#round wood tab

[jawnwutson]

San Francisco Family Room Game Room

[rednotebooksworld]

Character Info: Pike ~ Deer Hybrid

A/n: I like hybrids but I rarely see deer hybrids so I’m making one of my own

*NSFW under ‘read more’ tab*

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Summary:

In the deep forest, a forest guardian with tough and tall antlers resides. Pike, a deer hybrid is a prince of his part of the forest and that came with huge responsibilities. You, lived in a town outside of the deep woods in lived in and it was an unexpected meeting when you wandered in his forest out of pure curiosity

SFW

—pike is more of a prince in his part of the forest but still a guardian nonetheless {bros got a bambi like backstory lol}

—pike is naturally curious about new things, human society fascinates him to some degree, so meet you, was like a blessing in disguise

—he is a bit of a short boi, but makes up for it with his antlers and ability to keep his forest safe from harm

—pike is very kind soul, he gets that from his father; the guardian before him. He likes being protective and with a human in the forest such as yourself, he’ll do everything in his powers to keep you safe

—he tries to avoid violence though willing to defend himself and others against an instigator

—he knows a lot about plants and such; teaches about plants what’s good and bad

^you accidentally tried to eat a poisonous mushroom and he just smacked it out of your hand and scolds you (definitely the mom type)

—he has introduced you to his herd; mostly the does and the fawns of the herd

^honestly he doesn’t trust the other males around you, he’s touch bit possessive

NSFW

—pike never had a mate in his lifetime even as a guardian like his father before him, it’s not like he wasn’t interested just never had the time

—though meeting you changed that, mostly his sex drive

—his sex drive went from 0 to 10 real quick, he’s kinda embarrassed by it but he’s so in love with you and he can tell it doesn’t bother you since you seem to enjoy it 😏

—that being said, pike is kinda vanilla, but he’s tied you up with vines before so bondage is always on the table for him

—pike’s a soft lover, he gives you praises and compliments

^“you’re such a pretty being, my precious princess~”

—he likes when you grab his antlers or even touch them while you have sex, that’s kinda why he enjoys eating you out, so you grab onto his antlers

—his size, well his cock is not that girthy and it’s pretty average length

—pike is very dominant especially around spring time or mating season; his herd is gave their prince usually looks when the sweet little human that’s been around was with him but they also can’t help but be happy

—he has a lot of stamina, since he’s still somewhat human but his deer half adds to his stamina; 2-3 rounds at most

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

18 Seasons

A Joel Miller baseball player AU.

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Joel Miller has only ever known playing baseball for his hometown team, and they’ve just announced they’re not resigning him. He heads to a fancy hotel bar to drink alone and wallow. He doesn’t except to find you, the team owner’s daughter, there.  Warnings: smut, baseball talk, drinking, banter (reader has a smart mouth and Joel’s got that asshole voice), unprotected p in v (but a discussion on testing and reader has an IUD), F receiving oral, Joel’s 42, reader’s in her late 30’s.  Words: 4,900 A/N: Happy 2024 Baseball Season! I’ve always thought Joel Miller would make a good baseball player, though I’m not sure if I just want to see him in tight baseball pants and that’s why I think that. 🤔 Anyways, this might be a bit of an adventure in me coping with the fact that my current favorite ballplayer is over 40 and only signed a minor league contract to play this season. Also, shout out to said favorite baseball player’s arm for being part of the cover of this, feels very Joel Miller to me. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Playlist

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"The Austin Capitals thank first baseman Joel Miller for his time and dedication to the team for the past 18 seasons. Miller is a six time All-Star, two time batting champion, and two time Gold Glove winner. He signed with his hometown team in the second round of the draft twenty three years ago and has been a great contribution both on and off the field. The organization will not be able to provide Miller with the proper playing time, with the current roster and plans for the upcoming season. We thank him for his years of service and he will forever be a part of the Capitals family."

Joel knew it was coming, it was inevitable. He had been warned of it multiple times, his agent straight and to the point about his chances, his brother and Maria more analytical and sympathetic, and his sweet Sarah so chipper and hopeful for him. 

For twenty three years he’s only known the Capitals. The only thing he’s ever been good at, baseball… he’s never been so good at anything else really, save maybe for wood working or fishing, but those were hobbies. Baseball was his job, he knows he’s a lucky son of a bitch who got to do this full time, and now it’s all over, he’s unemployed.

Joel needs a drink. The stronger, the better. 

DING. DING.

DING. DING. DING.

DING. DING.

He also needs to turn off his phone.

⚾️⚾️⚾️

“What can I get you?”

“Gin martini, dirty please.”

“Should I charge it to your room?”

“Ye–“

“No, you can put it on my tab." You turn towards the deep voice, you’re used to the southern accent, you grew up around it, but this timbre is different and yet so familiar. 

“Joel?” What the hell?

He lifts his glass towards you, his dark brown eyes shining at you from across the bar.

You haven’t seen him in quite a few years, ever since you got the hell out of Texas, moving to New York and betraying your home state for packed subway cars and better politics. 

He stands and walks towards you, he looks just as good as you remembered. Broad, strong, and too damn handsome to be alone on what you know might be the worst night of his life.

“Figured you wouldn’t waste your time on any of that fruity drink stuff,” he nods towards your drink as it’s placed in front of you.

“Too much sugar gives me a headache.” 

“Mm,” Joel gulps down the rest of his drink and signals the bartender for another. 

“…How are you holding up? I’m really sor—“

“M’fine. Was expected.” 

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Understood. 

Joel Miller was never one for talking, or the media. He’d give them a nod and a quick answer before moving on to the next nuisance. Talking was never his job, you know this. Your dad would sometimes complain about how his star player couldn’t play nice with the reporters. You always admired Joel’s candidness, it’s one of the things that you found most attractive about him. He was always honest, whether it was a good thing or a bad thing depended on how high the team was in the standings. You’re going to miss him on your team, but you can’t let him know that.

“So, why exactly are you back here in Texas?”

“It’s my Mom’s birthday, she’s tired of visiting me in New York, was guilted back here as part of her present.” 

“Mm. New York, hate playing in New York.”

“Likely thing to hear you say. Guess I should ask you what you’re doing in a fancy hotel bar in the city you live in?”

“S’quiet here, it’s the fanciest hotel ‘round here, nobody who stays here cares about baseball. Not a lot of people recognize me without the hat on.”

“Ouch. I care about baseball.” 

“Yeah, and you don’t belong in a place like this,” Joel pivots to look at you, his arm resting on the bar top.

“Where do I belong, Joel?” You angle your body to look at him and swallow down the last bit of your drink.

“Some place cozier, not as cold and… corporate as this place. Some place… hip.”

Your head tips back in laughter. “Hip?! I have a phone case with ducks on it, I cried at the same part I always cry at during Paddington 2 last night. I’m far from hip, what a funny word.”

“Dunno, always got the idea you’re cooler than me.”

“Okay pro baseball player.”

“Not so pro now,” Joel scours.

“Hey, sorry,” you place your hand on his forearm, a perfunctory touch. You had zero decision on the matter, and yet you feel so much guilt over it. You know what this game meant to him and you know he made it known he wanted to return. 

“S’alright. Just weird to know I’m done for.” He looks down and focuses on his hand rubbing back and forth on the rim of the glass. A nervous tell. Your hand remains on his arm, Joel makes no attempt to move away.

“You’re not done for, I’m sure another team would like you.”

“Don’t want another team. My daughter grew up here. Hell, I grew up here. My brother’s here. Sarah just started college here. I couldn’t move away.”

His daughter. The big story of Joel’s first year was how the star rookie, was also a father to a newborn baby girl. Juggling a .300 average and fatherhood.

“Wow, she’s in college, huh? I remember seeing her at the stadium all of the time, reminded me of how I grew up there too.”

“Time flies,” a wistful smile on his face as Joel signals the bartender for another round of drinks for the two of you. 

Goodness he’s gorgeous. You’ve always found him attractive, ever since he was signed right out of high school. All tall, golden skinned and muscular, now his form is a little more filled out, his muscles less defined but still fully there. His arms and thighs thicker now, a small gut protruding, but still solid and muscular. His speed to round the bases is a lot slower these days but his power and batting eye are stronger from years of playing. He was a school girl crush for you, a stadium give away bobble head of his still sits in your office under the ruse that he was your team’s biggest player. Now you don’t know what to call it, you’re long past school girl crushes. All you know is now, over twenty years later, he’s still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Time sure does fly.

“Are you staying here tonight?” You cut the silence between the two of you, both of you facing the bar and quietly sipping your drinks. Joel’s eyes looking a little heavier, the alcohol taking its effect on him. You feel good, a lot lighter, but happy to sit and allow Joel to ponder.

“Planned on it. Booked a room. Figured I’d get drunk and go pass out, take care of everything I have to tomorrow. Just don’t want to deal with it tonight.” 

“I understand that, just didn’t know if you needed car service home, I could have ordered you one.”

“Dad’s money, right?” Joel bites out condescendingly. 

“Or, my money, you asshole,” you bark back. You know he’s pissed off at the world but there’s no need for his tone to be so mean towards you. 

“Sorry, still kinda pissed off at your family.”

“My family? You mean my dad? I had nothing to do with it, my mother had nothing to do with it. You can be pissed off at him, but you’re also not getting any younger and believe it or not our farm system and minors are stacked with talent waiting to play.” You try to calm your voice as you gulp a drink down from your newly made martini. You don’t want to be pissed off and drunk but goodness the cold gin cools your heated body. “You’re old Joel, and you know it.”

“Of course I know it sweetheart, but I know I’m still better than most of those kids.” 

“Yeah, well, stop getting injured and batting .220 and prove it.”

“Damn, you got a smart mouth,” Joel leers at you.

“Not to mention all the time and effort spent on keeping your body in playing shape. I’m sorry, you’re ancient in sports standards.”

“Real fuckin’ smart mouth, huh?” Joel leans in and whispers, “I like it.”

You fight the urge to moan, to give an audible to the feeling that’s now coursing through your body from those three words snarled into your ear. 

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You feel the same feelings you felt those few years ago, while out with the team celebrating their playoff series win. Drinks flowing, cigars puffing plumes of smoke into the air, conversations shouted above music, bodies sweating and glowing different hues under the lights on the dance floor. The Capitals were heading to the World Series for the first time in twenty years, thanks to Joel Miller’s walk-off home run. Teary hugs shared with your family and friends as you watched him round the bases, it may have been the happiest you’d ever seen your dad. Hell, it may have been the happiest you’d ever been. You didn’t think the night could get any better, until Joel backed you into a corner of the club and stuck his tongue in your mouth and his hand up your dress. You don’t know if you’ve still forgiven him for pulling his fingers out of you and wiping the wet of your orgasm on his jeans before slurring out, “Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that,” as he backed away and left, leaving you all weak kneed and blissed out panting for air. 

You did agree though, he really shouldn’t have, the scandal that could’ve been brought on if the owner’s daughter was spotted in that position with the team’s star baseball player. He’s one of the reasons why you moved away, he was off limits and it drove you crazy. You casually dated, you slept with strangers, you spent three years with your ex who you thought you’d settle for and marry, but that night never escaped you. Sometimes you’d reach your hand between your legs and touch yourself while you remembered the look in his eyes as he nodded his head to signal you to follow him into that desolate space. Like he always wanted you as much as you always wanted him and he was seizing the opportunity. 

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“I’m just letting you know what we’re all seeing. Trust me, I don’t want to see you in any other colors than the Capitals color. Red suits you.” If you’re being honest, you really prefer him in the olive green button up shirt he’s wearing tonight. The top few buttons of it unbuttoned to relieve the stretched seams around his large shoulders giving you a peek of the gold chain he always wears resting against the bronzed skin of his neck and chest.

“Mm, whatever the color you want to call this is,” Joel grabs the shoulder of your shirt and rubs the fabric between his fingers, “suits you.”

“I call it aquamarine, most would just call it light blue.” 

“S’pretty, s’soft.” You wonder if he can see how rapid your heart is beating or the swallow of air you gulp down as his eyes linger on your chest and neck. “Fits real well.”

“Thanks, bought it at one those real fancy stores they have in New York,” you lift your shoulder causing Joel to pull his hand back. 

“Do the boys in New York like you in this color?” Joel’s words drip with the sarcastic tone he’s famous for. 

“Worked a couple of weeks ago with a guy. HUGE New York fan,” you emphasize huge, two can play that game. “Like, big, real big.” 

“Mm,” Joel’s nostrils flare. “He your last? This… New York fan?” 

“Yep,” you smile through your glass taking a drink and licking your lips.

“Mm,” Joel’s eyes don’t leave your mouth. “And why’s that?”

“Been busy, haven’t found anybody that’s piqued my interest, I guess.” 

“And what was so special about him?” 

“Not sure,” you shrug, “he was good looking and paid for my martinis. I wanted him, he wanted me, the classic hook up.” 

“Talk to him since?”

“Here and there, he seems nice enough." “Mm,” Joel licks his lips as he leans forward placing his arm on the back of your chair and turning it to swivel towards him, his other arm rests on the bar, caging you in between. “You want nice?” You can feel the heat radiating off his body, see the freckles on his skin from years of playing ball in the sun, smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with the soap on his skin. You’re so close you can almost count the gray hairs just beginning to tint his dark hair lighter. You want him.

“Not really. Plus, he was younger than me, I’m pretty sure I like older men.” You challenge him. You can compete with the best of them, and Joel’s one of the best, he’s made millions of dollars over the years just from being competitive. 

“Mm,” Joel moves the hand from the back of your chair to your shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth, his touch igniting your core. 

“How long has it been for… you?” Your words come out a little too nervous than you’d like them to be. 

“Few months, not sure. Don’t like that type of distraction during the season.” 

“A celibate?”

“No, not that, just don’t have the time with deal with all that, between Sarah’s senior year ‘n me having to focus more on my regimen, ya’ know since I’m ancient.” 

“Mm,” you copy Joel’s sound. He smirks. 

“Never been my scene to meet someone, fuck them, and leave the next morning.” Your body tenses at his words. “I prefer to know someone before I touch ‘em. Too many people out there just want to say they slept with a ballplayer and move on. Not for me.”

The hushed tone of Joel’s voice and his proximity to you begins to take its toll on you, you feel so hot and quite flustered. “I understand that.”

“You ever been with a ballplayer? Ya’ know since you’re involved in the business.”

“I haven’t… just what we did in that club after the playoff win,” you blink at him, willing him to tell you he wants more.

“You want to do more than just that with a ballplayer?” Joel’s accent dropping an octave as he whispers the question out. 

“I do,” you just as quietly confess. 

“You want to do more than just that with me?” he leans in closer.

“I do.”

“Alright sweetheart, your room or mine?”

“I have the suite, so mine.” 

“Should’ve charged the drinks to your room then.” Joel turns and gets the bartender’s attention.

It’s becoming real. You calm your nerves as Joel signs the check and moves off the stool, you following him through the bar and lobby before reaching the elevator.

All you expected to do tonight was have a couple of drinks while reading a book in a quiet corner of the bar before ordering room service and watching whatever movie you can find on hotel TV. You’re now headed up to your room with Joel Miller.

The elevator doors ding open, empty with nobody following behind you. It’s just you and him in the mirrored oasis of the lift. You go in first and stand with your back against the wall.

“What number?”

“The P at the top, I have to scan my card,” you lift your key out of your pocket and hand it to him. 

“Of course. You got the suite.” 

“I did, wanted to treat myself on my return home.”

“Mm,” Joel scans the card and tucks it in the back pocket of his jeans. The doors close and your stomach anxiously drops as the lift speeds upward.

The vision of Joel surrounds you, his reflection repeated in every panel, you could stay right in this small room forever, seeing every angle of his handsome face. Aquiline nose, creased eyebrows, dimple tucked between a dark mustache and beard, plush lips, deep brown eyes, wavy hair.

“You’re staring.” You’re shocked out of your concentration by Joel’s whisper. “This whole elevator’s mirrors, I can see you as much as you see me.”

A blush creeps across your face. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Joel turns around and steps towards you, standing in front of you. “You look beautiful.” His hand rests against your cheek, his head angles down, his lips resting right in front of yours. “It’s hard to look away from you.” 

You close the gap between the two of you, your lips meeting his. It’s a soft kiss, both of your tongues gently licking into each other’s mouths. You’re both savoring the first taste of each other in years, it feels like he also would think about your last kiss as much as you did. Joel pulls away first, turning his head to look in the mirror, you follow his gaze. His hand on your cheek, your hand resting on his bicep, far too big for you to be able to wrap your hand around it. This reality you’re in right now feels like something out of one of your wildest dreams. The alarm goes off, the elevator dinging your arrival to your floor. Joel turns away and you follow behind him as he unlocks your room door.

“Nice room, pretty big for just you, don’t you think?”

“It is. Maybe I figured I’d be sharing it with someone else. Maybe someone older who needed more space to get around on account of his old knees and hurt shoulder.”

“That mouth is going to get you in trouble one day, sweetheart.”

