#v sorry for this if it appears on your dash

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss the lxl divorce couch (it appeared in 1 image)

[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Chris likes how the donut glaze looks on your lips.

Warnings: Smut, p n v, cum eating, male receiving, and more.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The street lights reflected on the dashed white lines as I make a left turn down the street. Music had been stopped a while ago, Chris’s voice being the only source of noise.

“No, yesterday for a video idea we tried a bunch of different donuts, but they all sucked-well, except for maple, but still-I’d prefer glazed. I was craving donuts, not garbage.” Chris rants through the car speaker.

I let out a soft giggle, the same complaint that had already been explained to me at least three times.

“How far are you?” He questions.

Gazing around at my surroundings, his house is right around the corner. I had the map to his house memorized mindlessly at this point.

Afterall, we are best friends.

“Um-I’m at the ugly green house.” I mutter.

“I’LL BE AT THE DOOR IN FIVE SECONDS! SEE YA!” He yells as I hear the line go dead.

I park the car in his driveway, looking over at the plastic food container in my passenger seat. Before I have the chance to grab it, Chris is yanking open my door and pulling me into his arms.

“Fucking missed you. God, I think I’m going insane, you even smell like donuts.” He compliments, inhaling deeply with his nose against my neck.

Goosebumps travel up my spine from the sensation. I pull away from his embrace, seeing a slight pout appear on his lips.

“I made us donuts! They’re the homemade one I made for your birthday last-”

The sentence is long forgotten as I let out a shriek. Chris’s arms reattach to me, squeezing me while jumping up and down.

“I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!!” He proclaims.

His voice echoes loudly so I place my pointer finger over his mouth. Chris shoves my hand off, holding it in his own.

“Don’t try to shush me! I’m excited! Now, let’s go in and eat!” He announces.

He leans into the open driver’s side door, grabbing the container on the adjacent seat and dragging me inside.

***

The cold kitchen counter feels freezing against the back of my thighs. I sit on the smooth granite, watching as Chris stands by the microwave.

“Why? I just want them now!” He whines with a child-like pout.

Laughing at his antics, I playfully punch him in the arm. “They taste better warm, remember? It’s only ten seconds!” I reason.

He begins to roll his eyes, but the beeping of the microwave snaps his attention back to the donuts. Pulling out the plate filled with an array of donuts, he places it on the counter next to me.

He moves in between my legs as he picks one up. He takes a colossal bite out of the warm desert and moans softly.

“Don’t be greedy!” I exclaim, placing a flat hand on his chest.

Chris moves the donut in front of my lips allowing me to take a bit. As my mouth waters from the sugary taste, I feel the warm glaze on my lips.

“Mmmmmmm, fuck these are so good.” I acknowledge, savoring the sweet taste on my tongue.

I bring my tongue out, licking my bottom lip clean as an attempt to wipe off the glaze. I shift my gaze up, seeing Chris’s intense stare.

He was staring with a certain look.

A look best friends don’t give each other.

“Chris?” I ask, calling him back to reality.

He shakes his head slightly, “Sorry, zoned out there for a minute,” He responds.

I move my hand that lays flat on his chest up onto his shoulder. He didn’t have a shirt on, which wasn’t unusual, and neither was me touching him. We constantly were hugging or leaning into each other.

Physical touch was our main way of showing how much we cared about one another.

One time, we had decided to get severely high together. One thing led to another and…we really showed physical affection. Especially him as he fucked me into pure bliss. The next morning, we agreed never to talk about it again.

But that didn’t stop me from thinking about how good he fucked his cock up into me all the damn time…

Especially right now.

The cold counter beneath me did almost nothing to soothe the heat between my legs. A burning of desire building up as I felt myself be overcome with a need for him.

“Here, open.”

I open my mouth, letting him place the donut inside.

As I take a bite, he pulls it away, brushing it all over the side of my face. His eyes look hypnotized at the sight.

“Chris!” I exclaim.

I pull my hand off of his bare shoulder to cover my mouth as I chew.

I barely finish swallowing the donut as he shoves it in my mouth once more, catching me off guard. More glaze is decorated on the side of my face, practically dripping from my chin.

That wasn’t the only thing dripping either.

I meet his gaze, the heat becoming hotter between my legs. I let my thoughts wander to the familiar memory of the hazy night we spent together. The night we were tangled up in the sheets with no regrets until the morning.

“Chris, are you even gonna eat the donuts I made you? I thought you were craving them!” I reclaim, holding his wrist back from shoving the warm dough back into my mouth.

Using my other hand, I grab the napkin next to us and wipe my face off.

“I’m not craving donuts anymore.”

The way the sentence falls out of his mouth makes my thigh squeeze together subconsciously, closing in around his torso.

“Chris…” I warn.

Chris places the donut back down on the plate, pulling me towards him. My legs wrap completely around him as he rests his hands where my hips and thighs meet, caressing with a firm grip.

“Chris…we can’t. We’re best friends.” I remind.

His face doesn’t falter in the slightest. His gaze only focused on my lips.

“How often do you think about it?” He asks.

He pulls his face down to the crook of my neck, leaving slow, soft, teasing kisses. My mind goes blank, but I don’t push him away. I rest my weight back on one hand behind me as my other one wraps in his hair.

“Think about what?” I ask, a newly found neediness clouding my emotions as I anticipate his response.

“Us. That night.” He mutters, his lips continuing against my neck.

I snapped back into my senses, “Chris. We agreed not to talk about it.” I state.

“You don’t wanna talk about how good I fucked you? How perfect you looked taking my cock, hm?”

I feel myself clenching around nothing at his words. His lips become hungrier, starved as his kisses turn to sucking and sucking turns to biting. I grind myself against him, attempting to get some sort of friction subconsciously. He pulls back up to my face, looking me directly in the eye.

“You gonna answer me or do I need to get it out of you in a different way?” He cocks an eyebrow up, tilting his head slightly to the side.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I fist my hand in the collar of his shirt and bring him down to me. He doesn’t hesitate, kissing me back with an aggressive passion.

Becoming dizzy from the lack of air, I pull back. He lets his lips kiss the side of my mouth, trailing a path down to the base of my throat.

One of his hands snakes up under my oversized shirt, a light pressure from a single fingertip tracing my skin as his lips are all over my neck. He places his palm flat, caressing my torso right below my breast.

“Do you want this?” He asks, pulling away to look up at me.

I nod my head, “Touch me, Chris.” I reply.

He grins at me, his hand covering my breast before tweaking the nipple, making me moan as I wrap my hand back in his hair. He brings his lips back down, ravishing each inch of my neck with a mix of soft kisses, harsh sucking, and light nibbles on the skin.

I couldn’t help but rock my hips against his hard erections, making him groan against my neck.

He pulls away once more, bringing his hand to take off my shirt in one swift movement. His lips come down to my chest, using the same pattern that he used on my neck.

It felt more than just good.

From the way his mouth was moving against me, his other hand rubbing the top of my thigh, getting closer and closer to where I wanted him most, to the friction I got from moving my hips to grind on his hardness.

It all felt fucking amazing.

Shamelessly, I let every sound slip out of my mouth, encouraging him as he continued.

“Why don’t you get on your knees for me, sweetheart…” he trails off, bring his hand up to my face and swiping his thumb against my bottom lip, “Wanna fuck your mouth and cum on your pretty little face.” He finishes, a daring look peering into my eyes as I look at him.

I nod, he helps me off the counter, pulling my sweats off as well. I let my knees land on the hard, wooden floor and place my hands on the tops of his thighs to support my weight.

I put my hand on his clothed dick, trying to pull his waistband down, but he stops me. “Uh-uh-uh, not so fast…gotta put your hair up first, hm? Good thing I always have a hair tie for you.” He remarks, pulling the black elastic off his wrist.

He had always carried around a hair tie for me. After I had complained about losing them, or not having one when I needed it, he bought some and always made sure to have one for me.

It was endearing and sweet, making me feel a warmth of comfort.

This didn’t though.

This made me burning hot, desire flooding as I watched him bring his hands behind my head. He starts gathering my hair softly, pulling it into one spot.

I gasp as I feel the abrupt movement of him yanking me back by my hair, pure want written all over his face as he stares down at me.

“Gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth?” He asks, looking down at me for a response.

“Please.”

As the word leaves my mouth, he places the hair tie in my hair and finishes putting my hair up.

“Good girl, now open up for me.” He directs.

He lets one hand stay on the back of my head, holding me by my hair. The other pulls out his hard dick, placing the tip against my lips. I gather spit in my mouth, licking up and down his shaft as best I can to lubricate his hard length.

I bring my hand up, jerking him slightly. He pulls my hair back, grabbing my wrist with one of his hands.

“No hands. I just want to fuck your mouth. Can you do that for me?”

I nod, sticking out my tongue.

“Mmmmm fuck.” He hisses out, sliding his wet cock in my mouth as I cover my teeth with my lips.

Only around half his length is slowly thrusting in my mouth. I get antsy, moving my mouth forward to take more of him. He pulls harshly at my hair, keeping me in place.

“Who's greedy now, hm?” He teases, thrusting his entire length in my mouth.

Tears immediately well-up as his pace ensues faster and faster. I can feel him sliding down the back of my throat. I gag each time he reaches the back, his head thrown back at the sensation.

“Just like that-fuck!” He exclaims, picking up his pace.

I can tell he’s close by the way his hips become messier in their movements and the way his hand grips my hair tighter.

He looks down at me as I stare up at him through my eyelashes, watching as he furrows his eyebrows and his mouth hangs slightly open.

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

He grips my hair, gripping hard as he holds me back.

“Open up, pretty girl.”

I succumb to his request, opening my mouth and sticking out my tongue. He jerks himself off, white spurts of cum landing mostly on my tongue as some falls onto my face.

He drops his throbbing cock, letting his hand in my hair pull me at an angle to lean me back and face up at him. He takes his other hand, wiping my face before shoving it into my mouth.

“Mmmm…looks even better than I imagined. I wonder what my cum would look like dripping out onto your thighs…”

I swallow the salty liquid, “Why don’t you find out?” I urge.

A sadistic smile creeps on his face as he yanks me to my feet by my hair, “If you say so. Bend over for me, princess.” He commands, pushing me against the counter.

I bend over, the cold counter making my nipples harden from the sudden change. But, it doesn’t last long as everything starts to get hotter and hotter.

His hand rubs my thighs from behind, spreading them as he rubs over my heat, making me moan.

“So wet, baby. This all for me?” He asks.

“Yes, fuck.” I moan out, his hand wrapping in my hair again as his other directs his cock towards my entrance.

“Tell me, princess. How often do you think about that night?” He asks.

I grind my hips back, attempting to get some sort of friction. He immediately drops his dick, his hand slapping against my ass with a loud snap.

“Tell me or I’m not giving you anything.” He threatens, leaning down and whispering the dirty words into my ear.

“Fuck-all the time! Every time I touch myself, every time I think of you. Please!” I beg, wiggling my hips in desperation.

