#my parents have an 11 year age gap so

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: You and Joel make a mess of things—again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Creampie. Age gap. Breeding kink. Period mishap / mentions of blood (!) Eepy Joel is eepy but always down to hit it raw 🤝 Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—for complete content warnings, please read this post!

Word count: 11.5k

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Things changed.

You woke up snug in someone’s arms and didn’t move.

You couldn’t blame the warmth or the comfort of the bed—yours was a Twin XL, and your sheets were all tangled through your limbs in crude, haphazard fashion—for why you had. You just did. Like breathing, the decision not to leave this time around was as reflexive as it was freeing.

You buried your nose in an old, familiar neck and inhaled.

Joel.

Don’t go.

Please don’t go.

That voice was childlike and selfish: Don’t leave me here.

For once, you weren’t the one pushing him away; you were begging him to stay and let the scent of him linger on a little while longer in this too-small bed, in this too-cramped dorm, on this too-cold campus in a town over two thousand miles away from the one you called home.

He’d already spent every minute of the weekend here—Parents’ Weekend, of all things. After the initial shock and consternation of his surprise visit wore off and you’d finally had The Talk about what this thing between you was, you’d accepted that Joel loved you. You accepted that you loved him back. And not a second had passed since the end of that night where you didn’t want to be by his side. It hurt to think he’d be leaving you so soon, so of course, he’d offered to extend his stay to Monday.

The motel Joel had booked wouldn’t let him add an extra night, though, so that was how you ended up here: in the confines of your altogether new-and-nice-but-ridiculously-tiny dorm room that you shared with your roommate. Lucky for you, Aly had slept over at a friend’s. Unlucky for Joel, the only bed you had to offer him might as well have been built for a nine-year-old—his hulking frame nearly swallowed the whole thing, and his weight all but toppled the mattress off its risers. You’d only laughed your ass off a little when you saw it happen.

“Me and my old back need Tempur-Pedic, sweetheart,” he’d grumbled in your hair before drifting off to sleep.

“Tempur-Peepaw,” you’d murmured back, and could’ve sworn you felt his grip tighten while you nodded off too.

Now, your gaze was darting to the only source of light in the room—a digital clock between your bed and Aly’s.

5:11 A.M.

Why the fuck were you awake?

Your stomach hurt. Your head ached. You could’ve easily attributed both to the heaping plates of seafood you’d downed with Joel, Aly, and her family the night before. Dallas had picked the last place you went out to eat, and of course, his choice was fucked. While he swore up and down that this was the spot for him and his friends, the rest of you were wary of how hygienic the restaurant’s practices were. You all had felt a little queasy afterward.

But no, this wasn’t nausea you were feeling right now. It was worse, almost. There was a churning in your gut, an airiness in your head, and a searing warmth between your legs, too hot for even your box fan to combat.

You swallowed hard and stared into the darkness.

Were you…

No, no you were not.

No way were you horny at 5 AM.

But you most definitely were.

You hated yourself for it.

You kicked your foot in that muted self-loathing and huffed—you couldn’t move much else with Joel’s body blanketing yours. But you stirred what you could. It wasn’t fucking fair. You knew yourself, and you knew your body, and you would bet a million bucks that this feeling wouldn’t ebb until you’d thoroughly fucked yourself or someone else to a toe-curling, earth-shattering climax. In the next fifteen minutes.

Joel was fast asleep.

Your hands were currently plastered to your sides under the weight of one of the man’s big, tanned, hairy arms, and you didn’t have a hope of moving it more than an inch without waking him. Your gut twisted in despair.

I. WANT. TO. FUCK.

“Shut up,” you silently chided the fiend between your two shaking, slick thighs. And—oh fuck, were they wet.

This was like your own personal hell, not having access to the release you so desperately needed. Not having Joel to roll over with a knowing, crooked grin and a ‘Missin’ me already, honey?’ before a hand dove under the waistband of his boxers to retrieve what you wanted.

No, he needed to sleep.

He had a two-day drive back to Texas, and it would be unspeakably selfish for you to ask for dick right now.

But you needed reprieve from this awful feeling.

You’d rub your legs together. Dull the ache. Take a worn edge of your comforter and hump the thing like the world was ending today. That wouldn’t be weird.

It also wouldn’t be possible, you learned within minutes.

Try as you might to grind your hips and your desperate cunt through cotton without disturbing the man beside you, you quickly realized that the effort was fruitless: you couldn’t make a single seesaw motion back-and-forth without shaking the whole fucking bed. The old thing creaked and screamed worse than the one in the motel.

While need blossomed in your belly and your head swam with unsated desire, your mind hummed with new ideas.

Stupid ideas.

You shifted in place. Joel grunted and hugged you closer. Ordinarily, your heart would’ve melted at the gesture, but in your present bearings, with these pressing urges, you wanted nothing more than to push it straight off. The thought was slowly taking shape in your mind’s eye that maybe you could pull this off—perhaps you could get off without Joel’s noticing if you just…slid down.

If you slunk under his bicep and ever-so delicately pulled your right arm out from underneath his ribs, if you got his leg to stop draping so heavily over your thigh, you could slide down further. Try not to jostle him much.

It was doable.

With the right maneuvering, you could sneak off the bed.

Pleasure beckoned. Success was well within reach when you scooted your butt down the mattress and past the python-grip of Joel’s upper body. Before you knew it, your ass was gliding down, down, down, and then your torso was twisting, your knees shakily planting themselves closer to the foot of the bed. You sat up.

And as soon as you did, the first thing that greeted you through the darkened room was a wide, toothy grin.

“Climb on then, cowgirl,” came Joel’s gravelly invitation.

In the otherwise biting chill of the room, you felt your cheeks burn a hundred degrees. Your stomach flipped.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” you hissed back.

Those words were followed by a little smack to his arm. Joel took the hit in stride and simply stretched both hands behind his head on the pillow, eyeing you lazily.

“I was. ‘Til you started humpin’ my leg like a dog.”

“I did not.”

Your nostrils flared, and your words nearly rose to a whisper-scream. You still couldn’t make out Joel’s expression in the dark but sensed that it was smug.

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Baby, this was what the bed just felt like.”

To illustrate his point, Joel rocked his hips the tiniest bit. With the force of two thrusts, the whole frame screeched like a banshee. It seemed you’d been too horny to hear it.

“That’s not—” you started, voice tight.

“Just admit it. You needed to cum.”

He might as well have stuck his tongue out after.

You would’ve been irked beyond words if you’d had half a mind to channel the feeling. As it was, though, your brain was fried off a fucking need like no other, and your limbs were driven on pure impulse. You couldn’t be bothered to carry on this petty fight with your peri-geriatric partner right now; you needed release. So, hanging your head in shame for no longer than a moment, and working your panties down your legs while you did, you finally nodded.

The movement was slight. You’d only tipped your chin up once before those instinct-driven limbs were clambering quick to straddle Joel’s lap. He was lying supine on the bed, but you couldn’t see much else. You felt his smile stretch bigger as you lowered yourself onto him, though.

He was tired, you could tell. You normally weren’t one to rebuff an offer to have Joel inside you, no matter the hour, but this felt greedier than usual. You felt needy.

Which was why you didn’t immediately reach for the bulge in his boxers when you’d first mounted him.

Instead, you reached to touch yourself.

You were soaked as you’d ever been.

“I— I can get myself off in a minute,” you found yourself stammering out the second your index and middle fingers connected with your wet, throbbing clit.

And it was true. The sensations you felt were so sharp they almost stung, with sparks igniting across your lower half in just one brush against that pulsing bud. You’d scarcely completed one circuit with your fingers when Joel’s hands were gliding up to find your hips, grip firm.

He swiftly adjusted your seat. Made you rub him harder.

Amusement tinged his voice while he mumbled, low:

“Only place you’re gettin’ off is my cock, got that?”

You hated how quickly you nodded in response.

Okay. He was letting you be selfish. He wanted to help quell your thirst, no matter how early it was or how long of a drive he had. That realization only made you wetter.

You were practically dripping between the legs when Joel slid his boxers down and let his cock spring free.

You knew what to do. You didn’t need his assistance, but still, ever the caretaker, Joel palmed your backside with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He guided your heat to his tip, and in the dim, dull gloom of your dorm room, you could feel him watching. What his eyes couldn’t see his mouth elucidated in words.

“You ready for me, baby?”

He nudged just the head between your weeping folds and let you take the lead. You whimpered. “Yes, daddy.”

Desperate as you were, you didn’t wait for the right moment to move. You didn’t bother readying yourself, because you already knew what you needed. You sank down, and your walls parted without protest. You took him in and gripped him tight and all but choked Joel’s length with the soft, hot, and needy clutch of your body.

“Fuck, honey—”

“Feels so good,” you panted, lips parting as he filled you. You rolled your hips and whimpered again. “So— oh—.”

Your words split on a shriek. You hadn’t even meant to let it out, but the stretch of Joel’s girth felt unusually tough. It almost hurt. But, rather than shy away, you leaned into it. You braced your knees and bore down harder, relishing the sting of his throbbing cock as you slid up and then collapsed again. Pleasure surged through your veins.

The bed groaned and creaked. Your motions didn’t slow. Joel grunted, feeling you clench again, and in an effort to curtail his own need, evidently, starting kneading at the flesh of your thighs. He moved them inward, touch soft.

“Hon,” he breathed, tone just as gentle, “you’re soaked.”

You were restless, too. You anchored your knees a little deeper and leaned back, allowing Joel access to the space between your thighs that was sticky-wet with residue. He swept his fingers through your nectar and thumbed at your clit. You whined with hypersensitivity.

You felt delicate everywhere. Joel was so big inside you, stretching your most precious, sensitive parts and making room for himself. He was throbbing. Leaking. Reaching up and smearing your own wetness across your face while a grin no doubt spread across his own—‘There’s a good girl. Ride my cock. Take what you need, baby’—and you could tell he was just as invested in your pleasure as you were, if not more. He relished whatever remnants of your arousal he could find and praised you with it. You wished you could see him while he did it all.

If light wouldn’t allow you that view, you would take matters into your own hands, you quickly decided. Prying your lower half off of Joel with a grunt and a sigh, you squeezed his legs. You patted his thighs, gently.

“Need you closer,” you mumbled. Your hands slid up his front, and you smiled when you felt him snag your wrists.

Joel pulled you up. Kissed your palms. Kissed your cheeks. Drew you into his lips and, at the same time, flipped you over so that he was on top. His shaft was slippery as it bumped and rubbed between your folds, and you couldn’t help but let out a moan into his mouth.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he said, panting.

In answer, you took the base of his cock in one hand and guided it closer to your center. Joel rutted his hips, and his length pushed up—it glided across your lower belly, smearing the plane of skin with your combined fluids.

He was teasing you. Canting his hips as if fucking someplace deep in your cunt. Biting back a laugh.

“You dick,” you breathed out, both a warning and a momentary reprieve from the severity of wanting.

You gripped his cheek with the same hand that had just held his length and drew him closer to your face. You kissed him and wrapped your legs around his hips, knowing the effect it would have. Joel grunted.

And, though you knew it would amuse him to no end to have you begging for his cock, you also guessed that he wasn’t quite as resilient as he made himself out to be. He couldn’t keep grinning forever—the second your legs nudged him back and the tip of his dick notched in, again, he moaned in pleasure. It ended in a whimper.

Joel was just as fucked-out and desperate as you.

You couldn’t see his full expression, but you could sense it would show he was right on the brink, same as you.

You kissed him deeply. You let his length glide back inside your needy cunt, squeezing every inch of the way.

“Gonna cum for daddy now? Make a mess of this cock?”

In a breath, you could tell he was already there. His balls began slapping rhythmically against your ass, and his stomach muscles clenched. Tufts of grey and black in that thatch of wiry hair at his base kept rubbing your mound, prompting you to squirm and beg for more.

“I-I’m close, Joel,” you told him. Your toes curled.

The bed frame all but shrieked beneath the weight of your body and his, now that Joel was on top and delivering thrusts hard and fast. You braced yourself.

If the bed broke, it broke. You’d gladly pay to have it fixed. Explaining the unusual charge on your student account to your dad was a separate question, though.

“Fuck,” you keened, just as a stroke to your most sensitive spot inside had stars flashing before your eyes.

“Right there,” Joel grunted, going again. “Just like that.”

His forearms bracketed your head, and his face was close. His thrusts were relentless. The little tendril of pleasure coiling up through your gut was just then beginning to take root—two more thrusts and it felt fit to burst. Your arms wound around the back of his neck, and your breaths sped up while Joel kept plunging in and out

In and out.

In and out.

“Gonna let me cum inside?” Joel grit through his teeth.

You nodded, braindead as you’d ever felt before.

“Gonna let me breed this pretty little cunt?”

Oh, fuck.

You came. You didn’t have a say in the matter. It simply swelled and flowed and expelled like a water’s stream, coating the front of Joel’s stomach and your own as well. Your eyes rolled, stomach clenched, walls pulsed and squeezed and flooded your whole body with pleasure.

At the tail end of the sensation, and only dimly grazing your present cognition, you felt his spend unload in ropes. They painted your insides and sent your head spinning, half-feral with the idea of him marking you in this risky, forbidden way. You wanted him spurting so far up your body you could taste him in your mouth. Your hips rolled one more time and your lips brushed with his.

“I— I love you. Fuck, I fucking love you,” Joel groaned.

His cum continued to pulse out from his tip.

“I love you, too,” you panted back.

When Joel collapsed, you feared the bed might split right down the middle with the force of it. Dizzy with pleasure, bliss, and more love than you thought was possible for just one person, you didn’t worry for long. You stroked the back of Joel’s head, silently thanked the bed frame for lasting as long as it had, and inhaled the man’s scent.

It was gonna hurt like a motherfucker when he left.

You weren’t going to think about that now.

Instead, you locked your legs tight around his hips and held him as close as you could. The head of his cock nudged somewhere deep inside you, and his face tilted sideways. Joel nuzzled your cheek. He kissed it softly.

“You alright, honey?” he checked in.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It wasn’t a total lie.

You felt as content as you could be laying between the soaked sheets of your bed with Joel draped overtop. For several minutes, you did just that: laid back and emptied your head of any thoughts of leaving. You hugged him. Buried your face in the crook of his neck and sighed.

Alright, get up.

Go to the bathroom.

It’s 6 AM and you’re about to cry.

Attempting to get out from under Joel and off the bed proved futile—you would’ve had better luck punching a hole through a brick wall—but luckily, he eased up. He let you stand from the bed once he decided he’d doled out a sufficient number of kisses, then you rose on shaky legs.

You flicked on the light. You rubbed your too-tired eyes.

And just as you were about to scour the floor for some clothes and get ready to head outside, you heard a strangled sort of noise from the bed. You paused.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh, honey…”

You turned.

FUCK.

Your bed looked like a crime scene. Joel was trying to sit up, though it seemed he wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands, as half the fucking mattress and sheets were all but soaked through with blood. Your stomach turned.

No. No. Your period wasn’t due for another two days. You hadn’t been caught off guard with a bloody mess like this in years. And in front of Joel? All over Joel, from his groin to his chest to his neck to his chin—you’d been touching him a lot in the dark—and now he was looking on at you in muted horror? You didn’t want to know what you looked like. You wanted to hurl yourself out of the window, if it meant you didn’t have to face the repercussions of this. Joel must be disgusted.

“I am…so sorry.” Your words came out mostly muffled through your fingers. Your hands shielded your face.

Before you could think, you were stumbling toward the sink. Your eyes were burning. He’s leaving. He’s leaving now, in an hour or two, and the last thing he’ll have to remember you by is your menstrual blood on his dick.

Just shoot me.

Make it quick.

“Sweetheart?”

Again, Joel’s voice was soft as he approached from behind. You had a hand towel thrust under a spray of water that was slowly going warm, and your bottom lip was clamped between your teeth. Your fingers trembled.

“Baby…” He said it like a harsher-spoken word might fairly split you in two. That only made you feel worse.

You still weren’t thinking completely straight when you yanked the towel out, wrung it once, and then turned to Joel, almost smacking him in the belly with it as you did.

Scrubbing his blood-smeared tummy seemed like the most logical course of action to take in the moment, so that was what you did. It was just that small matter of having your hands shaking so much you could hardly hold the towel that made it tricky. And Joel’s own warm, callused touch closing in over your fingers, squeezing.

“Hey, look at me,” he urged you gently. You wouldn’t, or couldn’t, so he tilted your chin up to his to make you meet his gaze and momentarily halt your motions.

His eyes were far too soft for a man drenched in blood and preparing to take a thirty-hour road trip that day.

The smile was too sweet for someone leaving you here.

“This is so embarrassing,” you blurted out, heart clenching. “I’ve— it’s never happened…like that.”

With a man, yes. On the person you love, even more so.

You were about to try and start scrubbing the blood again, wanting to rid yourself and him of this mess, when Joel’s smile stretched wider. It seemed almost like a grin.

“Honey, you’re fine,” he said, reassuring. Pressing at your wrist again. “It’s just a little blood. We can rinse off in the shower. Wash the sheets. No need to be embarrassed.”

Easier said than done.

Your brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

The man in front of you took the towel from you then. He tossed the rag in the sink and cupped your likely-blood-smeared cheeks in his hands before meeting your gaze. His palms were warm. His eyes, as usual, were soft. Kind.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly.

With words like those and a look as serious as his, you couldn’t help but relent. Your muscles relaxed. In the glance you stole toward your floor-length mirror, you might’ve caught a glimpse of your own tousled, bloodied exterior for a second, but that memory didn’t last long.

Joel was reaching for a bigger towel. Wrapping you up. Grabbing another for himself and then nudging you over to the door, where you knew you’d need to sneak out and down the hallway to make it to the communal bathroom. Silently, you cursed yourself for opting to live on-campus that year, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Behind you, Joel secured a bright pink, polka-dotted towel around his hips and tried not to smirk.

“Never thought I’d be doin’ this again,” he murmured.

You shot him a look over your shoulder.

“Sneak out of any other girls’ dorms lately, Miller?”

Joel eyed you right back, undaunted.

“Yeah. About a decade before you were born.”

And neither one of you possessed the sense to control it: you had to laugh, and Joel had to elbow you playfully and tell you to respect your fuckin’ elders, kid, and your amusement only grew as you approached the door. His arm hooked around your neck before pulling your back against his chest. Your giggles turned to squeals as he nipped the skin just below your ear and kissed you in a manner more akin to tickling. You begged him to quit, but the grin on your face said you wanted it. Joel gripped the doorknob in his free hand and was about to pull it back, when the thing jumped forward, at you both.

The door opened, and light from the hallway poured in.

“Wh- oh! Hey. Woah. Hey.”

Dallas Ingram’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, but a smile was as quick to form. He eyed you both—up and down.

And almost as swift as his smirk was to appear:

“Gettin’ busy, huh?”

You stared back slack-jawed, covered in blood, and frankly wanting to die a little bit as your roommate’s brother looked on with the biggest, dumbest grin.

Evidently, your undercover skills needed some work.

Despite your best efforts all weekend, Dallas had come to learn that you and Joel weren’t actually stepdaughter and stepfather by the end of breakfast early Saturday morning, and it wasn’t because his sister had snitched. He’d seen Joel smack your ass en route to the bathroom in the dining hall and swiftly surmised that there was more to the story than either one of you were letting on.

He hadn’t been shocked to find you and Joel in your dorm that morning after Aly had asked him to stop by and pick up her gym bag, but he had seemed relatively intrigued by the blood. He’d asked if you and Joel had been fighting or fucking—or both—and you’d rolled your eyes so hard they’d nearly hit the back of your skull. Joel had looked like he either wanted to deck the kid or laugh with him. You suspected by the smirk that ensued it was probably the latter. His face had still flushed a little bit.

Now you were showered, dressed, decently groomed, equipped with enough tampons and pads to supply a city, and perched in the passenger seat of Joel’s Bronco.

“Take a left in half a mile. Onto Kirkland,” you dictated.

Joel squinted to see your phone screen.

“That ain’t right,” he replied.

He made a pass for the phone. You pulled it out of reach.

“I know where I’m going, Joel,” you said, directing his gaze back to the road. “I’m here every other weekend.”

“I’ve been here, too. You go straight on Prescott, take a right by the bank, keep going past the food trucks—”

“No, no, this is Putnam. You’ve got it all fucked up.”

You pointed out a street sign as if to say, ‘See?’

“That ain’t the same one we saw comin’ in.”

“It is. Open your eyes and maybe we’d—”

“My vision’s just fine, kid. Seriously—”

“Seriously? We’ve been circling!”

“It’s called finding the right—”

“—HERE, RIGHT HERE—”

“That ain’t th—”

“Miller!”

The Bronco barreled right past Kirkland Street, along with the diner the two of you had been trying to find for the last twenty minutes. Every time the navigation on your phone had directed you one step closer to the spot, Joel had insisted that his memory served him better.

It hadn’t.

You missed your turn for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, and you were one wide, jerky U-turn away from just throwing yourself out of the moving vehicle. That was how bad Joel’s navigational skills and your level of frustration were at the moment. Add to that a stabbing pain in your stomach and you were truly ready to jump.

Joel cut the wheel and headed back in that direction.

“‘M’sorry,” he said. He glanced your way, where your knees were pulling up to your chest on a particularly tough cramp, and he reached for you. Squeezed your leg. “I’m sorry. That was on me. I should’ve…listened to you.”

“No shit.”

You winced—in pain and in shame for sounding so mean.

“I mean,” you returned, quickly recovering yourself. “Sorry. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

Watching Joel’s side profile, you saw his lips twitch.

“‘S’alright. I like you feisty.”

You bit your tongue.

Sure, he did.

You were just then pulling into the parking lot of your favorite brunch spot in town, and the air outside was cold. The tips of your toes still prickled at the memory of a crisp, frigid trek from your residence hall to the car, and for a moment, you dreaded going inside to eat at all. You wished your body had timed its monthly implosion a little better and your last hour with Joel wasn’t spent in half-agony and agitation, but that was life, you reckoned. With a resigned sigh, you reached for the door handle.

