't really see it discussed.

I'm bringing it up now because for the past couple of months, I keep running into new fans that are very vocal about disliking her. And while I understand that everyone has their preferences, the reasons they give for why they hate her bother me the most:

"She's a bitch, she's so awful to the poor guys and especially to Lupin."

"She's a slut. She's constantly using her body to get what she wants."

"She betrays the gang so much it's annoying how she always does the same thing."

"It's the writers' fault for making her so unlikable."

While I partially understand one of these points, some of these other ones confuse me.

Fujiko is a character that looks out for herself. She goes into every heist with the thought of "what can I get out of this?" And despite this, she's been shown many times to care about all of the gang. Yes, even in part 2 where folks usually base their hatred of her off of. This is because she is a multifaceted character that isn't just driven by a single motivation.

"But Jigen and Goemon hate her!"

Do they? Because while they do get mad at her shenanigans, we also see them going out of their way to protect her and comfort her. Hell, Fujigoe is a common canon occurrence! Do you really think Goemon would be dating her if he didn't like her? Or that Jigen would be pushing her out of the way of bullets or shielding her with his body if he didn't care about her? Being mad or annoyed with someone's actions aren't the same as hatred. No one ever points out how they get mad at Lupin, and I'd argue that happens more often!

And on the point of her being a slut...where? I'm genuinely confused with this one. Fujiko does use her beauty and charms both to manipulate rich men into giving her treasure and to get out of dangerous situations. That's kind of the point of her being a femme fatale. But how often does she sleep with the people she manipulates? Most instances I can think of, she knocks them out when she gets that far. In fact, I would argue she doesn't seem to be that interested in having sex at all. Do they count her flirting as being slutty? If so, c'mon. And even if she did sleep with her targets, why would this be a bad thing? Are women characters not allowed to have sex? And again, how come Lupin doesn't get the third degree for HIS sluttiness. In fact, I see people joke about it and celebrate it if anything.

On the point of her betraying gang, yeah it is very one-note and does get old. You know what else is very one-note? Literally the actions of every other character in the show. I don't see people complaining about Zenigata chasing the gang getting old. Or about Lupin flirting with every woman he sees. Or about Jigen and Goemon using the same weapons in the same way to get out of every situation. Y'know, maybe this is just a repetitive show! And tbh, the writing lately has been shaken up. The modern series doesn't really have Fujiko betray the gang much anymore. She's either off doing her own thing or she's working with the gang as a member of the team. A lot of people complain about parts 4-6, but I think this is one of the elements it does right.

And finally, on the note of "poor Lupin", I think this one pisses me off the most lol. The fuck y'all mean "poor Lupin"?? I think fans either forget or don't realize that Lupin is a pretty smart guy. He knows Fujiko is most likely going to betray him if he does something for her, the bastard LIKES IT. This is foreplay for both of them. In case you haven't noticed yet, both of them are kind of freaks lol. There's a reason that most of the time, Jigen and Goemon are mad at HIM. Lupin is not a poor sweet baby that needs protection from Fujiko. He specifically loves the chase, the constant push and pull of their relationship. She's an exciting challenge for him, he's a stable home for her.

While I agree that Fujiko has not always been written great in the past, and I'm sure a lot of that was due to misogyny, I think fans need to reevaluate why they criticize her more harshly than the rest of the gang. There's a lot of things she's done that the fandom deems unforgivable, yet the boys have done some of the same stuff without so much as a slap on the wrist. Lupin constantly puts them all in unnecessary danger. Jigen has made some really unsavory comments about women. Goemon has betrayed the gang more than once. And I don't see nearly enough discussion about how Lupin really used to push himself on Fujiko, to the point of it being uncomfortable sometimes. Like damn I'd sell his ass out too😬.

I think it all boils down to Fujiko being a woman. And as a woman, she has to work harder to please the fans. If she's too nice, then she doesn't really have a personality or a reason for anyone to like her. If she's too selfish, she's a mean bitch and everyone should hate her. What if people saw her as a character first? Because no she's not a good person, but neither are the rest of the gang. Their morals are all on a sliding scale of what works best for the plot. But damn she's a great character. She stands out on her own and really makes you remember her. She's so much more than "the girl" character, and I'm so grateful for that. I hope more fans come to this conclusion too.

[justagalwhowrites]

New in Town - Ch. 2: First Date

Joel takes you on an actual date. A continuation of New in Town Ch. 1 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Best Friend's Dad!Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW:  Smut. Just... all the smut, OK? They fuck. They're fans of that. It's why we love them. Mild violence. No use of Y/N. Age gap (reader is 35 Joel is 47, not a focus of the fic). Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 7.9k

AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: Hi all!

So yeah, this was originally intended as a one shot but here's the thing... people really liked it? I got a lot of requests for more on Tumblr so y'all are getting more :)

This will be a relatively short series but a series none the less. I hope you enjoy it!

You didn’t have a great reason to be nervous. You felt pretty stupid for feeling nervous, in all honesty, but your stomach was in knots all the same. 

You were going on a date. A first date. 

A first date with Joel.

Your best friend’s dad. 

Who, it seemed, had done nothing but fuck you senseless in the two weeks since you’d met the man. 

