#get reblogged. idiot (<-reblogging tag)

[send-me-a-kae-via-subspace]

a joe and a jhost with the most!! dude wilburs not the only one who can have a blue themed ghost (and beetlejhost came first take that ghostbur) VOTE JOEHILLS MCYTBLR SEXYMAN

[thelastofhyde]

ii. the revving of engines.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive? read part one, the likeability paradox, here !!

warnings. no use of y/n ( joel’s nickname for the reader is sol ), panic attacks, perv!joel, slightly dark!joel, soft!joel ( for like a second ), a smidge of fluff, gun violence, murder, smut ( unprotected piv sex- don’t be silly, wrap that willy-, public sex, car sex but also not, exhibitionism, possessiveness, murder kink [ kinda but not really, joel just gets... more enthusiatic at the thought of protecting the reader], mentions/implications of panty stealing, male masturbation, sex as a form of payment, glory-holes, dubcon. joel has a massive c*ck because i said so <3 )

word count. 16.7k ( my dumbass really thought this would be shorter than part one- )

hyde’s input. this took criminally too long to write but i did warn you that i’m a slow writer, so hopefully this makes up for the wait. think i may be a little in over my head with this one because, woof, there’s a lot going on. i’m still trying to wrap my head around how many people enjoyed the first part, i’m speechless. thank you for every like, comment, reblog, ask that has given me the motivation to not just write a second part but to turn this into a whole series. i’m really looking forward to sharing joel and his sol’s story, and i hope i’ll be able to write it in a way that not only conveys the love i have for these two idiots in love but will also make you guys fall in love and root for them too. more to come of these two soon ( soon = whenever hyde feels like it ) &lt;3

taglist. @kayleezra , @newavenger , @luthienaliceisilra​ , @str84pedro , @baebee35 , @aheartgonewild ( if you’re crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for whatever reason ) + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3. (capitalisation available )

the journey has been one of silence.

it all begins three days prior to arriving at their destination, with a dishevelled joel startling awake. sitting himself upright, a string of grunts and groans flow from him as several new pains in his back make themselves known, one for each year he’s lived. sleeping on the couch is no place for a man of his age, but it has become his abode more frequently as of late whilst tess has let herself get acquainted with the likes of a recently widowed woman.

why on earth the two women seem to insist on occupying his and tess’ shared mattress for their sweat-provoking and sheet-tangling endeavours when the widow’s own bed now harbours one less occupant, joel is none the wiser.

“you sly fox!” it occurs at an hour much too early for tess’ level of excitement, a spark of something in her voice he’s not quite heard in nearly a decade now, back when she’d let it slip that she’d made contact with someone over the radio. “keeping this all to yourself!”

blinking out the sleep-induced blur in his vision, his hands rub over them in a further effort to clear his sight. the couch squeaks beneath the weight of him as he leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his pointed knees. confusion leaves him in a questioning grunt.

“c’mon, joel, the jig is up!” she’s insisting on maintaining her enthusiasm, and the man has to wonder just how good her night must have been for her to be so chipper come barely an hour past sunrise. “so, who is she?”

with only the sparing of a clueless, sleep-filled glance, joel’s risen to his feet and shouldered past his companion. headed straight for the minuscule kitchen, where once he would have boiled a kettle and prepped himself a mug of instant coffee, nowadays he’s lucky to find enough water to fill a single unwashed cup. he does just that, watching the water fill only a third of the plastic before downing it in one gulp.

tess is hot on his heels, following him through their cramped living space. he sighs, resigning himself to the reality he’s faced with: this is not a conversation she will let him walk away from. be whatever it may be, the woman is hunting for some answers. “what’re ya talkin’ about? ain’t keepin’ shit from you.”

he’s reminded, much to his own dismay, of a time she’d accused him of cutting deals on the side without her, back when her distrust and his aloofness had kept their newfound partnership on edge.