Your boots were back on the floor and about to heave your body out when Joel stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait here,” he murmured.

He motioned for you to stay.

You turned to ask why; the driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Through the windshield, you saw his broad, hunched form round the front of the car. He paused a moment to draw his jacket tighter about himself, and shortly sidled up and swung your door open.

He offered his hand to help you out of the Bronco.

Then, to your surprise, he retracted it even faster.

His eyes had just landed somewhere inside and flashed with recognition, as if remembering something big. Joel reached in, past you, mumbling softly—‘Shit, I meant to give you these earlier. Forgot I even bought ‘em’—and he looked contrite. He opened the glove compartment and tugged out a box. Before you could try and ask what it was, Joel had its contents out. He stepped closer, casting a quick look over his shoulder and frowning.

“Here, why don’t you scoot over? I’m gettin’ you cold.”

He gestured to the wind overhead and moved in nearer like he meant to climb in. You slid across the bucket seat, not entirely sure of what he intended to do, but let him shut the door after himself again and go in all the same.

Shortly, Joel held up what looked to be a heating pad.

His gaze flitted to your stomach, and he nodded once.

“When I first got here you mentioned you were expectin’ your— your, uh…time of the month soon, so I went out and got these. Forgot I bought the pack of ‘em. ‘M’sorry.”

Joel’s frown grew, as if chastising himself. You blinked.

“If you just lift your shirt a bit…maybe tuck it right—” He pinched a belt loop to tug the denim out from your waist. “—under the band here. I don’t know if it’ll stick, but—”

His words trailed off in your mind—you’d caught a glimpse of what was stuffed in the glove box along with the heating pads, and you saw a trove of other items: Advil, chocolate, your favorite trail mix, saltines, jerky, fucking chamomile tea, like he knew exactly what you needed. All because you’d said in passing—actually, right before you’d begged him to finish inside you Friday night—that you were going to be starting your period soon.

And you’d just chewed the poor guy out for his driving.

You blinked some more, not saying a word because you didn’t know what else to tell him, and your throat ached.

Thank you for being sweet.

Sorry I’m so damn mean.

Please don’t leave me.

Slow, steady breaths warmed your cheeks, and a hand tugged your shirt up. Another touch smoothed the heating pad over your belly. Joel wriggled your waistband a second, trying to fit the thing snug underneath it, and all the while, you said nothing.

“I had to text my brother. That’s how clueless I was.”

Joel breathed a laugh. It was soft and sheepish. In contrast to how taciturn you were, he couldn’t seem to keep quiet—like filling the silence with words might make him feel less nervous or awkward about this.

“He’s been seeing this girl, Maria. Well, Tommy’s always been better’n me—much better, I’d say—with, y’know, bein’ in touch with his feminine side, I guess. He’s had more girls than me, friends and girlfriends alike. Anyway, I just needed all the help I could get buyin’ this stuff, and he and Maria gave me advice on what to do. I hope it—”

“Miller,” you cut in.

“Yeah?”

Your breath hitched.

“Have you ever…had a girlfriend?”

The words tumbled out before you could rein them in. Joel had just finished pressing the heating pad flat across your stomach and was pulling your shirt back down when his gaze jumped to yours. For several seconds, it was his turn to be silent, staring at you.

Your insides burned like you’d doused them in kerosene.

“I haven’t…really…” he started again, speaking slow.

Why the fuck were you doing this? Why now?

“Would you…want me to be your girlfriend?”

For whatever reason, your voice cracked.

You hated the sound of that with everything in you, but it was too late to stop the surge of word vomit coming out.

“Even if I’m…mean, and I’m needy, and I— I— I can’t—”

“Sweetheart.” Joel’s expression visibly softened.

“And I can’t show love like a normal person should. I don’t…know how to be good like that. Or receptive to affection. And just knowing that pisses me off so m—”

“You aren’t.”

“What?”

“Mean.”

“Wh—”

“Or needy.”

Joel’s gaze skated from your eyes to your lips, and in a fraction of a second, you could see something threaten to tempt his own. He looked back up instead, smoothed your hair out of your face, and then cupped your cheek.

“Kinda thought you already were my girlfriend, honey.”

It sounded like a confession and a stunt, almost—how could the man be so assured when a reality like that scarcely seemed plausible to you? He was fighting a smile as if he knew something you didn’t. He had to.

“And I love you, you know that?” He said it gently.

You blinked.

You still weren’t used to hearing it.

“You do?” Your voice was small for some reason.

For some reason, it was like you were a child all over again, wishing your father would reach out and hug you sometimes. Approaching adolescence and missing your mother. You’d never felt it, much less heard it from the mouth of someone else in a way that seemed weightless. Joel said it like loving you was as easy as drawing breath.

Then he said it again:

“I love you, sweetheart.”

You said it back, and meant it.

You said it another time while strolling hand-in-hand into the diner. Felt it rumble through Joel’s chest when you took your spot beside him in a booth by the window. Heard it in his tone. Sensed it with his looks. Tasted it on his lips, if only for the briefest of moments while you sat and picked out breakfast together. Your knuckles brushed and your shoulders bumped with damn near every other bite of the meal, but neither of you minded. There was comfort and security in every touch. There was home, and then there was Joel—even though Austin would stay 2,000 miles away as long as you stayed here, he was all you needed to feel safe and content right now.

You didn’t want him to leave.

Back on campus, standing in the parking lot behind the dorms, you told him as much. You hadn’t cared how sad or desperate it made you seem—you were those things—and when Joel hugged you tight, you didn’t regret saying it. He held you close and kissed the crown of your head.

And when it was time for him to leave, you could tell he couldn’t help himself when he leaned down even lower, lips grazing the shell of your ear. Grinning. You felt him.

You heard the words he’d murmured but almost couldn’t believe what he said when he’d said it. You’d discussed it some over eggs and cheesy grits that morning, but still.

It was scary.

Unsettling.

Maybe exactly what you needed, judging by that smile on his face when he finally leaned back and pulled away.

“Just…think about it, OK?” he said, tone encouraging, “We can take this as slow or as fast as you wanna go.”

You nodded that you would.

You knew this could wait.

But still, as you headed back inside and waved the Bronco off for another long spell of time apart—your boyfriend was going home, and taking a piece of you with him—your muscles tensed. Your stomach stirred with uncertainty just shy of a pain, and it wasn’t your cramps that you could reasonably blame this on now.

Your steps were slower; your legs were leaden. The impression of Joel’s last words were still fresh in your mind, and though the prospect was thrilling in some ways, in others it chilled you to your core. While you walked, his words echoed again and again and again:

“I’m ready to tell your dad whenever you are.”

Time passed, and the days wore on.

One minute he’d had you wrapped in his arms, and now you were gone. Every day. It felt like a weight, though nothing, no one, was there, and Joel found himself loathing it more and more with each passing day.

He called your phone more often than he should.

Without a doubt, you had a busy life in college. Finals were drawing close on the horizon, you had at least five different projects and essays and whatever the hell else those fuckass professors decided assigning last minute, and Joel wasn’t too much of a jealous man, but he also craved your time. Your touch. Your voice. When distance deprived him of your presence, he sought any means to be with you, even if it meant looking lame and pathetic.

He was.

He worked evenings. Whenever he saw your name pop up on his phone screen, he’d walk out on just about any task he had and take your call. He kept the old device in his breast pocket just so he could feel you when you did.

Joel Miller was in way too fucking deep, and he knew it.

So, in an effort to curb the fixation, he took to housework during the day. Real, manual labor. It wasn’t for his own home but his granddad’s, and it had been something he’d promised to do for years—him and Tommy both.

The old man had been gone for over a decade now, but the home had stayed in the family. It was in a constant state of disrepair, rarely saw a hint of human life outside of the occasional visit from either brother just to ‘go and check the place out,’ but he and Tommy knew they’d have to do something about it soon. Inspiration just hadn’t struck for what that ‘something’ might be.

Today he was cutting grass. Cleaning out gutters. Pulling weeds—lots and lots of weeds, the sheer mass of which he hadn’t been able to fathom at first glance of the yard.

And he felt a little guilty for just how bad he’d let this place get over the years. The fact that it had taken him an all-out infatuation with a girl he couldn’t get his head or heart off of just to haul his ass over here and work.

Something rustled in the bushes. Joel groaned.

And just as he was about to cup his hands around his mouth and shout, ‘GET THE HELL OFF’A MY PROPERTY!’ you called. He picked right up.

But he couldn’t help the huff in his voice on ‘Hello?’

“Everything alright?” You sounded confused.

“‘M’fine. Just tired of fighting this beast.”

“Beast! What beast?”

“This fuckin’ rat.”

He heard you pause, as if trying to recall when the last time you’d seen a rat yourself, and then you laughed.

Joel momentarily brightened at the sound of it.

“Yeah? Is my big, strong man scared of Stuart Little?”

And then his frown was back. He nearly rolled his eyes.

“I am not,” he returned in protest. He stalked over to the bushes where the sounds had just come from, and he shook a few errant branches. Hard. “Go on, get out!”

“Alright, I’ll go.”

Joel could hear your chuckle through the line. He didn’t need to see your face to know it had broken into a grin.

“Funny. Y’ever consider bein’ a comedian, sweetheart?”

“I’ve toyed with the idea. Now what the hell have you got going on with a rodent on your granddad’s property?”

“It ain’t a rodent.”

Another pause.

“Well, what’s—”

Joel didn’t hear the rest. He’d just shook the bush as hard as he could, and out flew the beast he’d been after. It scrambled on its paws and hightailed it across the yard

“AND STAY OUT!” he yelled after it.

Now you were invested. Your stifled giggling had turned to queries—‘What the fuck are you doing, Miller? What is it?!’—and Joel scarcely had the energy to answer. His back hurt. Hell, it ached. And his knees weren’t doing so hot either. At length, he turned to face wherever that damn critter had gotten off to, and he squinted out into the mid-afternoon sun. It was cold, but his efforts had worn him out. Warmed him up. He’d broken a sweat.

“It’s just…a dog,” he heaved at last.

A little gasp sounded through the phone.

“A puppy?!” you squealed. “Joel, you bastard!”

Joel scowled. He wished you could see it.

“Why am I a bastard? She’s trespassin’.”

“It’s a goddamn dog, Miller! C’mon.”

The man wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Yes, it was a dog. A yellow blond beast of a thing that tore out and around the farmlands like he owned every acre of it and shit exclusively in his backyard. He’d stomped through four big, soggy gifts of this kind in the last week alone. He was sick of the thing, and determined to find out who she belonged to.

“Is she OK?”

Your voice was soft. Joel had to do a double take.

“OK? ‘Course she’s OK, she’s got a big, pretty yard to drop shits in, a loud and yappy bark to wake the whole—”

“Food, I mean. Has she eaten? Is she coming back?”

Now Joel really had to take a beat. Were you sympathizing with the beast he so despised?

He put a hand on his hip. He winced, instantly, feeling a strain in his back the size of Texas itself. He slowly lowered the hand and started off to the house.

“I don’t think you’re hearin’ me. This creature is ruining my property. My grandfather’s property—just soilin’ it.”

“Because you and your brother have done such a bang-up job of keeping that place fit for human habitation.”

“Hey,” Joel huffed, “I’m tryin’. Been here all week.”

“I know.” You took a second yourself. Probably smiled. “I’m just teasing. I’m glad you’re out there to fix it up.”

Then, before he could reply, you were jumping back in:

“So, what are you thinking of naming her?”

By now, Joel was approaching the back porch. The toe of one boot had just struck the bottom step, all molded, old, and rotten straight down to the tufts of grass below. He halted in place and shifted his phone to the other ear.

He frowned deeply.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I naming her’?”

“All that screamin’ and hollerin’ you’re bound to do while you try and evict this poor thing from your property. Might as well give her a name if you’re gonna yell.”

“You yell at me plenty and rarely use my name.”

“That’s not true. I do use your name.”

“‘Dickhead’ doesn’t count.”

He was walking up the steps now. Hearing them groan and creak beneath the weight of his body and hoping the porch wouldn’t split in two before he reached the door.

“I’m serious, Miller,” you continued, unfazed. “Give her a name. Leave out some treats. Let her get comfortable enough to where you can check her collar, or else pick her up and take her to the shelter. See if she’s chipped.”

Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that most dogs out here didn’t have little luxuries like microchipping, and the odds of finding this thing’s owner that way were slim to none, but he also just wanted to say something sweet. Ease your mind before changing the topic to more important things—like when you planned on coming home and how he could persuade you to make it a day or ten sooner. He heard the screen door slam shut behind him, and he was heading straight for the sofa. He sighed.

“Alright, sweet pea. Why don’t you think of some names for me, and I’ll start asking around the neighborhood if anyone knows whose she is. How does that sound?”

“I’ll need to meet her first,” you answered shortly.

“What?”

Joel dropped to the couch and kicked off his shoes. On the other end of the line, he heard shuffling, like you were preparing to relax a bit yourself. You cleared your throat.

“Yeah. Can’t fairly name a dog I haven’t even seen.”

“I’ll send you a picture if I catch the little shit.”

“Nope. Gotta be in person. You know that.”

“No, I don’t. And we ain’t keepin’ her.”

“We’ll see about that, dickhead.”

“Honey.”

That last word was both a term of endearment and a warning—‘We are not, under any circumstances adopting this dog.’ For some reason, as he said it, the protest already seemed futile on his lips. Like you weren’t hearing a syllable of what he was saying.

“Okaaaaay.”

“Sweetheart.”

Another warning. Another beat of silence.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his grip.

For a second, he was confused. Who the fuck would be texting him other than you? His brother and friends were all serial phone call fanatics—too Boomer-adjacent to use texts as a common form of communication. He pulled his phone from his face and put you on speaker. He swiped his thumb down to snag his new notification.

And nearly choked on the spit in his mouth.

You’d texted him. He’d opened it.

Attached to the message you sent were several different pictures of you, all in various states of undress. They were taken seconds ago, if Joel had had to guess.

“Fuck me,” he groaned.

His cock was already hardening in his jeans. He could hear you stifle a laugh across the line but didn’t care.

“Weird name for a dog, but I’ll take it,” you said.

Mutts were the furthest thing from his mind.

He wasn’t shy to tell you as much as his hand slid down to the button and zip of his pants and undid them both.

“Put on the…the…Face…book,” he muttered, low.

“The what now, Joel?” you cackled back.

“The Face-whatever. Video call. Wanna see your face.”

“FaceTime, Miller. FaceTime.” You were teasing now.

You should’ve known damn well a man as old as him wouldn’t know what the fuck a FaceTime was, but you poked fun anyway. Joel reminded himself to make you pay for that later, and then took his cock in his hand.

He let go to spit in his palm. He grabbed it again.

“Put those pretty tits on FaceTime or I’m tellin’ your old man all the sick, depraved things you’ve been lettin’ m—”

“You’re insufferable, Miller.”

He grinned to himself.

“You love it.”

He knew you couldn’t argue with that. In a minute, he heard you sigh, felt you betray a little smile of your own as you got to shifting around in place again. Preparing.

“I’ve got class in twenty minutes.”

“Won’t need but five, sweet pea.”

His phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime.

Today was the day.

Well, almost the day.

Tomorrow you came home, but it was close enough to midnight now that Joel could pretend that it was today.

He was seated at a bar, both elbows planted on the sticky wet surface of a tabletop that was rarely cleaned. By now, he knew Mando’s sports bar like the back of his hand, and he could tell when certain staff weren’t around to clean spills. He could smell it, with the stench of a coconut-flavored rum wafting up to his nostrils and invading his brain. It took him back to his college days. Meanwhile, a mob of plastered bachelorettes were gathered six stools down and only getting louder.

“Kill me now,” your father grumbled beside him.

Joel hadn’t meant to say yes when he’d invited him out.

In fact, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing tonight, but your dad was unimaginably persuasive. He’d also offered to pay for Joel’s drinks at the bar, so really, this was just an opportunity to exercise his liver with an old friend, for free. Nothing dangerous about drinking with the guy whose daughter he was secretly dating.

Nothing dangerous at all.

Joel swallowed another draught of his jack and coke and stared harder at the wall of spirits in front of him, like a long enough look might save him from having to talk.

He’d never felt more awkward around his friend in his life. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to die or just confess.

Hey, man, I’m in love with your daughter, by the way.

We’ve been having filthy phone sex for weeks now.

Regular, old fashioned fucking for even longer.

“I need to take a leak,” Joel told him instead.

“Really? That’s your fourth piss in the last hour, Miller,” your father observed, almost clinically. He was drunk. “Sure you ain’t got one of them…UTIs, or whatever?”

The man had a smirk on his face when he said it.

He went on: “Catch a little somethin’ from whatever girl you screwed on vacation a couple weeks back, maybe?”

Of course, he meant the time he’d visited you at school.

Of course, he didn’t know it was you he’d gone to see.

He would, eventually. Not now. Not here. Not with eight of the most obnoxiously intoxicated women flailing limbs and lip syncing to Shania Twain just a dozen feet away.

When Joel returned from his bathroom break—another stupidly long pit stop like the last three taken before it—one of the octet had wandered over. She moved closer to him. Joel had only just slid onto his barstool and ducked his head to drink when a voice broke in, high and shrill.

He ignored her. Like the sound hadn’t even registered for him, he completely disregarded the wasted twenty-something, though it was obvious her eyes were on him.

“Ain’t feelin’ too friendly tonight?” his friend ribbed him.

Your dad didn’t seem to be seeing her either, while her fingers splayed over her hips and she slurred something more about needing some of that Southern hospitality.

Joel could smile. Nod his head.

That should get his friend off of his back.

But the moment he did, it was like a siren went off.

“Why don’t you buy her a drink, Miller?!” the man barked.

And Joel declined. Didn’t even lift his gaze in the girl’s direction and took another sip of his drink, hoping that she would leave. She did, eventually, but only after your dad had bought her and her friends a round of green tea shots, and the group had shrieked with satisfaction. His friend grimaced, but Joel could tell he was also amused.

“Never seen that before,” the man hummed.

“Seen what?” Joel took another swig of his drink.

“Never seen you so disinterested in gettin’ ass, Miller.”

Joel cringed hearing that. Not just on account of you, but knowing how crude your father could get when he was drunk. How forthright and unfiltered he’d become.

“Yeah. Just not that into…that,” Joel finished lamely.

“I’ll bet.”

His friend flitted a look from him, to the bachelorettes, to him once again. He seemed to appraise him in his seat. Then he leaned in closer and bumped Joel’s shoulder.

“Hear the way she screamed when I bought ‘em drinks?” His grin was smug. “Think she’d sound the same if y—”

“Why don’t you do it, then?” Joel said suddenly. He turned toward his friend, then nodded to the group. “Eager as you are to get some tail, go tell ‘em hi.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so abrupt. His tone was clipped, with an edge that said that he was annoyed with this conversation. Admittedly, he was, but he didn’t need your father asking why. He took a slow, steadying breath.

“Because I’m a taken man, Joel Miller. You ain’t.”

Right.

Right.

Fucking his ex-wife’s best friend was a real special thing. One could only imagine how well that would turn out.

Without thinking, Joel glowered down at his drink.

“Shit. You’re empty,” his friend slurred a little. “Sadie?”

Sadie, the bartender, had their drinks replenished in a second—she knew her regulars and didn’t talk much.

Your dad could learn a thing or two from her, Joel mused.

Then, as if reading his mind and deciding to push his luck even more for the hell of it, the man spoke again:

“Don’t worry, Joel-y. I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”

He was sneering faintly. His breath smelled of whiskey.

“Oh yeah?” Joel shot back. Sharp. “Get where?”

He couldn’t help it.

Too late to channel his own inner-Sadie now.

His companion raised his glass to his lips and smiled.

“A relationship, Miller. With the woman you love.”

“And here I thought you just liked fucking her.”

A silence stretched after he said that, and Joel couldn’t tell if it was his friend taking his time with his cocktail or really resenting his words. He hadn’t meant to be rude.

Well, no, maybe he had.

Maybe he was tired of talking about Helen like that ‘relationship’ they’d had wasn’t the reason his friend’s marriage had gone up in flames decades back and you’d grown up most of your life without a mother. Joel didn’t have the whole story—couldn’t fully gauge what had taken place all those years ago, or why she’d left—but he could guess that this wasn’t the right move for your dad.

Or for you.

Just knowing what he knew, and what he’d failed to do when his friend had first told him, was enough to piss him off. Which was why he went on, futile as it seemed.

“You really think it’s love…with Helen? I didn—”

“Yeah. I do.”

His friend’s reply sounded a little barbed, at last.

There it was. The first tinge of annoyance—a rare sight for a man as indefatigably cheerful as your father—almost made Joel smile. He could see how he really felt.

His friend was clearly drunk now.

As the man’s emotions had a tendency to take wild, arcing swings whenever the drinks had gone to his head, it appeared he was nearly there. He’d eased off on the nonsense about Joel’s hypothetical sex life and directed the discussion inward. Joel could handle these musings.

For the first time, he leaned in closer and spoke lower.

“Last time we talked, you said Helen Foley was a fling.”

His friend’s eyes widened the slightest bit. He swallowed whatever whiskey was in his mouth and shook his head.

“You don’t…Don’t even say that.”

“Say what? That was all you.”

Joel’s gaze goaded him on, and he wasn’t even sure why he wanted to. It felt like the right thing to do, though, given how otherwise tight-lipped his friend had been about his former mistress and the fact that he was flaunting it now. As drunk men often liked to do.

“I never said she was a fling, Miller. I just…”

Another shake of his head, eyes glazed.

“Just what?” Joel pressed.

“I just said I liked her. A lot.”

“You said you liked the sex.”