“Tell me what you think about, baby.” He requests.

My mind is hazy, but all I can think about is how much I need him.

“I-I…I think about how you were-fuck!” I scream out, putting my hands behind to push him away as he forces his entire length into me, filling me with a gut-wrenching stretch.

“Keep talking, baby. Doing so good, just keep talking.”

I take in a deep breath, feeling him grind himself into me and letting me adjust to the feeling.

“T-think about-um-how you were pounding into me-mmmm..” I moan, the feeling of him pulling out and pushing in slowly bringing me an undeniable pleasure.

“You like it when I pound you, princess?” He questions.

“Yes!” I let out, my hands feeling his bottom abdomen as his stomach flexes. “Fuck, too much!” I scream out.

As my hands push on his stomach, he grabs both of my wrists with one hand and pins them to my back.

“Hey…it’s okay, you’re taking me so good, princess.” He comforts, thrusting at a slow pace deeply.

I moan, clenching around him as he starts picking up the pace.

“You want me to pound you, hm? Remind you how good it feels?” He asks, a loud clapping noise sounding as our skin slaps together with each thrust.

“Please!”

The simple word seems to adhere. Chris starts pounding relentlessly up into me, fucking his cock up in my gut.

“Fuck-you feel so good. So close, yeah?” I moan out as a response, letting myself clench down around his cock as my mouth falls open with deep moans.

“Good girl. That’s right, princess. Cum all over my dick.” He praises, slowing down his pace as I ride out my orgasm.

However, he doesn’t stop or pull out. Instead, he starts fucking up into me again.

“You’ll give me one more, right baby? You can do it.” He says.

I nod my head, letting the pleasure build up once more as he pushes me further down into the counter. The pressure on my lower stomach makes his dick pounding in and out of me even better.

My mouth opens wide, a strangled moan coming out as I cum around him once again.

“Gonna be greedy with my cum in your pussy too?” He says, leaning down as his breath fans against my ear.

I nod, writhing beneath him as his thrusts become more erratic.

I feel his cum fill me, leaking out as he pulls out.

I try to stand up, but his hand holding my wrists pushes me back down. I feel his hand let loose of my hair, pulling my thighs apart.

“Looking so pretty with my cum dripping all over you.” He compliments, rubbing the skin of my thigh roughly.

He lets go of my wrists, pulling me against his chest.

“You okay?” He asks, laughing at my fucked-out expression.

I nod my head, letting my weight fall onto him. He pulls my clothes back on me, setting me back on the counter as stands in between my legs.

My eyes are closed as I try to catch my breath.

“These donuts are so fucking good.” I hear his muffled voice say, his mouth full as I look up at him to see him finishing the donut from earlier.

I laugh at him, “Yeah, well…they’re better when they’re warm.” I remark, echoing my same statement from earlier.

He rolls his eyes, shoving the donut into my mouth. I give him a blank look, remembering his previously similar antics.

“It’s just a glazed donut this time, I swear!” He exclaims, holding his hands up in defense.

“Okay…” I trail off, accepting the bite.

He moves the donut back to his mouth, chomping on another large bite.

“I fucking love glazed donuts.”

[aemondapologistfrfr]

You Said You Have All Day?

michael gavey x ta!fem!reader 

Summary: You’re a TA in Michaels class and he can’t get you out of his mind. You always give him a perfect score until recently and you’re more than happy to explain why. 

Warnings: 18+ both parties are a lil obsessed w each other, swearing, nipple play, handjob, oral(f+m), p in v, unprotected, implied loss of virginity(not specified) 

Authors Note: uh the conditioning might’ve been really wild of me to use but 🤷🏼‍♀️ no bc watching this movie when it came out for ewan and then finishing it traumatized was such a treat 😌 this was a semi request from an anon that i wrote instantly bc i have zero chill! 

Word Count: 3.3k 

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ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

When Michael found out this class met three times a week he was annoyed to say the least but when you took your seat next to the professor behind the desk and announced yourself as the TA he wished he picked a seat closer to the front. You were the best beginning and end of his week and getting to see you on Wednesdays just made him feel gluttonous. On the days he wasn’t guaranteed to see you he would walk by the classroom and watch you grade papers and every night you would appear in his dreams and he would wake up glad he had a single dorm. 

You’ve been constantly on his mind and watching you dutifully grade others' work turned him on to no end. Knowing you actually had a brain made his slight obsession worsen. You never left any marks on his paper besides 100/100. No dots or checks. No trace of you besides 6 numbers and a dash. Today when he sat down after collecting his paper his heart stopped at the 95/100 on the top of the paper. 

Impossible. He checked his work over twice. He scans the paper and stops as he sees your marking. His nostrils flare and clenches his fists on his desk. He had missed one number in the thousandths place. An absolutely fucking useless place. The hundredths place is just fine. More commonly used. He wouldn’t accept this. Everything else was perfect and five fucking points for one number. 

The rest of the class he stared holes into his paper at the marking you left behind. The one single red number that clashed with his black one. He looks up and sees the rest of the class packing up to leave. He grabs his bag and makes his way to the desk. He stares down at you as you continue to scribble on some idiot's paper by the looks of it. He hears the paper crunch in his hand and he starts to smooth it out and you look up to him with a jump. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” you look up at him like you’ve been caught. “What can I do for you, Michael?” you tilt your head. His name on your tongue causes him to pause. You know his name? 

“Five points for one single digit? In the thousandths place.” the word like a curse on his tongue. He watches your face slightly crumble before you steel yourself.

“Yes. The answer is wrong.” you blink up to him and his eyes widen. 

“It is not. It was just one mistake. One digit.” he presses his paper on top of the paper you were currently grading. 

“The answer needed to be in the thousandths place. Therefore your answer is wrong.” you push his paper toward him and continue to grade the paper you started on. 

“It was not wrong.” his voice starts to raise and you set your pen down and look up at him. 

“What is it that you want me to do? It’s still an A. You’re still the smartest in the class if not the entire year.” you watch his face flush. 

He snatches the paper off your desk and storms out of the room. He throws the paper away in the nearest trash can and makes a line for his dorm. He throws his backpack on the floor and slams his door shut. He wanted to yell at you so badly and then you complimented him. Then he remembers how you said his name when you looked up at him for the first time. Fuck his mind was racing with the whole interaction and how that was the first time he spoke to you. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and starts the entire conversation over in his head from the beginning. The way you looked up at him with your doe eyes that he imagines looks at him the same when you’re on your knees. You calling him by his name had been a shock and he wants to hear it in many different ways that have his cock straining against his pants. The way you argued with him over one number and then called him the smartest in the class. 

He was infuriated with you and with himself. He knows he should’ve read the problem more carefully but five points is ridiculous. He also knows it’s not your fault and he shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. He groans, rubbing his face and falling back onto his bed. On Wednesday he plans to apologize to you hoping that you won’t hate him. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Micheal’s palms are sweating as he walks to his morning class. He’s been jittery since he woke up and even got to the room early in hopes to catch you before the rest of his classmates show up but you weren’t there. The room starts to fill and once the professor starts to talk he can’t help but wonder where you are. As if on cue you slip through the door and his eyes bulge. 

You are wearing the lowest cut velvet track pants he’s seen and a matching skin tight zip up that rests above your navel. Your hair is thrown up haphazardly and you walk over to the professor quickly who exchanges hushed words with you before you take your seat. Michael can’t take his eyes off you and when you get up to grab the papers from the other side of the desk and he sees the word ‘juicy’ spread across your ass his mouth dries. 

For the rest of the class he imagines what kind of shirt you’re wearing underneath the zip up. His mind likes to think that you’re wearing nothing under there and that if he had the chance to tug on the zipper he would be greeted by your tits. How you would make such sweet sounds if he licked and teased your nipples. Not that these things would ever happen but he loved to imagine them. He just wished he waited to start this line of thinking until he got back to his dorm. He silently readjusts in his seat and goes over his apology in his head. 

He starts to lose his nerve the longer class goes on and the more curled over the desk you become as you grade. His eyes keep catching on your cleavage and the pen that you rest between your lips from time to time. Once class is dismissed he waits and walks down to the desk. He tries to calm his nerves but ends up just standing over you and staring down at you. 

“Yes, Michael?��� you hum not even looking up. 

“I wanted to, um,” he clears his throat and you look up at him tilting your head. “I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.” he scrunches his brows. 

“It’s okay. I figured you would say something.” you set your pen down. 

“I didn’t even think you knew who I was.” he mumbles. 

“You’re the only person I give A’s too. I like to think of you as my best student.” his eyes snap to yours. 

“You don’t teach me anything.” his eyes darken. 

“Don’t I?” you tilt your head. “Have you heard of Pavlov?” he doesn’t understand why you’re talking about some old dead psychologist. “Every time you get your paper back from me it’s always a 100/100. Even if you miss the thousandths place from time to time.” you smirk and his breath catches. “So I knew when I marked you for it the first time you would come up to me.” fuck you don’t know if you should’ve said that. It was an insane thought when you had the idea for your paper but you figured if anyone would’ve appreciated the thought behind it it would be him. 

“You used classical fucking conditioning on me?” he looks at you baffled and amused. 

“Does it make it better if I say I’m using this for a paper?” you definitely shouldn’t have said anything. “But I won’t use your name or anything. It’ll be totally anonymous. I didn’t mean anything by it. I wanted the excuse to talk to you.” he listens to you ramble and decides you’re fucking crazy. But you did all of this to talk to him? He wishes he would’ve come up with something as clever and thoughtful. Did he really just think you conditioning him was thoughtful? “Michael?” your soft voice snaps him back to you. 

“Why do you want to talk to me?” he looks you over. 

“Because you’re smart and I have a thing for cute nerds.” you bite your lip and his eyes catch the motion. 

“Is this a joke? Another thing for your paper?” he studies you skeptically. 

“Choosing you was self indulgent.” you shake your head. “And whatever you want as compensation stays out of the paper.” you feel your cheeks flush at your boldness. 

“My compensation?” his mouth dries out thinking of all of the possibilities. 

“Technically it’s the reward in the scenario.” his head spins as you continue with this ridiculous psychology analogy. “It used to be the constant 100/100 even with miniscule mistakes. Now it can be,” you fingers grab your sweater zipper and he swears his heart stops. “What would you like your reward to be? Hm?” you lower it and he watches as he’s only greeted by more skin. The door starts to open and you zip your sweater back up. 

“Come back to my dorm.” his voice a plea. You’re pushing your chair back in an instant. “Really?” he watches you pack your bag. 

“Really.” you nod your head. You grab his hand and look up to him expectantly. “Lead the way.” he all but drags you down the halls. You chuckle, matching his quick pace, the anticipation settling as a warmth in between your thighs. You come to a stop in front of a door and he looks down at you, chewing his lip. 

“You’re serious?” he searches your eyes. 

