#New Simple Volume

[techdirectarchive]

How to Shrink and Compact Virtual Hard Disks in Hyper-V

[swan2swan]

I know this gif exists in fifty different forms but you know what?

This one's mine.

[dirtgh0ul]

yooooo how we submit to not a video <3 saw the post from a zine blog :-)

hi! so any sort of piece is welcome, as long as it fits the theme, and you’re absolutely welcome to submit multiple pieces/poems/etc! when you’re ready to submit, message me privately and i’ll give you my email to send me your work, and i’ll need a first name and social media handle to credit!

[lieyarzy]

MANAGER-NIM!!!

Wherein the Manager of the famous Saja Boys gained fans because of their ethereal beauty and why are they a lot of videos of them??? Is that the SAJA BOYS???

🎀This is based on a post I saw and I forgot who the author was…I love you please I just forgot your name

🎀Reader is also genderless so…let me know if you want more of this cause I have a LOT like they’re just waiting….

The dimly lit backstage buzzed with the energy of a sold-out Saja Boys concert. Sweat beaded on foreheads, instruments lay scattered, and the air thrummed with the residual roar of the crowd. Amidst the chaos, stood Y/N, their manager, calmly sipping lukewarm coffee, a serene island in a sea of controlled pandemonium. Their ethereal beauty, often remarked upon by fans online, was even more striking up close; a soft glow seemed to emanate from them, a stark contrast to the slightly wild energy of the Saja Boys.

Jinu, the charismatic leader, approached Y/N with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He presented them with a single, perfectly ripe strawberry, plucked seemingly from thin air. "For the hardest-working manager in the demon world," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down even the most hardened fan's spine. Y/N chuckled, accepting the strawberry with a grateful smile. The subtle touch of their fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings simmering beneath the surface. Fans online went wild with this clip; comments like "Jinu's soft gaze! I'm melting!" and "The way he presented the strawberry...my heart!" flooded the video.

Baby Saja, the youngest and most playful member, bounced up to Y/N, brandishing a ridiculously oversized stuffed panda. "Manager-nim! I won this for you! It's as cuddly as you are!" he declared, his voice brimming with childish enthusiasm. Y/N, despite their initial surprise at the unexpected gift, couldn't help but laugh, accepting the panda with a warm hug. Fans swooned, commenting on how adorable Baby Saja was and how much Y/N seemed to adore him. The hashtag #ManagerNimIsPrecious trended for hours.

Abs Saja, known for his stoic demeanor, surprised everyone by quietly placing a steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of Y/N. He simply nodded, his usual aloofness replaced with a gentle concern. Y/N, who knew how much he appreciated quiet moments, accepted the tea with a soft smile. This quiet interaction touched fans deeply. Comments like "Abs Saja showing his love in his own way," and "The unspoken understanding between them is everything!" poured in.

Mystery Saja, ever the enigmatic one, presented Y/N with a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside, nestled on velvet, was a single, shimmering obsidian shard. "A small token of appreciation," he murmured, his voice a low whisper. Y/N, intrigued, carefully examined the shard, a subtle smile playing on their lips. Fans were captivated by the mysterious gift and the air of secrecy surrounding it, speculating wildly about its significance.

Romance Saja, the romantic of the group, simply handed Y/N a single, perfect red rose. No words were needed; the gesture spoke volumes. Y/N accepted the rose, their cheeks flushing slightly. This simple yet powerful moment melted hearts online. Comments like "Romance Saja is the king of romance!" and "This is pure cinematic perfection!" were abundant.

The short video compilation, showcasing these individual interactions, went viral. Fans were captivated not only by the Saja Boys' undeniable charm but also by their genuine affection for their manager. The comments section was a whirlwind of adoration, with many praising Y/N’s grace under pressure and the band's protective instincts towards them. The hashtag #SajaBoysLoveTheirManager became a global phenomenon, solidifying Y/N’s status as a beloved figure in the K-Pop world. The video even attracted new fans to Y/N, who was now gaining a following of their own, independent of the Saja Boys.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

[cursingtoji]

cw: office au, nanami x loser!reader, semi public, oral, praising, slight emotional dependency? geto version gojo version toji version

nanami is so in love with the little office loser. he doesn’t give you much attention when you first arrive, just another presence in the office. then he starts to, unwillingly, listen to the conversation of others about giving the new clumsy girl a little rough time.

nanami watches from the corner of his eye as you quietly accepts your boss’ request to work overtime, he frowns as your boss implies under many corporate jargons that it’ll be unpaid and you should do it for the team.

“so naive” he murmurs watching you smile.

he can’t help but become infatuated with you when watching your skirt raising when you try to reach a tall shelf in the communal kitchen.

“here” he catches the coffee beans bag for you, without even needing to extend his arm much. nanami arrives so quietly that his voice scares you and you take a step back bumping into his strong body behind you and leaving a tiny squeal out, “sorry, are you okay?” he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“y-yes, thank you” he gives you space and you turn around looking at him over the thick frame of your glasses. it reminds nanami of those ads where a gorgeous woman has a pair of glasses down her nose and the caption says something like ‘single hotties in your area’. he then understands the appeal.

he keeps himself busy most days, so one day as soon as he sends an email he relaxes on his desk rolling his shoulders and looking around just in time to watch you knock a box of staples off your table. he raises from his seat to go help you but he gets a call at the same time so he sits back down to answer it while keeping his eyes on you.

you kneel picking the small items one by one. he likes seeing you on your knees. then you push your chair and crawl under the desk, trying to reach a few staples that went under the cabinet, at this point you’re with your head down on the carpeted floor and your ass up, nanami watches it with lusty eyes, just agreeing and humming to whatever the person on the phone is saying while wondering if you remember you are wearing a skirt. he watches in awe the black semi transparent pantyhose you have on stretch at the back of your thighs and the panties peeking out from underneath it.

when you get up your hair is messy and your face is flushed, you don’t think most of it, just glad to have caught every little staple. meanwhile nanami pulls his chair closer to his desk so you don’t see the volume in his pants when you pass by after basically flashing him.

nanami knows he wouldn’t last long with you around. one night he also stays overtime and you, being the extreme people pleaser you are, bring him some coffee and different sugar packets since you don’t know how he takes his coffee, but even with this simple self-assigned task you still manage to screw up and spill some on his pants immediately apologizing and getting on your knees to clean it with your sleeve. the friction on his upper thigh is making him grow hard but your teary eyes is what pushes him over the edge.

“nanami-san, don’t go home too late” the last person in the office says stepping on the elevator and waving goodbye.

“have a good night” the blond manages to say over the desk divider that hides your figure. finally knowing you two are alone kento throws his head back and allow his muscles to relax and enjoy the warmth of your mouth as you suck him.

“that’s right, sweetheart, good girl” he praises with a guiding hand on the back of your neck. it’s so good to have someone praising you in this place that your eyes water with joy. kento never meant to nut in the office but here he is, watching his cum run down your chin.

you take the small bin under his desk to spit the incriminating evidence of his pleasure so you don’t have to swallow it, “here, let’s make the clean crew think that’s matsuda’s” kento switches the bin with the one under his coworkers desk.

he hates to admit but over time he starts to look forward the times you feel overwhelmed and come to him for affection.

which leads him to the tiny copy room way too many times, making you hold the edge of your skirt and pulling your underwear and tights down to eat you out on top of the copy maker.

“keep quiet, darling” he warns knowing fully well how thin the walls are.

although you have done many unspoken things to him in this office, nanami still flusters you. every time he’s near, your thighs start to shake and your clit throbs untouched.

“come here, i’ll show you” he motions you over his desk when you ask for help with a task. you watch him perform it on the computer screen, “now you try it” he moves his chair a bit to give you space to use his keyboard and as you bend over slightly to replicate his steps he uses the opportunity to feel the skin of the back of your legs since today you don’t have any tights.

“go back, click here” he corrects still touching you, his hand comes higher, laying just under your ass cheeks, “why are you shaking? type the code there” he says like he doesn’t have a hand under your skirt.

“s-sorry” you say when making a mistake.

“it’s okay, start over” he commands, now playing with the hem of your underwear, it’s hard to do what he showed you when you can’t even guide the cursor right.

nanami pushes the material of your underwear into your folds making out the shape of your pussy through it.

“do it again with this file” he points sounding so collected it makes you even more nervous, he rubs your core so lightly, it’s almost like he’s doing it for his own pleasure, like he’s trying to make out the shape of your clit with the tips of his finger only.

“save it, and send to yourself” as you finish the task he starts to pull down your underwear looking around to make sure no one is watching when he helps you step out of the white lacy material, “well done” he bends to pick your panties, giving your leg a quick kiss — since that’s the most he can do in the office during the day—, and putting the soaked fabric in his pocket.

“thank you” you smile and slowly make your way back to your desk, though your boss calls you middle way about a mistake you made on a file and to come to his office, now you wonder how you’re supposed to make it through the day not only without underwear but also dripping wet.

[octopus-ink-pen]

Something a little different today. Just a simple quick representation of the bouncing ball animation. Who knows what will come in the future. Good to practice a few things to expand the skill tree a bit and try some more shapes and manipulating the shapes.

[thebluester2020]

Blue... Blue.... Alex and the squirting farmer did something.... Can i ask for the other male's reactions to that :3 pwease

SDV Bachelors x Farmer Who Squirts

Summary: How the bachelors react to a farmer who squirts for the first time. Warning(s): S M U T, Sam being a bit of a horndog / perv, Munch Elliot and Sebastion (it's my favorite headcanons of them and I'm dying on that hill), Shane being a bit of a dom, Harvey being a slight sub. Side note(s): I love it when y'all have big-brained ideas 💙

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Elliot

Oddly confident?

I imagine he has a diverse collection of books. Erotica is definitely on his bookshelf somewhere so mentions of a girl (or guy) squirting aren't uncommon to him. In his mind? You squirting is a sign that he's doing something good and he would take pride in it.

So follow the vision, the two of you have been dating for a while and you finally work up the nerve to stay over at his cabin for the night just to spend some more time with him, as well as hear the waves at night.

One moment Elliot was reading to you, steadily getting to a particular spicy scene in the novel, and the next?

His head was in between your thighs slurping and sucking at your clit.

♡ - In the silence of Elliot's cabin, lewd squelching and feverous moaning could be heard.

What started as a simple visit. Elliot had sent you a letter that he had received a new book in the mail and wished to read it with you, a simple and impromptu date night that steadily turned more sensual as your lover continued to read.

Mentions of the woman in the novel being touched by her lover...his fingers slowly trailing up her legs until they reached her twitching sex before the man's fingers teased her folds, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he fingered her to orgasm. You hadn't realized you were panting like a bitch in heat until Elliot teasingly mentioned the redness in your cheeks, questioning if you wanted to recreate the scene.

You couldn't imagine a scenario where you said no.

"Ah~! Elliot, oh fuck..." You moaned, your hands gripping onto Elliot's hair for dear life as he sucked and kissed at your clit, hums of appreciation escaping his glistening lips as his fingers teased your entrance.

Alone, his tongue proved his skill in pleasuring you. The whispered words of his love told to none other than your pussy as if it were capable of talking back to him, but, you oh so desperately wanted him to touch and scratch that itch inside of you. "You're twitching so much my love..." Elliot said, pressing one more kiss to your bud before he kissed up your thigh until he reached your calf.

"Elliot..." You whispered, teary-eyed and begging much to his amusement.

He leaned forward with a smirk, caging you in with his body as his free hand traveled back down to your pussy. "Yes~?" He smirked.

"N-Need you..."

"You already have me dear, what more can I give you."

Your blush only increased as your eyes looked away from his from both embarrassment and to gesture to the hand that was touching you everywhere but where you needed your lover the most. "T-There..."

"Your pussy? Aren't I already doing that?"

You pouted. "N-Need you...inside..." When his brown rose with that slow rising smile of his, your sex-dazed brain quickly remembered its manners as you whispered a shy 'Please' to him. And, without further convincing, Elliot's fingers plunged into your pussy, tearing a moan from the confines of your throat as your hands gripped the pillow behind you.

Elliot pressed sensual kisses all over your face, eventually focusing on nipping the shell of your ear as he felt your sex begin to clamp around your fingers. Your hands eventually left the pillow and moved to wrap around Elliot's neck as your moans suddenly increased in volume and frequency. "E-Elliot!" You keened. "S Something...oh fuck! C-Cumming!"

Without warning, there was a gushing noise, Elliot's attention swiping from your face to your sex before his eyes widened at the sight of a clear liquid spurting from your pussy and your legs shaking ferociously. His mouth fell open at the arousing sight, his cock twitching in its confines at the gorgeous sight before he looked back to you.

Your eyes were unfocused and cloudy, unshed tears brimming the edges of your eyes as your chest heaved up and down.

"My love..." He whispered. "Care to give me such a show again~?"

Sebastion

Flustered (his cock literally gets as hard as a diamond)

I like to believe that Sebastion is a virgin but he isn't stupid.

He knows of people being able to squirt, but he doesn't have experience due to him being a shut-in and never being intimate with anyone. When the two of you started dating though, his mind shifted as y'all got more handsy with one another.

The feeling of you cumming around his cock, the taste of your pussy. It all drove him nuts and eventually awakened something in him that screamed "Can they do more?".

And one night, when his family was out and you and him were getting hot n' heavy in his bedroom. Your body tucked into Sebastion's front as he looked over your shoulder as he fingered your lewd pussy, he got his answer.

♡ - He couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

And by "you", he meant your pussy that was clamping so tightly over his fingers if it feared of letting go of him! Such a lewd sight was a rarity- nay, an impossible scene for him to fathom for a shut-in like himself unless he watched porn or used his imagination. Of course, this was all before he got to know you.

Now? As you whined and moaned so prettily for him, your arms looped around his head in a subconscious way of trying to ground yourself while you practically fucked yourself on his fingers...his cheeks were so red that he felt as if he were on fire, he hadn't the slightest clue how he hadn't cum in his pants yet.

Sebastion pressed a sensual kiss to the corner of your lips. "You're so pretty Y/N...y'know that?" Sebastion whispered before his eyes went back to the scene before him as his fingers steadily grew more and more coated with your slick.

However, it was when a keen escaped your lips that he knew there was something different about the way your pussy twitched around his fingers then. How your hand raced to try and stop his hand and you began to whisper and beg for a break.

"Huh?" He said almost like a confused puppy. "You've never asked for a break before..." Cruelly, the thrusts of his fingers sped up as a smile cracked onto his flustered features at the sound of your moans increasing in volume.

"S-Sebby...!" You whined as your legs started to thrash and your cunt got sloppier, wetness started to coat his hand more and more as Sebastion's eyes were glued to the unfolding scene before him.

Yet before even he had a chance to predict what might happen, his hand was soon coated with the warmth of your gushing juices. His eyes widened in both shock and arousal as your legs shook and seized, the very scene stealing the very breath from his lungs as he struggled to not cum in his pants and save his load for when he was fucking you.

"Yoba..." He whispered as he brought his hand up to his face.

"Sorry..." You whispered, barely even coherent as you tried to will the energy to look at him.

He scoffed as he licked your slick off from his fingers. "Sorry?" He scoffed.

"Don't be~ let's do that again, but on my cock this time."

Sam

Excited (my favorite lil' perv)

I'm going to stick to my own personal theme of Sam being a bit fo a pervert and say that you squirting has been on his mind for a while now, along with the other nasty ideas floating around inside his head.

Some nights, when he's fisting his cock to the thought of you in a sundress or that time when he visited your farm and found you bent over to pick something up. He'd think about the 'What if?' moments of where he's behind you.

Beads of sweat dripping down your skin from the summer heat as he plunged into you repeatedly, his hand coming down to rub circles onto your clit as he got drunk off of your moans and begs for release.

Up until, much to his surprise, he felt a wetness splash onto him and drip down his thighs, your thighs quivering as he had to hold you up to keep you from collapsing.

Poor you, now you had to go at least three more rounds with him!

♡ - A pornographic moan escaped his lips when you squirted for the first time.

As sweat dripped from Sam's forehead as his cock dragged against your warm walls, he couldn't help the delirious moans that left his kiss-swollen lips. Almost as if he were the one who just squirted and not you. "B-Babe?" He said, lazily wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his arm before he leaned forward. "Can you do that again...? Fuck...you have to do that again" He begged, needy whines leaving his lisp as his thrusts picked up speed with a fervor more ardent than moments previously.