Joel was being crass. Crude, like his friend had been before. He knew it would provoke a reaction out of him.

And just moments later, Joel’s wish was nearly granted.

Your dad blinked. He cleared his throat and tapped his now half-empty glass on the bartop before peering up.

“You’ve got it wrong,” your dad said, low. Hoarse.

“You said—”

“I say a lot of stupid shit, Miller. You know that.”

He did.

“So what is it then? Is the sex that good that—”

“No.”

“And it wrecked your whole fucking marriag—”

“Don’t,” your dad cut in, again, harsher now than before.

His speech was slowed, sluggish, and palpably agitated. The whiskey had hit his brain. He wasn’t as in control of the words flowing out of his mouth; Joel could see it.

“So you don’t feel guilty at all for cheating with her—”

“Because I loved Helen first!”

In spite of the raucous din of the bar all around them, your father’s voice carried surprisingly fast. Loud. Sadie cocked her head from a sea of new patrons huddling in at the entrance, lifted one brow, and scanned them briefly, as if trying to tell if a fight might be brewing.

It wasn’t. Your dad just got loud when he was plastered.

And once he started something, he had to keep going. Joel was listening, but he had to admit that the drinks were beginning to affect him, too. He set his down.

“What are you talking about?” he asked him.

Your dad dropped his glass with a little more éclat.

“I’m saying,” he started. Pausing to swallow once more. “I knew Helen first. I loved her first. This was before…”

He swallowed again, and Joel could see the effort there.

“…before I ever even met Amy. I swear.”

Amy. Now that was a name Joel hadn’t heard in awhile. It had been mostly an unspoken rule between them both never to bring up his ex-wife’s name, much less mention her like this. But there he went. Six drinks in and he was reminiscing on your mother. Joel felt trouble simmering.

“But you and Amy were married—” he started, slower.

“Exactly eight months before our daughter was born,” his friend grit out. Something like ire flashed in his gaze. “How’s that for one big fuckin’ coincidence, huh, Miller?”

Joel hadn’t even thought about it. He hadn’t known your father or mother back when they were first married—though Tommy had worked with the former, and had been friends with the couple a bit longer than he had.

Joel had only seen the ugly end of the marriage. It never occurred to him to inquire when—or how—it had started, just that it pissed his friend off whenever Amy became a topic of discussion. Mostly, it was in the context of regret

He saw that again, presently.

“Nobody even knew that was a thing because we were…casual. And real private about it, for a little while. Then the pregnancy came outta left field and I thought I was doin’ the right thing, y’know? Gettin’ married and growin’ up and all. But Amy wasn’t ever really in it any more than me. She knew I’d always be in love with somebody else.”

Helen?

Her best friend?

“Then why weren’t you with her?” Joel couldn’t hope to control the fervor that warmed his tone. He was enrapt.

He’d never heard this side of the story before.

His friend shrugged like it was nothing to him.

“Timing. Life,” he answered, duller. “We tried it out for a little while when she was in college, but Helen was so…young. And full’a big notions of gettin’ out of town, doin’ something else and stayin’ someplace else. I didn’t fit.”

He sounded deflated as he said it. He went on.

“I was damn near ten years older than her. I didn’t know the first thing about keepin’ a girl her age interested, or givin’ her what she needed. Had me mad for the longest time— which was why…I guess…” his friend trailed off.

“Amy,” Joel answered for him.

“Yeah. Amy,” your dad confirmed. Something more passed behind his eyes, though Joel couldn’t quite tell what it was. If he had to guess, he would say it was guilt.

The man kept going, evidently emboldened by his present state of intoxication and ready to say the worst. He ground his molars and rolled his lips like there was something bad he was itching to say, and Joel could only stare back. Wishing he was a little more drunk himself.

“I never meant it to be serious, Joel. I was young and dumb and trying to make the girl who rejected me jealous by screwin’ her best friend, and Amy knew it just as well. She knew I was sleepin’ with other people, too.”

His words were coming out quicker now. He planted one hand on the tabletop beside him, but he was facing him.

“Amy and I were both sleepin’ with other people, Joel.”

Then he paused a moment, and Joel wasn’t sure what the man was trying to say. Shortly, it dawned on him.

His eyes widened.

“You mean…?”

Your dad swallowed. Then shrugged. Then looked away, like he was suddenly ashamed of what he’d said. Knowing what it implied for himself, his ex-wife. For you.

“I’m— I’m almost positive she’s mine, there’s just…”

What? A possibility that you weren’t his daughter?

How could the man live with something like that?

Joel’s heart thudded a little louder in his chest. He wasn’t sure why; it just felt like something strange and momentous and bizarre for him to know before you.

Did you know?

“Does she…” He found it harder to finish his sentences.

Your dad’s eyes darted back to his. He blinked rapidly.

“No, no. God, no. I’d never tell her somethin’ like that,” he answered, fast. “It— it don’t even matter now, she’d always, always be my little girl. I just found out years after there was a chance she might be…someone else’s.”

Someone else’s.

Suddenly, Joel didn’t feel like he was fit to be told any of this. He felt like he was intruding. For your father to confess all of this—sharing such heavy news—it was all he could do to keep his blinking and breathing in check.

“See, Helen was never ‘the other woman.’ Amy and I were long checked out of our marriage before we ever split, and we…I mean, I went back. To Helen. I loved her.”

Your father paused again.

“I still love her, Joel. We tried making things work again, back then, too. We’d grown up a little bit. But my divorce was too new, my daughter was too young. It— it just didn’t happen. But now she’s here, and she wants to try again. I want to try again, and see if maybe— I dunno.”

“But then…” Joel thought of you. “Your daughter.”

“She thinks I’m the piece of shit who blew our family up on account of some affair. And I’m fine with her thinking that, if it keeps her from diggin’ into the past and learning her mom and I weren’t— that I might not be…”

Joel closed his eyes a moment. He sucked in a breath.

This was the last thing he needed to learn the night before you were supposed to be coming back home.

How could he tell you something like this? Should he?

It almost seemed as if the walls were closing in, and he was faced with the same dilemma as he had before—cope with a lie or cause more pain by telling you the truth. But now it really didn’t feel like his place to tell. It felt heartless and cruel to even bring it up, and somehow worse if he didn’t. If he withheld the truth from you again

And just as he’d endeavored to get his head around the idea, to try and make sense of it, a new bomb dropped.

“But if she ain’t mine, at least I’ve got an…idea of who the father might be. Silver livings an’ all,” his friend said. The smile he flashed him was as weak as it was sardonic.

“Who?”

“There were a few—rumors, I mean. Nothing for certain. Just heard she was seeing Dave York and Javier Peña…”

Those made sense. Joel knew the guys from work.

“Marcus Pike and that dude who used to live a little ways out of town—Ezra something, I forget. You remember?”

He didn’t.

Joel was racking his brain for names, and the last two sounded familiar, though he couldn’t place their faces.

“Dieter Bravo, that actor guy…Reed Richards—shit, it’s been a minute since we talked to him, ain’t it? Damn.”

Your father kept rattling off names like this was the most normal thing in the world—he’d probably done it often over the years—but with each new pronunciation, Joel felt himself growing sicker. He didn’t want to hear more.

But he’d have to, unless he made up an excuse to leave.

Another bathroom break might do the trick.

Okay, he could slip out easily that way.

Just as Joel was clearing his throat and preparing to make his fifth restroom announcement of the night, he had to stop. He heard another name drop from your dad, and he almost choked. Then he did choke, in a second.

“And Tommy, maybe…”

“Tommy?!”

The lone word punctured the air like a strangled breath—it came from the labor of his own two lungs, at hearing his brother’s name raised in connection with all of this.

What could Tommy have to do with any of that?

“Yeah,” your dad answered, nonchalant at first. Then, seeming to recollect his senses as he realized what he’d said, he smiled sheepishly. “I mean that’s—that’s a long shot, Joel. I heard some whisperings Amy and him might’ve gotten on and hooked up once or twice back then, but it was nothing serious. The odds of him bein—”

“Your kid’s father?!” Joel spit the words out like poison. He couldn’t help it. His heart had jumped to his throat.

He couldn’t be hearing his friend correctly.

He had to have been mistaken with that.

Joel’s brain short-circuited momentarily. It felt like his heart had leapt from his throat to his head and he could sense every sick, throbbing pulse of the thing thrumming sporadically through his skull. It was deafening to him.

Your father was continuing on, but it was hard to hear.

“…Tommy must’ve been, what, twenty-two? Same as Amy. I think they had some mutual friends besides me—must’ve been a casual thing. I don’t think he even knew we were hooking up back then, too. I don’t blame him…”

The man might as well have been speaking French, because Joel didn’t understand the first fucking thing coming out of his mouth except ‘Tommy’ and ‘Amy.’

His brother and your mother.

Having sex? When the fuck had that happened?

There had to be some misunderstanding. No way could his baby brother have done something like that and not…

Fuck. It had been twenty-two goddamn years since then.

What if he didn’t remember?

What if he couldn’t remember?

What if—oh, fuck, there was no fucking shot.

“Don’t look so shocked, Miller.” Your father grinned, and for the first time in a while, through the bulk of this whole conversation, it was genuine. He thought this was funny. “You know Tommy got around back then. Shit happens.”

Then, as if to rib him again:

“What, you scared of bein’ my kid’s uncle or somethin’?”

Joel was ready to throw up.

No, not ready—he was going to retch.

Jack and coke could’ve easily taken the blame for that, but anyone with half a brain and an ability to see the situation for what it was would’ve known better.

Joel knew better.

He had to shake his head. Say something. Otherwise he would be stuck, staring at his friend and looking as if he might spew chunks all over the front of his shirt at any given moment. There was no way you two were related.

“Hey, if you are, I’d say you’d make a damn good uncle anyway. You and her have been close for awhile, right—”

Time to vomit.

Time to leave.

Time to abandon any scant sense of self-respect and simultaneously lose the last six drinks he’d consumed into the closest sink or toilet. The room was spinning.

‘Gotta…piss’ was all he remembered saying. That should’ve been enough. If it wasn’t, well…that was no longer his problem. He was gone in the next second.

In his semi-drunken state, it amazed Joel just how far he was able to disgorge his dinner. As he expected, it was mostly liquid. It was like the second he stepped into the bathroom, all bets were off, and he was heaving like he was on the brink of death. What the fuck was all that?

This didn’t feel real. Wiping his mouth, running the sink, watching the liquid trail down, down, down until there was nothing left for him to see but a concave block of porcelain staring back. Its surface was surprisingly bright, shiny, and slick. It made him want to barf again.

But this was no time for fucking around.

If anyone needed to be spilling their guts now, it was someone else. Joel couldn’t rest until he reached him.

So, pulling out his phone with sweat-damp, noticeably shaky hands, he blinked harder. He focused his gaze. For the first time in what now felt like years, he turned the device on without the intention of texting, calling, or FaceTiming you. He scrolled through his long list of contacts until he reached the name, then winced.

This wasn’t real.

This wasn’t real.

He dialed the number and grew nauseous all over again.

Tommy Miller, answer your motherfucking phone.

[russo-woso]

You’ve got a lot of explaining to do

Y/N tells Leah and her parents about the pregnancy and a lot of emotions arise.

3 weeks 2 days

It had been two days of hell.

Two days ago you found out you were pregnant and it was the biggest secret you’d kept ever.

You hadn’t heard anything from the clinic, but you needed to tell your family before you dig yourself into a whole of inevitable hell - a court case.

You were lying in your bed, lost in thought when you felt a wave of sickness rush through you.

You’d had a dull cramp like ache since the moment you woke up but you blamed the nerves and anxiety from the past few days.

You ripped your duvet off you, stumbling out of bed, your phone falling off causing a giant bang to echo around the house.

You ran to your en suite, throwing your head in the toilet as you retched.

“Kiddo?” Leah asked, knocking on the door but when she didn’t get an answer but instead heard the sound of retching, she let herself in.

She immediately rubbed your back, gathering the loose hairs that were in your face.

“It’s okay, bubba. Deep breaths.” She whispered, rubbing your back comfortingly, offering a tiny piece of comfort that you desperately needed in such a vulnerable situation.

With the 11 year age gap between you and Leah, your parents never expected you to be close but they were so wrong.

In Leah’s eyes, you were her baby - her baby sister who she got to watch grow and seeing you like this always made her heart ache.

“What a way to wake up.” You mumbled, your body collapsing against the wall, limp and heavy.

Exhaustion filled you despite having just had a full nights sleep.

“Looks like it’s no training for you today, kiddo.” Leah told you, fiddling with your hair to put it into a loose bun.

You hummed quietly, not having the energy to argue back or even respond.

“Let’s get you back to bed, huh? Come on, bubs.” Leah helped you up, practically carrying you back to your bed. “I’ll grab you some water and I’ll be right back. I wonder what’s up with you.”

Guilt ran through you.

You told Leah everything, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the pregnancy.

You had nothing to be ashamed of. You hadn’t done anything to get pregnant, you hadn’t had sex, yet you still felt the sudden shame when you thought of the pregnancy.

You had to tell her today or the guilt would rot you away.

You and Leah were supposed to be having lunch with your dad, you’d call your mum and get her to meet you there too, and then you’d tell them.

You had 5 hours to prepare yourself.

Your parents, you and Leah were settled in the small cafe when you decided it was time to announce your little surprise.

The whole time you’d sat in silence, the anxiety eating away at you.

Leah had just stopped talking about training that morning when you took a deep breath.

A comfortable silence filled the air between the four of you.

Your dad and Leah had both picked up their drinks when you thought it was the perfect time.

“I’m pregnant.”

Leah choked on her drink, your mums jaw dropped and your dad nearly dropped his tea.

“I’m sorry. What?” Leah questioned, putting her drink down on the table and turning to look at you. “You’re a virgin! You can’t be pregnant.”

“Leah!” You hissed, looking at all the people who had looked your way at Leah’s outburst.

“Honey, Leah’s got a point. You can’t be pregnant if you’ve never had sex. You have to have sex to get pregnant.”

“Yes I know how it works mum.”

“You’ve had sex then?” Leah blatantly asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I haven’t.” You told them, your eyes filling with tears.

“Then how?”

“The clinic mixed me up with another woman. I went in to have my endometriosis examination and they thought I was the woman who had come in to have an artificial insemination. The clinic rang me two days ago and told me and now I have to do this long court hearing and I have to get lawyers and I’m having a baby and I haven’t even had sex.” You rambled, bursting into tears.

Leah immediately hugged you whilst your parents sat there speechless.

“You’ll get through this. We’ll do this together. I’ll ring the clinic when we get home.” Leah told you, your face buried in her neck as you continued to sob.

Your mum joined the hug, then your dad, both holding you close.

“I’m suing this clinic.” Your dad muttered, pure anger in his voice. “I’ll take them to fucking court!”

“David calm down.” Your mum warned him

“They got our baby girl pregnant because they fucked up. I’m not having it.”

Leah just continued to hold you, rubbing your back and kissing your head.

She stared ahead, not looking at anything in particular.

She couldn’t process what you’d just told her.

You, her baby sister who used to nestle fast asleep in her arms, was now having a baby?

“We’ve got this. I’m gonna be there the whole way.”

“Hi my names Leah, I’m Y/N Williamson’s sister. I’ve been informed that you’ve impregnated her through a mess up within your files.” Your sister began, allowing the receptionist to say a few words. “Yeah, so we’re suing you for medical negligence. I’ll have lawyers contact you soon.”

Leah then hung up, keeping the phone call simple.

“You should’ve told me, kiddo. You shouldn’t have kept something like that.” Leah told you, sitting down on the sofa next to you.

You immediately cuddled up to her, needing some kind of solace from your big sister.

“I didn’t know how to.”

“Are you keeping it?”

“I don’t know.” You replied honestly. “It’s my baby but at the same time it doesn’t feel like it is. I just… it’s my blood, le. I want kids, I do, but I’m so young. But then one day when I do have kids, I’ll always know that I did have a kid that I never stepped up for and I think I’ll always hold that guilt if I didn’t have it.”

You started to get emotional again, feeling the tears threatening to fall.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Leah cooed, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. “You don’t have to decide right now. There’s no pressure on you to do anything. It’s all up to you and you decide when you’re ready.”

You nodded against her chest, your eyes shutting as you tried your hardest to focus on something else.

“Thank you, le.”

“You don’t have to thank me, bubba. I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

[suiana]

✎ yandere! dilf headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― obsessiveness, possessiveness, manipulation(?), mentions of violence, implicated stalking and stealing, legal age gap, breeding kink 💀, etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

✎ yandere! dilf who hired you as his son's tutor. he's just so worried that his darling son won't be able to keep up with school :( as a result you were hired to tutor him :D he actually doesn't know how you look like yet, but guessing from your profile picture you're a granny..?

✎ yandere! dilf who couldn't help but be enamoured with you the second you stepped inside his house. wait why were you so cute? didn't he hire an old- huh?! oh that was a picture of your grandma... oh well, he shouldn't have guessed. how else is he supposed to calm his boner now?

✎ yandere! dilf who's watering at your innocence. oh you're such a sweet thing! bright eyes sparkling with the desire to teach his son! your future son! he's so glad he's divorced... he's dead set on making you his beloved little thing. and you can't do anything to change it~!

✎ yandere! dilf who falls for you more and more with each tuition session. oh you just look so adorable! and that outfit you wore last session! it was so cute! he really had a hard time holding himself back you know? he's imagining tearing apart your outfit while marking you up now-!

✎ yandere! dilf who is older than you. I mean, he literally has a 15 year old son so it would be expected that he's old. but... he's still handsome! so you can consider him... right? oh please give him a chance! he'd hate to have to break you down completely :( yes he's that in love with you to the point where he won't mind breaking you down and rebuilding you to how he wants you to be ♡

✎ yandere! dilf who's extremely flirty and embraces his dilf-ness. rolling up his sleeves to expose his veiny forearms, unbuttoning his top two buttons to expose his defined chest, subtly flirting with you every time he sees you... just two tuition sessions ago he stood so close to you to the point where you could smell his cologne and see his man boobs?! you had to spend that entire tuition session clenching your fists just to focus. oh those sexy man boobs! his cleavage ! why is his body so sexy?! don't worry, if you wanted to touch he'll be more than happy to let you feel him up :)

✎ yandere! dilf who can't stop thinking about bashing in the heads of anyone who's glanced in you. no one should be taking in your divine self except for him and his son. those trash can't worship and love you like he does. hm... maybe he should just kidnap you? keep you all to himself. yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

✎ yandere! dilf who has a little shrine dedicated to you in his study. aw, how cute! it's just a small picture of you and a flower- wait is that your missing underwear? and is that your lost diary?! why's your entire schedule noted down with lots of hearts scribbled on it?! how'd he- there's no way he stalked you... right?

✎ yandere! dilf who gets his son to talk to you about how he's so lonely and wants another parent desperately... you're smart so you'll get what he means, won't you? after all, can you resist those watery eyes and the slight sniffling his son is doing? and he's sure you don't have any other tutees due to how much he's paying you already... so it's alright to be his, no?

✎ yandere! dilf who wants to breed you. it doesn't matter whether or not you can actually have children, he'll still want to breed you. imagining you round and full with his children... it just turns him on oh so much.

✎ yandere! dilf who really wouldn't mind a new addition to his family. I mean, for the past... 11 years it's only been him and his son :( and he finds it so lonely in his big mansion without anyone to accompany him... you understand what he's saying right? don't worry, you'll never have to lift a finger again should you accept his offer. he's rich after all :)

✎ "hn? oh my son did good, huh? should I reward you for being an amazing tutor? I know just how to thank you after all..."

[honghwalvr]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Epilogue

m.list atz.list

genre: fan fiction, smut, friends-ish to lovers

wC: 786

- synopsis: Working as the daycare instructor was the most boring job you've ever had. Worse than being a cashier at a store almost no one goes to.

But when Mr. Kim first came to drop his kid off? Holy shit, things got interesting.

And the best part? He was single.

He, in your perspective, was a certified DILF.

pairings: dilf & producer ! hongjoong x young daycare worker ! reader

- warnings: swearing, drinking, dilfs, age gap

Prologue

"Yes, of course, Mr. Choi," you said to the last parent, Choi Yeonjun, who picked up his kid and informed you of a new allergy his son had.

Waving him off until you were out of sight, you sighed and walked back into the daycare with that sullen face of yours.

"Bored again?" your friend, Jeon Soyeon, asked.

"Outta my mind. The most exciting thing that's happened to me all my life was getting accepted to do this job." you mumbled, playing with the straw from your coffee.

"Let's go out tonight," Seoyeon's eyes light up yet dim once she sees you shake your head.

"Can't. I have to pay my rent and can't unless I take my shift at that fancy restaurant tonight. Which means," you grabbed your stuff and stood, "I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow, Soso!" You hugged Soyeon and made your way outside.

You walked to the bus stop and waited there patiently, ignoring anybody who attempted to have conversation with you by making sure your airpods were visible.

It wasn't until some guy forcefully ripped one out of your ear that you turned around, absolutely furious.

"What the fuck, dude?!" you shouted, snatching the device back.

"I'm trying to talk to you! Goddamn, fucking slut!" the older man shouted.

"Excuse me?" you said. The hell crawled up his ass tonight?

"I said," the man grunted, coming closer till his hand touched your breast.

Absolutely appalled, you pushed him backwards with a disgusted expression.

"Don't touch me." you said firmly, feeling slightly disgusted with yourself.

How could you let him touch you like that?

"D-did you just push me?" he asked, anger filling his voice.

Just as you were about to start running away from the man, who seemed to be firing up to touch you once more, you heard the man shout in pain.

You turned around only to find another older, but definitely younger than the man who groped you, man squatting over the handsy one.

"Repeat after me," he said to the man on the floor, "'I will not touch women or men without consent'." The old man repeated it and the other one smiled, tapping the olders cheek.

