#rough lumber projects

[stardustvanfleet]

Keep Silent - Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

SMUT. 18+ ONLY! MDNI!!!

PAIRING: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

WORDS: 7.5k

SUMMARY: It's been raining for days on end, and your boyfriend Jake suggests a romantic trip to the library to help pass the time. Knowing him, however, things don't stay innocent and cozy for long.

WARNINGS: Dom!Jake. Exhibitionist/voyeur kink, fingering, filthy dirty talk with lots of degradation (slut, whore, dirty, desperate...) and praise (pretty girl, good girl, sweet girl, etc). Rough unprotected sex.

A/N: OKAY, WOW.... this fic is a long time coming. I've been working on this one for the last couple of months and I am so unbelievably excited to share it with all of you. First of all, I have to make some shoutouts-- this fic is dedicated to @jakesguitarsolo as a VERY late birthday present, ILY Jess!!! And an EXTREMELY special thanks to my beta reader and actual moon to my sun @sinsofstardust .... so many of my ideas are built alongside your equally dirty mind. I LOVE YOU COURT!! Another special thanks to @sparrowofthedawnsworld for all the encouragement as I slowly wrote out this passion project, ILY Sparrow!!! And thank you all for being so patient and reading my work... this is so incredibly fucking self-indulgent, I can't even begin to express. FIC BEGINS BELOW THE CUT!

It had been raining for over a week.

Not just a drizzle, either— it was day after day of heavy winds and sheets of rain that lashed at the window panes, with any view of the sky repeatedly choked out by lumbering, ominous gray clouds.

It wasn’t that you particularly minded rain, not really, but after days on end of being stuck indoors, the cabin fever was beginning to get to you. The apartment you shared with your boyfriend, Jake, was on the small side, and you’d already had to reschedule numerous date ideas this week that would’ve only been possible had you been able to go outside.

He must’ve noticed how antsy you had been getting, however, and today, he had a new idea— suggesting a trip to the library to pick out some books to read and movies to take home, to help pass the time while you waited for this goddamn endless rain to pass you by.

You had been so grateful for his suggestion, and not just because the weather outdoors had been making things feel a little too much like Groundhog Day. The thought of snuggling up with Jake in a cozy library for a while, reading your books and people-watching, was certainly enough to make the rain feel a little more appealing.

That had been during breakfast, a couple of hours ago. After the both of you had showered and gotten changed into some comfortable clothes worthy of a lazy Sunday but stylish enough to go out in, Jake had driven the two of you to the public library. His playlist of vintage rock was the soundtrack to your leisurely drive through the rain, but despite the unhurried pace and relaxed atmosphere, he didn’t waste any time before his flirtatious touches began– his left hand on the wheel, the right settling to rest on your upper thigh.

The touch could’ve perhaps been interpreted as innocent, but Jake clearly had other plans for the physical contact. He gently flexed his fingers, squeezing your thigh just enough for you to notice, smiling to himself at your tiny, sharp intake of breath… but never once taking his eyes off the road. All of a sudden, your heartbeat was skyrocketing. What a fucking tease.

He didn’t escalate things any further, but the feeling of his touch was nevertheless electric. As always, once he got your heart racing, it was near impossible for you to get your pulse to slow— just one example out of so many that revealed the effect he had on you. Once he got your mind in the gutter, his presence alone became something that could make you squirm. With a rush of heat to your lower stomach, you wondered if that had been his plan all along.

Your heart and mind were still going a mile a minute even a quarter of an hour later, when the two of you walked into the library hand-in-hand, heading towards the display of new fiction. As you two browsed through the titles, you found yourself taking numerous glances over at him, feeling unable to help it. He was wearing one of his softest shirts, buttoned just barely higher than usual, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, flipping through a dystopian novel with interest in his expression. His hair looked so soft… you loved those two silver necklaces dangling enticingly from his neck… and you were still close enough to take in the scent of his cologne.

While your eyes were on him, his gaze flashed up from the page, a knowing smirk forming on his face upon catching you staring. Your face immediately flushed with heat, realizing how lost in thought you had become, as you offered a bashful smile and a little shrug… to which he winked in response, which really didn’t do much in the way of helping you collect yourself. Very much the opposite, actually.

Blushing, you glanced back at the book you were holding, trying to focus your energy on reading the summary and reviews on the back cover— but god, you were horribly distracted, by both your thoughts and Jake’s awareness of the way he was already making you feel. After a few more minutes of the two of you browsing titles and picking out two each (between numerous glances that felt far too charged to be taking place in public), the two of you finally headed upstairs to find a comfortable couch where you could read and watch the rain in relative privacy… at least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

The first floor had already been relatively quiet, with only a few scattered clusters of people browsing the titles, but the second level was even more so. Looking across the numerous couches and desks nestled between bookshelves, the two of you were essentially free to take your pick of whichever spot you wanted. There seemed to only be a handful of patrons up here, no less than ten people across the entire floor; all of whom seemed to be lost in their own worlds of studying or reading, many of them wearing headphones. Your hand was in Jake’s, your fingers interlaced, and as you attempted to slow your racing heartbeat, you gestured across the room, in the direction of a more secluded corner hidden behind the biographies that you knew well as a favorite reading spot.

Jake’s eyes seemed to be scanning the room, taking in your surroundings, and you tried not to let your already wandering mind take that fact and run with it, knowing how adventurous he liked to be— in every sense of the word. You swallowed hard. Down, girl. Breathe…

To save time, instead of taking the long way around all of nonfiction, you tugged on Jake’s arm, pulling him towards a particular aisle between the shelves, saying quietly to him, “Shortcut.” He chuckled endearingly, looking down at you with that familiar twinkle in his honey-brown eyes and saying at a similarly low volume, “Lead the way, baby… show me all the secret passages.”

It was entirely subconscious that you bit your lip in response, but the way he arched his eyebrow back at you and offered a smirk as a retort made your legs feel like jelly. It was clear he was picking up on what you were feeling— regardless of whether you were communicating it intentionally. And maybe, just maybe… the fact that you couldn’t help your reactions… that was turning him on, too.

As you led him through the aisle, he had shifted so he was behind you— and you just couldn’t help walking with a bit of an extra sway in your hips. You knew where his eyes would always just happen to fall if he was right behind you… and why not take advantage of that? Without turning your head to face Jake just yet, you bit your lip playfully in anticipation before making a point of sticking your ass out towards him now that you were hidden away between the shelves, even shaking it back and forth a bit to ensure you’d catch his attention.

With that, you glanced behind you, unable to resist checking to see if he was looking… and, sure enough, you turned your head just in time to catch those half-lidded eyes of his flashing right back up to meet your gaze from where they had certainly been lingering on how nice your ass looked in those leggings. You gave him a smirk of your own, and he stepped forward just enough so that he could —so quickly you hardly processed it taking place— slip one hand just under the hem of your sweatshirt and t-shirt, letting his fingers rest against your bare skin and causing an immediate shiver to wrack your body. You were both now standing right in the middle of the aisle, but the intoxicating touch of his calloused fingertips against the sensitive skin just above your hip had left you frozen in your tracks, rooted to the spot.

Jake took another step closer to you, which left him pressed up against you from behind— the feeling of his heartbeat and heavy breaths against your back overwhelming enough without the added factor of his desire being made astonishingly clear as he pressed his hips up against your ass. With that simple action, you were both hit with the first delicious shock of friction, and your mouth immediately dropped open as Jake leaned right into your ear, his voice like velvet as he spoke, low and raspy… “You’re such a goddamn tease. Fuck… I love it.”

With Jake’s firm, hot chest right up against your back, and the overwhelming nature of the contact his hips just made with your ass, the fact that the two of you were still standing in the middle of the aisle had become something of an instant afterthought. It didn’t matter. None of it did– your mind had gone entirely blank beyond what you felt against you. Nothing else even existed besides the man who had his body pressed up against yours– and the way his lips were right up against the shell of your ear as he breathed out,

“Do you know how fucking cute you are when you’re all hot and bothered for me?”

An involuntary, high-pitched noise almost resembling a whimper threatened to escape from you– and though you were able to catch yourself before your entirely unintentional desperation ended up being loud enough to draw attention to what was going on, your body was hit with an overwhelming shock wave of arousal when you suddenly felt Jake’s hand clamp directly over your mouth. His body was still flush against yours, the feeling of his increasingly obvious erection against your ass in combination with his filthy words making you lightheaded.

“Careful, my dirty girl… unless you want everyone to know exactly what I’m doing to you…”

As he spoke, Jake’s free hand began to first stroke down your arm, then back up… before flattening his palm out just between your collarbones, making sure his long fingers were spread out wide, the feeling making your breath catch in your throat. He then continued his public exploration of your body by letting that same hand stroke right over both of your breasts, gently groping and squeezing each of them just enough to make you arch your back against him— which prompted Jake to chuckle darkly into your ear, before he began to whisper to you once again.

“What is it, baby? Does it turn you on when I grab your tits like this… right here, where anyone could walk by and see us?”

Jake’s words sent an instant shiver down your spine, the hunger in his tone immediately causing wetness to pool between your thighs— and the chuckle that rumbled from deep in his throat made it clear that the way your body trembled hadn’t only been felt by you.

“I think I’ll take that as a yes,” Jake said lowly, his voice thick, hot, and heavy– and though he was still behind you, you could hear the smirk in his voice. He hadn’t stopped feeling you up, moving from one breast to the other as he squeezed and massaged you, letting his thumbs gently begin to tease at your hard nipples through the fabric of your sweatshirt. Already, the pleasure was so fucking much, and you arched into his touch, pressing your tits up against his exploring hand. His volume lowered even further, and the breathiness in his voice was damn near overwhelming as he rasped directly against your ear, “My dirty little exhibitionist…”

Your head was spinning. Through your haze, you were aware that there wasn’t anybody walking by, that the few people present on this floor of the library were entirely occupied with their own activities… and yet, if anybody just happened to wander past this particular aisle, there was absolutely no way to provide an innocent explanation for what was going on. Not with Jake so blatantly and shamelessly exploring your body… and not with your face so red and legs already beginning to tremble at the result of his actions. And yet, the most dizzying aspect of all… was that you didn’t care. Not in the least. You couldn’t give a fuck where you were, as long as you could be assured that Jake wouldn’t stop touching you.

Thankfully, or perhaps dangerously, enough… it seemed that Jake was thinking the same thing.

While his left hand continued its relentless teasing and massaging of your breasts through your sweatshirt, Jake’s right hand fell to your hip, gripping it firmly and possessively. Your breaths had evolved into heavy, short gasps as you felt your arousal building, and the sound of your boyfriend’s low, satisfied chuckle right in your ear left you squeezing your thighs together, lightheaded. That was when he spoke again, low and commanding, the hunger and heat in his voice making your heart stutter within your chest— 

“Your back. Against the bookcase. Now, pretty girl… for me.”

You didn’t even have to think. When Jake talked like that, his voice so dominant and raspy, it was as though your body just gave into him entirely on its own— no consideration required. With his hand still on your hip, guiding you, you felt him turning you around to face him for the first time since he started touching you, and the sight of his dark, lust-blown pupils right on you were enough to make a tiny whimper slip involuntarily from you.

Immediately, Jake’s long index finger was pressed directly against your lips, and before your body was even able to process the power of that simple action— he spoke again, his tone intoxicatingly condescending and his face inches from yours.

“Shhhh, now, honey… and listen to me. No matter what I do to you… you’re going to be silent. We’re in public, pretty girl… and nobody gets to hear those pretty moans but me. Is that clear?”

Your eyes had gone wide while Jake spoke, the combination of his filthy words, that intense fucking stare, and his finger against your lips only fanning the flames that were already burning deep within you. Keeping your lips pressed together out of breathless arousal, you nodded in a manner that, based on the way Jake began to smirk at you, came across far more desperate than you had intended to show— but likely exactly as desperate as you actually were feeling.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathed out, and your jaw tightened instantly as those few words sent shock waves directly between your legs, your knees beginning to shake as all of your energy went towards keeping yourself quiet. Jake’s expression was devious, cocky, a look you knew all too well… one that would always inevitably make your head spin and your panties wet, and the fact that he so clearly knew exactly what he was doing to you was only intensifying your desire. His voice remained just as quiet and firm as ever as he continued teasingly, “So… where was I?”

Your chest was heaving as Jake’s hand slid from your hip to your waist and back down, the look in his eyes making it obvious that he was enjoying himself, watching your reactions as he teased you. Every touch left your heart pounding, but you were aching at this point. You needed more, and you did your very best to communicate this to Jake without words. Feeling yourself surrender further to your desire, you looked up at the man in front of you with so much need that he let out a quiet, patronizing chuckle, dark and dangerous and unbelievably hungry.

“Oh, honey… you want it bad, don’t you?”

The instant shiver that coursed through your body at his words spoke loud and clear, eliciting another dark chuckle from Jake. “Well… how could I not…” he began, letting his hand begin to slide horizontally from its position on your hip, “...when you’re being so good for me?”

His other hand also shifted just slightly, replacing the single finger over your lips with his entire hand, so large it covered the majority of your jaw, right as the hand now against your stomach began to move downwards. He arched his eyebrow at you teasingly, giving you a flirtatious wink and murmuring, “Just in case.”

He was going to be the death of you.

The passionate eye contact never ceased or let up in the slightest as Jake’s hand continued its way down your sweatshirt, and his touch was already overwhelming enough through two layers of clothing. As his hand drew closer and closer to the hem of your leggings, the thought of how much closer he’d be, how he’d surely bypass the edge of the thickest fabric you were currently wearing within seconds, certainly wasn’t making things any easier.

The instant Jake’s fingertips were no longer dragging down your sweatshirt, he was slipping his hand under the waistband of your leggings, flattening out his palm and beginning to creep even further downwards. The sudden heat of his large hand stroking right down over your panties made you let out a gasp— one so sudden and involuntary against the fingers over your mouth that it made Jake’s smirking lips part with arousal, a soft “goddamn” slipping out from somewhere deep in his throat. That would’ve been enough to send you reeling, and yet, it was at that moment that his fingertips made their first contact with your clit, with nothing but the thin fabric of your everyday panties in between— and immediately, your eyes rolled back into your head, knees beginning to tremble as Jake studied your expression with a kind of hungry fascination that you couldn’t believe he still held for you after all this time.

Jake was rubbing your clit in tight circles now, and your breaths were already coming fast and hard. This wasn’t going to take long, not after all of his teasing, not with the thrill and the rush of your back against the bookcase and the knowledge of people just out of sight. He slid a long finger down to your still-covered entrance, and his mouth immediately fell open with desire when he realized just how soaked the fabric was under his touch.

“Fuck, pretty girl. Do you want me to make you unravel right here?”

You desperately wanted to cry out, to beg out loud, to whimper out a plea, anything that could tell him just how much you needed that. When he was craving your sounds, he’d encourage you to be as loud as you could— and he’d work you and pound you until you were screaming his name. But now, today… with his hand so firmly planted over your mouth, possessive, stifling… all you could manage was a shaky nod, overwhelmed with the feeling, the silence, his control.

Jake’s soft, dark chuckle reverberated through you as he murmured, “That’s my dirty girl.”

