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mynameismckenziemae · 2 days ago

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I Love You Two

Part 11

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley Bradshaw x OFC x Jake Seresin.

Summary: You start your weekend getaway off with a bang.

Warnings: Adults (18+) only! MDNI! Exhibitionism, masturbation (f), teasing, humiliation, objectification, spanking, ass play, toy use.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

The holidays come and go and due to the somewhat new, still under wraps status of your relationship, you don’t get to spend them with both Bradley and Jake. Paired with yours and their busy schedules, you barely get any time with the two of them together over the next few months.

“You think we should do something for Valentine’s Day?” You ask Bradley over lunch in your office as you unwrap the chocolate heart Jake had placed on your desk this morning. Who again, was ordered to work through his break.

“I know, I know. It’s just a stupid Hallmark holiday,” you repeat the words he’s always said about the holiday and laugh at the look he gives you, “but I think Jake would like it.”

While he hasn’t actually said it, there have been signs that the holiday is at least somewhat important to him. For example, the chocolates he’s been leaving for you and Bradley.

Bradley gives an exasperated sigh as he unwraps a chocolate of his own, but agrees, “Fine.”

“Yes!” You grin, pulling out your phone and sliding it across your desk, “I found this little place two hours from here. It’s got a private hot tub and there’s…”

Bradley just shakes his head as you ramble on, but can’t hide the quirk of his mustache. “Whatever works. Book it and I’ll make sure we both are off.”

“Will do,” you smile, rising when he does and risking a quick kiss, “I can’t fucking wait, Roo.”

His eyes heat at the husky turn of your voice as if he can see all the dirty ideas that are churning around your mind.

“I suddenly can’t either,” he murmurs, leaning back in to brush his lips over yours.

But the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway outside your office has him pulling back.

“See ya tonight,” you sigh, sitting back in your chair, disappointed. “Tell Jake I say hi.”

“Will do,” he replies as he walks out the door.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“Can I at least pick the music since I was banished to sit in the back?” You tease as Jake pulls his truck onto the highway.

Bradley was planning on being a gentleman and letting you ride shotgun, but no way were you going to let his long legs be cramped in the backseat for over 2 hours. So when he ran back inside his apartment to grab his forgotten wallet, you got in the backseat and locked the doors.

Jake laughs. “You are such a pain in the ass.”

“I’m going to give her a pain in the ass later,” Bradley mutters under his breath, handing you Jake’s phone before he slips his fingers through Jake’s on the center console.

“Promises, promises,” you whisper, kissing his cheek before sitting back to scroll Jake’s Spotify.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

An hour or so later, you wake to the truck braking quickly. The steady flow of traffic and your boy's soft murmurs had lulled you to sleep.

“What’s going on?” You yawn, leaning forward to see.

“I think something flew off a trailer,” Jake replies as the vehicle rolls to a stop.

“Yeah,” Bradley confirms, able to see around the side of the semi in front of the truck, “looks like we’ll be here for a bit.”

“Now what?” You sigh, never one to be patient.

“We could play I Spy?” Bradley offers, “Or the license plate game?”

“Sure. There’s California, California, California, and…” you reply dryly, turning to look at the car behind you, “shocker. Another California.”

Jake snorts while Bradley shakes his head.

“Patience has never been a strong suit of hers,” Bradley tells Jake, bringing their still joined hands to place an absent-minded kiss on the back of Jake’s.

“Patience has never been a strong suit of hers,” you mock his words as you sit back with a huff.

15 long minutes pass. Bradley pulls out his phone and Jake hums along to the song playing, thrumming his fingers on the wheel.

It’s been too long since Bradley took you apart like when he took you over his knee and you’re craving to relinquish all control.

He’ll gladly do it if you so ask.

But what’s the fun in that?

“What are you doing back there?” Jake asks when he hears the sounds of you squirming.

You answer with a wink when you catch his eye in the rearview while sliding your panties down your thighs.

Bradley pauses his scrolling when the lace thong lands on the center console where their hands had earlier been joined.

“Liv,” Bradley warns.

“What?” You snap as your fingers trail back up your inner thigh, “I’m bored.”

“We’ll be there in,” Jake checks his phone, “a little over an hour.”

“You can wait an hour,” Bradley states like it’s final.

Your reply is a soft sigh as your fingers slide through your arousal, wetting the tips to ease the circles over your clit.

“Olivia,” Bradley puts his phone down and Jake straightens instinctively at the tone. “You can wait an hour.”

“I,” the shudder running down your spine makes you pause, “don’t want to wait.”

A muscle twitches in Bradley’s jaw when he clenches it.

Jake flushes as he shifts in his seat, turned on by the tension filling the cab.

You kick off your sandals before leaning back, placing a foot on each of their seats.

“Fuck,” you breathe as you dip your fingers inside, “can you hear how wet I am?”

Bradley turns to look at you but you turn his face back to the front with your painted toes, “Ah-ah,” you tsk, “eyes front, Roo.”

He curses under his breath, cheeks turning ruddy but he doesn’t try to look back again. You clench around your fingers, knowing he’s letting you continue…and knowing he’s going to make you pay for it too.

“I can hear it,” Jake murmurs, lust-blown eyes meeting yours in the mirror, “wish I could taste it.”

“Why can’t you?” You ask, slipping your fingers from inside and leaning forward, “here.”

He opens his mouth eagerly, sucking your middle and index fingers into his mouth with a soft groan.

“Good boy,” you murmur. His long eyelashes flutter when you slowly pump them in and out.

A strangled sound escapes Bradley but he covers it up by clearing his throat, looking out the window when you glance his way.

“So good,” you whisper against the shell of his ear before sitting back and resuming where you left off, thoroughly enjoying the way goosebumps rise from your words.

As the traffic continues to crawl, you draw it out, teasing yourself and therefore teasing them.

Jake can’t stop fidgeting and Bradley’s curls are a mess from his hands running through.

“I’m so fucking hard,” Jake admits when you allow yourself to get close, “fuck, Liv. You’re so hot.”

“Why don’t you suck him off, Roo?” You goad him, “Hmm? I know you want to.”

Jake’s head falls back against the rest with a groan and Bradley’s knuckles turn white on his bouncing knee.

“I-he can’t”, Jake whines as the truck creeps ahead, “we’re coming up on a semi here.”

The tinted windows and your dress were keeping you covered from unwanted attention thankfully. But they weren’t that lucky in the front seat.

“I’ll suck you off,” you continue, the lewd, wet sounds of your fingers fucking your pussy all you can hear, “as soon as we get there? Please, Jake? Can I?”

“I-ye-it’s up to Roo,” Jake replies, glancing at the road once more before turning Bradley towards him, meeting in a heated, hungry kiss.

Bradley’s hand comes up to find the hinge of Jake’s jaw as he finds Bradley’s curls, mussing them further. There’s teeth, tongue and so much tension it has you toeing the edge.

Your back arches as the pleasure crests and your soft cry doesn’t drown out the sound of the car horn from behind, making them jump apart as if they were burned.

Jake hits the gas with a frustrated sigh and Bradley’s eyes meet yours before he turns around. He doesn’t have to say a word; you already know.

You’re in so much trouble.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“Thought we weren’t doing gifts,” Jake says from behind you.

“Couldn’t resist,” Bradley replies as Jake rips the paper, “besides, it’s just as much for me as it is for you two.”

The urge to turn around and look is killing you, but you’re already in hot water.

“What are you doing?” You asked when Bradley tugged your dress down as soon as Jake closed the door to your room.

“No bra,” Bradley ignored your question, scoffing when your bare breasts were revealed, “why am I not surprised?”

“I-“ you hissed when he pinched a hardened nipple but it turned to a sigh when Jake sucked the other into his mouth.

It only lasted a moment before Bradley pulled him off by his hair and into another heated kiss.

“Not yet,” Bradley murmured, nipping Jake’s lower lip after breaking the kiss, “she’s being punished, remember?”

“Yeah,” Jake breathed, eyes flicking to Roo’s lips, obviously not listening to a word he said, “Okay.”

You almost laughed but Bradley’s attention was back on you. He reached for your arm before you could pull away and yanked you to the corner of the room.

“What-“

You jumped as your question was cut off by the sound of his hand meeting your ass, quickly followed by the burn.

“If you’re going to act like a naughty little girl,” Bradley tugs your arms behind you, crossing them at the elbows, “then I’m going to treat you like one. You’re going to stay right here in this corner until I’m ready for you to come out.”

The burn of humiliation hasn’t waned and your arousal has only intensified since he left you in the corner nearly a half hour ago.

You positively ache, wetness is now coating your inner thighs as you shift your weight from foot to foot, growing antsier by the second.

Jake’s shuddery inhale when the contents of the gift are revealed only makes it worse.

“The pink one is Liv’s,” Bradley says, the smile in his voice evident.

Your eyes narrow but you don’t say a word. Bradley knows you fucking hate the color pink.

“Can we…” Jake trails off, “now?”

“Yeah,” Bradley answers a little smugly, making goosebumps rise along your body. “Liv?”

“Yes sir?” Your voice sounds so loud as it echoes against the walls inches from your face.

“Come here.”

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“I’m sor-“ your third-or is it fourth? attempt at an apology gets cut off by another harsh slap to your ass.

You give up with a strangled sound, burying your face in the comforter and letting the tears welling in your eyes finally fall. You refuse to let him see you cry.

Your gaze had been on the floor in faux remorse when you'd approached him, but Bradley saw right through your act. He wasted no time bending you over the bed and showing how sorry you weren’t, taking your breath away with quick, harsh spanks. Jake watched with rapt attention, occasionally running a soothing hand down your back and giving you a swat of his own.

Arousal is coating your trembling thighs when Bradley pauses to knead to knead your reddened flesh. “Have you had enough?”

“Why?” You reply shakily, looking over your shoulder with watery eyes, “Is your hand tired?”

Bradley quirks a brow and Jake snorts as he returns from the bathroom, holding a bottle of lube in one hand and something pink in the other. He left a few minutes earlier after a hushed conversation with Roo.

“I was going to let you sit on Jake’s face while I put this in,” Bradley holds up the pink butt plug that Jake must’ve just washed, “but only good girls get their pussy eaten.”

You fight the urge to gulp. While it’s not as big as Bradley or Jake, it’s bigger than a finger.

“I hate pink,” is what you say instead, trying not to wince at how bratty you sound.

“I know,” Bradley grins, opening the lube.

You roll your eyes before resting your head on your crossed arms, refusing to show that you’re a little nervous.

The cold lube hitting your heated skin makes you jolt.

“Jake’s going to get you ready for the plug. Yeah,” Bradley observes as Jake spreads it over his fingers before sliding between your cheeks, “just like that, baby. Get her hole nice and slick.”

“Oh God,” you whimper.

“This okay?” Jake asks, slowly circling your rim as Bradley brushes the hair off your forehead.

“Yeah,” you reply truthfully, knowing they’ll stop at your slightest hesitation, “it’s okay.”

