#best cities to visit in turkey

[awkward-smirks]

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[turkeytrips]

Beauty Lies Everywhere in Black Sea Region

While many tourists opt for the Mediterranean or Aegean regions in the south and west, the Turkish people acknowledge that the Black Sea region holds an equal allure. The coastal cities of this region boast a remarkable lushness and subtropical climate, accompanied by terraced tea plantations seamlessly blending into the mountainous backdrop. From the relaxed ambiance of Amasra to the vibrant…

[navramanan]

Anytime i'm reminded of afrîn it fills me with incredible dread.

[pedrospatch]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[alismak]

LSKLİNİK - PLATİN

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[sweatervest-obsessed]

You're Keeping Me Down

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her)

WC: ~5.8k

TW: mentions of trauma, mentions of Maeve, kissing, previous relationships, swearing, alcohol, so much crying, bad decisions, girlbossing

A/N: ayo....angsty teehee. I hope y'all like it! It's a sequel to Dedicated to New Lovers and was inspired mainly by Sara Bareilles's Gravity, some Harry Styles, and other sad songs. I hope y'all enjoy it!! I really do love reading all of your comments, and tags, and feedback because it makes me so happy to know you guys are enjoying the writing!! <3

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” ~Maya Angelou

Something always brought you back to Doctor Spencer Reid. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you fought it, something about the universe could not keep you away from him for too long. 

It was like the two of you were attached at opposite ends of a string, always pulling you towards one another, ignoring whatever you had been feeling beforehand. 

There was nothing you could do to escape him. You had tried traversing the globe, studying in Greece and Turkey, or taking vacations in the most remote villages of China; you had even done a two-week expedition traveling to Antarctica. But somehow, some way, Spencer Reid stayed in the back of your mind. 

Sometimes, it was like he was right next to you. You could still feel him next to you in your bed, or if you were alone in your car, your hand was absently reaching toward the passenger seat, only to feel the leather and not his leg. 

Maybe it was because all of those stupid little facts he had spouted to you were resting in the back of your mind, popping up when you’d come across anything he would have told you about. 

It was something you missed. He would just ramble on about anything to you, watching the joy on his face as he continued to speak, so grateful to have an audience, to have someone who cared. But you’d have to remind yourself that Spencer chose her as his audience instead of you. 

Her. 

The guilt of Maeve’s death followed you around more than Spencer did. At first, it was anything to do with therapists. The thought of choosing someone to speak to outside of your circle was a betrayal you had felt, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Then it was your distrust of your friends, watching as they became less and less frequent in your life. 

Work was all-consuming. You knew this fact well. Being one of the top profilers in the FBI meant that news of your transfer went fast, and the job offers came even quicker. But you decided to take some time off to rediscover the girl you once knew, someone outside her job. 

The BAU was simply your life for the past eight years. You worked at the BAU, you dated inside of the BAU, and your friends were all within the BAU–It was honestly a joke that it all had decided to come crumbling down once you felt secure in your life, in your job, in your relationship. 

You had filed the paperwork that allowed you to take two months of paid leave, not to leave the department. Your social media suddenly became filled with images of Ancient Greek monuments, Italian Vineyards, the French and Swiss Alps, and cities you once only visited in your wildest dreams. 

Escaping reality was the best way to rediscover who you are. And so you tried.

When you returned from your two months, you had walked into the BAU bullpen and straight to Hotch’s office. Your skin was tanner, and your hair was a bit lighter from all of the sun. You were suddenly this confident woman again, but you weren’t who you were before, making you nearly unrecognizable. 

“Y/N, please come in.” 

You smiled warmly at Hotch, giving him a quick hug. 

“You look good. How were your travels?” 

You smiled and leaned against the wall, not wanting to sit since that meant you would be here longer than you wanted. 

“It was everything I needed it to be, Hotch .” You nodded to the file on his desk with your name on it. “I take it Garcia ‘accidentally’ discovered my file and decided to drop it off?” 

Hotch sighed and opened the file, looking over at you. “Of course she did. I thought you were just transferring after your leave; I didn’t know you were leaving the Bureau entirely.” 

You nodded, a sad smile making its way onto your face. 

Hotch looked at you, replicating the same sad smile. 

“I wanted to tell you in person since I didn’t want you to find out via paperwork, but I should have known to come to your office first and then file it instead of filing it on my way to your office.” 

A soft chuckle passed through Hotch’s lips as he nodded. “We’re going to miss you more than before, Y/N.” 

“I won't be gone forever, Hotch. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“I know.” He rounded the desk, giving you a quick hug, arm on your shoulder. “You have my number.” 

You gave him a quick smile, nodding, “Don’t worry, Jack will still be getting weekly updates about my travels, and expect a box of goodies occasionally. I have to uphold my reigning title of the coolest aunt ever.” 

As you left Hotch’s office, you didn’t notice Spencer at the coffee station. You didn’t see as he watched you quickly drop a note off on Emily’s desk and another on Derek’s desk before stepping into the elevator for the last time for the next two years. 

You didn’t notice the heartbreak in his eyes, and you didn’t notice the fact that he had overheard as you told Hotch you weren’t coming back to the FBI at all. 

But somehow, you found yourself back in that same elevator, visitor badge clipped to the new dress you had received as a gift from a friend during your month-long stay in India last year. The fabric draped across your body, highlighting how beautiful your curves were, and the colors brought out this newfound radiance in your skin, your eyes, your smile...

Color was the newest development in your life. The BAU meant that everything was in professional shades of blue, black, white, or maybe a subdued purple or green if you felt risky. But suddenly, your wardrobe burst through the rainbow as you experimented with patterns and shades, basking in this newfound joy beyond the world of suits. 

Eighteen months of experimenting–with life, with colors, with places you called home, with love.

You had two brief “love affairs” as Garcia lovingly called them. One was only two weeks long, but the other was a few months. Yet both were missing something special and could barely converse with you. Maybe that was how Spencer felt. And the sex wasn’t all that great either.  

And yet, after Eighteen months, an award, four nominations, a cat, a mediocre short-term relationship, and one groundbreaking dissertation that led to a Ph.D. later, you found yourself back in that damned elevator. 

You inhaled sharply as you heard the tiny ding, doors opening up to a sight that made your stomach twist. It was truly bittersweet to be back, to visit the place that once carried everything in your life, and to have it be so foreign to you. 

But what was not so foreign was how one Derek Morgan looked up as the door opened and his eyes filled to the brim with light. 

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” He dropped his file on his desk and met you in the middle of the side aisle of the bullpen, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “My woman.” He muttered into your hair, giving you an extra squeeze before pulling away slightly. 

“What’s up, sexy.” You laughed, thrilled to hear he hadn’t changed too much while you were away. 

“I’m sexy? Have you seen yourself recently?” He laughed, and you gave him a twirl, eager to show off one of your favorite dresses. “And where did you get this? Wait, wait, let me guess.” 

You pursed your lips, failing to hide the smile that was beaming across your face. 

“Was it your time in Taiwan? No no…Pakistan?” 

“So close. India. Maybe next time, champ.” You patted his arm, turning your head at the gasp behind me. 

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Doctor Y/N Y/L/N, world traveler extraordinaire?” 

“JJ, you saw me three days ago.” 

JJ pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, over Facetime,” she grumbled, not even trying to pretend she was upset at the sight of you in person. “You seriously have to stop sending Henry so much stuff.” 

“Some of it is for the other one, too.” You muttered to her, knowing she wasn’t fully public with her pregnancy at the BAU just yet. 

“I’ll be right back, I promise, I just have to say hi to Hotch first.” You placed your hands on their arms, turning towards Hotch’s office. As you went to knock on the door, it opened, leaving you face to face with the only person you weren’t ready to confront just yet. 

“Hi.” He breathed out.

And fuck you, he looked so good. 

“Hi, Spencer.” 

You watched as a wave of emotion rippled across his face. His name almost tasted weird in your mouth, not something you’ve often said in the two years apart. 

“I’ll, um..” He moved to step out of the way, letting you maneuver into Hotch’s office. 

But you had also tried to move, causing you and Spencer to almost collide, causing his hand to barely grace your waist. A spark flew through your skin at the thought of his touch, causing goosebumps up and down your body. 

You both muttered an apology, eyes not leaving the other until you quickly moved into Hotch’s office, causing him to move back, still watching as you closed the door in his face.

While you spoke to Hotch, catching up, Spencer was down in the bullpen at his desk, barely even trying to move them away from the windows. 

JJ and Derek stood around his desk, looking from the office to Spencer and back again. 

“She’s back.” He said simply when Kate approached them, wondering why they were all standing around, staring at Hotch’s office. 

“Who?” Kate crossed her arms, looking between the agents, hoping for an answer.

Spencer said your name for the first time in a very long time. And it was almost as if his brain whirred to life, like some part of him had been dormant for a long time. 

“Doctor.” 

Spencer gave Derek a weird look. “What?” 

“It’s Doctor Y/N Y/L/N now, Pretty Boy.” 

Spencer let his mouth fall into a small oh, letting his mind sink deeper and deeper into the pit of you. 

When you had originally left, Spencer decided to try and ignore you. It didn’t work, but he wouldn’t seek you out purposefully. He never looked up your name and tried to steer clear of the conversations involving you. But he wondered why you had never mentioned wanting to get a doctorate beforehand. He would have remembered something like that. He should have remembered something like that. ______________________________________________________________

The thought of Spencer’s fingers on your waist was the only thing you could think about for the rest of the day. Your skin hadn’t stopped tingling, and suddenly you wanted to drown in his touch, let his hands roam over your body and— “Stop it.” You said out loud as you put in your earrings. 

Your mind wasn’t playing far. 

“What did you say, sweetheart?” 

“Nothing, just talking to myself!” You called back, sighing as you smoothed out the front of the dress you had changed into. 

The team had decided to throw you a welcome-back party that night, generously hosted by David Rossi. And since they had all wanted an excuse to get dressed up, you gave them that much, meaning you had to dawn heels and a touch of makeup to accentuate the features you wanted. It also meant you got to pull out another stunning dress you had bought. 