“Very.” you lick your lower lip and he opens the door. You figured his dorm would be more neat but all of the papers and books spread around also add up. “Do you have a roommate?” you watch him lock the door and walk over to you. 

“No.” he shakes his head as he stops directly in front of you. He grabs your bag and sets it on the chair next to his. “Can I touch you?” you smile at his red cheeks. 

“I would like that.” his fingers are tugging your zipper down and his mouth waters as your tits spill out. 

He stares at your hardening nipples before bringing his hands up to engulf your chest. He takes your hard buds between his thumb and pointer fingers and rolls them, relishing in the soft whimpers that fall from your lips. He dips down and flicks his tongue against one of your nipples causing you to press closer to his mouth. He sucks the peak into his mouth and begins to lash his tongue against it. He kisses across your chest to your other nipple and you whine when his hot mouth encases it offering it the same attention. 

“These are more perfect than I imagined.” he murmurs against your chest. Your fingers brush through his hair as he sucks at you and he looks up to you taking in your blown pupils. He tugs the sweater the rest of the way off and stands up looking down at you. “Can I keep going?” you nod your head quickly. 

“Please,” you step closer to him and he walks you over to his bed. “I’m here for you Michael. Do whatever you want to me. I want you.” his knees threaten to give out. There are things he’s only dreamed about doing to an actual girl and now you’re here just for him. He lays you back on his bed, eyes watching your exposed tits the whole time. 

“You’re sure?” he watches you nod your head quickly. He slowly pulls the tie on your pants and you lift your hips for him to pull them off. He groans when he’s greeted by your glistening cunt. “Are you always bare like this?” he looks up, enjoying your blush. 

“No.” you shake your head as his fingers run up your thighs spreading them. “I was running late.” your breath catches as he runs his thumbs up the sides of your slit. “Mikey.” you whine and he repeats the action watching your face spread with pleasure. 

He’s never done this before and he refuses to admit that. Sure he’s indulged in adult films and magazines but nothing could have prepared him for you spread out and trembling on his bed for him. You dig into the sheets as he spreads you more before dipping down. There’s no fucking way this nerd is about to eat you out right? Michael looks you over, quickly deciding the small bud at the apex is your clit and flicks his tongue against it and the sounds that leave your mouth tell him he was right.

“Yes, fuck Mikey, yes.” his tongue flicks faster and he looks up watching you arch off the bed. Your fingers bury in his hair holding him against you and you let out a soft squeak as his metal frames press against your skin. He’s licking at you so feverishly your hips start to roll against his face. “Mm, please,” you gasp as your stomach tightens. Your legs squeeze around his head as you arch off the bed holding onto him as you come undone. It tears through you so unexpectedly that you’re left gasping. You never would’ve thought he could do that. 

“How are you feeling?” he looks up at your still shaking body. He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate for your approval but he needs to know if he did that right and if you liked it. He watches you gather your thoughts and starts to press his lips against your body as he scoots up. His wraps his lips around your nipple and you whine holding him closer.

“You’re making me feel so good.” he smiles at your breathy words as he teases your peak with his teeth. “Will you fuck me? Please Mikey.” you push your chest up into him and he kisses over to your other nipple. He wants to fuck you so badly but he needs to spend some time with your tits. He’s so hard that he knows the second his cock touches your juices he’ll burst. 

“In a minute. Have some patience.” he clicks his tongue before pulling your nipple between his teeth. The soft sounds coming out of your mouth are not helping him calm down but he can’t get enough of them. You start to claw his sweater off and he lifts off to pull it the rest of the way off. Your fingers are quickly at his button and when you shove your hand down his pants he freezes. You smile as you wrap your fingers around his length and watch his cheeks flush. 

“Let me make you feel good too.” when your thumb swipes against his leaking tip he clenches his jaw using all of his restraint not to come all over your hand. He wants to say something but he doesn’t want you to think he’s too inexperienced. “You can come Mikey. I’ll wait until you get hard again. I have all day.” you lean up and press your lips to his neck as you slowly stroke him. 

“I’m not gonna last.” he says through his teeth. You watch his stomach flex as you tighten your grip and you suck harshly on his shoulder. “Fuck.” he twitches in your hand and his come starts to coat your fingers. He watches you pull your hand out with low lids and bring your fingers to your mouth. He feels himself start to harden already as you slowly lick at your fingers. 

“Finish taking off your pants.” you whine tugging at the material. He stands up and gets nervous suddenly and scrunches his brows. “Do you need me to help you?” you get off the bed and get to your knees in front of him. 

You start to tug them down and he chews his lip staring down at you as he kicks them the rest of the way off. Your hands reach for his hardening cock and he groans as your fingers wrap around him and you place soft kisses on the underside. He watches you with a heaving chest as you suck him into your mouth. If you keep this up he won’t be able to last long. You look up at him and he pulls you off. 

“I need to fuck you.” he pulls you up and gets you back onto the bed. He settles between your thighs and you pull him down to your lips. He’s surprised you’d want to kiss him too, any of this. When you move your hips his tip slides up your slit and you whimper. 

“Please,” you writhe beneath him. He lines himself up at your entrance and starts to push into you. He stills when he’s fully settled inside of you. The warmth and tightness of you is the most exquisite thing he’s ever felt. “More.” your soft plea has him beginning to rock his hips. 

He watches your tits bounce with every thrust and he leans down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. Your legs wrap around his hips as he rocks into you and he’s focusing on you to prolong his own pleasure or this would’ve been done within seconds. Your soft gasps mixed with his name have his hips moving quicker. 

“Yes, Mikey,” you whine, feeling your pleasure start to coil. You know he might blush over it but you want to come around him and you need him to do one more thing. You grab his hand and bring it down between your thighs. “Please,” a soft word and he understands immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” his hips falter along with his demeanor. 

“No, you feel so fucking good I just want more. More please.” he pushes into you with new vigor as he starts to circle his thumb on your bud. “Mikey,” you cry out and he watches your face scrunch in pleasure. The second he feels you start to pulse around him he’s spilling inside of you. His hips softly grind into you as he fills you with his pleasure and the whimpers spilling from your mouth are making his high last forever. 

“You said you have all day?” he looks down at you panting. 

“I do.” you bite your lip as you feel him start to pull out. 

“Can I fuck you again?” he searches your eyes. “If you liked it of course. I should’ve- 

“You can fuck me for as long as you can stay hard.” you smile as he presses his lips to yours. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌

i have never wrote for him so i hope i did him justice 🫣🧎🏼‍♀️

taglist ✍️ 

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004 @ninihrtss

[robin-evry]

Hello! Great to have you back!

So, I was wondering if I could request Ori!Yuu from Ori and the Will of the Wisps with all of his abilities, you can write them as is or humanoid- whichever you want, really.

And if you have no idea who I'm talking about or what Ori can do- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEadwXjlqy0&pp=ygUrb3JpIGFuZCB0aGUgd2lsbCBvZiB0aGUgd2lzcHMgYWxsIGFiaWxpdGllcw%3D%3D -Just use this as a reference for Ori's active abilities.

Also please note that Ori also has passive abilities being, Wall Jump (Pretty much just crawls on anything), Double Jump, Bash (Allows Ori to push themselves away from various objects and enemies, knocking them in the opposite direction), Grapple (Allows Ori to pull themselves in a straight line to various objects and enemies), Glide with a feather, Dash (Allows Ori to charge quickly left or right, even in the air), Swim Dash (Allows Ori to Dash underwater, or near the surface of the water to launch into the air), Burrow (Allows Ori to burrow through sand and snow), Ancestral Light (Grants Ori a 25% damage boost (x2)), and Water Breath (Allows Ori to breathe underwater)

I am very aware this a very large ask, so please know that you don't have to do it, I was just curious of what it would be like if Ori was in Twisted Wonderland.

Please get good sleep, eat as best as you can, and hydrate, it is very important!

Nah I don't mind, I'm happy that you feel safe to express your ideas towards me as well thank you for showing concerned 🤗🤗

I hope this match the character sorry if there's any mistake I mader

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐑𝐈!𝐘𝐔𝐔 🪐💫

Ori is the titular protagonist of Ori and the Blind Forest, a Spirit who is separated from their biological and adoptive family and is thrust into a journey to save the forest of Nibel from a dangerous Decay spreading throughout the land.

During the first week ori!yuu would disguise themselves as human but their true form traits sometimes appear, like their disguise would tend to become translucent for a period of time due to exhaustion of overusing.

The student body would be suspicious over them theorizing between whether or not their human or not or simply a ghost or spirit walking amongst them.

Grim is slightly wary of them at first, thinking they might be a ghost trying to trick him, but he eventually sticks by them, seeing them as a reliable guide.

When I was searching for data about the character, ori in the game doesn't speak so it depends on your perspective if you want ori!yuu mute or not.

Ori!yuu is mute, always talking using gesture, expression and action but since they are waking up in nrc, Crowley decided to give them a small drawing pad for them to use to speak with students as well giving them a book of sign languages.

A very gentle individual rarely gets mad as well literally no one in nrc have beef with them because why would you want to have beef with this gentle person.

But also due to this revelation many students view them as weak which annoys them a lot. But they prove their strength during an overblot battle.

Ori!yuu is able to use spirit magic I mean they are one technically, they are able to use the magic around their area towards it's purest form so they technically don't use spells.

So basically they aren't able to use spells like deuce cauldron one or create something, they are only able to use energy like magic as well as elemental ones. But due to the magic they are using is pure it's by far more powerful due to it being it's original state. Example ace is able to use wind magic blasting it knocking an opponent meanwhile ori!yuu is able to use wind magic towards it's full potential able to create a large gust of win blowing everything.

So basically meanwhile students are able to control a small portion of water using magic but ori!yuu magic allowed them to control large bodies of water like rivers and oceans able to manipulate waves.

People would consider ori!yuu to be a nature spirit having a connection with nature causing them to able manipulate the area towards it full extant.

Small glowing motes (wisps) appear around them when they are deep in thought, acting like extensions of their emotions.

Animals and spirits in Twisted Wonderland seem to trust them instinctively, and ghosts often linger around them. As well the magic around them to grow more purer as if being cleansed by their presence

Would use their grapple ability to get towards places that are complicated to go if you don't have a broom or unable to fly, would use this ability as a transportation allowing them to go to classes earlier compare the others as well grabbing stuff from a far away. They are surprisingly agile, seeming to drift through the air rather than fly traditionally.

As well if there's a lot of people hurrying to get to lunch or a large crowd that prevents them from going to class they use their grapple ability to pull themselves and walk in the walls and jump down up Infront shocking many students.

Despite being mute, Ori!Yuu takes notes in glowing script that fades after a few minutes. Some teachers (like Crewel) insist they write things down normally, while others (like Trein) don’t mind their magical method.

Since they can’t speak, they take oral exams through written answers or use magic to project their responses. Crowley had to make a special exception for them.

They don’t eat much, if at all. When they do, they seem more interested in the sensation rather than the taste. Trey is constantly trying to get them to eat more. They rarely eat due to them absorbing the magic in the area and they count it as food.