He couldn't even begin to explain how long he'd been waiting for this moment!

Since the first time he slipped into your pussy all those months ago!

When his imagination finally became reality.

From then on, he felt like a dog in heat. From a brief whiff of your perfume, to those rare-spotted moments where you bended forward in front of him. Your pussy was far too addicting for him to let go so easily, his aching cock always hard and at attention when he was around you as the thoughts of what he wanted to do next, what he wanted to experience next with you plagued his every waking thought!

But...now that he's seen you squirt? All the times he's had sex with you prior seemed to pale in comparison as the memory replayed again and again in his mind.

"S-Sam...!" You gasped. "S-Slow down- Ah!"

He pouted. "I can't..." He whined in your ear. "I just can't, fuuuuckkk, your pussy feels too good." He said, watery blue orbs looking into yours as a dopey grin slowly crawled its way onto his blushing features.

"You'll squirt on my dick again, right Y/N? Oh pleaassee say that you will..." To accentuate his begging, the side of his face dug into the valley between your bouncing breasts as he moaned at the feeling of your pussy clamping down on his dick and the sound of your fucked-dumb pleas of 'More' or 'Go faster' rang in his ears.

"Don't worry Y/N..." Sam chuckled as his grip on your love handles tightened to the point you knew in the back of your head that you'd have some bruises there in the morning, his balls slapping against your sex echoing throughout his room. "I'll make sure that you feel really good."

Harvey

Similar to Sebastion, he's flustered but like way more.

You were taking control for the night and were fucking yourself onto his dick. Yet, the deeper angle pressed into a delicious ache inside of your cunt and caused you to become a little more...greedier than you typically were.

To the point, you were unconsciously overstimulating your poor lover as he was too fucked-dumb to even still you how you were fucking him too good. How, like yourself, were beginning to feel strange as his balls tightened up at his oncoming unexpected release.

But by the time you got off his cock, that last feeling of friction suddenly made him squirt just as, if not more than you had.

He was squirting allllll over his stomach.

♡ - When you squirted on Harvey's dick, your warm wetness splashing against his thighs as you threw your head back to let out a keen of sheer ecstasy. He felt like he was in pure heaven.

Yet as you slowly came down from your high, the aftershocks from your orgasm still washing over you as your pussy clenched and unclenched around Harvey's cock. When your gaze finally settled back onto your lover, you could've sworn you saw hearts start to appear in Harvey's eyes as you steadily began to roll your hips on his still-hard cock.

"Harvey?" You spoke breathily. "You okay?"

He was more than fine.

But, it took a long minute for the doctor to express that as he lazily looked up at you as if you hung the very moon and stars just for him. After all, he was far too focused on how your hips were rubbing against him oh so perfectly. How your sloppy pussy was so warm and so tight even after the countless times that the both of you had been together...so much so that he was slipping further and further into the fogginess that his pleasure-ridden brain provided.

"Harveeyyy~" You said his name like a siren as you caressed his cheek. "Feelin' good?" You purred, giggling when Harvey answered honestly with an eager nod and an 'Uh huh'.

At his honesty, you began to speed up your hip rolls, a choked-up whine just barely escaping Harvey's throat as his grip upon your hips tightened as he ground up into you in search of more friction. Yet, you knew your lover, although he was more vocal than your previous partners. This time? He was a lot more vocal than he typically was (not that you were complaining).

You almost wanted to be concerned.

But the sight of Harvey's eyes starting to roll into the back of his head?

It was far too delectable for you to give up on.

"So cute f' me baby~" You praised as you pressed your hands onto Harvey's chest, your hips falling and rising more rapidly onto your lover as more and more unashamed moans left his lips. "You should be this shameless more often." You giggled.

"I love how shy you are but I think I like this side of you a lot more." You giggled before you quickly snapped back to Harvey's face as his moans and occasional whines began to increase in pitch.

"Oh....shit, Y/N. H-Honey, I feel weird...please don't stop!"

"I think something- Oh fuck, d-don't stop...!"

"Yoba! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-"

Quickly, you dismounted your lover before finishing him off with your hands, wanting to see the amount of his spend before you were met with the unexpected scene of him squirting. The white liquid sprayed all over his stomach and just underneath his chest as Harvey's screamed to the point you feared he'd wake your animals. Your eyes were as wide as saucers, yet...as your gasping lover struggled to catch his breath.

A part of you begged to see him do it again.

Shane

RIP to your pussy

He's definitely fucking you harder after that little display.

But how he reacts in other ways definitely depends on the location. If you two are having sex at your place? I like to imagine that he'll get really kinky with it and try to make you scream as loud as possible, making sure that everyone within a ten-minute radius of your farmstead knows who made you squirt.

If you're fucking at Marnie's house, however? That'll be the time you find out just how good (and sexy) slow sex with Shane can be.

Ultimately though, when you squirt, Shane is in the business of making sure that you continue the party alllllll night long until he's satisfied or you passed out.

♡ - Ohohoho...he's been waiting for this moment since the second he had access to your tight little cunt.

"Shit farmer...didn't know you could squirt~" Shane groaned as he pressed a hand into the middle of your back, forcing you to arch even more as he drilled his cock further into your sloppy cunt. "How many other secrets are you holdin' out on me, eh?" He continued to interrogate you even though he fully understood you were incapable of answering in a complete sentence, much less uttering a single word aside from the breathless moans that escaped your hoarse mouth.

Yet as the local drunk fucked pussy, his full balls slapping against your cunt as the noises filled your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He couldn't help but remember the fact that he used to be so rude to you before he actually stopped and got to know you.

Suddenly, your face appeared in the forefront of his mind and as he became more drunk off how your walls squeezed his cock, the enveloping warmth began to make his hips stutter as he felt his release close in on him. All he could think about was making you his cute little farmer wife.

The two of you could raise allll the chickens you wanted.

But most importantly? And the most special little bonus that he and only he would get unlike the other people in this town who possibly had a crush on you? He'd have 24/7 access to your squirting little cunt, your moans that shamelessly told him to keep going despite your overstimulation.

He uttered out a guttural 'Fuck' at the idea. "Fuck pretty...we should get married after this, huh?" He smirked. "Ain't no way I'm losing this tight pussy, especially after figuring out what you can do tonight."

[zolass]

Live, Lust, Love Ch. 01

Bottom Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Finally here with Live, Lust, Love, this is going to be in 2nd POV to see what I like more, second or third, so I'm sorry for the confusion.

In general this fic is NSFT/NSFW content, ik this is a ran through idea for stories but Live, Love, Lust is gonna be one of my babies. It has DD:DNE content as well, and yes a yandere harem.

cw: exhibitionism and voyeurism, mentions of multiple rounds. sry if I missed some

1.7k words

Lewd moans reverberated around the warm and dimly lit bedroom, the bed looked soft with a plush blanket and pillows, a few shelves with some toys on it, or other interests– figurines or books with plants and other decor in the empty spaces.

Audible wet squelching and the squeaking of a chair, while you were simply lost in the pleasure. Your thighs quivered, while your head whipped back as the silicone dildo – which you had placed on the chair – disappeared and reappeared with every time you lifted and dropped your hips. Your legs were spread open, as your teary eyes barely saw the lit up screen from your live stream, you only heard the little dings every time someone donated money.

Your face was sweaty underneath the mask that covered basically anything except your mouth and eyes, while your hair clung to your skin. You could only feel the immense pleasure shooting up your spine, while your cock was weeping precum – bobbing uselessly between your legs. 

Even when your legs started to tremble in exhaustion, you simply kept chasing the all too familiar feeling that started to bubble in your groin. While you forced your legs and body to go faster, the moans spilling from your lips seemed to grow in volume as well until a high-pitched moan left your open hanging mouth– your eyes rolled back as your back arched, the toy buried until the hilt inside of you as you reached your third orgasm on stream.

Ropes of cum dirtied your stomach and chair, while some landed on your mask and lips– which you licked away as your eyes found the camera again. An exhausted yet satisfied smile formed on your lips as you leaned forward, letting your legs and knees rest on the chair, “Thanks guys for joining me today,” you chirped happily, gaining another few donations and a lot of messages that begged you not to go, to keep talking to them, while some wished you already a good rest. 

You blew a kiss towards the screen, while waving your hand, “Until next time,” your voice was laced with sweetness as you said those words – but the moment you stopped the livestream you couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh as you leaned back. Slowly you tried to get up from the chair, while your legs were feeling like jelly– trembling underneath your weight as you held onto the furniture of your bedroom as you made your way towards your bathroom. 

After you cleaned yourself up and your legs trembling reduces itself enough for you not to immediately face-plant the moment you let go of your furniture, you dressed yourself in simple silky shorts and a top, before you cleaned your setup which means the chair, toys and desk. 

Only after that did you give yourself the sweet realization of your today's income, a small smile formed on your lips. A couple thousands were added to your bank account which still felt ridiculous, after all you only started out because of a little bet you had with a friend– but when you saw the numbers on your bank account reach new highs– you possibly couldn’t stop.

You still went to work– but with the additional money you could live more comfortably, without the stress on bills or food. It was a bit ridiculous you got pleasure and money and all you had to do was let others watch you on the infamous cam-site ‘Elysium Live’ which is an invite only platform– except you want to be a camgirl or camboy, then you’ll have to send prove, while they already rate you if you’re good enough for their site or not.

After you said that to your female friend– a friend of yours who also did it once but didn’t really gain a reach – first was suspicious and then wanted to simply break the bet off until you had to reveal that you already sent a video over. It did take a few hours until you suddenly got an email and a one-time entry key. Well after that you started with it and quickly realized that people on this platform paid quite a lot.

Now it was a second and better paid job that you worked, not that you could complain, especially now that you have had three days off to stream you had to work tomorrow again. So after glancing at the time which read 3 PM, you simply walked into your kitchen to make yourself a late lunch. Sometimes you think about how many people might be streaming on the platform, as it does have profiles and a small tap on the profiles in which viewers can leave comments or requests, like a social media – just with cam boys and girls.

Of course you’ve gotten some quite – disturbing comments that you reported and within twenty minutes the comment was deleted, with a few others that quickly followed. You can’t lie, the support system seemed to be really good, handling the reports quickly, which was quite satisfying service for the– employee’s. 

With your lunch plated you walked back to your computer, you had to list down some of the requests that slipped in during the livestream, jotting only those down you would feel comfortable with. You really wanted to have access on your phone as well – but you weren’t sure if it was possible or even if you even wanted to open the app in public.

You tilted your head at some of those requests– lingerie. Not something you would shy away from but, how could you get it without having to walk into a store all awkward– telling a lie about buying a gift for your girlfriend that didn’t even exist– or you could be bold and shameless simply saying it’s for yourself. You’re going to figure it out when the time comes, as for now you could focus on the ones you can already do on the next livestream.

The next day you had gotten ready for work early before driving over with your bicycle, you planned on getting a car when the money you have wouldn’t put a too deep dent into your pocket that could make you worry about your bills again. It’s not like you stream every day, so it was a slow process, but fun nonetheless.

As you finally arrived at the corner store you worked at, you quickly secured your bike before stepping into the staff room from the back. You quickly changed and walked out to the front, greeting your coworker and friend, Melina. “Well well well– if it isn’t our favorite camboy,” her teasing voice was hushed as a smirk formed on her lips as she saw the half-hearted glare you sent her way. “Ha-ha so funny, also don’t forget that I was able to buy you a really nice birthday gift with the money I made,” you shot back with a small winning smirk on your lips – after all the brunette loved your gift.

“I know that, after all was it my idea to start this bet with you–” suddenly the door opened making the bell ding, the two of you glanced at each other as Melina made a zipping motion with her fingers across her lips, as the two of you nodded. No talking about it until the end of the shift.

Which was how the two of you continued to work together, chatting over various topics that came to mind, while you either restocked or stood at the cash register together to gossip. Everything was going peaceful as ever until the door opened again, close to the both of you’s shift end, and in came what you would consider a handsome – even gorgeous man. 

You couldn’t help but watch as the dark haired man grabbed two pairs of energy drinks, before he stepped closer until he stopped right in front of you– putting the drinks down, which automatically made you focus on them for a split second, seeing faint scars, before quickly looking back at the handsome man. He was wearing tailored clothes – a suit – he had hazel eyes and a charming smile on his lips. 

Quickly clearing your throat in embarrassment from being so obvious in ogling at the man, you quickly scanned the drinks and typed in, “That would be 3,56–” you were suddenly interrupted by the man who suddenly placed a fifty bill on the counter making you raise your eyebrows, “Do we know each other? Sorry that I’m asking but you seem – quite familiar,” the man suddenly questioned, making you frown just a bit before shrugging and shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

A frown formed now on the other’s eyebrows before they raised while his eyes widened slightly as if he realized something, a small melodic chuckle left the man, before he grabbed the drinks, “Then I’m sorry, must’ve been someone else– oh and you can keep the change,” with those words and another sexy and charming smile thrown your way before the man stepped out of the store.

There was a long moment of silence, before you looked at Melina who let out a gasp. Her mouth hung open while she stared with raised eyebrows and eyes between you and the door, “That dude was hot, and rich– did you see how he came in here?” suddenly the chattering began as you only tried to process what just happened, before focusing on putting the money in the cash register. “He’s a flirt and definitely has some hots for you– like gawd damn did you see how he basically undre–” you put your hands over her mouth, stopping her from continuing. 

“Melina– take a breath I think the heat is rising to your head,” you only warned her to not push it further. Making Melina roll her eyes as she only nodded, “Fine-fine, I won’t continue until– our shift is over,” she announced after you dropped your hand. Both of you glanced at the clock, over the two of you which showed that there were only seven minutes left until your shift was over making you internally groan as you wouldn’t hear the end of her rambling about the ‘sex eyes’ the guy gave you. 

You weren’t sure of what her motives were– but one was for sure she didn’t want you to stay single now that you were in your late twenties. Maybe that’s also why you made a dash for your bike the moment your shift came to an end, throwing your working clothes into your locker, only to hear the complaining of Melina. “I know where your house lives!” she yelled after you while you left her in the dusk.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw implication, enemies to lovers, kinda bitchy reader,

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about the poor college boy who’s struggling to get used to dorm life and his loud neighbor who isn’t making matters any better.

He has never been shy about telling someone off. People should have the common decency not to blast their infernal music so loud that the entire dorm shakes. And you, whoever you may be, are no exception—he thinks while pounding on your door with his fist. Fuck knows if you can even hear him over your speakers.

But lo and behold and despite all odds, you open up.

“Excuse me, can you turn it down?” His words might be polite, but his voice is anything but—glaring down at you… who quickly turned out to be a girl… 

Yeah, definitely not the idiot ass-hat with the shitty body odor he was expecting. But a pretty girl in a short tank top without a bra and booty shorts so tight and short he would think you’d bought them ten years ago.

“It’s eight?” You raise your brow at him, face otherwise dull.

Okay, so you weren't what he was expecting. And sure, it might make his throat a little tight, among other things. But still, he not going to let it change anything. 

“Yeah, I’m tryna study.” 

That was a lie. He was actually about to go to bed. But he wasn’t about to tell you that. Judging by the way you were looking at him, he’d say you’d just laugh and slam the door in his face. Maybe even turn the volume up to spite him.

Not that telling you he was studying was any better.

“There’s something called a library for that sorta thing,” you drawl.

He’s right—you’re the sardonic type. There’s usually no use fighting with people like you, but still, he must stand his ground and insist, “Yeah, well, I prefer my room.”

You reply in kind, smiling now with a short excuse for a laugh, “Oh, what do you know, me too.”

You’re a little hard to read. That felt like sarcasm, but it wasn’t all that easy to tell. He’s mostly certain you couldn't care less, but at the same time, you’d humored him this long. So, maybe…

“You’ll turn it down then?”

As expected. You just laugh and shut the door in his face.

He stands there for a moment. You must be blowing your eardrums sitting in there. He thinks about knocking again, maybe dropping some of the politeness this time and demanding you turn it down.

But he ends up going back to his room. He decides then to wait another hour, thinking you might come to your senses despite your poor attitude. But at zero point, do you turn your music down by even a single lousy notch. 

Lying in his room, he’s hoping someone else might come by and tell you off. That maybe then you’d listen.