Celebrating your doctorate, which you completed a year early, you had flown to Milan with Emily Prentiss and decided to go shopping, which is how you ended up with the current dress you were wearing. 

It fits you in all the right places, showing off just enough cleavage to be tasteful but maybe tempt something a bit more. You wondered if Spencer would like—

“God, I forgot how hot you look in that dress.” 

“Emily Prentiss, I could kiss you on the mouth.” 

Emily laughed and looped her arm through yours, staring at the two of you in the mirror. 

“Thank you for flying in on such short notice.” You whispered, unable to take your eyes off of the reflection staring back at you.

“We can call the whole thing off right now…”

You shook your head and smiled at her. “It’s for me. And I really want some of Rossi’s cooking right about now. Especially now that I can compare my worldly experiences with the Italian Masterchef himself.” You laughed, causing Emily to laugh with you. 

“Let's get going, yeah?” 

The ride to Rossi’s house on the outskirts of Washington D.C. made for a relaxing drive, filled with updates from your best friend about each other’s lives, even though it had only been a month since you had seen each other last. 

“I think you’re being perfectly reasonable, hun.” 

“You’re saying that because all I do is cry these days,” you grumbled, kissing the head of the black cat in your lap. 

Emily laughed and took a sip of her wine. “Or maybe I just know that you need a change of scenery. You’ve dedicated your entire life to the BAU and now you need to explore the entire rest of the world.” 

“I think you just want to go to Greece with me.” 

“You know how much I love Mamma Mia….”

You cracked a smile and picked up your glass. “Maybe Em, I’m not sure…I just…”

Emily watched as you looked up, trying to keep the tears from your eyes. 

“I know he’s not worth the tears,” you mumbled, but you exhaled slowly. “It’ll just hit me sometimes.” 

She stayed quiet, watching as you slowly worked through whatever was happening in your head. 

“It’s like he’s right next to me sometimes. I…It’s like sometimes my own head is against me for not talking to him. I heard a song the other day, and I immediately turned to tell him something about it and–It’s like he’s ruling over my mind—” You huffed angrily. “I feel like I’m not making any sense–god.” You downed your wine and placed the glass on the table. “Maybe I’m just meant to wallow and drink wine and be completely useless for the rest of my life…past my prime, past my worth. I was so—I was so fucking sure he was the one…Like there's this strong attachment to my chest and I’m connected to him for eternity, regardless of whether he loves me or not.” 

Emily pulled you into her arms while you cried, rubbing your back. 

“You are so much more than him, hun. You will go out in the world, figure out who you are again, and stand so tall, just how you’re supposed to.”

“So tall.” Emily looked at you as she parked the car in Rossi’s driveway. 

“Just the way I’m supposed to be.” You whispered, looking over at her, smiling.  ______________________________________________________________

You’ve been to Rossi’s more times than you could ever admit, but it managed to take your breath away every single time. After his first wife had passed away, he had put in a garden near the edge of his backyard, providing beautiful color for you to look at from the porch. 

Somehow, you always had a half-full glass, managing to have someone always get you a new drink when you seemed low. 

You managed to talk to Jack and Henry, telling them all about the wonders of the world you had seen, then being pulled away by Garcia to discuss that brief love affair you had in Argentina, which then led to telling Derek about your time in England, studying for your doctorate. 

Gratefully, you excused yourself when Rossi announced that dinner had been served, leading you to the tables set up in the backyard, filled to the brim with all your favorite foods. He had simply done too much. 

Dinner was filled with smiles, laughs, and chatter about the ‘good ol days’ and the newer memories being made. You had become acquainted with Kate Callahan, Emily’s replacement. She seemed nice enough, but you both were hesitant of one another. 

Spencer was sitting across the table from you. The two of you would catch glances at one another, passing moments where you couldn’t help but notice the way the wind ruffled his hair or the way the garden’s fairy lights reflected in his eyes. 

“So, what brings you back to Washington,” Hotch asks you the question every person at the table has been dying to hear the answer to. 

“Oh! Well…” You blushed slightly and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal, but I was just offered a position at Georgetown as an adjunct professor. If I take it, I’ll teach classes for at least the next semester. That is if I like it more than King’s College in London..”

The table erupted into congratulations, ending with a toast from Rossi.

You all raised your glass in “Salut”, and took a sip from your drink, but you couldn't help but look at Spencer, who was already looking at you. 

Excusing yourself from the table, you went inside quickly, walking towards the kitchen sink. You ran your hands under the cool water before splashing it across your face. 

“Y/n…”

There it was. The moment you had been dreading. The two of you were alone, no one else to buffer you, no one else to take your arm and drag you to the dance floor. 

“Spencer.” You turned around, your body leaning against the sink. God, you felt so small, so unable to watch yourself. 

“That’s a–that’s a beautiful dress.” 

“Milan.” You mused, fiddling with the ring on your pinky finger, unable to look away from the man before you. 

“Ah.” 

The silence hurt. Watching the two of you must have been painful because you could feel it. You once told this man everything about yourself; he once knew how your day went by one singular sigh. He could have told you what you were in the mood to eat for breakfast just by how you woke up. 

But now, you didn’t even know what to say. 

“Georgetown.” 

You nodded and looked down at your nails, seeming that they felt like a safer bet to look at. “Yeah, uh…should be fun. Can I–” You looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?” 

Spencer’s head nodded, and you pursed your lips, looking out the window and watching as your friends and family all laughed together and ate together. 

“When I was…um.” You cleared your throat, willing away the tears that had instantly sprung to your eyes. “When I was packing up all my stuff two years ago…I found the…W-Was it for her or…” You braced yourself for impact. Waiting for him to respond. 

Spencer’s eyes glassed over, and his mouth formed a small oh. He fiddled with his ring finger and looked out past you through the window. He couldn’t bear to watch the travesty he was about to cause. 

“You.” 

“Oh.” Fuck this. Fuck. You had sobbed over finding it for three hours while packing and then  sobbed again as you moved out. Somehow, hearing it out loud was worse. 

He was going to propose to you.

Spencer Reid had wanted to marry you. And god, that hurt. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and then he told you that he wasn’t in love with you anymore. 

You didn’t care if you were reserving a spot in hell for yourself by damning an already dead woman. Her death meant Spencer could feel an ounce of the grief you just dug up. A sliver of the pain. 

Suddenly, you felt his hand on your jaw, a thumb on your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped your eye. “I am so sorry.” He whispered. 

And that broke the damn. 

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him, surrounding yourself with Spencer. Letting the smell of his cologne wash over you, letting him squeeze you tightly like he used to so long ago. The feeling of his chest rising and falling gave you such comfort that your brain was screaming at you to run away from it. You had finally built all your walls back up; you felt as if you could finally exist, but here in his arms, the world was silent. 

In his arms, you felt fragile; you felt so small. All of the strength you had was gone. And it felt so fucking good to not have to be the strong one, the person with the brave face. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

His lips kissed your hair, arm running up and down your back, trying so desperately to bring back that sense of comfort he once could provide you. And it was fucking working. God, why was it working. Why did it feel good? Why couldn’t you pull away? 

“Spence…” You mumbled into his shirt, that had been stained by your tears. You shook your head. “I can’t…We can’t…”

He pulled away from you slightly, eyes saddened, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were rejecting him or because he still loved you just as much as you loved him. 

“I love you.” 

You pulled away from the kiss, hand on his chest, smiling brightly at him. “What?”

It was the most beautiful you had ever looked, Spencer decided. 

Your lips were puffy from how much the two of you were kissing, hair messy from his hands running through it, eyes wide with just as much love repeated in his own. 

“I love you.” He repeated, smiling beyond measure.

“Say it again.” You mumbled, yanking him back down to your lips, kissing him again and again. 

“I love you so much, y/n y/l/n.” 

You pulled away, laughter filling up the entire room. Pure joy echoed and bounced off of the walls. 

Spencer bit his lip, pulling away slightly. You hadn’t set it back. 

“Spence…” You cupped both cheeks with your hand, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. “I love you too.” 

Just saying it caused you to giggle, full of love and pure joy. 

Loving anyone else would have caused you to gag–it still does. 

But the memory makes you shudder, causing you to step out of his arms, quickly wiping away your tears or trying your best to. 

The thought of love made you want to rip your head off. It made you want to sink to the bottom of the ocean and never resurface. 

Spencer said your name, making you shake your head. 

“You don’t love me Spencer. You haven’t for a long time.” The admission caused a resurgence of tears, making him take a step towards you. “No, Spencer, no.” 

You shook your head again. “I-I can’t…you hurt me. You…you left me for someone you had never even met. She was–god.” 

“I never loved her the way I love you.” 

“No.” You whispered, chest heaving. “No, no. You can’t..fuck. Don’t say that shit–why would you say that shit to me.” 

“Because it's the truth.” He said softly, too calmly for you to just ignore it. 

“How can you stand there and say that to me? You don’t mean it—You can’t..” The past two year’s worth of therapy, of moving on, of becoming your own, came crumbling down because fuck, you didn’t know what to believe anymore. “How can you just…You don’t fucking mean it.” 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I–”

“Don’t believe you?” You laughed at that, tears mixing with the stabs in your chest, dropping past your mouth as it laughed and laughed and laughed. “Then why did you fucking leave me. Why–Why–Why did you tell me to move out and…God Spencer, why did you come here tonight.” 

You were almost hysterical at that point; all Spencer could do was watch. He couldn't touch you because every time he tried, you’d move away or lose some part of your mind even more. 

“What about me was so–so–so, so boring, so understimulating to you, so desperately ignorant that you told me you didn’t love me anymore, that you kicked me out of our home, that made you reconsider wanting to marry me. And you know, I get it, I do. You found someone on your level intellectually, I get it. But still, I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life–what did she have that I didn’t, huh? What about her made her more appealing to talk to than me? ” 

“She…”

“She what, Spencer.”