“I welcome it,” you look up at him as you bend over to untie your shoes. 

“Where’s the bedroom?” Again, you like Joel’s bluntness. You appreciate how he doesn’t mince words, he knows what he wants and he tells you what he thinks. 

You point, he nods, and turns towards it as he begins to unbutton his shirt. 

“What? You got somewhere to go?” You shout still standing in the middle of the living room. 

“No,” Joel peeks his head out of the doorframe, shirt half open, his hands paused on a button. “I just really want to see you naked on your bed.” 

Your knees feel weak, your pussy clenches, your body breaks out in goosebumps. You love his mouth and the way he always sounds like an asshole, even if he’s telling you he wants to see you naked. 

You hurry to the bedroom, taking your shirt off and tossing it behind you. 

Joel stands with his shirt unbuttoned next to the bedside table, the only light source of the room is the lamp he’s turned on next to him. His skin might be your favorite color, sun bronzed with a patina of dark freckles across his chest and neck. His body standing in front of the dark wood paneled wall glowing in the aureate glow of the lamp takes your breath away. Maybe you should come home more often.

“Take your pants off,” Joel turns to you, his eyes lighting when he sees you without your shirt. 

He sheds his shirt before unbuckling his belt and removing his jeans. Your own clothing removal pauses as you stare at the trail from his belly to the black boxer briefs bulging with his erection. This man could never survive without spandex, his thick thighs strain the tight fabric.  “Like I said, take your pants off darlin’,” he chuckles. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him chuckle. 

“Oh, sorry, yes,” stammers out as you remove your jeans. 

You can’t help but not look away from him. You’ll never get over just how handsome and large he is. Other men with his features on their bodies would look ridiculous but Joel is perfectly put together. You can’t get over the fact that he wants you as much as you want him. 

“How’d you know navy blue was my favorite color?” Joel asks as he stares at your panties. You wonder if he can see how soaked they are. 

“Didn’t. Lucky you.” You’re not sure who’s luckier at this point, maybe you’re both ready to share each other’s luck. 

“Very. Get on the bed for me.”

You lay down on the soft sheets, the bed and cover are so plush you sink into it. Your hands by your sides pet the silky sheet and your legs rub against the fabric, it feels so divine and smooth.

“God, you look good like that,” Joel reaches down to palm himself through his briefs. “Might be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Your body lights on fire at his praise, your pulse quickening, your almost naked body feeling overheated. “Spread your legs for me.” 

You follow his instruction, bending your knees and spreading. Joel climbs on the bed to kneel in between, his palms rest atop of your knees, you can feel the calluses on his hands from years of gloves and bats on your smooth skin. 

He runs his hands down your legs before stopping right at the edge of your panties. You moan as he takes a hand and runs it back and forth along your drenched panties. “This all for me?” His cocky smile making his dimple even more apparent. 

“Yes, fuck… yes,” you struggle out. You’re so turned on right now, aching all over. Joel’s barely even touched you and you feel like he’s already devastated your whole body. You’ve never felt this way with anybody else before. 

“Want to see all of you, take your bra off ’n I’ll take these off,” Joel says as he cups your cloth covered pussy. 

You lean up to unsnap your bra, quickly getting naked as Joel takes off your panties. He sits back on his heels, his eyes mapping your body. “Jesus baby, you’re so fucking pretty ’n soft looking.”

His voice, his accent, his praise, it causes a whimper out of you. 

“I know baby,” Joel leans down, his hands grab your ass cheeks and pulls your whole body towards him, easily lifting your ass up. Your pussy rests now right in front of his face, you can feel the heat of his breath against your sensitive folds. He’s supporting your whole lower half in his hands until you lift your legs to rest atop his wide shoulders. He licks a long stripe up from your opening to your clit and back again. 

“Taste so fucking good, so fucking sweet, knew you’d be this good. Can’t believe I didn’t taste you before.” Joel’s words of devotion are spoken straight to your cunt. 

He devours your pussy like it’s never been ate before, fucking into you with his tongue, sucking on your clit, rubbing the bristle of his thin beard against your sensitive folds. Your thighs and legs beginning to shake against Joel as your whole body burns with pleasure. His hands are gripping your ass so tight, his strength and support the only reason why your whole body hasn’t collapsed as your orgasm quickly ripples through you.

Joel moans against you as you spill into him. He doesn’t come up for air as your hips writhe against him. He flicks his tongue against your pulsing clit, a scream escaping your mouth as he begins to press his tongue down on your too sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Holy fuck,” you struggle out. “Fuck. Joel, Joel. Fuck.” 

“Mm,” Joel lifts his head up out of in between your legs, your wet glistening on the lower half of his face, his eyes resting under his furrowed brows staring right at you. You unwrap your legs from around his head as Joel gently helps your legs drop to the bed. 

Joel rubs your legs and thighs as he stares down at you longingly. His actions are so sweet, actions you never thought you’d see. You don’t think a lot of people get to see this side of him, his features relaxed, mouth slacked open a bit, eyes softened, this isn’t competitive Joel, this is bedroom Joel.

“Let me fuck you baby, don’t think I’m going to last long, wanted to prove to you I can fuck you all night but I’ve waited a long time for this.” 

Your core clenches at his words, you wanted to challenge him tonight too, but you can’t fathom the idea of waiting any longer for Joel’s cock inside you. He gets up off the bed, removing his briefs, his cock springing free. Fuck, he’s big and beautiful, the perfect size and shape to match his broad and athletic body. 

Joel climbs back on the bed, his body resting in between your spread legs again, this time he leans forward, putting his weight on his two arms as he looms above you. You feel his cock resting against your wet cunt. 

“You got a condom or should I have grabbed mine from my wallet?”

“No— can I ask you something?”

“Now?” Joel huffs. "I guess."

“Yes, yeah,” you gather your nerves before you confess. “I want to feel you, all of you. I have an IUD and I always use protection with… others, I just, I want to feel your cum inside of me.” 

Joel's jaw drops at the shock of your blunt words. “Fuck, yes. Of course. Jesus Christ.” His dick twitches against you as he answers. “I’m tested and clean.”

“I’m clean too.”

“Fuck baby, I’m so glad you asked.” Joel plants a kiss to the top of your head as he pushes himself into you. 

“Holy fuck,” you rasp out at the feel of Joel’s cock stretching you. He’s slow to enter, mindful of how tight your cunt is squeezing around him. It stings so good, you’ve never been this stretched before. 

You shut your eyes and focus on taking his length, anchoring yourself in this moment. 

“I can feel you clutching me, fuck you feel so good,” you open your eyes at Joel’s words. The glimmer of Joel’s gold chain catches your eye as he moves inside you. You’re mesmerized by how it moves between the two of you, the pendant swinging back and forth like a metronome of Joel’s cock entering and exiting you. “Look at me baby.”

You move your gaze from Joel’s necklace to his eyes, all big and brown and blown out with lust. He begins to increase his pace, your whole core beginning to build another orgasm. Joel cranes his neck down to kiss you, the way his mouth languidly moves against your mouth contrasts the brutal speed of the way he’s now fucking you. You move your hands up to cradle his head, gripping his messy curled hair, left longer during the offseason.

Years and years of pining over Joel culminating in this one night, a surprise encounter at the bar turning into the shared moans and groans you and Joel trade back and forth as your bodies move together.

He’s simply too beautiful, your eyes watching his heavy eyes disappear behind the crinkles on the side of them as he half smiles at you. Like he also can’t believe the two of you are doing this. 

You move your hips to meet his thrusts, the softness of the bed cradling you as Joel fucks you harder.

“M’close baby,” respires out against your mouth. Your cunt tightening even more around him as you both begin to reach the apex of your orgasms. “You gonna cum with me?”

You can only nod and blink hoping that your whimpers and moans let him know you’re right there with him. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty and tight, can’t believe how fast you’re gonna make me cum. Fuck baby, just talking about it— gonna fucking cum.” 

You feel Joel’s cock throb as his spend fills you, your orgasm following, pumping Joel’s cock as you pulse around him. 

He drops down to rest on his forearms, his body landing on top of you. You welcome the feeling of his burning hot body smothering yours. He kisses you as he languidly still fucks into your cunt with his softening cock. Your pussy drips a mixture of your intermingled cum out as Joel pulls out and lays next to you on his back. 

You turn and rest your head against his chest, his breaths slow and relaxed. Your hands run up his chest, stopping at the gold chain around his neck.

“Never took you for a necklace man, why do you wear it?”

“My daughter got it for me, when I won that playoff game.”

“Like THAT playoff game you hit the walk-off?” Your question implying it’s the same game you celebrated together in the back of the club. 

“Yeah, that one,” Joel wraps his hand around yours. “Sometimes I still think of you and I that night when I see it. Thank you for tonight. You made a bad day into the best night.”

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Series Masterlist

[atmospheral]

Zoro's katanas visual reference sheet in English (translated by me)

Covers 和道一文字 (Wado Ichimonji), 雪走 (Yubashiri), 三代鬼徹 (Sandai Kitetsu), and 秋水 (Shusui)

Notes under the cut:

You have to open the image in a tab/download it and zoom in to read it, sorry!! I couldn't figure out how to vectorise the text :(

The original tumblr upload in Japanese is here, the sheet itself links to a deleted pixiv site so I have no idea where it was originally from, but it definitely seems to be written by Oda

Please let me know if there are any errors!!

I'm not Japanese nor do I speak/read it, I just used google translate + a lot of googling and wikipedia to look up japanese sword terminology. I can also read kanji so that helped a bit

Some other random notes if you'd like to reference the original post:

柄巻 (tsuka-maki or tsuka ito, lit. hilt wrap): rope wrapped around the outside of the katana

鐔 (つば)* - tsuba, sword guard; generally a round metal plate with a central wedge shaped hole for the blade and if needed up to two smaller holes for the kozuka or kōgai *note: Oda uses the hiragana when referring to the tsuba

柄 tsuka: The tsuka is the hilt or handle; made of wood and wrapped in samegawa (shark/ray skin).

目貫 menuki, The menuki are the decorative metal ornaments the are woven under the tsuka-ito (handle wrapping). These ornaments were originally made to hide the mekugi pins that secure the tsuka to the tang of the blade

鞘 saya: traditional wooden scabbard

腰差し koshi-zashi: something to be worn on the waist, can specifically refer to swords

丁子乱れ, "clove disorder" choji midare – an irregular hamon pattern resembling cloves, with a round upper part and a narrow constricted lower part.

鮫皮 samegawa: the ray or shark skin wrapping of the tsuka (handle/hilt), is wrapped by the tsuka-ito

頭 kashira: The kashira is the pommel on the end of the tsuka.

鐺 kojiri: The kojiri is the end of the scabbard (saya) or the protective fitting at the end of the scabbard

下げ緒 sageo : The sageo is the cord used to tie saya to the belt/obi when worn.

直刃 suguha: straight temper line (hamon)

乱刃 midareba: irregular temper line (hamon)

刃文 hamon: border between the tempered part of the ha (cutting edge) and the untempered part of the rest of the sword; the temper-line.

Temper line (刃文 hamon) designs

Left to right: suguha (straight line), gunome (wavy line), choji (clove), notare (gentle wave)

References:

Japanese Sword Mountings Wikipedia Page

Glossary of Japanese Swords Wikipedia Page

Tsuka-Ito (hilt wrap)

Menuki (hilt ornaments)

(In Japanese) koshi-zashi definition

(In Japanese) choji hamon definition

[ereardon]

The Backup || Chapter 2

[Jake Seresin x Reader]

A friends with benefits AU

Overview: No strings attached sex never works, right? You and Jake Seresin have fallen into a bad pattern of seeking each other out for sex after dates go awry, but a year of being friends with benefits with Jake hasn’t been good for your dating life. Especially when the two of you are hiding your antics from your lifelong best friend Coyote and the rest of your tightly knit friend group. But what happens when you decide to take a step back and end the cycle with Jake to focus on your dating life? And why is it that all of the sudden Jake looks more irresistible than ever when you know he’s off limits? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Chapter summary: Y/N goes on a first date with someone and sparks fly; Jake shows his first crack of jealousy

Warnings: Implied smut, cursing

WC: 3.3K

Previous chapter here; masterlist here

[Please see note at the end, tag list is closed but please follow/turn on notifications for my library page @ereardonlibrary instead]

“He’s hot!” 

You turned your head to where Phoenix was pointing and grimaced. Goatee, Chelsea boots, jeans skinnier than yours. “Is this 2014?” you asked, turning back to the table and putting your hands on the sticky wood. “No thanks. Going to get a second round. Want anything?” 

“Rum and coke.” 

You pushed your way to the busy bar, propping your elbows up and flagging the bartender. “Rum and coke and a tequila soda please.” 

He nodded, turning away and you looked back at the table. A tall blond was chatting up Phoenix, one of his arms looped around the back of her chair. You rolled your eyes. Everyone always flocked to Phoenix. Men, women, it didn’t matter. She had that carefree attitude that attracted people like flies to honey. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t jealous. Her taste was abysmal but that was besides the point. She had options, and you envied that.

“Here you go.” The waiter set the drinks down. “Twenty two dollars.” 

“Let me get that for you.” A voice from your left appeared out of thin air. You turned. A credit card extended from his massive hand, held out over the bar. The arm was covered in a leather jacket, and you trailed your eyes up his arm to his face which hovered a good foot above you or more. Dark hair, slightly overgrown, and a sharp jawline with a slightly hawkish nose. His eyes flickered down toward you and you felt your heart throb in your chest. 

“I have a tab,” you interrupted, sticking out one hand, putting it over his hand that hovered out with a credit card glued between two massive fingers. You didn’t pull away and neither did he. 

The bartender’s voice interrupted. “Name?” 

“Natasha,” you replied, and he moved away, tapping Phoenix’s name into his system and finding her card from when the two of you had arrived an hour before.

You felt a rush of air as the stranger’s hand pulled away, sliding his credit card back into a thin black wallet. He looked down at you from where he was leaning against the bar. “Now I owe you a drink, Natasha.” 

You shook your head but he never flinched. “Natasha is my friend over there.” You pointed at Phoenix who was now laughing with a new person, this time a girl wearing a tight miniskirt. “I’m Y/N.” 

His voice was deep. “I’m Liam.”

He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. A mysterious almost Adam Driver-like quality. You leaned forward, pressing one leg against his. “Here.” You reached into your purse, tugging at a loose business card and holding it out. “If you were serious about that drink.” 

Liam held the card up in the dim lighting of the bar, one thick black eyebrow raised as he read off the card. He lowered it, sliding it into his pocket, inching forward, musk filling the air around you. “Are you here to meet guys, Y/N, or to get stock tips?” 

You tossed your head back in a laugh. When you caught Liam’s eye he was smiling, lips pulled tightly together but in a grin. “I know better than to look for tips at a bar in the Marina,” you replied. “I’d just go to the Philz at Embarcadero.” 

Liam’s lip twitched up. “I’ll let you get back to your friend.” 

“Thanks for the hypothetical promise of a drink,” you replied, picking up both drinks. 

Liam’s hand reached out, fingers spread across your bare wrist. “Y/N.” His voice was deep and gruff; it scratched that inner part of your ear that felt like a tickle. You looked up, eyes wide. “I’ll call you.” 

You grinned. “You better.” You could feel his gaze, hot on your back, as you made your way back to the table where Phoenix was now alone. 

“That took ages. What was the hold up?” 

You looked back at the bar. Liam held up his drink with a wink. You turned back to Phoenix, taking a sip of your tequila soda. “Nothing. Just some guy.” 

“Some guy, huh? Any potential?” 

You snuck one last look at the bar. Liam’s spot was empty. You turned back to Phoenix and shrugged. “Probably not.” 

***

“You can’t seriously think this looks good.” 

Coyote walked out of the fitting room in a pair of green chinos and a quarter zip sweater layered over a white shirt. You stood up from the chair and reached for his collar, fussing with it as he grimaced. 

“Y/N,” he groaned. 

“Stop fidgeting,” you snapped. He dropped his hands to his sides and you gripped his shoulders, pivoting him toward the three-pane mirror. “You’re insane, this looks perfect.” 

“I feel like a Ken doll.” 

You opened your mouth to respond as an older woman appeared behind the two of you. “Aren’t you two a lovely couple!” 

Coyote’s face in the mirror transformed into a sigh. It wasn’t the first or third or tenth time someone had mistaken the two of you for a couple. Sometimes it was hard not to. Whether it was picking out new clothes at a J. Crew or Christmas tree shopping in Oakland or late at night at the bar, his arm slipped around the back of your chair, your head resting on his shoulder. 

“Oh we’re not together,” you replied after a moment. 

The lady frowned. “Why not?” 

You looked up at Coyote. Why not was a good question. He was everything you wanted in a partner. Strong and stable and kind. He could predict your needs based on your mood and he wanted the very best for you. 

Coyote smiled down at you. You grinned at him. Why not was only for you two to know. 

***

“Fuck!” 