"Good job. Now get out of here before I call someone." The man said, turning to watch the other run away.

"Miss!" he shouted, standing. "You dropped your wallet, dear." He handed it to you with a smile.

"I'm sorry for pervs like him. Not all men act like that."

"Thank you," you whispered, still a little shocked.

This guy sounded to be about in his late thirties to early forties.

His looks? He easily could pass as a 24 year old.

Maybe he was.

"I understand if you aren't completely comfortable or convinced I'm good because I am older." He said, a chuckle escaping his perfect lips.

He was older than you? Really?

"You're older?" you asked instinctively, slapping a hand to your mouth instantly.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No, it's okay. But yeah, I can tell you're in your early twenties. I'm 36." he explained, shocking you.

You're 23 and he's 36 yet he looks like he's just 2 years older than you.

You thought him to be 25 at max.

Never 36.

"Wow."

"I know, right? I'm old!" He laughed.

"No! Not like that! I'm saying I just thought you were a lot younger.." you mumbled, looking down at your shoes.

"Really? How young?" he asked, interested.

"I thought you were at max 25."

"No way. Thank you so much!" he laughed again, you joining this time.

"Of course. I hope the fact I've been informal hasn't disrespected you at all." you rush in, forgetting that he was an elder.

"Nah, don't sweat it. I'm not huge on the whole "formalities" thing. I have 7 other shit heads i'm with daily and they don't respect them often anyways."

"7 kids?!" you asked, astounded.

"No, god no! Friends. One of the 7 is my hyung but that's it." he smiled, turning his head to face the incoming bus.

"I actually don't need to take the bus. I just stayed to make sure that guy wouldn't come back and try again. You have a nice night, though." He chuckled before walking off.

You got in the bus and sat in the furthest seat, needing to distance yourself from everyone to properly think.

That guy was hot. Hotter than any other 36 year old you've ever seen.

You knew you weren't gonna see him again but, there was a sliver of hope that kept you up all night.

The hope being that he has a kid to bring in to your daycare.

And I guess the universe was listening.

[luminoustarlight]

As Fate Would Have It | Chapter Two

It's your first day of work at Skywalker Enterprises.

◂ chapter one ▸ chapter three

rating: mature | pairing: dilf!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 3.7k | read on ao3

warnings: swearing, age-gaps, sexual fantasies

The moms at St. Lucas Preparatory School are shameless. Single, divorced, and married women (and some men) alike can’t help but hold their breath when Anakin Skywalker steps onto campus. The dads are intimidated by him and the moms… well, let’s just say the moms have less than school appropriate thoughts about the billionaire. 

Anakin detests the end of the year. He hates being involved at the school. He doesn’t want to spend 2 hours of his day off packing meals in a crowded gymnasium with other parents who also don’t want to be there. 

He doesn’t want to make small talk or ask about Luke and Leia’s classmates because frankly, he doesn’t give a crap. The only children he likes are his own and he won’t pretend otherwise. 

“Mr. Skywalker,” Leia’s teacher, Ms. Clark sighs, “you are the only parent in my class who has yet to sign up for a slot at this year's Cranberry Sauce.” Cranberry Sauce is just the name the school gives the Thanksgiving Drive to make it sound more “fun”. 

Anakin gives his children a kiss on their foreheads and sends them through the school gates. Once they’re out of earshot, he addresses Leia’s teacher. “I already wrote a check to buy the damn food. Isn’t that sufficient?” 

“Mr. Skywalker,” Ms. Clark repeats with annoyance. If it were up to her, she’d let Anakin donate all of the money he wants in order to keep him from volunteering at school events. She thinks he’s arrogant, stuck-up, and far too handsome for any man to be. So she decides to loathe him since she can’t fuck him. But Headmaster Franklin is adamant Anakin attends the event. 

“I really insist that you participate for at least an hour at Cranberry Sauce next weekend. It is important for your children to see you involved at the school. At their school.” 

Anakin’s tall and broad stature seems to grow even larger at this statement. How dare this woman insinuate anything about him as a father? 

“You think I’m not involved in my childrens’ lives?” Anakin has just enough self-control not to completely raise his voice at his daughter’s fourth grade teacher. Especially since parents are continuing to drop off their kids. “You think I’m an absent father who gives the school money to compensate for my lack of paternal instincts?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Ms. Clark answers cautiously. “There is no need to make a scene. I have no doubts you are an excellent father, Mr. Skywalker. I don’t think Leia would be the young lady she is if you weren’t. One hour. That's all we ask.” 

Anakin raises an eyebrow. “We?” 

“Oh, um, well-” Ms. Clark stammers. Busted. She sighs with defeat. “Headmaster Franklin would very much like to see you there.”

“I’m sure he would,” Anakin replies smugly. Headmaster Franklin wants him there for publicity. Anakin should be more pissed about that than being accused of not being a present parent, but he’s not. He likes his ego stroked every now and then. “One hour.” 

“Thank you,” Ms. Clark smiles tightly. “Does 10-11 work for you?” 

“Fine,” Anakin waves his hand dismissively as he gets a message on his phone. 

Ben Kenobi 

Your new secretary is here. 

Shit. It’s Anakin’s first day without Dorothy. No wonder the morning has gone the way it has. Between Luke spilling orange juice on his shirt, Leia’s uncooperating French braids, and his conversation with Ms. Clark, Anakin can’t help but fear the change in routine with a new assistant. He types his response. 

Anakin Skywalker

Assistant. Not secretary. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. 

Ben Kenobi 

If you say so. 

Ben Kenobi is Anakin’s closest friend. Some might even call them brothers. Ben is fifteen years older than Anakin, married to the mayor, and enjoys fly fishing on the weekends. He’s also Luke and Leia’s godfather. Should anything happen to Anakin, there is no one else he’d trust to raise and watch over his children than Ben Kenobi. 

And Ben knows better than anyone that Anakin doesn’t like change. He’s been dreading Dorothy’s last day since she told him she was retiring a year ago. How was he going to find someone as good as her? Someone who anticipates his needs before he does? 

That’s why he tasked her with finding her own replacement. He’s just too busy to interview a replacement for Dorothy himself. He wouldn’t know what to look for, anyway. If he doesn’t know what he wants in a woman to date, how is he supposed to know what he wants in a new assistant? 

.

.

. 

“Mr. Skywalker is not in at the moment. Can I take a message?” You’ve uttered that exact sentence at least seven times since you arrived at the office at 8:00 a.m. Now, as it nears 9:00, you expect to see your new boss very soon. 

Each time you hear the elevator ding, you look up with hopefulness at the arrival of the esteemed Anakin Skywalker. What will you say to him? How will you introduce yourself? Will he be nice and welcoming? God, you hope so. You’ve read just about every article, watched every interview, and listened to every podcast he’s done to prepare yourself for the job. The consensus is the same in all of them. 

Anakin Skywalker is generous, he’s polite, and generally gets along with everyone— if you don’t get on his nerves. And, according to Dorothy, he’s a charmer. 

“Yes, absolutely,” you say while taking notes of the message on a legal pad. Your head is down so you don’t notice Anakin walking out of the elevator. He stops 5 steps away from your desk. His ribs feel like they’re collapsing around his lungs because of that voice. Why does he know that voice? 

“I will let Mr. Skywalker know you called as soon as he gets into the office.” You hang up the phone and as you look up, there he is in all of his gorgeous glory. 

You actually have to tell yourself to take a breath because he’s even more handsome in person. Faint lines around his eyes represent years of life he lived before you were born. His dark blonde hair is combed back effortlessly and is it wrong that you want to run your hands through it? Yeah, probably. He’s your boss and over twenty years older than you. 

“It’s-” Anakin can’t even say more than that because holy fuck. Is he dreaming? He squeezes his eyes and then opens them, only to see you now standing with your hand extended to him. “It’s… you.” 

“Um, yes,” you say while awkwardly returning your arm to your side. “I’m Y/N. Your new assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Skywalker.” 

“I- um, yes,” Anakin clears his throat. Christ, that wasn’t even a sentence. “I need to take care of something,” he says on his way towards his office. “I am not to be disturbed until I come out. Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes. Yes, sir,” you barely answer before Anakin’s office door is shut violently. Well, that certainly wasn’t the introduction you were expecting or hoping for. You’re starting to think not meeting him beforehand was a bad idea. It honestly should’ve been a red flag but Dorothy insisted it was fine. 

It doesn’t seem fine. 

And things definitely aren’t fine. For Anakin, that is. To say he’s freaking out is putting it lightly. He paces the length of his office, shoving his fingers through his hair and muttering to himself. “It can’t be. There’s no way it can be her.” 

Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s having an incredibly vivid dream where his favorite OnlyFans performer, who he has known as HoneySuckle for the last three years is his new assistant. What did you say your name is? Anakin couldn’t hear you over the erection that was forming in his pants because he knows your voice. He’s cum from your voice alone. He’s cum because of you so, so many times. 

This can’t be happening. 

He’s never seen your entire face but he knows it’s you. He’d recognize your lips in a police lineup. He hears your voice in his wet dreams. He just knows it’s you. 

And the fact that he has a hard-on is a problem. A problem he wishes you could take care of but you can’t because now you work for him and he’s your boss. This is all so, so wrong. 

Anakin doesn’t so much sit on his leather chair as he does collapse into it. This was never supposed to happen. Yes, he has dreamed about meeting you on more than one occasion. He’s thought about telling you who he is during your countless direct messages so many times. He’s thought about using his infinite resources to find out who you really are on more than one occasion.

But he always concluded that it would be so insanely wrong and borderline creepy if he did that. You were always supposed to remain a fantasy. Just a nameless woman on a screen who doesn’t live in the same country, state, or city as him. 

Yet here you are— sitting outside of his office, taking his calls, calling him Mr. Skywalker and being even more beautiful than he could have imagined. 

You are no longer the woman on his tablet spewing filthy words as you make yourself orgasm. You’re tangible. You have a name- although he can’t remember what it is. He replays the interaction over in his head. The feeling he felt when he saw you was reminiscent of seeing his wife walk down the aisle at their wedding. He was a blundering mess then, just as he is a blundering mess now. 

He doesn’t even want to think about your first impression of him. He’s supposed to be Anakin Skywalker for crying out loud! The suave, handsome millionaire who has the ability to make men cower and women fall to their knees. The embarrassment he feels from that interaction is enough to subdue his hard-on. He pours himself a bit of Bourbon, shoots it back like it’s a normal thing to do at 9 in the morning, and prepares to reintroduce himself to you. 

Anakin smooths his hands down his slacks before opening his door. As his eyes are magnetized to you, his heart starts beating irregularly. Get a fucking grip. 

You stand attentively when you notice Anakin walking towards you. Worried you made a terrible impression on him, you wait to speak. But Anakin doesn’t say anything either and now he’s standing in front of your desk, all tall and lean and smelling like Cedar and Whiskey. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read. Did Dorothy tell him anything about you? Or did he go into this just as blind as you did? 

His eyes seem to dance all over your body which makes you feel like he’s studying you. Or criticizing every single thing about your appearance. From your simple burgundy dress to the pearl studs you bought with some of Skyguy81’s most recent (and overly generous) tip. 

Finally, because his gaze on you was becoming too much to bear, you are the one to talk first. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Skywalker?” 

Yeah, you can remind him of your name for starters. “Do you have messages for me?” is what he asks instead. 

“Yes,” you answer, picking up the pad you’ve been scribbling notes on for the last hour. “Rex sent over the final schematics for the 0525 project that needs your approval by 3 p.m. today in order to begin production. Mayor Kryze’s office called about the upcoming Gala in December and wanted to know if you would be in attendance. And if so, how many tickets should they reserve? Oh, and someone from St. Lucas Preparatory School called to let you know that your son ripped his pants and needs a new pair brought to school because they don’t have any new pants in his size.” 

Anakin taps his index finger on your desk while he listens to you. He barely registers anything you say because it’s really hard to hear your voice without getting aroused. It’s hard even looking at you without automatically picturing you naked. There’s not an inch of your skin he’s never seen. Well, except for the top half of your face which now, of course, he has seen. And God, does he love what you have to offer. 

You’re still relaying messages but suddenly you’re bent over your desk, gripping the edge of it with pale knuckles as Anakin slams into you over, and over, and over. He’s making you yelp his name so loudly the whole building can hear you. 

“Mr. Skywalker?” 

Anakin snaps back into reality where you’re still fully clothed and definitely not moaning his name. “What?” comes out a little harsher than he intended. And he immediately regrets it when he sees you visibly shrink right before him. 

“What- what would you like me to tell the Mayor’s office?” 

Anakin has gone as a bachelor to the last two Christmas Galas. Ben stays close to Satine the whole night and he really doesn’t see the point in asking a woman he has no interest in to be his date. Plus, going alone lets him leave the party with whomever he wants or to call it a night and go home early to watch ELF and drink peppermint cocoa with his kids. 

“Have them put me down for 2.” 

You nod whilst making another note on the pad. “And what about your son’s pants?” 

“Did they say where he ripped them?” 

“Right down the middle,” you answer. 

Anakin shakes his head. “Oh, Luke,” he mutters to himself. “Alright, I’ll go home and get him a new pair.” 

“Icandoit,” rushes out of your mouth. 

“What?” 

“Sorry, my mouth moved faster than my brain,” you reply, hoping Anakin will find it endearing instead of annoying. “I said I can do it. I don’t mind. It’s my job, isn’t it?” 

Anakin opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. Yes, technically it’s your job to do this sort of errand. But Anakin doesn’t want you going to his house alone, sifting through his son’s drawers, and bringing him new pants to his school. 

Primarily because he’d much rather you be in his home under different circumstances. 

“We’ll go together,” Anakin decides against his better judgment. “I’ll drive.”

.

.

.

So, Anakin definitely didn’t think things through when he said he’d drive. 

In what world did he think sharing a close, confined space with you was a good idea? This whole morning has been a cluster-fuck. Honestly. He’s still struggling to wrap his head around who you are. When you announced Squirting for Sky was going to be your last video, he thought what a devastation it would be to not look forward to your videos every week. Who would’ve thought you’d be the one replacing his dear old assistant the very next week? The odds of it all are overwhelming. 

But isn’t this what he’s always wanted? The opportunity to meet you? To know your name and know you personally? Every wish of his has been granted— except for the fact that he is your boss and you are technically his subordinate. He says technically because Dorothy always felt more like family than an employee. 

You could be family. 

You could be so much more than his assistant.

Oh, Jesus Christ, Anakin. Be reasonable. She’s your employee. She’s practically a kid. 

Anakin looks over to you for the first time since getting in the car. You’re pressed against the side of the passenger door, knees angled away from him and arms crossed over your chest. “Are you cold?” 

“Oh,” you say, looking at him with a tentative smile. “A little.” 

“You should’ve said so,” Anakin turns on the heater and your seat warmer. “My kids call seat warmers butt toasters. Let me know if your butt gets too toasty.” 

You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. 

There’s an awkward pause as Anakin realizes what he just said. He absolutely cannot think about your butt any longer than he has to because we all know how that will end.

 (A hard cock, in case that wasn’t clear). 

 “I mean, uh- shit,” Anakin briefly closes his eyes to compose himself. Let me know if your butt gets too toasty? 

“Just turn it off yourself if you get too warm.” 

Do you make him nervous? No way. You decide to let it go. “Kids? Plural?” 

“Yeah.” Anakin drapes his right arm over the center console and taps his fingers against the gear shift. Long, dexterous fingers at that. You have to look away before you start thinking about something completely inappropriate of your boss. ���I have twins. A boy and a girl. Luke, he’s the silly one. Right now he’s big into archeology. He’s also pretty clumsy, hence the rip in his pants. And Leia, my daughter, she’s far too serious for any 9 year old to be. She says she wants to be a senator when she grows up.” 

This is the longest you’ve been able to look at Anakin without feeling your cheeks burning. Now, they’re just hot because of the heater blasting in your face. “You light up when you talk about them,” you say. “You must love them a lot.” 

“More than anything,” Anakin doesn’t hesitate. “Here we are.” 

You should’ve been paying attention on how to get to his house from the office. Surely, you’ll be running these errands on your own if things go well with your employment. Oh, well. That’s what the Maps is for. 

Anakin’s house is a stunning Eichler. It looks straight out of an Architectural Digest cover. The lawn outside is perfectly cropped and perfectly green but littered with a soccer ball, football, a baseball bat and whiffle balls. You wouldn’t have pegged Anakin for a mid-century modern kind of guy. You would’ve thought he’d opt for an insanely modern, sterile house. 

As you walk through the atrium and into the main body of the house, it’s clear it is a family home. Anakin uses his foot to sweep his kids’ shoes out of the way so you don’t trip over them. “Sorry about the mess.” 

“It’s okay,” you shrug. Anakin’s house isn’t even all that messy. It just looks like a home. There are so many pictures on the walls, it would be impossible to look at all of them in one go. One in particular, though, catches your eye. It’s the largest out of all of them and the only one in black and white. A significantly younger Anakin is at the bedside of who you presume to be his wife with two bundles of babies in their arms. They are both looking down and smiling. His wife was stunning. They definitely made an attractive couple. 

It’s not lost on you that there are no other pictures of Anakin’s kids with their mom. He’s only spoken about his wife’s death in one interview, about a year after her passing. If you remember correctly, she died shortly after the twins were born. 

You can’t imagine the kind of pain and heartache Anakin must have felt losing his wife. You don’t know what it feels like to experience that kind of grief. You want to tell Anakin you’re sorry for his loss, but what good will that do? Is there any consolation in that at all? 

You’re still looking at the photo when Anakin returns from Luke’s room with a new pair of tan pants. You can feel his presence right beside you and the silence is louder than words. 

He shouldn’t have brought you back here. It’s only your first day and you’ve already seen too much of his life. 

“Let’s go,” Anakin orders. You nod without a word and follow him out to the car. 

The tension in the air is palpable on your way to St. Lucas Prep. You feel like you’ve done something wrong by simply stepping foot in Anakin’s house. His whole demeanor shifted when he came back to the front room with Luke’s pants. Does he regret bringing you to the house? If so, why? Dorothy clearly laid out your responsibilities to you. Tending to personal matters at Anakin’s house is part of the job. You are not just a professional assistant, but a personal assistant, too.

You can’t stand not knowing why someone is upset with you. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Anakin’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “No.” 

Wow, how reassuring. “Okay, then why do I feel like I did something to upset you?” 

You’re really pressing your limit with him right now. You’ve only just met 2 hours ago. See, this is why meeting him should’ve been part of the hiring process. You’d be a lot more acquainted with each other than you are right now. 

If only you knew how acquainted Anakin is with you… 

“You didn’t,” is all he says. But with a twitch of his jaw, you still feel like he’s not telling you the truth. 

“Look, Mr. Skywalker,” you begin. “I understand Dorothy meant a great deal to you, and her leaving is going to be an adjustment. But I promise you I am capable of this job. I’m never late, I’m up late all the time so if there was anything you needed, I’d be able to fulfill it. I love kids, I’m a hard worker and I would really appreciate it if you gave me a chance before making any decisions about me.” 

“You’re right,” Anakin says. “I’ll give you a chance.”  But he’s already made up his mind. He doesn’t have to ‘give you a chance’ to know that he wants you. He is crawling out of his skin with how badly he wants you. And he knows it’s wrong, probably immoral, but he really doesn’t care. Because now that you’ve been inside of his home, the boundary that should exist between him as your boss and you as his employee feels impossibly blurry.

◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter three

[cut-the-camera]

Gally x Male! Runner! Reader - The Maze Runner

Author's Note: I have recently got in touch with 11 year old me and re discovered my love for the maze runner and this character so I'm afraid everyone will have to deal with this for a while. I do feel like I'm about 9 years too late for this fandom but I'll leave it here anyway in case there are any closeted Maze Runner fans still alive and kicking in 2025 🙏

The reader has a vaguely outlined character of their own that I felt for this story so I’m sorry if you feel that’s out of character for yourself!

Trigger Warnings: General things that go along with dystopian media like injury, threat, language, blood, fear, and death/threat of death

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

Anthem of the Maze

You arrived in the glade, just like everyone else with no memories and you were pulled out by the boys of the glade, joining the twenty ish boys that had already been there for nearly a year

Y/N gasps as he snaps awake, sirens wailing in his ears. He sharply inhales, desperate to pull what little dusty air there was into his lungs. His eyes dart around the confined space that he now inhabits.

The teen boy struggles to his feet, gripping the metal walls that surrounded to him to pull himself up, working against the current that's pulling both him and the box upwards.

He catches his reflection in the metal walls of the room and softly brushes his shaking hand against it, a pit forming in his stomach as he realises that...he barley recognises himself. His H/C, H/L hair and E/C eyes are completely unfamiliar to him. He watches his own hand stroke his cheek softly to prove it really is him in the reflection.

His mind whirs trying to recall anything that could ease his mind or comfort him but he's only drawing vague ideas of what he's supposed to be thinking. Parents, home, friends, school all are things he vaguely knows the concepts for but now can't understand why or what they mean to him.

Eventually, the box stops abruptly, the force knocking Y/N off his feet and winding him as he hits the cold metal floor again. There's a pause for a few seconds, blaring alarm falling silent leaving only the occasional mechanical clank and Y/N's laboured breathing.

Just after Y/N manages to get himself up and leans on his elbows, two great doors open in the roof and light hits his eyes like a bomb has gone off, completely disorientating the young boy even more than he already is.

There is a sudden surge of light, fresh air and voices. Voices. His head spins as a hoard of teenagers are all mumbling excitedly and examining him like a fish in a bowl leaving him feeling a bit like he'd just been raptured.

"Look at the new greenie!"

"Move shuck-face I can't see!"

"It smells like clunk down there,"

"You don't smell much better dude,"

As his eyes adjust to the light, the pure white environment turns into blurry dark shapes and eventually the figures of young teenage boys all of similar age to him, staring down at him.