“I wasn’t–”

“No.” You were leaning back against the counter, trying to gain some semblance of yourself back from the spiral you were on. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t give me some ‘unworthy’ thought process because maybe you’re fucking eidetic memory doesn’t remember all of the conversations we used to have, but I fucking do. I couldn’t cut them out of my skin if I tried, and god did I try.” 

Spencer stared at you, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t function. All he could do was watch the pieces of you shatter all over, reliving the exact moments you were, but instead of being able to make it right, all he could watch as you closed yourself off more and more. 

“Y-you tried?” 

“God, Spencer, did you even look at me during those months.” 

“I…” He just looked at you, really looked at you. “I couldn’t.”

You scoffed, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and straightened out your dress. 

“The only fucking thing I know is that if I don’t walk away now, then I will hate myself for the rest of my life for letting you talk me back into loving you again. And the worst part is, I still do. I don’t think I could ever love anyone again because of how much love I have for you, after everything we had been through, but—”

He kissed you.

Or you kissed him. 

You weren’t sure. 

But all you knew was that his hands were on your waist, and your hands were on his cheeks, and his lips were touching yours, and everything felt so right within the world, and your body was against his and just–

“Fuck.” You quickly pulled away, both of you panting, staring at one another, unsure about what happened. 

You two just stared at one another for what felt like forever until you heard Emily call your name from the porch. You took another step away, back against the kitchen counter, smoothing your hair and crossing your arms. 

Emily walked in and eyed the two of you, misreading the tension as something more antagonistic from before than what had actually happened. 

“Uh, Rossi made you a cake…” She looked between the both of you, watching as you nodded at her, standing up fully. You followed behind her, sparing one last look at Spencer, who was just looking at where you were standing. 

______________________________________________________________

“Uh, hi, sorry, could you point me toward Agent Hotchner’s Office.” 

The person whose shoulder you tapped turned around and gave you one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen. 

“Well hello, gorg–”

“Derek. Don’t be rude.” The woman next to Derek had elbowed him in the ribs, preventing more HR training for the both of them. “Hi. You must be Y/n. I’m Penelope, and that’s Derek, don’t mind him.” She looped her arm through yours and started to lead you towards the little staircase on the side of the room. 

“Hotch’s office is right up here.” 

“I–Thank you, Penelope.” You smiled at her. 

“I’ve read your file.” She whispered, smiling back at you. “I’m really excited to work with you because you are one impressive woman, let me tell you.” 

You blushed slightly, about to respond, but Penelope had knocked on Hotch’s door, causing a voice to tell you to “come in.” 

“Welcome to the team.” She pulled away, leaving you to enter Aaron Hotchner’s office for the first of many times. 

You opened the door and smiled at the man at the desk. “Hi, I’m–”

“Y/n Y/l/n, You have a very impressive resume. Please, take a seat.” He stood to shake your hand, gesturing to the chair before his desk. You quickly scanned the photos along the walls, the books on his shelves. 

“Everyone knows who I am before I know who they are.” You laughed slightly, taking the seat. 

“Yes, well, We’re all very excited to have you join us here.” 

The memory of your first day hit you like a wave when Aaron pulled your seat out for you back at the table outside. You stalled for only a second, but it was long enough for any of the various profilers at the table to notice something was off. 

You smiled through the speeches, and you laughed at the jokes and cried at the sweetness of your friends, but you were somewhere far away, dreaming about the moments that led you up to where you were. 

“And that is why I am glad to have you back because clearly, the universe respects you enough to let us all come together to celebrate the return of our Y/n.” You raised your glass and cheer with Rossi, standing up to hug him. 

“Now.” You smiled at all of the faces that looked up at you. “Let us eat cake!!” 

The table erupted and while Rossi cut slices for each of you, you sat back down, listening to what Garcia was telling you, but your eyes kept darting to the person directly across from you. 

You could feel his eyes any time they were on you, and you knew they were fleeting glances, but it was just too much. 

“Want to take a walk with me through the rose garden?” 

You nodded, standing up and accepting Derek’s arm, letting him lead you towards the garden, enjoying the fresh air and the sudden weight off of your shoulders. You couldn’t feel his gaze anymore but you knew he was still looking at you. 

“What’s next on your list of adventures.” Derek looked at you, watching the millions of emotions race across your face before settling on a smile and a shrug. 

“I’m not sure yet. You know about Georgetown, but I don’t know about D.C. anymore….”

Derek nodded and pulled out the chair at the small wire table. It sat under a trellis filled with gorgeously bloomed roses and baby’s breath. The smell was almost overwhelmingly fragrant. 

You gratefully took it and watched as he went and sat across from you. 

“You looked like you got a bit overwhelmed back there.” 

“What happened to not profiling me like I asked?” 

Derek chuckled, “It’s not profiling if it’s written on your sleeve.” 

You sighed and looked out at some of the flowers. “I don't…”

He let you work through it in your mind, just glad to keep you company while you figured your shit out. 

Eventually, you spoke up. “It’s weird.” 

Derek hummed in agreement. 

“I don’t know. Just. I felt like I was doing so well, and I was becoming my own person, figuring out who I was, and then I come back here, and suddenly I’m back to being that twenty-two-year-old kid who breezed her way through the academy. It’s like I did everything in my power to end up where I did, and then the universe told me I fucked up and should have done something else.” 

“I don’t think you fucked up in the slightest. Do you know how many people you saved?”

You went to brush off his comment, but Derek didn’t let you get a word in. 

“I know your entire world got completely fucked over, but you were meant to be in BAU. You were supposed to be there. I cannot think of my life without you, I know Garcia can’t, and I know Emily would tear you a new one if you even brought up to her the possibility that you being in her life was a mistake.” 

“Yeah, and now I’m thirty, with a doctorate and a cat, and no idea what to do with my life.” 

“But you also just spent the last two years seeing the world–how many countries did you go to…”

You pursued your lips, trying to count in your head. A blush spread across your face as you mumbled the number. 

“Sorry, wanna repeat that for me?” 

“At least fifty…” 

“That’s what I thought.” A very proud look crossed Derek's face, smiling at you. 

You looked down at your left hand, fiddling with your ring finger. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter how much you enjoyed his company and the way he was keeping your ego healthily inflated, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you could have been married–you could have been happy. 

“He told me when he bought it.” 

Your eyes snapped to Derek’s, and he looked at you with such soft eyes. 

That was something you had always loved about Derek. No matter how much he cared for you, no matter how gently he was being, he never treated you like a piece of glass.

“He, uh, I was the only one he told.” 

You nodded, waiting for him to continue. 

“When did you find it?” 

“When I was moving my things out of the apartment.” 

“Damn…” 

“Yeah.” You laughed. It was colder than usual but still antagonistic at the whole situation. “I…um. I found it on the last day when I was cleaning out my bedside table. He knew I never went into the bottom drawer because I literally never kept anything in there, but I checked because, you know, I was asked to leave, and…there it was. It was just…It’s ironic, really, how perfect it was, too. They say that if a guy can’t get the ring right, then he’s not the one for you, but no one preps you on if it’s the perfect ring, perfect size, but you had just broken up two days before you found it…” 

Derek nodded, letting you ramble. 

“I feel like I’m being weighed down by a million different things, yet they’re all him.” 

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I have no fucking idea.” 

"Sometimes good things fall apart, so that better things can fall together." ~ Marilyn Monroe

Part 3

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Tags: @lilrios-world @gubzgirl @mynameisnotokay @hereforfun22-blog @yoursarahg @mega-kittyglitter-1 @onlyspence

[chrisevansonly]

𝑷𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒓 | 𝒎𝒂𝒙 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏

☁︎max verstappen x female reader

☁︎you know just how to select the perfect pumpkin, and it’s time your boyfriend learns how as well…

☁︎no warnings, very cute fall fluff!

☁︎my third fall celebration fic! thank you guys for reading and enjoying! it means the world to me!

October was the season for pumpkins, growing up you cherished the time you’d visit local farms and spend the days picking the best pumpkins for your house to decorate for the fall season. It wasn’t until you’d met your boyfriend Max that you realized there really weren’t any places to go pumpkin picking in Monaco. The city itself was filled with luxury in every aspect, which was beautiful but you missed your pumpkins and the fun of picking them in the fall.

“Babe you busy?”

Hearing Max’s voice grow closer to where you sat in the living room you smiled

“No, is everything okay?”

“Mhm just need you to back a little bag”

You looked at him confused, placing a bookmark between the pages of your novel and getting to your feet

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise you’ll see.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, laughing at the skeptical look on your face before he watched you disappear upstairs, returning after a few minutes with a little bag packed.

“Do I get a hint at least?”

“We’re flying to Munich, that’s all you need to know”

Before you could get another word in he was taking your hand and ushering you outside and towards the car, a smile on his face while you were dying to know just what he was planning.

Max loved the element of surprise.

-

“Can I look now?”

“One second”

“Max….”

His hands came up and untied the blindfold you had on, when your eyes adjusted to the light around you, the sight in front of you brought a smile to your face.

“You-what…? Max you brought me to a pumpkin patch?”

He nodded taking your hand as you began to walk towards the pumpkins

“I know how much you love fall and Monaco isn’t the most fall place for pumpkin picking so I just thought why not”

“You remembered…”

You paused looking up at him as he smiled, placing a gently kiss on your lips

“Of course I did baby”

Pulling him into a bone crushing hug, you couldn’t help the warmth that had spread through your heart at this surprise, to someone else it may have meant nothing, but to you it meant everything.

“So how about you show me how it’s done miss pumpkin connoisseur?”

If Max could replay the sound of your laughter on repeat he would, it was his favourite sound in the world. Watching as your eyes lit up before taking him throughout the rows of pumpkins, all which varied in size and colour, seeing you this happy was worth everything to him.

“Are you listening my love?”

Max hums, snapping himself out of his thoughts to see you standing there with a cart, a pumpkin already sat nicely within it.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was saying, these are the perfect pumpkin, if they stay sitting when you place them down, the bottoms are flat, these are easiest for carving!”

