#oh so the western side is different!!!

[sexysilverstrider]

Winners of the Pokemon Master's Ex #StanYourTrainer!

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

also ngl but I HATE the suggestion that if an historical object is not just of local importance but of national importance, it therefore by definition has to go to a big museum like the rijksmuseum in amsterdam. like why shouldn't local museums hold important objects if they can. it belongs to the local people, it's their stuff, let them keep it. rural people already have to travel across the country for everything deemed Cultural, why do the big cities get to hog everything, are city people more important than rural people?

[rodeorun]

love in the dark.

yandere pretty boyfriend x fem!reader.

cw: drugging, black-mail, non-con blowjob, degradation. Featuring @meo-eiru 's OC, Elias ❤️

MDNI.

“You better work,” Elias threatened the baby pink candle he was holding between pretty, manicured fingers.

One might even compare it to the young man himself. Long and more thin than thick, the pink wax at the tip molded into a heart shape, white wick sticking through the middle. Elias always had love on the brain, at least when it came to you. Pity he didn't have a fine white wick of logic to split his head in two, or rather, his heart. But, when you love the way he did, weren't those two practically the same thing?

He doesn't know how many hours he spent on the dark web to find this, some sort of ‘love candle.’ Whatever that bullshit meant. The description the seller left behind was short and to the point.

‘Ignite this candle in the presence of your desired person and watch them fall in love with you.’

Even Elias in all his lovesickness found it hard to believe, but it was that sickness itself that led him to purchasing the item. He hadn't gotten a gig lately so he prayed for the payment to go through, giving himself a headache for purchasing a mere candle that was six hundred and fifty dollars. God, the things he would do for you (or to you, but that's a completely different matter.)

You, the object of his affections. His sweet, sweet, sweet best friend who has saved him more times than he could count. You were entirely too good for him and he knew it.

A special knock on his door alerted him to your presence, and he knew it was you because you two had created that very knock in sophomore year of university. Long after he changed his name, you still had the heart to played with him like a child. Where others laughed at his girlish tears and overgrown sobs, you healed his inner child with every hug, every whisper, every time you'd look into his eyes and tell him, ‘it's okay, Elias. I'm here for you.’

And you always were.

No matter how bad his tantrums got, you never got sick of him. You were the only one who stayed. You practically conditioned him. How could he ever want anyone else after tasting a drop of your sweetness?

“Hi, darling!” Elias opened the door and pulled you in for a hug, kicking the door shut behind you. “Someone's mighty dressed up for a movie night in, hehe. Oooh, is this wine? Gimme gimmie!”

Taking the bag from your hands, Elias turned to put it on the table, laying a sweaty palm against his flushed cheek. Heaven, he couldn't do this much longer! Just a hug from you and a whiff of that perfume had him hardening in his yoga pants. He stayed faced away from you as he rocked side to side, subtly rubbing himself against the bottle you brought just for him. All for him.

“So, I was thinking we could start with a rom-com and then maybe a western, for variety, and after that there's a three hour long horror movie I found that-”

“Sorry, Elias.”

Glittering eyelids opened themselves.

“See, my boyfriend injured his arm in a game yesterday, so I need to go help cook for him,” you explained. Your sorry eyes seared into his back.

Ah, yes. That boyfriend of yours. Taller than Elias, bigger than Elias, handsome enough to be called a heartthrob and an athlete by profession. A real winner, that boyfriend of yours!

Elias wanted to spit on his corpse.

“Oh, your boyfriend!” He clasped his hands together and turned to face you. “The one who forgot to pick you up at the mall last week because he slept through his alarm, right? I remember him.” Elias fiddled with one of the bottles of wine now, snarling. So much for a ‘gift,’ you were just trying to buy his forgiveness.

“Yes, Eli, that boyfriend,” you chuckled. “But I forgave him for that, you know? Nobody's perfect.”

The illusion of bliss he was swept up in from hearing that sweet nickname quickly shattered.

‘Nobody's perfect.’ Elias knew that better than anyone else. Afterall, he was the last thing but, and yet you still treated him so preciously.

So, why? Why was it the very same thing he fell in love with you for, you were flaunting to just anyone? Don't you know that love isn't free? Especially not yours! How many bottles of hair dye, micro-needling appointments, collagen fillers, and waxing appointments did he go to for your love? By God he knows his deadname didn't deserve you, but didn't Elias at least earn a little bit of your attention?

How dare you, honestly. How dare you show someone else the kindness you won him over with? How dare you waltz in here just to stand him up for another man! How dare you fucking-

“Eli?”

“Yes, my beloved?”

You looked upon him tentatively, a testament to what a ticking time bomb he is. “Oh, alright, I forgive you.” He waved you off playfully and walked over to hold both of your hands in his. “But next time, I'll tie you up and keep you here forever, munchkin~”

Your laugh mingled with his. As if you thought he was joking.

“Ah, but, darling! At least have a drink with me before you go. It would be lonely to pop open a bottle by myself, hm?”

A single drink.

That's what you and Elias agreed on. One glass and you'd be on your way to that wretch. You didn't drive to get here and assured Elias that your boyfriend would drive you back home. As if.

“Oh, before we cheers,” Elias put his glass down and went to rummage for a box of matches, shaking his hips this way and that while humming in his search.

“Someone's in a good mood,” you grinned, watching him groove to imaginary music.

“Yes, with you around I always am,” he teased and returned to the table. He put the candle in the stand and lit it.

It was only a little unsettling that he watched you instead of the matches while he did so.

“That's a really cute candle, Elias. Where'd you get it?” you asked him as he sat down across from you, drink in hand.

“Oh, this old thing? It's just something I had laying around- Oh my god!”

Elias flinched as the candle suddenly exploded, letting out a small puff of wind that blew his hair back and left behind a plume of pink smog.

“Darling?! Are you- ack! You okay?” Elias wafted the air between hacking coughs until he could see your face again.

You looked shocked, as one would when a candle explodes in their face, but then you started laughing. Small titters that rang like a bell until it turned into gasps that made you grab your stomach.

“You're, hahahaha, so, so silly, Eli! Haha, where do you get these things?!”

Oh, honey. He couldn't stop loving you even if he tried.

“Oh, stop that, you! How was I supposed to know it would do that,” Elias played along, ears still tinged pink at his little blunder. You two looked at each other and then fell into joined laughter.

This light, airy feeling was a drug to him. No matter how boring he was, how flat his personality, you could always find something more in him. Something to talk about, to laugh about, to entertain him with. Something he couldn't find by himself.

It's like the universe sent you to him as if to say, ‘hey! This is the person who will make life worth living! The one who will take that mind numbing emptiness away!’

And who was he to deny the wishes of the universe?

“Worthless piece of junk,” Elias muttered when things settled down. The candle really was a sham then. “At least it smells nice,” he lit the candle again and waved the match to out it. “Anyways, I got a manicure today and the lady was way too rough with my cuticles. She should quit if that's the service she's going to give.”

He brought his nails up, inspecting the blood red polish.

He was met with silence.

“Darling?”

Your head was down, lip trapped between your teeth.

“R-Right. Well, it's pretty,” you shot him a sad kind of smile. “It's just, well, no. Hm, uh, no…I forgot, I guess?” Elias watched you scramble around until small tears dripped from your eyes. “I guess I just forgot that you see other women every day.”

His heart froze in his chest.

“And, I, I know she was just doing her job, but holding your hand while she did your nails- she did hold your hand, right? That's a little…”

You trailed off and wiped your tears, willing yourself to gather such thoughts while Elias looked on in shock.

His eyes flicked to the candle, to you, the candle, you. Always you.

“She did,” he said simply, cautiously, “hold my hand. Yes, she did.” Your face cumbled, making Elias shoot up. “But I hated it! I wished it was you! I want you to be the one holding my hand!”

“Really?” Those big, wet eyes pleaded with him. “Because, I get jealous, you know.”

Something below his belt started stirring.

“Is that so?” He hummed and pulled his chair over next to you, thumbing the tears under your eyes like you had done for him so many times before.

The light of the candle reflected in your eyes and when Elias glanced over, it had melted remarkably quickly. The leftover wax dripped onto the table but he couldn't care less.

First things first, he needed to make sure what he hypothesized was real. That this wasn't a ploy.

“You know, dear, I was very hurt when you started going out with that bastard. You hurt me, a lot. How do you think I felt?” He cooed like you were a child, soft and gentle in his palm.

“I'm so sorry, Eli. I'll break up with him, okay? I only want you! I'm really- mmph!”

Not the romantic first kiss he was dreaming of, but perfect nonetheless.

All this groveling and begging, over little ol’ him? It was too cute. He could just eat you up! But before that, it seems Elias was going to be devoured first.

“Darling? Ngh!” You were tangling your tongue with his, sucking his lips, his cheeks, his tongue, leaving little nibbles on his blushing skin. “Hold on, I need to-”

“Need to what, Eli? I need you right now,” you swallowed, “I feel like my body is on fire.”

Oh, god, the candle really did work. You were squirming on your chair, rubbing your legs together and giving him the absolute cutest puppy eyed stare. You wanted him. You wanted him.

“Yeah?” Elias said breathlessly, trying to keep pace with you, “well I think I need an apology for you cheating on me first.”

He stood up and pulled his oversized sweater up, letting you peek at the bulge growing underneath tight grey cotton.

“Oh, Eli! It's so pretty!” You weren't shy about rubbing him over his pants. “All of you is so, so pretty, baby. Can I…suck you?”

“Darling, I'm yours!” He said eagerly, the sudden onslaught of praise leaving him dizzy. “Anything you want to do, I'm yours!”

By the time you peeled down his pants and had his leaking dick positioned at your mouth, he was ready to burst. He was entirely ready to finally get his reward, but you hesitated.

“Wait, Eli. I think we should wait, um…my boyfriend. I should break up with him first.”

That goddamn candle should have come with a special feature to make you forget anyone but him all together.

Elias probably looked terrifying right now, fine features underlit by the glow of the candle, staring down at you harshly. For once, he didn't find your babbling cute. Not when every other word was your boyfriend's name. So, Elias kindly shut you up.

“There we go~” Elias cooed, thrusting his hips a little. “Ah, ah, darling. Don't run from it,” he giggled, “or I'll shove it down your fucking throat~”

You were choking on his cock, unable to pull away with how he had his fingers locked behind your head. More than you moving, it was Elias who was pumping himself in and out of your mouth, not stopping until his balls slapped against your chin every time.

“What a good little thing you are, angel. I love you so much! Hey, do you love me too? I asked if you loved me too!”

Even under the effects of the candle, you looked scared. Elias was frantic now, not only his balls hitting your chin, but his toned abdomen smashing into your face as he fucked your entire head roughly. “Dirty fucking bitch! I trusted you! I love you and you left me for dead to go date that idiot! Do you know how much that hurt me?! How much I need you?! You were supposed to me mine, all mine, just like I'm yours! You dirty, dirty f-fucking whore!” Elias let out a wet sob, spilling down your throat with his eyes screwed shut.

Heavy pants left his mouth as he stumbled back to sit on his chair, chest heaving up and down. Even through your coughing, you couldn't help but worry about him.

“Eli? A-Are you okay?”

What a wreck your voice was, no doubt you'd be feeling him in your throat for days.

“It's not all out.”

“Huh? I don't understand-”

“Lift your shirt up.” He wasn't asking.

The smooth expanse of your chest was revealed and Elias used it as extra motivation to get the last few drops of cum out, fisting his tip roughly to pull out those last thick strings. It pearled on your skin beautifully and you didn't hesitate to stick your tongue out, cleaning him off properly with soft sucks that made him tremble.

“Good girl,” he sighed and eventually sat. It was like the devil was released from him. He was just Elias again, your Eli. “That was my first blowjob, you know,” he giggled cutely, like you two were mischievous kids sharing secrets in a treehouse.

Elias sighed and leaned in to hug you after lifting his pants back over his soft length. “Oh, my baby. I can't believe this worked. Had I known, I wouldn't have done this sooner. I can't believe you're finally mine,” he mumbled into your hair. “I love you, darling. And you love me too, right?”

Silence.

“Darling?”

Elias held you at shoulder length away, not wanting to let go of you completely yet. “Hey, why the tears, darling? Hehe, do you love me that much? Aw, well-”

“I'm sorry, Elias.” Your dark pupils met his.

There was no reflection from the candlelight anymore. In fact, the flame had blown out completely by now, leaving behind a sad little puddle of wax.

Your arms pushed his off as you stood up. “Shit…I- oh god, my boyfriend. What's wrong with me?! I'm sorry, Eli- I mean, Elias, um, I think the wine was a bit too strong for me. I really didn't mean to…”

What the hell was this?! Was this- did your love only last while the candle was lit?!

“What the fuck!” Elias cursed loudly, fingers gripping his silky tresses. The situation was beckoning a meltdown.

“I know, Elias, I'm so sorry, but I don't know what came over me!”

You were scared, he could see it. And he's sure part of that fear was from the ache in your throat, the names he had called you when he was at the peak of bliss. How he carried on when he was so sure you were his completely. Over what, a stupid candle? He was an idiot! He had to do damage control.

“It's…alright, darling. It's okay. Hm,” Elias hummed as he thought, standing up to pace. “It's okay. Your boyfriend is waiting for you after all, run along now. It's getting late.”

“Elias?” You weren't sure what was going on.

“Don't worry, dear,” Elias looked at you with warm eyes. “I can keep a secret. We just got a little overwhelmed, didn't we?”

He was giving you a way out, obviously. But why?

“Right,” you said, unsure.

“That's okay, we all have our moments,” Elias giggled and walked over, wrapping his arms around you, letting one sneak down to cup your ass. “Some more than others.”

“I don't think we should be-”

“Be what? You already swallowed my load, pumpkin. Let it dribble all down your chin and everything,” he mused, rubbing a finger against your lower lip. “Or did you want to come clean to your boyfriend?”

“No! I really don't know what happened!”

“Then it's a secret,” Elias whispered, pulling you in for a kiss. You were helpless to him, unable to pull away under the looming threat of him snitching on you. His tongue traced your lips before he pulled away.

“I won't tell if you won't, darling.”

Elias sent you off with a few more kisses and a slap on your ass, already hard again and humping you like a dog all the way to the door where you left with tears in your eyes. You were just too cute!

It wasn't much, but it was something. The only excitement Elias could offer you. Now, he had a personality.

He was your secret lover.

“Aha! How wonderful!” Elias twirled around in excitement. What an adventure!

Soon, he'd guilt your sweet soul into breaking up with that idiot and you'd be all his. He already had a foot in the door after all.

Bringing a hand to his lips, he recalled the way yours felt against his. Marvelous, absolutely marvelous!

Hmm..

Elias took his phone out and sent you a quick text.

‘I think I left some lipstick on you, darling. Clean that up before you see you know who ;)’

Not even moment later, his phone rang.

“Hey, Elias?”

“Eli,” he corrected.

“Yeah, can you not-”

“Eli.”

“…Eli. Uh, can you not send texts like that, please? Just in case he sees.”

A shiver ran up Elias’ spine at the secrecy of it all. You two were bound by sin.

“Of course, darling. I'll call you tonight then.”

“I'm spending the night with him,” you said nervously. “I can't.”

“Alright then, I'll just text you,” Elias inspected his nails casually.

“But-! Ugh, fine. I'll call you later.”

“Perfect. We'll talk soon then. Make sure your camera is on, I'm still throbbing over here,” he giggled.

“I have to go now,” you whispered.

“I love you, darling.”

“Yes, he's coming so-”

“I said I love you!”

“…I love you too, Eli. Bye.”

Elias waited for you to hang up with a smile. You were already cracking under the pressure of your unwanted affair. Sure it would hurt you now, but if this didn't last long then it would be him hurting later. Surely, you wouldn't be able to deal with that, not your kind heart. After all, his beauty is something that shouldn't be marred, you said so yourself.

It was only a matter of time now.

a/n: I actually finished this over a week ago but the Elias lore kept pouring in and I was scrambling to edit to make this as canon as possible but I gave up sooooo, yeah 😃 just imagine this as eli if he actually acted on half the shit he wants to do ig lmfaooo

Also can't believe I wrote unwilling reader because Elias is literally my baby muffin snuggly pie googlie bear and i love him, but i love men suffering more ig 💗

Divider: /animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Please do not ask for part 2. Thank you!

[germiyahu]

This phenomenon of so called Leftists throwing up their hands at the tiniest pushback, or criticism, or suggestions on how to not actively be antisemitic needs to be studied. Because what do you mean instead of just accepting that an antisemitic troll claiming to be on your side said "Zionist Occupied Government" and denouncing this and moving on with your life... you double down, defend, and deflect. It's classic DARVO, but like, when people are very patiently and slowly explaining how this is a literal KKK Nazi white supremacist fascist phrase, it's not enough? You don't care?

It's clear that the "pro Palestinian" left have been fully infiltrated by fascists, both Western fascists who have always been nakedly antisemitic and are finding the perfect avenue to mainstream their Jew hatred... and Islamist fascists who simply never cared that Jews are a global minority group that has faced oppression and violence in multiple different continents, they don't care about social justice or fundamental human rights. It's not part of their intellectual tradition.

The "pro" Palestine movement has been captured by people who have decided that a) Palestine is emblematic of all of the problems of the world, and that b) every Jew is worth sacrificing to correct these problems, because c) if Palestine is emblematic, aren't Zionists responsible for everything then?

Now the prevailing thought is that someone should be able to call for violence against Jews, someone should be able to harass or even assault Jewish Americans, because bringing it up, complaining, taking a stand, that's the equivalent of telling them you like children blowing up, you like hundreds of thousands of people being homeless and food insecure, you like prisoners being detained in Guantanamo conditions without due process, where anyone can torture them as revenge even if there's no proof they're an actual Hamas member.

Is there a reason they argue like Republican Fox News addicts? I guess that kind of explains how easily the "movement" is falling apart to literal fascists.

They say "nobody cares about your hurt feelings ZIONIST!" if you mention literal stabbings and firebombs. They say "but we should talk about how pervasively synagogues indoctrinate the vast majority of Jewish people with Zionist ideology." They roll their eyes because "don't you know Palestinians are suffering 200x what these cushy American Jews could even imagine?" Facts don't care about your feelings uwu~

But at the end of the day, they care a lot about their own feelings, much more so than the facts. They feel entitled to hate all Jews all over the planet, to secretly revel in antisemitic rhetoric and acts, to want to take out their impotent frustration and despair on any and all Jews they'd like. This is very much about their feelings and not any Jewish people's feelings.

They've been waiting for this, or many of them never cared at all. Now it's finally Leftist to quote Nazis and openly make fun of Jews who are getting stabbed. Now it's finally Leftist to call for incinerating all of Israel and maybe we should consider a lot of Diaspora Jews too, you know they can't be trusted! Oh but don't forget to honor the victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, innocent civilians should never have been targeted by America's vicious imperial violence!

The fact that it took this substantial contingent of watermelon twitter less than a year to go full mask off like this... is that revealing or troubling?

[babysukiii]

the rooms are all on fire (every time that you walk in)

// melissa has a thing for her new neighbor, but she refuses to let it go too far because of the age difference. though, the redhead might realize how deep her feelings go once it’s too late. //

warnings: insecure!melissa, reader is so painfully in love with melissa it’s hilarious, melissa is an idiot who can’t handle emotions, pining, mutual pining, jealous!reader, jealous!melissa, brief gary x melissa (they go on one date), reader is in her twenties.

melissa knows right away that she doesn’t like you. you’re too young, too loud, too perky, too nice. you had moved in across the hall from her a couple months ago, and had knocked on her door the same day you moved in. you had this big smile on your face, along with this large tupperware of brownies. though, in your defense it had not been a good day for melissa. her ex husband had just revealed he had an affair while they were still married, and even though she no longer loved joe, it still hurt.