But a couple more minutes later, he realizes he can’t wait for that to happen and decides to test his luck again. Abruptly springing from his bed, he marches over to your room. Doing as he did last time, nearly kicking your door in with his banging.

“Oh my god, dude, what is your problem!?” you bark once seeing him.

And his eye nearly twitches in turn. “My problem? Really? You’re one to talk!”

You gape at him, both glaring at the other. 

“It’s eight-thirty. What? Is it your bedtime or something?”

“No. But I would appreciate it if I could hear myself think in my own room!”

“Oh? Well, maybe you should call your mommy and cry about it!”

Again, all you do is slam the door in his face. However, this time, you skip the laugh and settle for a simple yet efficient grimace that lets him know you’ll not be answering the door again.

Several days pass. He caved and invested in a pair of noise-canceling headphones. But still, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep when he wanted. But suppose that wasn’t all your fault. To be honest, he’d probably be struggling either way, with or without your music. It’s not easy living in a new place. 

It’s lonely, too.

But that can’t be helped. At least not for him. He’s not too good at trying to make friends. And yet, there’s someone at the door. 

Three firm knuckle knocks let him know. But who it might be is anyone’s guess. Still, he begrudgingly answers.

“Oh… so this is you, huh…” 

It’s you—the hot but nasty girl next door, wearing that same pair of shorts he’s been thinking about every day without wanting to. 

You don’t seem too pleased to see him either, even when you’d been the one to knock. 

“Ugh…” You look around, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly before gritting your teeth and finally mustering up enough gall to actually spit out what you’d come there for. “You wouldn’t happen to have a screwdriver or something?”

This time, it’s him who raises his eyebrow. “Or something?” he repeats. “What would that be exactly?”

You scoff then, about to leave, grumbling out, “Never mind–” but he interjects before you’re fully turned around.

“Wait there.” 

It’s to both of your surprise when he disappears into his room.

He isn’t gone long before he’s back with a screwdriver. 

“Here.”

You don’t say anything, just rudely rush to grab it without even looking at him, but when you pull it to yourself, you’re pulled back, stuck to the same spot. He holds onto the other end, looking you right in your shocked eyes.

“You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone does something for you.”

You look flushed—a little chagrined, maybe—but ultimately, you can’t really argue with it, mumbling out a bitter “Thanks.”

He smiles then, chuckles even. Not nicely. Smugly. 

Admittedly, it’s not his best moment, but who can blame him? You haven’t exactly been so nice yourself. Right now, he can tell you almost feel like rejecting his offer altogether, but that refusing at this point would be too petty so you just have to grin and bear it. 

It’s actually kind of cute.

“Bring it back once you’re done,” he says, then lets go of you, and off you go, nearly stomping away.

He goes back to studying, shaking his head at you. You can’t have many friends either with that attitude. Suppose you have that in common.

Sometime later there’s a frustrated scream coming from the other room. Then, the sound of a door handle roughly getting yanked, someone storming down the short distance of the corridor before throwing his door open unannounced.

“Your useless screwdriver isn’t doing its stupid job!” you yell in a whine, almost throwing the tool at him where he sits by his desk. It lands in his bed next to him instead.

You look utterly disheveled at this point. Dewy-faced and frustrated, hair a total mess and even hotter still. It’s really unfair. How come a bitchy brat like you looks like that, even when you’re a wreck? It shouldn't be allowed.

“I highly doubt it’s the screwdriver's fault. You positive it’s the useless one?”

This time, you just growl without words before turning on your heel, about to stomp out the same way you’d arrived—but again, he finds himself stopping you for whatever reason he still can’t understand.

“Wait.” He gets up from his chair and picks up the screwdriver you’d chucked. “Le’mme have a look.”

You shake your head with a scoff, “No way. I’m not letting you in my room.”

“You didn’t seem so reserved when you came barging into mine.” Ignoring you, he walks straight past you.

“Wait–” you protest, but he doesn't bother. 

He just opens your door and reveals the breakdown you’d had just earlier. Having but one word to ascribe to the scene.

“Wow.”

Suppose you were both in your own right struggling with acclimating to dorm life…

“It’s not my fault I’m not a carpenter or whatever. The instructions said it was simple,” you excuse the mess of planks and screws and bits all belonging to your unassembled wardrobe among all the clothes that are meant to be in it. “They lied.”

He scratches his neck, feeling a little bad for you despite everything. This would take anyone over an hour—probably even more, to be honest. Even if you managed on your own, you’d have a hard time pushing it into place. Not that it’s any of his business. But hey… if he played his cards right, maybe he could get something out of this in the end.

“Alright. I’ll make you a deal,” he says then, folding his arms upon his chest while looking down at you. “I’ll set this up for you.” He leans down, that same smug smile from before plastered on his face as he comes with his condition, “If you promise to lower your music after eight.”

Honestly, with your looks, you could probably knock on just about anyone else's door and ask for their help instead. They probably wouldn’t ask anything in return. But hey, can’t blame a guy for trying.

And to his surprise, you actually seem to think about it. Maybe you’re one of those girls without a clue. You even do this cute thing where you chew your lip in thought, a furrow between your brows. 

You look up at him when you’re finished. “Ten.”

You’re bargaining with him now? He was expecting you to say something like fat chance. But no, you’re really that desperate.

He thinks about agreeing but then doesn’t. No, it might be a little scummy of him, but since he’s gotten this far, he might as well keep the act up and stand his ground. 

“Eight,” he insists.

And you’re face scrunches as you fold, going down to “Nine.”

But no, following the same logic that had worked for him up until now, he still doesn’t budge. “Eight.”

You purse your lips, and he thinks he’s blown it, that you’re just about ready to bark at him to get the fuck out. But you don’t. Instead, you become even cuter. Giving in with a sigh, “Okay, fine.”

He honestly can’t believe it. Though his face shows no shock, he’s dumbfounded on the inside. He can’t believe that worked. Here’s this chick who all but told him to go fuck himself just a few days ago, now all but begging him for his help. Or no, begging is a strong word, but still.

He has to go back into his room and fetch the rest of his toolbox. Turned out you did need an or-something—a drill. No wonder you weren’t managing. But after a little over an hour of tinkering while you lay on your bed reading a magazine—and at some point asking you if it was okay if he removed his shirt before he died of heatstroke, then bothering you for a drink—it was finally finished.

“Alright, all done.” He announced, and after sliding it into place for you, he clapped his hands together and said, “Ta-dah.”

He then takes a look at his wristwatch, wanting to see how long he’d spent, but comes away with another fun discovery.

“My my, would you look at the time?” he grins again, showing it to you. “Just passed eight.”

It makes him snicker. And not expecting a thank you after that comment, he just gathers his tools and slings his shirt over his shoulder, ready to excuse himself. 

“Let me know if you need a cup of sugar, neighbor.” 

He’s just about to open the door when you speak up.

“Thanks, but I'm good on sugar, actually.” 

Your voice is a little different this time—not annoyed, though not chagrined like earlier either—no, something new. Something that makes him turn around again. 

You’ve rolled off the bed, now standing just a short distance away, hips tilted, standing slanted with your arms crossed loosely, wearing those same tight little short shorts he’s never seen you without but could definitely picture on the floor.

Yeah, in his wildest dreams, or so he thought…

“I might need some help breaking in my bed, though, if you’re interested.” 

You step closer, sizing him up where he stands, and then you smile, offering him a small coy laugh. “That is, of course, if it’s not already passed your bedtime.”

He swallows thickly—nearly drops the toolbox to the floor but manages to keep his cool, though just barely.

“No, I think I can help you with that.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Touya, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Megumi, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Kuro, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Karasu ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi, Genya ♡ WB – Sakura, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[whoevenisjavier]

Miller Vs. You

pairing: no outbreak lawyer joel x f! lawyer reader (one shot - 9k words)

synopsis: How dramatic of you to sit in a hotel bar and drink your sorrows away before one of the most important days of your career. And how stupid it is to let a stranger pull you into a night that doesn’t stay behind.

additional tags/content warnings: 18+, mdni, lawyer joel miller, lawyer reader, divorced joel miller, age difference, joel is 55 and reader is 26, enemies to lovers (kinda?), one night stand, pwp, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), i swear harry castillo didn’t to anything wrong

You have a persona you stick to every single workday.

Shoulders back, neutral expression, never angry (because that could get you labeled as being “on your period” by someone with too much time and too little decency), and your voice always at the same pitch and volume: never too loud, never too soft, but always firm enough that you come across as credible.

Nothing shakes you. Nothing can. One trembling hand or a pair of widened eyes could cost you thirty points off your credibility score in the firm, and no one wants to be defended by someone who flinches. Without clients, there’s no money. Simple as that.

Of course, being a twenty-six-year-old woman means you have to prove yourself twice as much as anyone else. Especially in Austin, the beating heart of construction companies and men with large, calloused hands and sunburnt faces who rarely place their trust in a woman your age, dressed in a linen suit and heels.

Shit. What did you get yourself into?

A headache starts to bloom as you finally stop in front of a hotel on your way home, after a fifteen-minute walk. A doorman in full uniform is greeting guests at the end of a red carpet rolled out between the curb and the gilded doors, and every inch of it screams money. Formal wear. Ten thousand forks for ten thousand-course wine-paired dinners.

You glance down at your formal dress and running shoes.

You almost turn around. You had to switch into sneakers for the walk home after work to clear your head, and your heels are tucked inside your bag, but the mere thought of being turned away for your outfit pisses you off even more.

Still, rules are rules. That’s your job, after all.

Tonight, you admit that a drink is absolutely worth the risk and you sure as hell won’t find one at home, where the only alcohol in your fridge is a half-finished bottle of wine that’s probably turned to vinegar by now.

So you take a deep breath, walk up to the doorman, and use that soft, composed voice you save for very specific moments.

“Good evening. I’m not a guest, but I’m here for the bar.”

The doorman gives you a once-over so quick it’s like it never happened. Before he can bring up the dress code, you pull your bag open so he can see your heels. And your makeup pouches. And the empty glass containers that once held your lunch.

“I’ll put the heels on. I swear. I was just walking home from work.”

“Good evening,” he says politely, with an accent you know isn’t from Texas. “Please feel free to use one of the couches in the lobby to put your shoes on before heading to the bar.”

Message received.

Like the law-abiding citizen you are, you follow the rules and switch out your sneakers for your heels before heading down the hotel’s main corridor to the bar. The decor is dark, rich, and moody, and the red carpet is soft beneath your steps as you walk toward the bar counter. The chandeliers, cascading with colored crystals, cast warm amber shadows across the wood ceiling, carved and curved with elaborate detail.

You settle onto a barstool, velvet-cushioned and high-backed, and bury your face in your hands for a moment, breathing in the scent of cedar and the swirl of colognes with notes of wood and tobacco flower.

Today was your mentor’s farewell party at the firm. She got an offer from a major New York firm that she couldn’t turn down, and the non-negotiable requirement was that she start tomorrow. She’s probably already at the airport by now.

As soon as she gave notice, you were promoted to fill the role she left behind, but only so you could inherit all of her massive, complex cases.

Today was goodbye. And tomorrow…

Tomorrow is the first hearing in the class action brought by twenty workers, now represented by you, against one of the country’s biggest construction companies. Tomorrow, you’ll argue for class certification before the judge and the construction company’s attorney, whose name you haven’t bothered to look up. You don’t need to know who it is.

“Judging by that look, I’m gonna suggest a straight whiskey. Neat.”

You glance up at the bartender, who’s offering a sympathetic smile.

“I am in crisis, but not that deep. A Gold Rush, please.”

He nods and steps away to make your drink, and you take a moment to look around.

There are couples whispering to each other, women and men who look way too guilty to actually be couples and are probably taking advantage of the place’s privacy to negotiate their affairs. Or maybe you’re just pathologically judgmental. There are men in suits drinking bottled beer alone, and a group of girlfriends gathered around a glittery, heavily made-up woman wearing a satin sash across her chest that reads “sweet 21.” Probably a bar crawl. This place doesn’t usually attract the young and joyful.

Your Gold Rush lands in front of you and you thank him. The opening bars of “That Don’t Impress Me Much” start playing softly over the speakers, casting just enough of a mood to make you forget, for a minute, why you came here in the first place.

When you pick up your phone, the work group chat is flooded with messages, mostly pictures from earlier tonight, and suddenly not even the magical composition of Shania Twain is strong enough to act as an antidote to the bitter sensation spreading in your stomach. There’s a cake in the photos, cheap champagne and going-away gifts for your mentor. Your smile looks perfectly convincing. No one would ever guess you’re terrified.

Someone sits down two stools to your left, and you glance over out of pure curiosity.

It’s a man in a crisp white shirt, sleeves buttoned just right, tailored slacks, and shoes that shine too much for him to be some intern at an accounting firm nearby. He raises a finger to the bartender, and you catch a glimpse of his salt-and-pepper hair and beard before turning your attention back to your drink. Definitely not an intern.

You text a few of your friends, humming softly along with whatever’s playing from the strategically hidden speakers around the bar. The bartender shares a few pieces of gossip and hotel stories, and you’re entertained, especially by the one about the top-floor suite being haunted.

You ask for a second Gold Rush, but when the glass is placed in front of you, it’s just whiskey. A sad, warm, flat pour of whiskey.

The bartender walks away too fast to notice your attempt to call him back, already serving a new guest who just sat down at the far end of the bar.

“Shit,” you mutter, staring at the amber liquid staring back at you. Maybe this is a sign you’re meant to move on to neat whiskey.

“I think our drinks got switched.”

The voice comes from your left. The man in the white shirt is holding up a Gold Rush, fingers wrapped easily around the glass.

His voice is steady and deep, and his face catches you off guard. He’s handsome in a way that’s just… male. Strong jaw lined with a full beard, lips tinged slightly red from the whiskey.

“Oh,” you say, eloquently. “Yeah. Right. Here.”

You reach out and offer him your glass, and the two of you switch drinks. As you sit back on your stool, you feel his eyes stay on you.

“You looked a little disappointed not to get the whiskey.”

“I thought it was a divine sign I should start drinking it neat.”

“And why would God weigh in on your drink order?”

You rub the side of your face, smiling.

“Because he knows I need it.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Tough shit, huh?”

You nod, then take another long sip of your Gold Rush. It’s not as good as the first one… more watered down, less honey, more whiskey. Not exactly the ideal mix.

“What about you?” you ask, loud enough for him to know the question’s for him, though you keep your eyes on your glass. “Do you drink it neat because you like it or because you have to? Doesn’t make sense to me, someone choosing to drink whiskey like that.”

“I’ve outgrown drinking to forget. I just like the taste.”

“Okay.”

A low chuckle.

“What was that ‘okay’? You don’t believe me?”

“Hard to believe anyone’s ever too old to drink to get something off their mind.”

“All right. Let’s make a deal. You,” he lifts the glass and points a finger toward you, “tell me what you’re trying to forget, and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Why?”

“Because if you had anything better to do, you wouldn’t be here drinking alone.”

“Maybe I just want to drink in peace without being bothered.”

“I’m too old to be scared off by that kind of line, too. If you really didn’t want to talk to me, you wouldn’t have kept going.”

“Well, look at that. A behavioral analyst?”

Another lopsided smile that’s, unfortunately, way too attractive.

“Close enough.”

The group of girls gets up from their table, heading for the exit while singing in unison, “I’m 21 now, everybody wanna be my guy.” A few people turn to watch, but the man beside you doesn’t take his eyes off you.

You sigh.

“I got promoted. My mentor moved out of town and left me in charge of a load of terrifyingly complex cases that used to be hers.”

“Unless your boss is dumb as a box of rocks, they wouldn’t have promoted you if you didn’t have the chops.”

“I know I’m good,” you say, because it’s true. “Thanks, but I’m not in need of a pep talk about my potential. Your turn.”

He presses his palm flat on the oak bar in front of you both.

“Got divorced eight months ago and still dealing with the headache of splitting assets.”

“Someone trying to screw the other over?”

“No.”

That’s all he says, and that’s where he leaves it. And since you know your limits (at least most of the time) you raise your glass.

“Let’s drink to that.”

The drink has gone lukewarm from sitting too long, and this bar isn’t exactly cold, but the last thing your brain registers is the faint aftertaste of light oak lingering on your tongue, because the man in front of you holds your gaze as he takes another sip of his dull whiskey.

The bartender looks a little impatient when you finally realize he said something. You turn toward him, lowering your glass.