With that, he effortlessly managed to push the dripping fabric of your panties out of the way despite not once letting his eyes leave yours— and the moment his fingers came into direct contact with your heat, you felt the entire world around you melt away. Holy fucking shit.

His movements were so languid and intentional, like he had done this to you a thousand times… and, well, he probably had. And yet, somehow, it still felt just as dizzying as the first time when Jake’s long middle finger immediately parted your folds and buried itself deep into you, your thighs instantly tightening around his wrist as his mouth dropped open once again.

“Fucking eager little thing,” he breathed out, “goddamn.”

And as he started pumping his finger in and out of you, not wasting any time when it came to picking up his speed and intensity, you knew what he said had been right. You were eager for him to make you cum, and you didn’t even care admitting it. In fact, you’d scream it from the rooftops if it meant Jake wouldn’t cease his movements, wouldn’t stop staring at you with those dark eyes, as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. When he curled his finger inside of you in a come-hither motion, stroking that one particular spot that he knew so well, you were seeing stars, bucking up your hips against his hand in a frenzied chase for the orgasm you knew was threatening to overtake you at any moment. It was all so overwhelming, so fucking good, the feeling of that long finger sliding in and out of you over and over again, Jake’s hand so firm over your mouth, those eyes watching you all the while.

And that was when he added his ring finger.

You were practically gone, almost incoherent, leaning back and allowing the bookshelf behind you to be your support— there was no hope of keeping yourself upright on your own now. The trembling of your thighs and the fluttering of your walls around Jake’s fingers clearly communicated your teetering proximity to the edge, and he grit his teeth together as he made sure not once to relent in his fingers’ pace within you. Your vision was blurring, your chest heaving, and Jake could read every signal your body was giving him. It was intoxicating, how well he knew you. Never once slowing his pace, finger-fucking you relentlessly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered,

“Gonna cum for me? Right here in the fucking library? Do it. Cum on my fingers like the exhibitionist slut you are. Fucking cum.”

His words were all it took. Ecstasy overtook every inch of your body as you clenched down around him, your mouth wide open against the fingers Jake still had covering your lips, legs all but giving out beneath you as you rode out wave after wave of pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s my girl. Goddamn,” Jake was groaning softly into your ear, but you could barely even process the words falling from his lips with the intensity of the orgasm that was currently overtaking you, only heightened by the fact that Jake made sure to maintain the pace of his fingers all the way through your high, his eyes even closing for a moment in aroused disbelief at just how hard you were cumming for him.

Shaking, trembling, your orgasm astounded you in its length and intensity, and by the time you were coming down, you were gasping for breath. Jake finally slid his hand away from where it had been covering your mouth, drifting it off to the side and cradling your cheek, as he gazed at you with an expression that mixed adoration and staggering desire.

“Holy fuck, baby,” Jake breathed out, shaking his head a little. “You…”

His voice trailed off at the sudden, unmistakable sound of footsteps. Your eyes went instantly wide, and you glanced in rapidly developing panic at the entrance to the aisle the two of you were standing in— the aisle he had just made you cum all over his fingers in.

But if Jake was feeling any of that same nervousness that was threatening to overtake the post-orgasmic haze you were feeling, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it. In one fluid motion, Jake had pulled his hand from your leggings, and quickly scooped up your selected books that had been laying forgotten on the floor with the hand that had, until recently, been covering your mouth. The loss of contact would’ve been enough to make you whimper in any other situation, but in this moment, you couldn’t help but thank your lucky stars for Jake’s adaptability and cool demeanor. You only hoped you looked a fraction as put together as he did, which, frankly, you doubted very much now that he had already brought you to one orgasm and didn’t really seem like he intended to stop there. Your head was still spinning as Jake quickly sucked his fingers clean with a wink, just in time for a stranger likely over twice your age to walk right by the aisle that he’d been finger-fucking you to orgasm in moments earlier.

Once the stranger had passed you by, you let out a long, shaky sigh that you couldn’t be sure whether to attribute more to your relief or your desire. With your back still against the bookcase, your gaze met Jake’s once again— and the mischievous, hungry look in his eyes had returned, seductive and unmistakable. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. “Goddamn, baby… drives me fuckin’ crazy how dirty you are.”

Having regained your composure somewhat, you managed a playful smile of your own, biting down on your bottom lip in the flirtatious way you knew Jake loved— savoring the way his tongue darted over his bottom lip as you said, voice breathy, “It’s all for you, Jake…”

“Fuck,” Jake cursed under his breath, his tone thick with desire, his darkened eyes never leaving yours. He moved a step closer to you, his voice soft and raspy as he asked you with obvious intentions, “...where can we go?”

A shiver went down your spine as his meaning hit you loud and clear. Your mind was racing, and you were responding before the thought was even fully formed— “There’s a secluded corner behind the biographies… it’s where I was leading us before…” you trailed off, and your cheeks reddened as you gave Jake a little smirk. “...before you distracted me so nicely.”

Jake grinned at you wickedly, before leaning in and whispering right in your ear. “Take me there now, baby, so I can distract you some more…” letting his lips drag across your velvety skin, making you gasp when he grazed your earlobe with his teeth. Your ability to think flickered like a faulty switch, but you were able to hold yourself together long enough to grab Jake’s wrist and murmur teasingly, “I could, if you weren’t so damn distracting already…” making him smirk at you while you giggled in response, before adding, “...now follow me, Jakey, I think you’ll like what comes next.”

As he let you take your first couple of steps ahead of him, he managed a final soft, teasing whisper, his voice heavy as he said, “I’m already liking the view…” making you blush before you led him out of the aisle on legs that still weren’t entirely steady, passing one or two oblivious people on their laptops. The thought that they had been there the entire time, and would likely continue to be there, while remaining none the wiser to what was happening between you and Jake, was making you even more lightheaded than you could care to admit. Even though you were a few steps ahead of him, you could feel your boyfriend’s presence behind you; his steady gait and comforting yet commanding presence unmistakable and dizzying. You wanted all of him so fucking bad, and you were about to give it to him right here. In public. You almost couldn’t believe yourself, and yet, it was no surprise that Jake was bringing out this side of you. There was something about him that just made you want to be as filthy as possible, no matter where you were— and you knew Jake loved that just as much as you did.

After what seemed like a tortuous amount of time winding through labyrinthine aisles of nonfiction and biography, your destination came into view. It was your favorite reading nook in the whole library, specifically because of how hidden away it was behind the stacks. Tucked away in a corner behind the biographies, surrounded by tall bookshelves and sporting what you considered to be the comfiest chair in the building. However, the highlight of this particular spot was that it was in an area of the library that nobody ever seemed to wander into. There had been times where you’d managed to curl up in that recliner and read an entire book over the course of several hours without seeing another soul, despite knowing that there were certainly people right on the other side of the shelves.

Of course, it had now become apparent that the hidden nature of this particular nook had some other benefits beyond being a quiet place to read. When you turned to face your boyfriend after arriving at your favorite corner, the look on his face was almost incredulous with anticipation, eyebrows raised and tongue rolling against the inside of his own cheek. “Goddamn… this is a nice little spot, isn’t it?” he said mischievously, his pupils somehow having dilated even further, betraying the depth of his own arousal. He set the books that you two had chosen down on the chair, his hands falling to hook around his belt loops.

“I’ve always wanted to show it to you, Jakey…” you breathed out, never once letting your eyes leave his, as he began to walk towards you, getting closer and closer, one step at a time. The distance between the two of you was shrinking by the second, and before you knew it, Jake was close enough to be brushing your hair out of your face with his long, delicate fingers, that naughty look in his eye that always made you shudder.

“I love it, baby…” he murmured, his heavy-lidded eyes flickering down to your lips as he let his fingers move from their place in your hair to stroke down the side of your cheek. A teasing smirk made its way onto his face, one that you knew all too well. “...but tell me… is there any… particular reason you wanted to take me here? Hmm?”

“Jakey…” you sighed softly, arching into his touch as his fingers traced your cheekbone, then your jawline, before starting to run down your neck. As his fingers explored you in a way that felt shockingly sensual for where he was touching you, he continued, “Come on, now, baby… use your words… before it’s time for me to cover that pretty mouth with my hand again…” You let out the tiniest squeak of a whimper, making Jake chuckle darkly, as he added, “Well? Why did you want to bring me here to this hidden little corner, baby?”

As he finished his question, his hand came to rest at the base of your throat, in the exact spot he knew would always make your knees go weak beneath his touch— and your body proved him right, shuddering instantly. The hunger in Jake’s eyes was enough to have every inch of you burning for him, and as his gaze bore into you, the words were finally able to fall from your lips, soft and breathy and just for him. “Oh, Jake… I want you to fuck me right here… right here, in the fucking public library…” letting your voice fall to a whisper as you breathed out your final, most indecent fantasy. “...right up against the bookshelves…”

Jake’s soft groan of need would have been enough to make your head spin on its own, but clearly, hearing you give voice to your desires had lit a flame within him that he wasn’t going to attempt to restrain any longer. All of a sudden, he was pushing you up against the bookshelf with strong arms, his hips beginning to roll against you while whispering harshly right into your ear, “Goddamn, you are a fucking dirty girl, aren’t you…?”

The way your mouth instantly and wordlessly fell open gave Jake the answer that he needed while the two of you were so indecently involved in public. He caught your lips with his— roughly, passionately, kissing you with a silent ferocity that almost knocked you off of your feet, and potentially would have if he didn’t already have your back pressed up against the bookshelf. His hips didn’t halt in their motions against you, and your mind and body were struck by the realization of just how hard Jake was. You could feel him, solid and burning against your upper thigh, even through the thin fabric of both his jeans and your leggings, and the sensation was so intoxicating you felt your eyes roll back into your head involuntarily.

He was nipping at your bottom lip, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, and you were immediately starting to buck your hips in response to the way he was setting your body alight with arousal. With both of you now grinding against each other, still devouring each other’s lips as though starving for it, it was more obvious than ever just how badly you both wanted this. Just how much it turned both of you on to be fully giving into your desire, just yards away from strangers who knew nothing of what was going on. To know that things were about to escalate even further. Right here, right now.

Jake’s hands were sliding down your body and hooking around the waistband of both your leggings and your panties. A surge of arousal rushed to your head as you realized what he was doing— and when he pulled back from your lips just long enough to give you a look that clearly requested a final confirmation that this was what you wanted, you nodded so hard that his expression returned to its smug dominance instantly. Glancing back over his shoulder one last time before looking you right in the eyes, Jake yanked both your leggings and panties down in one hard tug, pushing them as far down your legs as they could go. His chest was heaving with desire as he stared at you hungrily, before stepping back just enough to take a good look at your exposed body as his hands moved to the button and zipper of his own jeans. Whispering darkly, Jake breathed out, “Look at you… so fucking pretty when you’re stripped down for me… showing off that gorgeous body right fucking here…” his filthy words making your knees tremble.

His voice was still a whisper when he asked, “Fucking turns you on so much that we’re doing this in public, doesn’t it?” cocking his head to the side with a lust-clouded smirk as you nodded. “My dirty girl… you want me to take it out? You want… you need my cock inside you right here, right now?”

As he spoke, you were biting on your lip harder and harder to stop yourself from moaning aloud, doing everything you could to force yourself to stay silent, while nodding harder and harder, growing desperation in your eyes. Jake chuckled patronizingly, chewing on his own lower lip as he pulled his zipper down, murmuring, “That’s my good little whore… now keep your eyes on me, sweet girl…” He didn’t need to tell you twice; hell, even if he hadn’t given the order, you wouldn’t have been able to look away from the now-exposed hint of his boxers, from where his beautiful hands were now moving to the waistband of his jeans. Those long fingers of his, just as they had with your own clothing, made quick work of the thin layers of fabric separating your gaze from exactly what you craved. And once he had his cock free, you had to cover your mouth with your own hand in order to keep yourself silent.

He looked achingly hard, his cock thick and waiting, the rosy pink head already slick with his own arousal, and you felt yourself trembling in anticipation as Jake moved towards you, spitting into his hand in a way that felt downright obscene— especially considering where you were— before giving his cock a few languid strokes just as he found his position right in front of you. His eyes were practically darker than you’d ever seen them before, and Jake used the hand that had been stroking his cock to grab your inner thigh, pushing your legs apart for better access. Your heart was pounding in your chest as his free hand slid up your chest and neck to cover your mouth completely once again, never once letting his intense stare lessen or cease. He leaned right in, until the tip of his nose touched yours, opening his mouth to speak, his voice hushed. “Ready to get fucked like the exhibitionist you are?”

The way your body immediately shuddered at his words told Jake everything he needed to know, lining his cock up at your entrance, with his mouth falling open involuntarily upon feeling the intensity of your desire for him. “Goddamn, you’re fucking soaked… is that all for me? All because anyone could walk by and see us when I fuck that slutty little pussy…”

And then, giving you no rest or reprieve whatsoever, the moment he finished his sentence, Jake was pushing his cock all the way into you, his pace unhurried but steady, stretching you out and filling you up so deliciously and perfectly that your eyes rolled all the way back into your head, your knees almost completely giving out underneath you. It was only the pressure of Jake’s body keeping you pinned to the bookshelf that was keeping you upright now.

Jake’s jaw immediately tightened, his teeth clenching, as he leaned right into your ear for a moment just to groan out a restrained “Oh, fuck…” that seemed like it may have slipped from his lungs entirely involuntarily. You could hardly breathe. He was so fucking thick, and the feeling of him stretching you out so perfectly was almost overwhelming already. And yet, once he started to move, his cock beginning to pump in and out of you over and over again— slow at first, but rapidly picking up speed— the intense shocks of pleasure were so staggering that your mind went entirely blank beyond the feeling of Jake’s cock inside of you, fucking you just right, stretching and pounding into you in a way that you wouldn’t ever be able to get used to.

He was really fucking you now, and it was like the rest of the world had melted away. All there was, all there ever would be, were Jake’s dark eyes, his filthy words, his fat cock slamming into you over and over and over again— and the way you were already beginning to feel your pleasure building towards your second orgasm of the day with your back against a bookshelf. After all of his teasing, you weren’t going to last long, and the way he was practically growling under his breath right into your ear as he pounded into your cunt was enough to send your mind reeling along with your body.

“Such a dirty fucking girl… voyeuristic little whore… you want to get caught, don’t you? You want strangers to see you getting your tight little pussy fucked…. To see me fucking railing you against the bookshelves… is that it, baby? Are you my slutty little exhibitionist?”