Ori!Yuu is oddly good at following the Queen’s rules… except for disappearing randomly, which drives Riddle insane.

Rook is completely obsessed with studying them, calling them a "phantom of mystique" and trying to track their movements.

Students like magical creatures like faes are able to understand what ori!yuu is and they would held communication towards the topic of magic, Lilia is very fond of them as well as malleus.

[hugmekenobi]

Something New

A Bad Batch Post S3 Oneshot

Gif by @barissoffee

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Summary: You have a surprise that'll help you and Hunter take a break from the stress of planning your wedding

Warnings: No use of (Y/N), references to past poisoning, little bit of teasing, some self-doubt/self-consciousness, light swearing, Smut (lingerie wearing, kissing, marking/biting, non-explicit descriptions of slightly rougher sex with unprotected P in V, kissing, reader can be lifted), we have some light fluff and feelings too

<Previous Oneshot (not totally necessary to read but helpful for build up)

Masterlist for S1,S2 and S3

Word Count: 2K

Rating: 18+

Author's note: We're back! Sorry it's been so long!! I have no excuse for this. It was just a little thing that my Hunter addled brain felt the need to include before the wedding oneshot and @decembermidnight very nicely encouraged me to do this so it happened. No pressure to read! Just needed to get it out my system before the next one lol

“Remind me again why I just spent 2 and a half hours listening to all the bands Pabu has to offer and you weren’t there?” Hunter called out tiredly but merrily enough by way of announcing his arrival back home. He loved the people here but some of them were not as talented as they thought they were, and his ears were not thanking him for his patient listening.

“Because we agreed that me reading all the wedding tradition research Tech and Omega keep sending me as well as spending a minimum of 3 hours a day getting poked and prodded by Lyra was equal to you handling the music, food and flowers.” You replied as you peeked your head round the refresher door.

“Hey, I read it too!” Hunter protested. He liked being involved in the process. It was new territory for both of you

“You read the summarised versions I put together, it’s the same as me helping you pick whatever band or flowers you’ve narrowed it down to.” You reminded him with a grin. “All about the teamwork, Sergeant.”

“Uh huh.” Hunter said with a fond roll of his eyes before he changed the subject. “Is there a reason you’re standing in there?” He asked as he casually passed by en-route to the bedroom.

“Don’t come in!” You yelped as you dashed behind the door.

“Why not?” Hunter asked but he obeyed your request and instead carried on to the bedroom.

“I have a surprise for you but now I’m chickening out.”

“Haven’t we had enough of those recently?” Hunter responded nervously. The horrible emotions and memories of your poisoning still lingered in his mind.

“This is a good surprise…” I hope. You added mentally as you stared at your reflection and worked on bringing back the confidence you’d felt ten minutes ago. “But I need you to promise me that you won’t laugh.” You requested, your voice loud enough so he could hear you.

“Why would I laugh?” He asked back, voice equally loud.

“I’m trying something new. We have been through a lot and I’m obviously not just talking about wedding planning stress, and I can only imagine the range of talent you heard today. So, I figured we need to unwind, wipe the slate clean. Hence, this surprise. But again, you cannot laugh, or I swear I’m walking outta here and all this wedding stuff comes to an end. You can marry Shep for all I care.” You threatened, obviously not meaning it but you needed him to understand that this was far out your comfort zone.

Hunter ignored your melodramatics, “What’s wrong with Shep?”

“Hunter!” You cried out through an exasperated laugh. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I understand but I do think a surprise is ruined by an explanation.” He quipped back as he took off his light layer, draped it over the dresser chair, and rolled up his sleeves as he waited for whatever it is you were talking about.

“When you’re done being a smartass, will you just promise me that you’re not going to laugh?”

“Yes, of course I promise but would you just get out here? You’re not making any se-” You appeared and suddenly he forgot how to speak. He couldn’t form the words. He couldn’t process the gorgeous image in front of him, so he was left just standing there, gawping in pure awe.

You shifted awkwardly under his intense stare and brought your arms to cover yourself self-consciously. “I can take it off if-”

“Don’t you dare.” His voice was hoarse with longing. The dark red lace lingerie set that left little to the imagination suited you and your body perfectly, emphasising ever part of you in a way that drove him crazy with need. The fact that the colour matched that of his bandana did not escape him either.

You glanced up and that was when you sensed the want flowing through him. It was reflected carnally in his eyes. You lowered your arms to your sides. “You like it then?”

All the words he wanted to say required more articulation than what his brain was currently allowing him to do so all Hunter could manage to do was nod dumbly. His hands were clenching and unclenching by his sides as he fought with himself to stay in control of his faculties. He was waiting to see how you wanted to play this.

You’d talked yourself out of doing this countless time up until this point and even tonight that feeling had still lingered but now, hearing and feeling the impact this was having on him, you began to believe it again. The growing confidence allowed you to move forward and dictate what you wanted here. Your simmering arousal grew more as you stepped towards him. “Want to show me how much?” You whispered as you placed a teasing and seductive kiss to his neck and trailed your hand down his chest, undoing a few of his shirt buttons as you did so. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, and you mouthed along the tan skin that was now available to you, smiling as you heard his breaths grow more rapid and uneven. You brought your eyes back to his and waited expectantly.

Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped to his knees and placed slow, open-mouthed kisses up the inside of your thighs, sucking marks into your skin as he moved closer to where you were absorbing the softness of the material, teeth grazing the edges of the fabric.

“Hunter?” You murmured with a sensual sigh as you brought your head back from where it had fallen towards your shoulder blades and peered down at him. You caressed the side of his face with your left hand, your engagement ring proudly standing out as you moved your fingers with a tenderness that didn’t quite match the intentions you had tonight.

Hunter kissed your palm and relished in the feeling of the cool metal band against your skin as he stared up at you. He was enraptured by the sight of you and completely at your mercy.

You moved your hand to rake your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the ends and you smirked at the low groan he ground out at that, before you uttered a simple command without so much as opening your mouth. Fuck me.

The change in him was instantaneous. With a breath that sounded akin to a growl, he got to his feet and kissed you with an intensity to match what you were asking of him before he backed you into the wall. He didn’t miss a beat as he carried on kissing you and picked you up by the back of your thighs.

You matched the passionate strokes of his mouth with yours as you wrapped your legs around him and tangled your fingers in his shirt with a moan you felt him tight against you.  

Hunter didn’t know where to start. He wanted to worship you in the way you deserved to be but the need he had for you was overpowering and he couldn’t stop touching your lace covered skin as he kissed you with utter desperation and need.

You knew what he was holding back for but this time, you didn’t want it gentle.

You wanted it rough.

You wanted to feel him.

Your body was yearning for him, and you couldn’t wait.

You snaked your hands down between you to reach for the waistband of his trousers. I need you. I need you now, Hunter. You said as you had to pull away to draw a much inconvenient but needed breath.

That was all he needed for his lingering doubt and restraint to officially vanish. Hunter didn’t bother removing the flimsy piece of fabric, nor did he particularly want to. So, he merely moved your underwear to the side without breaking the kiss. A low, eager groan rumbled from his chest as he moved into you.

Any pain quickly morphed into pleasure, and you welcomed the sensation of feeling him in this way as he moved against you. Harder. You instructed as you kissed him and took his lip between your teeth in encouragement.

Hunter was only too happy to obey. He relished the loud, breathy groan that emitted from you as he gave you what you wanted and the way your grip on his shoulders tightened, only heightened his own desire for you.

The two of you were to wound up for this to last as long as you usually did, and you could tell by the way his movements started to stutter that he was reaching that point of ecstasy that you were careening towards too.

Hunter could feel you tightening around him, and his words left him in a frantic and breathless manner, “I’m not going to- I can’t- you need to- fuck, you feel so good.” He couldn’t even finish his train of thought. He was that caught up in the feel of you and knew he wasn’t going to last for much longer, but he refused to let you go unsatisfied.

You knew what he was requesting and brought your own hand down between you and a cry left your lips as you went tumbling towards your climax.

Hunter swallowed the precious sound from you and pressed his mouth to yours in a final, hard and fervid kiss as he allowed himself to go with you. You both fell apart together with a shared groan and for a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of the two of you working on getting your breath back.

Hunter pressed his forehead against yours. “Did I ever actually tell you how stunning you look in this?” He asked as he got his bearings back.

“I think the focus lied elsewhere.” You kidded through a tired laugh. “But I got the message without it.”

“Well, you do. I mean you always do but this, yeah, this was a nice surprise.” He said gratefully. He kissed the hollow of your throat. “I love you. You took my breath away and you look absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You uttered quietly as you stroked through the ends of his hair. “I love you too.”

“Is this what you had in mind before Skara Nal?” He asked, his voice far raspier than it typically was as he lowered you down but continued to toy with you and the fabric.

His shirt was half-buttoned and wrinkled, his bandana askew and he was panting heavily. And you knew you were in just as equal a dishevelled state. “Might’ve been.” You said coyly as you ran your fingers through the shorter hairs of his fringe. “Lyra thought it was pretty important to re-create.”

“Remind me to thank her.” Hunter mumbled against your neck.

“And I have two more.” You said through a gratified and happy sigh as you cradled the back of his head as he lightly and dotingly kissed across your collarbone. “Next time I’ll wear one of the different colours.” You promised.

Hunter rested his forehead on your chest with a low moan. “I don’t know how you expect me to focus on wedding planning when I know this is something that I’ll be returning too. We’re going to have the most bizarre mix of wedding accompaniments cause I’ll just be looking for the quickest way out.”

You chuckled softly and on slightly shaky legs, you made to step past him to freshen up but Hunter’s hand around yours stopped you in your tracks.

“Hold on, what makes you think I’m done with this one?” Hunter said, his eyes gleaming with both mischief and desire.

“Aren’t you?” You replied with a smirk, but your heart was already racing in anticipation once more.

“There were a lot of really terrible bands.” He said by way of answer before he led you towards the bed.

Next Oneshot>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @andreaaxy, @moonychicky, @notgonnaedit, @arctrooper69, @dizzy-9906 , @nightmonkeysstuff @allthingsimagines , @thegreymarveljedi , @jellybeanstacey0519 , @callsign-denmark , @superbookishhufflepuff , @qvnthesia , @justsomerandompersonintheworld , @ooostarwarsfandom501st

[perpetuallyconfused10]

Drive Me Home (2/2)

Part 1 Content Warnings: Creep at the Bar™, Soft Hotch WC: 2.5K

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。 “Come on. Just one more!” Emily begs you, her voice loud over the constant chatter. She reaches over the unsettlingly sticky tabletop to grab your forearm, then, sensing your vacancy, searches for another target. “Garcia? JJ?”

Two margaritas and four vodka shots is all it takes to unravel whatever illusion of dignity you’ve managed to scrounge together since joining the BAU. Two margaritas and four shots has you giggling at anything said, funny or not, and struggling to keep your eyes open. Now, if Emily has her way — and you’ve come to learn that she often does when the team unwinds at the bar — a tequila shot is in the cards for you too.

