#I never asked for their name how rude of me

[r0seb100d]

hihi sweetheart! 🫂 i adore your writing and your moodboards, i love looking at them when they appear on my feed! i'm not sure if your taking requests, but if you are, i was wondering if i could request a hippie, boho, free spirit, 60s + 70s icon, whatever you wish to call it, reader x dallas winston,  where the reader just stands out from everyone because she doesn't fit in either of the greaser or soc stereotypes and that's what draws dallas to her (not in a cringey way though). a small interaction between them would be cute!

i rarely ever see fics where the reader isn't a pretty pink coquette soc, or a greaser who wears baby-tees and cowgirl boots. don't get me wrong they are extremely cute aesthetics and i still adore reading those fics (and, i know it's somewhat book accurate), but they just never fit my vibe, if that makes sense? i've asked several writers before but they were unsure how to write it, but i have a feeling you could do it beautifully! (no pressure though!) LOVE YA! 💝

Thank you for the request, I hope I did this justice and you enjoy <3 🤍

Warnings: fem!reader

A lust for life

Hopping out of the passenger seat of your friend’s Mustang, your cream, flare-sleeved dress was harshly blown by the wind as soon as your platform sandals hit the ground.

Despite your friend’s complaints, you wanted to make a quick stop at the gas station, already exhausted from the long trip across the desert roads. The two of you were heading to a small music festival, excited to spend time out in the sun listening to rock and roll bands with an ice-cold drink in hand, dancing around with no care in the world.

You weren’t exactly late, but you were also short on time, which is why your friend insisted on making as few stops as possible, but with your incessant begging, she basically had no say in the matter.

Hurrying over to the small station, you quickly used the restroom and then went to pick up some cherry gum and a coke, but in your rush to get back, you found yourself knocking into a sturdy, leather-clad body. 

You immediately spun around and went to apologise to whoever it was; however, they spoke before you could even get a proper look at their face.

“Watch it, man.”

Looking up, you were met with an undeniably gorgeous face. Rough with a sheen of sweat and dark brows furrowed together as he peered down at you in irritation.

“I’m sorry.”

You mumbled, really not in the mood to start anything at the moment, especially not with someone as tough-looking as him.

“I just don’t want no broads runnin’ into me.”

At his comment, you scowled. Why was he being such a dick?

“I said I was sorry; you don’t need to be so rude.”

"Yeah, well, you just get goin’ to your little soc mustang over there."

He pointed at your friend's Mustang parked in the corner, crimson doors shining in the sunlight.

“I ain’t a soc, asshole, we found that car in an abandoned lot and fixed it up ourselves.”

He looked taken aback by this, his cold expression faltering. He really hadn’t been expecting you to call him out or to find out that you had mended a broken-down car. He tried to swiftly change the subject.

“Hm, so where ya headin’ then?”

“Segue really isn’t your thing, huh?”

He smirked.

“Hey, I’m just curious.” You told him the name of the festival and some of the bands you were going to see, and he found himself increasingly fascinated by you. He couldn’t categorise you like the other girls he had met. Not all stuck up like the socs and not roughened out like the greasers. You had your own flow, and you seemed pretty cool, and he would be lying if he said you weren’t beautiful, adorned in unique jewellery and bright blue eyeshadow, your eyes lighting up when talking about your favourite bands.

“So what’s your name?”

You told him and then asked for his. Dallas. Dallas Winston. It suited him, honestly, and though you probably shouldn’t have still been talking to the guy who was an ass at first, you couldn’t pull yourself away from him. 

The two of you slowly headed over to the till; Dallas asked for a pack of Marlboros before taking the items from your hands and placing them on the counter whilst pulling a five-dollar bill out of his pocket.

“Oh – you really don’t have to.”

“S’okay, I was kind of a jerk back there; let me make it up to you.”

Dallas collected his change and placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you through the store, the action making you feel giddy. 

“Well, don’t wanna keep your friend out there waitin’.”

You swallowed, realising that you had to say goodbye, feeling exposed even in the dim, flickering lights of the gas station.

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you, Dallas.”

“Nice meetin’ you too, doll."

He nodded at you, and you jogged back over to your friend’s car, her eyes rolling in impatience.

“What took you so damn long?”

“Oh. Queue was long.”

You lied through your teeth, settling into the worn leather seat whilst gazing back at the window in longing, a strange pit forming in your stomach.

Before she could shift out of the parking space, a knock at your window startled you.

It was Dallas; your heart jumped, and you immediately rolled the window down.

“Hey.”

He crouched down and folded his arms on the car door.

“You forgot your gum.”

He smirked at you, his breath smelling like menthol cigarettes.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see ya around.”

With that, he sauntered off back to wherever he came from, his words confusing you. See you around? Where?

Looking down at your gum, you noticed a messy scrawl of numbers on the back and a “call me – D.W.”

“So the line was long, huh?”

Your friend shook her head as you grinned to yourself.

Though just an hour later when her Mustang broke down, it was clear as to whose number you’d be dialling on the rickety payphone on the side of the road…

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౨ৎ 846 words ౨ৎ

Taglist (comment or dm to be added!) : @rhea-is-bored-again @twobit-cade2095 @johnnycadesslut

[thenexusofsouls]

Xenos frowned at the sight of Wanda's eyes welling up, afraid that he'd somehow upset her. His own eyes grew sad as he watched her, wondering how he could fix whatever it was he'd just done, but then when she said it meant much to her that he was not afraid of her his smile returned. How could she possibly do anything change his mind about that? He shook his head. "You cannot," he reassured her.

"Surprised," he said. "Not used... to humans... able to..." He paused as he usually did, his fingers fidgeting at he searched his mind for the right word. "...counteract... my magic. Wanted... to see... who." His smile widened a little. "So glad... someone like you." Maybe this all happened for a reason, he thought. If not for the stressful events of the day, he never would've met this amazing human being named Wanda.

Once again he shook his head, never wanting her to feel like a monster, ever. It was a terrible feeling, he knew, and someone like Wanda didn't deserve to be made to feel that way for any reason. "Nothing could... make you... look that way," he insisted. "Not... to me." When he looked at Wanda, all he saw was beauty, kindness, and a deep soul. And her energy matched her appearance, at least as far as Xenos could feel it.

It was so considerate of her to ask permission before touching his face. Xenos was fairly certain he wouldn't have minded if Wanda had done it without asking, but he wasn't used to being touched that way, and some notice to prepare himself for the sensation was definitely appreciated. When she laid her hand against his cheek, his eyes closed. Her hand was warm and soft, and her touch was gentle. He turned his face just a little, nuzzling her hand and taking in her scent before he tilted his head to lay his cheek against her palm. It was a lot to take in, to be sure, the sensations he was feeling, but... oh... he liked this kind of touch. Why wasn't there more touch like this in the world? He lifted his hand to gently cradle her hand against his cheek. "If... all touch... was... always... like yours," he whispered, "...I would... not fear it so."

Xenos had never heard of a place named Asgard before, but he certainly wasn't about to judge the god named Thor for talking funny. "I... also... talk funny," Xenos noted. He wondered in what way Thor did compared to him, but he thought it rude to ask such things. Bruce/Hulk was interesting to him as well. So he... changed into something green, and then changed back? Xenos couldn't change his form. Well, his form was changing itself, but gradually over time. He couldn't control it, and it didn't appear to be optional or reversible.

"Not sure," he said in answer to Wanda's questions regarding the black pigmentation that was slowly covering his body. "Creeps... Expands... over time," he said. "Little... each year. I... I think... might be... who I am... inside... aff-... affecting... my body," he guessed. "M-my... energy... My s-spirit... mixing with... a human body... causing these changes," he said, turning his hands over and looking at the long fingers, the strangely shaped nails. "M-my guess... but... do not... know... for sure." He smiled rather shyly. "You think... is pretty?" he asked. Really? Gosh, she was just so sweet to him.

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

[asavt]

Last night, I had a dream.

In my dream, a biker owl-guy (I think it was a guy, thinking about it again, it could have been a lady or just an owl person) visited me and took me out of the house for a ride.

The moment I became aware that I was dreaming, I said "I'm glad to see you again". I remember being a little sad, "I don't tend to see you guys often."

The owl seemed amused for some reason, never said a thing tho, they were mute I think. I remember telling them "next time I see you, let me treat you ok?".

The dream then went back to the usual craziness dreams are, I'm sure I saw the owl again, in a uh... rather interesting setting (I am not complaining about it tho, it was nice), and then for some reason that one song from Amélie (La valse d'Amélie) was playing as two people flew around in a broom, usual dream stuff.

I think back to what I told the owl and what my mother told me this morning when I told her of the dream, of how we are always dreaming we just don't remember it, and maybe... maybe I have been visiting the creatures of my dreams more often than I thought, I just don't remember it.

It makes me a little sad, to think that I cannot remember any of my visits (or would it be their visits?). But I am happy too, because it means there's a chance I actually fulfilled a promise I made to one of them years ago.

[varpusvaras]

1 and 4 salty asks for Star Wars??? Inquiring (nosy) minds want to know...

Ohhh, this is an easy one, as it is the same answer for both of these questions.

Quinlan and Fox.

I simply do not enjoy the dynamic most of the works have assigned on them. To be fair, I do not like said dynamic (which most often can be described as the 'grumpy character not being insterested/playing hard to get and the other just invading their space over and over again') on any other ship either, but it just really bothers me with these two in particular. Also I think my enjoyment and understanding of Quinlan as a character is somewhat different than it is for many others in the fandom, so sometimes that detracts from it as well. It's just very much not for me, and as it is purely a fanon ship, the fanworks are the only source for it, and I can't be arsed to filter through enourmous amount of works to find one that I could maybe enjoy. I am all for people shipping characters who have canonically not met nor are they even in the same fandom (as I do it myself and I understand the appeal) but why are the majority of the works pretending that Quinlan has nothing else to do than slunk around on Coruscant and babysit the Guard? He has his own clone battalion and he's a Jedi Master. It's the middle of a galatic war where the Jedi have been made front line soldiers. Literally the only mention of Quinlan we have in the movies is him being on the front lines. He is not just there for Fox to fish him out of dumpsters.

Also, since I am already whining, can people just already decide what the ship is called? There are multiple ship tags for it, and blocking them all is incredibly irritating. Every single time I think I've gotten them all, another combination pops up.

[saph-yells-into-the-void]

i know n*gisagi has its fans and while for the longest time I've considered myself neutral towards it, I think I'm realizing that this is the only ship in bllk that truly gives me the ick

which is weird bc platonically, I actually fw it pretty hard. romantically though....

[rottengurlz]

Someone go back in time and kill me before I accepted my assistant position i can’t stand dealing with rude ass people all day and fixing their problems

[bi-ftm-on-main]

I made out with a random guy at a club

[madamechrissy]

Figure You Out

art in the center by @ahresprite!!

pairings - Satoru Gojo x F! reader

contents/warnings- College AU, Reader and Toru are both nerds tbh, FLUFFY and sweet, some sexual tension, lots of unspoken feelings, so fkn cute I'm sick aha, Gojo playing the guitar while you're studying, kissing, light smut so MDNI- fingering, orgasms, both you and Toru are down bad virgins and stay that way for now hehe - friends to future lovers?

the Gojo guitar art has been fkn me UP so here's a lil short oneshot of them being fucking adorable and Gojo composing a song for reader- 3k wc

Satoru is playing the guitar softly in the corner of your room, leaned back in your bright pink gamer chair, the sight is as cute as you'd imagine, his lanky big body laughable in comparison. And he's playing the only song you think he knows - Wonderwall. You've heard it about eighty seven times this week, but you never ever will get tired of it.

You're exhausted from your studies, your hair is in a messy excuse for a bun falling down, you have bags under your eyes, and Satoru is just watching you as he sits across from you in your dorm room, playing softly and smiling a bit. You smile back sleepily, the two of you have been friends since high school, and you both frequently study together.

Satoru is so smart, however, he barely studies and just aces everything he does, whereas you are smart but bust your ass for those sort of grades. You haven't slept for shit with finals coming up, and here he is, long fingers strumming that guitar, as you listen with a sigh, putting down your thick textbook for just a moment.

"Is that a different song, Satoru?" You ask softly, leaning back then, he eyes your thighs as your pleated skirt rises up just a bit, willing his heart to calm down.

There's something so sexy about you like this, those dark circles just fucking suit you, the disarray of your messy band tee all torn up - your comfort shirt when you study - and the scattered books all over just fit you. You're kind of a beautiful mess, honestly, busting your ass so hard, he'd love to just make you feel better.

In every way.

You've always just been his friend, maybe the guitar and the endless versions of Wonderwall were a way to distract himself, to keep fingers occupied that would die to trace up the gentle curve of your neck. He barely composes himself as you repeat his name softly, realizing you've asked a question.

"It is, did you think I only played Wonderwall? rude," his little pout makes you giggle, as does his narrowing blue eyes. "I am composing a song, missy."

"You are? I wanna hear it." You lay down on the floor now, on your tummy with your ankles propped up and crossed, resting your chin in your hand.

"Shouldn't we be studying?" He asks, raising a brow as you tilt your head and look at him, so pretty for a moment he gets nervous.

The song he's composing is for you.

"I wanna hear it, please? I need a break, look at me." You frown, undoing the bun and letting your messy hair fall across your shoulders. The sight almost does him in.

How long has he loved you?

"All right," he smiles a bit, so cute always you think.

How long have you loved him?

It feels like forever, since freshman year when you and all of both of your friends joined high school, Nanami, Shoko, Haibara, Geto and... Gojo of course. The six of you were as close as it got, the memories endless, and now you're all in college together, and the fear of not seeing Gojo in particular grips at your heart.

Maybe it's why you always ask him over, it's not that he helps you study so much as you love him around. He's so handsome - fuck he's pretty actually, he has a whole fan club that gathers around him when he starts playing that damn Wonderwall again in the pretty field in front of the university. Gojo eats up the attention, always, but you know you're the only one that gets the private show.

He starts to play something softer, slower, you watch long fingers strumming the frets of his old acoustic guitar- gosh he's had it since high school - mesmerized for a moment. When his lips part and his thin white brows go together in concentration, he begins to sing just a bit, something you've never heard.

A little hoarse and raspy, and a tiny bit off key, it's probably the sexiest thing you've ever heard, as he looks at you with those swirling blue storms that he calls eyes, as he sings to you. You almost feel like the song is for you, and only you. Maybe it's foolish, as you sit up now, on your knees, hands on your bare thighs, looking at him.

The sight makes him fumble the strings, makes his heart race and pound in his chest, those plush lips parting just so as he gathers more courage, to tell you with his song what he's never spoken. The love he has for the girl sitting right here in front of him, the only girl for him.

"Satoru, that's so beautiful," you realize you're emotional, as he ends the song slowly, clearing his throat and blushing. You then realize you're crying. He puts down his guitar, getting down on the floor with you then, cupping your face in his hand. "Sorry, maybe I'm tired, I'm usually not one to cry randomly."

"You're exhausted," he murmurs caringly, rather than teasing you like he usually does, a thumb swiping away a tear. "You're studying too much, too hard."

"I can't disappoint everyone." Your words hurt him then, for you this is a huge scholarship, your family back home is counting on you to do big things, Satoru has his own pressure, but he sees how hard you always work.

"You don't disappoint anyone, how could you?" His words and the way he looks at you, the way the lights of your dorm hit his white locks and show just a hint of lavender in them, they do you in.

Maybe you're just tired, maybe you're just exhausted of lying to yourself, of being afraid, maybe you're past giving a fuck if he knows how you feel. You lean up then, a hand over the soft silk of his white dress shirt, more expensive than a meal card for the year. He falters, and you feel his heart quicken under your palm.

"Satoru," you whisper his name, and your pulse quickens as you lean even closer. Everything fades away, the stress of the week with finals coming up, the pressure you're under, it's all just focused on pouty, glossy lips inviting you in.

"Sweets, you're very close, and if you don't back up looking like that right now..."

"Looking like shit?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "There's not been one day I've known you where you don't just look beautiful."

