#this has been rotting in my brain for weeks

[sunshinehaze1]

On the Right Track

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You board the train to Chicago to find your sleeper cabin has been double booked.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. No outbreak AU, meet-cute, forced proximity-ish, use of pet names (darlin’, baby), oral sex (m&f), unprotected PiV. no use of Y/N.

a/n: the idea of getting “stuck” in a sleeper cabin during a long ass train ride with Joel Miller rotted my brain. So, here I am dumping it onto you. I hope you enjoy it! big time thank you to @80ssong for the beta 😘

word count: 5,442

ao3 | ml

The wheels of your suitcase emit a low, steady rumble as you drag it behind you, weaving through the crowd rushing past in the opposite direction. You're stopped short when one of the wheels gets caught in a crack in the concrete train platform. You breathe out a huff of frustration, "Goddammit!" and try to shimmy your suitcase loose.

You can't miss your train; you’ve been looking forward to this trip for the last year, another check on your “travel the country by train” bucket list. Mercifully, the wheel shakes loose, and you resume your quickened pace. Even with the extra time you allowed yourself to pack and get ready this morning, you didn’t account for the rush hour traffic. One of the many perks of working from home is not dealing with that nonsense. If only you had left your house 15 minutes earlier. You hate feeling rushed when you travel. A booming voice from the PA system bellows, “Final boarding call for Texas Eagle! ALL ABOARD!”

Shit! You pick up the pace; quick steps turn into a jog to make your train. You’re out of breath by the time you approach the entrance of your sleeper car. The conductor takes notice of your struggle, grabs your suitcase, and assists you up the steps. You navigate through the hallway of the sleeper car to find your cabin, your breath slowly returning to normal.

This trip from Austin to Chicago is over twenty-eight hours, so sparing the extra expense of a sleeper cabin was a no-brainer. You scan each door as you pass, looking for cabin 101. When you reach the correct door, looking forward to sitting and relaxing after your cardio session, you swing it open to find your cabin is not empty.

It has been two months since Sarah moved to Chicago for school. Joel has had a hard time adjusting to an empty nest. He's been able to occupy his time by taking on contracting jobs on the side and putting in more overtime. The extra money he's been able to bank has allowed him to take a week off work to visit Sarah.

Since childhood, he’s wanted to travel by train to see more of the country and for the experience. Due to the length of the trip and his back, he decided to spring for a sleeper cabin with some of his extra cash. Thankful he won't have to worry about engaging in awkward conversation with a chatty seatmate in one of the passenger cars.

Joel wasn't sure what to expect with train travel, so he arrived at the station an hour before departure. He was able to board and settle into the cabin without issue. He's in the middle of texting Sarah to let her know he boarded the train when the cabin door abruptly swings open. 

You're surprised to see someone in your cabin. You double-check the number on the door’s plaque, compare it to your ticket, and look suspiciously at the annoyingly handsome, broad-shouldered man sitting on the bench seat, who looks equally perplexed. You booked a solo sleeper. What is this guy doing here? 

“Um, there seems to be a mistake. I had booked this as a solo sleeper.”

“Yeah, I did too,” Joel sighs, “paid a pretty penny for it.” 

You ask to see his ticket and see that he’s been assigned the same cabin number as you. Well, isn’t this your luck? You huff in annoyance, lean past the threshold into the corridor, and spot the conductor checking passenger tickets. He approaches when you grab his attention with a friendly wave. Hopefully, this is an unfortunate mix-up and can be resolved quickly. 

“Welcome aboard the Texas Eagle. How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Hi, um," trying to shake out any annoyance in your voice, "There seems to be a mix-up. Our tickets are for cabin 101, but we booked a solo cabin separately.”

The conductor asks to see your tickets. He twitches his jaw in concentration as he looks over both tickets. He excuses himself to consult with the chief conductor. His return ends the twenty minutes of awkward silence between you and this handsome stranger, where avoiding eye contact felt like a full-time job.

“Thank you for your patience. Unfortunately, our sleepers have been overbooked for this trip. We apologize for the inconvenience." You and Joel sigh in unison, "I can move one of you to a passenger car, or you could share this cabin, and Amtrak will compensate you for the error.”

Joel looks up at you with a raised eyebrow. He studies your face to gauge which option you're leaning toward. Moving to a seat in the passenger car is not appealing to him, but if you were not keen on sharing a sleeper with a stranger, he’d concede. He wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But if he’s honest with himself, he would be disappointed. You are a beautiful woman, and he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, even if it is not under ideal circumstances.

You take a few minutes to consider your options. Shifting your eyes around the cabin, trying to avoid Joel’s gaze. A seat in the passenger car is the least desirable of the two options. Fortunately, the cabin has two beds, so it’s not a total loss. There are far worse things than being stuck in a sleeper cabin with an attractive stranger. You’re a pretty good judge of character; he has kind eyes, and he hasn’t given off any creepy vibes in the brief time you've been in his presence. Could this be one of those meet-cutes you see in your favorite rom-coms? 

Joel waits patiently for you to make the final call. You glance at him and then back at the conductor. “I’m fine with sharing the cabin.”

“Sounds good. Again, we’re so sorry for the inconvenience. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.” 

When the conductor departs, you move further into the cabin and take in the cramped space. You start to lift your bag into the overhead bin, and Joel notices your struggle. He springs up from his seat to assist you. "Let me help ya there."

You feel the warmth of his body pressed against you as he lifts his arms above you. When he shoves your suitcase into the bin, you inhale his scent, a mix of fresh soap, sandalwood, and mint. You feel heat travel up your neck and hope he doesn’t notice.

Joel steps back when the bag is secured in the bin, and the vestiges of his warm body begin to cool on your back. A sense of disappointment washes over you. You liked the way his body felt against you. He felt safe.  

When you turn around, you're met with his extended hand, and he introduces himself, “I’m Joel.”

You take his hand, so large it swallows yours, and introduce yourself with a firm handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry, it had to be under these circumstances.”

“You t—“ The jolt of the train cuts you off as it lurches forward and throws you off balance and into Joel’s broad chest. 

He grabs at you, careful not to place his hands anywhere inappropriately to keep you upright. You’ve now felt his sturdy form from your back and front sides, and it’s unnerving. You stare down at the dated carpet as you try to gain your composure before you look up at him shyly, “Sorry about that. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

You return a soft smile and nod as you move to sit down. The morning's events have you completely frazzled, and you hope you can finally relax. You settle into your seat and pull out your book, locating the dog-eared page where you left off. The cabin is quiet except for the rumble of the train and the occasional announcement of the next stop, followed by its arrival. Neither you nor Joel was ready to cut through the silence just yet.

The tension of being in this tight space is distracting, and you're unable to focus on your reading. You peek up from your book and observe Joel. He’s staring out the cabin window, watching the blur of the Texas landscape speed by with his chin resting on the heel of his hand. It’s been a while since Joel has been out of Austin. He wants to see as much as possible during this ride. 

You take in his profile. Admiring the strong, sharp jaw covered in a patchwork of dark scruff sprinkled with grey and a full mustache over a pair of pillowy lips. His furrowed brow sits atop a set of rich, chocolate eyes. Eyes that express a softness and warmth. You watch as the reflection of the country landscape flickers across his orbs. Shadows fall over the curve of his aquiline nose. It's as if the Romans chiseled his face out of travertine. 