“You’ll tell us if it’s not?” Bradley asks, tilting your chin to look at him.

“I will-oh,” your eyes flutter as Jake gently starts to press a fingertip in. It’s different with no stimulation to your pussy or clit like the few times Bradley’s fingered you in the middle of sex.

“That’s good,” Bradley stands behind him, kissing his neck as his finger slowly pumps in and out. “She’s ready for another.”

You tense up instinctively when he presses a second finger to your hole and Jake hesitates.

“It’s okay,” Bradley says, trailing his fingers down Jake’s arm before dipping down to slide through the wetness on your thighs before ghosting over your clit. A whine escapes as you tighten for only a moment before relaxing, and letting Jake’s fingers in. “See?”

“Fuck,” Jake breathes, letting you get used to the intrusion before gently pumping them in and out.

“Yeah,” Bradley chuckles, nudging your clit every so often to keep you on edge. “How’s it feel?”

“Hot,” Jake murmurs, “tight, just as perfect as her pussy.”

“Mmm,” Bradley agrees, watching as you start pushing back to meet his fingers. “She’s ready for the plug.”

A shiver wracks your body as Jake pulls his fingers from you and he places a kiss on your back in apology before heading to the bathroom to wash his hands. Your breath quickens at the sound of the lube opening again.

“Spread her open for me,” Bradley instructs when Jake returns. His warm, damp hands squeeze your hip reassuringly before stands beside Bradley and he does as he’s told.

Mortification races through you at the gesture; added to the fact that they’re both dressed while you’re naked and so exposed mixed with your pulsing arousal is a heady combination.

“Fuck,” you breathe at the first touch of cool, hard silicone.

“Now touch her clit,” Bradley says, letting you get used to the feel, “but don’t let her cum.”

“Yes sir,” Jake murmurs, sounding farther gone than you as he sneaks his hand between your thighs to give the same sweet, but fleeting traces as Roo.

“That’s it,” Bradley coos, softly pressing the toy in as you whimper from Jake’s touch, “good, Jake. Good.”

Jake’s head falls back at the praise.

The praise you should be getting.

A complaint gets lodged in your throat when Bradley pulls back before pushing it in again; further this time.

“Watch, sweetheart,” Bradley says, “watch her take the widest part.”

Your toes curl as your hole stretches around it and you let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding once it’s in.

“You good?” Bradley whispers, leaning forward to press kisses down the knobs of your spine.

All you can do is nod, feeling like an open, exposed nerve.

He smiles against your back and straightens.

“Can’t wait to play with this while I fuck you,” Bradley toys with it, making you gasp. Jake’s fingers are still teasing your clit while your poor, neglected cunt clenches around nothing. “Here Jake, give me your hand.”

Bradley brings Jake’s hand to the plug, guiding it in and out. Your trembling legs nearly give out when he pauses on the widest part, “See how her greedy hole tries to pull it back in?”

“Yeah,” is all he can manage as he pushes it in one last time before finding Roo’s lips for a hot, tension-fueled kiss.

As you muster the strength to lift off from the bed, more than ready to be fucked, they pull apart, breathing hard.

“Ready for your turn?” Bradley asks him, pulling a plug matching yours from his back pocket, only this one is in blue.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

A/N: I’m so sorry for the delay since the last update. Life is crazy. I hope this is the end of my hiatus, but no guarantees. I really hope you like it. Also, just a little disclaimer that I finished this and edited it while exhausted so I hope it’s not shitty. Also 👇🏻

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

Tagging:

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@dizzybee03

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@lexixstewart

@hookslove1592

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@carolina-on-my-mind03

@racerchix21

@that-one-fangirl69

@mrsbradshaw-seresin01

@sydneejean

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@its-the-pilot

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #i love you two #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley x jake #jake seresin fanfiction #hangster #hangster x ofc

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atleastpleasetelephone · 2 days ago

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Ain't That a Lotta Love - Chapter 4

A story that starts on the set of the 68 Special, with Elvis and his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens. Dorothy has been with Elvis for a long time for good reason - she's no pushover, and she has a habit of getting exactly what she wants. As Elvis' career starts to get back on track, their relationship fundamentally changes too.

Need to catch up? Masterlist is here.

Pairing: Elvis x Dorothy - an OC, his long-term girlfriend

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: Angry!Elvis, angry sex, name-calling, slapping (Dorothy slaps Elvis), possessive kink, Elvis is dominant, Dorothy calls him daddy.

It seems more difficult than usual to get everyone out of the dressing room at the end of the night, and strangely, Steve finds himself being one of the last people there. He spent a lot of the evening talking to Jerry, who he finds the least objectionable of the Mafia, and probably too much time watching Dorothy’s interactions with both Elvis and the rest of the guys. As he’d noticed when he first met her, she flirts to get her way and she always seems to be successful. Everything she does appears to be a calculated technique to unbalance whoever she’s talking to, whether it’s saying something outrageous (he can tell when she’s done that by the expression on their face) or exposing some kind of body part she knows they’ll be interested in. As he carries on his conversation with Jerry, he thinks about her doing the same thing to him. Telling him about the girls, coming way too close to him to light that cigarette, suggesting he get involved in their relationship and making him almost crash the car… And now does she have what she wants? He almost sighs out loud right in the middle of whatever Jerry is currently saying. This whole thing is frying his brain.

Jerry and Steve are the last people to leave, and as usual Dorothy thanks Jerry for clearing everyone else out with a kiss on the cheek. Elvis is mumbling something about tomorrow’s press conference when she turns and does the same thing to Steve, her soft lips pressing against his slightly stubbly cheek.

“Night, Steve.”

Poor Steve can’t stop himself from blushing for what seems like the hundredth time today, blood rushing to his face as he thinks about her doing this in front of Elvis, when he doesn’t know what she’s been promising. His blood starts to rush somewhere else, too, thinking about her and Elvis going to bed now, not helped by the other man grabbing his girlfriend around the waist and squeezing her to his side. Fuck. Where did that come from? Steve swallows hard, wishing everyone a good night’s sleep and trying to say something enthusiastic about the press conference, although he has no idea if the words come out in the right order. He’s relieved when he walks through the door with Jerry and knows he’s going back to his car and his house, away from this madness for a few hours.

“What’ve ya been doin’ to poor old Steve, Dodo?” Elvis asks her, still squeezing her tightly. “He was beet red back there. Ya been teasin’ him again? I need him, y’know, functioning and e’erythin’ fer this press thing tomorrow.”

Dorothy smirks. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Well cut it out, baby. I need him.”

Elvis’ tone is a little sharp and she doesn’t like her chances with what she’s about to say next.

“About Steve…”

“Mmhmm.”

She moves in front of him, her hands on his chest, looking up into his face. She’s so small in her flats that she has to crane her neck to do it, but she has his full attention now.

“Remember you told me I could choose our next additional… person?”

He frowns, and she can almost see his brain working, trying to figure out what this has to do with Steve. “Sure.”

“What if… um… what if it was Steve?”

He stares at her for a good minute without saying anything. The silence is so long, and his gaze is so intense, that she starts to feel a little afraid. His hands press into her back, holding her so tightly she thinks she might have bruises in the morning.

“What the fuck?” Is his eventual response, said so coldly that her fear spreads and she starts to wonder if she should try and weasel her way out of this. Maybe she’s underestimated just how easy it would be to persuade him.

“I just thought, that maybe…” she starts, uncertainly.

He cuts her off. “You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck all my friends, or just him?”

She doesn’t know how to respond. Obviously she doesn’t want to fuck the rest of the Mafia. The thought turns her stomach. But she’s not convinced that anything she says right now is going to help.

Elvis obviously isn’t happy with her silence, one of his hands moving to grip her jaw. “Hm? You want to fuck them all or just him? Answer me, ya little slut.”

Dorothy’s temper flares immediately at the use of the word slut, and she twists her body out of his grip, throwing her head back like a flighty horse to get his hand off her face. Then she slaps him. The sound echoes around the little room.

“Don’t you fucking calling me a slut!” She rages. “What about all the girls you’ve been with?”

“You’ve been with them all too!” He thunders back, trying to grab her again and missing.

“Not fucking Ann-Margaret!”

“Don’t you bring her up again! You stupid fucking…” he stops himself calling her a bitch, breath coming in pants now, adrenalin coursing through his veins. This is how they used to fight, when he fucked girls behind her back, before they came to their agreement.

They stare at one another, both panting, both angry, both turned on. It’s seconds before they’re kissing, hands everywhere, bodies pressed together. Elvis grabs her ass, picking her up easily and plonking her down on the lid of the piano, pushing up her dress and tearing at her panties. Another pair ruined.

“I’m gonna make ya forget all about Steve,” he growls into her ear, as he enters her, roughly. “Fuck ya til ya forget his damn name.”

She whimpers, her head falling back as he starts to fuck her, her back pressing uncomfortably against the hard wood of the piano. She can barely remember the last time he was inside her, never mind the last time he had her like this. Her fingers dig into his hair as he nips at her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, then getting hungrier, biting her and making her yelp.

Around the time they’d started fighting, Steve had realised he’d forgotten his wallet. He sighs at his own stupidity, and wearily makes his way back into the building. It’s so goddamn late, all he wants to do is sleep, but he shouldn’t really drive without his license. He gets to the door of the dressing room and pauses. The light is still on, and there’s the unmistakable sound of… fucking?

“Who do ya belong to?” Elvis growls again, loud enough so that Steve, standing outside and somehow completely paralysed, can hear every word.

“You,” Dorothy moans in response as he pounds her against the piano.

“Who’s fucking pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

“Yours, who?”

She lets out a pornographic moan as a slight change in angle has his dick hitting her g-spot over and over again.

“Yours, Daddy. Only yours. Oh FUCK.”

Steve still can’t move. He knows he should turn away and go back to his car but the way her voice sounds, cracking with pleasure, and the strangled, desperate moans that accompany it… he just can’t tear himself away.

Eventually the orgasm building inside her hits its crescendo, and she’s squealing and flailing her arms around desperately. Her pussy squeezes Elvis’ dick like a vice and he moans too, their pleasured noises mingling with the sound of skin slapping together as he reaches his high, cumming deep inside her.

They’re both quiet as Elvis buries his head in the crook of her neck and she strokes his hair gently. Something about the silence makes Steve realise just what he’s doing, and he decides he’d better go. Wallet be damned. He walks away slowly, thinking of the words he’d heard them say to one another over and over again. Embarrassingly, he has to adjust himself as he gets into the car, his hard-on pressing against his jeans. He shouldn’t have stayed there for so long, and he mentally berates himself for being whatever the listening version of a peeping Tom is. Some kind of pervert, anyway.

None the wiser, Elvis and Dorothy gradually untangle themselves and silently shower and get ready for bed, communicating through their usual little glances and touches. As they get under the sheets she clings to him, kissing his chest and running her fingers through the little patch of hair there.

“I love you,” she whispers.