“who the hell are you?” she asks, as soon as she swings the door open. your smile doesn’t even falter, and it’s the most annoying thing melissa has ever seen. “i’m y/n! i just moved into the apartment across the hall. i just wanted to introduce myself and give you these.” your western accent indicated you were far from home, and the positive energy radiating off of you only seemed to put melissa in a worse mood than she already was. you hand her the tupperware of brownies, and she scowls.

“we don’t really introduce ourselves to neighbors ‘round here. your lucky you didn’t knock on 402’s door. he’s a creep.” she mutters as she takes the tub of sweets. “oh. thanks for the warning.” you joke, and you tilt your head to side, “i never got your name.” you add and she snorts. “cause i never gave it, kid.” she responds curtly before shutting the door right in your face.

that was your first impression of melissa. it was enough to make any sane person steer clear of her… but you weren’t necessarily a sane woman. you were usually up before eleven every morning to go on a run or do a small workout. one morning you wake up extra early, and catch the redhead in the elevator. you don’t appear to notice the way her eyes roam up your tight leggings, and small zipped up sweater that clung to your body. “good morning, neighbor.” you greet her, and she keeps this stone cold expression etched onto her features.

“morning.” she flatly responds, clearly uninterested. “did you like the brownies?” you inquire curiously, as the elevator door closes behind you. “i’m not a fan of chocolate. i prefer pumpkin or apple.” she bluntly replies, and you don’t let her attitude discourage you. in fact, you visibly pep up at the newly found information. “i love pumpkin cinnamon rolls. next time i make some, i’ll bring some over for you.” you say, as the elevator door opens. “i’ll see ya around, neighbor! have a good day.” you call out as you rush towards the exit of the building. melissa rolls her eyes as the elevator doors close, and she continues her way to the parking garage.

your perkiness in the mornings was something melissa couldn’t adjust to. she didn’t want to. as soon as you realized the redhead was in the elevator every morning at 7:20, you were there as well. it was borderline obsessive in the redheads opinion, and she couldn’t stand that dopey grin on your face whenever you’d see her. it was like clockwork. she’d get in the elevator, click on the floor for the parking garage, and you’d squeeze in before the doors closed. she was beginning to consider taking the stairs.

she wasn’t sure how you knew when she was home, but on friday evening, she was in the middle of making dinner when a knock on the door caused her to knock over an open bottle of water. “shit! fuck— i’m comin’!” she yells out frustratedly as she makes her way to the front door. when she opens it, there you are with that stupid smile on your face. this time you’re holding a plate with a large slice of sweet bread on it, with icing slathered on top. it was saran wrapped cutely on the white plate.

“pumpkin cinnamon bread, with cream cheese icing.” your voice is light, and you’re gazing up at her with these big innocent eyes; just begging for her approval. there’s hopefulness laced into your orbs, and not even melissa has the heart to turn this away. “pumpkin in april… thanks kid.” she mutters, and if she thought your smile was big before… it seems to illuminate with her backhanded compliment. maybe it was the fact that one of her favorite students made her a painting in art class, and she was feeling particularly mushy today.

“you like pasta?” she asks you blandly, still sounding indifferent about your sudden intrusion on her dinner making. you nod eagerly, “yup! i haven’t had it in ages though… i don’t know any good italian spots around here, and i can’t cook to save my life.” you confess sheepishly, and she nods as she turns around and disappears into the apartment. she leaves her door wide open, and you stand there, clearly confused. “well, what ‘re you waiting for? come in, dinners almost ready.” she commands, causing your eyes to widen in shock.

“unless you got somewhere else to be tonight?” she asks, looking over her shoulder to see how shocked you look. you shake your head quickly, “nope! it was just gonna be me and the takeout guy tonight.” you half joke, as you walk in, shutting the door behind you. you go quiet as you stand behind the counter, and melissa wipes up the water she had spilled earlier. she turns her head to see you glancing around the room, clearly nervous. it’s the quietest she’s ever heard you. “what? place not what you expected?” she asks, and your eyes lock with hers.

“i just… i didn’t think i’d get to see the inside of your place before i got to know your name.” you admit, and melissa can feel an uncontrollable smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “my names melissa.” she confesses, and your eyes go all soft at the revelation. “melissa… huh. that’s a pretty name. it suits you.” you blurt aloud, and she turns away to check on the pasta, hiding the blush that coats her cheeks.

melissa learns quite a bit about you after that. you’re twenty-four, you had lived in the west coast all your life, and you spent your teenage years stuck taking care of your grandma and siblings. the more melissa discovers about you, the harder it is for her to hate you. your kindness isn’t fake or falsified like most of the people around here; you speak every word with genuineness and sincerity. a routine seems to progress between the two of you; every friday evening you knock on her door with some new platter of sweets, and melissa proceeds to invite you in for dinner.

every friday turns into every other day, and before she knows it, you two are having dinner together every night. the redhead went from hating you, to enjoying your presence more than anyone else’s. at first, melissa assumed she simply enjoyed your company because she was lonely. but after a few months of you, she quickly realized what the little flutter in her belly meant whenever she’d see you. melissa’s head would grow fuzzy whenever you complimented her, and she turned into a blushing mess. not to mention how she couldn’t necessarily hide how happy she was to see you now.

she’d pick out a bottle of wine, and makes different recipes she thinks you’d like. she finds herself humming along to old italian songs as she cooks, waiting for the gentle knocks on her door.

tonight you brought her new york cheesecake with raspberry filling on top. you greet her as you push past her, placing the cake onto her counter. “i know, cheesecake is so bad for our health, but i had a terrible day.” you tell her, and you begin to ramble about how awful your boss is. though, all melissa can do is take in how absolutely beautiful you are. the way your hair falls, and moves as you talk with the emotions you wear on your face. when you don’t get a response from melissa for awhile, you look over and see her leaning against the door, staring at you with a peculiar expression.

“what? what’s wrong?” you question, she offers you a gentle shake of her head. “you’re really beautiful, you know that?” she blurts out, her entire demeanor changing as soon as she realizes what she just said. her eyes go wide as she stands up straight, instead of looking appalled or surprised, the blood rises to your face. a shy grin plasters itself onto your face, as you push your hair behind your ears before gazing at her like some shy schoolgirl. “you’re calling me beautiful? have you seen yourself?” you ask her, and that’s the moment that seems to solidify it for melissa.

the way her heartbeat picks up as the words leave your lips, and something in the pit of her stomach bursts, as if a million cocoons hatched into butterflies inside of her. she began to feel something she hasn’t felt since before she married joe. she couldn’t believe some western twenty something year old kid was making her feel this way.

you appear to be able to read melissa like an open book. she doesn’t have to tell you how she’s feeling for you to know. you’re the only person who’s ever been able to figure her out, and it’s scary. melissa also wasn’t an idiot. she could tell judging by the gleam of adoration in your eyes, you were growing quite the crush on her. sometimes she wonders why. you’re in your twenties, you’re hot, and you know how to bake a mean banana cream pie… melissa also sees how the doorman and a variety of other men ogle you in the mornings. you could have anyone you want, yet you spend your evenings eating melissa’s various italian recipes.

however, the redhead is very closed off. especially romantically. after joe, she’s dated around but nobody’s ever gotten a second date. she hasn’t been so intimate with someone in so long, even before her divorce, the marriage was falling apart. dinner every night was not an option for her and joe; he always came home late, and by the time he arrived his plate of leftovers were in the microwave. even when he’d be home while she was cooking, he’d eat in the living room in front of the tv. you were so enthralled by melissa, sometimes you could hardly focus on the food with how much attention you paid her.

she tries to hide the way she revels in your attention, and how the glimmer in your eyes directed towards her causes those stupid butterflies inside of her to repopulate. “you do not actually have random baseball bats around your apartment…” you trail off one evening, as you’re both sitting on melissa’s comfortable couch. there’s a glass of wine in each of your hands; you’re both on your second glass, and you’re sure it’s the expensive wine melissa keeps locked away. it makes you feel special when she puts so much thought into the dinners you two share. they mean something to you, and you’re positive they mean something to her as well.

“i do. they’re hidden around.” she explains, taking a sip of her wine. you let out a genuine giggle; your wide eyed gaze is pouring right into her, nobody’s ever looked at her with such reverence. something then flickers in her eyes as she remembers something; “speaking of… i’ve been meaning to give you one. ya look like you can’t swing for shit, but it’s better than ya having nothing to defend yourself with.” melissa rambles as she stands up, disappearing into her bedroom. your brows knit together in slight confusion as you wait for her to return.

when she does, she has a medium sized wooden bat. it was dark wood and looked brand new. “wait, you were serious?” you ask, letting out a breathless little chuckle. “you live on a questionable part of town, by yourself, y/n. you barely even forget to lock your door when you come over.” she scolds, sounding undoubtedly upset by the fact. your baffled features quickly morph into a soft expression, “you worried about me, lissa?” you tauntingly ask, and she lets out this vexed huff, waving the wooden bat closer to you.

“just take the damn thing and keep it by your bed.” she commands, while you gladly accept the strange but thoughtful gift. “it’ll make you feel safer.” she adds, her neck burning as you stare at her with a vulnerable look on your face. “okay. but i’ll have you know i’ve never felt safer than knowing my tough, kick ass neighbor is right across the hall.” you assure her, and something inside of melissa is slipping; whether it’s her resolve or the walls she so desperately tries to keep up. “thanks for worrying about me though. i worry about you too.” you clarify, and melissa would normally scoff at a comment like that.

she’d shake her head and demand for you to know she can take care of herself… but she can’t. as you stare into her eyes with the sole intent of wanting her to understand how much she means to you, melissa finds herself taking a seat beside you again, deciding to let the comment slide. maybe she enjoyed knowing someone as sweet as you cared about her. it’s been so long since anyone’s cared for her in this way; it was sort of foreign to her by now. yet it was also comforting.

though melissa often found herself thinking about what things would be like when you finally met somebody. if you’d opt to spending your evenings with your new girlfriend or boyfriend… if you’d look at them with the same gaze you’d look at her with. some evenings she’d catch herself staring at you, and she’d think of being in the shoes of some younger woman… someone who can give you the start at life that you need. you’re in your early twenties, and there’s no way you’d ever want someone old and used up like melissa.

so naturally, the night you invite melissa to your place for dinner instead of just heading to hers… she feels an odd bundle of nerves knotting up in her stomach. she changes after work; which is something she never does. she puts on that sundress she likes to wear when she’s feeling good about herself. as soon as you open the door, your eyes nearly bug out of your head. you have a grease stain on your cheek, she assumes it’s some kind of cooking oil. the apron you’re wearing is hiding the tight top and jeans you’re wearing underneath, but melissa thinks you’ve never looked more cute.

“you’re early! i— i’m still making dinner, please sit down.” you urge her, and melissa offers you that soft smile that seems to only be reserved for you these days. she looks around your place; taking in the pictures on the walls, and the flatscreen that’s too big in melissa’s opinion. she barely watches tv, and when she does it’s in bed on her phone. “yeah, i left a little early because ava hired some of the teachers some new assistants.” she tells you, and you cock a brow, flashing her an amused grin. “an assistant? how do you like that?” you question curiously, knowing how difficult it was for the redhead to warm up to new people.

she snorts, “the kids fine. she’s a little younger than you. can’t understand a word she says but the kids like her.” she murmurs, shrugging, before she looks over at you. you’re stirring whatever’s in the pot, and she quirks a brow. “you actually might like her.” melissa’s comment rolls off your back easily, you don’t seem to notice the difference in her tone. you laugh lightly, “i doubt that. i’ve never gotten along with girls that well. guys either.” you confess, and melissa snorts. “oh yeah, sure, the girl who makes conversation with the mailman doesn’t have any friends. who do you think you’re lying to here, kid?” she questions, and you frown, rolling your eyes. “i’m not a kid. and just because i know how to make conversation with people, doesn’t mean i have a lot of friends.” your voice is light, and lacks any sort of defense or malice.

melissa sort of envies how easy it is for you to talk about things. “i mean, even in high school i had like three friends. they all still live back home, and we talk from time to time but it’s not like we can just hang out every weekend, you know?” you begin to ramble as you stir the searing food in the pan. “you’re the only person who i hang out with, and i’m lucky you even wanna hang out with me.” you add half jokingly, and you turn to see an inscrutable expression etched onto the older woman’s face.

“anyone would wanna hang out with you… i mean one day you’re gonna find someone who can’t stay away from you.” melissa says in an abnormally gentle way, there’s a hint of sadness in her voice and you cock a brow at the redhead. “does it count if i’ve already found someone i can’t stay away from? i’m literally making beef stroganoff for her, and i almost burned down the kitchen twice just to impress her.” you admit, and on cue whatever is in the pan begins smoking.

melissa’s eyes widen as a blush coats her beautiful face. she rushes over to your side, “jesus, y/n! why didn’t you tell me you wanted beef stroganoff? i could make this in my sleep!” she begins to shoo you away, and you frown, shaking your head stubbornly. “because you always make dinner; i wanted to cook for you.” your fervent voice causes melissa’s heart to lurch in her chest. “i don’t just cook for just anybody, yanno’? i cook for you because i like ya, and don’t know how else to show it. i’m not all sweet like you.” she clarifies, and your heartbeat quickens as her words sink in.

she’s trying her hardest to avoid your eyes, and you can’t help the uncontrollable blush on your cheeks. “you like me?” you ask her, and she rolls her eyes. “like it wasn’t obvious when i cooked mac n cheese as a main dish. seriously, kid, your taste buds are strange.” she mutters, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the grin on your face. “yeah, well, as strange as my palette is, you like me.” you taunt her, and notice the way her focused stirring falters ever so slightly. she scoffs, forcing an exasperated expression on her face.

“don’t make me take it back.” she murmurs, and you can’t seem to stop grinning at her like an idiot.

the seasons change and so do things between you and melissa. it isn’t a significant enough change for you to mention it, but it is enough for you to feel the difference. melissa is so soft, and carefree around you now. before she was so tough and prickly; she’s still a bit prickly but you don’t mind getting poked in order to see her true self every now and then. you two appear to be doing this slow dance around the obvious feelings you have for one another.

melissa is way more reluctant than you are. she hates the way her mind works, but it’s not like she can control it. usually how cute and thoughtful you are washes away any doubts she has about herself, except for one day she runs out parsley, and has to run to the store. of course you offer to come along with her, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater and excitedly trotting by her side.

“you sure you don’t need anything else from here? you’re running out of juice.” you remind her and she mentally scolds herself. “you’re right! thanks hun.” she sweetly thanks you, making your face hot as she reaches for the orange juice. you both make your way to the checkout line, and you aimlessly look around at the chocolates. “y/n! hey!” a familiar voice causes you and melissa to turn around. you eyebrows rises slightly as you run into a woman who you went on a few dates with when you first moved here.

“tracy! hey!” you greet her, and she hugs you before you can even think. melissa is watching the interaction like a hawk, and as soon as the raven haired girl hugs you, there’s a burning sensation of pure rage deep rooted in her belly. her eyes narrow as “tracy” pulls away from you, and looks at you as if she wants to ravish you in the supermarket. “you never called me again! i had a lot of fun mini-golfing with you.” she says, and you sheepishly rub the back of your neck, clearly racking your brain for a flimsy excuse.

that’s when realization hits melissa; you dated this woman! the thought alone nearly makes her scoff. this was your type? mid-twenties, soft skin, hippie wannabe? “i just got really busy adjusting to living here and all that… but how are you?” you try to steer the subject away from the awkward final date you hated. it wasn’t fun for you; you had to force yourself to be some cool girl you clearly weren’t. “i’m good! how are you? what are you up to tonight?” she asks hopefully, and you smile.

“i’m good as well. this is melissa, we’re here picking up some parsley for dinner tonight.” you introduce the redhead, and tracy’s demeanor immediately shifts as she assumes the older woman is your girlfriend. “oh. hi, i’m tracy.” she introduces herself to the grade school teacher, holding out her hand for the second grade teacher to shake. melissa only nods curtly in in tracy’s direction, “hey.” she flatly responds. and you notice the tension in the air right away. “well, it was nice seeing you again, tracy.” you say suggestively, and tracy nods.

“yeah, you too. you should call me sometime.” she squeezes your arm before she leaves, and melissa looks as though she wants to murder you with her eyes. “next.” the checkout clerk calls out, snapping the redhead out of her thoughts. she places the orange juice and parsley down much harder than she intended; it even causes the middle-aged man to jump slightly. “rough day?” he questions with a goofy grin, trying to lighten the mood. melissa shoots daggers at him with her eyes, causing his smile to fall as he clears his throat.

he scans the items quickly, “that’ll be $8.97.” he states; not a single slick remark left in him. melissa inserts her card, finishing the transaction without another word. she storms out of the supermarket with you in tow, trying to catch up to her as you follow her to her car. when you’re both strapped in, the car starts and the ride is quiet for the first minute and a half. you hate awkward silences, especially with her. “i honestly forgot i even tried dating when i first moved here.” you pipe up.

“well maybe now you can give her a call, since you’re no longer busy and adjusting.” she mocks your lame excuse from a few minutes ago, and you frown. “i didn’t— the reason i didn’t call her back wasn’t because i was adjusting—“ you try to explain yourself, but melissa cuts you off. “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. we’re friends, i don’t care who you go on lousy dates with.” her voice is harsh, and it’s a tone you recognize all too well. it’s the same one she uses when she used to have her walls up high, refusing to let you get even a glimpse into her mind.

she doesn’t allow you to tell her it was solely because you didn’t want to call tracy again. the dates were terrible; the entire time you were just pretending to be someone you’re not. you only forced yourself to go because you had been living here for a month, and hadn’t made a single friend. melissa stubbornly cooks dinner, and the conversation through the night is short. you aren’t used to it, and it hurts. but you convince yourself tomorrow she’ll be ready to talk about it.

but the next morning, melissa must’ve left for work earlier than usual because you don’t see her in the elevator. you text her to have a good day, but never get a response. throughout the day you can’t help but think about her, and you wonder why she became so closed off after finding out about your meaningless dates with tracy. you understood she might’ve been a little jealous; sometimes you got jealous whenever she spoke about joe. but she seemed so genuinely upset, all you wanted to do was figure out what was going through her head.

you decide to make her some pumpkin carrot cake before heading to her apartment for dinner. it’s nearly six when you’re finished, and you place it in a tupperware nicely for her. you’re practicing in your head what you want to say to her tonight, and how you should assess the situation. by the time you knock on her door you have a simple smile on your face, and the door swings open, the sight nearly causing your eyes to bug out of their sockets.

melissa was wearing a tight black dress that hugged her body perfectly, and enhanced every single curve. the exposed cleavage caused you to force your eyes on hers in order not to sneak a longer peak. your hopeful smile falls a bit when you notice the hard expression on her face. before she can even ask you anything, you begin blabbering like you usually do. “look, i know you said we’re just friends, but there’s more to us than just that… we both know it. we may not have ever talked about it or what it means, but i haven’t dated anyone since this started…” you ramble, and melissa’s eyes soften for a split second, her hard facade slipping as a wave of panic washes over her.

“y/n—“ she tries, but the voice behind her is interrupting, causing your heart to fall right into your stomach. “everything okay, red?” a deep, unfamiliar voice asks, causing you to freeze. melissa suddenly has this unrecognizable expression of regret on her face. “y-yeah everything’s fine, gar.” she says back, “gary? as in the vending machine guy who’s been flirting with you all year, gary?” you ask in disbelief, and a slight bit of anger is mixed into your voice. she had been so upset about you going on a few dates with tracy before you two were even friends, and now she was here having a romantic dinner with gary. you could even smell the type of food she made him.