He nods

“Then we have these ones-”

Pointing to a group of smaller almost gourd looking ones you looked back towards him

“These are more like gourds, so you can decorate your table with them, or make little crafts with them, I used to turn them into turkeys with my family”

Max couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he watched you so vibrantly explain everything you knew about them. He remained by your side, pulling the cart along as you filled it with pumpkins of all shapes, sizes and colours, making sure to tell little facts about each one.

“Alright, I think we have enough…”

You checked over the cart once more frowning slightly at the amount you’d chosen

“What’s wrong baby?”

“I think I chose to many…”

Max took your chin in his grip softly, tilting your face up so you were looking at him, a smile on his face noticing the hesitation in your eyes

“You can never have too many pumpkins y/n, I brought you here for a reason, I think you chose the perfect amount”

“Really?”

Pressing a kiss to your lips he was quick to answer your question

“Really.”

There was quite literally nothing that could wipe the smile off your face as you took your pumpkins and paid for them, loading them into your rental car and knowing they were coming home with you. Never in a million years would you have thought Max would remember that little joy of yours from growing up, and today he exceeded your expectations, only making you fall more in love with the man who held your heart so gently.

“Thank you for my pumpkins honey…I love them so much..but I do love you more”

Max smiled taking your hand in his as he brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles

“You’re welcome, I’d do anything for you, including spend a whole day at a pumpkin patch in Germany, if it means seeing that smile of yours”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek as you settled into the passenger seat as he pulled away from the fields of pumpkins

“I love you you just as much baby, I cant wait to see what you do with all of these”

Max was a little scared to see just how many pumpkins you’d picked, and what you were planning to do with them, but he would be more than willing to help you with whatever you’d started to envision.

He was dating a pumpkin connoisseur, it was in his boyfriend job description.

[turkeyblogblr]

Ruined Columns Along Curetes Way, Ephesus, Turkey: Ephesus has the best preserved ruins in the eastern Mediterranean and is very impressive - considering parts of it are 2,000 years old. Ephesus is an ancient city in Turkey’s Central Aegean region, near modern-day Selçuk. Its excavated remains reflect centuries of history, from classical Greece to the Roman Empire – when it was the Mediterranean’s main commercial center – to the spread of Christianity. Paved streets wind past squares, baths and monumental ruins. The Temple of Hadrian was built before 138 A.D. for Emperor Hadrian’s visit.

[yeetus-feetus]

👀 hey uh, fic idea from my bestie for anyone who's interested.

We've had an ongoing discussion about how Tim would usually be on blockers that cover his scent (and considerably dulls his heat to easily managed tummy cramps). Anyways because Robin has to be an alpha (because the prev robins were alphas).

Heads up, most of the bats know. Jason doesn't because he was dead, and when he came back he's only ever known Tim as the alpha who replaced him and stole his territory. (He's been working on it tho, he knows Tim isn't a threat now. It's been a very long time since the Titans Tower Incident™.)

But Tim somehow gets hit by an airborne toxin from some villain (because it's Gotham) that has a side effect of cancelling out his blockers and stops them from working. Except, Tim doesn't know this because it's a delayed effect.

So Tim is taking his blocker meds everyday, unbeknownst to the fact they're no longer working and his scent is coming through more and more everyday. Thing is, nobody's really noticed, Bruce and Alfred are betas (can only smell the much stronger A/O scents), Dick's in Blüdhaven, and Tim's been too busy to catch up with the girls or visit his old YJ buddies. And, well, Jason can't smell anything- not that anyone else other than Dick and Cassandra actually know that (Dick because he found out on a team-up where there was a glass leak, and Cassandra because, well y'know).

Fast-forward maybe 4 or 5 days and the side effects of his blockers not working finally catch up to him. (Just so you know going off your blockers cold turkey without very slowly easing off triggers a really intense heat- or rut, that lasts longer than usual because of hormone imbalance. Basically the whole body is going "what the fuck!?" and needs to catch up to restabilize).

Tim wakes up with tummy cramps, a little more intense than usual, but still manageable. He goes on patrol, but the cramping gets worse and worse, his forehead feels hot, and he thinks he must be coming down with something until the smell hits him-- suddenly it clicks and he realizes he's in pre-heat, rapidly approaching a full heat way too soon.

He can feel the sweat beginning to build up and trickle down his neck, the cramps are making him want to curl in on himself. Except he's on rooftop, alone, in the middle of Gotham. So he can't exactly do that right now. The only hideout close enough is 10 minutes away, but last he's heard, Jason had started crashing there.

Tim thinks fuck it and decides that's his best bet, definitely because he knows Bruce is busy with a case on the other side of the city, and not because he knows Jason smells like freshly-washed warm blankets and a gentle pinewood fire; both things he knows will make his cramps feel better. Warm. Warm things always ease the cramps away.

Tim is only just now realising how cold it is outside, and he shivers in spite of the sweat beading on his skin and clinging to his hair.

_-_-_-_-_-_

Anyways Tim goes to Jason, finds out Jay can't smell him. ("You can't smell that?" "No? What is it? It's not another gas leak situation again is it?" "What?... No it's- ..." "It's what?" "You stink, have you showered recently?")

Basically Tim finds out Jason can't smell anything and lies to Jason, telling him he has a fever and must be coming down with something. Jay makes Tim warm suit and lets him borrow some clothes, letting him sleep on the couch for the night.

But Jason wakes up cold to find Tim stole all his blankets and burried into his side, fast asleep with his face nuzzled into the soft fabric of his hoodie, curled up and making small, quiet sounds of pain.

Jason is confused, but feels his forehead with a frown. Tim is burning up. Whatever but he's caught that's causing this fever must be serious. He gets up carefully, careful not to disturb him or wake the poor guy up.

He goes into the kitchen to get some ibuprofen, heat up some soup, and get a pot of coffee ready. Depending on how Tim is when he wakes up, Jason is considering calling Alfred. He's not about to babysit a sick Robin for the Bat and risk catching whatever he's got too.

But then he hears loud whining coming from the bedroom, a muffled "Jason!". It sounds like Tim's in pain, like he might even start crying, and Jason rushes back to the room. Only to freeze in the doorway.

Tim has untangled from all the blankets and somehow lost his clothes, rolled into the warm spot where he was laying before Jason got up, nuzzled into his pillow and is squirming against the sheets. Next to him, where he had been laying before Jason left, is a wet patch that looks...

"Tim, what-?"

"Jason! Need you!" Tim whines. "Please it's too hot, it hurts, Jason", he sobs as he calls his name.

"shit Tim is this- are you? You're an omega!?" Jason feels like his worldview just got tipped upsidedown.

Tim whines again and lifts his ass into the air, face down in the pillows that smell like alpha. Warm. Safe. Jason. "Yeah. Yes. Catch up already." Another whimper of pain. "In heat. Need your knot. Now. Please. Jason!"

"fuck, Tim I don't-"

"please. Need you. Promise I'm in a- shit- right enough mind to consent. Please, Jason", Tim pleads.

Jason takes two steps forward then swallows. "Are- are you sure Tim? I don't want to hurt you-"

"oh for fucks sake! Jason please. Knot me, don't make me beg for it even more. If you could smell me right now you'd already be inside m- oh fuck. Alpha please, I need it!"

"shit babybird, I don't need to smell you". Jason leans over the bed and gets up behind him, getting a better view of his needy hole and glistening slick-wet thighs. "Just look at you", he rumbles, low in his chest.

It makes Tim shiver, another gush of slick slides down his thighs. Jason runs his hands through the slick and let's himself growl at the sight, a sound that makes Tim heat up from the inside out, like his gut is pooling with hot magma ready to erupt. Or maybe he'll just explode, because Jason still isn't inside him yet.

_-_-_-_-_-_

to be continued ( I guess. Idk if I'll actually come back to this or fix it up to be a proper fic. Me and my bestie will just keep daydreaming about it lol)

[chaeilay]

Sat, Jan 12 - I visited the ancient Roman city of Sardes today for the first time. (Information about the city is under this post.) It consisted of the Gymnasium with the remains of many Byzantine shops including restaurants and painting shops, a public pool, tombs, and a Synagogue. It was truly refreshing to see the place overall, but what I adored about the visit was the fact that you could imagine and experience the feeling of what it was like to be living in an ancient city, as it was empty because of the weather conditions. No voices, no noise, no motion, just the smell and the air of this ancient place. (I bet Henry Winter would die for it.) The Temple of Artemis was also close and I went there as well. I'll publish the pictures from the Synagogue and the Temple next if you want to check them out.

Sardis (/ˈsɑːrdɪs/ SAR-diss) or Sardes (/ˈsɑːrdiːs/SAR-de ess; Lydian: 𐤳𐤱𐤠𐤭𐤣, romanized: Sfard; Ancient Greek: Σάρδεις, romanized: Sárdeis; Old Persian: Sparda) was an ancient city best known as the capital of the Lydian Empire. After the fall of the Lydian Empire, it became the capital of the Persian satrapy of Lydia and later a major center of Hellenistic and Byzantine culture. It is now an active archaeological site in modern-day Turkey, in Manisa Province near Sart.

In 334 BC, Sardis was conquered by Alexander the Great. The city was surrendered without a fight, the local satrap having been killed during the Persian defeat at Granikos. After taking power, Alexander restored earlier Lydian customs and laws. For the next two centuries, the city passed between Hellenistic rulers including Antigonus Monophthalmos, Lysimachus, the Seleucids, and the Attalids. It was besieged by Seleucus I in 281 BC and by Antiochus III in 215-213 BC, but neither succeeded at breaching the acropolis, regarded as the strongest fortified place in the world. The city sometimes served as a royal residence, but was itself governed by an assembly.

In this era, the city took on a strong Greek character. The Greek language replaced the Lydian language in most inscriptions, and major buildings were constructed in Greek architectural styles to meet the needs of Greek cultural institutions. These new buildings included a prytaneion, gymnasium, theater, hippodrome, and the massive Temple of Artemis still visible to modern visitors. Jews were settled at Sardis by the Hellenistic king Antiochos III, where they built the Sardis Synagogue and formed a community that continued for much of Late Antiquity.