Elvis runs a hand up her back. “I love you too, Dodo.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She looks up. “El?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I never told you I had a thing about two guys, did I?”

Elvis huffs out a sigh. He should’ve known the Steve subject wouldn’t be closed, but he’s still frustrated.

“No. Ya didn’t.”

“Thought you’d be jealous.”

“I am.”

She groans, rubbing her head against his chest like a cat. “But I love you, El. I just want to try this. And you love Steve.” She looks up at him, frowning. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to share me with Lamar.”

Elvis can’t help smirking a little. He tries to force the corners of his mouth back down again, but her mock-serious expression is making it very hard not to laugh.

“If ya ever ask me that,” he replies, poking the end of her nose with his finger as he tries and fails to stay serious, “I’ll tan yer hide lil girl, an’ not in a way you’ll enjoy.”

They look at one another for a beat and then both burst out laughing. She snuggles into him somehow even more.

“So… is that a yes then?”

Elvis groans. “How do ya do it? How do ya always get whatever ya want?”

It’s her turn to poke the end of his nose now. “Takes one to know one.”

***

Elvis is excited about the press conference. He prods Steve in the side on their way into the room. “Come on, these are always fun,” he declares, before bounding through the door.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and Steve pushes all thoughts of what he’d heard in the dressing room last night to the back of his mind. He’s wearing the ascot Elvis had bought him and Bones Howe as gifts, and he’s pleased with how it looks. The conference goes well - Elvis has plenty to say, and he alternates between being serious about the show and giving funny, teasing answers. Every time he’s about to give one of the latter he kicks Steve under the table, and it’s all the other man can do not to laugh out loud.

Elvis isn’t quite sure how he managed to get into such an excellent mood, but he thinks it has to do with the excellent sex he had last night and the fact that Dorothy has been virtually clinging to him ever since. Part of him is wondering if he did actually fuck her hard enough to make her forget about Steve, although he does remember somehow agreeing to let her have some fun with both of them. When he’s not thinking about a way to answer a question that will amuse him and hopefully make the man next to him laugh inappropriately, he’s thinking about Dorothy’s pussy. Of course he’s been intimately acquainted with it for years, but since the girls had been around he tended to fuck them more than her. It’s something he’s starting to regret now, missing out on so much good pussy just for the sake of variety.

He’d taken an upper before the conference, just to make sure he was on form, but it only kicks in properly afterwards, when they’re all celebrating how well everything had gone. Dorothy is sitting on his lap as he talks rapidly at Steve about his chances of persuading the Colonel to let them film in the dressing room.

“Doubt ya’ll get him ta but y’know it’s worth a try. I mean if anyone can, you can Steve, you’re like a wizard with the fat man or somethin’.”

Steve laughs at being described as a wizard, and is just about to reply when Joe interrupts. “We’re knackered, boss. Think we’re gonna head off, if that’s alright with you?”

Elvis looks up to see the assembled crowd of guys on their feet, shuffling back and forth somewhat awkwardly. They do look beat. His first instinct is to insist that they stay, but then he thinks about how he’d really like to spend a bit more time with Dorothy, and that the guys did tend to get in the way.

“Sure. Hell, why don’tcha all have tomorrow off too?”

Joe's eyebrows shoot up and he looks around, wondering if this is some kind of joke he's not in on.

“Uh, sure, EP.”

Elvis nods quickly and grins. “Sure y'all can think of somethin’ to do for a day in LA.” He looks over at Dorothy with lust in his eyes and has to bite his tongue not to tell everyone exactly what, or who, he intends to do all day in LA tomorrow.

“Sure thing, boss,” Joe replies, quickly shepherding the rest of the guys out of the door before Elvis changes his mind.

Steve looks around the room and suddenly realises it’s only the three of them left. Panic rising in his throat he starts babbling about going too.

“You probably want some time alone, I-I’ll just um… I should go…” He finds himself thinking of their alone time the night before and his face starts to colour.

Dorothy puts a hand on his arm. “I’d like it if you stayed. You’d… we’d like it if you stayed, wouldn’t we, El?” She tips her head back to look at her boyfriend.

Elvis nods, silently, although he doesn’t know if he would like it. He wants Dorothy to himself, and the atmosphere in the room is starting to seem charged and a little strange.

“Oh… okay,” Steve mumbles.

Dorothy’s thumb strokes his arm and he tries to get his breathing under control. What the fuck is she planning?

Dorothy sees the look of panic on his face and at the same time feels the irritation radiating off Elvis, underneath her. She has to do something to get this situation back under control. Her control. Make it less weird and more fun. It helps that she’s several drinks in already, and it doesn’t take long for her to think of something, getting up and starting to look around the room for a deck of cards, so that they can play poker. Strip-poker, to be precise. She giggles to herself.

“What’re ya doin’, Dodo?” Elvis sounds annoyed, and it’s probably not helped by the pills he took earlier. His eyes flick around the room at high speed, trying to figure her out, as his heart beats quickly and sweat beads at his temples.

“Looking for… aha!” She spins around, deck of cards in hand. “These!”

“What on earth for, baby?” He asks, confused. It’s not as if she’s ever been a great lover of card games.

She grins, wickedly.

“Strip poker.”

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rubylace · 15 hours ago

Text

PART 1. FIRST SUMMERS

m.list

pairing: musician!jay x reader (f) updated hybe idols . yeonjun txt, yunjin lsrfm, nagyung fromis9

genre: coming-of-age, new adult, personal growth, sexual tension, fams dynamic, lovehate

wordcount: 37k (the longest I've ever made istg)

warning: harsh words

a/n: I'm using his real identity, to stay realistic bc it also has to do with his favorite lover - guitar. so don't put it to heart the bad side fyi I dare not be jealous ok love ya 𖹭

A car nearly hit you as you practically floated across the street in a daze after leaving the attorney's office. All these years, you’d tried so hard not to think about him. Now, he was all you could think about. Flashes of him invaded your mind. His dark hair, his laughter, the strum of his guitar, the deep sadness and disappointment in his gorgeous eyes the last time you saw him 9 years ago.

You was never supposed to face him again, let alone own a house with him. Living with Jay was not an option, even if just for the summer. It was probably more like there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jay was going to agree to share a house with you. Whether you liked it or not, though, the beach house in Newport was common property now. Not yours. Not his. Fifty-fifty.

“What the hell was Ameryn thinking?” You’d always known she cared deeply about him, but there was no way you could have predicted the extent of her generosity. He wasn’t even related to you, but she’d always thought of him as her grandson. You picked up your phone and scrolled down to Nagyung’s name. When she picked up, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Where are you?” you asked.

“On the west side. Why?”

“Can you meet up? I really need to talk to someone.”

“Are you okay?”

Your mind went blank before slowly filling again with fragmented thoughts of Jay. Your chest tightened. He hated you. You’d avoided him for so long, but you was really going to have to face him now. Nagyung’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, where are you again?”

“Meet me at the falafel place. We’ll have an early dinner and talk about whatever is going on.”

“Okay. See you in ten.”

Nagyung was a fairly new friend, so she knew little about your childhood or teen years. You taught together at a local charter school in Providence. You had taken today off to meet with your grandmother’s attorney, the smell of cumin and dried mint saturated the air inside of the fast food Nagyung waved from a corner booth, a piled-high styrofoam container of tahini covered chicken kabobs and rice already planted in front of her.

“You’re not gonna get anything to eat?” she asked with her mouth full, a dollop of yogurt sauce coated the side of her mouth.

“No. I’m not hungry. Maybe I’ll take something to go on the way out. I just needed to talk.”

“What is going on?” your throat felt parched.

“Actually, I need something to drink first. Hang on.” The room felt like it was swaying as you made your way to the refrigerator by the counter and returning from purchasing a bottle of water, you sat down and let out a deep breath. “I got some pretty crazy news today at the lawyer's office.”

“Okay…”

“So, obviously you know I went there because my grandmother passed away a month ago.”

“Yes.”

“I was just meeting with the attorney to go over her estate turns out she left me all of her jewelry and half of her summer house on Aquidneck Island.”

“What? The beautiful house in that picture on your desk?”

“Yeah. That’s the one. We’d always go there a lot in the summer when I was younger, but in recent years, she’d rented it out. The property had been in her family for generations. It’s older, but it’s beautiful and overlooks the water.”

“Y/n, that’s amazing. Why do you seem so upset?”

“Well…she left the other half to a guy named Jay Park.”

“Who is that?”

“He was just a boy I grew up with. My Ameryn took care of him while his parents worked. Jay’s house was on one side, mine was on the other, and Ameryn’s was in the middle.”

“So, he was kind of like a brother to you?”

“We were close for many years.”

“From the look on your face, I get the feeling that something changed?”

“You’d be right.”

“What happened?”

There was no way you could handle rehashing it all. Today had already been too much for you to absorb. You would give her a shorter version.

“Basically, I found out he was keeping something from me. And I freaked out. I’d rather not get into it. But let’s just say I was fifteen at the time and having a really hard time handling my hormones and my issues with my mother. I made a rash decision to move away and live with my dad.”

Swallowing the pain, you said, “I left everything behind in Providence and moved to New Hampshire.”

Thankfully, Nagyung didn’t pry as to what the secret was. That wasn’t the issue you needed to talk about today. It was more important for her to help you figure out your next step than for you to be opening old wounds.

“So, you basically ran away from it all rather than dealing with it.”

“Yeah. Ran away from my problems…and from Jay.”

“You haven’t spoken to him since?”

“After I left, there were several months where there was no contact. I felt so guilty about the way I handled things. I did eventually try to see him and apologize once I came to my senses, but by then it was too late. He didn’t want to see me or talk to me..”

“..I can’t say I blamed him. He’d moved on, got in with a different crowd and then eventually moved to New York soon after graduating high school. We just completely lost touch, but he stayed in contact with Ameryn apparently. She was like a second mom to him.”

“Do you know what’s become of him?”

“I haven’t looked him up. I’ve always been too scared to find out.”

“Well, we need to take care of that right now.” She put down her fork and dug inside her purse for her phone.

“Whoa? what are you doing?”

“You know I’m a self-proclaimed professional stalker.”

Nagyung smiled. “I’m looking him up on Insta. Jay Park, you said his name was? And he lives in NYC?”

Covering your eyes. “I can’t look. I won’t look. There are probably hundreds of guys named Jay Park out there anyway. You probably won’t find him.”

“What does he look like?”

“The last time I saw him, he was 16, so I’m sure he doesn’t look the same. He has messy hair, though.”

He was really cute. You can still see his face like it was yesterday. You could never forget it. Nagyung was reading aloud information for the different Jay popping up on Instagram. Nothing stood out until she said, “Jay Park, New York, musician at BAM Acoustic Guitar.”

Your heart dropped, and to your surprise, you could feel tears trying to fight their way through your eyelids. The emotions rising to the surface so fast were unsettling.

It was as if he’d come back from the dead. “What did you just say? Works where?”