You slammed back against the mattress, chest heaving, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin from where you laid naked in Jake’s bed. He looked over at you with a smirk. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you groaned, slapping one hand over your eyes, blocking him out. 

Jake laughed, one hand squeezing your thigh. His grip was tight and familiar. “You love it,” he replied, rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers. “Want some pizza? I have some in the fridge.” 

“Yeah, sure.” As Jake rounded the corner into the kitchen you reached for your phone on the nightstand, a voicemail from an unknown number blinking on the homepage. Frowning, you clicked on it. 

Hi Y/N, this is Liam, from Tostado’s bar. What are you doing on Wednesday night? I’d really like to see you again. And I still owe you that drink. Call me when you can. Talk soon.

Jake returned with a box of pizza and two beer bottles wedged between his fingers on one hand. “Everything OK?” 

You smiled, sliding the phone face-down onto the table. “Yeah, everything’s great.” 

***

“Tell me again who this is?” Coyote pinched a french fry between his fingers and popped it into his mouth. 

“His name is Liam, we met at a bar last weekend.”

“And how do we know Liam isn’t a serial killer?” 

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your drink, leaning back into the plush seat of the restaurant booth. “Javy, are we really going to do this again?” 

He sighed. “I just worry about you.” 

“I know you do. But I’m a big girl. And besides, don’t you want me to find someone?” 

“Of course I do.” It was a thin whisper. 

“What did I miss?” Jake slid into the seat to your left, immediately reaching for his beer. 

“Y/N has a date tomorrow,” Coyote said. 

Jake’s eyebrow shot up. “Is that so? What’s his red flag?” 

“He has none.” 

Jake laughed but it sounded empty. “Sounds like bullshit to me. They all have red flags.”

“Just because you date teeny boppers with the emotional intelligence of an eraser doesn’t mean I do, too.” 

“Not my fault you pick the biggest losers on the planet to date in a city that’s literally chock full of startup geniuses.”

Coyote watched with wide eyes as you and Jake laid into each other. Your face was practically red. After a pause you leaned back and shook your head. “New subject. Has anyone seen Bradley’s new motorcycle?” 

Jake launched into a full rundown of the specs of Bradley’s new bike. You finished your pasta, nodding in rapt attention, but the heat of Coyote’s gaze was undeniable. At one point, you looked up to catch him staring at you, head tipped, like he was solving a puzzle. You smiled, and he did, too, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You turned back to Jake, trying to ignore the pinch in your stomach. 

***

The wind rippled through your hair as Liam returned from the bar with two drinks. He smiled broadly, lips spread back but still closed. You held out a hand, wrapping it around the plastic cup. “Thanks.” 

Liam took his place next to you near the boat railing, the water splashing high on the sides. “Is this what you had in mind for a first date?” 

You shook your head. When he had first suggested the two of you take a nighttime tour of Alcatraz you had been surprised. But it turned out to be monumentally more fun than you had imagined. You’d worn the complete wrong type of shoe — a pair of stiletto boots — and on your way back down the side of the hill to the ferry boat you had stumbled and Liam caught you. His arms were solid and strong and to your shock he crouched down. 

“Get on.”

You had hopped onto his back, and he carried you down the side of the hill, all the way onto the boat. He set you down gently, hands caressing your thighs carefully. You could still feel the mark of his fingertips on your skin when he was inside getting drinks. 

“Well?” Liam asked, taking a sip of his margarita. “You up for one last adventure?” 

You smiled. “Another surprise?” 

“One more,” he promised. “Or if you’re desperate to get off this boat with me I can call you an Uber the second we get to the Ferry Building.” 

“Not at all.” 

“Good.” This time, he flashed his pearly white teeth. “Do you eat meat?” 

Twenty minutes later, you and Liam were squished in a small booth in a restaurant in Chinatown with a vast spread of food on the rickety table in front of you: pork dumplings, half of a roasted duck, fluffy buns filled with red bean paste, shrimp shumai. 

You stabbed a dumpling with your chopsticks, plopping it into your mouth. 

“That’s so good.” 

Liam’s knee knocked against yours as you reached for another bun. “Have you been to China?” 

“Never. But it’s on my list.” 

“I spent two years there teaching English,” he said, taking a sip of beer in-between words. “Unreal experience.” 

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I’ve only ever lived here and LA, where I grew up.” 

“What made you leave LA?” 

“My best friend,” you replied, lifting the neck of the beer bottle to your lips. “He got a job out here after graduation and said it was the best place ever. We both kind of needed a change of place, to get away from where we were from.”

“San Francisco is the greatest escape,” Liam said, “and it’s a vacuum, sucking you in, all at once.” Even though it was dark, you understood what he meant. There was something about the city that called to you. When it was night and the streets were practically empty. Something overwhelming when the fog finally broke and you could see for miles across the abundant hills. San Francisco was more of a home to you than LA ever would be. It was your escape, but it was also your Hotel California. You could show up anytime, but you would never leave. 

“What do you do?” you asked, leaning forward, one ankle brushing over his calf. Liam’s hand dangled off the back of the red booth, fingertips dancing lightly on your shoulder. 

“I’m a publisher.” 

“Books?” 

He nodded. “I’m here for six months. A kind of sabbatical.” 

You frowned. “Six months? Then where are you going?” “Back to New York.” You sucked in a breath. “I live in the East Village, off Eleventh Street.” 

“New York,” you breathed. “I’ve never been.” 

“It’s different than here,” Liam replied. “This has the better Chinatown.” 

You smiled. “What do you like better?” 

“Neither one is better,” Liam said, his voice graveley and deep. You felt his fingers brush gently over your shoulder, and you unconsciously nudged closer. “Coffee in New York. Mexican food here. People in New York are ruder, but genuine. People here are California kind — pleasant, but hollow. I like being close to the water. But New York has bagels and there’s so much more life at three in the morning.” He paused. “Besides, you’re here. So that’s an automatic win for San Francisco.” 

Under the flickering fluorescent light of the Chinese restaurant, you looked up at Liam. For the first time in a long time, you felt it. That spark. That small piece of chemistry every romcom, every romance book, every person who had been in a committed relationship said was the start. The one little ember that would ignite and start a whole forest fire. And despite all of the noise, the shouting and the clamoring and the sound of dishes smacking against linoleum tables and chairs screeching as they got pulled back on the sticky tile floor, for a moment in time it was just you and Liam sitting next to each other in silence, your smile reflected on his face, his fingertips warm against your shoulder. 

Outside, the air was chilly. You winced as the two of you stepped into the street, your feet aching in the heeled boots. “Wait here,” Liam said, ducking into the store next to the restaurant the two of you had emerged from. He returned a few minutes later, holding out a pair of red silky slippers and you laughed as he bent down, unzipping your boots carefully, sliding the slippers on. You sighed in relief, heels hitting the ground for the first time all night. 

“I can hold those,” you said, reaching out for the boots. 

He straightened up, towering over you, and shook his head. “I’ll carry them for you.” 

Liam’s hand found yours as the two of you walked down Grant Street. There was something calm about him. Sturdy. As you rounded the corner onto Market Street, your gaze flickered up at him. 

“When can I see you again?” he asked, voice melting into the wind that whipped down the street, blanketing the two of you in a chill. 

“I’m free on Friday.” 

He grinned. “Friday then.” Liam pulled out his phone as a black sedan pulled up next to the curb. “I ordered you an Uber Black to take you home.” Liam stepped forward, opening the door. You lingered for a moment, your right hip brushing against his. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered. For once, you wanted him to kiss you. It wasn’t a reluctant end of the night forced event. It wasn’t out of pity or to cut the date short. It wasn’t because you felt like you owed him for a drink, a dinner, a ride. You wanted him to kiss you. 

So when he leaned down, one hand cupping your cheek, you sucked in a breath, his lips landing on yours, soft and pillowy, the pine scent of his musk overwhelming your senses as he pressed closer, his thumb sinking gently into the soft skin behind your ear as you opened your lips, letting him in. And when he pulled away, you were breathless. “Goodnight, Y/N,” Liam murmured, taking your hand, helping you down into the leather backseat of the car, placing your discarded boots down at your side. 

You watched him fade into the dark as the car pulled away, headed west, your lips still bruised with the thought of him. 

You were so caught up that you didn’t feel your phone buzz in your purse, Jake’s text sitting unread. 

How was the date? I have tequila. 

*** 

You and Jake had agreed early on that you’d keep your relationship, or whatever you could call it, a secret from the group. Not only would Coyote flip, but it would create another layer that would inevitably create fissures if and when things went to shit with the two of you. Which, taking into account both of your dating histories, was practically inevitable. 

Only once had you come close to exposing yourselves. 

It was Bob’s birthday party, which had started at a restaurant in the Mission and ended at a rooftop in Cow Hollow. Jake had struck out early in the night with two different blondes, first at the restaurant and then at the second bar. You had early success chatting with a guy from the first bar, but by the time you got to the rooftop he confessed he lived with his mother and sometimes slept in her bed. 

“Ew,” you shuddered, taking a shot, physically shaking away the ick that had crawled under your skin the moment he said that. 

“What happened Stink? Strike out?” 

You glared at Jake. “Fuck off.” 

He tipped one of the small shot glasses down his throat and winced. “So did I.” Jake leaned in closer, his hand brushing against your low back. You felt a tickle of excitement creep up your thighs. “Want to get out of here?” 

“We can’t, it’s Bob’s birthday. Someone will see.” 

“You leave first, I’ll wait five minutes and follow. Your apartment is just ten minutes away.” 

You looked up at Jake. He had stepped closer, his thumb hooked against the waistband of your shorts, the edges of his hair stuck to his golden skin from the sweat. It was hot, July, and the evening breeze that usually chilled San Francisco was nowhere to be found. And yet, somehow all you wanted was to be rolling around with Jake in a mess of sweaty limbs. “You’re desperate for me, huh?” you whispered. 

Jake rolled his eyes and you smirked. Just as you were about to pull away, head for the door, you straightened your glance. Phoenix had her eyes trained on you across the room. Quickly, you sidestepped away from Jake, his fingertips falling from your waist. “What?” he asked, loudly. Too loudly. 

“Shh,” you hissed under your breath, taking another definitive step away from Jake and jutting your chin out toward Phoenix. Jake looked up, catching Natasha’s eyes, and then grunted. 

“Fuck.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you said, pushing him out of the way, trying to cut across the room toward Phoenix to explain. 

“Wait, Y/N.” Jake grabbed your wrist. 

You turned back, thrashing out of his grip. “Jake. Let go of me.” Your eyes burned into his and he opened his fingers, letting your wrist slide away, out of his grasp. “You better hope she doesn’t suspect anything.” 

By the time you made your way across the rooftop to Phoenix she was pounding another drink, the memory of you and Jake cozy near the railing a distant memory. But that didn’t stop the tiny little voice in the back of your head that said you two were ticking time bomb. That sooner or later, one of you would make a mistake. And it wouldn’t just be your pseudo-relationship on the line. It would be all of your friendships, too. 

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[whencyclopedia]

The Civilian View of D-Day

The Normandy landings in France, which began on D-Day, 6 June 1944, involved the largest troop movement in history, but in this article, we focus on the view from civilians directly involved in that momentous day when the Allies sought to liberate Western Europe from occupation by Nazi Germany and end the Second World War (1939-45).

D-Day Preparations

As the Allies built up their troops and resources for D-Day in the south of England, to maintain secrecy and provide areas where training exercises for the landings could be conducted, some civilians were required to temporarily move from their homes and such buildings as churches were locked and surrounded by barbed wire. Betty Tab from Slapton in Devon remembers telling her mother of the rumours about this:

My sister heard the rumour in the shop when she went to get some groceries and she said to Mum that we were all going to have to move and of course Mum says, 'That's nonsense talking like that. Where we going to go?' And she says she heard in the shop. There was a meeting called then in the village hall and that confirmed that there was going to be an evacuation of the area for the American training.

My parents just couldn't believe it. I mean, Mum just said, 'Well, no, it's not going to happen because it can't. What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?' But it had to be so. So, of course, everybody had to get their thinking caps on and think, 'Well, where are we going to go?' If you couldn't get anything yourself the authorities would help but they did want you to try and get yourself fixed up, if possible, because, as you can imagine, there were hundreds trying to move. Thousands, I suppose, really. Quite an area it was.

(Bailey, 44)

Desmond O'Neill, an official cameraman for the British Army, describes his visit to a camp of troops readying themselves for the invasion:

I remember going to one unit, I think it was the South Lancashire Regiment, and taking some film of their final preparations for D-Day…they were laagered down near Roland's Castle in Hampshire, in woods there, and I went into the camp – the whole area was actually one huge camp. Very strict all the way round.

There was certainly a very excitable, tense atmosphere amongst those chaps. They'd been training presumably for a couple of years and they knew full well that they were going to be the spearhead troops and they knew therefore that there was a good chance of them getting shot. The atmosphere there was totally different to any other unit I'd ever been to. Discipline was strict but absolutely on a hairline. A very peculiar atmosphere. I know that the casualty figures had been given to them, the presumed casualty figures.

We photographed the chaps being instructed as to what was going to happen on the morning of D-Day, where they were going in and the rest. It was all mocked up. I didn't do very much filming apart from taking pictures of these chaps in the camp. They liked it. First of all they'd never seen a cameraman before. Secondly, it was a great divertissement. You know, 'The Mrs is going to see me back in Wigan,' all this kind of thing. I think it was a welcome diversion.

(Bailey, 66-7)

Continue reading...

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 6

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Did he just say that? He just said that. Right?

I wondered if I had somehow inserted that last excerpt from Dr. Miller’s mouth into the conversation on my own. Had my mind made it up because I wanted him so badly?

He was smiling now, not at all able to fight it back. I could tell that he was attempting to without avail.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” His voice caused my knees to part under the table. I didn’t know if it was instinctual or if the muscles in my legs had suddenly just turned to Jello but I literally felt myself melt down further into the oversized mahogany chair.

“That, uh..” I toyed with a strand of my hair for a half-a-second in my nervous tic, “That makes me a lot of things.”

“Another round?” The waitress appeared out of thin air and I was about to speak but Dr. Miller responded, with a simple, “We’ll take the check.”

I wanted to stay. When he was so eager to get the check after just one drink I couldn’t fight off the look of discouragement that was written all over my face. I knew what I must have looked like and I couldn’t reel it in. And then I thought about it some more. Maybe he was getting the check because he wanted to go somewhere else.

Like his house. It was wishful thinking.

“Stop looking like someone just shit in your cereal.” His accompanying laughter made me grin. There had to be something up his sleeve. This night couldn’t end with such an obscene, suggestive comment and lead nowhere.

“Didn’t want another drink?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“It’s a school night. We both have to be up early.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock.”

Dr. Miller gave a chuckle again and then looked up as the waitress handed him a black, leather case with the tab for two drinks tucked inside. He held up a finger, slipped a one hundred dollar bill inside and then handed it to her.

“I’ll be back with your change,” replied the woman.

“It’s yours.” He looked me in the eye as he spoke to her again and then began rising to his feet as he reached for his coat.

I followed his lead and allowed him to lead us out of the place.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

Was the night really over? On that note? On that red hot amorous note that had been left with a teetering, ‘dot, dot, dot’ next to it. To be continued? Would it?

Stop freaking out! My brain was screaming, shrieking; throwing a fit like a five year old in Toys ‘R Us that didn’t get the toy she wanted to play with. On the outside I smiled, gripped my keys and tried not to stare for too long as I walked beside Dr. Miller.

“You never gave an elaboration to your response,” he said to me once we stood by the driver’s side door in front of the old church.

I looked down and back up. “Should I elaborate?”

“I’d like to know where we stand.” He looked at me with certainty but, again, there was the slightest hint of uneasiness in his posture. Dr. Miller was tense in his shoulders and it traveled up his neck into his jaw as he waited.

“So would I,” I responded, taking a breath. I couldn’t look away from those brown eyes that were swelled black around the pupil. I knew what that meant - at least I thought I did.

“Well, how about this?” He took a step in my direction so there were only a few inches between us. “If you want to discuss it further, I’m opening up my office hours during our regularly scheduled class time on Thursday. Seven-thirty, I’ll walk you into the building, myself.”

I cleared my throat. Of course I was going to go. “Thursday.” I gave a little nod, wishing I had something to say that would affect him as much as he was currently affecting me.

“Email me if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” I said right away. My chest heaved beneath my jacket and I opened my mouth to speak. At first nothing came out but then I finally asked the question that had been on my mind for the past seven or eight minutes, “Was that true what you said?”

“Which part?”

“About the elevator.” I swallowed hard now and Dr. Miller laughed again.

“Save all of your questions for Thursday at seven-thirty.” He took a step toward me and then nodded toward my vehicle, “Now get in your car so I know you’re safe.”

I looked at his lips. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to lean in and see if he reciprocated, but from what I could tell of Dr. Miller, he was a forthright individual. If he wanted to kiss me, he would kiss me. He wanted to tell me about his racy musings when we were alone in the elevator. He wanted me to meet him alone at the school on Thursday. If he didn’t lean in for a kiss that means he didn’t want one.