In 129 BC, Sardis passed to the Romans, under whom it continued its prosperity and political importance as part of the province of Asia. The city received three neocorate honors and was granted ten million sesterces as well as a temporary tax exemption to help it recover after a devastating earthquake in 17 AD.

Sardis had an early Christian community and is referred to in the New Testament as one of the seven churches of Asia. In the Book of Revelation, Jesus refers to Sardians as not finishing what they started, being about image rather than substance.

I take the pictures that are on my blog myself. In case you're interested in this post, I also post/reblog content including travel/cultural pictures, books, book recommendations, analysis, quotes, anything related to movies, series, and girl blog entries.

[indiabycaranddrivers]

8 of the best cities to visit in Turkey with Turkey Tour Packages

Turkey is a fascinating country spanning Europe and Asia with a rich history, incredible natural landscapes, and mouthwatering cuisine. From the bustling bazaars of Istanbul to the hot air balloon rides over Cappadocia, Turkey offers endless sights and activities for travelers. If you’re planning a trip to this diverse destination with Turkey Tour Packages, we have hand-picked 8 best cities to visit in Turkey for you to consider adding to your itinerary.

8 Best Cities to Visit in Turkey with Turkey Holiday Packages

1). Istanbul – One of most-visited Travel Destinations in Turkey

The only city in the world that straddles two continents, Istanbul seamlessly blends Europe and Asia. Immerse yourself in the Grand Bazaar with over 3,000 shops or watch the world go by over a Turkish coffee along the Bosphorus waterway. Top attractions include the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, Topkapi Palace, and Basilica Cistern. To explore this vibrant city with family, opt for family tour packages in Istanbul. Contact the best tour operator in Turkey to book your tour package.

2). Cappadocia – Explore Turkey’s Natural Wonders with Turkey Holiday Packages

Famous for its whimsical “fairy chimneys” landscape, Cappadocia looks straight out of a fantasy world. Beyond its distinctive geological formations, Cappadocia also has rich history and culture. Must-do activities here include hot air ballooning over the valleys, exploring the fascinating underground cities, and learning about the cave dwelling communities.

3). Ephesus – discover this city from Bronze Age on your Turkey trip

Once home to one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, the city of Ephesus contains remarkably preserved Greco-Roman ruins. These ancient ruins are the reason Ephesus is one of the favorites and most visited travel destinations in Turkey. It was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2015.

When you visit this city, you walk the same marble streets where Cleopatra and Mark Anthony met as you explore the Great Theatre, Library of Celsus, Terraced Houses, and Temple of Artemis. Good to know: Ephesus is mentioned in the Bible (New Testament) several times – the oldest reference being mentioned by Paul in the first book of Corinthians. It is also one of the seven churches in Asia mentioned in the Book of Revelation by John.

Read More About it

[whimsicallywiddershins]

My best guesses on which cultures/countries Tamora Pierce bases her places and peoples off of. Obviously these aren't perfect copies, but more of where the idea may have come from.

Tortall is definitely Europe. Knights, castles, European names like John and George, ect. Easy.

Bazhir Desert: this one is trickier. Very likely based on Arab deserts or the Sahara and the peoples who live there. It's very ambiguous, just a basic desert culture, not a ton of world building here, but it's been a long time since I've read the Lioness books.

Galla and Scanra: I believe these are both based off Northern countries, with Scanra definitely based on Viking culture. Galla is less so, more like Lithuania or Poland, but neither is Russia. We will get to Russia in a bit.

Sairen and K'miri: Definitely Mongolia and steppe people and place.

Roof of the World: Tibet

Carthak: Egypt. Definitely based on ancient Egypt. Crocodiles, hyenas, lots of gold and darker skinned people. Old, powerful and center of learning.

Yamani Islands: Japan. I don't need to elaborate.

Copper Isles: This one I think is a bit of a mix of Indonesia and Hawaii.

Now, for Circle of Magic! (aka the fun and interesting culture and worldbuilding)

Emelan and the Pebbled Sea: Definitely Mediterranean, but I'm not sure which. My best guess is a sorta Turkey/Persian influence. It's not as obvious as Tortall. I believe the Chandlers and Tris are from a more Italian culture, probably from a country up North, but close enough to border Emelan and making travel easy. The whole merchant family thing made me think of Italy.

Traders: Likely based of Roma/Romani people. Trading caravans and largely persecuted. Not an exact copy, but similar.

Namorn: Russia! Definitely Russia. Large empire, very cold, far north and uses vaguely Russian terms. Powerful and not to be messed with.

Tharios: This one was tricky and fascinating. Probably ancient Greece, but I believe there were some other influences. The world building was massive as the plot directly involved the culture of the city. We also view the city from the scholarly but judgemental eyes of Tris.

Chammur: My best guess is India. Briar is more concerned with gangs and Evy so he doesn't really let us see the city as well. But India seems like a fair bet.

Yanjing: China. No needed discussion here lol.

Gyongxe: I'm guessing Tibet, again. The Roof of the World was way too quick, so Im glad Tamora re-visited this culture in a better way. Who knows, the Shang Dragon was very Chinese inspired, maybe Alanna did travel that far and missed Briar, Rosethorn and Evy by a few years! I'm still firm in the belief that all the books are in the same world.

If you agree or disagree with my picks, feel free to comment and propose your own theories! Or if I missed a country.

[turkeytrips]

Safranbolu Welcomed 150 Thousand Tourists

Safranbolu is a distinctive site to include on your travel itinerary there and one of Turkey’s undiscovered pearls. If you are still thinking about it, let me first assure you that a trip to Safranbolu will be absolutely worthwhile. The old-world charm of this historic town, which lacks the glitz and glamour of Istanbul or the breath-taking panoramas of Cappadocia, is unmatched by any other…

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 6

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

It's Thanksgiving and Steve is trying to be better for his girl (what's new?) but he's going to be tested when someone from his past comes to visit.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, actually pretty sweet sex but also some nasty stuff too bc... it's steve, angst, EMOTIONS everywhere, my lord

a/n | um, this one is long, babes. but it's also very sweet, at least for steve. enjoy :)

It’s Thanksgiving day, and Steve’s at the station, and in the doghouse. He was supposed to be spending today with his girl, but when he got back to work on Monday and the chief was asking who could pick up Thanksgiving, Steve had volunteered himself like he always did, not even thinking about how this year he actually had someone he could spend the day with. When he called her that night and admitted what he had done, the disappointment in the sigh she let out went right down his spine. Since last week, Steve had been trying to be on his best behavior. It had scared him, watching her get ready to walk out the door and never come back, mostly because he hadn’t realized just how much it’d destroy him if she actually did it. He knew it was inevitable, she’d find something better, if not someone better, and she would leave. But Steve wanted to hang onto her as long as he could, keep chasing that ray of sun until he was left back in the shade. However, it was seeming that no matter how hard he tried, he just kept fucking up.

“Well, okay, Steve. I guess we could do it on Saturday instead? Why don’t we invite Robin to join us too? She told me she’d be back in town after Friday.” Steve had tried not to groan at that. He really didn’t like that she and Robin seemed to have become fast friends. His jaw had all but dropped on the floor when she had jokingly called him “king Steve” one day, telling him with a laugh that Robin had shared a few memories with her. But, he was trying to be better, and being better meant agreeing to having Robin over for their makeshift Thanksgiving.

The actual holiday was always a bit of a clusterfuck for the station. Idiots trying to deep fry their birds seven different ways, grandmas setting off smoke alarms with cigars from the “old country,” and for some reason, hoosiers had a particular affinity for setting off fireworks after they were good and stuffed with butter and carbs. They had several calls throughout the day, but by the time seven o’clock rolled around, the city of Indianapolis seemed to be good and sedated by turkey, and Steve and the other men working that day were finally pulling back into the station for hopefully the last time that night. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was to see someone sitting on the stoop outside the door to the station. As they’re stepping down from the truck, the person rounds the corner of the garage and Steve’s heart kicks in his chest when he sees that it’s his girl, all bundled up in the frigid night and carrying two large bags that Steve recognizes from the burger joint down the block. He’s left speechless as she toes her way into the garage, a small smile on her face as she tilts her head at him, lifting up the bags.

“It’s not exactly turkey, but I figure it’ll do under the circumstances.” The other two men Steve’s working with tonight are young rookies, all the older men having family to be at home with, and they're watching her like she’s a damn angel descending from heaven. Steve finally cracks into action, a grin splitting his face as he takes one of the bags from her and wraps an arm around her waist.

“Miller, Thompson, this is my girl.”

…

Luckily, because they are rookies, the two other men have yet to get steeped in the misogyny that runs rampant in the station, and are nothing but polite to her as they welcome her in and help her lay out food on the kitchen counter. Steve would normally hate the idea of her coming around here, but with the rest of the crew gone, and after another stupidly tedious holiday shift, all he can do is smile like a dope as she feeds him a french fry. His two coworkers thank her profusely, loading their arms up with food and heading to their bunks to give the couple “some alone time.” Steve barely nods at their words, too focused on her leaning back against the counter and sipping a milkshake. Once the two men are gone, Steve finally clears his throat.

“Um– I wasn’t– you” She just laughs, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Just eat your burger, Harrington. You can thank me later.”

They sit on the grubby sofa in the station, eating and talking quietly. Steve tells her about the man who had tried to build his own deep fryer and ended up setting off a small explosion in his backyard that sent his turkey flying through an upstairs window of the house next door. Her laugh is contagious and they both end up gasping for breath at the ridiculousness of the story. Steve can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. 

Food wrappers abandoned, they both slump back into the couch, heads tilted lazily to look at each other. He brings his palm down to stroke up and down her thigh, letting out a sigh.

“Thank you. For this. You didn’t have–” She cuts him off, scooting closer and resting her hand on his chest.

“Steve, I wanted to. And you’re very welcome.” For once, he drops it, simply smiling and dipping forward to drop a quick kiss to her lips before pulling back.