Now the words are out of his mouth, you both flush, cheeks burning as your breaths come faster. "Are you saying that to-"

"It's the truth. Messy hair," he brushes it back, feeling the tangles in his fingers, as your tummy clenches with desire. "dark circles," his cool fingers press against them gently, "this shirt you've had since I known you that's falling apart..."

He brushes his hands across it now, tattered with holes and just hanging on by threads, brushing the sides of your breasts and moaning softly when he sees the nipples press up. You bite back an embarrassing moan from that, eyes locking with his then, as he draws them away.

"Nothing makes you less beautiful, maybe you're even hotter like this," you giggle, shaking your head, tears falling for what reason you're not even sure. "I'm serious."

"What'd I do to deserve a friend like you?" you lean even closer, cupping his face now, as your breaths meld together, his is so sweet, like the candies he always sucks on, his hands now pressing against the small of your back.

"You're very lucky, hearing my exclusive song. The girls all over this campus would be very jealous." You smile again, feeling his touch slip under your tee, and send shivers up your spine.

"They'd be more jealous if..." you press a hesitant kiss to his lips, feeling him tense then. You pull back, flushed and overheated, breaths coming quicker. "Sorry, I-"

"No," he drags you against him, kissing you firmly, lips pressing against yours, moaning softly as he presses you so close. You gasp at it, and his tongue slips in, making you heat up everywhere. You're trembling with how much you need him, your arms wrapping his neck as you start meeting his kiss.

He shocks you when he just lifts you up, and you're straddling his lap then, you feel him, hard and thick against you, making you gasp at the sensation. You pull back, both breathless, his fingers pressing into your hips, and he drags your heat across his cock right over his jeans, the rough denim pressing against the soaked cotton of your panties.

"Satoru..." You whisper his name, and he kisses you again, moaning softly, a hand slipping up your spine to entangle in your messy locks, and you rock your hips, feeling more and more of him. "Mnh..."

"Fuck, I need to stop," he pulls back and gasps for a breath, and you look down.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, just... I've thought of this too many times for like six fucking years now. And I think I'll really do a terrible job if we..."

"You've thought about it?" You ask softly, eyes locking again, he sees your swollen lips, your dilated eyes, and it makes him throb under his boxers for you.

Maybe if he could go jerk off once or twice he could please you, but he's close to cumming from inhaling your sweet scent, feeling your heat on his cock. He nods, swallowing then, that prominent adam's apple bobbing up and down as he rests his head on yours for a moment, exhaling.

"Every day., the words are hoarse, forced, and you roll your hips again, making him suck in a breath, glaring. "If you make me cum in my new pair of jeans I'll be so fucking mad."

"Satoru!" You're giggling now, and he scowls as you wiggle some more.

"You're a brat." You stop your giggles when he drags you off him, and you pause for just a moment, breathless before he's laying you on the soft carpet of your floor, braced over you. You two look at each other, so much left unsaid still, your hand trails down his hard chest, his strong muscles, when he grips your wrist firmly.

"Let me touch you, please?" He whines out at it, shaking his head again. "I've never tried. I've never wanted to with anyone else."

"Never wanted to?" He looks at you curiously, and you blush, looking down at where he's got your delicate wrist in his huge hand. "Have you never..." you shake your head nervously.

"Have you?" He blushes again, shaking his head, and your eyes widen. "How... you're... really?"

"I've never wanted to with anyone but you." His soft declaration has you melting, both of your breaths coming quicker together. "Doesn't mean I haven't researched it."

"Researched it?" You moan softly as he pins down a wrist, pressing his weight on that elbow as his other hand slips down your body, pressing up on his knee then.

"Extensively," he touches your nipple over your shirt, before slipping lower, down the curve of your waist and hips, then to your thighs, slipping up one carefully as you whine out. "Should I show you what I've learned?"

You nod quickly, he smiles just a bit, touching you right over your panties, and you whine out, hips lifting. "Toru..."

"God, you're soaked," his words are not that of some virgin, they're far too fucking sexy, brushing the wetness that's gathered on your panties then, before tugging them to the side, long fingers calloused from the guitar sliding up your slit. "Fuck..."

"Mmnh!" Your free hand slides into his hair, carding through the silky, thick strands to tug him closer, lips against yours again as he finds your soppy little hole, teasing a finger inside. "Please..."

"You're so tight, so wet... so hot..." he's throbbing in his pants, leaking sticky precum as he slips his finger in your gummy walls, gripping him so goddamn good he can't stand it. "Sweetheart... you're so perfect."

You're kissing him again, feeling how long and thick his finger is inserted inside of you, much longer than your tiny, pathetic fingers can hit, he presses up on that spot then, the one you've never hit. You cry out, gushing down his finger, and Satoru groans at it, curling that spot again.

"I've researched thoroughly for this moment," he teases softly, blue eyes so bright it hurts to look at, squelching wetness loud in your little room while he fingers you right on the floor. "G spot is here, does it feel good baby?"

You nod eagerly, and he moans, kissing you again and angling his arm just so, slotting that finger in and out of your cunt over and over now, curling inside as you feel the pressure growing. You're soaking him, tummy pressure building and building, you're gasping out at it, thighs shaking around his hand.

"Satoru, it feels s'good," you whisper, tired eyes rolling back in your skull, when he slips a second in, and brings your attention back, his pretty face flushed. "Oh!"

"Too much?" You shake your head, the stretch is perfect, he's scissoring them in and out of you so deep, moving them up and down. "Can you cum f'me, pretty girl?"

"Fuck..." you're one step away from just blurting out you love him, biting down on your lip and whining out.

"Can you? Be a good girl, say yes," where is nerdy, silly Satoru right now? He's pure sex, hovering so fucking big over you, as your hand entwines with one of his, your other clinging to his expensive shirt, nodding. "Words, sweetheart."

"Yes, please..." he moans at that, kissing you and curling them up just so, heel of his hand grinding your needy little clit, having you cum all over him, you scream into his lips, drooling as your cunt gushes arousal all over his fingers. He moans at feeling it, as you're pulsing around his thick digits, the sounds filthy as your lips collide.

He sucks in every cry and whine as he feels you convulsing, his thumb brushing your twitchy clit and pushing your from one orgasm into another. He can't take it when he pulls back, watching your back arch, feeling you cumming again, making a mess of his hand, down to his fucking wrists, dripping across your pretty thighs.

He's whining when he feels it, he could almost cum here, but he wills his cock to listen to reason - that when he finally has the love of his life cumming on his fingers that would so not be okay. He closes his eyes for just a moment as you're shaking, cunt gushing more and more arousal, so fucking much, when he slips his fingers out with a suctioned, loud pop.

"Oh my god... Toru..." you whisper his name, face fucked out already, just making him wonder what it will be like to sink inside you for the first time. He sighs, pulling those fingers to his lips and sucking you off them, moaning as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, face decorated in the prettiest blush. "Are you..."

"Mmm, you're so sweet," his soft whisper has you burying your face against his chest, he chuckles. "You're cute."

"You just tasted me!" He laughs again, tilting your chin up, kissing you softly, his arousal dripping on his lips, making you whine out softly, as your aftershocks rock you.

"You taste so good, don't you?" You nod nervously, when he fixes your panties carefully, but not before taking a good look at your pretty pussy, knowing he's about to jerk off to it when he gets back. "The song, it's for you."

"It is?" He helps you sit, nodding and tugging you against his chest, his cock straining and aching, but he knows now you're not experienced and he wants to reassure you.

You melt into his embrace, tears against his neck. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"It was so good, fuck. Sorry." He smiles in relief as you kiss up his neck, letting him hold you tightly. "It's for me?"

"Of course it is," he acts like you should just know, you can't stop the pounding in your heart. "You need a nap, you know. To rest a bit, you're working too hard."

"Will you um... nap with me?" You ask softly, he tenses, because god his dick just fucking hurts, but he sure wouldn't turn down holding the girl he's in love with.

"Of course I can." He is soon in your little twin bed, lanky body taking it over, tugging you against him, and you smile and snuggle, the exhaustion starting to set in as he strokes your hair.

"I really like the song, I never got tired of Wonderwall though." You tease, he chuckles then, burying his face against your neck and tugging you close.

"Good, I'll keep playing it for you."

"And the new one?"

"Mmhmm. Get some sleep."

Everything changed that day, the two of you falling into a comfortable nap, hoping soon you'll have the courage to say how you really feel.

This was so fluffy for me, I needed it after the angst I've been fucking with. Hope you enjoyedddd

perm tags - @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent

[rowarn]

IF YOU NEEDED ME !

simon riley/reader – 7.1k words sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)

; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.

or.

he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.

Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable. 

You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.

A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.

“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.

“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.

He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator. 

“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.

You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”

He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”

“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.

A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money. 

You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared. 

But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing. 

You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.

Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava. 

You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.

You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest. 

You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you. 

Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit. 

Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time. 

Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.

“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”

“I–”

“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”

“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.

You’re so pissed. 

Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth. 

But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.

How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason. 

“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.

“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.

You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck. 

By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend. 

You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought. 

When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone. 

You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.

It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit. 

You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible. 

You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment. 

You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound. 

The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open. 

Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time. 

He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.

“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.

He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it. 

He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger. 

“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”

He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.

“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”

“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.

“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.

“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”

Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”

“And now you have it,” he says with finality. 

He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military. 

“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles. 

“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”

“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”

You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.

You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”

“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.

You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy. 

He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”

“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.

“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”

The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true. 

You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. 

There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his. 

He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you. 

“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.

He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”

“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice. 

The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more. 

You want him.

Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you. 

He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight. 

A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before. 

Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss. 

Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs. 

You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. 

“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”

“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it. 

“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.

“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest. 

“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”

“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words. 

You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon. 

“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”

“I-I’m just–”

“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”

“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”

“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.

You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time. 

Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.

As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this. 

He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more. 

When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration. 

“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment. 

His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one. 

The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.

Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe. 

“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically. 

He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same. 

He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.

To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.

He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you. 

He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating. 

Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too. 

He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected. 

And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser. 

“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering. 

He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”

“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room. 

“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up. 

He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel. 

You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident. 

He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down. 

Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view. 

You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs. 

His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.

As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force. 

He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open. 

Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body. 

You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit. 

“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud. 

Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth. 

You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples. 

He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.

“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends. 

You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”

“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole. 

“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.

“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”

You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you. 

He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time. 

It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you. 

As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling. 

Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest. 

He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm. 

It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you. 

“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think. 

He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not. 

And fuck, do you love it. 

The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.

You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now. 

Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers. 

He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt. 

You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever. 

His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke. 

He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short. 

“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.

“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.

“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet, 

You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.

“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately. 

Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against. 

He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock. 

You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you. 

“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately. 

He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again. 

More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him. 

He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest. 

He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on  you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself. 

“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”

“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”

“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right. 

He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up. 

He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you. 

You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure. 

Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly. 

Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs. 

You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.

“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”

“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.

“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face. 

“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.

“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley. 

He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you. 

After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.

Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved. 

You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock. 

His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.

“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.

His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”

His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm. 

When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong. 

He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips. 

“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”

“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession. 

He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”

You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms. 

You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he. 

this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!

[sleep-0-deprived]

Dom! Yan professor x himbo reader imagines~! ໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა

Just imagining your biology professor being a total hard ass, rude and unkind to every student he’s ever had and giving out the most excessive amounts of homework daily, as soon as he met you something sinister had awoken inside him. The way you’d smile at him all stupid wearing shorts that showed to much and jogging pants that let him see the side profile of your cock during the first day of meeting you had this man losing it.

Just imagining you staying back after your college classes, you being freshly twenty three and scraping by if not failing every class you took, only making it to college on a sports scholarship with you staring and blinking at your professor all class. Yandere professor, just imagining him watching you from the corner of his eye the whole class, his hands moving on auto pilot only able to think about you and how you blink dumbly at him while he teaches making him speak up “is something wrong Mr L/n?”

Just imagining you getting stuck after class in tutoring sessions all hours of the day because he claims “I’m just trying to help you achieve better [name]” he’d utter those words so sincerely it would keep you oblivious while he stares at your ass and your pecs, bitting his lips when you lean in your chair showing him the perfect peak of your body having this man insane having to excuse himself for a moment during your sessions while he goes and “fixes” the situation between his legs.

Just imagining Yandere professor who rubs up against you grabbing and touching your body all over at any chance he gets with close proximity, slowly over time building trust off of his age and status, him pushing mid forties and freshly divorced. Just imagining him bringing up chats about his golden retriever just to twist your oblivious trust into something else, making you feel special whilst he gives you all the attention you could ever dream of with the intent of getting you all to himself wanting to possess and keep you like a boy toy.

Just imagining Yandere professor who asks you for “favors” claiming he’d make sure you passed all your classes, that you’d never have to worry about losing your scholar ship. He’d have your face in his crotch with your mouth wide open engulfing his cock all flushed in the face with teary eyes holding his thighs. Oh how he almost felt sorry for those poor girls that drooled after you during your games….almost, but having your mouth stuffed full of cock asking “am I doin good E’nough f’you sherr” while you soured your words with spit making slurping sounds just trying to please a good grade out of him.

Just imagining Yandere professor who does random dorm checkups on you, making you stay over at his apartment the nights your frat bros throw parties, not standing for the thought of some sorority girl getting her manicured hands on you, you were His and he’d fuck you so good that you knew it. Two glasses of wine later sitting in his apartment with your hand gripping the counters in shambles “s-ir!” All you can repeat over and over is his name speaking it like a prayer to your messiah feeling a drunken man going at it fucking you so hard the sounds start buzzing together and the over head light in his kitchen blurs under your pupils.

Just imagining Yandere professor who had your legs spread wide open sitting leaned back on his desk eating your ass out like a starving man. Gripping your skin and kissing your pucker, practically making out with your rim and letting you ramble on cluelessly about your plays and strategies, whining about how “the coach is placing me as Qb this year!” While you grip the back of your professors head looking down at him just blinking and getting comfy when you see him having no intentions of letting you go since him being able to work your body and play with you however he liked was part of the “conditions”

Just imagining your grades going from a fifties and forties across the boards to becoming a straight A+ student having all of your friends asking how you managed to swindle that, having your fiends wanting to know your secret while one of them asks “all those time you’ve been ditching, you must be going off to secretly study huh!” Your closest buddy just laughs and nudges you during practice unable to tell him that you’ve been whoring yourself out to the most hated teacher on campus.

[blueberrykefir]

Save a Horse, Ride a...

Joel Miller x f!reader 18+

Summary: You need to learn to ride a horse. Joel Miller is your grumpy instructor. Joel teaches you more than just the basics... One lesson you'll never forget.

Content Warning: Smut, MDI! Joel Miller basically talks you through it. No horses were harmed OR involved in the making of this. Vaginal Fingering. Teasing. Dirty talk. Praising, lots of it. Use of nickname, Cowgirl. Rough manhandling. Post outbreak.

Word Count: 5k

You were finally settling into Jackson. Earning your keep, proving yourself useful. Short patrols. Food runs. Assisting on the perimeter. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something.

But lately it hadn’t felt like enough. You could do more. Longer patrols, further routes, the kind of assignments that actually made a difference.

There was just one problem. In order to do that, you had to learn to ride a horse.

Which brought you here, grumbling under your breath as you headed for the stables to meet some guy named Jonathan who was supposed to show you the ropes. 

What you weren’t expecting was him.

Joel Miller stood at the front end of the barn, leaning against the wooden fence with sleeves rolled, forearms dusted with dirt, and a glare like he’d rather be anywhere else. Your footsteps faltered.

At a community event, you tried to introduce yourself once. All polite smiles and an outstretched hand. He looked at you head to toe like you were nothing more than a bug under his boot, muttered something gruff and walked off.

The memory still made your jaw clench. 

You didn’t mean to gasp, but you did. Just a little. You hoped he didn’t hear.

He did.

He looked up. Slowly. Dark eyes sharp, like he was weighing how much patience he had to spare today—and the answer was definitely none. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head, too fast. “No, I just—thought I was meeting Jonathan.”

His stormy eyes flicked up, pinning you in place like you were an inconvenience. “Yeah, well. Johnny dislocated his shoulder.” He said with a tone dry as dust. “Guess that makes me your lucky replacement.”

Nerves prickled beneath your skin. You shoved your hands into your back pockets, feigning nonchalance. 