Yet, I told myself.

I hit the button on my key fob and heard the click as my headlights flickered to let everyone in the immediate area know I had just unlocked the car.

“Goodnight (Y/N).” Dr. Miller gave a pained smile that emphasized the crow’s feet on the outskirts of his eyes.

“Goodnight Dr. Miller.” He didn’t correct me this time or ask me to refer to him as Joel. I knew at least a part of him liked having the title roll off my willing lips to acknowledge his authority over me.

Shutting my car door might as well have been shutting the jail cell. I gave a wave and started up the vehicle before reluctantly backing away from where he now stood on the walkway.

Even as I drove down the road, I glanced in my rearview mirror until I could no longer see his figure there and then finally turned the corner to head towards home.

The next day-and-a-half had me worrying about myself. My behavior felt obsessive. I had inspected every social media outlet in search of Joel Miller but there was nothing. He didn't even have a LinkedIn. That one, I had to say, surprised me.

No Snapchat. No Instagram. No Facebook. Nothing.

For my own senseless reasons it frustrated me. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to see a collection of pictures from his life over the course of the past decade. I decided I was spoiled for having access to just about anyone else's life I wanted to dig into.

Maybe I should put my profiles on private. It was Dr. Miller's casual piece of advice. Anyone could dig into my life and I was too concerned about getting “likes” than I was my own privacy. 

I'm a walking cliche of today's pre-thirty generation. 

Seeing as though my plan to gain access to Dr. Miller's life fell flat on the pavement, I carefully adjusted the private settings on all of my accounts. It had been a suggestion echoed to me by numerous friends and professionals that I hadn't taken seriously; yet here I was after one fleeting proposition from a man I just met making the meager change to my digital identity.

After work on Wednesday I found myself driving past The Library. My eyes scanned for the black Mercedes and I was actually satisfied in knowing that Dr. Miller wasn't out at the bar - at least when I drove by. It allowed my brain to rest rather than toy with the idea of dropping everything to go search inside for him.

Yes, I was officially obsessing. It felt like a violation of not only Dr. Miller's privacy, but also my own sanity.

It didn't stop me from repeating the action on the following afternoon after work. My amateur investigations weren't particularly thorough, though I assumed his car would stand out if he had been around, especially when my eyes were actively seeking out one specific automobile. 

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, however. It was Thursday. It was the evening I would be attending Dr. Miller's office hours.

Office hours. I was sure he hadn't actually posted any office hours. I was going to be alone with him.

In all of my years I hadn't had an off-kilter fantasy. My brain had never fancied the idea of taboo love affairs, or men in uniform or any of the typical sexual scenarios that I had heard others speak about.

Now, the idea of letting my handsome, older professor take me on his desk was enough to ignite a fire in every single part of my body - my head, my heart, my soul, my.. everything.

I wouldn't deny him. Correction, I couldn't deny him. I had created the scenario in my mind time after time. It was far too heavy a weight on my shoulders by now to just shy away from. I wanted Dr. Miller in the worst way.

Tori, my roommate, eyed me suspiciously as I exited my bedroom that evening. My clothes were casual, though rather than a sweatshirt and my white Converse sneakers I wore knee-high, brown boots and a tight, gray sweater that revealed just a bit of cleavage. 

My ponytail was replaced by perfectly straightened hair and just a tad more than the average amount of makeup I typically sported. Yes, if our roles had been reversed I would have had questions. Unless we were going out somewhere I always slummed it in the most comfortably acceptable clothes I could manage.

“Umm..” My roommate’s eyebrows pressed together, “Do you have a date I don't know about?”

I decided to meet her questions in the middle. “I'm going to a quick study session.” Tori gave me an ‘I don't believe you’ look and so I went on, “And then I'm going out with a guy I met at school.”

My professor, I added in my mind.

Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. But she seemed to believe it and so I smiled when she offered me good luck.

“I'll fill you in,” I lied, knowing whatever happened that evening I would surely be keeping to myself - at least for the time being. Although I loathed the ‘YOLO’ expression, there was a time for everything and so I reminded myself, you only live once.

The drive to Woodbridge had my stomach in knots. I didn't know what was going to happen. Suddenly I wondered if I would even know what to do. I was twenty-seven. I had had sex before - plenty of it actually. I wasn't a nun.. but I wasn't a freak either. What was Dr. Miller expecting? He had certainly been around the block a time or two.

The faintest hint of sweat coated my hairline, a result of my budding anxiety. I couldn't wait, but then again I was so completely out of my league. I had never met a man so sure of himself. The guys I had dated, we were on an even playing field. I felt like a fan in the stands of a rock concert that was just called on stage to sing with Bon Jovi.

Stop putting him on such a pedestal, I told myself; though I truly couldn't help it. All reason had betrayed me.

The black Mercedes was there when I pulled into the lot and I saw Dr. Miller casually step out of his vehicle the second my blinker winked in favor of the parking lot on the left off the main road that cut through campus.

I parked closer to the building and slowly climbed out of the car as he approached. I knew I was a mess. There was no hiding what I was feeling. I was sure he might even be able to hear the thudding of my heart in my chest.

“I offered to walk you in,” he reminded me, to which I nodded as we walked in silence through the threshold of the academic enclosure.

Dr. Miller walked with a purpose toward the elevator in the main lobby, eagerly pressing the down button that would lead us to the basement where his office and our lecture hall sat vacant.

I thought of his words from Tuesday night at the bar as the doors opened and we entered. There were no other people in the building that I saw. There were no cameras in the elevator. As the doors shut with a resounding thump I side-glanced at my professor.

Out of my peripheral vision I could see how tensely straight he stood. His eyes were straight ahead; focused. He didn't blink or move. It almost looked as if he was holding his breath.

Please. I begged him in my mind, though I have to say when the doors reopened and we emerged to the basement level I was disappointed that he didn't immediately try to jump my bones. The opportunity had presented itself for Dr. Miller to do all the dirty things he claimed to have been craving and he hadn't even flinched on the ride. It was okay, now, wasn't it? Now that he knew I was a willing participant.

You're being ridiculous. I was currently questioning my every thought, my every word, my every move.

The stillness of the typically buzzing building heightened my anxiety. It felt as if butterflies were having a rave inside of my stomach. The only sound that gave a mild echo off the walls of the vacant corridor were the gentle clicks of Dr. Miller's shoes.

My temperature felt like it was rising with each door we passed. I counted them to maintain some level-headedness.

One. Two. Three. Four.

When the fifth door came into clear view, Dr. Miller reached a hand into his khakis and removed a ring of keys. 

Next to the oversized, wooden door was a black piece of plastic with Dr. Miller’s name etched into it. Below his name was the door number: 007.

Of course it is, I thought, almost smiling and rolling my eyes. The heat returned to my cheeks, however, when my gaze met his from just a few inches away.

I swallowed hard when the silver key eased into the door handle, glancing down for just a second, before regaining his eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation on Dr. Miller's part before he finally turned the key and let the door swing open from a little push of his forearm.

“After you.” His arm extended outward now and the light automatically went on as I crossed through the threshold. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

He waltzed in, loosening his tie a bit as he rounded an oversized, espresso desk. 

“Umm.. no.” I shook my head, “No I'm fine.”

The corner of Dr. Miller's mouth tipped up in a little smirk. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair across from where he made himself comfortable and leaned forward with both hands folded on top of the desk.

I did as I was told. On the surface I thought I appeared like I had my shit together; like I wasn't imagining him pinning me down on the desk and having his way with me; like I wasn't conflicted about whether my feelings on the matter were wrong or right; or if he could lose his job if something did happen between us.

The man had a way of building tension. The brief moment of silence that lingered was deafening. His stare was almost too much for me. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't find the words to kick off a conversation.

“I assume you still have the question in your mind.” Dr. Miller finally spoke. “From the other night.”

My chest heaved up and down once from a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I opened my mouth to speak but I was interrupted.

“Dr. Miller!” An overzealous young man waved a stack of papers and held an IPad under his arm as he entered through the open door from the hallway.

I held my breath for half-a-second. It was Trevor Nelson. I had had two classes with him and his sheer presence alone was enough to drive me crazy. Right then, he was the bane of my existence. What was he doing here?

His stammering repetition of Dr. Miller’s name almost led me to a physical eye roll.

“Good evening.” Dr. Miller extended his arm out and Trevor eagerly shook it. “Remind me again of your-”

“Trevor,” he more-or-less shouted, glancing at me briefly.

I could see Dr. Miller was taken off-guard, though it was his organically, suave nature that allowed him to get through the unwanted conversation with ease.

“What can I do for you Trevor?”

“I just wanted to discuss a few points from the reading if you had a moment,” Trevor said, “And seeing as though you sent out an email with office hours I suspected you had the time.”

Office hours. He did send out his office hours.

Fuck! Was I all wrong?

“Yes,” Dr. Miller motioned to a second chair beside me. “I wasn't expecting you,” he admitted, “I sent out a sign up sheet-”

“My Wifi kept malfunctioning,” Trevor went on, cutting him off. “I tried. And that's why I printed some things out. I just assumed you would be here anyway and..” He shrugged and then looked at me for the first time, “I'm surprised to see you here.”

Dr. Miller huffed a laugh now. He looked at me with raised eyebrows as if to study what my reaction would be. What would I say to Trevor’s snide remark?

His very tone and uppity attitude was the precise reason why I couldn't stand him.

“I had questions about the reading, as well.” I remained cordial. There was no way I was about to air out a petty reply that would make me seem bitter or immature in my ways.

“Well.. great. We can bounce questions off one another then.” Trevor forced a smile that, while mum, seemed to have the same whiny tone as his nasally voice. 

“I blocked off twenty minute time slots,” Dr. Miller reminded him. “I have another appointment at 7:50.”

My stomach dropped and our eyes caught one another’s. He winked as Trevor took a fleeting peek at his watch with as much disappointment as I knew my face had suddenly been white-washed with.

Despite the wink I couldn't tell if he was serious or lying. Was Trevor really fucking up my twenty minutes alone with Dr. Miller? Was there another student coming in at ten of eight?

As my classmate began his vexatious ramblings I felt a burning hostility brewing in my core. At one point Dr. Miller's foot grazed mine beneath the table but he didn't look in my direction as it happened.

I decided I had to harness my disdain, which I knew was heightened to an unwarranted degree for poor Trevor. I actively told myself to stop being a jerk.

The genuine question that I had from the reading the other night popped into my head. Hallelujah, reason prevailed.

“If it's not too morbid, do you think whoever killed the girl on campus might be suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder?” It was my first genuine attempt to engage in the conversation. 

Typically, I truly did enjoy the subject matter. That night, however, my mind was deep in the gutter. That's why I had to run with the lone, pertinent thought that inhabited my brain.

Dr. Miller turned and a small smile formed on his face. The dimples that drove me crazy were out in full force and I could see he was intrigued by my question.

“Interesting.” He leaned back in his seat and folded one leg over the other. “Depending on the motive I could entertain it as a possibility.”

I smiled wide, enjoying his mild praise.

“That is an interesting question,” Trevor added.

My eyes shifted toward Trevor for a second as he eyed the ceiling as he pondered my question. When I looked back, Dr. Miller had tipped his mouth up in a half-smirk again.

When Trevor came back down to earth, our professor motioned to the clock above me on the wall. “I'm sorry to kick you out.” Dr. Miller looked directly at Trevor now, “I think we've ended this session with a valid question that we can open with during Tuesday's class.” He rose to his feet and extended an arm in my classmate’s direction, “Sit on that idea over the weekend. Bring some notes to class.” He glanced at me and added, “I think that was a great topic of conversation Ms. (Y/LN).”

“Thank you.” I gave a little nod and Trevor appeared appeased as the three of us began a natural shift toward the door.

“Thank you for your time Dr. Miller.” The young man smiled and tucked his IPad back under his arm before vacating the room ahead of me. He turned for a second and asked, “Do you think they'll catch whoever killed that girl?”

My gaze switched from Trevor to Dr. Miller and he sucked his teeth while folding his hands together on top of the table. “I'm no investigator,” he said, “But if you want my honest opinion..” a breath exited through his nose and he finished with a simple, “No. No, I don't.”

“Why not?” Trevor leaned an arm on the door and Dr. Miller laughed while motioning to the clock again.

“Save it for another time.”

Like Trevor, I wanted to know his reasoning; though I didn't dig deeper into it right then. As intriguing and scary as it all was, other emotions were tugging at my core.

“I'll see you in class,” Trevor said, though I didn't know if he was speaking to me or our professor. 

I wasn't so quick to leave, but I knew it was time. I hadn't expected Dr. Miller to actually post office hours so it was probable that there was another student about to arrive.

Was it a female student? Yep, sparked jealousy inside of me.

When Dr. Miller didn't immediately make a plea for me to stay, I wandered through the open door toward the hallway.

And then I jumped. It was almost inhuman how fast his arm wrapped around my midsection and pulled me back into the room with him with the ferocity of a wolf mauling a lamb.

A gasp escaped my lips when he turned me around to face him as the door closed and my back planted against it. It was all one giant obscure action; a whirlwind of tension released when our bodies were finally pressed up against one another's and I was left panting.

“I thought you had another-”

His finger found my lips to shut me up. A wicked smile advertised his true intentions and his blackened eyes could have set me ablaze right there.

“You are as gullible as your friend Trevor.”

Before I could respond his lips crashed against mine. They literally crashed leaving the back of my head slamming against the thick wood behind me. I barely felt it. 

What I did feel was a rush of adrenaline and desire and a thirst for the man that I couldn't suppress - not when his hands were roaming my body and his tongue aggressively penetrated my lips.

I could barely keep up. I had built the moment up so much and now that I was wrapped up in the middle of this avid tornado of passion it had far surpassed my fantasies.

My arms wrapped high around his shoulders, though he quickly pinned them above my head against the door with one hand. His other hand hastily fiddled in his pocket to remove a set of keys, at which time my cheeks blushed a more fiery red when I saw his arousal peaking the front of his khakis.

My eyes were the only part of me capable of moving freely. The rest of me was a willing prisoner to the force of his body against mine. I never wanted to be released.

Dr. Miller's key slipped into the slot in the center of the doorknob and a click secured us behind closed doors.

With an echoing clank the keys hit the floor and my aching, vacant lips were welcomed back with the immediate warmth of his. When his hand released both of mine on the door my arms instinctively wrapped around him again. I was on cloud nine; in a state of mindless bliss. For the first time, possibly ever, I thought of nothing and just acted without reserve.

It was only when I struggled to breathe that I took a parting breath, allowing air back into my aching lungs. Dr. Miller groaned with the brief separation though it gave him the second he needed to wrestle with the button on my jeans.

In that one swift movement of his fingers he had access to everything I had to offer. I bit my lip in anticipation of him touching me for the first time. Just before my eyes were forced shut I saw his hungry eyes drinking in every part of me.

Dr. Miller's over-pronounced sigh accompanied the sensation of his first two fingers as they made home against my most sensitive areas.

I moaned as quietly as possible, though he made the task more difficult when his lips grazed the area just beneath my ear.

I let out a louder moan when his fingers pushed inside of me and his hot breath landed on my neck, the other cupped over my mouth and my eyes suddenly snapped open.

“Shhh..” Dr. Miller gave a hushed reminder that we weren't exactly in our own private love shack while his fingers continued their exploration. “We wouldn't want Trevor to wander back here because he heard a suspicious noise would we?”

Slowly, his hand was removed from across my mouth. I reached a hand down toward his waist but he swatted it away.

“You're not ready for that yet,” he growled, still speaking in a voice just above a whisper.

I was paralyzed. Paralyzed by pleasure. Paralyzed by the thrill. Paralyzed by my raw attraction to Dr. Miller. At that moment I didn't think I could speak if I tried.

A brand new combination of nervousness and arousal made home within me when his free hand now lingered on my throat. The barely-there pressure added something to what I had been feeling all along.

“You like that?” It was closer to a statement than a question but I choked out a whispered, “Yes,” in response.

There was a shake in my legs that I couldn't relieve. Dr. Miller felt it. There was no way he didn't. I was writhing beneath him against the door as the distance between my parted feet on the floor widened with the spread of my legs.

It didn't take long to reach my climax that was induced by his fingers, his hand on my throat, and the dirty nothings he whispered as he encouraged my impending orgasm.

I struggled to maintain my composure. As the first curse word escaped my lips his hand more forcefully clamped over my mouth again, though all the same his lips found my ear again as he encouraged me to, “Let it out,” in a hiss of whisper.

That was the final push. Fireworks might as well have gone off in my lower half as my muffled moans sounded off against the warmth of his palm. My eyes alternated between open and closed in those final seconds and Dr. Miller's provocative growling voice took my right back to the dream I’d had. This was no dream.

The shot of adrenaline had filtered through my body, numbing my limbs like some type of drug had just been injected into my veins.