“Sorry. What?”

“Would you two like a table? One just opened up.”

He’s referring to the table where the group of brightly dressed girls had been just minutes ago. It’s clean now, the polished mahogany shining under the bar lights, and then—

“Oh, we’re not—”

“I…” the man next to you says, already standing. His trousers are slightly wrinkled at the thighs, and for some reason, you notice. “Would like a table, because there’s only so long my back can take sitting on one of these stools.”

He walks past you, still holding his glass, and says low enough for only you to hear:

“You’re welcome to join me if you feel like it.”

He smells good: clean, expensive cologne, aftershave with a hint of patchouli, and the scent stays with you even after he’s far enough away. The bartender wipes down the spot where the boring whiskey glass had been and says:

“I can bring your next round to the table.”

You respond with a small, polite smile, and slide off the stool.

In your day-to-day, you deal with nerve-wracking situations, but apparently your nervous system can’t tell the difference between arguing a case against a major corporation and walking over to a good-looking man, because your hands get clammy and your heart beats a little faster with each step.

The table he’s sitting at is a booth in the corner of the bar, one side framed by a half-moon sofa and the other by a wide, comfortable chair. He’s in the chair, on the phone.

When you slide into the booth across from him and set your bag down, he meets your gaze, and there’s something just slightly predatory in the way a small smile curves his lips.

“I’ve gotten ten reports about tomorrow already,” he says into the phone, thumb resting against the edge of his whiskey glass. His voice doesn’t match the smile. It’s colder. “I don’t need another one or more details. I’m the one who wrote the motion to dismiss.”

The bartender brings another Gold Rush. You ask for water. Joel lowers the phone and asks the bartender for something else before returning to the call.

“I thought it’d be the other attorney. No, I don’t know the new one,” he pauses. “Don’t bother looking up her name. What the hell difference would that make?”

He ends the call with a promise to talk again after whatever he’s doing at ten in the morning. The phone disappears into his pocket, and he leans back, lifting his eyebrows at you.

“So you decided to join me.”

“A gift.”

The smile widens.

“Not gonna argue with that.”

Another sip, another glance exchanged.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask. He nods once. “I’m curious, and I have very little shame about it. I want to know why you got divorced.”

“You’re expecting something scandalous or sexy, but I’m gonna let you down. It’s plain vanilla. Bland as a Big Mac, really.”

You laugh.

“That’s fine. It’ll still satisfy my curiosity.”

“Quick version? Work.” Ah yes, the plot of every midlife divorce movie ever made. “Long version involves listing every way we were socially, sexually, and emotionally incompatible, and my job was just the trigger that made us stop lying to each other.”

“For twenty years?”

“Twenty-two,” he corrects. “Yeah. Luckily, I’m not the brooding type and I don’t dwell on much, or I’d be stuck agonizing over spending nearly half my life with someone I didn’t love. And who didn’t love me.”

“Can I say I’m sorry?”

“Please don’t. I’m not sorry, so no reason you should be.”

“Maybe I’m just a helpless romantic with a shattered heart over the idea of a couple splitting up.”

The bartender reappears, placing a small charcuterie board on the table with cheeses, olives, cured meats, and in one corner, a few syrupy cherries. He hands you your water and walks away.

“You don’t strike me as a helpless romantic,” Joel says, gesturing toward the food. “Help yourself.”

He takes a bite of blue cheese and sips the whiskey.

“And you don’t look like a divorced man in crisis at a hotel bar,” you reply, which makes him smile, unfazed. “What do I look like?” you ask.

He doesn’t even have to think.

“Someone who’d sneak out in the middle of the night and leave a fake number on a napkin.”

“So… a player.”

A loud laugh bursts from one of the women at the next table. He watches you in silence, the golden light outlining the shape of his shoulders, the expensive leather watch on his wrist, and you think: I want to see him naked.

“Not a bad thing,” he says. “But to be fair, that’s just a guess. I don’t usually do this.” He explains, “Casual stuff. One-night stands.”

“Are you a romantic?”

“No, but I’m a fan of intimacy. I like knowing how to touch, what to touch, what to say. Waking up, breathing in someone’s skin, wanting more.”

His deep voice vibrates across every nerve in your body like a low-voltage current that leaves only a soft numbness at your fingertips.

“Let me know if I’m crossing a line,” you say.

“I wouldn’t let you cross one,” he replies calmly, full of quiet confidence.

You ignore him. “Have you had a casual thing since the divorce?”

“Just one.”

“And was it good? Because casual relationships usually have zero intimacy.”

“I didn’t expect it to be good. And I don’t expect you to understand or think it’s moral, but when you’ve been with the same person for that long, touching someone else, even post-divorce, feels wrong.”

“And that’s exactly what made it better,” you guess, because humans are painfully predictable like that, even if morality forces them to hide the pattern.

“Bingo.”

“Planning to go for a second round?”

“You mean with casual stuff in general, or with that same person?” he asks, and you shrug. Joel turns the question over like it’s another sip of aged whiskey. He watches as you pick up a cherry and place it between your lips. Finally, he says, “Haven’t had the chance. Either one.”

It’s just the whiskey. That’s the only reason you feel the urge to say until now so intensely that you have to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself.

“And your relationships?” he asks. You don’t answer, so he rephrases: “Your casual ones?”

You reply, “I don’t know your name.”

He leans in slightly.

“Joel.”

You tell him yours and reach out to shake his hand. Joel wraps his larger, soft hand around yours, his thumb resting gently across your knuckles. The gesture was supposed to be playful, a faux handshake, but Joel leans in.

Before he lowers his head completely, though, he turns just enough to look into your eyes. Then he presses a kiss to the top of your fingers.

“A pleasure,” he murmurs. He strokes your hand one last time before laying it gently on the table and sitting upright.

“If you keep this up,” you say, pulling your hand back into your lap, sure he can somehow see how your skin’s tingling even though that’s impossible, “you’ll have a whole collection of casual flings soon enough.”

“Did it work on you?” he asks, so polite, so well-mannered, that even the flirting sounds like something out of a velvet-bound British novel, if not for that slow Texas drawl that turns every sentence ending into something obscene. “Or are you not a fan of casual relationships?”

“It’s the only kind I’ve ever known.”

“What are you, twenty-four?”

“Twenty-six.”

Joel nods slowly, doing the math as he finishes off the last of his whiskey. Then he pulls his wallet from his pocket and flips through a few cards, and you catch a glimpse of an American Express Black before he slides something toward you.

You lean forward to get a better look under the dim light.

Two items. One is a gold State Bar of Texas license card, just like the one in your own wallet, with the name Joel Miller and an issue date of August 1997. Of course. A lawyer. The other is his driver’s license, photo and all, same name, and date of birth. A few seconds of math tell you Joel is fifty-five.

“If I said I’m staying on the top floor and would love for you to come up with me, what would you say?” he asks as you’re still scanning his personal information.

Makes sense now why he showed it to you.

It’s pure luck your hand is still in your lap, because the tremble might’ve given you away. You take a slow sip of water, calm and measured, and steady your breath before answering:

“Make the request properly, and I’ll give you an answer.”

Joel checks his watch, then his empty glass, and as he asks the bartender for the check, he says:

“I’m staying here and heading up to my room. I’d like you to come with me, because I’ve thought about you in my bed an unhealthy number of times in the last few minutes.”

“That’s not a request.”

“Shame. I’m not much of a man who asks.”

The bartender brings the check inside a leather folio embossed with the hotel’s logo, handing it to Joel. Before anything else, though, you place your hand on top of Joel’s documents, still neatly aligned on the mahogany table, and ask the bartender:

“Do you know him?” You gesture toward Joel.

The bartender looks between the two of you. If he finds the situation odd, which would be entirely reasonable, he doesn’t show it.

“Yes, of course. Mr. Miller is a very frequent guest of ours,” he answers politely. You keep your eyes on the bartender, but you can feel Joel watching you, the heat of it brushing against your profile. “A point of pride for the state of Texas, protecting the companies that drive our economy.”

Patriotism in Texas is nothing new, and you’re used to it by now, but the word “pride” still makes you frown. Your train of thought is interrupted when Joel asks the bartender:

“Her Gold Rushes are on here too?” The bartender says yes. Joel murmurs, “Good,” grabs the pen and signs his name on the dotted line. You only catch the M of his last name before the folio is closed. “Thank you.” Then, to you, he says, “Let’s go.”

There’s still plenty of room for you to say no, to back out, to clarify that you were just flirting and your final stop is here, not his hotel room. Joel would accept that and call it a night. But that’s not what you want, which is why you grab your purse, his documents, and rise from your seat along with him.

The elevator ride up to Joel’s hotel room is quiet, and he watches with a half-amused expression as you photograph his ID, hand everything back, then send his information and your location to your best friend. There’s no one else with you, and no one in the hallway to see Joel unlock the room with a keycard and step aside to let you in first.

The soft click behind you signals the door closing, but your eyes are on the freshly made bed and the suitcase in the corner of the room. A MacBook sits in the middle of the white sheets, and there’s a stack of papers on the nightstand. The hotel closet holds three suits on hangers and two pairs of polished shoes.

You’re so nervous you can feel it deep in your stomach, cold and sharp like anxiety always is. It’s reckless, being here with a stranger, but you cling to the shared location and the photos of his ID like a life raft, because you want this so badly.

Let’s just hope you don’t end up on the news tomorrow as the gullible attorney who walked into a psychopath’s trap.

Without even turning around, you know Joel’s behind you.

“I need to ask you something, and I don’t want it to be weird,” you say, facing him.

“Okay.”

“I want to shower first.”

“Damn,” he says, amused. “Here I was bracing for you to say you were into bloodplay.”

“That comes after the shower. I like my fangs nice and clean.”

Joel’s smile is easy, and despite the strangeness of the situation, an unavoidable side effect of any casual encounter, his expression makes the room feel a little less tense. He guides you to the suite, tells you to take all the time you need, and leaves you alone.

From there, everything’s mechanical. Heels off. Then the dress, folded carefully over the marble counter so it won’t wrinkle. Then your underwear. You tie your hair up, turn on the hot water, and step under the strong spray. You only wore a bit of makeup this morning, just a couple dabs of concealer, so you’re free to let the water hit your face, and that feels like a relief.

The heat loosens the tension in your shoulders, and the bathroom quickly fills with steam. Your worries about tomorrow sink down into the back of your mind, into that mental drawer where you keep your mom’s chocolate cake recipe, the names of Game of Thrones characters, and Kant’s theory on ethics and morality. Things that matter, just not right now.

There’s a bottle of body wash that seems way too fancy to be hotel-issued, but you pump some into your palm and work it across your skin. Patchouli.

The door opens again. Joel’s voice comes through the steam:

“Mind if I grab my toothbrush?”

The shower glass is fully fogged over. Still, it matters that he asks, even after you followed him up here fully intending to sleep with him.

“Go ahead and brush your teeth.”

The door opens all the way and closes again. Over the rush of water, you hear him moving at the sink, running the faucet, brushing.

“I’m not usually this weird,” you say, feeling the need to explain. “I swear if this were any other day, I would’ve kissed you the moment we walked into the room. But I came straight from work and didn’t want to torture you with the scent of a ten-hour shift.”

“I didn’t notice anything wrong with the way you smelled, but I get it. After twenty-five, we’ve all got our little rituals,” he says, mouth slightly full of foam, probably. Rinse. Spit. “But for the record? I would’ve dropped to my knees between your legs downstairs if you let me.”

You open the shower door. Joel’s drying his mouth with a small white towel, shirt already off. His chest and arms are solid, broad shoulders, strong build, but there’s a softness to his stomach that makes you want to press yours right up against it.

“Why don’t you come in here?” you say.

Apparently, that’s exactly what he was waiting for.

He unbuckles his belt. As he’s unbuttoning his pants, you slip back into the shower. Seconds later, Joel steps inside behind you, shutting the glass door, and your wet body meets his at the exact moment your mouths collide.

His hands are strong as they grab your hips, and he’s got enough height on you to make you feel entirely surrounded, completely taken. His kiss is firm, just like you imagined it would be, and his body is hot against yours, his torso pressed tight as chills ripple across your skin every time his mouth covers yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer, your breasts pressed against his chest, and take the initiative to part your lips and run your tongue across the seam of his.

Joel inhales sharply, fists your hair at the nape of your neck, and deepens the kiss, his tongue meeting yours. It’s so good and so commanding that your brain wants to shut down completely, which is probably why it’s sending frantic signals to your limbs to just submit, let him take over. But there’s so much you want to touch.

Your wet hands roam over his back, his shoulders. You breathe him in, savoring the way his grip on your ass tightens as he pulls you against him. His cock is hard and hot against the lowest part of your belly.

Your lips part with a wet pop, and his mouth drifts downward to your jaw just as he grabs your hand and wraps it around his thick cock. He covers your fingers with his own and moves them up and down once. Just once. Enough to make it obvious what he wants from you.

You take the opportunity to glance down, watching as your fingers wrap around him, the swollen head disappearing and reappearing with every stroke. He’s firm and soft, and the trimmed hair on his groin is the end of the trail that starts at his navel. You want to lick him from top to bottom.

Your rhythm falters slightly when Joel’s mouth finds your neck, your collarbones, while his hands explore your breasts, waist, hips.

“Fuck, you’re even hotter than I imagined,” he says, lifting your chin with a tug of your hair so he can kiss you again.

“Did you listen to a single thing I said tonight or were you just busy fantasizing about me?”

Joel groans when you press your palm against the head of his cock, a deep, low sound.

“I can do both. Especially when both are this damn interesting.”

The gray in his hair darkens under the steam. He kisses so well it’s borderline unfair, and it’s only because he kisses you again that you almost don’t notice when his hand slides down your back, over your ass, between your legs, and grabs your pussy from behind. His satisfied hum at how wet you are is drowned out by your gasp.

Without hesitation, he sinks his middle finger inside you. Your hand freezes around his cock, but Joel clicks his tongue.

“Keep stroking me,” he murmurs. “Don’t stop.”

Good for Joel if he can multitask. Despite all that talk about women being naturally better at it, tonight you’re failing. He’s fingering you from behind, one foot between yours keeping your legs spread, and you can’t jerk him off in any rhythm that would make sense. Your brain’s gone to mush.

“Shit,” Joel says, sounding almost… frustrated. “You’re so fucking tight around my fingers. I need to…”

You melt in his arms as he pulls his fingers from you, puts you against the glass wall of the shower and kneels in front of you, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder before leaning in to lick you. You writhe against him, your heel pressing into the hard muscle of his back, but his fingers on your thighs feel like steel clamps.

He doesn’t waste time. Licks you from bottom to top, probably more for himself than for you, but after that, he’s relentless, sucking directly on your clit, already swollen and sensitive. Your hair slips from its bun. Joel’s dark eyes devour your chest, your face, while his tongue works magic between your legs, making you moan without shame.

Your hips move on instinct against his mouth, riding his face, and Joel encourages it.

“Joel—”

“You just ruined my whole damn month,” he says, switching his mouth for his thumb. He circles your clit slowly, massaging, pressing. Your leg trembles. “I’m gonna remember the sound of you moaning my name for days. At work. In meetings. At home…”

You smile up at the ceiling, still half delirious, when Joel bites the soft spot where your thigh meets your hip.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he orders.

You obey.

When he puts his mouth on you again, it’s clear he has one goal: to make you come. And there’s your answer. Maybe one — maybe zero — of the men you’ve slept with before knew the right pressure to suck your clit, not too hard, not lazy, and even fewer had the patience to push you to the edge, to keep their eyes on you, to make it unforgettable.

The orgasm hits like a wave, consuming you from the inside out. Joel has to hold you against the glass to keep you from collapsing or slipping. You whimper, dissolving like sugar in water, pulsing against his tongue. And when he stands up again, your eyes are instantly drawn to his still rock-hard cock, now flushed almost red.

Joel presses a chaste kiss to your temple and whispers,

“Turn around.”

“I’m not having sex without a condom,” you say, but still turn, planting your hands against the shower wall.

“Neither am I.”

That doesn’t stop him from sliding his cock between your folds, holding your hips steady. You press your legs together.

“This okay?” he checks. You nod. He hums, “Good.”