You swallowed hard, pulse doing way too much for this early in the morning. “Great,” you said, voice a little too chipper to be sincere. “Looking forward to it.”

He gave you a once-over, unimpressed. “Don’t get all excited at once.”

You could barely hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. So much for hoping he was just having a bad day when you met. Nope. This was just him. Rude, gruff, and annoyingly handsome. 

But you didn’t survive all this time, due to your lack of persistence. So you try to make conversation.

“So… I didn't know you taught lessons.” You rocked back n’ forth on your heels.

“I don’t.” He pushed off the fence, walking past you without a glance. “Let's go.” 

Well. That was short-lived.

You trailed behind him, glancing around at the empty stalls. Hooks lined the walls, holding faded ropes and well loved saddles. “Where are the horses?”

That's when he stopped and turned his head. Slowly. Like you’d just asked if horses came in blue.

“Horses?” His mouth twitched, just barely. “We’re not doing horses today.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then… What are we doing?”

He nodded towards the far end of the stables, where a beat-up wooden barrel sat with a brown leather saddle strapped to it. You blinked at it, then back at him.

“Really?” 

“You’re gonna learn how to stay on before I waste a real animal's time.” His answer was flat, final.

You glared at him, “I wouldn’t be a waste of time.”

He raised a brow, not even trying to hide the way his gaze dragged over you, cool and assessing. “Then go on, Cowgirl. Let’s see what we're workin’ with.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already walking off towards the barrel, not bothering to check if you were following.

Clenching your fists, you rolled your eyes and muttered a curse. You trailed after him, boots crunching on the packed dirt and hay.

The air inside the barn was warm and smelled of leather and horses and something faintly masculine. Sun, sweat, and sawdust. 

Golden rays spilled through the slats of the barn walls, bathing everything in a warm light, dust in the air catching it like glitter. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful. 

Until Joel slapped the top of the saddle with a sharp thwack. “Alright. Hop on.”

You scoffed, then shot him an exaggerated smile, “Are you always this charming, or just with me?” 

"Only you." He leaned one arm on a post, that mouth twitching again, "Now stop stalling.”

“I'm not stalling,” You mumbled under your breath, clearly stalling. You eyed the saddle just now realizing how high the barrel sat. “You put this together?”

Joel crossed his arms, the material of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. “Been sittin’ like that for months.”

You squinted at it. “You realize horses are taller than this, right?” 

He shrugged, lazy. “Then consider this a warm up.”

You stepped closer to the barrel with more confidence than you actually felt. “I’ve climbed fences taller than this.” 

“Then this should be easy.” Joel tilted his head, just enough to unnerve you. His eyes taking you in from boots to brow, like he was waiting to see you fail.  

It should have been easy. But when you reached for the saddle horn and tried to hoist yourself up, your boot slipped against some loose hay, and you stumbled back with a muttered curse.

Behind you, Joel didn’t laugh. He didn’t need to. His silence said everything.

“Don’t” You warned, pointing a finger at him without looking back. 

“Didn’t say a word, Cowgirl.”

“You were thinking it.”

That damn nickname again. It made your cheeks burn hotter than the sun outside.

It was discouraging to say the least. There was not much you couldn't do. So having a wooden barrel be your demise was frustrating.

You squared your shoulders, let out a sharp breath and tried again, this time determined to prove him wrong. This time you braced your foot against the barrel’s edge, gripping the saddle horn with both hands.

With a grunt that was more pride than grace, you hauled yourself up, swinging a leg over with questionable coordination.

The barrel wobbled beneath you as you stuck your landing. Sort of.

You exhaled through your nose, victorious. “See? Told you I could do it.” You looked over your shoulder at Joel.

Stepping away from the post, he gave you a slow look, annoyingly unreadable, “Well, let's hope any horse you ride doesn't mind someone climbin’ all over ‘em like that.” 

Irritation flared up in your chest, “I'm up. That's all that matters.”

“Sure.” He stepped closer, boots crunching dirt and scattered hay. “Now let's see if you can stay up.”

And then, without warning, his hands were on you. One at the small of your back, the other nudging your shoulder blade with practiced pressure. You inhaled sharply, a gasp slipped out before you could stop it.

“Back straight.” His rough hands adjusted your posture, burning through your shirt like he’d branded you, “Good, just like that.”

His hands stayed exactly where they were, firm. Steady. Hot. You were too aware of every inch of contact, your heart thudding like it wanted to climb right into his palms. 

“Shoulders back. Don’t slouch.” 

You swallowed hard, feeling stubborn, “I wasn’t slouching.”

“You were.” He said simply, breath ghosting close to your ear. “But that's alright. We’ll break the habit.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat curling in your stomach. You tighten every muscle to keep your spine straight, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of correcting you again. But then he shoved, just enough to tilt your balance.

You gasped, grabbing the saddle horn to steady yourself.

Joel clicked his tongue. “Keep your balance, Cowgirl. If you fall, I ain’t catchin’ you.”

Then his hands moved to yours, guiding your grip on the reins. Rough hands against softer skin. Calloused, capable fingers curling around yours. 

You shouldn’t have wondered how those hands might feel somewhere else. But you did. 

“Now grab the pommel tighter–Jesus, not that tight.” He gritted out. “I feel bad for whatever poor fella your seein’.”

You loosened your grip, cheeks blushed from the insult. “No ones complained, yet.”

That made something flicker in his eyes. His gaze dropped to where your hands wrapped around the horn of the saddle. His next breath came slow. Measured. Like he was biting down on whatever response nearly escaped.

“Sit straighter.” He said at last, voice rougher now. “You’re leanin’ like you're about to fall asleep up there.”

You blinked, “Well maybe if–”

“Leg’s snug,” He cut in, voice rough, “Right now you’d bounce clean off the second that horse moved.”

Then you felt him behind you again. His breath tickled your neck just before his hands slid down, fingers settling at the tops of your thighs.“Keep ‘em like this–”  He pulled your knees inward, guiding them against the barrel. “Yeah, just like that. Feel the pressure of the saddle?”

You nodded, barely breathing, feeling more than just the saddle. You felt him. Felt the way his voice, gravel thick with heat, settled beneath your skin.

“I asked you a question.” His tone was dark and impatient.

“Yes.” You nodded, throat dry, “I feel it.”

He adjusted your legs a little further, pressing them in just enough, thumbs brushing the inside of your knees, “Good, right there.”

You turned to face him. The height of the barrel leveled your gaze with his. Up close you could see it all. The silver dusting his beard, the rough lines of his face, and the tightness in his jaw. Like he was holding back more than just words.

Joel stepped in front of you now, closer than necessary. You tensed when his hands settled on your hips. His fingers pressed into the curve of your body, firm and unbothered by boundaries.

“You’re leanin’ too far forward.” He said, like it was a fact. 

No warning. No gentleness. He pushed, not hard, but unyielding. His strong grip coaxed your torso into place. The rough handling, controlled and confident, sparked heat low in your belly. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound.

“Atta girl,” he said, voice low and approving. “Right there. You feel that?” 

“Yes,” You whispered, barely trusting yourself to speak. With Joel this close, there was nowhere to look but at him. You noticed the small things, like the soft dip at the center of his lip. Or the way his lower lip is just a little fuller. 

“Good.” He murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Now stop starin’ at me like that.”

“I’m not.” You shot back, too quick, too breathy. 

“Yeah?” He stared at you like he could read every thought you didn’t want to have. A smirk tugged at his lips, “Could’ve fooled me.” 

Heat climbed up your neck like a guilty confession. “What’s next?” You asked, desperate for a subject that wasn’t him. 

Then he stepped back, arms crossed like nothing happened. Like you weren't threatening to melt, from a single touch. He sized you up like a piece of wood. His eyebrows furrowed as he analyzed your form. 

You stiffened under the scrutiny, spine already straight, legs tight around the barrel. His brow furrowed like something still wasn’t right. 

Noticing his scowl you said, “Alright, Cowboy.” You tacked on the nickname with just enough venom to cover the nerves. “What's wrong with my form now?”

“You’re tense." He said, flatly, "That’s not gonna work for ridin’... or much else.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way ‘much else’ stuck to your chest like a splinter. “Of course I am.” 

Slowly, Joel approached, like a predator closing in on its prey. His hands returned to your hips like they belonged there. There was nothing hesitant about the way he touched you. Those hands knew what they were doing. 

Rough and confident, his calloused fingers dug into the softness of your sides, molding your body the way he wanted. Every touch seemed to have a purpose, but it also felt like he was pushing you further, into something much more than a simple lesson.

“Right here.” He guided your hips into the saddle, fingers burning through your denim. “Gotta move with the horse, not against it.” 

Your body trembled slightly, as his palms pushed you into the seat, each press of his hands like a command, a reminder that he was in control.

“Kinda hard to move with the horse when this one doesn’t move at all.” Your breathless voice betrayed you.

“Wanna get thrown on your ass? ‘Cause if you can’t sit on a barrel, don't expect to survive a buckin’ saddle.”

The words come out, fast and sharp, before you can stop them. “Maybe I don’t mind getting thrown around a little.”

That made him stop. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped dangerously, “You say that like you know what it means.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” You snapped.

He leaned in just enough, like he was whispering a secret. “I know you can’t stop starin’ at my mouth when I talk.”

A breath passed between you. 

His voice was deliberate, like he had you all figured out. “Know you get all flustered when I so much as touch your back. Or adjust your hips." 

“And I hear those sweet little sounds you make," he added, voice dipped in sin, "every time I get close.”

His eyes were dark… dangerous, like he was daring you to deny.

You returned his stare with defiance, even as heat stirred low in your belly, traitorous and slow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Joel.” 

“I don’t have to,” he said, the smirk returning. “You’re doin’ a real good job of that yourself.” 

“Maybe I am,” Your eyes flicked down to his hands still gripping your hips, a little too tightly for a man claiming innocence. His thumbs pressed in just enough to remind you they were still there. “But you’re the one still touching me.”

His thumbs dragged just a little higher, right at the curve where denim met skin. Instruction was long gone. This was something else.

Joel’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Do you want me to stop?”

You tilted your head, heard pounding against your ribcage, “I was just waiting to see what else you could teach me.”

With a low growl, he dragged you forward on the barrel just an inch, just enough to send heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched and you held back a whimper.

“You’re already breathin’ heavy–” His hands tightened on your hips, possessive. “–And I ain’t even touched you proper yet.” 

He stepped closer, the air between you taut like a pulled thread. “Think you’re ready for this lesson?” 

“I learn fast,” You breathed out, voice tight with anticipation.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then slow and wicked, a carnal smile curled into place, dangerous like a drawn weapon. He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across your lips. If you moved even an inch, you’d taste him.

Without thinking, you tilted your chin to close the space, but he pulled back just enough, the barest retreat. 

“So impatient,” He tsked, “A good rider learns control.” 

“I'm not a good rider yet though, am I?”

“No, I guess you're not,” His voice was rough with unspent desire. “But we’ll fix that.” 

“How?” The words came out so soft, they were barely audible.

Your hands tighten on the pommel like a lifeline, trembling with the effort not to close the distance yourself.

Then finally, he gave in. 

With a growl, his lips came down on yours. Hot. Sharp. Like a punishment. 

He dominated the kiss, with the same rough authority he used adjusting your posture. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was primal.

You whimpered, arching into him as he deepened it. You open your mouth for his tongue. He licks at your lips, before sliding it into his mouth to meet yours.

His hands gripped your hips again like they were his to guide. “There we go,” His voice growled low against your lips, wrecked and approving. “That’s it. Move with it.”

And you did. You couldn’t help it. You moved with him before you even realized, rolling your hips forward and backward with a slow grind. Your heart begins to beat between your thighs quickly becoming an incessant throbbing, that becomes more and more intense with every movement.

“Good girl.” He whispers against your lips.

The words, thick with praise, felt like heat, poured straight into your veins. 

You shuddered, body rolling under his guidance, shamefully eager to please. Not because you wanted to get the saddle right anymore. No, it was because he was the one telling you how.

“Just like that.” His thumbs dug in, guiding another rough grind against the saddle.  “Now we're gettin’ somewhere.” 

The friction of your denim against the old saddle, sent waves of pleasure low in your belly. Your fingers tighten on the saddle horn, clinging on to something solid as everything else threatened to unravel.

Then his calloused hands left your hips, sliding up your waist, his thumbs barely brushing the underside of your breasts. Your hips struggled to keep moving in their absence. You were too focused on the way he tasted, the sounds he made, the feel of him.

He pulled back, lips swollen, “Did I say stop?” He snapped, “You keep going, till I say so. You understand?”

You nodded your head, frantic. But he wasn’t having that.

“Use your words, Cowgirl,” He warned. “Say it.” 

“Yes,” You breathed out. “I understand.”

You don’t know what you craved more. The need for release or the praise you’d get for earning it. 

Either way, you obeyed, riding harder, hips snapping forward. You were chasing the rhythm he carved into you. You let out a soft moan as friction met the saddle just right. A slow burn sparked low and deep.

“Knew you’d be a fast learner.” He growled, satisfied. "Look at you, movin’ just like I want.”

One palm slid up your spine, igniting every nerve on its path up. His fingers threaded into the back of your hair. He tugged your head back, firm and commanding, exposing your throat. 

“You gonna take what I give you?” His grip tightened.

“Yes.” You cried out, the word somewhere between a plea and a promise.

Joel’s fingers pulled your hair. 

The sharp edge of pain only made the pleasure coil tighter and deeper.

His mouth was hot on your neck now, velvety tongue painting your skin. His teeth scraped just enough to make your hips stutter, movements slowing.

“Keep going,” he demanded against your throat, showing you no sympathy.

You headed his command and ground your hips down. His other hand came up rough and demanding, gripping your jaw forcing you to face him. It was clear who was in control.

Your lips crashed together again, unforgiving. It was all raw hunger and heat.

Desperation spilled into the kiss, mess and unrestrained, like you both had been starving for years and just now found something worth sinking your teeth into.

He pulled your lower lip between his and gave it a little tug. He released your jaw, sliding his hand down your throat, fingers dragging possessively along your skin, claiming every inch.

Joel’s touch didn’t stop.

It drifted lower, over your collarbones, across the line of your chest, fingers grazing over the softest parts of you with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

Your nipples ached, hard and sensitive, straining through the material of your shirt.

You arched your back. Chest brushing his, aching for more. The space between you felt unbearable, like your skin was screaming for contact. He could feel it. You knew he could feel it.

He chuckled low against your throat, the sound dark and indulgent. “That desperate, huh Cowgirl?”

There was no room left for shame.

Especially when his thumb grazed over your nipple and your whole body jolted like you’d been struck. He hadn’t even undressed you. Not a single piece of clothing had been removed… yet you were still unraveling for him. 

You became a panting mess, as he thumbed and pinched your nipple, like you were his to toy with. Your thighs tightened around the saddle with every spark of pleasure.

“You want more?” he asked.

You should've said no. Should've reminded him this was supposed to be a riding lesson. Or that you were outside and anyone could walk by. But his thumb was still teasing circles over your nipple, and you couldn't focus on anything other than his hands.

"Yes," You breathed out.

Joel's eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the brown. “Then use your words.”

For someone who barely uttered a word to you before, he sure has a lot to say now. 

“I want more,” It took great effort to speak. The throbbing between your legs was becoming painful. "I want you to touch me like you mean it."

A low sound left his throat, half-grow, half-moan. "You sure?" With tortuous speed, his palm slid down, hot and heavy, landing at the top of your jeans. His fingers slipped just barely under the denim. "'Cause once I start, I ain't gonna stop 'till your beggin'."

Your breath shuddered as your hips rocked slowly. "Then don't stop."

A sound of approval left his throat. Half-growl, half-moan. His mouth was on yours again. The kiss turned messy fast. Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled.

One of his hands slid down between your thighs, pressing against the seam of your jeans, right where the ache had started building. His palm ground slow and hard between your thighs.

You gasped into his mouth, grinding on his hand, hips moving like he showed you.

"That's it." He muttered. "All worked up and we barely started."

A needy whimper left your lips, from the friction. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache he’d built inside of you. You needed more. You needed him.