“I’m out.” JJ says with a shake of her head, “Any more and I won’t be alive to see tomorrow morning, let alone Monday.” 

“That’s the whole point,” says a now-pouting Emily as she spins in her seat to hound Garcia into agreeing to another round. The first to Morgan’s at the bar making friends, as he puts it. Watching him with a smile pulling at his lips is Reid, who nurses a soda and regales the rest of you every so often with numerical predictions of his chances for success.

Your head is spinning, and it’s got everything to do with the alcohol flooding your veins, not the unfortunate reality of your boss sitting at the head of the table, with those two top buttons open, exposing just a glimpse of his throat. He’s been checking his watch as often as is socially acceptable. Somewhere deep in the haze of your mind, you suspect Rossi, who's long gone, bullied him into coming. Now he nods along with Reid’s tangents, inserts a comment or two whenever the younger profiler takes a breath.

Emily calls your name once more, pinning her hopes onto you. It’s a rookie mistake you make when you nod, having not processed her question properly. By the time you realize what you’ve agreed to, it’s too late to back out. Suppressing a groan, you grab your card and slide out of the booth. You try not to think about squeezing past Hotch as you do it, try ignoring the warmth that spreads into you when your forearm brushes his shoulder. 

You fail. Sweet as ever, Garcia offers to join you, but you shake her offer off with a smile, standing on only-slightly-unsteady legs and making the short walk to the bar.  

As you slot yourself into the crowd waiting for their drinks, you debate whether Emily will notice you taking a water shot instead of the tequila you’ll buy for her and Garcia. You’re about to take the risk and order one when an unfamiliar hand settles itself on your lower back. Brow furrowing, you whirl around, hoping to see Prentiss or Morgan behind you. 

Those hopes are dashed pretty quickly. A stranger presses in close to your side. His fingers curl around your waist in a manner so confident it’d make you laugh, were you sober enough to react with more certainty. Instead, you shiver. And of course he takes that to be a sign, his grin cheshire-cat-wide. 

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” you take a moment to respond as you cover his hand with your own, moving it away from you. 

He’s tall, blonde, what many people would deem attractive. But his smile is too quick to appear and just lopsided enough to look practiced. “Not yet,” he says. “What are you drinking?”

“Nothing more now. Just water.”

Your tone is clipped, impersonal, and you hope he gets the message. 

If he does, he chooses to ignore it and steps even closer, reaching the same hand across your body and resting it against the bar, boxing you in against it. The proximity has your stomach sinking. 

Stephen — really, you’ve no idea what his name is, but he looks like a Stephen, and the type to spell it with a ‘ph’ over a ‘v’, just for the status of the extra letter — raises an eyebrow at you. “Just water? Come on, honey. What do you want? It’s on me.”

The pet name sounds wrong on his lips. You’re an FBI agent. You’ve dealt with the sickest people humanity has to offer, seen more in your short time with the team than most people see in their lives. You’re an excellent shot, giving even Morgan a run for his money. You should be more than capable of dealing with a freak who gets a little too close at the bar, for fuck’s sake. 

But you’re tired and a little dizzy, and the scent of his cologne makes your head spin in the wrong kind of way. Emily wouldn’t hesitate to shove him hard, and JJ wouldn’t get herself into this situation in the first place. You’re not Emily or JJ though. You’re just you. 

“Thank you, but I’m really not—” 

The bartender cuts you off to ask for your order, and you try to forget Stephen’s eyes on you as you rattle it off, opting for an extra glass of water just to spite him. 

He isn’t pleased, though his face says otherwise. “You don’t really want that. No strings, I promise. Just let me buy you a drink. Just one.”

You’ve had enough. “I’m not interested.” 

Now the smile drops from his face, leaving it a blank mockery of neutrality that makes you sure ‘no strings’ is an empty promise. He leans in even closer, and you suppress a wince at the sensation of his breath against your skin. “You know, you don’t have to play hard to get.” Stephen’s tone is rougher now, all of its artificial sweetness abandoned. He looks you up and down, eyes the neckline of your shirt with a frown. “It’s obvious what you’re looking for.”

Your throat constricts. The air is hot. Too hot. It’s all you can do to keep your hand steady as you pay for your drinks. “I told you, I’m not looking for anything. Or anyone.”

When the bartender slides your drinks across the bar, you rush to grab them, nearly spilling them in your haste to leave. You’re not that lucky. Stephen’s arm is still in your way. You don’t like how your breathing speeds up, chest heaving just a little despite your attempts to remain unfazed, but it’s all too much. 

Stephen opens his mouth to retort again. 

He doesn’t get far. 

“Move.”

 A new hand settles itself on your back, and its fingers curve ever so slightly around your hip. If you wanted to back away, there’d be more than enough room. But you don’t. 

Turning slightly in Hotch’s hold, you’re not surprised to see him issuing Stephen with the full force of his glare. The creep’s hand retreats, though he stays put otherwise.

“Here, sweetheart,” Hotch takes the tray from you, not even bothering to look at your ‘admirer’ again. His focus is on you, now, and his eyes are soft, one corner of his mouth curving up. “Thought you could use a hand. I think Prentiss might kill you if you drop another of her drinks.”

You manage to pull yourself together enough to roll your eyes. Of course he picks now to bring that up. “That was one time, Aaron. I don’t think she even remembers it.”

Now Stephen turns and walks to the other end of the bar, and you feel your shoulders loosen at the distance. 

Hotch notices, because of course he does. Instead of walking you back to your booth, he stays put and searches your face. “You okay?”

You nod. “Fine. I don’t know why I didn’t…”

Trailing off, you scan the bar. Garcia is laughing at something Prentiss says (some kind of story, based on the gestures she’s making). Reid watches them with fondness in his features, Morgan back and sitting by his side.

“You shouldn’t have had to do anything,” Hotch says quietly. His arm rests by his side now. “I think I’m going to head back. You want to go home?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna call a cab.”

He tilts his head, echoing your words from months ago with just a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Everyone and their mother is calling a cab. I’m driving you.”

“Hotch…” you sigh. You can’t trust yourself, now, not to say the wrong thing, not to comment on the something that’s changed between the two of you since you gave him a ride home, not to wonder if he’s noticed it too. 

“Let me do this for you. Please.”

His insistence is too gentle to argue with. 

“Okay.”

Hotch takes the tray of drinks, leading you back towards the rest of the team. 

“You’re an angel, honey,” Garcia tells you. She squeezes your hand in thanks as Hotch sets down the shots and hands you your water. If anyone noticed anything wrong, they don’t mention it, and you’re grateful for that small mercy.

“I think we’re going to head out now,” says Hotch. His hand hovers just above your back, almost touching you, as he goes on to explain that you aren’t feeling well and shouldn’t chance a cab.

You’re not too drunk to miss the communal grin passing through the group like the flu, so you file it away for later and hug the rest of the team one by one, giving Reid a tired smile and a wave goodbye. 

Hotch leads you out of the bar and out into the cold in search of his car. You feel yourself take a real breath for the first time in a while. 

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. Thank you,” you say, and mean it. The chill in the air helps to clear your head some. At the very least, you don’t feel nearly as drunk as you did inside. 

Hotch hums, unlocking the car. Climbing into the passenger seat, you can’t help but laugh.

“What?”

You look over at him, groan quietly. “You’re a liar, Aaron Hotchner. Your car is so much cleaner than mine.”

It really is. You glance over the interior in search of a coffee stain or a loose wrapper, but come up empty handed. 

“Guilty,” he shrugs. “And it’ll stay that way, if you behave.”

You’re pretty sure your brain short circuits when he puts his hand on the back of your headrest to reverse out of the parking spot. It takes you longer to respond than usual to his gentle taunting. When you do, it’s a little half-hearted. Maybe you aren’t as sober as you thought. 

“Please, Hotch. I’m not about to throw up in your car. I’m not that far gone.” 

“No. You’re not,” he pauses, opening the window anyway. “We’re back to ‘Hotch’, now? What happened to Aaron?”

You give him the most innocent look you can manage and plug your address into his satnav. “You’re right there.”

You’re pretty sure the look he gives you now is reserved for murderers. And clearly, on some occasions, you. 

Eventually, he relents. “You called me ‘Aaron’, earlier.”

“You called me ‘sweetheart’,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Resting your chin on your hand, you turn your head to look out of the window. You don’t want to see the smug expression you’ve come to recognise over the past few weeks, reserved almost exclusively for you. You know he wears it now. 

“Did I?”

You don’t answer. Your fingers move to cover your lips, as if that’ll stop you from making more of an idiot of yourself than you already have. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register his sigh. “Look in the side pocket,” he says, his voice quiet.

“What?”

“In the compartment in the door. Take a look.” 

You follow his instructions, finding a few CDs tucked away there. You’re about to tease Hotch for his taste in kids’ audiobooks when you spot it, and feel your breath hitch. 

“Hotch…” You say, turning over the copy of Carole King’s Tapestry in your hands. It’s still wrapped in plastic, still new. Taking the disc out of its case, you look to him for permission before sliding it into the player. “When did you…?”

“Indiana. I saw it a few weeks ago, and it made me think.”

You press play, and I Feel The Earth Move floods the car. “You really didn’t have to—”

“—I wanted to,” he frowns as he says it, determination etched into his face. “I don’t have much of a collection, but it’ll get there.”

A comfortable layer of quiet settles between you as you watch the world move outside, late-night stragglers heading from offices with briefcases in hand, or stumbling out of nearby bars, arm-in-arm and laughing. It’s been a long while since you took that first journey alone with Hotch, since your determination not to think about him in any non-professional way wavered and cracked. Now, weeks later, you take turns to bring each other coffee in the morning. You ask him about Jack and revel in how content he is to talk about his son. You look at him and wonder if this slow, tentative thing you’ve built, this easy friendship, is all you’ll ever share.

If it is, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. But you glance at him now, his hair falling over his forehead, and think to yourself that it might not be.

Three songs or so later, Hotch turns into your street. You point out your apartment and wait for him to turn the engine off, but he doesn’t.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, simply to have something to say that isn’t an admittal of something you really shouldn’t be confessing to. 

He hesitates. The car stays running. “You’ve got nothing to thank me for.”

You nod towards the CD player, pressing pause. Silence. “Thank you for this, then.”

“It was your idea,” Hotch says, “You’re a lot more thoughtful than you give yourself credit for.”

It’s sweet. Too sweet. 

You laugh at him. “God, you sound like a fortune cookie.”

“I’d make an excellent fortune teller.” 

There’s that tone again. It’s flat, but with something exasperated lingering beneath it, something fond.

“Go on, then. What’s in my future?”

He sighs. “A nasty hangover. And a text or two hundred from Garcia, complaining about hers.”

You snort in acknowledgement. “And what do you see in yours?”