��Just In Time Acoustic Guitar? Is that him?” The words wouldn’t come out, so you stayed silent, pondering the name it was the same one he’d always used even as a kid playing guitar on your street corner.

“That’s him,” you finally conceded.

“Oh my God, Y/n!”

Your heart started to pound faster. “What?”

“This guy is…”

“What? Tell me,” you practically yelled before downing the rest of your water.

“He’s gorgeous. Absolutely freaking gorgeous.” Covering your face, you said, “Please don’t tell me that.”

“Take a look.”

“I can’t.”

Before you could refuse again, Nagyung shoved the phone in front of your face. It shook in your hands as you took it. From what you could see in the one photo, he was beautiful just like you remembered, but at the same time, really different. Grown up.

He was wearing a gray beanie and had a fair amount of chin scruff that he was never able to grow when you knew him. In the profile pic, he was leaning into a guitar and looked like he was about to sing into a microphone. The look on his face was intense and gave you the chills. When you went to click on the other photos, it wouldn’t let you in because his profile was set to private.

Nagyung reached out for the phone. “He’s a musician?”

“I guess so,” you said, handing it back to her.

You muttered to yourself. ‘He used to write songs for me.’

“Are you going to contact him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I guess I don’t even know what to say to him. Whatever is meant to happen will happen. I’ll end up having to talk to him eventually. I’m just not gonna be the one to make the first move.”

“How exactly is this housing arrangement going to work anyway?”

“Well, the attorney gave me a set of keys and told me that another set was sent to Jay. Both of our names will be on the deed. Ameryn also set aside some money to be used for house repairs and maintenance to the property during the off season. I’m assuming he’s been made aware of all of the same info.”

“You don’t want to sell the house, right?”

“No way. There are too many memories, and it meant so much to Ameryn. I’m going to use it this summer and then maybe eventually rent it out if he agrees to it.”

“So, you have no idea how he plans to use his half? You’re just going to show up there in a few weeks, and if he’s there, he’s there, and if he’s not, he’s not?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

*****

At 24, you was single again and starting a new life in Newport for the summer. Your teaching job in Providence afforded you summers off. Your hope was to find a temporary job for the season, but for now, you just wanted to enjoy a few weeks of relaxation.

Returning from downtown Newport with your bag of crustaceans one night, you noticed that the front door to the house was wide open.

“Did I forget to lock it? Was it the wind?” your heartbeat accelerated when you entered the kitchen to find a tall, leggy chick with short, cropped platinum blonde hair. She looked was stocking the cabinets. You cleared your throat.

“Hello?” She turned around before covering her chest.

“Oh my god. You scared me.”

Walking over to you smiling, she held out her hand. “I’m Yunjin”

With fine features, high cheekbones and that pixie cut, Yunjin could have been a model. You was the complete opposite from her physically with your long and dark hair, and curvy figure.

“I’m Y/n. Who are you?”

“I’m Jay's girlfriend.”

“Oh…I see. Where is he?”

“He just went to the market and the liquor store.”

“How long have you been here?”

“We just arrived about an hour ago.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Not sure really. We’re just gonna see where the summer takes us. Neither of us were expecting this development..you know, the house.”

“Yeah, I know.” You looked down at the French-manicured toes peeking out of her heels.

“Do you work?”

“I’m an actress, actually on Broadway. Off Broadway for now. I’m in between jobs, but I’ll probably be going back and forth to New York for auditions. What do you do?”

“I’m a middle school teacher. So, I get the summers off.”

“Oh, that’s really cool.”

“Yeah. It’s fun.”

“Where does Jay work?”

“He works from home right now. He sells software. He can work from anywhere. He also performs. You know he’s a musician, right?”

“Actually, I don’t know much about him anymore.”

“What happened between you two anyway? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“He’s never told you anything about me?”

“Just that you grew up together and that you’re Mrs. A’s granddaughter. Honestly, he never mentioned you at all until we got that letter from the attorney.”

Even that was expected, it made you sad. “That’s no surprise.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Did you guys ever date?”

“No. It was nothing like that. We were just good friends, but we drifted apart after I moved away.”

“I see. This whole thing is a little weird, right? I mean, inheriting a house like this out of nowhere?”

“Well, my grandma was very generous, and she loved Jay very much. My mom is her only child, and she loved Jay like a grandson, so—”

“Your grandma left the house to you and not your mom?”

“Mom and her had a bit of a falling out some years ago. Thankfully, they made amends before she died, but things were never really the same again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.”

Yunjin opened her arms to pull you into a casual hug. “Well, I really hope we can be friends. It will be nice to have a girl around to shop with, check out the island.”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

“I hope you’ll have dinner with us tonight?” You wasn’t ready to face him. You needed to make up a story and get out of here. “Actually, probably not tonight. I’d better be leaving.”

“That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” a deep voice you hardly recognized interrupted you from behind.

“What’s that?” you asked, swallowing nervously and refusing to turn around to look at him.

“Leaving,” he said louder. “That’s what you’re good at.”

Your breathing was ragged, but it was when you turned around that you nearly lost it. Jay was standing in front of you, and you swear it was like the boy you’d left behind had been swallowed up by a lean mass of muscle.

He just looked so different from what you remembered years ago. The anger on his face was transparent and somehow made him even more incredibly hot. It just would have been better if it weren’t directed toward you. His skin was a beautiful shade of bronze that complemented the natural golden streaks in his dark hair.

The smooth face you remembered was now rough. A rope and barb wire tattoo wrapped around his bicep. He was wearing camouflage cargo shorts with a tight white ribbed tank that hugged his chiseled chest. An indeterminate amount of time passed as you just took him in. Even though you was too stunned to say anything, your heart was screaming.

You knew deep down your reaction wasn’t just because of your physical attraction to him. It was because despite all of the changes, one thing had stayed exactly the same. His eyes. They reflected the same hurt that you remembered from the very last time you saw him. His name finally managed to roll off your tongue. “Jay…”

“Yes.” The deep, throaty sound of his voice vibrated through you.

“I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I have?” he sneered.

“Well, I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

“You’ve overestimated your significance to me. Of course, I was going to come. This is half my house.”

His words stung. “I didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s just, I hadn’t heard anything from you.”

“Interesting how that goes.”

Clearly uncomfortable with the sparring, Yunjin cleared her throat. “I was just asking Y/n if she wanted to have dinner with us tonight. Maybe you guys can catch up.”

“Apparently, she already has plans.” You turned to him.

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you’re holding a bag that smells like dirty snatch?”

“It’s fresh seafood.”

“Doesn’t smell very fresh to me.”

“God. We haven’t seen each other in five years, and this is how you act?”

You turned to Yunjin. “Is he always this rude?” Before she could answer, he cracked, “I guess you bring it out in me.”

“You think Ameryn would be happy right now with your attitude? Something tells me she didn’t leave us this house so that we could fight with each other.”

“She left us both this house because we each meant something to her that doesn’t mean we have to mean anything to each other. Anyway, if you cared so much about what she thought maybe you shouldn’t have run away.”

“That’s a low blow.”

“The truth hurts, I guess.”

“I tried to contact you, Jay. I–”

“I’m not talking about this now, Y/n.” He said, speaking through gritted teeth. “It’s old news.”

It was unnerving to hear him to calling the name like that. Aside from the very first day you’d met, he’d always called you Patch or Patchy. Hearing your name come out of his mouth felt like a slap in the face for some reason, like he was trying to emphasize how much you’d grown apart.

Jay went from hot to cold as he shut down, heading back outside to retrieve the groceries from his car but not before slamming the door behind him. You shuddered, looking over at Yunjin whose eyeballs were moving back and forth from side to side in confusion. “Well, that was a nice start,” you joked.

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen him act like that toward anyone to be honest. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Believe it or not, I probably deserve it.”

The only thing worse than the rude reception he’d given you was his blatantly ignoring you during dinner and for the rest of that night. That hurt more than anything he could have ever said to you. You thought the evening was horrible, lack of sleep assured that the next morning was even worse. Apparently, Jay found a way to take out his anger by taking it out on Yunjin.

Let’s just say playing guitar wasn’t the only talent he’d fully developed over time. Yunjin's moaning in the middle of the night as Jay pounded into her woke you up in the middle of the night. The walls literally shook, it was impossible to go back to sleep after that.

You tossed and turned your thoughts alternating between rehashing Jay's words to you from earlier to imagining what that scene in the other room actually looked like.

You used the opportunity to admire his stature and the flawless skin of his defined, shirtless back. Black gym pants hugged his beautifully round a**. You never realized how incredible his a** was. Your physical attraction to him really irked me under the circumstances, but that didn’t stop you from checking him out.

Squinting, you unsuccessfully tried to figure out what it was. He startled you when he suddenly turned around and met you with an incendiary stare. “Do you always ogle people when you think they can’t see you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “How did you know I was standing here?”

“I could see your reflection in the window, genius.”

“You didn’t even flinch. I didn’t think you noticed me.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you trying to make me hate you or something? Because you’re doing a pretty damn good job.”

Jay didn’t answer your question. Instead, he just turned back around toward the window.

“Why do you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?”

“Say things to piss me off then shut down?”

He continued to speak to the window, “Would you rather I just continue to piss you off? I’m trying to get my anger in check with you, Y/n. You should be happy I know when to stop unlike some people.”

“Will you at least look at me when you’re talking to me?”

He turned around and walked toward me slowly then leaned his face in. You could feel his words on my lips when he asked, “Is this better? You’d rather me in your face like this?” you could practically taste his breath.

Your entire body felt weak from the close contact, so you backed away. “I didn’t think so,�� he snarled. You walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, pretending to look for something. It annoyed you that your peaceful mornings were a thing of the past.

“You always get up this early?” you asked.

“I’m a morning person.”

“I can see that so bright and cheery,” you said, sarcastically.

“Some of us need sleep, though.”

“I slept just fine last night.”

“Oh, I know after you traumatized me. You must have passed out after all that screwing could you two have been any louder last night?”

“Well, excuse me. If I can’t f*ck in my own house where do you expect me to do it?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. Just be more respectful.”

“Define respect.”

“Doing it quietly.”

“Sorry. I don’t f*ck quietly.”

As much as you hated that answer, you somehow felt that those words would be repeating in your head later tonight.

“Forget it. Clearly, you don’t know the meaning of respect.”

“Respect you? Why? Because you’re not getting laid? Why don’t you hook up with some salty dude down at the dock? Maybe then you won’t care so much about other people’s business.”

“Salty dude?”

“Yeah. You know, the guys that live on the boats the ones who sell you that nasty fish you were eating last night.”

You just shook your head and rolled your eyes, refusing to dignify that comment with a response. He surprised you when he suddenly lifted the carafe. “Want some coffee?”

“Now you’re being nice?”

“No, I just figured you’re sticking around for some reason. It must be the coffee.”

“This is my kitchen.”

He winked. “Our kitchen.” Grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, he asked, “How do you take yours?”

“Cream and sugar.”