And that’s all it had been. Fucking. Just ridiculous amounts of fucking. Like it was a miracle that you could walk amounts of fucking. 

Not for lack of trying to do other things. Joel had come back the next day with the intent of actually fixing your sink. Which, he did. And then he fucked you on your couch. 

You invited him over for dinner to say thank you for fixing the sink but the steaks sat out on your counter while the two of you ripped each other’s clothes off. You’d gone to his house to watch The Room and you’d made it all of five minutes into the movie before the two of you were naked on his living room floor, his cock stretching you open and making you gasp as he filled you. 

Finally, he came to your apartment to pick you up to go for drinks and to listen to live music. You opened the door in the short, tight dress you’d picked for going to bars and he damn near growled before he grabbed you and kissed you. You pulled him into your apartment and, before you knew it, you were naked and entwined on your bed. 

“Next time, I’m not bein’ a gentleman and comin’ to your door,” he said, panting for breath, your leg still over his hip. “You’re meetin’ me at the damn car. Only way we’re gettin’ out of the damn house is if we make it so I can’t just take your clothes off.” 

He was picking you up in five minutes and you’d realized that, since you’d started fucking Joel, you’d hardly spoken to the man. Your mouth was usually otherwise occupied. And so was his, for that matter. Because fuck, that man could do amazing things with his mouth. 

So you were nervous. Butterflies in your stomach, pacing your living room, checking your phone every 15 seconds nervous. 

Because what if he didn’t like you once he actually talked to you again? Once you were in a place where you couldn’t just get naked and you had to rely on conversation to keep him interested, would he still be interested? 

Sure, the night you’d met had felt… Well, unlike anything you’d ever experienced, really. If you had, you wouldn’t be single that was for damn sure. You’d never been able to just talk with someone the way you could with Joel. It had been electric. He was so smart and funny and kind. 

The thing that stood out to you most was that he noticed things about people. In a way men - especially men who were the strong, physical type - didn’t really seem to. He was worried about one of the guys on his team at work who’d been having problems at home. He’d noticed that the guy wasn’t laughing the same way he usually did at the joker on the crew. 

“I’m so bad at that shit,” he’d taken a sip of beer, shaking his head. “Not like I can talk anyone through marriage troubles. Kid troubles, maybe. But these guys never want to talk about their shit, you know? So busy tryin’ to handle it themselves they fuck their lives up.” 

And you’d had so damn much in common. The love for terrible movies and rock music and spicy food. You could have talked to him all night. 

You just weren’t sure if he felt the same way. 

Your phone dinged in your hand. Because you were so nervous and excited you’d actually taken it off silent for the first time since you’d had the thing. 

“Here,” he texted. He was two minutes early. You smiled.

Another ding. 

“Very weird not coming to your door. Not a fan.” 

You texted back. 

“Me either. See you in a sec!” 

Joel had planned the whole day, only telling you enough that you knew what to wear and what to bring. Which apparently required a change of clothes. 

“Promise you can get changed somewhere I can’t just jump you,” he’d texted. “Going to do my best to keep my hands to myself.” 

“That’s a damn shame,” you’d texted back. “I like when you don’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Fine woman,” he’d replied. “I’ll keep them to myself until the end of the date. Would like to actually get you out in the world at some point. Sound fair?” 

“That’s better,” you smiled as you typed it out.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he replied. 

“Not the only hard thing I’m interested in.” You’d added a winking emoji to that one. 

He texted back immediately. 

“Dangerous for me to be distracted by you with hard things while I’m at work so I’m going to stop this before I hurt myself… See you in the morning.” 

He’d told you that you needed good walking shoes and something you’d be comfortable moving in for the morning and something that made you feel good for the afternoon and evening. You tried to be smart about it, picking hiking boots with jeans and a t-shirt for the morning and just changing the shoes and the shirt for the rest of the day. Like maybe if you kept your pants on it would keep you from jumping into bed with Joel. 

At least right away. 

“See, this is why I can’t come get you at your door,” he shook his head as you climbed in the passenger seat of his truck. He was half smiling, his head propped against his hand and you had to fight the urge to kiss his damn dimple. 

“Oh really?” You asked, brows raised, as you buckled up. “Why’s that?” 

“You got no business looking that damn good in jeans,” he said. “Couldn’t risk getting you behind closed doors right now, we wouldn’t get anywhere.” 

You rolled your eyes and smiled, shaking your head. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

“Just with you,” he winked. 

Joel took you to a park in town, grabbing a pack out of the back seat of the truck and leading the way to a trail. 

“Said you liked hiking,” he said. “Figured this way you’d have a place you’d know if you wanted to come back. But only if you want.” 

He was watching you like he was waiting for you to reject the idea but you just smiled. 

“This is perfect hiking weather,” you said, starting on the trail before looking over your shoulder back at him. “You coming?” 

“Lead the way, Beautiful,” he smiled. “I’m just enjoying the view.” 

The trail was a loop that went out to a lake with a nice overlook. On the way out to it, you told Joel about camping with your Girl Scout troop as a child, how you’d found a sense of peace in nature ever since. Joel told you about camping with his brother, Tommy, as a kid and taking Sarah when she was little. 