His tone was already patronizing, but coupled with the fact that his hand was so firmly over your mouth that there was no possibility you’d be able to respond, the sheer condescension was making your head spin. Your thighs were beginning to tremble, your mouth falling open against Jake’s long fingers as you felt the heat in your core beginning to increase exponentially. He was relentless, fucking you hard and deep, his breathy sighs and groans in your ear only spurring you on further, encouraging you to completely lose control. As you grew closer and closer to your high, you felt your walls beginning to flutter around Jake’s thick cock, and his eyes damn near rolled into the back of his head. He leaned in and pressed his lips directly to the shell of your ear before he spoke again. “Goddamn, baby, I feel you clenching… are you gonna cum again for me? Right here? Gotta be silent, though, pretty girl… keep nice and quiet… fuck… I’m not far behind, baby… gonna cum for you, too… gonna fill you up…”

You couldn’t even nod your head as tears began to well in your eyes. Jake’s cock was hitting your g-spot over and over again, sending overwhelming waves of utter bliss through you with every thrust. Of course, Jake knew your body so well— he didn’t need to hear an answer from you. With the free hand that wasn’t covering your mouth, he dipped his fingers between your legs to rub your clit in tight circles while continuing to fuck you at his same dizzying pace. That was all it took. Within moments, you were completely unraveling, clenching down onto Jake’s cock uncontrollably as your second orgasm overtook you, practically sucking your boyfriend’s long fingers into your mouth to keep yourself silent. The combined sensation of you reaching your high all around him, rippling and fluttering, alongside your hot mouth on his fingers, pushed Jake over the edge. He bit down on your shoulder to stifle his low, blissful grunt as he exploded inside of you, filling you up completely, fucking every last drop of his cum into your pussy.

You couldn’t have any idea how long your orgasm lasted, the pleasure reaching a point almost beyond overwhelming while Jake held you close throughout both of your intense highs. The way he was biting down on your shoulder turned into open-mouthed kisses against both the fabric of your sweatshirt and the flushed skin of your neck as the two of you slowly but surely returned to earth, gasping for breath in a way that probably was nowhere near as quiet as you had hoped— not that it really would matter much now anyway. As if reading your mind, Jake’s hand slid down from its place covering your mouth to grip your upper arm in a way that was both a little possessive and entirely comforting. It must have been at least a minute or two of heavy breathing and clinging to each other’s clothing and skin before you finally felt able to think again— breathless giggles slipping from your lips as the reality of what just happened began to sink in. Jake looked up from your shoulder, a similarly dazed and cheeky grin on his own face.

When he spoke, his voice was still soft, but it was steady, astonished, adoring. “Goddamn, baby. That was fucking unbelievable… I love you so much.”

You bit your lip shyly, looking down towards the floor for half a second before letting your gaze flash back up to meet Jake’s, breathing out a bashful, flustered, “I love you too, Jakey… it’s just what you do to me.”

“It’s what you do to me,” he murmured with a smile, leaning in to capture your lips with another kiss, this one slower, less hurried, less frantic. Patient, loving, home. You melted against him, almost forgetting where you were for a moment, until you were suddenly aware once again of the exposed lower half of your body against the bookshelf, which made you start giggling again against his lips. When he pulled back to look at you endearingly and curiously, you gestured downwards, and Jake couldn’t hold back a little laugh of his own. “Okay, so we should take care of a few things…”

Carefully, he pulled himself from you, making you shudder, as he quickly made sure to tug your bottoms back up your legs— and you felt your cheeks begin to burn as you felt the familiar shiver of Jake’s cum dripping from you into your panties. He gave you a mischievous wink as he zipped up his jeans, whispering, “Just a little something to remember me by…” prompting you to roll your eyes and giggle, leaning in to tease him with a playful nudge, “As if I could ever forget, Jakey…”

Jake took your arm and helped you walk over to the big comfy chair on your trembling legs, the both of you sharing numerous flirtatious glances that would inevitably turn into giggles. The chair was so large that there was enough room for the both of you to fit sitting in it, as long as you swung your legs over Jake’s— and that was something you’d never pass up an opportunity to do. As you two settled in with your books, you leaned back, resting your head on Jake’s shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as a thought you’d never expected made its way into your mind. “Hey, Jakey?”

“What is it, baby?” he asked, turning to you, looking satisfied and affectionate— beautiful beyond compare. You stifled another giggle, leaning in to press your forehead to his.

“Let’s hope it rains again tomorrow.”

//

TAGLIST: @sinsofstardust @jakesguitarsolo @losfacedevil @sparrowofthedawnsworld @gold-mines-melting @texas-bbq-pringles @mountain-in-springtime @alwaysonthemend @tripthelightfatality @tommie-gvf @runwayblues @shutupdevvie @heavens-hearken @godly-sinsx @sacredjake @ignite-my-fire @kiska-enthusiast @songbirds-sweet

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter three: fair game - in collaboration with @katiexpunk

*18+ Minors DNI*

Word count: ~6.5k

a/n: katie and I wrote to our slutty hearts' desires. srsly she is a smut fairy & loving friend. plz follow her. @katiexpunk

warning(s): SMUUUUUT.

tags: f & m masturbation, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v, creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, spitting (1), fair date, eating, flirting

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire. 

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more. 

You hope he feels the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole.

Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes. 

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash. 

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens. 

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball. 

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe? 

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs. 

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted. 

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street. 

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction. 

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard. 

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.” 

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s. 

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill. 

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong. 

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long. 

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone. 

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged. 

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room. 

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness. 

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers. 

“Okay…” 

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm. 

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?” 

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.” 

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller. 

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of. 

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm. 

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him. 

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body.

You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued. 

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion. 

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket. 

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity. 

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice. 

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face. 

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock. 

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning. 

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin. 

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot. 

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint. 

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you. 

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath. 

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.” 

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.  

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter. 

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here. 

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town. 

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite. 

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night. 

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?” 

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look. 

+++ 

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together. 

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin. 

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight. 

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.  

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again. 

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on. 

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness. 

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too. 

+++ 

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it. 

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way. 

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone. 

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.” 

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples. 

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting  to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!” 

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive  – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth. 

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched. 

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water. 

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm.

“Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused. 

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.” 

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive. 

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts. 

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing. 

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent. 

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin. 

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding  it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel. 

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx,  let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time. 

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care. 

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right. 

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth. 

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning. 

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart. 

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words. 

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?” 

“You,” the word comes out breathy. 

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment. 

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

And it’s sweet. 

Just like the funnel cake. 

And just like he thinks you are. 

But you have other plans for him tonight. 

And he has the same for you. 

+++ 

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck. 

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the  front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in. 

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck. 

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers. 

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you. 

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away. 

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way. 

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you. 

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours. 

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine. 

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.” 

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny. 

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

��And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck. 

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way. 

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck. 

+++ 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. 

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice. 

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…” 

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?”  As if he didn’t know. 

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor” conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.  

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a  gentle breeze whispers through your hair;  your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit. 

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together. 

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment. 

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door,  pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours. 

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt,  silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up.  Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck. 

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is. 

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of his cock; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drops out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, your lips puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin. 

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless. 

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder. 

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide his cock inside of your mouth to the back of your throat. 

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the corners of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the coarse hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him. 

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable. 

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern. 

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay. 

“Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face. 

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him. 

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.” 

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller. 

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom. 

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face. 

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now. 

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his, is the dominant one right now. 

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you. 

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit. 

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, your jaw, your chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear. 

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question. 

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now. 

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop. 

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy. 

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans. 

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning. 

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement. 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?” 

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on. 

You only hum in response. 

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite. 

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together. 

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl”. 

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?” 

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you. 

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease. 

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him. 

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.” 

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you. 

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.” 

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.” 

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth. 

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan. 

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans. 

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts. 

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place. 

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It was hot, dirty, filthy. 

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit. 

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm. 

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt. 

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls. 

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head. 

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh. 

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller. 

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.” 

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him. 

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he beams in delight. 

He hit the fucking lottery with you. 

THE END

[koshkamartell]

Chapter 2

chapter warnings: soft!Joel, pervy!Joel, coarse language, slut shaming, protective!Joel, alcohol consumption.

That following Sunday Joel comes over to repair your porch swing as agreed. It is a strange, almost surreal experience for him to be standing at your cottage once again, only this time in the daylight and with the purpose of offering a service. Your cottage looks even more dilapidated in the light of day with its peeling paint work and broken window shutters. Just how long have you lived here in these conditions?

The small garden in your yard, however, is as splendid as he imagined it would be; an array of different flowers of various colours flourish in two separate plant beds, their presence a pleasing visual reprieve from the otherwise barren environment around them. Although Joel knows very little about gardening, he can see that it would take a considerable amount of love and effort to cultivate such a display of blooms. Did you do this all yourself?

Joel stands outside your front door for a minute, willing the nerves buzzing throughout his limbs to subside. His hand flexes around the handle of his tool box, the handle feeling sticky against the rough skin of his palm. He's not quite sure why, but he's nervous to see you again. It's not like you're some muckety muck figurehead of the community or something - you're just a random woman that needs help with a piece of furniture. A totally innocent scenario with a seemingly unremarkable, normal woman.

He swallows the lump in his throat and summons the courage to rap the back of his knuckles against the wood of your door. When you open it to greet him, Joel is momentarily stunned by your appearance. He is able to absorb more details of your face now, like the small scar on your bottom lip and the long one above your left eyebrow, aswell as the striking colour of your eyes. Your hair hangs over your shoulder in a loose pony tail, showcasing the elegant slope of your neck. The two top buttons of your shirt are undone, allowing him to spy the swell of your cleavage hidden behind the material.

You aren't just a random, normal woman. You are a gorgeous, sensual creature that stands before him like a kind of sultry apparitation. Joel tries his damnest not to stare at you, to instead divert his gaze to his feet, but it is near impossible to when the honeyed enunciation of his name slips out from the pout of your lips. It makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

Get it together. You're here for a job, that's all.

He nods and greets you good morning. There is an air of awkwardness between you, the kind of pleasant yet reserved way people interact when they are not friends yet not exactly strangers. You offer Joel a polite smile but don't try to engage him in small talk, for which he is thankful. He feels self conscious around you, as though he will say or do something that will make himself look ridiculous.

He sighs with relief when you excuse yourself and disappear inside your house and leave him alone to focus on the job. There's no way in hell he would be able to concentrate on what he came to do with you lingering about. He sets his tool box on the porch and gets straight to work on the swing. He spends the next hour or so measuring the broken slats and going to the lumber yard to retrieve suitable wood for their replacement.

When Joel returns he saws them to the correct size and hammers the pieces to the frame of the swing. He's methodical in the way he carries out each task, the pedantic need to execute things perfectly carried over from his days as a contractor. He savours the times when he's immersed in an assignment, whether it be on patrol or working on construction projects around the commune; the preoccupation dulls the ever present gnawing grief that plagues his battered heart, and helps inspire him to endure and survive.

Some time during the afternoon, when Joel is nailing one of the slats back onto the bench, you potter out to the porch and check in with him. You ask if he needs anything to eat or drink, but Joel politely refuses. Even though his stomach rumbles and his throat is dry, Joel is too bashful to accept your offer and prefers to dedicate himself to finishing the job before doing anything else.

"No, thank you, ma'am," he mutters.

You go back inside the house and Joel continues hammering. A minute later you reappear carrying a little wooden tray with two sandwiches on a plate and a tall glass of lemonade sitting ontop.

"Joel," you interrupt him gently. "Please take a break and eat."

Joel's hand pauses midway between delivering a knock to one of the nails. His eyes trail up your jean clad legs and stop at the tray in your hands. He feels his tummy flip a somersault.

You made lunch for him?

The people of Jackson are generally well mannered and convivial, but no one has ever extended their hospitality in such a way to him before. No one has never been so considerate as to serve him food him like this. He gently drops his hammer by his feet and slowly rises from his kneeling position on the floor, his joints creaking.

With a triumphant smile blossoming across your face, you slink past him with the tray and crouch to deposit it on the top ledge of your porch steps. Joel watches your movements closely, his eyes wandering over the nape of your neck and down your spine to your ass. He wonders what you would smell and taste like if he were to worship your body with sloppy kisses and gentle bites. His tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip.

"Relax for a minute," you insist as you stand upright. Joel quickly swivels his head away from you and pretends to be preoccupied with scrutinising his handiwork.

"I have to go to the greenhouse to check on some seedlings." You say as you prance down the steps, your boots clunking on the wood with each tread. "But I'll be back soon."

"Okay," Joel mumbles, nodding his head but still not meeting your eye. You must work in the greenhouse, he guesses. It strikes Joel that he actually knows nothing about you aside from what Tommy had told him. You're a mystery, an enigmatic creature who he cannot quite understand why he's so drawn to. He waits a few moments before peeking back to see the back of your feminine figure sauntering down the street, the only sign of life that seems to be out and about in the ramshackle neighbourhood.

With you absent, Joel feels confident enough to finally take a break and let himself rest for a few minutes. He plops down on the step beside the lunch tray and expels a weary groan. God, he's feels so fucking old lately. He wonders how old you are. He guesses around 35, maybe a little younger. It's hard to tell, these days.

Joel all but wolfs down the lunch you made him. The sandwiches - some lettuce, cheese and a bit of turkey - are surprisingly delicious and fill the empty cavern in his stomach. He washes it down with the sweet, tangy lemonade before giving a small belch of satiation. It turns out that a bit of food and a cool drink is just what Joel needs; it revitalises him, giving him enough energy to finish off the last bit of restoring the backing of the swing.

By the time you return, an hour or so later, Joel has completed the job. You reach the cottage as he tugs on one of the chains connecting the seat to the porch roof, testing out its durability. Satisfied that it won't collapse, he packs his hammer and the remaining unused nails back into his tool box. He doesn't see you approach until you're already bounding up to the porch, a wide smile spread over your face.

"Holy shit," you exclaim. "You're already finished?"

Joel watches you make a beeline for the swing with your eyes wide and your mouth hanging open in awe. There is a smudge of dirt on one of your cheeks, he notices. You look young and girlish in this moment, like an excited kid marvelling at a new toy. You're cute. Joel has to suppress his own small smile of amusement.

Your hand trails reverently along one of the arm rests and up along the top back slat. "Wow," you whisper in wonderment. "Incredible."

"Needs a coat of paint," Joel interrupts. "Then she'll be perfect."

You shift your eyes away from the swing to lock eyes with Joel. You shake your head gently. "It's already perfect, Joel," you say earnestly. "Thank you."

Your expression is so sincere, your face so fucking beautiful, that Joel feels his stomach suddenly somersault once again. He clears his throat and glances down at his boots.

"Welcome," he mumbles.

You appraise Joel's handiwork for another minute before sitting down on the seat. You push yourself to rock back and forth a few times, giggling with delight when the swing picks up some momentum. Your pleasure is infectious, it seems; Joel huffs a quiet chuckle while he observes you.

His heart blooms with pride to witness the happiness the fruit of his labour has given you. It makes him want to do more for you, to give you more reasons to beam that sweet smile of yours. Aside from Ellie you're the only person who has evoked such an inclination from him; it is a startling realisation considering he usually didn't give a shit about anyone else's pursuit of happiness.

He needs another reason to meet with you again.

"Them shutters don't look too good," Joel motions to the deteriorated panels that hang against your windows like limp cobwebs. "Ain't gonna last the rain through next winter."

You sigh and cast a glance at the window closest to your shoulder. "I guess you're right. I did ask Tommy if I could get them fixed, but what was a while ago."

Joel's ears perk up at the mention of his brother. "You did? Why aren't they fixed then?"

"I don't know, I guess he just forgot," you dismiss with a shrug. "He's pretty busy running other things in the community, I didn't want to bother him with something like this." You lean back and reach over to lightly trace the edge of one of the shutter frames with a fingertip. "It doesn't bother me that much."

