#full of potato and regret

[thatscreamingrat]

it's READY! :')

[beloveds-embrace]

(more of poly 141 x roommate reader bc i got enabled: surprising them when they return home)

The aroma of roasted garlic and thyme filled the apartment, and along with it your voice as you fluttered about the kitchen while music played from your phone. You placed plates of perfectly golden roast chicken, mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables on the dining table beside bowls of creamy mushroom soup and a fresh salad and freshly baked bread.

You would never regret that cooking course you picked up. Everything just looked so… perfect. And that was without mentioning the apple pie and chocolate cake you’d also made, set aside on cute little cake pedestals you’d recently bought.

You smoothed the fabric of your skirt, picking up your phone to check on the time; they’d arrive home any moment now and you couldn’t wait to see their reactions. You’d been planning this dinner since yesterday, when Kate Laswell had called to let you know your roommates would be home today after months of being away on a mission so you could prepare this surprise for them.

You’d promised to send her and her lovely wife a big, big portion just for helping you like that. You always get worried when they take this long, but Kate tried her best to keep you up to date about them whenever they had to be no-contact with you.

The sound of the front door unlocking made your pulse quicken, and you hurried to the entryway, a bright smile on your face. You’d made sure even the candles you and Gaz like to collect were lit up, bathing the apartment in a soft golden light.

“Surprise!” you called, spreading your arms as they stepped inside, grin wide and proud.

For a moment, they stood frozen, tired eyes sweeping over the sight of you and the glowing apartment and the lovely smell of a big, warm dinner. Price was the first to move, dropping his bag and crossing the room in several long strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm embrace, and you melted against him right away, breathing in the familiar scent of him- smoke, leather, and something uniquely John.

“Hi!” You chirped again, patting his back.

“You’ve outdone yourself, love.” he murmured instead of a proper greeting, voice thick with gratitude.

Soap was next, scooping you into a hug so enthusiastic it lifted you off your feet right after John let you go. “Missed ya, lass,” he said, his grin bright despite the weariness in his eyes. “Look at ya, a sight fo’ sore eyes!”

“Put me down, MacTavish!”

Gaz kissed your cheek the second Johnny obeyed, his hand lingering on your shoulder. “You didn’t have to do all this, darling.” he said softly, though the way he looked at you made it clear he appreciated every bit of it.

Ghost, towering behind them, stood silently for a moment. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the nervous smile tugging at your lips. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled you into his chest, one large hand cradling the back of your head.

“Perfect girl, thank you.” he muttered, so low you barely heard it. But you did feel it rumble through his body.

You laughed, stepping back and gesturing toward the table. You had to know what they thought of it. “Go wash up. Dinner’s ready.”.

Johnny piled his plate high, moaning exaggeratedly at every bite and making you laugh until your sides hurt. Gaz teased him about his lack of table manners while sneaking extra bread rolls for himself. Price, ever the gentleman, made sure your plate was full before his own, and Simon quietly made his way through two full helpings even, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile when you nudged him to try the mushroom sauce.

Oh yes, you cooked. In more ways than one. You were so very proud of yourself, felt like you’d blow up like a balloon if they complimented you any more.

“This is the best meal I’ve had in months,” Johnny declared at last, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh and patting his stomach. He turned to you, gently caressing his knuckles across your full cheeks. “Thank ya, lass. Truly an angel.”

“You’ve ruined me for army food forever,” Kyle added, humming as he bit into another spoonful, smiling at your giggles. “Whatever next mission we’ll have is so going to suck, by the way. I mean it.”

Price reached over, covering your hand with his. “You didn’t have to do all this, love, but I’m damn glad you did,” he said, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. His mustache twitched, and he smiled at you. “Kyle’s right, though.”

Simon didn’t speak much, but the way his gaze lingered on you, warm and heavy, spoke volumes. You’d already learned how to decipher his little looks, anyways.

As the evening wound down and they cleaned the kicthen, then went to rest in the living room, you brought out the second surprises: the chocolate cake and apple pie, earning a round of groans and cheers. They insisted on helping with the second round of dishes, but you waved them off, laughing.

“Go relax,” you said, shooing them toward the living room. “This is my treat for you. You were supposed to be relaxing today!”

Though you didn’t notice the way they watched you as you moved about the kitchen.

When you finally joined them, changing into something more comfortable, you curl up on the couch tucked against Simon’s warm side and his arm drape around your shoulders almost instinctively. Soap stretched out across the floor, his head resting on a pillow near your feet, while Kyle sat on the other side of you, casually brushing his hand against yours.

It didn’t take much before you were dozing off, their quiet congestion washing over you as a soothing ambiance. You relaxed even further when you were shifted to lay fully against Simon while Kyle put your feet on his lap and began massaging your calves.

John stood by the balcony, his cigar glowing faintly in the dim light. He looked at you, surrounded by them, and something in his chest loosened.

You were too good for them, truly. Such a lovely, perfect sweetheart. But he also just- couldn’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else. Never.

So he wouldn’t entertain that thought. You were perfect as you were now; just a bit more time, and they’d tell you right out how much they want you in every possible way.

Though he didn’t imagine it’d be that hard, anyways. You already acted like their perfect little wife.

[clockwayswrites]

Like a damn bird of paradise Part 40

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, I'm full of steroids)

“Well, you’re not my drafting paper,” Danny said with a little smile as he learned against the door frame of his apartment. The collar of his well worn sweater slipped down his shoulder, making him look wonderfully relaxed.

Bruce cleared his throat and help up the takeout bag. “Just a lunch offer, I’m afraid.”

“Lucky for you I’m starving, both for food and company,” Danny said. He stepped back and let Bruce enter. “I didn’t realize how much I would miss being in my office. There are dozens of little interactions I have every day that I don’t get while I’m locked away here like Rapunzel in her tower.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think you have the hair for Rapunzel,” Bruce pointed out as he made his way to the table to set down the food.

Danny laughed and ran a hand through his hair, messing up the locks. “No? Not here to be my prince in well tailored armor then?”

Bruce stepped forward to straight them back out. His hand drifted down to Danny’s cheek and he ran his thumb across the faint scattering of freckles. “If it’s a rescue you want, you only have to say the word. Or even just a vacation. My kids are always trying to get me to take one. I could ensure complete discretion somewhere private.”

“I just got home a few days ago,” Danny pointed out.

“That’s not a no,” Bruce replied.

“It’s not a no,” Danny said with a small, amused smile. He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Bruce’s lips and then too quickly pulled away. “What did you bring for lunch?”

“There’s an good Algerian place near enough to work, I stopped there on the way,” Bruce said as he made himself break apart and move over to the bag of food. “I got a selection of things.”

“Oh, I’ve never had Algerian before, I don’t think, that sounds great,” Danny said. He went to his kitchen, which was small but felt bigger due to the open layout. “What would you like to drink? I’ve got ice tea, ginger ale, and milk. I’ve also teas and coffee I could make up quick enough.”

“Ice tea is fine if it’s not too sweet, otherwise a ginger ale,” Bruce answered as he methodically set out the take out containers.

“I’m not southern enough for sweet tea,” Danny said with a soft chuckle.

“Where are you from originally?” Bruce asked. He had gamely resisted looking Danny up. He was trying to do this the right way. Besides, anything concerning Lucius would have found before even starting to consider introducing Danny to the Bats as an engineer.

“Ohio. I was in Chicago for undergrad, SoCal for grad, and MIT for my doctorate, and Austin for my first job, so I’ve made the rounds,” Danny said. He set two glasses of tea down on the table, followed by two plates, some napkins, and silverware.

“And now Gotham, of all places,” Bruce said as he pulled out a chair for Danny.

Danny gave another soft laugh, but took the offered chair and let Bruce push it in for him. “Not of all places, WE was always my end game. Well, my end game as soon as I got myself back on track. High school was rough with the accident and it took me awhile to get things back together. I had to start at a community college.”

“Hardly anything wrong with that,” Bruce assured Danny. “You’ve gotten far further with your education than I ever did.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Danny asked as he poked curiously at one of the dishes.

“Sometimes,” Bruce said honestly. “But I think being a doctor would have been horrible for my mental health. I’ve never been good at accepting that I can save everyone. I still can’t, but at least leading WE I can help a lot more people at once, even if that is hugely thanks to the efforts of everyone else.”

“The mastermind rather than the master,” Danny said with a little nod, as if he really got it. He chewed on a potato, humming happily at the flavor, before he said. “That’s actually why WE was my end game. You’ve set up a really good environment there with diversity and pay equality and living wages. Also, if I could get high enough, which I have, I knew I’d be able to work on independent projects. It gives me a chance to do some real good too.”

“Your water filters are going to save lives,” Bruce agreed. “I’m not sure if Lucius has spoken to you about it, but we’re looking to make sure that every household in Gotham that wants one can get one. Not only will they be vital if a Rogue gets something in the water supply again, but until the reform of the water system is finished it will help the lower income areas that still have old pipe systems.”

“Really?” Danny asked, scoop of couscous forgotten halfway to his plate.

“Really. I’ve already started laying the seeds with the board. If nothing else, I’ll have them with how much good PR it will bring in for us.”

“You are a fiend,” Danny said with a little shake of his head. “A very benevolent fiend, but a fiend.”

“I just know how to work a board,” Bruce said, perhaps just a little smugly. “I might as well use growing up rich to do some good.”

“I think you’re just good at working people, that’s your mastery,” Danny said.

Bruce laughed, he couldn’t help it. “My children would strongly refute that. The more I care for someone, the worse I am at it. Things with logic or helping others, that’s easy for me to rally behind. Making sure that a loved one understands that the what and the why I’m doing something is because I care for them? Miserable. I’ve always struggled with showing those deeper connections, maybe because it’s always been so easy to act in public.”

Danny reached over and squeezed Bruce’s hand. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you’ve learned that and are trying to fix it? That means so much. I’m sure it does to your family too.”

“I hope so. I nearly lost some of them when I was younger and stupider, and I could never stand to again. Losing Jason for a time… he ran off because we had a fight. I was trying to protect him, make sure he didn’t make mistakes he would regret forever… I didn’t explain myself at the time and if I had…” Bruce shook his head and put on a smile. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’m making things dark. The important bit of this is that we will see your filters through out Gotham, I promise.”

Danny surprised Bruce by leaning in and giving him a soft peck on the cheek. “I don’t mind your shadows, Bruce. I’m well aware that we all have them.”

Bruce cleared his throat and squeezed Danny’s hand. His smile dropped into something smaller, but all the more real. “Thank you.”

Danny squeezed his hand back. “Now, tell me about these vacation options you’re concocting? As Lucius will tell you, it’s been too long since I’ve taken one that wasn’t for health or to see family.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart then,” Bruce said as he mentally ran through options for them. “To start with, sand or no sand?”

“With feathers? I’d be cleaning the sand out of my wings for hours,” Danny said. It was good to hear him mention his wings with more ease.

“Come now, half a hour tops, I’d gladly helped.”

“Why Mr. Wayne, I’m starting to suspect that you are fond of my wings.”

Bruce just shrugged. “When did I ever say that I wasn’t? They’re a lovely part of a lovely man.”

“Ancients,” Danny near whispered and hid his flushed face in his hands. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out flirted. Eat. Eat and convince me of this vacation.”

“If that’s what you want,” Bruce said, unable to help be proud of the reaction from Danny. He had to wonder if they did go on vacation, just how much he could make Danny blush like that.

He expected quite a bit.

[ilium-ilia]

kiss the skin that crawls

john price x fem!reader | the surrogate au | masterlist

Part Two: terms and conditions

 You’re not sure why you dressed up for tonight. 

A cream colored blouse and a periwinkle skirt cling to your body as a sweet zephyr attempts to rip them from your form. You feel the flow of wind drift up your skirt, down your blouse, through the fibers, all to cool your feverish skin. While you’re certain the occasion doesn’t call for it, you’ve even worn your kitten heels, though you’re beginning to regret wearing them due to the way they tend to stick in the cracks of the brick path that leads up to Kate and Lottie’s rental home. 

Truly, it is a beautiful building. Freshly trimmed hedges, flowers in full bloom, slanted windows that make the entire home look peaceful, as if it’s a baronial beast resting in deep slumber—the nature surrounding you should quell your nerves, but you find perspiration lining your palms faster than you can wipe them clean on your shirt. 

This is nothing—this dinner, this minor celebration—at least, that’s what you attempt to tell yourself as you approach the door. There’s nothing for you to prove; Kate and Lottie seem very happy with you being their surrogate. This is a friendly get together. A kindness they bestow upon you in thanks for giving them the one thing they cannot create themselves; the one thing they so desperately desire that’s just beyond their reach. A chance to meet the man whose baby you’ll carry for the next nine months—nothing more. 

Kate answers the door shortly after your first round of knocks. She appears more or less the same as she did the first day you met her—hair pulled back into a bun, fringe covering her forehead, eyes creasing as she greets you with a polite smile. Stepping back, she welcomes you inside, and you are instantly enveloped by the warmth of a stove and the mouthwatering aroma of chicken and potatoes. 

“You’re just in time, Lottie’s almost finished up with dinner,” she says with a hum before leading you into the kitchen. 

Thanks to your meeting with them earlier in the week, you’re already familiar with the room—the cupboards, the counters, the sink—

—the man washing dishes. 

Lottie obscures your view of John as she bends over the stove, but he towers over her by a dizzying amount of inches. Back turned to you, you’re able to see the way his scapulas dance through the cotton of his shirt as he scrubs at freshly used pots and pans, head bent forward so as to not hit his skull on the low hanging lamp hovering above him. 

He’s dressed similarly to the picture you were shown of him; dark blue jeans hugging wide hips, grey cotton constricting around thick biceps—you don’t mean to stare, but you do. He’s a bear; one of the stronger men you’ve ever seen. You can’t help but think that Kate and Lottie picked a good donor. 

For genetic reasons, of course. 

“Oh, there you are! So good to see you, hun!” Lottie’s alluring voice bleeds through the air and drowns out the singing of the sink as she turns to you with a beaming smile. Hands shoved into oven mitts, she gestures to a small stack of plates and cutlery to your right before she turns her attention to the oven. “Would you be a dear and set the table for me please?” 

Glad to have something of a distraction, you take the items into your hand before wandering off to the dining table the next room over. It’s a rather intimate piece of furniture—a small square table made of birchwood and only four matching chairs. No room to hide or run. Eye contact unavoidable. Near mandatory. You try not to think about it as you line plates up along the seats, forks, spoons, and knives even in their rows, napkins folded into pristine squares. 

As your hands grip the back of one of the chairs, your mind starts to whisper. A question blooms deep in your cortex, what are you doing here? Fight or flight. Survival of the fittest. Convinced your brain cannot tell the difference between death and a simple dinner, you push the notion out of your head as Lottie begins to present the dishes along the table and everyone takes their seats. 

Pot pie, gravy, corn, green beans, pitchers of water, cups of ice—it’s a proper meal, something Lottie certainly went above and beyond to prepare. Despite your anxiety, your stomach still constricts in hunger, finally having grown upset at you for skipping lunch because your nerves simply made your throat feel too tight. You find yourself stuck to your chair, hands unmoving from your lap, when you look across the table. 

John sits in your direct sight now, and you hate so much to admit it, but the pictures you’ve seen of him don’t do him justice. The tincture of his eyes are more vibrant in person, a deep blue—darker and sings louder than the deepest parts of the ocean you’ve witnessed on London’s docks. If you strain hard enough, you realize you can catch the faintest hint of fresh tobacco and sandalwood—earthy, fresh, like petrichor in summer, or the forest in autumn. 

“Well, go on then,” Lottie urges, excitedly waving her hands. “Eat up! I made plenty for everyone.” 

Unusually taciturn, you continue to sit with twitching fingers as you figure out where to start. For a moment, the table is still. No one stirs. No one dares to reach for the food everyone so obviously craves, they sit with shifting eyes, curious quirks in their lips—

—John is the first person to move, and he does not travel where you expect him to. 

Arm reaching across the table, he steals your plate from its mat. Blinking, you stare up at him with parted lips—mouth forming a silent question—as you watch him begin to dish your plate for you. Wooden spoon taps against fine china as he supplies a sufficient amount of food before he curiously presents the plate to you with raised brows. 

“More?” he asks. 

Swallowing, you shake your head. “No, that’s perfect. Thank you.” 

He then goes on to do the same to everyone else before serving his own plate. Stunned, you find yourself enraptured by him. Chivalrous and quiet—things you don’t often find in men these days—it’s hard to look away from how his fingers dwarf his cutlery as he devours the meal. In order to smother the tickle of thoughts in the back of your mind, you find yourself following suit, desperately welcoming any distraction. 

Dinner goes about as well as you expect it to. Delicious food (Lottie had talked up her main dish so much and had delivered so wonderfully), small talk, vague inside jokes between Kate and John that you don’t quite catch; it’s oddly formal. Stiff, like the skin of domestic life doesn’t quite fit over their bodies; like they don’t know how to truly act when they aren’t doing business. 

When the main course is finished, Lottie reveals that she’s made a peach cobbler for dessert. Freshly warmed, she presents the treat to you topped with vanilla ice cream, and you can hardly hold back your hum at the cinnamon that melts on your tongue. John chuckles and makes a comment about how she’s going to fatten him up, and you try not to stare too long when he pats the soft layer of his lower stomach. 

This dinner is going to kill you, but you tell yourself the payment is worth it. 

“Alright. Should we talk specifics, then?” Kate prompts once you’re halfway through your cobbler. 

Quirking your head, you realize she’s glancing back and forth between you and John, eyes studious. Humming, John wipes his mouth and facial hair on a napkin before nodding and diverting his full attention to Kate and the conversation she’s attempting to kick up. 

“Specifics?” you repeat. 

“About your surrogacy and the baby,” she confirms. 

Embarrassment washes over you in a thick wave that clogs every vein in your body. Of course that’s what she meant. What else are you here for?

“Yes, right. Well��erm—do we have appointments then?” you question. 

Kate’s eyes flicker to the man across from you. “That’ll be up to you and John to schedule.” 

Something in her tone has your palms beginning to sweat again. There’s a disconnect somewhere in your psyche—something that you can’t quite make sense of. Still, pretending to be put together, you nod as if you’re following along with what she’s implicating. 