Now he turns the engine off, leaning back against the headrest and turns to study you. His eyes trace from yours down to the curve of your lips, and to where your hands lay intertwined in your lap. For a long moment, he says nothing. Your breath is starting to turn the windscreen foggy. Then, with a gentle grip, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kisses the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. 

“If you’ll have me? Another very uncomfortable conversation with Strauss.”

Your soft, tired smile is answer enough. He leads you to your front door, kisses your forehead, and sees you inside. When that conversation is over, he promises, he’ll be driving you home much more often. 

It isn’t very long before he makes good on it, and Reid is a little richer.

[fernpetals]

Good Cop, Bad Cop V

Masterlist

Part 1 Part2 Part 3 Part 4

Yandere Tom Ludlow x Reader

Warning: Power imbalance, mention brutal crimes and crimes against women

GIF is not mine, credit to the @scarlettspectra.

Unedited Part

Before you know it, this becomes a routine. Every other week, when you have to report to the police station and end up being late, he drops you home. At this point, you can bet that you will recognise his charger anywhere.

Your steps cease when you spot the vehicle outside your workplace. You don't know why, but you take a few steps back before turning around and walking back into your office. You know that he means well, just doing his jb, but you find him a bit…intense. His gaze is enough to reduce you into a fumbling mess.

Taking out your phone, you check for any message in case you have missed it. There is none. What is he doing here?

Okay, you have not done anything wrong, it’s a new city and the cops are simply being extra careful maybe? You can show him your phone in case of any misunderstanding. You assure yourself as you take a deep breath to collect yourself before walking out.

A part of you hopes that it isn’t his car. A lot of people own a charger and maybe you are…

All hopes are dashed as soon as the car door opens and Officer Thomas Ludlow gets out. Outside the station, with the wind ruffling his hair, he appears slightly boyish, a smile might look lovely on him. Too bad, you know him as a grump.

“I received no texts.” You bite your tongue as soon as you finish that hurried explanation.

You almost see something akin to mirth dancing in his brown eyes.

“Because none was sent. Get in the car, we’ll talk on your way home.”

“Oh. it’s not that late.” 

“I can see that. This is important.” He says, rounding up and walking towards you, on reflex, you take a step back.

It’s like something in you just fails to settle down in his presence. To your surprise, he opens the car door for you.

“Please.”

You feel stupid. He is a police officer who has been nothing but kind to you, maybe not the most polite, but good, in his own way.

“Thank you.” is all you can manage before getting inside his car.

—--

“You might want to be extra cautious.” He speaks up while driving through the busy LA roads.

“Why?”

“We keep an eye on them, they keep an eye on us and you have become a common link. First in the restaurant, now visiting the police station every now and then. If anything, it confirms that one of them had been at least near that place.”

“You mean they fled when you all surrounded me?”

He hums before stopping near a food truck.

“I’m hungry, have you eaten yet?”

You find yourself taco in in his car. He has already packed some for dinner, and by the number, maybe even breakfast.

“You must be a busy man, I mean, the job is demanding.”

Officer Ludlow glances at the packed meal and nods “I barely have the motivation to cook for myself. Besides, it’s quicker that way.”

Oh, you thought him to be married. But he does not seem so.

“You have my number?”

“No?”

“Save it in your emergency contact, I suggest you get yourself a good security system and if anything. I mean anything feels odd, you let me know.”

“I–I don’t think I am of any use to them.”

“You are a woman.”

Annoyance flares within you as you fix him with a hardened stare “So?”

“I’m sorry, I did not mean it that way.”

An apology that sounds genuine and a softened gaze? That soothes you, surely, but you remain annoyed.

“What do you mean then, Sir?”

For a moment, you think you catch something dark flash in his eyes but it’s gone with a faint gulp.

“I mean, they are monsters and women are the usual victims, and targets even—they don’t need a reason, or even animosity, the fact that you are a woman is enough. These people have the record of doing unspeakable things, to men, to women, to little girls and boys.”

That does make sense. In the underworld, there is not a being more exploited than the female perhaps. 

“So, if you have a gun, good, if you don’t, get one. Keep your location on all the time and if anything goes wrong, what do you do?”

“Call 911.”

He lets out a sharp, short sigh at your response.

“Call me, that’s why I am suggesting you save my number on the emergency contact list.”

You nod, the gravity of the situation finally dawns upon you, seems like the casual decision to enter that restaurant has cost you much more than you had thought.

Oh, what have you gotten yourself into?

*****

Thanks to @scarlettspectra's brilliant analysis of Yandere Tom Ludlow, it has been the fuel I needed.

[unknownteapot]

Hope you're alright! I went and rewatched the babe ruth/bazanka video again after your post abt it and its just soooooo. They're SO impressed with each other from the start!! If you watch a lot of Amanda's appearances before that point, she's generally really good about not breaking (v professional) but the whole video she's just. Breaking to make comments on how good Angela is doing or to poke her character. And Angela's FIRST character video and having someone like Amanda constantly hyping her up... gaahhh. Sorry this isnt really a question, although if you have further thoughts on that vid, love to hear them 👀

- shesmore-shoebill

hiii @shesmore-shoebill :,) it's always nice seeing you pop up on the dash!!

i'm doing a little better, thank you <3 youre so right though, that video was insaneeeee, i didnt lie when i made a post about it being like shourtney's 'see you at work' moment. and going back and watching it again is just.. like it makes me emotional almost cause thats where amangela started you know? :,) im so chill and fine about that video and obviously its really funny and stuff but i always end up fixated on amangela cause like u mentioned, you can see them discover each other in real time. like learn each other's humour, literally watch each other commit *so* hard to a bit. and i think that where the admiration comes from yk? from recognising themselves in each other. like hey- you're just like me, you're the same. a lot of that comes from having done acting i think, specifically character work and that's something (through my very much external goggles) they can relate on.

the fact that angela describes seeing amanda get into her babe ruth character before the video and commit so hard that she decides to just go for it too is so.. like i dont think amanda expected anyone else would go that hard, that's why her 'you're insane' is so multidimensional cause not only is she saying 'you're insane' to the demon girl character (who is rightfully so), but also to angela beneath the surface of of like 'you're insane for doing this, for committing so hard, for the hilarious shit you're saying'. and angela's 'so are you' is not just snark from her character, it's also a jab at amanda because she's committing just as hard, because she's just as hilarious. i really do think that's where their admiration for each other started- i like what u mentioned about amanda being supportive & encouraging- its so nice to have someone in your corner when you're being insanely silly for the entirety of the internet to see. what's nicer is when someone gets just as silly as you <3

(sorry for the essay, you inspired thoughts <3)

[apalapucian]

5, 6, 10, 11, 12 & 19 for the fic year in review pls!

hi haley thanks so much for these and im so terribly sorry for the lateness!!!

5. what ships captured your heart? jily, but no surprises there. this year i think - and i wouldn't say it captured my heart, but - what piqued my interest was prongsfoot. and i blame all the randy jily writers on my dash for that one lol.

6. what characters captured your heart? more than jily, because that's default, this year it was sirius! and regulus also.

10. what fic was the most satidfying to finish writing? egos practically wrote itself, especially the ending. that's a rare thing to happen, so i was v happy and satisfied about that. i hope it happens more in 2025.

11. what fic was the most difficult to write? for reasons both writing-related and personal-life-related, i really really trudged through the last two chapters of bad day wall. i surprised even myself when i managed to finish it.

12. what fic was the easiest to write? the entire concept for no questions asked appeared in my head slowly but surely for one of those prompt games i was sent this year. when i started writing it, it also just flowed on its own. compared to the other fics i wrote, it's more scenic and vibes-based and abrupt (much like one last), more like connected flashes of something instead of a whole laid out story, which is always the easiest to write. i really like that one. i wanna make more of it in the future.

19. share your favorite piece of dialogue.

okay so. from bad day wall, this text exchange (james is bold and lily in italics):

let's just say she doesn't like me very much

did she tell you that?

yes. in many creative ways. really creative. if it wasn't at my dignity's expense the creativity would have been awe-inspiring

ah. condolences :(

:(((( so what do i do, do you think?

if she already turned you down (many creative times), then nothing. i think you should respect that.

damn. you couldn't have drawn it out a little? don't give up, she'll come around, she just needs a little more prodding???

well just that if it were me i wouldn't want more prodding

you wouldn't change your mind? ever? if it's you.

i'm not saying i wouldn't EVER, but it just might take some time. and space. and perspective?

so much physics

such is love, i'm afraid

___

a couple of director's cut tidbits from this:

i just found it funny that lily was saying "if it were me" without knowing it's ACTUALLY her like it was so amusing to write

james suddenly punctuating properly in "you wouldn't change your mind? ever? if it's you.' was deliberate, like, in my head, when he starts typing properly, it means he's talking about something he feels serious and deeply about. and i did this in the entire fic i think, like when he got a bit more serious and solemn, he stops writing like he's making a tumblr shitpost. whch he goes back to in "so much physics", hoping for cool and unfuckwithable, but the way lily says "such is love, i'm afraid" is like, it's corny, but it's true, and she believes in it, and they're both talking about something serious and true and validating each other's feelings but also through a fucking wall and they don't know each other and they don't know it's about each other sjhfdsidfj anyway i just love this bit from BDW personally.

"time and space and perspective" is also what happens in the next chapter, when they spend some time and space apart, james trying to move on in the beginning of summer and lily trying to build a little life post-moving out, and then new perspectives when they start spending summer together in the gryffin.

also james, a pureblood, being into and knowing enough about physics, a muggle thing, to make a reference, is really hot lmao, and also a reference to completely human james. there is a draft of that chapter where lily pauses to speculate that the stranger must be muggleborn because of the physics thing, but i couldn't put it in without getting too wordy and ruining the momentum of their conversation, so i just cut it. but yeah! james and physics. hot.

sorry this got so long lol thank you and happy new year, haley!!! 💜

[maguro13-2]

Yuya : Well, Yuzu. What do you think of our show's greatness, I just hope this will be good from now on.

*Zuzu's phone ringing*

Zuzu : Oh that's Masumi, dark-skinned girl with long black hair.

*answers phone*

Zuzu/Yuzu : (on the phone) hey babe. How's everything going with the show?

Masumi/Julia via phone : (speaking indistinctly)

Zuzu/Yuyu : Hey, hey, no need to get upset. What? About the show's writing? Creator Killer Trope? When?...Right now? Honey, look. I'm sorry that the show had great potential, I mean we had great potential, but for me?...I guess Arc-V wasn't exactly as planned, but for the movie, yeah...that seems a bit downgrade.

Masumi/Julia via phone : (shouting indistinctly)

Zuzu/Yuzu : Hey! Hey! Babe, please! Don't get me all flustered! The writer had seemed to rushed it and I know that it was his enitrely his fault that the show's writing went bad. All of that potential must've been wasted. No need to get upset. I know, I know that you're not mad at me, I just wanted to get to know you better, Masumi.