But Joel… Joel was in no rush.

His hand dragged up and teased the edge of your underwear, warm fingers curling at the edge.

He didn’t move lower. Not yet. He just watched you from under dark lashes, expression wild. Hungry.

“Joel.” You said his name like it hurt. Like just needing him was its own kind of agony. 

“Shhh,” he hushed, almost tender. His fingers slipped past that threshold, dipping into your underwear, slow and steady like he had all the time in the goddamn world. “You’re okay. I got you.”

You were soaked, aching with want. Completely wrecked and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. The sound he made when he realized it was dark, filthy, and far too pleased. The rough noise of approval sent a wave of heat pulsing through your core.

“Christ. So fuckin’ wet.” 

The pads of his fingers circled your clit. Soft at first, coaxing. You shuddered, every nerve sparked under his touch, hips twitching without permission.

You let go of the pommel and tried to muffle your desperate cries, but the hand in your hair was quick to grab your wrist. 

“No.” He growled. “Let me hear how pretty you sound when you ride my fingers.” 

A needy whimper was all you could muster in response.

As if rewarding you, his fingers sank into your slick heat. One, then two. You clenched around him, hips bucking at the sudden stretch. Your whole body bowed forward, forehead dropping to the saddle as a ragged moan slipped from your lips.

“Ngh–” You cried out pathetically, as his fingers thrust deep inside of you. His thumb found your clit with cruel precision, brushing in slow, maddening circles. The only thing you could do was helplessly ride his fingers closer to euphoria. 

“Doin’ so good for me,” He grunted into your ear. His voice went straight to your core. The praise, the authority, the way he said it like it was a fact. "Such a good girl."

You tipped your head back, eyes fluttering shut, shamelessly rubbing against him.

“Let me hear you.” Joel’s teeth nipped at your earlobe.

“Joel.” You moaned, hips rolling with reckless need. “Feels so good–”

You were a sinful sight. Temptation itself, perched on that rusted saddle. Joel’s restraint was hanging by a thread, evident in the way his fingers bit into your waist, like he needed to anchor himself or lose it entirely.

Suddenly, you slumped forward with a gasp, hips stuttering to a halt. Overwhelmed by the way his fingers curled just right, nudging that spot deep inside of you it sent a shiver ripping through you, all the way down to your toes. The only thing keeping you upright was your white-knuckled grip on the horn.

“What, that's all you got, Cowgirl?” 

Your body wasn't listening to you anymore. It only listened to him. Your body rocked fast now, chasing that edge with wild bucking desperation.

But as you got close, too close, your form faltered. Your thighs trembled. Ankles slipped against the rusted stirrups. 

In response, he removed his fingers completely and he halted your movements. You cried as your body clenched on nothing, pleasure dwindling away. “Ah–uh uh.” His tone was firm, unrelenting, “Fix your form.” 

Of course he still wanted you to have proper form, even like this. The bastard was going to drag it out of you, keep you right at the edge, just to make you learn.

You do your best to obey, but oh god, it's so difficult.

You whined, hips twitching, “It's too-” Your head fell forward, “feels too–too good–” You tried to move against his restraint, but his hands were unyielding in letting you chase any friction he didn’t warrant. 

Not until you earned it. 

“What was that?” He chuckled darkly. "Thought you learned fast."

"I-I can't." An exasperated sound came low from your throat.

"You can." His voice was low and coaxing. “Back straight, legs tight.”

The words struck something deep… Need, pride, maybe both. You wanted to give him what he asked for. To hear the way his voice dropped when you got it right.

With frustrated tears hot in your eyes, you forced your trembling thighs to steady, dragging strength from somewhere deep in your core.

Slowly, you realigned your spine, shoulders pulling back hips grinding into position exactly like he taught you.

“There she is.” He murmured, approval slipping into his tone, rich and hot. “Knew you had it in you.”

As if rewarding you, he slipped his two fingers back inside, thrusting in and out, stretching you wide. Your body moved right this time. Controlled and powerful.

There's a hitch in your breath when you shift forwards, your clit hitting his calloused thumb with every thrust. You cried as his fingers hit just right, again and again.

“Look at you, so pretty riding my fingers.” He let the praise land heavy, voice warm like the Wyoming sun.

Your head was thrown back, mouth parted in a silent moan, shamelessly riding his fingers. He watched you, full of hunger you know he is fighting. 

“Oh god,” You whisper, lashes fluttering. His fingers are the finest torture you’ve ever experienced. Mercilessly working to get you higher and higher with every deliberate curl.

“You gonna come for me?” His fingers move furiously, forearm brushing against your breasts at this angle. It was all happening too fast. 

“Yes. Yes, Joel–” A string of broken, desperate sounds spilled from your lips. Words lost. You were teetering right on the edge, trembling with it.

“Go ahead,” His words went directly to your core and your body headed his command before your mind could catch up.

Joels name left your lips, over and over, like a chant as your orgasm slammed into you, stealing every bit of oxygen from your lungs. Every inch of you shook as you unraveled. There was no way your form was holding. Not anymore. 

“That’s it, squeezin’ my fingers so tight–” He cooed in your ear. “Fuck, look at you...”

Your body locked up for a beat and your vision blurred. You were helpless against the wave of pleasure he’d drawn from you with nothing but his touch.

But Joel doesn’t let up. He’s relentless. His fingers move faster, intensifying the feeling. 

It's too much. Too overwhelming.Your chest heaved up and down in a frantic rhythm, lungs barely keeping pace with the fire burning through your body. You buck in the seat, trying to ease off his fingers. 

“Just like that,” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, chest heaving as much as yours. “That's how you ride.” 

Your body shook with aftershocks, thighs quivering. You were stunned, reeling at just how hard you came for him.

"Did so good for me."

You didn’t even realize it was his arm keeping you from collapsing entirely. Strong and steady, wrapped around your waist. Your fingers clutched at his forearm, nails digging into the sun-kissed skin, marking the moment. 

Neither of you moved. The barn fell quiet, save for your uneven breaths mingling together. Birdsong drifted lazily through the dusty slats of the old barn. Nature's calm, a cruel contrast to the wildfire that just tore through you.

Every muscle in your body buzzed. Your legs were jelly, trembling and utterly useless.

The saddle suddenly felt miles too high. The thought of climbing down made your stomach dip. But you couldn’t sit atop the rusted saddle forever.

You released his arm to get off, and he went to help but you shook your head. Pride was a stubborn thing.

“I-I got it.” You muttered, trying to swing one leg over.

Joel didn't move, at first. Just watched with one eyebrow raised. Arms folded.

Balance wavered. Your legs felt like water, and your foot slipped.

And in the space between one breath and the next, his hands caught your waist.

“Easy now,” he murmured, “I got you.”

Before you could argue, he lifted you off the saddle, like you were nothing. Your boneless limbs curled instinctively towards him. 

Your boots met the hay covered ground and you were hauled fully into him, one arm bracing behind your back. You gasped and planted your hands against his chest, realizing this was the first time you intentionally put your hands on him, the whole lesson.

“I said I got it.”  You protested weakly. 

“Can’t have my best student fallin’ off the horse.” 

“I’m your only student.” You tried to scoff, but your voice was sleep-soft. “And it's a barrel.”

Meaning to push away, you shifted. But then you felt him. Hard and hot pressed up against your stomach through the rough denim of his jeans. Your breath hitched. He’d been holding himself back this whole time.

Instinct had your hand moving before you could stop it. But Joel caught your wrist in a tight burning grip. 

“We'll save that for that next lesson."

You pulled your lip between your teeth. "You think I'm ready for the horse now?"

Joel's eyes raked down your body and his lips curled slow and dangerous. "I think your ready for a hell of a lot more than that, Cowgirl."

God help you. You could not wait for the next lesson.

[yslgreen]

Fucking Disappointment

Pairing: dbf!Joel x F!reader - 10k.

SUMMARY: You’ve always disliked Joel Miller, your dad’s grumpy friend and neighbor. Growing up, he was nothing but short responses and cold glares, never bothering to hide how little he cared to even speak to you. Rude. Dismissive.

You never thought you could feel anything for him. But years later, everything feels different. And so does the way he’s looking at you.

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, age gap, mean joel,pet names, alcohol consumption. weed consumption, oral m!receiving, dirty talk, degradation

A/N : First time writing Joel Miller, but this fucking guy is stuck in my head on a loop and I had to get him out of my system. Even created a whole new blog just for him. And now that I’ve written this, I somehow have even more ideas?? No beta, because life is life. Hope you enjoy

Here on AO3

ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ

"Waiting for you at the exit!" the text from your dad read. You checked it one last time as you made your way toward the terminal exit, eyes scanning the crowd. The rolling of your suitcase felt almost too loud in the busy airport, but you barely noticed it as you searched.

And then, a hand waved in the air—there he was. Your dad. His face lit up with that familiar, wide grin, and before you knew it, he was already moving toward you, eager and excited.

As you reached him, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like you were still his little girl. You sank into the embrace, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart familiar and comforting.

You pulled away from your dad’s embrace, smiling up at him. "You look like you’ve been waiting forever," you teased, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. Your dad chuckled, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger.

"I’ve been here for a while, actually," he said, his voice a little too cheerful. "Couldn’t wait to see my favorite graduate."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I’m your only graduate, Dad."

"Yeah, yeah." He laughed again, clearly proud. "Still feels like a big deal."

You smiled again, the pride bubbling up inside you. It felt surreal ; starting college years ago, it seemed like a lifetime ago. And now, here you were, finally done with it all. Sure, college had been a great experience, but nothing beat the satisfaction of being done.

Your dad reached for your large suitcase, lifting it from your hand. “I can take it, really,” you protested with a smile, appreciating the gesture.

“No, no,” he responded, waving off your offer. “The flight must’ve been tiring. Today’s about you, so let me take care of you.”

You thanked him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his caring words, and the two of you made your way outside the terminal. As soon as you stepped into the Texas air, the familiar thick heat hit you like a wall. You had almost forgotten just how intense the summer heat could be, especially after spending so much time in the cooler, more temperate climate of Chicago.

You both made your way to his car, and soon you were on the road toward your childhood home.

"I'm so happy you're here," your dad said, his smile wide and genuine as he glanced over at you.

"Come on, I was here for Christmas," you chuckled, brushing off his excitement. "It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in years."

"It felt like it for me," he replied, his voice softening a little as he focused on the road. "The house always felt so lonely without you. I’m really happy you're home."

"I'm happy too, Dad," you said, your own smile creeping up. It felt good to hear that—good to know your presence meant something more than just the occasional visit.

The conversation naturally flowed as the miles ticked by. Your dad asked about your last few days at school, how the flight had been, and whether you’d managed to catch up with any of your friends before leaving. You found yourself laughing and reminiscing, the easy familiarity between you two making it feel like no time had passed at all.

After a little while, the car slowed, and you could see the familiar neighborhood signs in the distance. The streets, lined with houses you once knew so well, felt like a snapshot of your childhood, almost frozen in time. And then, the house came into view. The old oak tree in the front yard stood tall as ever, its branches casting long, familiar shadows over the driveway.

As you opened the car door, you could see your dad grinning from ear to ear, his excitement practically radiating off of him. You shot him a questioning look, but shrugged it off, assuming he was just that happy you were home. If you’d been paying closer attention, you might have noticed the unusual number of cars parked along the street—more than you'd expected for a quiet neighborhood.

But you didn’t notice. Not yet.

When your dad handed you the key to the house and told you to go ahead and open the door, you were too caught up in the warmth of the reunion to think twice about it. You turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open slowly, expecting the quiet stillness of home.

But before you could even step inside, someone flipped on the lights.

In an instant, a chorus of voices erupted from the shadows, and people leaped out from every corner, yelling, "Surprise!" Laughter and cheers filled the air as you blinked in shock, your heart racing. There, in the middle of the living room, was a crowd of familiar faces—family, friends from home, and even some you hadn't seen in years—all smiling wide with excitement, their surprise catching you completely off guard.

You clenched your hand to your chest, letting out a startled yelp. You hadn’t expected this. The shock of the surprise hit you hard, and before you could even catch your breath, your dad patted you on the shoulder from behind.

You turned to him, eyes wide. “What the—?”

He smiled, his voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “She’s home!” And the room erupted in cheers once more.

“Say hello,” he continued, his grin never fading as he gestured to your luggage and backpack. “I’m gonna take these to your room.”

You were still frozen in place, your mind racing. This wasn’t how you had imagined the evening going at all. You’d expected a quiet night—maybe convincing your dad to order some takeout and watching a stupid movie together, just the two of you. Definitely not a surprise party in your honor.

Before you could even process it, people were already crowding around you, greeting you with warm smiles and happy chatter. It took a few sentences before your brain caught up with reality, but once it did, you found your rhythm, smiling and thanking everyone as you pulled them into quick hugs. You exchanged brief words, trying to take it all in, but it was impossible to focus on everyone.

You couldn’t even guess how many people were there—maybe twenty? Most of them had already split into smaller groups, some headed toward the kitchen, others into the backyard. The whole house felt alive with laughter and conversation, buzzing with energy.

Just then, your dad returned, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a brief side hug. You squeezed his shoulder, still processing the surprise. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth.“Is it impolite if I go take a shower and change?” you asked, motioning to your travel outfit—a worn pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. You felt ridiculously underdressed for a party like this, your clothes inadequate for the occasion.

He chuckled, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He kissed the top of your head, then nudged you toward the stairs. "Go on, don’t take too long."

You quickly excused yourself, sprinting toward your room. Your dad had definitely gone all out to surprise you—the room was spotless, everything neatly in place, just as you remembered. It was a comfort to see your space waiting for you, a small piece of familiarity in the chaos of the evening.

You threw your suitcase on the bed, quickly unzipping it and rummaging through the contents in search of something nice to wear. It didn't take long before you darted into the bathroom, the cool tile floor a relief after the heat of the day. You were the type who loved to take long showers, sometimes staying under the warm water until your dad had to yell from downstairs, complaining that he also needed hot water for his own shower.

Tonight, though, you needed to be quick. You didn’t want to keep everyone waiting too long, especially after they’d all come out to celebrate you. The trip had been exhausting, and while the time under the water was always soothing, you knew there was no time to indulge tonight. The warm water washed away the tension from your muscles, soothing the soreness from the weird position you'd managed to fall asleep in on the plane. You barely bothered to dry your hair, knowing the humid air outside would do the job quickly enough.

You grabbed the first sundress you had found, a simple white one that was light and breathable enough for the Texas heat. It wasn’t too fancy, but it was comfortable and easy, and right now, that was all that mattered.

You made your way back downstairs, already feeling more like yourself. The shower had worked wonders, and the light sundress helped you settle into the warm, familiar air of your childhood home.

Your dad spotted you first, his face lighting up again. He was mid-conversation with one of your aunts but paused as you approached. “There she is,” he said proudly, motioning for you to join them.

Your aunt greeted you with a warm hug, immediately launching into the usual questions—congratulations, how was school, what was next. You gave her a polite smile and nodded through the compliments, but when she asked about your future plans—a question you weren’t ready to answer—you skillfully deflected, asking her about her work, her garden, anything to shift the spotlight.

Your dad stepped in then, mercifully. “I didn’t even offer—do you want something to drink?”

“Sure,” you said, flashing a grateful smile at your aunt before following your dad toward the kitchen.

On the way there, you exchanged quick hellos and short hugs with a few familiar faces scattered through the living room. The noise of the party pulsed gently around you—music low, conversations layered, the clink of glasses in the background.

Once in the kitchen, your dad turned to you, hands already moving toward the fridge. “What’ll it be?” he asked.

“What are you offering?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

He opened the fridge. “Well, we’ve got enough beer to last us a few days,” he said with a grin. “Or, if you’re feeling bold, I could get you something stronger.” He nodded toward the assortment of bottles lined up neatly on the counter.

“A beer’s fine to start,” you replied, smiling.

Your dad handed you one, and you popped it open, ready to head back and rejoin the crowd. But just as you turned, you collided with something solid—someone, actually.

You stumbled a little, beer sloshing near the rim of the bottle, and barely had time to react before your dad’s voice cut in, cheerful and unaware of the tension that had just shifted the air.

“Joel! Wondered where you went!”