Joel puts his hands on his hips and narrows his gaze at you, his jaw ticking. He isn't completely sure if you are telling him the truth. Are you really so unbothered by how much of your property seems to be falling apart around you? There's no way he would let Ellie live in such a place. There's no way he can leave you today knowing there's more he can do for you.

"I'm comin' back next week to fix these up," Joel declares, sounding more gruff than he intends to. "Before the damn things fall off."

You grin at him and stand up from the seat. "Okay, but only if we make a deal. I gotta do something in return for you."

"You made me--"

You quickly hold up your hand. "Making you lunch isn't enough. I want to do something for you. I'm not a freeloader, I can pull my own weight. Please, Joel."

There is a cutting edge of conviction in your pointed gaze and the tone of your voice. You are determined to prove yourself. It reminds him of the night you met, when you were pissed at him during that misunderstanding. He chews on his bottom lip as he thinks. He would be glad to give you an opportunity to prove yourself, if it is that important to you, but he's just not the kind of person to insist on quid pro quo, tit for tat.

What could you possibly do for him, anyway?

The dubiety must be clear on his face because you eagerly start listing the different things you have to offer him.

"I can tidy your yard, plant some things I'm your garden. Do your dishes. Your laundry. Fuck, I don't know. Sew your clothes."

Joel's eyebrow raises in piqued curiosity. "Y'know how to sew?"

"Yes, sir," you nod solemnly. "My mother taught me when I was a kid. I can stitch whatever you need."

He can't hide how impressed he is. Skills such as sewing are invaluable in these times. He hums and scratches his chin while he considers your offer, his fingernails creating a rasping sound as they pass over his whiskers.

"Well, my favourite jacket does have a hole in it," he murmers.

"Done," you grin at him. "Bring it with you next week."

Joel huffs a laugh and agrees, shaking your hand when you offer it to him. He tries to ignore the little jolt of electricity he feels when his large, rough hand clutches your smaller, much soft one.

He returns the following weekend and repairs the shutters while you sit on the swing and diligently stitch his jacket. The scene is domestic and comfortable. You chat together as you both work on your individual tasks, occasionally falling into stretches of congenial silence when either of you need to concentrate.

Around lunch time you insist Joel comes inside the cottage to eat with you. He acquiseces and follows you through the front door, unable to help look at the shape of your ass when you walk in front of him. He wonders what you'd look like underneath your clothes, how soft and supple your body would be, how hypnotising your ass would look bouncing as he pounds into you doggy style.

Fucking quit it.

You lead Joel to a humble little dining table beside your kitchen. He takes a seat and looks around, absorbing the details of your dwelling. It's a small place but suitable for a single person like yourself. A little glass vase of posies sit in the middle the kitchen bench. The walls are painted in a pale shade of lemon, the pleasant hue highlighted by the sun shining through the delicate lace curtains that frame your kitchen window.

There is a small oil painting hanging on the wall beside him. It's a still life of a bowl of fruit, and while Joel has never been a conscious admirer of art, he can appreciate the intricacy of the shading and detail within the painting. He studies it while you prepare the sandwiches and cups of tea.

At the bottom of the canvas is written: "to Honey, love J."

"Whose Honey?" Joel wonders aloud, squinting at the handwritten words.

"Me," you answer simply. He looks over to you and raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

"That some kinda nickname?"

"'S what some folks call me." You reply simply.

Joel watches you as you slice into a ripe tomato. You stare down at the chopping board as you slowly work the knife up and down, granting him a brief opportunity to drink in the sight of your face; you look particularly pretty today, he thinks, especially with the golden glow of the sun pouring over you. A lock of hair falls from behind your ear and dangles over your forehead and he fights the impulse to tuck it away.

"Why do some folks call you Honey?" Joel asks.

The corner of your mouth quirks into half a smile, but your head remains bowed as you stay focused on cutting the tomato. "Well, when I first came here I was assigned work duty in the nursery. Jan was the person I worked with. We got along well. She taught me so much. Because of her I was able to grow those flowers in my garden myself, all from seeds. Anyway, I loved the flowers, they were my favourite."

Joel watches you closely, analysing the features of your beautiful face as you speak, the way your eyes warm with affection at the memory you recollect. He loves seeing you like this.

"She used to laugh at me, the way I'd hover around the flowers, like a honey bee." You chuckle softly, shaking your head with fondness. "So she started calling me Honey, and I guess it just stuck."

It's sweet. It suits you perfectly. The bitesized insight into your private life excites Joel. It is as though he has attained the first piece of the puzzle that is your identity, the individual you truly are.

"Jan painted me that," you look up now and motion with your chin toward the canvas that hangs beside him. "About a year before she passed. I miss her everyday, but seeing that makes me happy. Like I have a little piece of her with me."

Joel listens attentively as you recount some of the escapades you and Jan got up to at the greenhouse. He laughs along with you when you tell him about the time you tripped and fell face first into a pile of horse shit. He shakes his head with feigned disapproval as you describe a prank you pulled on Jan in retaliation for her scaring you with a fake spider.

You're funny, it turns out. And a hell of a story teller. By the end of the day Joel has talked and laughed more in the one afternoon than he has in all his time living in Jackson. He goes to bed that night with a silly little grin on his face.

The exchange of services and food continues over the next few weeks. He fixes the leaking pipe in laundry next and in turn you thank him by baking him blueberry muffins, which he thinks is just about the most delicious thing he has ever eaten. He finds your gestures of gratitude touching, even though he rarely enjoys receiving praise from anyone.

There's something about your personality that makes Joel feel at ease. He senses no judgement or condescension in the way you talk and behave with him, unlike the times he's conversed with other townsfolk. There are no airs and graces with you, and while you seem a little shy at times, you certainly aren't timid. While you like discussing subjects that interest you, you aren't an incessant chatterbox. He appreciates that you don't talk for the sake of talking, that you seem to enjoy contented silence.

The friendship between you and Joel blossoms over the course of the following months. You spend a few hours together every couple of weeks, either at your cottage or at Joel's house. He enjoys finding things to fix for you, jobs that keep his hands busy and help temper his nerves. You seem to understand this about Joel, his need to provide and service, and you never deny assigning him something to do, no matter how small.

Joel isn't sure just how you feel about him, but you always look pleased to see him, always greeting him with a warm smile. Joel himself secretly relishes the time you spend together, that ever present invisible string luring him to you, making him want to spend more and more of his free time with you.

The friendship between you and Joel goes unnoticed by anyone else. You don't socialise much, it seems, as no one is ever at your cottage when Joel stops by. He occasionally spots you at the dining hall eating with one or two other women who he surmises are your work friends. You spend your days on duty at the greenhouse and planting crops. He knows you go to the Tipsy Bison for a drink, although it seems to be a rare occurance. He's come to realise that you are alot alike himself - favouring your own company to superficial friendships, not overly gregarious, preferring to keep your head down and contribute to the community with humility rather than big noting yourself. He appreciates you for that. He respects you.

In fact, Joel has come to really like you.

It's why he hasn't mentioned you to anyone but Ellie. She's met you a few times now, and Joel is pleased to see that you two get along well. But aside from Ellie, Joel is hesitant to divulge your friendship to anyone else, especially Tommy. Unfortunately for Joel, the inevitable comes one autumn afternoon when you show up on his doorstep with a plate of cookies in hand. He wasn't expecting you but welcomes the surprise, always privately thrilled to lay his eyes on your pretty face. He even forgets that Tommy is supposed to be coming over to discuss the new patrol roster.

He's standing on the threshold on his doorstep, captivated by you recounting the events of your morning baking marathon, when Tommy arrives. Joel catches sight of his brother in his peripheral vision and a rush of dread and annoyance swoop over his heart.

Fuck.

"Hello little lady," Tommy greets you as he ascends the porch steps to Joel's front door. His dark brown eyes throw a furtive glance of curiousity to Joel before settling back on you. He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "What ya got there?" He tips his head toward the plate in your hands.

"Hey Tommy," you smile. "Oh, just some muffins, a few cookies." You look back at Joel and grin. "I'm trying out that apple and oat recipe from that book I told you about. Thought it was only right that you were the first to taste test."

Ofcourse you did. You are always so goddamn kind.

"Thanks, Honey," Joel murmers as he accepts the plate you eagerly extend to him. He wishes he could be more jovial and express just how appreciative he is, but it's impossible with Tommy there. The weight of Tommy's unspoken scrutiny rests uncomfortably over Joel's head, like a storm cloud threatening to unleash a torrential downpour.

Thankfully you don't linger. You excuse yourself and bid them goodbye, flashing one last dazzling smile before leaving to go check on the greenhouse.

"Well, I'll be damned," Tommy grins smugly as the two men enter into Joel's house. "You and Honey huh?"

Ribbing and teasing from his little brother was always going to be inevitable, but for some reason, when it comes to you, Joel finds it bothers him more than he anticipated. His jaw clenches momentarily. He needs to try keep his cool.

"Me and her what?" Joel grunts. "We're just friends."

They make their way into the kitchen, where Joel sets the plate down on the counter. The sugary scent from the baked goods wafts up to his nostrils and makes his stomach grumble.

"Hey, I got friends," Tommy sniggers. "None of 'em bake cookies for me." He plucks one of the cookies from the plate and takes a bite. "Ya fuckin' her?"

"Goddamnit, Tommy," Joel snarls suddenly. "No. It ain't like that."

"So what's it like, then?" Tommy questions through a mouthful of cookie. "Why is she playin' Betty Crocker with an grumpy old asshole like you?"

"I've been helpin' repair stuff around her place. It's just how she says thanks." Joel shoots back defensively. Tommy shrugs and shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"Ya know, I got a bone to pick with you," Joel crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at Tommy. Now is the perfect opportunity for him to bring up the issues he has been meaning to for weeks. "Why did she get stuck livin' in that place?"

Tommy frowns and leans his lower back against the kitchen counter. "What do you mean?"

"Her house. It's fallin' into disrepair, Tommy."

Tommy hums and smooths his moustache with the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He seems to consider it for a few moments before shrugging nonchalantly. "It ain't that bad."

"It is, as a matter of fact," Joel retorts sharply. "It's unacceptable, actually."

"What do you want me to do about it, Joel?" Tommy bites back. There is a hint of irritation lacing his tone, an inflection that seems uncharacteristic of Tommy's usually benevolent personality.

Joel throws his hands up, exasperated. "You're on the damn committee, you gotta say in this kinda stuff. She should be livin' somewhere where the drain pipes aren't busted and need fixin' every week."

"So that's what you been doin' all this time, huh?" Tommy sniggers. "Fixin' her pipes?"

Joel rolls his eyes and shoots Tommy with an unimpressed glare. "That's enough. Just move her to a better house."

Tommy's playful demeanour quickly morphs into an exasperated scowl. "You know we gotta put families first, Joel. There just ain't anythin' available right now."

Joel scoffs and shakes his head. "Just promise me you'll do what you can, Tom. As a favour to me."

Tommy nods his agreement, his jaw set square and firm. They spend the rest of the afternoon avoiding any further discussion of you.

Your visits to each other's homes become a ritual of sorts. On those quiet afternoons you keep Joel company, sipping tea as you watch him saw and hammer and tinker. You share conversation, asking each other questions and sharing titbits of information about your lives both now and before the end of the world. He learns that you were a teenager when the outbreak began and had lost all your family within the first two weeks. You spent the years travelling around the state with a few different groups of survivors, narrowly managing to avoid raiders or being rounded up into a QZ.

You had met your defacto husband, Michael, when you joined his ragtag band of men and women. After eight years of living in the harsh wilderness the group had dwindled down to just you and he. You eventually stumbled upon Jackson, both of you malnourished and suffering various ailments and injuries. It was only two weeks after arriving that your husband succumbed to the pneumonia that plagued his lungs.

You gloss over this part of your life story with few details, but Joel can recognise the glimpse of sorrow in your eyes and in the tiny hitch in your voice. He can see your pain runs deep but he still can't help wondering why you haven't found someone to shack up with in Jackson.

Joel thinks back to that night he first met you, how you left the bar in tears. He still occasionally wondered about just what happened but hadn't asked, not wanting to pry and potentially offend the fragile friendship that had become quite precious to him.

He finds the right opportunity to sate his curiousity one cool autumn evening. You had invited Joel over for dinner that night, and some time after dessert you and he sat on the porch swing side by side, each nursing a bottle of beer. You sit contentedly with a knitted blanket over your legs and watch as a light breeze dances through the quiet street and swirls the crunchy fallen leaves around the sidewalk. Joel leans back into the swing and rests a hand on his belly.

"'M gettin' fatter with all your delicious cookin'," he mutters good naturedly.

You chuckle and push your toes against the porch to give the seat a gentle sway back and forth. "Think it'll be strong enough to hold us both?"

"Told ya I'd fix it that night we met," Joel counters matter of factly. "And I don't do things half assed."

You raise your bottle slightly and tip it to him in salute. "You're right. Maybe I should be thanking that asshole from the bar. Probably would have never met if it wasn't for him - I wouldn't be sitting in this perfectly crafted swing, either."

You jest, giggling to yourself, but Joel goes quiet and pensive. You notice his change in mood immediately and give him a gently nudge with your shoulder.

"Hey, what are you thinking?"

"That night we met," he begins tentatively, turning his head to look at you. "Who was that guy? What did he say to you?"

Your brows furrow with a contemplative solemnity and you chew on your bottom lip for a moment. Joel watches you intently as he patiently waits.

"He was just some guy," you eventually reply. "I don't really know him, but I know one of his friends."

Joel nods slightly to indicate he's listening to you. You glance up at him and sigh, shaking your head.

"Kinda a long story. You really wanna hear it?"

"Got all the time in the world, Honey," Joel says earnestly. All the time in the world for you.

You smile back at him and have a sip from your bottle. "Here goes. So, a while after I first got here, I started drinking alot. I just wanted to numb the pain, you know?"

Joel hums lowly. He knows that feeling all too well. His own experience of abusing whatever alcohol and pills he could get his hands on back in the QZ, whatever destructive thing he could do to drown out the incessant agony from the loss he had endured. Although Joel was able to better manage his grief now days he still experienced times of loneliness, nights where he yearned for comforting arms wrapped around him, for someone to talk about his day with.

"I missed Michael so much. I really needed someone to just hold me and let me cry," you confess softly. "But who could I go to? I didn't really know anyone here. I wasn't ready to open up and trust anyone, anyway."

You stretch out your legs and wriggle underneath the blanket to get a little more comfortable. Joel waits for you to continue your story, trying his best to ignore the twitching urge to inch his hand closer to yours and slip his fingers inbetween yours.

"So, one night I got drunk off some god awful cocktail mix at the Bison. Some guy had been trying to chat to me but I kinda ignored him, wasn't really interested. You know Greg, Tommy's friend?"

Joel frowns. "The guy that works in the stables?"

You nod. "Yeah, well, he was the guy. Kept ordering me more drinks to get me to talk, acting all charming. Anyway, by midnight I'm pretty drunk."

Joel's hand curls into a fist and his jaw ticks. The thought of you intoxicated in a bar with some creep trying to chat you up makes him agitated. Although he doesn't really know Greg, Joel instantly decides to hate him from this point on.