“Easy enough,” you say, mustering as much confidence as you’re able to. “Is there a clinic that you’re corresponding with? A doctor we should be working through?” 

“Clinic?” Lottie’s confusion cuts through the conversation like a hot knife through butter, and the fallout has your throat constricting. 

“Yes. You know, for the embryo transfer and procedure?” you explain. 

“There won’t be any need for that,” Kate says casually. 

Everything crumbles. This idea of being a proper surrogate, the carrier of a child—it hits you with the force of hurricane winds, towering waves, a slap to the face. The ice cream that sits upon your cobbler has turned into liquid, but your stomach no longer craves anything as decadent as that. 

“I’m sorry,” you say with a nervous titter. “Are you… are you wanting me to have sex with John?” 

“How else are we supposed to get the baby in there?” he asks with a sonorous chuckle. 

You realize just how deep you are in this situation—so far beneath the waves that your screams wouldn’t even bubble at the surface. Out of the kindness of your heart, you were willing to help Kate and Lottie with this next step in their life, but you’re not sure you can chew and swallow down what you’re being presented with now. Having sex with a stranger. Putting more skin in the game than you ever expected. 

“It’s easier this way,” Kate explains after a moment's silence. “It’s less invasive, more natural on the body, less risk of rejection and miscarriage. Frankly, my two main priorities are ensuring that both you and the baby are healthy throughout this entire pregnancy, and this gives us the best chance at that.” 

Palms flat on the table, you try to steady yourself even though the world feels like it’s moving beneath your very feet. Your gaze flickers from Kate to John—who sits with a polite smile as if it can obscure the way he’s being presented like a stallion for breeding—and then to Lottie who looks eager to hear your reply. So many eyes on you, piercing through you, pinning you in place, ready to flay you open. 

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Kate reminds. “We understand if you need more time to think about it.” 

“No.” The word bleeds between your lips like spring water from the earth, fresh and clear, moisture dawning on a new day. “No, that’s fine. I was just caught off guard is all.” 

Fingers tapping anxiously against the table, Lottie leans forward, eyes glistening like dew drops on blades of grass. “So you’ll do it?” 

Before you lies a scale. Your options are weighed; take their offer, have a one night stand with a stranger, have a child, and walk away much richer, or leave and continue your life the same way you always have. Struggling, living in a crumbling home, with the dreams of earning the life you’ve wished for since you were a child far out of your reach. 

The answer is clear—you’ll never find an opportunity like this again. 

“Of course. Yes, this is no problem at all,” you smile. 

Lottie nearly leaps across the table to smother you in her arms, but instead she reaches out and takes your hands into hers. Moisture lines her eyes, and you see the way the corners of her lips quiver as she thanks you, thumbs squeezing tight into the back of your hands. 

With everything squared away and the evening growing into night, you and John assist the Laswell’s in cleaning up after the meal. Back on dish duty again, he cleans all the plates and cutlery while you dry the lingering droplets of water off with a teatowel. 

Standing next to him has put you in closer proximity than you’ve ever been, though you know the distance between you is rapidly closing. That sillage of tobacco and sandalwood washes over you again as he hands you a cup to dry. Out of everyone that you could have been paired to conceive a child with, you’re glad it’s John. There are certainly worse choices in the world. 

“I apologize if I came off a bit strong earlier,” John says as he rinses off a plate. “I was under the impression you were already made aware of everything.” 

“Oh, it’s alright,” you assure. “I was just more confused than anything else, but now that everything is out in the open it’s… easier to comprehend, I suppose.” 

“I’m clean, if you’re worried about it at all. Could even show you the test results, if you’d like,” he adds. 

Chuckling, you take the final dish from him and begin to dry it as you shake your head. “That’s quite alright, I’ll take your word for it.” 

Once you’re finished with your task, you hand the dish to Lottie so it can be stored away with the others before you turn your full attention to John. Despite his broad and roughened exterior, he looks at you tenderly, as if he’s beholding some soft creature. Swallowing, you hand the towel out for him to dry his hands off with, and you try not to stare at the darkened hair on his fingers and the backs of his hands. 

“So… I suppose we should set up an appointment for our… coitus,” you say stiffly. 

John chuckles. He always does. His eyes brighten as he tosses the towel over his shoulder as the two of you iron out the fine details. A date that works. An exchange of phone numbers. By the end of it, things begin to manifest into something so tangible you’re left with a spinning head, yet you persevere with a smile nonetheless. 

“It was lovely meeting you,” John says softly as he extends his hand to you. 

Returning the gesture, you reach for him, ready to shake hands, but he captures your fingers instead. Thumb running over your knuckles, he raises them to his mouth where he presses a soft kiss against your skin, facial hair tickling your metacarpals in the process. Heat courses through you as you stare at him, eyes focused on his lips locking against your body as if he can’t wait to get a taste of you. 

“I’ll see you soon, love.”

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[feanors-mom]

As a follow-up to my prior post, I present:

Top 10 Characters in the Tolkien Legendarium who are so psychologically healthy my broken ass finds them difficult to relate to but nonetheless is inspired by.

10) Gandalf: if it weren’t for the pipe-weed dependency he’d rank higher. But he’s late for Council meetings and annoys Galadriel, who has better things to do. Yeah I know he’s on the other list too, but I am large, I contain multitudes.

9) Celeborn: not a jealous bone in his body, content to be a background wifeguy who somehow wasn’t even a little bit annoying. Utterly unrelatable

8) Nerdanel: Literally the only reason Fëanor didn’t go off the rails sooner. If those 7 little shits were still minors you can BET she would’ve been granted full custody.

7) Sam: only crime was loving too much (see: Frodo, potatoes)

6) Legolas: a literal prince content to risk his life for a cause bigger than himself. Also a silly boy.

5) Fingon: did what even Maedhros’ nuclear family couldn’t (or wouldn’t), now he soaks in Bubble Bath and sips miruvor in the Undying Lands

4) Glorfindel: could have rested on his Balrog Blaster laurels but willingly went back to a shitstorm. Sort of regretted it as soon as he landed but shrugged and just did what needed to be done.

3) Miriel: the human one (the elf one is as broken as they come, but damn I love her for it) . She tried her best but just couldn’t win against Tar-Patriarchy.

2) Aragorn: head on straight. But yeah, completely unrelatable

1) Finrod: so good Mandos just fist-bumped him back into a body

[bursting-at-the-memes]

Christmas themed sentence starters!

"We should totally hang some mistletoe." "We are not hanging mistletoe." "I don't need gifts. Just give me eighteen boxes of pigs in blankets and I'll be happy." "We should bake gingerbread." "Don't look! I'm not done wrapping your gift yet!" "Look! It's snowing!" "Want to decorate cookies with me?" "I need to confess something. I've never cooked a turkey before." "Wait, did we forget the roast potatoes?" "Present time! This one's for you." "Stockings go over the fireplace, not in the fire." "Hot chocolate, blankets, and the lights on the tree. Is there any better way to spend christmas eve?" "I think the tree needs more decorations." "I think there's too much on that tree." "Oh christmas tree, oh christmas tree. ...Uh...what's the next line?" "We should watch christmas films!" "Why are you putting lights there?" "We need more lights." "That house must be visible from space with all those lights." "You should put the star on the tree." "Can I put the star on top?" "The houseplants deserve tinsel too. Otherwise they'll get jealous of the tree." "You cannot escape the ugly jumpers, (name)." "Are you seriously wearing antlers?" "Get in the spirit, name." "I stocked up on fancy chocolates for christmas three days ago. Now they're gone. I am full of sugar and regret." "I'm practising my surprised face. How's this?" "Why even put candy canes on the tree? Aren't they supposed to be eaten?"

[bows4tyun]

SOUNDLESS - ! ⸝⸝ 휴닝카이

۶ৎ: "" you have to be quiet baby," he said, his voice curling with desire as he saw your form laid on the bed of the guest room. "you don't want to wake your parents or our daughter, do you?" you nodded gently, a tender kiss to your forehead following."

⌗ pairing! - dad!kai x fem!reader

⌗ warnings! - both kai and reader are parents, softdom!kai, sub!reader, breeding kink, somnophilia, unprotected sex, praise kink, big dick kai, breast worship, soft kisses, kai calls reader sweetie baby and good girl

⌗ lexi adds! - I'm never in my life getting over kai and the romantic concept but dad kai is finally here and I js had to use the romantic concept photo for this !! it took me forever to think of a good plot for this so sorry for the wait!! feedback and reblogs are appreciated! :3 (not proofread!)

kai couldn't say no to you when you requested to visit your parents' house for a full week, especially since this meant that yumi, your three year old daughter would have bonding time with her grandparents.

the only thing he regretted was agreeing to stay for a full week. this meant seven days without sex. how would he possibly go seven days without sex? he'd go insane. or maybe he wouldn't...

it was your fourth day there, kai was sitting on the couch with your dad as they chatted while a soccer match played on the tv. your mom was helping feed yumi as she sat in her feeding chair, eating a tangerine. the baby's giggles and laughs echoed across the kitchen and into the living room, catching kai's attention.

his head turned, a smile immediately crawling to his lips when he saw his baby's smiling face. he got off the couch and onto his feet, making his way into the kitchen as he wrapped his arms around your waist, catching you by surprise.

"kai! you scared me!" you said as he leaned down and rested his head on your shoulder lovingly.

"sorry, baby. I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see how my two favorite girls are doing." he mumbled softly into your neck and planted a soft kiss on your jaw before heading toward yumi's feeding chair. he cupped her face and kissed her forehead softly, squishing her cheeks in an affectionate manner. "is the tangerine tasty?"

yumi didn't hesitate to nod her head, your mom popping another slice into her mouth. Kai chuckled, ruffling her hair a bit "don't eat too much, you'll still have to eat what grandma made, okay?"

yumi reached her head, protecting it from any more touches, "papa you'll ruin my hair!" she laughed as she saw kai throw his hands up like a burglar.

"okay okay! I didn't mean to disturb the princess" he spoke jokingly, emitting another giggle from yumi.

you smile warmly at the innocent and cute interaction between them. finding how similar yumi really was to her dad, she was just like him. it was no surprise to you that she was a daddy's girl.

your mom turned to kai as he laughed together with yumi. "kai, will you be the kind gentleman you are and get the plates ready?"

kai nodded eagerly "yes ma'am I'll do it right away!"

with a menacing glare she also looked at your dad, who was being a complete couch potato. "hey you! get over here and help kai prepare the table!"

your dad stood up quickly, not wanting to face your mother's wrath. "right away, sweetie!"

you giggle and turn to your mom, who switched personalities and was now smiling brightly at yumi.

⸝⸝

after dinner, you were helping your mom clean the kitchen, you washing the dishes while she cleaned the counter and watched yumi play from afar.

when you finished, you sat on the couch, your mom following and sitting right beside you. yumi turned and smiled, her fond look just like kai's.

"I can't believe you have such a perfect family. perfect husband, perfect daughter... do you plan on having another baby?" your mom asked, making you think.

"I don't know. if kai thinks he can handle taking care of another yumi then maybe." your mom chuckles at your response .

"yumi's not a bad kid. she's great. she's the best granddaughter I could ever ask for." your mom's devoted grin planted one on your face as well. yumi climbed on the couch, hugging your mom tightly and kissing her cheek softly.

suddenly kai came into the living room his phone in hand as he checked the time, "hey yumi, time for bed baby."

the three of you looked up and checked the clock on the oven. it was almost 9:00 pm. yumi jumped off the couch with the help of your mom before she ran into kai's arms. he picked her up effortlessly, his bicep muscles showing just the slightest.

soon, everyone was in their rooms, ready for bed. yumi slept in a crib that was place next to your parents' bed, it was almost too small for her since she was growing quickly.

since yumi slept with your parents, that meant that you and kai had your own room.

in the room, kai laid in bed, scrolling on his phone while you brushed your teeth, the atmosphere calm and quiet. after you finished, kai turned off one of the small lamps that dimly lit up the room. from what you could still see of him, he had his arms wide open, inviting you in. "come here baby, I don't want to sleep alone." he whined jokingly .

you scoffed before climbing into his strong arms. they wrapped around you tightly as he flipped you over so that he was spooning you in his arms.

times like this were nice. when it was just you guys, holding each other in each other's arms.

kai once again buried his head in your neck like before, inhaling your sweet scent as he groaned softly at the exhale.

you began to speak softly, not wanting to be to loud in the soft environment that surrounded you two. "my mom asked if we were planning on having another baby."

kai's ears perked up at the trigger word. "another baby?" he repeated your words. a small "mhm" escaping from your lips. "I would but I don't want your parents hearing the process..."

you slap kai's thigh "I don't mean here! I mean in the future."

"ouch... in the future? I'm down. that means we won't leave yumi lonely. she'll have a baby brother or sister to grow up with, isn't that nice?" he sounded so genuine. you felt as soft kisses were planted against your jaw line and kai's arms grew tighter around your waist.

this was always the best part of falling asleep, just you and kai hugging warmly and so comfortably together as one. slowly but surely, your eyelids growing heavier and falling over your eyes.

⸝⸝

kai woke up in the middle of the night, but not for the right and innocent reasons. you'd think he'd woken up to maybe get a glass of water or use the bathroom but no, he woke up to admire you.

kai thought he was a weirdo for just watching you sleep, the sentence itself sounded so wrong.

how could he not admire you when you looked so pretty in your sleep? the small movements of the rising and falling of your chest and the way the swell of your butt pressed against him so perfectly drove him crazy.

it felt right for him to grow hard on the spot. it wasn't like he could help it, your body was pressed to his so closely.

he thought of what you asked him. did he want another baby? it would be adorable to have two cute mini you and him running around the house. but now? how would he keep himself and you quiet while your parents and even your daughter slept in the room across the hall? it would be embarrassing for them to hear. he would never see the end of it. especially since the walls of the house were a bit thin.

he felt like he'd die if he didn't release soon. he'd explode.

his hard was now beginning to get painfully hard.

and with that, he reached and pulled his dick out of the confinements of his pants. just his touch alone was enough to let a low hiss escape his lips.

he looked at your ass, why did you have to wear those tight and tiny shorts?

he moved slowly, keeping his movements minimized in order to not wake you. your shorts and underwear were slid down to the back of your knees, your ass being in full access to him. he felt himself salivate a bit at the sight. your skin looked so soft and felt so mochi-like as his hand rubbed across it like a massage.

with the same deliberate pace, his dick was pressed against your warm cunt's hole. he let out a low sigh as he already felt the warmness that would soon be enveloping him with such welcome, just like it always did.

leisurely, he buried his dick inside of you inch by inch. he watched as your face scrunched up when you woke up to the big stretch of his dick. in shock, you spoke out, your voice breathy, "k-kai! ah-... I said in the future...!"

he covered your mouth with his hand, muffling your soft whimpers. "shh baby... this is the future, no?" he said, now thrusting into you with a bit of force, "just take it like a good girl, okay?"

you squirm a bit when his tip hits the right spot, causing you to squeal in pleasure.

his hand presses harder against your lips. "you have to be quiet baby," he said, his voice curling with desire as he saw your form curling with pure ecsatsy on the bed of the guest room. "you don't want to wake your parents or our daughter, do you?" you shake your head gently, a tender kiss to your forehead following. "good girl, that's what I like to hear baby." more soft kisses were planted all over your face before he showers your shoulder with kisses next.

your walls clamp around his tightly, eliciting a sound of satisfaction from the both of you as kai speeds up, becoming relentless. the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoes in the room and you're afraid that it's loud enough for your parents to hear. you reach to grip kai's hand that was placed on your thigh with a intense grip as he thrusted into you. you give it a squeeze, leading him to slow down just a bit before stopping completely.

"what's wrong, sweetie?" he said, soft-spoken with his words as he lightly uncovers your mouth.

"w-we're being too loud..." your voice breathy as you spoke.

he smirked and chuckled softly, "is that so? are you scared of getting caught? you don't worry, okay baby? just let me take care of you right now." he said as his hands creep back to your waist as he begins to thrust, this time with caution.

his thrusts are slower, yet way deeper than before. meaning his tip was basically pulsing and pushing up on your cervix. "ah-! kai! I'm going to cum!"

"can you do it quietly? " he huffs out, feeling himself grow closer to his climax as your walls gripped him like a vice.

"k-kai...!" he groaned as quietly as he could as you both released at the same time.

"there you go baby... take it, take all of it... I'm gonna get you pregnant again. I'll get another baby inside of you no matter what." he confessed, his words sounding so loving and promising.

you giggle at his words softly, "you can stay inside of me like this just, don't wake me up like that again..."

he smiles warmly " I can't promise it won't happen again."

⌗ taglist! - @hyunj00 @lovingbeomgyudayone (lmk if you want to be tagged in any of my future works!)

[dontrllycaretbh]

“Late Nights and Long Distances”

Summary:

It’s the offseason, and Paige and Azzi are home—states apart, miles away, living different routines. But every night, like clockwork, they call. Sometimes they talk about workouts. Sometimes they say nothing at all. And sometimes, when it’s just them and the quiet hum of their phones, they talk about things they’ve never said out loud before. Things about themselves. Things about each other.

The screen glowed faint blue in Paige’s dark bedroom. She lay back, one leg propped up, a half-empty water bottle pressed to her cheek as her phone rested on her chest.

“Are you even listening to me?” Azzi’s voice was teasing, soft, but grounded.

“I am,” Paige said, her voice raspier than usual. “You were talking about your mom’s potato salad or something.”

Azzi rolled her eyes from her end of the FaceTime call, tucked in her room in Virginia. “I was talking about how it’s not even really potato salad, it’s just… mayo and regret.”

That got a laugh from Paige—a real one, the kind Azzi always knew how to pull out of her, even when nothing else worked.

The call quieted again. It wasn’t awkward. They were used to this. The silence between them had always felt more like a space to breathe than something to fill.

Paige tilted her phone just enough to really see Azzi’s face—lit by string lights, framed by her hoodie. Her hair was up, but a few strands had fallen loose.

“You’re pretty,” Paige murmured, almost absentmindedly.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“I said you’re pretty,” Paige repeated. Her voice dropped lower. “I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

Azzi smiled, but didn’t speak. There was something in her eyes now. Not surprise—just stillness.