“Is everythin’ alright?!” 

You shake out of your haze at Joel’s inquiry. Busted. You’ve never been good at subtlety, so you’re not surprised he’s caught you staring. 

“Yeah, yeah…everything’s fine.” You clear your throat, trying to buy yourself some time to come up with an explanation for your ogling, “I…I was trying to remember if I locked my doors before I left this morning.”

Joel grins. He doesn’t entirely believe you. He’s pretty sure he caught you staring at him. It felt nice. A sense of pride that a woman as beautiful as you would give him the time of day. “Oh, I know that feeling.”

You nod in response, and the silence returns as you resume your activities. The tension thickens as the awkwardness continues for a couple more stops. A silent internal debate over who would break the silence first wars between you. Unable to bear it any longer, you finally squeak out, “So, what’s in Chicago?”

Joel is surprised by the question, not the question itself, but that you were more confident than him to break the silence. “My daughter, Sarah, she’s at Northwestern.”

“Oh, wow, that’s impressive.” You see Joel light up with pride at your praise. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure where she gets it. Certainly not from me.” Joel scoffs.

You let out a short laugh. Not fully believing his self-deprecation. You've only known him briefly, but Joel strikes you as a smart guy.

Joel continues, “I haven’t seen her since she left for school two months ago. I can’t wait to see her.”

Joel’s excitement is palpable. His smile reaches his eyes as he talks about his daughter. My god, this man is handsome. You're not sure how you'll survive the rest of this trip, sharing a cabin with him.

“And how about you?” Joel inquires, “What’s the reason for your trip?”

“It’s kind of silly.” You flash Joel a sheepish smile. “I’ve always wanted to travel the country by train. I have taken a different route each time for the last few years. Only eight more to go to hit all states! It’s been a fun experience, and I’ve met many interesting people.” 

Joel is intrigued. "That doesn't sound silly to me."

He admires your independence and courage to travel on your own. Charming, beautiful, and a sense of adventure. There’s no way you could be single. But wouldn’t they be on this trip with you if you had a significant other? He hesitates to ask but decides to go for it. “Is there anyone who would miss you while you're on this trip?”

A warmth spreads up your neck, reaching your cheeks. You answer Joel bashfully, “If my silver pothos counts, then…yes.” 

Joel huffs a laugh. His confidence grows with the confirmation that you're single. “Darlin’, that’s a shame. You seem like a real catch.” 

Could this be happening? Is this annoyingly handsome and charming man showing an interest in you? Darlin’? You’ve been in Texas long enough to know “darlin’” is used as frequently as “ma’am.” But this sounds different. Maybe you are experiencing a real-life meet-cute. It's been a year since you and your ex broke up. You’ve had time to heal but haven’t yet dipped your toe back into dating, but you'd be willing to take the plunge with this man.

Joel hasn’t had a serious relationship in a while. He prioritized raising Sarah and growing his contracting business. Sarah has encouraged him to put himself out there and meet someone. She's worried about him alone at home now that she’s off at school. It’s been an adjustment for Joel, getting used to an empty nest. He misses the stomps of Sarah’s footsteps as she races down the stairs each morning, the sound of pop music blasting through the stereo in her room, and late nights on the couch watching Curtis and Viper—Sarah falling asleep with her head on Joel's shoulder. Finding someone warm, caring, and beautiful to spend time with would be nice—someone like you. 

As the train rolls on, you and Joel learn more about each other. Your comfort level and attraction to each other grow with each stop. You learn that he runs his own construction business with his brother. How he’s raised his daughter on his own, Sarah’s mother having left the both of them when she was still a baby. You tell him about your job and how it brought you to Austin. A place that is finally starting to feel like home.

It’s been over ten hours since you rushed to board the train. Ten hours filled with embarrassing mishaps, awkward silences, and engaging conversation. Ten hours of proximity to one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever met. And ten hours later, he asks you to have dinner with him in the dining car—a date. 

You could tell that Joel was nervous when he asked. It was sweet. His eyes focused on the carpet’s intricate pattern; his hand rubbed the back of his neck before he looked over at you. “Would you...would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I’d love to, Joel!” 

The food was pretty decent for being served on a train. If Joel plays his cards right, he might have a chance to take you on a proper dinner date without the rattling silverware. Joel admires you from across the table. He watches your fidgety fingers wrapped around the stem of your wine glass, rotating it in a circle on the white tablecloth.

You may still be nervous, but talking to Joel is easy. He’s warm and confident, with a great sense of humor. You feel the attraction between you continue to grow. You’ve even caught his eyes land on your lips a few times.  

Joel can’t recall the last time he was on a proper date. He didn't last long on the dating app Sarah downloaded and set up his profile. After two weeks of confusion about which direction to swipe, easily bored by the rote introductory messages, he deleted it. He resigned that he’d have to meet someone in the wild. Did that even happen anymore? But here he is, with you, never imagined he would meet someone on the train. Grateful for the inconvenient cabin mix-up that led you to him.

Joel pays the tab, and you thank him for dinner with a kiss on his cheek. It was the best date you’ve ever had. He grabs your hand and walks you back to your shared cabin. As you open the door, you feel Joel’s hand lightly pressed against the small of your back, his pinky teasing the waistband of your jeans. The warmth of his hand through your top sends a thrill up your spine. He guides you into the space and closes the door behind him. 

Once the door is locked, his palms are at your waist to spin you around to face him. "You're so beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself, handsome." Your palms pressed flat against him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the low beat of his heart pulsating through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Your breath quickens as his eyes map the delicate features of your face. He holds your gaze with his warm brown eyes, then trails down to your pillowy lips, returning to your eyes, seeking permission to kiss you. You grant it with a subtle nod, and he leans in; your heart pulsates with each inch he draws nearer. A needy moan emits from you as his lips finally press against yours. Soft, wet, warm. You invite him further with an open mouth and tease of your tongue along his lower lip. You've wanted to feel his lips against yours since he introduced himself.

His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt before he lifts it above your head and off. Discarded to the floor in one swift motion. He stares at your perfect tits caged in by black lace. He cups them gently in his palm while his index finger and thumb tweak your nipples to attention. A pleasurable hiss escapes your lips. His hands traipse down your supple skin until they reach your waist. With his fingers threaded in the belt loops of your jeans, his body looms large, and he guides you until the backs of your legs meet the bench.

He leans into you and seals your lips with his as his hands roam over the plane of your back. His fingers tease over the clasp of your bra, and he unfastens it in a swift motion releasing your tits from their lace confines. His other hand trails downward and slips into the back of your jeans, and squeezes your ass. Your body shudders at his grip.

He squats down to place his mouth over your tit. Kissing, licking, and sucking out sweet moans from you. His hands move to the front of your pants to unfasten them as he continues to distract you with his ministrations across your chest. In one pull, your bottom half is bare to him.