"Okay," Joel murmers to indicate he is listening. He doesn't like the sound of what may come next in your story but he is eager to find out.

"When I get up to leave he's right next to me acting like a gentleman, holding me up and opening the door for me. And he walked me home."

Joel wants to punch Greg's fucking face in.

"The sex wasn't anything amazing. But I remember my mind going blank. I wasn't in pain. I wasn't thinking. No memories, no sadness. Just the weight of someone else on me."

Your voice catches slightly at the last few words, and Joel feels his heart ache with the need to comfort you, to sling his arm around you and pull you close. He's in awe of your vulnerability and rawness in this moment, how unashamedly you bare your history and emotions to him. You look down at the bottle in your hand as you speak, idly toying with the lip of its opening. Are you nervous to talk about this with him?

"I went into a downward spiral for a while. I slept with a few people. I couldn't handle a relationship. I needed to feel someone close to me. It was a way of getting that closeness, you know? Without the fear of them leaving."

"Anyway, Greg was an asshole and told his buddies about what we did. And that guy at the Bison that night, he was one of 'em. Thought I'd fuck him if he acted all smooth." You roll your eyes and scoff. "When I rejected him he started saying really mean stuff just to hurt me."

"Fuckin' prick," Joel growls, his hand flexing to grip the neck of his bottle tightly.

"I'm not denying what I did. It was my way of coping at that time and I'm not ashamed of it. We all have shit we have to live with, and I was just doing what I could to get through it." You lean your head back against the swing and sigh softly.

Joel understands precisely what you mean. He wishes he could express just how well he *does* understand. He's committed so many deplorable acts of violence throughout this nightmarish apocalypse - some in the name of survival, others without true justification. He has always been able to suppress the tormenting memories in his day to day life but they haunt his subconscious, waiting until night time to rain an onslaught of bad dreams upon him, causing him to wake suddenly with his heart pounding and his brow drenched with sweat.

You take a swig from your bottle and quietly add, "But people talk, Joel. And they can be so cruel."

Joel stares down at his lap, his jaw ticking. He isn't sure what to say in response. He knows first hand how cruel people can be, how vicious the judgemental gossiping can be. But he feels ashamed and guilty; his own brother was one of those people who talked about you, and his own first impression of you was less than virtuous. He hates himself for how dishonourable his thoughts were.

"I told you because I trust you, Joel. And because I know you won't judge me." You whisper, your voice cracking just the tiniest bit.

Joel's heart skips a beat when your hand slips out from the blanket and crawls over his jean clad knee. He takes a moment to recover from the shock when you find his hand and thread your fingers through his thick digits and squeeze gently. That same extraordinary electric sensation buzzes between you once more. He exhales a deep breath through his nostrils and carefully squeezes your delicate hand back.

It's right at that moment in time that Joel makes a promise to himself to always protect you.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 17 Chapter 17 | primal protection⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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When you finally regained consciousness, a wave of disorientation washed over you. You blinked, trying to focus in the dim light.

You were alone, sprawled on what felt like rough concrete.

The air hung thick and heavy, a metallic tang stinging your nostrils. The distant rumble of something far below made your balance a bit unsteady.

Your gaze swept the environment, taking in the barren landscape. Molten rock glowed faintly in the distance, casting an eerie red light across the desolate terrain.

The heat, almost suffocating, pressed down on you.

Suddenly, the faint memory of Thirteen's voice, muffled and distorted, flickered back—about the "training zones."

Ah, that's where you were.

For a fleeting moment, a strange comfort settled over you. The heat, the barrenness—it stirred something deep within, a forgotten memory from your past life.

Images flashed across your mind—ruling over realms of fire and brimstone, wielding terrifying power alongside your sisters, the other three Horsemen: Yoru—the War Devil, Fami—the Famine Devil, and Death with her chilling touch.

The nostalgic memory was shattered by a whoop that echoed through the desolate landscape. You snapped your head to the left, spotting a hulking figure emerge from the shadows.

His head was a grotesque parody of a hammer, molten metal replacing flesh and bone. A cruel grin split his face, revealing rows of jagged, brown teeth.

"Well, well, well," he boomed, his voice a gravelly rasp, "look what we stumbled upon. Seems the League scattered more than just heroes." His eyes, two glowing embers recessed deep within his metallic skull, narrowed as they scanned you up and down.

Another figure emerged beside him, a wiry woman with forearms that looked like they were carved from obsidian. Black spikes, razor-sharp and glistening in the dim red light, ran along her arms from wrist to elbow. "Looks like a new toy for us to play with. How generous," she sneered, her voice a sibilant hiss.

The two villains cautiously circled you, sizing you up like a predator stalking its prey.

"Ya' don't look so hot," the hammer-headed villain chuckled, a sound like rocks grinding together. "Make sense. Unless you're some kind of fiery chick, you're toast in this zone."

The spiked-arm villain snorted. "She don't look like much, probably just a useless tag-along," she scoffed. "Maybe we can use her as bait to draw out the real fighters and have some fun."

You met their approach with a measured tilt of your head, a single eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

The heat seemed to intensify around you, the air crackling with unspoken power. These weren't worthy adversaries, but a small spark of amusement flickered within you.

Perhaps this little game would be a good way to pass the time until a more interesting challenge presented itself?

The hammer-headed villain, emboldened by your apparent lack of resistance, lumbered closer. He reached out, a massive metal hand engulfing your chin in a vice-like grip. He cackled, the sound echoing through the desolate landscape. "Hahaha! Well aren't we lucky? Got us a sassy one! Maybe Shigaraki wouldn't mind if I took her back to base as a little... pet project instead of killing her off now?"

Your eyes narrowed at his audacity, his words like a slap in the face. Your irises narrowed to pinpoints, a predator glinting within their depths. Your nostrils flared, releasing a hiss of raw power.

"Pet?" The word dripped from your lips, laced with venom. A sneer twisted your features, chilling the already scorching air. "You dare put your filthy hands on me and dream of a future where I am your inferior? Don't make me laugh. If anything, your place is beneath me. Where you belong." The amusement you'd felt earlier vanished, replaced by a cold, simmering fury.

The villain seemed momentarily taken aback by your sudden shift. But that hesitation was fleeting, replaced by a cruel amusement that twisted his already grotesque features.

A backhand swung across your face before you could react. The impact sent a jolt of pain through you, splitting your bottom lip and filling your mouth with the metallic tang of blood.

You hung your head, hiding the inferno building in your eyes as a primal rage began to boil within you, threatening to erupt and incinerate everything in sight. The villain, mistaking your posture for submission, seized your chin once more, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Oh yeah," he cackled, a sound that scratched against your already frayed nerves. "We'll have some fun back at base. Just look at those eyes." He leaned in closer, savoring the fear he thought he saw flickering on your face.

Just as you were about to unleash your wrath, a foreign sound cut through the air—a powerful explosion followed by a furious shout.

"Get your hands fucking off of her!" The shout was a primal roar, laced with a fury so potent that it sent shivers down your spine.

You looked up in time to see a blur of blond hair and crimson eyes. Bakugo had arrived, his entire form radiating a barely contained rage. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now wild and feral, fixated on the villain who dared to touch you.

Without a moment's hesitation, Bakugo launched himself forward. A massive explosion erupted from his gauntlets, propelling him like a rocket towards the hammer-headed villain.

The villain, caught off guard by the sudden attack, was sent flying backwards with a surprised yelp, the force of the blast sending him sprawling across the rocky ground.

You stared at Bakugo, he looked like a man possessed, his rage a tangible presence in the scorching air.  

With the hammer-headed villain on the ground, unconscious, the spiked woman rushed to his side, her eyes blazing with fury. "You'll pay for this!" she snarled, her voice laced with venom.

"Quit your yapping and fight me, you overgrown pincushion!" Bakugo barked as he ignited his gauntlets, explosions crackling around his fingertips.

The villain's face contorted in a snarl and with a scream, she lunged at him—her forearms extended, the razor-sharp spikes glinting menacingly in the dim red light. "I'll kill you!"

For a tense few moments, they became a blur of motion. Bakugo, fueled by rage and his explosive quirk, managed to hold his own against her relentless attacks. He dodged and weaved, countering her strikes with well-placed blasts. The air grew thick with the smell of burnt caramel and sweat.

But the spiked woman, despite her smaller stature, was surprisingly agile. She pressed her attack, eventually finding an opening. With a swift maneuver, she managed to trip Bakugo, sending him crashing onto his back. He grunted in pain, momentarily stunned.

Just as the spiked woman raised her arm, prepared to deliver a finishing blow, a crimson blur slammed into her side. Kirishima, with his entire body hardened into his unbreakable form, had arrived in the nick of time.

The force of the impact sent the spiked woman flying several feet away.

She tumbled through the air, narrowly missing a molten rock wall, only to be caught by the hammer-headed villain who had regained consciousness. He groaned, rubbing his head with a metallic clang.

Bakugo, still on the ground but slowly regaining his bearings, let out a scoff. "You haven't had enough, huh, Hammer-Head?" he sneered at the hammer-headed villain.

The villain, his eyes burning with renewed anger, let out a guttural growl. "Games over, brats," he roared. With the spiked woman back on her feet, the two villains charged forward, a formidable duo fueled by vengeance.

Bakugo propelled himself forward once again, explosions erupting from his gauntlets. Kirishima followed close behind, a determined glint in his eyes.

The scorching air crackled with anticipation as the fight was about to reach its climax.

You, on the other hand, found yourself strangely unfazed by the impending brawl. Instead, you settled onto the edge of a nearby rock, a safe distance from the unfolding battle. Crossing your legs, you rested your chin on your hand, humming a soft tune under your breath, a stark contrast to the chaos before you.

The clash was a brutal ballet of explosions and hardened steel. Kirishima managed to deliver a powerful blow to the spiked woman, sending her sprawling unconscious onto the rocky ground.

Bakugo continued to hold his own with the hammer-headed villain, who, emboldened by the earlier fight, seemed to have shed his daze-inducing fury and replaced it with a condescending smirk instead.

"Heh, what a waste," he rumbled, his voice a metallic rasp. "You, with all that power, wasting it in this pathetic excuse for heroism." He circled Bakugo, his massive hammer glinting in the dim light. "Join us, kid. With us, you could be something truly great."

Bakugo scoffed. "You think I need your lectures, you oversized scrap heap?" He ignited his gauntlets once more, explosions crackling around his fingertips. "The only greatness I need is your ass destroyed!" he roared, lunging forward with renewed ferocity.

Seeing his words fail to sway Bakugo, the villain shifted his focus. "Once I flatten you and your little red buddy, I'm taking little Miss sweet thing over there back to the base," he boomed, gesturing toward you, "I'm sure the League will have a lot of fun breaking a fiery filly like her."

Bakugo froze mid-stride, his crimson eyes snapping towards you. In that split second, he saw the fresh bruise blooming on your cheek, the split lip that stained your face. The raw fury that had simmered down moments ago reignited with an explosive intensity.

A primal growl ripped from Bakugo's throat, his entire form trembling with rage. Before anyone could react, he was a blur of blond hair and fury. Explosions erupted with a deafening roar as he launched a relentless assault on the villain.

Bakugo's attacks were brutal, fueled by a white-hot rage that seemed to consume him entirely.

Kirishima, ever the voice of reason, watched in growing concern. "Whoa, Bakugo! Chill, dude, he's already down!" he shouted, rushing forward to intervene.

But Bakugo was a force of nature at that moment. He rained blow after blow on the already defeated villain, the ground trembling with each detonation. Specks of blood misted the air around them, some landing hot against Bakugo's cheek. Just as Bakugo, his eyes blazing with a feral intensity, raised his hand for another explosion, Kirishima managed to grab his arm.

"That's enough, man!" Kirishima yelled, his voice strained. He forced Bakugo's arm down, the explosions subsiding with a final hiss. The hammer-headed villain lay sprawled unconscious in a crater of his own making.

Bakugo, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing with a feral intensity, slowly turned towards Kirishima. For a tense moment, their gazes locked, a silent battle of wills transpiring between them.

Finally, with a ragged breath, Bakugo seemed to regain some semblance of control. He ripped his arm free from Kirishima's grasp and stalked towards you, his expression unreadable.

When Bakugo reached you, he said nothing but held out his arms. Gently lowering yourself into his strong arms, you were deposited back onto the rocky ground.

Standing beside him, you allowed your eyes to take in the scene of destruction.

The once desolate landscape was now marred by craters and scorch marks, a testament to the ferocious battle that had just transpired. Humming a low tune, a habit that surfaced whenever you were deep in thought, you turned towards the edge of the volcanic zone, the exit beckoning.

Without a word, you began to walk, Bakugo following close behind.

"Hey, wait up!" Kirishima called out before jogging over, catching up to you and Bakugo. "What a fight! Especially you, BakugBro. Even if you did went a little wild there for a second, it was super manly." He grinned, nudging Bakugo playfully.

Bakugo, still fuming but clearly regaining his composure, mumbled a grumbled response under his breath. "Yeah, yeah.. Whatever ya' say Shitty-Hair"

As the three of you navigated back towards the central plaza of USJ, you allowed your thoughts to drift over Bakugo's actions.

A slow smile played on your lips.

It seemed the instinct to protect you, once solely present when you held direct control over someone, had evolved.

Back on the playground in your youth, his fury had ignited when you were challenged by his ex-playmates. But here, the mere suggestion of you being taken had triggered a similar, albeit more controlled, outburst.  

A fascinating development. Perhaps frequent exposure, like a well-trained pet, had instilled within Bakugo a possessiveness you hadn't anticipated. The thought sent a soft chuckle bubbling up from your chest.

"What's so funny?" Kirishima asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he glanced over at you.

You shook your head, the playful glint in your eyes a secret held solely between you and the volcanic landscape. "Nothing," you replied, your voice light and carefree. "Just enjoying the scenery."

The walk back was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional rumble from the depths of the earth and the rhythmic crunch of boots on rock. As you emerged from the scorching zone, the sight of the familiar plaza filled your eyes. There, in the distance, you spotted the rest of Class 1-A, a jumble of concerned faces huddled together, seemingly relatively unharmed.

But just beyond them, you saw it.

Aizawa, Class-1A's ever stoic and capable teacher, lay crumpled on the ground, his face contorted in pain. His head was propped at an unnatural angle, a sickening scene made all the more horrifying by the figure looming over him.

It was the monstruous creature from earlier with the exposed brain.

There, the creature held Aizawa's head in a vice-like grip, and with a sickening crack, slammed Aizawa's head against the unforgiving ground once more.

Even from where you were, you cold hear the horrified screams from the students below, their faces etched with terror.

Kirishima didn't hesitate, immediately rushing  down the plaza towards the horrifying scene, determined to protect his friends and teacher. Bakugo followed after him with a quick "Stay safe" to you over his shoulder.

A slow smile played on your lips, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding below. This turn of events was unexpected, yet undeniably thrilling.

With a glint of amusement in your eyes returning, you took a single step forward, ready to play your part in this unfolding drama.

The heroes, the villains, the fear, the chaos—it all fueled a dark anticipation within you.