The trail was quiet - almost shockingly so considering the weather - and the overlook was empty when you got there. Joel picked a spot and sat down, opening his pack and pulling out a few paper bags, bottles of water and bottles of iced coffee. 

“Not sure if you’ve come across these yet,” he handed you a bag. “They’re kolaches, these Czech pastry things. Don’t ask me why they’re popular here, couldn’t fuckin’ tell you, but they’re damn good. I’ll trade you flavors if you want, wasn’t sure what you might like…” 

“I’m not picky and these look incredible,” you bit into one of the sausage ones. You were right, eyes rolling back in pleasure as you chewed. “Fuck, that’s good…” 

Joel smiled, looking a little proud. 

“Yeah, Sarah told me you’d be finding the best restaurants in town real quick so I only have a few weeks to impress you with shit like this,” he said, taking a bite of his own roll before he frowned a little. “Not weird if I talk about her, is it? I’ve never…” 

“Fucked one of your daughter’s friends?” You finished for him, smirking a little, when he went quiet for a moment. 

“I was gonna say dated one but,” he laughed. “Both are true. Generally don’t go for younger women. Believe it or not.” 

“It’s not weird if you talk about Sarah. Well, it kind of is, but it would be weirder if you didn’t. We both love her, just in different ways. Pretending she doesn’t exist is just… not the way to go. And I’m not that much younger,” you elbowed him lightly. “Besides… you’re kind of my exact type.” 

He looked surprised by that. 

“Really?” 

“Yup,” you smiled a little and opened the iced coffee, taking a drink. “If I redownloaded my dating apps I could show you my age range preferences and you are right in the sweet spot there, Miller.” 

He just looked at you for a second, a crooked smile on his lips. The damn dimple. 

“What?” You laughed, taking another drink of coffee. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You deleted your dating apps?” 

You felt your eyes go slightly wide. You hadn’t meant to admit that. 

“OK let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, alright?” You winced. “This was going so well…” 

“Why would I pretend you didn’t say it?” He frowned a little. 

“Because it’s weird,” you looked back out at the lake, needing to look away from him for this conversation. “And I don’t want to put any pressure on you or anything, I really don’t want to make it weird. I just… I’m not trying to get you to be in a relationship or anything, I just didn’t really feel like trying to see anyone else after I met you so I deleted them and…” 

“I like it,” he cut you off. 

“Yeah?” You smiled a little. 

“Yeah.” He leaned in, smiling back. “I like it a lot.” 

He kissed you, soft and almost chaste at first, but that didn’t last long. One hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you close, the other to your waist, sliding down toward the hem of your shirt, seeking out your skin. You moaned into his mouth, a familiar needy ache settling inside you. His tongue dipped into you and you pressed closer to him, trying to put your body against his when someone cleared their throat from behind you. 

The two of you jumped apart and you looked back over your shoulder to see a man, a woman and two kids standing there, staring at you. You pressed your lips together and tried not to laugh out of the sheer embarrassment of it all, your face getting hot. 

“Morning,” Joel said, clearing his throat a bit. 

“C’mon kids,” the woman said, glaring at you. “Quick look at the water, then we keep moving…” 

You cleared your throat awkwardly and took a drink of your iced coffee while the family spent a minute at the overlook before the parents started herding their children away. 

“Mom, why are leaving so quick?” The little girl asked. 

“Because honey,” the woman glanced your way as they headed back down the trail. 

The second you couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore, the two of you burst out laughing, you grabbing Joel’s thigh to keep from falling over with it. 

“Oh my God!” You gasped for breath, almost crying laughing. “What the actual fuck is our problem? We’re adults! This isn’t what adults do!” 

“This is your fault!” He was trying to stop laughing and failing. Miserably. 

“My fault? How is it my fault!” 

“Those damn jeans,” he kissed the delicate skin behind your ear, making you laugh even harder. “How am I supposed to resist you when you’re lookin’ that good?” 

He kissed you again, making you moan for a moment before you pulled back from him. 

“I thought you were keeping your hands to yourself until the end of the day?” You nipped his lower lip. “It’s not even noon.” 

“Argh,” he groaned, his forehead falling to your shoulder. “You’re right Beautiful, I’ll behave. Or try to, feel like I should get at least some credit for makin’ it this long.” 

Joel made you drink an entire bottle of water before you left the lake (“Can’t have you runnin’ on just iced coffee and kolaches, we got three miles back to the truck…”) and he seemed to be OK letting the dating app comment lie. Which worked for you because you were vaguely horrified to actually have that discussion. 

Because you had deleted the apps. And you were really hoping you wouldn’t need to download them again. At least, not for a while. You were pretty sure that you were crazy about Joel. Like could fall head over heels for the guy in a way you hadn’t since you were 21 and a stupid college girl kind of crazy about Joel. 

But it was so early that it seemed immensely stupid to feel that way about the guy. Even though you felt like you’d known him for years, even though you thought about him all the damn time. You’d still only known him for two weeks. 