He nudges you gently to sit as he lowers to his knees; a creak of his joints echoes in the small room. His cock is painfully hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He wraps his forearms around your thighs and pulls you in closer to his face. His sharp nose trails over your mound, and he inhales, moaning at your scent. He drapes your legs over his broad shoulders and lathes a slow swipe of his tongue through your folds, the tip brushing against your clit. "Fuck!" You manage to blurt out.

With a firm grip on your thighs, he continues to eat at you. He latches onto your clit and sucks, causing you to buck your hips into his face. Unphased, Joel continues his relentless pursuit of your pussy. He wants to lap up every drop of arousal that is leaking out of you. A strong desire to bring you over the edge with just his lips and tongue. He can feel you're close when your walls tighten around his tongue. Your breathy moans increase and become louder as he inches you toward your release.

Joel rises from the floor as you catch your breath. In a haze of euphoric bliss, you paw at his jeans, pleading for him to get undressed and switch places with you on the bench. "Joel," you whimper, "I need you inside me. Now."

With that, Joel hurriedly pulls off his shirt and strips his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop. He offers his hand to assist you up from the bench, legs still wobbly from your first orgasm. He sits down and pats one palm on his meaty thigh while the other lazily strokes his cock. "C'mere baby."

Eagerly, you situate yourself to straddle Joel’s lap, knees pressed against the back cushion. You tease kisses over his face and trail down to where his neck meets his shoulder. He moans when you leave a soft bite and then soothe the area with your tongue. You rub the wet folds of your pussy up and down his length, whimpering when the tip of his cock brushes against your clit.

A gasp escapes you when the head teases at your entrance, seeking further access. You slowly sink onto his cock until he’s fully sheathed inside your warm pussy. “Fuck,” Joel exhales, “this pussy is so fucking wet, just swallowing my cock.”

The vibration of the train as it moves over the tracks heightens the sensation as you bounce on his cock and he mouths at your tits. His thumb teases your bottom lip, and you suck the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the salty tip. Desperate to make you come again, he removes his thumb and lowers his hand between your bodies. The pressure, as he circles your clit, ignites a fire in your core, bringing you closer to the edge. He can feel your pussy clench around his cock; he knows you’re close, “I need you to come, darlin’.” 

With his permission, you explode around his length. Your head is thrown back in ecstasy, feeling confident you can be as loud as you want with the roaring drone of the train; you wail out his name. With your neck bare to Joel, he leans forward to lick a trail upwards to leave light nips along your jaw before his mouth overtakes yours in an all-consuming kiss. 

You squeal when Joel stands up from the bench in one fluid motion, still inside you. His palms squeeze your ass, and your arms are tight around his thick neck, keeping you secure as he shuffles over to the fold-down table. He moves one of his arms to wrap around your back and gently lays you on the cold surface, leaning forward to place kisses across the valley between your tits. As he straightens, his hands tighten around your hips, pulling you closer to meet his thrusts, which begin at a steady pace. 

Your desire for him is overwhelming. The need for him has you in a daze as your body shifts back and forth against the tabletop. “Fuck me harder, Joel.” 

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice—his speed quickens. The sound of his pelvis slapping into your ass reverberates around the small space. Your body is slick with sweat, and your mind is buzzing as your walls clamp around his length. The intense pleasure coils in your core, ready to snap. He watches your tits bounce in tandem with his thrusts, mesmerized by the heavy weight of them jostling back and forth. 

“Joel…ah…” you spit out, “fuck!”

“I know, baby. I know.”

He gazes down in between your bodies, focused on where his cock meets your wet folds. Entranced by your pussy, lips stretched around his shaft coated in your arousal. “She’s choking me, baby.” He breathes out,  “She’s so fucking tight. Perfect pussy taking me like a good girl.”

A cacophony of moans and grunts swirls around the two of you. He’s on the precipice of his orgasm, but he needs you to come again for him. He needs to feel your walls spasm around him a second time. He leans forward to kiss you, whispers into your lips how beautiful you are wrapped around his cock, how gorgeous you look when you come. “Give me one more. Be a good girl for me, and give me one more.”

On his command, your walls flutter around him as your release takes over. Thighs shake as their grip tightens around his hips, and you cry out his name. “That’s it…that’s it.” 

He pulls out of you, hand wrapped around his base, and he strokes his cock, slick with your arousal. Grunting as he covers your mound and lower belly with his come. He collapses over you, kissing your cheeks and lips. “You’re incredible. That was incredible.”

You can only respond with a nod and pull his face to yours for another blistering kiss. 

While you clean up in the bathroom, Joel turns down one of the beds. No longer a need for two separate beds. You crawl under the covers to join him, back pressed against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, and he pulls you in tight. His hot breath wafts against your neck before he peppers kisses along the column of your neck and down your shoulder. You relax into him with a low hum. You’re quickly lulled to sleep by the beat of his heart and the drone of the train's movement along the tracks.

You wake up in Joel’s warm embrace, the sun’s rays leaking through the curtains. His fingers traverse your bare arm, easing you awake. "How'd you sleep, darlin'?" his gruff morning voice breaking into the space.

"Perfect. I had a furnace behind me that kept me nice and warm." You feel Joel smile against your hair.

You expected it would be awkward this morning, but everything felt right. Comfortable. Safe. Perfect. Like this was meant to be. You can't recall ever feeling this way about someone, especially not someone you've only known for little more than a day. Your mind wanders to the "what ifs," starting to get into your head about whether Joel feels the same. What if he doesn't? What then?

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Joel interrupts your spiral.

"About how good this feels. How right…how…and how fucking terrifying that is."

Your hair rustles when Joel huffs a chuckle. "It does, and it is. But we can be terrified together. If you want?"

You turn in his arms to face him with a wide, beautiful smile. It squeezes at Joel's heart; his affection for you is overpowering. He's never felt this way with anyone. He'll be devastated if you say "no." Thankfully, you don't make him wait too long for your response. The seconds that have passed tormented him enough. He sweeps a loose tendril behind your ear and softly trails his palm down your cheek, fingertips teasing your jawline while he waits for your reply.

"I would love nothing more than to be terrified with you." you tease.

Joel smirks and tilts your face toward him with a finger under your chin. He presses his plush lips over yours. Teasing your seam with his tongue, pleading for entry. Your lips slot open, welcoming him into your mouth. Tangled tongues, heated breath, an all-consuming passionate kiss.

When he pulls away, the both of you desperately try to catch your breath. You feel his hardness against your thigh. Your soft hand wraps around his thickness, offering slow strokes and teases over the slit swirling the precum around the head with your thumb. Joel lets out a breathy moan and thrusts into your palm. You don't want to leave him without getting a taste of his cock, so you begin your descent down his firm chest leaving kisses in your wake. "Baby, you don't have to…"

Your eyes meet his as your lips approach his cock. "I know. But I want to."

You wink as you take him in your mouth. His fingers weave through the hair at the back of your skull. Gently moving you further down his shaft, your nose brushing against the tuft of hair above his base. With the tip of his cock meeting the back of your throat, you delicately caress his balls in your palm.

"Fuck, baby," Joel grunts. "Yes, take it all. Your perfect lips wrapped around my cock. A goddamn dream."