“You okay?” Paige asked.

Azzi hesitated. “Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

“Always.”

“What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”

That stopped her. Paige looked away for a second, like the shadows on her ceiling might give her a better answer. She wet her lips, exhaled.

“I’ve never really…” she trailed off. “I don’t know. I’ve never… gotten off. From, like. Doing it myself.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked down for just a second, not out of embarrassment, but calculation—like she was figuring out how to hold this moment gently.

“You’ve tried?” Azzi asked, her voice quiet.

“Yeah. A couple times. But I always feel stupid. Like I’m doing it wrong. Or like… I’m trying too hard to make something happen that doesn’t want to.”

Paige covered her face with her hands. “Jesus. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you.”

Azzi’s laugh was soft and kind. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m glad you told me.”

They sat there for a beat. Then Paige glanced up through her fingers.

“You ever… figure it out?”

Azzi looked at her for a long second. “Yeah,” she said gently. “Eventually.”

The air shifted. Not heavy, not dirty. Just full—ripe with something fragile and new.

Paige tilted her head. “Will you tell me how?”

Azzi smiled, slow and thoughtful, like she already knew this was a line they wouldn’t be able to uncross—but didn’t want to.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” she said. “But only if get to hear everything”

Paige nodded.

[vingtetunmars]

In the Dark

Pairing: Joel Miller X F!Reader

Summary: You've known Joel Miller your whole life — as your dad’s best friend, as Sarah’s father, and now, quietly, as yours. In a world that still thinks of you as the babysitter he once trusted, the two of you navigate love in the margins.

Tags: NSFW, smut(18+), dbf!Joel, Austin!Joel, no outbreak, no Ellie (sorry), Sarah is Alive, modern au, established relationship, secret relationship, age gap (mid 20s/late 40s), oral sex f receiving, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it yall), p-in-v. No descriptions of reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: I said I'm gonna write dbf!joel, and I've come to deliver. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 8.7k

masterlist

The phone rang just as you were sliding your leftovers into the fridge, still dressed in the same slacks you'd been wearing since nine that morning. You didn’t even check the caller ID. Only one person still called you instead of texting—your dad.

You tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear, closing the fridge with your hip.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice warm with that familiar Southern rasp. “You busy this weekend?”

You paused, leaning against the counter. “I wasn’t planning on it. Why?”

“Thinkin’ of throwing a little barbecue Saturday. Nothin’ big, just the usual crew. Figured you could come by, see your old man, eat some actual food instead of that fancy city stuff.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Barbecue doesn’t sound too bad.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckled. “Joel’ll be there too. Said he might bring ribs.”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your voice level. “Cool. Sounds good.”

“You can bring someone if you want,” he added, casual but with that hopeful tone he always used when fishing for information. “A date. Or… you know. A friend.”

You laughed, deflecting. “If I can find someone who’s not terrified of you and your smoker, I’ll let you know.”

“That’s fair,” he muttered, then cleared his throat. “Alright. Don’t be late, alright? I’m puttin’ you in charge of the potato salad.”

You groaned. “Why do I always get stuck with the most boring side?”

“Because I trust you not to screw it up.”

You snorted. “Wow. Thanks, Dad.”

“See you Saturday, kiddo.”

The call ended, and you set your phone down gently. The apartment was quiet again, the soft hum of the city filtering in through the windows. Outside, the downtown lights blinked against the early summer haze, and traffic rumbled lazily over the bridge nearby.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the produce section was packed with tired people in business casual, all moving like zombies on autopilot. You weaved through them with a half-full basket, already regretting your decision not to order delivery.

A tub of mayonnaise, a bag of red potatoes, mustard, celery. You mentally checked them off one by one, grabbing them with robotic precision. All that was left was the wine, and maybe something sweet for yourself, because you survived another week without quitting your job or snapping at a VP. Barely.

You turned down the wine aisle and reached for your usual bottle of red when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Joel

You going tomorrow?

Your hand froze on the bottle neck.

You blinked at the screen, warmth blooming low in your stomach like it always did when his name lit up your phone. A short, simple message, and still—it hit different.

You typed back quickly, glancing around like someone might be reading over your shoulder.

You

Yeah, just grabbing stuff now. You?

A pause.

You picked up the wine and added it to your basket, chewing your lip.

Then your phone buzzed again.

Joel

Wouldn’t miss it. Even if your dad makes me haul that damn smoker across the yard again.

You smiled, thumb hovering over the screen for a second longer than necessary before responding.

You

Sounds like free labor to me.

Joel

Only for you.

Your breath hitched just a little. You glanced around the aisle again, but no one paid you any mind. Just strangers, scanning labels and tapping their credit cards against machines. The whole world, going about its business. Like this was nothing.

You

See you tomorrow ♡

You hit send before you could second-guess it.

Joel

See you ♡

Then you tucked your phone back into your coat pocket, cheeks warm, heart a little lighter than it had been all day.

Saturday afternoon in the suburbs felt like a different planet compared to downtown Austin.

You turned off the main road and into your dad’s neighborhood, windows down, letting the warm breeze roll through your car. Lawns were freshly cut, kids zipped by on bikes, and someone a few houses down was already grilling—smoke curling into the sky and mixing with the smell of charcoal and sun.

Your childhood home looked exactly the same. A little more faded around the edges, maybe, but still steady. Still lived-in. You parked behind Joel’s old pickup, the same one he’d driven since you were sixteen, and grabbed the grocery bag from your passenger seat.

Your dad was already in the backyard, you could hear the low hum of country music and the occasional pop of laughter. You let yourself in through the front door and made a beeline for the kitchen to drop off the wine and potato salad.

"About time," your dad called from the back. “Joel’s already got the grill going!”

You rolled your eyes and slipped through the sliding door, stepping into a wall of heat, smoke, and familiar voices. Your dad was by the smoker, drink in hand, and a couple of neighbors you half-recognized from years ago waved lazily from lawn chairs.

And then there was Joel.

He stood near the patio table, tongs in hand, dressed in a dark tee and jeans, boots dusty like always. His salt-and-pepper hair curled slightly from the heat. He looked up the moment you stepped out—and for a second, just a second—you saw it.

The flicker.

But it was gone just as fast.

"Hey, there she is," Joel said, smiling like it was any other Saturday.

You walked over, setting the grocery bag on the table. “You start grilling without me?”

"Would’ve waited, but someone was late.” His tone was teasing, casual. "Got your dad all riled up, thought he’d have to make the potato salad himself.”

You smirked. “Yeah, I’d pay to see that.”

He chuckled, reaching into the bag to peek at what you brought. His fingers brushed yours—just briefly—but the touch was so quick, so natural, it didn’t even register to anyone else.

You both had this down to a science.

“Wine’s a good pick,” he said, turning the bottle to glance at the label. “Still got good taste.”

Your dad called for him then, something about the coals being too hot, and Joel gave you a final glance—one you could only read because you knew him.

See you later.

Be careful.

I missed you.

All folded into one half-second look.

And then he was gone, back to tending the fire and cracking jokes like nothing in the world was different.

But you knew better.

Laughter floated through the open windows, mixed with the hiss of meat on the grill and the clink of beer bottles. You’d made the rounds, hugged neighbors, helped your dad carry out an extra chair, and politely dodged questions about your love life like a professional.

But the heat was getting to you now—not just the Texas summer kind. The kind that lingered in your chest every time you caught Joel’s eye. The kind that burned a little behind your ribs whenever his shoulder brushed yours too close in passing.

So when you slipped inside with an empty glass in hand, no one questioned it. Not even your dad, too distracted retelling some story at full volume.

Joel followed five minutes later.

You heard the back door creak, quiet, careful. The same rhythm you knew by heart. You were already upstairs, the old hardwood groaning under your step as you moved toward your childhood bedroom. The door was cracked open, like it always used to be.

You slipped inside.

The room hadn’t changed much. Your dad had left it mostly intact, save for the treadmill shoved in the corner and the stack of old mail on your desk. Posters from your high school days still hung on the walls, and your twin bed creaked the same way it always had when you sat down on the edge.

Joel entered without knocking.

His eyes swept over you, and the way the tension dropped from his shoulders—it did something to you. Like you were the relief he didn’t even know he needed.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he murmured, shutting the door softly behind him.

You didn’t say anything. Just stepped toward him.

He met you halfway, one hand finding your waist with practiced ease, the other cupping your jaw as your mouths found each other. You kissed him slow, greedy, like trying to make up for all the words you hadn’t said earlier. He tasted like smoke and mint, like Texas heat and memory.

His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. You tilted your head back, breath hitching as he pressed you gently against the door.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whispered between kisses, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded.

Joel smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching against your skin. “You say that every time.”

“And every time, I mean it.”

“But you still let me.”

You kissed him again briefly before letting your forehead rest against his chest, heart racing as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you like it was the only time he’d get to.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words muffled against his shirt.

“Been missin’ you all week,” he replied, his voice low and rough. “Thought I was gonna lose it seein’ you out there and not bein’ able to touch you.”

“You’re touching me now.”

“Not nearly enough.”

A moment passed. Then another.

And then you both sighed—because you knew the clock was ticking.

He kissed your temple, a gentle press of lips that made your chest ache. “Come on,” he murmured. “Before your dad starts wonderin’ why we both disappeared.”

You nodded, fixing your shirt, smoothing your hair in the mirror as Joel opened the door like he hadn’t just backed you up against it five minutes ago.

He walked out first. You followed a minute later, empty glass in hand again like nothing had happened.

Just another summer evening.

Just another barbecue.

Just another secret, tucked between the walls of the house you used to call home.

The backyard had settled into that perfect golden-hour rhythm—half-eaten plates on paper napkins, someone’s Bluetooth speaker playing Tom Petty, and a few neighborhood kids trying to catch fireflies under the trees. Your dad was deep in conversation with Joel by the grill, both of them gesturing with tongs like they were debating something deeply important. You smiled to yourself, sipping your wine and letting the humid air cling to your skin.

You hadn’t seen Sarah in a while. She’d grown so much since the last time you babysat her—taller now, more confident, with that same mischief in her eyes Joel always carried in his smirk.

She flopped into the chair beside you, a can of sparkling water in hand.

"Hey, stranger," she said, nudging your knee with hers. “You still too cool for the suburbs?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Always. But you’re making a strong case for coming back.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. “You missed some good stuff. I won the school art show last month. You would’ve been proud. It was this chaotic collage thing—I called it ‘burnout but pretty.’”

“That sounds amazing. You gotta show me later.”

“I will.” She leaned back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of her. “Dad wouldn’t shut up about you coming today, by the way. Acted like you were the main attraction.”

Your stomach twisted—just a little. You hid it with a smile.

“Yeah, he still treats me like I’m the mayor of Austin or something.”

“He’s always liked you,” she said, casually. “Like, even when I was a kid, he always said you were the only babysitter who didn’t just put me in front of the TV and text boys.”

You laughed, but the guilt pressed just a bit heavier now.

Because you’d kissed her dad. Not just kissed. You knew every line of his hands. You knew the exact sound he made when you touched the side of his neck. And here Sarah was, still seeing you the way she always had—someone safe. Someone good.

You glanced toward the grill, where Joel was laughing at something your dad said, his whole face lit up in the kind of smile you rarely got to see in public. Your heart ached.

Sarah leaned forward, elbow on her knee. “You good?”

“Huh?”

“You spaced out for a sec.”

You shook your head quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Just... tired. Long week.”

She gave you a look. “Corporate life killing your soul again?”

“Every damn day,” you said, grateful for the shift. “If you ever sell that ‘burnout but pretty’ collage, I’ll hang it in my office to remind me to quit.”

“I’ll send you a print,” she said, nudging you again.

You smiled, and this time, it wasn’t so forced.

The guilt hadn’t gone away. But maybe for now, you could pretend things were still simple. That you weren’t balancing between who you used to be to this family, and who you were now—when no one was looking.

It was just past six when your phone buzzed.

Joel

Almost there. You leave the door unlocked?

You smiled to yourself, already padding barefoot across your apartment floor to make sure the deadbolt was undone. The evening light poured in through your living room windows, casting long amber stripes across the couch, the throw blanket, the half-finished glass of wine on the coffee table.

You

Door’s open. Hurry up, old man.

You set your phone down and smoothed your palms over your top, suddenly a little more aware of how you looked. Not that you were dressed up—just cotton shorts and a loose t-shirt—but with Joel, comfort was kind of the point.

He hadn’t been to your place since the barbecue a week ago. Things had been busy—life, work, the usual distractions. But the quiet ache in your chest hadn’t let up since you last saw him.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open. His footsteps were familiar, slow and steady across your hardwood floor.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the kitchen island.

Joel shut the door behind him, that slow smile pulling at his lips the second he saw you. “Hey, yourself.”

He looked good—black t-shirt, jeans slung low on his hips, his hair a little messy like he’d run his hand through it too many times on the drive over. The kind of casually disheveled that made your stomach flutter.

You walked over, meaning to hug him, maybe kiss his cheek—but Joel didn’t stop at polite. His arms wrapped around you with something deeper, something full of relief and want. He held you close, lips brushing the side of your neck.

“Missed you,” he murmured.

You melted a little. “I missed you, too.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss you, slow and lingering, his thumb resting at your jaw like he didn’t want to let go. And god, you’d forgotten how grounded you felt with him—how quiet the world became when he was close.

“Barbecue wasn’t enough time,” he said quietly, brushing his nose against yours.

“Nope,” you replied, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “Didn’t even get to finish a conversation with you without someone yelling about grill tools.”

He laughed against your mouth, and you felt it all the way down your spine.

“Good thing I’m here now.”

You nodded. “You staying a while?”

His eyes met yours—deep, unreadable, but warm. “That depend on if I’m wanted.”

You didn’t answer. Just leaned in and kissed him again—slow, unhurried, letting it build.

Because you had the night.

And maybe the conversation would last this time.

Or maybe it wouldn’t.

Because when Joel’s hands slid under the back of your thighs and lifted you onto the counter with practiced ease, conversation was the last thing on your mind.

Joel didn’t rush.

His hands were steady, warm against your skin as he guided you back onto the kitchen counter, lips never straying far from your neck. The loose hem of your t-shirt rose higher with each soft press of his fingers along your thighs.

“You always greet me like this?” he murmured against your jaw. “Or am I just lucky?”

You smiled, breath hitching as his hands gripped behind your knees and pulled you forward, hips flush with the edge of the counter. “You’re not lucky,” you whispered, curling your fingers into his hair. “You’re mine.”

That did something to him—you could feel it in the way his hands tightened slightly, the way he breathed in deep, like he was trying not to unravel all at once.

He kissed you again, deeper now, slow and searching. One hand held the small of your back while the other slid beneath your shirt, fingers grazing your side until they reached the curve of your breast. He circled your nipple softly, until you arched into him with a quiet gasp.

“Always so responsive,” he said lowly, watching your face. “Drives me crazy.”

And then, without warning, he dropped to his knees.

Right there in the middle of your kitchen, his shoulders pressing between your legs as he gently hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sleep shorts. You lifted your hips automatically, your heart thudding as he slid them down with a kiss to your inner thigh.

The moment was quiet, thick with anticipation—until he looked up at you with that dark, focused stare, and then lowered his mouth to your pussy.

His tongue was patient, slow as he explored you, dragging deliberately between your folds until your hands gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white. He moaned against you softly—like you were something to be savored, worshipped.

You whimpered, tilting your hips toward his mouth, chasing the warmth of his tongue as he flicked it over your sensitive clit.

“Joel—”

He glanced up again, lips shining, eyes heavy-lidded. “Right here, baby. I got you.”

He returned his mouth to you, hands tightening on your hips to keep you steady. His tongue moved with more purpose now—circling, stroking, coaxing. You could feel your breath stuttering, heat coiling low in your belly with every pass of his tongue through your entrance, every soft press of his lips.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders.

“Let go,” he murmured against your rose, voice rough. “Let me take care of you.”

And you did.

You came with a quiet cry, hips bucking against his mouth as he held you firm, licking you through it with unrelenting devotion. He stayed there even as your breathing slowed, as your muscles relaxed, until your hand finally found his hair and tugged gently.

He rose slowly, face flushed and damp, looking more undone than you’d ever seen him. And the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the room that mattered—made your heart stutter all over again.

Joel carried you to the bedroom like he always did—steady, careful, as if you were something delicate he couldn’t risk breaking. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your face tucked into the curve of his neck, still warm from everything he’d just done to you.

The bedroom light was off, but the city glow leaked in through the window blinds, casting faint lines of gold and shadow across the sheets. He laid you down with a soft exhale, his eyes drinking you in as he hovered above you, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough, but tender.

You nodded, one hand slipping under the hem of his shirt to press against his stomach. “More than okay.”

Joel leaned down and kissed you again—slow, lingering, and full of quiet hunger. His shirt joined yours on the floor a moment later, and your hands were all over him. You knew this body. The slope of his shoulders, the map of old scars and sun-warmed skin. But tonight he felt different—more intent. Like he missed you in a way that wasn’t just physical.

You ran your fingers down his chest, pausing to brush lightly over his buttons. He groaned softly at the contact, duck already twitching in his jeans, straining against the fabric.

“Take these off,” you whispered, tugging at the waistband.

He smiled against your mouth. “Bossy tonight.”

You only gave him a look, and he gave in with a laugh, pushing his jeans and boxers down with a practiced ease. His cock sprang free, already thick and hard, and your thighs instinctively parted beneath him.

Joel kissed a path down your neck, across your collarbone, pausing to take one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue circled it slowly, teasing, until your back arched and your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Need you,” you breathed.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “You got me.”

You reached between your bodies and guided him to your entrance, his cock nudging against your folds, slick with anticipation. The stretch was slow and steady, and you both let out breathless sounds as he sank into you.

“Jesus,” he muttered, forehead dropping to yours. “Still so damn tight.”

You clung to him, gasping softly as he filled you, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. The way he moved—it wasn’t rushed. It was measured, almost reverent. Like he needed to feel every inch of you around him. Like he needed to remind himself you were real.

His thrusts started slow, deep, rocking into you with the kind of patience only he had. You met each one with soft moans, your body rising to meet his rhythm, your pussy aching around him as he hit all the right angles.