Joel wraps an arm around your waist, his solid forearm crossing over your stomach, and rolls his hips while his free hand caresses every inch of you. The thick head of his cock slides up and down between your folds, brushing your clit with every slow thrust, drawing out a whimper from your throat. He leaves kisses down your spine, over your shoulder blade, and they melt into warm sighs as you reach between your legs and press his cock harder against yourself. It glides easily, soaked by how wet you are, and you bite your lip to keep from begging him to just fuck you already.

Then, without warning, he pulls back, withdrawing from between your legs. He turns your face to kiss you again, his breath ragged against your lips. You try to stroke him, needing to feel how hard he still is, but Joel catches your wrist, brushing his thumb softly across it.

“No,” he says gently. “Give me a second, alright? I’m close.”

You kiss his cheek, then whisper,

“I can get you hard again.”

The low, raspy laugh he lets out is the sexiest sound you’ve heard all night, especially at that volume, intimate and low, meant only for you.

“I’m not twenty-five anymore. My refractory period’s a lot longer now.”

There’s something about the way he says it, with total confidence despite the admission, like he couldn’t care less about the time it takes because he knows damn well how good he is, that makes you grab him again. Joel pulls you close, kisses you with that same depth, and reaches over to shut the water off before guiding you gently out of the shower.

Your body’s soaked, still dripping, and Joel’s not much drier as you both step out of the bathroom and walk across the room to the bed. Wet footprints trail behind you, and you almost feel bad for the pristine white sheets as Joel eases you down into the center of the mattress. Then he covers you with his body, and for a few minutes, his body is all you feel.

The positions shift, and now you’re on top of him. Joel keeps his eyes on you as you move along his body, one of his hands massaging the back of your neck in a firm and steady way, but the second your mouth closes around him, his eyes shut. His fingers tighten against your throat.

You’re not usually great at maintaining eye contact during a blowjob because it always makes you feel like you look ridiculous with your mouth full, but when you look up, it’s not about being sexy. You just need to see the way his jaw clenches, how the veins on his neck stand out. A slow pass of your tongue over the swollen head and that tender spot just beneath it makes him unravel even more.

Maybe it’s nothing to be proud of, but sucking him feels good. Your mind goes completely quiet, focused only on his sounds, the moans, the sighs, the dirty words he murmurs each time you suck the head, massage that sensitive spot, or slide your lips down his full length with your teeth carefully covered.

You feel his thighs begin to tense right before he massages your jaw and gently nudges you back up. He exhales deeply, letting his head fall against the pillow again, speaking more to the ceiling than to you.

“Okay. Now I really wish I was twenty-five again.”

You’re so wet between your legs that you can feel it slick between your folds as you crawl back up over Joel’s body and straddle his hips with a smile, wiping your lips with your fingertips. It’s almost instinctive, the way your hands flatten on his stomach, gliding over his torso, his pecs, his freckled shoulders.

“Too close?”

Joel nods, finally looking at you again. Just as naturally, his hands roam over your thighs, admiring you.

“Too close,” he agrees. “And I’m cursing myself because it felt so damn good. You’re so damn good.”

Call it what you want, but being praised for something you’re good at is always an ego boost, whether it’s about defending constitutional violations in a cert petition or the way you suck a man off.

“What’s your practice area?” you ask, since the idea is to give him a moment to cool down. “I saw your bar card.”

“Employment and labor law... For companies. And commercial litigation.”

Ah. So that’s why the bartender said he was some sort of national hero to corporations. Great. You’ve ended up in bed with a champion of the bourgeoisie.

“In-house?”

His eyes stay fixed on the small birthmark near your hip, tracing it with his thumb as he answers:

“No. I’ve got my own firm.”

“I work at one.”

That makes him lift his eyes, his hands pausing.

“You’re an attorney?” he asks. You nod. “What area?”

“Employment.”

“Please tell me it’s not mine.”

“You wouldn’t know an associate at your own firm?” you ask, a little surprised.

“I don’t keep up with everyone. Not anymore.” Joel wraps one arm around your hips just before sitting up in bed, you still in his lap. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leans in. A kiss to your neck, then one to your throat, his hands sliding up your back. “I don’t only work in Texas, even though I started here. We’ve got offices in California and New York, and I live there now.”

The next kiss on your neck has a bit more bite, which makes you shift on his lap, your fingers threading through his damp hair.

Your voice trembles a little when you say,

“I’ll never represent companies. And no teeth. I’ve got a hearing tomorrow.”

He murmurs a soft “sorry” against your skin and, with both hands on your back, lowers you gently so he can start licking your breasts. When his mouth closes around one of them, the only thing your brain can think is:

“The teeth. There… Okay. That’s allowed.”

Joel laughs quietly, but he takes the hint. The next time he sucks on your nipple, his tongue circles the tip and his teeth graze just the right amount, sending a sharp pulse through your body. He gives equal attention to both before rising to kiss you again, his hand finding its way between your legs, fingers pressing against your folds with a rhythm and pressure so delicious it almost feels criminal. The wet sound that follows makes you blush, but Joel’s response is a curse along with him slipping two fingers inside.

You choke on a breath, shift your hips, try to accommodate him. Asks:

“If I worked for you, would you stop this? Fire me?”

“Nothing in the world could make me stop this.” A pause. “I’m adding another finger,” more a warning than a request, but you’re so wet and relaxed that all you feel is a slight burn and the undeniable fullness as he slides a third one in.

“Condom,” you say. Demand.

Joel’s still got his face tucked into the curve of your neck, his fingers working inside you, when he reaches blindly toward the nightstand. He must’ve placed one there while you were in the shower. God, you love a man who plans ahead.

Except—

“Shit,” he mutters. “It’s in my kit. In the bathroom.”

“I’m this close to telling you to fuck me without it.”

A nearly painful groan.

“Don’t say that. I’m already picturing it…” His thumb circles your clit. Rubs. “Picturing what it’d feel like to come inside you.”

“I think we should be responsible.”

That’s your rational brain speaking, and it’s the only reason you get off his lap and step out of bed to head toward the bathroom. There’s nothing on the counter but your clothes, and you’re not even sure how to open these fancy, handle-less cabinets.

“Joel,” you call out.

Sheets rustle. Footsteps. Then a hand on your waist, gently guiding you to the right. Joel taps one corner of a door with his thumb, and it opens with ease to reveal a toiletry kit. He pulls out a condom, holding it between two fingers.

“Hard to find?”

You turn to him.

“Never seen handle-less doors before. Must be a fancy-room thing for bougie corporate lawyers.”

Joel watches you as he tears the packet open, and you feel a little self-conscious under the bathroom’s harsh lighting, aware that a few strands of hair are probably out of place and your dark circles look even more visible after all the stress about tomorrow’s, but his cock is still hard as ever while he rolls the condom down his length.

“A class enemy?” he asks softly once he’s done, stepping closer until the marble counter presses against the small of your back. Joel lowers his head, cradles your jaw, and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Am I corrupting you?”

“No one needs to know.”

All it takes is his hands on your hips and one solid pull to seat you on the counter, Joel stepping between your legs.

“Shame. But I’m gonna make you forget all about the hate,” he promises, spreading your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the counter. You grip his shoulders, and before anything else, he takes your jaw again and makes you look down and watch as he guides himself toward you. “Come on, love. Watch while you let your enemy slide inside that pussy.”

You plant one foot on the counter to open yourself up wider, tilt your hips to get a better look as his thick cock drags from top to bottom between your folds before finally breaching your entrance.

“Joel—”

He slides all the way in, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fingers digging into his shoulders. Joel covers your mouth with his, wraps your thighs around his hips, and with one hand braced on the mirror behind you, finally, finally!, starts to fuck you.

Joel keeps in mind what you said about no visible marks, but it seems he took a generous interpretation of that rule because he doesn’t leave any where people might see. The relentless motion of his hips and the deep thrusts inside you come paired with kisses to your neck, slow bites to your breasts (which will definitely leave reminders for the rest of the year), and praises whispered against your ear. So fucking good, never had anyone like you, wanna spend all night buried inside you…

God. A goddamn talker. Like you weren’t already absolutely wrecked.

At some point, you end up standing, bent over the sink, and the marks Joel leaves are now on your back. He grabs your hair, makes you watch through the mirror, grips your ass with both hands, and you’re not proud of how many times you beg.

He listens, delivers. When he needs a break himself, he slips out of you, urges you to arch even deeper, and puts his mouth on you from behind, licking your pussy like a man starving for it. You come in seconds, shaking, still trembling when he guides you back to bed. Then he slides back inside you.

At some point, with your throat dry, you whisper in his ear,

“Look at you. You’re fucking me like I’m an employee at one of your clients’ companies.”

Joel laughs out loud, and it’s one of the most delicious sounds you’ve ever heard. He laughs with his mouth against yours, holding you close, his body shaking with it, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

“You pretty thing, shut up,” he says, but it’s so gentle, so intimate.

“Wanna know how you can shut me up?” you ask, pressing your lips to his sweaty neck, licking the salt from his skin. Joel says your name like a warning as he fucks you slowly, his thrusts deep and deliberate. “Come in my mouth.”

The groan that escapes him is raw, guttural, completely involuntary. One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other grips your hips, and he starts to lose control, faster, rougher, frantic, until he pulls out, takes off the condom, and climbs up your body until his knees are on the mattress beside your shoulder and his cock is back in your mouth.

Joel looks down as your lips close around his swollen head, chest rising and falling, and it only takes a few strokes of your tongue and a warning before he’s coming in your mouth, long and hard, moaning your name. You swallow everything and feel your belly tighten when he calls you a good girl, privately and softly, before leaning down to kiss you.

When he finally collapses beside you, both of you are exhausted, slick with sweat, and the ceiling seems a little brighter somehow.

You turn your head to look at him, and he turns his toward you.

“Intimate enough for you?” you ask.

“Not sure. I think I need to fuck you two more times to be certain.”

Smiling this much at a casual hookup is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.

“And I need food.”

“Want me to order room service?”

That… wasn’t your intention. You meant you need to go, grab something to eat, make a clean exit for the both of you.

You sit up in bed. The clock on the table in front of you says it’s nine-thirty.

“Is the food here any good?” you ask, and apparently, somewhere in that question, there’s an answer to his invitation.

Joel orders room service, pays for everything, and you head back to the shower. And Joel follows… again. Somewhere in that overly capable, slightly aging brain of his, he decides you need to come again using his fingers. Then by holding the shower head directly to your clit, the water pressure making you twist and writhe against him. By the time the food arrives, you’re already half-asleep.

You’re in a robe, your hair is clean, the bed is soft, and Joel is… comfortable.

The perfect setup for sleep.

You wake up to the sound of a siren.

The hotel windows are thick and sealed shut, but the siren outside, somewhere in the city, is high-pitched and unrelenting, dragging you out of a deep, warm sleep. If not for the bedside lamp set to its lowest brightness, the room would be completely dark, and you wouldn’t be able to see Joel’s relaxed face as he sleeps, or the way his arm is still wrapped around your waist.

It’s hard, but you manage to slip out of the heat of his body, gently move his arm, and step out of bed on your toes. It’s just past two in the morning, and suddenly the weight of tomorrow hits you like an anvil dropped on a cartoon character.

Your clothes are perfectly folded on one of the chairs in the sitting area, and you dress quietly. You gather your bag, your heels (which you’ll only put on once you’re outside), and head for the door.

But something makes you pause and glance back at the bed.

Joel is sleeping on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow, one arm still stretched across where you had been. The lamp casts a golden glow on his back, highlighting the strength and breadth of it, and it’s almost ridiculous how good-looking he is.

The internal conflict eats away at you like time rotting the beams of an old building. You know this isn’t going anywhere, because Joel lives in New York and is so disconnected from Austin that he stays in hotels when he visits. And more than that, he’s the opposing counsel in theory and in practice, no matter how funny that sounds. You know it’s not just a joke. Joel is part of a defense you’ve grown to resent, built by years of listening to thousands of workers’ stories.

And you want him.

Fuck. Stupid. Stupid. The word rings in your head as you grab one of the extra napkins from the room service tray and a gold pen you find, with “Miller” engraved on the side in elegant block letters. You write your number. And beneath it:

“This isn’t the wrong number.”

Maybe you’re not that much of a player after all.

You’ve always hated how sterile, bright, and quiet the federal courthouse hallways are. The building is new, that much is obvious, with the clean lines, polished stone floors, blinding LED panel lights, and what it lacks in Corinthian columns and grand wooden staircases, it makes up for in blankness.

You’re sitting on the fifth-floor hallway bench, just to the side of one of the brushed-steel elevators. To your left are two named plaintiffs representing the twenty workers in the class action, and in your lap are the affidavits of the other eighteen.

You force yourself not to bounce your foot, the one inside your sharpest pair of scarpins, or shuffle through the papers to confirm everything is in place. You know it is. You triple-checked before leaving the house.

“Where’s the hellhound at?” one of the workers asks. You look at him, puzzled, until he clarifies, “Their lawyer.”

“Not here yet. Maybe they’re waiting to make a grand entrance.”

What leaves the plaintiff’s mouth sounds a lot like “motherfuckers.”

In moments like this, one thought always helps calm you: tonight, I’ll be home doing whatever I want, with none of this tension on me. So you picture yourself walking through the door, kicking off your heels, tossing your briefcase aside. You imagine turning on Netflix, pressing play on some stupid British dating show, and working up the courage to respond to Joel’s text, sent at six a.m. this morning:

“Prove you didn’t give me the wrong number. Meet me tomorrow at eight. Same place.”

Tonight. That’s your goal.

Five minutes before the hearing time, you’re led to the anteroom outside the courtroom. Other attorneys are waiting too, talking over one another about past or upcoming hearings. The noise only adds to the tension.

At 10:01, the courtroom deputy calls out:

“Grant et. al versus Castillo Construction & Co., please proceed into the courtroom.”

You rise, gather your documents, your bag, your case file. With shoulders straight and chin lifted, you walk down the hallway to Courtroom 3. The two named plaintiffs follow you, but you let them enter first before stepping in behind them. You hear footsteps behind you.

Ahead, the courtroom opens into a wide space with light wood-paneled walls, narrow windows, and rows of empty cushioned benches. At the front are two wooden tables set parallel before the bench, where the judge, seated, reviews documents.

The plaintiffs take their seats, and you sit beside them, focused on arranging your files on the table beside your tablet. The defense table is soon occupied, but you don’t bother to look over.

After a few minutes, the judge lifts her eyes from the papers and says, in a clear, even voice,

“Good morning, counsel. Appearances, please.”

You stand, steady your voice, say your full name, and with pride, state that you represent the plaintiffs, feeling some kind of heat settle on you from the other side of the room.

You sit down. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone at the defense table rise.

For a moment, everything slows. That same voice that whispered your name over and over last night echoes again with a “Good morning.” And for a split second, you wonder if you’re hallucinating or stuck in a really vivid, really awful nightmare.

But you’re not. Because what comes next is the final blow, the one that confirms everything:

“Joel Miller, counsel for the defendant.”

[officialclangen]

CLANGEN UPDATE: CLANCOPHONY

(Download the update here, or via your in-game auto-updater!)

Hello furriends and Clanmates! We hope you have all lined your nests with feathers and moss; leaf-bare is here, and so is our next release!

Our lovely developers have been reinforcing the camp walls with new features for moons now. With the new release, you can direct your warriors' focus, befriend/antagonize the other Clans, invite in outsiders, choose symbols for your Clans, experience our new sound system, and more! ❄️

If you are having issues with your anti-virus flagging ClanGen, please look to this post for a guide on how to fix it.

Our changelog is very long, so it will be below the cut ❤️

Features

CLAN FOCUS: New feature accessed via the Warrior's Den. Direct your warriors' Focus towards specific goals, such as feeding the Clan or sabotaging other neighboring Clans. When the Focus is changed, there is a cooldown of 3 moons before it can be changed again, so choose wisely! Please note that some Focuses aren't accessible in Classic mode and that some Focuses require certain cat ranks to be present.

PRONOUNS: Wow! The cats have pronouns other than they/them? Yes it's true! Cats can now naturally generate with they/them, he/him, or she/her pronouns. Want a cat to have different pronouns than those options? You can do that to! Check out their profile page and the Change Gender option to add any pronoun under the sun. These pronouns will be used in text throughout the game when referring to that cat (give a big hand to our writing team for the monumental amount of work they did to get pronouns integrated into all the text!) Please note a new game setting to revert the game to only generating they/them pronouns for all cats.