Y/N eventually finds his voice, silencing the crowd with a single, stuttered and shaky word, "h-hello?"

One of the boys leaps down from the surface and slams down in front of him, extending a hand for the boy that's on the floor.

"Nice to meet ya," he says, nodding officially, "welcome to the glade."

Y/N barely has time to take the boy's hand before he's hauled up and thrown down on the grass, the sudden movement abusing his already shaken stomach to the point where he thinks he might vomit.

Several more pairs of hands are on him, grabbing at his shirt and trousers, tousling his hair, gripping his arm and grazing his hand all in some attempt to 'help him up.'

"Alright!" The boy who pulled him out of the box calls, "back off, give him space or he'll klunk himself,"

As Y/N's feet hit the floor again and everyone backs off, he finds the time to finally look around at where he'd been put through the gaps that the boys have now created. Grass stretches out far and wide surrounded by tall concrete brutalist walls where vines climb up the middle and then trail off like it can go no higher. His head whips around to look at the whole of his new environment, unintentionally showing himself to the whole circle of boys some of whom snigger and reach out to poke him.

The sudden contact brings his attention back from the glade to the boys in question. There was around 20 of them raging from probably 14-18 all dressed in dirty and fairly worn clothes with dishevelled hair that look like it was cut by their own hand and they're all looking at him with wide, interested eyes.

A taller boy, Alby, says a lot of words very quickly and Y/N does his best to try and catch up, turning the facts around in his head. 'tour of the glade,' 'dinner at 19:00,' 'rules'

"Do you remember your name yet?" is the very last thing Alby asks him.

Y/N looks down and comes to the horrifying realisation that ....he couldn't, he shakes his head unable to say anything and is met with a sympathetic look from the Glade leader.

"It'll come back to you," he says, "for now I'll give you to Gally, he'll show you around"

Logically, Gally is the first person you really bond with seeing as he's the one that takes you on the tour and has to answer your many questions

"How long have you been here?" Y/N asks as they make their way past the homesteads on their little tour.

"Few months," Gally mumbles, kicking his foot into the floor and pulling up some of the grass, anything to avoid looking even slightly vulnerable.

"Damn," Y/N lets out almost involuntarily, recognising what he said as Gally glares at him softly.

"Yeah well get used to it greenie, you're gonna be here for a while too,"

"Would you stop calling me that?" He asks politely, if a little exasperated, trying to work out what all the words used by these people meant like he'd skipped out on a few classes when he was learning his own mother tongue.

"What'd you want me to call you?" he asks snidely, "shank? shuckface? klun-"

"Y/N."

"What?"

"Y/N," He repeats, "it's my name, remembered it on the way over here,"

Gally's shoulders sink slightly, his body language relaxing realising that the boy isn't trying to be confrontational with him.

"Oh," he says softly, "well, nice to meet ya Y/N,"

"Nice to meet you too, Gally,"

Y/N's gentle smile catches for a moment, infecting Gally's face as he relishes someone in the glade, for once, being nice to him without any prior judgement of his character or perceived notion of his bravado and it was kinda nice. It did have to end though as Gally thinks about what he was doing and stops smiling just as fast as he'd started.

"yeah alright, better get some rest, big day for you tomorrow,"

You would try all of the jobs in the glade with Gally rather liking you helping him out with building work but the gladers all started to realise that you probably had a better use...

Y/N settles in fairly quickly, he tries gardening which proved tedious to him, the same with cooking although he's quite good at it. Gally likes having him around for building, he's strong, works hard and doesn't 'annoy the klunk out of him 24/7,' which is his exact verbiage to Alby when he was asked how Y/N did. Though, he does have to yell at him a few times over petty mistakes and his optimistic, 'can do' attitude makes him want to rip off his own face sometimes.

Clint makes the executive decision that Y/N is far too hyper to be trusted with people's health and/or medicine so he has to forgo his trial with the med jacks, leaving him with very few options left to try.

While he was making his way through the different jobs within the glade, the others, particularly Newt, started to notice something.

He was fast.

It started when Gally left a hammer across the glade and sent Y/N to go and get it and he returned in less than 30 seconds (Gally then thought the guy was messing with him and made him do it again just to prove he wasn't,) then Newt sent him to collect some fertiliser and the boy got there and back on the tail end of a minute, then he chased some chickens back into their pens for the slicers in ten seconds flat with no chickens harmed in the process and by then people were starting to talk.

"We should at least try him" Minho argued that night in the council meeting this caused. Y/N did start to wonder why it was that chasing some chickens had garnered him this much attention to the point where he was now standing in the middle of the room with everyone's eyes on him and them all talking about him like he wasn't there, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

"He goes out there and gets himself killed!" Gally argued, not fully sure why he's scared of that.

"Maybe not! We should at least try him, if we don't let at least one of the greenie's try being a runner we'll never get any new talent,"

"Alby?" Gally turned to now converse with the only person he thinks can back him up, "come on you can't seriously be considering this?"

There's a pause, everyone wondering what their leader was going to say. None more than Y/N who didn't quite know what he was getting himself into.

"....fine, Y/N's runner trial is tomorrow morning."

Everything in the glade works as usual for a long time actually with you going out with the runners every morning and coming back every evening to eat dinner and listen to Gally pester you about whatever it is that was bothering him that day

Y/N shovelled down the plate of food that Frypan placed in front of him, barely able to swallow the first mouthful before Gally threw himself down next to him.

"They need to put a note in that box to send me better damn tools, I've been trying to fix the shucking pig pen all damn day and I'm nowhere near,"

"I have tomorrow off, can't I help you?"

"You don't have to do that," Gally urged even if he was smiling at the offer of help, "you're supposed to rest on your day off"

"I don't mind," Y/N smiled, the chicken he was digging into distracting himself from the fact that Gally was staring at him

Gally recognised his feelings for you early on, despite how closed off he may appear, he's very in-tune with the way he actually feels even if he chooses to present it in a different way. It's not like he doesn't try, he does many times whether it's choosing to sit next to you at dinner, fighting Alby trying to give you a dangerous job, giving you massages when your muscles hurt, staring at you or just having really obscure, symbolic conversations with you that you can't possibly understand as confessions when it just sounds like he's talking about birds or freedom. It becomes impossible, however, to hide it on one particular day…

Minho drags Y/N back through the doors of the maze yelling the for the medics until his throat burns. Everyone in the glade was at their side nearly instantly with Gally clearing the glade faster than he ever had in his life, falling next to you and watching as you bled onto the grass.

"Minho what the fuck happened?!" he yelled to Y/N’s running partner, pulling at his clothes where the blood was coming from, his breathing frantic and hands desperate.

"The walls were changing," Minho panted, "stupid shank fell and scrapped his leg, I don't get why it's bleeding so much"

The medics get to him fairly quickly and thankfully it's not a bad wound so they can get him patched up easily with only an order to stay off running duty for a week or at least until they say it's healed enough for him to go out there safely.

The damage however, was done, everyone had seen the way that he flipped his absolute shit when Y/N got what turned out to be the slightest of injuries and they started to suspect there was something going on between the two that wasn't really being discussed

He vaguely heard about the rumours whispering around the glade but he can't bring himself to care much as he sticks by your side whenever he can while you recover, trying his best to make you feel better which is when it all comes out...

"What's that in your hand?" Y/N asked as he lay in bed with his leg and ankle rested up on a pillow.

Gally sat beside him, as he had fo the past few days, clutching something in his hand, "I uh...made this." He held out his hand and within it was a string necklace with a carefully carved wooden and stone pendant.

"Ah that's pretty, how long did that take you?" Y/N leaned forward and held it softly in his hand, running his finger over the pendant

"Few hours, needed something to do with my hands," he answered bashfully, pushing Y/N's hand away when he tried to hand it back, "nah, I made it for you,"

"For me? how come?"

"Thought it might make you feel better," he shrugged, "and uh...I wanted to uh...tell you something,"

"Yeah?" Y/N asked, tying the necklace around his neck and making sure it sits nicely against his shirt

"Promise you won't laugh?" Gally asked, a vulnerability in his tone that wasn't there before and wasn't usual for the young boy in front of him.

"yeah...I won't I promise," Y/N assured, a little worried at this point his eyes tracking the other's movements to try and work out what it is the other was going to say.

Gally averts his gaze down to the floor, fiddling with the cuff on his wrist to keep his hands occupied and hs anxiety at bay, "You uh...you really worried me when you got hurt you know," he said, "I thought you got..I thought you got stung or something and I thought I'd ...lose you,"

"Lose me?"

"I ...like you Y/N," he eventually spits out, shuffling uncomfortable in the shocked silence for a while, "I don't ...know much abut what it's supposed to be like but...I know what I feel for you and it's ...different to how I feel for everyone else, I don't wanna scare you off since you're the only one out of all these shuck faces that even wants to talk to me but I feel like I can't hide it anymore. It's okay if you don't feel the same but I-"

"I like you too Gally."

I think generally the two of you are alright. The glade doesn't strike me as a place that's particularly homophobic. You probably catch the odd joke or snide comment from one of the others that's met with either a glare from Gally or a fist fight if it's a bad day but generally I think Alby makes sure that the two of you are fairly left alone and people are generally a bit too scared of Gally to ever cause a major problem over it.

Everyone always says this but it's true, he's insanely protective over you. You could be 6'9 and two years older than him but he would still swing for boys who look at you the wrong way. Contrary to popular belief, he's not violent by nature but he's not afraid to defend the shit out of you if anyone says anything about you or god forbid touches you in some way

It was a small scrap, that was it. Y/N was never one to start fights, everyone knew that, but he was no wuss. Shoving thirty something teenage boys into a confined space for years on end for sure meant that spats would arise especially when, like on this particular occasion, one of the gladers sees another as a ‘push over’

Y/N with his all smiles, gentle optimism, teamworking, puppy dog like persona had attracted the attention of a group of gladers who assumed he would lie down and take anything they wanted him to. This, as they would come to discover, was false.

Gally heard yelling outside the builders hut in the early evening that day, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before so he figured it was just shuckfaces being shuckfaces until he heard one particularly enthused glader yell something along the lines of, “get him Y/N” or “go on Y/N,” he wasn’t quite sure on the specifics but he heard his boyfriends name loud and clear and was instantly on high alert.

He was prepping himself to throw a heafty punch to defend his lover, planning all the ways he’d explain to Alby how it was that the other gladers ended up with a rock shaped hole in his face but when he got there he found that he didn’t quite need to…

Y/N had the glader pinned to the ground, both of them adorned with mud and the slightest of scrapes. Y/N wasn’t actually quite sure when the other boys in this glader's gang ran off like children and left their leader to the wolves but he didn’t very much care either.

For a few moments, Gally doesn’t move, his thoughts working on overdrive as he takes in the scene before him. His boyfriend, who that morning was using the time off cause of his injury to make flower crowns from the weeds in gardens, was currently beating the shit out of another gladers. He considered, for a moment, not getting involved not because he wanted to let you defend yourself though he did, it was more because he found it fucking hot.

Soon Newt arrived, and much to Gally’s dismay ended the little show early, tugging on Y/N’s arm to pull him off and ordering someone to get the other glader to the med hut

"You could have been badly hurt," Gally scolded lightly as he carefully examined the tiny scratches on his boyfriends arms and neck after everything had calmed down.

Y/N took the opportunity to admire Gally, his eyes taking in the concentration of his partner, "you should see the other guy," he joked softly.

Gally couldn't help but laugh quietly, shaking his head, "you're nuts,"

He worries about you a lot, not just because of the fight you had but for many reasons, especially after you head back into the maze after your injury. He makes a point to always give you a hug and wish you luck before you head out, always sending you out with a 'be safe' message

You teach him a lot. He assumed there was nothing he had left to learn, he knew how to build houses, make moonshine and stay alive and that was all he deemed important before he met you.

“Oh come onnnn” Y/N groaned as he lay on the tree branch above Gally’s usual quiet spot, “there has to be something you do for fun,”

Gally shrugs, “We have play fights,”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, “Something a bit less destructive?”

“Like what?”

“Dancing?" he asks, "Singing?”

Gally can't help but let out a dry laugh thinking for a moment that his boyfriend was messing with him but soon realised he wasn't, "No! I'm not good at either of those things,"

“You don’t have to be good to have fun!” Y/N carefully dropped down from the tree as Gally scoffed.

“C’mon” the H/C boy held out his hand for Gally, "dance with me,"

“What- no-“

"humour me," Y/N begged, keeping his hand outstretched, "pleaseeeee"

Gally made the mistake of looking the other in the eye and caught sight of the pleading expression of his boyfriend and, what can I say, he was done for.

"Fine."

A few gladers saw it through the branches of the trees far away, Y/N gripped tightly onto Gally, attempting to teach him some form of tap dance or at leats that's what it sounded like from how heavy footed Gally appeared to be.

"Sorry!" Gally laughed as he stepped right on Y/N's shoe.

“Careful," Y/n smiled as he kept a firm hold on his boyfriend, "there’s a danger of you having fun if you keep this up”

After that he's a lot more receptive of 'fun.' He sings with you round the bonfire (as long as everyone else is joining in and his own voice cannot possibly be heard by anyone other than you,) he brings you more little carvings and creations that he comes up with in his free time, he dances with you in the privacy of the woods and he'll lie in bed with you making up little stories as you run your fingers across his body in an attempt to calm him to sleep.

Gally often has problems with sleeping as you'd expect, his nights plagued with nightmares and sleeplessness meaning he often spent them alone, far away from the homestead so he doesn't disturb anyone else. That was, until you came along. He ever outright asks for your help of course, you often just wake up to find him out of bed so you go and search for him somewhere else in the glade either talking him to sleep, softly rubbing his back or he'll sometimes sheepishly ask you to sing him to sleep.

Y/N slowly made his way over to the deadheads, the leaves crunching under his feet and alerting Gally who sat far in the horizon, hugging his legs close to his chest.

He turned, his shoulders relaxing when he realises it's just his boyfriend and not some kind of threat or one of the other gladers coming to ridicule him for having nightmares.

"What're you doing up?" he called to the H/C boy as he approached.

"I could ask you the same question," Y/N says, taking a seat next to the other, relishing the contact they had even if it was just the tips of their knees

"I can't sleep," he grumbled, closing off his body more than it already was in a desperate attempt to not show his perceived weakness

"Can I help?"

"I don't know," Gally shrugs, his gaze wandering off into the distance and taking in the extent of the glade only illuminated by their soft candles and the rising of the sun. "Just...be here I guess,"

Y/N nods softly and lets them both sit there for a moment, their breaths intertwining into one, comfortable sound

"What will you do?" Y/N asks him, breaking the silence after a while, his head resting on his arm, "when you get out of here?"

Gally just shrugs, "haven't thought about it," he says gruffly which in all fairness was true, he's never wanted to get his hopes up too much if they were just going to stay there forever and he has no idea what the outside world even looks like anymore.

"Oh come on!" Y/N urged, "There has to be something you want to do!"

Gally shrugs again, "what'd you wanna do?"

"Sing," he stands quickly knocking Gally's arm away from him, shuffling his feet then spinning with his arms outstretched, "and dance and eat chocolate and go swimming and run through nature rather than shucking concrete,"

Y/N lurched forward, his hand clasping around his boyfriend's forearm and pulling him up to join him, keeping his hand comfortably on Gally's arm. "And kiss you"

Gally can't help but smile at the boy in front of him, his unwavering positivity on display once again showcasing every reason Gally likes him.

"I love you," the builder said fondly, a distant quality to his voice that sounds a bit like he wasn't supposed to say that out loud because...he wasn't. He'd never said that before and it wasn't something he was planning on saying in case he ended up scaring Y/N off.

"I mean ...uh-"

"I love you too," Y/N replies with little hesitation, his hand finding it's way onto Gally's cheek and his lips meeting his shortly after.

The kiss feels comfortable, gentle as Gally's hands find their way to Y/N's waist and stay there as they live in the closeness between them for a while.

Suddenly, Y/N feels Gally's lips rip away from him as a siren blares its way through the glade in the early hours of that morning. Their eyes show panic for a moment before they realise what's going on.

"New greenie time," Gally announces before making his way out of the deadheads, keeping a grip on Y/N's hand.

He's instantly jealous of Thomas. Jealousy was something that he'd felt before of course but after living with the gladers for so long and having everyone know about the two of you, he had very few worries that any of them could potentially take you from him until...Thomas came along and he knew nothing about what his intentions could possibly be. He sees you talking to him a lot seeing as you were the one that was tasked with him giving him the tour on one of your off days and it drives him to distraction

Gally's attention wavered from the guy he was sparring with in his own make shift fight club as he watched Y/N lead Thomas around his welcome party. He was so distracted, that the other guy managed to get an edge on him, pushing him back to a soundtrack of the gladers going 'oooooh.' He didn't care much about this guy, he had a new plan now so he shoved the poor guy back right into where Y/N and Thomas were walking, knocking the new greenie down.

"What'd you say greenie?" he asks, "wanna take me on?"

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him as everyone starts chanting for Thomas to join the fight. As the two started to spar, Gally found himself looking up a lot for Y/N's approval, to see if he was impressing him which distracted him long enough that Thomas managed to get him down. He fell at Y/N's feet, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as his boyfriend shook his head and walked away.

"You didn't have to do that," Y/N tells Gally later when the other eventually finds him sitting on one of the logs by the bonfire.

"Do what?" Gally asks, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend.

"That...power play thing you did there," he laughs softly as he wipes some of the dirt from the fall off of Gally's face softly with the pad of his thumb, "all it did was get your face planted,"

"I got him in the end," the builder pouts somewhat defensively.

"you mean after looking for me to see if I was watching?" Y/N asked playfully, leaning into his boyfriend's grip, "you didn't have to try and impress me baby, I know you’re a good fighter,"

Gally doesn't respond, keeping his eyes low, unable to dispel the rumour that he did that entirely for Y/N's approval.

"look at me," Y/N took two fingers and turned Gally's cheek to pull his gaze into him, "you have my attention okay? I'm yours, always."

He nods and rests his head against Y/N's softly, the two taking the rest of the party to spend time by the fire while everyone else fawned over the new member of the glade.

He was a little bit more comforted after that with his jealousy subsiding but he still didn't trust Thomas even if he couldn't pin point why. When Ben came back stung, he threw his arms around you and didn't let go for a long time only repeating, "I'm so glad you're okay," because it dawned on him that it could have been you

His sleeplessness got even worse and he spent most of the day glaring over at the new greenie, hating the atmosphere that he brought to the glade. That morning he hugged you for a few seconds longer than usual, anxiousness building in his chest as he watched you run off into the maze with Alby and minho after Ben got stung and sadly, that anxiousness would became 100% justified.

"They should be back by now," Thomas turns to Newt, voicing his own anxiety which was unfortunately, overheard by Gally.

"Don't you think we know that Shank?!" the builder snapped, not waiting for a reply before storming over to the doors of the maze, watching, waiting.

Soon, everyone's there, waiting to see if or when the three would come back. Gally stands with his hands on his knees staring at one spot in the dead centre of the corridor, willing Y/N to come back and whispering under his breath, "come on Y/N, come on come on,"

Gally felt like his heart was going to give out when the walls sarted moving with an ominous grinding sound, actually making him whimper out a quiet, 'no.'

When three figures did eventually round the corner, everyone started screaming. They noticed that what was slowing them down was the need to carry their leader down the corridor.

Gally nearly tears his voice out screaming for Y/N to just leave him, come back to him, just run. fucking. faster. In the end, however, it's no use and it looks like the walls are going to close. Just before they do, Thomas slips out from everyone and forces himself in between them in some poorly judged attempt at a rescue mission that ends with a lot more yelling and the slamming shut of two large concrete doors.

Gally's legs give out almost immediately, sending him to the floor in complete and utter shock as everyone else stands there staring at the place where they'd been, reeling from everything that had just happened.

What the fuck just happened?!

He stays there completely unable to move at all. He sits with his back against the walls just staring down at the grass in what looks like shock. At first, some of the gladers try to convince him to come away or come for dinner but he lashes out making people just leave him be. Newt, knowing it might be hard for him, brings him dinner so he can stay there and then leaves him too.

There's an eerie silence, the sound of the walls slamming shut on the four in the maze still sounding like it's echoing even twenty minutes later. Gally's back burned as he leaned against the hard concrete of the walls, his eyes locked on the floor in a sort of trance like state as his mind replayed what just happened.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard one of the gladers try and speak to him but it sounded like they were distant, under water almost as he couldn't process what it was they were saying to him.

Wordlessly, Gally's hand found itself on the glader's chest, forcing the other guy backwards and away from him. He wasn't even fully sure who it was that he'd pushed until he looked up through tears to find that it was Frypan.

He tries to open his mouth to apologise for the shove but...nothing comes out and he doesn't try too hard to force it. Frypan just nods at him, walking away and leaving the young boy to his grief.

Gally can't bare to go back to their room or their bed, that would just cement to him that Y/N was gone and most likely, never coming back. So he stays right there where he last saw him, sitting in the pouring rain crying into his knees.

Slowly, Newt approached causing Gally to immediately try to appear defensive. Just as he's about to snap at the second in command to piss off or ask him want he wants, Newt puts one hand up in surrender and uses his other one to slowly place a plate of food down at Gally's feet.

"Try and eat something," is all he said softly before he turns and starts walking back to the homestead.

As he picked a the food slightly, Gally can't help but consider what the glade will be like now Newt will have to take over from Alby and ...Y/N was gone forever.

He's still there the next morning when the doors start to open, shaken awake by the sound and everyone rallies around them upon Chuck's request to see if the four of you were still alive.

He stands there biting his nails as the walls start to open again, almost not wanting to let himself get his hopes up when he knows the possibility of Y/N coming back was slim to none.

The pit in his stomach widens as the walls open to an empty hallway, an empty space where his boyfriend stood the night before. He turns, defeated about to finally make his way back to the homestead when he hears Chuck calling for him

"GALLY!"