“he’s been asking me all year, and i decided since it’s been awhile since i’ve been on a date, i should get back out there.” melissa says the words she’s practiced saying to you in her head. she knew you’d come over today, you always do. she knew you’d see her with gary, and maybe she wanted that. she wanted you to feel how she felt when she saw you and tracy. though as you stare up at her with this kicked puppy-dog expression, she knows you aren’t feeling what she was feeling yesterday. you’re just straight up hurt and it’s written all over your face.

you glance down at the stupid dessert you spent all afternoon perfecting. “well, this is for you, because i wanted to apologize for upsetting you. i can see now you weren’t upset at all.” you have to force yourself to speak, and you surprisingly hold it together as you shove the tupperware in melissa’s hands. you turn to walk back into your apartment, and a wave of regret flashes over the redhead. melissa reaches out for you, “y/n, wait—“ a firm but soft hand wraps around your wrist, but you pull it away from her as you spin around and flash her a dejected look. the sight breaks her heart in two.

“it’s fine. you were right; we’re friends. you don’t have to explain yourself to me. i don’t care who you go on dates with.” you throw the words back in her face, and there’s a flicker of emotions on her face but you turn away and disappear into your apartment. melissa stands there staring at your door; she looks down at the cake in her hands and she hates how tight her chest gets. it’s like her heart might pop in her chest. she doesn’t feel the way she thought she would, and suddenly she mentally curses herself for thinking it’d feel good to hurt you.

melissa is off her game at work the next day. she texts you, and for the first time since you two became friends, you’re the one who doesn’t reply. the redhead realizes she made a mistake. instead of talking about her insecurities or how hurt she was when she saw you and tracy, she ended up jumping the gun and going out with the safest option. gary.

in truth she did like gary; maybe not enough to want to date him, but she found him moderately attractive. she also thought he was pretty funny, and he appears to like her a lot. though none of that was anything compared to what she felt for you. melissa could not stop thinking about you and that hurt face of yours all day. she even decides to cook your favorite food for dinner.

but when six-thirty rolls around, and you still haven’t knocked on her door, there’s a sinking sensation in her stomach. melissa huffs as she looks at the dinner she prepared, and thought of it going to waste angered her. or maybe it was the thought of you just standing her up, even though it’s not like she personally invited you tonight. maybe you think she’s with gary again.

usually melissa is very stubborn, and she would never consider going across the hall and begging you… but she can’t get you out of her damn head. so she takes her ass straight to your door, not even bothering to close hers. she knocks on your door vigorously, not stopping once until the door swings open to reveal you. your hair is damp, and you’re in an old oversized tee shirt; the printing was faded but the hem reached just below your thighs. melissa had to refrain herself from gazing down at your smooth legs.

“i cooked dinner and you’re ready for bed, what gives?” she questions, hating how she sounds like a petulant child. you look a bit surprised to see her, “don’t you have a date with gary and his mustache?” you ask a bit bitterly, and melissa scowls. “it was just dinner, y/n.” the redhead says, and you gaze up into her eyes. “dinner like we have?” you ask, and she huffs in response. “that’s different and you know it! you said it yourself yesterday, there’s more to us than just that.” she reminds you.

“i was clearly wrong.” you sound abnormally stubborn, and melissa sighs in frustration. “i’m not going to see gary again, kid. so just come on over and sit down for dinner.” she commands, and you shake your head defiantly.

“no.” you retort, and she raises a brow, obviously shocked by the disobedience. “no?” she asks you in the warning tone she uses whenever one of her students is testing her. “that’s right, i’m saying no. ever since this started, i’ve always done what you say. i go at your pace, i wake up earlier just to see you, i don’t bake anything with chocolate because you hate chocolate. did you know it’s my favorite? i do whatever you ask to satisfy you. i put my feelings to the side, just to make sure yours are valid. all for my efforts to be outweighed by a guy who restocks the gushers in the vending machine.” you stress, sounding reasonably upset.

“why did you even get so upset about tracy the other day if you were planning on going out with gary? i don’t understand you.” you add, and the dam melissa built to keep her emotions in abruptly bursts. “exactly! you don’t understand me! you’re this young kid who has her whole life to look forward to. this is just a passing moment in your life; this apartment, this city, our dinners, me.” her voice lowers, “you got your whole life ahead of ya, you shouldn’t waste it tryin’ ta’ understand me. you should be dating girls like tracy who are equipped with all sorts of emotions, and able to give you what you need.” she adds, and you frown as she pours her heart out to you. she appears to be full of regret, and vulnerability.

“and what exactly do i need, lissa?” you can’t help but ask, and she runs her fingers through her soft red locks. “you need someone who’ll take care of ya, and show ya how much they care about you. you need someone who isn’t old and afraid of what everyone else thinks. maybe someone who wouldn’t completely embarrass the shit out of ya whenever you decide to take them back to your hometown…” she trails off, now she’s avoiding your eyes and the abnormal, unconfident demeanor causes you to frown. you practically worship the ground melissa walks on; even if she didn’t know it, you were completely enamored by her. it frustrates you to know she doesn’t put herself on a similar pedestal.

“you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on. when i met you, i felt this instant pull that i had never felt before. god, i don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone as pretty as you, and it makes me so mad that you don’t think of yourself that way. i love you, you know? everything about you; the crinkles by your eyes whenever you smile, the way you curse when you’re angry, your southern philly accent… that irritated frown on your face whenever you’re upset.” you begin to get lost in your words, the space between you both getting smaller and unnoticed. her heart palpitates as you rave on and on about her with this genuine expression of stringent affection.

“you have all these amazing qualities, and you sell yourself short. you’re the best freakin’ cook in the world; the best and sexiest teacher in the world; you’re tough as nails; you have this energy that follows you, it’s fierce and warm. just like you. and as for your age, it’s hard for me too…” the last comment makes her eyes harden, and you’re quick to add, “… but it’s not because i think you’re old, mel. it’s because sometimes i feel like you don’t think of me as your equal. you just think of me as this young kid who’s a burden. but i know who i am, and what i want. i keep a memory of everything you do in the back of my head, and the space in my mind you take up is only getting bigger and bigger. you’re it for me, i’m positive, because how can i see anyone else when you’re engraved in my mind and heart?” you ask her, pouring your whole heart out to her.

your eyes widen when you see the tears threatening to fall from her delicate green eyes. “that’s— that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me… you— that was more romantic than the vows at my wedding…” melissa’s voice cracks and she tries to put on that stony facade, but it doesn’t work. your words seemed to have broken one of the steel walls she puts up; it’s crumbled into millions of pieces and left her exposed in front of you. her eyes are unguarded and her expression is fragile. she feels so small.

“you can’t just say things like that!” she snaps, her voice higher than usual. you shake your head, “why not? you deserve to hear more good things about yourself, and i can go on all night.” you sheepishly admit, and melissa’s eyes soften when they meet yours. “you really feel that way about me? even though i’m probably older than your mom?” she half jokes, but the self-doubt is leaking through her tone. “you are definitely way hotter than my mother.” you mutter, and melissa gasps but can’t manage to fight to the grin that’s tugging at her lips.

“gee kid, you feel all of that for me and have never even tried ta’ kiss me? what gives?” you can hear the genuine curiosity behind the playful question, and your cheeks turn an embarrassing shade of pink. “i didn’t… i didn’t think you wanted me. i mean, yesterday when i saw you with hulk hogan—“ she cuts in, “gary.” she corrects and you scowl cutely, “whatever. when i saw you with him it kind of reminded me you’re a woman who needs someone to take care of you and i… i’m just a kid.” you look down at your sock covered feet, and before you can even think about anything else, melissa is cupping your face and making you face her.

her lips are on yours in an instant, and the butterflies in your belly begin to repopulate one by one. she pulls away before you can think twice, “you’re not just a kid to me. you’re a good person, y/n. i’m sorry i was so immature about everything.” she sounds ashamed, but the sincerity in her voice makes your heart speed up. your cheeks burn and maybe the kiss sweetened you up a bit. “it’s okay, lissa. i understand… next time just talk to me.” you assure her and she smirks. “or i can just kiss ya again and see where that gets me.” she half jokes, making you grin.

“or that too.”

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saddle Me Up, Cowboy Part 1: Spin Me Around the Dance Floor✨

Cowboy! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to @alltheirdamn for encouraging me to write this! Beth Dutton and Rip Wheeler from Yellowstone heavily inspired this short little series. I hope you enjoy 🩷 I just saw @auteurdelabre Trope Off challenge, so I’m tagging this as a meet cute for that!

Chapter Summary: You were only trying to enjoy your drink and watch the different couples spin around the dance floor at your favorite country club, but all that changed when you set your eyes on a certain handsome brown-eyed cowboy.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 4.6k

Tags: Lots of fluff, flirting, pining, two stepping, meet cute at a country western bar, no use y/n, no outbreak au, switching POVs, soft! Joel, summer love, reader has hair

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The neon lights flash across the busy dance floor as bodies sway back and forth to the slow country tune. Smoke permeates through the air as couples hold each other close and the men spin their lovers around the wooden floor. You love two stepping, love the rustic feel of the bar, love the feel of your jean shorts and fitted cowboy boots. You just love being here on a Friday night in your favorite country bar called Cowboys. 

   You stir the straw slowly around in your mixed drink, your elbow leaning against the side of the dance floor, toes tapping on the bottom of the barstool. And as you watch the happy couples spin across the floor, you can’t help but wish that was you out there. 

   When was the last time you came here with a date? Maybe two years. 

   Sure, you’ve been asked to dance. Took a twirl around the room twice with some nice blonde guy that talked about his job and dogs. But it was just friendly and casual. Just a way to spin around the dance floor a couple of times. It wasn’t a perfect match with your cowboy lover. That’s someone you haven’t met yet.

   Tonight, maybe you’d find someone. The one. A girl can dream, and that’s exactly what you do. Dream.

   Another two songs fly by as you sip your fruity drink, watching couples come and go on and off the dance floor. A slow Morgan Wallen song floats through the packed room, your eyes roam around the bar, falling on the far right corner. Just when a couple spins out of the way, it clears your view to the opposite side of the dance floor. And oh my God, your heart drops out of your chest.

   You nearly choke on the fruity liquid, your jaw dropping straight to the floor. There, right across the room, stands the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

   He’s tall, well over six foot. His green button-up flannel clings to strong biceps, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick veins that spider down into massive hands. His hair is dark and sandy, silver threaded through his tousled curls and burrowing into the thick beard against his sculpted jawline. He’s tan, dark from working out in the sun, you think. And his eyes look like the color of chocolate almonds from what you can tell under the dim lights. And his smile. Jesus, it could light up an entire room. 

   Soft. He looks so soft the way he holds the flute of his beer bottle, the way his eyes light up every time he laughs with his friends. And God, you’d kill to see him smile at you like that.

   You keep your gaze on him, staring like a child in a candy store, eyeing the last Hershey’s bar on the shelf. And it’s like your first school crush all over. You need to get a hold of yourself, but you just can’t. He’s too tempting, too smoldering, too perfect.

   And in the next moment, his eyes are on you.

—

   Sweat beads Joel’s forehead as he takes another swig of his beer, a chuckle leaving his lips as Tommy teases Maria and pulls her to his chest. She just laughs and kisses him on the cheek as he wraps her in his leather jacket. Joel wishes he had someone like that. Someone to love as much as Tommy loves her. Maybe someday he would.

   “You gonna ask anyone to dance?” Tommy asks, his brown eyes trained on Joel. 

   “Eventually,” Joel mutters, sighing as he takes another generous sip of the strong alcohol. 

   “Better before the end of the night,” Tommy laughs, pulling Maria by the hand to the dance floor. Before Tommy turns away, he gives a brotherly shove to Joel’s shoulder and winks. “Pretty girl at twelve o’clock, straight across the room. Go get her, Joel.”

   Just as Tommy leaves him with a confused expression, he looks up and freezes the minute he spots you. He gulps and sets his beer on the table, his fingers curling into the wooden tabletop, eyes wide when your eyes meet his.

   Big, glittering, beautiful eyes swallow him whole, the swirling lights making them glow even brighter. He catches his breath and has it knocked right back out of his chest again as a shy smile curls against your glossy red lips. He thinks he just fell in love. 

   Your pretty hair falls in long waves down your shoulders; your low-cut tank top sticking to your sun kissed skin shining under the bright spotlight. It’s like an angel sits before him, and he’s mesmerized. Your tight denim shorts hug your curves, and your tan boots with embroidered butterflies scuff against the barstool. Your pretty eyes flick down to your drink and back up to him repeatedly, sweetly beckoning to him to come ask you to dance.

   Shy, sweet, adorable, beautiful. He picks all this out just by looking at your pretty face. And you’re just his type of girl; he already knows it. He thinks you were made just for him to find tonight.

   It goes on like clockwork for the next few songs. Shy smiles, locked eyes, hesitation permeating through the thick, smoky air. But he won’t hesitate for long. No. He wants to know you, to dance with you, to take you out, maybe show you his ranch. 

   He just has to have you. And he will. You’ll be his by the end of the night.

   After an encouraging slap on the back from Tommy, he takes one more glance your way and hands his tan cowboy hat to Tommy. Right now he only has one task at hand, and that is to ask the pretty girl to dance. So, he swallows all his nerves and walks across the room, right through the sea of endless bodies. 

   Right to you.

—

   Your cheeks burn hot as you lock eyes again; a flirtatious game you’ve been playing for the past two songs. You practically feel on fire with the way your body reacts every time he looks at you. 

   Maybe he’ll ask you to dance. You hope he does because you have a feeling being in those big, strong arms would be like jumping into a freshly made bed after a long day at work. Warm and cozy and made just for you. 

   You bite your bottom lip and laugh as your head drops to the scuffed-up wood, a loose curl falling over your shoulder. How can you already like someone this much when you don’t even know them? Sounds pretty silly, but it gives you tingles in your feet just the same.  

   This is a good sign.

   When you look back up, your heart drops to the floor when you don’t see the handsome man standing across the room anymore. You slide further down in your chair and sigh, letting all the hope fizzle out of your tired body. 

   He left. You just wanted one dance. That’s all you wanted. One fucking dance.

   You sigh quietly and look back out at the spinning bodies on the dance floor, shaking off the growing tears in your eyes. Just when you think one might drop, your body freezes when you hear a husky, deep voice being cleared next to you. When you turn to look at who just interrupted your sulking session, you nearly fall off the barstool.

   It’s him. The man with the pretty brown eyes.

  “Hi.” His deep voice floats through your ears like a dream, and the music seems to disappear altogether.  

   “Uhh—hi,” you stammer out, your mouth agape as you watch a small smile curl against his inviting lips.

   “‘M sorry if this comes off as rude. But what’s a girl like you doin’ sittin’ on the sidelines, darlin’?” His thick Southern accent drawls out, and your eyes immediately widen when you hear how deep and staccato it sounds. You think you could listen to it all night long.

   Darlin’. He called you darlin’.

   Your words fail you, so you just brush off his apology and smile. “Can’t a girl enjoy a drink?”

   He chuckles and shakes his head, a tousled curl falling into his forehead. You want to brush it back for him. That soft looking sandy hair. “Well, sure ya can. Didn’t answer why you’re sittin’ over here by yourself, though.”

   “My friends are dancing,” you shrug, spinning your straw nervously in your drink, letting the liquid slosh around the sides.

   “Now how come a pretty thing like you ain’t out there with ‘em? Hmm?” His thick eyebrows raise in question, and another dreamy smile meets his face. 

   God, he’s so handsome.

   “Oh, I dunno. Was just watching,” you answer nonchalantly, not pointing out the fact that they’re all taken and you’re not.

   He hums to himself, his eyes flicking to the dance floor and back to you after a few seconds. “You wanna dance?” he asks softly, his chocolate eyes sparkling in the hope that you’ll say yes.

   “Huh?” you say off guard, your eyes wide at the question. 

   He just asked you to dance.

   “Do you wanna dance with me?” he asks again, nudging the side of your boot with his own worn leather boot.

   “You’re asking me to dance?” you question.

   “Ain’t that what I asked?” he chuckles, causing your stomach to somersault with the way his infectious laugh is making you feel. All warm and tingly.

   “Oh. I umm—okay,” you smile shyly, looking up through your long eyelashes at him. 

   “Is that a yes, darlin’?” he asks with a big smile.

   “Yes, I’d love to,” you confirm with a nod.

   “Well, c’mon then.” He holds out his open palm, and you don’t hesitate to take it. 

   Warm. He’s so warm. Rough, calloused hands that hold yours perfectly. A match made in heaven.

   He leads you to the middle of the dance floor, careful not to get in the way of any other couples. And then he slowly slips a hand around your waist, the other securely latched to your hand, his fingers laced through yours. And when he starts to lead the dance, you follow right after him.

   The bright lights land over him, putting his beautiful eyes right on display for you. Your breath catches when you see how soft his eyes are. Dark brown like the color of honey and onyx flecks swirling in his irises that hypnotize you to him. He’s absolutely beautiful. You’ve never seen eyes as pretty as his; ones that draw you right in. And the way he’s looking at you, all soft and like he’s looking at the most beautiful girl in the world makes your knees a little wobbly. 

   The neon signs on the walls glow in the distance, the melodic tune of a Scotty McCreery song floats in the background while couples dance around you. Joel leads you around the dance floor, holding you tight and never once stepping on your feet. 

   You scuff your boot over his toes out of nervousness, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He just chuckles and pulls you closer to where you can feel his steady heartbeat against your chest, his brown eyes staring into yours like he’s enamored by you. But he’s got your full attention, and you’re so into him already.

   “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, his Southern drawl completely melting you at the sweet sound. You tell him yours and when your name slips off his tongue, you nearly fall to your knees in awe.

   “And yours? What’s yours, Cowboy?” you ask over the loud couple that whips around you. 

   “Cowboy, huh? Already got a nickname for me, sweetheart?” he chuckles, eyes lighting up at the nickname like he wants you to say it again. And maybe you will.

   “Maybe so,” you giggle, relaxing into the dance as he spins you around in circles, the lights following your movements.

   “The name’s Joel. Joel Miller.” He tips his head and gives you a big smile. You can’t help but giggle every time he smiles at you. It’s like you’re in first grade all over, and Joel’s the new, cute boy that’s caught your attention in class.

   “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Joel.” 

   “Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he smiles, keeping you close to his warm body. You let out another nervous giggle, and it just makes him smile wider like he’s addicted to your laugh. 

   “I like your laugh, darlin’. Could listen to it all night,” he sighs dreamily, chocolate eyes melting as he looks intensely at you, honing in on just you while the rest of the room disappears. Your breath hitches for just a second, and then you melt right back into him.

   “Well, I like your brown eyes,” you lull, your eyes locked on his pretty pools of honey. You giggle when he blushes, and then a dimple indents into his left cheek when he smiles. And God, you think you just fell in love. 

   “And your smile. I love your pretty smile. It lights up a room, darlin’. And you lit up the whole damn bar tonight,” he drawls, his warm breath fanning over your open mouth, gawking at this handsome gentleman. 

   He’s fucking perfect. 

   He lifts his arm and spins you around in a complete circle, his large hand finding your hip again and pulling you back into his broad chest. And there you are, completely breathless again.

   “So, Cowboy. What made you want to come ask me to dance?” you ask, curiosity circling in your wide eyes.

   “Saw you from across the room, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” he answers honestly with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

   “Me?” you ask, taken aback. 

   “Yes, you,” he chuckles as he guides you across the polished dance floor.

   “There’s a hundred other girls in here who’ve had their eyes on you all night,” you scoff in a playful way.

   “Oh? Is that so?” An eyebrow lifts in piqued interest, but his eyes still don’t leave yours. They stay glued to you.

   “Mhm,” you hum in confirmation.

   “That means you’ve been watchin’ me too, ain’t that right?” he smirks devilishly, his brown eyes darkening just slightly.