“oh, really?” her voice never loses that sense of excitement, and he’s beginning to wonder whether he should be grateful or resentful of this. the smile on her lips spreads wider over her face. “then explain these, casanova.”

there, dangling over her extended pointer finger, lays a blur of lace.

it is a dainty little thing, a blush of some pastel colour that’s oh so feminine it makes his toes curl at the thought. a tangle of fabrics so delicate he fears they’d fall apart with just a taste of his calloused touch.

it is delicate, it is soft, it is dirty.

and it is yours.

was yours, till he’d ripped it down your legs and stuffed the fabric into the back of his jeans. it was a mindless action, at the time, and one he’d forgotten about, tucked away in the unmarked box in his mind where he’d learned to place most things involving you. sleep-filled eyes, and wine-stained lips, and serenity-inducing laughter, and heavenly-soiled lace. forgotten about, until he’d been stripping himself off at the end of the night and the garment stumbled to the floor at his feet, calling for him like tess’ lover cried her name in pleas of more.

he’d tasted the softness of lace that night, first on his lips and then around his cock, tangled in the unforgiving grip of his frantic hands.

the fabric had not been forgotten since, always within reach of the man. where some kept trinkets of silvers and golds as their symbols of luck, he kept your lace, tucked safely in the back left pocket of his jeans, awaiting his nervous fiddling in times when stress ran high and only the softness of the fabric would pull him back down to earth

“they ain’t mine.” still, he snatches them out of her grasp.

back left pocket, tucked back into safety.

“never said they were,” she has a point, but it only serves to frustrate him. because of course she wasn’t implying they were his to wear- never in a month of sundays would the likes of joel miller fit himself into such well-kept lace-, but she sure as hell believes they are his. “thought i’d be nice for once and clean some of your clothes, since you seem to have forgotten how to. they fell out your pocket while i was busy folding some trousers.”

convenient.

that’s what it is, considering that in their who-knows-how-many years of partnership, the woman has not taken the time to tend to his washing. he’d asked her, once, body recovering from a near-fatal stab he’d taken to the abdomen. she had not said no to his request. or, rather, she had not simply used the word no. ask me again and i’ll finish what those raider’s started.

every surface of the room captures his attention, from the ripped wallpaper to the tattered remains of what once were curtains, anything other than tess, who hovers at his shoulder like a fly to shit.

he needs something to do, to distract.

thinking of the days ahead, he begins a list of things they’ll need- gauze, food rations, water, more gauze. joel has still yet to sharpen their knives, displeased with them since the moment he’d noticed tess’ struggling to cut through a cable wire. did they have enough ammo? maybe he’d need to grovel for some more off of bill-

“who’ve you been fucking, sunshine?”

frozen where he stands. mind in disarray, heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, blood somehow both everywhere and nowhere in his body at once. all he can think is that tess knows. sunshine. she knows, she knows, she knows.

she knows and she’s going to tell frank, who’ll tell bill, who’ll place a target on joel’s head and hit bullseye the moment he so much as tries to step anywhere near you, and then where will joel be? back to facing only the dull grey skies and locking himself away in bone-chilling solitude.

clarity befalls him.

she’s teasing. sunshine. it’s not an answer to her question, it’s a name meant to mock him. tess has no clue, not a single incline to guess what events had transpired in the stillness of the night the last time she’d dragged them out to bill and frank’s. she doesn’t know.

“if you don’t want to tell me,” the words leave her in a sing-song tone, and for a moment he needs to remind himself this is a woman his own age, not a teenager. it would be easy to confuse the two. “i’ll just have to figure it out myself!”

he won’t be the one to tell.

“laura silver.” it’s the first name that comes to mind, and the image it paints in his head brings forth a repulsion unlike no other. he’d rather lick shit off a stick than subject himself to her company willingly. by the twisted-up look on tess’ face, she seems to agree.

“really? isn’t she a bit... chatty for you? and, like, way too happy?”

she has no idea.

the questioning glances only amplify once the two set off, each stop they make along the way- to eat, to sleep, to rest their deteriorating joints- punctuated with that feeling in the air that joel dislikes so much. the unsaid, the unfinished, the more. it makes his stomach lurch with anxious thoughts and his heartbeat cease under the stress they bring.

birds tweeting, wind howling, leaves rustling becomes the soundtrack to their travels, guiding them onwards with encouraging notes and filling the empty pockets of silence that sit between the four, five, six steps he walks ahead of her, fingers curled around a weapon and eyes trained on anything that moves the wrong way. the guts and gore of clickers stabbed and bloaters beaten wet their clothes in the early hours, yet they dry come noon, coating their every inch in a sickening syrup.