He whips his head around to see what the big deal was when he sees it...four figures racing towards the entrance to the glade. He has Y/N swept up in his arms before he even knows what he'd doing, his head spinning as he buries his face into his boyfriend's shoulder.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck," he sobs into Y/N's shoulder, his hands gripping him so tightly they're probably millimetres away from drawing blood, "don't you ever do that to me again you hear me?!"

"I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay..." is all Y/N repeats, his own fear and panic from the night they faced leaving his body as he's held by the person he loves most, "I'm here Gals, I'm okay"

Gally didn't know what to do with all of the fear that he felt, he'd almost lost you and all he could think to do was find someone to blame, someone to keep you safe from and that, unfortunately, ended up being Thomas.

He was fucking pissed when he found out that you went with Thomas and the others back into the maze which led you to have your first ever argument as a couple

Y/N followed his stroppy boyfriend out of the council hut and chased him down as he stormed through into the deadheads.

"Gally! Gally where are you go-"

"The hell were you thinking!" Gally turned, snapping at him before he can even register what's going on, "You barely survived a night in the maze and what you just run back in there on his order?"

After he'd recovered from the slight shock of Gally's swift turn, Y/N folded his arms defensively, "We found something Gals, actually really found something!"

"You could have died out there."

"Oh come on-"

"No Y/N!" He cuts in, "First Ben gets stung in broad day light, then Alby then your new best friend kills one of them, those things are clearly fucking angry with us and this is making it worse! You had no idea what could have happened when you followed him through there!"

"I have no idea what's going to happen if I stay here!" Y/N argued, "I'm trying to help us Gally!"

"No! You're trying to get yourself killed by trusting him!"

"Thomas isn't dangerous!"

"Really? Cause everything started going wrong when he showed up!" Gally flailed his arms around in a way that would have almost been comical if Y/N wasn't slightly pissed.

"Correlation doesn't equal causation,"

"Oh slim it with your fancy words Y/N I don't care"

Y/N scoffed in almost shock, "why're you talking to me like that?!"

"Because you're being insane!"

"No you are!" he argued, "We can't stay here forever Gally!"

"It won't matter anyway if you carry on like this!" Gally spits, "I just hope your new boyfriend's worth dying for."

"Gal-" but he was gone before Y/N could get another word in, storming off performatively to some other part of the glade.

You shake your head, having to walk away to calm down which brought you to the mapping room thinking it would be empty. It was there however, that you found Minho and Thomas

"Congratulations" Y/N sighed as he threw himself down on the seats on the outside of the room, "On becoming a runner, I think you'll do good with us,"

"Someone should tell that to Gally," Thomas mumbled making Y/N laugh softly

"He's..." Y/N sighed slightly, "I'm sorry about him..."

There was a silence for a moment as Thomas worked up the courage to ask the question he's been toying with for the last few days.

"Hey what's the---what's the deal with you and him?"

Y/N laughed softly, looking down and letting his hand carefully play with the necklace that Gally made for him, "He's my boyfriend if that's what you mean,"

Thomas didn't quite know what to sat after that but it didn't matter very much seeing as both him and minho were soon running out of the hut and towards where the girl had woken up.

Through all the commotion, Y/N pushed through the crowd of gladers and towards the river were he found Gally, sitting staring down at the light ripples.

"Hey," Y/N spoke softly, making a move to sit down next to his boyfriend. He carefully nudges his knee against Gally's, a quiet display of peace among the two.

When he got little more reply than a side glare, Y/N sighed, "come on Gally don't be angry with me anymore okay? It's done, lets move past it,"

"What if you'd have died,"

"I didn't"

"Can you stop being so fucking casual about this!" He yelled, his body finally turning to face Y/N, "I could have lost you!"

"You sound like a broken record Gally," Y/N sighed, reaching out to touch his boyfriend's face, a part of him shocked that Gally let him touch him, "I'm here, I'm fine and I can take care of myself"

The other boy bit his lip softly, his gaze averted downwards seeing as he knew that he'd give in even if he accidentally caught Y/N's eye for a second.

"But..it's my job to look after you,"

"And you do," he says sincerely, "but sometimes you have to trust me too,"

The pair made up, they always did. They watched the stream run under their feet and rested their head upon each other until the sun slipped beneath the walls and a gentle chill began to cut through the air.

"Come on big guy," Y/N patted Gally's shoulder as he rose to his feet, "let's get some rest"

You two were fairly okay after that with only a few more spats whenever he got a little bit too aggressive with Thomas. You had however, noticed that he was a lot more hot and cold as of recently, even more than he already was. One moment he was sassing you about trusting Thomas again and the next minute he was holding onto you so tightly you felt like you were struggling for breath.

If there was any anger he felt towards you still after that, it was instantly forgotten by the time the grievers got to the glade. He barely let go of you and even if he did he never let you leave his sight. You couldn't help but feel though, that you should be out there helping your fellow gladers rather than hiding and so that's exactly what you did ...

As the hard stone walls ripped apart again, all the gladers fell into silence, disbelief. It lasted for approximately three more seconds before orders were being barked around the group and a nauseating mechanical sound in the distance.

Y/N felt a hand grip onto his wrist, firm and grounding as his head began to spin. Gally runs, speeding off towards the other side of the glade and gripping onto Y/N’s wrist so tightly the poor boy felt like his wrist was about to break as they weaved their way through the Glade and eventually settled in the box.

He pushed his boyfriend down into the box only then giving the H/C boy time to hold his painful wrist, "Jesus Gal," he spoke, "d'you have to drag me like that"

His boyfriend rushed over, calming slightly due to their new found safety, "I'm sorry," he mumbles out, taking hold of Y/N's wrist and kissing it softly.

"It's alright," Y/N soothed softly. He opened his mouth to speak again but he's cut off by screams of their fellow gladers breaking through the air, "we have to help them."

Y/N sprung into action nearly immediately, pulling himself back up towards the doors of the box before he's pulled back down by the back of his belt, landing back down in front of Gally, "Gally wha-"

"You're not going back out there are you crazy?"

"Gally I have to! We protect each other that's the rule!"

"But-" Y/N was gone before he could finish, rushing out into the glade and doing his best to help the other gladers find hiding places, avoid grievers and even fight off a few

The next thing he felt was a sharp pain in his stomach as the tail of a greiver swung around and launched him into the air. He eventually hit the roof of one of the huts, sending it tumbling to the ground in a pile of rubble around him, a beam landing straight into his head and knocking him out cold.

Gally found you shortly after that, ignoring his fear and running through the griver infested glade to get to you. He was pissed beyond measure after that, deeming the whole thing Thomas' fault which led to the swift punch to the face that Thomas received after the griever attack.

He'd seen you hurt before, of course he had, but this was the first time he'd seen you out cold from an injury, lying there believably dead and bleeding and that terrified him. If it wasn't for the fact that he had his hand pressed against your pulse, he would have had a completely breakdown right then and there. He personally carried you to what was left of the med hut and stayed with you for a lot of the night, only leaving to do some more screaming and somehow take control of the whole glade.

Y/N woke up slowly, his eyes focusing on what looked like what remained of the med hut. His head spun as he tried to sit up, pausing for a moment to just stare down at his lap to let his vision focus again.

"you're awake," he heard from the doorway, turning his head to see Gally pushing open the cloths and rushing towards his bedside.

"What happened?"

"Everything's gonna go back to normal now," Gally reached forward and softly kissed Y/N's forehead, "I promise,"

"What're you talking about?" Y/N asked but before a response came, a loud commotion started out into the glade, "What's that?"

Gally's gaze quickly shifted from the door to his boyfriend, an almost guilty look on his face, "I'll be...I'll be right back stay here," he said before rushed out back through the cloths.

Ever defiant, Y/N pushed himself up and out of bed, pushing through the cloth and out into the slightly intense sunlight.

"Gally," Y/N rushed after him as fast as his slightly fragile body would take him, arriving at the doors of the glade right as Theresa's hands were being tied back to a pole, "what's going on?"

"Y/N!" Theresa called, Y/N was actually quite sure that this was the first time the girl had ever even looked at him, never mind referred to him by name,"You have to talk him out of this he's being insane!"

"What the hell is going on?"

"This place is what's insane Y/N," Gally speaks lowly, almost like he's trying to convince him of something, "I don't wanna cross anymore names off that wall, especially not yours"

"Gally this isn't the way to do this," Y/N tries to argue but he's quickly cut off as Gally yells again, sending his already fragile head spinning.

"Look around! Look at our glade! This is our home!" He gestures around at the smokey huts and materials strewn across the grass, "this is the only way."

“Gally c’mon this is ridiculous,” Y/N spoke, his own voice at its low tone still aggravating his head ache, "I know this is a mess but turning on each other now is the last thing we need"

“I know you’ve had a blow to the head just now but do you not see that you’re being insane?!” Y/N couldn't help but flinch back slightly as Gally's voice rose, "They're not one of us! Tie him up." he barked a command that fell on deaf ears.

"Did you hear me?! I said tie him up!"

The uprising was fast.

Y/N watched as people he cared about split in half into groups, leaving or staying. He considered it for a moment and truthfully, he had no clue what he wanted, neither option seemed great. There was stay in the glade with Gally and get mauled by grievers or there was leave and potentially get mauled by grievers just a few meters away from the glade with the tease of freedom.

He softly rested a hand on his boyfriends back, feeling how tense he was even just with one hand, “Gally come on! Either we die in here or we-“

“Die out there!” He argues, pushing Y/N's hand off of him as a reflex though, he did seem like he regretted that the second that the touch was gone

“Or maybe not! Come on Gal this could be our chance!" Y/N backed off towards where Thomas and his little revolution were standing, he kept his boyfriend's hand in his hoping that he could pull him over with little resistance but Gally breaks their contact real fast, their hands breaking apart feeling like a tear in the fabric of their world.

Gally averted his eyes from Y/N knowing that, sooner or later, he'd give in if he held that eye contact, he surveyed the gladers that were standing in front of him, one betrayal stinging a lot more than the others, “Good luck out there with the grievers,”

Y/N’s heart sank as he heard those words and hears the quiet scampering of some of the others off into the maze behind him. He wanted nothing more than to yell that Gally was being stupid, grab him by the wrist and force him to come with them but…he couldn’t.

Newt tapped him on the shoulder, forcing his gaze away from his boyfriend and urging the two to run deeper into the maze.

And they did

Gally didn’t handle your absence well at all. He turned and surveyed what was left of the gladers, feeling betrayed and having to bite back tears. The only reason he wanted everything to go back to normal was to keep you safe and….now you were gone.

The other gladers were shocked that you came along with them with Newt occasionally shooting you confused glances as you sprint through the maze for the very last time as if wondering whether or not he'd imagined you leaving Gally or if that actually did happen. He was even more shocked when you absolutely busted your ass trying to protect all f them from the grievers, yelling that you'll hold them off while they got the door open.

Walking through the control room felt...off. At every new thing that you saw, you turned to point it out to Gally who, no matter how many times you looked for him, was never there.

You had to be physically restrained by some of the other gladers to stop you from going over to Gally when he'd been stung, your struggling only getting more and more frantic.

"Just let go!! I can handle this!"

"No Y/N, he's been strung he's dangerous"

"Oh fuck off he wouldn't hurt me!" just as he spoke, Y/N turned his attention back to his boyfriend of two years who, throughout all the commotion, had now pulled a gun on them. The gladers all collectively took a small step back almost instinctively, even Y/N who stared froward, a confused and hurt look flashing across his face, "Gally....?"

"Gally.." Y/N made moves to slowly inch himself forward, his eyes flicking between the eyes of his boyfriend and the loaded firearm currently pointed at his chest., "We're done, we can go. we're free."

It all happened fast, way faster than Y/N could process as Thomas distracted Gally, a bullet was fired, Chuck jumped in front and...Gally was on his knees

Y/N yell cut through the air. His ears rang with the force of the gunshot, his own voice sounding muffled. The gladers all released their hold on him to fall by chuck's side or cover their mouthes in shock but Y/N's legs took him to his boyfriend before he'd even registered what was happening.

"Gally!!" his hands trembled as they moved from Gally's chest to his face to his stomach, desperate to workout what to do as blood stained the clothes of the love of his life and the spear stuck out of him like a flagpole, "baby stay with me please, I got you,"

You sob over his body until you're forcibly dragged away from him by guards, kicking and fighting them just like Thomas did to stay closer to Chuck

He hardly registered the large mechanical door opening as he stuck by his boyfriend, keeping his hand tightly wound against Gally's. He fought, hard against the soldiers holding him but in the end he just broke down, letting himself be overpowered and dragged through the doors with the other gladers and out into the blinding light and chaos of the outside world.

The air outside was heavy, thick with sand and heat somehow so different to the glade despite the fact they were merely a mile away.

As he was forced into the helicopter, he finally lost sight of Gally's body eventually just turning his sight down to the floor knowing he wouldn't be able to look Thomas or Minho or any of them really in the eye.

His stomach lurched as the helicopter rose higher and higher and the grey haired man said something he wasn't quite tuned into. He turned his head away from all of the gladers and out of the window, feeling some of their eyes on him, he couldn't face any of their stares, not right now. As he looked out, he saw the place they'd been in clear detail below them, the maze and the glade turning into a smaller and smaller spec the higher they got.

They'd been there for three years, their whole life revolved around those four walls and now they were watching it from above like gods. His eyes studied the arial of the glade, their home for the past three years, taking in what was now the burning remnants of their supposed prison that they were desperate to escape from and the Maze walls that he'd spent a lot of his life running and realised...he just wanted to go back.

Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure if Gally is out of character or not, I tried to combine his character in the films of the big tough guy with the scared, kinda pathetic boy that he is in the books so I hope I did that some justice. I saw a quote someone wrote about the books that said something like that “Gally’s a character that seems obsessed with making the ‘right decision’ and really just wants someone to listen to him” so I tried to go for that energy.

I was also pretty inspired by a couple of other pieces dystopian and apocalypse media like the last of us, his dark materials and the hunger games for this series so if anything about it seems familiar that's why

I may edit this as time goes on as I feel that it could be written a little bit better

Let me know if this is any good by the way! I do have the rest of the trilogy kind vaguely planned out for this pairing and I had fun writing it so if that's something you wanna see let me know!!

REQUESTS

[witchxxjpg]

lestappen hogwarts au dedicated to my harry potter marathon (1k words)

+ seeker Charles and chaser Max (definitely not dating you know👀)

(i know that the age gaps are incorrect and that 11 years-old Max never raced international but for the sake of this au i change these things))

******

Max sat in his compartment alone.

When he looked outside all he could see was children and their parents running around Platform 3/4 with huge trolleys filled with bags and suitcases. But Max himself had only a mediocre case with shabby textbooks and some clothes to wear during his first school year.

Honestly speaking, he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to stand out, even though he was well aware that he wasn't quite like all the others.

When he passed by the other compartments, all the children were chatting and, Max guessed, they were just happy to see or meet each other, while some of the older students were discussing their summer breaks.

Max didn't know anyone here. He didn't even have anyone to say goodbye to.

His mother was too busy in Belgium to fly just for him to London. And his father was still furious at him for the decision to take a year off karting to study in this school for wizards. He had just dropped him off three hour ago near King's Cross Station and left without any goodbye.

Standing on the platform, Max'd thought about what to do.

After a failure of trying to ask an officer about platform 3/4 that was written on his boarding ticket Max'd sat on a nearby bench, hopping that soon he'd see someone who looked like a wizard.

And he was lucky enough that after only an hour of waiting he saw a girl, pulling a trolley of suitcases and a cage with a huge brown owl.

When Max had visited Diagon Alley last week with a big disheveled guy named Hagrid to buy all the necessary equipment for his first year, he'd been told that he's allowed to have a pet like a cat or an owl in Hogwarts. But his father didn't even want to give him money to purchase a wand, so Max knew better than to ask for an animal, even though he really wanted to have a cat.

He got into the train well earlier than all the other students, because almost all sofas were empty. He took one of the farthest compartments and put his case on the bench near him. He was too short to throw it on the top shelf and he didn't know any lifting charms. Then started looking at other wizards.

After an hour of observing the almost empty platform, Max finally started seeing more people.

They were all different: some of them wearing usual clothes, that Max's seen people in, while some others were in ridiculous outfits that he decided was sort of wizard style.

But there were a lot of children, of course. Most of them were in the same usual clothes. However, Max was relieved to see that others wore black robes that Max himself was dressed it.

Later he noticed that some of the robes of other students were with colorful elements, unlike his own that was fully grey.

The departure time of the Hogwarts Express was close, so Max sat there and waited, listening to dulled noises on the platform.

Until the door of his compartment was wide open.

"Hey, sorry, all the others are full," said a young boy, who looked around Max's age. "Do you mind if we sit with you?"

Max didn't mind at all, so he shaked his head and offered the seats.

Behind the boy who asked were two older guys who entered the room.

"Need help with your luggage?" asked one of them, pointing at Max's miserable suitcase, and Max, nodding, pointed out in his head that they're not from England, judging from the accent of these two of them.

While he put Max's case on the top shelf, the other one asked, seeing his stiffness, "First time, right?"

Max smiled awkwardly and nodded.

"Don't worry, we don't bite," cheered up the guy who helped with the luggage, chuckling.

"But Charlie can, though!" said the other, ruffling the hair of the younger boy who entered first and laughing.

Max assumed that they were all brothers, considering how well they knew each other.

The younger boy, Charlie, looked scandalous, "Hey, it only happened once!" pointing at the guy who accused him. "And you totally deserved that!"

"Okay," chuckled again the older guy. "We'll go buy us some food".

"Yeah, let the kids bond together," said the other when they exited the compartment, still giggling.

As soon as they left the younger guy jumped on the seat, opposite Max, with a huge smile and stretched out his right hand, "Hello, I'm Charles".

Shaking Charles' hand, Max mumbled, "I'm Max".

"Oh, by the way, that were Jules and Lorenzo," said Charles, pointing at the direction where the older boys had left. "They can be very annoying, I know. But still cool".

Max hesitated, "Are they your brothers?"

"Lo is," Charles smiled. "Jules is my godfather, but he's more like a brother. Do you have siblings?"

With that question Max realized that he actually missed Vic. He last saw her two months ago, while video chatting with their mother. He hoped he'd be able to go visit them on winter holidays.

"Yes, I have a sister," Max mentioned. "But she lives with my mother, and I live with my father".

He saw that Charles liked talking. "Oh, are you parents wizards?"

"No, they are both -" Max remembered that Hagrid had called them somehow, people who can't do magic. But he didn't remember. "Well, you know, not wizards".

"Muggles?" helped Charles. "That's so cool! Mine are from Monaco. Both wizards, but it's a boring story".

That explained the accent, even though Max'd thought they were French.

Max thought if he could share more about himself, "Oh, I raced in Monaco once", he said before realizing that maybe wizards didn't even know what karting was.

Until he saw how Charles' eyes went comically wide.

"Really?!" he jumped off the seat opposite Max and sat right near him. "You do karting? I also do karting. Not like anything professional but we do it every holiday".

Time passed and Max didn't even realize that. Soon returned Lorenzo and Jules with their hands full of sweets and chocolatebars. That's when Max tried his first chocolate frog and got his first card.

Then when Charles was very emotional to discuss Max's karting championships with his brothers, deep red Max was awkward to hear all this excitement (he'd never admit that he liked it). And he didn't know what to say when the older guys invited him to Monaco for winter holidays to show off the skills.

During boat trip to Hogwars Max listened to Charles speaking about four houses and how he was sure he would be in Gryffindor, because all his family was Gryffindor. Max decided that he also wanted to be brave and be in Gryffindor.

Of course, they didn't get to the same house, none of them didn't even get to the house that they'd wanted, but it wouldn't stop them from becoming best friends and probably something more.

But that's a story for later.

Now Max was just excited for his first year in the magic world.

[secondarysefikura]

Fun fact Claudia was 17 when she gave birth to Cloud(making her only 33 when she died), and since him and Sephiroth have a 6 year age gap, that means Claudia was 11 when Sephiroth was born.

So I can’t help but imagine that when Hojo left to find where Gast ran off to, but they had yet to move Sephiroth to Midgar so they needed someone to watch the 5 year old until they get back and relocate him. They eventually find a 16 year Claudia(who could already be pregnant with Cloud, albeit early in her pregnancy), after offering a good amount of gil and having her sign a NDA Claudia ends up being Sephiroth’s babysitter for a short amount of time. Luckily for Claudia Sephiroth is a good kid, and Sephiroth loves spending time with her, he’d honestly like it if Hojo never came back so he could stay with Claudia. But inevitably Hojo does return to Nibelheim and for Sephiroth. Years later Sephiroth still thinks about Claudia fondly, and is quite pleased when he finds out that the blonde cadet that Zack hangs out with is actually her son.

Maybe when they arrive at Nibelheim, Cloud and him can visit her together.

Woah, I didn't know that! Although as someone who grew up in a small town, I can say that teen pregnancy is really one of the few fun things to do. Not that I was ever the type to do that (and even if I was, being a lesbian kinda helped avoid any concerns of that), but my friend and I used to mess with people by going to the baby section of Walmart and pretend we were expecting parents. We'd come up with the worst possible baby name and then we'd look at the clothes and say "oh, wouldn't this be perfect for baby Jaroul?"

Good fun, good fun. Anyway:

Realistically speaking, Hojo has other scientists or lab techs who can watch Sephiroth for him while he's looking for Gast. Still, the idea of Claudia somehow caring for him is an interesting one: perhaps without Hojo around he is able to slip away into the village, and Claudia looks after him while trying to find his parents.

Cloud looks so much like his mother it's not even funny, so I can just imagine Zack showing Sephiroth a photo of him and Cloud and Sephiroth having to do a double take. For a brief moment, he really does think Zack somehow met the woman who cared for him when he got 'lost' as a child. Of course he then realizes it makes a lot more sense for this to be the baby that Claudia was pregnant with back then and not Claudia herself.