“I’ll take care of it while you go put on a bra.”

You looked down at your b**bs which were hanging freely beneath your white t-shirt not expecting to run into him this early, you hadn’t thought to put one on. Too embarrassed to acknowledge the fact that he’d noticed, you went back to your room and got dressed when you returned he was back at the window drinking his coffee.

“Is this better?” you asked, referring to your dress. He turned around and gave you a once over.

“Define better. If better means I can’t see your tits anymore…yes, it’s better. If better, means you look better, that’s debatable.”

“What’s wrong with this?”

“It looks like you sewed it yourself.”

“Actually, it’s from one of the shops on the island. It is handmade.”

“Out of a potato sack?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe?”

He snickered. “Your coffee’s on the counter, raggedy ann.”

Your inclination was to try to come up with a comeback but then you realized that was probably what he wanted, you needed to kill him with kindness instead of showing your anger. “Thank you. That was nice of you to make it for me.”

You took a sip and immediately spit it out. “What did you put in this? It’s so strong!”

Instead of answering you, he just started to crack up. His laughter resonated through the kitchen and as much as you hated that it was at your expense, it was the first time he’d laughed. It took you back in time for a moment and served as the only real reminder that the smoking hot a**hole in front of you used to be your bestfriend.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s a bit strong. What is it?”

“It’s coffee fusion, actually.”

“What does that even mean?”

Jay sauntered over to the cabinet and took out a can and a package. “It’s my own recipe. Cuban coffee mixed with this one.” He pointed to the black packaging that had a white skull and crossbones on it.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s coffee. I order it online. Nothing else is caffeinated enough for me.”

“That’s why you wanted to serve it to me, wasn’t it? You knew I’d hate this concoction.”

He simply let out that raspy laugh of his again, except this time, he was laughing way harder than before. Yunjin entered the kitchen, wearing a long black t-shirt that must have been the one he wasn’t wearing.

“What’s so funny?” Jay's mischievous eyes peeked from behind his mug.

He snickered. “We were just having coffee.”

Yunjin shook her head. “You didn’t drink his mud, did you? I don’t know how he likes that stuff.” You reminded yourself of your plan to kill him with kindness. Taking another sip of the coffee, you nodded.

“Actually, at first taste, it was pretty strong, but I actually think I really like it.” It was disgusting.

“You’d better be careful. That sh*t is potent. Jay is immune to it, but the one and only time I drank it, it kept me up for like four days.”

Jay laughing. “Apparently, we kept Y/n up last night.”

Yunjin turned to you. “Oh, sh*t. I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, you said, “It’s no big deal. I got used to it after a while.”

“Was that when you decided you wished you could join in?” he cracked.

You wasn't going to respond to that. The more you looked over at his smug expression, the more determined yoi became to finish the entire damn mug of coffee to spite him. “I’m really surprised at how much I’m actually liking this,” lied.

Yunjin chose to ignore Jay's earlier comment. “What do you say after breakfast we head to town, Y/n? I’d love it if you could show me around the island.”

“Alright. That would be nice.”

She walked over to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. “You want to come with us, babe?”

Jay said before finishing off the last of his coffee and putting the cup in the sink. “No. I have sh*t to do,”

“Okay. Just the girls then.”

The coffee had turned you into a spaz. As Yunjin and you walked around Newport that morning, she kept having to tell you to slow down. Apparently, in her heels, she couldn’t keep up with you. At one point later in the afternoon, you stopped to rest your legs. Yunjin and you sat on a wooden bench overlooking the dozens of docked sailboats as the sun shined over the water.

“So, how did you and Jay meet?” you asked.

“I was in the audience at this club called Showbox in Seattle, Jay was performing there that night. He was eyeing me the whole time he was singing and after the show, he came to find me. When he said he was thinking of me while he was singing the last song, I nearly died. We’ve been inseparable since.”

Your face felt hot. You wasn’t willing to admit to yourself that it was jealousy. The thought of them connecting so intimately while he was in the middle of performing made you uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe because it reminded you of the songs he used to write for you. You’d think nothing would bother you after having to endure their f*cking last night.

“What kind of music does he play now?”

“Well, he does some covers of artists like Drake, but he also writes a lot of original stuff. He mostly plays clubs, but his manager has been trying to get him a music deal. Of course, the girls all go crazy over him. That part has taken some getting used to for me.”

“I’m sure it’s hard.”

“Yeah. Big time.” She tilted her head. “What about you? No boyfriend?”

“I just got out of a relationship.” You confide in her as if she were just a normal friend to you.

On the way home, you passed Yeonjun’s on the Beach, a restaurant that was known for live music at night and really good food. A sign out front read, Temporary Summer Help Wanted. Since there was a university just over the bridge, a lot of the students went home in the summer, leaving some of the local restaurants in need of temporary wait staff. You stopped short in front of the entrance.

“Do you mind if I go in and inquire about this?”

“Sure. I’d actually like to check it out, too.”

Both Yunjin and you had waitressing experience so you sat down and filled out applications, by the time you walked out of there, we each had a job. The manager basically told you could work any night you wanted. The extra money and flexibility was impossible to pass up, Yunjin was particularly happy that he’d told her it was no problem if she had to suddenly cancel a shift in the event she got called back to Manhattan for an audition. You were each going to start tomorrow.

That night, Yunjin thought you should celebrate new jobs over dinner and drinks on the upper deck back at the house. It hadn’t dawned on you how peaceful being away from Jay all day had been. When you walked in the door, butterflies started to swarm in your stomach again as soon as you smelled his cologne.

Jay was standing in the kitchen drinking a beer when Yunjin ran over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jay was tall over six feet but Serim wasn’t that much shorter than him. Next to both of them, you was basically a midget. He cleaned up nice, Jay had changed out of his camouflage shorts from earlier into dark jeans and a gray shirt with black stripes that hugged his chest. He’d done something to his hair that you couldn’t pinpoint. She ran her fingers through his hair then kissed him.

“I missed you. Guess what? We both got jobs at this restaurant on the beach.”

“Did you tell them you could get called back to New York anytime?”

“The guy said it didn’t matter. He said I could basically just work whenever I want.”

“Really. That sounds a bit shady to me. But whatever. You sure he doesn’t just want in your pants, Serim?”

“He said the same thing to me,” you interrupted.

“Well, then it can’t be that.”

It took you a bit to realize that he’d just insulted you. Yunjin intercepted before you could muster up a comeback.

“It’s mild out. How about we all have dinner on the upstairs deck tonight. We could barbecue that steak I have marinating in the fridge.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her you don’t like red meat, so you just kept quiet. He would probably think you was looking for an excuse not to have dinner with them. Kill him with kindness. “I’m not that great of a cook, but I can make a big salad.”

Jay smacked the counter. “Great. I’ll start the grill while Y/n tosses her big salad.” He started to walk outside when you yelled after him.

“You know what Ameryn would say to you right now? She’d tell you to go wash your dirty mouth out with soap.”

He turned around and lifted his brow. “Soap wouldn’t cut it.”

After chopping up lettuce, carrots, red onion, tomatoes and cucumbers, you dressed the salad with homemade honey mustard vinaigrette. You carried it upstairs where Jay and her were already sitting down at the table. She had poured three glasses of merlot, and Jay was sipping one as he looked over at the waves, which were rough tonight.

Once you started eating, Jay wouldn’t look at you or make conversation. You filled your plate with salad and bread, and it took a while before anyone noticed that you wasn’t eating anything else. Yunjin’s mouth was full when she said, “You didn’t even touch the steak.”

“I don’t really like to eat meat.”

Jay chuckled. “Is that why you can’t find a man?”

You dropped your fork. “You’re a prick seriously I don’t recognize you anymore, how were we ever best friends?”

“I used to ask myself that all the time before I stopped giving a sh*t.”

You got up from the table and went downstairs. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Yunjin in and out slowly to calm yourself down, she came up quietly behind you.

“I really don’t get what’s going on between you two or why he refuses to talk about it.”

“Are you sure you guys never dated?”

“I told you, Yunjin. It wasn’t anything like that.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“I think he should be the one to explain it to you. Honestly, I don’t know. Anything that happened before that is irrelevant now. He’s pissed because of how I handled something or just running away, that's how i survive. Let’s just go back upstairs and try to have a nice dinner.”

Back on the upper deck, Jay was stone-faced, pouring more wine into his glass. A part of you wanted to slap him across the face, but another part felt guilty that you had caused so much anger in him. He said he didn’t care, but you refused to believe he would be acting up like this if he didn’t.

You touched his arm. “Will you just talk to me?”

He whipped his arm away. “I’m over it. I’m not talking about anything.”

“Will you do it for Ameryn?”

His head flipped up, and his eyes darkened. “Stop f*cking bringing her into this. Your grandma was a wonderful woman. She was the mother I never had. She never turned her back on me like pretty much everyone else in my life. This house is a representation of your mom, which is why I’m here.”

“I’m not here because of you. You want me to talk, but what you don’t seem to understand is that I don’t have anything to say about anything that happened almost a decade ago. I’ve erased it all. It’s too late, Y/n. I don’t care if you and Yunjin become friends, alright? But don’t bother trying to get through to me because we’re not gonna be friends,”

“..you put me in a sh*t mood, and I don’t want to spend this whole summer in a sh*t mood. We’re roommates. Nothing more. Stop pretending there is something more to it. Stop pretending to like the goddamn coffee. Stop pretending everything is just great. Cut the sh*t and see things for what they are. We don’t mean anything to each other.”

He got up and took his plate. “I’m done, Yunjin. I’ll see you in the room.”

Yunjin and you sat in silence, listening to nothing but the sound of the waves crashing beneath you. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“Please. Don’t, okay? He’s right. Sometimes, you can’t fix things.” Despite the complacent words that had come out of your mouth, a tear fell down your cheek.

taglist: @rikizm @sumzysworld @xylatox @morganaawriterr

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haxeroo · 1 day ago

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Walls and Whispers

Summary: Basically, it's a description of slowly getting together with Daryl.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, Merle is an asshole (XD)

Era: Prison

Word count: 2.7k

Something from me: Hello, hello. I apologize in advance for any mistakes with the appearance, layout of the post (first post on the platform). I will gladly accept any feedback. This beginning is part of the whole story I have in my head, I think there will be further parts. English is not my first language, but I think I write in it quite okay. And what.. I wish you a pleasant reading <3

It was a beautiful summer day. Or at least, it looked like one. But the moment you stepped beyond the cold prison walls, the scorching, suffocating heat hit you like a truck. The sun blazed mercilessly at its highest point in the sky, and the air had thickened, shimmering under the hellish temperature.

You stood by the entrance gate, watching as the approaching vehicle kicked up dust along the road. Since you had some free time, you figured you'd help unload whatever they had brought back. You opened the gate for them, wrestling with the locks and chains. Luckily, it didn't take you too long.