At his praise and encouragement, you bob up and down his length. Swirling your tongue around the tip when you release him with a pop to catch your breath, only to return to a steady pace. His hands grip the root of your hair, and you feel his balls tighten in your hands. He's close. "Just like that…that's it. hnnnghhh, I'm going to come."

He tries to pull you off of him, but you take him even deeper with a strong grip on the back of his thighs. You want him to come in your mouth. Feel his warm seed spurt across your tongue. Lap up every drop, savor his taste, and swallow it down. You moan along his length, which reverberates up Joel's spine. His orgasm takes hold, and with a deep, guttural groan, his arousal pours into your mouth.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." You smile up at him, satisfied. He watches you as you wipe the corners of your mouth and suck the cum off the tip of your thumb with a moan. "You're amazing at that."

"Yeah?"

He pulls you up by your forearms until your face is level with his. His lips brush along the tip of your nose, to your cheeks, and then to your lips. Hovering over them with hot breath, "Yeah," he nods and seals your lips with his, tasting himself on your tongue.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk, "So…how about a second date?"

You laugh into his shoulder. Still unbelieving that all of this happened. "Absolutely. Just don't expect me to put out."

He responds with a booming laugh. You could get used to this sound. "I would never," as he squeezes you into him and kisses your forehead.

After you both are dressed, you settle in together on the bench to spend the last hours of the trip as close to each other as possible. Your back against the wall and legs strewn over his thighs. His thumbs circle your calves in a soothing motion as you read your book in contented silence. You didn't get to read as much as you wanted, but you're not complaining.

The train’s PA system crackles, “Last stop, Chicago.” 

You look at Joel apprehensively, the realization that this time is quickly coming to an end. He squeezes your hand reassuringly as you both move to stand. Joel pulls your bag out of the bin and insists on carrying it off the train for you. You both walk through the narrow hall, you in front, because “ladies first.” When you glance over your shoulder, you catch Joel staring at your ass. You tease with a coy smile and a wink, “Eyes up here, Joel.” 

You watch as a smirk grows into a sly grin across his face, the dimple on his right cheek making an appearance along with a glint in his eyes. Fuck, you’re in trouble.

As you exit the train, the conductor gives you both a knowing look with the tip of his hat. Your cheeks heat with embarrassment. Joel wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, and plants a kiss on your temple.

Joel freely gives this PDA while completely unaware that his daughter is watching it all transpire from afar. She arrived at the station early because she was so excited to see her dad, not expecting that she'd witness his uninhibited affection so publicly.

“Thanks for the ride, Joel.” He erupts in laughter.

“Anytime, darlin’. Any time.” He embraces you in his strong arms and leaves you with a chaste, parting kiss. “I'll see you soon.”

“You better!” You turn and walk away, Joel watching intently at the sway of your hips, once again admiring the curve of your ass. 

Joel runs his hand over his face in disbelief. The last twenty-eight hours were something. He shakes it off to look for Sarah in the crowd. When he finds her, she's barreling toward him to meet him halfway and wraps him in a huge hug. The impact almost knocks him off balance. With a chortle, "Hey, baby girl! I missed you!"

“I missed you, too!" With one eyebrow quirked, "So, dad…how was the trip?” Joel watches as Sarah's eyes shift across the platform in your direction. Your back towards them.

Joel smiles sheepishly, “It was good,” suddenly interested in watching a small bug crawl across the station platform to avoid Sarah's interrogating gaze. " It was really good."

Not one to let him off easy, she senses something different about her father. He has a glow in his eyes; he looks happy. Sarah knows it’s more than just seeing her. “Aw, come on, dad. Who was that woman I saw you with?”

Busted. “Oh,” he feels the flush creeping up his neck. “Funny story…” He drapes his arm over Sarah's shoulder, "I'll tell you in the car."

Joel pulls his phone from his pocket and climbs into Sarah’s car. 

[Joel] I can’t wait to see you again

[you] Same. I hope you have a great trip 😘

[Joel] You too, darlin'

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

npt for folks who engaged in my WIP fic covers post (let me know if you’d like to be removed): @ak-vintage @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @nerdieforpedro @everybodylovedcontractors @inept-the-magnificent

[thelightsandtheroses]

one: florida!!!!

Call It What You Want | Frankie Morales x OFC

Summary: Daisy never expected to move to Florida but recovering from burnout in the sunshine state seems a good enough plan. Years after the death of her estranged half-brother, Tom, she finds herself agreeing to move in with Frankie Morales, Tom’s former army colleague and friend. Falling for her roommate, who is definitely keeping secrets about your brother’s death, may not be the best way to ensure a fresh start, or is it actually what they both needed all along? Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog MDNI, mentions of previous canon death and grief, references to corporate burnout Word Count: 3.7k Notes: Please note I am not from Florida, or even the US, so there’s a degree of creative license here, What I know about firefighting probably comes from 9-1-1, other firefighter shows, or google so please don’t think this is gong to be an accurate depiction of the Florida FD for Frankie. It’s fic, babes, let’s let me be a little self-indulgent. This is a rewrite of my first fic which felt too fast, too angsty and not the story I wanted to tell for a concept I really loved. It’s seen some considerable changes since then while retaining several themes, but I am so excited to share this and particularly this version of Frankie who has been rotting my brain for months and months 🔥 🔥🫠

Series Masterlist | Next. | A03

Palm trees, beaches and viral memes. That’s what I’ve always associated with Florida. It never struck me as a potential place I would make my home. I thought I might vacation there one day perhaps; some time in a distant future when I had a real grown-up life and family and we would go to the theme parks, buy overpriced merchandise and fried food and take cheesy photos before flying or driving home.

It’s funny how things work out though, isn’t it?

I pull into the apartment block with trepidation.

This is the fourteenth apartment I’ve viewed this week. Fourteen. I thought the market back in Chicago was bad but this is a whole new hellscape, or maybe it was easier because I knew more people back then. College roommates turn into post-college roommates and your circle is fully formed. It means you have people when you need to find a new place, there’s a whisper network, friends of friends.

I don’t have that anymore.

I want it though. I miss it.

I think I miss it.

The advert says that this listing is for a single room and the apartment is occupied by a group of young professional women. It’s the best option I’ve come across yet in my browsing of online postings which has taken me through several levels of Dante’s inferno. Facebook is just one above Craigslist in the hierarchy of the internet hellscapes I’ve seen recently.  One guy asked for my shoe size and asked if I routinely wore high heels before I could view the apartment. Safe to say, that one went off the list extremely quickly. It was a shame though - that listing had a double room and balcony, but I think I can see why it’s been listed for over sixty days now.

I haven’t had a roommate since college and this whole process has been a soul-crushing exercise on my already fragile self esteem. I don’t think I can take much more of this.

I take a deep breath. I’ve got this. I will find a room so I can move out of Molly’s and do something, anything with my life. Anything that’s not just existing in this strange purgatory I’ve found myself in. I’m potentially placing too much importance on the apartment here, but it’s a symbol, an omen.

It’s a fresh start. A signal to the universe that I’m here, that I’m doing something.

I feel like everything else I’m hoping and dreaming of can’t even start unless I have an apartment, and I can’t afford my own apartment and start a business so I need to find a roommate.

Maybe this is finally the one.