   “No I—no. That’s not…” you stutter, at a loss for words. You were watching him. Ever since you saw him across the room; that damn smile that has your head spinning.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. Wasn’t tryin’ to get you all flustered now,” he chuckles, obviously trying to get you flustered. He doesn’t have to try hard because you’re already overly flustered.

   “I’m not flustered,” you scoff, your cheeks burning hotter with every second his chocolate eyes are on you.

   “No? Well, you’re pretty cute when you’re blushin’, darlin’. Maybe I want you flustered,” he grins, a beautiful smile curling against his plush lips.

   “Careful, Cowboy. You might be the one blushing next,” you tease, narrowing your eyes playfully in response.

   “I’d like to see you try, sweetheart,” he challenges, his eyes growing into a soft syrupy color you want to drown in.

   “Maybe I will, brown eyes,” you say with the flash of a smile.

   “Brown eyes, huh? Kinda like the sound of that.” His pretty eyes are genuine when he says it, like it’s the best thing you’ve said this whole dance. And the pink that marinates around his dark scruff tells you enough. He does like it.

   You smirk in knowing and wink playfully his way, creating a deeper blush on his tanned skin. It makes your heart skip a beat. “Good, now you’re the one blushing.”

   He shakes his tousled curls and sighs, his eyes alight with an enamored glow. “Christ, you’re adorable.”

   “If you say so, Cowboy,” you say, letting him continue the dance even though there’s a new song booming from the overhead speakers.

   He wraps his large hand tighter against your waist, and you let his other gently glide up and down the back of your hand. A caress that’s laced with care.

   “I do say so, sweetheart,” he chuckles warmly. “But you wanna know the real reason why I asked you to dance?”

   You keep your eyes trained on the glow of his and squint carefully. “Tell me.”

   He takes a deep breath and smiles shyly. “The reason I asked you is ‘cause I thought you were the prettiest girl in the room.”

   Your mouth gawks open in shock. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl in the room? Wow. “Me? Are you sure you picked the right girl?” 

   “Yes, you,” he nods, his thumb stroking against your soft skin. An affirmation of what? Care, admiration, love?

   “You think I’m… pretty?” you ask hesitantly, your voice quiet and meek. He can’t think you’re the prettiest girl. There’s no way.

   “Mhm. Gorgeous. And your eyes. Absolutely beautiful, sweetheart. They make the lights in here look dim with how bright yours shine.”

   You stare in amazement at him, eyes as wide as an owl’s gawking at the man with pretty brown eyes who swept you off your feet. You’re falling into places you’ve never been, and you’re quite scared of how many feelings are bubbling up inside you already. But at this moment, you don’t care. All you can do is stare at him affectionately as he spins you around the room.

   He’s perfect. 

   “So, what does a pretty girl like you do for work, sweetheart?” he asks, molton brown eyes glazing into yours, making you audibly gasp how pretty they are.

   “I’m a vet assistant.”

   “Vet assistant, huh? You ever work on cattle, by chance?” His wide brown eyes are full of hope, and a smile tugs at his lips. 

   “Unfortunately no. Just dogs and cats mostly. Why? You got some cattle, Cowboy?” Your eyebrow arches, and a mischievous smirk curls over your mouth.

   He chuckles and nods his head. “As a matter of fact, I do. I own a ranch,” he says proudly, standing a little taller, making your face hurt from smiling so damn much at him. 

   “So you are a Cowboy. I knew it,” you giggle. “What kind of animals do you have?”

   “Tons,” he says, the neon lights glowing over his tousled curls. “Horses, cows, bulls, chickens, sheep, dogs, and the list goes on.”

   “My, my. You got your hands full. Don’t you, Cowboy?” you blush, fluttering your eyelashes flirtatiously up at him. You like him even more now. 

   “Reckon I do,” he chuckles, his thumb tracing light circles against the back of your hand, eliciting goosebumps down your arms. 

   “Too full to handle one more thing?” you question, giving him your best puppy dog eyes that you can manage. 

   He shakes his head and smiles warmly. “If that one thing is you then ‘course not. Got all the room for you, darlin’.”

   Your eyes soften into liquid and your head is spinning as you stare at this beautiful man. You’re already falling head over heels, and you think he is too. 

   “You ever ride a horse before?” he asks, tilting his head like he’s assessing you.

   You shake your head in response. “I mean, when I was little I rode on a pony. But a horse? No. Can’t say that I have.” 

   “You wanna learn? Got a stallion back at home that has your name on the saddle.” His smile is breathtaking, just like his honey-colored eyes. Your heart gallops in your chest like hooves pounding on the ground. He wants to teach you how to ride?

   “You really plan on teaching me?” Your eyebrows pinch together, hesitation stuck on your tongue. 

   He nods, a fleeting smile meeting his beautiful eyes. “Consider it our first date, darlin’. Gonna turn you into a little cowgirl.”

   “Oh, a cowgirl, huh? Is that what I’m going to be?” you giggle flirtatiously, and he picks right back up on it as he winks at you.

   “S’right. My cowgirl.”

   My cowgirl. 

   Your heart gets stuck in your throat, words lodged deep inside. So you do what you can do. Smile and trace your fingertips across his broad shoulder, letting the soft flannel graze against your smooth skin. 

   As the song slows to a halt, you find the opportunity to wrap both of your arms tightly around his neck, nuzzling your face into the soft fabric of his flannel. His arms circle your hips, and one hand gently runs up and down your lower back, sending electricity zapping through your nerve endings. 

   You smell him now. His woodsy cologne, the hint of sweet beer on the tip of his tongue, faint scents of smoke on his collar, the scent of leather in the air. He smells like your favorite scent all mixed together, combined into the perfect formula to get you drunk off him. And you’d gladly get drunk off him. 

   “Lady May” by Tyler Childers plays through the speakers; the slow song sending the mood of the bar into  a romantic, all consuming type of way. Love’s permeating through the air, and you can feel it everywhere. It tingles in your toes, brushes like a breeze through your hair, spirals down the back of your spine, floods your heart with warmth you’ve never felt before, makes your eyes sparkle like starlight through the bright lights, landing right in the palm of Joel.

   Put your toes down in the water. And a smile across your face. And tell me that you love me. Lovely Lady May.

   He pulls you closer, where your chin is tucked against the crook of his neck, his woodsy cologne making you feel a bit dizzy. 

   Now I ain’t the sharpest chisel that your hands have ever held. But, darling, I could love you well.

   Lovely lady May.

   His lips brush over the crown of your head, his fingertips lighting your nerve endings on complete fire, sparks igniting in his caramel eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you think he’s already in love with you. And maybe you’ve already fallen in love with him, too. 

   As the music slows, he dips you low, not daring to let your back touch the scuffed-up wood. When he pulls you back up, he brings you flush to his broad chest, and his scent is everywhere. 

   His brown eyes sparkle like glitter, shooting stars that only you can make a wish on in the clear night sky. And his smile. My God, you’ve never seen anything as beautiful as him before.

   He gently brushes a loose curl behind your ear, lingering his calloused fingertips down your jawline, ending right under your chin where he stills. The room melts away, the noisy crowd disappearing as the song completely takes a hold of you. 

   But I’m baptized in your name. Lovely Lady May. 

   His thumb slowly traces your bottom lip, leaving invisible marks that’ll stick like permanent ink, branding you as his own. The way he’s staring at you all soft and deeply makes you melt into him even more.

   One more trace, one more shy smile, and he’s asking. “Darlin’?”

   “Yes?” you ask breathlessly.

   “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his Southern drawl sounding lovestruck and angelic. “And thank you for allowin’ me to dance with the prettiest girl in the room. But there’s jus’ one more thing I’d like to do.” His mouth drops a little lower, and your breath hitches.

   “And what’s that?” you ask, lilting at his soft smile.

   “I’d really like to kiss you…” he breathes, his deep timbre shaky as his brown eyes melt into you.

   You lean up on your tiptoes, blowing your breath over his open lips. “Then kiss me, Cowboy…” you whisper out.

   He cups your face the next second and leans in, crashing his lips down on yours without any hesitation. And he draws you in like a moth to a flame. 

   His lips are soft like velvet, and he tastes like your new favorite flavor. Blue moon, sweet and savory with a hint of smoke and mint marinating on his tongue. 

   And then your lips become his as you fall like rain into his kiss.

   Mint. Blue Moon. Smoke. Velvet. Cedar Wood. Leather.

   He’s all you know now. 

   You stay like that for minutes, connected like webs to each other in the middle of the dance floor as couples swirl in a colorful blur around you. When the two of you finally disconnect from each other’s lips, a big smile curls against his mouth and his pretty brown eyes look like they’re laced with love the longer he looks at you.

   He brushes his thumb against your lower lip and leans in close, his lips tracing the shell of your ear. “You taste like mine, darlin’.”

   And that’s when you fall head over heels for the Cowboy that snatched your heart and made you his own.

   He pulls you in for another dance, and you let him lead you through another song which turns into another and another and another. You lose count. All you know is that you’d dance all night with him if you could. 

   After over an hour of twirling around the dance floor with him, he buys you a drink and leads you over to two barstools. You end up with your legs sprawled over his lap, his fingertips tracing lines over your thighs, his lips brushing over your cheek while he places his cowboy hat on top of your head, claiming you as his own. 

   You end up meeting Joel’s brother, Tommy, and his wife, Maria. And you spend all night laughing and flirting with Joel while you bond over music and shared interests. Turns out you have a lot in common. 

   It’s the way his smile stops your heart and his brown eyes that send your head spinning. It’s the way he calls you his girl and the way he can’t keep his hands off you for even a second. You’ve never been this wrapped up in a guy before, but you’ve never met a handsome gentleman like Joel. A cowboy that won your heart over the second he looked at you. 

   He ends the night by driving you home, walking you up to your door, pulling you against his broad chest as his thumb traces lightly against your skin affectionately. You don’t want to say goodnight.

   “So, pretty girl. How ’bout I pick you up at 4:00 o’clock tomorrow? Can give you your first ridin’ lesson, maybe watch the sunset from the back of my truck. Can tell you how beautiful you look under the stars,” he drawls, his brown eyes sparkling under the moonlight. 

   He has you reeled in, pulling you in like he just lassoed his way into your heart. 

   “Quite the romantic type. Aren’t you, Cowboy?” you blush, lacing your fingers through his tousled curls. 

   “That I am,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulls you tighter against him. “So, what do ya say, Cowgirl? You gonna let me take you on that date?”

   “Pick me up at 4:00, and I’m all yours.”

   “All mine?” he smiles, his warm breath fanning over your lips.

   “All yours,” you confirm.

   He pulls you in for a slow, romantic kiss, letting it linger as the stars twinkle above your porch. You’re never going to get tired of his kisses, his soft Southern drawl, his big brown eyes. You’re only going to grow more in love with him every day. And you’ll let it grow like a wildfire that consumes you whole. 

   This was only the beginning. The beginning of a perfect summer love that would never fade away. 

Tags for those that were interested: @mountainsandmayhem @alltheirdamn @lotusbxtch @almostfoxglove @burntheedges

@jasminedragoon @inept-the-magnificent @magpiepills @almostempty @aurorawritestoescape

@milla-frenchy @pedrospatch @thundermartini @lanaispunk @sawymredfox @ace-turned-confused

@stylesispunk @there1snothingleft4u @littlevenicebitch69 @tuquoquebrute @ajw-23

[spacerockfloater]

Being a female viewer and hating Criston Cole is deranged.

I have to get this off my chest. The blind hatred that Criston is receiving from women is insane and I’m going to explain why.

For context, I am talking about Show Criston, not Book Criston. Comparing two standalone versions of a story is silly.

I cannot wrap my head around the fact that so many women, who are the primary victims of utilitarian relationships, would ever come together and shit on Criston for enduring such a situation.

I’m sorry, but how many of you have been used by men? How many of you have been reduced to one night stands, situationships and placeholder wives? How many of you have been deemed “not good enough” to be an exclusive partner? I log into tiktok and I see NOTHING but stories of broken women who are just used for sex, money, care and whatnot by men, and then they are tossed away like worthless trash while said men continue their pursuit of the ideal woman. Being used by men just for sex and being denied the status of girlfriend, let alone wife, is probably one of the worst plagues women are experiencing in the western world because the MOMENT we were emancipated, men understood that they don’t owe us shit anymore and instead of treating us with respect, they decided to grab whatever they can and give nothing back. Do not tell me that there are women out there that are fine with this arrangement because the multiple “GWM while I tell you about the guy that was with me for 12 years and then married someone else” tell a different story, one of multiple women’s dignities being trampled by hungry men. My heart breaks for every woman (EVERY woman, cis, trans, EVERY woman) who has been called by a man she loves just for sex, for every woman whose man never wanted to be seen in public with her, for every woman who had to hear that her man is not ready for a relationship only to witness him getting engaged to another woman 2 weeks after. I hope you overcome this and become stronger and I am glad that we are finally supporting one another.

How can we then, the women who are helping other female victims rise up and speak out against this kind of abuse, push Criston down and tell him to suck it up and accept being Rhaenyra’s plaything? Have we no mercy? Are we so hungry for revenge against men that we’d want them to endure the same humiliation that we did, as if one fictional man’s suffering would bring us justice? Are we so jealous that Criston didn’t sit down and just take it like the rest of us, but instead spoke up and removed himself from that situation? Or are we so gullible that we accept what the screenwriters shove down our throats and unknowingly support the patriarchic view that if you’re being used by someone you should just accept it?

I can hear some of you arguing that “Oh, this is different because Rhaenyra is royalty!” as if being used and tossed by a powerful person somehow makes the situation any better? Would it be okay if a rich person wanted to constantly use you for sex while he keeps looking for a better woman to be by his side, just because he values his wealth and status more? Rhaenyra straight up sneered at the idea of a simple life with him. She straight up told him that HE is not worth as much as her crown. OUCH. Even though I can’t even begin to imagine the pain of being told you are not enough by your loved one, it was Rhaenyra’s right to choose what her priorities are, but WHY would he have to accept being her sidepiece? “These were different times”: does this make it any less devastating for the victim? And he was a victim because Rhaenyra still used Criston and misled him by constantly complaining about how she HATES her duties for YEARS and then luring him to break his oath. Do you think he would have still slept with her if he was aware that moments ago, Rhaenyra was begging on her knees to be fucked by Daemon and only turned to Criston because her first option was no longer available? Like, the man was contemplating having sex with her and resisted her for a good fucking while, so imagine how quickly he would have turned around and walked out that door if he had that information beforehand. You know why? Because he loved her. He loved her to the point that he broke his oath for her, the oath of a station he FOUGHT FOR IN A WAR. He shed blood and sweat and risked his life for the mere opportunity to gain that position. This was ALL he had, he came from NOTHING and he was still willing to toss it all away for Rhaenyra not once, but twice. It wasn’t just sex he wanted because we never see him have sex again after that. He became vulnerable and gave up everything that he was to be with Rhaenyra. He was willing to abandon his whole identity for her sake. Is this not what the ideal partner is? Ready to abandon everything for your shake? Everything he fought for, tooth and nail? Was he unreasonable in thinking that Rhaenyra was willing to do the same for him? Was he crazy to think that because he was ready to put everything he FOUGHT for aside for her shake, Rhaenyra would also put aside a duty she was handed and actively seem to hate for him too? Fuck no! After hearing her constant talk about how she hates her father, her duties, her refusal to wed other men, how she is trapped as a princess, how people have no idea how much it SUCKS being her, why would he not assume that she’d be willing to give it all up for him, as he’d do for her We never see Rhaenyra even TRY to be a ruler, just complain about it. Of course it would be a fucking shock to him hearing her say “Lol dude, I actually do kinda want this”.

Criston was actually the only person in the series that wanted Rhaenyra for her, not her money or crown. I’m not saying she had to follow him, it was her right to refuse him, but his willingness to lead a simple life with just her has got to mean something. And don’t give me that “he only wanted to redeem his honour by marrying her” crap, because first of all Criston nutted up and admitted everything to Alicent and was ready to face death without EVER blaming Rhaenyra for anything, and second of all, oh no, how dare a human being have ethical values and desire to live with dignity in society’s broad light rather than move in the shadows as the princess’s secret boytoy! Bad, bad Criston for feeling you have to atone for your sins. Maybe we as people have become so corrupt that we envy those who wish to walk a virtuous path in life. Or maybe y’all have become so fond of the unhinged unapologetic character trope because it feels “original” (even if it’s ridiculously overused nowadays) that you’ve actually forgotten what characters with good morals are. Like, picking your fave war criminal and rolling with them because you enjoy good drama, especially in a show that’s meant to provide entertainment, is one thing, but passionately stating that Criston had to submit to that humiliation is something else entirely.

Finally, let’s ditch the Criston being a misogynist bullshit because he had NO issue obeying Rhaenyra before their affair or Alicent. And he is ALWAYS true to himself and his values, because even after everything he endured, he did not use Alicent’s anger as an excuse to take revenge on Rhaenyra and harm her children. Criston never betrayed her, Rhaenyra used him and he walked away and he went towards the only person who seemed to spare him some sympathy and understand him and not condemn him for his crimes even if he hated himself, which is typical victim mentality. And don’t get me started on the Joffrey incident because y’all tore Cole to SHREDS for it. Joffrey had it fucking coming. You don’t go up to people’s faces, especially ones you don’t know, threaten them by telling them you know their secret, a secret that SHAMES them and burdens them to the point they’re ready to commit suicide, and all but directly call them a whore. What the fuck did he think was going to happen? They’d shake hands? Piss off. Let this be a lesson to anyone that doesn’t know how to keep their mouths shut and their noses out of other people’s business. Also, mocking his suicide attempt makes my stomach turn. Just take a moment to consider all the young women who just like him, reluctantly surrendered their virginities to men only to find out they were nothing but sex dolls in their eyes, all these girls whose trust led to their secret being spread and them getting ridiculed and slut shamed for it: how many girls have taken their own lives because they found living with such a burden unbearable?

For the love of everything you hold sacred, please wake up. The narrative that you can be used by someone powerful and you have to accept it because that’s the way things are is a man’s construct. Do not let them fool you.

[theorphicangel]

“can I draw you?”

you popped the question out loud to your roommate suddenly. miguel had his eyes on an old western movie playing on the tv in front. he glanced over to where you were, sat on the opposite end of the couch.

you didn’t miss the eyebrow he raised at you, asking you, “why?”

you shrug your shoulders.

“I just want to.” you lied, telling only half of the truth.

the full truth was that you had currently been taking little glances at your roommate whilst he was watching the movie. he hadn’t noticed you at all, instead thinking that you were just on your phone blissfully unaware of your thoughts praising his side profile.

he’s too pretty to not draw, you think, your spark of inspiration too overwhelming to ignore.

whilst you dashed to your room to grab your art supply you left Miguel slightly dazed in his thoughts. he knew you did art, peaking a little into your room he saw a few canvases laying around — he didn’t look too closely to know what they were but by the looks of it, you seemed decent.

often he’d catch you sketching out in the living room but before he could get a glimpse of what you were drawing, you headed back to your room.

so he assumes that your art was private. by letting you draw him, he assumes you’d grown more confident in sharing your art.

“okay just face yourself towards me.”

he does so, facing you. he has a relaxed expression on his face, entirely different from the frown that he usually wears.

he’s pretty. more than pretty. gorgeous.

his hooded eyelids, his cheekbones, the shape of his nose, his plump lips. you have to hold yourself back from rushing to draw his features.

“oh wow—“ he cuts himself off.

“do you like it?”

his mouth is slightly agape as he stares at the portrait.

“wait, you drew that in what? fifteen minutes?”

you look down at the portrait again, squinting your eyes. “ahh well, it’s not perfect, if I had more time maybe I would change a few things and details but—“

“it’s perfect.”

you look back at Miguel, a smile drawn across his lips.