And if you wanted a relationship - an actual, honest to God relationship - you’d have to reckon with the fact that you’d met him through your best friend, his daughter. This was a conversation you’d need to wait to have, until you had some sense of certainty that what you were risking was worth that risk. There was no way you could actually be that certain after two weeks. Even if you felt like you might be. 

There was a small hitch in Joel’s plans for the day, though. The bathrooms at the trailhead were closed and he sighed. 

“I promise this ain’t a scheme to get you back to my place and out of your clothes,” he winced a little. 

“I can just change in the car,” you winked and patted his chest. His broad, strong chest. Goddammit. “Just keep your eyes on the road while I do.” 

You climbed in back and waited for Joel to start driving (“Not getting arrested for indecent exposure at the park because you just climb in the back seat to feel me up, Miller. Now drive.”) before you took your t-shirt off. You may have left your shirt off and only been in your black lace bra for longer than you really needed to, letting your hair down from its loose bun and touching up your makeup before pulling the black, deep v-neck silk top you’d grabbed for the evening from your bag. At a stop light, you felt eyes on you and you looked to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Joel watching you before he quickly looked back at the road. You smirked, tugging the shirt over your head and climbing over the center console and into the passenger seat, kissing Joel on the cheek on the way. 

“Told you to keep your eyes on the road, Miller,” you smirked, leaning over the console to wipe your lipstick off his cheek with your thumb. 

“You try focusin’ on the road when there’s somethin’ as pretty as you in the car,” he smirked a little. That fucking dimple. “I’m doin’ a damn good job, all things considered. Seat belt.” 

You smiled and buckled up. 

“Whatever you say, Miller. Whatever you say.” 

***

Joel briefly considered making himself come in the restaurant bathroom. 

There was no way in hell he was making it to the end of this fucking date, he didn’t know what the fuck he’d been thinking, planning something that was a day long with you. A whole day where you’d be right next to him and he couldn’t properly touch you. That was a stupid thing to do. A damn stupid thing to do. 

Because holy shit you were pretty. So fucking pretty. And sexy. So goddamn sexy. So pretty and so sexy that looking at you - knowing just how damn good you felt, knowing he could just have you if you were in his bed or he was in yours - was torture. Fucking torture. 

He knew a whole day was a mistake the second he saw you. He should have known before that, too, but sometimes he was a fucking idiot. 

Like when he decided to fuck his daughter’s best friend to begin with. 

But you looked so damn good just in jeans and a t-shirt - v-neck deep enough that he could see the soft flesh of your breasts as you climbed into the truck - that someone ought to make it illegal. And then walking behind you when the trail narrowed, wanting nothing more than to grab handfuls of your ass and pull you against his aching cock so he could find some damn relief. 

As soon as the concept of a date came up though, Joel knew he’d need to start it in the morning, plan a whole day. He didn’t want to stay away from you all day just to only get you for a few hours in the evening, not if he could help it. 

And it’s not like he only wanted to fuck you. Not that he didn’t love fucking you. God himself could strike Joel down while he was inside you and he’d die a happy man but he wanted to spend some time actually talking with you. He wanted to know you - desperately, longingly wanted to know you - but doing that when you were there, perfect and tempting, was no easy thing. 

Even you changing out of hiking boots and into some cute, girlie shoe was somehow sexy. How was he supposed to keep it in his pants when you looked that damn good doing anything at all? 

“OK we can’t both get the ghost pepper wings,” you looked over the top of the menu. “We need to split one order and get an order of something that isn’t going to potentially melt our tongues off.” 

“You’re no fun,” he smirked a little. 

“No, I’m a great time,” you replied. “I’m just also not insane.” 

The two of you shared the wings - both agreeing that they weren’t nearly as spicy as the menu led you to believe - and Joel took you to the next stop on his plan for the day. 

“Are you kidding me?” You jumped out of the truck looking practically giddy. “An escape room? I’ve always wanted to try one of these!” 

“Yeah, I keep seeing this one, thought I should see what all the fuss was about,” he smiled a little, putting his arm around your shoulders and kissing your temple. 

Joel was a little surprised at how much he liked the escape room thing. He’d googled it when trying to come up with something to do with you besides the cliche dinner and a movie shit and it seemed more like the kind of thing Sarah might try to get him to do. But, as it turned out, you and Joel made a great team. And he loved watching you gleefully shout the answer when you figured out a puzzle. You did a happy little jump when something unlocked or pieces fit together and shrieked and threw your arms around Joel’s neck when the room was solved in less than the two hour time limit. 

“You seriously planned even more than this?” You asked, brows raised, as the two of you got back in the truck. 

“I promised to keep my hands to myself until the end of the day,” he winked. “Can’t expect me to do that without something to distract me.” 

He took you to a winery tasting room in town next, the two of you each sampling a different variety of wines. 

“This one has a nice bouquet,” you said, nose in the glass. “Definitely smelling… um… rich mahogany?” 

Joel choked on the sip of wine that was in his mouth, trying not to shoot it out of his nose. 

“I’m sorry!” You laughed. “I really like drinking wine but I don’t know much about it at all!” 

“That’s OK,” Joel smiled. “I don’t know shit about it either.” 