“It was so bad, Benny,” I say, taking a glug of lukewarm beer. “It was like being in high school over again, but worse. Infinitely worse!”

“Worse?” Benny tilts his head as he asks the question, something that only heightens my association between him and golden retrievers.

“Yes, because I’m not sixteen with a promise it’ll get better when I ‘find my people’ in college. This sucks. What was I thinking? Clearly I wasn’t. Maybe I should have stayed …” I trail off awkwardly.

“You were thinking that Florida is the perfect place to start over, which it is, Daisy,” he replies confidently.

Benny and his brother, Will, have played a considerable part in my move here. They served with my half-brother Tom.

Tom died more than five years ago - I don’t really know much about how it happened, Tom and I weren’t particularly close. There was an age difference, I sometimes felt he didn’t want me as a sister. I was only a reminder of his own parents’ relationship breakdown after all. I wish I could say we had that sibling bond but we didn’t. It’s clear to me his real siblings were the men in his team - he was their brother.

After his death though, Will kept in touch with me. I wondered if he thought he needed to fill a gap from Tom, if there was a sense of responsibility there. Tom never called me though except for birthdays and Christmas. I haven’t told Will that though.

It’s been nice feeling like I have a big brother. The irony isn’t lost on me that I feel this the most once my actual big brother is dead.

Will encouraged me to move down here, as did Molly, Tom’s ex-wife. They said I needed a fresh start and maybe they’re right.

I can’t remember the last time I felt like me. I’m not even sure what that feels like now, who I’m supposed to be and who I am really.

Florida seems a good place for reinvention though, for something new. I’m closer to the beach, to weekends spent with my toes scrunched in the sand as I sip coffee and read books. Days spent with Benny and Will

“Hey Benny,” A voice calls as I hear the front door open.

“We’re in here.“

“You remember Frankie, right?” Benny asks casually. “Tom woulda called him Catfish?”

“Uh, sure.” I don’t but I won’t admit to that. I remember the name vaguely, but that’s all. Tom wasn’t big on the details of his life with me.

“You probably saw him at the wake last,” Benny adds.

Even if it hadn’t been four years ago since I last saw him, all I can remember of Tom’s funeral is a procession of strangers and the continual vibration of my work phone as I stood in a strange graveyard. That whole day was a stark reminder of the distance between us, that my own blood was a ghost to me even when he was alive. It bought me Molly, Tess and Will though.

Frankie walks in. He’s a little older than Benny but younger than Tom was. He’s all dark eyes and curls peeking out through a battered baseball cap; softly tanned skin and that smile … that smile is something. If he could bottle that up and sell it, I’m pretty sure he’d find a captive market.

“Frankie, you remember Daisy, right? She’s moved here,” Benny says. “She’s starting a coffee van.”

“Uh - yeah.” Frankie has no clue who I am, but his efforts to conceal that are admirable. “Now you mention it, Will might have said something about that. You’re uh, staying with Molly for now, right? You were in Boston before?” I nod, wondering what Will has exactly said to Frankie about my move. “A coffee van?”

“Eventually,” I add nervously, “It’s a whole process. So, I’m actually just temping for now while I get things sorted.” I have no idea why I’ve told him that, why I still want to introduce myself based on my career, on my outward accomplishments. I’m almost surprised I haven't tried to find an old business card in my pocket or referred him to my LinkedIn profile where it neatly lists all my employable skills and experience.

 Daisy is highly skilled in project management, board engagement, data analysis  and most of all completely falling apart all of the time, but she makes a mean slide deck. Plus, guess what, she’s open to work!

“Oh, right, cool.”

“Frankie works for the fire department. He’s a firefighter pilot now,” Benny says. “Out here making me look bad.”

“Aw, I keep telling you don’t need my job to do that, Benny.”

Benny laughs heartily and throws a cushion at Frankie who catches it with ease and a raised eyebrow.

“Well, that’s definitely cooler than paperwork and admin.”

“Not really,” Frankie says, “I mean, it’s not really cool if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” you say with a groan, “that might be the most dad joke I’ve heard.”

“It’s a classic though,” he replies lightly. “You got a soda, Benny?”

“Fridge. Wait, I just had a brilliant idea,” Benny suddenly interjects with a grin. “I mean, I’m a genius.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie asks, one eyebrow quirking up. “About soda?”

“No, no, no. You need a roommate, right?”

“Yes?” Frankie replies slowly with the seasoned reluctance of someone who knows exactly what Benny’s brilliant ideas usually result in.

“Daze needs a room, you need a solid roommate, voila!” Benny makes a complicated hand gesture and smiles widely.

It seems too simple, too obvious but despite the terrible apartment earlier, my heart races as I wonder what if Benny’s onto something.

“Benny, I’m sure Daisy would -”

“How soon is it available?” I ask.

“Uh, immediately. My last roommate moved in with his boyfriend, which is great for him, but I’ve been struggling to find anyone suitable for it since then.”

“Suitable?” Immediately flashbacks of the weird Craigslist ads come back to me, please don’t say Frankie is going to say something odd. “What do you mean, suitable?” I really hope Frankie isn’t actually the weird shoe size guy from Craigslist.

“I have a kid who stays with me regularly. I need someone I can trust, someone safe to be around him, and someone who’s not going to be a …”

“Frankie wanted to mandate a background check,” Benny interrupts, before raising his hands at Frankie’s expression. “I said I got it! Perhaps, if you interrogated people less though ….”

“I’m not gonna apologise for prioritising my kid.”

“So, do I need a background check to apply then?”

“Nah,” Benny says, “you’re Tom’s sister, right Frankie?”

There’s a comforting weight to his words. The conviction in his voice, the simple answer that takes it for granted that maybe I’m not one of them, but I’m adjacent at least. It feels unfamiliar. I’ve never been Tom’s sister, not to Tom at least.

I feel as though I’m wearing someone else’s skin, another identity, and it’s alien but comforting. It’s an identity I never knew I could wear. One I never even knew was an option.

“You’re actually considering this then?” Frankie asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yeah. Benny’s heard all about my nightmare of an apartment hunt so far… unless, I mean. If you don’t want to then that’s fine.”

“Alright Tom’s sister,” Frankie begins with a soft smile.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy. “I’ll send you the info. let me know whether you’re still interested then. No pressure.” His voice is honey smooth, low and there’s something else.

His eyes.

They’re kind. Soulful even.

“I’m interested,” I say without thinking. “I’m definitely interested.”

Of course life isn’t as simple as just being interested in the apartment and one magically falling into my hands. Frankie texts me the information which is sadly towards the top end of my truly pitiful budget but includes a double room, furnishings and the apartment has a balcony which in itself is a big reason enough to say yes. I instantly conjure up a romantic image of me sipping from a steaming mug of coffee in the mornings, watching the sunrise.

It’s farcical. I hate the sunrise, or at least being up at that time. I’m not a morning person at the best of times. 

Frankie says there’s a beach view from the balcony though … if you squint, lean one arm and twist at a very precise angle. It’s something he has advised he doesn’t recommend without exceptional health insurance though so that’s definitely off the table for now. He mentioned it’s close enough that the landlord said it was a coastal view but it’s clearly not really.