Fuck! For several seconds I could only focus on the pleasure as I breathed heavily in and out in an attempt to remain quiet.

When I began to come down off the high. All of my senses began to return and I could hear my own breathing as his generous hand warily crept back out from beneath my damp panties.

A smile formed on my face as he stared at him. I was hot and disheveled. My pants were still down off my waist and as I went to tug them back up Dr. Miller stopped me.

“Oh we're not done yet,” he assured me, glancing over his shoulder toward the oversized desk. When he turned back around he reached for my hand and towed me across the room. I felt like I was floating.

When he made himself comfortable in the oversized chair, I just stared at him. With the two fingers that had just been inside of me he waved for me to come to him and pulled me down in for another heated kiss before whispering against my lips. “Now you're going to get down on your knees and return the favor.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @michilandcof @morallyinept @akah565 @cesspitoflove @brittmb115

[makethatelevenrings]

Knowingly and Willingly // B. Bradshaw x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: reader has endometriosis/PCOS (it’s never fully given a name but the symptoms are described), discussion of menstruation and symptoms

Summary: You’re having a flare up and feel guilty, but Rooster reminds you that he married you knowing what he was getting into.

The second you woke up, you knew that today was going to be fucking awful.

The past week has been hell on your sleep schedule. Chamomile tea, melatonin, and no blue light wasn’t doing anything to ease your insomnia. Cramps wracked your body and you knew that, without a doubt, blood was seeping into the sheets below you despite the fact that you were wearing an extra heavy flow pad.

Well, fuck.

You weren’t going to let it ruin your night, not when Rooster was so excited to see a lot of his friends from Top Gun again. Hangman, Phoenix, and Rooster were selected to remain behind in Fightertown and train the next generation of fighter pilots, but that meant the other members of their squadron were scattered around at various bases. However, they were all converging back in town for a week due to the upcoming Top Gun graduation.

So you were not going to let your stupid fucking uterus ruin his happiness.

You trudge on, popping some ibuprofen and dulling the pain down from an eight to a six. By the time you leave work and head to the Hard Deck, your hips and lower back feel like they’re going to snap off and depart from your body at any moment. Your ankles and knees ache from general existence, but by god, you were fucking determined.

Unfortunately for you, your husband was basically a bloodhound when it came to you and pain.

Phoenix waved when she saw you enter the bar and you made your way over to the group to join them. Bradley slid down from his bar stool the second you approached and his arm wound around your waist as he settled a kiss on your temple. You shot him a small smile and stole his seat, but you knew he had vacated it solely for you.

“Oh thank god, I couldn’t handle Hangman alone for one more second,” Phoenix said in lieu of greeting. “Bagman! Go get our girl a beer.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you replied. Alcohol always fucked with your churning stomach and you didn’t want to poke the bear, so to speak. “I drove here.”

“Guess that makes you DD for the night,” Rooster hummed. He kept himself pressed against you, one hand drifting down to settle along the small of your back. Bradley pressed down on the base of your spine and you practically moaned in relief as he eased one of the particular knots in your back. Fuck, you couldn’t let him know or he would cut this night short and you would be damned if you were the reason he left early.

“Y’know what? Why don’t I go get you all another round?” Your feet protested standing so soon after sitting down, but it would get you away from your husband’s eagle eyes. Damn pilots and their damn good eyesight.

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite Bradshaw?” Payback crowed as he ducked down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You snickered as you pulled away from Bradley and headed towards the bar. Penny greeted you with an easy going smile as you leaned up against the dark wood of the bar.

“Refills for the bottomless pits?” she asked.

“Put it on Seresin’s tab,” you shot back and her grin widened. Penny turned to grab some of the Stella Artois that the aviators seemed to go through like water and you took that as a chance to press more of your weight against the bar and sag into the wood in hopes of relief. A particular nasty cramp tightened in your stomach and you shut your eyes as pain wracked through your hips. It was painful enough that it knocked the air from your lungs and you planted yourself in the empty bar stool next to you. Penny returned to stand in front of you, a few bottles held between her fingers, and a concerned expression on her face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just been a day.” You hoped she would accept your excuse that this was just exhaustion after the work week. Penny shot you a look filled with doubt but you gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile and gratefully took the bottles out of her hands.

Returning to the table, you set the beer on the table right when a wave of pain shot up your spine, the nerves flaring with burning pain. A startled gasp escaped your lungs and you rocked forward onto the balls of your feet. Your knees nearly gave out but you grabbed onto the table just in time.

“Shit!” Phoenix exclaimed as she caught your bicep. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You waved her off.

“Like hell you are,” your husband grunted behind you. Warm palms encased your hips and you sighed as soft lips accompanied with the rough scratch of his mustache brushed against your neck.

“How long, baby?”

“Since this morning,” you admitted. Bradley let out a groan of disapproval and slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back. You shrieked as your feet left the ground and you wrapped your arms around his neck even though you knew that he would never drop you.

“Folks, it’s been great seeing you, but I need to get my missus home because she’s a stubborn idiot and doesn’t know when to relax.”

“Bradley…” you trailed off and buried your burning face into the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to ruin your night.”

“Not ruining anything, babe. Why the hell would I want to hang out with Yale’s ugly mug all night when I could spend it with you?”

“I would take offense, but I also would rather spend my night with Mrs. Bradshaw than Rooster,” Yale teased.

“Hey,” Bradley barked, but there was no heat behind his voice. “If you even think about my wife again, I will tell everyone about the Barbie incident.”

Yale immediately turned away to go chat with Bob about something. Phoenix patted your hip and shot a pointed look at Bradley.

“You better take care of her,” Phoenix warned.

“With my life.” The cheesy line didn’t feel as cheesy when he said it so gently and fervently. Rooster quickly exited the bar and headed towards his Bronco.

“Roo, I’m so sorry,” you tried once again when he had you in the passenger seat and was buckled in beside you in the driver’s seat. Bradley turned in his seat so he was facing you and he reached up to brush his knuckles across your cheek.

“What for? Being human?” His kind eyes studied your face with a tenderness you’ve come to recognize as something so perfectly him. You nuzzled your face into his palm and pressed a delicate kiss to his wrist.

“I’m sorry you have to take care of me.”

He leaned over the middle console, his lips ghosting over yours. “Baby, why the hell are you apologizing for something I knowingly and willingly signed up for?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“I shouldn’t have to take care of my brilliant, beautiful, gorgeous wife?”

If Bradley Bradshaw was anything, he was the most stubborn man alive. Hence the fact that he was a naval aviator and they needed plenty of arrogance and stubborn attitude to get to where they are now. You knew he wouldn’t let you win this battle.

“Bradley…”

“Shh.” He stole a sweet kiss from you, the faint taste of salty peanuts from the bar mix lingering on his lips. You let your eyes fall shut as you welcomed the feel of his fingers rubbing against your throbbing temples.

“Let’s go home and I’ll carry you inside-”

“Just like our honeymoon?” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Just like our honeymoon. And you’re going to drink some water and I’ll cook you something that will help regulate those little bastard hormones that are hurting my girl. And I’ll set you up on the couch with a heating pad, give you a massage, make sure you take your meds, and we’re going to watch more of Love Island.”

“Is the Love Island for my sake or yours?”

He nipped at your lips and then grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hate that show.”

“Mhmm.” He turned back to drive and you slid your hand along the nape of his neck, burying your fingers in his soft dark hair. He hit the radio and the local 80s station jumped to life. You were in pain, tired, and frustrated, but having your love nearby and singing along to Tears for Fears made it all a little easier to deal with.

Tag List: @khaylin27​ @loveforaugust​ @phoenixssugarbaby​ @atarmychick007​ @djs8891​

[hcdragonwrites]

Good Memories

(a @semisolidmind Twice as Bad Au Fic)

Ok I wrote another one. This one I focused more on Wukongs perspective ! A happier memory, a happier moment- even in this twisted and messed up bad ending. Because there has to be some sweet moments … right ?

Inspired by this ask!

The noise of the stone corridor was quiet. The silence was a peaceful breath of welcome here where Peaches hardly got a moment of true peace. The roar of the waterfall drowned much conversation here so the foot traffic of the mountains subjects was lessened. Except for the patrols of troops, the top ranking officials and guards, the eyes here were light.

A chance to escape had come. Of course escape wasn’t to leave the mountain. Peaches had learned that long ago. To attempt to get down the mountain- to get to the sea that kissed the beaches below- was foolhardy. She had tired once. Once in that far away time when the trauma of abduction has been fresh, when the desire to be anywhere but here drover her to staying awake at night and planning.

Now, years later, the escape was not to leave Flower Fruit Mountain. Though she desperately longed to do such a thing. Hope though was a hard bird to kill even when caged and clipped. So, to circumvent the need to escape- to release some of the pent up agitation- she had found another way to escape.

The patrol passed the alcove Peaches had huddled herself into without a look. She waited. One. Two. Three. Once they rounded the bend she made her move. Peaches snuck out of one of the many side entrances of Water Curtain Cave. She slunked from shadow to tree, avoiding the eyes as best she could. Once beyond the courtyard, beyond the orchards she felt her spirit take wing. It was the bubble of freedom that she had to take as medicine for the true longing she couldn’t - wouldn’t- ever feel.

Not as long as she had her husbands about.

Like a horse turned to pasture, Peaches kicked up her own heels and ran. She ran for the joy of it and for the enjoyment of it. She let herself believe that she was back in the village. That she was back in her home, beneath its peach trees and with its terribly creaking timbers. That this was only a jaunt out to the woods to enjoy the day foraging and finding morsels.

It was a delusion but it was like a balm to her soul. Too much time inside the mountain and among the talks of conquests and bloodshed dampened her. Her husbands never demanded that she attend councils between other Immortals or Demons but Peaches knew when she attended there was far less work for the servants to do. For one, there was less blood to be cleaned from the stone floors. Of course it would take some of her own energy to be apart of these conversations.

Peaches would dress in the courtly and lordly garments bestowed upon her by The Monkey King and The Six Eared Macaque. Gifts they called them. Blood gifts, Peaches knew. Dressing the part as Queen always put the two demonic monkeys into better moods. Of course, whenever she was present it also became a game of keeping.

This game all depended upon the placement of the two heads of Flower Fruit Mountain. They always were placed in strategic spots- to better intimidate or to better please whatever guest they were entertaining. If there was a demon of hungry standing there was always roasted meat and wine a plenty to drink upon. These times, Sun Wukong would be seated closest to the doors. If she entered the room he would catch her wrists, her hand, her waist. Those claws would grip and tug, and she would be in his lap. Wukong would keep her there. If the King was in the middle of a conversation he would simply stop and lavish compliments upon her. Wukong was more of a earnest love then his darker counterpart. She would be forced to stay in his lap, feeling his hands and the soft admonishments if she tried to move, as the conversation continued.

Peaches wished she could have said it was always unpleasant. In the years of captivity, in the moments of stuck between hope and despair, she had come to find a balance of some sort. After so long being molded and worn down by their attentions, Peaches had begun to tolerate the attention. Wukongs attentions helped establish her as something of importance and a person not to be touched. It helped when those demons had an inclination for human flesh.

Too many times she had been told not to touch the food, the meat, when it was presented on the council table.

If the sworn brothers were entertaining an immortal being with no bloodlust for humans the positioning was different. More lax in some ways but no less imposing. Sometimes Peaches would be able to actually sit in a seat beside or between the monkeys. Other times, Wukong would claim her to his lap and tug and tease at her, a game to turn her to blushing of what things he would whisper into her ear. And, in those moments when Wukong did not claim her it was Macaque who stole her into his seat. He was more touching, less outwardly loud praise. But still enough to burn her cheeks, to make her wish to dissolve.

Water Curtain Cave fell behind her as Peaches rushed forward into the woods and away from her husbands. Macaque was away, on some errand or other again. Wukong would be occupied until late into the evening. A conglomerate of would be allies wished to pledge themselves to the King today, and it would take much of her rowdy husbands time and energy to entertain. It would also boost his ego and, with no worry of bloodshed (unless someone was foolish enough to insult) Peaches had taken her leave.

She rarely got moments alone and she laughed, some of the tension sloughing off like snow in a spring melt.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sun Wukong rarely had patience with beings that held incompetence. He was seated in his spot in the council room, upon his golden gilded throne. The warlord was in full regalia, armour polished to a blinding sheen and staff set beside him. However all the splendour about Wukong couldn’t distract from the loathsome thing huddled at the foot of his dais, blubbering and sniffling like a slug.

The demonic monkey felt his teeth grind and clip in his mouth as the weakling worm of a dragon sniffled and bowed its head in a kowtow. Disgusting. This beast had come asking him to slay his brothers and sisters in the western sea so he could be appointed heir. Wukong raked his eyes over the diminutive fellow, taking stock.

Scales as thin as moonbeams. Teeth as square as a cows. Mane bedraggled and unclean. How filthy. This little worm couldn’t even clean himself before grovelling for my help.

A poor ally if he choose to anger dragons in an ocean a world away. Weak of claw and fang.

“It’s obvious you cannot even keep yourself fit let alone keep a kingdom if I gave it to you.”Wukong waved his hand, bored. “Leave my sight. Maybe once you’ve actually wet your muzzle and had a scrap or two I’ll consider. Get out.”

“But -“

Was this Dragon also weak of hearing? Was it slow of wit? He had dismissed the stupid beast. His eyes flashed.

“Get. Out.”

The thing moved now, scattering loose scales in its speed to escape. They fell like toenail clippings and Wukong hissed in disgust. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and felt the patience in his body diminish. The king raised a bell and gave it a ring, summoning several servants - not monkeys these creatures were those foolish demons that had imposed themselves in the paths of Flower Fruit Mountains conquests- to clean up the mess of scales.

Wukong had a full itinerary for the day. He had already met with his southern vassals and those positioned in the East. They were reporting movement from a would be upstart exorcist, one that deemed himself a demon slayer. A blood hungry pup. If it was blood he craved then Wukong would deliver it to him. He had set Macaque to the East, tasking him with bringing the man to heel. He had given his brother free reign. If the six eared demon wanted, Wukong wouldn’t stop him from making the exorcist into a gift - of flesh. Maybe I should have sent this whining worm to the East. Macaque would have shown him the ropes of turning an enemy into a boon.

“Foolish idiots.” Wukong grumbled, irritated. The other appointments had been his people which he took gladly. His own residents of the mountain were precious to him. They only asked for the numbers to help in the forest grove harvest. It was apple harvesting time and some of the trees were showing signs of damage from the deer and other beasts. The other group had been some now turned immortals begging for teaching in the east of shape changing. Wukong had dispatched them with ease, tossing their heads to the sea. He would send their corpses off to the visiting Swallow Heart- an upstart creature with a good three hundred beastly birds- as a peace offering.

His mood would have been better if his Wife had attended his talks. Wukong had kept glancing to the side, looking to the opulent doors and hoping they would open. Or her scent would waft in from the corridor, announcing her approach. Wukong felt his mouth salivate a bit at the thought of her. Oh he was lucky. His little Peach. Wukong and Macaques of course. Not just his morsel. Though today… with Macaque away. ..

She was all his to adore and hold and to make squirm with his praises and his demands.

“Trouble my King?”

An attendant asked of him, waking him from his daydreams. The monkey was by his side, face curled in worry. Wukong let the thinly held patience fall away as he gave into rubbing his head. Too much courtly affairs. He usually didn’t mind the task. In fact, he enjoyed pitting his mind against that of the estate he ran, the duty he held. Wukong had an iron will for ruling. He enjoyed the fruits of that labour, the rewards of conquest. One of the best rewards was here in the caves, walking the halls all alone …

“Trouble that can be easily cast off.”

Thoughts of his Peaches, and the irritation of his last meeting, decided it for him. Wukong rose out of his throne and stretched. Though he was a monkey originally of stone it didn’t mean he didn’t get sore in his throne. Popping his back, Wukong motioned to the door. “Walk with me.”

“Yes my King.” The servant walked beside Wukong as he stalked down the Halls. His people dipped and bowed. The servants who had been brought to the mountain and had been forced to serve kept their eyes downcast. Wukong paid them no heed. He had one goal.

“Peaches!” Wukong sang through the palace. He looked in her usual haunts. She had a tendency to stick to habit and Wukong made it his goal to know all of his little sweets habits and places of hiding. The kitchens, the scroll rooms, the bedroom and other such places deep beneath the mountains stone.

“Peaches?” Wukong now questioned. Usually she was so near he could hear and track her just from knowledge of her habitual motions. But there was a lack of her today in Water Curtain Cave.

“Where has my wife gotten to?” He mused aloud. Wukong would have been more worried in the early days of her life on the mountain. Peaches had a tendency back then to plot and scheme and attempt every sort of trickery to escape the brothers. She had tried tricking (Macaque had been present for that one where he had kept her trapped in a riddle game for hours), sneaking (again a foolish thing due to the number of ears between her husbands numbered eight), drugging (Wukong had thought it cute to see her try and ply him with so much wine he became inebriated. That had led to … other things however.) and finally just running.