“Look at me,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. “Wanna see you.”

You obeyed, eyes locking with his. And what you saw there—affection, want, something dangerously close to love—it made your chest ache in the best way.

He kissed you through it. Again and again. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, heels digging into his lower back to keep him closer, deeper.

Joel’s pace quickened just slightly, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet room. His name left your lips over and over, a soft, breathy chant that only made him move harder, rougher, until the tension began to coil in your belly again.

“I’m close,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, his voice ragged. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

You fell apart with him still buried deep inside you, your whole body shaking as he followed soon after—grunting your name as he spilled into you, hips stuttering, head buried in the crook of your neck.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

Just held you there, chest heaving, lips pressed against your skin.

You lay tangled in the sheets, skin still humming, Joel’s weight half on top of you, his head resting just below your collarbone. His hand was splayed low on your stomach, thumb stroking mindless patterns into your skin like he didn’t want to stop touching you.

Outside, the city buzzed faintly. Inside, all you could hear was his breathing—slowing, settling—and the ticking of your wall clock.

You ran your fingers through his hair, combing gently at the roots. “You gonna fall asleep on me?”

He grunted, not moving. “Think I earned a nap.”

You smiled. “You gotta be home by ten, old man.”

“Mmm. Don’t remind me.”

But he shifted, pressing a kiss just above your breast before rolling onto his side. He pulled you with him, wrapping his arms around you until your cheek was tucked against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

You stayed there for a while. No words. Just warmth. Safety. Familiarity.

Eventually, he sighed. “Sarah’s got school in the morning. I told her I was runnin’ errands tonight.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t get cold or weird. You just nodded against him. “She still sleeping over at Kayla’s this weekend?”

“Yeah. Friday night.”

You traced a little line over the faint scar near his shoulder. “Then I’ll keep Friday open.”

He kissed your hair in response.

This was how it always was—quiet goodbyes, softened by shared warmth and trust. You never made him feel guilty. You never needed more than what he could give. And he never treated you like a secret to be ashamed of—just a quiet part of his world no one else knew about.

“I’ll clean up in the kitchen before I head out,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You leaned back enough to look at him, still smiling. “You’re really domestic after sex, you know that?”

He smirked, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. “I like takin’ care of you.”

That made your heart squeeze a little.

You leaned up and kissed him—slow and sweet. “Then go be a dad, Joel. I’ll be here.”

He nodded, reluctantly untangling himself from your arms. He always moved slower when it was time to leave, like he wanted to drag it out just a few more seconds.

And you let him.

Because time with Joel wasn’t just stolen.

It was sacred.

He hadn’t expected to see you there.

It was some bar downtown, nothing special—brick walls, decent live music, too many guys in jeans trying to look like cowboys. Joel had just come in for a drink and maybe some quiet. Then he caught a flash of you out of the corner of his eye—walking past with that confident sway in your step, a soft smile tucked into your lips, like you knew exactly who you were.

It knocked the wind out of him a little.

You hadn’t seen him yet, but he watched you talk to someone at the bar, then laugh—head tilted back, eyes bright. You looked older. More sure of yourself. Not the kid who used to babysit Sarah, who sat on the back porch eating popsicles and trying not to look too bored when the grown-ups talked.

You spotted him a few minutes later. Gave him a wave and made your way over.

“Joel,” you’d said, sliding into the booth across from him. “I didn’t expect meeting you here?”

He huffed. “Just tryin’ somethin’ new.”

It started casual. Friendly. A few drinks. Jokes. Updates on life and work. You told him about your new job downtown. He told you about Sarah’s soccer team and how bad he was at parallel parking. It felt easy. Familiar. But something was different. There was something in your eyes tonight—something bold.

And when your knee brushed his under the table, you didn’t pull away.

Joel ignored it. He had to.

You leaned in a little more when you laughed. You licked the rim of your glass slow. You twirled a strand of hair around your finger like it was nothing.

And then your foot slid up his calf.

He blinked at you. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

You tilted your head, that grin getting just a little more dangerous. “Just talking.”

“That ain’t just talkin’.”

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Maybe I like you, Miller.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand across his mouth. “You’ve been drinkin’.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“I’m old enough to be your—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cut clean through the booth. “Don’t say dad. You’re not. You’re my dad’s friend. That’s not the same.”

He stared at you, shaking his head. “Still ain’t right.”

“Why?” you challenged, voice lower now. “Because it makes you feel something? Because I’m not a kid anymore, and you can’t look away?”

Joel looked down at the table, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t let this happen. But damn it, you weren’t wrong. You weren’t a kid. And you looked at him like he was wanted—like he was more than some aging contractor with baggage and a quiet house.

“You keep pushin’,” he muttered. “I’m gonna give in.”

You smiled. “Good.”

That did it.

He threw down a few bills for the drinks and grabbed your hand without another word. You followed without hesitation, matching his pace through the back door and out into the quiet alley where his truck was parked. The second the door closed behind you both, the tension snapped.

Joel backed you against the side of his truck, mouth crashing into yours like he’d been holding back for years. Your fingers fisted in his shirt. His hands were already sliding under yours. You moaned into his mouth, and he drank it in like he’d been starving.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your lips. “One word and I will.”

But you didn’t.

You pulled him closer.

And just like that, the boundary shattered.

Right there in the dark, behind that downtown bar, he stopped being your dad’s best friend.

And you stopped being off-limits.

It was one of those rare slow days—no meetings, no client calls, no deadline breathing down your neck. The sun was high, Austin heat thick but bearable, and your fridge was nearly empty. So you figured you’d kill two birds with one stone: stop by the grocery store and then pay your dad a visit in the suburbs.

You pulled into the familiar driveway just past noon, a paper bag of croissants and fresh strawberries in your arms. His truck was in the garage, the front door already swinging open before you even rang the bell.

“Well, look who decided to grace me with her presence,” your dad called, stepping back to let you in.

“Be grateful,” you said, lifting the bag. “I brought baked goods.”

He smirked. “Then I take it all back. Come in.”

The house still smelled the same. A mix of old wood, coffee, and that citrus cleaner he swore by. You dropped your keys and bag on the kitchen counter before plopping onto the couch.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and your thumb instinctively danced over the screen.

Joel

How’s your day off, sweetheart?

You bit back a smile and typed quickly.

You

Relaxing. At my dad’s. You?

Joel

Just finished a job. Might swing by if you’re home later.

You

Please do. I’ll keep the couch warm.

“Alright, who’s got you grinnin’ like a teenager?”

You startled, looking up to find your dad standing with two mugs of coffee—one already halfway to you.

“What?” you said, probably too fast.

“That smile. That,” he gestured vaguely at your face, “stupid grin you get when someone texts you something sweet.”

You laughed, taking the coffee, hoping it masked the heat rushing to your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, settling beside you. “You dating someone?”

You hesitated, forcing your face to neutral. “Sort of.”

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. “Sort of?”

“It’s… something.”

“Anyone I know?”

Your stomach twisted just slightly. You sipped your coffee slowly and gave a small, measured shrug. “Doubt it.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded, eyes returning to the TV he’d left on. “Well, as long as they treat you right.”

Your phone buzzed again.

Joel

Missed you this week.

You smiled again, but this time you kept your face hidden behind your mug.

“Yeah,” you said softly, mostly to yourself. “He does.”

Friday came. It was raining lightly outside, the kind of soft Austin drizzle that made the city glow just a little more in the evening. From your kitchen window, the skyline blurred behind the droplets, streetlights flickering on one by one. You had your apartment lights dimmed low, a candle burning on the counter, and your favorite oversized tee on — the one Joel always teased you for but secretly liked seeing you in.

Joel was sitting at the small kitchen table, a glass of red wine in one hand, watching you move around like it was his favorite show on TV.

“You don’t have to just sit there, you know,” you called over your shoulder as you stirred the creamy garlic sauce on the stove.

“I offered to help,” he drawled, stretching out in the chair, legs wide, completely relaxed. “You told me to sit down and stay outta the way.”

“You offered after I already chopped the onions and started the sauce.”

Joel grinned. “Timing is everything, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, the sound of him calling you that — casual, warm, like it belonged — sending that stupid flutter straight to your chest. You checked the pan again and moved to grab the grated parmesan from the fridge. Behind you, Joel’s chair scraped softly against the floor.

He came up behind you, hands resting gently on your hips as he looked over your shoulder.

“Mmm,” he said, voice low and close, “smells good.”

You tried to ignore how your body leaned into his automatically, how your muscles just... let go when he touched you. “You say that every time I cook.”

“’Cause it’s true every time.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the side of his face. “You're not just saying that to get lucky later, are you?”

Joel chuckled, lips brushing your temple. “I don’t need to sweet-talk you for that, do I?”

You gasped, swatted at him with the wooden spoon, and he dodged it with a laugh.

“I’m trying to make dinner here!”

“You’re doin’ a damn fine job,” he said, backing off with hands raised, still smirking. “I’ll just go sit down and sip my wine like the good house guest I am.”

“You’re not a guest,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, as you turned back to the stove. Not anymore. Not when his toothbrush was in your bathroom. Not when he knew where the tea towels went. Not when he fell asleep on your couch more often than not.

Joel heard you anyway.

“I’m not?” he asked, soft now.

You looked over your shoulder again, met his eyes.

You shook your head. “No. You’re... here. That’s different.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first. Just walked back to his chair, sat down slowly, and let out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess I am.”

You plated the pasta in two bowls and brought them over to the table, the air between you buzzing gently with everything unspoken.

You were brushing your teeth when Joel stepped into the bathroom, already in the faded gray T-shirt and boxers he always brought when he stayed over. His hair was damp from a quick shower, curls still clinging to his forehead a little. He caught your eye in the mirror, then leaned down to kiss the top of your shoulder before reaching for his toothbrush.

The small bathroom was quiet except for the soft buzz of your electric toothbrushes and the occasional sound of water running. It should’ve felt cramped, but it didn’t. It felt normal. Like this was just another night, and this was just what you did — shared a sink, bumped elbows, rinsed side by side.

You finished first and stepped aside, wiping your face with a towel and watching him in the mirror. Joel caught you staring and smirked, foam still in his mouth.

“What?” he mumbled around his toothbrush.

You shrugged, smiling. “Nothing. You’re just…cute.”

He raised an eyebrow, spit, then rinsed. “Cute, huh?”

“You know what I mean.”

Eventually, you turned off the bathroom light and padded back into the bedroom. Joel pulled back the sheets while you turned off the lamp, and when you climbed into bed, he followed right after, the mattress dipping under his weight.

He laid on his side, arm draped across your waist like it belonged there. And maybe it did.

“Got any plans tomorrow?” he asked, voice low in the dark.

“Just errands. Grocery run. Might clean out the closet.”

“Need help?”

You smiled, eyes already heavy. “You offering?”

“If it means I get to stick around another night? Yeah.”

You rolled over to face him, your leg hooking lightly around his. “I want you to stay.”

Joel reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing your cheek. “Then I’ll stay.”

With that, you leaned forward and kissed him softly, then settled back into his chest, the warmth of his body already lulling you toward sleep. Outside, the rain still fell against the windows, steady and soft. Inside, everything was still.

And for the first time all week, you felt completely at peace.

Joel squinted down at his phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard as dust from the job site clung to his jeans. The mid-day sun beat down on the back of his neck, and the air smelled like hot concrete and sweat. Still, the small smile tugging at his mouth made the heat more tolerable.

You

You better actually eat and not just coffee and beef jerky again

He chuckled.

Joel

Real food. I swear. Miss you.

He hit send, then slipped the phone into his pocket just as Tommy called out from a few feet away.

“Joel! Lunch or what? Before Carl eats everything again.?”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Comin’, smartass.”

Joel grabbed his thermos and fell in step with his brother, heading toward the shaded area where the rest of the crew had gathered around a folding table someone had dragged out. A few of the guys were already halfway through their sandwiches, talking and laughing over the hum of a portable fan.

“…and I swear to God, she couldn’t have been more than twenty-two,” Mark said, shaking his head at Miguel, who was mid-bite into a burrito.

Miguel shrugged, unbothered. “She came up to me. What was I supposed to do, say no?”

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, maybe when you realized she looked like she just aged outta college orientation.”

Joel chuckled, biting into his sandwich, trying to stay out of it. But the topic lingered.

“You serious though?” Mark asked. “She wasn’t too young for you?”

“She could legally drink. That’s good enough for me,” Miguel said, grinning wide. “Age is just a number, man.”

Joel kept chewing, slower now.

That phrase — age is just a number — bounced around in his head, souring a little.

He wasn’t like Miguel. Wasn’t at bars chasing women who looked like they might card him for fun. But still, the words got under his skin, poking at that quiet part of him that knew if any of them found out about you — your age, your history with Sarah, with him — they’d talk. They’d laugh. Maybe worse.

You were in your mid-twenties, college degree, a good job downtown, a whole future unspooling in front of you like a straight road. Meanwhile, Joel was here, knees sore from years of construction, grease still under his nails, soon turning 50, pretending that waking up in your bed didn’t feel like the best and worst decision he made every week.

He took another bite of his sandwich and kept his eyes on the wrapper.

Tommy elbowed him. “You good?”

Joel blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Old man like you? Must be tough,” Tommy teased, but his voice was easy, familiar.

Joel smirked. “Watch it. I still bench more than you.”

The others laughed and kept going, arguing over who bought lunch last week, the moment passing.

But Joel stayed a little quiet, his mind somewhere else — somewhere warmer.

And if none of them knew about it — if this stayed his little secret — maybe that was the only way it could work.

You knocked harder than you meant to.

Joel’s porch light flickered on as you stepped back, arms crossed tightly over your chest. It had been days — days — of distant texts, half-hearted responses, and Joel always finding some excuse not to come over. "Long day," "Tommy needed help," "Gonna crash early." You tried to give him space. But tonight? You couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

The door opened.

Joel stood there in a worn flannel and jeans, his hair a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. His eyes widened when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, quiet. Like he hadn’t been avoiding you for nearly a week.

“Can I come in?”

He hesitated, then stepped aside, letting you pass into the familiar warmth of his living room. The TV was on, muted, casting soft blue light over the furniture. You turned to face him, arms still crossed.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, or should I guess?”

Joel sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, already avoiding your eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on.”

“Bullshit.” Your voice was sharper than usual, but you didn’t care. “You’ve been distant. You’ve barely looked me in the eye since last weekend. I’m not stupid, Joel.”

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve just been... thinkin’. That’s all.”

You turned to face him fully, heart pounding. “About what?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He moved past you and into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard like he could hide in the mundane routine of pouring himself some water.

You followed. “Joel.”

He glanced up. And there it was — the thing he hadn’t said. Sitting right behind his eyes.

“I’m startin’ to wonder if this is fair,” he muttered.

You blinked. “Fair? What does that mean?”

He looked at you, jaw tight. “You’re in your twenties, sweetheart. You’ve got a whole life ahead of you. People to meet. Shit to figure out. And I’m... me. I’ve got a grown kid, a busted back, and more regrets than I can count. Your dad—he’s my best friend. If he knew... if Sarah knew—”

“You think I haven’t thought about all that?” you said sharply, stepping closer. “You think I don’t know how it looks from the outside?”

“I just don’t wanna be somethin’ you regret later,” he said quietly.

That stopped you. You stared at him, heart clenched tight.

“Joel... I don’t regret you. Not for a second. And I’m not gonna wake up one day and pretend this never happened, because it means something to me.”

He looked down, hands braced on the counter, fingers curled white-knuckled over the edge. You moved to stand in front of him, placing your hands gently over his.

“You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. That’s not your job. You’re not protecting me by shutting me out — you’re just hurting both of us.”

Joel’s shoulders dropped a little. “I know.”

“Then stop pulling away,” you said, softer now. “If you need to talk, talk. But don’t make me wonder if I did something wrong just because you’re scared.”

He finally met your eyes, something broken and relieved swimming behind them. His hand turned, fingers weaving through yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want you. God knows that ain’t the truth.”

You stepped in closer, resting your forehead against his chest. “Then let me stay. Let’s just be together. No overthinking. No self-sabotage.”

He exhaled, arms wrapping around you, grounding you both.

“Alright,” he whispered into your hair. “Alright, darlin’. I’ll try.”

You and Joel were still holding each other when footsteps padded in across the hardwood stairs, light and casual.

Both your heads turned at the same time, and Joel froze.

“Hey, Dad? Have you seen my charger—”

Sarah’s voice cut off the second she stepped around the corner and saw the two of you.

Joel stiffened, arms still around your waist. You stepped back quickly, heart stopping somewhere between your chest and your throat.

Sarah blinked. Then blinked again.

You could see the calculation happening in real time — eyes darting between you, Joel, the way your hands had just been touching.

“Oh.”

Her voice was flat. A beat passed.

Then, with a slow raise of her eyebrows: “Okay. Um. Did not expect that.”

“Sarah,” Joel started, voice strained, already reaching for some version of damage control.

“No, no, I mean—it’s fine,” she said, raising both hands like she needed to physically push back the tension in the room. “I just—wow, okay. Needed a second to… process.”

You felt your cheeks burning. “Sarah, I’m so sorry—”

“Were you—have you guys been…?” she motioned vaguely between the two of you, face scrunched in disbelief. “This has been happening? For how long?”

Joel cleared his throat. “A while.”

Sarah stared at him. Then you. Then looked vaguely toward the ceiling like she was trying to recalibrate her entire worldview.

“Well… that explains why you’ve been suspiciously unavailable on the weekends,” she muttered. “I just thought you were dating someone lowkey. Not, like, your dad’s best friend.”

Joel winced. “You okay?”

“I mean, I’m not traumatized or anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sarah said dryly. “But yeah. Bit of a jump scare, not gonna lie.”

You tried to smile, a little sheepish. “We weren’t hiding it from you. We just… weren’t ready.”

“No, I get it. If I were you, I’d be terrified of telling me too,” Sarah deadpanned, then gave you a teasing smirk. “But hey. At least it’s not, like, Mr. Carter from next door. That guy smells like cat food.”

You laughed — a little shocked, a little relieved — and Joel let out a quiet breath.

“Look,” Sarah continued, dropping her backpack onto the couch, “I love you both. And you’re grown adults, so… do what makes you happy. Just, y’know, please keep the PDA to a minimum when I’m in the house.”