“But it would sound cool to know about it, right?” You said. “Like, you take a sip and know something about it besides ‘oh yeah, that’s good and it is the color red.’” 

“OK now we just have to learn about wine together,” Joel set his glass down. “So we can sound cool.” 

“Together?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“If you want,” he shrugged, only realizing then that he was getting ahead of himself. “I want to…” 

You smiled a little. 

“I want to, too.” 

At dinner, you excused yourself to the restroom and Joel checked his phone for the first time since he’d picked you up that morning, only to see a text from you come through as he checked his other messages. 

“Need your help,” it said. “Last door in the hall.” 

Joel frowned, pocketing his phone and went to find you, knocking once on the door before you opened it, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him inside, locking the door behind him. 

“What are…” 

“I figure if our clothes stay on it counts as keeping our hands to ourselves, right?” You pressed yourself against the front of him, kissing him. 

“Definitely,” he said, already breathless. 

He pushed you back into the wall and put his knee between your legs, his cock - at least half hard for the entire goddamn day - against your hip. Your arms went around his neck and you kissed him. His tongue slipped into your mouth and he moaned into you as you started to rock your hips against his thigh. 

“Fuck Beautiful,” he groaned as he kissed down your jaw to your throat. “You been needy all day?” 

“Since you picked me up,” your head went back against the tile wall of the bathroom, voice breathless and wanting. 

“Fuck, me too,” he nipped your throat and pressed his cock into you, grinding against your body like a goddamn teenager. “Think you can come from just riding my leg?” 

He pulled you down on him, making you groan. He could feel the wet heat of you, even through the fabric. Fuck, he wanted to feel you there, wanted to bury himself inside you there. 

“Yes,” you managed. 

Joel’s hands slid down your body to your ass, his fingers sinking into your flesh, pulling your body tight to him as he cursed the fabric between his skin and yours, fucking up against you. You rode his leg, breaths coming in stuttering gasps, working your pussy against him harder and faster, your body pressed flush against his own. 

“Joel, fuck,” you fingers tangled in his hair as he buried his face in your neck. “I’m going to come, I’m going to fucking…” 

“Good,” he groaned, his cock leaking and achy and all but ready to spill into his fucking jeans. “Do it, come for me, come on my fucking leg…” 

You obeyed with a desperate moan and he clutched your body to him as he felt your pussy pulsing against his thigh, the heat of your pleasure, the soft give of your skin pushing him over the edge as he came, his cock throbbing against you. 

“Fuck,” you panted, breathless, your body limp. 

“Not sure it still counts,” he dropped his head to your shoulder. 

“No, it does,” you nodded. “Definitely counts, we’ve been very well behaved all day. We’re basically angels.” 

Joel laughed before he kissed you and the two of you sheepishly made your way back to your table, no one at the restaurant seemingly any the wiser that the pair of you had all but fucked in one of the bathrooms just feet away. 

The not-quite-fucking in the bathroom made it so Joel felt like he could actually survive the rest of the evening, finally taking you to a bar to listen to live music like he’d been wanting to do since the night he met you.

The place was loud when you arrived, the band just getting started, and Joel found an open table toward the back. You held it while he got drinks and he could see a hint of the lace of your bra whenever you leaned over to tell him something over the sound of the band. 

After the two of you made it through a drink, you put your hand in his, tugging him toward the crowd clustered around the stage. 

“C’mon,” you smiled. “I feel like dancing!” 

He followed you - starting to feel like he might just follow you anywhere - and put his hands on your waist as you pressed your body against his, moving in time with the music, the whole crowd pulsing with the same energy. 

When the band slowed it down, you looped your arms around his neck and smiled, your eyes bright with the lights from the stage. 

“Can’t believe you actually planned all this,” you shook your head a little. “I don’t know that a guy has ever put this much effort into… damn, anything at all for me.” 

“You’ve been dating the entirely wrong kind of men then,” he replied, wondering how the fuck someone wouldn’t try to do anything and everything for you, just for an excuse to see you all the time. 

“Probably true,” you laughed a little. “Or you’re just a breed unto yourself, Joel Miller.”

“It’s for the best,” he smiled, trailing his fingers up your arm. You kissed him, all soft and sweet, different from every other kiss he’d shared with you so far. It was the first time it felt like he was kissing you just to kiss you, not because it was leading to your bed. He liked it, the gentle intimacy of it. 

The song ended and the band said they were taking a break but would be back up soon and you pressed your lips a little firmer to his for a second before pulling back from him. 

“Why don’t you go hold down the table for a second?” You smiled. “My turn to get the drinks.” 

“But…” 

“I insist,” you cut him off. “Not letting you into my apartment later any other way.” 

“You drive a hard bargain,” he kissed your cheek. “But I accept.” 

Joel went back to the table and watched you from across the bar, not much different than the night he first met you. Except now he got to go home with you. He smiled to himself and shook his head a little. How the hell had he gotten that lucky? 

Sarah had texted him at some point in the evening, asking what he was up to the next week. He texted her back, still not quite sure how to broach the subject of you with his daughter. He’d have to at some point. He wasn’t about to give you up, he’d have to talk to Sarah about it eventually. The both of you would. He sighed and put his phone back in his pocket, looking up to find you at the bar as you stared down some guy who was almost Joel’s size, the man’s hand on your lower back. Your mouth was drawn low into a frown and Joel was half way across the bar before he fully realized what he was doing. 