A/N: AHHHH! Someone trade places with me i dont wanna live my life 😩 y'all so much shit just happened to me frfr. not only did I just unexpectedly become an aunt, but i have to move out my dorm, as well as complete 3 assignment papers and also take an Anatomy and Physiology exam 💀💀💀💀 AJSBHWKDS i'm tweaking y'all. anyways, i'm not gonna lie, i lowkey don't wanna write out the next scene 😭😭😭 we'll see, either i do it, or imma do a sort of time skip and do a small summary of what went down 💀 aslo, sorry for not updating these last few days, as you can see a bit ealier in this note i'm in fact not okay ❤️❤️❤️ but fr see y'all soon and thanks for the love 🥹

[rabbitcruiser]

Redwood Gulch, CA (No. 2)

Prior to its completion, the California coast south of Carmel and north of San Simeon was one of the most remote regions in the state, rivaling at the time nearly any other region in the United States for its difficult access. In 1920, the 26 mi (42 km) trip from Carmel to the Pfeiffer Ranch in the Big Sur valley on the Old Coast Road in a light spring wagon pulled by two horses could be completed in about 11 hours, while a lumber wagon pulled by four horses could make the same trip in 13 hours. The rough road ended in present-day Posts and could be impassible in winter. No road existed beyond Posts, only a horseback trail connecting the homesteads to the south.

The highway was first proposed by Dr. John L. D. Roberts, a physician who was summoned on April 21, 1894 to treat survivors of the wreck of the 493 tons (447 t) S.S. Los Angeles (originally USRC Wayanda), which had run aground near the Point Sur Light Station about 25 miles (40 km) south of Carmel-by-the-Sea. It took him 3+1⁄2 hours on his two-wheeled, horse-drawn cart, a very fast trip for the day. The initial survey for the highway was completed in 1918, and its construction began in 1921. The project ceased for two years in 1926 when funding ran out, and after 18 years of construction, the Carmel–San Simeon Highway was completed in 1937. The route was incorporated into the state highway system and re-designated as Highway 1 in 1939.

The winding, narrow road, often cut into the face of towering seaside cliffs, is a "symbolic image" of Big Sur. In May 2017, a 5,000,000-cubic-foot (140,000 m3) slide blocked the highway at Mud Creek, north of Salmon Creek near the San Luis Obispo County line, to just south of Gorda. The road was reopened on July 18, 2018, but is subject to closure during heavy storms. On January 29, 2021, the land under the road collapsed into the sea due to heavy storms near Rat Creek 15 miles (24 km) south of Big Sur Village. After 30 days of debris removal and only 56 days of construction, the highway was reopened on April 23, 2021. The highway has been closed more than 55 times by landslides. It was closed repeatedly during the storms of 2022-23. On January 8, 2023, the highway was closed at Paul's Slide 22 miles (35 km) north of the San Luis Obispo/Monterey county border and as of January 2024 remains closed, with Caltrans estimating a Spring 2024 completion of repair works. The Nacimiento-Fergusson Road also remains closed.

Source: Wikipedia

[cozycryptidcorner]

Monster Match #1

This is a monster match for the awesome @breakingthediaphragm. Thank you so much for commissioning me!

For the included blurb for the match: I'm transmasc, and a pretty big guy. Picture your average, young bear and you've pretty much got it. I adore monsters that make me feel small, and love it when they're rough and possessive. I'm also a writer, and have a miniature natural history museum in my living room (both oddities and pretty things from nature). I'm also pretty big into BDSM, am quite a masochist, and love the thought of being caught/hunted/pinned down without a way to fight back. I'm a physicist, and a lab researcher.

Augerino

Thirteen nosebleeds in two weeks, that’s how dry it is in the rocky desert. Carefully, you tilt your head forward, plugging your nostrils with a tissue as you inhale slowly through your mouth. Your lips are chapped, your hands are cracking, and your eyes are itchy and uncomfortable, yet the temperature is a cool balmy morning. 

You’re not used to breathing here yet, it has a lightness to it that strangely settles in your ears. Even the underground lab air, which is filtered rigorously, still sucks your tongue and throat dry. 

Though you’re not lingering on how uncomfortable the air makes you. You’re busy staring at a hole eaten through the particle collider. 

“What the fuck,” one of the other lab researchers mumbles to themselves. She seems to speak for everyone, because there isn’t else much to say about the cavernous tunnel sprouting through solid metal and miles of earth. 

Carefully, you check your nose again, noting the puddle of blood has tapered off. Tossing the tissue to the trash, you creep closer to the hole, looking up at the dripping rock. It looks ground up, like a giant corkscrew dug its way through… you don’t see the sky, only dirt, until the tunnel curves away from your phone’s flashlight. Then you aim your flashlight down, down, down, down, until you back away before the vertigo takes you. 

“How are we even supposed to report this?” You ask, eyebrows arched. 

“I guess… by stating the facts,” your supervisor says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. 

This is not the only time this happens. 

No, this million-dollar research project begins to look more like a prion-eaten brain in the coming weeks. Now that everyone knows to look for it, you and your coworkers begin pulling overnight shifts in the lab. The military comes knocking at your door, but your supervisor makes it abundantly difficult for them to do whatever they want. 

It’s the only reason you were able to finally catch a glimpse of what’s doing this, alone, with nothing more than your phone’s shaky camera footage as proof. 

The digging is so clean that the lab barely shakes, like a mild earthquake. You can still maneuver around, though it’s a little more difficult than normal, but you’re determined to find out what’s been eating through equipment so expensive, it makes you dizzy to think about. 

You can barely find the words to describe it. Large, definitely. Something. Somehow. The specific dusty red color of dirt, twisting, turning… drilling, it’s drilling, you realize, the curves of its body spinning slowly into the linoleum flooring. It’s not- could it be one being? Or many? There’s writhing in its skin, like millions of tendrils are wrapping around a larger body, pulsing together. 

That’s the part that surprises you the most, it’s slow, like a large, lumbering beast. Yet it disappears before you fully manage to take in what exactly is happening, its thick tail flicking up and around before vanishing in its tunnel. 

Noisy, the back of your head rumbles. Noisy. Silence. 

The university that owns the collider pulls the plug on the project, and orders everyone out. As you gather your things, a young sergeant with an attractive mustache tries to get you to sign an NDA. You’re doing a great job ignoring him, and he’s becoming more and more frustrated, until he mutters something about a smoke break and leaves you alone. 

Silence, more silence. Good. 

That’s not your own thought, you realize. You recognize the voice from yesterday, when whatever that was crossed your path. 

“Hello?” you ask, dubiously. Then, in an effort to reframe from becoming insane, you think, Hello?

A pause. A rumble, then silence. Some blood drips down your nose, and you hastily wipe it with your sleeve, your heart pounding. 

Hello, footwalker.

You’re not crazy, you’re not crazy. Blinking rapidly, you think, as loudly as you can, Are you- have you been eating through my- our lab? 

I don’t consume. I clean…. home. Filthy. Loud. 

You lean your head back, looking at the cracks in the wall, and take a deep breath. Okay. Well, you might definitely be a part of the biggest scientific discovery of mankind, but not the way you thought you would be. Calm down. 

It’s… old, you realize, rattling conversation through your skull and back. You force yourself to take longer packing your things, communicating back and forth with the creature. It doesn’t even speak- it forces feelings of need into anyone’s brains, though only a few can listen and understand. 

You manage to push feelings back, and you can feel the creature’s relief. It trusts you enough to allow you another glimpse, showing you the countless tendrils that help shape its body into a drill of some sort. Different patterns for different layers of rock.

The head of the creature is tough, its tendrils are leathery and flexible. Its mouth is small, only able to eat the smaller grains of dirt full of organic material. Nor does it have any teeth, only grinding muscles inside of its throat, opening its mouth wide for you to look in. You only feel a small prick of fear, but it doesn’t consume larger animals… the amount of meat and bacteria in your body would make it sick. 

It also gives the best hugs, after you explain what one is. Pulls you close with its tendrils and squeezes your body close. It can wrap you up like a straightjacket, limbs tight at your sides. You can feel its hearts pulse through the skin, some beats faint from the distance, some strong. It can tuck you beneath what would be its chin and let you sleep, it’s body cool against the desert heat during the day. 

It doesn’t know if there are others like it, it’s been asleep for so long that it forgets if there were others when it burrowed into the earth to rest. The stars all look different, the landscape strange, but it exists without much care to think about it further. It can reproduce on its own, though it needs a warm place to store its snippet of itself while it grows. 

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Would A Timburr Be A Good Pet?

Timburrs are an interesting case, when it comes to being a pet. There are some contexts in which they would not make very good pets, but for the right kind of owner they could make a great companion. This isn’t surprising for a fighting-type pokémon. These critters tend to be a little rougher when it comes to their moves and behavior, which may be too much for a lot of owners to handle. If you love pets of the more rough-and-tumble variety, a timburr would be a great first step into the world of fighting-type care.

On their own, timburrs don’t pose much of a threat. They’re pretty small and lightweight, but goodness are they strong. You’ll pretty much never see a timburr without a piece of lumber that they love to swing around in battle (White, Black). As timburrs grow, they get stronger and trade out their log for bigger and bigger ones (Black 2/White2). In fact, it’s said that the strength of a timburr, as indicated by their log, shows how close they are to evolving into a gurdurr (Black); if your timburr can carry a log three times their weight, they may be prepared to evolve (Shield).

Like I said, timburrs like to use their logs in battle, using moves like Slam, Hammer Arm, and Superpower to do tons of physical damage to enemies. Playing with a timburr would almost certainly involve an element of rough play, which can be dangerous and unpredictable when it comes to, you know, swinging a log of wood around. Timburrs are known to throw tantrums when things don’t go their way (Sword), lashing out at everyone and everything around them. Sure, timburrs are small, but they can really pack a punch. If you won’t be able to handle a timburrs occasionally destructive behavior, they’re certainly not going to be the right choice for you.

Thankfully, there are ways to distract and engage your timburr in more constructive behavior…literally. Timburrs love building things (Sword). They’re known to show up at construction sites on their own, thrilled to help out with the lumber they lug around (White). You could keep your timburr happy and engaged by giving them plenty of building projects to work on. Just keep in mind that when they really get into the groove of building, they will tantrum if interrupted (Sword).

[addisond1]

My Skills and weaknesses

I have always wanted to start my own furniture building business and I know that that requires tremendous amounts of skills. I first found my love of woodworking while in grade 7 when I had the opportunity to take woodshop and instantly loved the creativity of the woodworking projects. I continued with woodshop all the way until grade 12 and then diverted from that path for a few years to take environmental sciences at Fleming college. When Covid struck I moved back home and decided to take a different program all together and enrolled in Carpentry and renovation techniques at Niagara College. Throughout the 8 years of woodworking experience I have picked up on many different skills that will help me in this endeavor like the design process. I have always really enjoyed working with CAD and have seen my skills with it grow and am now rather comfortable with designing different projects in a few different softwares such as Autodesk Inventor and  AutoCAD. I have also picked up on many building techniques like how to process rough sawn lumber and how laminate that wood together. I have picked up on the skills required to use woodworking tools such as a router/router table, jointers, planers, and many different types of saws.

I do however lack a few crucial skills to running a business like knowing how to run a business. I also tend to have poor time management skills and often leave things until the last minute. I also tend to get too focused on one thing, especially if it is really annoying me and I can’t work it out. I’m often too kind and have a hard time saying no to people which has come back to bite me a few times. I can get rather overwhelmed when I see how difficult something is and will often choose to just ignore it instead. I have seen first hand how difficult it is to run a business when my parents suddenly had to start running my grandfather’s limestone importing business when he became too old to do it himself. 

[koreposion]

Click

Lucidity isn't the same as sobering thoughts

Dust scratched at his eye socket as he felt so acutely aware of himself. He didn't need to breath but his body shuddered as it mimicked the motion. His bones rattled as he laid down in the pile of pile of pillows and blankets. Looking up he saw the confused look of Horror as he looked back.

"Why do you care?" Dust hissed softly to the one-eyed monster. Forgetting what had been said moments before by the lumbering beast.

Horror gave him a sharp look, clearly holding his tongue from using some choice words. A quiet second settled before a sigh came from him. His gaze turned soft as he pet Dust gently, easing the magic in his skull.

"Because I can...no one can stop me from doing what I want." Horror starts off, "What I want, is to take care of people close to me. You're close to me, so I want to take care of you. It's simple... really."

Dust's eyelights flicker, going out and then appearing just as quickly as it disappeared. They moved like wavering candles as they looked up at the neutral face of Horror. He was always so hard to read as nothing changed about him, even when he was passionate.

"You should stop trying." Dust says to him, closing his eyes and relaxing his body. His words are mostly out of envy. Horror doesn't forget but he doesn't let what he's done impact him. Dust has felt nothing but impact since he's left his empty underground.

"Shut up." Horror blankly states to Dust, "You can't tell me what I can and cannot do. And just because you are in a mood doesn't mean you can disrespect me."

The irritation is clear in his voice as he glares down at Dust, "We aren't in a horrible place anymore, both of us. You know that and you're getting better even if you don't see it. That doesn't mean I'll let you project onto me because you have issues with yourself. Fundamentally we are different, keep your words to yourself."

This makes Dust shut up just to avoid anymore thoughts from leaving Horror. They both are quiet most of the time but when it comes down to it they're both just as chatty. Horror was right in many ways as he always was. It was hard to notice progress when feeling trapped in time.

"I'm sorry." Dust mumbles as he takes one of Horror's hands and places it on his cheek. He rubs his cheek in the cool palm of Horror's hand. The rough feeling of of well worn bones calming his fluctuating mood.

"It's fine, I know you don't mean any harm by it." Horror pinches Dust's cheek gently, "You do deserve love, don't forget that. I give you my love because I want to, not because I need to."

A soft hum leaves Dust as his eyelights flicker out and he becomes focused on Horror. He sighs as he feels himself grow tired from the knowledge of his own interchangeable mood. Horror gives him a kiss on the forehead and nuzzles his face.

They both stay there in this moment, a small thing to remember for another day.

[mro-uk]

Powermatic

Powermatic is a well-known brand of woodworking machinery that has been producing high-quality tools and machines since 1921. The company is known for its wide range of products, including table saws, bandsaws, jointers, planers, lathes, and dust collection systems. Woodworking professionals and enthusiasts around the world trust Powermatic machines due to their precision and accuracy.

One of the key features that sets Powermatic machinery apart from others is the use of cast iron in their construction. This material provides stability and durability to their machines, making them reliable and long-lasting.

Powermatic machinery is designed with safety in mind. They incorporate various safety features in their machines such as blade guards and safety switches to prevent accidents in the workshop.

Overall, Powermatic is a reputable brand that offers high-quality woodworking machinery. Their precision, durability, and safety features make them a popular choice for both professional woodworkers and hobbyists alike.

Powermatic product line

Powermatic is a renowned brand that specializes in crafting top-quality woodworking machinery and tools. The brand offers a diverse product line that caters to the varying needs of woodworkers, from novice hobbyists to seasoned professionals.

Table Saws - Powermatic's table saws are engineered for precision, power, and durability. The brand offers cabinet saws designed for heavy-duty use, featuring large table surfaces and robust motors. Contractor saws are more portable and suitable for job site use, while hybrid saws combine features of both cabinet and contractor saws.