Texting him feels so easy - there’s a lightness to the conversation, even as we talk about something as serious as becoming roommates. It’s why I’ve agreed to this - the next step and the one that is now filling me with dread.

The coffee shop we decided to meet at is halfway between his place and Molly’s. I haven’t been here before but I mentally take notes of the roast, of the general ambience. The brownies look amazing - the perfect combination of a fudgy middles and the solid crackly top that immediately calls to me.

It’s a neutral space though, one where we can finally make a decision of am I becoming Frankie’s roommate or not.

I think I want to.

I really can’t take another week of Craigslist -especially after watching that true crime documentary last night.

I twist the empty sugar packet into a knot, only looking up as the doorbell chimes. I see Frankie immediately.

He’s wearing a baseball cap, dark hair curling out from underneath and the Florida FD hoodie he’s wearing looks particularly well worn, comfortable. I can almost imagine how it smells.

No. No. This is a roommate negotiation.

“Hey,” Frankie says as I stand up to greet him. I immediately panic - is this a hug situation, that feels too familiar, but a handshake feels like an awkward callback to my corporate days. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

“Oh, you already ordered?” Frankie asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I got here a bit early. Overestimated the traffic. I haven’t been here long.” Frankie looks at my almost empty mug of coffee, cocking one eyebrow.

“No worries. Do you mind if I grab a drink though? Want another?”

“Oh no, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay.”

He walks over to the counter and I sit down and watch him carefully. This is a test really, an opportunity to try and work out his personality further. Does he talk to the barista? Is he cold or insufferable? Is he rude? These are all qualities I should be able quickly establish in just a few moments. Mum always taught me to notice these things on a date, to tease out those basics in the early days. Not that it’s foolproof. Not always at least.

Frankie seems. pleasant though, laughing with the barista but there’s almost a shyness about him. I don’t get it. From how Benny described him - a pilot, a firefighter pilot no less, I would have expected him to be as extroverted as Benny.

Frankie’s a surprise though. There’s a quietness to him, a slow and careful evaluation in each glance, in how he takes in the cafe around us as he sits opposite me. He’s assessing everything too and it occurs to me that as much as I’ve set this meeting up to work out if I can live with him, he’s doing the exact same thing.

The people pleaser in me instantly calls to attention, ready to perform and be perfect, be liked. To succeed. Automatically I straighten my posture, try and remember my very best table manners. I prepare to perform.

“What’s your poison?” I ask, which is a phrase I never use and an immediate sign I need to shift out of performance mode.

“Just an Americano.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t approve?”

“no, I guess it’s fine. I mean, I would personally recommend a pour-over and filter coffee than a watered down espresso. Something like a V60 or a -”

“I see what Benny meant about the coffee truck.”

“I’m not judging!”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, only judging a tiny bit. Mostly I’m rambling. I’m just - I’ve never got the watered down espresso thing.”

“It’s got two extra shots in if that helps,” he confides with a smirk, “I was on shift yesterday.”

“Oh, we could have arranged this for later -”

“It’s fine. The shift wasn’t too bad, even got a few hours sleep!” Frankie empties sugar into his coffee and smiles up at me.

“How did you end up in the FD then? I don’t – I don’t remember it from before.”

Frankie pauses, twisting the empty sugar packet in his hands. The silence holds just long enough I worry I need to change the conversation before he speaks. “A couple of years ago I needed a change. It’s been good, much better than commercial helicopter flights for rich people.”

“Making a difference?”

“Trying to.” A ghost passes over his eyes. I immediately realise the link - Tom. His death. Was that the trigger for Frankie joining the fire department?

“Anyway, the apartment -” Frankie starts, reaching for his phone, “I took some new photos this morning.”

His wallpaper is him with a small boy. His son. I take in the wide toothy smile on his photo, the bright shine in his eyes and the same features I can see in Frankie, accompanied by a head full of brown curls.

“Felix,” Frankie says, a soft smile on his face.

“He looks like you.”

“Poor kid.”

“No, I mean - uh, how old is he?”

“Four and a half. He stays with me on alternate weekends, if I’m off shift, and sometimes in the week if his mom’s working late or something. A lot of it depends on my work patterns but that’s the general rule of thumb.” He wrings his hands together and I wonder what the story is there.

I have limited experience with children to say the least.

I’ve reached that point where half of my friends are parents, sharing photo after photo on their social media and speaking a whole new language. In contrast, the rest of my friends appear still mentally stuck in their early twenties party mindset. I’ve never been sure where I fit in with that; I’m definitely not a huge partier, but that sort of responsibility and commitment has filled me with anxiety. Maybe it’s my choice in friendships, in love.

I try not to think about it too much, the friendships left to dust over, the dates I was too scared to go on. I threw myself into my work instead because it felt safer somehow. I defined myself by my career and made that the only metric that matter.  I poured all of myself into the corporate world for all those years and it turns out I was naive. So naive. I actually thought they cared about me.

It’s hilarious in hindsight. Now I’m in Florida without even a leaving card to commend the efforts I put in. I’m a barely remembered spectre in the place I once thought I was indispensable in. A shameful secret swept under the rug. A never repeated name.

I can’t go back to that world again.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, concern creasing his brow. Great, five minutes into talking about becoming roommates and he already clearly thinks I’m disturbed.

“I’m fine, sorry, must have drifted away for a second.”

“Happens to us all,” he says lightly. “So, is that a problem?” Frankie folds his arms and I get the clear sense that he’s annoyed, that I’ve missed an important cue somewhere.

“Is what a problem?” I ask.

“Felix staying at the apartment, because sorry but it’s a non-negotiable”

“No, not at all. No, I just … I drifted away, like I said.”

“Right.”

Great, this is the first apartment that feels reasonable, and Frankie seems like a nice person and I’m wrecking it. Somehow at best, I’m managing to come across as scatty and someone who doesn’t listen, and a child hater at worst.

I need to get out of Molly’s. I need to make Florida work for me.

“I do that sometimes,” I say quietly, “It doesn’t mean I’m not listening, or anything. It’s just … it’s just something that happens. I don’t have a problem at all with Felix or …. it’s your home, Frankie.”

He pauses. “If you take the room, it’s yours too though.”

“And I get why you’re being careful about who takes the room because of that. Look, I can’t promise I won’t secretly judge your coffee choices, or leave coffee grounds everywhere, or watch really terrible TV from time to time, but I …”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Frankie smiles. “So, you’re still interested in the room then? You really wanna do this? I thought Benny might be putting you up to this and I won’t be offended if you don’t want to live with some random guy.”

“Benny keeps reminding me you’re not though, are you?”

Frankie shrugs and looks away, something flashing over his eyes briefly that feels a little haunted.

Since moving back to Florida, I’ve realised that, at least for Benny and Will, Tom’s death is still an open wound even now. It makes me feel worse sometimes because Will was so kind to me after the funeral, so keen to ensure I knew they’d be there if I needed them, that I could rely on them in Tom’s absence and I didn’t know how to say I’d never been able to rely on Tom. My brother spent his life a half-stranger to me and I feel like a fraud pretending we were real siblings.  In five and a half years, the Millers and my brother’s ex-wife have been more of a family to me than Tom ever was.