Joel nodded slowly. “Deal.”

Sarah turned toward the kitchen like nothing happened. “Now, where the hell is that charger…”

Joel looked at you as the tension finally eased from his shoulders, eyes wide with disbelief.

“That went… better than expected,” you whispered.

“She’s too smart for her own good,” he murmured back, dazed.

You smiled and nudged his arm. “Wonder where she gets it from.”

You were just slipping your shoes back on near the door when Sarah appeared in the hallway, arms crossed over her chest, a charger cable now slung around her wrist.

“Hey,” she said casually, but her tone held something heavier beneath it. “Can I talk to you for a sec? Without, uh… my dad hovering?”

You straightened, already nervous but nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

Joel, who was watching from the living room with a brow raised, started to get up, but Sarah waved him off. “Relax, it’s not an interrogation.”

He grunted and sank back into the couch, though his eyes lingered as the two of you stepped out onto the porch.

The evening air was cool, humming with the sound of crickets and faraway tires against pavement. You leaned against the porch railing, arms folded. Sarah stood across from you, looking thoughtful.

“So,” she started, glancing at you, “you and my dad.”

You offered a small smile. “Yeah.”

“How long has this been going on?”

You hesitated. “About 10 months.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? You’ve been together that long?”

You nodded. “It wasn’t supposed to happen, Sarah. I didn’t plan it. He didn’t either. We just… found each other again, I guess.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, chewing on that. Then, to your surprise, she sighed and sat on the porch step.

“I mean… I always thought something was up,” she admitted. “The way he smiled if you’re mentioned, or how he got all weirdly cleaned up on weekends. I just didn’t think this was it.”

You laughed softly, sinking down beside her.

She looked at you, more serious now. “I’m not mad. It’s weird, yeah. But I’m not mad. I’ve known you forever. You used to make me mac and cheese and help me sneak extra popsicles when Dad said no.”

You smiled, a little nostalgic. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“But this,” she said, motioning between you, “it’s real, right? You’re not… messing with him?”

The question wasn’t cruel — it was protective. Earnest. And entirely fair.

“I’m not,” you said softly. “I love him. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t.”

Sarah stared at you for a beat, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

You exhaled. “Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll probably still have an existential crisis about it later,” she teased, “but if it makes him happy—and you’re being real about it—I can deal.”

You bumped her shoulder lightly. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

“Obviously.” She stood and gave you a smirk. “But if I ever hear anything through that paper-thin wall when I come home unexpectedly—”

“Sarah.”

“Just saying,” she called over her shoulder, heading back inside, “my tuition includes the right to emotional peace.”

You grinned, watching her go, your chest lighter than it had been in days. Joel met your eyes through the window from where he sat inside, and you gave him a small, reassuring nod.

Somehow, the secret didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

In the months that followed, their lives moved forward — quietly, carefully — just like before. But now, it carried a different weight. A steady, unspoken hum beneath the surface.

You and Joel didn’t announce anything. There was no dramatic reveal, no sudden shift in how the world saw you. That wasn’t your pace — and it definitely wasn’t his. Instead, you built your relationship in the spaces between, tucked away in the kind of moments no one else paid attention to.

If you visited him in the suburbs, you’d still park a few blocks down like you always had, strolling up the sidewalk as if you were just dropping by to say hello to Sarah, or to return a borrowed dish. You’d knock twice out of habit, even though you knew he was waiting just beyond the door. And Joel would answer with that half-smile, already stepping aside to let you in, hand brushing against your back in the brief moment of privacy the hallway offered.

Sometimes he’d cook for you, just something simple — eggs, grilled cheese, leftovers he claimed were “better the second time anyway.” And sometimes you’d just sit together on the couch, your legs tossed over his lap, the TV low and mostly ignored. Sarah wouldn’t be home those nights — maybe at a sleepover, a football game, a late movie with friends — and the house would feel quieter. Yours.

When the roles reversed, and Joel made the trip to your downtown apartment, it was always late. He’d wait until Sarah was staying over at her best friend’s house, send you a text like you still up? and show up twenty minutes later with a bag of takeout or a six-pack from that little gas station he liked.

He never stayed over unless he was sure Sarah wouldn’t be home the next morning. If she would, he'd never stay the night, and you were okay with that.

When the world was watching — when your dad invited Joel over for Sunday barbecue, or when the three of you found yourselves at the same neighborhood party — it was all easy smiles and normal chatter. The same Joel. The same you. Just two familiar faces in a crowd that never looked twice.

Your dad remained entirely unsuspecting. Maybe he just trusted you both too much to imagine it. Maybe the idea was so out of left field it never even crossed his mind. Either way, it gave you a strange kind of comfort… and a lingering guilt.

That conversation — telling him — still sat somewhere in the distance, a thing you circled around quietly. Joel would mention it sometimes, in the quietest part of the night. “We’ll have to tell him eventually.” he’d murmur into your hair, thumb brushing your side. You’d nod, half-asleep, neither of you pushing further.

And Sarah — well, she was still the only one who knew. Her knowing looks hadn’t faded. Sometimes she’d shoot Joel a sideways glance when he casually mentioned you in conversation, or nudge your foot under the table. But she kept it to herself. Always respectful. Always steady. She hadn’t made it weird — if anything, she’d helped it feel more real. Like you weren’t just imagining this little world you’d built together.

Your relationship with Joel was something quiet. Sacred. Protected not out of shame, but out of a shared knowing — a trust that it was too precious to rush, too personal to hand over to the noise of everyone else’s opinions.

It wasn’t traditional. It wasn’t easy.

But it was yours.

And in every hidden smile, every late night drive, every look across the room when no one else was watching — you knew, without question, that it was worth it.

taglist: @started-with-f-ends-with-uck @fangirlcentral1 @whimsicalangel111 @saturnyo

[roxoxoxoxy]

My affinity for puppy boys is showing.

Includes: Sub!Wonbin, Established relationship, Wonbin being kind of a slut, jealously, semi-public, masturbation, Wonbin's into being humiliated a little bit, he's also very pathetic.

Many typos, not much grammar, currently sitting in the corner with a dunce hat on.

He's doing it on purpose just to aggravate you, you know this but you can't help but fall for it. Especially when he's fluttering his eyelashes at the waitress, pretending to be shy when she compliments him, flirting with her so blatantly. He's pretending as if you don't even exist, after whining all week about how you two never go out on dates anymore.

You know why he's acting this way, with him being on tour for months and you being busy with work you two barely had time to facetime every other day, let alone even attempt phone sex. When he finally had time off you were still swarmed with work, dismissing his attempts at initiating anything. All in all it's safe to assume he's feeling a bit neglected, dragging you out here to a fancy restaurant and flirting with the waitress, hoping to piss you off enough that you'll fuck his silly.

Maybe in those months you two really did grow apart, because if he knew anything about you, he'd know he'll quickly regret this. Or maybe he wants to regret it, the little masochist he is.

"And what about you ma'am?" The waitress says, half heartedly addressing you, the way her voice looses all enthusiasm is comical.

"I'll have the Streak, well done, with potatoes and-" you look down at your phone, pretending to see a notification. You put on your best disappointment face when you look back at her. "Actually, we'll have our food to go. Something came up unfortunately."

The waitress looks a bit disappointed as she nods, jotting down both your orders before she leaves, you don't miss the way she takes one last look at Wonbin, soaking him in. Sometimes you wish you were a woman of less morals, maybe then you could justify leaping up from the table and knocking her teeth out. She leaves before you can really finish that thought.

"Well that was quick" Wonbin says, voice all cocky and full of himself. God you can't wait to break him.

"You're one to talk, acting like a desperate slut all night."

Wonbin rolls his eyes at you, looking away so you hopefully won't notice how his neck and ears burn a pretty shade of pink at your words. He's so needy, he's practically buzzing out of his seat. He's missed your touch so much, all those months without you were torture, he couldn't even get bet off without thinking about you and when he finally got back you still didn't have time for him. You're so so cruel.

The waitress comes back with two containers of food in her hand, he quickly swipes his card to pay before he gets up, rushing you both out of the restaurant like a eager little puppy. You drag him to the back of the restaurant, it's private enough. If you two don't make much noise you likely won't be caught.

He reaches over to kiss you but you push him back, causing him to frown.

"Get on your knees. I'm not letting you off the hook that easily."

"You want me to eat you out here?" He asks, gesturing vaguely at the not so clean ground. Despite his hesitation he gets down on his knees willingly, not caring if his dress pants get dirty as he looks up at you. You have to admit, he looks pretty like this. Pretty eyes looking up at you, his tie loose and the bulge in his pants is prominent.

"That's not why, you have a lot of nerve thinking I'd let you touch me after how you acted tonight"

Wonbin frowns but doesn't say anything back, mostly because he loves hearing you degrade him. Loves when you deny him what he wants and make him beg for it, even just the thought of it is making his cock drip precum.

"I want you to touch yourself. Right here, right now."

"what?" Wonbins eyes widen as he looks around, You two are concealed well enough but anyone could walk in at any moment, it's so embarrassing....so hot.

"You've been acting like a brat, so needy you're looking for attention from someone that isn't me. You must be pent up. So be a good boy and relieve yourself."

Wonbin feels his face burn red, you're talking about him like he's a dog. The disinterested, if not annoyed, look on your face makes him feel humiliated. Like dealing with him and his needs is somehow beneath you, it's even more humiliating how into it he is. He starts to unzip his pants, pulling down his boxers slightly to pull out his cock. He hisses as his hot cock is exposed to the cold night air, it's all red and needy, practically begging for your attention.

He looks back at you one more time, hoping you changed your mind but you stand firm in your decision, motioning him to go on. He starts out slow, wrapping his hand around his dick and stroking slowly. He can't help it though, he almost immediately starts going faster, biting his lip to stop himself from making any sounds.

Meanwhile you regret not asking if you could film him beforehand, because fuck he looks so pretty. Hair falling over his eyes as he jerks himself off, his dick turning a nice shade of dark pink as small whines escape his lips. He looks up at you again, tears creeping up onto his water line as he opens his mouth, trying not to moan as he talks.

"please touch me- Fuck please- I can't get off without you, need you so bad, so so so bad" he trails off incoherently, bucking his hips against his hands as he gets lost in the pleasure. "Please."

"Maybe you should ask that little waitress for help, with the way she was eyeing you up I'm sure she'd be more than willing to help."

"No I only want you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I only want you please" his nose is all red as a tear falls down his cheek, lips pursed in a permanent pout. His breath hitches as he leans forward, resting his face on your knee. "I miss you."

That's what does it for you, his hot forehead nuzzling into you, pretty cock in his hands. You lower yourself onto his level, taking his face into your hands. He presses his face into your palm, looking both incredibly adorable and pathetic.

"My pretty boy missed me?"

"So much."

You can't help but crack a smile, he's so cute you forget why you're here in the first place. You reach down and replace his hand that was stroking his cock with yours, causing him to take in a shaky breath, biting his bottom lip.

"One condition, you can't hold back your moans, haven't heard you moan in so long"

He wants to argue with you, say how embarrassing it'll be, what if someone sees? What if a security camera catches you both? But he's miserable without your touch, Simply nodding in agreement.

His head immediately falls back when you start stroking him, small whimpers and whines leaving his lips. You know exactly how to touch him. He mutters something about going faster, you decide not to reprimand him for making demands.

Oh the sounds the makes when you start going faster, his mouth hangs open as he moans and you're sure this is what heaven sounds like. You can see his collar bones, a thin layer of sweat covers them and you simply can't resist. You lean in closer and kiss it, before giving him a hickey, suckling on the skin till it's a dark shade of purple.

The feeling causes him to let out a louder moan, hips bucking into your hand as he whines saying he's close.

"It's okay, cum for me."

That's all the motivation he needs before he's spilling all over your hand, his entire body shaking as he finally orgasms. You help him ride out his high through his shakes, giggling when he leans forward to rest his face on your shoulders.

"....Do you think the foods gotten cold." He says while panting, his face burning hot.

"probably."

I'm running out of ideas so if you guys have any please send them in 😚

[abiatackerman]

Interrupted by brats

The air in the mess hall cracks with tension as Jean and Eren square off. Their fists fly, and the other scouts gather around, placing bets and cheering like it is some twisted spectator sport. Mikasa’s stoic expression betrays her amusement, while Sasha bites on a potato, her eyes wide with excitement.

But then, the doors swing open as Levi and you step in. The entire scene freezes. Even the birds outside seemed to hold their breath. Levi's glare can melt steel, and the room temperature drops by a few degrees.

"Brats......"

He mutters, his voice is like a blade slicing through the chaos.

"What the hell is this nonsense?"

Eren and Jean stumble apart immediately and you sigh. They straighten their uniforms, faces showing pure fear as they avoid eye contact with their captain.

Levi doesn't waste time. He kicks Jean's abdomen, since he was the one who started the fight. Then he kicks Eren's ass hard making him stumble forward.

"You want to fight? Fine. I'll give you a reason to regret it."

His knuckles crack ominously and you sigh.

Levi's really pissed today. You just told him that you're leaving for a week since your dad has become sick and you haven't visited your family for a while. He's pissed thinking that it's gonna be a damn long annoying week without you. Just when you two were about to kiss, Historia rushes to Levi's office to inform him about the fight.  Levi is pissed about the interruption and now here he is, beating them up.

"Captain, I...."

Jean tries to speak but Levi stops him.

"Shut up!" Levi snaps. "And you, Jaeger."

He turns to Eren, who stands there massaging his ass.

"You're not innocent either. Next time you want to throw punches, do it in private. Got it?"

Eren nods so vigorously that his head may detach from his neck.

"Y-yes, sir!"

Levi stares at him for a while then looks at you again. You can tell by his looks he's thinking about punishing them. Your face softens as you look at Jean's and Eren's nervous faces, feeling sympathy for them.

"Both of you will clean this hall everyday for this whole week. One more fight and I'll increase the area of your cleaning also add daily laps to your lazy assed routine. Now all of you, out!"

Levi orders in his pissed tone as everyone rushes out of the hall. They all are relieved that Levi has just punished Eren and jean. Not them.

"Don't you think you are being too strict?"

You ask as the cadets leave the hall.

"I mean this hall is huge... Cleaning it every day is tough by only two people."

You say softly as Levi walks towards you.

"Though their behaviours are shitty they have loyal friends. I bet they all will clean it together."

He says as he grabs your chin.

"You're just too kind, angel. They'll be fine, don't worry."

You nod and remove his hand from your face and hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"You know? You looked so sexy and hot when you were beating them up. Everyone was looking at you with fear and you were the strongest intimidating leader, also your commanding voice... I did feel bad for them but... Shit... I'm fucking turned on."

Levi chuckles as his face is pressed against your head and he sniffs your sweet smell. His one hand wraps around your neck and the other one plays with your hair.

"Tch... You have a weird choice, but I'm not complaining."

He speaks in an amusing tone and removes his head from your hair to look at your face. He cups your face, his expression is soft with affection as he kisses your forehead.

"Just be safe for the week, ok? And make sure to come back to me unscarred."

He speaks, his voice full of affection. You chuckle.

"Even if I get in trouble, I'll use the combats you taught me. I'll be fine, don't worry."

You say smiling cheekily as Levi's eyes soften again. Your smile is his greatest weakness, he can't help but melt every time he sees it. And when he knows he's the reason behind it, his mind overflows with ecstasy.

He leans down and presses his lips softly against yours. You hum and close your eyes as you grip his shirt, only to feel his thumping heartbeat against your palm. His thumbs caress your cheeks as your lips move in a slow, soft and rhythmic way.

Just when Levi's tongue gently brushes against your lower lips and you are about to part your lips, suddenly, the mess hall's door swings open. Sasha and Connie stumble in, revealing Eren, Jean, Armin and Mikasa behind them. They freeze, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, as if caught in a forbidden act.

"Errr... Captain... we..."

Sasha tries to speak nervously, her cheeks pink.

"We were just..... Looking for the potato Sasha left behind."

Armin speaks shyly, his face flushed red. You try to suppress your smile as you look at the pissed expression on Levi's face.

"You shits were spying on us? What were you brats looking at? Never saw a man and woman kissing before?"

Levi speaks in a calm tone but you know he's fuming inside. Everyone turns red at his words, even Mikasa blushes.

"Eren and Jean will clean this mess hall, alone! And you all shits will clean the whole field. I'll check your work in the afternoon. If I see even a single darnel picking out of the grass, I swear I'll kick your lazy asses. As for the girls, you all will run 50 laps and no food until you clean your shits up. Mark my words!"

Levi speaks firmly as their eyes widened. You look at them sympathically as Sasha seems like she is about to cry.

"OUT!"

Levi says in a slightly louder tone than usual making them flinch as they rushes out.

"Damn brats. What are they? 10? Bothering us like annoying bugs."

He speaks in a pissed voice as you sigh and hug his neck to calm him down.

"They are just kids, Levi. They probably got curious when Sasha came back here for her potato and caught us kissing. Forgive them."

Levi relaxes in you arms as he starts to kiss your neck.

"Tch, I shouldn't care for them like this when they're this annoying."

You chuckle and tilt your head to let him kiss you. You rub his back.

"You're a great father figure, Levi. They also knows it."

You giggle slightly at the tickling feeling as his breath fans over you neck and his lips keep caressing you skin.

"I'll try to be a good father to our brat too. I won't say shitty words and won't be harsh. I promise."

He mumbles in a low voice as his grip on your waist tightens.

"I know you will, love."

You say softly as he removes his head to look at your face.

"Tch, I'll miss you, smartass..."

He says softly as he kisses your forehead.

"Me too."

You say and he presses his lips against yours again. Though this time you two kiss each other for a long time without any interruptions.

And this time, no brats were peeking on you two either.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 13: The Regrets Are Useless] [Series Finale]

A/N: Below are your final predictions. Let's see how you did... 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Whatsername” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Rain pours outside the cabin, mist-shrouded pine trees and still dark water, a place in southern Oregon called Lake of the Woods. The twin-sized bed with a thin foam mattress was once used by kids attending summer camp, capture the flag and s’mores, hikes and scary stories, but now the children are ghosts and the monsters are real, stumbling down streets and lurking in dark places, licking blood from what’s left of their lips.