Your whole body tensed for a beat, instinctual and sharp. Of course. You took a quick step back, enough to finally look up and get a good look at the man you’d just bumped into.

Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend since the day he moved into the house next door. He stood there, looking down at you with that same gruff expression he always wore around you. Taller than you remembered. Broader, too. The kind of presence that filled the room without trying.

“Was just outside,” Joel said, his tone casual as his eyes slid right past you. “Came in for a new one,” he added, lifting his empty beer bottle like proof.

Your dad reached into the fridge and tossed him another without missing a beat. Joel caught it with practiced ease, cracking it open one-handed. Then, for the first time, he actually looked at you—and at the matching bottle in your hand.

“Since when are you old enough to drink?” he asked, the words edged with something that wasn’t quite teasing.

You met his gaze, unimpressed, and took a slow sip before replying. “It’s been a while.” Your voice was flat, arms crossing over your chest.

The man had known you your whole life and somehow still looked at you like you were a surprise—and not a pleasant one.

The air between you bristled, charged with the same tension that had always simmered there. You didn’t like him. He didn’t like you. And neither of you bothered to pretend otherwise.

Joel turned away, launching straight into a conversation with your dad as if you weren’t even there. Like this wasn’t your party. Like none of this had anything to do with you.

Typical.

He’d never really cared about you, and he’d never made an effort to hide it. The bond between him and your dad had been instant, the kind of easy friendship built on shared interests you’d never been part of. Their jobs, fixing things, football and other stuff you’d always found boring or just flat-out irritating.

With you, Joel was different. Always had been. You weren’t part of the equation, just some brat he had to tolerate in order to spend time with your dad. He’d never been subtle about it either—rolling his eyes when you asked questions, sighing when you pushed his buttons, offering only the bare minimum in response when forced to talk to you.

You used to think he hated kids. But no—he just didn’t like you.

Which was fine, because you didn’t like him either. You tolerated him, because your dad liked him, but as you got older, you stopped pretending to be polite. If Joel couldn’t be bothered to try, then why should you? You rolled your eyes when he spoke, talked back when he got snippy. Your dad had always tried to get you to see the good in him, but you never did. And honestly, it didn’t really matter. Joel was just… there. Always hanging around whenever you came home, like part of the furniture : annoying, unavoidable, and easy to ignore.

You left them to their conversation, not bothering to hide your disinterest, and stepped outside to find people who actually enjoyed your presence. The scent of barbecue drifted through the air, warm and familiar, and your stomach growled as you grabbed a plate from the folding table piled with food.

Before long, you found yourself seated at a picnic table with a mix of childhood friends and cousins you hadn’t seen in ages. The conversation flowed easily, catching up, teasing each other, slipping back into old rhythms like no time had passed at all.

People came and went as the night wore on, stopping to hug you, offer congratulations, ask about school. You recognized a few of your dad’s work friends lingering on the patio, most of them clustered in the same spot—around your dad and, of course, Joel. 

The conversations kept going, and so did the beers. You were genuinely grateful to whoever had stocked the fridge like they were prepping for the apocalypse, because no one was going easy on them, least of all you and your friends.

As the night wore on, people started saying their goodbyes. A few last hugs, warm smiles, and congratulations passed between you and the guests as they filtered out. You thanked them all, the praise and attention making your cheeks ache from smiling.

Eventually, only a handful of people remained—six or seven at most. You and your friends made up one little cluster, your dad and his made up the other. Joel, of course, was still right there with your father, like he’d just been absorbed into the foundation of the house itself.

When your last friend finally stood to leave, mumbling something about an early shift, you pouted dramatically. “You’re really gonna leave me here with them?” you whispered, tilting your head toward the older crowd.

She snorted, pulling you into one last hug. “You’ll survive. But in case it gets too hard…” She slipped something into your palm with a grin.

You looked down to see a neatly rolled joint nestled in your hand.

“Figured you haven’t had time to stock up yet. Consider it a graduation gift,” she said with a wink.

You stifled a laugh, hiding it quickly in your fist like a teenager. “You’re the best,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t I know it,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the night.

You watched her disappear down the driveway, then turned back toward the house, heading toward the patio where your dad and his friends were still gathered, half-lit by the string lights draped above.

“Goin’ to bed already?” your dad asked as you passed by, the buzz in his voice saying he hoped you’d stick around a little longer.

You smiled, still carefully cradling the joint in your closed hand. “Nope. Just takin’ a lap. Think I might’ve had one too many.”

Frank leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. “Can’t hold your beer, huh? Like daughter, like father.”

You shot him a grin, backing away into the house. “Give me five minutes and I’ll prove I can outdrink him.”

That got a round of laughter, your dad laughing loudest of all while his friends chimed in with mock protests and teasing.

You were a smoker—on and off. Mostly when you were stressed, or buzzed just enough not to care, like tonight. Your dad wasn’t—never had been—and you didn’t exactly feel like getting a lecture tonight. You just wanted a little more fun, to stretch the evening a bit longer.

So you slipped into the kitchen, quietly opening one cupboard, then another. You were hoping, maybe, some old forgotten lighter had been tossed in a drawer. A leftover from a guest. Anything. But no luck so far.

You didn’t hear the back door creak open. Didn’t notice the presence behind you until a low voice cut through the quiet.

“What are you doin’?”

You startled, spinning around. Joel stood a few steps inside, the kitchen light casting a warm line across his face. You must’ve looked caught—like a teenager up to something—because his brow lifted in that way of his. That silent judgment.

Normally, he wouldn’t have cared. Would’ve walked right past you without so much as a glance. But not tonight.

He moved to the fridge, opened it like he’d done it a thousand times—which, to be fair, he had—and grabbed a beer. ““What’re you diggin’ through drawers for like that?”’

“Nothing,” you said, crossing your arms like a shield.

He cracked the cap off with one hand, took a long pull, then looked you over again. “Nothin’, huh.”

His voice was skeptical, casual in that way that always grated on your nerves. He didn’t believe you. That much was obvious in the way he leaned back against the counter and just... looked. Waiting.

The stare stretched long between you, hot and heavy like the Texas summer outside.

You didn’t look away. Just stood there, jaw tight, staring back. The message was clear in your eyes:

Why the hell are you still here?

You didn’t want to be the first to break, to move, to let him think he’d gotten under your skin. But at some point, your patience thinned, you just wanted to smoke and unwind. So you walked past him, your every step saying I’m done with this.

You didn’t bother hiding the way your shoulder brushed his slightly on the way out. Didn’t mask the glare you shot up at him as he looked down at you, still leaning there like he owned the place.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t offer a word. Just walked out of the kitchen, your footsteps solid on the hardwood as you made your way to the stairs.

You didn’t look back—but you could feel his eyes on you, lingering, sharp as ever, watching you disappear.

Once in your room, jaw tight and heart still a little too fast, you dropped to your knees by your bag. You were annoyed—annoyed at him, at the whole damn moment—and all you wanted was the comfort of a quiet high. You unzipped the front pocket, fingers digging past receipts and pens, and there it was.

The lighter.

Right where you needed it.

You walked down the stairs slowly, careful with each step, not wanting to draw any attention—especially not from Joel. If he was still brooding in that damn kitchen, you had no interest in crossing paths again.

A quick glance confirmed the coast was clear. No voices. No movement. You slipped through the front door without a sound.

Outside, the night wrapped around you in a warm hush. The air was thick with leftover summer heat, cicadas buzzing low in the distance. You made your way to the old oak tree, the one that had watched over you since childhood, and slid down with your back against its trunk.

The joint was still in your hand, slightly bent from your grip. You brought it to your lips and flicked the lighter you’d grabbed from your bag upstairs.

Nothing.

You tried again. Pressed harder.

Still nothing.

“Fucking really,” you muttered under your breath, jaw clenching as you stared down at the useless plastic.

You shook the lighter, flicked it again, and like a gift from someone above, a blessed spark appeared long enough for you to light your joint. You inhaled, slow and satisfied, the burn calming, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a weighted blanket.

Then, a voice cut through it.

“You serious right now?”

Your eyes flew open mid-exhale. Joel.

He stood at the edge of the porch, arms crossed over his chest, face shadowed—but the tone was all too clear. Disapproval, plain as day.

You coughed lightly, caught off guard, waving a hand like you could erase the smoke between you. “Jesus, do you ever make a sound when you walk?”

“Didn’t think I needed to,” he said, stepping off the porch, boots crunching against the grass as he came closer. “Didn’t figure I’d catch you hidin’ out here like a damn teenager.”

“Not a teenager anymore,” you shot back, trying to steady yourself, annoyed by the interruption.

“You sure? Then why are you smoking here, hiding from your daddy?” he asked, his tone low, judgment lacing the words.

“Can’t I just want a moment to myself?” you retorted, holding his gaze steady as you took another hit.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes flicking down to the joint between your fingers. The judgment was all over his face. If a cigarette would've earned you a lecture from your dad, this? This would light a fuse.

But you didn’t hide it. You didn’t even flinch. Hiding it would’ve meant guilt. It would’ve meant Joel won.

And you weren’t giving him that.

He huffed through his nose, like he couldn’t believe you had the nerve, but wasn’t surprised either. “Y’know he’s gonna smell it the second he steps outside,” he muttered.

“Then maybe he shouldn’t step outside,” you said calmly, shrugging as you brought the joint back to your lips.

“You never admit when you’re in the wrong, do you?” he snapped back, his tone clipped. Joel didn’t like getting talked back to—especially not by you.

You stood up, brushing grass from your dress, chin lifting as you squared up to him.

“Oh my god, Joel. It’s one joint. I’m not twelve anymore,” you said, voice rising with each word. “I drink. I smoke. I do a lot of things.”

That made him pause. His eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it looked like he might ask what exactly those "things" were. You saw it, the curiosity, judgment, maybe even a flicker of something else but he bit it back, jaw clenched.

“Let’s not pretend you’re some saint who’s never touched a joint in your life. Or worse,” you added, eyes narrowing. “We both know that’s not true.”

He took a step closer, slow and sure like he always moved, and before you could react—before you could even take another inhale—his hand reached out. Quick. Firm. He plucked the joint from between your fingers like it was his.

“What the hell—” you started, already ready to snap, but the words caught in your throat when instead of lecturing you, instead of crushing it under his boot like you half-expected, he brought it to his own mouth.

Joel inhaled. Long, steady. The ember flared, lighting up the edges of his face—the hard line of his jaw, the crease in his brow, the scar on his temple..

He stood there, smoke curling from his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he brought a hand up to run through his hair like the weight of the night had finally sunk into his bones. There was more gray than you remembered. At his temples. Scattered through the strands like dust on old wood. He looked… older. In a good way.

You blinked hard. You didn’t want to notice things like that, not about Joel.

“Never seen you smoke before,” you said, trying to cut through the strange haze between you.

“That’s ‘cause I know how not to get caught,” he muttered, taking another pull. Calm. Unbothered.

You scoffed. “Oh, so you’re hiding too? What, scared my daddy’s gonna ground you?”

That pulled the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but close enough to spark something sharp in your chest.

“You’re gettin’ old, you know that?” you said, letting it land like a tease, but there was an edge to it.

He tilted his head, gaze pinning you in place. “Am I now?” he said, voice low, thick with that familiar southern drawl—like honey and gravel. He stepped in just enough that you caught the scent of smoke and the heat from his skin. “Funny, comin’ from the girl sneakin’ off like she’s still seventeen.”

You rolled your eyes. You were starting to think this might be the longest conversation you’d ever had with him.

You reached out, palm up. “You gonna give it back?”

Joel didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, he stepped forward—close. Too close. The air shifted instantly, thick with something that wasn’t just smoke or summer heat. His hand lifted, steady, unhurried. And without asking, without a word, he pressed the joint back between your lips.

Your breath hitched. Not just from the inhale—but from him.

His fingers brushed your lower lip, slow and deliberate. Not an accident. Not rushed. Just enough to leave heat in their wake.

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly around the joint. Your heart beat too loud in your chest, but your body stayed still.

He didn’t look away.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

His gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable, like he was waiting. Like he was daring you to break the silence first.

But for once, you didn’t.

You took a slow drag. Held it. Exhaled—right between the two of you.

And still, neither of you moved. Joel held your gaze for one long second more.

Then, like a switch flipped, he stepped back, just a half-step, but it felt like miles. The heat between you cooled instantly, and when he spoke again, his voice had that old, familiar edge.

“Well,” Joel said, his eyes flicking over you with that familiar, judgmental gaze, “didn’t even last a day before you were back to your old tricks.”

The words landed sharp, biting in that casual, offhand way only he could manage. Like everything you did was somehow a little wrong, a little too much..

And just like that, there he was—that Joel. The one who couldn’t help but offer a comment about everything. The one who never missed a chance to nitpick, to point out what you were doing wrong.

You scoffed, jaw tight. “There he is,” you muttered, dragging on the joint, blowing out a thick plume of smoke. “Was wonderin’ how long it’d take for the real Joel to show up.”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice low and sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You took another hit, your thoughts swirling for a moment. You could just let him go, ignore him like you had countless times before. But no, he had to make that damn snarky comment, didn’t he?

You turned to him, the frustration boiling over, and before you could stop yourself, the words came sharp. You stepped in, jabbing a finger into his chest—hard, deliberate. “Always so fucking rude to me. What the hell did I ever do to you?” 

He stiffened at your words, clearly not expecting the bite behind them. You poked him again, harder this time. “You never said anything nice to me, never even looked at me like I was a person. Just a damn inconvenience in the way of your ‘good time’ with my dad. So tell me, what did I do to deserve that, huh?”

Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before your finger could make contact again. His grip was tight, not painful, but enough to stop you in your tracks. His eyes—those goddamn eyes—narrowed as he looked down at you, frustration boiling behind them.

“Come on,” he said, voice low and cutting. “You really wanted me to coddle you? Like your dad does—pretending you don’t make everything harder than it has to be?” He laughed once, bitter and short. “You’ve been a storm since the day I met you. You’ve been acting out your whole damn life, never grateful, always pushing. What, you think that deserves kindness?”

He stepped in closer, the distance between you shrinking, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not your dad, sweetheart. I don’t have to pretend to care. And I sure as hell didn’t have to put up with you when you couldn’t even take care of yourself. You think I wanted to deal with you?” He gave you a smirk, as if the very thought was laughable.

The bitterness in his voice cut through you like a knife, the words searing with years of unspoken resentment. Maybe you had been a pain in the ass as a kid, always causing trouble, always pushing boundaries. But you were a kid. Yes, your dad worked himself to the bone to provide for you, and you were left trying to figure it out on your own. 

You looked up at him, jaw clenched, trying to hold on to the anger that was threatening to slip away.

“You think I asked for any of this?” you snapped back, your voice dripping with contempt. “I didn’t ask for you to come around, either. You think I wanted to be stuck between you and my dad, always the damn inconvenience? Maybe I was just trying to figure out my own damn life. Maybe I didn’t need someone like you breathing down my neck every time I fucked up.”

His eyes flashed at that, but he didn’t move. Didn’t back away.

"Was I just a disappointment to you, then? Is that it?" you spat out, the question lingering in the cold air between you two.

“No,” Joel replied, his voice hard but low, like he was forcing the words through clenched teeth. “You never disappointed me, kid. You were always exactly who I expected you to be.”

It hit you harder than it should have. Those words stung, but you didn’t let it show. You fought to keep your composure, to hold onto that anger that had been building in your chest. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt.

You yanked your wrist from his grip, the heat of his touch still burning into your skin. “Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, the words biting as they left your lips. You didn’t give him a second glance as you turned and walked toward the front porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.

The joint had stopped burning, but you didn’t care anymore as you trew it away. You needed a moment to breathe. You went straight to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on your face to shake off the heat of the argument. You stared at yourself in the mirror, frustration building inside you. Fuck him, you thought. Fuck him.

You spritzed some perfume, just in case the lingering scent gave you away, and then walked back down the stairs, your steps purposeful and steady. In the kitchen, you opened the fridge, but it was the bottles on the counter that called to you. You didn’t bother with the beer. Instead, you grabbed whatever whiskey was within reach, pouring yourself a drink and letting the burn settle in your chest.