“It’s okay,” Frankie says, “I’m sure you’ve got far better roommate options.”

“I actually really don’t. One guy asked for foot pics, and these women kind of judged me because I wasn’t corporate enough anymore, so I don’t have a wealth of better options.”

Frankie frowns slightly.

“It’s a brutal market. And your place looks… nice and you seem like you wouldn’t ask for -”

“Some guy really asked for that?”

“I blocked him, it’s fine. It’s the internet, Frankie.”

“Sometimes I fucking hate that thing.”

“Yeah, but I like being able to shop in my pyjamas.”

Frankie laughs. “Okay, fair point. So, Daisy, do you want the room? ‘Cause if you do, it’s yours.”

My heart races. The room is mine? It’s not just that I’ll be escaping from feeling like a perennial thorn in Molly’s life, but it’s a beginning. Finally I have the chance to make something here, to be Daisy 2.0 and leave the corporate burnt out husk of my old self in the rearview mirror.

“You don’t have some weird neighbour who plays the bagpipes at 3am?”

“No, I don’t have one of those. It’s a normal building.”

“Good, just wanted to check. Okay then, yeah, I think I do. Want the room that is.”

“Great. I’ll get the agreement emailed over to you and we’ll go from there.”

“This is going to be good”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

I think this might be the handshake part.

Tag List

If you would like to be added to to my overall taglist please let me know - I am no longer creating individual fic taglists though. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs. Tag lists are a bit funky at the moment, so I recommend following me or my fic account @thelightsandtheroses-fics (you can enable notifications for that account) if you want to ensure you're up to date

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[ellydrawsblog]

Zosan week Day 1: Forehead kisses

Their height difference has been rotting my brain for weeks… its so cute 😭💚💛

[the-good-neighbors]

I apologize for nothing

[heliocentricsunflower]

Sagada - Cup of Joe

Levihan version :')

(really messy and rushed—did this at 12am lol)

[kkyos]

Those who partake in dragon communion will one day shed their humanity

(Messmer and godwyn twins AU)

[saintobio]

KNOW THY ENEMY.

dramatis personae; sylus, reader, xavier. heavy angst. period piece. medieval au.

— “in a realm where light and dark doth vie, ‘tis not thine eyes, but thy heart, that must discern who be the true enemy.”

♱ forbidden love

an illicit romance: crown prince xavier, your childhood friend and devoted lover, stands on the precipice of duty as the sole heir to philos. as he is bound by the chains of his obligation to the throne, his heart aches for the one lady he cannot claim.

♱ marriage of convenience

wed to a tyrant: emperor sylus, an oppressive ruler from a neighboring empire, secured your hand through a ruthless bargain he struck to claim you as his wife. your marriage is not one of love, but a cold transaction sealed by power and ambition, leaving your heart trapped in a gilded cage.

♱ the damsel in distress

the bastard daughter of a grand duke: born of noble blood but marred by your mother’s lowly station, you walk a fine line between privilege and disgrace, ultimately forced to marry a man for your own survival. yet, your fate was sealed by a vow to xavier—a promise to break free from sylus’s grasp when the crown of philos finally rests upon your lover’s head.

COMING SOON !

[its-marzii]

Vengeance is hereby mine 🐀

Maybe I’ll finish it someday 🤞 Micah brainrot is real

[yuutakuns]

Close friend Yuuta who takes a little bit too much advantage of how dear he is to you.

It starts with innocent little touches, the bump of shoulders and knees when you sit squished together. Sometimes, it’s a sneaking light hand on your thigh, creeping softly but not far enough that it has ever become uncomfortable. You don’t mind it, you think it’s cute that Yuuta is a little bit of the clingy type, he is your best friend, after all.

Content Warning: MDNI (minors do not interact), 18+, dark content, afab reader, dub-con/non-con, manipulation, reader is referred to as “angel”, unprotected sex, unhealthy!!!

It took some time, but eventually it began to dawn on you how Yuuta relishes in your attention, preening when you call his name. He’s always happy to be the shoulder you cry on, the one to listen to all your woes.

You only began to realize how bright Yuuta smiles, cheeks burning at the sight of you tearfully weeping into his broad, warm chest.

It’s after you start to notice Yuuta’s particular infatuation with your attention that it hardly takes any time until you find yourself cornered by him. He has you pinned up against a cold concrete wall, knee between your legs.

Your mind is filled with spiraling emotion, you can’t help but think maybe it’s your fault for not stopping this sooner, spoiling Yuuta too much with your trust and attention. But how could you have known?

You’re ripped from your apprehensions soon enough. Yuuta’s grasp is unshakeable, with one calloused hand pining you immovably to the wall. His breath is hot against your neck, leaving a trail of love bites and teeth marks as he holds you firm with his grip, like a dog starved baring it’s teeth for the first time.

Paralyzed, you feel as his free hand begin snaking down into your slick soaked panties. “Yuu— wait a minute—,” you manage out, stifling a moan into his chest. The room reeks of lust and you don’t think your whimpers will stop Yuuta any time soon.

His head hangs low into your neck as he fucks your cunt on his fingers, playing within your sweet little folds. Your whines only goad him further, “Shhh- you’ve been wanting this, yeah? Been needing me, my angel? Been waiting for me this whole time? I’m here now. I won’t ever let you go.”

You feel a little sick, unsafe, but despite that it’s hard to ignore the heat forming in the pit of your stomach. You try to open your mouth to respond but it’s covered by Yuuta’s hungry kisses, hot breath against yours as he moves his thumb to tease at your throbbing clit. He’s careful with the bundle of nerves, not going too hard nor too soft as his plays with your sopping pussy. You whine as you feel your cunt clench and your eyes roll back as you cum messily on his fingers, moaning weakly into his mouth.

It’s easy to let go after that, to be pulled into the nearest room and be bent over the closest table and have Yuuta pound into your pussy and squeeze your tits as he drinks you all up, takes all that you have to give and eats you alive. His cock stretches you out, burns in the most delicious way.

You cry out as your legs become shakey. You feel them almost give out but Yuuta continues to hold you up against the table, still fucking into your messy cunt as you cum again and again on his throbbing cock.

“A-ah…It’s like you were made for me, like you were made for me to fuck you. You’re perfect. I’ve always known you were perfect”

Yuuta moans as your pussy spasms around his dick, his pace becoming erratic as his hips slam into you. The grip on your hips is hard enough to bruise as you feel his cock twitch and spill out his seed out into your used hole.

Yuuta smiles as he lays his sweaty forehead onto your back, leaving a trail of kisses down your spine as your head begins to feel heavy and your eyes close from sheer exhaustion. You feel him hold you tighter and tighter, you fear he won’t ever let go.