LEADER'S DEN: You can now access the Leader's Den to view the other Clans neighboring your Clan as well as the known Outsiders. Decide how you want to interact with these other cats: will you appease the hostile Clans? Or antagonize them further? Will you hunt down that one pesky rogue? Or perhaps you've decided an exiled Clanmate should be allowed a second chance…

CLAN SYMBOLS: You can now choose a Clan symbol during Clan creation. Other Clans also generate with symbols, which you will see in the Leader's Den. There are currently 484 symbols available to choose from, a roster that we plan to continue expanding with each stable update. Please note that old Clan saves will not be able to choose a Clan symbol in-game, though save editing to change the symbol is relatively simple. When loading an old save, the game will attempt to assign a symbol matching with it's prefix, if no symbol exists then it will randomly choose a symbol.

CLASSIC CONDITIONS: Classic mode can now access illnesses, injuries, and permanent conditions! Please note that this still differs in some ways from Expanded mode. In Classic Mode, a single medicine cat can care for the entire Clan, specific herb amounts are not displayed on the med den screen, an herb will treat a condition regardless of the Clan's actual herb amounts, the Clan's herb supply is randomly generated and is not dependent on events.

AUDIO: What in StarClan?? Clangen with sound!? Clangen now comes with shiny new sound effects and one very lovely music track that plays during Clan creation. More music is on the horizon… and don't worry! There is a handy dandy mute button in the corner of the screen and audio settings to control music/ambiance and sound effects volume separately.

QoL

Fullscreen new and improved! Art no longer looks oddly crunched and the black frame has been replaced with pretty background art. This comes with a new setting to turn off anti-aliasing and a setting to ignore fullscreen scaling rules, just in case you want it a little extra large (please note that this setting will come with some visual quirks if enabled)

You can now search cats on the mediator page

More special characters are allowed in user notes

Leaders can now be affected by mass extinction events

Mass extinction events are now limited to affecting 11 cats at most, but they can occur multiple times in a single moon.

When leaders die of starvation, they now revive with enough nutrition to bring them up to malnourished, giving a little extra time to find food before starving once more.

Moon events that previously mentioned an Outsider, but did not generate an Outsider cat, will now generate an Outsider

Moon events that mention an Outsider can now pull an Outsider from the existing list of Outsiders, rather than generating a new one

War events will now match with the affect of the overarching war event for that moon (i.e. if the Clans are having peace talks that moon, no clan relation lowering events will occur at the same time)

More moon events are now recorded in the relationship log if they changed a relationship

"show dead/living" button on cat list is now "view dead/living"

"filtered by" button on cat list is now "sort by"

Last and First page buttons are now available on the cat list screen.

Players can now input a page number on the cat list screen to move to that page immediately

Leader death history now displays as a single sentence for each death, rather than one long run-on sentence

Custom cursor setting now comes with a warning about increased chance of crashes

All text (or at least, the vast majority) can now be copy-pasted!

Buttons on moon events that lead to the profiles of cats involved now generates a horizontal scroll bar if the buttons go off-screen

If a moon event had no cats specifically involved, the involved cat button no longer displays

Alert exclamation marks now persist until the tab is clicked

When keybinds are on, you can now use the arrow keys to move up and down the event tab buttons, and the enter button to switch to the selected tab

Cats can now be quickly added to and removed from patrols via double clicking

Herb moon events no longer destroy herb supplies in their entirety (with the exception of one war event) and any large destruction events no longer occur if herb stores are already low

Herb gained on moonskip and patrols has been slightly buffed

Relationship value changes when cats break up is now dynamic, meaning some break ups have larger impacts than others

Newborn kits are now listed in the involved cat buttons on moon events

Quick start! You can click Quick Start at the beginning of Clan Creation to skip to the end. All choices will be made randomly

Content

100s of new patrol art additions

Many many new patrols! Many requiring specific traits or skills.

New outcomes for existing patrols! Many requiring specific traits or skills.

New Camps! The Mountainous camp, Ruins, and the Beach camp, Fjord.

New moon events, such as murders and new ways to gain accessories.

Literally 1000+ new relationship events

Many many new thoughts, many of which are exclusive to certain traits, ages, conditions, seasons, and skills

New leader ceremony possibilities, many of which are exclusive to cats of certain traits (both the dead cats and the new leader)

Prefix list updated to include new canon names (looking at you, Stretchkit)

Many new loner/kittypet names

Many outcomes for Leader Den events, many of which are specific to certain skills, traits, and ages

New events for pregnancy announcements and speculations

New grief events and thoughts

New accessories!

Bugfixes

Murders will no longer occasionally crash the game

Fixed a bug caused by the training app murder event

You can no longer sort living cats by death date

Players no longer get stuck in the med den backrooms (when accessing the med den through cat profiles, the back button would return you to the cat profile. attempting to back out of the cat profile would take you back to the med den. rinse and repeat, it's a loop)

Buttons now disable/enable properly when closing relationship logs on first and last cats in the cat list

You can no longer enter negative page numbers by clicking the back button very very fast

Leaders now receive appropriate birth event text when dying from childbirth

Outsider kittens can no longer join as warriors

Long term conditions, like wasting disease, will now display in leader's history if they took a life

When leaders are lost on patrol, patrol result text no longer mentions them by their warrior name

Litters can no longer spawn with duplicate names (i.e. two kits named Stonekit)

Medicine cats captured by twolegs no longer have their role erased

Cat history no longer lists cats as murdering themselves

Kicked cats out of the walls (fixed some possible cat positionings on camp screen)

Adolescents can no longer be considered "normal adults" in patrols simply because they graduated to warrior early.

Kits adopted during moon events now receive correct inheritance info and begin with a positive relationship toward new adoptive parent(s)

Mates of adoptive parents now automatically adopt any newly adopted kits received on moonskip

Check added for matching age when assigning random romantic relationship values at Clan creation

When assigning random relationship values at Clan creation, the Guide cat will now only generate relationships with living cats old enough to have known the Guide in life.

Adopted litters now always generate with a bio parent, ensuring their inheritance lists them as littermates

The generation of half-clan litters no longer assumes the birthing parent can only be the (biologically) female parent (this is important for "ignore biology" game setting)

Cats with no romantic interest in each other will no longer receive romance decreasing events

Poly cat love confessions no longer read as though one cat is asking their dead mate for permission before accepting a new cat into the polycule.

Rosemary is no longer applied to the "dead body" of a lost cat

Affair birth events no longer mention nonexistent mates

Fixed mistagging in patrols that would lead to unintended effects

Many small UI issues

Many small sprite fixes

Many typo fixes

[woogilicious]

offline messages ꒰ yunho ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: streamer!yunho x gn!reader. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 1039 words. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: angst + fluff. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: mild angst, emotional neglect (unintentional), feelings of being left behind, fluff at the end.

You were there before the follower goals, and fancy mic setup. Back when Yunho streamed from a wobbly IKEA desk and his only viewers were you and that one random bot that kept posting shady links.

Back then, his face would light up when he saw your name in chat.

"Yo!" he'd grin, headset slightly tilted. "You're here!"

Of course you were. You always were.

You modded his streams before he even asked. Built his discord server from scratch. Stayed up past midnight helping him troubleshoot lag while playing Valorant. You even tolerated the scream fest during Lethal Company session with San, Mingi, and Wooyoung―all chaos, max volume, all the time.

And when things took off―when Twitch clipped him into the algorithm and the chat exploded with new fans, you celebrated with him. You were proud. You really were.

But you also started feeling... invisible.

It started small. A joke you made in chat went ignored. Then another. Then another.

You chalked it up, at first. That's what growing meant―more people, more chaos. But then he stopped replying to your DMs. Took hours to answer simple messages. And one day, you noticed your mod label was gone. No explanation. No "thanks for everything." Nothing at all.

You watched one of his streams that night, lurking, your name is grey in a sea of neon usernames. Someone made a crude joke. You called it out. Yunho didn't even notice, until a stranger timed you out.

That was the last stream you watched live.

You muted the server. Turned off notifications. Closed the tab. He never reaches out. Not once.

Months passed.

One night, you're scrolling through your phone, brain on autopilot, when you see his name. Yunho is live: Unpacking + chatting. You shouldn't care. You don't.

But you click.

He's streaming Unpacking, of all things. Soft music, quiet atmosphere, just him and the sound of cardboard boxes being emptied on screen. There's no Wooyoung yelling in the background, no San whining about being scared―just Yunho. Focused. A little tired. His laugh softer tonight.

You shouldn't message him.

But your fingers move anyway, finding his name in your message app.

Are you okay?

You send it. Regret it instantly. Consider deleting it, but then―

yunho: wait yunho: wait wait wait yunho: is this real?? yunho: y/n... i thought u blocked me or smth

You stare at the screen, looking at his stream while his attention turns to his phone.

you: figured you wouldn't notice either way yunho: ... yunho: okay. i deserve that. yunho: i miss you. a lot.

You don't reply right away, and you close the Twitch app.

The next day, he sends you a message privately in discord.

yunho: can we talk?

You call. It's weird, at first. The silence between you used to be comfortable, easy. Now it's cautious. Hesitant.

But he tries.

"I don't know when I started messing it up," he says, voice quiet. "I think... I just got caught up in everything. I didn't mean to shut you out."

You shrug, even though he can't see you. "You kind of did, though."

"I know. I just... didn't want you to feel like you had to carry my stuff forever. You helped me so much and I kept thinking, maybe you deserved to just... live your life. Not babysit my stream."

You snort. "You took away my mod role without saying a word. The least you can do is tell me."

He winces. "Yeah. That was stupid."

"You think?"

He laughs. It's small, and it is obvious that he is nervous.

"Let me fix it," he says. "Please."

It's not instant. It's not perfect.

But you start showing up again. Not as a mod, but just as his friend.

He messages you in the middle of the night about weird games you'd both like. Sends you dumb voices notes of Mingi farting on call. You hop into discord during late-night gaming, and he still screams in panic when he gets chased in scary games, but now, he screams your name too.

And one night, he messages:

yunho: do you want to do a stream together soon? you: what would we even play? yunho: idc. minecraft? stardew? anything. i just want to hang out with you on stream.

You agree, and the next night, it's Minecraft night.

The stream starts slow, chill lo-fi music playing in the background. Yunho decides to do a member only stream, which means the chat is smaller, cozier. The mods keep it clean. No chaos whatsoever.

"Special guest tonight, their name is Y/N" Yunho says, grinning. "My oldest friend. Like actual old. We've known each other since middle school."

You laugh. "You're few months older than me."

Chat, on the other hand, explodes with excitement:

xXxgamerraccoon12: brooo you can see yunho smiling like an idiot fluffyhorsie: their voice sounds so soothing!! i love them already!! bananapie481: we need more cozy game with y/n!!

You two fish, farm, fight monsters, collect materials. It's easy.

Halfway through the stream, you forget the camera's even on.

"You're different when it's just us," you say quietly.

Yunho hums. "Different how?"

"Less loud, less performative. More... you."

He doesn't say anything right away, just smiling while mining some woods for their house. Then, softly. "That's because you bring out the parts of me I actually like."

Your chest tightens.

"You know I was really scared," he adds. "That you'd never message me again. That I lost you for good."

You exhale. "You almost did."

"I know."

Silence.

Then, your character walks over and gifts his character a flower.

It's just pixels, but Yunho makes a sound that's a little too real.

"What?"

"What do you mean what? Maybe I just like giving you flowers."

His voice is barely a whisper. "God, I missed you so much."

The stream ends with your character standing next to his inside your finish small cozy wooden house.

Chat's spamming hearts. Fan edit already being posted. People are begging for another duo stream.

Once he turns off his stream, he says, "Don't log off yet."

You stay.

His voice is warm through your headset.

"Let's play another day?"

You smile. "Sure, Yunho. I'll be here."

This time, you know he believes it.

And this time, you do too.

[barnesandwilsons]

Maybe, Just Maybe

a/n: yess guys i watched thunderbolts and i had to do something about it. lovedd the movie sm so here’s a little something i wrote… idk if i should write more because it’s literally just an introduction..??? didnt even bother to proof-read before i end up deleting everything

pairing: bucky x reader

tw: really bad thoughts from reader, bucky being sweet, walker being semi-mean, Red Room mentioned, bucky gives reader his clothes.

PART 2

word count: 2k+..?

summary: you're a new recruit to the thunderbolts, only knowing yelena from your old days, you struggle to find your place in this new environment.

You stepped off the black transport van, keeping your shoulders tense with your eyes scanning everything. A special thanks to your time at the Red Room –giving you paranoia forever. The cold air immediately greeted you as it pushed past your thin ass jacket, you didn’t shiver at all. You’re used to these types of climate, you couldn't afford to look weak in front of your new team. The Thunderbolts.

Behind her, Yelena dropped down from the van and gave her a light push with her arm. “You good?” she asks, in a low volume for only you to hear.

You gave her a curt nod and looked ahead of you, Yelena led the way towards the New Avengers tower. You notice a buff man with a metal arm standing in front of the doors, his arms crossed over his chest. 

One thing about the Red Room – it traumatized you. You were conditioned to have no fear. But, after years outside that hellhole – thanks to Yelena and Natasha – you started to feel things. Emotions. Fear. Distrust. Sadness.

Many people will describe you as always uncomfortable; in other terms you were uncomfortable around people you didn’t know. Coming back to the States, you realized some people truly are evil assholes. 

Yelena greets the man with the arm, “Hey, tin-man.”

He looks at her and nods his head towards you in confusion. You immediately grow nauseous.

“She’s with me.” Yelena reminds him.

He looks at you for a beat too long, your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate this feeling – actually being seen, a strong contrast to your old ways – disappearing in a flash. You turn your gaze away, fixating on a crack on the floor near your feet.

“Right,” the big guy said – Bucky Barnes, you remembered, the Winter Soldier, without his long hair he looks like a new man, he steps aside and realizes his harsh demeanor as he fixes it with a small smile, “Welcome.”

You say nothing as you walk past him with the blonde. Yelena says, “Y/N keep walking straight to the elevator and wait for me.” You continue walking as Yelena turns to Bucky.

“She’s not great with people.” Yelena says protectively, “So, don't take it personally.”

Bucky scoffs, “Didn’t notice.” Bucky really doesn’t blame you. He hasn’t met you for longer than 4 minutes and he can already tell you were damaged. In the nicest way possible, you reminded him of his old self.

Yelena tuts and walks to where you’re standing really awkwardly. You give her a smirk. “Nice digs.”

Yelena smirks, glad she finally has a place to call home, “You should see the kitchen, totally worth it.” She hits the button for the elevator, causing it to immediately open as you both step in.

—

NEXT WEEK

The mission didn't go exactly as planned. Many more bodies were wasted than anticipated. Bucky and You were partners in the same sub-division, meanwhile Walker and Yelena were on the other side of the building.

As the team made it inside the Avengers tower, Walker yelled, “Are you guys really that incompetent you can’t follow simple procedures?”

You frown, jaw tense, you know you messed up but he was being a tiny bit harsh. He turns to you and immediately frowns, “And you! The fuck is your problem–”

Before he says anything else, Yelena steps between you silently, face held up, like a shield. 

Walker’s sentence falters – because let’s be real who isn’t a tiny bit afraid of Yelena.

“She made a mistake,” Yelena says, her voice even.

Walker scoffs, clearly done with this shit, “Whatever. Next time, keep her in check.”

No one moves until he storms out the room, his footsteps finally fading away to his room. Bucky then turns to you, “You okay?”

You’re about to answer, but Yelena does that for you, “She’s fine.”

Bucky looks to Yelena, then to you, then back at her and nods awkwardly, “Alright then.” Then he makes his way to the kitchen, probably to get himself some much needed coffee. Yelena follows him and you can’t help but feel helpless, you know you made a mistake, but it isn’t your fault. You did seem a bit kill-hungry, maybe it was the way the Red Room had embedded this hunger into you. Or maybe it was the coping methods you used to relieve yourself from the never-ending weight of the world on your shoulders.

After they leave, you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you took. You make your way into your room and look around. You curse yourself for thinking you can do this —- because you can’t.

Not with how your hands won’t stop shaking once you’re alone. Your heartbeat trying to claw its way out your chest, and certainly not with that terrible voice in your head whispering that you’re shit, and that you always will be.

You sit on the edge of your bed and dig your fingers into your stomach, hopefully trying to drown out these thoughts with pain. Repeating that you’re fine and this is totally normal. 