You walked back toward the backyard, taking slow steps as you made your way to the patio. Your dad was deep in conversation with Frank and Bill, laughing lightly at something one of them had said. When he saw you, his face lit up with a smile.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” he said, his voice warm.

“I said I would,” you replied, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You didn’t feel like explaining much right now.

You found a chair around the table, making sure to settle yourself just far enough from your dad. You didn’t want him to notice anything—the lingering scent or the storm still brewing in your mind. There was no need for him to ask, and no need to bring it up.

Joel wasn’t around the table, and part of you felt a little relief. Maybe he was already on his way home, back to wherever he belonged. But, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was—appearing from the same way you had come.

"Thought you forgot where the bathroom was," your father teased as Joel slid into the empty chair across from you.

"Not that drunk," Joel muttered, a little too casually, his eyes flicking over to you like he was trying to catch your gaze. But you didn't bite. Instead, you focused on Bill next to you, making small talk, pretending not to notice the tension building in the air.

Your father’s attention shifted to your drink. "Didn't expect you to be a whiskey girl," he remarked with a smile, eyebrows raised.

You shrugged, taking another sip. "It's nice," you replied, your voice nonchalant, though the warmth of the alcohol barely did anything to calm you.

Your father patted you on the shoulder. "Well, finally, something you’ve got in common with Joel, huh? He’s the one who brought it, you know." He looked over at Joel, pride edging his voice. "You should see his collection," he continued, clearly pleased with the fact that you two could now bond over something.

You kept your eyes on your glass, trying to avoid the sharp edge of Joel’s stare, but it didn't escape you—the way your father was so eager to find common ground, any excuse to connect you with Joel. You gave your dad a small, practised smile enough to ease his attention off you. But your eyes caught Joel’s across the table.

He was staring.

Not in the careless, absent way people sometimes do when lost in thought. Joel was watching you, steady, unreadable, like he hadn’t stopped since he sat down. Like the words you’d thrown at him earlier were still echoing somewhere behind his eyes.

You tilted your head just slightly, a silent question or maybe a challenge, and took a slow sip of your drink—intentional, deliberate. His gaze didn’t flinch.

If anything, it sharpened.

Frank leaned forward slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. “So,” he said, glancing at you with a friendly grin, “Happy to be finished with school ?”

You nodded, taking a sip. “Yeah, finally..”

“Damn, time flies,” Bill said, impressed. “Feels like we were just talkin’ about you leavin’. What’d you end up majoring in?”

“Communications,” you said, voice light. “Which is code for ‘I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life.’”

That got a laugh from Frank. “Well, join the club. Took me years to figure out what I wanted, and even then, I changed my mind half a dozen times.”

Your dad beamed quietly, pride flickering behind his eyes. “She’s smart,” he said. “Always has been. Stubborn as hell, but smart.”

You gave him a small smile, choosing not to argue.

“So what about work?” Bill asked. “You stayin’ around here, or just visiting?”

You hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know yet. Thought I’d come back, take a breath before jumping into anything serious.”

There was a pause, and then Frank grinned. “And anyone special back at school—or here—giving you a reason to stay?”

You raised your eyebrows and laughed under your breath, deflecting with a sip of your drink. “Jesus, Frank.”

He held up his hands, grinning. “What? Can’t ask a question?”

Your dad chimed in, playing along. “Hey, pretend I’m not here if it helps.”

You laughed, relaxed. You didn’t mind your dad. The two of you had gotten close, especially in those past years, separated by college. If there had been anyone serious, he’d probably already know.

“No one worth mentioning,” you said after a moment, flicking your eyes back to Frank. “Just me for now.”

Frank gave you a look, all charm and teasing. “I don’t buy that for a second. Pretty thing like you? I bet you left a trail of broken hearts in Chicago.”

You let out a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Eh,” you said lightly, the smile not quite reaching your eyes, “disappointment’s kind of my thing, apparently,” you said, smiling just enough to pass it off as a joke.

Your dad chuckled, clearly not reading the undercurrent. “You? Please. You’re doing just fine.”

But Joel—he wasn’t laughing. He stopped mid-sip, his eyes fixed on you over the rim of his glass. His gaze was sharp, piercing, the silent understanding hanging between you like a weight.

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t have to. You knew he heard it.

You kept the conversation going with Frank, though his words were starting to blur as the alcohol made him a bit more loose-lipped than usual. Bill, ever the more sober one, finally pointed out that it was time for them to head out. Frank, clearly one glass of wine too many, was a little wobbly on his feet, but that didn’t stop him from giving you his signature ruffle on the head. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips.

“You’re gonna find someone who sees you for who you are, kid,” Frank slurred, his voice filled with an odd mix of affection and drunken sincerity. “You’re too smart, too pretty, not to," Frank said, his voice a little louder than necessary as he nudged you with a playful grin. “Ain’t she, Joel?”

Joel, who had been deep in conversation with your dad, looked up, clearly caught off guard by Frank’s question. "What?"

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?”

You raised an eyebrow, already anticipating the awkwardness that would follow. Frank was a little tipsy, but you knew he didn’t mean any harm. It was just Frank being Frank.

You half-expected Joel to brush it off, mutter something gruff, or look away entirely—anything to avoid the attention. But instead, he met your gaze briefly, his eyes looking you up just for a second, before shifting back to Frank.

“Very pretty,” Joel said quietly, the words not quite as reluctant this time. It was almost as if he couldn’t help it, like Frank’s teasing had pulled it out of him.

“See?” Frank said, giving Joel a playful shove, not realising the undercurrent of tension in the air. “Even Joel says so!”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything more.

Frank and Bill left, their goodbyes echoing softly as they promised to invite you and your dad for dinner soon. You stayed outside as your dad continued his conversation with Joel about the upcoming game and who was going to host it. The voices of the two men blended into background noise, the hum of the conversation barely registering in your mind. You were half-listening, half-distracted, your thoughts lingering on the anger you’d been holding onto all night.

The burn of the whisky slid down your throat, and without even realizing it, your eyes found Joel. You were still mad at him, the words he’d spoken earlier lodged under your skin. It stung in a way that made it harder to push away. Normally, you would’ve brushed it off, moved on, but tonight, his words had managed to hit deeper than usual. And for some reason, it bothered you more than you were willing to admit.

At first, you looked at him with nothing but irritation, your gaze sharp, unforgiving. The way he leaned back in his chair, so at ease after everything he’d said—it grated on you. But then, without meaning to, your eyes lingered. You noticed how the porch light caught the strands of gray in his hair, more than you remembered. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, the rough stubble along his jaw peppered with silver. And yet, somehow, it suited him. He looked… good. Annoyingly so. That solid kind of good that didn’t come from trying. The kind that made some of your dad’s female friends earlier laugh too loud at his jokes and linger a little too long near wherever he stood. 

He shouldn’t have looked good. Not after the shit he said. Not after the way he always made you feel small and in the way.

And then, as if he could feel the weight of your gaze, his eyes found yours.

You hesitated for a second, but didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Not this time. You weren’t going to let him think he had any power over you. Not now. Not ever again.

He held your gaze, serious now, almost as if he was silently asking you what the hell you were looking at. It was like a challenge, an invitation for you to either break or keep going. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t break the connection.

Your dad, oblivious as ever, continued tidying up the table, clearing away the bottles, while he kept talking to Joel. But you didn’t shift your focus. And so, knowing damn well he was watching, a strange boldness crept in, aided by the drinks you’d had. You let your eyes trace him—across his chest, his hands, then slowly, almost instinctively, to his lips.

You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the tension hang in the air, lingering just enough on his lips for him to feel the weight of it. Then, you lifted your gaze back up to his. You saw the way his brows furrowed for a second, his eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of what you were doing.

In that instant, your dad clapped his hands, breaking the tense silence between you and Joel. Both of you snapped your gaze away, turning towards him.

"I'm busted," he said with a grin, clearly oblivious to the quiet storm that had just passed between the two of you. "I think it's time for me to go to bed. What about you two?"

You raised your drink to him, trying to mask the lingering heat in your chest. "Gonna finish this first, then I'll crash too," you said, voice calm, though your mind was anything but.

Your dad chuckled, giving you a playful look. “Whiskey, huh? Careful, it goes under your skin quickly.” He glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“I’ll finish my drink too and go,” Joel replied, his voice steady.

Your dad nodded, then walked over to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “So glad you’re here,” he said warmly. You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him, before waving as he turned to head back inside. As he passed Joel, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

And just like that, the two of you were alone again. Your eyes drifted to the door your dad had disappeared through… then back to Joel—only to find him already watching you.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said casually, but that familiar edge was there—like he was already halfway into a fight.

You scoffed, lifting your glass. “Funny, coming from you.”

Joel raised a brow, slow and deliberate. “What’re you tryin’ to say?”

You didn’t flinch. “That you’ve been staring at me all night. Like you’re tryin’ to set me on fire.”

He took a long sip, unfazed. “And why the hell would I wanna do that?”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who keeps acting like I’m a pain in your ass.”

Joel gave a low, humorless laugh. “Darlin’, you are. Don’t mean I gotta kill you for it.”

You leaned back, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself, the word darlin’ echoing like heat under your skin. “How kind of you..  So what do I owe this stare? Full of love and all,” you added, letting the word drag with thick sarcasm.

Joel scoffed, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Love ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Mm,” you hummed, tilting your head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He lifted his glass, took another long sip, then set it down with a soft clink—clear as day he was ending the conversation. Funny how he’d been the one to start this fight, but didn’t want to finish it. You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out; pushing his buttons was too tempting to resist.

“Am I really that pretty?” you pressed, leaning forward, voice low. “Is that it? Enough to make you unable to look away?”

You saw the way his jaw twitched before he met your gaze again, his eyes darker than before. In the past, that little tell would’ve tipped you off and you’d have backed down, let him off the hook. But tonight, you didn’t care. If he couldn’t find the decency to be kind, why should you?

“Not gonna answer?” you teased, your voice soft but edged. You lifted the glass in a salute, then drained the last drop.

“Careful.” His voice was low, dangerous and it made your stomach tighten.

“Or what, Miller?” you shot back, setting your empty glass on the table. “Gonna ground me? You’re not my dad, remember.”

With those words, you stood, smoothing the hem of your dress. For a heartbeat, you saw his gaze drop to your bare leg—just a glance—before snapping back up to yours. 

“Always gotta be smart, don’t ya?” he called after you, voice rough as you stepped toward the door.

You stopped mid-step, one hand on the doorframe, and turned back. The patio light caught your face just right. Arms crossed, you gave him a small, mocking smile. “Oh, so I’m smart now?” you snapped, tone brittle with sarcasm. “Pretty and smart—what’s gotten into you, Joel? Running out of insults?”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes hard. “Don’t push your luck,” he said, his voice low and dry. “I said you were smart, not that you stopped bein’ a brat.”

“Oh, right,” you scoffed. “Because you’re the king of saying exactly what you mean. Never cryptic, never cruel, never hiding behind that goddamn scowl.”

He stood then—slow, deliberate—his glass forgotten on the table behind him. His height always had a way of pressing down on a room, and now, with only the patio light casting long shadows between you, he felt even closer than he was.

“You done?” he asked, low and tight.

“No,” you snapped, taking a step toward him without even thinking. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. “You’ve been staring at me all night like I’m something stuck to your damn boot, but God forbid I look back. You start shit, and then when I give it back, suddenly I’m the one who’s too much?”

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t move at first—but you saw it in his jaw, the way it clenched, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was holding something in.

He stepped toward you, and the space between you narrowed into something heavy—your skin prickling with heat, not entirely from anger. His voice dropped, rough and controlled, but far from calm.

“Does that mouth ever do somethin’ other than complain?”

The words hit like a slap, and a dare. The way he said it, slow, his voice coiled tight with something darker, something heavier, made your pulse jump.

Your breath caught, not from fear, but from the sudden pulse of heat that curled low in your stomach. Maybe it was the whiskey still humming through your veins, the warmth of it making you bold, reckless. Sober, you never would’ve said what came next.

You looked up at him, stepping in just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the space between you now little more than a breath; eyes fixed on his, daring. “Why?” you said, voice low and steady. “You want my mouth to do something else?”

Joel didn’t hesitate. His fingers came up, rough and warm, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, firm, not gentle. He tilted your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You wanna play like that, kid?” he muttered, the word kid sounding more like a warning than an insult. “Keep talkin’ like you know what you’re askin' for.”

The word echoed in your head—not just what he said, but how he said it. Low, rough, like gravel under pressure. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared, like he was waiting to see if you’d flinch first. Your heart kicked harder against your ribs. You should’ve backed off. Maybe any other night, you would’ve. But the way he was looking at you — like you were the last line he hadn’t crossed — made your mouth move before your brain could stop it.

“Not scared of you,” you said, but the words came out softer than you meant them to.

He leaned in closer, just a breath away, the porch light casting deep shadows over his face. “You should be,” he paused, his eyes dark. ”Get on your knees.” 

Your breath hitched at his words, the patio suddenly too quiet. For a second, you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. The heat that rushed between your legs, however, confirmed that you had.

“What?” you asked, your voice a little breathless.

Joel didn’t blink. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unmoving, unreadable. “You heard me, girl,” he said, voice rough, low. 

You should have backed off. You knew that. It was Joel, for crying out loud. The one you couldn’t stand. He was your dad’s best friend, your least favourite person in the world. The guy who made you feel small with every sharp word, every lingering glance.

And yet, you sank to your knees. The hand that cupped your chin went to the top of your head, guiding your descent. Joel’s breath became more rugged as you did, never leaving your eyes. 

Your knees fell on the cold patio floor, but you didn't care. Joel's gaze was intense, unreadable, yet unmistakably focused on you. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, as if he was trying to see right through you. You feel the weight of it pressing in on you, challenging you to see how far you were willing to go.

You didn't want to back down. You looked in front of you, his crotch right there. Your hands quickly moved to unbutton his dark jeans, making them fall to the ground. He was already hard, the fabric straining against his thickness, precum staining the front of his boxer, leaving a print that made your mouth salivate a little more than it should.

Joel was big, of course he was. Broad shoulders, large hands, big cock. It made sense. You would be lying if you said you’d never thought about it. After all, Joel Miller was the better-looking of your dad’s friends. He just happened to be the most annoying. 

You brought your mouth closer, letting Joel feel your hot breath on his cock. His hand was still in your hair, a little tug inviting you closer, wordless but clear. Your hand rested on the waistband of his boxer, not taking it off just yet. You could see a bit of his happy trail, his dark hairs inviting you to explore more of his body. You pressed your lips into a small kiss where you could see the print of his tip, earning you a low, guttural groan from Joel. The sound was exquisite, and you already wanted to hear it again. So you pressed a few more kisses, relishing in the small noises he was making. You couldn’t wait to take him in your mouth. 

Finally, you took down his boxer, and his throbbing cock stood in front of you. Large, thick. perfect. You swallowed a gasp, realising you’ve never taken one so big in your mouth — or anywhere else for that matter. It only made it more enticing. You looked up to Joel, who had his eyes on you. Waiting, hungry, and he looked way too good in that instant. It made you feel things you didn’t want to think about Joel. Made you want to take a hand between your thighs and deal with the heat that had been pulsing all evening. But later. Now you only wanted to focus on him.

One hand on his thigh, the other finding the base of his length, you looked at him one more time before opening your mouth. Slowly, teasingly, you licked his tip, tasting the glistening precum off him. Salty. Musky. Joel. Then, you pressed your lips around his length, the warmth of your mouth making the man grunt. Knowing you were the one making him moan like this was exhilarating. Powerful even. The need to hear this sound again pushed you to take more of him, inch by inch. You started a steady rhyme, your mouth so full —  and you hadn't taken all of him yet. 

Joel let out a guttural moan, his hand pushing you further down his length as he thrusted his hips up slightly into your warm, wet mouth. You dared look up to him and saw how his head tilted backwards, the hand that wasn't in your hair on the table behind him, keeping him steady. Fuck, he looked so good and you were the one doing that to him. You clenched your thighs together, feeling a wetness you couldn't take care of right now. 

“Fuck, darling…” he groaned, his calloused fingers tightening their grip on your head when you took him a bit deeper, hitting the bak of your throat. The pet name made you moan around his cock without you even realising, the sound vibrating around his cock. 