“you both got another thing coming if you think he’s gonna let you through the door like that.” joel had not experienced anything like it since the ages where he’d arrive home hours past his curfew, knees scrapped on gravel and clothes stained in mud, stood beneath the dimming porch light as his mother washed him.

only, it is bill who holds the hose instead of the woman who’d raised him.

freshly hosed down, a trail of dripped water marks the space he crosses through the house out into the backyard, losing tess along the way as she calls dibs on showering first- as if joel wouldn’t immediately put himself last in any scenario that involves her.

what he finds is a garden in gloom, infant rosebuds so young and new to life they’ve yet to lose that tinge of green that separates them from the rest of the bush they inhabit. it is the image of winter, casting its blue hue on everything it touches, from the leafless trees to the wolf-eyed dog, who’s tail begins a slow wag from its place upon the floor before the mutt’s jumping up all four paws and bounding its way over to him.

the german shepherd crashes into him like a wave, nearly sending him stumbling backwards. it’s grown in the past weeks, he realises, large paws a little more suited to the length of its stretched back. he fights a fearsome battle to contain the man within him who longs to clap his hands down on the dog’s fur, with an inhale of breath he hopes will drag down the words of praise and greeting aimed towards the pointy-eared creature, joel manages to dismiss the animal with a shrug.

it follows him, even so, as he takes another step out into the yard.

frank’s familiar figure sits within a chair. he’s calm, staring out at his decayed world as though he’s merely waiting for the passing of time to bring back the colourfulness his flowerbeds once possessed. his hair sits the same, his clothes look the same and, yet, something is off. joel can’t quite put his finger on it, all he knows is that this man is half the man he’d bid goodbye to weeks ago.

“sorry for dragging you guys out here again so soon,” his words are gentle, like always, yet his voice is ragged. joel wonders if he too had caught that damn cold. maybe him and tess brought it into the house, leaving behind a tally of germs for the three occupants of the home to choke on. maybe you’d caught it too. maybe you were in need of someone to make you soup and fret over the temperature your body keeps. maybe he should have returned sooner. “but i’m sure bill’s already filled you in.”

bill has done no such thing.

joel shakes his head. frank’s never one to push him to talk, accustomed to the likes of a man who’s short on words and spreads any dose of warmth his soul may posses sparingly. it’s a trait he appreciates, the patience to never expect more. frank talks, joel listens, both of them agree on this dynamic.

“we’ve got nothing for you this time, i’m afraid," joel swallows a snarky then what d’ya call us out for. he’s not subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man who’s known him too long, who chooses to combat the raising of his hackles and the frowning of his brow with calmly spoken words. “but we’ll owe you one. a favour, i mean.”

that recaptures his attention. his shoulders lower in tow with his hostility and the dog nuzzles its muzzle into his hand, forcing him to uncurl his fist. “what’s the catch?” he asks because he knows frank, and he knows that frank knows him, that frank chooses his words wisely when they’re alone. he wouldn’t be beating around the bush, keeping his words vague and his tone secretive, if it weren’t for the fact that joel, likely, will not enjoy partaking in whatever favour they’re about to ask of him.

“we’ve got a truck, in the garage,” he shares, like this is news to joel, like he’d never seen the vehicle in question. “and it’s been a while since it’s had a run-around, breaks are probably squeaky as sin, and-”

“get to the point.”

frank smiles, less uneasy as joel’s usual candor nature gets in the way of his brooding image, interrupting his silent streak with a rushed out jumble of words the man’s sure would sound harsher were they directed at anyone other than the friendly-eyed artist. “can you teach the girl to drive?”

joel’s ability is not being questioned, in truth, but rather his willingness.

the request is sensical, understandable for a girl your age- whatever that may be- to have no experience behind the wheel. the damned mushrooms had likely already taken hold of the world by the time you’d reached the legal driving age.

it is not a difficult task either, he supposes, with no need for every intricate little road rule to be passed down. so long as you can learn to spin the wheel, shift the gears and control the pedals, you’d be good to go.

agreeing to it would also, in theory, be agreeing to the prospective scenario where joel miller finds himself trapped inside the small, four-wheeled confines of a moving vehicle with someone who grinds his gears and haunts his thoughts. there’s so much room to suffer in the solitude of your presence, so much potential to think up what-ifs and if-onlys in his head as you stare back at him, eyes beaming rays of pure-heartedness. i don’t like you, joel. it’ll echo in the distance between you.