Bandsaws - Powermatic's bandsaws are designed to make accurate cuts in wood and other materials. They come in different sizes, from benchtop models suitable for small jobs to floor models capable of handling larger wood pieces. Powermatic's bandsaws are renowned for their precision, ease of use, and smooth operation.

Planers - Powermatic's planers are designed to smooth rough lumber and make it usable for woodworking projects. The brand offers a variety of sizes, with larger models capable of handling wide boards and thick wood pieces. Powermatic's planers are known for their precision and user-friendliness.

Jointers - Powermatic's jointers are used to straighten and flatten wood surfaces. They come in benchtop and floor models, with larger ones capable of handling wider wood pieces. Powermatic's jointers are known for their accuracy and ease of use.

Sanders - Powermatic's sanders include both belt and drum sanders, designed to make sanding jobs quick and straightforward. They come in different sizes, with larger models capable of handling more substantial wood pieces. Powermatic's sanders are renowned for their accuracy, speed, and ease of use.

Dust Collectors - Powermatic's dust collectors are designed to ensure workspace cleanliness and safety by removing dust and debris from the air. They come in different sizes, with larger models capable of handling multiple machines at once. Powermatic's dust collectors are known for their efficiency and reliability.

Lathes - Powermatic's lathes are used for turning wood and other materials. They come in benchtop and floor models, with larger ones capable of handling more significant wood pieces. Powermatic lathes are known for their precision and ease of use.

Mortisers - Powermatic mortises are used to make precise mortises in wood. They come in benchtop and floor models, with larger ones capable of handling larger wood pieces. Powermatic's mortises are renowned for their accuracy and user-friendliness.

Drill Presses - Powermatic's drill presses are used to drill accurate holes in wood and metal. They come in benchtop and floor models, with larger ones capable of handling larger wood pieces. Powermatic's drill presses are known for their precision and ease of use.

CNC Machines - Powermatic's CNC machines are used for computer-controlled manufacturing processes. They come in different sizes, with larger ones capable of handling larger wood and other materials. Powermatic's CNC machines are known for their precision and efficiency.

In conclusion, Powermatic's product line is designed to cater to the needs of woodworkers at all levels, offering high-quality woodworking machinery and tools that are durable, efficient, and user-friendly.

[hollismillwork]

American White Oak: The Perfect Choice from Hollis Millworks

Woodworking and construction industries have long revered American White Oak for its strength, durability, and timeless appeal. Hollis Millworks, a renowned wood sawmill in Hollis, specializes in milling this high-quality timber, providing top-tier materials for builders, designers, and woodworkers alike. In this blog, we’ll explore why American White Oak is a sought-after material, how it’s processed at Hollis Millworks, and the variety of ways you can incorporate this elegant wood into your projects.

Why Choose American White Oak?

American White Oak (Quercus alba) is a native hardwood species prized for its durability, resistance to rot, and appealing grain patterns. As one of the most popular oaks in North America, it’s known for its fine texture, light to medium brown color, and its remarkable ability to withstand outdoor conditions. This makes it an excellent choice for both interior and exterior applications, from fine furniture to flooring, cabinetry, and even boatbuilding.

American White Oak also offers an aesthetic versatility that many other types of wood can’t match. Its subtle, yet pronounced grain pattern and ability to take on a wide variety of stains and finishes allow woodworkers to craft pieces that can range from rustic and rugged to sleek and modern.

The Hollis Millworks Advantage

At Hollis Millworks, precision and craftsmanship go hand in hand with a deep respect for the materials they work with. Located in Hollis, the sawmill has been a trusted source of premium wood products for generations. The team at Hollis Millworks takes great pride in sourcing the finest American White Oak and transforming it into high-quality lumber that meets the specific needs of their customers.

By milling their own wood, Hollis Millworks ensures that each board is cut to the highest standard. This attention to detail results in consistent grain patterns and precise dimensions, which are critical for projects requiring superior quality. Whether you’re a furniture maker or a contractor building custom homes, you can trust that Hollis Millworks will provide you with top-notch American White Oak.

Another distinct advantage of working with Hollis Millworks is their ability to customize orders. No two projects are alike, and Hollis Millworks understands that. They offer personalized cutting and milling services to match the exact specifications of your project. Whether you need rough-cut lumber for framing or finely milled planks for cabinetry, the team at Hollis can meet your needs with unmatched precision and care.

Sustainable Sourcing and Craftsmanship

Sustainability is at the core of Hollis Millworks’ business practices. They are committed to sourcing American White Oak from responsibly managed forests, ensuring that their products are environmentally friendly. This focus on sustainability allows customers to use high-quality wood without compromising their commitment to environmental responsibility.

wood sawmill hollis, as a species, grows abundantly across the eastern United States, and when harvested responsibly, it can be a renewable resource. Hollis Millworks takes great care to ensure that every tree they work with is replaced, supporting healthy forest ecosystems.

Applications of American White Oak

One of the key reasons American White Oak is so popular in woodworking and construction is its versatility. From flooring to custom furniture, there are virtually no limits to how this wood can be used.

Flooring: White Oak is a great option for flooring because of its durability and timeless aesthetic. Its resistance to wear and its ability to accept stains well make it an excellent choice for high-traffic areas in both homes and commercial spaces.

Furniture: With its beautiful grain pattern and durability, American White Oak is often used in high-end furniture pieces. The wood’s ability to hold intricate details makes it ideal for crafting everything from sturdy tables to elegant chairs.

Cabinetry: American White Oak offers a classic look for cabinetry, whether in kitchens, bathrooms, or other built-ins. Its strength ensures long-lasting results, while its beautiful appearance enhances any interior space.

Exterior Projects: Thanks to its rot-resistant properties, American White Oak is perfect for outdoor applications like decking, fencing, or even boatbuilding.

Why Hollis Millworks?

When you choose Hollis Millworks for your American White Oak needs, you’re not just getting lumber—you’re partnering with a team of experts who are passionate about wood. Their extensive knowledge and dedication to quality craftsmanship make them a trusted partner for any woodworking or construction project.

From sustainable sourcing to personalized service, Hollis Millworks offers an unparalleled experience for anyone seeking the finest American White Oak. Whether you’re working on a residential, commercial, or custom project, the team at Hollis Millworks has the expertise to bring your vision to life with precision and care.

Conclusion

American White Oak is more than just a wood species—it’s a legacy of strength, beauty, and versatility. When paired with the expertise of Hollis Millworks, it becomes the perfect material for any project. Whether you're crafting custom furniture or designing a home, the quality and sustainability of Hollis Millworks' American White Oak will elevate your work to new heights

[forkliftswork]

Forklift Rental: Streamline Your Operations with the Right Equipment

In today's fast-paced industrial environment, efficient material handling is crucial for businesses of all sizes. Forklifts are essential tools that enhance productivity and safety in warehouses, construction sites, and manufacturing facilities. For many companies, renting a forklift offers the perfect solution to meet temporary needs without the financial commitment of ownership. In this blog, we’ll discuss the benefits of forklift rental, the types of forklifts available, and tips for selecting the right rental for your operations.

Why Rent a Forklift?

1. Cost Efficiency

Renting a forklift can be a cost-effective option for businesses that require temporary equipment. Rather than investing in a new forklift, which can be a significant expense, renting allows you to allocate your budget more effectively. You pay only for the duration of use, making it ideal for short-term projects or peak seasons.

2. Access to Modern Equipment

Forklift technology is constantly evolving, with advancements in safety features, fuel efficiency, and productivity. When you rent a forklift, you typically have access to the latest models equipped with cutting-edge technology, ensuring optimal performance for your operations.

3. Flexibility and Variety

Rental companies offer a wide range of forklift types and sizes to meet various needs. Whether you need a compact electric forklift for indoor use or a heavy-duty diesel forklift for outdoor applications, renting provides the flexibility to choose the right equipment for your specific job requirements.

4. No Maintenance Worries

When you rent a forklift, the rental company is responsible for maintenance and repairs. This means you can focus on your work without worrying about unexpected breakdowns or the costs associated with routine servicing. Knowing that the equipment is regularly maintained ensures you can rely on it when you need it most.

Types of Forklifts Available for Rent

1. Electric Forklifts

Electric forklifts are ideal for indoor use, as they produce zero emissions and operate quietly. They are perfect for warehouses and retail environments where noise and air quality are concerns. These forklifts are generally easier to maneuver in tight spaces and can handle loads ranging from light to medium.

2. Internal Combustion Forklifts

Internal combustion forklifts, powered by gasoline or diesel engines, are suitable for outdoor applications. They are robust and can handle heavy loads, making them ideal for construction sites, lumber yards, and other rugged environments.

3. Pallet Jacks

For lighter loads and smaller spaces, pallet jacks are a versatile option. These manual or electric devices are designed for transporting pallets and can be an efficient solution for businesses with low to moderate material handling needs.

4. Rough Terrain Forklifts

Rough terrain forklifts are designed for outdoor use on uneven or challenging surfaces. They come equipped with large tires and higher ground clearance, making them ideal for construction sites or agricultural applications where stability and traction are essential.

How to Choose the Right Forklift Rental

1. Evaluate Your Needs

Before renting a forklift, assess your specific requirements. Consider the weight of the loads you will be lifting, the height you need to reach, and the type of terrain where you will be operating. This information will help you determine the appropriate forklift type and model.

2. Consider the Environment

Think about where the forklift will be used. For indoor applications, electric forklifts are typically the best choice. For outdoor jobs, internal combustion or rough terrain forklifts may be necessary to handle uneven surfaces and heavier loads.

3. Rental Duration

Determine how long you will need the forklift. Rental companies often provide daily, weekly, or monthly rates. Choosing the right duration can significantly impact your overall rental costs, so be sure to evaluate your project timeline carefully.

4. Safety Features

Safety is paramount when operating forklifts. Ensure that the rental company provides forklifts equipped with essential safety features such as seat belts, lights, horns, and stability systems. Verify that the equipment meets all safety standards to protect your operators and materials.

Where to Rent a Forklift

When searching for a reliable source for forklift rentals, it’s important to choose a company with a reputation for quality and service. Reach International is a trusted provider of forklift rentals, offering a variety of options to suit your operational needs. Whether you require electric forklifts for indoor tasks or heavy-duty models for outdoor use, they have the right equipment available. With competitive rates and exceptional customer support, Reach International ensures you receive the best value for your forklift rental.

Conclusion

Renting a forklift is an excellent way to enhance your material handling capabilities without the long-term commitment of ownership. With various options available to suit different project requirements, forklift rentals offer flexibility, cost savings, and access to modern equipment. By carefully assessing your needs and working with a reputable rental provider, you can streamline your operations and improve efficiency.

For businesses seeking high-quality forklift rentals, Reach International is the ideal partner, providing reliable equipment and exceptional service tailored to your specific needs. Elevate your productivity and tackle your material handling challenges with confidence by choosing the right forklift rental today!

[motimac]

The Essential Guide to Sanding Machines: Types, Uses, and Benefits

Sanding machines are versatile tools used in various industries, from woodworking and construction to automotive repair and metalworking. These machines are designed to smooth surfaces by removing unwanted material, preparing them for further treatment like painting, staining, or sealing. Sanding Machine come in various forms, each tailored to different applications. In this guide, we will explore the types of sanding machine, their uses, and the benefits they offer.

Types of Sanding Machines

Belt Sanders Belt sanders are powerful machines that use a continuous loop of sandpaper stretched between two drums. They are ideal for large, flat surfaces, such as floors or countertops. With high efficiency, belt sanders quickly remove rough material, making them perfect for heavy-duty sanding projects.

Orbital Sanders Orbital sanders have a square or rectangular base that moves in tiny circular motions. This type is excellent for finishing work, as it produces a smoother surface. Orbital sanders are commonly used for light to medium sanding jobs, such as smoothing edges or removing old paint.

Random Orbital Sanders Random orbital sanders combine the spinning motion of a disc sander with the random movement of an orbital sander. This design minimizes the risk of leaving swirl marks on the surface. Random orbital sanders are versatile and can be used on wood, plastic, or metal, making them a popular choice for both DIY enthusiasts and professionals.

Detail Sanders Detail sanders, often known as corner or mouse sanders, are compact tools with a triangular-shaped sanding pad. They are designed for precision work in tight spaces, such as corners, edges, and intricate details in furniture or cabinetry.

Drum Sanders Drum sanders are large, stationary machines commonly used for refinishing hardwood floors. They consist of a rotating drum covered with sandpaper, which aggressively sands large areas to achieve a smooth, even surface. Due to their power, drum sanders are mostly used by professionals.

Common Uses of Sanding Machines

Sanding machines are utilized in various industries, and their versatility makes them essential tools for many professionals. Some common uses include

Woodworking: Sanding machines are frequently used to smooth rough lumber, remove stains or finishes, and prepare surfaces for painting or staining.

Construction: In construction, sanders help prepare drywall, floors, and other materials for finishing. They are vital in projects that involve flooring installation, carpentry, and cabinetry.

Automotive: Auto body shops use sanding machines to smooth out imperfections in metal surfaces, such as car doors or panels, before painting.

Metalworking: In metal fabrication, sanding machines remove rust, burrs, and rough edges to create a polished, smooth surface.

Benefits of Using Sanding Machines

Time-Saving: Sanding machines are significantly faster and more efficient than manual sanding, making them ideal for large projects or tasks that require precision.

Improved Surface Quality: Whether preparing wood, metal, or other materials, sanding machines create a uniform and smooth finish that can be challenging to achieve by hand.

Versatility: With different types of sanders available, there is a machine for every need, from rough sanding large surfaces to fine detailing work in hard-to-reach places.

Consistent Results: Using a sanding machine ensures consistent pressure and movement across the surface, resulting in an even finish without irregularities.

For more info:-

Sanding a Curved Surface

Metal Sanding Belt

[bakedbakermom]

It's a thing though? My house was built in the 70s and the guy who did the inspection before we closed on it was like oddly relieved to see the kind of wood that had been used for framing/studs. He said new construction lumber comes from trees that are too young and soft to be strong enough to turn into something as heavy as a house and all these "squeeze 40 homes into what used to be 3 lots" construction projects around here are going to be in Rough Shape in a couple decades.

Older houses have their issues but this weird human/beaver hybrid guy has a point.

[cecilburton1]

Exploring Carpentry Projects_ Simple DIY Ideas for Beginners by Skilled Carpenters such as Cecil Burton (Rockford City in Illinois)

Cecil Burton - Winnebago County Illinois

Exploring Carpentry Projects: Simple DIY Ideas for Beginners by Skilled Carpenters such as Cecil Burton (Rockford City in Illinois)

Carpentry, the art of crafting wood into functional and aesthetic structures, offers a rewarding journey for beginners eager to delve into hands-on projects. This blog aims to guide novice carpenters through simple DIY ideas that not only build foundational skills but also inspire creativity and confidence in woodworking. From basic tools to practical tips, each project is designed to empower beginners to embark on their carpentry journey with enthusiasm and accomplishment.

Essential Tools and Materials

Before diving into carpentry projects, it's essential to familiarize yourself with basic tools and materials. Essential tools include a tape measure, hammer, handsaw or circular saw, power drill, screwdrivers, and a combination square for accurate measurements. Safety equipment such as goggles, gloves, and hearing protection should always be worn to ensure a safe woodworking environment.