He reached you in what felt like a second, pulling you back from the bar and putting himself between the man and you. 

“Hey man…” the guy began but Joel cut him off. 

“You botherin’ my girl?” He snapped. His blood was hot, he could feel it moving through his body. He’d looked away from you for a minute, just a minute, and some guy had decided he could just touch you when you didn’t want it. 

“Sorry, she didn’t say she had a boyfriend…” 

“Don’t matter. She say you could touch her?” Joel shoved him. “‘Cause sure didn’t look like she appreciated that shit.” Joel shoved him again. “You like bein’ touched without permission?” Another shove. “Not so fuckin’ nice when it’s a man doin’ it to you, is it?” 

The guy was either stupid or drunk. Maybe both. Either way, he telegraphed his next move by a fucking mile, pulling his fist back to take a swing at Joel. He dodged it, easily, before punching back, catching the man across the jaw and sending him sprawling to the floor. 

“Joel!” Your voice snapped him out of it. He relaxed his fist and shook some of the stiffness out of his hand, turning to you and realizing for the first time that the whole bar was staring. Shit. The guy on the floor groaned and started sitting up. 

“Why don’t you go on home before we need to call the cops,” the bartender said, his hand balled in a fist on the bar top. 

“Come on, Joel.” 

You looped your arm around his and tugged him along toward the door, the two of you going to his truck in silence. 

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said after he’d been driving in awkward quiet for a few minutes. 

“What happened?” You asked. He glanced over at you. You didn’t look pissed, at least. 

“Saw the look on your face,” he focused on the road, flexing the hand with the sore knuckles. “I just looked down to check my phone, text Sarah back real quick and the next thing I know that fucker’s got his hand on you and it sure as shit didn’t look like somethin’ you wanted…” 

“It wasn’t something I wanted,” you said. 

Joel nodded. 

“Just saw red,” he ground his teeth. “Don’t know why some men think they’re just entitled to… Look, not exactly proud of it, but if something pisses me off in just the right - or wrong, I guess - way, I just…” 

“It’s OK, Joel.” 

“Need you to know that it’s never happened with a woman,” he said, glancing at you again before looking back to the road. “Not someone I was seein’, not Sarah, not anyone else. I’d never react like that to you no matter what you did, never…” 

“I said it’s OK, Joel.” 

The knot in his stomach relaxed just a bit. 

“Didn’t freak you out?” He asked, looking your way just long enough to catch you shaking your head as you answered. 

“Didn’t freak me out.” 

“Because I really don’t want to…” 

“Joel,” you cut him off. “I’m not afraid of you because you lost your temper on an asshole at the bar who deserved it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he could hear the hint of a smile on your voice. “It was… actually, it was kind of nice. I dated a guy for a bit in Seattle and he literally watched a guy grab my ass when we were at a baseball game and he didn’t do a damn thing, didn’t even back me up when I handled it myself. It… it was kind of nice to not have to handle it myself.” 

“Shouldn’t have to handle it at all,” he said. “Assholes need to learn to keep their hands to themselves. But you definitely won’t need to handle it if I’m there.”

You looked at him for a moment when he didn’t park the truck outside your apartment, instead pulling up to your front walk. 

“Thought the whole point of earlier is that we were leaving our clothes on until this point of the night,” you said. “Makes it a little difficult if you’re in a different house.” 

“You really still want me to come inside?” He raised his eyebrows. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Get in my house so I can take your pants off, please.” 

He smiled a little. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Your front door had barely even closed behind you before you were pulling at Joel’s shirt, his mouth on yours, his cock already hard and aching for you. 

His shirt wound up somewhere on the floor of your living room, yours in the hall. He left the bra on for a bit, your nipples firm against the lace. His pants wound up in the doorway to your bedroom, yours next to your bed as he pressed you back against the mattress. You fell onto it before crawling back, putting yourself in the middle of the bed and he followed, his mouth on yours, tasting the cocktail from the bar on your tongue. 

He kissed down your throat to your breasts, his tongue dipping between the gaps in the lace to find your skin, your back arching below him when he licked closer to your nipple before he gave it a sucking kiss. He trailed his lips over your breast bone to your other breast and gave you the same treatment there, your breaths starting to come in gasping little pants. Your bra clasped in the front - thank fuck for that - and he opened it, revealing your soft flesh. He cupped your breasts, the heavy weight of them silk against his calloused hands, before he traced down your body with his mouth and fingers to your hips. He took a second to appreciate just how fucking pretty your pussy looked in your black lace panties before he hooked his fingers around the top of them and tugged them down your body, casting them aside and crawling between your legs. 

He put a thigh over each shoulder and pressed a kiss to your clit and you took a deep, shuddering breath before you spoke, your voice sounding almost strangled. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you were practically squirming below him. 