“bill can’t do it?” his question is met with a grimace, and he wonders if the man had already attempted. perhaps you are beyond teaching in his eyes and so they’ve settled for calling in joel to deal with your unsalvageable driving skills. perhaps they know you already dislike the man and figured there’d be no harm in giving you more reason to, when he loses his patience and scrutinises your driving skills.

“she won’t let him,” joel’s head snaps up from the floor, eyes shifting from the mutt enjoying the carding of his fingers over its head back to frank. the greys in the man’s hair seem to have multiplied, the wrinkles on his face a little deeper. joel’s struck, his stomach twisting up, with the reality of noticing his friend is growing old. “said she’d sooner trust a clicker behind the wheel than bill. she asked us to call you guys.”

you called.

you wanted him here.

you guys. sure, it may be the collective of both him and tess. but he’s still a part of that equation, meaning you’d willingly brought him close, beckoned his return to the heaven he’d left you in.

one shower later and he’s wadding his way out back, into the garage. hair still a mess of towel-dried curls, clothes fresh and a little unfitting- he’d stolen them from frank, after overhearing the man inform tess he’d taken the liberty of burning their blood soaked clothing.

he’d agreed to the deal, much to frank’s delight and his own shame, mind too enraptured by the prospect of solitude with you to judge the situation at hand clearly.

the door creaks, a beg for oil, and announces joel’s arrival far sooner than he would have preferred, stumbling upon the scene of you. more specifically, the back of you, doubled over. everything from the waist up digging through the backseats of the vehicle, seemingly searching for something, while everything downwards sits on full display for his starved eyes to feast upon. boot covered feet, the hem of the most nonsensical skirt resting upon bare calves, the curvature of thighs beneath silk, the stretch of tightened fabric against your ass.

joel thinks himself a strong man, but he is weakened by the sight.

you startle at his entrance, rushing to straighten yourself so quickly your head smacks against the top of the car’s door frame. a hiss and a pressing of a hand to your head is not enough to comfort the witness of your harm, crossing those three steps forward needed to grip your jumper-covered shoulders and spin you to face him, eyes immediate with their scanning of your features, frantic to confirm you’re not teary-eyed, nor pouty-lipped, nor in the beginnings of a concussion.

“i never heard-" you pause whatever you wish to say when one of his hands covers your own, cradling the back of your head. he’s well-aware this is too close, too unlike him, too noteworthy. but he can not seem to care enough to welcomed back the distance that so often sits between you. “oh, it’s you.”

“sorry to disappoint ya.”

he surely is.

disappointed, confused, conflicted. here you stand, no runny nose, no bloodshot eyes, no scratch in your voice, no need to be cared for. it’s a selfish thing, to feel his heart lurch at the fact you’re in full-health, no pesky cough in sight, but his distaste towards the feeling only makes it double in size.

“no! sorry, i just,” you’re the first to inch back, head tilting to meet his stare with your own. he follows suit, taking your unvocalised desires and stepping away from you, hands back by his own side and vowing to keep themselves there. “i thought it would be tess teaching me.”

so maybe you’d never called for him.

he’s just the tag-along, the con to tess’ pro, the consequence to tess’ presence. you view him like the sun views the moon: a small, dim, lifeless rock that sits in wait every waking day, orbiting around tess’ planet.

it is not news, yet it stings like it. a fresh wound added onto the litter of marks that ache his soul. the pain leaves him in the only way he knows how anymore; a face devoid of emotion.

“not,” you’re uneasy. thrown-off. squitterish. hands tuck up into the sleeves of your sweater and eyes glass over with worry. the possibility that he scares you both lights his soul on fire and sends it to drown in a lake made of his sorrows. “that there’s anything wrong with you! i just... figured you’d have better stuff to do.”

he doesn’t.

“yeah, well, i ain’t doin’ it for free,” his proverbial foot shoots into his mouth, slamming shut whatever small window of opportunity he’d stumbled upon to say the kind thing, to do nice by you for once. i don’t like you, joel. but he could change that, if he just changed his attitude. and his nature. and his sense of being. so, just about everything about himself. it would not be much for the promise of a piece of his sol. it’s  much too late for that now and, so, he commits to the role life’s already chosen for him to play, the heartless bastard. “let’s get this over with.”