Aemond is here but he’s also not, a castaway on an island where the world never ended, his hands in your hair as you straddle him, your hips moving tentatively, his lips and teeth at your throat, the sharp points of his canines like fangs.

“Am I doing this right?” you murmur doubtfully. “I feel like I’m definitely not doing this right…”

“Shh, you’re great, you’re incredible.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to do everything already, I’m sorry you have to teach me—”

“Stop,” Aemond commands, a sharp sigh through your hair. “I love this. I love you. I want to teach you things until the day I die.”

The nervous tension in your muscles unravels—peddles thrown into water, campfire smoke vanishing into indigo night—and now his hands are on your hips, steadying you, guiding you. You link your fingers around the back of his neck and try to find a cadence that isn’t uncomfortable, ungainly, effortful. You wanted to try this. You want to experience everything with him.

“Take your time,” Aemond is saying like it’s difficult for him to keep a train of thought, his eye closed, his cheeks flushed, blood-colored blooms like a dusk sky. “I’m fine down here, don’t worry about me…”

Rain drums against the windows; lightning flashes in the sky and thunder growls. From the front porch of one of the other cabins, you can hear the indistinct droning of conversations and Aegon strumming the acoustic guitar he brought from the beach house. It’s something you’ve overheard him singing before, one of his strange midcentury darlings, a song that should be too old for him to know the words to.

“All you big and burly men who roll the trucks along

Better listen, you’ll be thankful when you hear my song

You have really got it made if you’re haulin’ goods

Any place on earth but those Haynesville Woods…”

Your skin gleams with a cool sheen of sweat; there is a draft through the cabin walls that makes you shiver as you cling to Aemond. You roll your hips a certain way and he moans—suddenly, involuntarily—and you know you’ve found the right rhythm.

“It’s a stretch of road up north in Maine

That’s never ever ever seen a smile

If they’d buried all them truckers lost in them woods

There’d be a tombstone every mile

Count ‘em off, there’d be a tombstone every mile…”

Aemond is kissing you deeply, desperately, trembling hands and gasping shallow breaths. And there is not just euphoria written into the lines of his face; there is disorientation, there is wonder. He barely manages: “Alright…um…if you want me to last longer than about thirty more seconds, you should probably slow down…”

“No,” you tease, grinning as you bite at his full lips.

“When you’re loaded with potatoes and you’re headed down

You’ve got to drive the woods to get to Boston town

When it’s winter up in Maine, better check it over twice

That Haynesville road is just a ribbon of ice…”

Aemond cries out, louder than you’ve ever heard him before—you’ve never had privacy, you’ve never truly been alone—and then again, a helpless ecstatic sound, pleasure so overwhelming it almost starts to feel like pain.

“Quiet!” you whisper, giggling, touching two fingers to his mouth. “Everyone’s going to hear you.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He falls back onto the mattress and brings you with him, his arms wrapped around you, kissing your cheeks and your forehead as the two of you lie there panting and entangled, his blue eye astonished. “Okay, okay, I need a minute. I think I just burst an aneurysm.”

“I killed you?” you purr with feigned distress, basking in your conquest.

“You can kill me whenever you want. You can kill me five times a day.”

“When you’re talking to a trucker that’s been haulin’ goods

Down that stretch of road in Maine they call the Haynesville Woods

He’ll tell you that dying and going down below

Won’t be half as bad as driving on that road of ice and snow…”

Aemond stares up at the ceiling—a steep gable roof, a motionless fan—and now you can tell he’s thinking about his family again, discorporate screams, misplaced trust. Otto Hightower’s bones were found in the shower, meaning he likely died before or not long after their power failed and water would have run out in the municipal system. They were probably killed before you and Aemond ever met, distant galaxies lightyears away, remote long-dead stars. And so all the blood you paid to get to California was wasted.

“Do you ever think about the people you have saved?” you ask gently as your fingertips trace the ridge of his scar. “You stitched yourself back together. You healed Aegon’s burns. You sutured Cregan’s arm. You got me and Rio down from that transmission tower.”

“I guess I did,” Aemond says, but his voice is ambivalent, as if none of these things count. He has not found someplace safe for you yet. His job is not finished; his triumphs may only be temporary.

“Aemond…back in Pennsylvania…why did you decide to help us?”

“Luke spotted you guys, and we all talked it over. If it had just been Rio, honestly, I wouldn’t have taken the chance. A man his size, and possibly armed…could be trouble, you know? But I figured since he was traveling with a woman and you seemed to be with him by choice, he was probably okay. And then when we first met, he was so protective of you…didn’t want me touching you, didn’t leave you alone…I realized he had to be a good guy.”

“He was,” you say solemnly. I was supposed to remind him about the racks. I was supposed to warn him. But you didn’t warn Rio about what was waiting to kill him in that sand-swept grocery store in Winnemucca, just like you didn’t warn Jace about radiation or Baela about the way the rungs of the ladder that ran up the side of the grain bin were rusted and creaking, and maybe there is more than enough blame to go around.

“And then after Battle Mountain, as soon as we found the gasoline and ammo, I knew we had to go back for you. It hit me all at once. I couldn’t protect you by leaving you with Rio and Cregan. And I couldn’t let you go. I’ve never had something like this before. I didn’t know it existed. I told the others we were turning around, and Aegon said: Thank fucking God. Rhaena took off sprinting towards the car.” Then Aemond kisses you again, but tenderly this time, slowly, like you’ll have forever and there’s no need to rush. “I’m going to get you to Odessa. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

The rain is stopping; there are still a few hours of daylight left.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Chip Skylark. Check it out,” Aegon says, grinning at you from where he’s sprawled on the wet dock and smoking a cigarette, wearing his neon green plastic sunglasses, his left leg finally freed from its bandages and on full display. You’re all wearing the same things, stolen t-shirts and shorts, sweatshirts at night when it gets cold, sneakers you can walk hundreds of miles in; but Aegon won’t give up his Sperry Bahamas. “It’s nature’s tattoo.”

You sit down beside him and admire the scar tissue, red knots and white cords, jagged terrain like a mountain range, organic highways and bridges and trails. “It’s a roadmap.”

“That’s appropriate.”

You’ve been traveling on foot for two weeks since Criston’s white Tahoe ran out of gas and was abandoned in the town of Mad River, California. Now you are only about ten miles from Odessa, close enough to reach in half a day but too far to get into town before nightfall. This time tomorrow you’ll be there, and it will either be a haven or a wasteland, and if Rio’s parents’ community in Odessa has disappeared then so has your last idea for where to go. Absentmindedly, you skate your fingerprints over the bumps and grooves of Aegon’s leg like a blind man reading braille. He shifts and clears his throat; you’ve made him uncomfortable somehow. You lift your hand away.

“I’m sorry, does that hurt?”

“Nah. I can’t really feel anything besides pressure. The nerve endings got fried.”

“Oh.” But now you don’t know what you did to upset him. Aegon doesn’t provide an explanation. Down the dock a ways towards the shore, Rhaena is reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and listening to the pink Sony Walkman formerly owned by a little girl named Ava. Inside whirls Green Day’s 2004 album American Idiot, which Aegon took from his bedroom at the beach house to add to his CD collection, a cultural archive, a gift for posterity. Cregan is teaching Daeron to fish with poles he found in one of the cabins; Helaena is bringing them worms. Aemond and Luke are gathering things dry enough to burn—books and wooden chairs from inside the cabins—and piling them up so Cregan can cook dinner once it’s caught.

“So,” Aegon says, changing the subject, scrutinizing you as he puffs on a Marlboro Gold. “Everything going okay?”

You know what he means; he must have heard Aemond earlier. “Yup.”

“Got it all figured out?”

“Sure did.”

“Great. I’m happy for you,” Aegon says, and yet there’s a twinge of melancholy he’s trying to hide. It must be hard for him; he and Daeron are the only single ones.

“We’ll find you some suitable candidates for your harem when we get to Odessa.”

He chuckles. “Oh, come on.”

“Guys, girls? Do you have a preference?”

He’s smiling wistfully down into the water, a dark rippling mirror. “I have too specific a preference, that’s the problem.”

“Yacht girls in bikinis. Golf cheerleaders.”

“There are no cheerleaders in golf, you yokel.”

“Okay, well…I’m sure you’ll be very popular with the lonely, traumatized, widowed women of the apocalypse.”

Aegon gazes morosely out over the lake. He pitches the end of his cigarette into the water, and your eyes catch briefly on the black ink of the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. “I don’t know. I’ve been sober for two weeks and now everything is annoyingly clear.”

“What’s bothering you?”

He waits a while before he answers, evasive. “I’ve never been good at anything.”

“Everyone feels that way sometimes. Luke thinks he’s not good at anything either.”

“But Luke’s nice. I’m a rat bastard.”

You laugh. “You’re kind of nice, Aegon.”

“Yeah right.”

“No, seriously. I like being around you. You make me feel better. You’re like…” You ponder how to word it. “I feel like I could tell you whatever and not worry about being judged for it.”

He snorts. “As if you’ve ever done anything judgeable.”

You shrug, peering out over the lake. “I abandoned my family. I stopped sending them money, I stopped calling. And when everything happened…the zombies, the world ending…I didn’t even consider going back to Kentucky to try to help them. I went west with Rio instead. And now they’re probably all dead and it’s my fault. That’s evil. I couldn’t have gotten away with that level of betrayal. I must be cursed.”

Aegon is watching you, eyebrows raised. He has never heard this before. “But your family sucked, right?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I think it would be hard to argue they didn’t.”

“So fuck ‘em,” Aegon says simply.

You smile at him, touched, grateful. “Okay. Fuck ‘em.”

“I’m relieved my family’s gone,” Aegon confesses, something so brutal he’d never tell anyone else. “I mean…I feel kind of bad about my mom and Criston. But as long as they were alive, I’d always be the person they raised. And if I could bring someone back, it wouldn’t be any of them. I’d pick Rio.”

“I would too,” you say softly, staring down at the faint burn marks on your palms from when you were stranded on that transmission tower with him, talking him out of suicide, so adamant that both of you were going to make it to Oregon. And you were wrong.

“So if you’re cursed, Pita Chips, sign me up because I’m right there with you.”

Rhaena pulls out an earbud and says to Aegon: “I don’t get this album.”

“What?!” he exclaims.

“It’s so good!” you concur. On the shore, Cregan is spearing several gutted rainbow trout on sticks so they can be roasted over the fire. Ice is gleefully gulping down fish organs.

Aegon continues: “Whatsername! St. Jimmy! Jesus of Suburbia!”

Rhaena blinks, glancing between you and Aegon. “But neither of you grew up in the suburbs.”

“It’s not about the suburbs, Rhaena!” Aegon replies with frenetic hand gestures. “It’s about being disillusioned and angry and failed by all the adults in your life, and self-medicating, and losing love every time you get a taste of it, and wanting to burn everything down and start over. It’s about hating the world and the world hating you back.”

“Okay, sure. I still don’t get it.”

You say: “You might have had too happy a childhood.” And you and Aegon burst out laughing.

“You guys are so weird,” Rhaena says, but she’s smiling. She stands up, gives Aegon back his Walkman, and walks to the end of the dock where Cregan is cooking the rainbow trout. Aemond and Daeron are gathering up the aluminum buckets found at the campground and set outside earlier today to collect rainwater. There is one five-pound bag of trail mix left to share, and then all the food is gone. If Cregan doesn’t kill something, you won’t eat.

“We should go help them with dinner,” you tell Aegon.

He groans. “Should we really?”

“Yeah. We should.”

“Fine.” He takes your hand when you offer it and struggles to his feet. Then you inhale a lungful of the scent of roasting trout, and startlingly powerful nausea punches through your stomach, so repellant you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from retching.

There has to be something wrong with the fish. It’s never smelled like that before.

Aegon seems baffled. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Does the trout smell right to you?”

Aegon sniffs the air like a labrador. “I guess…? I barely smell anything.”

“Well you probably destroyed your nose cells with all the coke.”

“That’s discriminatory. Addiction is a disease.” But his brow is furrowed with concern. “Seriously, are you okay? You look awful. Not like that. You know what I mean.”

“I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine; but everyone down by the fire is chatting and joking around nonchalantly, and surely if there actually was something wrong they would have noticed. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perplexed.

You hurry past the others and take refuge in the cabin you’re sharing with Aemond. Inside the trout smell isn’t so strong. You sit at the edge of the bed and suck in several deep breaths, trying to calm down, willing the confounding wave of nausea to pass.

Did I eat something bad, did I get bit by a spider or something…?

You are checking your arms and legs for little raised bitemarks when Helaena enters the cabin and shuts the door behind her. When she opens her burlap messenger bag to root around inside, you glimpse photographs she must have taken from the beach house, the frames left empty on the mantle of the fireplace. Then Helaena pulls out a pregnancy test, just one, Clearblue.

You gawk at it. “What are you doing?”

“You look sick,” Helaena says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that.”

She is puzzled, wide innocent blue eyes. “Why not?”

“Well…I mean…that would be freakishly quick, wouldn’t it? Like…quick as in immediately. People can’t get pregnant the first time they have sex, right?”

“Huh. They really don’t have sex ed in Kentucky,” Helaena says, and leaves you alone with your pregnancy test. You don’t feel so nauseous anymore, but you sneak around the back of the cabin to take it anyway, because now you’re thinking about the possibility with a vividness you’ve never experienced before: a round blossoming belly and tiny handprints and Aemond cradling his child in his arms. And by the time you get the result, you aren’t even shocked. It feels like something that’s supposed to happen.

You and Aemond don’t have a moment alone together until after dark, sitting on the porch swing outside your cabin for first watch, everyone else asleep, Ice dozing serenely by your feet. The only sounds are the breeze through the pine trees, cool and damp, and the hoots of owls, and the chirping of crickets and cicadas.

“So guess what,” you say casually as moonbeams float rippling and fractured on the surface of the black-glass lake.

Aemond smiles drowsily, not expecting anything. “What?”

“In approximately eight months, I might be having your baby.”

At first, he doesn’t speak; he only studies the test when you hand it to him, and then looks at you like he’s not convinced you aren’t angry, like he can’t quite bring himself to believe that you’d want this with someone like him. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” you answer honestly. Maybe you should be, but you aren’t. “I’m hopeful. I feel like as soon as I realized it, everything got brighter. And now I’m thinking about the future instead of the past.” They’re not going to grow up like I did. They’re never going to think they aren’t loved. “What should we name it?”

“Not Otter.”

You laugh, trying to muffle it so you don’t wake anyone. Ice lifts her head and stares at you curiously, her shaggy grey ears straight up.

“I don’t know, I’m terrible with names,” Aemond says; and now he’s smiling again, a wide radiant smile, and you know he’s thinking about the future too. “Hope or Peace or something. Something happy. Something about starting over.”

You take his hand. “I can’t wait to start over with you.”

“Just one more day,” Aemond says.

One more day.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So what am I going to do in Odessa?” Luke asks as the eight of you—nine, if you count Ice—trek eastbound on Route 140. You are about five miles from Lake of the Woods and halfway to your destination. It’s only 80 degrees and overcast, good walking weather, although there is a looming threat of rain, occasional rogue drops and far-off rumbles of thunder. “Everyone has valuable skills except me. Chips has great aim and can build things, Daeron has his compound bow, Aemond is basically a doctor, Rhaena is learning how to shoot guns and treat injuries…”

“Aegon has skills?” Cregan jokes, casting him a good-natured grin. Aegon acts like he’s going to whack Cregan with his golf club, which he’s spinning around haphazardly. Both his Marlin .22 and acoustic guitar are slung across his back. There aren’t many bullets left, but everyone has a few.

“Aegon can navigate,” Luke says. “And probably impregnate ten women a day. Very useful during a population crisis.”

“We don’t need that in the gene pool,” Rhaena notes.

“You wrote stories in college, right?” you ask Luke.

“Screenplays, yeah,” he says hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t say I was super talented or anything.”

Aegon claps him on the shoulder “Well I’ve got good news for you, kid. A big chunk of the world’s screenwriters are probably dead now. So you’ll look so much better in comparison!”

“Thanks…?” Luke says.

“What I mean is,” you continue. “You could write books for people to read, since there aren’t really libraries or Barnes & Nobles anymore. And you could interview people to get their life stories and then record them so they aren’t lost forever. The next generation should know what the world was like before the zombies.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says as he pets Ice. “Someone has to tell them about blue raspberry Icees, right Blue Raspberry Icee?”

“Maybe,” Luke says thoughtfully, and you notice that he’s smiling a little.

Ice begins whining, and there is a rustling in the woods to the north, low-hanging branches of bigleaf maple and dogwood and Douglas fir trees being forced aside. “Zombie!” Aegon announces, pointing. Immediately, Daeron nocks an arrow and then releases it, and the figure draped in the shifting shadows of foliage drops to the ground.

“Hey Aegon,” Daeron says after a few seconds.

“Yeah?”

“That was actually a zombie, right?”

“Totally,” Aegon replies, but he doesn’t sound certain.

Aemond turns to his older brother accusingly. “How sure are you?”

“Like…50%.”

“Aegon!” Rhaena cries, petrified, and everyone rushes off the road to investigate.

Blessedly, the felled creature is long-dead, a former park ranger whose tan uniform hangs in gore-stained tatters. The nametag reads: Underwood. The arrow pierced its soft rotting skull and remains lodged there until Daeron pulls it out to be used again, giving Aegon an impatient scowl as he does.

“Close call,” Aegon tells him. “Think they would have charged you as an adult?”

“Lord almighty, that gave me a scare,” Cregan says, chuckling. Helaena spies a blackberry bush and begins picking a handful, and Cregan goes over to join her. Rhaena and Luke are telling Aegon that he needs to be more responsible and should have waited for Luke to confirm it was a zombie with his binoculars. You exchange a glance with Aegon: he rolls his eyes, you offer a smirk of commiseration. Ice is already trotting back towards Oregon Route 140.

You haven’t told anyone else that you’re pregnant yet, but eventually they’re going to notice that Aemond won’t leave your side. He sighs and asks you: “Have you had enough of this little field trip?”

“Definitely.” You head for the road. Aemond walks with you, placing you not on his left side but on his right where he can see you. You ask, smiling: “You don’t trust me to watch your blind side anymore, huh?”