At that, Joel looked down at you, a slow, smug smile spreading across his face. Your nose pressed agasint the base of his cock, your throat bulging obscenely with his girth.

“You like it, don’t you? Choking on my dick like that ?” He asks, his voice rough, almost breathless. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and it sent a shiver down your spine so sharp it left your skin buzzing. You nodded on his cock without even realizing. “Of course you fucking do, you mouthy little thing.”

He started to thrust harder, faster, driven by the thrill of having you here, worshipping his cock like it was your sole purpose. You had sucked dick before, sure. It was something you enjoyed, making your partner come undone with only your mouth. College had been the right place to experience it, but you never had your throat fucked like that. And you liked it more than you thought was possible.

“You take me so good, baby, “ Joel praises you, his voice heavy, taking in the sight of you, the way you are so eager on his cock, and the feeling shouldn't feel so good. You looked up at him, your eyes, your lips stretching around him, your eyes watering slightly as you take him as deep as you can. “F-fuck…” he curses, his breath ragged, as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.“Gonna make me cum doin’ that. Are you gonna be perfect for me and swallow like a good girl ?”

The answer came in the way of a whimper you couldn’t stop, causing Joel to chuckle darkly as an acknowledgement. He picks up the pace and, with a final, hard thrust, Joel buries himself deep in your throat, coming in a strangled moan that sounds very much like your name. 

And so there you were—knees on the cold patio floor of your dad’s house, lips still tingling and your mouth full of cum. Joel Miller, the man you despised, was standing in front of you, his chest rising with rough, uneven breaths. His hand was still tangled in your hair, idly, almost possessively, like he hadn’t decided to let go yet. He looked down at you, and you swallowed under the weight of his gaze. His eyes dragging over your mouth, down your throat, and finally meeting yours again, his breathing just beginning to steady. Then, he loosened his grip in your hair, allowing you to move from him, a strand of cum and saliva connecting your swollen lips to the tip of his softening cock. The sight of you—lips parted, breath shaky, eyes still wide—made Joel chuckle, low and dark. There was no humor in it, not really. Just heat. Satisfaction. 

He helped you back up, his touch steady, almost too gentle after everything. You wobbled for a moment, heart still racing, and smoothed your dress with shaky fingers, eyes avoiding his like they might burn. The silence was deafening as he pulled back his clothes. You couldn’t even look at him, not really—not with the feel of his dick still lingering in your mouth, the taste of him still not gone. The air felt colder now. Or maybe it was you, sobering fast under the weight of everything that just happened.

But before you could say anything, his thumb slid over your lips once more. Just like earlier with the joint, but this time it wasn’t casual. This time it lingered, drawing a painfully slow line against your skin. His eyes were fixed on your mouth, dark with something primal, an intensity that made your breath hitch. It was like he could still feel you there, still feel the way you had taken him so well, so eager. And from the smug tilt of his lips, it was clear he liked it.

“Guess you can back up that mouth after all.”

[wingedfuncomputer]

The outskirts of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

Warnings: naive!reader, apart from that none really just your father lowkey being rude to Remmick cause he’s Irish 💔.

Authors note: This is just a slice of what I’ve been writing for Remmick. My actual word count for the story is 8.5k as of now, close to finishing but I wanted to see if it’s something you Remmick lovers would want to see (I know it’s pretty lengthy). My story is aimed at not just the romance but scare factor? If that’s what you can call it. no full fledged smut or healthy romance here just trying to ground myself in realistic outcomes. I don’t think that man could love normally lmao. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.4K Fic playlist Full Fic!

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From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set she was tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacted the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled your active swipe back and forth stopped confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be  thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble from a very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir".  You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man who stood at the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving".  Your heart  ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him n’ get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then proceeded orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled my father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady much?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request to come inside, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. He had good amount of muscle on his arms and lines on his face. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you no lack of confidence, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property".

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him you yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands go up to your father’s arms as you can see his anger exalt, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger is concentrated on you before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside from your arm instead. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once behind you once more offering a look of "I'm sorry" before the front door is slammed shut by your father.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being  ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. "coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick you repeat in your head liking the ring it had to it. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself  which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage had nothing to do with your lack of a response. " f’course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks in embarrassment . "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time, my father...-that is no way to be treated". He just smiles, a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often, let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. stayin’ around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you so how would tolerate this stranger . His eyes are trained on your every twitch, your chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your  father it was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind in contemplation. If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go in town for food trips or what not for the farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

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[sparklingchim]

summer playlist; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 4k

genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, college!au, fwb, brother's best friend

rating: 18+

warnings: semi public sex, blowjob, spanking, jk is truly obsessed w her <3, protected sex, nipple play, jk leaves a hickey n oc gets upset 🙄, spit, dirty talk, his necklace dangling in her face 😋, jk's rejection count: TWO !!!!, pls someone hug him 🫂, fingering, clit play, groping

summary: pov: jungkook dedicates a cute playlist to you and fucks you to it on the balcony.

a/n: ur honour i was forced to write this don't come for me !!! 👉🏼👈🏼 enjoy the filth 😋

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

One of your favourite forms of self-care and relaxation is Pilates.

You love dressing up in your cute gym wear sets – you own countless of them, even though you never actually work out in the gym; they’re purely for the aesthetics – and grabbing a big water bottle along with your laptop for at least half an hour dedicated me-time.

It’s a bright morning and you’re on the balcony. The sun is gently warming the air as you’re following a Pilates video on your laptop, which is propped up on the couch. Jungkook’s playlist, the one he created just for you, is playing softly in the background, providing the perfect soundtrack without drowning out the instructor’s voice.

Truly, nothing can beat these types of mornings.

But of course, something had to interrupt your peace.

While you’re on your hands and knees, your phone vibrates next to the mat. You ignore it the first few times, but it keeps buzzing. With an annoyed huff, you grab it and unlock the screen.

Jungkook’s spamming you with numerous messages.

Jungcock 😋

hi

morning

watchu up to

im taking a run in the park

and im boored

are u up?

entertain me

You

omg did you change your contact's name again

stop doing that

how can you text and run?

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he calls you on FaceTime.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Jungkook says in a raspy voice, the screen shaking a bit as he runs his miles around campus. “I’m good at everything I do.” His tight black tee clings to his chest, displaying his big pecs. You feel your breath hitch and you’re not sure if it’s from your workout or the sight of him.

“Your ego, Jungkook,” you reply, shaking your head in disbelief. “Too big.” You set your phone down with an exasperated sigh, leaning it against the feet of the couch. His eyes drift down to your cleavage.

“I think my ego is perfectly fine. Flashing his dimples as you roll your eyes at him. “What are you doing?” he asks, sounding a bit breathless – so hot, but you brush it off. You’re a strong girl, after all.

“Was doing Pilates until you rudely interrupted me,” you say skipping back on the YouTube video and picking up where you left off. “Don’t you have other girls to entertain you?”

“None of them are as cute as you,” he replies smoothly, and you can’t help but wish he wouldn’t be so good at flirting. “You look hot in that fit.”

“Thanks.” You follow the instructions on the screen. It turns out to be a bit harder to focus with a sweaty, ruggedly handsome Jungkook right beneath it.

“Are you listening to my playlist?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling.

Your thoughts wander back to the time Jungkook made that playlist for you. You had told him you never really listened to playlists, just played one song and let the auto-play feature do the rest. He was so stunned by that revelation that he spent an afternoon creating a cute little summer playlist just for you.

“Good choice,” he grins, clearly pleased with himself.

“I actually really like the playlist.”

“Of course. I make the best playlists,” he boasts, and you can’t help but chuckle at his confidence.

An exhausted sigh escapes your lips. After finishing the set, you change into the child pose and take deep breaths, relaxing the muscles.

“Taehyung’s at his morning class?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Can I come over?”

You lift your head to look at the screen. He’s running at a more leisurely pace, looking even more irresistible.

“Like, right now?”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m busy,” you argue, teasing him with a thoughtful pout. On the screen, the instructor announces that the little break is over, and you should get ready for your next set, but you’re not listening anymore. What’s happening on the little screen in front of you is far more enticing.

“Busy, huh?” he mocks with a smirk. “Maybe I can help you with what you’re doing.” His eyes light up with excitement as he pushes his hair from his forehead. “Or you wanna get busy together?”

Unfortunately, it seems you’re not as strong a girl as you thought. You’re very weak. His teasing question, coupled with his wicked tongue grazing his lip piercing, has you weak in the knees. You want nothing more than him on the couch and you straddling him.

“I won’t take up too much of your time,” he promises, the sweet smile back on his face. “Unless you want me to.” He raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“Just come over,” you tell him with a hint of irritation.

Jungkook has the audacity to chuckle, and you frown at him.

“Be quick, or I’ll change my mind.”

~

“Hi.” Jungkook pokes his head out from the balcony.

You squeal, placing a hand over your chest.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “What happened to ringing the bell like normal visitors?”

“Why did you give me the passcode then?” he retorts cheekily, ogling the snug fit of your gym wear.

“Because I had severe cramps and didn’t wanna get up from the couch.”

Thinking back on that specific day, you feel a spark of giddiness bloom in your chest. You had gotten your period, were battling atrocious cramps, and top of it, you had run out of pads. With Taehyung not home and needing them urgently, you knew Jungkook was always quick to reply to your texts. So, you decided to ask him if he could pick up some pads for you.

Twenty minutes later, he showed up at your door not only with the pads but also with snacks. You could see the faint pink flush on his cheeks when he asked, “Girls like eating chocolate when they’re on their period, right?” and hesitantly handed you the snacks.

And then, you did something that still makes you ponder at night – you cuddled without having had sex before. Oddly enough, it felt more intimate than any sexual encounter. Granted, you did get up to some naughty things afterwards, but still. Jungkook had cuddled you through your cramps and even endured watching reality tv shows he claims to despise once again.

“Well, I didn’t wanna disrupt you.” Jungkook walks over to the couch. He grabs your laptop, settles down, and places it on his lap. “Not now, anyway.”

You shift to sit on your knees. Briefly glancing at the screen where the instructor does the next set of exercises before drifting to Jungkook’s smitten face. His skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, and his chest still rises and falls a bit faster than usually.

You nod towards him, eyes clinging to his muscular thighs that peek out from his shorts. “How am I supposed to focus when-” When you look like that. But the words catch in your throat.

Jungkook is so shamelessly cocky, he places his hands behind his head. “When what?”

You sigh in irritation, close the video, and slide the laptop off his lap and onto the couch. He opens his legs for you. “Forget this,” you huff, placing your hands on his knees. Jungkook leans in, crashing his lips onto yours, his hand cupping your face.

The kiss is needy and messy. He teases you with his tongue, and you playfully respond until he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, causing you to moan and lose yourself in the feeling of his mouth. In less than a minute, Jungkook has you completely pliant in his embrace.

The balcony is surrounded by tall privacy screens and partially shaded by a large canopy, providing privacy from prying eyes.

Your hands slide up his legs, underneath his shorts. You feel his thighs flex on your palm and you squeeze them back in response.

“Wanna feel your mouth,” Jungkook whispers against your lips, sighing in pleasure when you just barely graze your fingers against his cock that strains against the material of his briefs.

Jungkook impatiently pulls down his shorts and briefs and you help him. His cock springs out and stands prettily against his abdomen. Your mouth waters and you have to tell yourself to calm down – he's just a boy and you’re too whipped.

You spit on his cock and coat his length with it. You twist your hand as you slowly pump him and he grows even harder within your grasp, becoming veiny and heavy. You stick out your tongue and give him a few licks over his tip. Jungkook sharply inhales, a gentle moan following right after when he sees you tapping his dick against your tongue.

“Fuck, babe.” He takes his cock in his own hand and continues tapping his head against your tongue. He runs his tip across your mouth too, watching with keen, clouded eyes as he creates a little mess on your face. When he’s finished, he lets you grab his cock again. You wrap your lips around his dick and start bobbing your head up and down.

“That’s right,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. His eyes close as you take him deeper into your mouth and his head falls back. With his palm on the back of your head, he presses your head down. A curse flees his lips as almost his entire length vanishes into your mouth.

Jungkook forces his eyes open and moans at the sight of your mouth full of his cock. He loves watching you suck his cock and you love hearing him moan for you.

You’re a little breathless when you release his cock with a lewd pop sound, and your eyes a bit teary too. You stroke his dick and dip down to suck on his balls.

“So good. Fuck – you know what to do,” he mumbles like he’s drunk and you giggle at his comment.

“You like that?”

“So fucking much.” His hand caresses your head, so soft at handling you, but the way desire pinches his brows together shows how much he is struggling to restrain himself from just shoving his entire length down your throat. “Come here.” His tatted hand glides down your shoulder, pulling you up onto his lap.

He squeezes your ass and delivers it a little smack. “You’re so hot.” He peeks over your shoulder, watching the supple flesh fill his hands completely.

“How can you claim to be an everything guy when you’re clearly an ass guy.”

Jungkook takes offense at that. “I am an everything guy!” His hands quickly move to your breasts and he kneads them through your sports bra. “I love your tits just as much.” The tight material presses them snugly together. “I love every part of you.”

You feel a gentle warmth in your cheeks, but you laugh it off. “That is so playboy behaviour of you, Jungkook.”

A frown spreads on his face, lips puckering the slightest bit. “I’m no playboy,” he grumbles as he plays with your tits. Planting little kisses along your neck as if to add sincerity to his words.

You push his arms away and try to stand up, but Jungkook quickly pulls you back onto his lap, firmly gripping your waist.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his tone almost scolding. You grasp his wrist, but he doesn’t let go, his hands remaining firmly in place.

“Condoms,” you remind him. He lets out a quiet, muffled “oh”, and his grip loosens with a reluctant sigh. “’Cause, you know. We hook up with other people.”

Jungkook scoffs at your remark.

“What?” Tilting your head slightly. “I saw you with Nayeon at the party.” You try to sound as least huffy as you can.

“And you fucked Eunwoo,” he counters.

You actually didn’t – you just made out with him. You deliberately chose a spot so Jungkook could see you from the couch, with Nayeon clinging to his side, just because you wanted him to see you.

“So?”

Jungkook levels you with a piercing gaze but remains quiet. He gives your butt a pat and nods towards the balcony door. “Go get the condom.”

When you fetch a condom from your room and return to Jungkook, you see saliva dripping from his lips and he lubes himself up as his pretty fingers wrap around him and stroke his cock. He looks unfairly hot doing the filthiest things.

“Bend over my lap,” he instructs when you hand him the condom, but he ignores it and drops it next to him.

He helps you settle onto his lap, your tummy pressed against one of his thighs and your ass in the air. Jungkook rolls the tight fabric of your shorts over your ass. He flicks your panties aside and groans at the pretty sight in front of him. Wet pussy peeks out from between your soft thighs.

His finger swipes across your pussy. “So wet for me. Can’t wait to have my dick in your pussy, huh?” He rubs your arousal over your pussy, spreading your folds to spit and make an even bigger mess. He’s having so much fun teasing and rubbing you, playing a little with your clit and dipping the tip of his finger inside you.

“Jungkook,” you whine, looking over your shoulder. “We don’t have that much time.”

“Sorry.” He circles your hole with two fingers and plunges them deep inside you. “Better, princess?” he asks after you choke on a moan, mocking you with fake sympathy.

“Yeah, better.” The words roll off your tongue in a soft whisper. Jungkook curls his fingers and your eyes roll involuntarily. “So good.” His other hand rolls the plump flesh of your ass around his palm, sometimes squeezing and leaving his fingerprints on your skin.

He’s fast in figuring out a rhythmic way to move his fingers that instantly unfurls pleasure all over your body. Jungkook knows your body all too well; he has perfected the art of knowing what you like the most.

It makes you think back to high school when you had the biggest, silliest crush on him and wanted nothing more than his attention. Who could blame you? Your older brother’s hot best friend was the captain of the school’s hockey team and practically lived at your house.

Of course, developing a crush on him was inevitable. But you never showed him that you found him cute – you treated him like your older brother’s annoying best friend who was always around. Bickering was just the nature of your friendship. Sometimes, you’d get annoyed when your dad paid more attention to Jungkook. It wasn’t because he preferred Jungkook over you, but because your dad, a high-profile NHL General Manager, supported the boys on their journey.