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire Masterlist

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Years after the world fell apart, various communities have established themselves, one of which is ran by four men who claim to be divine.

When they decide it's time to and heir to be born, they chose a virgin from their cult and make her their wife. Reader is offered a choice, of course. She doesn't have to marry them. But if she doesn't, the savior won't be born. She choses to become the Madonna. She is wed to all four of them, and moved into their home where her body is open to use whenever her husbands desire (free use au), in the hopes of getting her pregnant. It doesn't matter whose baby it ends up being, because they are all part God, so it doesn't matter... right?

Warnings for full fic, if anything is added or really emphcized it will be in additional warnings.

THIS IS A DARK FIC THOUGH SO BE WARY! I CAN'T PROTECT AGAINST EVERYTHING.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

Unknown amount of chapters right now.

Chapter 1: Pilot: Delta finds their Madonna Chapter 2: The wedding Chapter 3: Aftermath of the wedding FishBen: Symptom of Being Human Chapter 4: Pope is not pleased. Chapter 5: Jonah lore, Madonna gets through to Frankie Chapter 6: Madonna gains Frankie's heart, Santi is jealous Iris: Rey and Iris find pockets of time Chapter 7: Fun with Ben: wining Pope back Chapter 8: big announcement to the community

Non canon Frankie Madonna Chapter 9: Madonna’s blissful ignorance to the world around her. Chapter 10: There's a lot Madonna doesn't know.

Chapter 11: Things start to crumble around Madonna

Chapter 12: It's all too much for Madonna

Chapter 1 3: Santiago’s true colors come out

Chapter 14: Jonah tries to show the truth

Chapter 15: madonna begins to learn her power

Chapter 16: Frankie and Ben reflect

Chapter 17: Ben shows his true colors

Chapter 18: Iris makes her stand

Chapter 19: Jonah's chapter

Chapter 20: Frankie finally does something.

Chapter 21: ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Bonus Content

not necessary for the series. Pieces in the main list are suggested as they add depth and sometimes small plot points.

"Can you peel my orange?" Jonah smut

Jonah Hanson character ai

ROF characters Star signs

Jonah x non-Madonna reader x Marcus flashback commission

Art

By @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

By @survivingandenduring

Lil comic by @my-secret-shame

As I said, a lot of themes and dynamics ended up accidentally similarly to Watch Your Step by the amazing @charnelhouse Some was because that fic is what developed my characterizations of the boys. Some was totally incidental, like Pope and readers relation to art. It's different though, a much different series, but I wanted to tell y'all that she s PUBLISHING WYS AS A NOVEL NOW, Its called Cardinal Sin's and I'll link it right here!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

THANK YOU FOR YOU'RE SUPPORT!

Please remember to reblog, and I love comments/asks, anon or not, and would love to see engagement and theories!

[deadly-kalopsia]

writing out my understanding of the batfam ages because i’m bored

i’m basing literally all of this starting around their ages based on tim because that’s literally the only ones i know for sure and it’s easier this way

when tim is first introduced, he’s 13 (for some reason i always think he’s 12 but no, he’s 13) we know that tim was at the circus when dicks parents died when dick was 8. tim was stated to be 3 at the time of the flying graysons death) (i’m aware that in one comic it claims that he was like 7 but that makes literally no fucking sense so i’m ignoring it)

this means that when tim is 3, dick is 8, making dick 5 years older than tim making, meaning that when tim becomes robin dick is 18….which doesn’t really make sense. so let’s loop back to this later.

jason dies when hes 15, around 6 months later, tim introduces himself and has his first technical debut as robin at 13, making their age difference around 2 years. tim is born in july, and jason is born in august, it’s safe to say that their age gap is 2 years and a few months. jason is introduced at age 12 right after dick leaves/gets fired as robin at around age 18/19, making him around 6 years older than jason.

so at this point we have

tim-13 (stated age at first introduction.)

jason- 15/16 (depending on when he dies)

dick- 21/22 (relative to jason, not tim)

back to tim being at the circus at the night of the flying graysons death, if tim is 3, then with dicks age relative to jason, dick would have had to been around 12 at the age of their death, NOT the 8 that was previously stated. this would make dick and tim’s age gap around 9 years. personally, while this messes up the ages stated in the canon i’m referring to, this is probably the best age that i can come up with and still have tim be at the circus and be around toddler age (old enough to remember what happened because of the trauma of it)

bruce is stated to be somewhere between 12-15 years older than dick, meaning that he’s somewhere between 21-24 years older than tim. this means he was around 24-27 when he fosters dick. (personally i meld this to whatever fits what im trying to talk about)

cassandra is assumed to be jason’s age, so we’ll call her also 2 years and some months/3 years older than tim.

when damian is introduced at 9/10 and at the time tim is 16 making their age difference 6-7 years. this is constantly changing due to dcs lack of letting tim age but still aging damian up (damian is 14 right now and as far as i know tim is still 17.)

unfortunately i don’t know very much about duke (which is an absolute tragedy that i will be remedying asap) but im pretty sure he’s 4 years older than damian, making him 2-3 years younger than tim.

alfred is ageless and i don’t care what you say dc, that man is alive.

so for my age differences relative to tim in what im gathering as my current canon (very very loose) we have:

alfred: ageless. (probably around early-mid 70s?)

bruce: 38-42

dick: 26

cass: 19/20

jason: 19/20

tim: 17

duke: 14/15

damian: 10/11

that’s all we have for bruce’s canonically adopted/fostered children (THAT I KNOW OF PLEASE DONT KILL ME)

a couple others that i didn’t include but know, stephanie is a year older than tim, making her 18 to tim’s 17, and like wise, babs is a year older than dick, making her 27 to dicks 26.

i think my math maths but please let me know if it doesn’t, i did it in my head and have not slept.

[melozy]

✩ would anyone be interested in a BORUTO REWRITE ? (follow this link to read the fic)

here are the major things i'm changing from the series to fit into a more realistic storyline ↴

first, and this is very based, but i dislike boruto's name in general. i know it's an homage to neji's name (which translates to "screw"), and don't get me wrong 'bolt' as a nickname that references both neji and minato's legacy (since the latter was known as the 'yellow flash of konoha') is awesome. but in my story, i've given the main character the name akihiro (ironically known as hiro by his peers) meaning "bright" or "shining" with this kanji variation 明弘 [in which the first one literally translates to "dawn".]

also, it'll help if you read THIS first (a post made by me and my cousin two years ago! and it's only now coming to fruition :>)

other key points where this story diverges from boruto, both in terms of plot, themes, and character dynamics:

akihiro's personality and role

akihiro is much more charismatic and endearing, resembling a "sweet-talker" type who bonds deeply with others rather than boruto’s initial rebellious and aloof nature. he embraces being naruto’s son but struggles with living up to the expectations, rather than rejecting them outright.

this adds complexity to his growth as a leader and makes him more relatable and likable to a wider range of characters.

akihiro is an only child

unlike boruto, akihiro doesn’t have a younger sibling like himawari. this shifts the family dynamic to focus more closely on his relationship with naruto and hinata, highlighting their efforts to guide him without distractions.

it makes akihiro’s journey more introspective and personal, with fewer family members diluting his arc. but this will tie into another plotpoint with sakura and sasuke's kid(s) looking up to him as an older brother figure, so he fulfills that role just as well. the reason i chose not to give him a sibling is because i'm still on the fence about giving akihiro the byakugan since it might be too cliché (but admit it, boruto's and himawari's designs would've looked pretty cool with the eerie edge of the hyuugas' pupil-less eyes). but i have no intention of making naruto pass on kurama to his kids, especially not to akihiro. so, the point of him having a sibling in the timeline where conflict arises pretty early (just after the events of akihiro's birth) is unlikely.

generation gap in konoha 9's children

the children of the original konoha 9 aren’t all the same age.

they were born across a realistic timeline based on their parents’ relationships (e.g., temari and shikamaru’s child is older than sakura and sasuke’s).

the reason for this was pretty much at face value, it just is highly unlikely that all the couples got together and fell pregnant at the same time. maybe some kids are same age but mostly spanning a five year range at minimum. this adds more diverse interactions across generations and avoids the forced "classmates" dynamic that boruto had.

right now i do have the konoha 9's kids figured out. from oldest to youngest, they are [this is during when my story starts, when akihiro is 15]:

shikadai nara (18) > chocho akimichi (17) > akihiro uzumaki (16) > inojin yamanaka (16) > shizumi nara (13) > sarada and souta uchiha (11)

stronger, more varied teammates

akihiro’s teammates are more specialized and powerful compared to boruto’s. yume kazemura, an immigrant from the land of mist with her water style and weapon specialty, and daichi hiiragi, a fire-style ninja with a less prominent earth style. akihiro himself would have wind and lightning style + hyuuga taijutsu — mostly because i wanted to divide each team in a way that balances each other out.

this team is a frontline squad, so their chakra amount and specialty is prominent. it also gives me a reason to make sasuke mentor akihiro later in the story since lightning style seems almost a precursor to space-time jutsu and no other konoha 9 member has an affinity for it.

in any case, their abilities are distinctive and critical in battles, unlike boruto’s team, which felt derivative of naruto’s team 7 and very replicated, in my opinion.

otsutsuki threat introduced as a mystery

a plot point taken from this post (which was actually made by my cousin, who is beta-reading this as we speak!), the otsutsuki threat is revealed gradually through mysterious portals, strange creatures, and sinister chakra bombs, rather than immediately presenting godlike enemies like momoshiki. the slow-burn introduction makes the otsutsuki more terrifying and allows the story to maintain a grounded tone while building tension.

the chakra bomb thing is introduced right after the events of "the last", a few months after naruto and hinata's wedding. a few konoha shinobi en route to kumo for their chunin exams (konohamaru's team being of them), come across a border villager in the land of fire who is on the brink of fever-induced delirium, somehow mid-speech just gives out an insane level of raw chakra pulsing out of his body before collapsing, dead.

the genin team leaders decide to investigate and find that an entire small village on the border was wiped out without a trace of struggle or attack. naturally, fingers are raised towards kumo who really have no clue what's going on. just when it was about to written off as an invasion by the rogue factions, another similar incident takes place in iwagakure. the land of fire and wind being the closest to it are now under fire.

then i plan on introducing a cult who are old regime supremacists (led by disciples of kaguya who were indoctrinated by black zetsu). they believe in the eradication of the non-shinobi factions, a play on the "survival of the fittest" morality. maybe i will integrate the bioengineering and technical development aspect. but it won't be nearly as advanced as the stuff introduced in the boruto universe.

by the time akihiro is 16, strange portals carrying behemoths (think chitauri from avengers, endbringers from worm or even kaiju from pacific rim) into the world open up all across the globe. each nation basically brings a standstill on managing the political uprising to secure their borders, working together to configure who is behind these attacks and where these alien creatures are coming from.

meanwhile, a kaguya cult member reveals the location of a portal leading to the moon base where a fee otsutsuki relics and shrines are found by hiro and his team. while the powerhouses are deployed to deal with the monsters, the village heads are swarmed with cases of riots, fights breaking out between borders and all in all, hostility brewing between the elemental nations.

eventually the behemoth attacks get so frequent and so far apart in distance from one another that it becomes impossible to manage them all — leading to the affected areas being vacated after entire cities are demolished.

this eventually leads to a showdown in the ruins of uzushio where the biggest behemoth shows up, alongside two otsutsuki clan members and most of the alliance is posted there for a drawn out battle.

eventually, after practically wiping the floor with the alliance, the otsutsukis leave but not without the promise of return to plant a chakra tree on earth and to clear it out of tainted blood so the trueborns can thrive in their new paradise. (since humanity right now is a mix of kaguya's blood which gives them control over chakra and human dna — basically, the otsutsuki want to cleanse the world of them and take over the chakra fountain that is earth).

political turmoil between nations

the story will include realistic international tensions among the five great nations. rogue factions, misunderstandings, and betrayals play a critical role in the otsutsuki conflict. everyone with be pointing fingers but due to an established alliance among the kages, no shinobi can act on their convictions without breaking the treaty and being ousted as a stray ninja.

this adds stakes beyond just physical battles, emphasizing the fragile peace post-shinobi war. it also involves side characters from other villages, making the world feel larger and more dynamic.

power scaling is even

the power scaling is balanced, with the konohamaru generation being significantly stronger than akihiro’s due to the chakra bomb conflict arising during their peak as chunin/jounin. while akihiro is talented, he isn’t overpowered like boruto.

battles require teamwork, strategy, and sacrifice. it will also make the older generations more battle-hardened, experienced and will give them knowledge to impart on their charges as sensei. this avoids sidelining older characters and makes fights more engaging. even lower-tier ninjas have meaningful roles (which will be even more prominent during the final battle arc).

akihiro's love interest

now, this is a topic i'm very conflicted on.

on one hand i have this incredible character planned (sayuri ayakami) with seishinkan, a kekkei genkai aligned with the spiritual power of chakra maneuvering. it affects perceptions, health and even can cause/absorb physical blows to an extent for redistribution later. it works on the basis of the very existence of the otsutsuki clan, how they manipulate space-time, dimensional and planetary jutsu.

[she's basically the non-overpowered and very much human version of eida]

akihiro has a unique romantic subplot with sayuri, a character tied to an ancient clan and her own burdens. their bond develops naturally through shared hardships and mutual growth. this romance feels organic and adds emotional stakes. while i have nothing against boruto’s dynamic with sarada, the uchiha-uzumaki thing feels a little overdone.

but this above all is a shounen series that i'm making with emphasis on action and politics in the ninja world. so, i'm not sure how romance will fly in this universe. (what do you all think?)

greater role for older characters

characters like naruto, sasuke, sakura, gaara, shikamaru, the other kages and the previous generation have pivotal roles throughout the story. they don’t fade into the background but instead serve as mentors, fighters, and emotional anchors.

especially during the stand against the monsters and managing the political uproar caused by the kaguya cult. this respects their legacy while highlighting the generational transition, something boruto struggles with.

a new way to beat the otsutsuki

like i said, many characters will play different yet very important role in building up to and even during the final stand against the all-powerful otsutsuki.

minor characters and even less power shinobi from the alliances collectively will help in taking down the enemies bit by bit. humanity’s triumph over the otsutsuki wouldn't rely solely on godlike powers or specific individuals like boruto and kawaki. instead, it will involve strategies and unique abilities from many characters, such as sayuri’s seishinkan severing dimensional ties.

this makes the victory feel earned by everyone, not just a chosen few, and emphasizes teamwork and innovation over brute strength.

sasuke's absence from konoha has a real reason

sasuke’s absence is explained by his investigation of the chakra bomb incidents as he is made to be the prime coordinator of the anbu of konoha and usually the first to respond to impacted locations on short notice due to his rinnegan prowess. it's not just due vague wanderings that's he's not with his family. his return then carries significant weight.

it gives sasuke a clear purpose and enhances his arc while tying into the main story. it also builds on how sarada and souta's dynamics are, and how each twin copes with their dad not being present and mom being busy with her obligations.

this is one of the reasons why they look up to akihiro that much more because akihiro with his natural charm, abilities and ties to the hokage is somewhat popular amount his peers. despite this, he is welcoming towards the uchiha twins and takes them under his wing, sticking up for them and not letting them be turned into social pariahs.

sayuri's seishinkan and her clan

sayuri's seishinkan is a unique spiritual kekkei genkai, not a derivative of the byakugan or sharingan. her clan’s history ties into the otsutsuki invasion and ancient conflicts. this avoids redundancy in bloodline abilities while adding depth to the lore.

villains across all tiers

the otsutsuki threat isn’t limited to godlike figures. generals, zetsu-like soldiers, and mutated creatures provide challenges for all levels of ninja. this ensures that even lower-ranked ninjas and civilians play meaningful roles, unlike in boruto where only top-tier fighters matter.

the pacing of the story

the story spans akihiro’s growth from age 16 to 19, with major arcs that focus on mystery, politics, and personal relationships. the pacing is deliberate, allowing for more character development and emotional moments. this approach feels more cohesive and satisfying compared to boruto’s often disjointed plotlines.

this rewrite creates a more balanced, grounded, and emotionally resonant narrative compared to boruto. it respects the legacy of naruto’s generation, develops a new generation with their own unique abilities and struggles, and introduces the otsutsuki as a nuanced, terrifying threat that can’t simply be punched away.

— NOTES. again, this is simply my take on the poorly faring sequel to naruto, a franchise that deserves to be hailed for it's dynamic worldbuilding and major contribution into shaping what shounen has become today.

if you want me to go in-depth about any of the plot points, feel free to ask in my askbox or comments. i want to start writing this as soon as possible and the more input i get from fellow fans of this universe, the better the end result will be.

[animentality]

I knew this girl when I was a kid. she was 13 when i was 11.

we used to talk about this guy she was secretly seeing because her parents didn't approve of him. and at the time, I thought wow that's so unfair. her parents are kinda mean, why can't they let her date who she wants?

but as an adult, looking back at that shit...

dude was fucking 21.

and she was 13.

i have no idea if that guy ever got in trouble but I feel guilty sometimes looking back at it, because I didn't think it was bad at the time, and I didn't speak up.

my parents had a gap of 8 years. I didn't comprehend that the difference in age from 13 and 21 is not only illegal, but also very very different from a 21 year old dating a 29 year old.

hope she's doing alright, and hope he's having an awful time in this economy. maybe choking on the brimstone scent of hell.

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me 🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - age gap,, i think thats all

all of the songs and celebrities mentioned in here are from the time periods this was written if you are confused🩷

Chapter 1

It was 1956. I was living with my family at the Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas, where my father, then Captain, Joseph Paul y/ln, a career officer, was stationed. He came home late for dinner one evening and handed me a record album.

“I don’t know what this Matt guy is all about,” he said, “but he must be something special. I stood in line with half the Air Force at the PX to get this for you; everybody wants it.”

I put the record on the hi-fi and heard the rocking music of “Blue Suede Shoes.” The album was titled Matt Sturniolo. It was his first.

Like almost every other kid in America, I liked Matt but not as fanatically as many of my girl friends at Del Valley Junior High. They all had Matt T-shirts and Matt hats and Matt socks and even lipstick in colors with names like Hound Dog Orange and Heartbreak Pink referencing names of his songs. Matt was everywhere, on bubblegum cards and Bermuda shorts, on diaries and wallets and pictures that glowed in the dark. The boys at school began trying to look like him, with their fluffy hair and turned up collars.

One girl was so crazy about him that she was running his local fan club. She said I could join for twenty-five cents, the price of a book she’d ordered for me by mail. When I received it, I was shocked to see a picture of Matt signing the bare chests of a couple of girls, at that time an unheard-of act.

Then I saw him on television on Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey’s Stage Show. He was sexy and handsome, with his deep brooding eyes, pouty lips, and crooked smile. He strutted out to the microphone, spread his legs, leaned back, and strummed his guitar. Then he began singing with such confidence, moving his body with unbridled sexuality. Despite myself, I was attracted.

Some members of his adult audience were less enthusiastic. Soon his performances were labeled obscene. My mother stated emphatically that he was “a bad influence for teenage girls. He arouses things in them that shouldn’t be aroused. If there’s ever a mothers’ march against Matt Sturniolo, I’ll be the first in line.”

But I’d heard that despite all of his stage antics and lustful, tough-guy looks, Matt came from a strict Southern Christian background. He was a country boy who didn’t smoke or drink, who loved and honored his parents, and who addressed all adults as “sir” or “ma’am.”

I was an Air Force child, a shy, pretty little girl, unhappily accustomed to moving from base to base every two or three years. By the time I was eleven, I had lived in six different cities and, fearful of not being accepted, I either kept to myself or waited for someone to befriend me. I found it especially difficult entering a new school in the middle of the year, when cliques had already been established and newcomers were considered outsiders.

Small and petite, with long y/hc hair, y/ec eyes, and an upturned nose, I was always stared at by the other students. At first girls would see me as a rival, afraid I’d take their boyfriends away. I seemed to feel more comfortable with boys—and they were usually friendlier.

People always said I was the prettiest girl in school, but I never felt that way. I was skinny, practically scrawny, and even if I was as cute, as people said, I wanted to have more than just good looks. Only with my family did I really feel totally protected and loved. Close and supportive, they provided my stability.

A photographer’s model before her marriage, my mother was totally devoted to her family. As the oldest, it was my responsibility to help her with the kids. After me, there were Don, four years younger, and Michelle, my only sister, who was five years younger than Don. Jeff and the twins, Tim and Tom, hadn’t yet been born.

My mother was too shy to talk about the facts of life, so my sex education came in school, when I was in the sixth grade. Some kids were passing around a book that looked like the Bible from the outside, but when you opened it, there were pictures of men making love to women, and women making love to each other.

My body was changing and stirring with new feelings. I’d gotten looks from boys at school, and once a picture of me in a tight turtleneck sweater was stolen from the school bulletin board. Yet I was still a child, embarrassed about my own sexuality. I fantasized endlessly about French-kissing, but when my friends who hung around our house played spin the bottle, it would take me half an hour to let a boy kiss my pursed lips.

My strong, handsome father was the center of our world. He was a hard worker who had earned his degree in Business Administration at University of Texas. At home he ran a tight ship. He was a firm believer in discipline and responsibility, and he and I frequently knocked heads. When I became a cheerleader at thirteen, it was all I could do to convince him to let me go to out-of-town games. Other times no amount of crying, pleading, or appealing to my mother would change his mind. When he laid down the law, that was that.

I managed to get around him occasionally. When he refused to let me wear a tight skirt, I joined the Girl Scouts specifically so I could wear their tight uniform.

My parents were survivors. Although they often had to struggle financially, we children were the last to feel it. When I was a little girl my mother sewed pretty tablecloths to cover the orange crates that we used as end tables. Rather than do without, we made the best of what we had.