Running had led to chasing. Wukong had tried to terrorize her just a small bit to discourage the action. Having her run off while he was in the middle of meeting and for him to rise and say “Excuse me gentlemen” and then rush off had first been an inconvenience. He would never punish his Peaches. No, never. When he talked of the terror it had been more to scare her of what could snatch her up. Tigers, leopards, wolves and their ilk. Taking her back to their rooms and tucking her in and locking the door was the most he did. If he had time, if he could ignore the work of the day he would wear her out in other ways. It would either be both or one and the other who would keep her attention. Wukong was a King but he wasn’t a tyrant.

This didn’t deter his little wife. She seemed … more determined, however, to attempt it. Peaches had learned over the years that running away was useless but that didn’t stop her from taking to flights of fancy. Which lead to a different kind of chasing. A pursuit that called to the raging hunger inside him, to that predator. Peaches had given him and Macaque a new game- a game he craved almost as much as he craved her scent in his nose and her body in his arms.

After opening their closet and seeing the small little nest she kept in there empty as well, Wukong felt his tail give an excited lash. The fur on his spine began to rise up in anticipation. It practically shook through his blood. Made his mouth grin and his body begin to buzz as if drunk upon fruit wine.

“A game is afoot. A game all for myself~” Usually these games of hide and seek with their wife became a race between him and his sworn brother. Macaque would enjoy the competition as he had a unfair disadvantage. His keen hearing compounded on his shadow ability let him take a lead that Wukong wouldn’t be able to close normally. But with his brother away from the mountain… Wukong laughed to himself, beginning to shed his courtly attire.

“Do you require anything, my king?” The servant asked from his shoulder. Wukong passed the servant his crown and those few glittery vestments he bore to impress the lesser demons who came to grovel for his power.

“Clear the rest of my meetings for the evening.” Wukong commanded. Where could my sweet have gone off to? To the grove? The stream? Did she perchance head to the woods? The thought of the hunt was already consuming his mind.

“My King that would mean dismissing the Swallow Heart Demon and his Entourage.” The servant set the items delicately on Peaches armoire, being careful to not tip any of the bottles, brushes or powders there. Macaque had sent for that armoire for their Wife. It had cost a pretty penny to have it brought in with the paints and brushes.

It was a warm memory in Wukongs mind, seeing the pure delight in her eyes. That night had been filled with the boys teaching her how to use the more expensive bits of makeup and had led to her learning to paint war paint upon their faces. The warm memory set a second shiver up his spine. When he caught Peaches he wouldn’t let her go- he would let her know how much he cherished her. The happy memories of her face were becoming more numerous now. It set his tail to swaying like a cat who had caught a canary.

“They are birds yes? Tell them to find another place to roost for the evening.” Wukong stretched his legs one at a time. He waved one hand to the servant, trying to rush the discussion along. He had a wife to find.

“I will meet them in the morning when my mood returns to better and more … harmonious thoughts.” All he could see in his head was her. Her skin shining in the light, her hair in his hands so soft. The rush of feeling hit him low in the gut. Was it love ? Was it possessiveness ? Was it possession? He didn’t know but it had his heart thundering. To think a mortal women could bring such a change through him so rapidly…

“I will see it done sir.” The servant bowed.

“Good.” Wukong stretched his arms, pulled his back straight. He had removed all but the trousers he wore. The glory of Sun Wukong had been set aside. Armour wouldn’t slow him- he was the Sage that had rebelled against Heaven. Had almost won. Armour was little hinderance in his silence or his ability to move. It would however limit him to capturing his intended target. Peaches was soft, pliable and would not like a tackle from her husband if he was wrapped all in his battle regalia.

He bounced on his heels. The excited energy wanted to be unleashed, to be set free. Wukong left the servant in their rooms, swiftly walking to the entrance of Water Curtain Cave. His generals saw him and bowed, continuing their rounds. Smaller monkeys, the children of his people came and clambered for his attention. He smiled at them and turned them back to their mothers promising attention later.

The waterfall came into sight and Wukong grinned. Just like he had when he first had been crowned King, the monkey lord bent low a palm pressed to the floor and launched himself through the torrent of water. He was out on the other side in a spray of water. Once on the ground again he looked, listened, smelled.

Wukong was an expert tracker. He could read the signs of his mountainous home. He knew every blade of grass every bend of the leaf in the trees above. Wukong looked for the signs, the telltale notes his wife would leave so lovingly in nature for him to find. There ,beneath the shadow of a tree. Wukong moved swiftly and lightly, faster then the long spotted cats to the far west. The press of foot too large to be a monkey, to heavy to be a cat.

I got you~

Wukong followed her path, enjoying the exertion and the feel of the sun on his fur.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Peaches had found herself a nice little patch in the wood, a small trickle of a stream ran through a copse of tightly packed willows. It had a few gooseberry bushes in its shade and she plucked them eagerly.

She had brought her small bit of knitting, a book, and a change of clothing if she wanted to take a dip in the water. The gooseberry’s were a plus, having been ripened and their red flesh sweet. Peaches didn’t have a snack- running into the kitchens would have alerted the staff she was going out and she did not want a retinue of guards on her tail. It was nice and pleasant to be alone. Hearing the soft babble of the water over the stones, the wind sighing in the leaves. It was peaceful. She could fall asleep. In fact a nap didn’t sound bad—

Snap.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening. That had been too loud to be a simple little bird or just the sound of a branch falling from the wind. She felt her calm wash away in a rush of icy fear. Though Flower Fruit Mountain was possibly the safest place in the world, it did still have the occasional predator. Bear or tiger were the largest creatures to have been spotted on the mountain. Wukong and Macaque assured that the worst of those beasts kept to the lower plains of the mountain.

But what if— what if I went too low?

Her ears strained, her eyes blown wide to see. Nothing revealed itself from the emerald green foliage or the berry bushes. Her hair stood on end as something shuffled in the undergrowth. Behind her. Peaches spun, holding a knitting needle out—

To air.

Another brushing sound, like that of claws across wood. Peaches took a step back, away from the sound. Her heart was in her throat and all the peace of the day was gone in the rush of animal instinct that screamed in her mind.

Freeze of Fly?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sun Wukong followed her trail easily to the copse of trees. His Peaches had much to learn if she wished to our pace him in his tracking ability. The path she took was such a massive trail he could see it from miles away. The demonic monkey crouched low, keeping close to the earth.

She was sitting next to the little stream at the foot of a great willow. His Peaches. Her fingers were red with gooseberry juice, her hair down in the heat. She was the picture of peaceful, the very image of serenity. Wukong felt a desire to grab her to hold her close, to take the juice of the berries off her fingers and hear her laughter and voice.

Gods he craved her.

He held off leaping, held off and observed. Magic would make it easier to drop in on her but he liked the challenge of keeping his current shape. So Wukong lay low, watching. The brothers had a practice of watching their Peaches when she thought she was alone. It was in those moments they learned the most about their mortal heart. How she would sigh, how she always got itchy if she wore too much of the powder upon her face. It was how Wukong learned Peaches preferred bangles over rings. How Macaque gleaned that her favourite foods involved a doughy treat called cinnamon rolls. Little things. Silly things. Treasured things that the brothers would go over and strategize on how to make their precious fruit the most comfortable. To win her favour. Her love. Her attention.

Sometimes she would cry in these moments and the game would have to be put on hold as they made themselves known beyond her field of vision. Wukong hated when she was upset. He knew, somewhere in his twisted heart, that he had caused these tears. That he was to blame for the sorrow that weighed heavy on her.

I can make her happy. No one else saw her sparkle like we did. She’s ours. Forever if I have my way.

But right now he had a game he was in the middle of. The immortal peach he was keeping for her would have to wait. Wukong stalked forward, through the brush. Peaches had laid herself back, body flat to earth and completely relaxed.

Wukong took a branch in his hands and snapped it.

His Peaches lifted herself up and whipped her head in the direction. Wukong had already moved, speed on his side as he circled beyond and behind her. The terror on her face made something stir in him, a protective urge. He would sooth her worry when he caught her. He would pet her hair, hold her close and tell her how foolish she was to leave his safe embrace. She had nothing to fear from him. Only his little sweet fruit didn’t know it was him. Not yet at least.

Wukong let his tail tussle the dead leaves beside him then darted off. He raked his claws over a bit of bark and then zagged back to a new hiding spot. Peaches turned like a doe, alert and eyes wide. Her face was full of fear, full of such open prey-like terror that Wukong couldn’t resist anymore. He rumbled, mimicking the sound of a big cat. Sweet Peaches stared right at the spot he was hiding.

Run little wife, he urged. Come on. Run for me.

At his second snarl, she obliged him. She spun her back to him and took several vain attempts to run. Wukong smirked. And leapt.

He caught her in several bounds barreling full into her body and taking her off her feet. His hand had her by the back of the neck, the other about her middle. They rolled in the air but Wukong angled himself, curling her into him and taking most of the fall. Peaches cry rang in the trees and sent the birds flying. Wukongs laughter was loud and shook through his body as he landed with her. The demon caged her in, setting her hips between his legs so he straddled her. One hand had both her wrists held above her head. The other angled her face to him, the eyes firmly shut.

“Caught you~” He purred.

“WUKONG!” Peaches gasped, opening her eyes to stare right into his face. Wukong felt his heart give a squeeze as the fear melted into ease. Ease with him. It sent a trill of joy up his spine. “You gave me a heart attack. I thought you were some tiger.”

“No love.” Wukong mentally took note of her. No scrapes from their tumble, no bruises. A perfect capture. “A tiger wouldn’t have toyed with you like I did.” Here he stretched his free hand, claws on display.

Peaches laughed. A laugh for him. His tail was swaying, his face inching closer to hers. “I’m glad I’m not getting devoured then.” She said, breath still catching up with her shock.

“Oh my Peaches, I may not be a tiger but I’m going to devour you all the same~” he let the words sink into her, enjoying the blush that coloured her face before he bent down and kissed her. She tasted of gooseberries, of laughter and the earth and ever of peaches. Her lips were soft against his. Wukong moved away from her mouth, wanting to taste her throat, her cheeks, her nose. Kisses he planted along her most ticklish spot on her neck, eliciting giggles and cries of mercy.

The Monkey King felt like he was drinking wine, head getting lighter and lighter while his body relaxed over hers. Only with Peaches had he felt so at peace, so blissful. It’s why he could never let her go. To rob himself of this? Never. She was his and he was hers and that was it.

Peaches pressed a kiss to his nose and he swooped back down to capture her lips. How could someone so soft and small consume me so? He felt starved. He felt parched. Here Peaches was, a bountiful feast and and overflowing cup. He couldn’t get enough of her.

Wukong nipped her neck, tugging her into his teeth to elicit a squeal. She laughed and tried to worm her way out of his grip. “Wukong please! Let me up, let me up!”

“Only when you tell me how well I caught you. Lavish praises on me.” He grumbled. He didn’t want to let her out of his arms. If he could he would keep her here and live in this bubble of joy forever. Peaches blew hair out of her face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“I assure you I’m not. So tell me.”

“Wukong your pride is insufferable.”

“And your beauty is unconquerable.” He countered and was rewarded with a scarlet Peach. “Now tell me.”

“Ugh. You caught me. You startled me so badly I thought I had gone too low on the mountain.” That had Wukong grinning wide as he now rolled over taking her onto his chest.

“Go on~”

A snort. Peaches was open in only the brief times when his and Macaques earnest attentions had worn down her barriers and aversions to nothing. Here was his adoring and adorable wife. One he wanted to bring treasures and conquer worlds for. I would burn this whole place to the ground to please you.

They spent a time there, the two of them in that grove of trees. Wukong kissed the gooseberry juice from her fingers and Peaches tried to see the good in this moment. Wukong was, a murderer. He was a monster who had taken her from her village. He had killed the villagers. Laying on his arm, feeling his voice and laughter in her body, seeing the tender way he held and touched her…

His love was hard to deny. To match up to the truth she knew so well. He was a murder. The soft glow as his eyes alighted when a butterfly landed on his hand. Wukong would kill again. He set the butterfly on her hand and they both marveled at the changing colors.

Peaches felt a bit more of her resolve break. Wukong and Macaques love was an ocean slamming into her. It was eroding the coastal cliffs she had within her. It had been a constant, driving force these years. She didn’t … she couldn’t remain so indifferent in the wake of such attention. Of such open love. She would never fully be at peace here. However … she was finding a balance.

Maybe that was the closest she would be to the love she originally had showered them both in. Or maybe she would fall head first into that roaring surface and loose herself in their love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wukong tugged the brush through Peaches hair, listening to her sing softly in the night air of their bedroom.

Suddenly- the ground became black and Peaches squealed as she disappeared into the earth—

—and popped up in Macaques arms.

“Save some of her for me, Wukong.” Macaque drawled, hands wrapped around her middle in a possessive gesture. They were back in their room, the night air wafting cool tonight. Wukong and Peaches had spent the rest of the day in that copse of trees and upon the mountain. They had walked hand in hand, visited the monkeys and the new babies that had been born to the family’s farthest from the caves.

It had been a day of sweet gestures and, whenever Peaches had turned eyes inward or far off, he had pressed her with tender affection. Drawing her back to the present. If Wukong had learned anything over the decade it was to keep his Peaches in the present, to keep her away from the drifting worry of the past.

They had returned home only when the first stars had begun to spark in the dark sky. Wukong had carried his tired wife all the way back to Water Curtain Cave. He whispered how he would make a necklace of the stars and give them to her and teased out of her sleepy laughs.

Maybe tomorrow will be full of hardships. Maybe she will hate me for what I did. This though- I would kill a thousand villages if I could get a single day of joy like this.

Macaque had returned shortly after dinner, coming into their room to Wukong holding Peaches in his arms and biting more of her neck between brushes. Of course Mac had wanted a bit of her to himself after being gone for a day. Wukong obliged, not bothered one bit.

His brother in arms was still dressed in armour meaning he had probably just arrived back from the East. Not a speck of blood was on his clothing. Wukong would ask him later about how the trip went, when Peaches was asleep. This moment was meant to be a memory of joy. He would not drag kingly duties into this moment.

“I caught her fair and square.” Wukong sniffed, growing a bit jealous at Macaque. He had stolen his prize from beneath his nose- right when he was getting to Peaches too, in her sleepy state. Macaque blinked then stared between the two, his purple eyes flashing.

“You played the game without me?” Wukong heard the bit of hurt and, though he was sure part of it was drummed up for sympathy, felt a bit of guilt. Only a splinter of it. He didn’t regret acting on his own. The game was his to play when he was away. However it had the desired effect on their Wife.

“Oh Mac- no I didn’t know Wukong would be coming after me.” Peaches was so easily guilt tripped. She kissed the darker demons cheek. The sudden flash of confusion and delight passed over Macaque features. His eyes stole towards Wukong, questioning.

Is she happy? Is she giving without teasing? Wukong nodded, the smile on his face like the soft warm dawn. Peaches was happy and that’s all that mattered. She was happy and would give to them.

“He did have a full schedule of meetings.” She bemused. “What.. happened to them?”

“I cleared my evening.”

“Of course you did.” Macaque snorted, half heartedly irritated. His fingers were already brushing through Peaches hair, grooming.

“Nothing was getting done beyond my latest meeting.” At the raised eyebrow of his six eared brother, Wukong waved a hand. “I’ll tell you later but for now- why don’t we have another game of tag.”

“A-another one?” Peaches sat up a bit, looking outside to the dark and moonlight beyond.

“Well you owe Macaque a chance to catch you. And I want to compete again. We will give you … thirty minutes.” Wukong grinned. “No going outside. Just find one of your hidey holes in the Palace, Love.”

“What if I’m too tired for this game?” She pouted and Wukong smirked. Seeing her pout brought the urge to tug her close and erase that pout from her lips all the stronger. He had been hoping she would say it. It’s why he had one of his chefs cooking a very special sweet treat.

“If you play you’ll get a reward~” Wukong crooned.

“That sounds ominous.”

“It’s innocent. I have some delicious sweets being made as a treat. Just a few short rounds and all of them can be yours.”

“Are they …. Cinnamon rolls?”

The Monkey King felt like he had caught her all over again. “Yes”

“… two games. Then no more. I’m tired..”

Macaque kissed her temple and set her free. “Go on darling. When I find you first I will tell you of the sights I saw.”

“You have to get to her first brother.” Wukong challenged. When he got to Peaches he would make her laugh again, demand kisses and more.

“And I will!” The six eared demon grinned eyes flashing. Peaches stood a bit uncertainly until Macaque leaned forward and gave a kiss to her temple.

“Go Peaches. And don’t stop running till you are in one or both of our arms.”