“I know,” he ran his tongue slowly from your hole to your clit. “But I want to. Been wanting to, shame I haven’t yet, taste so fucking good…” 

You moaned and he smiled a little before dipping his tongue into your wet heat. He moaned too, couldn’t help it. He hadn’t been lying, your pussy tasted good, heady musk with a hint of sweetness to you. He clutched one of your thighs against his head with one hand and teased your clit with the other, making your hips rock into him and your back arch. 

“Sorry,” you panted, going still. “I’m… fuck, sorry…” 

“For what?” He pulled his mouth away from you just enough to look up your body and properly see you. “You think I don’t want your perfect fucking pussy coming all over my mouth? Think I don’t want you riding my fucking face? Want you come all over me, Beautiful, want you to do whatever it takes to make you come all over me.” 

He went back to eating at your pussy, devouring you as you moaned and arched below his touch, your sex getting wetter and wetter as his tongue worked you open. He added a finger to your tight, slick hole and he felt you start to contract around him, your breath picking up, your fingers clutching at your bedspread. He pressed harder against your clit, hooked his fingers into your inner wall, his tongue pushing deep as you came around him with a strangled cry. He smiled against you as he worked you through your orgasm, not easing up on you until you went limp below him, whimpering as you did. 

“You can’t seriously think I didn’t enjoy that,” he panted as he trailed his mouth back up your body, his lips still wet with you. You just laughed, breathless. 

He went to reach for the drawer where you kept the condoms but you grabbed his wrist. 

“Wait,” you said, breath still heavy. He frowned but obeyed, his fingers lacing with yours. He gently guided your hand with his to your breast, holding you gently. You moaned slightly and closed your eyes before you gave your head a small shake. “Sorry, trying to focus…” 

“Want me to stop?” He smirked. 

You glared at him. 

“No. But… I was thinking… I’m not… I haven’t been sleeping with anyone but you and I don’t know if you’re sleeping with anyone else…” 

“I’m not.” 

You smiled a little. 

“You’re the first person I’ve been with since I tested last and everything was clear,” your voice was hesitant. “And I’ve got an IUD…” 

“You asking me to fuck you bare?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You bit your lip and nodded. “Fuck Beautiful…” 

“Assuming you don’t have anything I should know about,” you said, a little hesitant. “And if you’re OK with it…”

“More than fuckin’ OK with it,” he brushed your hair back with his free hand and held the crown of your head in his palm. “Love the thought of that, of bein’ that close to you.” 

He pulled his hand from yours and slid it between you to your dripping slit, making you gasp. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to focus on something aside from the thought of sinking into your body with nothing between you. 

“Want to feel you that way,” you said softly, reaching up and running your fingers through his hair. “Joel…” 

He kissed you then, sliding a finger into you and making your hips rock against him. He gathered your slick and brought it to his cock, coating himself in you. You already felt good - fucking exquisite - when he brought the head of him to your tight, grasping hole. 

Joel pushed inside you slowly, gently, easing you open as you arched into him and your hands splayed over his back. 

He licked into your mouth softly as he pressed into you, trying desperately to focus on something besides just how incredible it felt to be inside you bare. 

Because it was incredible. Beyond incredible. He hadn’t been inside someone without a condom in years, no relationships lasting long enough for him to trust someone enough to fool around without one. Knock up one woman by accident and you learn your lesson real damn quick. 

But you were different. You were you. It was safe to want you this way, have you this way. He could trust you, he could feel that. More than that, he wanted to feel you this way, feel you from inside, feel the very core of you as you took him into yourself, vulnerable and wanting. 

He sank into you and you were so fucking wet, so fucking soft, so fucking warm. He’d never felt anything as good as this, didn’t think there was something that could feel as good as this. But it made sense that he’d find it within you, perfect fucking sense that something so exquisite would be found inside of someone so fucking exquisite in every other way. Your laugh, your skin, your way of thinking, of course being inside you would be almost painfully incredible. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted as he bottomed out in you, his hips flush to yours. He could feel every detail of your muscles stretching around him, the way your body seemed to cradle his own. “Fuck you feel… you feel…” 

“I know baby,” he kissed you, holding himself inside you as he gave your channel a moment to adjust to the size of him. “Fuck, I know…” 

He kissed you again when he started moving in you and you moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking up to meet his own. 

Joel started slowly - he had to or he’d come far before he was ready to, you felt too damn good - savoring at how acutely he could feel every part of you as he thrust into you. 

But he gave in before too long, thrusting into you harder, faster, swallowing the delicious noises you made as you clung to him, your fingers pressing into his back, your legs entwined with his. He could feel you starting to tighten around him, your movements getting faster, sloppy. 

“Not going to last when you come,” he managed, pressing his mouth to your throat before continuing. “Where…” 

“Inside me,” you panted, desperate. “Please, Joel…” 

He nodded into your neck, fucking into you harder and faster and your fingers clung to him as you came, your back arching into him. He looped an arm below you, holding your body tightly to his own as his cock pressed deep inside you. 

“God, fuck, that’s right, come for me,” he said, inches away from coming himself, your walls pulsing around him harder and tighter than they ever had before. “C’mon Beautiful, doing so good, taking me so well…” 

He managed to hold out until your orgasm began to weaken and, with a tortured moan, filled you, pumping rope after rope of come into your desperate, aching core. Your hand flew to as close to his lower back as you could reach and you somehow pushed him deeper into you. He was already leaking out of you, spilling onto his balls and legs before he was even finished coming. 