“I prefer the view the way it is.”

You are only a few steps from the black artery of pavement that cuts through the Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument, a 114,000-acre preserve of wilderness that somehow—although it is 2,500 miles away—reminds you a bit of eastern Kentucky, endless emerald forests, the omnipotent shadows of mountains. And because you are on Aemond’s right side, he can look down and see something just in front of you on the earth strewn with knobby roots and pine needles and dead leaves.

“Don’t!” he shouts, snatching your forearm and yanking you backwards, and he’s never touched you like this before—so forcefully, so violently—and you stumble and almost fall, and your arm burns and aches where he grabbed you, and people are asking what’s going on, and you peer up at Aemond with confusion, fear, mistrust.

“Why…?”

And then you hear it rustling from the same place where you were standing a moment ago. The others yelp and dash out of the way as the snake escapes into the woods, a drab spotted olive green, a rattling tail, an angular skull like an arrowhead.

“Aemond?” you say, because he hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound. He looks down, and your gaze follows his. On his right calf, just a few inches above his ankle, are two small puncture wounds from the snake’s fangs, each dribbling a thin river of blood.

“Northern Pacific rattlesnake,” Helaena says, her voice shaking, tears welling up in her horrified eyes. “Venomous.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has one arm draped across Cregan’s shoulders, the other over Aegon’s. He’s moving slower, or is that just your imagination? His steps are less steady, his breathing more labored. His leg is swelling, a deep blue phantom of a bruise spreading beneath his skin, so tight it looks like it might split open.

“We’re almost there,” you say; you keep saying it, because hopefully that will make it true. “We’re only a few miles from Odessa, and we’ll find people who can help us.”

“Aemond, you’re a doctor,” Luke says.

Aemond’s voice is weak, pained, hazy. “I’m not a doctor.”

“You know what I mean!” Luke yells, frantic. “How do we fix you? What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says listlessly. “There’s nothing you can do without a hospital. I’ll either get better or I won’t.”

“People in Odessa will know how to help,” you insist. “They’re outside all the time, they hike, they hunt, they fish, they’ve seen snakebites before. They must have. They’ll have treatments.”

“Aemond,” Rhaena breathes, and you turn to see there is blood running from his nostrils. You scream, and Aemond touches his fingers to his face and then watches as they come away bloody.

“Put me down,” he tells Cregan and Aegon.

“No—” you begin, but then his knees buckle and he’s on the pavement anyway, blood pouring from his nose and his lips, blood filling up his right eye. Cregan walks to the shoulder of the highway, his head in his hands. Aegon stays beside Aemond, and you’re kneeling there with him, both of you using anything you have to clean the blood from Aemond’s face: the corners of your shirts, your bare hands.

He’s covered in blood, you think. Just like Jace, Baela, Rio.

“Can’t clot,” Aemond is murmuring. “The venom causes coagulotoxicity. Internal bleeding too. I feel like…like there’s all this pressure inside…”

Rhaena is taking Aemond’s pulse like he taught her to, fingers on the underside of his wrist. “It’s really faint,” she says quietly.

You grab a plastic Gatorade bottle filled with rainwater out of your backpack and tilt it against Aemond’s crimson-stained lips. He manages to swallow some of it. “Aemond, listen to me,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’re so close. We’re almost there. I need you to hang on a little longer.”

He shakes his head, slow dizzy motions. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They might have doctors in Odessa.” This is a fantasy, but you can’t resist it.

“Even if they do, there won’t be any antivenom. And it’s too late anyway.”

“No,” you say savagely, a sob ripping through your throat. “We didn’t cross 3,000 miles so you could die here. I won’t let you. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not fair.”

“Aegon,” Aemond says, reaching for him, drained and fumbling.

Aegon catches his hand. “I’m here.”

His eye—crystalline blue corrupted with red, blood in clear water—drifts to his brother. “You have to get her to Odessa. You have to help take care of everyone.”

Aegon is weeping. “Man, it’s supposed to be you. How can I still be here if you aren’t?”

“You can do this,” Aemond says.

“I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Aemond,” Aegon says, then crawls away on his hands and knees and collapses on the pavement, gutted, inconsolable, hemorrhaging grief instead of gore.

Everyone is crying and touching Aemond—his face, his hands—saying goodbye, accepting tasks, and they come away stained with red, and rain has begun to fall from a dark sky growling with thunder. Rhaena takes his medical kit. Helaena takes his Glock and stows it away in her messenger mag. Then Aemond looks for you, and now you are alone with him here in the middle of the highway, two golden lines on black asphalt, and with your thumbprint you whisk away the rivulet of blood that is spilling from his eye.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers as his heart fails, as his lungs fill with blood instead of air, as his pores leak rust and ruin. “Odessa will be everything we hoped for. I just won’t be there with you.”

“You can’t leave me,” you’re saying as rain patters against the road. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Love,” he sighs, almost too softly to hear. “I don’t want to.”

You lie down on the pavement with him and rest your head on his chest, feel it rise and fall beneath you as the rain descends in sheets. And then Aemond exhales, deep and rattling, and he never tastes oxygen again, never speaks, never touches you. You don’t move from where you’re lying. You’re there until you’re drenched to the bones with rain and the world is a cold mist of pine trees, of wilderness, and you can never go back to any of the places you’ve been before, you can never get back the people you’ve left there.

Aegon is shaking you. “We have to keep moving,” he chokes out through tears.

You reply without looking at him. “I’m giving up now.”

“No you’re fucking not. We have to walk to Odessa.”

“Everyone’s dead in Odessa. Everyone’s dead everywhere. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to stay in a world like this.”

On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon glancing at the others, standing just off the highway and under the canopy of the pine trees. He seems defeated, he seems lost.

Then suddenly Aegon turns back to you. “Hey!” he screams, so loudly you jolt upright, your palms on wet pavement, rain dripping from your hair. “I’m still alive. You’re still alive. This isn’t over yet. I said I would get you to Odessa, so that’s where we’re going. Stand up. Right now.”

Aegon holds out his hand. Thunder booms, lightning strobes, and then you take it. He pulls you to your feet and hesitates, as if he didn’t think he would get this far. Then he throws his arms around you, a crushing desperate embrace, a wordless devotion, a silent vow, sobbing into the curve of your neck, tasting the copper and iron of his brother’s blood on your skin.

“We have to keep moving,” he says again, like an apology, like he understands how impossible it feels. “The storm’s getting worse. It’ll be too dark to see soon.”

“We can’t leave him alone like this.”

“That’s not Aemond anymore,” Aegon pleads. “Aemond’s gone. And he would want us to live.”

Now the others are here on the road too: Daeron, Helaena, Cregan, Rhaena, Luke, Ice whimpering and licking scarlet stains of blood off your hands. You’re all holding each other; you’re all any of you have left. Cregan carries Aemond off the pavement and on a patch of grass alongside Route 140, the seven of you cover his body with branches of pine needles and white petals from dogwood trees. Rhaena is the first person to begin walking again, heading east. One by one you follow her. The downpour is torrential; if you are attacked now, you are nearly blind. Aegon stays beside you no matter how slow your steps are. You think if he disappears, you will too; the strings that tie you to the earth will fray and unweave and your bones will turn to mist, your voice will only be the wind howling down mountainsides. You have no way of knowing how long you’ve been walking or how many miles are left. You wonder what will happen to Aemond’s child if there is nothing for you in Odessa.

The rain is stopping. Now you can hear crows, woodpeckers, formations of geese honking in a foggy sky and squirrels scrabbling up tree trunks. Falcons perch watchfully on dead power lines. Rare aisles of sunlight are breaking through dissipating clouds.

They rise up out of the verdant jungle, a tangle of Pacific ninebark and blue elderberry: four figures in green camouflage, two men and two women, all wearing tactical sunglasses and wielding assault rifles, M16s you’re fairly sure, automatic and with 20-round magazines. Daeron moves to nock an arrow and then stops when he sees you’ve put up your hands. The others follow your lead: palms empty, willingly surrendering.

It’s them, you think dazedly. The people in Odessa. They’re alive, they’re real.

“Please cooperate and hand over all your weapons,” one of the women says, fifties, muscular, alert hawkish eyes.

No one moves. Then you unholster your Beretta M9—received from the U.S. Navy almost exactly five years ago, a different lifetime, a different world—and hold it out to the woman in your open palm. And now everybody else is giving their weapons over too: Aegon and Luke’s .22s, Rhaena’s Ruger, the spare Ruger and Aemond’s Glock hidden in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag, Daeron’s compound bow, Cregan’s axe. Ice peers up at Cregan anxiously, her yellowish eyes wide, but she wags her tail when he runs one of his large, calloused hands over her rain-soaked fur.

Aegon is still clutching his golf club. One of the men stares at him, incredulous. “You can keep that, son,” he says.

The woman nods to the men. “Nick and Glen will escort you five miles up the road, and then return your weapons. We ask that you keep moving and do not turn around. We don’t want trouble, but we can defend ourselves. Don’t think you can double back tomorrow and try to loot us or anything. This is your only warning. Do you understand?”

Aegon nudges your hand with his knuckles, then taps you harder when at first you’re too shellshocked to notice. You have to explain. You have to tell them why you’re here.

“I…I…” You begin, unable to make the words leave your lips, rats from a sinking ship, plummeting bodies from a burning building. Here you stand on a precipice, and with so many other people to save. “I served in the Navy with Bryan Osorio. We left Saratoga Springs together. He told me it would be safe here.”

Now they are interested. Slowly, the woman lowers her M16. “You know the Osorios?”

“I do.” I’ve known them for half a decade.

“Could any of them identify you and verify what you’re saying?”

“His wife, Sophie. She’s blonde, and she likes elephants, and she had a baby recently.”

The woman is scanning the faces behind you. “And where’s Bryan?”

“He’s not here anymore,” you say, and now you’re sobbing again. Aegon is squeezing your shoulder, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help him get home. I was supposed to warn him, I was supposed to stop it from biting him, but I didn’t and now he’s gone—”

“Okay, okay.” The woman motions for you to calm down, but her voice is kind. “Who are these guys? Your colleagues, your friends?”

“They’re my family.”

“You can vouch for them?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll all submit to searches for bitemarks?”

“Yes.”

The woman turns to the men she called Nick and Glen. “Take them inside, will you? Get the ID verified and then we’ll process everyone.”

“Got it,” the older man says. And then, to you and your companions: “Follow me.”

Nick and Glen lead you into the forest, the canopy of pine needles so thick the daylight turns to dusk, and you think of lightning bugs, of firelight, of drinking Guinness on the beach with Rio on Diego Garcia. There are several patrols, groups of four or five, that approach to stop you until they see Nick and Glen and wave you through. Then the trees open into a meadow of buttercups and daisies and pink fawn lilies, and beyond that an immense village, some houses decades old, others currently being constructed with logs from pine trees. There are hundreds of people tending to livestock, hanging up laundry to dry on clotheslines, digging in gardens, making candles and soap and butter. There are children playing without fear, giggling as they chase after scampering dogs, challenging each other to games of kickball and Uno.

In front of one of the houses that predates the apocalypse, brick with a screened-in porch, there is a small blonde woman standing in a garden, smiling and chatting with a middle-aged couple. The baby she carries against her chest in a blue sling has dark curly hair like Rio’s.

Sophie and the baby are here. They’ve been alive the whole time.

You rest a palm on your belly without realizing you’re doing it. “What happens now?” you ask Aegon.

“The rest of our lives.”

It is unimaginable, it is impossible, it is so full of luminous potential you feel like the light will spill out of your pores like blood, it’s an oasis, it’s a second chance, it’s an island in the vast lethal untamed blue of the Indian Ocean.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says softly, taking your hand and leading you across the field of wildflowers, kaleidoscopic blooms in the last days of summer.

[kcrossvine-art]

Hey folks! Itsssssssssssss timeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee for another dungeon meshi cooking time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Isnt that neat.

Its weird to think how long its gonna be before season 2 of the anime drops. Anyway go read the manga i promise you wont regret it. This ones from senshis lil garden on legs-

Today we'll be making Golem Field Fresh Veggie Lunch!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Golem Field Fresh Veggie Lunch?” YOU MIGHT ASKIts vegetables, vegetable wauter, and not Much else! Knife is there too.

Head of cabbage

4 carrots

3 potatoes

2 onions

2 turnips

Thick slice bacon

Butter

Seasoned rice vinegar

I lied theres pork did you fall for it did u catch it.

AND, “what does Golem Field Fresh Veggie Lunch taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKSon, have you ever eaten a vegetabel

Broth is surprisingly flavorful considering the limited spices and short cooktime

Potatoes are perfect texture for dipping

Cabbage absorbed a lot of the juices!!!

Was more impressed by the salad part of the meal-

The turnips need to be sliced enough to Barely see through, and the carrots julienned thin enough to be almost peels

And its this wonderful vegetable confetti tasteful in its simple pleasure

Rice vinegar of any kind will work, seasoned rice vinegar is just what i had

Salt both parts of the meal generously

In the future i wouldve shredded or cut the cabbage much smaller. We'll talk more on that later. Its also intentionally barebones with spices and oils, me using butter and rice vinegar is even pushing the limits of show accurate because in the show they used plain olive oil.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From idea to execution, this was a very quick recipe. For starters, nothing gets cooked all that long (the water spends more time empty than it does ingredient'ed) and for lasters nothing gets cut all that much. It was tricky finding good sources for stewing a whole cabbage because most recipes call for either shredding or at least chopping smaller. And they do this for a reason. Its unwieldy trying to eat a whole half of cabbage, you never quite know when to start or where to start. Do you bite chunks out? Peel leaves? Spear it with other things? I dont know. I still dont. Im not a huge raw cabbage fan and it wasnt raw, but it wasnt transformed much either. Minimalist. 

This was a feast in the show and i bet that the freshness of the veggies were a factor, considering they were plucked fresh off the living rock guys. I wouldve killed to be able to brown the onions, roast the carrots, or maybe cube the potatoes (though the consistency was perfect for forking and dipping them in butter so! Bonuses.)

Oven roast bacon is a beloved treet for me. It seemed to absorb some of the vegetable broth and vice versa with the broth absorbing the oils from the bacon, which enhanced all the flavors. Maybe in the future itd be nice to try cooking the bacon a bit ahead, and then adding it to the pot while everythings boiling? Also adding a spritz of lemon juice to either/both is always nice!

I give this recipe a solid 7/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) for its simplicity. With modifications like shredding the cabbage and more seasonings, it could become an easy 10/10. hit that like and subscribe or kill me

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

Head of cabbage

4 carrots

3 russet potatoe

2 white onions

2 turnips

10 slices of thick slice bacon

Butter

Seasoned Rice vinegar

Stew Method:

Preheat your oven to 400f. Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil and place a baking rack on top (alternatively you can use a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and no baking rack. but the baking rack lets the air circulate better and the grease drip off!)

Cook your bacon for about 18 minutes or until crisp. Flip halfway through.

Chop your carrots, peel and slice your potatos in half, and slice your onions into rings.

Get a large pot with a tight fitting lid, add water, salt, your carrots, your potato pieces, and your onions. Cover and heat to a low boil.

Cut the cabbage head in half down the middle. Once the pot is boiling, carefully add your cabbage to the pot and arrange the halves so theyre fully covered.

Cover and cook for about 13 minutes, the cabbage should be slightly crisp but have give to them. 

Remove from heat and laddle contents into a bowl, arrange some of your bacon along the sides so the fat and the broth mix :) salt and pepper to taste. And get a little saucer for butter so you can dip the potato pieces and/or coat the cabbage pieces.

Salad Method:

Peel your carrots and turnips. Cut off the ends of both. Julienne your carrots, and thinly slice your turnips.

Add your carrot greens (or your chosen leaf filler) to a bowl, then add your carrots and turnips.

Coat with seasoned rice vinegar, salt, and pepper. Thoroughly mix and enjoy :) 

[fckeddiemunson]

Blurred Lines Pt. 2

Part One Here:

Summary: What was a one time thing is turning into a full fledged affair

Warnings: 18+ONLY MDNI. some choking, p in v, creampie, more cheating, handjob, spitting

Notes: AHH ok part 2 is here! Please enjoy, I may make a part 3 i have some ideas.....

2750 words

Getting away with cheating is not a humbling feeling. It boosts your ego without even realising it. And then suddenly you’re taking risks you never would have before. You think you’re untouchable. Especially in this case when there’s two parties involved who have so much to lose. It doesn’t get any better with time either, the longer you aren’t caught for the less careful you become about hiding fleeting glances, small, overlooked touches. Then there’s after work. Going back to your respective homes, playing a husband and father or playing a dutiful fiancé. You think it won’t catch up to you, but it always will.

The immediate day after you were with Rusty, you called in sick – something you had never done. You were sick to your stomach that day, you couldn’t even be at home. Dom was at home sleeping in the same bed you let Rusty fuck you in, worse in the same sheets. Your absence was met with a slew of texts from Rusty, get better soon, hope you’re in tomorrow, where’s the link to my google calendar?, please sweetheart I’m useless without you. It was honestly a bit overwhelming. You spent most of that day in your car, driving past the office about ten times like a maniac. Once evening hit and you knew Dom would have left for work you went home. You collapsed once inside, relief rushing through you at being alone. You breathed deeply and smelt the dinner Dom had cooked and left warming in the oven for you. despite the rough patch you were having, he still made time for you like this, it made you sick thinking about it. You frowned, a twinge of guilt coursed through you as picked at the food, not very hungry. Your phone vibrated, filling the silent void you had cocooned yourself in. you felt even worse checking the message, from Dom sending his love and hoping you enjoyed dinner. Sending back a message with love hearts you shut your phone and cringed. But as you sat there longer, chewing slowly on the potatoes your loving fiancé had cooked. You made a decision.  A decision to not let this effect you. Evidently you had gotten away with it. Everything would be fine so long as it remained a one-time thing.

The next morning you walked into the office with your head held high. Rusty had beat you into the office, not many people had filed in this early. You marched into his office locked the door and leaned against the door with your arms crossed.

“The other night was a one-time thing.” Your stern voice almost echoed in the room.