“Did you, uh, talk to your folks today?” She nods. She had explained to him that her family lived across the country on the west coast and while she was still on talking terms with them, she avoided going home as much as possible. Steve could certainly understand that.

“Yeah, I did. I told them about you.” His heart jolts up into his throat at her words, eyebrows raising. He squeezes her thigh.

“You did?” She smiles, nodding again.

“Mmhmm. My sister thinks it’s hot that you’re a fireman.” He sputters out a laugh, shaking his head, but she seems to have something else in mind, carding her fingers through his hair to get him to look at her.

“I’m inclined to agree with her.” With that, she’s shifting on the couch to swing her leg over his hip, straddling his thighs and wrapping her arms around his neck. Steve’s hands instinctively go to the plush of her thighs, fingers flexing. She’s already nosing along his neck, making Steve shiver, but he collects himself enough to speak, making her still in his lap.

“Hey, hey. We can’t, baby. Not here with those guys just a wall away.” She whines into his neck.

“Steve–”

“No. I’m serious, doll, you better watch it.” She huffs, and when she finally pulls back from his neck, she gives him an actual pout that he can’t help but surge forward to kiss away. But when he pulls back, there’s a new glint in her eyes. She leans forward, grazing her lips along his ear before whispering.

“What if we took this somewhere else, Stevie?” He both hates and loves it when she calls him that and it makes him groan. 

“You know I can’t leave the station, baby.” She grins.

“Who said anything about leaving the station?”

That’s how Steve finds himself in the jumpseat of one of the firetrucks with her in his lap, gasping between sloppy kisses as he squeezes her ass to grind her down against him. He pulls back with a lewd pop, looking into her wild eyes.

“You know, doll, I didn’t get any dessert.” She doesn’t seem to follow where he’s going with this, scoffing and rolling her eyes.

“Are you serious right now? Steve, you had a milkshake, was that not sweet enough for–” She’s cut off when he lands a harsh smack to her ass, making her gasp and lurch forward into his chest.

“Watch that tone, pretty. And what I want a taste of is a lot sweeter than any milkshake.” His other hand digs into the front of her jeans, cupping her wet heat and she seems to get it now, whimpering out a soft “oh” at his harsh touch. He strokes through her folds, dipping his fingers into her entrance and dragging the wetness pooling there up to her clit as she grinds down into his palm. He presses a kiss to her temple before dragging his lips along her cheek to speak into her ear.

“Stand up, baby. We’re gonna switch spots and then daddy’s gonna have his dessert.” He helps her up, not missing how shaky she seems to be on her legs, before helping her peel off her jeans and panties as she sits back in the car seat. Steve kneels between her legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of each of her knees before drawing them over his shoulders and dragging her ass to the edge of the seat. It’s cramped, there’s no two ways about it, her feet pressing into the wall of the cab behind him and her hands trying to find purchase on the roof of the truck as he starts to work her over. She’s a writhing mess as he licks long, lazy strokes through her folds, sighing and huffing above him. He leans back just to spit on her cunt, watching the way it drips down to mix with her own wetness. She whimpers under his hard gaze.

“Daddy, please don’t tease me– need it bad.” He chuckles before landing a slap to the inside of her thigh, causing her to yelp.

“Don’t be pushy, doll. Daddy’s gonna take all the time he wants. Because this pretty little pussy is all mine, yeah?” She nods, letting out a breathy “mmhmm” when he kisses her clit.

“And I can do whatever I want with it, right, baby?” She nods again, but he wants more from her and lays a quick smack against her clit that makes her hips buck in his hold. It’s a whine when she speaks.

“Yes, daddy. S’all yours– you can do whatever you want– just, please–” He shushes her.

“S’okay, pretty. I’ve got you. So fucking sweet. Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” His last words come out a murmur as he dips back into her cunt, licking into her before sweeping up to her clit and sucking hard around the little bud. The moan she lets out makes his brain go hazy with her as she drags her fingers through his hair, pulling lightly at the roots as he continues to lick at her clit. She starts to grind her hips against his mouth and Steve groans.

“That’s it, doll. Take what you want. Fuck, you taste so good.” She preens at his words, arching out of the car seat as he slips two fingers into her. 

“Feels so good, daddy– p-please don’t stop.” He can feel her already tightening up on his fingers as he pumps them into her.

“You close, baby? You gonna come on daddy’s fingers?” She nods frantically, her eyes scrunched shut as she lets out a high-pitched “mmhmm.” 

“I want your eyes on me when you come. Open those pretty eyes for me, doll.” When she doesn’t listen, he slips his other hand up her front to harshly grip her jaw, making her eyes shoot open as she gasps at the pain.

“That’s it, pretty. Eyes on me.” He dips back down, sucking and nipping at her clit while he fucks her with his fingers. She comes with a broken sigh, hips jerking in his hold as she spasms around his fingers. Steve thinks he could die happy in this position, between the softness of her thighs with the pretty sounds of her breathy whimpers ringing in his ears. He finally pulls away, leaving a sloppy kiss to each of her thighs. As he wipes her slick from his chin with the back of his hand, he takes in the sight of her, flushed and slumped down in the seat. She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Your sweet tooth satisfied now?” He grins palming his aching hardness as he looks her over.

“Way better than pumpkin pie.”

…

“Steve? Can you go pick up the pumpkin pie this morning? The bakery opens at ten but I need to get to work on all this cooking.” He cranes his neck from where he’s sitting on the couch, his heart squeezing at the sight of her in his kitchen. She’s the sweetest image in one of his sweatshirts, an apron tied around her hips hiding the fact that she’s also only wearing a pair of his boxers. But his attention is quickly pulled to the seeming bomb of ingredients that’s gone off across his countertops. He gets up, shuffling into the kitchen and watching her poring over a cookbook.

“Yeah, I’ll go, um– are you sure we need to make this much food? S’just you, me, and Robin.” She stills where she had been flipping through the book. 

“Babe? It is just you, me, and Robin, right?” She finally looks at him, offering a very nervous little smile. Steve feels like he’s going to blow a gasket already but she’s quick to slide over to him in her socked feet, pressing her palms into his chest and rubbing lightly.

“Look, don’t freak out, ok? But Robin told me one of your other friends was in town this weekend and I may have told her to invite him.” Steve blinks hard a few times.

“You what?” She huffs.

“Steve, don’t get weird. He’s a friend of yours after all.”

“He? Who– who is he?” She furrows her brow.

“Crap, I can’t actually remember his name. Um, something Munyan– wait, no– uh, Munroe?” Steve’s jaw goes slack.

“Are you telling me Eddie Munson is coming to dinner?” Her face splits into a grin and she slaps his chest lightly.

“That’s it! Robin told me it’s been a while since he’s been back in Indiana so it’ll be nice for you all to catch up.” She’s smiling so brightly at him it’s hard to stay mad at her. Steve’s taken to counting to ten to keep himself from saying things he knows he shouldn’t. It works, sometimes. He finally huffs, scrunching his eyes shut before looking at her again and nodding.

“Alright, alright. I’ll um– I guess I’ll go get that pie.” She lands a quick kiss to his lips, grinning up at him again.

“Good. Be quick, yeah? You’re on turkey duty.”

…

The later in the day it gets, the tighter the knot in Steve’s stomach winds. He hasn’t seen Eddie in years, not since Steve went overseas. All he knew was that Eddie had moved down south, seeking the money that was to be made working the oil rigs in the gulf of Mexico. He never wrote, never called, and he figured that Eddie liked it that way, putting everything behind him and Steve couldn’t blame him for that. 

The only thing keeping Steve sane is her, dancing around him in the kitchen, a swirl of chopping vegetables and filling up casserole dishes. He’s never cooked a turkey before, never any reason to, but he takes to the task diligently because he wants to impress her. The sun is just starting to set as he leans back against the counter, bird in the oven and dish towel over his shoulder. He swats her hands away as she goes to peek into the oven and she scoffs at him.

“S’almost done, baby, go get changed.” She smiles, looking down at her now smudged-up apron over her pantsless legs.

“Get changed? What’s wrong with this?” He slides over to her, grabbing her hips and squeezing as she laughs in his grip. He plants a few mushy kisses to her lips, murmuring about how she’s “such a menace” in between them until she finally pulls away to saunter into his bedroom with a huff. A sting runs through his chest as, for a moment, he can imagine them doing this for the rest of their lives, his mind wandering to the image of a baby on her hip as they shuffle around their kitchen. He has to scrub a harsh hand through his hair to clear the thought from his mind. 

His brain is further scattered when the doorbell rings. Steve freezes, but luckily she’s just then coming back out of his bedroom wearing that dress he loves, fixing an earring as she marches over to the door. 

Steve hears him before he sees him. First there’s the sound of her and Robin greeting each other. But Steve would recognize that raspy voice anywhere.

“Well, hello. You must be the catch Robs has been telling me about. Blink twice if Harrington’s holding you against your will.” Yep, that’s Munson alright.

Eddie comes flouncing into the kitchen, her and Robin following behind. Steve thinks that he looks about the same. His hair is a little shorter, but otherwise, he’s still got that shit-eating grin that Steve remembers. Eddie’s eyes crinkle when he sees Steve, already opening his arms up for a hug that Steve was not expecting.

“Long time no see, big boy, bring it in.” 

They get all the food laid out on the dining table, everyone humming at how good everything looks and Steve feels a warm bloom of pride in his chest that he did this, with his girl, together. She squeezes his hand as they all sit down, offering him a smile and Steve thinks for a minute that it’ll be alright after all. And then Eddie opens his mouth.

“So Robin told me you’re, like, super smart. Is that why you’re with Steve? Are you running experiments on him?” Steve would like to drag him across the table and knock his lights out right then, but she takes it in stride, laughing politely.

“Oh, god, no. It’s, um, actually kinda funny how we met. Steve was on duty when there was a fire in my dorm and, uh, the rest is history I guess.” It’s a total lie, and Steve loves her for it as she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, a small reassurance. 