He collapsed onto you, his head over your shoulder, your hands running in little trails up and down his back as you both panted for breath. The moment he had the energy, he lifted his head enough to kiss you and then rolled you so you were both on your sides, facing each other. He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. 

“Fuck that was incredible,” you smiled a little at him. 

He smiled a little back. 

“You’re stuck with me now,” he said. You laughed. “Can’t recover from sex that damn good, it’s impossible.” 

He held you like that for a long time, the two of you eventually disentangling from each other enough for you to fall asleep on his chest, Joel’s hand splayed wide across the soft skin of your back. 

He woke up before you in the morning, feeling more well rested than he remembered feeling anytime in the last decade, at least. He’d never slept over before and you’d never slept over at his place, always going your separate ways after sex. He didn’t think he could let that keep happening either. 

Joel gently extracted himself from you and you made a groggy little sound but he shushed you, kissing your temple and urging you back to sleep, giving you a pillow to wrap around. He went to your dresser and grabbed a t-shirt from a drawer you’d tossed him a shirt to wear home before. He looked at it and smiled a little, the shirt from a Halloween-themed 5K you’d done with Sarah in Seattle. He remembered her gushing to him about it. He pulled it on, grabbed his jeans and the keys to your place and his truck. 

You’d mentioned a coffee shop down the road, how you liked their skim lattes, a few times and he thought he found it. It was early enough on a Sunday - church still in session - that the place was pretty quiet. He pulled up a picture he had of you on his phone - a selfie you’d sent from the office when he’d asked to see you one afternoon when his job was being particularly shitty - and asked the barista if she knew you and what coffee you usually got. She did know you and smiled a little at Joel before making you an Irish cream latte. He got a cappuccino for himself and breakfast sandwiches before going back to your place and letting himself in. 

You were still in bed, asleep but not deeply. He set your coffee and sandwich on your side of the beg, kissing your forehead as he brushed your hair back. You smiled. 

“Thought you might want coffee,” he said quietly. 

“Mmmm, always want coffee,” you smiled and opened your eyes, looking him over. You smiled wider. “That shirt fits you a whole lot better than it fits me.” 

“Probably looks better on you though,” he smiled, climbing into bed next to you. 

“Did you really go to my favorite coffee place?” You gaped at him as you sat up. He shrugged. “Joel, I swear, you’re going to ruin me for all other men…” 

“Don’t mind that one bit,” he smiled. 

He’d only gotten a bite of his bagel sandwich in when he felt his phone vibrate against his leg. He frowned, pulling it out. Sarah was calling. His frown deepened. 

“I’m so sorry,” he began, showing you the screen. 

“Don’t be, of course pick up, it’s Sarah,” you said, picking up your coffee cup, your eyebrows knitted together. 

“Hey baby girl,” he said after he answered. “Everything OK? Never mind hearin’ from ya but it’s awful early out by you…” 

“Where are you right now?” She asked. 

He frowned. 

“Home,” he said, not thrilled about lying but… 

“No you’re not,” she said. 

He frowned deeper. 

“What d’you mean ‘no I’m not?’” 

“I mean,” he could hear the smile on her voice. “I’m in your living room and neither you nor your truck are here, what the heck Dad?” 

“You’re in Austin?” He looked at you and your eyes went wide. “What are you doin’ here!” 

“There was a cheap last minute flight deal so I figured why not surprise my favorite old man,” she said. “So where the heck are you! I need a Dad hug, it makes getting to the airport at like 4 a.m. worth it.” 

“Shit!” You whispered. Joel winced. 

“I’m on my way back home after runnin’ some errands,” he said quickly. “I’ll be there in just a few, I can’t believe you’re here baby girl! Missed you so much!” 

“I’m going to make coffee,” she said. “And then drink it all before you get here so you can’t have any. See you soon!” 

Your eyes were still wide when he hung up the phone. 

“Have you…” you began. He shook his head. “Yeah, I haven’t said anything to her, either…” 

“We can try and figure it out but I have to go,” he kissed you, deep and desperate, the only thing that could possibly pull him away from your bed right now coincidentally being the person who just showed up in his living room. “I’ll text you, I’m so sorry but…” 

“Go,” you kissed him again, a quick but soft kiss. “Go home, see Sarah, keep me posted?” 

He nodded, grabbing his coffee and his sandwich and going to the door before turning back to you. 

“I had…” 

“Joel, I swear to God if Sarah finds out about us because you were standing here too long I will never fuck you again,” you laughed. “Text me about it when you have a minute. And I had a great time, too.” 

He smiled. 

“OK. See you soon.” 

He half ran to his truck, jumping in the driver’s seat and flooring it back to his place. 

He totally forgot about the shirt. 

Next Chapter

A/N: OH NO NOT SARAH! Even though we love Sarah. But this will be a wrench in things. Wonder what will happen now???

I hope you all enjoyed a cameo by Feral!Joel because I love him.

Thank you so much for being here and for reading! Love you!!!