Dinner was strictly group participation: Mother cooked, one of us set the table, and the rest cleaned up. Nobody got away with anything, but we were very supportive of one another. I felt fortunate to have a close-knit family.

Going through old albums of family photographs showing my parents when they were young fascinated me. I was curious about the past. World War II intrigued me, especially since my father had fought with the Marines on Okinawa. He looked handsome in his uniform—you could tell he was posing for my mother—but somehow his smile looked out of place, especially when you realized where he was. When I read the note on the back of the picture about how much he missed my mother, my eyes filled with tears.

While rummaging through the family keepsakes I came upon a small wooden box. Inside was a carefully folded American flag, the kind that I knew was given to servicemen’s widows. Also inside the box was a picture of my mother with her arm around a strange man and, sitting on her lap, an infant. On the back of the photo was inscribed “Mommy, Daddy, y/n.” I had discovered a family secret.

Feeling betrayed, I ran to phone my mother, who was at a party nearby. Within minutes I was in her arms, crying as she calmed me and explained that when I was six months old, my real father, Lieutenant James Wagner, a handsome Navy pilot, had been killed in a plane crash while returning home on leave. Two and a half years later, she married Paul y/ln, who adopted me and had always loved me as his own.

Mother suggested I keep my discovery from the other children. She felt it would endanger our family closeness, though when it did become known, it had no effect on our feelings for one another. She gave me a gold locket that my father had given her. I cherished that locket and wore it for years and fantasized that my father died a great hero. In times of emotional pain and loneliness he would become my guardian angel.

By the end of the year, I’d been nominated to run for Queen of Del Valley Junior High. This was my first taste of politics and competition and it was especially trying because I was running against Millie Collins, my best friend.

We each had a campaign manager introducing us as we went from house to house knocking on doors. My manager tried to talk each person into voting for me and donating a penny or more per vote to a school fund. The nominee who collected the most money won. I was sure that this competition would jeopardize my friendship with Millie, which was more important to me than winning. I considered quitting but felt I couldn’t let my parents or my supporters down. While my mother was out looking for a dress for me to wear to the coronation, my dad kept reminding me to memorize an acceptance speech. I kept putting it off, certain I was going to lose.

It was the last day of the campaign, and a rumor began circulating that Millie’s grandparents had put in a hundred-dollar bill for their vote. My parents were disappointed; there was no way that they could afford to match that much money and even if they could, they objected on principle.

The night they announced the winner, I was all dressed up in a new turquoise blue, strapless tulle net formal that itched so badly I couldn’t wait to take it off. I sat beside Millie on the dais in the large school auditorium. I could see my parents with happy, confident looks on their faces though I was sure they were going to be disheartened. Then the principal walked up to the podium.

“And now,” she said, hesitating to heighten the suspense, “is the moment you’ve all been waiting for  . . . the culmination of a month of campaigning by our two lovely contestants: y/n y/ln  . . .” All eyes turned toward me. I blushed and glanced at Millie. “ . . . and Millie Collins.” Our eyes locked for a brief, tense moment.

“The new Queen of Del Valley Junior High is  . . .” A drum roll sounded. “ . . . y/n y/ln.”

The audience applauded wildly. I was in shock. Called up to the stage to give my speech, I had none. Sure that I was going to lose, I’d never even bothered to write one. I walked, trembling, to the podium, then looked out at the crowded auditorium. All I could see was my father’s face, growing more disappointed as he realized I had nothing to say. When I finally spoke, it was to apologize.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not prepared to give a speech, as I did not expect to win. But thank you very much for voting for me. I’ll do my very best.” And then, looking at my father, I added, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

I was surprised as the audience graciously applauded, but I still had to face my father and hear him say, “I told you so.”

Being elected Queen was a bittersweet victory, because the closeness that Millie and I once shared was restrained. Still, to me that crown symbolized a wonderful, unfamiliar feeling: acceptance.

My newfound tranquility ended abruptly when my father announced that he was being transferred to Wiesbaden, West Germany.

I was crushed. Germany was the other side of the world. All my fears returned. My first thought was, What am I going to do about my friends? I turned to my mother, who was sympathetic and reminded me that we were in the Air Force and moving was an unavoidable part of our lives.

I finished junior high school, my mother gave birth to baby Jeff, and we said our goodbyes to neighbors and good friends. Everyone promised to write or call, but remembering past promises I knew better. My friend Stephanie jokingly told me that Matt Sturniolo was stationed in Bad Neuheim, West Germany. “Do you believe it? You’re going to be in the same country as Matt Sturniolo,” she said. We looked at a map and found that Bad Neuheim was close to Wiesbaden. I said back, “I’m going over there to meet Matt.” We both laughed, hugged each other, and said goodbye.

West Germany

The fifteen-hour flight to West Germany seemed interminable, but finally we arrived in the beautiful old city of Wiesbaden, headquarters of the U.S. Air Force in Europe. There we checked into the Helene Hotel, a massive and venerable building on the main thoroughfare. After three months, hotel living became too expensive and we began looking for a place to rent.

We felt lucky to find a large apartment in a vintage building constructed long before World War I. Soon after we moved in, we noticed that all the other apartments were rented to single girls. These Fräuleins walked around all day long in robes and negligees, and at night they were dressed to kill. Once we learned a little German, we realized that, although the pension was very discreet, we were living in a brothel.

Moving was out of the question—housing was too scarce—but the location did little to help me to adjust. Not only was I isolated from other American families, but there was the language barrier. I was accustomed to changing schools frequently, but a foreign country posed altogether new problems, principally that I couldn’t share my thoughts. I began to feel that my life had stopped dead in its tracks.

September came and with it, school. Once again I was the new girl. I was no longer popular and secure as I’d been at Del.

There was a place called the Eagles Club, where American service families went for dinner and entertainment. It was within walking distance of the pension and soon proved an important discovery for me. Every day after school, I’d go to the snack bar there and listen to the jukebox and write letters to my friends back home in Austin, telling them how much I missed them. Drowning in tears, I’d spend my weekly allowance playing the songs that were very popular back in the States—Frankie Avalon’s “Venus” and the Everly Brothers’ “All I Have to Do Is Dream.”

One warm summer afternoon, I was sitting with my brother Don when I noticed a handsome man in his twenties staring at me. I’d seen him watching me before, but I’d never paid any attention to him. This time, he stood up and walked toward me. He introduced himself as Steven Wright and asked my name.

“y/n y/ln,” I said, immediately suspicious; he was much older than me.

He asked where in the States I came from, how I liked Germany, and if I liked Matt Sturniolo.

“Of course,” I said, laughing. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’m a good friend of his. My wife and I go to his house quite often. How would you like to join us one evening?”

Unprepared for such an extraordinary invitation, I grew even more skeptical and guarded. I told him I’d have to ask my parents. Over the course of the next two weeks, Steven met my parents and my father checked out his credentials. Steven was also in the Air Force and it turned out that my father knew his commanding officer. That seemed to break the ice between them. Steven assured Dad that I’d be well chaperoned when we visited Matt, who lived off base in a house in Bad Nauheim.

On the appointed night I tore through my closet, trying to find an appropriate outfit. Nothing seemed dressy enough for meeting Matt Sturniolo. I settled on a navy and white sailor dress and white socks and shoes. Surveying myself in the mirror, I thought I looked cute, but being only fourteen, I didn’t think I’d make any kind of impression on Matt.

Eight o’clock finally arrived, and so did Steven Wright and his attractive wife, Carole. Anxious, I hardly spoke to either of them during the forty-five-minute drive. We entered the small town of Bad Nauheim, with its narrow cobblestone streets and plain, old-fashioned houses, and I kept looking around for what I assumed would be Matt’s huge mansion. Instead Steven pulled up to an ordinary-looking three-story house surrounded by a white picket fence.

There was a sign on the gate in German, which translated as: autographs between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m. only. Even though it was after eight o’clock, a large group of friendly German girls waited around expectantly. When I asked Steven about them, he explained that there were always large groups of fans outside the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Matt.

I followed Steven through the gate and up the short pathway to the door. We were welcomed by James Sturniolo, Matt’s father, a tall, gray-haired, attractive man, who led us down a long hallway to the living room, from which I could hear Brenda Lee on the record player, singing “Sweet Nothin’s.”

The plain, almost drab living room was filled with people, but I spotted Matt immediately. He was handsomer than he appeared in films, younger and more vulnerable-looking with his haircut. He was in civilian clothes, a bright red sweater and tan slacks, and he was sitting with one leg swung over the arm of a large overstuffed chair, with a cigar dangling from his lips.

As Steven led me over to him, Matt stood up and smiled. “Well,” he said. “What have we here?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just kept staring at him.

“Matt,” Steven said, “this is y/n y/ln. The girl I told you about.”

We shook hands and he said, “Hi, I’m Matt Sturniolo,” but then there was a silence between us until Matt asked me to sit down beside him, and Steven drifted off.

“So,” Matt said. “Do you go to school?”

“Yes.”

“What are you, about a junior or senior in high school?”

I blushed and said nothing, not willing to reveal that I was only in the ninth grade.

“Well,” he persisted.

“Ninth.”

Matt looked confused. “Ninth what?”

“Grade,” I whispered.

“Ninth grade,” he said and started laughing. “Why, you’re just a baby.”

“Thanks,” I said curtly. Not even Matt Sturniolo had the right to say that to me.

“Well. Seems the little girl has spunk,” he said, laughing again, amused by my response. He gave me that charming smile of his, and all my resentment just melted away.

We made small talk for a while longer. Then Matt got up and walked over to the piano and sat down. The room suddenly grew silent. Everyone’s eyes were focused on him as he began to entertain us.

He sang “Rags to Riches” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” and then with his friends singing harmony, “End of the Rainbow.” He also did a Jerry Lee Lewis impersonation, pounding the keys so hard that a glass of water he’d set on the piano began sliding off. When Matt caught it without missing a beat of the song, everyone laughed and applauded except me. I was nervous. I glanced around the room and saw an intimidating life-size poster of a half-nude model on the wall. She was the last person I wanted to see, with her fulsome body, pouting lips, and wild mane of tousled hair. Imagining Matt’s taste in women, I felt very young and out of place.

I glanced up and saw Matt trying to get my attention. I noticed that the less response I showed, the more he began singing just for me. I couldn’t believe that Matt Sturniolo was trying to impress me.

Later, he asked me to come into the kitchen, where he introduced me to his grandmother, Minnie Mae Sturniolo, who stood by the stove, frying a huge pan of bacon. As we sat down at the table, I told Matt I wasn’t hungry. Actually I was too nervous to eat.

“You’re the first girl I’ve met from the States in a long time,” Matt said, as he began devouring the first of five gigantic bacon sandwiches, each one smothered with mustard. “Who are the kids listening to?”

I laughed. “Are you kidding?” I said. “Everyone listens to you.”

Matt seemed unconvinced. He asked me a lot of questions about Fabian and Ricky Nelson. He told me he was worried about how his fans would accept him when he returned to the States. Since he’d been away, he hadn’t made any public appearances or movies, although he’d had five hit singles, all recorded before he’d left.

It felt like we’d just begun talking when Steven came in and pointed to his watch. I had dreaded that moment; the evening had gone so fast. It seemed I had just arrived and now I was being hurried away. Matt and I had just started to get to know each other. I felt like Cinderella, knowing that when my curfew came, all this magic would end. I was surprised when Matt asked Steven if I could possibly stay longer. When Steven explained the agreement with my father, Matt casually suggested that maybe I could come by again. Though I wanted to more than anything in the world, I didn’t really believe it would happen.

a/n - thoughts on this story so far? all the fashion and technology and things is still based in the time period its set in but i promise it gets better as the story goes on! i know the age gap is crazy but back in the day it was normal and its the age gap in Priscilla’s book so i just stuck with it. I in no way support this at all🎀

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Let's call it Fate | Part 16

(A/N) I'll leave it up to you, what you gift Secondo!

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: google translate translations, abusive parents (especially mother), arranged marriage, age gap, bullying, talk of grandparents and death of a grandparent, mistreatment of Ghouls, threats, angst, fluff, kissis, bit more spice

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

Sunday came too quickly. By the time everyone gathered for the black mass, you had just about finished your plans. All that was left to do was get all the brothers, especially Secondo, into Copia’s apartment after the mass so you could celebrate.

“You thinking about Copia?” Your eyes focused on Lila, who sat beside you in the chapel. A quiet chuckle left your lips as you shook your head. “No…for once at least.” Lila chuckled and nodded, her eyes focusing on the Cardinal standing at the front, ensuring everything was ready. But before you could tell your friend what you were actually thinking about, Terzo waltzed up to the altar and the black mass started. For the longest time, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and you began to wonder if Papa Secondo had convinced his brothers not to celebrate that day. But then Terzo started to speak.

“As most of you know, today is my dear brother’s birthday.” With as much pizazz as possible, he gestured to Papa Secondo, who had his head in his hands, shaking it slightly. “So, to celebrate, we’ll sing his favorite song from his album.” The moment these words left Terzo’s mouth, Papa Secondo glanced up, confusion clear on his face. But before he could object, the notes for ‘Year Zero’ started playing. Along with everyone else, you started to sing along, although most of the voices around you, were drowned out by Terzo, singing at the top of his lungs while dancing around in the front. Lila and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you watched the current Papa perform. But the moment the lyrics came to “a daughter to fall for a son”, you couldn’t help but glance up at Copia, a soft smile spreading on your lips, as you realized that he was already looking at you, his lips forming the words.

A soft blush rose to your cheeks, and you quickly adverted your gaze, scared that you could get caught somehow. Of course, Lila did catch your little moment, gently elbowing you with a grin to show her support.

After another hour or so, the black mass came to an end, and everyone slowly filtered out of the chapel, but you hung back, waiting to be alone with the Emeritus brothers. “Have fun.” Lila winked at you on her way out, making you chuckle. Before long, the chapel was empty, safe for you and the four men, as well as Phantom and Dew.

“Please lock the chapel doors on your way out.” The Ghouls nodded and did as they were asked.

“Terzo, piccolo bastardo. Era proprio necessario? Sai che non mi piace attirare l'attenzione sul mio compleanno.” Papa Secondo didn’t hold his frustrations back as he yelled at his little brother. But Terzo just waved him off with a smile. “Sai che è tradizione, fratello. Ci ho solo messo un po' sopra.” While they were arguing, you slowly made your way to Copia, who immediately pulled you to his side.

“Hi.” You grinned up at him, echoing his greeting before your attention returned to the brothers. With a reassuring squeeze on your hips by Copia, you gently cleared your throat, making everyone look at you. “You have made it very clear that you don’t like to celebrate your birthday, but we prepared a little something in Copia’s apartment. I’d really prefer you just came with us, but if not…” behind Papa Secondo, Swiss popped up, a grin on his face. “…we have reinforcements, and we will go the hard route.”

Once Papa Secondo realized that there was no getting out of it, he conceded with a heavy sigh and followed as Copia and you led the way through the secret tunnels. Just before you reached the door to Copia’s apartment, you handed Papa Secondo a blindfold, which he begrudgingly put on. Terzo and Copia took over, leading him inside safely, and once you had lit the candles on the cake you had baked, you gave the signal for Terzo to remove the blindfold.

Papa Secondo was greeted by a heavenly-looking chocolate cake with candles on it. Further back, the table was littered with presents, as well as a little bit of confetti to make everything a tad bit more colorful. But when Papa Secondo just kept staring at the cake, not saying a word, you started to feel anxious.

“My parents never celebrated my birthday with me. But…but the staff did. At first, I was sad every year. Confused as to why they wouldn’t even congratulate me, but our head chef always baked me this cake, and it always cheered me up, even when I didn’t even want to be reminded that it was my birthday. I…I don’t know why you don’t like to celebrate, but I learned that birthdays are here to be celebrated, you just need the right people.”

It was silent for a few moments before you were suddenly enveloped in a hug, two strong arms holding you against a burly chest. Confusion filled you for a moment before you realized that Papa Secondo was hugging you. “Grazie, cara.” You smiled, hugging him back.

“Okay! Let’s get this party started!” Leave it to Terzo to ruin a moment. But after Secondo let go of you and blew out the candles, the cake was served and devoured. Within moments, you were declared the family baker from then on, and after the cake was gone, the evening was spent playing different board and card games. At some point, Secondo unwrapped his presents, making comments about each one until he got to yours. He must’ve immediately recognized that it was from you because he just glanced at you with a soft smile, mouthing a quiet ‘thank you.’

After a few hours, when Primo started to doze off, Secondo declared it a birthday well spent and started to usher his brothers, especially Terzo, out the door, thanking you one more time before leaving. The moment the doors closed behind the three, Copia drew you into a hug and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “You are a miracle, amore.”

Translations: amore...love erzo, piccolo bastardo. Era proprio necessario? Sai che non mi piace attirare l'attenzione sul mio compleanno...Terzo you little bastard. Was that really necessary? You know I don't like drawing attention to my birthday. Sai che è tradizione, fratello. Ci ho solo messo un po' sopra...You know it's tradition, brother. I just put a little spin on it. Grazie, cara...Thank you, dear.

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Ghost Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @antoniamarie1989

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[metalmonki]

Objection!

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Next Chapter

The day had finally come. I had successfully graduated Harvard Law. My Mum, Dad, brother Sonny and sisters Bella, Teresa and Gina had made the trip out of Staten Island to witness the graduation. The youngest of the Carisi clan, I choose to follow Sonny into the criminal prosecution career track. Sonny had recently transferred to the Elite Manhattan Special Victims Unit and was also studying at Fordham Law ‘to make myself a better detective’ he had said. Sonny and I, despite our 11-year age gap, were completely inseparable. He had been the one who got the rest of our family together to be here today. Sonny is the whole reason I was graduating today. He had encouraged me even after Mum and Dad had voiced their disappointment at my choice.

I had barely made it off the stage when Sonny had scooped me up in his arms and began spinning us around. He had the worlds biggest smile on his face and repeated over and over again how proud he was of me. Our parents and sisters soon joined us.

“I’m going to cook a big feast tonight just for you” Mom smiled.

“You always cook a big feast, that’s every meal for you” Dad scoffed.

“Oh shush you cranky old man” Mum swatted at him with open hands.

We all laughed at the pair and walked off to the cars. We had a long drive ahead of us back to Staten Island. After dinner I would then have to drive back into Manhattan with Sonny. I had come here with Sonny yesterday from his apartment in Manhattan and had no choice but to go back there with him tonight. Now I had graduated I had no clue what I was suppose to do. I had been applying for positions in almost every law firm in New York with no luck. I’d even applied for the DA’s office with no success. I knew Sonny would let me live with him for however long it took for me to find my feet. He had insisted on it in fact when I’d moved back to New York last month. This had been Mum and Dads complaint. I would waste my time on a piece of paper that would lead me nowhere. I’d even put in an extra two years on a masters degree just to increase my chances.

“Hay kiddo is everything okay?” Sonny spoke up “You’ve been silent for the last 45 minutes and you look worried”

“Maybe Mum and Dad were right” Was all I could get out.

“About what? Don’t tell me your doubting yourself now” Sonny smiled over at me.

“I spent the whole month applying for positions with no luck, all I’ve managed is a minimum wage bodega job. I can’t rely on you forever Sonny, you have your own life, the woman at work you said you fancy, while I just wasted six years to get a piece of paper that’s turning out to be useless. I wanted to be up there with the greats like Alexander Cabot and Rafael Barba” I sighed picking at my nails.

“Y/N Carisi always worrying” Sonny chuckled “Give it time you’ll get something soon; you don’t need to rush”

“I’m not trying to rush I just don’t like not knowing” I threw my hands up.

But wait I did. For 9 months I applied for any law jobs that came up. I worked my ass off at the bodega, saving every penny I could to get out of Sonny’s flat. Then one day it happened. I had been busy cooking dinner, a simple chicken alfredo, when Sonny basically smashed his way through the door. I hadn’t expected him home until much later. I knew they were having trouble catching the Central Park Strangler as the papers had dubbed him. A horrid man who would stalk lone women in central park, strangle and rape them. Sonny had said he was escalating an attack every night, he hadn’t killed anyone yet but Sonny was sure he would soon. He had made me promise not to leave the flat alone at night until they got the guy. He had left DNA at every scene so as soon as they got him he was going away for life. No chance of a plea bargain, no way to weasel out of it. Sonny had a huge smile on his face as he walked into the kitchen.

“I’m guessing by the smile on your face you caught your guy? That or you finally grew a pair and asked Amanda out and she said yes” I chuckled.

“Yes, well no, but yes” Sonny stumbled over his words while he hung his coat up and took his shoes off.

“Well which is it?” I laughed.

“We caught the guy, Barba had him shipped to rikers an hour ago” Sonny put his brief case on the bench and dug through it producing a manila envelope. “I also got this for you” he handed the envelope to me. 

I wiped my hands off on my apron and took the envelope. I turned it over in my hands taking note of the District Attorneys office logo in the corner. I disregarded it as just being an envelope Sonny had handy. I turned the envelope over once more and unwound the string keeping it closed. Inside was a stack of paperwork maybe 30 pages thick. Written on top of the first sheet in bold letters were the words OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT. I looked up shocked at Sonny before looking back at the papers. We are pleased to offer you a position as an assistant to ADA Rafael Barba at the New York District  Attorney Office.

“Oh Sonny this is amazing thank you”  I pulled him into a hug.

“It was nothing I just called in a favour when I heard Barba needed some extra help”  Sonny chuckled “All you need to do is fill in the forms and drop them off to Barba tomorrow. He says he’ll in his office from 3 onward”.

“I’ll fill them in first thing but for now lets eat!”.

“Oh you mean the food that’s burning on the stove?” Sonny chuckled.

“Shit!” I spun back to the stove but it was pointless the chicken had already started turning black and the pasta was almost boiled dry.

“I’ll order out and you can trying to salvage my pot and pan” Sonny laughed walking off phone in hand.