“jesus christ, sol, didn’t your daddy ever put ya behind the wheel?”

joel’s anger is unjustified.

he’s aware of this, in the back of his mind, yet any rational voices burn into silence at the heat of his ire. only twenty, or thirty, or forty minutes since you’ve hit the open road, since he’d buckled himself into the idea of being alone with you, and the car feels like it’s closing in on itself. every inhale a struggle for oxygen, every exhale a subdued desire.

perfectly manicured nails grip the steering wheel.

counting trees had worked, if only for a while, to keep his focus off everything occupying the driver’s side. the novelty wore off as you passed the thirty seventh in a row, where joel’s eyes finally drifted off from the view ahead to the one on his left.

a pair of lips sit parted in concentration.

he’d needed a new distraction, one he found as he popped open the glove compartment and found a man of his taste’s holy grail. well, at least the holy grail that was found in materials rather than between the thighs of- cds! rock, country, punk. the 70s, the 80s, the 90s. fleetwood mac, the rolling stones, johnny cash. that’s what he’d found, a collection bill must keep to hold an emblem of what the world once was: loud, rhythmic, lively. now static, quiet, lonely. not even a full verse into ring of fire and you’d switched the volume off. “i can’t concentrate with that crap playing.”

half a thigh, exposed by the slit up a skirt.

now he has nowhere to turn, to let himself run off to in thoughts that promise the sweet salvation of distraction. facing forward is not an option, the empty road ahead holding no ounce of his attention. focusing on the right as the world passes by outside the window holds no merit, and no amount of trinkets nor garbage that litter the nooks and crannies of the car helps. his eyes always find their way back to you.

breathtaking in the most painful way, you sit unaware of the effect you have on him. as you shift from third to fourth gear, as your thigh tenses to press down harder on the gas pedal, as nimble fingers unnecessarily practice using the indicators. you don’t see how his frown deepens and he scorns you with his stare.

“he was a bit busy making a name for himself,” you utter a reply minutes too late, when he’s already convinced himself you hadn’t heard him.

your focus is strict, eyes glued on the road as if you’re afraid an obstacle- be it something infected, or something animal, or something malevolent- will come your way. and all the while, joel’s sat in shock, pure fucking eye-widening shock, as the words you utter slowly seep into his brain. minute as it may be, it’s the first detail, the first piece of history you’ve offered of yourself. an absent father, the words cause a dull ache in the left side of his chest.��

god, he’s being too quiet, he needs to ask more while you’re willing to answer.

you switch to fifth gear with a delay that would have cost you points back in the days of capitalistic civilisations. the gear-box makes an ugly noise of which the engine follows up with a growl of its own. 

panicked, your hand shoots straight back to the gear-shift, curling around it so tight the white bones beneath your knuckles threaten to rip through your skin and put themselves on display. the car slows with the release of your foot off the pedal and he presumes you mean to lower the gears too- perhaps, you’ve thought it best to maintain the safety net provided in the third gear- but you must not be thinking straight, must lack proper motor-control over your body, as your hand pushes down on the stick and, slam!

the car comes to a complete stop.

the sharp pain that cuts up his neck as whiplash takes over, the weight of his upper-half flying forward and stopped only by the seatbelt that crosses over him, it becomes near non-existent as a strangled cry and a whimper of pain comes from the driver’s seat.

a scrambling of hands, a forceful push onto the pedal, a handful of panicked breaths and fearful mutterings of something involving bill and kill and will. none of it helps in the face of your problem. you’re stubborn, however, trying once more to push the stick forward, and getting nowhere. joel tells himself to remain delicate in his touch and composed in his heart as his hand clamps down on top yours, curling his longer digits around the gear-stick and giving it a tug upwards, effortless in his attempt to shift the car out of reverse and back into the first gear.

your eyes meet his. watery, and big, and full of fear.

“musician?” conversation, that will distract you in your moments of panic. he’ll talk you through the fierce currents of racing heartbeats and sweaty palms, till your waters are calm as can be.

the hand that still sits atop your own gives a soft squeeze.