[ofallthingsnasty]

tw: yandere, kidnapping/basement spousery, depression, mentions of noncon, gn reader characters: Crocodile, Sanji, Doflamingo, Law word count: 1.3k

One thing I learned recently is that I'm definitely a social creature and would get horribly, horribly depressed as someone's basement wife, even a well entertained one. All the books, the crafts, the soft music in the world couldn't prevent me from sobbing into my pillows, couldn't get me to crawl out of bed and to paint a smile on my face. Oh, but how would your captor react? For some, it's definitely a necessary evil - Crocodile comes to mind here. Annoyed by your lethargy, by your random tears and your meek, taciturn responses, he finds himself frustrated at times. This state of mind really isn’t ideal - he wanted you docile, sure, but not lifeless. Yet it's also awfully convenient when you just let him push you around, let him caress and touch you - and not out of fear of him, simply because you don't care to struggle. He discovers that he can forgive a lot when you're especially shaken and cling to him, bury your head in his chest because he's the only human you'll ever know again and the world is so bleak around you and you just need him right now. Of course, it would be nicer if you didn't do it because he's the only warm-blooded creature that you interact with, but he'll take what he can get. (And with time, it weirdly grows on him: him turning into the center of your life, the way your eyes seem to light up the tiniest bit when he comes home to you, something he thought mildly annoying at first turning out to be awfully convenient.)

To others, it's devastating. Sanji lives for your smiles, your warmth, the way your eyes crinkle and you jut your head forward when you fully, genuinely laugh - total apathy is worse than antagonism to him. If you were to scream, shout, put your fingers around his neck and squeeze with the desperation of a cornered prey animal, he'd at least get a reaction, some signs of life out of you. But you don't even do that. You just sit and try to suppress tears while he holds your hand. Sometimes he just cries with you, letting himself fall into the same hole you're being pulled into. It makes him regret taking you so utterly, bitterly, makes him feel all those memories from when he was a child bubble up in his stomach until they force themselves out and he has to vomit to be rid of them. He’s just like his father, he thinks, and it makes him sick. He’s rotten down to the very core, cursed from birth and now he has gone and soiled you, too - he’ll end up sobbing into the crook of your neck more than once, full of genuine remorse. And all you’ll be able to do is absentmindedly pat his hair, thoughts spilling like an knocked over ink well. No, you slipping into a deeply depressive state is only going to worsen the hatred he has for himself, is going to poison him slowly and steadily until he’ll be in agony. Maybe it’s his just punishment.

Then there are the ones like Doflamingo who simply don’t care. You don’t crawl out of bed until noon? You just stare into space or bury yourself in books when you finally do? You’re just lifeless by his side, just blink, shrug your shoulders when spoken to, just exist? Whatever, he has always treated you like a doll from the start. He can even weather the elusive bouts of sobbing and crying (even if he hates it when they happen), because most of the time you’re just his poseable thing and he is nothing if not generous to allow you a tantrum here and there. He doesn't feel bad about you being a more of a hollowed out shell of a person than a fully-fledged human with a rich inner life and doesn't care that most of it is his fault - his fault that you fester and rot beneath the surface, his fault that all the opulent, vibrant clothing and the scorching hot days by the pool still leave you frosty and weirdly bloodless, like a cold-blooded creature in winter. Food is ash in your mouth and only sours your stomach but you still eat when he tells you to, touches feel foreign and loveless but you still let him fuck you if he so wishes. Why should he care what circles around in your head when he gets to do anything he wants to you? That you feel like life is no luster, only desperation? The truly bothersome parts are taken care of by his myriad of servants and the family. Messes left behind get cleaned up, baths are forced on you regularly, as are grooming sessions. If you don’t get dressed on your own either someone else will see to it or he will - and he’ll have his payment for his time, trust me. The solemn mood, the non-existent smiles… he doesn't care for that. You’re not here for your entertainment, you’re here for his. And you just accepting your fate and letting him do whatever it is he wants… That’s just perfect, isn’t it?

Of course, let’s not forget about the ones who secretly love it. Law is a prime example, especially with his medical background. He isn’t surprised that your mood sways - he expected as much when he restricted your every move, declared the outside world to be too unhealthy for you. Of course you’d slip into a depressive episode. And it’s not a flaw, it’s intentional. Because now - now, when you can’t peel yourself out of bed, when everything feels too much, when you can’t feed or move or dress or take care of yourself- he gets to swoop in. He gets to do it for you, gets to tell you that he’s here and that he’ll always catch you when you fall. That his assessment of your condition was accurate - that you always needed him, right from the start. Dependency is worth more than all the love in the world to him. It simply doesn’t matter if you’d rather slit his throat than to behave for him out of your own volition - as long as you can’t leave. Even if he genuinely loves you, he’s not deluded enough to cling to daydreams of him and you living a quiet, happy life full of reciprocated affection, that ship has long sailed - sailed ever since his childhood got irrevocably destroyed. No. Love is nice and good and makes him wash you gladly, makes him care for you with delicate hands and with a patient brow - but your sickness makes you stay, renders you unable to leave him. It’s the only currency he can trade in when it comes to you. He’s your savior and tormentor rolled into one person; but above all he is the only one who cares and will forever care. You could rot yourself into a pathetic, sweat-soaked, disgusting corner, could turn into nothing but a husk and he’d always, always nurse you out of the ditch he’s found you in, just at the right time.  What he doesn’t tell you is that he could help you. At least artificially. Boost your moods with SSRIs until you bounce off the walls with nervousness and sweat thrice as much; make you giddy and shaky until you get used to the dose. Until the world seems worth living in once more, until at least some color returns to your drab eyes. He could get you the medication, even try some speech therapy, could help you like a good boyfriend should. But why? It makes no sense. Why help you only to get some fire back, maybe even for you to slip through his fingers? It’s easier to sit in twosome silence with tired eyes watching him, eyes that one day might be grateful for all the work he has put into them. Until then, it’s of utmost importance that they stay right where they are: in a cramped, dirty corner of a bed, dull and lifeless.

[nvirskies]

you guys you guys,,, what if i *ahem* clarisse la rue x daughter of hephaestus where she walks into the forge seeing reader hammering away at something and immediately she's like :o woah muscles... :O pretty girl (kinda ooc but like she's caught off-guard?)

fic here!

[itsybitsybatsyspider]

don't you just love it when you find an obscure mediocre media that has such an intriguing concept and storyline that has better potential than whatever Marvel's been putting out for the last two years but then go to see that there's no fandom or fan content for it so you're basically vibrating and going feral by yourself in the corner as it rots your brain??

yeah so anyway, have some Max Steel doodles

[k2ntoss]

after lazarus pit!jason todd feeling teenage rage so he wanders around streets listening to blink-182, it makes so much sense to me and he still blasts their songs whenever he's on patrol and he sings "stay together for the kids" screaming at the top of his lungs !!!!!!

[shijjii]

chilchuck begging for more is just-

LIKE JUST IMAGINE HIM SAYING

"F-fuck, you're so...." He whispers "You're such a fucking tease" He gasps out through gritted teeth, his breathing slowly becoming ragged

"Hm?" you ask in a hum, looking at him with a mischievous smile

"Please..."

"what was that?" You ask with a small hint of pride in your tone

"Please, give me more..." He pleads, covering half of his face with his arm but the red tinge on it is as obvious as the sun in the sky.

[misspoetree]

+ The worst crime of them all:

KinnPorsche + Text Posts: Anniversary Edition

FAVOURITE VILLAIN | POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW - Vegas

[many more text post memes]

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Aran Ryan Animations that Make Me Insane 💚💜💚