“can—can I keep it?”

“really? I can do another one—“

“no, I want that one.” He says before adding.

“it’s perfect, hermosa.”

you assume that he’s talking about the drawing. not you.

right?

[misterdetectiveswag]

❝ SO HIGHSCHOOL❞

summary; in which, you drag sae into trouble during your high school days. sprinkled with mischief during ephemeral times.

pairing; Sae Itoshi x m!reader

warnings/tags; song title made by taylor swift, suggestive at some parts, fluff, highschool au, cursing, sae & reader are already in a relationship, not proofread, teenagers being teens, makeout session

a/n; both sae and reader are a lil dumb but that's okay. i honestly don't know how different japanese schools are to western school so please forgive me for any inaccurate events

"saee..!" a small whisper rung through his ear, not paying attention to the other as he focused on whatever the teacher was saying.

once more, he called out to him. albeit louder than before but not loud enough to alert the people around them. it felt like the two were in their own little bubble. atleast in y/n's perspective.

it didn't take long before he nudged sae on his side. it was only then when he paid any acknowledgement at all with a sharp 'what.'

it sent shivers down his spine, but nonetheless he responded.

"notes. 'need them. i forgot to write 'em down."

"and you think i have some?"

a deadpanned expression made way to your face, a similar one mirroring sae's own face.

"..'had a query that, perchance, you'd be studious enough to take down notes with the time you spent ignoring me."

"do you even know what studious means?"

both stared at each other, as if they were trying to steal a glimpse of their soul before simultaneously turning away, however the loud voice of their teacher called out to them.

"Itoshi, l/n! no speaking to one another!"

as much as the two were different, they only had one thing consuming their thoughts. 'so uptight for no reason.'

and they both knew, one or the two of them were going to walk down the halls — not for the gates, but instead detention.

———

afterwards, they were called to stay a bit later at the end of the last chime of the day.

now standing infront of their teacher. mirroring sae's gaze on the ground cause you were slick like that.

"now do the both you mind telling me about your conversation a while back?"

the teacher was met with silence, however he kept pushing.

"you two will be met with detention, if neither of you don't talk"

again, nothing.

with a sigh, and the most miniscule of patience left; they were sent to detention. the moment the pair was out of earshot, sae slapped the back of your head.

"ouch! what the fuck, sae?!" you processed your words enough to not make it any more louder, since any more violations called of you will be only met with the back of your parents leather belt.

"why didn't you say anything, dumbass." sae on the other hand, did not care. if he was going down then he hands down believed you were going down with him.

"i thought you were gonna start talking!"

"as if."

"asshole."

(both didn't talk about their interlocked hands while walking down the hall, but it was stuffed in the comfort of sae's pocket and you thought it wasn't enough of an interesting topic to talk about.)

———

left with his thoughts, he sat in the corner of their detention room alongside sae. he laid his head down as sae oh so gently played with your hair.

tranquility, what both of you felt with your time spent. even though anything but peace came out of your mouth, no word could even compare to what you both felt. that's why you two opted for the quote, 'actions speak louder than words'

because in this case, it was all the more veracious.

the teacher watching you two didn't even care what you were doing. even going out of the room, unannounced and unprovoked.

and you two took advantage of that by stealing kisses and make up for whatever you spouted at each other.

luckily f'you, the teacher seemed to be outside for a longer period. and now you always met eye-to-eye with sae (not really). he knew exactly what you were thinking.

dropping his hand from your hair to your waist, he forced you to look up at him by pulling your chin to him.

"ya sure the teacher's gon' be out for long?"

"just shut up, would you? let me have this."

stealing your lips in a kiss, it felt better than no other. soft touches along the surface of your skin and his.

tugging his maroon hair, and teasing the back of his neck. small grunts came from both of you.

pulling away, to catch your breath. he looked pretty, prettier than ever before.

leaning in once more, he wanted to taste you now that he was intoxicated in the poison of you.

the door clicked, but you nor sae didn't seem to take notice. it was only untill a small cough erupted from the frame of the door.

oops. well, i guess the leather belt was always going to be the denouement, regardless what path you took.

© misterdetectiveswag

[pikahlua]

Uh oh, it's sleepy grumpy Pika. Y'all know what that means, right?

It means I have no filter for my opinions.

If you're dissatisfied with the way Katsuki's bullying of Izuku is handled in MHA because you expected him to be confronted by someone else about it in some way, it's probably because you are unaware of the difference between bullying and attitudes towards it in Japan versus in your country of origin. I believe everyone would benefit from researching bullying in Japan. They do NOT view it the same way the west does, y'all.

And I guarantee when you learn about it, you're gonna find some stuff that makes you uncomfortable and horrified, because it's gonna take a while for you to get enough information to give context to a lot of the history and attitudes you'll find. AND EVEN THEN, EVEN WHEN YOU HAVE THAT CONTEXT, you're still definitely not going to like it.

However, with any luck, you'll see how MHA's portrayal of Katsuki's bullying is shockingly sympathetic and heartwarming to many people. It's because, from the perspective of a Japanese audience, Izuku was not targeted and bullied by Katsuki in the way we're used to seeing such situations portrayed in the west. Izuku was bullied by everyone. His classmates, his teachers, the pro heroes he encountered, and society in general ALL participated in the bullying of Izuku, because societal pressures to conform in Japan are MASSIVE, and that can often manifest as one form of bullying or another.

Katsuki's bullying is just the one that the story chooses to flesh out. It's the one that Horikoshi develops. Katsuki is the bully that changes his own perspective first and drastically, the one who realizes the greatness in Izuku and accepts that and comes to his side long before the rest of society can catch up. It is largely understood by the Japanese audience that Katsuki in middle school didn't seek Izuku out and follow him home every day to beat him up; Katsuki mostly ignored Izuku until Izuku would do something to remind Katsuki of his insecurities, and so he would lash out. And no one else at let's say Izuku's middle school would understand the true reason why Katsuki would lash out because what he does resembles what all of Izuku's bullies do to him: pressure him to conform. Pre-One For All Izuku stands out as different and constantly tries to rise above his position to become something society decrees he cannot be. Therefore, a significant part of Japanese society will generally approve of attempts to make him conform, even when some of those attempts are harsh and cruel and unreasonable and reactionary. MHA presents a caricature of that in the form of Izuku's middle school.

The fact that Katsuki identifies this toxic behavior in himself later in the story and decides to actively do something to change it IS the radical part. It's the piece that fits into the themes of MHA. It highlights a generally-accepted behavior in society that maybe society should rethink. It's asking for society to reconsider how it pressures people to conform, that sometimes nonconformity is good or at least should be tolerated to some degree. That's why Katsuki's story focuses so much on how his old behavior stems from fear. From the perspective of a "properly-functioning" collectivist society, pressure to conform should be done for the good of everyone in the society, not out of fear and misunderstanding. Katsuki's character arc provides one potential map for others in society to see the light and get to where he does.

And that's to say nothing of how Japan's versions of confrontation or retribution often look different from how they do in the west, that many of the forms of confrontation some people in the western fandom cry out for with regards to Katsuki sound absurd to an audience in the know. The karmic punishments Katsuki endures throughout the story are often overlooked by western readers, and is it any surprise? That readers from some societies--societies that laud nonconformity, tolerate counterculture, openly criticize the systems that be, preach about individual freedom and responsibility and justice and fairness, and watch and make movies and TV shows and other media about how victims of bullies achieve their righteous revenge--often miss how MHA doles out subtle, divine, poetic, karmic consequences for Katsuki's actions? That such readers often don't feel satisfied by MHA's dramatic ironies which serve more to guide Katsuki in a harmonious, productive direction rather than vindictively punish him and rest on its laurels as it laughs at his deserved misfortune? I don't blame anyone for feeling unsatisfied when their own societies have built up their expectations in such ways, but I do hope to draw your attention to it.

Now, does that mean you have to like and accept the Japanese attitudes about bullying? That you have to agree with the framing of pressure to conform as beneficial and productive? That, if you're triggered by the lack of overt condemnation of bullying in the story, you still have to like MHA? That, if you have personal traumatic experiences with Japan's bullying situation, you should shut up about it and accept that it's a good thing? No! In fact, I personally would hope that you don't! I think everyone should always have their perspectives on ANYTHING challenged so they can rethink and improve them, and Japan's attitude towards bullying is no exception! (And MHA actually does that in its own way!)

(And even saying that, I will always acknowledge that my perspective and opinions on this issue are heavily colored by my own experiences in life and the society in which I grew up and the ideas to which I've been exposed. This is and always will be my bias.)

But the question of what's the correct take on bullying is an entirely different beast. The question at hand here is about understanding the story and its characters as presented in MHA. If you don't come at this with a basic acknowledgement of how Katsuki's story reads to a Japanese audience in-context, you're going to be upset about what you see (which is a reasonable reaction). But I think if you're going to read a story, it's only due courtesy to understand the context surrounding its creation before you try to hold it to far-removed, foreign standards. There's a reason literature classes go over the history and context surrounding the older works they study. MHA is a Japanese story written for a Japanese audience. To focus on how it does not adhere to the typical western narrative of a bully's character arc is to miss the point entirely. If you are reading the story outside of Japan in a language other than Japanese, it is being translated so that you can read a Japanese story, not a story from your own culture. It's rude and self-defeating to expect stories from other cultures to suddenly cater to your own.

TL;DR Understanding the social context that informs bullying in MHA just might actually make the story more comprehensible and enjoyable for anyone who dares to learn about it, what do you have to lose?

[a-casual-kpopfan]

It's a Date. - Karina

Shoutout to @capslocked for the little beta read. <3

I'm starting to get back into the writing groove, dropping small fics here and there. This was fairly short and sweet, I hope you all enjoy as usual. :)

~~~~~

You were one of the hosts to take Aespa around New York while they’re on tour; today was an off day and you were with the group and their managers going out to several shopping districts and trying desserts throughout the day. 

“Oppa, how come you’re not looking around for things?” Little Winter walking along next to you like a puppy, if a puppy can carry like 5 shopping bags with their paws.

“I live in the city Winter; this is my lifestyle.” You look around the shopping centre, it’s bustling and hustling as NYC would be normally. “Oh, come on oppa, there’s got to be something for you to do too, what about a girlfriend?” You had to think about it, it’s been a while since you were out with someone, let alone had a long-term relationship. “Ah, the last time I dated someone was back in college.” You gave a little smile to Winter as the two of you walked just behind the main group of members and managers.

Karina who’s walking along the main group takes a glance behind, seeing you and Winter laughing through your conversation. She excuses herself from the main group and slows down to the pace of you and Winter. “Ahh, what’s so funny?” Karina may be one of the most visually appealing idols and one of the most captivating people to ever walk this planet. But her looks don’t define who she is; Karina is actually a walking toddler.

Her cheeks are puffed up and lips in a pout. “Winter here is calling me a fossil, calling me old because I haven’t dated since college!” You were playing along with the act, acting a little whiny and childish which was alright, you’ve been with the girls a couple days already, they’re really playful and outgoing which is something you really appreciate seeing in Korean idols compared to a lot of Western stars you’ve hosted around every once in awhile.

Winter laughs uncontrollably on your left side, and is holding onto your arm, Karina is happy to see that there’s someone to trust outside of their group. “How old are you then oppa?” Karina tilts her head like a puppy, it really seems like Aespa as a group is a bunch of little puppies. “I’m 26 years old.” Winter pretends to be super shocked, exaggerating a dropped jaw. “Oh, my goodness, you’re a grandpa!”

“Yah, I’m only 3 years older than Karina.” Trying to defend yourself from Winter, but on the other side Karina is laughing at Winter’s reaction. “Oh, you’re not that old oppa, I just see the little white hairs appearing on your head.” Karina jokes around but catches you off guard making your jaw genuinely drop. “Ms. Karina!” Your jaw stays open but with a smile, you are putting your hand over your heart as if you got shot, but what really shot you is Karina’s smile and laughter.

Your walk through the mall was fun, it was all smooth going until…

“Oppa! Let’s go get you some clothes!” Giselle, the most fluent in English, pulls you into a local clothing shop. “Giselle!” The idol continued pulling your arm, you really didn’t have a choice. “Please, just call me Aeri.” With a reassuring smile that it’s okay to be on a first name basis at this point. “I feel like we’ll know each other a lot more after today.” Aeri with an excited smile, confuses you but you just go with the vibe.

“Oo, you'd be good with this… And this… We should try this too…” Aeri is picking out several pieces of clothing, going through different kinds of pants, looking at the blazers and some tops. “Giselle.” Aeri looks at you with a glare. “Aeri…” The glare changed to a smile, relieving you of possible stress. “Oppa, just try these on, okay?” Dumping a small pile of clothes into your arms, all you could do is sigh and accept it.

You went through multiple variations of outfits from all the clothes that Aeri has chosen for you. After spending about a half hour trying on clothes, there was a set that both you and Aeri found fond of. “Wah, oppa! You look so handsome!” You were wearing a short sleeve dark blue blazer, though worn open and on the inside, a nice grey, almost a salt & pepper style t-shirt, a black jean, complemented with a very dark brown leather shoe. “Wow, I have to hand it to you; you have great style Aeri.”

“Perks of being an idol~” You look through the mirror and watch Aeri pose with a V sign, making you laugh.

“That decides it, let’s go buy them!” You shook your head and looked at Aeri through the mirror. “I may be making decent money but buying all this is too expensive for me.” Your little shopping companion comes up to the mirror and looks you in the eye. “Oppa, who said you were going to pay?” And out of her pocket is her credit card from the company. “Yah, wouldn’t they be mad if you bought something not for you with this card?”

“This is the least that I can do being such a great host for us the last couple days.” You turn around to see a sincere smile and it doesn’t seem like she would take ‘No’ as an answer. “Okay, you win this round.” Aeri clapping her hands and you shrug in defeat as you make yourself to a change room with your original clothing.

Aeri kept to her word, now you’re walking along with Ningning and holding quite a lot of clothing. “Are you having fun with us, oppa?” It’s almost like each member is having their turn with you throughout the day. “Sure, I am Ningning, I get to spend time with very famous idols.” Ningning wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “What do you really like to do for fun?” You were confused as to why the idols are being really personal with you lately.

“Hmm, I’m originally from South Korea, but after moving here I really grew into North American culture. Watching basketball games, going out for bar food like wings and burgers with friends late at night. I do enjoy playing billiards, I’m always open to trying new activities.” Ningning now seems to be happy with that answer. “It seems that you’re very active.” You and Ningning kept the conversation going with each other, more and more you’re finding out the girls like to drink and eat a lot in the dorm, yet they seem so fit for the amount of food they consume and more Ningning is finding out your habits here in New York.

Once finding a restaurant to have a late lunch, you and the group were seated but you offered to sit separately as you would like to give the girls and managers their privacy.

“Nonsense! You’re sitting with us!” Karina was not happy with your suggestion. “You’re a part of us and you’re sitting with us.” The leader was standing firm, and wouldn't budge for anything. “Because you’re trying to bail on us, I’m making you sit next to me to keep an eye on you.” Karina poking your chest with her finger, you were given no choice. You couldn’t help but smile about it and shrugged. “Good, let’s go.” Karina grabbed your hand and dragged you in.

You were led to a large table fitting for 8 near the back of the restaurant, not completely private but obscure enough to eat comfortably. Karina sat on a bench with Winter and a manager beside her, one seat was left, and you were going to offer it to Ningning or Giselle, but you watch them already sit on the other side of the table with their other managers. “Nope, with me oppa.” Karina was sitting down, looking up to you with a smile.

“I really can’t get away from you, can I?” You finally gave up and sat down to the group’s leader. “Looks like someone has a liking for him.” Winter nudges Karina, shortly getting a slap to the leg to deny the teasing. “Yah…” You couldn’t hear the little whispers, you tried to ignore everything so the members can have a sense of comfortability and privacy, but then Karina can easily notice that you’re feeling uncomfortable.

“Hey��� It’s okay.” Karina lays her palm on top of your hand and pats it. “Just be yourself, that’s all I ask for.” Her head is on a tilt, her smile, sincere. You nod your head and try your best to follow Karina’s asking. She’s always tried to make sure that her members were comfortable, that her manager was okay, but you being an outsider only have been with them for a short amount of time, Karina had always made sure that everyone was alright, she’s a great leader.

Lunch went smoothly, you and the managers had some good laughs, the members were having a good time, but alas all things must come to an end. The shopping is done, lunch is over, now you’re walking the girls and managers back to the hotel.

You bid your farewells, but Karina comes running back to you before you have the chance to leave the premises. “Oppa, I have a favour to ask you.” Karina's demeanour is off, hands behind her back, one foot balance on her toes, her eyes facing the ground, avoiding your gaze. “What is it, Karina?” You were curious, it’s not everyday you have a beautiful woman in front of you acting like a fool.

“I... Uh… Have this friend who’s coming to the city later tonight… I was hoping you could tour her around, like you did with us?”

“Oh… What could I have hoped for?”

“Sure, what time should I meet her?” You accepted without an issue, you wanted to be a good guy, you just spent a few days with the group and why should you decline? It’s not like you have a date to attend to.

“Yay! Thank you oppa, here’s her number, meet her here at 8pm!” Karina hands you a paper with an unusual phone number, not an area code you’re familiar with but you took in anyways. “Thank you oppa.” Karina bowed in respect before running back inside the hotel.

You would be a little disappointed, but this is a favour.

~~~~~

You make it back to the hotel at the time Karina told you to be there by, you texted the phone number that you arrived in the front. Good thing Aeri took you to go shopping for new clothes, you must dress up a little for the New York nightlife.

You: Hey, I’m in front of the lobby.

Unknown: I’ll be right there!

That reply came quickly, you were on a look out for someone outside the hotel, but the results would surprise you.

“Good evening oppa.”

You spin around to Karina, a different outfit from this afternoon. Instead of a white sweater and a long skirt, the Aespa leader is changed into a thin back long sleeve, mesh-like material being near fully see-through, a black bandeau underneath, complimenting her large bust and curves, paired with blue jeans and to finish with black boots.

“K-Karina?!”

Shocked to see the leader alone, no supervision, not even anyone watching from the entrance. “I hope you don’t mind me taking off my extensions, I felt like the short hair for our date.” Karina plays with her hair then smiles at you, she has somewhat of a gummy smile.

“Wait, I’m sorry, our date?” You were extremely caught off guard, Karina? Aespa’s leader? A kpop idol? A date? With you? “You could have better options than this old man.” The idol slowly walked towards you, grabbing your hand with both of hers, it’s now you really took the time to see, Karina has baby hands. “Why not? You treated us well, made sure we were comfortable, this is the least I could do… And I want to get to know you more.”

“But I live here, you need to go back to South Korea soon.” The idol was only giggling, she probably has already thought about it, otherwise you wouldn’t think she would go through the trouble of setting up a date with you. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. There is a lot of tour guides in South Korea that would like a bilingual tour guide.”

With Karina’s amazing smile looking at you the way it is, how could you deny her?

“Okay Karina.”

“Please, my name is Yu Jimin.”

You smile and chuckle.

“Okay Jimin, what would you like to do tonight?”

She pulled away one hand, but still held yours with one. “Hmmm…” Her facial expression turned to a pout, playfully laying a finger on her chin, exaggerating the fact she’s thinking. “How about we go to a bar, get some wings and maybe watch a basketball game if there’s any?” Your jaw was left open, how could she have known?

“Ningning?”

“Mhmm.” With a cute nod.

How would you survive spending the night with Kar- Jimin?

The two of you walked off in a direction where you heard was a good restaurant that had some of the best wings and flavours, Jimin couldn’t let go of your hand, she was basically latched on your arm at this point.

“Oppa, are the New York Knicks any good?”