Add that to the list of the many things that's wrong with you.

You sit in the dark for a while, the warmness of your room seeping into your bones, the soft hum of the compound being the only sound. You think about how Walker’s words sting, you think about the 4 bodies that happened to die by your hand today, you think about how Bucky looked at you as if he was trying to understand you. 

You almost chuckle at the thought because you're still trying to understand yourself. You hated that he looked at you so gently. How his blue eyes tried to unravel your soul and purpose of being here. You hated it because it made you want to spill your secrets, on why you’re like this, on how the Red Room forged you into this fucked-up piece of shit who can barely form a single thought without thinking about the blood on your hands.

You dig the fingers against your stomach harder. 

Oh the unnecessary deaths.

You hate that part of you still flinches when someone raises their voice, even if it is Walker being a jackass. You hate that you aren’t normal enough to love the fact that someone as sweet and kind-looking as Bucky motherfucking Barnes even looks your way. Because what if he sees your worth? What if he finds out that you truly are damaged and unfixable?

You’re not good. You’re not a hero. Hell, if the perspectives were turned, you were a villain. You’re blessed to have Yelena fight for you because you’ve done immeasurable things. You don’t even count yourself as a person anymore, you were forged and made into a weapon. Someone who was kept on a leash from an early age, you have to pretend you’re healed from it. No emotion and no hesitation showing; just how it was back in the Red Room. You’re not even sure about how you didn’t snap yet.

You press your forehead into your knees, maybe staying this way will dull away the pain. Just for the night. You need to find a way to deal with this before it gets worse, because you can’t afford to fall apart now. Not when you can feel something good within these four walls. A family. The Thunderbolts didn’t turn you away when Yelena brought you here. You have to prove to them that you belong here.

A knock raps gently on your door.

Once. Then Twice.

You freeze. You don’t answer. Silently praying to any God that can hear you that whoever it is will go away. As you hold your breath you hear a voice,

“It’s me.” 

Your face cringes. Fuck. You blink, once, then twice, then again for good measure.

Bucky.

“I–” He pauses, careful about his choice of words, “I know you’re probably not in the mood. I just wanted to – I made you a sandwich.”

You frown, tilting your head to the left. He made you a sandwich?

You don't speak yet. You don’t even move from your spot.

But he doesn’t leave, he continues, “It’s a peanut butter sandwich.”

You stare at the door. You hate how sweet this man is. His kindness feels as if you’re using him, like if he offers you a sliver of kindness, you’re taking something that you don’t deserve.

You get up from the bed, because now that you think of it. You are hungry. You open the door and see that he has changed into a much comfier set of clothes; a black shirt showing off his metallic metal arm, along with gray sweatpants. You can’t lie, he looks good right now.

As soon as you open the door, he looks down at you and notices you still in your gear. But before he even mentions that, you say something, “I’m allergic.”

He looks confused. “Huh?”

“To peanut butter.”

He blinks, “Allergic?”

You nod sadly, “Deadly, even.”

Silence. Another beat of silence passes as you guys share eye contact. Then, Bucky chuckles, “Yelena literally made you a peanut butter sandwich yesterday.”

You freeze. Oops. “It was my cheat day.”

“Yeah, okay,” His lip twitches, almost like he’s fighting a smile. You’re funny, he’ll give you that. “Well besides your allergies, I can make something else?”

You cringe. Maybe Bucky Barnes is something good. Maybe he is the light at the end of the tunnel. Or maybe you’re spiraling to have something good in your life. Either way, it doesnt change the fact that he’s practically begging you to eat.

You glance down at your tactical boots, you still see remnants of blood on them. “You don't have to.”

“I know,” he says simply, “But, I’m still here.”

Your eyes flick back up to meet his. Warmth. He’s not trying to push. Just offering.

“I dont know what, I would like to eat,” You admit softly as you cross your arms across your chest.

But that doesn't faze him, “Good thing, we have a big ass kitchen, with an even bigger food selection."

You snort under your breath softly, he smiles at your response. Grateful that he’s finally seen you smile ever since you got here. He’s about to turn to lead you back to the kitchen but he remembered you’re still in your gear.

“Go on and change,” He started, “I know you’re uncomfortable right now.”

You look back into your almost empty room. Kinda embarrassed you admit, “The few clothes I came with happen to be in the wash..”

He pauses, brows furrowing slightly before his expression softens, “Hold on.”

He disappears back into his room at the end of the hallway, leaving you at the doorway, half regretting that you opened the door and the other half grateful that you did. When he returns he’s holding a black hoodie and gray sweats – which looks incredibly too big for you.

“Here,” He offers you, as he holds it out to you as if he’s giving you a high five.

You hesitate. “Isn’t that yours?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s clean though.” He smiles awkwardly. Maybe he’s coming off too strong. He doesn’t wanna scare you off.

You take it. “Thanks.”

He nods. No problem.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” He says, before heading off.

You watch him go and as soon as he’s gone from your vision, you look down at the clothes in your hand… and smile.

You quickly change out your clothes and immediately wear Bucky’s. It’s soft. A nice alternative to the previous clothes you’ve worn. It smells so warm as well. You look into your bathroom mirror and see yourself, you look tired and worn out. Setting a quick reminder to yourself that after your meal, you need to sleep for about 12 hours.

Bucky’s hoodie easily covers your whole torso and is almost too long for your arms. The sweatpants are almost dragging the floor, but they are soft and warm, so who are you to complain?

You couldn't believe it. Just a few hours ago, you were taking lives. But now? Now you are in a new home. With people who might become your new family.

With another quick glance at the mirror, you walk outside making your way into the kitchen.

Not because you’re fine. But because maybe, you’re starting to believe that you could be.

[mariacallous]

You, US Citizen, have the right to know what your government is doing (including DOGE - formerly known as the US Digital Service and which surprise! isn't listed as one of the agencies on FOIA.gov but the USDS website can still be accessed here: https://www.usds.gov/contact-us)

If the information you want is not publicly available, you can submit a FOIA request to the agency’s FOIA Office.  The request simply must be in writing and reasonably describe the records you seek.  Most federal agencies now accept FOIA requests electronically, including by web form, e-mail or fax.  See the list of federal agencies for details about how to make a request to each agency and any specific requirements for seeking certain records.

Is there a special form I have to use to make a FOIA request?

There is no specific form that must be used to make a request.

What can I ask for under the FOIA?

A FOIA request can be made for any agency record. You can also specify the format in which you wish to receive the records (for example, printed or electronic form). The FOIA does not require agencies to create new records or to conduct research, analyze data, or answer questions when responding to requests.

How long will it take before I get a response?

Agencies typically process requests in the order of receipt. The time it takes to respond to a request will vary depending on the complexity of the request and any backlog of requests already pending at the agency. A simple request can be processed faster by the agency than one that is complex. Simple requests are typically more targeted and seek fewer pages of records. Complex requests typically seek a high volume of material or require additional steps to process such as the need to search for records in multiple locations. The agency’s FOIA Requester Service Center is available to assist you with any questions about the status of your request or any steps you can take to receive a quicker response.

CREW and CLC are focusing on DOGE and transparency, and maybe you should check out what they have to say and what they're doing.

[aeralux]

"Prey" - Cregan Stark

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You loved your husband. Truly, you did. He did everything in his power to make you feel good, treating you as the most delicate flower, his little deer. But you wanted him to know you weren't all that easy to break.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT (18+); a bit of primal play; loving husband Cregan who just wants to make you feel good; rough(er) sex per reader's request

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: No description of the reader (except that the reader has hair), no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume. I finished and beta read this while extremely tired, so please do not even start with me, okay? Enjoy <3.

𐔌 . ⋮ 𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒶 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

It was bitterly cold in the north, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and turned breath into mist. Yet, there was a warmth to be found in your new life with Lord Stark. He seemed to know how to shield you from the sharp bite of winter. Wrapping you in furs, he ensured your chambers of Winterfell were among the warmest and cosiest in the castle.

His care for you was evident, though his expressions of love were often quiet and reserved. He seemed to hold back, as if afraid that he might hurt you somehow.

As your husband, he allowed you the freedom to practice the Faith of the Seven, even facilitating the construction of a sept within the castle just for you. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a sign of his affection and respect for your beliefs. Cregan’s love was steady and peaceful, a protective force that enveloped you. He viewed you as his Lady of Winterfell, a fragile flower that needed shelter from the harsh winds and the unknown dangers lurking beyond the Wall.

Despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of handling life’s challenges—and your eagerness to even join him on hunts—Cregan still saw you more like a soft deer than a fierce wolf. Who could blame him? You had a beauty that had captivated the entire North, a vision that stirred admiration wherever you went.

His concern for your safety extended far beyond the winter chill, infiltrating every aspect of your life, especially in the bedroom. At first, his tender approach felt comforting. Cregan’s hands were gentle, his caresses like a soft breeze, treating you with an almost reverent care. But as time passed, you yearned to uncover another side of him, the warrior you’d heard about from your maids’ whispers.

Northern men were renowned for their power and vitality; tales of their prowess stirred a deep longing within you. You found yourself yearning for that fierceness, that raw energy. You dropped hints like breadcrumbs, letting your gaze linger on his strong arms, offering teasing touches during quiet conversations. Yet, no matter how suggestive or inviting you tried to be, nothing seemed to spark the fervour you craved.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, you spent another quiet day mending one of your husband's coats. A way for you to show your gratitude through these simple acts of care. You called the maids, asking them to fetch both of you warm drinks, eager to welcome Cregan back from his time in the yard.

When he entered, his cheeks were flushed from the crisp air, and a hint of snow clung to his clothes. You greeted him with a soft smile, setting the coat aside to focus on him. Taking a seat beside him, you placed your warm hand gently over his, feeling the strength in his grasp as the flickering candlelight danced around the room, creating a soft glow. The warm atmosphere wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, making the moment feel even more special.

“How has your day been, my Lord husband?” you asked, your voice soft in the quiet space. Cregan’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you basking in the warmth of each other’s presence.

Cregan looked at his wife, his eyes softening as they took in your features illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

He squeezed your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing against your soft skin. The contrast between you was stark, a warrior's hand and a lady's hand entwined.

Cregan leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "It has been a long day, my lady," he admitted, his voice low and tired. "The men are in good spirits, but the cold is taking its toll. I fear this winter will be a harsh one. And what of you, my dear? I trust you have not caught a chill in my absence?" He reached out with his free hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment.

Cregan's gaze drifted to the coat you had been mending, a small smile playing on his lips. "You need not trouble yourself with such things, my love. I have a whole host of maids and servants to attend to such tasks." He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

A blush crept across your cheeks, but it was not solely from the winter's chill. The brush of his lips against your skin had ignited a different sort of warmth within you, a longing that had been growing with each passing day in his presence. 

"I want to," you replied bluntly, holding Cregan's gaze with unwavering intensity. Your eyes locked as you leaned in until your foreheads nearly touched. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours in the space between you.

"My lord, I wish to do this for you," you murmured, your voice low and fervent. "After all that you have done for me, after the care and protection you've shown me, it is my desire- no, my duty." You turned your hand in his grasp, interlacing your fingers tightly as you held his gaze.

Cregan felt a stirring within him at the intensity in your gaze, the way your fingers tightened around his. He could see the longing burning in your eyes, a hunger that went beyond the simple act of mending a coat.

Cregan's eyes searched yours, a battle raging within him. The urge to take you, to claim you with the passion of a man who had been starved of it for so long, warred with the need to protect you, to keep you safe from the coarser nature of his self.

He leaned in closer, his lips now a mere hair's breadth from yours, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. "You are my wife, my lady." His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing the soft curve. "But if it pleases you to care for me, to show me such kindness, who am I to deny you?"

His other hand slid up your arm, over the fur-lined sleeve of your gown, coming to rest on your shoulder. He could feel the warmth of your skin beneath, the way your body responded to his touch. It took all of his self-control not to have his way with you right there, to feel your soft curves pressed against him.

You let your hand linger on his, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “But if I am your lady, I should at least act like it. Keep your clothes mended. Warm your bed.” You tilted your head, brushing your lips just shy of his jaw. “Among other duties.”

Cregan’s breath hitched. That was new.

His eyes darkened, the shift subtle but unmistakable. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he studied your face, and you saw it—that flicker of the wolf, straining at its leash.

“I do not wish to overwhelm you,” he said slowly, as if even speaking was a struggle.

You leaned back just enough to smirk. “Perhaps I’d like to be overwhelmed.”

The silence between you was charged, stretched thin with heat. You stood then, letting your fingers trail along his shoulder, your voice lilting with mischief.

“Or are the great wolves of the North all bark and no bite?”

That did it.

In a flash, Cregan was on his feet. You squealed—actually squealed—and darted away just as his hand reached for your waist. The candlelight flickered wildly as you flew down the hall, your laugh echoing off the cold stone walls.

“Get back here, little deer,” Cregan growled, his voice rougher now, the calm Lord Stark unravelling with every step he took behind you.

You ducked into a side corridor, skirts gathered in your fists, heart pounding with thrill. He was close—you could hear the heavy thud of his boots behind you, steady, relentless.

“You think teasing me’s wise?” His voice was closer now, and laced with amusement. “You’re tempting the wolf, girl.”

“Good,” you shot over your shoulder. “Maybe the wolf’s what I want.”

Cregan's eyes flashed with a hunger that made your heart race. He lunged forward, catching you around the waist and pulling you back against his chest. You gasped as you collided with the solid wall of his body, the breath knocked from your lungs.

"Careful what you wish for, my lady," Cregan growled in your ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "The wolf has a very different appetite than the man."

He spun you around to face him, his hands gripping your waist tightly. His eyes raked over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, and the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. He could feel the heat of your skin through the thin fabric of your gown, could feel the way your body trembled against his.

One hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. The other hand gripped your hip, pulling you harder against him until you could feel every hard inch of his body pressed against yours.

"Gods, you drive me insane, woman," Cregan murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "So many times I've wanted to just rip your pretty little gown off and show you how a northerner really takes his wife."

Shuddering, you whispered his name like a prayer, breathless and needy. "Cregan..." Your voice trembled, eyes wide and vulnerable, gazing up at him through long, sooty lashes. You were a deer caught in the wolf's sight, knowing you were about to be ravished.

Your chest rose and fell with every uneven breath, labouring as you inhaled, the swell of your breasts straining against the confines of your gown. The delicious sting on your scalp sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

"Please, my lord..." you mewled, your lips parted and inviting. "Show me. Take me. Ruin me. Claim your right..."

Another squeal burst from your lips as strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground. You squirmed, breathless with anticipation.

He pinned you against the cold stone wall, but his body was all heat, pressed flush to yours. His voice was low and wicked against your ear. “I warned you.”

And then, he kissed you. Hard. Thorough. Like a man making up for lost time.

When he finally pulled back, just enough for air, your eyes were dazed, lips tingling. He smirked, his voice gravel and fire. “You’ve got what you asked for now, my lady.”

You gave a breathless laugh. “Not nearly enough.”

He growled, a real, low sound in his chest, and bent to scoop you up in his arms.

Cregan carried you swiftly down the corridor, his long strides eating up the distance. He kicked open the door to your shared chambers, the heavy wood slamming against the stone wall. The room was dimly lit, the fire casting long shadows across the bed.

He tossed you onto the furs, your skirts riding up to reveal a flash of your smooth thighs. Cregan loomed over you, his eyes glinting in the low light. He shrugged off his cloak, letting it pool on the floor, before attacking the fastenings of his tunic, when he froze.

You were sitting up on your knees, eyes gleaming in the firelight. “No,” you murmured, holding up a hand, your voice sultry, commanding. “Let me.”

Cregan stilled. His chest rose and fell, heavy with breath, as he watched you.

You began with the outer fur-lined surcoat, undoing the clasp at your throat. It slid from your shoulders and down your arms, falling behind you in a soft heap. The next layer—the fitted kirtle—was laced tightly up your front. You met his gaze as you undid each loop with slow, deliberate fingers, one by one, the tension in the fabric easing with every pull.

“You think I'm delicate,” you said, your voice low and dangerous. “Fragile. Something to protect.” You loosened the bodice until the fabric gaped, revealing the thin linen shift beneath. “But I’m not. Am I?”

Cregan said nothing. His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened.