The old van rolled through the wire gate, and you quickly shut it behind them. The first person to jump out was Rick. The second the vehicle came to a stop, he was already hauling supplies out. Right behind him was Merle, a wide, shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he laughed at something—probably his own joke. Daryl was the last to get out, barely paying attention to anyone as he made his way straight to the front of the vehicle. He lifted the hood, immediately getting to work as thick, gray smoke billowed from the engine.

"Where is the Korean starboy? I have his order!" Merle yelled toward Hershel, who was making his way over.

Beth peeked out from behind her father, automatically glancing up at the watchtower. Merle caught on quickly, following her gaze with an amused smirk.

"Starboy!" he hollered, even louder this time. "Ya comin'?!"

Rick shook his head in mild exasperation but said nothing. A moment later, Glenn leaned out from the doorway of the guard tower.

"What?!"

He was still fastening his belt, his bare chest saying more than enough about what he had been up to. In the window behind him, a very flustered Maggie was visible, which only made Merle's grin widen.

"Ya cummin'?!" he shouted again, this time emphasizing a different syllable before bursting into laughter.

Glenn squinted at him, clearly confused, then turned to Maggie with a shrug, saying something to her you couldn't hear.

You exchanged an amused look with Rick and continued hauling boxes of food inside. You couldn't help but notice that Merle was in an unusually high-spirited mood today. He was always loud, always a presence impossible to ignore, but today he was practically bouncing with energy. For a fleeting moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—he'd be more of a funny asshole rather than just an asshole. That would be an improvement, at least.

"What 'bout ya, Darylina?"

Merle had somehow ended up right behind Daryl. But the younger Dixon didn't even flinch, still focused on the busted engine. Every now and then, he flicked his hand back as if he was touching something way too hot to be messing with.

"Do ya even know what I'm talkin' bout, baby brotha?" Merle prodded, leaning against the van with that ever-present smirk.

The van rocked slightly, and Daryl finally looked up at him, irritation clear in his expression.

"I am doin' somethin'. Can't ya see?" he snapped, voice edged with frustration.

"Ya can talk and still do yar thing," Merle shot back smoothly. "So?"

They stared at each other for a second. You found yourself eavesdropping more than you probably should, but curiosity had the best of you. You even slowed your pace, carrying one of the bigger boxes extra carefully just so you could keep listening.

"M' not five anymore. 'Course I know what yar talkin' bout," Daryl muttered, turning back to the engine.

For the briefest second, his eyes flicked to yours. Caught. You quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your task, but you knew he had seen you listening. And you had seen something too. A flicker of something in his gaze—something close to panic.

"But ya know it's different when ya alone n' when ya not, right?" Merle pushed.

Daryl didn't answer. He just went back to work, which only made Merle roll his eyes. The smug look on his face said he already knew the answer, anyway.

Then Daryl bent lower, reaching deep into the engine, his entire arm disappearing under the hood. From where you stood, you couldn't quite see what Merle was doing, but there was a glint of mischief on his face—a look you had come to recognize as trouble.

And then—

A loud bang.

You nearly dropped the food in your arms as you saw the hood of the van slam down, trapping Daryl between the metal and the vehicle. Worse still, something inside the engine must have been knocked loose, because the hissing sound grew louder, and more smoke poured out than before.

Merle's laughter rang through the air.

You ran over without thinking, pulling the hood up as fast as you could. Daryl immediately staggered back, coughing violently, his chest heaving as thick smoke spilled from his lungs. One side of his face was bright red—burned. And a thin trickle of blood ran down from his temple.

"Merle! Are you insane?!" you shouted, still steadying Daryl as he fought to breathe. "That's your brother!"

"Oh, come on," Merle scoffed, still chuckling. "Ya don't understand, so don't interfere, would ya?"

"This is too much, even for you, Merle," Rick cut in, his disapproval plain.

"M' tryin' to teach him a lesson 'ere," Merle said, holding his hands up like he was being accused of something unreasonable. For the first time, he actually looked somewhat serious.

"Look at him," he gestured toward Daryl. "Havin' this pretty angel face n' all that n' not usin' it? That is a true crime, baby brotha. So he gotta learn to use it by losin' it first. Simple as tha'."

Ignoring Merle's bullshit, you turned to Daryl. His hand was covering the burned side of his face, and when he tried to touch it, his fingers flinched away instantly. The skin was too raw, too hot.

"Are you okay?" you asked, immediately regretting how stupid the question sounded.

Daryl stiffened slightly, like he hadn't expected you to be this close. He looked at you—just with one eye, since the other was probably swollen. And then, predictably, he nodded.

Behind you, chaos was unfolding. Rick and Glenn were trying to talk some sense into Merle, but it was quickly turning into an actual fight. You saw something flash in Daryl's expression. His whole posture screamed exhaustion, but you already knew—he was about to jump in.

"Leave it," you said, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "Please."

"Nah."

That was the only warning you got before he turned on his heel.

"Have ya lost yar mind, you psychopath?!" Daryl roared, effectively shutting everyone up—except Merle, who only grinned wider at the sight of him.

"That's what I'm talkin' bout! That's ma baby brotha—!"

"Shut da hell up! Ya wanna kill me or somethin'? Then fight me like a man would!"

"Stop that," you stepped between them, ignoring their protests. "Daryl, we need to take care of your wound. This isn't helping."

"She's right," Maggie chimed in, gripping Glenn's arm instinctively as both brothers turned to look at her.

"Look at that, Darlina! A little help from yar big brotha n' girls already love ya!"

"Zip it, ya punk!"

"Come on, Daryl," you urged, stepping closer.

Meanwhile, Rick had finally managed to drag Merle a safe distance away.

Daryl still couldn't tear his furious gaze away from his brother. You grabbed his arm and tried to gently pull him along, but he didn't budge an inch. You had nothing to convince him with, so you pulled a little harder. Finally, the younger Dixon gave in. He followed you, but his eyes stayed locked on Merle, who was still arguing heatedly with Rick.

Your eyes were practically devouring the archer. Especially after what just happened, you could finally be honest with yourself. Damn, you like him. From the start, he was way more interesting to you than the others. Visually, even with that brutal burn on his face, he made your knees weak. And once again today, Daryl caught you staring a little too long. And once again, you quickly looked away.

"We unpacked all the med kits in the prison recently," you said suddenly. "I saw some burn gel bandages in there. They should help."

"A'right," he muttered, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What was that about?" you finally asked, unable to accept Merle's behavior—especially his excuses for it.

You instantly realized you shouldn't have asked when Daryl's face twisted into a scowl.

"Quit bein' nosey. You heard what it was about."

So you shut up. You scolded yourself internally for your behavior around him. Silence was probably better for both of you anyway.

In perfect quiet, you reached the small room that now served as a makeshift medical office. Everything related to medicine was in here, including the burn dressings you were looking for. First, you took care of the wound that had been bleeding earlier, but it wasn't anything serious—no stitches needed.

You could feel Daryl's blue eyes on you. He sat on the examination table, leaning back against the wall. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the first signs of pain were starting to show on his face.

You didn't even know why you were so nervous. Your hands were shaking as you rummaged through the bins. Even though you had organized them yourself not that long ago, your mind was completely blank. Finally—miraculously—you wrapped your fingers around the package you needed.

You turned around quickly, trying to shake off the nerves and get rid of the million other things in your hands. You were clumsy, unable to fully control your movements, and Daryl definitely noticed. He just watched, silent and unreadable, but not exactly subtle about it.

"It might sting a little," you warned him.

He just nodded. The first bandage only covered about half the burned area. Daryl didn't even flinch when it touched his skin. If anything, he let out a small breath of relief. You immediately started searching for another one.

"...M'sorry," he muttered suddenly. "Ya know... for earlier."

His deep voice, though quiet, seemed to bounce off the small room's walls. You froze for a second, then gave him a sad little smile.

"Don't be. I shouldn't have asked."

"S'just..." he started, then stopped, like he couldn't get the words out. "It's okay. M'used to it. To him."

"It's not okay," you shot back, maybe a little too fast, too direct. "Being used to something like that—to someone like your brother—is messed up. But yeah, do whatever you think is best. I won't interfere if you don't want me to."

"Why do ya care?" he asked.

And this—this was the moment you knew you were screwed. Because you didn't have any explanation except the truth. And neither of you were ready for that.

"Oh—" you blurted out, seizing the excuse to change the subject. You turned to him with a smile. "I found it."

You waved the bandage in front of his face, and he seemed momentarily thrown off. At least he didn't push the topic.

You unwrapped the dressing and leaned in closer. Carefully, you covered the upper part of the burn, including his eyelid, with the cool, transparent bandage, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Once it was fully in place, you looked him over. It still looked painful, but at least he didn't seem to be in unbearable agony. Thankfully, the injury wasn't as dangerous as it had appeared—but it was still unacceptable.

Then, you caught yourself staring again. This time, you were way too close, still leaning over him like when you had applied the bandage. Your fingers had absentmindedly brushed his jawline. His blue eyes locked onto yours, piercing straight through you, and suddenly, you felt a deep pull in your stomach. Your heart pounded faster than it should've, and heat rose to your face.

"Tell me," he murmured, quieter this time, calmer. "Am I readin' this wrong?"

You looked at him with something between sadness and concern, avoiding his gaze like fire avoids water. You adjusted a piece of the bandage that had slipped when he moved his mouth and stayed quiet.

"Are you pityin' me?" he asked, his tone strange, suspicious.

And just like that, your entire idea of how this conversation would go went straight to hell. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out—not even a broken one.

"I don't need that. Don't deserve it," he said, leaning back slightly. "So quit it."

"It's not—" you started quickly, then hesitated, realizing what he had just said. "...But why wouldn't you deserve it?"

"I just don't. And it's pathetic."

What scared you the most was that he said it while looking right at you, with an empty, emotionless stare. Like he truly believed it.

"I like you," you finally admitted, barely swallowing the weight of his words. "A lot."

For once, you let yourself shamelessly watch his reaction. His brows furrowed—both of them—so you reached up again to hold the bandage in place. Something flickered in his eye, but you couldn't read what it was. Then, a smile appeared on his cracked lips, but it wasn't a happy one. More crooked, almost mocking.

"Yer funny," he muttered, leaning back against the wall again.

You blinked, once, then again, confused. Daryl didn't seem to notice your frustration—didn't realize he had completely misread the situation.

"I mean it," you insisted, emotions starting to spill across your face. "I do. And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way."

The silence stretched endlessly. You knew Daryl needed time, but you also felt like you were about to explode. The smirk had disappeared from his face, so you let yourself hope—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he had actually heard you this time.

"I don't deserve that either," he finally said, completely unaware of how much those words hurt. "Why?" he asked then, carefully, like he was walking on the thinnest ice imaginable.

"That's... it's unconditional..." you began, but he didn't look convinced. "I mean, I could list things—traits—but it's just... you. In general."

"M'a mess. Ya deserve better."

You saw it. The movement. He wanted to stand up. He wanted to leave. But you weren't about to let him.