“Oh man… Don’t get me started…”

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

Imagine a poly relationship w/ geo and crowe just to spite sol 😹

The More the Merrier (Crowe + Geo x MC/Reader - Relationship HCs)

I'M NOT DEAD I SWEAR I'M JUST WORKING ON 4 ONESHOTS SIMULTANEOUSLY!!!! (2 of them will be out by the upcoming Tuesday I promise <3333)

Anyway, to the two anons who requested this, I pray you'll enjoy. I actually kinda cooked on this one muahahaha. >:]

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer T.W.: Mentions of sex, nothing explicit.

The more the merrier: a proverb indicating something is more fun with more people.

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

This is your formal reminder from me as to how lucky you are to have scored both of these pretty tumblrsexymen.

Crowe is essentially the furnace of you three. He’s warm, fuzzy and comfortable. and hot

He basically serves as the mediator for conflicts, and his charisma often means he gets people to like you lot more (because he’s nice af plus rich)

Geo’s the cold one, and he is often the ‘bodyguard’ of you and Crowe, he often looms behind you both with the most ornery side eye anyone has ever seen. He’s also your #freepass. Literally anywhere he goes, he gets VIP (and so do you and Crowe muahaha)

Did I mention rich? 

As in…both are so fucking wealthy it gives you a brain aneurysm????

AS IN BOTH CAN AFFORD PRIVATE JETS AND IT NOT MAKE A DENT IN THEIR ACCOUNTS?!?!??!?!?!!?!!?!??

It’s actually crazy.

Unfortunately, being rich means you’re all targets, mostly you though, because you’re the most financially ‘average’ of the trio.

Geo often has his bodyguards supervise you and Crowe 24/7.

This guy will set rottweilers on his enemies if he must, preferably the ravenous ones. <33

Crowe and Geo (especially Geo) are the type to wear extremely stylish things if needed, so you know your fashion sense is in good hands.

However, they both also have extremely comfortable homeclothes (imagine Geo being stuffed into an oodie or smth that’d be so funny…someone draw that right fucking now)

I headcanon that Crowe knows French and Italian, so you’ve got him rizzing you up in European romantic languages and then Geo lovingly dissing you in Japanese.

They’re opposite extremes on the spectrum. And you got the best of both worlds, so.

Remember that.

>:]

Anyway, when it comes to domestic life Geo is the cook, he just chills in the kitchen and prepares the most elaborate fancy food anyone’s ever made in the history of the universe (Geode powers activate!!!)

Geo also knows how to do makeup extremely well, while I’d say Crowe is more skilled in the hair department (they’re both magical when it comes to cosmetics).

Crowe would be the one to do shopping and get surprise gifts for you both.

Geo would only really buy fake plants for himself (real quick shout out to past me for coming up with the #bonsaibaby term for the eventual tree child Geo and I will have), so the home will be opulent and fancy (because of Crowe), while maintaining a somewhat minimalistic and naturistic appeal (because of Geo) and just being a generally comfortable residence (because of us >:})

You are kinda just told to not do anything except exist. They both feel obligated to ensure you’ve got the best life possible, and you bet your attractive ass you’re getting a banger life.

Oh also, just a quick heads up, if you and Crowe are having sex, make sure Geo is far away. You do not want this man to be projectile vomiting for the next two thousand minutes, it’d be very ungraceful for someone like him.

Speaking of sex, you and Crowe just kinda have it when you both feel like it.

You both sleep together I’d feel, Geo’d sleep elsewhere. Not because he doesn’t like you both (he loves you both lol), it’s merely the cultural differences between Asian and most Western/European nations and the fact that you and Crowe can just have sex whenever and he doesn’t wanna be involved or remotely nearby if that happens.

If you and Crowe solemnly swear to never fuck however, then Geo may or may not spawn inside your bed at some point and just squish you both into his much taller frame (usually you). he may or may not make you sign a contract on celibacy /hj

At this point you’re trapped between a living refrigerator and a breathing heater.

omg temperature play!

You'll hang out whenever and wherever it’s peaceful. Like y’all can just be stu(dying) and/or nonchalantly reading together and it’d be amazingly serene.

Geo will also be drinking tea 24/7. This man breathes…no, inhales that shit. He also will totally not blare Scaramouche's boss theme around your residence.

Geode is a Scaramouche kinnie I refuse to hear backlash on this.

He also is the most knowledgeable when it comes to medicine, so if one of you three gets sick, he’s gonna be the doctor (he is his own doctor ffs this man is too based to be lying in bed and dying).

Crowe is essentially the emotional support for you three, like he and Geo are polar opposites but that’s okay. One's weakness is the other's strength and vice versa. Whatever they both lack (having and being a pussy), you make up for.

At this point you don’t even know if you’re the hinge or not, you just serve as the ‘hearth’ of this relationship.

And frankly, good for you. Like that’d be fucking awesome.

And just a final thing…

Did I mention that they're rich fashionistas?

[fiapartridge]

summer lovin' | luke hughes

luke hughes x bsf!reader

summary: it's another summer at the lake house and everything is different, yet nothing has changed...

word count: 1.7k

warning(s): cursing, little heated makeout sesh but nothin too spicy

i love lake house imagines, they're always such good vibes

It was the first night of the summer and you couldn’t be more excited. You and the boys had a tradition every first night of the summer before everyone else came (“everyone else” being Duker, Z, Turcs, Coley, and Alex). You would jump into the freezing cold lake, your mom would scold the four of you for tracking water into the house, Ellen would start on dinner, and you and Luke would go rifling through the cabinets, trying to find all the ingredients to make s’mores. Your mom always had the kitchen stocked with food by the time you guys were done jumping into the lake.

Once everyone’s bathing suits were on, it was a race down to the dock. And every single year, after everyone’s bedroom doors swung open, and your eyes met in a showdown that would rival that of a cowboy duel in old western films, you would say the starting line. “LAST ONE TO THE DOCK IS A ROTTEN EGG!”

And all hell broke loose.

Jack hip-checked you the second you flooded into the hallway, you grabbed Luke’s ankle, yanking him to the ground as Quinn gave Jack whiplash by pulling on the back of his cap. The journey to the dock was always ruthless. Ellen liked to call it “The Hunger Games” and she swore she could always feel a slight rumble once everyone’s doors to their rooms flew open and they fearlessly bounded into the hallway.

Jack slid down the stair railings, you climbed on top of Quinn’s back as he rushed down the steps, and Luke took the stairs three steps at a time with his long legs, beating everyone to the bottom floor of the house. 

From the living room and out the back door, it was a simple sprint to the dock with the occasional pushing and shoving, mainly from Jack. Quinn liked to maintain a linear path with a quick pace and Luke always held your hand (it made it easier to drag you into the lake once you got to the dock).

Once everyone’s feet hit the wood of the dock, it was only seconds later until they were in the water, kicking back up to the surface. 

“You bitch!” you laughed as Luke took hold of your ankle, pulling you back down. As soon as you popped up from the water, you grabbed his curls, dunking him back in.

Jack and Quinn were already back on the dock, sitting side by side as they held makeshift mics and commentated on your guys’ fight. 

“Y/N has him by the neck! OH, and he’s back under the water!” Jack announced, putting on his professional announcer voice. “She has this one in the bag! I would tap out now if I were you, Lukey.”

Quinn shook his head. “No way! Moosey can slam dunk her five foot ass in his sleep!”

You resurfaced, latching onto Luke’s shoulder. “I’m not five feet!”

“Right,” Quinn nodded. “Four foot eleven, I mean.”

You rolled your eyes, splashing him as the two boys laughed upon reentering the lake, dowsing you and Luke with water. Luke grabbed hold onto the bottom of your thigh, swinging your leg over his back, and hiking you up his shoulders. The air felt cold against your exposed skin, but you couldn’t care in the slightest. This was your favorite moment of the summer.

No parents, no rules, and as much as you love the other boys, it was nice just being with the “core four” as your mom and Ellen liked to call your group.

Once the sun started to set, and your energies began to die down, you made it back into the house, getting greeted with the smell of homemade dinner and, based on so many summers before, Ellen’s famous apple pie. 

“Water!” your mom pointed out as you all groaned in response, quickly wiping yourselves down on the back porch and reentering the house.

 “Get showered and meet us outside– the weather is so nice tonight,” Ellen smiled, kissing everyone’s cheeks as your footsteps up the stairs rattled the walls of the house. You always felt so tired and heavy after swimming in the lake for hours, but you somehow always had energy. Quinn claimed you were on crack (“There’s no way she isn’t! She’s slept for four hours in the past two days and somehow still wants to play tennis!”), but Luke always knew that you were just excited. You talked about the summer all the time, and with Luke and Jack being in New Jersey, Quinn being in Vancouver, and you being in California, it was hard to find any time to be with them.

“Welcome to the 20th Annual Hughes L/N Summer Vacation Fun Time!” Ellen beamed, clapping as she watched everyone’s contorted faces. “What?”

Quinn was the first to burst out laughing, followed by Jack, you, Luke, and then - surprisingly - your mom. “You really have to think of a shorter title, El,” your mom snickered, passing the mashed potatoes around the table. 

You were having dinner in the backyard, fairy lights strung around poles, fireflies dancing in the warm summer air, music humming out of Jack’s old mini speaker (you bought it for him for Christmas a couple years ago and he never leaves home without it), and the sound of water gently rushing against each other, which pulled you back to the present. 

“No! You called Dad and told him that I had herpes!” Quinn pointed at Jack from across the table, the rest of you laughing like there was no tomorrow.

Jack rolled his eyes. “I didn’t tell him you had herpes, I told him you had mono,” he scoffed, shoving a piece of steak into his mouth.

“Yeah, I was the one who told him you had herpes,” you chuckled as you jumped out of your seat, sprinting away from Quinn as he chased you around the backyard before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. 

“I will drop you into the lake, Y/N/N.”

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, you couldn’t stop laughing. You hit his back. “Let me down, Huggy, or I’ll tell him you have Gonorrhea and Syphilis, too!”

Quinn dropped you back into your seat, shaking his head. “No more med students at the lake house.”

Everyone laughed before Ellen broke out into a story about the time Jack fell into the toilet when he was three. 

“I was small and the toilet bowl was massive, okay! It was destined to happen!”

Luke smiled at you, watching you giggle and joke with his family. No one else knew this, but Luke visited you in California every couple months. He liked to blame it on the gigantic ocean waves and also getting to see Z and Turcs, but you both knew it was more than that. But you also both knew that you would hate yourselves if this perfect dynamic was ruined because you guys tried to be something. 

Luke leaned in, whispering. “Roof after dinner?”

You simply nodded, knowing you were going to go whether he asked or not. It was another tradition, but just for you and Luke. 

By the time dinner was over, your back was resting against the exterior of the house, sitting 20 feet above ground level. You waited for Luke to join you on the roof as he said he was going to help Quinn text this new girl he was talking to. You were sure that Quinn would do much better without the unique stylings of Luke Hughes’ so-called “rizz,” but you let him be, excited to see them crash and burn later on. 

As Luke slipped through the window and sat down beside you, you watched the stars blanket the night sky, illuminating the atmosphere around you. It was easier to see the stars here at the lake house rather than in California where you were constantly surrounded by bright lights emitted by tall buildings and trillions of cars.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” you sighed, resting your head against Luke’s shoulder.

“What, you don’t love California?” he joked, knowing that you absolutely hated it. You hated being away from home, you hated being away from your friends, you hated being away from your family, and you especially hated being away from Luke. He was your best friend, and for the past couple of years, it felt like he was more than that.

“I thought I loved it. But there’s no you there,” you frowned, nudging the side of his arm. “There’s no Quinn, there’s no Jack, there’s no Ellen. My mom is on the other side of the country, the people are rude and stuck-up, and… I just hate being away from you.”

Luke sighed before sitting up, slipping your head off his shoulder. “Why don’t you just come back?”

You narrowed your eyebrows, not quite understanding what he was talking about. “What?”

“Why don’t you transfer to UMich? I mean, our moms live in Michigan, it’s only an hour away from Jersey by plane. You already know all my teammates from college, your friends go there, it has one of the best nursing programs in the US. I mean, it makes sense, right?”

“It’s not that easy.”

His arms rose. “Why not?”

“I still have to apply and–”

“You’ll get in,” he stated, his hands holding onto your shoulders. “You’re the smartest person I know, Y/N/N. Michigan would be stupid not to accept you.”

And it would be stupid to kiss him right now, right? 

Right?

Before you could even question it, your lips were already on his, moving back and forth like the lake when you guys would go wakesurfing: messy, hungry, sweet, exhilarating. Luke grabbed the back of your thigh, hiking you over him as he held onto your waist. Your hands were tangled in his mess of curls, your tongues fighting for dominance. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Luke muttered against your lips.

You smirked, biting on his bottom lip as he elicited a low groan. He kissed down your jaw, settling on your neck as you leaned back, giving him more access to the skin there. Your breaths were ragged as he sucked on a spot that felt so good.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed.

“NO WAY!” Luke’s lips were off you in a second as you both made eye contact with Jack who stood by the window, his jaw slacked in shock and two cans of White Claws rolling out of his hands. “QUINNER, GET YOUR ASS IN HERE! THEY’RE TRYING TO HAVE SEX!”

[aroaceleovaldez]

you're like the first blog i thought about ranting on this to but it drives me up the wall that some people treat any criticism aimed at tsats2 as being anti-ship or avoidable via just "not reading it". i dont think they realize that we're talking about a bigger issue of soulless commercialization and heavy quality downgrade of a franchise, not like. about an indie author publishing a fan book lmao

'i'll read it anyways haters gonna hate' crowd likely largely funding richard's mediocrity is sad.

I think part of it may have to do with a.) a lack of distinction in recent fandom culture between "Fandom" and "Audience" (alongside other recent fandom culture attitudes as well) and b.) so much of Rick's brand is built up exactly on parasocial behavior that a lot of fans get caught up in it. [under cut cause this got long:]

Re: The first, more recent fandom culture tends to treat "Fandom" and "General audience" as wholly equivocal. Because of this, the concepts tend to bleed into each other in a way we haven't quite seen before fandom became mainstream, and as a result we get a kind of Worst Of Both Worlds situation - a bunch of very passionate fans who have no community, create little to no fanworks themselves (only consume), and only engage at a surface level with the source material. Their only "fandom" community hub is the source material and official social media and they don't have a concept of how to exist outside it, unlike folks who are more used to older fandom culture and are self-sufficient. They have the passion and identity of classic fandom, but none of the depth, and so threats to the source material feel like threats to their community as a whole. They also just don't seem to understand that different subsections of the deeper fandom community are engaging with the material on an entirely different level, or they don't understand why they're doing that. They see no need to because they're never actually engaging with the community or source material beyond a surface level. Functionally they don't have a community. And mainstream media is actively encouraging this because it's profitable for them - they're reaping all of the rewards of fandom, minus the fact that because of the lack of actually community and support structures the entire "fandom" will only have a shelf life the same length of the source material. But at the same time this means they don't have to worry about quality or etc, because this extremely passionate side of their audience will just take anything thrown at them and it'll phase out almost immediately. It doesn't need to be good, it just needs to elicit some kind of reaction on social media. Any publicity is good publicity type stuff.

This lack of true community plus the parasocial emphasis the RR company has tends to make these types of fans double-down. Rick and co. are explicitly advertised as being both part of the "community" and integral to it. And when they've built Rick (and co) up as this moral paragon critical to both part of their identity they're very passionate about and what little of a community they have, any attack on him feels like an attack on themself. Particularly when so much of the publicity and marketing surrounding Rick right now is about his alleged activism when a lot of the criticism about him and the series is actively calling that into question with his unaddressed internalized bigotries. Acknowledging that what Rick is saying and promoting himself as versus his writing and actions don't always line up and pointing out the bigotry present in his work forces people to acknowledge and think about performative activism, which can make a lot of people very uncomfortable! It's forcing them to acknowledge "Oh, even if I'm saying all the right words and calling myself an ally, I am not immune to being bigoted if I don't address my internalized biases. My actual behavior matters." and that especially can feel like a personal attack. Especially in today's western landscape of media consumption being viewed as a moral act in itself.

I suspect this is why a lot of the retaliation against criticism of Rick and the franchise right now is "Why can't you just have FUN? You're just trying to hate for views. Don't take it so seriously! It's not that deep!" - they not only have no interest in engaging deeper in the material, but don't understand why others would, and doing so jeopardizes the foundations of what they consider the fandom. They can't fathom anybody legitimately having these criticisms (particularly not anybody who would ACTUALLY consider themself a "fan" - because their perception of "fan" is themself) because they're so resistant to digging deeper into the media/source material or the concept that anyone would for any legitimate reason (because as long as they keep it as "it's not that deep!!! it's just fun! just enjoy it you wet blanket!!!!" and take things at their word, they can feel secure in that performative aspect and not have to unpack it), and acknowledging that those criticisms exist and are valid means they have to acknowledge the franchise is flawed and imperfect, so they presume the claims are entirely superficial and the individual has ulterior motives rather than, yknow, doing what fandom does: diving deeper.

[edenfenixblogs]

I recently received the following message from a (former?) friend of mine:

okay I am being so genuine right now: since you seem to have educated yourself on what is bothering jewish people about the pro-palestine movement, /what/ is it. I genuinely cannot see and have not interacted with any pro-palestine activists that have actively advocated for the murder of jewish people. I have seen Israelis who have justified the breaking of the truce to bomb Palestinians returning to north gaza. Note I said Israelis and not Jews.

I responded by essentially saying that there's a lot there and I'll need some time to compile and articulate.

I mention this in order to ask if you (or any of your followers/any Jewish tumblr users reading this) have anything specific you'd like to point me toward (search keywords/starting points, links, thoughts, interpret however) that's not already on the list of what i'm planning to discuss (included after this paragraph), anything you specifically want me to read, suggestions of where to place emphasis, or any stories or thoughts you'd like me to pass on to him directly.

current tentative list i'm planning on going over with him, in no particular order:

clarification of scope of conversation (specific to non-jewish western left rather than on the ground or from affected groups)

dual loyalty accusations and harrassment of random jews that have nothing to do with medinat israel

taking discussion of antisemitism in bad faith by default

opportunistic use of the issue by more active antisemites, broad failure to to recognize when that's occuring

uncritical sharing of dogwhistles, conspiratorial thinking

outsiders and newcomers attempting to speak on the matter with authority we don't have

neglect of fact-checking and widespread mis- and disinformation

tokenization of antizionist jews and "jews" - jvp in particular i need to look into more

glorification of hamas and disregard for israeli civilians

misuse, misunderstanding, and demonization of zionism

application of western frameworks of colonization when not applicable

binary good guys/bad guys framing, contrarianism, taking "sides"

might talk about bds e.g. the whole boston map thing but not yet confident on this one, need to do a lot more digging

denial of jewish history - focus on denial of eretz israel as the jewish homeland, holocaust inversion, treating absolutely anything but especially those as trivial or "so long ago"

treating or discussing jews and/or israelis as monolithic

double standards and singling out of israel, holding it as inherently more suspect or less legitimate than any other state

@faggotry-enjoyer Oh man! This is such a good ask!!!! I was going to wait until after work to answer, but your list is so good and so thorough that it relieves a lot of the work I’d have to do.

Some stuff I linked overlaps with your list but I wanted to provide links to these points when possible.

Another thing that bothers me in particular about the western leftist movements’ approach to pro-Palestine conversations (and more: I am critiquing their approach to supporting Palestine not their support itself):

The absolute inability for Jews anywhere to even discuss provocation from Hamas, the history of bombs coming into Israel out of Palestine, or any other act of aggression from Hamas. Anytime we try to discuss anything even remotely nuanced or historical we are told “there’s no excuse for genocide” or “I guess you just love killing Palestinian babies” when that’s not what we are saying at all. Or, more often, the assumption that we are flat out lying about Hamas’ tactics and use of human shields and Palestinian civilian suppression and their view of the disposability of Palestinian lives.