Zuzu/Yuzu : Yeah...Guess the show's writing was that terrible, huh? It's the truth. I...I love you too, babe. So...pick you up for our date? Okay then, loves. See you tonight, babe.

*ends phone call*

Yuya : So, uhh, what did Masumi said about the show's potential?

Zuzu/Yuya : It appears that the writer of our show has screwed up everything when it comes to rushing the development and basically screwed it up. Also, the show made the writer ended his career and they went on to make the Yugioh movie with high-definition quality. Yep. Arc-V is forever wasted with wasted potential.

Yuya : Oh... Well, things are gonna be less okay with that.

Zuzu/Yuzu : Agree, I guess our potential was a huge mess for the Yugioh fandom. Oh well, I'm off to my yuri date with Masumi-san! Bye bye!

*Dash Panel*

Yuya : But what about the show's writing? Was it doomed from the start? Also, where you going to have a yuri date with another person?

Zuzu/Yuzu : Tell your friends, they have something in common. Ta!

*Dash Panel*

(leaves as the sound of a closing door is heard)

Yuya : Well crud. I'm all alone and no one think to about it.

(later)

Zuzu/Yuzu : So...Masumi? Having a good time with our usual selves?

Masumi/Julia : Yeah, the usual. I guess our Lustershipping date is a fine success to us, Yuzu and Masumi bonding together. So, to dueling, darling?

Yuzu/Zuzu : To dueling, babe.

Tea/Anzu : To dueling.

Alexis : To Dueling.

Yusei : To thirty years of sobriety and no hesitation. (Drinks liquid before realizing) Hmm. No reaction to the taste.

*shattering*

Yusei : *realizes he poisoned himself* Aww crap.

*THUMP*

Crow : Well, this stinks.

Jack Atlas : Waiter. Another glass of water for me?

(iris out)

[trans-luis-serra-navarro]

OH I LOVE YOUR CONTENT BUT I'M SHY SO ANONYMOUS IS THE ONLY WAY

Okay okay so Serennedy!! Do you prefer their 2005 dynamic or the remake dynamic?? Also what do you think of Leon teaching Luis how to fight hand-to-hand?? Luis with long hair? Sorry for the long ask but AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

SHWBEGEBDYDJDUCHCUJSAJ OMG HI HELLO HIIIII!!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU GOT THE ASK AND DONT FEEL SHY IM LITERALLY JUST A FELLER AHABHDBDHDJS but!!! More importantly!!!!! Your questions!!!!!!!! I’ll keep them under the cut so I don’t clog up anyone’s dash!!!

Do I prefer OG Serennedy or Re- REMAKE!!!!!!! REMAKE INFINITELY SO OH MY GOD ARE YOU KIDDING ME. THE PARALELLS BETWEEN THEM AND SANCHO PANZA AND DON QUIXOTE. THE ACTING. THE LIL MOMENTS OF GENUINE JOY BETWEEN THEM ARE YOU KIDDING ME (also like the obvious. Luis is a MASSIVE step up from his OG counterpart in terms of like. Not being a very creepy misogynist BDNEHENJDD)

What do I think about Leon teaching Luis hand-to-hand combat???? OH MY G O D ?????????? HOW HAVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE THATS LITERALLY THE BEST IDEA E V E R ?????? We all know Luis CLEARLY isn’t a fighter like Leon- the only weapon we see him reliably use is a gun manufactured in WWII and. A metal pole which like. Y’know what that works too BCNEHENEJSJS and ESPECIALLY after such a close call with Krauser who is- notoriously- more of a close-up fighter I can only imagine Leon would be REEEEEEAL keen to teach Luis some general self defence skills

In my head it’d probably be in the same wheelhouse as other small things Luis does to slowly heal after living in Valdelobos for so long- gain some weight/muscle, get a fresh change of clothes, go to therapy etc etc BCNEHENEJ now I’m having BRAINROT over the idea of Leon teaching Luis how to use a proper army knife or something with just full consideration and caution and they have the time of their lives doing it too ((I’m so sorry that turned into such a ramble but like. Hello who do you think you’re talking to BCNEHENDJDN))

What do I think of Luis with long hair????? WELL BOY HOWDY NOT TO PLUG MY OWN ART BUT I DREW THE GODDAMN IDEA!!!!!!! Again, similar to my last point, I can imagine little changes in appearance like him growing his hair out to be small signs of healing from that past trauma so I hold the idea of him growing out his hair very near and dear to my heart <<<<33

ANYWAYS THANK YOU OH SOSOSOSOSOSO MUCH FOR SENDING IN AN ASK I SINCERELY HOPE YOU DIDNT MIND THE ABSOLUTE RAMBLE I WENT ON AGSBEHDJSJDNCJ

[mikareo]

(DOVE OMG IDK IT SAID I UNFOLLOWED U but i think it was on accident or smth and lwky it was weird bc i didn’t see u on my dash lately :// i’m so sorry for that !!! i feel so bad i’m so sorry ;-; !!)

but i just saw that u were holding matchups, so i was wondering if i could provide a submission ? one for complete matchups, if possible <3

for blue lock, btw !

in a separate ask (thank u sm <3)

male, and around teenage years

sfw pls and thank u :))

i think i’m a v honest person, and i suppose i don’t mind saying what’s on my mind if i’m close to u. but to others, i filter what i say, and i tend to “people please” by saying what might be favourable to them. i’m really introverted and shy lol, it takes me a while to warm up to someone, but when i do, i’m pretty extroverted and loud :,) i think i’m also realistic, and i can sometimes be pessimistic, but i’m trying to be more hopeful about the future lately hehe. i feel like i’m also often trying to take care of my friends, and it’s like i’m the mother of the group ;-; and i would say that i’m quite empathetic, so a lot of the times, my friends do come to me for advice or just to hear some comforting words. i’m an infj :) and i’m a cancer ! i go by she/her !!

i like to write, read, and draw sometimes (not v good at it but it’s a calming activity imo). i also like to watch kdramas and anime <3 they’re probably one of my favourite things in the world !! and i like to cook (baking not so much idk why)—it’s also kinda therapeutic. i also love shopping, but specifically shopping for my things (idk how to feel ab grocery shopping :/)

ideal dates would probably have to be like art galleries, cafe dates, a picnic date w like painting activities hehe, a spontaneous trip out in the city, or a stay-at-home date where we just do wtv and enjoy each other’s company <33

thank u so so much ! hope that i included all necessary info, and pls (maybe) have fun w this !!

(i’m quite excited to do ur submission for my event too hehe <33 and so sorry ab the unfollowing I FEEL SO BAD </3)

💌 ✮⋆˙ love letter to...yoisami!

saki!!!! i honestly didn't even notice u unfollowed me so dw abt it really!! girl u are SO pretty omg!! like the vibes u give off are so fairy princess,, i love that for u <33 also,, before u open this post (if u haven't alr LOL) it's like...really really long bc i have a lot to say abt this particular character ajskfl i haven't even finished writing everything yet while i'm typing this,, but i alr know it's going to have such a long wc for a matchup (1.2k pls),, i rlly hope u like it tho!! complete matchups are always so fun bc they're just a total brain dump for me :3 (p.s. i'm also so so excited for what color u come up w for me n isagi EEEK) also i dunno if i said it alr,, but i rlly love the little selfship drawing u have on ur navi,, it's so cute!!

[ ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ ᰔ ] your complete matchup results!

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀ APPEARANCE PAIRING ! congratulations . . .‧₊˚🌻✩NIJIRO NANASE₊˚🌿⊹♡

with gentle features that seemingly express lots of emotion; no doubt, the two of you would be considered a visual couple and have countless onlookers wishing they were with either of you. nijiro only cares about your eyes, though. he's not bothered by the lovestruck stares and greedy thoughts the passing women have. he only needs to make you smile. that's his one and only goal.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀ PERSONALITY PAIRING ! congratulations . . .‧₊˚🍙✩YOICHI ISAGI₊˚⚽️⊹♡

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ chemistry analysis . . .

okay this actually was so easy for me to settle on, i literally read your personality info and the first person who came to mind was isagi. i weighed out all the other options, but no one else really clicked in my head other than him. i think about this man like so often; and knowing so much about him, there's no doubt that you two would be so compatible!

one thing that really stood out to me amidst all of isagi's personality traits, is his perceptiveness. obviously he's extremely good at reading the field, but his true talent is reading people. while you're very introverted and tend to keep to yourself at first, he'd be able to figure out a way to make you feel comfortable around him upon the first introduction. he wouldn't be alarmed by your shyness, but rather intrigued and he'd want to understand you better; in fact, he'd make it a challenge for himself to do so. immediately, he'd be able to notice the difference between you telling the truth and you trying to 'people please'— but no matter which one is occurring, he wouldn't call you out on it. he'd trust that you're saying and doing whatever you feel comfortable with, and respect that. he'd also enjoy your outgoingness once you finally open up to him, and his favorite thing in the world would be whenever he's able to make you laugh. isagi loves a girl who laughs a lot whilst showing a beautiful smile; and he'd wish he had a photographic memory just to revisit that look on your face when he's struggling on the field, in need of some comfort.

i don't necessarily think you two are total opposites, but there are definitely some things that you differ on; one being his optimism vs. your pessimism. isagi is someone who lives on adrenaline and keeping his head in the clouds. he believes that everything will work out for him so long as he continues to practice and find a new solution; however, he needs someone who can keep him grounded. if he spends too much time in the clouds, his feet will never come back to earth. with your realist perspective, you can tell him when he needs to focus or lock in on a goal— whilst also making sure that he isn't getting too ahead of himself. the reverse is also true. he uses his extreme optimism and drive to encourage you to take those chances that you normally wouldn't with your realism holding you back. he wants you to fly in the cloud with him, and looks forward to that safe landing he knows you'll bring. you keep him from flying away. he makes sure you're not stuck to the ground forever.

even though he's an optimist, isagi is so hard on himself. he beats himself up after every game even if he's the one who scored the winning goal. to him, there's nothing more important than improving; which is why your advice is so valuable. if anything, you'd surely be his rock in the midst of the chaos of his football career. he'd rely on you when he's feeling down and go to you whenever he needs some words of encouragement. with those words, he'd close his eyes and try to recall them— recite them— before he has a game (it's his good luck charm) and feel so much stronger. your the person he looks up to most. it's not noel noa. it's you. he hangs onto your every word, his attention is undivided, because he knows that you only want the best for him. your advice is selfless, and yes, maybe he is selfish for asking for it so often, but can you blame him? you're the shining sun when he's rained off the field and the sweeping waves when he visits the beach. your physical and emotional beauty astonish him.

on his off days, isagi loves to go for walks, read manga, or simply stay at home with you. surely, he'd be the one to hand you your sneakers and tell you that there's a new cafe open downtown that he wants to try— knowing full well that you've been looking forward to it for weeks. when the two of you are walking through the city, he's bound to take a few pictures with fans; and while you're holding up the phone telling them to say 'cheese', isagi smiles after, telling the strangers: "isn't my girlfriend so cute?" he's such a character. if you choose to spend the day at home, baking and such, he tries his best to help out in the kitchen. though, it never really works out as planned. isagi has his certain skills, baking not being one of them (i.e. soccer being the only one) which causes your sweets to be a little lopsided. however, his company isn't a burden as he makes you giggle and smile with his quips and encouragements as you try a new recipe. isagi loves spending time with you when he can, and he makes sure to make the most of it.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ memories on the wall . . .