Peaches ran.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 18, 4 mai 1907, Paris. Gracieux costume genre tailleur. Robe simple. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Gracieux costume genre tailleur en lainage gris uni ou à rayures très fondues. Boléro court tombant sur une ceinture drapée en satin liberty. Petit col rond dans le dos formant revers sur le devant. Ce col ainsi que le boléro sont bordés d'un plissé de mousseline de soie ou de taffetas très souple. La partie du devant du boléro repose sur la manche de forme pèlerine ouverte en deux parties ornées de biais de satin et entourées d'un volant; le tout tombe sur le bouffant de la manche de la chemisette. Jupe plate très en forme, garnie de biais de satin décrivant de gracieux dessins. Des biais semblables garnissent le boléro.

Graceful tailor-style suit in plain gray wool or very faded stripes. Short bolero falling on a draped liberty satin belt. Small round collar in the back forming a lapel on the front. This collar as well as the bolero are lined with a pleat of silk chiffon or very soft taffeta. The front part of the bolero rests on the pilgrim-shaped sleeve open in two parts decorated with satin bias and surrounded by a ruffle; the whole thing falls on the bouffant of the sleeve of the shirt. Very shaped flat skirt, trimmed with satin bias detailing graceful designs. Similar bias trims the bolero.

Matériaux: 5m,50 de lainage en grande largeur.

Chapeau de forme nouvelle garni d'ailes et de rubans liberty.

Newly shaped hat garnished with wings and liberty ribbons.

—

Robe simple: lainage bois à carreaux vert amande; jupe légèrement soutenue tout autour de la taille.

Corsage blouse orné de pattes en tissu plissé horizontalement de manière à simuler une sorte de galon formant bretelle sur chaque épaule. Petit gilet de velours qui semble être fermé et fixé par deux boutons recouverts de tissu, mais la fermeture réelle de ce corsage se fait au milieu du dos à l'aide de minuscules boutons de velours et de boutonnières.

Dans le dos, cette même disposition de plis se répète. Le corsage est semblable au devant, saut le gilet de velours que l'on aperçoit à peine et comme simple dépassant seulement.

Ceinture drapée en velours très foncé ou en satin liberty brun, vert ou noir.

Guimpe, col montantet poignet de guipure; volant de guipure au bas de la manche bouffante en tissu semblable à la robe.

Simple dress: almond green checkered wood wool; skirt slightly supported all around the waist.

Blouse bodice decorated with horizontally pleated fabric tabs to simulate a sort of braid forming a strap on each shoulder. Small velvet vest that appears to be closed and secured by two fabric covered buttons, but the actual closure of this bodice is at the center back using tiny velvet buttons and buttonholes.

On the back, this same arrangement of pleats is repeated. The bodice is similar to the front, except for the velvet vest which is barely visible and only protruding as if simple.

Draped belt in very dark velvet or brown, green or black liberty satin.

Guipure guimpe, stand-up collar and cuff; guipure ruffle at the bottom of the puffed sleeve in fabric similar to the dress.

Matériaux: 7 mètres de lainage en 100 de largeur et 1 mètre de velours ou de satin liberty en 50 centimètres de largeur.

[hopefulromances]

22 with jamie tartt please!! she/her :)

I got two anons asking for this one!

INCREDIBLY SELF INDULGENT.

22. “You’ve saved me so many times; it’s only right that I return the favor.”

You and Jamie had been floating around your feelings for years. You were more than friends, that much was sure, but the timing always seemed to be off for something more. But you knew everything about him. You knew about his mother and his father, everything from what coffee he drinks in the morning, to his favorite Lynx smell.

And he knew everything about you. From your favorite toner for your printer, to the type of Lynx you hated for him to wear. And part of you was comfortable in the limbo you were in with him. But another, larger, part of you want to kiss the living daylights out of his and shut his stupid manurian ass up sometimes.

Tonight, you were out with some friends at a club. That included Jamie. As usually, you were rounding up drink orders to start a tab on. Jamie handed you his card to use, which you took cause that football money was no joke.

"I'll be back in 5 minutes," you assured the group as you turned towards the bar.

"D'you want me to come with you?" Jamie offereed, starting to get out the booth. But you waved him off.

"I'll just be a few minutes, surely you can last that long with out me," You teased.

He threw a hand over his heart as if he'd just been shot with an arrow. "I don't think I can, love, I'll wither away."

You rolled your eyes at him and started off towards the bar. You reached it with out much difficulty. You waited for your turn, tapping impatiently against the wood as you waited your turn.

"Hey," a voice from the side caught your attention.

Yeah, no, not interested. You didn't even need to look to know you weren't interested. Unless he had a thing for monocrome track suits and a mancurian accent, you weren't interested. You tried to ignore him but the man persisted.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, babe."

The man reached out and tapped your shoulder. You let out an annoyed sigh but put on a bubbly personality before you turned to face him.

"Oh! Sorry, hi!" You smiled, waving. "Music's so loud."

The man seemed satisfied with that excuse and leaned lazily against the bar. He wasn't much, compared to Jamie, but he wasn't bad looking at all.

"I agree, you want a drink?" He nodded towards the card in your hand. "I'll get you one."

"Oh, no," you scrunched your face up. "I"m getting drinks for my friends, too."

He shifted closer to you. "They don't have to know."

You tried to shift back but someone had filled in the space behind you, forcing you to stay in your place as the man shifted ever closer.

"No, I'm really okay," you insisted, looking around for some escape route. "I've got it."

"Well, maybe we can go somewhere quieter, then?" He was practically on top of you. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, the smell of beer and sweat. You cringed, jerking backwards.

"Please, I just want to get my drinks and go." You turned to the bar, hoping that he'd understand your body language. Then he touched you, he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

"Why are you being such a bitch?"

"And why are you being such a cockhead?"

Jamie's voice surprised you. But, you'd be able to tell Jamie's voice if you were blind folded and standing in a crowd of a thousand people, which you kinda were.

The man looked over at Jamie, still not letting go of your arm. "Why do you care, mate?"

Jamie glanced down at his hand on you and something dark flashed through his eyes. "She said no, mate'"

He spat the word like it was poison. Like referring to his man in any sort of friendly way was hurting him. You knew that if you didn't move quickly this could escalate into something more violent. So, you ripped your arm out of his hand, not missing the way his nails dug into your skin, and pulled away.

"I'm just gonna get my drinks and go," you told them both, finally flagging down the bartender.

The man started to take a step towards you. "Don't be a cu-"

"You're not going to want to finish that statement," Jamie growled, shoving his way in between the two of you. You felt like you could breath again, knowing Jamie was between you and the predator. You felt yourself lean onto him. He was tense, his whole body stiff with anger.

"Is there a problem here?" The bartender asked, looking between the two men.

"No!" you interjected, slamming the credit card on the table. "I just want to start a tab."

The bartender kept an eye on the two men as he took the card. "Well, the two of you better seperate, I don't want to see any funny business."

The man on the other side of Jamie scoffed but took a step back. "Whatever, bitch is a lost cause."

You grabbed Jamie, feeling him flinch forward. You prevented him from moving after the man as you order the drinks. Jamie kept a glare on the man as he moved away before turning to face you.

"Are you alright?" he soothed, looking over you.

As he did, any sign of the agressive man that was there before was gone. His face was laced with concern as he looked over you. His eyes fell on your arm and the marks where the man had scrapped into your skin. You followed his gaze and bit you lip, grabbing onto his arm.

"I'm fine, Jamie," you assured him. "He was just a dickhead."

Jamie brought his hand up to gently brush over the marks. "I could kill him for this."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't." Then you paused before adding. "But thanks for the save."

“You’ve saved me so many times; it’s only right that I return the favor," he mumbled, his eyes dragging up to your face. You looked at him, sucking in your lips.

You moved your hand up his arm up to his shoulder. He didn't need much persuasion as he leaned down, nudging his nose against yours. After a moment, he captured your lips on his. You suddenly wondered why you had waited so long to kiss him. You pressed up into him, finally moving your hands to tangle in his stupid walnut mist air.

His lips moved against yours in languid breaths, letting his tongue explore your mouth sucking gently on yours. You could stay like that for the rest of your life, you're pretty sure, but alas no good think could last forever.

You felt something hit you on the side of your head. You broke off from Jamie and snapped your head to find the source of the intrusion. You saw Colin quickly trying to hide behind Isaac.

Jamie held you against him as he flipped the pair off, sending them in fits of laughter. You whined, missing his kiss as you leaned against him. Jamie laughed, wrapping you up in his arms and keeping you there.

"Don't worry, love, there's a lot more where that came from."

[ladywaffles]

icemav + reckless

a discord prompt written for @sluttyhenley A sappy little Top Gun New Year's Eve prompt I forgot to post last night! Happy New Year, my friends!

In just a few hours, it will be 1996.

It will officially have been ten years since he met Maverick.

They’re all holed up in some shitty dive bar with a jukebox that predates Reagan, and the alcohol is free-flowing.

It’s probably the last time that they’ll all be together for the foreseeable future; it’s a miracle that none of them have taken promotions that have put them on desk duty.

Slider throws an arm around his shoulders, Wolfman’s got a mischievous glint in his eye.

They’re well away from base in their civvies; no one wanted to get clocked today. It’s a boys’ night out, one last hurrah for the men of ’86 before orders come down the pipeline and split them up after a scant eight weeks working together, before their careers take them out of the cockpit and ground them for good, never to fly with each other again.

“You know, Slider,” Ice muses, just loud enough that Slider can hear him. “This reminds me a lot of that first night at Top Gun.”

“You know what, Ice?” Slider plays along. “I think you’re right!”

Wolfman flashes a sharp grin, tapping Hollywood to let him know he’s heading out.

Merlin and Maverick sit at the bar, none the wiser, enjoying their beers as the NBC live coverage of Times Square plays on the TV behind them.

Slider slips over to the jukebox as Wolf darts up to the tiny stage. He passes Ice a microphone, “with the longest cord we could find!” Wolf tells him. Slider shoots him a thumbs-up above the heads of the crowd, and Ice makes his way to his target.

“Excuse me,” Hollywood says dramatically, tapping on Maverick’s shoulder. Maverick furrows his brow.

“Wood, don’t tell me you’re already wasted this early in the—”

“Is this guy bothering you?” Ice interrupts, cool as can be. Maverick stops short in the middle of his sentence, then catches on.

“Ice, don’t you dare—”

The Righteous Brothers kick up on the jukebox. “Oh, my looove,” Ice croons to Maverick, “my darling, I’ve hun-gered for your touch!”

Hollywood joins in, serenading Maverick as his face turns bright red, even under the dingy light of the bar. Somewhere in the crowd, Wolfman and Slider join in, and then the entire bar is coming along, slightly off-key, a little too loud, singing “Unchained Melody” at the top of their lungs as Maverick, larger than life and slick as can be, tries to shrink into his barstool. Merlin won’t have it, though, and he forces Maverick to stand up at the end and accept the ovations from his adoring crowd.

The boys crack a smile, and Merlin vacates his seat so Ice can slide in next to Maverick, whose cheeks are still flaming red.

“You know,” Ice says with a grin, “I’ve never seen you quite this red, even when you’ve got sunburn.” He jabs an elbow into Mav’s side, but Mav pushes him off.

“That was very reckless of you,” Maverick says lowly, intending to scold but coming off somewhat impressed. “Singing to me in the middle of a civilian bar like that.”

Ice shrugs, bolstered by his success and the alcohol already in his system. “What can I say, I’m a natural at it.”

“I bet you do this for all the girls. Does that play often work for you?” Maverick asks. Ice winks at him.

“I’ve never done it before. You’ll have to tell me how I’m doing.”

“You think it’s going well?” Maverick says. His voice is still low, but for an altogether different reason.

Ice leans in, knowing smile on his lips. “Why don’t you tell me in the morning?”

Maverick groans. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

Ice calls for another round for him and Maverick, then closes out both their tabs. “Ten years it took me to get the full story out of you, Mitchell.” He downs his vodka in one go, fully aware of Maverick’s eyes on his throat as he swallows. “You can’t have thought I was going to let you live it down that easily.”

Maverick knocks back his shot. “So then, sailor,” he looks up at Ice. There’s two hours to midnight yet. “You in town for long?”

“Not for much longer,” Ice answers truthfully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll come back to you whenever I can.”

Maverick smiles, a big toothy grin that makes him look like that fresh-faced punk of a lieutenant he first met ten years ago. “I’d like nothing better, Ice.”

[arcanarubinaito]

What are your thoughts on how an extroverted, confident, energetic MC would be with Muriel as an LI? (🪶)

Thank you for the ask, Feather Anon! I’ve been itching to do some creative writing outside of my story, so I hope you don’t mind that I’m writing this more like a short story/narrative style post.

Summary:

You command the room when you walk in, and everyone takes notice. He loves that about you; being riddled with constant social anxiety himself, it’s nothing short of a relief for Muriel to see that you don’t have to deal with it yourself. (Besides, it doesn’t hurt that it takes the attention off of him.)

He’s just worried that you’ll feel isolated and alone if you move in with him.

It’s exactly a month after the defeat of Lucio and The Devil, and everyone had gathered to celebrate together in the Rowdy Raven. He tries to stick to a corner in the back, but he is far too large and conspicuous to avoid the attention for long. Some people stare, others are braver and approach him to exchange a few words and express thanks. Muriel wants nothing more than to melt into a puddle. He appreciates not being looked at like he was still the Scourge, thankful that people weren’t afraid of him anymore. But the only reason he was here was to see you. You had been busy helping with repairs in the city while Muriel helped those still lingering in the camp outside his home, and hadn’t had much time to really talk or interact for the past week.

“You all didn’t start without me now, did you?” Your voice rings out as you stride in, and Muriel slumps back against the wall with relief. He watches some of the crowd clamor to get your attention as Julian passes you a beer stein, giving him room to breathe.

You look a little tired, he notices, but your face is practically glowing. Your eyes meet across the room and you light up even further, drawing a slight smile from Muriel’s otherwise stoic expression. He loves your smile. Immediately you chug your drink and begin pushing through the crowd, exchanging short words with a few other people before you finally reach him. He doesn’t even have the time to say ‘hello’ before you throw your arms around him in a tight hug that he quickly returns.

“God, I missed you so much.” You groan, tilting your head back to look up at him. Muriel lifts his hand, cradling your face gently in his large palm as he dips down to kiss your forehead—silently telling you he missed you just as much. “I didn’t have any time to visit this week and it was killing me, actually.” You stretch up on your toes and loop your arms around his neck, filling him in on all the little things he’d missed. Stuffy nobles complaining that they weren’t getting their homes repaired sooner, and Nadia putting them in their place. Helping Portia and the other kitchen staff with preparing food for all the displaced citizens. Julian and Asra, busy with healing and helping reunite separated families and friends.

He listens to you ramble on with a soft smile, and follows as you take his arm and lead him to the bar. “—but now I think I’ll have a lot of down time, which means I can spend more time with you.” Muriel’s smile widens a little more at that, and he can feel his face warm up when you shoot him a wink. Yeah, he knows what that means all too well. “Hey Lavinia, let’s get a round of black mead for everyone!” You call across the bar, knocking your hand against the wood loudly. “And put it on Jules’ tab!”

“Wait what—?”

A short laugh breaks past Muriel’s lips at Julian’s indignant squawk, and he catches a shit-eating grin plastered over your face as you settle onto one of the stools. Two mugs of the dark liquor slide across the bar towards you both, Muriel putting his hand out to gently stop them before they fall off and passing one to you. “What did he do to deserve that?” He asks, amused. You hide your smirk with your mug.

“Nothing.” You rest your chin in one hand. “I’ll pay it off myself, his reaction is just funny.”

“That’s a little mean.”

“It is a little mean, yeah.” You laugh, eyes glittering with mirth. The firelight reflects like spots of amber in your eyes, and he’s reminded of that first night. Your worried face and gentle hands cast in the soft glow of the fireplace, and the begrudging step he had taken to trust you just a little. The best decision he’s ever made, really. Muriel reaches forward to brush some stray hairs out of your eyes without thinking.

A few ‘awww’s scattered from the crowd made him flinch and quickly withdraw, his face hot with embarrassment. Muriel hides his burning face with a quick swig from the wooden mug in his hand and turns his back to the crowd quickly. He had been so swept up in the moment that he forgot you both weren’t alone, and many pairs of eyes were on you at any given moment.

Your hand touches the side of his face lightly, reassuring and gentle. Grounding him for a little longer and soothing that surge of anxiety and embarrassment. His eyes flicker in your direction again briefly before he roots his stare on the mug in his hands again. “You want to head back early?” You suggest softly. Muriel lowers his mug. He wants to say yes; he’s by far had his fill of socializing today and just wants to wind down somewhere quiet and familiar. But he hesitates. You only just got here, and he knows how much you enjoy these gatherings. You thrive off of social interactions, would it be selfish for him to ask you to leave so soon?

“We don’t have to.” Muriel finally says, begrudgingly, forcing himself to look back up at you. He can stick it out a little while longer for your sake, just as you’ve done for him before. It’s loud and crowded and his anxiety is already going haywire, and god his head is starting to hurt too. But he can suck it up.

“I really don’t mind going home if you need to.” You reply. He watches your eyes drift past him, your hand waving off someone behind him quickly before your gaze returns to meet his. “I know this isn’t exactly where you’re most comfortable.” That was an understatement if Muriel had ever heard one.