The blanket condemnation of Zionism without understanding that it is a complex philosophy with several movements and differing goals.

The complete lack of media literacy.

The specific dismissal of From the River to the Sea as a term stolen from a Palestinian civilians who desire to express hope in a fully free and equal future but people who use it explicitly to call for the death of Jews. And the weaponization of the phrase to make it a death threat to any Jew who points this out.

The lack of specificity in terms line “Free Palestine.” Yes, Palestinians deserve full and equal freedoms and representation in government. This is a wonderful thing that I support with my whole heart. But that doesn’t change the fact that many bad actors and antisemites are hiding within the Free Palestine movement who are specifically manipulating the phrase to imply free Palestine FROM JEWS—both in terms of their presence in the levant at all (which would entail yet another anti-Jewish ethnic cleansing) or simply the murder of the 7 million Jews who exist in Israel. So asking a Jew why they won’t shout “free Palestine!” At the top of their lungs is taken as a sign that western Jews don’t want Palestinian freedom. When actually it’s a refusal to call for their own deaths.

The assumption that western protest tactics are inherently useful in this conflict and the refusal to look to interfaith and intercultural organizations on the ground in I/P who have been doing this longer, better, and more effectively than western groups.

The focus of western efforts on naming one side a victor in this conflict rather than peace for all.

Not understanding how few Jews there are in the world. And relatedly, the dismissal of the fact that the destruction of the modern state of Israel with no solid plan for a shared Palestinian/Israeli solution would mean the loss of sovereignty for half the global Jewish population, which would indeed affect Jews worldwide.

Dismissal of Israeli leftist efforts to oust the Likud and Netanyahu, because it doesn’t fit the narrative of all Israeli Jews being evil.

The sharing of graphic content of 10/7 attacks, dead and injured Palestinian and Israeli children, and calling any victims martyrs without appropriate trigger warning and as a political tactic.

Mocking Jews (yes, even celebrities) who express feeling fearful for their personal safety as antisemitism rises worldwide.

The expulsion of Jews from their non-Jewish communities and friend groups.

Not understanding the magnitude of the Jewish diaspora and its affect on Jewish culture and voice during this conflict.

Other friends and Allies please add on with your own experiences and concerns!

[brave-and-gentle]

The Patient

MDNI!!!!

Summary: As a dental hygienist for six years, nothing throws off Jean Kirstein. Until he meets you, his newest patient.

Pairings: afab reader x Jean

Warnings: lots of teasing, SMUT, oral of course because it's dentistry

Word count: ~8,000 (I uh, got carried away with this one)

Author's note: To my sister wife, @babypaloma, plz enjoy this time with our husband!! Also you should all know this is my first time writing true smut, plz be nice to me.

As a dental hygienist for six years, nothing throws off Jean Kirstein. He works at a small clinic in western Mitras, mostly patients under the age of 50 who live and work in the city. Though it's fairly relaxed, Jean has seen it all – one time, a seed stuck in a patient's retainer grew into a sprout. He's also seen rotting flesh inside a patient's mouth. Thankfully, those are rare cases.

But Jean is never phased by the unhinged things he's witnessed in people's mouths. He got into the profession simply because he likes helping people – he spends more time with the patients than the actual dentist. And he finds the science fascinating.

Jean has never been phased until he sees you.

You're flustered when you burst through the doors of the clinic. He notes how flushed pink your cheeks are and how wild your hair is from the wind. Outside, a fall storm rages. Bright orange, red and yellow leaves swirl around and slap the rain-soaked window. Though it's mid-morning, the storm has darkened the skies.

Jean hovers behind Sasha, the office manager, to see who his next patient is. Sasha opens the schedule on the computer and the cursor hovers over a woman's name. It's someone he doesn't recognize, and Jean remembers all his patients – so you must be new.

Sasha calls your name and Jean's eyes lock with yours as you dart up to the desk and apologize for being late.

“I didn't expect the storm today,” you say and peel off your soaking wet jacket.

Something unfamiliar jolts through Jean's body head to toe as you reveal a form-fitting shirt underneath your jacket. It's not inherently sexual, not at all, but with the way the rain drips off the ends of your hair onto your shirt – warmth courses through Jean's body and he's not quite sure why.

Your name rolls off Jean's tongue with ease. He's frozen as you lock eyes with him.

“I'm ready for you,” he says with a warm smile.

“Great.” You return his smile with bright eyes.

A shiver runs down Jean's spine. Before he loses his composure, he turns on his heel and leads you down to the exam room.

“After you,” he gestures and can't help but sneak a peak at your ass.

Keep it professional, Jean reminds himself. This certainly isn't the first time he's had an attractive patient. But something about you feels different.

He's about to run through all the routine questions for a new patient, but he notices most of your chart is already filled out – your name, number, address, etc.

“Are you a new patient?” Jean asks, perplexed.

“Ah, yes and no,” you explain. “I went to a clinic under the same system in eastern Mitras, but I just moved, so now I'm here.”

“Gotcha, same system, different clinic.” Jean notes that your emergency contact is a woman's name – Pieck Finger. Either you don't have a serious significant other – or you're not interested in men at all. There's no relationship listed, but he can add one.

“And what's Pieck's relationship to you?” Jean clears his throat.“Friend, roommate, partner?”

“Oh – friend and roommate,” you answer from the exam chair. Jean nods and adds that note into your chart. Of course, it's still a possibility that you're dating someone, but he's not exactly sure how to ask. Or if he should. No, Jean knows he shouldn't. It's not professional. Dr. Levi Ackerman would throttle him.

“And what brought you to the western side?” He asks and pulls up your dental records.

“Pieck and I just wanted to explore a different part of the city,” you answer and shrug.

“Yeah? How you like it here so far?” Jean mindlessly scrolls through your records. He's skimming them, stalling for time to chat with you, to learn more about you beyond what's in your chart.

“Love it,” you emphasize. “The eastern side was a bit too corporate for me. I like all the small shops around here.”

Jean swivels in his chair to turn to you. “So you don't miss the east side at all? Nothing tying you there?” This is about as close as he can get to asking you if you have a boyfriend without making it inappropriate.

“Nope.” You make direct eye contact with Jean. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes sends ripples up and down his body. “That's the great part about moving to a new place. I'm open and available for anything.” Heat rises to Jean's face. He didn't expect you to answer so confidently. He puts on his face mask on to cover up his blushing face. Well, that answers that, he thinks.

“Oh by the way,” Jean says as he realizes there was something in your chart worth noting. He turns back to the computer screen to double check. “Just a heads up that next time you come in, we'll have to do updated x-rays.”

“Ugh.”

Jean chuckles. “Sensitive gag reflex?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes the implications of what he asked. He didn't mean it like that though. Plenty of patients struggle with sensitive gag reflex, so it's not something he's thought of as inherently sexual. But with you on his exam chair? It's a totally different connotation.

“Oh, very,” you drawl. Jean's eyes practically pop out of his skull. He's relieved that he's looking at the computer screen and not you. Not while he's wondering exactly how sensitive your gag reflex is, especially if -

No, no, NO, Jean reprimands himself. He clears his throat again.

“Alright then.” He's not sure how to segue out of that. He pulls on a new pair of gloves and gets to work.

It's no exaggeration for Jean to say you have the prettiest mouth he's ever seen. He's glad that he has several years of dental cleaning experience and can turn his brain on autopilot. If he were less experienced, he might get distracted. Since you're unable to talk, Jean loses himself in his work, moving from one tooth to the next to remove plaque. There's not much too of it – he can tell you keep up with your regular cleanings.

After a couple minutes, Jean wipes the scaler off and returns to your mouth, which you've closed. Obedient, you open your mouth as Jean moves closer to you – and you lick a gloved finger tip. He freezes.

Did that really just happen?

No, that had to be an accident.

But you're making direct eye contact with him again, as if presenting a challenge.

Jean clears his throat, again, and tries to ignore the faint pulsing in between his legs.

Get your shit together, Kirstein, he berates himself.

He continues his work, but Jean's finger tip is still warm where you licked him. After a few more minutes, he's finished with the plaque removal.

“Nice,” he says and switches to the polisher. “I can tell you're pretty good about coming in for appointments.”

“I am a pretty good girl about that,” you answer in a low voice.

Jean gulps.

He turns to you and rolls his chair closer to yours.

“Um – ready?” He holds the polisher in one hand.

“Ready.” You lick your lips and open your mouth.

The faint pulsing in between Jean's legs throbs as he imagines what your mouth would look like wrapped around his dick.

His mental filter is destroyed.

Jean is a goner.

He forces himself to focus on polishing your teeth, even though his eyes are pulling him to sneak a peak at your cleavage. What he wouldn't give to rip his gloves off and trace your body while you lie on the exam chair.

Jean is grateful that you can't possibly see the raging boner under his long, white coat.

After he's done polishing your teeth, Jean gives you a swig of water and places the suction in your mouth to finish up. You hold on to the suction as it cleans out the water in your mouth.

Jean's hand trembles as he holds it inside your mouth. You hold onto it for far longer than necessary.

“Mmmm,” you hum and gaze at Jean with lazy eyes.

His heart pounds.

He wants to make you hum like that again.

With his fingers, his tongue, his cock, anything.

“Alright, how we doin'???” Dr. Hange Zoe bursts in to greet you two.

You open your mouth and Jean quickly removes the suction.

“Good,” you both answer at the same time.

“Can I take a look?” Dr. Zoe plops onto the other chair and rolls toward you. Jean tears himself away and busies himself with going over your chart on the computer again. “Any issues, Jean?”

“Nope, she's perfect,” he answers. And he means it. He's not quite sure what it is pulling him toward you – your bold attitude, your confidence, your sparkling eyes, and most obviously, your plush lips. Jean folds his hands in his lap, silently begging Dr. Zoe to stay focused on you and not his still present boner.

“Wow, you've got a great set of teeth!” They exclaim. “No risk of cavities anywhere. I'm not worried about anything. We really don't see mouths like this every day, do we Jean?”

“Um, uh – no, we don't,” Jean stutters. He stares at your phone number in your chart. It would be all too easy to write it down while Dr. Zoe was examining you.

But he couldn't – he shouldn't – cross that line. No, he's not some perv.

“I think we're all good here,” Dr. Zoe says and removes their gloves. “Jean boy, why don't you schedule our fine patient's next appointment?” They run off to see the next patient before waiting for a response. Jean pulls up the schedule and clicks through to the spring.

“It'll be the usual six months out,” he explains. “How's Friday morning again?”

“Sounds like a date. Though I was hoping for sooner than six months.”

Jean's mouth goes dry.

“Yeah, standard procedure, it's too bad. . .” he trails off and sneaks a peak at you behind his shoulder. You're sitting up now and grinning like a devil. “Anyways, I'll walk you out?” Thankfully, his boner has mostly dissipated. Mostly. He folds his hand in front of his crotch just in case. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“I haven't made too many friends on this side of town yet. The weekend might be a good opportunity though. Actually - I'll be at the bar down the street Saturday night.”

“Oh really?” Jean's voice squeaks ever so slightly. He knows exactly what bar you're talking about. After shifts, he and Sasha sometimes stop there and meet up with a few of their other friends.

“Uh huh,” you nod slowly and grab your still damp jacket from the rack. Jean towers over you as you slowly zip it up. “I guess I'll see you in six months – or maybe sooner.” You wink as you dash out the door before Jean has a chance to say goodbye.

Like a zombie, he walks back behind the desk over to Sasha.

“Um, how much time before my next patient?” He asks and leans over to see the schedule on her computer.

Sasha whirls around. “I have a more important question who was that? She sounded like she was begging you to go out with her!” Her amber eyes beg Jean for more information.

“What now?” A deadpan voice forces Jean to stand up pin straight.

“Nothing, sir!” Though Dr. Levi Ackerman was nearly a foot shorter than Jean, he never ceased to scare the shit out of him. Dr. Ackerman gives Jean the side eye. “I heard something about flirting? I swear to god Kirstein-”

“It was nothing sir, I swear!” Jean tries to explain, terrified that his professional behavior is being questioned, or worse, that Dr. Ackerman will reassign you to another dental hygienist.

“Tch.” Dr. Ackerman stalks off, temporarily satisfied.

Relieved, Jean collapses in the chair next to Sasha.

“Your next appointment is in about 15 minutes – Floch, do you remember him?”

Jean wracks his brain. “Ah yeah, serial cavity offender. Can't wait,” he grumbles.

He wishes all his patients looked like you.

~ ~ ~

You and your best friend Pieck cackle on the floor of your living room together. You clutch your stomach, aching from laughter.

“I can't believe I did that,” you gasp out and wipe tears of laughter from your eyes. As soon as you came home from the dentist, you told Pieck everything. You're not usually that bold, but relative anonymity empowered you.

“Way to start out our move with a bang,” Pieck laughs. “Although, not quite,” she gives a wry smile. “What did he look like? Tell me more!”

“Ugh,” you groan and roll onto your stomach. “Sexy as hell. Tall, really tall. Ashy brown hair – kinda shaggy, but it works for him. Hazel eyes. He seemed pretty fit too.”

“Sounds like you got a pretty good look. I still can't believe you did that,” Pieck shakes her head, her dark waves flying all over. “You're going to get banned for sexual harassment!” She teases.

“And I'd do it again,” you giggle and shrug.

You mean it – mostly. It might make for an awkward appointment in the spring, but with the way Jean flushed every time you teased him, you couldn't help but egg him on.

“Do you think he'll actually show up tomorrow night?” Pieck asks more seriously.

“I dunno.” You place your hand on your chin. “But I think it's worth going regardless.”

You and Pieck pick a seat at the bar that gives you two a perfect view of the front doors. You sit on margaritas all night, but the tall dental hygienist you're looking for never shows. You admit you're a little disappointed. With how flustered Jean was, you thought he might return your interest, but perhaps not. Or maybe he was seeing someone else. Guilt sinks into you as you wonder if pushed the poor guy too far. You shake it off and chat with Pieck about all the new places in your neighborhood you want to try.

The next six months pass by in a blur. You start your new job, which is boring, quite honestly, but it pays the bills. You and Pieck make new friends through various activities like a book club, yoga classes, and the community garden. You go on a few dates here and there, but nothing really sticks. They're a fun time, but thoughts about a certain tall dental hygienist come back like a boomerang.

You search the clinic website to try and find Jean's last name, but they only have the doctors listed. You've never been much into dating apps, but you download them all in hopes that you find him. You don't. So he's either taken or not into dating apps.

Admittedly, Jean begins to fade into memory as the days grow colder.

Then when spring hits, you remember.

You're practically skipping as you walk to your dentist appointment. The spring sun warms you from head to toe. You breath in the fresh scent of blooming cherry blossoms. You hope you didn't scare Jean away and that he's still your dental hygienist.

The same woman with long, brown hair and eager amber eyes greets you. Her name tag reads Sasha. You plop down on the white couches and aimlessly scroll through your phone.

A familiar voice calls your name.

You jerk your head up.

Jean stands in front of you with a wry smile on his face. “I'm ready for you.”

“Oh, uh, perfect,” you stutter and stand up. You follow him to the exam room.

He's even taller than you remembered. And more rugged – this time he's sporting a bit of scruff.

“After you,” he says and gestures to the exam chair. You sit down and turn sideways to watch him bring up your chart on the computer. You confirm that you have the same number, address, emergency contact, all the basic information.

“Any regular coffee or soda intake?” Jean asks.

“Occasional coffee,” you answer and swing your legs back forth. You twirl the ends of your hair. “I have an. . . addictive personality.”

“Oh yeah?” Jean turns to meet you with his earthy hazel eyes. He smirks and tilts his head. “What's your flavor?”

“Mostly bitter,” you blurt. “With a splash of milk.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” Jean says, holding eye contact. “Anyways.” He gets up and pulls out a strange looking machine. “We need to do updated x-rays today since your chart says it's been a few years.”

“Great,” you mutter. Last time you had to do these at the other clinic, you practically choked on everything the dental hygienist shoved in your mouth.

“Don't worry, I'll be gentle,” Jean purrs. “I remember you said you had a . . . sensitive gag reflex.”

You gulp as you turn yourself to sit the correct way in the exam chair. It's your turn to be flustered now.

Jean turns to you and holds a long, plastic device with his careful, gloved hands.

“Open up,” he whispers. “Nice and wide.”

You obey. You have no idea what the x-ray equipment is called, all you know is that it looks like some sort of instrument of torture devised for those cursed with small mouths.

“Bite down here,” Jean commands and taps on a red tab. You follow his instructions and fight to keep from gagging as the end of the device pokes the back of your throat. After a few seconds of extreme discomfort, Jean motions for you to open your mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises you as he slowly pulls the contraption out of your mouth. Goosebumps prickle up and down your arms.

Once the x-rays are done, you lie down for the regular cleaning and polishing. Jean runs a glove-covered thumb over your bottom lip as your mouth parts.

“Still looking good,” he murmurs.

You're not sure whether it's good or bad that you can't speak right now. Your soft lips burn under the gentle pressure of Jean's thumb. Your heart pounds with every movement Jean's fingers make in your mouth. It's not the exact actions – they're exactly the same as than any other dentist appointment. It's the sensual intention.

Or is it just your imagination? The urge to experiment rushes through you like a heat wave.

Jean's deft fingers move from tooth to tooth, perfecting them. In the middle of these movements, you find an opportunity to poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue. He pauses, hazel eyes widening. There's no hiding what Jean is thinking. The corners of your mouth tilt up, knowing that lewd thoughts about you are pouring into his mind.

He clears his throat and moves your tongue back with his fingers.

“Behave yourself,” he chastises you.

You want to giggle, but your mouth is full of, well – him.

Jean is finished with the cleaning all too soon. Dr. Zoe bursts in with the same gusto you remember from last time.

“How's our best patient doing?” They ask and bounce up and down on the chair next to you.

“Couldn't be better,” you grin and look past their excited demeanor to Jean. His hazel eyes burn with intensity. This time, he doesn't hide in the computer. Your body tingles knowing that he's undressing you with his eyes. His tongue slips out of his mouth and runs along his bottom lip. You have to break eye contact as Dr. Zoe does their own examination, albeit much quicker and less invasive than Jean's. It takes everything you have to refrain from jumping out of the chair and onto Jean.

“No issues,” Dr. Zoe confirms, almost a carbon copy of last fall. “Except watch the spot right behind your front teeth. It's not anything major, I can just tell that you're missing that spot when brushing. Anyways, I gotta do a root canal – see you in the fall!” They say your name and dash off to another less fortunate patient.

“So our perfect patient is not so perfect?” Jean raises an eyebrow at you as the two of you are alone in the room again.

“I guess not,” you sigh. “Seems I'm missing a spot.”

“I can help you with any spots you need help with,” he says, eyes lingering at your breasts. The sensitive spot between your legs begins to throb at that idea.

You cross your legs and smirk. The boldness you felt at that last appointment has returned. “And how might you help me with that?”

“I know a few ways,” Jean begins, “but it might be best for outside the office. Maybe at a certain bar tomorrow night.”

You pause. Tomorrow is Saturday. The same day of the week you suggested Jean meet you six months ago, and he never showed.

“A Saturday appointment? You must be a hard worker.” You tease. “How can I guarantee you'll be there?” You push, refusing to be let down again.

“I think I know a way.” Jean holds up a business card and drops it on the floor. You frown, not quite understanding. He gets up and leaves the room. “I'll walk you out when you're ready,” he calls.

You get up from the exam chair and grab the card off the floor.

Jean Kirstein.

It lists his title as a dental hygienist, the clinic phone number and his work email – nothing personal or interesting, aside from his last name. You flip the card over.

His cell phone number is scrawled on the back. A smile spreads across your face. He must mean it this time.