You let the kirtle slip down over your hips, pooling around your knees. Now only the shift remained—thin, nearly sheer in the firelight, clinging to your body from the warmth of the room and the heat rising from your skin.

Still, on your knees, you slowly lifted the hem of your shift. Just a little at first, baring the smooth skin of your calves, then your thighs. His gaze locked onto your hands, following every inch as more of you was revealed.

“You’ve been gentle for too long,” you whispered, bunching the shift around your hips. “Careful. Controlled. Dutiful.” You hooked your thumbs beneath the neckline and pulled it down over your shoulders—slowly—exposing the curve of your breasts inch by inch. “But I didn’t marry the Lord of Winterfell for gentle.”

The shift slipped off your arms and fell into your lap.

Now, fully bare in the golden firelight, you stood upright, bold and unashamed. Your voice dropped to a daring whisper. “I married the wolf.”

Cregan stood frozen, his eyes roving hungrily over every inch of newly exposed skin. The firelight danced across your curves, casting shadows that accentuated the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, and the flare of your hips. His gaze lingered on the juncture between your thighs, where a glistening dampness betrayed your arousal.

He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the charged silence. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and wrapped a calloused hand around your throat, his thumb brushing over the racing pulse at the base of your neck. His other hand gripped your ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"You play a dangerous game, my little wife," Cregan growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire."You think you can handle the wolf? The one that wants to pin you down and take you until you scream?" His grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent warning. "Until you beg for mercy? Until the only name you remember is mine?"

You gazed up at Cregan, your eyes sparkling with desire in the flickering firelight. A coy smile played at the corners of your lips as you felt his strong hand wrap around your throat, his thumb brushing over your racing pulse. You arched into his touch, pressing your body flush against his.

"I can handle everything and more, my lord. I've yearned for you to ruin me, to claim me so rough that I can't even form a single thought."

Cregan's eyes flashed with a primal hunger at your bold words. Without warning, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to stake his claim. One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back to grant him better access, while the other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling you harder against the thick ridge of his arousal.

He walked you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed, then pushed you down onto the furs. Looming over you, he made quick work of his breeches, shoving them down his muscular thighs along with his smallclothes. His manhood sprang free, long, thick and hard, the engorged head already weeping with need.

Cregan crawled over you, settling his hips between your spread thighs. He reached down to run a finger through your slick folds, groaning at the wetness he found there.

He caught your wrists in one large hand and pinned them above your head, his hips rocking forward to grind his thick length along your slick folds. The coarse hair at the base of his shaft rasped against your sensitive folds.

"Gods, you're dripping," he growled, his voice rough with lust. 

He rocked his hips harder, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance with each pass. His free hand slid down your body, calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breasts and the dip of your waist, before settling between your thighs. He circled your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room.

"Beg for it," Cregan demanded, his breath hot against your ear. "Beg me to ruin this tight little cunt and make you mine." He pinched down hard on your clit, sending pleasure and pain through you. "Go on, my lady. Let me hear that pretty voice scream for your husband's cock."

You gasped sharply as a hot sensation pierced through your core, back arching off the furs. Your eyes flew open wide, meeting Cregan's wild, hungry gaze. But the man you'd married, the lord you'd given yourself to, was gone. In his place crouched a beast, eyes black as night, pupils blown wide with primal lust. You shuddered under the intensity of his stare, feeling more like prey than a bride.

"Cregan," you whimpered, voice trembling. Fear and exhilaration warred within you as you gazed up at him, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs. Some dark part of you thrilled at the thought of being taken by this feral creature, claimed so roughly that you'd be forever marked as his.

"Please," you breathed, hardly recognising the needy, desperate edge to your voice. "Please, my lord...fuck me" This was no longer your gentle husband, but a wolf, an animal, a man consumed by the basest of instincts. And the Seven help you, but you wanted nothing more than to have him eat you alive. Let the whole castle know how the Lord of Winterfell fucks his sweet lady wife.

Cregan chuckled darkly, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Beg properly," he growled, grinding his thick length along your dripping slit. "You'll have to do better than that. I want to hear you scream it."

His fingers circled your entrance teasingly, not yet delving inside, as his thumb rubbed firm circles around your throbbing clit. Your hips bucked up against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, but he pulled away, denying you the release you craved.

"Beg for my cock like the desperate little slut you are," Cregan demanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "Tell me how badly you need to be split open on your husband's thick meat. How you can't wait to feel me pounding into your greedy drooling cunt until you're sobbing for mercy."

You trembled beneath Cregan, tears of desperate need welling up in your eyes. Your voice shook as you forced out the words, the tone of your voice foreign to your ears. "Please, my lord," you whimpered, your usual composure shattered. "I-I can't...I need..." A choked sob escaped your lips as you bucked your hips, seeking any friction against your aching, dripping core.

"Please, Cregan! I'm b-begging you...fuck me! I'm s-so empty, so desperate for your cock. I'll do anything, please...fill me!"

Cregan smirked wickedly at your desperate plea, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. "That's more like it," he purred, his voice a low, sinful rumble. Without warning, he slammed his hips forward, burying his thick length to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

A guttural groan tore from his throat at the feel of your tight walls clenching around him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. He paused for a moment, savouring the exquisite sensation, before drawing back and slamming in again, even harder this time.

"Ohhhh!" You cried out, back bowing sharply as Cregan's thick cock speared into your core, splitting you open in one brutal thrust. "Cregan!" Your voice shattered, a desperate wail tearing from your throat as you felt every rigid inch of him plunging deep, stretching you beyond what you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out as you were split open on his thick shaft.

"Yes, fuck, you feel so fucking good," Cregan snarled, his hips setting a deep, relentless rhythm. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half, allowing him even deeper into your core. The angle had him kissing your womb with every thrust, the head of his cock ramming against that secret spot deep inside that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Ohhhh, gods!" You whimpered, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you gazed down at the obscene sight of his shaft disappearing into your body. "It's...it's so big! You're s-splitting me in half!"

You babbled incoherently, feeling every veiny, rigid inch of him in your most intimate depths. Your tummy bulged obscenely with each savage thrust, the outline of his cock visible through the skin.

Lewd, wet squelching noises filled the room, the depraved sounds of your husband's heavy balls slapping against your ass.

You begged him not to stop, voice breaking on a wail. Drool dripped down your chin as you surrendered to the mindless ecstasy of being so ruthlessly fucked.

Cregan pistoned his hips at a relentless, punishing pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the heavy bed frame against the stone wall. He could feel your slick walls fluttering and clenching around his shaft, gripping him like a silken fist as he drove into your core again and again.

"Fuck, your cunt feels like heaven," Cregan growled, his voice strained with pleasure and exertion. He lowered his head to capture one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, sucking hard as he bit down just shy of pain. His hand slid down to your hip, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises as he yanked you harder against him.

"That's it, take it all like the good little wife you are," Cregan snarled, his breath hot against your skin. "This cunt was made to be bred by me."

You were lost to the brutal pleasure, your mind fracturing with each savage thrust of Cregan's hips.

Your nails raked down Cregan's sweat-slicked back, trying to ground yourself. Incoherent babbles and sputters only leave your lips, becoming brainless by how incredibly good it felt. His cock dragging against your gummy walls.

"Hnn-... har-harder," you gasped, your hips bucking uncontrollably to meet his brutal pace. The noble lady reduced to a mewling, drooling mess by her husband's relentless fucking.

"As my lady commands," Cregan rumbled, his voice a dark promise before he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, your ass high in the air. This was new. He had never taken you from behind before.

He gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as he spread your soft cheeks. Admiring the view with a low hum.

Cregan's cock, slick with your juices, slid between your ass cheeks, the thick head catching on your puckered back entrance. You gasped, a thrill of nervousness and excitement shooting through you at the unfamiliar sensation. 

"Cregan?" you asked breathlessly, looking back over your shoulder at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Your voice trailed off as Cregan's hand cracked down on your ass, the sharp sting making you clench around nothing."Shh, little one," he soothed, rubbing the reddened flesh gently. "Don't worry, my dear. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder, his lips trailing up the side of your neck to your ear. "But I am going to fill this sweet cunt until you're dripping with my seed," Cregan promised.

You gazed back at Cregan over your shoulder, your lips trembling and cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on your brows. Your legs quivered beneath you, knees weak from the relentless pounding of his hips. You were his, the little deer finally caught and submitting to the wolf.

"Please, my lord," I breathed, my voice hoarse from screaming his name. "Fill your wife's needy cunt with your seed." Even forming sentences seemed too hard for you. "I'm your prey."

Cregan smirked at your breathless plea, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. "That's right, you're mine now," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "My sweet little deer, all caught and ready to be bred."

With that, he slammed his hips forward, burying his thick length to the hilt in your dripping cunt. He set a slow, deep pace, the bed shaking and creaking beneath you with the force of his thrusts. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your desperate cries and Cregan's guttural groans.

His heavy balls slapped against your sensitive clit, the obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room.

Cregan's hand slid to wrap around your hair, tugging on it just enough to make you squeeze around him. "That's it, so good to me," he growled, his breath hot against your ear.

You let out a guttural moan with each deep, punishing thrust, your body jolting like a ragdoll. Drool dripped down your chin as you panted and mewled, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut.

"Mmmhhh...aahhhnn..." You whimpered pitifully, your upper body collapsing onto the bed as Cregan took you from behind like a beast in a rut. Ass raised high and presented for your lord's use, just as a good wife should be.

Cregan's breath came in harsh pants, his heart pounding against his ribs as he felt his release fast approaching.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing around me," Cregan grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your greedy little cunt is milking my cock, just begging to be filled with my seed." He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass.

Cregan's rhythm began to falter, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his pleasure. "I'm close," he bit out through gritted teeth, his grip on your hips tightening even further.

"A-Cregan!" You cried out, your voice breaking as your body began to tremble uncontrollably. Tears of overwhelming pleasure streamed down your flushed cheeks.

Your nails dug into the bedsheets, fisting the fine linen as you felt your climax fast approaching. The intense, building pressure in your core threatened to consume you entirely. "P-Please, I n-need...I need you inside me when I...when I..." You couldn't even bring yourself to say it, too lost in the throes of ecstasy to form the words.

"I'm...I'm going to...ahhh!" Your cry of rapture echoed through the chamber as you felt your body stiffen, your walls clenching down on Cregan's pistoning shaft as your climax crashed over you.

Cregan let out a roar, your release triggering his own. With one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his heavy balls pulsing as he emptied himself into your spasming depths.

"Ahh!" Cregan bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls as thick ropes of his hot seed painted your insides. His hips jerked and shuddered against your ass as spurt after spurt of his cum flooded your womb, marking you as his.

He collapsed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he struggled to catch his breath. Cregan's heart raced against your spine, his skin slick with sweat and flushed with heat.

"Gods, woman," Cregan panted, his voice rough and sated. "I love you." He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. "My sweet, perfect wife. My lady."

You turned around under him and gazed up at Cregan through heavy-lidded eyes, a soft smile playing at your lips as you tried to catch your breath beneath his solid weight that caged you. "I love you too, my darling wolf," you murmured, your voice low and sated. "You always know just how to make your lady feel cherished and desired." You reached up to caress his cheek, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. "Thank you."

Cregan leaned into your touch, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your palm, his lips lingering on your skin. "No, thank you," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "For being my perfect wife, for giving yourself to me so completely." He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. "I am the lucky one, my lady." Cregan's gaze drifted over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the sparkle in your eyes.

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face. "And I'm not nearly done with you yet," he purred, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "The night is still young, and I intend to spend every moment worshipping my beautiful bride." He rolled his hips, grinding his softening length inside you, a reminder of the pleasure to come. "By the time I'm through with you, you won't be able to walk out of this room."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 (n my pookies) @bey0nd-1he-stars @targaryenprincess1 @knight-of-flowerss @venusbyline @therogueflame

[thatonegrimm]

Hello! Could I request the saja boys having moments that remind them of how long they’ve lived?

For example, the reader may do something/say something and it catches them off guard , since they are still adjusting to the modern world, let alone the human world.

This request was sparked because I personally believe that the saja boys have lived as long as Jinu or similar , considering before they transformed into idol mode their hair was tied in a top knot , the same hairstyle from Jinu’s flashback

Love your writing!

Yeahhh these boys are old LMAO 💀 I love thinking up their backstories and what little modern things might catch them off guard—so this request was right up my alley. Here you go, and I’m really glad you’re enjoying the writing!

Moments That Remind the Saja Boys How Long They’ve Lived

 You do something simple—harmless, mundane—and for just a second, they remember: They’ve been alive for a very long time.

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🧿 Jinu 

You’re humming.

Not a song he knows. Something new. Something now. Playing through your earbuds as you scroll your phone. You hum without thinking—tapping your leg to the beat, mouthing lyrics between sips of coffee.

And Jinu just... watches you.

Frozen.

Because your voice blends with a tune in his head that’s been quiet for centuries. Not the same melody, not the same tempo—but the same feeling. That warmth that flickers under your skin when someone sings near a hearth, or by candlelight, or in the old rice fields at dusk.

He remembers a woman from long ago. Not her name—those blur after a few lifetimes. But the way she sang. A lullaby that used to echo through quiet hills.

You hum again, and it overlaps.

Jinu looks down at his hands. Young again. Smooth again. But his soul aches a little.

You turn to him. “Wanna share the earbuds?”

He smiles. “Yeah. I think I do.”

-------------------------------------------

💪 Abby 

You take his hand one day—not for anything dramatic. Just to pull him through a crowd. Tugging him along like it’s nothing.

But it stops him.

Your grip. The heat of your palm. The effortless way you expect him to follow, like you’ve always been able to lead.

He’s been in armies. Guarded shrines. Watched generations of people age and disappear like wind-blown sand. The first time he held someone’s hand, he was a soldier. The last time, he was carrying a body down a mountain path.

And now?

Now you’re tugging him into a crosswalk, laughing at a dog in a sweater, talking about bubble tea flavors.

He stares at your fingers laced through his.

And for a moment, the weight of his age sits heavy in his chest.

But then you look back and smile like you’re proud to have him.

He exhales. Squeezes back. Follows you into the light.

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📚 Mystery

You fall asleep with the TV on.

Some old cartoon. Bright colors, glitchy animation, voices that bounce too loud between episodes. He doesn’t understand half of it. But he watches.

Because it reminds him of shadows on paper lanterns. Flickering tapestries in market squares. The first time he saw a projector—real magic, he thought—and how he stared for hours at a wall that moved.

Now the colors shift across your sleeping face.

He touches your cheek, gently. Your breathing is even. Unbothered.

He doesn’t remember how long he’s lived. But he knows this room, this glow, this moment—this is the first time he’s seen someone fall asleep with their head in his lap.

He memorizes the image.

Then turns the volume down. And stays still until the screen fades to static.

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💋 Romance

You kiss his cheek and he reels back.

Not because he didn’t like it—but because the scent of your lip gloss hits him hard.

Strawberry. Sweet. Sticky. Artificial. Innocent.

It’s so... new. But also so familiar.

He remembers plum oil on silk sleeves. Berry paste on fingertips during spring festivals. A girl once laughing into her hand after stealing a kiss behind a gate.

Centuries pass, but the scent lingers. The feeling lingers.

And here you are—wearing lip gloss like armor. Kissing him just because you felt like it.

Romance stares at you. Breath caught. Mind spiraling through lives he doesn’t talk about.

You blink. “Was it too much?”

He smiles—softly, reverently. “No. It was perfect.”

And then he kisses you back.

Twice.

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🔥 Baby 

You drag him to a corner bingsu cafe one night after practice.

He complains the whole way—“Too cold,” “Too sweet,” “I’ll die,”—but you know he’s bluffing. You order something wild, neon, sugar-drenched. Feed him a bite without warning.

He scowls.

Then chews.

Then pauses.

And freezes.

Because the texture—the sweetness—the sensation of something melting against his tongue so fast—it's so... mortal. So present.

He grew up in fire. Knew hunger that couldn’t be sated. Knew flame that burned every luxury out of reach. Cold things were myth. Luxury.

Now you’re holding out another spoonful.

He takes it in silence.

And for once, doesn’t have something sarcastic to say.

When he looks at you, eyes golden, the flicker there isn’t flame—it’s awe.

“Don’t tell anyone I liked that,” he mutters.

You lean in. “I won’t.”

But you buy him a second one anyway.

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M-List