The rest of the dinner goes off as smooth as it can. Eddie tells them about his time down in the gulf (“back-breaking stuff, man. I still get the heebies anytime I fill up my car”) and explains that he’s planning on coming back to Indiana for good, using the money he saved up to go back to school to become a teacher. Steve can’t help but snort at that and Eddie tilts his head at him.

“Something funny, Stevie?” Steve shrugs.

“Can’t imagine you being a teacher, Munson. I don’t remember you caring much for school.” Eddie chuckles, shaking his head.

“People change, Steve, you know that better than most. Besides, I’ll be teaching music, not boring bullshit.” Her eyes are darting between the men, Robin looking on a bit nervously as well. It’s meaningless jabs, but Eddie’s “you know better than most” has a weight to it that everyone seems to pick up on. She eventually clears her throat, squeezing Steve’s hand as she smiles at Eddie.

“Well, I think that’s great, Eddie. You know, there’s really interesting MRI research coming out about how good music is for our brains. They’re starting to use it as palliative treatment for people with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease.” It’s a successful maneuver away from whatever the elephant in the room is. Eddie rests his chin in his palm as he looks at her.

“I’ll be damned, is that right? Tell me more, sweetheart, that sounds wild.”

It’s over dessert that Eddie excuses himself for a smoke break. She and Robin are chatting easily over cups of coffee and slices of pie. Steve squeezes her shoulder, murmuring that he’s going to go keep Eddie company.

Steve gets outside just as Eddie’s lighting up, leaning up against the wall of his apartment building. He grins around his cigarette.

“You wanna bum one, Harrington? Or did you quit?” Steve waves him off, leaning on the wall next to him.

“Been trying to at least. She’ll kill me if she smells it on me.” Eddie laughs, whistling lowly.

“So you’re whipped, huh?” Steve scoffs, going to protest  but Eddie continues.

“It’s a good look on you, man. You seem– I don’t know– lighter.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him, but Eddie just shrugs.

“I’m just saying. You better hold onto that one. She’s the real deal.” Steve sighs.

“Yeah, I know, Ed.” There’s a beat of silence before Eddie speaks again.

“Robs told me you had another close call.” Steve huffs at that, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re getting older, Harrington. Don’t you think it’s time you–” Steve turns on him, his eyes flashing and Eddie puts up his hands in surrender.

“Did she put you up to this?” Eddie’s face scrunches in confusion.

“What? No, man. But I can’t blame her if she’s saying the same thing. Listen, Steve, I get it, really. Why do you think I went running down south to work my ass off on a fucking rig? It wasn’t exactly for the scenery.” Eddie sighs, blowing out a puff of smoke before going on.

“But, it’s just stupid. Trying to keep running, to keep fighting. You– we deserve to get on with life.  At least that’s what I figure.” Steve sighs, plucking the cigarette right from Eddie’s mouth and taking a long drag before handing it back to him. Eddie glances at him.

“What did you wanna do? Before?” Steve laughs, shaking his head.

“I didn’t have a fucking clue what I wanted to do. I was working shit jobs that went nowhere, even before.” Eddie offers him the cigarette again and Steve takes it with a muttered “don’t fucking tell her” that makes Eddie laugh.

“Well, listen, as your friend? I’m telling you that you deserve to figure out what the fuck you actually want to do, not what numbs your brain out enough to forget the past.” Steve just nods, stamping out the butt before glancing back at Eddie.

“So, you’re really back for good?” Eddie grins, nodding.

“Certified, man. I’m starting at IU after the holidays.” Steve chuckles.

“Eddie Munson, a college man. Who would’ve thought.” 

“Hey, if I can do it, so can you, Harrington. Think about it.” They both sigh and Steve kicks off the wall.

“I will, really. C’mon, we should head back up. I fear what those two could accomplish left alone together.” Eddie chuckles, clapping Steve on the back.

“It’s good to be back, Steve. And it’s good to see you found someone. She’s a keeper, man.”

“I know, Ed. I know.” 

…

She sends Robin and Eddie off with tin-foil wrapped plates stacked high with leftovers and Steve tries not to blow a fuse when Eddie lays a wet, smacking smooch to her cheek, grinning like the devil he is before slinking out the door. Robin huffs, smiling apologetically at her.

“Apologies for the large man-child, he means well. Thank you guys for Thanksgiving part two though, it was great!” Steve draws his friend into a brisk side hug before she’s out the door as well. His girl shuts the door, turning and looking at him with a broad smile.

“Well?” He raises his eyebrows at her as she pads over to him, drawing her palms up his chest to wrap behind his neck. She presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“Was it a good thanksgiving?” Steve huffs, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer against him.

“Munson aside? First good one I ever had, doll.” That earns him a grin and she leans in for another kiss that he tries to deepen, chasing after her lips but to no avail.

“We make a good team, baby.” Steve hums at that, once again trying to steal another kiss but she slides her palms down to press into his chest again.

“Gotta clean up, team.” He groans, but reluctantly follows her back into the kitchen to tackle the mess of dishes that’s been left in the aftermath of dinner. It’s quiet and it’s easy as they work. She washes and he dries, and again Steve feels that sting in his chest imagining them doing this after putting their imaginary kids to bed. He knows it’s ridiculous to even think this way. She’s never even mentioned wanting or not wanting kids, and why would she? Still, part of him can’t help but hope that there’s even a small chance she’d want her future to have him in it. He’s brought out of his head by the sound of her humming as she scrubs another pan. He sets down his dishtowel, sliding behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist as he digs his nose into her neck, breathing her in. She huffs under his attention.

“We’re not done, Steve.” He groans, his voice coming out as a mumble into her skin.

“There’s only, like, two pans left, babe. I say we’re done for tonight.” She gives in, setting the pan she had been working on down in the sink and drying her hands off on a rag before letting her palms rest over his forearms circling her waist. Steve starts to press kisses up the sweep of her neck, his teeth grazing the hinge of her jaw as she shudders in his arms.

“Look so pretty, tonight, honey. Wearing my favorite dress.” She sighs, letting him sway them a little side to side as he continues to nip at her skin.

“Wore it for you. Was trying to distract you from being so pissed off at Eddie.” Steve huffs into her neck, drawing his hands down to palm the swell of her thighs.

“It worked. Think I would’ve throttled him if I didn’t have you next to me.” She sighs as his hands continue to run up and down the outside of her thighs, ghosting over her hips before dipping back down to thumb at the hem of her dress. She twists in his hold, threading her fingers through the back of his hair and looking up at him in a way that makes his hands shake. Her voice is just a whisper when she speaks.

“I love you, Steve.” He feels his face melt into a smile, pulling her closer by her waist.

“You do?” She grins, nodding, and they kiss around their shared dopey smiles. Steve pulls away, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Fuck, baby– I love you so much.” And with that he’s diving in for a deeper kiss that makes her gasp into his mouth as he licks into her. Without knowing it, he’s walking her back until she’s pressed into the counter, hoisting her up onto it and settling between her legs. Her fingers start to fumble with the buttons of his shirt and Steve’s quick to help her, pulling it up over his head and tossing it aside. Her palms smooth up his chest, and she hooks her legs behind his thighs to draw him in closer. He breaks away to lay kisses along her shoulder, reaching back to tug the zipper of her dress down until it’s loose enough for her to shrug out of the sleeves. Taking in the sight of her, Steve lets out a low groan.

“Baby, no bra?” She grins and shrugs.

“Doesn’t work with the dress, Stevie.” He huffs, not really answering as he’s already dipping down to lay harsh bites across the tops of her breasts. She gasps as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, teeth grazing the bud until she’s tugging lightly at his hair to pull him back up for a kiss that’s all pressing tongues and harsh gasps. Her hands wander again, this time down to his belt but Steve’s quick to grab hold of both her wrists in one palm.

“Hey, hey. Lemme take care of you first, doll.” She sighs, her brow furrowing.

“Just want you, daddy. Wanna feel you.” Steve feels like his head is going to explode at her words and the way she’s looking up at him from under her eyelashes. He tries to steady himself, guiding her palms to rest on his bare chest.

“Just Steve tonight, alright, pretty? Want you to say my name while I fuck you.” She smiles at that, dragging her hands up to clasp behind his neck and pull him into another kiss, pulling away just so their lips are barely brushing and whispering “ok, Steve.” Something in him snaps at her sweet words and he grips the plush of her ass, murmuring for her to wrap her legs around him, and he hoists her up off the counter as they continue to smear sloppy kisses into each other’s skin.

He starts to pad out of the kitchen, but his foot gets caught on the rug in front of the sink and they both wind up on the floor. She’s dissolving into laughter underneath him as he presses up onto his hands to check that she’s not hurt. She’s not, but Steve’s ego might be. She catches the furrowed look on his face and sighs.

“Don’t pout, baby. You were just being efficient. Now we don’t have to go all the way to the bedroom.” He can’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head at her words.

“Always such a smart mouth.” She doesn’t get a reply in as he dips down to steal another sloppy kiss. Steve thinks fleetingly that they probably look like a mess. They’re sprawled out on his kitchen floor, her dress all rucked around her hips, his belt buckle hanging open. But he doesn’t care, not when she’s drawing his hips down into hers by hooking her leg around his ass. Steve smacks one more kiss to her lips before leaning back to drag her dress the rest of the way down her hips, his hands skating back up her legs to slide her panties off too. He sits back on his haunches, fumbling with his belt, taking in her splayed figure as she tilts her head and grins at him. His hands still.

“What’re you looking at, doll?” 

“You, Steve. So lovely like this.” He huffs at her words, knowing that if he thinks too hard about them he’ll dissolve right on the spot. He quickly shrugs his pants and boxers down enough to slide his aching cock out, leaning back over her and running the tip through her folds. They both sigh at the contact, and she rucks one knee up to his hip, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he dips into her. He stills for a moment, searching her face.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to work you open first, pretty?” She scrunches her face, tilting her hips to try to coax him deeper but he brings one palm down to the softness of her belly, pressing her into stillness.

“Hey. Need your words, doll. Be good for me, huh?” She frowns, brushing some of his hair out of his face.