"What's your deal with this 'deserving' thing?" you fired back, stopping him in his tracks.

"S'some people dese—"

"Say something like that again, and I'm leaving," you interrupted, finally getting some kind of reaction out of him. "Do you like me back?"

"It's not about that."

"Oh, but it is."

Daryl clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tensing so much that he looked like he was fighting with himself. He didn't respond right away. You could see his breath becoming shallower, his fists clenching slightly—not out of anger, but in a desperate attempt to keep his distance.

You took a step closer.

"Daryl" you said, softer now, but firmly. "Tell me."

He hesitated, then dropped his gaze.

"I like ya, alright?" he muttered finally, but almost immediately shook his head, as if trying to reject his own words. "But that don't mean nothin'."

Your heart pounded harder. There was something heartbreaking about him. This man, who could fight so brutally for others, completely refused to believe that he could be enough for someone.

"It does mean something," you didn't back down, even though you could feel his walls rising higher.

Daryl let out a quiet scoff and scratched the back of his neck, visibly tense.

"Listen, ya think ya want this, but ya don't. 'M too fucked up."

You sighed heavily and shook your head.

"You don't get to decide that for me."

He looked at you, surprised, as if no one had ever said that to him before.

"You think I'm blind?" you continued, holding his gaze. "The way you protect people, the way you care even when you act like you don't. You push people away 'cause you think they're better off without you, but that's not your choice to make."

Daryl remained silent, the tension between you thickening. Finally, he let out a deep breath and ran a hand over his face.

"I don't know how to do this."

You gave him a sad smile.

"Then let's figure it out together."

He didn't answer right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. It wasn't a grand confession or a sudden dramatic shift. But it was a first step. And that was enough for you.

#daryl fanfiction #daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl fic

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pollenallergie · 1 year ago

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“do the hardest task first”

no. just… no.

hot take: this doesn’t work for people with adhd (in my experience/from what i’ve heard from other people with adhd in my life). i recommend doing the easy/moderately difficult stuff first, that way you can convince yourself that it’s all going to be this easy and undemanding. then hyper-focus will kick in because your brain is like, “yeah, we can do this, we’ve got this.” then, before you know it, you’ve completed both the easy tasks and the hard tasks while hyperfocusing.

like, on a serious note, it’s always been easier for me to convince myself to get the most difficult tasks done when i’m already working/in the working frame of mind, not when i’m laying in bed or sitting on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through stuff on my phone, and struggling to start at all.

if the choice comes down to you not starting at all or starting with the easiest task first (which, for me, it often does), always, always pick starting with the easiest task first. sometimes you need a small victory, a little bit of an accomplishment, to give you the courage to take on bigger challenges.

#adhd #audhd #in my experience… ‘study tips’ or ‘time management tips’ from neurotypical people will almost never work for us #they don’t conceptualize time the same way we do #they don’t look at challenges the same way we do #it’s okay to take bits and pieces of their advice #ya know… whatever parts of it work for you #but don’t think that you have to use all the strategies and programs that they do to be successful #because you don’t #all that fake business soft skills/mental health guru/grind mindset stuff is total bullshit #pick strategies that speak to/work for you #it’s okay to fail at things and to have to try again #it’s okay to make mistakes and not get shit done sometimes #sometimes you need a fucking break #it’s okay to start with the easy stuff first and just ease your way into being productive #it’s okay to hyperfocus and work for hours on end sometimes #if it’s hard for you to take breaks when you’re studying and you feel like you learn better if you stay in that hyperfocused zone #than just go until the hyperfocus wears off #then take a break… eat… nourish your body… take care of yourself… and come back later #maybe later is later on that day #maybe later is tomorrow #either way is completely fine #do what works best for you #work with your neurodivergent brain… no against it #pol’s diary <3

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cerealmonster15 · 3 months ago

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i forgot grunt meant like henchman or whatever for a second i thought they were like yeah leonas bitch ass grunts and growls are partial proof to savanaclaw being an athletic leaning dorm lol

#well they also say that in the game not just the manga jkdlfhsdkl like in azuls union bday card #ace was like oh yeah ok you dont wanna be in savanaclaw cause theyre more athletic oriented right #and azul was like NO IM TALKING ABOUT THE SUN SHUT UP!!! jsdklfhsdklfj #anyway i was on the wiki cuz i was trying to remember what their dorm's trait thing is like according to the mirror but i DONT SEE IT.#i rememeber i get it confused with pomesiores . like i think one of theirs is tenacity . but idr which one LOL #the other is maybe endurance...????#that doesnt sound right. i feel like it was broader than that #WAIT I LIED IT DOES SAY IT AT THE TOP i just. missed that part. it IS tenacity lol #what the fuck was pomefiore then....#oh ya theirs according to the wiki is UNRELENTING EFFORTS which i think i did see sometimes written as like endurance or fortitude or smthn #anyway. savanaclaw and pomefiore's ~core value~ always felt similar to me. but also maybe i just dont know what words mean <3 #not in a 'theyre too similar' way like i do think theyre different. i just think it's INCH RESTING when things r like #theyre similar. theres overlap. but theres enough distinction to put them apart #actually them being similar in some regards does feel reinforced by the rook hunt situation like he went from one to the other #and seems to be thriving regardless.... we're onto something here...#hmm what were the others.. i think heartslabyul was strictness...#ok the wiki says severity i think ive seen either eng or a translation that called it strictness lol but severity i feel like is maybe #better word choice.. just a lil... nuances nuances whatever anyway idr the others. actually wait no i know octavinelles is like #benevolence bc azul keeps mentioning it- the wiki says compassion. lol. idk if i just keep remembering close enough or like #remembering fan vs official tls. i think the wiki is doing its own direct tl and not engtwst but moving ON #scarabia is deliberation... ignihyde is diligence... diasomnia is elegance???#why is diasomnia the only one that didnt sound familiar At All LOL i dont REMEMBER THAT ONE #i remembered vaguely what scarabia was bc they make a point of mentioning it in like end of 4 or start of 5?#when they were like yeah we value foresight or w/e in scarabia so jamil hasnt been ousted right away. i like scarabia their #way of showing the different ways deliberation works with like jamil vs how it does in kaliim vs the npcs #like theyre all different ppl but still fit that criteria in their own unique ways.... hell yeah...#anyway yay i got ONE right on the nose [as the wiki has it listed anyway lol] thanks savanaclaw

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chibishortdeath · 8 months ago

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Great googley moogley it’s all going to shit! Every day becomes exponentially more terrifying!

And all perfectly timed to just right at the start of what’s supposed to be my adult life where I get my shit together and be useful and productive!

#we’re cooked #we’re doomed #idk the end is nigh or whatever god damn #I just wanna be able to live in my own house and draw a guy sometimes without the ever present threat of the horrors is that too much #apparently yeah cause houses aren’t achievable anymore but man #m a n #especially if you didn’t/couldn’t go to college and aren’t capable of working most jobs #doesn’t help there’s the chance some part of my existence might be suddenly illegal or extremely dangerous yippie!#the options are literally 1. people die 2. people die what the hell do you even do man #how the fuck is this the election I’m gonna get forced to be a part of we’re living in hell #and nobody around me believes it’ll get bad yay great oh so wonderful #I can’t wait to lose rights and cause millions of deaths regardless of who gets chosen #I think one of these days I’m literally just gonna die of stress #it’ll either be a stroke or a heart attack or cancer or uh well ya know #we’re fucked #we’re screwed #I wanna have some kind of an actually visible break down but ive suppressed everything so much that I don’t outwardly emote much anymore :)#and the constantly dissociating thing too I guess #if you ever think ‘oh yeah I can just think of guy in a situation that’s so cool’ don’t it’s a trap—#although tbh this would be significantly worse without it so uh law of equivalent exchange I guess #fuck fuck fuck anyway #not putting this in the main tags #definitely deleting this later #if anyone in my house got any hints that I may or may not have different opinions than them well uh I’m financially dependent on them so um #literally wouldn’t have anywhere to go if anything happened #oh we’re really in it now Simon #hell world #there’s like what 7 genocides going on too I hate everything I hate everything I hate everything #I can’t do anything to help anyone either cause I don’t have a job and I could get kicked out or treated badly at home for it #not that anyone thinks very highly of me at home anyway I am kinda family disappointment number 2 I pretty sure

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whysamwhy123 · 1 year ago

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HALLEJUAH!! I REMEMBERED HOW TO ACTUALLY FINISH WRITING SOMETHING FOR A CHANGE!!

Of course, it's not any of the fics I wanted to finish. I went back to what is essentially my bread-and-butter now and wrote a short-ish, random OrangeHook fluff. But considering how much writing's been a struggle as of late, I'm just glad that I successfully finished something. I was back in one of those stretches where I couldn't seem to write much of anything. And this fic isn't about their age difference or Hook being a cuddlebug, so...progress?

Unless I decide I completely hate it (which is always a possibility) expect something to drop on Valentine's Day, tis the season, after all.

#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write #Small victories you know?#Will I ever get sick of OrangeHook?? Apparently not #Can't even remember the last time they interacted on screen but that ain't stopping my brain LOL #On a more serious note - I really do hope that I can get back into the swing of things and make some real progress #On the bigger fics I want to work on #I want to finish the messy angst OrangeHook fic at some point even if it's unlikely to appeal to anyone #Annnnnd deep down in my cold dead heart I still wanna make an honest attempt at that DG Dead Dove fic #Even though that would be even more unappealing + a huge undertaking because that bitch would be loooooooooong #Also I had a slightly less angsty OrangeHook idea recently about them having their first fight and I wanna write that too for some reason #And there's still a part of me that really wants to continue Business/Pleasure because I have soooo many ideas for that AU #But that would require me to get over my inability to write smut #And I don't know how to do that (would appreciate any advice on that if you've got some...)#But at the same time I don't wanna beat myself up for not being able to write much - if anything - most days #This is a hobby after all - it's supposed to be fun #There ain't no deadline and it's not like I'm letting anybody down #Just gotta do at my own place #And write whatever absolute trash I want to write 😈#My tags are always so obsessive like SHUT THE FUCK UP SAM #But if you've actually read all these - hey. Thanks. Love ya 😘

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miabrown007 · 1 year ago

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mal in the grishaverse is to alina what jacob in twilight has been to bella. in this essay i'll...