“Jesus. Keep your voice down!” Rusty looked suspiciously out the little window, not a soul was around besides the two of you. Ignoring him a little you continued; “I don’t regret it, god, I don’t regret it, but we have lives we must maintain.”

“I agree. We work so well together is all. We got carried away is what happened. For the record, I don’t regret it either, I should but I don’t. Shall we begin the day? Coffee?” Rusty had already made you a cup, it sat next to his on the desk. And just like that. It was swept under the rug, nothing more needed to be said.

A week passed uneventfully; more prep work was done for the woman whose body was found in the dumpster. The trial really was only another few weeks away and at this point it seemed cut and dry, open and closed. All thanks to your hard (very hard) work with Rusty that night. It wasn’t until you felt yourself staring at Rusty again when you should’ve been working that you felt concerned again. You felt an invisible tug towards him, a shudder in your lower stomach when you studied his lips for too long. You were reminded how good they felt on you, how good they felt on your neck – no. You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daydream, or more memory of Rusty.

The next week was full of late nights in the office with Rusty, the case now was too sensitive and confidential to work on anywhere else. Most of your team was in the office until about 8pm. It was the Friday before the trial was set to start, the following Monday. It was now approaching 8:30pm, everyone had already vacated, under the impression that we wouldn’t discover anything new this close to trial. But Rusty was insistent, he was beyond thorough and would not stop until he was satisfied there was nothing else to find. You had organised food for the two of you and stood in the break room, dishing up a plate of chicken and rice. Rusty was standing over his desk when you took it in, his hand catching yours as you placed his food.

“You know I really appreciate you. You’re the best assistant anyone could ask for.” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand, smiling.

“I’m much more than an assistant you know” You whispered, sliding your hand away.

“You’re so much more.” Rusty said quietly, you looked back at him. Without thinking, you tilted your head up and kissed him, eyes closing briefly. He kissed back, leaning into you. But it was all over too quickly, you pulled away, scurrying back to the break room to grab your food. You stood there with your hands on your hips, staring at the ground in disbelief. Another decision was made in that moment. The true point of no return.

**

“Fuck!” Rusty yelled after a few more hours of meticulous reading and frustrated re-reading of the case files.

“There’s just nothing else. I can’t find anything to fortify our case further.” Rusty slumped in his office chair, rubbing his temples and frowning.

“Maybe that’s because its already foolproof.” You offered, throwing your stack of papers back on the desk.

“No, it has to be better.” Rusty almost snapped, frustration overcoming him. You rolled your eyes, not appreciating the tone.

“Come on. Grab your things.” In a moment you were up, handbag and laptop in hand.

“What, why?” Rusty slowly got up, grabbing his things and attempting to tidy up before leaving for the weekend.

“We’re going to clear our heads.” You headed for the elevator; Rusty followed behind chuckling after you. Rusty’s arm brushed against yours the entire lift, he didn’t seem to want to move, and you were trying to stop yourself from moving closer to him. You looked at him again, his tie still tight from this morning. You placed your bag on the ground and reached up to his tie, dodging his gaze.

“Its now after work, got to loosen up a bit.” You loosened his tie, hands lingering on his chest, his warmth radiated up through your fingertips. In an instant, he backed you into the lift wall and kissed you deeply. You gasped as his hands pulled at the bottom of your shirt from your skirt, rucking it up and sliding his hands under. You felt his fingertips working upwards, running across your ribcage, feeling his way. He pulled his hands out and fiddled with the buttons up at your chest. The lift pinged as he undid two, exposing your cleavage to him, he looked smug as you walked to your car.

You drove the two of you to a cliff top lookout, it overlooked the whole city. At this time of night, you expected local teenagers with beer getting drunk, but it was thankfully deserted by the time you got up there. Rusty had asked many questions along the way, not a man who liked to be surprised. You had answered all of them, with Rusty kissing your hand. The city lights twinkled in the distance, feeling a lifetime away from the lookout. You sat in silence for a moment, both looking ahead at the view. It was you who broke the silence, sighing deeply and looking at Rusty.

“Fuck it.” You whispered, more to yourself and hiked up your skirt, climbing over the centre console, and into Rusty’s lap. He was amused, a smirk pulling at the edges of his lips.

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing, Rusty. I want you. I have craved you ever since that night. I can’t stop thinking about you.” You knew you sounded obsessive and a bit crazy. You knew it was a lot to be asking of him, of anyone but that longing desire you had burned for him. You tried to be a head strong person, but you had somehow almost girl-bossed your way into an affair.

“I don’t like keeping secrets from my wife.” Rusty was already playing with the buttons on your shirt, teasing you.

“So, I’m sure you told her about the other night then?” You stared him down, lifting his chin and forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Just shut up.” Rusty’s voice was harsh as he snaked his hands around the back of your head, pulling you down for a kiss. It was rough, all teeth nipping at each other’s lips. You let him kiss you, your hands snaking down to play with the buckle on his pants. Rusty let out a deep sigh as your hand brushed against him. He was rigid as the back of your hand stroked him, pulling his cock out of his pants. You eagerly spat, it landed on his cock, Rusty hissed at the contact. He bucked his hips when you touched him, a soft whine escaping his lips as you jerked him up and down with lazy strokes. You leant forward, lips connecting to his exposed neck, you felt a low warming in your stomach as you licked a stripe up his neck, stopping at his jawline and kissing him along it finally reaching his mouth. You licked his lower lip, begging for entrance, whining when he waved a hand through your hair pulling back, his grip firm. You locked eyes as your hand continued to stroke him up and down, now painfully hard, the tip blushing pink as you ran your thumb over the slit. Rusty grunted your name, his head falling back against the seat. Taking the opportunity, you kissed him, pulling him in and biting his lower lip, running your tongue against his now swollen lip.

Rusty took the chance and pushed you back, landing against the dashboard, your legs spread for him, pussy covered only by sheer stockings. You started pulling them down awkwardly, attempting to shimmy them off you when Rusty put his hand on yours to stop. His wicked smirk returned, hands grabbing on the material at the apex of your thighs, gripping tight and ripping a hole in them. A surprised gasp left your mouth as you stared at him through half closed lids, lustfully enjoying the way Rusty kneaded at your exposed thighs. His hand grabbed your thigh dangerously high, his thumb swiping over your underwear, brushing your clit. His thumb hooked under the band, feeling the warmth of your cunt as he inched towards your dripping entrance. A mix between a moan and a dark chuckle left his mouth when he felt how wet you were for him. How all it took was a hand-job to get you aching for him. He looked at you then, and you felt powerful, eyes following your hand down and gripping his dick as you leant forward and grinded your hips down onto him, his tip flicking against your clit.

“Please.” He whispered, hips meeting your grinding, breathless moans leaving him. You slipped forward, tilted your hips and sunk down slowly onto his length. Rusty was big, there was no way to put it lightly and you hissed at the burn sinking further onto him. He knew it too, he chuckled once you took him all the way, pausing to breathe deeply. You moaned as he bucked up impatiently, pulling you towards him and gripping your hips tightly urging you to move on him. Settling yourself, you placed your hands on the car seat for leverage and began moving your hips up and down. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you and you relished the feeling, short panting moans as your pace quickened. Rusty’s fingers kneaded and bruised your hips as you rode him, helping you move as he bucked in shallow thrusts from below. He felt so deep inside you, his cock nudging against the spongey spot making you mew for him. You ground yourself down on him, your clit rubbing back and forth over his neat patch of hair, and you released a moan, feeling yourself getting closer and closer.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined as he tangled his hands in your hair, pulling you forward to kiss you. His thrusts deepened and quickened as you rested yourself on his shoulder, panting and moaning as his cock pumped in and out of you now almost harshly. He pushed you back against the dashboard, hand travelling up to your throat and holding you in place as he thrusted upwards into you, still seated in the car. His fingers wrapped around your throat, and he squeezed, testing the waters. Rusty groaned hotly, chuckling darkly as he felt your cunt clench when he squeezed. He did it again and you moaned, it came out high pitched and strained as Rusty kept his hand on your throat.

“Oh, you are a little slut for me, aren’t you?” Rusty’s voice had changed, he sounded rugged as he egged you on.

“My own personal stress relief. Isn’t that what you wanted, to ‘clear my head’?” Rusty felt his ego inflate ten-fold when he looked at you, mimicking your words from earlier. You met his eyes, cock drunk and watering as you held onto his hand, choking you. He tore his hand away from your throat, grabbed your leg and hitched it up higher, resting on his shoulder as he inched forward, fucking you deeper. You couldn’t answer him, you were too fucked out and teetering on the verge of an orgasm, eyes fluttering shut.

Rusty’s hand made its way to your cunt again, his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. You jerked against his touch, suddenly becoming too much as your orgasm built in your stomach.

“Rusty, its too much” you attempted to move his hand, but he gripped your wrist and held it away, his thumb moving quicker against you.

“You can take it sweetheart.” His thrusts quickened, his pace becoming erratic and sharp.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, immediately whining as you spasmed. A hot and cold feeling washed over you as Rusty kept on fucking you through your orgasm. Your cunt pulsed, over stimulated and Rusty wasn’t stopping, he was chasing his own high. He grunted and pulled you closer to him, feeling him everywhere. He was too deep, he smelt too good, his arms wrapped around you possessively as he thrusted the last few times. He nestled against you, burying his head in your neck and breathing in deeply as he grabbed you tighter against him, moaning into your hair, his warm cum spilling into you. You eventually relaxed into his tight grip, too tired to move. Rusty felt too good in your arms to move as well, his hand stroked your hair, you could feel his cum dribbling out of you. Rusty made no attempt to move, just stayed locking you in his arms. The rush was subsiding, and you both enjoyed each other’s silent company. You both felt it thought. The pull towards one another. You could hear his mind turning over like cogs, both coming to another decision. It was another night spent with the wrong person. Another night spent with each other, but now he was your arms, feeling far too intimate to be just sex.

You were the first to break the silence, “Rusty, I don’t want to go home, yet.” Your hand snaked in behind his neck, tilting it up so you could look at him.

“I don’t want too either.” His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

You don’t know how long you stayed up there, embraced in each other’s arms, but you knew something had changed. There was no going back after this.

[kuschelkissen]

Oh dear. I didn't think I'd be able to love Xia Fei more, but...?

The process was fraught with challenges, naturally, but the turning point came with the "birth" of Xia Fei. At first, no one really liked him. Probably because he was too ordinary. A little fox teetering on the edge of life, gritting his teeth as he pushed forward. There was this one scene where a client maliciously forced him to drink. Cornered, the kid smashed a wine bottle over the client's head with a loud crack, bolted out of there, and texted his boss a long apology while on the run. The next day, hungover and ashamed, he rolled around under his blanket, regretting his impulsiveness.

Is this one scene something we will see somewhere, or is this like... backstory musings? Because... man... (probably the latter, but imagine.)

Sure, he wasn't cool at all. But when criticized for that, I couldn't help but feel indignant. Then one day, perhaps because work had become unbearable, I suddenly decided to let XF take on the world. Cool? A boy who's been stomped on by the world's malice, yet stubbornly gets back up and flips the world the bird with a grin- how is that not cool? Natural diamonds may dazzle, but what truly endures is wild grass, which no fire can extinguish. And so, youthful defiance became his defining trait. He gets scared, he messes up, he sulks, but he also laughs, cries, makes trouble, claims credit, calls for help - and most importantly, helps himself. He gave me strength, pulling me along to fight back against the malice of work and life. Never bowing, never yielding. "If you mess with me, if you anger me, I'll punch you right back." That's my favourite lyric from "The Boxing Ring of Fate" (laughs)

Oh Baby... T///T He really has had it rough, hasn't he?? ;_;

So... While I still feel like he's carrying a deathflag around... "He gave me strength (...) never bowing, never yielding" would you find strength in someone who dies?

"what truly endures is wild grass, which no fire can extinguish." Is it... ok to be slightly hopeful that he will survive this arc? 🥺 pretty please?

Full transscript of the screenshots under cut, but these were those about Xia Fei.

A Farewell to LC after a year of script completion

One year after the script for LC was finalized, it's time to say goodbye. For me, the latter half of 2023 stretched endlessly, like a bleak and drizzling rain.

After experiencing the ups and doens of work, I began sneaking time at my desk to prepare for my PhD entrance exams. Yet, when the final part of the Yingdu arc landed in my hands, it felt like holding a scorching hot potato.

"I can't fix this, I can't write a word of it. Well, it's not like I'll be the one getting blamed if it flops! But… there are still people looking forward to it. Yet, I'm just an employee. But-" Frustration circled overhead, buzzing loudly in the hollow spaces of my heart. Of course, as a true worker, I grumbled but still rolled up my sleeves. The process was fraught with challenges, naturally, but the turning point came with the "birth" of Xia Fei.

At first, no one really liked him. Probably because he was too ordinary. A little fox teetering on the edge of life, gritting his teeth as he pushed forward. There was this one scene where a client maliciously forced him to drink. Cornered, the kid smashed a wine bottle over the client's head with a loud crack, bolted out of there, and texted his boss a long apology while on the run. The next day, hungover and ashamed, he rolled around under his blanket, regretting his impulsiveness.

Sure, he wasn't cool at all. But when criticized for that, I couldn't help but feel indignant.

Then one day, perhaps because work had become unbearable, I suddenly decided to let XF take on the world.

Cool? A boy who's been stomped on by the world's malice, yet stubbornly gets back up and flips the world the bird with a grin- how is that not cool? Natural diamonds may dazzle, but what truly endures is wild grass, which no fire can extinguish.

And so, youthful defiance became his defining trait. He gets scared, he messes up, he sulks, but he also laughs, cries, makes trouble, claims credit, calls for help - and most importantly, helps himself. He gave me strength, pulling me along to fight back against the malice of work and life. Never bowing, never yielding.

"If you mess with me, if you anger me, I'll punch you right back." That's my favourite lyric from "The Boxing Ring of Fate" (laughs)

There was a lot of dissatisfaction, but even more joy. I'm especially grateful for meeting Director Li, for crossing paths with my favourite girl, and for the support and encouragement of my colleagues and friends. Passion is enough to defy fate - we truly love donghua.

"We're the generation that grew up with the internet, traversing countless virtual worlds. The characters from those worlds are as real to us as anything else." Animation, comics, games, and fan creation make up the fast galaxy that defined my adolescence.

Honestly, I never anticipated how much I'd worry about public opinion after the Yingdu arc aired. But I suppose self-doubt is just the dust stirred up by a still-burning heart. After all, Link Click was why I joined Haoliners in the first place - and why I'm leaving now.

From the stacks of fanfiction I filled as a child, to the stories I typed out word by word after school, to the joy radiating from readers at convention booths, to the sincere comments on lofter. From the screenwriting assignments I turned in during my seven years at the Communication University of China, to the tears shed on live-action sets, to the countless files in my "Bilibili work" folder…

Looking forward is an act of justice, but when you glance back, you can't help but be moved - you'll see traces of love, scattered and fragmented, but unmistakably glowing.

May the peach and plum trees speak for themselves, and their paths bloom with flowers unbidden.

[etheries1015]

Obey me x twisted wonderland crossover where MC goes to twisted wonderland from obey me but has their full range of magical powers

Only problem is, they can't really use it.

How would MC feel, hearing over and over about their useless state, when they are infact a rather powerful sorcerer?

pt 2 as requested: Here

Magic in twisted wonderland is managed and flows through mage stones, whilst in obey me magic is by a persons inner nature, and seems to be contained/managed via a wand of some sort (until you become mastered at it, like solomon, who still uses a wand!) Of course there are sigils and and other mediums to be used, however for this scenario, they are dulled thoroughly due to the 1) cut off between worlds and 2) The inability to adapt to a different worlds principles of magic.

Blot just isn't a thing in obey me, MC obviously doesn't have the ability to accumulate blot, so their type of magic is just incompatable with twisted wonderland. So imagine how goddamn frustrating it is when everyone likes to remind MC how magicless they are? And they really don't believe you when you tell them you're actually the apprentice of the most powerful sorcerer in humanity, and can control 7 of the most dangerous demons from your world.

"MC has about as much magical talent as a box of crayons," Ace snorts. He wouldn't be saying that if you just had the power to curse his mouth shut.

"You have no real merits to offer me, not to mention you cannot even use magic," Azul pointed out. If only you could summon leviathan and have him send lotan octavinelles way. They would be sobbing at your feet begging for forgiveness!

And Vil. "You're just about as polished as a sack of half priced potatos!" ...If Asmodeus were there to hear that comment. Vil would get a very analytical lecture about every tiny flaw and detail in his life. Vil would be shattered by the end of it, his pride and what he thought was beauty down the drain.

Crowley laughing at you to your face when you tried to tell him about devildom and where you wish to return. You? A magicless human? Hilarious. Crowley has been through his fair share of "demons" and dark magic, and he definitely did not believe you fit a "summoner of terrifying beings" vibe. If only Satan was there, then Crowley would really understand what it was like to fear something, and regret poking fun at you and taking your concerns so lightly. "If you had the ability to summon powerful demons , how come you are still here?" He mocked you. Of course you had tried, however with the problem being the connection between two completely separate dimensions causing a drift in your attempts to summon any of the brothers, It was nearly impossible. Sigils just did not carry the same amount of magic in twisted wonderland as it did back home.

It wasn't until you held one of the wishing stars (from the "make a wish" event) that anybody began to believe...no, consider your "ridiculous" stories. You held the star to your chest and made your wish of wanting to return home, to which it glowed so bright and cracked. Everyone stared at you as your star shattered, only someone with high concentrations of magic could cause something like this to happen. Since it wasn't powered via mage stone or the need of blot accumulation, your natural traces magic had managed to break the wishing star. Something only someone with a huge pool of magical ability could accomplish, if even.

"I have been trying to tell you guys" you growled, picking up the shattered pieces. Getting over the initial shock of the entire situation, they quickly dismissed it as a faulty star and writing off the strange phenomenon. There is just no way someone such as yourself could possibly hold such great traces of magic that you actually shattered the star, right? They all looked down at you, saw you so much differently, and treated you as such. You didnt belong at that school, and they made it clear. Well.... No matter.

Wait until they realize you finally had managed to successfully contact Lucifer, and they were actively working on your safe return.

And wait until they feel his power when he hears how poorly his little sheep had been treated.

~~~~~

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