Every girl in school was swooning over him – they still are. And you’re not the only girl he’s paying attention to. You have to force yourself to admit that he’s hooking up with other girls too, because denying it would make this seem so serious, and the thought of things becoming serious scares you.

You’re content with how things are between you two – you’re not foolish enough to turn this simple, silly arrangement into something serious when you know it wouldn’t last. Taehyung being the main reason for that. But you don’t want Jungkook in a romantic way anyway, and he doesn’t too.

Jungkook smacks your butt, soothing the sharp hit by running his hand over your burning skin right after. “Want your little pussy to be a mess for me.”

It is, you want to say. You are. But you’re lost in the tingling pleasure that clouds your mind, leaving you with nothing but desperate need for him. Any rational thoughts vanish, replaced by an angelic, repetitive chant of his name. Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

And with only Jungkook your mind, you cum around his fingers, walls clenching as the rush of your high envelops you completely.

“Good girl.” His fingers lather your slick all over your pussy, marvelling at how much it glistens under the sun, watching how it sticks to the pad of his fingers in little strings. “So pretty.” He discards your shorts and panties before pulling you up and making you straddle him.

Your arms drape over his shoulders as he takes in your weary expression, a small smirk rising on his face.

“So annoying,” you mutter and his smile grows wider. You smooch his dimple and rest your forehead against his neck when Jungkook rolls the condom over his cock and you feel him lift your hips up a little to align his tip with your entrance.

He stretches you out in a familiar, delicious way. Burying himself so deep inside you as you sink down on him. Your nose brushes his jaw and a shaky moan bubbles up when you move your hips and feel the full size of his cock.

Jungkook hands stay on your hips, guiding your movements before they sneak behind you and anchor themselves in your butt and you sniff a laugh, leaning back to peer at his face.

“Why?” he questions, curiosity piqued. Even though he doesn’t know why you’re amused, a soft smile spreads on his face.

“Nothing.” Your fingers gently weave through his smooth hair, playing with the strands at the back of his head. “Just you.”

The corners of his mouth curl upward and a satisfied, cocky glint settles in his eyes.

“Take this off,” you say, tugging at the tight-fitting shirt covering his upper half. Jungkook pulls it over his head, revealing a shiny silver necklace decorating his neck. “Is this new?” You trace the delicate chain with your nail.

“Yeah,” he grins proudly. Setting your laptop aside on the coffee table, he manhandles you onto your back, pushing his cock even further into you as he sits on his knees and leans over you. “You like it?”

The necklace dangles just above your face, its silver chain shimmering and momentarily catching your attention. You pull him closer by tugging on it.

“It’s pretty. Suits you.”

The compliment conjures a boyish smile on his lips, making his face soften with a warm, endearing glow – such a sweet contrast to the way he pounds into you with practised movements, his skin covered in sweat yet again, but not for the innocent reason of keeping fit for hockey, but for the wicked reason that Jungkook can’t control his desire to fuck his best friend’s younger sister and keeps coming back to you despite having so many other options.

Jungkook drags your bra down and squeezes your breast, loving the heavy feel of your supple flesh filling his closed fist.

You throw your legs around his waist to pull him even closer to you, if that’s even possible, and Jungkook deepens his thrusts, leaving you gasping for air and holding onto his shoulders, needing something to sink your nails into.

He dips his head down and catches your pebbled and sensitive nub in his mouth, sucking and licking and making your moans whinier. Jungkook leaves tiny flecks of spit on your skin as he peppers your chest and neck with smooches.

Jungkook’s touches send waves of euphoria through you, leaving your thoughts scattered and your senses heightened by how good he makes you feel, chasing your high as you concentrate on the way he reaches your sweet spot every time his body meets yours, so you only realise Jungkook is nibbling and sucking on your neck when you feel his teeth poke you.

“Jungkook,” you scold him, yanking him by the hair.

“What?” He peers at you through his big, round doe eyes.

“Why would you do that?” Your finger grazes the spot where he was just working hard to create a little hickey. “You know I don’t like that.”

“But you look pretty with it.” His brows raise to make his point clear. “Trust me.” He smiles at you in an annoyingly charming way, giving the freshly created hickey a gentle kiss. “A little love bite.” Love bite. You don’t want to dwell on how those words make you feel.

The only thing you want to think about is how close you are to cumming.

“Don’t do that again.” You avoid his gaze and cast it downwards, where he disappears into you. “Just– just make me cum.”

He pushes your leg up, his palm firmly against the back of your thigh. His sparkly necklace catches your attention, swinging in front your face, and it's the way he looks – his face flushed with desire, eyes smouldering, and every muscle taut with intensity – that makes it impossible to look away, leaving you completely captivated as you listen to his pretty moans that sound even better than the song playing in the background.

Your fingers trail down his chest, brushing over his hard abs as a faint attempt to moan his name rolls of your tongue and you bask in the bliss that floods through you.

“Fuck, ___,” he rasps when he feels you squeezing his cock. “Gonna cum too.”

His thrusts become sloppy as Jungkook loses himself in the feeling of release. His moans are breathy and low and you hear him stutter when he finally comes undone too. The muscles on his tummy clench and you feel his grip on your thigh tighten as Jungkook moves his hips slowly now. With rosy cheeks and a look of deep satisfaction brightening his face, he leans in, and presses a fervent kiss to your lips.

You’d love to stay like this with him a bit longer, teasing and annoying each other until you’re ready for another round. But the reminder that Taehyung’s class will end soon brings you back to reality. You only ever have these secret moments for a limited time before reality comes crashing back down.

“Think we should head inside?” you ask.

“Uh-huh.” He’s busy dotting your neck with gentle kisses.

“You’d have to get off me, y’know?”

He chuckles, and you feel a ticklish flutter in your tummy.

“Just wait a minute.”

~

You step back inside once you’re both clothed again and you managed to pry Jungkook off you after he stubbornly clung to you for what felt like ages. Definitely longer than just a minute.

“We could make this exclusive, if you’d want that,” Jungkook proposes, stepping closer and you feel his heavy gaze lingering on you.

“Huh?” You’re busy with closing the balcony door, cursing the insects that always manage to invade your apartment. Taehyung’s been promising to put up the insect screen for months.

Jungkook helps you close the door with a strong push. “If the condoms annoy you, we could stop hooking up with other people.”

“Oh,” you utter, surprised.

If you’re honest with yourself, you have to admit that Jungkook has ruined you for other guys. No other boy quiet hits the same after experiencing how Jungkook treats you in bed. There is a reason why girls blush and giggle and crave his attention whenever he walks by. He’s just that good.

But being exclusive means spending even more time together, which increases the chance of Taehyung finding out.

You cringe at the thought of that.

“We’d practically be begging Taehyung to catch us like fools,” you tell him.

Just then, you hear someone type in the code and the front door opens.

Quickly, like a practised move, you put distance between you and Jungkook.

“You hungry, ___?” Taehyung calls out, emerging from the hallway. His gaze is focused on his phone as he types, until he notices you and Jungkook and stops in his tracks. “I was just about to call you for breakfast.” He lifts the bag from your favourite bakery. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you’d invite me for breakfast.” Jungkook beams, reaching for the bag.

Taehyung’s gaze shifts to you, but you quickly brush past him. “I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t wait for me!”

“Did you come from a workout?” You hear Taehyung ask Jungkook.

Jungkook says yes, but he doesn’t tell your brother what kind of workout.

And moments like these are exactly why you want to keep things as they are with Jungkook.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

read more of this couple here <3

[beloveds-embrace]

noona. noon. any angsty thoughts to share for the duke au? 👁️ (i’m craving angst sorry)

Original post. || cw: angst, neglect

I DO!! Angst version of the au would be if you weren’t welcomed at all. Sure, no one is being flat out rude to you, no one is actively sabotaging you and John doesn’t hit or force you into anything.

But it’s lonely.

The maids barely touch you, as if disgusted they have to help and tend to the woman their Duke needed to and not wanted to marry, and the butlers are the same. Especially the head butler Garrick. You still don’t know his first name and he doesn’t seem inclined to tell you.

During the dinner… nights with John, you’ve started noticing that your food isn’t quite as well done as his? Less decorated, occasionally burnt or not cooked well, but you don’t want to cause any trouble so you remain silent and John never asks why you seem to eat so little.

You do also meet Duke Riley, the man that John is said to have an incredibly close friendship with, something born during his time servicing the kingdom. You’ve heard so much about him, from bad to good, and you wonder how he actually is.

In the end, you wish you hadn’t met him, too. The humiliation of being flat-out ignored in your own home while he speaks amicably with John…

So yes. Life as Duchess Price isn’t a happy one, but you are just glad you aren’t physically hurting.

But you do find solace in the only kindness your parents had bothered to show you before they gave you away; your personal knight, König. He is the only one to not treat you as such. He is the only one you can confide in, feel just a little bit of happiness and friendship with even if you haven’t even seen his face yet.

“I’m so tired,” you whisper to him one night, under the blanket of the night sky. You’d thrown a simple shawl over your shoulders, and hadn’t questioned it when he fell in steps behind you, always a protective shadow. Today had been hard. You had also decided to no longer dine with John, not too excited about the lackluster food and the stilted conversations. Cold maids, lonely night… you ached for something more.

You take in a shuddering breath, wrapping the shawl tighter around yourself. Konig stands right beside the bench you are sitting on, a familiar and comforting sight and presence. But tonight, it’s not enough. “I’m so tired, König.” You repeat, your voice cracking.

König simply stares at you for a while; you are used to it, used to everything about him. The mask, the accent, the unyielding body that is always keeping you safe. The quiet congestions you have had, during the days you lock yourself away in your office to ignore the loneliness and sadness plaguing you.

You aren’t used to seeing König bend down in front of you, holding his hands out until you place them in his. Familiar pale eyes peer up at you. Proper etiquette doesn’t matter to you in this moment; who will chastise you for the lack of it when this entire duchy holds only the most basic form of respect for you?

Even if they did, you would not let go of König, your confidant. Your knight.

“…What do you need, mylady?”

After a silent moment, you take in a deep breath and look back at him. “…I want… someone who loves me enough to be kind towards me. I want someone who loves me.”

König nods his head. With bated breath, you watch silently as he brings your hands forward, under his mask, to kiss each knuckle on your hands.

“I am your knight, mylady. I am your sword, and your shield. I, too, can be your lover if that is what you want, mylady. Whatever you desire, it is my duty to provide.” König breathes out against your skin, eyes not once flicking away, words not once breaking. He is fully devoted in his decision. “Will you allow me, mylady? The decision is your, always has been. I cannot take you away from this horrible place-“ not yet. “-but I can give you my love and devotion, just as I’ve always done. Will you allow me, mylady?”

And after everything you’ve been through, all the pain and loneliness and exclusion- you can’t say no.

“…Yes, König.”

(By the time John begins to realize that he may have misjudged you, once you find out the truth, it is already far too late for mending any bridges. There is no particular feeling when you look at him, or any of his men. You only ask that no one bothers your time alone with your shadow, your knight. It’s far too late for anything.)

Part 2 + dukedom au masterlist

[chaoticwriting]

Part 1

Gotham New Rogue 2

It's been a few weeks since Danny started to become the Trickster. To be honest, it is working very well. His core is expanding fast as ectoplasm is regenerating faster than ever before. He is also slowly developing new abilities and gaining more control and powers to his already established abilities.

For instance, Danny used to struggle making clones, but now he can easily create dozens of them with just a thought. He can also change his clothes to whatever he imagines using ectoplasm now. His ice power is also stronger and easier to control. His superhuman body is developing and slowly getting stronger and faster.

Overall, Danny will say that make a smart decision to become a rogue especially since no one has caught him yet. Danny is currently laying on top of a building watching the sun slowly set in the horizon. His stomach suddenly grumbles and he decides to hit the shack before he gets to "work" tonight.

Jumping off the roof, Danny lands and walks to the nearest Batburger while still wearing his rogue suit. He has a totally funny idea today and it involves him being seen in public. Entering the Batburger is like entering a library for some reason. As soon as he enters, everyone goes deathly quiet.

Danny slowly walks towards the cashier and orders his food.

Danny: 5 sets of set C please.

Cashier: Ermm, that will be 60 bucks.

Danny: Here.

After paying for the food, Danny gets his food and sits at one of the tables alone. It's only after he is through his 3rd set that reality is set in for the people. They begin to move and contrary to Danny's expectations, approach him to ask for pictures. Danny allows them some pictures and unknowingly raises his status as Gotham's friendliest rogue.

Suddenly, a white man that screams rich guy, a woman with blonde hair and a black guy wearing Signal's merch approach him. Danny has learned a lot of things from his 14 years of life and 2 years of half life and Danny knows when a rich guy approaches you, it's never good (Sam doesn't have the rich vibe).

Rich guy: Hello Trickster! May we have a meal with you?

Danny: Sure.

Rich guy: Ah, how rude of me. My name is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. These two are my friends, Stephanie Brown and Duke Thomas. You can call me Tim by the way.

Danny: Sure, Tim.

They sit opposite him with their meals and try to make small talks with him while eating. The trio realize that Danny seems to respond a lot better when Steph or Duke is the one to ask the question.

Steph: So, Trickster. Why don't you like my friend here?

Duke: Way to go in being subtle, Steph. Why not ask who is he really next?

Steph: Hey, I can't help it you know. He seems so snarky whenever Tim asks questions. I wanna know if Tim pissed him off or something.

Danny: He is rich, right?

Duke: Err, yes?

Steph: Let's say he is. Why does that matter?

Danny: I hate rich people. And government. But who doesn't hate the government?

Duke: So, eat the rich?

Danny: Yes.

Steph: Cool cool. We are also here just so we could leech him off anyway. We're not really friends.

Tim: Ow, you hurt me by saying that. What happened to our vow of eternal friendships?

Steph: I cross my fingers.

Duke: I lie.

Danny: Hahahaha. You're like my friends.

Tim: You have friends?

Danny: Of course I have friends. And unlike you I don't need money to have friends.

Tim: Sorry sorry. Are your friends also rouges?

Danny: Wouldn't you like to know? Last I need is Batman investigating my friends. I'm sure Batman is part of you rich people group chat or something.

Steph and Duke: *Snickers*

Tim: *Glares at the two* Why would you think Batman is in contact with the rich people?

Danny: Isn't it obvious? Batman has all these high tech gadgets and is always there fast whenever a Wayne is kidnapped. I would even say Batman is being sponsored by the Wayne.

Danny: I also don't like most heroes in general. They are just the government lapdog doing whatever the government wants.

Tim, Steph and Duke frowned at that statement. From the way Danny speaks, it is clear that he has some history against the government. Him being here also means he is at least confident enough to run away if any of the bats are here. Is it just blind confidence or a truly competent ability will remain to be seen.

Tim is just about to refute him when Danny suddenly stands up. All of them tensed up and ready for battle when Danny turns towards one side of the window, waves and disappears right in front of them. They are very confused and when they turn towards the direction Danny was just looking at, they see Batman and Black Bat right on the rooftop across the building.

Batman and Tim nod to each other and they all return to the caves.

-Batcave-

Tim: So you all hear the conversation right?

Dick: Except at the end where the sound becomes blurred for a moment, we hear everything.

Tim: Good. So what are your thoughts on this?

Damian: It is pretty self explanatory Drake. He has a personal hatred towards the government and that extends to all bodies of government or people he thought is connected to the government.

Tim: But why though? Is the hatred towards the government something as simple because he is a criminal? Or is there something else towards it?

Bruce: There is nothing to find about him currently with our limited resources about him. Return to the manor for today and take some rest. We will investigate it later.

All of them return to the manor and rest for the night.

-2 weeks later-

The Trickster is standing in front of an unconscious and tied up Batman. He is giggling loudly that evolves into full blown laughter.

He takes off Batman's belt and starts to pull out stuff one after another. Soon, he found the item that he needed.

Trickster: Hahahahahahaha. I have finally got it. The strongest weapon in the world!

The batfam that is watching the live broadcast shiver as they watch Trickster holds out the black object high in the sky.

Part 3