#okay so in twilight jacob is like bella it's unnatural that edward is alive he should have been dead long ago. and if he was and he didn't #meddle with natura and the timeline i would be the one for you in our timeline. but he's here because he's extra special and that makes me #obsolete. because like alina and mal matched until they were both common and not special but now alina is a summoner and #she's the specialest of special girls and mal is throwing a tempter tantrum over that right #and they are like. they should be best friends and nothing more.#anyway that was point A #I'm over not one not two but three glasses of wine but even like this I know that one point justification belongs in my friends DMs not #an essay so let me present point B #so he's like the firebird right (he just circled her hand where the last amplifier would go and they felt weird #incredible foreshadowing btw) so like he belongs to her but only part of her belongs to him and that's very jacob vibes with all the #renesmee business. and also mal is just. so desperate to define himself by what he is to alina like he expects the answer to his own #identity crisis that is the consequence of his own actions (deserting literally no one asked that of him) from her #like the only way he thinks about defining himself is in relation to her . and like yeah ig they are teenagers and 'in love' or whatever #(they have zero chemistry while the darkling and nikolai are constantly standing next to alina and it works but ig I digress)#so i'm just constantly being told and they are in love and want a simple life (and that's the very thing that made me side with Gale instead #of Peeta back when so I'm probably primed to not want that for characters) but idk I just don't see it that they'd make such a good pair #anyway I guess this is a Mal hate post and I'm dragging the moder YA lit's each and every love interest into this 'analysis'#blueberry wine is excellent by the way would recommend #miaing

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svnnykokoro · 1 year ago

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I'm sorry the tags are so long and so many lmao

cats is a great example of a show that doesn't work as a movie because all of the magic of it is in the live performance (the costumes, the dance numbers, the absurdity of it all) and dear evan hansen is a great example of a show that doesn't work as a movie because the show sucks

#I'm rewriting deh and i kinda switched alana and evan's personalities and made the show not a feel good sewer slide awareness thing #Like really it just doesn't work as a type of feel good thing ya know #The way Evan got dragged into the lie and KEPT IT GOING with Zoe being part of the reason he couldn't tell the truth #All strikes some sort of red flags in me you know #And the movie made it worse like what the hell #This isn't gonna JUST be feel good because you will be found exists #It's all based on a lie that Evan knew Connor and kept it going because it saves lives or whatever #And the movie paints Evan as the good guy like he's the hero and guess what HES NOT #And this was even relevant that he's a terrible person but also a good one in the original and it adds to the plot that Evan is both the #Protagonist and the villain him being a bad person is why deh so meaningful to people #And NO CHOREOGRAPHY??? NOT EVEN IN FOR FOREVER???? WHERE THE IDEAL MV IS WHAT THEY'RE DESCRIBING IN THE SONG????#what is wrong with them oh my god #A deh movie could work but not in THAT way #The book portrayed this better where it shows connor's pov it would've been better if the movie was an adaption of the book #Rewriting deh felt like beating content out of the deh fandom with a stick cuz I needed more material to work with and make everything have #A purpose because at some points I had gotten too self indulgent and I think I made it pretty edgy and I was into milgram while rewriting i #So I may have made Evan too similar to amane BUT IT'S STILL BETTER THEN THE SHOW ITSELF #(And there's so little content of the off Broadway version so trying to keep true to the original without knowing what the off Broadway #Version was like was like making a Connor project of my own)

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lologoinsolo · 10 days ago

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Main Masterlist, Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 2

Thinking about Simon with a runt of a kitten and it’s barely the size of his palm. Also thinking about the poor cashier that’s stumbling over her words when that hulking man has a kitten fisted in his palm and he just jerks it forward.

“U-Uh, sir, we can’t— I can’t keep that.” His eyes make you shrivel up and you delicately hold the little kitten in your hands. “We uh— the store can’t hold animals we only sell the stuff that animals need.”

He looks at you like that’s not what he’s wanted to hear. Granted you’ve had a couple people come up to try and surrender or drop of their animals like it’s a pound. “I need things for the cat.” He says and you feel like maybe you shot yourself in the foot.

You have a line piling up behind him but no one seems to dare speak up. Why would they when this guy could lay them flat out? Jesus what are they feeding this guy? Steroids and protein powders? You think before swallowing thickly. “I can… I can get my coworkers to—“

“No.” He reaches forward and you flinch when he picks up the kitten and holds it to his chest. “You’ll help.” Nodding off and he starts to walk leaving you dumbfounded and confused. He walks a couple steps before he turns to you with a ‘well?’ look on his face.

You hurriedly grab your pager and call for someone to go through the line while you help this guy. Leading him down the aisle for the litter and you list off the different types. “There’s crystal litter, wood pellets and those are pretty good when it comes to smell. We have tofu litter and that—“

“Does it need something fancy to shit in?” He cuts off the beginning of your speech with a huff. He sounds a mix of annoyed and amused with how you bristle from his remark. You’re tempted to leave, your manager can bitch later about you doing that butttt the kitten against his chest meows and you find that you can’t leave the little thing to suffer because their dad’s a right prick.

“Sir,” you take a breath, “the litter is moreso about preference. Do you want to hide the smell of their… ya know… poop better? Or would you prefer something that clumps or something that’s easy to clean?” You wait… and wait some more before he finally says.

“Pick one.”

You blink at him and he mimics it that bastard. He just stares the entire time you have this little contest. You’re starting to feel like you should’ve called out of work. You knew today would be horrible, your instincts never lie. “Okay,” taking a deep breath and spitefully picking the most expensive and heaviest litter that your store sells. You yank it off the shelf with a groan. If it’s hard for you to lift then he’ll probably have the time of his life having to lug this home. He doesn’t seem to care about the pricing nor the weight though as he grabs the litter from your struggling arms. He shoves the kitten back to your empty hands. “I—“ you stumble over your words, trying to come up with something but he beats you to it.

“Where’s the food she need?” Lifting it onto his shoulders, the muscles bulging as he holds that thing with ease.

“Well she,“ you cough to keep from ogling too much. “Will need some kitten food and maybe some wet food later on. A good kibble would be good to add later on once she gets older,” holding the kitten up gently and her little green eyes blink at you. You prod softly at her teeth to make sure she can handle those foods. You’re hoping she’s not to young or she’ll need kitten formula. You then check her ears and see some red marks. Noticing the little black specs moving about her neck and you cringe. “And a good flea bath. Poor thing,” petting the little baby as you walk off to grab a flea comb. He’ll have to buy it anyways so you’ll make use of it now. You pick at her fur with the comb and squish whatever fleas that you find, you hate those little fuckers. “What’s her name?”

You’ve noticed he’s as silent as a grave this customer of yours. He’s hardly said a peep besides caveman grunts and nods. If it wasn’t for him nearly against your side then you would’ve thought he ran off. That black surgical mask makes him look like he’s something important. Maybe mafia or something possibly dangerous. But… he did come in holding this tiny kitten and isn’t batting an eye at the things you’ve been telling him he’ll need to get for his new pet. Perhaps he’s nicer than your judgement of him is.

You clear your throat, he probably didn’t hear you since he hasn’t tilted his head down. “Does she have a name?” You ask once more and he pulls to a stop, he had came back with a cart earlier when there were too many things for him to hold in his tree trunk arms. It was comical seeing him try to hold a litter box, scratching post, and various foods though.

He doesn’t answer save for the roll of his shoulders that looks like it could be counted as a shrug. You mouth an ‘oh’ before you mind your business. He probably just found her or he’s gonna foster and send her off. Better to not get attached…

You chatter off the things he’ll need to do. See a vet, get her spayed, make sure she has no health problems, the usual things that you mention to pet parents. The little thing in your hands is a curious thing, she wiggles about constantly. Eager to move and escape your hands and arms. Tiny tail flicking about and the meowing and pawing is cute, makes your heart squeeze when he plucks her from your hands and he holds her close. You push the cart along and stop at the toys and bowl aisle.

“Well,” you pull some toys off the shelf, crinkle toys and mouses that should help with those prey instincts. “She’s a sweetheart. I’d probably call her Bailey,” you smile fondly and his brows furrow at your advice. Grabbing the kitten shaped bowls and hurriedly putting them in the cart when you squirm under his eyes. “Oh uh, my brother always wanted a cat named Bailey. It’s a nice name but if you don’t want to call her—“

“Bailey,” he holds her up a little and the kitten paws at his face. Her little nails snag on the fibers of his mask and he pulls them off quickly. “Better than garbage, yeah?” He speaks to the kitten like a human. There’s a crinkle besides his eyes and you realize he’s smiling but when you catch what he said you drop this cactus scratcher you thought he should buy her by accident.

“Garbage?” You look aghast. You’ve heard all kinds of names but never something like that. Quickly picking the cactus scratcher back up and placing it in the piling up cart. “You’d call her that?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders again. “S’where I found ‘er.” Grumbling his reasoning. He glares at the kitten like she’s the cause of his problems. “Couldn’t sleep with’er howling and rummaging about. Made a mess that I had to clean.”

You blink a bit and now it makes some sense why he’s so… snappy? “Well… maybe she knew you’d get her if she was loud enough.”

He scoffs, “she bit and hissed at me.” He rubs his finger over her head and you notice the little red marks on his hands. “Feisty little shit shoulda left ya out in the cold.” She nips at him and he chuckles something deep.

You can’t help the smile that reaches your face. She plays with his fingers and he doesn’t flinch when she bites hard or digs her nails in. He just looks down at her with something akin to wonder and begrudged responsibility.

You pull him to your cash register and his kitten racks up a pretty hefty bill but he pays for it with wads of cash. You don’t speak on the weird crumbled bills nor the faint reddish brown color. You simply bag his items and put them in his cart. “If you need anything, sir. Come find me and I’ll help, okay?” You can’t believe you said it AND actually ment it. What can you say, you love cats more than people and that little thing won your heart as easily as she won his.

He gives a gruff nod and pushes his cart out with on hand. The kitten is pushed into his coat pocket to hide her most likely from the cold outside. She pokes her head out to give a complaint but he just gently pushes her back in. He leaves without waving and you’re left to wonder if he’ll come back. You kinda hope he does come back.

#lolowrites #thought about my own runt of a cat #and went #yeah Ghost would have a field day with you #self indulgent #fluff #cause my cat’s name is Bailey cause my brother wanted a cat named Bailey #simon ghost riley #Ghost #ghost simon riley #simon riley #ghost and his cat #the cat distribution center has chosen you Ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #sorta #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #Simons a cat person NOT by choice #he’d rather a dog but the cat chose him

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ghostsprincess · 4 months ago

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I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes?

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left.

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

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strang3lov3 · 5 months ago

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Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter.

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there.

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew.

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration.

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.”

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.”

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.”

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add.

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.”

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes.

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.”

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.”

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been.

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.”

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.”

“You are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.”

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.”

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle.

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?”

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things.

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed.

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home.

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.”

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him.

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.”

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases.

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.”

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.”

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.”

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse.

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.”

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.”

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.”

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?”

“Just lay down, Joel.”

“Did you take that from my fridge?”

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so.

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!”

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.”

“How many times do I have to say it?”

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him.

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.”

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.”

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time.

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature.

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly.

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.”

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.”

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.”

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.”

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man.

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man.

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

“Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.”

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him.

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.”

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.”

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing.

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy.

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.”

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.”

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him.

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.”

Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

“Just - just a second.”

“Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.”

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone.

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone.

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them.

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.”

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now.

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.”

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.”

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.”

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -”

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.”

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest.

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying.

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it.

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles.

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest.

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.”

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips.

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?”

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕

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