Wait. Go back. Did you say ‘home?’

Gently, you pull him away from the bar, guiding him through the swirling crowd towards the back door. He reaches out to push it open for you, his fingertips lingering on the wood for only a moment before you whisk him down the alleyway to a more secluded spot, away from prying eyes. His eyes widen a little, and he lifts his hand to curl it over the one you cup his cheek with. “You said ‘home.’” Muriel breathes out. Your face softens a little, a smile creeping up on your lips.

You’ve hidden yourselves among some crates stacked up between the buildings, a nearby street lamp casting your faces into wild shadows. “Yeah, I did.” You confirm, moving your hand so that your fingers are twined together now. You dip your head down, kissing the tops of his knuckles with a sweet brush of your lips that sends a jolt of electricity through Muriel’s body. “I’d like to move in with you—if you want, I mean.” You add on quickly.

Muriel’s heart hammers in his chest. “What about the shop?” He asks, his voice a little more breathless than he would’ve liked.

“The shop is a little bit crowded these days—” Right, Julian had moved in. Muriel tries (and fails) to resist the urge to make a face at the thought of the doctor living with Asra. “—and I’m not exactly selling anything right now either.” You continue, tilting your head to the side just a little. “And it’s so far from your place.”

“My place is also far from everything else.” He points out quietly. Muriel wants nothing more than for you to move in with him, to make that little hut feel more like a little home. But would it be too far from Vesuvia, and all your friends? Would you be happy, or would you start to feel isolated and alone?

“I know.” You guide him out of his thoughts with a soft voice and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “And I’m okay with that.” He searches your gaze, finding only love and warmth, and that gleam of pure conviction he knows so well. His shoulders relax just a little bit and his thumb rubs along the back of your hand idly while he listens. “It isn’t really all that long of a walk to get to the city. It just feels… It just feels too far from you.” You smile up at him and he practically melts, lips twitching up into a faint smile.

“I want you to be happy.” Muriel confesses softly. He brings his other hand up to envelope yours in his large and calloused palm.

“And I’m happy whenever I’m with you.” You stretch up on your toes, and he leans down just a little to meet you halfway, stealing a soft and sweet kiss—thankfully, without anyone around to see. Muriel sneaks a glance around just to double check before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, one steady hand at your waist and the fingers of his other twined gently through your hair. He can feel your hands rest against his chest for a moment before you reach up to hold his face in your ever-gentle hands.

He pulls away just slightly, your warm breath mingling with his against the cool night air. “I love you.” Muriel murmurs, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. He moves his hand to brush an errant lock of hair out of your eyes, studying them. Muriel wasn’t one for eye contact, but it was so easy for him to get lost in your eyes. They always reflected the light so beautifully, and tonight was no exception; the light of the street lamp mingled with the moonlight, casting your eyes in a contrast of gold and silver.

“I love you too.” You murmur. Your thumb lightly brushes along his cheek and traces along his scar tenderly, sending a soft shiver down his spine. Muriel shifts, his lips meeting the spot just between your eyebrows before he pulls away, his hands resting on your waist. You tilt your head back a little to look up at him, letting your hands settle back on his shoulders before sliding them down his arms and resting them against his biceps, just above his elbows.

“… yeah. I think I’d like to go home now.” He murmurs, finally answering your question from before. Your smile widens a little and you take hold of his hand as you both finally pull away from where you were hidden and start to walk down the street.

[neevblanc]

this is a req for your cafe event! 🩷 15/Dark Era dazai x reader word: hm.....sick (like the kind of sick after you drink too much) bar lupin shall be the death of me🥹 If you need a name: April

a/n —hiii april! :D ty for sending this in! i've never tried my hand at writing dark era dazai so i hope i can do our little funky guy justice lmao :P

blanca’s cafe event!

this event is now CLOSED! feel free to leave a normal old ask, though!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Dazai Osamu x GN!reader

Tags— dark era dazai, he's a little mean but what can ya do, regular dazai suicidal antics (help him), killer hangover (sort of), bullying him into being cared for seems to be a theme amongst the ppl in his life (looking at you, kunikida)

CW/TW— drinking, underage drinking, mentions of vomiting, dehydration, suicidal themes

please keep yourself safe.

note — i ended up modeling what reader is to this dazai as something similar to what higuchi is to akutagawa. not exactly, of course, since all four of these characters are complex and very much different but the premise was...inspired, i think. it's interesting. dazai is interesting!

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

"Dead to Me by Kali Uchis"

00:34 ━━●─────── 03:19

ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

"i don't know what you've been told. see i am not your enemy."

The walk up to the roof is familiar. The stairway is damp, and the stairs creak under your feet; the building is one of the older ones left in the city and, therefore, made of wood instead of the metal you were used to seeing.

You open the door to the roof, biting the inside of your cheek as you step out into the open and let it shut behind you. The soft night wind bites at your face in greeting as soon as you are entirely on the roof. Your eyes dart to the right, and you find what you’re looking for in the exact place it always is.

“Are you done now, Dazai-san?” You ask, approaching the man. He’s sat on the ledge of the building. Despite seeing him in this position more times than you could count, unease still seeps into your stomach and pools at the bottom. You stop just beside him, and without thinking much of it, you do the math to make sure you’d be able to catch him if anything happened.

You shuffle a foot closer. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“Yes.” Dazai’s response is clipped, but he takes a deep and visible breath before speaking. You know immediately he’s had too much to drink.

“Are you here alone?” You ask, despite knowing that Oda-san and Ango-san wouldn’t have let Dazai up, and Dazai wouldn’t have been on the roof if Oda-san and Ango-san were with him.

“None of your business.” He huffs, almost clumsy, as he swings his gangly legs back toward the roof and stands slower than usual. You frowned but kept your hands to yourself, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate a steadying hand. You turn first, keeping track of his footsteps that sound quietly just after yours. You hold the door to the stairwell open for him, and Dazai passes you without the slightest acknowledgment. 

He heads out of the building without another word, and instead of following his steps back to his…room, you quickly round the corner and head down the steps to bar Lupin. Two steps at a time, your breath comes out in cloudy puffs due to the cold. The bar door creaks ever so slightly as you open it, and the man at the bar gives you a strained smile when he sees you.

“Got him?” He asks, putting down the glass he’d been drying. You nod, sighing lightly.

“Could I have some of those bread rolls you sell? Put them on Dazai-san’s tab, please. I’ll be back to pay it off later in the week anyway.” You say, leaning on the bar. He smiles gently at you and packs the little rolls into a box for you to take. He hands them over and tilts his head toward the door.

“Now get going. It’s too damn cold and late for you kids to be out.” He shoos you away, and you hurry back into the winter air again.

Fortunately, Dazai has slumped against a building wall not too far away. A flickering streetlight shines above him, keeping his form visible to you despite the layers of black he insists on wearing.

You walk to him quickly, and as you near, he straightens and doesn’t bother to look your way. You do him a favor and pretend he hadn’t been slack-jawed a second ago, half coherent and entirely too relaxed in public.

You fumble the take-out box open and hand him one of the rolls, ignoring the hazy way his eyes roll over your entire form as he takes it. A Dazai this plastered doesn’t have much of the subtly everyone might expect from him.

“These are cold.” He huffed, demolishing half of the roll in one bite. You smile tightly at him.

“Unfortunately, they’re not kept fresh for 18 hours, Dazai-san. We’re lucky Lupin had any leftovers at all.” You sigh. Dazai busies himself with the rest of the roll in his hands, so you don’t get much of a response.

The walk to the shipping yard isn’t too eventful. Fellow drunks and the shady people that populate Yokohama’s streets at night become less and less as they tread deeper into Port Mafia territory. For all the fear that the PM no doubt instilled into Yokohama’s citizens, they weren’t the type to break promises. Shop owners paid their protection fee monthly, and they were dutifully kept from any damage caused by the (admittedly desperate and exaggeratedly large population caused by the Port Mafia) local criminals.

Despite his inebriated state, Dazai’s unsteady feet lead him toward the container he calls home- which you’re grateful for since you couldn’t ever remember which was his in the sea of containers the Mafia had come in and out of the shipping yard.

You watch him fumble with the latches, managing only to flip those over. Dazai had never been the strongest, so when he goes to pull on the handles and pop the container open, he stumbles backward and just barely manages to not fall flat on his ass.

“Um.” He slurs, blinking at his hands. They must have let go without him trying to. You bite back a laugh and pull the handles, only slightly staggering with the weight of the door once it pops open.

Dazai huffs softly and heads in, leaving you to close the door behind you by a cable he had fashioned to the door. You secure the door and turn to flick the lamp in the corner on, illuminating the space in a warm glow. The lamp was an addition you insisted on. Eventually, Dazai allowed you to drag in the thing (along with a semi-quiet-enough generator to keep it running). You had a feeling it was only ever turned on when you were in here.

Dazai had collapsed onto his mattress, worryingly quiet and face down. You put the container with the rolls down near the makeshift bed and gently roll him over, making sure he settled on his side to avoid choking on his own vomit in the night. His face is startlingly blank when you can see it again, and he eyes you with contempt.

“I didn’t say you could touch me.” He says lightly, though you know better than to think he wasn’t bothered.

“Sorry, Dazai-san. You wouldn’t enjoy dying in a pool of your own vomit, I think.” You answer lowly, slowly reaching for a bottle of water that had clearly rolled away one night and hadn’t been picked up since.

He gives you that same withering look and brings a hand up to rest over his eyes. You imagine the headache he’s sporting must be killer- Dazai was not one to be nice to himself, especially not with something so destructive as drinking.

You gesture for him to take the bottle in your hands, shaking it lightly as if he were a toddler who needed the visual cue. He huffs and takes it.

“You should leave.” He mutters, haphazardly bringing the bottle’s opening to his mouth and drinking messily. You ignore the way some of the water overwhelms him and dribbles down the side of his mouth.

“I should, but it wouldn’t do to have you die by choking. Even asleep, I hear it’s a horrible way to die.” You hum, finally shifting into a comfortable sitting position next to the mattress.

A sober Dazai might’ve stared you down until you left, and a particularly pissy one would’ve shoved you out himself.

As he was, he grumbled and let the bottle fall back into your waiting hands and promptly went to sleep, sagging like a corpse into the bed. You place the bottle next to you and sigh as quietly as possible- Dazai could be one hell of a light sleeper.

His breathing deepens quickly, and it’s startlingly quiet despite his inebriation. Dazai was always like this, somehow- walking the line between alive and dead. He was your superior by multiple clearance levels, sure, but not much older than you and not all that physically impressive. His strength was in his demeanor, of course- in his sharp tongue and quick-witted mind.

He was still young, though, and despite being a bit younger than him you were always a little taken aback by how other members treated him when his face was still round and soft like a child’s. The only people who really treated him like a kid you could count on one hand, and one of them was his age.

You’d keep these thoughts to yourself, of course. You’d seen people get shot for much less let alone question their superiors power.

The lamp flickered in the corner. The yellow light made him look sickly. The floor of the crate was rigged and unforgiving, but you preferred to stay where you were. In case Dazai needed anything.

And if it meant you got to settle the tightness in your chest by watching his own move steadily throughout the night, then no one else would have to know.

[uchihaharlot]

Hii, could i request hcs of uchihas including sasugay being in the night club? Like what would they do and how would they act. U could do them being with so or without, idc.

I literally cannot imagine Itachi and Obito going out anywhere idk they seem too stiff and polite for that tbh

Thanks regardless!!!

Lmao Sasugay 🥹😂😂

Itachi is super polite, he also doesn’t like loud people. Obito, while polite is overtly shy. He just feels so out of place.

SFW(suggestive themes—I can not just ever ignore cock); just some light Drabble on these delicious men

Madara:

If we’re keeping this canon-ish. There weren’t any night clubs in the warring states era. So it was mostly bonfire parties and fight clubs. You can guess which one Madara preferred; and as the number one rule goes without saying.

He doesn’t talk about it.

Obito:

You’re right, he’s too chicken shit to go, but gets dragged by the collar of his shirt. It’s mainly because all the hot girls throwing themselves at him just is overwhelming and he has a perpetual boner the whole night. Which isn’t embarrassing per say, it does more favors for him than anything. He actually goes home with two girls, and that makes Shisui a bit jealous. Obito was the most plastered though and unfortunately falls asleep before anything hot happens with his arm candy, so they kind just lug him into his bed and leave. Wakes up with aching morning wood.

Shisui:

He’s the Uchiha who had the idea to begin with. And he’s actually really annoyed that Obito made out better than he did. Funnily enough, he’s the mostly sober one for the night. Konoha’s number one genjutsu genius might have a celebratorial cup of sake but that’s about it. He spends most of his time schmoozing the ladies, drawing more attention to the barkeep as he opens the tab for everyone to enjoy themselves. Ends up going home with a girl, who also is sober. Shisui is, in my opinion, a very conscientious man. If he’s going rounds with a girl; he wants to make sure they both remember it. Ends up hitting it too good and breaks the condom, so all that amazing blissful feeling evaporates faster than water in a drought.

Itachi:

Does not entertain this kind of nonsense. He might enjoy the finer things in life, dinners out and such. But he absolutely does not go to the night club. He does once, just for the experience and it lives up to his interpretation of it. Loud and obnoxious basically. Shisui will definitely hear about it for the longest time and he shows zero remorse for his almost oopsy baby, you reap what you sow.

Sasugay:

Undeniably the same as his brother; but once pumped with a few ounces of liquor, blacks out (incredibly a lightweight) and starts the bar fight that prematurely ends their evening and closes the bar. Apparently threatening an innocent person with ‘the power of the Uchiha’ was not an appropriate response to being bumped repeatedly on the dance floor and it scares the majority of the patrons. Gets hauled home by his ear by Itachi.

[no-name-publishing]

Manacled by SenLinYu

My 8-month marathon on this project has finally come to a close, and I have a ton of pictures to share!

We’ve got a split-board binding with made-endpapers and a built-in tab for extra support. Hand-sewn endbands with silk-finish cotton sewing thread. Done in a millimeter binding style with black leather, and a hand-drawn and -painted floral motif across the middle. Final page count is just under 1.4k. I figure altogether this was around ~50 hours worth of work for the whole binding, from beginning to the typeset to pulling the final book out of the press.

More pictures of the binding and typeset under the cut! If you have any questions or want more info about the process don’t hesitate to ask!

In truth I over measured/estimated the needed length of my leather; this and my poor pare job is definitely visible through the cloth lol, but I’m still jazzed with the result since I’d never touched leather before this. I designed the spread digitally in Procreate, printed it, transferred it to my cloth using carbon transfer paper, then painted using Jacquard Lumiere Metallic gold paint and a refillable .75mm paint pen.

Printed:

Transferred:

Mid-painting:

From starting the drawing to finishing the painting I’d say this part took ~15 hours. Close up of the spine:

Each endband measures around 3 3/4″ (9.5cm) in length and took around 5 hours to complete. The core is 4-ply hemp cord that I coated with PVA glue. Wrapped with a single strand of red silk-finish cotton thread, and one strand of polyester yellow thread, since it’s kinda shiny. Last I counted it was something like 300+ wraps of thread for each band. The uh, cat hair here is just an added bonus I suppose. Like when you buy a new pair of jeans and get that free sticker.

Some progress shots:

The tie downs. I usually will try to tie down every other signature. With 68 signatures you can understand this ate up a metric shitton of thread.

Different angle. Also a good few of the top of the textblock, which was trimmed painstakingly by hand with a wood chisel.

Smooth as a shark etc.

And some shots of the innards!

Each chapter page when through four rounds of printing: 1st through an inkjet, for the floral; 2nd through a laser printer for the number; 3rd through a laminator for the gold toner-reactive foil; and 4thly for the rest of the text.

Half-title page:

One of the attempts to foil a crane. The toner may have been too thin a line for it to work, or perhaps not dense enough tonerly. I don’t have control over that setting on our Xerox unfortunately.

A second shot of a golden crane. This was slightly more successful but lord knows why. Luck.

Fun fact is that this Daily Prophet page ALONE was about 8 hours worth of typesetting. I do all my typesetting in Word, and this page was recreated line-by-line individually. A few of these elements I also had to redraw by hand since there were just no good alternatives online. Anywho though, good payoff.

Nextly, some in-progess shots I don’t have a good segway into lol. A detail you can’t see on the book but I know is there, is hand-dyed scarlet linen thread, drip drying on my shower curtain rod:

Freshly sewn. 68 signatures, no waiting:

Rounded and backed:

And a close up of the special tab/made-endpaper construction. Stupidly I didn’t take any shots of gluing the split boards on, but I think the idea is pretty easy to imagine. Just picture this tab getting glued in between the cover boards.

You can kind of see it here:

And finally, the behemoth on the shelf. This bad boy tips the scales at just over 4 pounds (about 1.8 grams). Glad to have it; more glad to move on with my life.

Thank you for reading!!