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ a treasured moment . . .

your boyfriend is someone who thinks on his feet, pre-planning has never really been his thing, which is why it was no surprise when he laced up your sneakers and led you to the train station with no prior warning. "c'mon, that new cafe opened in ginza." is what he'd said to you; trying to sound spontaneous, even though he so obviously remembered you've been looking forward to it for months now.

the two of you are nearly there, just a few blocks away since you somehow got off the train two stops too early, when a pair of middle school (?) girls stop you in your tracks. "excuse me, do you mind if we get a photo with you isagi?" to which he gladly accepts.

naturally, you offer to take the photo, being used to your boyfriend's adoring fans and tell the girls to smile big. it's so adorable the way his face lights up whenever he's able to share his passion for football with someone new. you love that beaming look on his face and are so grateful that you get to look at that grin every day of your life.

"the girl taking the photo..." isagi begins to say to the fans, worrying you that he's about to make some joke that you won't find funny. "she's my girlfriend." aw.

they both nod at his words, commenting on how pretty they think you are, before he continues to speak.

"isn't she gorgeous?"

he always knows how to make you blush. damn him.

"you're a flirt, yoichi." you shake your head, giggling softly as you hand the phone back to the girls. "i can't take you anywhere, can i?"

he reaches out, lovingly clasping his large hand over yours and kisses your temple. it's a very public display of romance, but he made sure to cover your face while doing so, knowing that you tend to get a little embarrassed by those sort of things. "i'm the luckiest man in the world." his voice is so caring, so loving. "i'm going to tell everyone i'm yours whenever i get the chance."

(i am literally a mess when it comes to isagi jasfdkl this brain dump was lethal)

[el-is-green]

silly hotd poll for your dash, in alphabetical order just because

i put the rider name so you remembered who's rider was whose but we are not voting for the rider just the dragon okay? Okay.

There is no "all of them are good boys/girls" options you must choose

I mentioned *Morning bc I personally cannot wait to see her! Ik she isn't there yet but she's still v important to me

list I referenced (which has pictures): https://nerdist.com/article/house-of-the-dragons-17-dragons-list-which-ones-will-appear-on-the-show-history-targaryen-riders/

Edit: if you voted other you absolutely don’t have to tell me but I would appreciate it lol

[crystalflygeo]

(no pressure, no need to reply if you don't feel like it but i thought i'd send one in anyway!! am kissing your forehead and surrounding you with zhongli plushies <3)

😍😘🍼🌌

✅: how would you or your f/o react if the other 'teased' them in public? ;)

RIIIIIN PLS YOU'RE TOO PRECIOUS ;;w;;

😍: Name your three favorite things about your f/o

cfgvhbjnjmk

Zhongli: -His voice/hair/eyes/appearance in general SORRY THAT SOUNDS SHALLOW BUT HAVE YOU SEEN THE HUSBAND? //jazz hands at zl -His kindness and gentle nature, I feel like ppl overlook this a lot pls he is so soft I love him. He has lost so much yet still has so much love to give <3 -His lil trivia and fun random facts bchjasncjasck nuff said I love him your honor

Baizhu: -His hair, his eyes, his smile, I am so WEAK PLS //sobs -He is so kind, so soft and selfless to a FAULT he's self sacrificing and prone to just go along with things that would harm him just to keep the peace and help others -can I also say his voice?? his chuckles?? he is so pretty and so funny bye I love him sm

😘: What’s your f/o’s favorite thing about YOU?

WHO KNOWS REALLY//HIT

Zhongli: -My loyalty/trust/devotion //hit -Whenever I do these lil skips/jumps and dashes as we walk together. (?) -FURRY EARS V EXPRESSIVE, he likes when they stand up to attention to his voice or fold back cutely when embarrassed dvhdbvhsbnvkj

Baizhu: -The high pitched squeaks and noises I let out whenever I drop or bump into something -How easily I get along with kids and how soft and patient I am with them -My open-mindedness (?)

🍼: Want kids?

FUN FACT no //HIT

Imma get v in character here but- There's been some talk about it since people keep bothering me asking how a mated 4kyo adeptus doesn't have children but I just.... don't want to??;;;; CR, Ganyu and the other adepti understand fully and don't pester about it anymore, same with other archons, surprisingly it's mostly the mortals who ask all the time ehhhh... Zhongli hasn't expressed a want outside of that raging breeding kink//cough but he wouldn't be opposed to the idea either?? He just respects and accepts that I don't want to, and if one day that changes then it's ok too. I do sometimes feel lowkey guilty though.....

🌌: What was your first date like?

RIN PLS THIS IS SO HARD NO I HAVEN'T THOUGHT ON THIS YET AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ngl probably just spending some time alone atop Mt Tianheng with a great view, soft breeze, basking on each other's company with some good food and wine, his head resting on my lap as I play with his hair and hum a song...

fdaszsdxfcgvgvbhbjgdfzsdl

✅: how would you or your f/o react if the other 'teased' them in public? ;)

OH YOU.

Zhongli would give me a look whenever my hand rests at his thigh during an outing at an opera or teahouse dinner lmao. He'll lean in to whisper/growl something along the lines of "do you want it that badly? behave." and revel in the shivers, but hey, that's exactly what I wanted and who knows, if I keep pushing the dragon might snap ;3

[ladyofthecastleproject]

The Knight and the Prince in the Castle

[AO3 version]

Summary:

Inside the castle, a battle occurs and V-mon worries for Lightnimon’s life. Then, Wallace has the visit of a familiar face… Could Wallace be rescued from Duskmon’s hands? Or…?

[Notes: It takes place in 2008; this was the first drabble I wrote actually...]

Something was moving quickly through the corridors of this new rendition of Vamdemon’s castle. It wasn’t exactly the same place Taichi and the Chosen Children had ventured in before, but some mysterious one was built during those times.

Maybe it was all an illusion, or it was created by magic. No one knows.

The mysterious shadow approaches from the door of a room in which a special person was inside. He was running out of time, and V-mon was next to him trying to keep him cool. The digimon next to the black armored shadow -- one armor with Lighdramon motif -- was denouncing his identity. But he didn’t care at this point, he couldn’t waste his chance.

But something happened.

Once the door opened, a digimon attacked them. It wasn’t the kid’s digimon, so it was supposed to be one of the soldiers from the real bad guy.

Wielding this glaive Lighdramon-based weapon, he and V-mon dodged from the enemies attack and prepared to battle.

“What’s this?”

“Undead digimon, MadLeomon” V-mon explained, “I can handle it by myself”

“You kidding!? I won’t let you fight alone!”

“We’re here to rescue Wallace, not to pick a fight with a sentinel!”

“Sigh…” he couldn’t evolve his partner-in-crime right now…

“Why are you here?”

Wallace appeared behind MadLeomon, not amused by those two’s presence.

“We came to rescue you!” V-mon said.

“I don’t need to be rescued, go away.”

“W-wait!” the armored ‘digimon’ shouted, “You want to stay here!?”

“I don’t need to talk with you.”

“They’re using you, Wallace!”

“Leave me alone, Chocomon is gone! Gummymon is missing! And this is all YOUR fault!”

MadLeomon dashed through the corridor, trying to hit the two prey with their arms. V-mon and the incognito warrior avoided it by dodging to the edges of the field.

“They brainwashed him!” V-mon warned his companion.

“Oh really? Darn it, Wallace!”

“Brainwashed…? How can I be brainwashed if I wanted to be here!? They explained my role in this world, while you and your friends lied to me.”

“What the heck are you talking about!?” the duo dodged another blow, “Daisuke-kun and his friends did not lie to you! Their group found Gummymon, and they weren’t aware of such power!!”

Wallace’s eyes showed a spark of light to the mention of Gummymon.

“T-they… Found him?”

However, MadLeomon kept attacking their opponents with no mercy. And they didn’t attack back with the fear of hitting their friend.

“Chocomon might be gone! But we can find him” V-mon yelled, “Please, come with us!”

“I… I can’t!”

“Why!?”

“Gummymon might hate me now, he might think I abandoned him but, but…!!”

“He does not hate yo--” The armored ‘digimon’ dodged another attack but got hit by a second blow, “Khh!!”

“L-Lightnimo--”  by V-mon despair, he also got caught off guard and hit by MadLeomon’s punches. He flew away, collapsing on the ground next to ‘Lightnimon’.

“He… Stop, please! L-Let them talk, you don’t need to protect me anymore!!”

“Master’s orders is to not let you alone and fight anyone who dares to stay on your way.”

“Bu-but they’re not doing anything wrong, please stop!”

“My orders are to eliminate whoever steps in.”

“No, leave them alone! MY order is to you stop right now!” Wallace stared at the undead digimon, and the digimon somehow stopped.

“Master won’t like this…”

“Well? I’m YOUR master now, and I order you to leave them alone.”

“Yes, master Wallace…” MadLeomon stepped back, and then the boy ran to the other two on the floor.

“Please don’t die here… I would go with you but I can’t, I’ve been watched and this might not be good for either of us…”

“Ghn…” V-mon got up, and then the other very slowly.

“W-we... Can’t leave you h-here…!” the masked ‘digimon’ said.

“... I’m sorry it’s all my fault. It’s my fault that you got hurt…! It’s my fault that I got separated from Gummymon, it’s my fault that Chocomon egg didn’t hatch--”

“It’s not your fault!” he grabbed Wallace by his collar, “You got fooled and kidnapped, we couldn’t do anything to stop it before! Gummymon does not hate you, neither Daisuke-kun nor his friends!”

“We need to leave this place right now, Lightni” V-mon alerted his partner, “I feel something is coming…!”

“W-why are you talking funny?!” Wallace frowned, “That’s not like you…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!I don’t speak funny, that’s my way to be!”

“No really, you’re talking very funny, also what’s with that get up…? You wanted to be cool and save me like your beloved prince?” Wallace smirked.

“You idiot I’m not who you think I am!! I’m--”

“Quit babbling and let’s get outta here Lightni!!”

“R-right…! We will come back for you…!” He freed Wallace and ran after V-mon.

They jumped from the corridor’s window, and mysteriously V-mon evolved to a Fladramon with flaming wings sprouting from his back. Wallace watched them vanish in the horizon, as the other guards reached the floor they were on.

Filled with doubts, the boy couldn’t tell what was said by that mysterious knight.

Somehow, he felt that ‘digimon’ was familiar…

“What are you doing, Daisuke?” was all he could think about.