Selecting quality lumber and materials appropriate for your project is crucial. Softwoods like pine or cedar are ideal for beginners due to their ease of cutting and affordability. Skilled carpenters like Cecil Burton (Rockford City in Illinois) mention that understanding different types of wood grains, cuts, and finishes helps in choosing materials that best suit your project's requirements. With the right tools and materials in hand, beginners can confidently tackle carpentry projects and achieve professional-looking results.

Building a Basic Bookshelf

A simple yet practical project for beginners is building a basic bookshelf. Start by measuring the space where the bookshelf will be placed and sketching a design that fits your needs. Cut the wood into appropriate lengths using a saw, ensuring each piece is accurately measured and squared off. Assemble the frame using screws or nails, and reinforce joints with wood glue for added stability.

Once the frame is constructed, add shelves at desired intervals, securing them firmly with brackets or dado joints. Sand the surfaces to smooth any rough edges and apply a finish or paint to enhance the aesthetic appeal and protect the wood. Building a bookshelf not only enhances organizational space but also provides hands-on experience in measuring, cutting, and assembling wood components as highlighted by skilled craftsmen such as Cecil Burton (Rockford City in Illinois).

Crafting a Wooden Picture Frame

Crafting a wooden picture frame is an excellent project for beginners to practice precision and attention to detail as conveyed by skilled carpenters including Cecil Burton (Rockford City in Illinois). Start by selecting a hardwood such as oak or maple for durability and aesthetic appeal. Measure and cut the wood into four pieces according to the desired dimensions of the picture frame, ensuring mitered corners for a seamless finish.

Using wood glue and clamps, assemble the frame and let it dry thoroughly before sanding the edges to achieve a smooth surface. Apply a stain or paint of your choice to complement your decor or leave the frame natural for a rustic appeal. Insert glass and a backing board secured with flexible points or staples, and your custom wooden picture frame is ready to showcase cherished memories or artwork.

Constructing a Basic Workbench

Constructing a basic workbench provides beginners with a foundational project that enhances workspace functionality and organization. Begin by designing a sturdy frame using dimensional lumber such as 2x4s, ensuring the legs are securely anchored with braces or lap joints for stability. Use a level to ensure the workbench is flat and even, adjusting as needed before attaching the tabletop surface.

Add a plywood or hardwood surface to the frame, securing it with screws or bolts to withstand heavy-duty use. Consider adding a lower shelf for storage of tools and materials, enhancing workspace efficiency. Sand the workbench surfaces to remove rough spots and apply a protective finish or varnish to prolong its lifespan and enhance durability. A well-constructed workbench provides a dedicated space for future carpentry projects and fosters practical skills in woodworking techniques as pointed out by skilled craftsmen like Cecil Burton (Rockford City in Illinois).

Creating a Wooden Serving Tray

Creating a wooden serving tray is a beginner-friendly project that combines functionality with decorative appeal. Choose hardwoods like walnut or cherry for their durability and attractive grain patterns. Begin by cutting the wood into rectangular pieces for the tray base and sides, ensuring precise measurements for a snug fit. Assemble the tray using wood glue and nails or dovetail joints for added strength.

Sand the tray surfaces to achieve a smooth finish and round off edges for a comfortable grip. Incorporate handles into the sides using cutouts or purchased hardware for ease of carrying. Apply a food-safe finish such as mineral oil or beeswax to protect the wood and enhance its natural beauty. A handmade wooden serving tray adds a personal touch to entertaining and makes for a thoughtful gift idea for family and friends.

Finishing Touches and Maintenance

Completing carpentry projects involves attention to finishing touches that enhance aesthetics and functionality. Sanding surfaces to remove imperfections, applying wood stain or paint for color enhancement, and adding protective coatings like varnish or polyurethane prolong the life of wood projects. Regular maintenance, including dusting, cleaning, and occasional refinishing, ensures that carpentry creations remain in optimal condition for years to come.

By exploring these simple DIY carpentry projects with the help of a skilled carpenter such as Cecil Burton (Rockford City in Illinois), beginners gain practical experience in woodworking techniques, build confidence in their skills, and unleash their creativity in crafting functional and personalized items.

Embarking on a journey into carpentry for beginners opens a world of creative possibilities and practical skills. Through simple DIY projects like building a basic bookshelf, crafting a wooden picture frame, constructing a workbench, creating a serving tray, and more, newcomers to woodworking can develop foundational techniques and build confidence in their abilities. Understanding essential tools, selecting quality materials, and mastering basic woodworking principles are key to successfully completing projects and achieving professional-looking results.

As you explore the art of carpentry, remember to prioritize safety by using appropriate protective gear and practicing caution with power tools. Embrace each project as an opportunity to learn and grow in craftsmanship, refining your skills with each cut and assembly. Whether you're enhancing your home decor, organizing your space, or creating thoughtful gifts for loved ones, carpentry offers a rewarding outlet for creativity and a pathway to developing lifelong skills in woodworking.

[back-and-totheleft]

Coming home is never easy

Sundown, and the heavy curtains are drawn in his Santa Monica office. Oliver Stone is freshly showered, his hair roughed with a towel. He drops into a stuffed chair. He calls for wine! He calls for water! From a photograph atop a tall cabinet, eyes of young men look down on him. One pair of eyes is his own. It was another life back then. A different world. It was Vietnam.

No American filmmaker has drawn from the outrage of his own experience to plunge so deeply, so persistently, so flamboyantly, into the futile war the U.S. waged against communism in Southeast Asia.

Another pair of young eyes is watching Stone. Seated on a chesterfield to his left is a man half his age--27 to Stone’s 53. Alert, slightly stiff, his face tender, even admiring, Tony Bui is a child of the war, a refugee. Like Stone, he uses cinema to tear through the myths of this past.

Ghosts crowd into room. We should have expected them.

The idea had been straightforward. Twenty-five years after the U.S. was driven from Saigon, Oliver Stone and Tony Bui would meet for the first time at the invitation of The Times. The Vietnam vet and Vietnamese American, both sons of military officers, would reflect on this old conflict and the meaning-laden, deeply personal cinemagraphic vision they draw from it. I sat across the coffee table to moderate, not because I know film but because some of my youth washed away in the mud of Vietnam too.

The conversation didn’t work out exactly as planned. With Vietnam things never do, isn’t that how the cliche goes?

Three films on Vietnam, three perspectives, three windows into the experience: “Platoon,” “Born on the Fourth of July,” “Heaven and Earth.” Still today, Stone boils with the war.

Bui’s life and emerging celebrity as a filmmaker rose from the same cataclysm but to different ends.

His tranquil, poetically photographed 1999 film “Three Seasons” unrolls as counterpoise to the fiery intensity of Stone’s visions. The story gently enters the lives of three working-class Vietnamese who are making their way in postwar Ho Chi Minh City. It was the first American film shot in Communist Vietnam. Dialogue is spoken in Vietnamese, and only occasionally does the film connect directly to America and the war.

Who would have guessed?

Not Bui.

In Hollywood, as with many things involving power and money, people mark their status by how late they can arrive and still hold their audience. Bui enters the casual, rough-wood lobby of Stone’s production offices only 10 minutes past the appointed time, practically prompt. Stone himself waits an hour to make his appearance.

In the interval, Bui talks a little about his next project: He is putting into production a second film, written by him and directed by his brother, Timothy. Set entirely at the California Marine Corps base at Camp Pendleton, “Green Dragon” is a tale of a South Vietnamese refugee camp a week before the fall of Saigon in April 1975, and for three months after.

“It’s the story of our childhoods, in part,” he says.

The brothers hope to have the film finished to show at the Sundance Festival, which a year ago awarded “Three Seasons” the Grand Jury Prize for drama and the Audience Award.

Bui, easy with a smile, easy with small talk, shuffles back and forth across the floor, revealing the anxiety that besets a young filmmaker hoping to make good on the promise of his first work. He is spending his pre-production days shopping for his new apartment. He is looking for the perfect kitchen blender, which he describes in all its detail. It is easier to talk about blenders than cinema when the film is still unexposed in the can.

Stone arrives. He lumbers through three doors to his ocean-facing sequester, which he nearly fills with his own bulk and persona. The next hour passes slowly, even painfully--strained, or, if you choose, illuminated, by Stone’s rocket flights of thought.

No, he said, he will not keep matters on track. “Off track is more interesting. If things get off track, people like that--you do analog, I’ll do digital,” he says, smiling.

Influenced by Conrad and Hemingway, and by his father, a World War II lieutenant colonel, Stone concedes youthful romanticism about war. John Wayne shaped his views too. “John Wayne, ‘Sands of Iwo Jima,’ as a kid I loved it.”

All that is gone now, replaced by bottomless cynicism. Wars, at the root, “are motivated by greed, profit, money. The Vietnam War was a totally symbolist event. It was surreal. I mean, it was a very important event. It grew in importance afterward. It showed that America was vulnerable. The elephant could be defeated by the ant.”

In his soul, the spot occupied by Vietnam is “terrible. Thank God I had another life. Many Vietnam veterans didn’t. . . .”

Stone continues, his inflections and pauses dramatic. “Little did we know what we were getting into. So for me, at the beginning, it was a great adventure. My parents had divorced. I had no life in America. I was writing a book. I went to Vietnam with romantic ideas, you see.”

That was the first time. He taught at a Catholic school in Saigon. It was 1965 and the war was heating up, but America had innocence and arrogance to burn.

Then Stone traveled and finished his self-conscious book about himself. It was rejected by publishers. It was now 1967. Downcast, he returned to Vietnam as a soldier.

“I was very suicidal, but I couldn’t pull the trigger on myself. So I figured, hey, let somebody else kill me if it’s meant. I insisted on the front lines--they made me cut point like in ‘Platoon.’ I tell you, I wanted to go to the bottom of the barrel. I wanted to see how bad it could get. Then I could only believe in myself as a person. That was authentic.

“Because New York City was not authentic. Yale University was not authentic. And those are the people who are running the country right now, you understand? It is a real bind for me. Because all the guys who came back from Vietnam, we’re all f-----. We are f-----. And I don’t mean to be self-pitying, but we are so out of touch with our generation.

“You know what I’m talking about. You come back, you can’t sit in a room and talk. Your value system is different. You’ve seen things at the dirtiest level. And people sit there, and they’re mostly hypocrites, you know? They’re mostly hypocrites in America. . . .”

Yes, Oliver, we know.

Don’t we?

The son of a South Vietnamese Air Force captain, Bui was 2 years old when once-proud, always lovely Saigon turned convulsive and began to fall in April 1975. Two weeks ahead of North Vietnamese tanks, Mom, Dad, Bui and his 5-year-old brother, Timothy Linh Bui, fled the country with American assistance. It was to be a short exile. The Bui family expected to go no farther than perhaps Guam. Things would work out, calm would return to Saigon. The Buis would come home.

All of this Tony Bui knows because he was told. None of it took hold in memory. He thinks he can remember something of the airplane flight out.

But calm did not return to the renamed Ho Chi Minh City. Guam was only a first stop on the long retreat for those who served in the failed cause of the south. Eventually, the Buis were brought to the mainland U.S., processed through the disorienting refugee system. They resettled in that most optimistically named American suburb, Sunnyvale, Calif.

“For me, there was always this weird tug of war: my parents trying to talk to me about the war and about Vietnam, while I tried to push it away,” Bui says about the next 17 years of his life.

In school, he recalls feeling shame--well, not shame exactly, but a stigma something like it. There were few other Vietnamese families in the community. The war had humbled America, and America was not happy to be reminded of it. Bui camouflaged himself as a Filipino.

At 19, he returned to see his homeland. He found it hot, humid, teeming. In short, awful to the sensibilities of a “spoiled” American kid, as he puts it. He fled again.

Arriving back in San Francisco, he wept. The epiphany came after. Whatever he had seen that was so fearfully strange began to turn in the teenager’s mind.

“Six months later I went back, and again, and again, and again. I remember watching things, learning, reading, trying to get a greater consciousness of my past and how that was affecting my future,” he says. “So thank God I went back, because it completely changed my life.”

Stone: “Can I ask a question?”

Bui: “Sure.”

Stone: “You want a tough question? You’re a young man. You escaped the war. You would have been hurt in that war. Everybody was hurt. Families were destroyed. In ‘Heaven and Earth’ two boys go to war. You never see them until the end of the movie. One is dead. The one is bitter. The sisters are all separated. The father dies. . . .”

Bui: “It’s very, very strong.”

Stone: “You missed all that. You must have some guilt? . . . You know that the country has always had a tenet: Be prepared to defend Vietnam.”

Bui: “For me, it’s tough. I defend Vietnam in different ways. I don’t know if I would carry a gun to go defend Vietnam. But I think making ‘Three Seasons’ was to try to give a different vision of Vietnam. Through my work, hopefully, and what I say about it, I defend it like that--how I try to absorb myself in the country today, try to get to the consciousness of the people, their sense of forgiveness and peace. Which I did not understand growing up here.”

Bui has an afterthought. He pauses and looks at the two men in the room. Oliver Stone sacrificed his 21st birthday flying over the international date line en route to war. I lost my 18th birthday the same way--one moment I was 17, officially too young to fight. Then the plane landed, the calendar had leaped forward and it was the day past my birthday and I was legally sanctioned for combat.

“That’s the guilt I feel,” Bui allows. “Because I spent my birthdays at home in California, partying.”

Maybe all these years later, Stone simply cannot put a square frame around his feelings. Maybe he is toying behind the role he allows himself as Hollywood rogue. Or maybe what comes from Stone are the same wild neutrons we detect in the guy on the street corner with the signboard in his lap. Vietnam can be suppressed but cannot be contained by the combat veteran, even the magnificently creative veteran.

Is there a great unmade movie left from the war?

“I should tell you?” Stone growls. “I could, but I’d have to kill you. . . . I’ve never given up.”

If John Wayne shaped the ideas of those Americans who went to Vietnam early in the war--in the mid-1960s--what will Stone’s legacy be for the children of tomorrow?

He laughs. “Did three Vietnam films, four if you include ‘JFK’ because there were some dealings with the Vietnamese War and Kennedy versus Johnson versus Eisenhower. It was really Eisenhower that started the war. Financially we supported most of the French effort. We were in serious discussion to drop nuclear bombs in Vietnam in 1954--although Ho Chi Minh had sent us letters, to Truman in ‘47, saying that George Washington was his hero and the Constitution of the United States was what he most respected.

“I went to Ho Chi Minh’s house two, three times. It’s just incredible. He fought this war from this simple little cottage. He used to have his cabinet meetings, outdoors sitting in a wood-and-straw chair. And yet the bombs would never hit there for some reason. In his garden, that’s where he ran the war. The Pentagon, by comparison, is 3,000 times bigger. And he beat the Pentagon, this little guy. Ho Chi Minh was an amazing man. And there was something about his face I always liked. What was your question?”

But of course.

No straight answers about the Vietnam War. Someday maybe. But not yet. Not for those who lived it, and who carry it with them.

As “Platoon’s” scar-faced Sgt. Barnes says: “There is the way it ought to be. And there is the way it is.”

-John Balzar, "Coming Home is Never Easy," The Los Angeles Times, Apr 16 2000