“I just wanna feel you, Steve. Want you inside me.” He presses a kiss to her pouted lips, letting his hips roll forward with a deep groan. She arches up into him when his hips finally press against hers, offering up the arc of her throat for him to nose along as she sighs. 

“Always so perfect for me, doll– fuck– tell me when I can move.” She tells him on a breathy exhale that she’s ready and he lets his lips smear over hers as he pulls out, slowly rolling into a rhythm that pushes and pulls both their bodies. It feels different, and not just because they’re splayed on his kitchen floor. Something heady is pulling at the hilt of his spine, pressing his thrusts deeper as she cants her hips to meet him. He’s devouring her, swallowing her gasps and whimpers as he licks into her mouth. It’s embarrassing how quickly the pleasure is closing in around him. 

“Feels so good, Steve– so full– fuck, don’t stop.” She dissolves into a cracked chant of his name and Steve’s head is swimming in it.

He brings his hand up to her jaw, skating his thumb along her bottom lip. She’s quick to wrap her mouth around the digit, laving her tongue over the pad of his thumb and it makes Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. He takes his thumb from her mouth with a lewd pop, bringing his hand town to swipe over her clit. Her hips jerk in his hold and he feels her clench down hard around him.

“Fuck, baby– need you to come for me– need to feel it so bad.” She whimpers his name, eyes scrunching closed as her nails dig into his shoulder blades. 

“Eyes on me, pretty. Wanna see you when you come– c’mon, baby.” Her eyes blow wide as she lets out a broken cry and the way she pulses around him as she comes undone sends Steve over the edge with her, pressing his hips deep into hers as he spills inside of her. They’re both panting, a slick sheen of sweat keeping them stuck together in their embrace. Steve dips his face into her neck, leaving light kisses as he trails up to her jaw, and then to her lips. When he pulls away she’s grinning beneath him.

“I love you, Steve. I really mean it.” For a moment, Steve stills, taking in the sight of his girl. His girl. He almost can’t believe it’s all real, but when she pulls him back down for another kiss, for once all the thoughts muddying his mind go quiet. He smiles against her lips.

“I love you too. Fuck, you’re incredible.” She hums, carding her fingers through his hair. As they stay there, sprawled on his kitchen floor, probably for longer than they should, Steve feels something spreading in his chest. A notion, a hope really, that for her, he might be able to be better. He really wants to be better.

[jesussavemenow11]

Winter's the Only Season // Smosh

Pairing- Amanda Lehan-Canto // Fem!Reader

Warnings- I don’t think any but if there is let me know and I will add them!

SO MUCH FLUFFY STUFF

NO USE OF Y/N

Word count- 1716

Summery- You love your close friends and family, especially when it comes time for the excitement of winter parties and feasts. But ever since your childhood best friend moved away, it’s never quite felt the same. 

 Winter’s in Boston are brutal, always have been brutal, will most likely always be brutal. From the wind to the constant snowfall. And don’t get me started on the irritable individuals that live in this city. I have a big family, they all come together during the big holidays like Christmas. It’s nice to have them all together. Friends and neighbors will get together and enjoy one another's company in the many parties my parents throw. The nights get rowdy and drinks get shared along with secrets about anyone and everyone. The moms gravitate to one side of the room, while the dads crowd to the other. 

It’s been this way since I was a kid. But ever since Amanda moved away, things haven’t been the same. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy she got out of this god forsaken city, but I can’t help but be devastated with the truth of her not being around anymore. Amanda and I grew up as neighbors, our moms being highschool friends and our dads being forced to enjoy one another's company, and the constant playdates since we were babies, we couldn’t help falling into some sort of friendship. Amanda really only comes back into town for the winter excitement, due to her moms constant nagging and begging for her to at least visit during Christmas. Though I see her yearly, I still crave the day she flies back in and everything would feel normal and at peace again. Today was that day.

I drove home yesterday, returning back to the house I grew up in. I went through the typical emotional greetings. Now I sit by the window, picking at the loose fabric on the cuff of my jeans, waiting oh so impatiently for Amanda to show up once more. It had been a full year since I last saw her, hugged her, felt her arms wrap around me and smelled her signature honey and tea tree perfume. 

My mom walked into the living room, a wooden spoon in hand, she sighed contently at me perched by the window. “Oh, honey.” She giggled slightly. “Hm?” I hummed back, not daring to move my eyes away from the view of the end of the street. “She’ll get here soon, I promise!” My mother tried reassuring me. 

“While you wait, why don’t you help Cindy and I in the kitchen?” She said as she returned to the kitchen. 

I rolled my eyes, my impatients eating away at me. The anticipation for Amanda to get here was killing me. I didn’t want to miss her arrival, but I also would feel awful If I didn’t go help my mom. So reluctantly I left my spot in front of the window, making my way to the kitchen. Immediately I was hit with the smell of warm rolls, turkey keeping warm in the oven and many other yearly feasts. My dad stood beside the fridge complaining to Cindy about how my mom won’t let him cook the turkey anymore because last year he cooked it for too long and my mom sent him out to get something else. 

“She’s never Cooked the Turkey Cindy!” My dad complained, throwing his arms up, to an annoyed Cindy who stood chopping veggies while my nephew sorted them on a platter beside her. “I know Scott, but you have to have more faith in your own wife.” Cindy reassured the man. 

I tried squeezing past the two, not sneaky enough though, my dad stopped me saying, “Candy! Help your dad out, tell your mom she has nothing to worry about.” I rolled my eyes at my frazzled father. “No thanks daddio, I don’t want to get caught up in between you and moms arguments.” I responded. My dad shook his head and mumbled under his breath. I reached over my nephew grabbing some celery. “We aren’t arguing, just bickering!” My mom giggled and patted my dads back. 

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to be a part of it. Dad please stop calling me Candy, I turned 34 this year, It’s not the same.” I said through a mouth full of celery. “Not the same as what?” He said as I squeezed past him. “As when you were 33?” I went to glare at him until I heard the front door open and a screech from my mom. “Amanda’s home!!” She shouted. 

I practically threw my celery on the counter, sprinting to the front of the house. I looked out the window to see Amanda and her dad getting out of their car. My heart picked up, my excitement bubbling in my stomach and to my chest. Suddenly I felt sweaty and out of breath. I ran to the front door pushing it open. There she was, her hair up in a low pony-tail to be out of her face. She wore a ‘Smosh’ hoodie and blue jeans. She stretched as she got out of the car. Her long limbs reaching for the sky. I took in her beauty, even from here she was flawless. I have liked every part of her for so long, she was back home. She had let her hair grow out since I last saw her, her bangs longer and her skin seemed so tan compared to the falling snow. 

I ran off the porch and straight into her, wrapping my arms around her neck. She stumbled back slightly, the impact startling her. Once she regained her balance, she wrapped her arms around me. I immediately melted into her embrace, she lifted me off the ground just barely to emphasize the love poured into the hug. This hug was shared yearly, typically on the same day, and nearly always at the same spot. Yet every time it feels so fresh and new. Amanda means the world to me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again. This moment right here, her hugging me, the faint feeling of her lips secretly pushed to my neck, the scent of her floating around us, my chest pounding with content, this moment was an unwritten law. We were to share this moment last year, this year, and the many years to come. 

~~~~

  Hours passed since Amanda returned home, the sun had set by now and we had all enjoyed dinner around the table. Per usual Amanda and I sat side by side. Her hand squeezed my knee from time to time under the table. I sat back and let the others reunite with her as I admired her from afar. My favorite is watching her play card games with some of the family and friends. The pure passion she has for winning, I love when she gets so into it she will start screaming and slamming her cards down in anger. Her and my dad will get into full blown arguments about what play was wrong and how the other is cheating. She’ll point at him and say: “How is that cheating?!” As he accuses her of a perfectly out of hand play. At the end of it all I will remind them both they forget rules way to easily. 

Now, the both of us sit in the living room, wine glasses in our hands, and the bottle that I stole from the kitchen, stands on the floor just close enough to reach when either of us needs a quick refill. Everyone else either already went home or still sat chatting in the dining room out of sight, we could still hear them though, their loud banter and the faint christmas records creating a gentle ambience. 

I shared a gentle moment of peace with Amanda, just the two of us in the living room on Christmas eve night. She took a sip from her wine, I watched her lips as she did so, so delicate, so soft. Her eyes shimmered in the light of the Christmas tree. 

“How has work been?” I asked, really just using it as an excuse to hear her talk again. She shrugged. “Pretty good.” She started, her voice raspy from all of her shouting. “The fans seem to be taking a liking to our long story series stuff so we’re doing a lot of that lately.” 

I nodded along listening to her every word. “I think they have been taking a good liking to you!” I pointed at her, wine glass still in hand. She quickly shook her head, but I could see a small blush cover her face. “I mean I can’t blame them!” I giggled. 

“Oh please!” Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yeah I’m a real hot commodity!” She laughed with me. Our fit of giggles fading slowly into the background noise. “I really missed you.” I said suddenly, my heart skipping a beat when she looked over to me, her smile lingering on her face. “I always miss you.” She replied. 

A silence fell over us once more, I couldn’t help but admire her. “You stare a lot.” She said, “You have a very stare-worthy face.” I replied quickly. Her smile dropped, and I inched forward, I had been waiting to feel this again, was the the moment? 

“You too.” She replied before leaning the rest of the way.

I kissed her, slow and tender. She returned the gentle kiss, treating me as if I were made of the finest marble and she didn’t dare make a scratch. I pushed deeper into the kiss, wanting to live in the moment all the time. Wanting to have her during all seasons, I want to have her near me everyday. I don’t want to wait for that one time of year that she comes home and I only get her for two weeks. I loved these two weeks, but I also despised them because I knew at the end I would have to say goodbye again. 

I knew that at the end she would go back to California and I would go back to my 9-5, as I counted down the days of her return. Winter was the only season we could be together.

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I hope you enjoy this, this is my first EVER smosh fic. I hope you like it, leave critics and requests I am open to anything. I used to be a huge fanfic writer but haven't done it in a while so I'm a little rusty. Love you all!! - DOT