You pocket the card and flounce out of the room and walk side-by-side with Jean down the hallway. “I just realized we didn't talk about scheduling your next appointment. Same time, same place?” He asks, mischief dancing in his eyes.

You realize just how tall this man is when you have to crane your next up to look at him as you reach the lobby.

“Works for me. The earlier the better.”

Your heart throbs with anticipation – and nerves. You dash out the door without saying goodbye.

“Shut up.” You hear Jean hiss as you leave, no doubt to the woman who was checking patients in for appointments.

You know you won't have to wait another six months to see Jean Kirstein.

~ ~ ~

You tap your fingers repeatedly on the edge of the bar table in a sort of rhythmic trance. It's Saturday evening and you're waiting to see if your dental hygienist shows up – if Jean Kirstein shows up. You remind yourself to refer to his actual name, not his occupation. A dark-haired man sitting nearby you catches your eyes with his bright green ones. Well, if Jean doesn't show up, at least there's something to look at, you think.

Before arriving at the bar, you agonized over what to wear while Pieck sat on your bed and gave nods of approval for outfits you liked. In the end, you chose a springy dress with a black leather jacket. Cute, but a little edgy.

You've already downed one gin and tonic to calm your nerves. Jean seemed to be pretty damn clear that he'd be here this time. And you have his number to text if he doesn't.

You dig your phone out of your purse, wondering if it's been long enough that you should text. You're just about to type out a message when -

“Hey there.” You look up, expecting warm, hazel eyes, but piercing green ones meet you instead. The man who's been trying to catch your attention all evening.

“Hi.” A smile spreads across your face. Though you'd rather see Jean, you can't help but smile an another attractive man – you're only human, after all.

“Eren,” the man introduces himself and offers a warm hand. You shake it, noticing the rough calluses. Eren clearly works out. “I couldn't help but notice you're here alone. Can I buy you drink? My time is free.” He offers a sly grin.

You consider Eren's offer for half a second, but a hand with long fingers claps down on his shoulder.

“Actually, she's here with me.”

An even bigger smile bursts across your face. Any notion of entertaining a night with someone else flees from your mind.

Jean is here.

“Sorry for the confusion,” you apologize to Eren, though you're really not that sorry. “Nice to meet you though,” you call out as he turns away, disgruntled.

“And I'm sorry I'm late,” Jean apologizes to you. “I got a bit uh, preoccupied.” He runs his hand through his ash brown hair. He looks different outside of the dental office. Younger and more nervous. More human. He's wearing dark jeans and an olive green button up, though the last couple buttons remain open, giving you an open view of his throat and a glimpse of his chest – which seems to be as well defined as you imagined.

“No worries,” you reassure him and use your straw to shuffle the ice in your mostly empty glass. “I'm glad you showed up this time.”

Jean places his hands on the chair in front of you and leans over slightly. “Yeesh, I'm not off to a great start, am I?” He asks, another apology written on his face. “I chickened out last time, if I'm being honest. I was nervous about,” he pauses to think, “professional boundaries.”

“I didn't get you in trouble, did I?” You tease.

“Nah,” he waves and laughs, giving you a full view of his teeth. Of course the guy who works at a dental office has perfect teeth. You wonder what they might feel like on your skin. Heat flushes your face. “Anyways – what are you drinking?” He points to your empty glass.

“Gin and tonic.” You raise your glass. Jean takes it and stalks off to the bar.

You shift to cross your legs and can't help but smile as Jean orders drinks for you two. You've never been this bold before, so you certainly didn't imagine the dental appointment encounter would turn in to anything – but here you are. And here is Jean, returning to your table with another gin and tonic for you and one for him.

“I think you had a good idea,” he says, sitting down and placing the drinks on your table. “Spring is the best time for gin.” He takes a sip and holds eye contact with you. You haven't even made physical contact tonight, but those earthy hazel eyes threaten to shatter every part of your being.

You nod in agreement and mirror Jean, taking a sip of your drink. “So, back to the professional boundaries,” you begin. “Leaving your number on the card was clever.”

Jean chuckles. “I was mulling over that one for days. I knew your appointment was coming up and I didn't want to mess it up this time.”

“And you couldn't take my number from my chart?” You smirk and play with your straw with your tongue. Jean is captivated by your swirling tongue.

“Definitely would've been a privacy violation. Dr. Ackerman would've had my ass if he ever found out. But nobody can fault me for dropping a business card that just happened to have my cell number on it.” He shrugs in mock innocence.

“That makes sense,” you nod, taking on a slightly more serious tone as you find yourself wondering more about Jean's life. “Which one is Dr. Ackerman?”

“Small guy with dark hair. Usually looks like someone just shoved something up his ass,” Jean laughs. You recall passing this doctor in the hallway – and his photo on the dental clinic website. “It's a wonder Dr. Zoe saw something in him.”

“Wait.” You tilt your head. “Dr. Zoe and Dr. Ackerman are together?” You're a bit bewildered by this, given Dr. Zoe's erratic nature and Dr. Ackerman's stoicism.

“Yep,” Jean answers and takes a swig of his drink. “Most people wouldn't know by the way they act. But yeah, they met in grad school and started this clinic together.”

“And how'd you end up at the clinic?” You're not usually one to chat about jobs – to you, they're fairly meaningless, but considering it's a major part of how you met Jean, you want to know more.

“Mmm, I always found human biology interesting. I thought it would be fun to specialize in something, so I shadowed Dr. Zoe for a few weeks on summer and they never let me go. They're also a part-time professor at the university I went to, so it was an easy in. They tried to convince me to continue schooling to be a dentist, but I prefer spending time with patients, which you ironically don't get to do as much when you're a doctor. And, to be honest, I didn't want to go to grad school any longer than I had to.”

“Amen to that.” You lift your drink up and you clink your glasses together. You had briefly considered grad school, but the though of dropping another few thousand dollars didn't sit right with you.

You ask Jean a few more questions and learn that he lives with two of his best friends from college, Connie Springer and Marco Bodt. Jean is an only child and frequently visits his parents in Trost. He played basketball and ran track when he was in high school, but gave up sports in college in favor of his studies – and an art club.

“An art club? For real?” You ask.

Jean chuckles. “You'd think science and art don't mix well, but I think they go hand-in-hand. I think there's something beautiful about human biology, so I used that for inspiration for a lot of my sketches.” He pauses and stares at you with a wistful gaze. “Anyways. What about you? What more should I know about you besides your perfect mouth?” Jean gives you a crooked smirk.

It's like a live wire flashes through you. It's strange, this combination of genuinely getting to know you – and suggestive flirting. This isn't exactly one-night stand behavior. You aren't sure what to expect, but you can't deny the magnetic pull toward Jean's mind and body.

You tell Jean about how you grew up in smaller town in the southern part of the region, but had always craved something bigger. You went to college in Jinae, a step up, but it still wasn't quite what you were looking for.

Jean perks up at this. “Jinae? Really? My roommate Marco grew up there. Any chance you know him?”

You shake your head. “Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. It's a big area.”

“Figured it was worth asking.” Jean places his chin on his hand. “So why didn't you stay in Jinae?”

“I, um,” you bite your bottom lip, wondering why you're about to confess this to a near stranger. And yet, there's a warmth and genuine curiosity about Jean that encourages you to open up. “I didn't have the easiest time making friends.” Jean tilts his head at you, silently asking for further explanation. “I had friends in classes and clubs, sure, but I rarely got an invite to hang out after class or on weekends.” Weekends were the bane of your existence in college. You had often wondered if you should transfer, but weren't willing to fill out the mountain of required paperwork. Your face burns, wondering what Jean thinks of your difficult time in college.

“So how'd you meet Pieck?” Jean picks up on your nerves and deftly moves the conversation forward. “It sounds like you two are pretty close.” Jean slurps down the last of his drink.

You explain that out of sheer boredom on weekends, during your senior year you signed up to volunteer to help maintain one of the campus wildflower gardens. Pieck was there too, and you two have been inseparable ever since. When she asked what your plans were after graduation, if you'd consider moving to the big city with her, and you jumped at the opportunity.

“Pieck is a spit fire,” you laugh and swirl your straw in your once again empty glass. “She keeps me alive.” You're not sure if it's the alcohol or Jean's gaze that warms you from head to toe.

“Sounds like someone else I know.” Jean winks. Under the table, his foot nudges yours and moves up and down, tracing the outline of your calf. Your insides shiver. “I'm done if you are,” Jean says as he shakes his glass, the ice chiming like a spring melody. “Want to get out of here and sober up a bit?”

“Definitely.”

~ ~ ~

Jean holds your hand and leads you down a winding stone path that connects to another right by the river. The two of you meander along the river and make idle chat. As a seasoned veteran of western Mitras, Jean gives you a fair amount of suggestions of places that you and Pieck can check out – coffee shops, bookstores, theaters, wine bars, etc.

“Oh, this is the best part,” he interrupts himself and pulls you across a bridge that matches the stone walkway. With his long legs, you have to half jog to keep up with Jean. He stops in the middle and leans back against the stone. You mirror him and take in the view of the city lights. It's like dancing fireflies in the night.

“This view is spectacular,” you breath.

“Yes, it is.”

You look up at Jean, but he's not looking at the city skyline. He's looking right at you. A sharp, spring wind cuts into you like a knife. You shiver and automatically lean in closer to Jean's body heat. You're close enough to smell his cologne – sandalwood?

Jean cups your face with his hand, and leans down to you. Your heart beat thunders as he draws closer and closer. He stops just inches away from your lips. You can see every shade of his earthy hazel eyes. Jean raises an eyebrow – a nonverbal question.

You smile and nod, closing your eyes.

Jean closes the gap.

The first kiss is soft, tentative.

Jean's other hand wanders to the back of your head, twisting his fingers in your hair. His grip is firm, yet gentle.

You place your hands on each of his arms, craving to touch his firm biceps without the jacket in the way.

Jean's tongue flicks to your lips, asking another nonverbal question.

You open your mouth, and his sweet and sour taste floods your senses. Your kisses grow hungrier. You're both desperate for more. Your hands wander up and down Jean's chest, begging to touch more, as are his, as he slips a warm hand under your dress, tracing your thighs while the other hand holds your hip.

Jean breaks away for a half second. “You taste as good as I imagined,” he murmurs and returns to your lips for more. “Better, actually,” he adds in between desperate kisses.

You pull away, head spinning.

You know exactly what you want, and given the look in Jean's eyes, you know what he wants too.

“Pieck is home tonight,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. “Your place?”

Jean grimaces. “Marco and Connie have a few friends over.”

“Ah.” You slide your hands off Jean and look at the stone bridge beneath you. So much for ending with a bang – like Pieck said.

“Unless?” Jean raises an eyebrow and a mischievous look takes over his face.

~ ~ ~

“This is insane,” you giggle. Jean holds one of your hands while the other digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to the dental clinic. “Won't someone be able to see that you've used your key fob?”

“Nah,” Jean says and pulls you through the door with him. “Sasha's the only one can see it – and she never does. I could always ask her to erase the history from the security system if I really need.”

The clinic is completely dark, except for a few security lights. The only sounds are your nervous giggles and Jean's breath. “This looks completely different now.”

“You're about to get a whole new perspective,” Jean grins. “C'mon.” He leans down and grabs you by the waist to throw you over his shoulder. You shriek and laugh, both from surprise and that Jean is strong enough to throw you over his shoulder like you're a sack of flour.

Jean walks all the way down the hallway and opens the door to the last exam room. The one you two were in yesterday.

“I'm ready for you,” he whispers and turns the dimmed lights on while still holding on to you with one hand.

Jean lays you down on the exam chair. You take your leather jacket off and lie down on your back.

This is indeed an entirely different perspective.

Jean crawls on top of you and kisses you with intensity, your tongues hungry, searching for more. You run your hands through his ash brown hair that he probably spent hours getting just right. Jean's hand creeps up under your dress again, this time wandering all the way up to your rib cage. His thumb strokes just along your bra line. Jean wiggles his hand under your bra and squeezes your breast. He runs his thumb back and forth over your nipple. You give a small shudder. You only breath when Jean takes a short kissing break to nip at your bottom lip. He's pinned your legs together with his knees, forceful enough to make you shiver, gentle enough to let you know you can stop any time.

But you don't want to stop.

You want more of Jean.

You break away and trace the outline of his face with your finger, his scruff gently scratching back at you.

“There's something I want,” you whisper. You close your mouth and poke your tongue on the inside of your cheek, mirroring your actions from a previous appointment. Jean smirks in both surprise and wonder.

“You sure?” He asks as he undoes his belt buckle.

“Mmhmm.”

Jean unzips his pants and they fall to the ground, belt buckle clanging against the hard floor. His boxers fall to his knees.

“Open wide then, pretty baby.”

Jean grips the head piece of the exam chair and surges forward.

Enormous is the only way to describe the most intimate part of his body. Your eyes widen, unsure if he can fit in your mouth. No, there's no way.

But you're sure as hell going to try.

You stroke his dick up and down with tantalizing fingers. Jean groans, begging for more.

You lean forward slightly and lick the precum leaking from his tip. You run your tongue up and down his shaft. Jean twitches and moans louder in response.

“Be a good girl and take me,” he gasps.

You're more than happy to accept Jean's challenge.

You take in as much of Jean's dick as you can, sucking and salivating. Jean's groans turn guttural. His arms on either side of you shake and bulge.

You repeat the motions and use one hand to stroke the very last of him that you can't quite fit in your mouth. The bundle of nerves in between your legs flushes, wondering what Jean will feel like there.

“Hey. . .” Jean trails off in between moans, “I think I'm gonna-”

With Jean's warning, you lurch forward in attempt to swallow as much of him as you can.

Except when his tip nudges the back of your throat, your throat heaves. Your stomach jerks up to your throat. You involuntarily push Jean away and out of your mouth.

You turn your head away, mouth now empty, and cough up the saliva caught in your throat.

“Shit, you okay?” Jean lowers himself to make eye contact with you, his eyes frantic.

“I'm fine,” you sputter and wipe your mouth. His face softens.

“So you do have a sensitive gag reflex?”

“I told you!” You and Jean burst out laughing together at the ridiculous scene – the two of you tangled up together, breathless on a dental exam chair. “So you didn't. . .?”

“Not yet,” Jean winks. “You know, there's something I'd like as well.” He tugs at the hem of your dress. You lift up your arms up for Jean to take your dress off with ease. He tosses it to the ground.

Jean leans in for a few kisses, then trails his lips down your neck, your collarbone, and finally, to your breasts. Goosebumps prickling on your skin follow Jean's lips. He pauses at your breasts and savors them – taking one in his mouth and giving you a little nip.

A soft groan escapes your lips.

Jean looks up at you for a second, smirks and then bites a little harder as he marks your chest. He flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue before continuing his descent.

Jean kisses your stomach all the way down to your hips, where he bites down. You squirm and gasp – a blur between ticklish and pleasure.

He continues his path of kisses, down, down, down. You barely register that Jean slips off your panties. He parts your thighs and places them on top of his shoulders, granting himself a full view of the most intimate part of your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispers before he peppers your inner thighs with kisses. A spark ignites in between your legs. Jean teases your slit with his tongue, running up and down. Your entire body is a single flame, begging for more kindling.

“Jean, please,” you beg as you run your hands through his hair.

“Please what?” He pauses his teasing to grin up at you.

“Please. . .” you trail off and sigh as Jean resumes his teasing. “Play with my clit,” you gasp.

“C'mon now, darlin',” he purrs. “Be a good girl and wait for me.”

Jean parts your lips with his fingers and pushes his tongue inside you and trails up to your clit – but only with feather light pressure.

You whimper, craving more. You squirm and buck your hips, physically begging Jean. He grabs your hips, restraining you. You begin to drip.

He finally obliges.

Jean swirls his tongue around your bundle of nerves.

You release a high-pitched gasp and dig your nails into his arms.

Your body blazes into a roaring fire.

Jean is relentless in his efforts to make you cum, and you're both soon rewarded.

“J – Jean, I – I – I -” you gasp.

You can't get a thought, let alone a sentence, out before you climax.

Your body explodes into a wildfire. Several waves of tension and relaxation roll through you. Jean grips harder onto your hips and digs deeper with his tongue, keeping you going as long as he can.

As the last wave of pleasure collapses over you, you arms spill off the sides of the exam chair. Every muscle, every cell in your body has melted from your wildfire. Sparks ripple through your fingertips and toes.

“Wow,” you breath, unable to string together a coherent thought.

“Ready for more?” Jean grins and places his dick right at your entrance, rubbing up and down your slit, wetting his tip from you.

You jerk up and prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Ah, wait, do you have-”

“Got it,” Jean answers and dives down to his pants to grab an unwrapped condom from his pocket.

“You came prepared,” you huff, still unable to return to your normal voice.

“Always am,” he gives you a sly smirk. “Uh, although,” he pauses, giving his statement a second thought. “Not that I always do this. You're the only person I've ever brought here,” he stammers, his earthy hazel eyes widening.

“Good.” You find Jean's back and forth bravado and awkward nerves endearing. You take the half-opened condom from him. You rip it all the way open and hand it back to him.

“I'm patiently waiting for you. Get it, because I'm also your patient?” You chuckle at your own bad joke and lie back down on the table, legs open.

“Yes, I get it,” Jean rolls his eyes and returns your smile as he rolls the condom on. “Are you ready for me?” He whispers, hovering over you, and kisses the shell of your ear.

“Ready.”

He nudges his tip at your entrance. Your lips part and stretch, making way for his length.

“All good?” He whispers. You nod and bite your lower lip in anticipation. “I'll go slow. Let me know if it hurts.”

“Mm'kay,” you breath as he sinks deeper into you. You grimace slightly as your walls adjust to his length. Jean pauses and raises his eyebrows at you. “Keep going,” you command and place your hands on his ass, urging him to melt deeper into you.

Jean obeys, sinking more and more until he's all the way inside you. He pumps slowly, glancing at you every so often to let you control his pace. Jean sighs with every stroke, worshiping your body as his hands wander and praise every inch of you. You release a mewl as his dick reaches your most sensitive spot, making your insides curl with pleasure.

“Right there, hmm?” Jean pumps harder and faster with a new desperation. He lifts your hips at a slight angle, closer to him – Jean can't get enough of you. He dives for your neck, sucking and biting, muffling his rising groans. “Need more,” he growls.

Without warning, he lifts you up off the chair and you curl around him like a koala, as if by second nature. You're slammed against the nearest wall, Jean still holding you by your thighs, and fucks you against the wall. You cling to him and rest your chin on his shoulder. His weight against you forces a breathy moan with every powerful stroke. Jean's dick reaches deep inside you, a spot you didn't even know existed releasing heat throughout your body. You rake your nails up and down his back as he rails into you over and over again.

“Soon,” he pants.

Curious, you lift your chin off Jean's shoulder and find his hazel eyes glazed over, drunk on you. His mouth is parted and a bead of sweat drips down his temple.

You give Jean a crooked smirk, and that pretty smile of yours is what pushes him over the edge.

He releases a moan of purse ecstasy, and chants your name like a prayer. His arms shake, but still hold you firm against the wall. You know he won't drop you until he's completely finished spilling into you.

After several final strokes, Jean carries you back over to the exam chair and collapses back on top of you. He rests his head on your breasts and you rhythmically stroke his ash brown hair.

As you both catch you breath, Jean looks back up at you with a devilish grin.

“So,” he starts and runs his pointer finger along your lips. “When do I get to see that pretty mouth again?”

“Definitely sooner than six months,” you say and nip at his finger.

“Good. I do want to see you again,” Jean confirms. “Outside the office. Very unprofessionally.”

“I think we can arrange another appointment,” you tease. “As long as I'm your star patient.”

“You are certainly the best patient I've ever had.”