“deep breath, sol,” he leads by example, filling his lungs with a sharp, deep inhale through his nose. you follow, nodding as if you’re in a trance yet you mimic him nonetheless. deep inhale, through the nose, inflate your chest. “atta girl. you’re fine. car’s fine. ya just stalled it, s’all. happens all the time.”

he’s hopeful to be helpful, but then the first tear wins the war over your composure, slipping down your cheek as you shakily exhale. another few- four, he thinks, but can not say for sure- follow suit, staining ugly cristaline rivers down the globes of your cheeks. another inhale from joel, another exhale from you. you breathe in tandem, as if relying on the other to remember such a human act is necessary for survival.

it’s purely instinctual, something as uncontrollable and unpracticed as the beating of his heart or the blinking of his eyes, the way his free hand captures ahold of your cheek. the rough pad of his thumb swipes over the bottom of your eye, so close that he feels the tickle of your lower lashes, collecting whatever tears threaten to fall next.

let them stain his skin instead of yours.

“ya dad,” maybe you need clarification, something to stall the rapidly speeding thoughts that race through your mind. “was he a musician?”

at first, silence. more deep breathing, less shaky exhales. your tears still wet his thumb but they no longer seem to be spilling down your cheek, collecting on your lashes like the dust on a shelf. he thinks of wiping the tears off the untouched side of your face, mostly to settle whatever part of him feels shaken at your distress, yet, as he slowly raises the hand that sits atop yours on the gear-stick, you halt him. fingers tangle messily with his own and squeeze so hard he feels the pressure deep in his bones, threatening to snap like twigs.

and, then, you shake you head.

no.

nonverbal, yet entirely understood by him.

your dad was not a singer. you hear him as much as you feel him. you’re slowly returning. to the car, and to a rational state of mind, and to him. a few moments pass, slipping between you with as much ease as his thumb stroking over your wrist, pushing down just that little bit till he feels the fading thrump-thrumps of a panicked heart. he speaks once you’re ready, once the slow rise and fall of your chest lulls his own self into a state of calm. “gonna need ya to turn the keys in the ignition, think ya can do that?”

you do as he says, inadvertently placing your trust in him and his words, and turn the key. when the car shudders yet fails to come alive, your head snaps right back to him, eyes a pleading mess for answers, guidance, help.

it does wonders to his ego, to that caveman mentality that sadly resides in some corner of his mind. needed, useful, protective. things he doesn’t get to feel with tess, doesn’t need to feel with tess. she takes care of herself, and him, and never asks for a damn thing in return. but you need him, need his calming words and his knowledge of vehicles.

for once, he’s a necessity instead of a casualty in your life.

“foot on the clutch, sol,” his pointed words hold no mockery, becoming a metaphorical rubber-dingy that he tosses your way, one more thing to pull you into the safety of a calm shore.

this time, the engine roars back to life.

you’re elated, a smile splitting up your cheeks even as you let the car crawl to a start, wheels turning slowly as you give the gas a light tap. he sees the way your shoulders sag, like a ten-ton weight has just been stripped off them. 

“told ya, s’just a stall,” it’s the nicest i told you so he can offer, especially as the lingering of that nasty feeling still creeps over your actions, subduing you in a way he doesn’t quite enjoy. you should not be meek, nor placid, nor doubtful yet that is all he sees as he watches you hesitantly drive the car into second gear. “used to happen t’me all the time. at the worst times, too. like... intersections and shit. can’t count the times i got flipped off by some truck driver.”

you giggle. quiet, girlish, subtle. joel almost mistakes it for a tickle in your throat, a discomfort you catch yourself coughing over. but, no. your shoulders dance, your lips tilt up, rapid little breaths sneak out your nose. it doesn’t even matter that it’s at his expense, the fact he’s the one to rouse such a delicate reaction despite his rough voice, and rough words and, well, rough everything, it’s enough to settle his soul with a deep contempt.

you continue slowly, not daring to test the power of the car. he says nothing, not a word about the waste of bill’s fuel nor the painfully boring pace at which the world flies by outside the window. you’ll speed up, he knows it, once you get your momentarily lost confidence back. talking seems to be your first approach to easing the tension in your stiff arms. “actor.”

he hums in question, quirking a brow despite your gaze being fixated on nothing but what sits ahead.

“he was an actor. a wannabe actor,” you’re soft spoken, trying your best to keep that shake in your voice under control. “my dad. so... you almost had it right.”

“anything i might know him from?” he tries, and fails, to match the lightness of your voice, his own far too gruff, and dark, and jagged to replicate the smooth edges of your own. 

“not unless you had a thing for cheesy teenage romcoms.”

the words seem to take control of him, forcing their way out before he can so much as recognise their existence. “i didn’t but my dau-” if you notice the way he halts himself, you say nothing.

“wanna know the most ironic thing?” he senses no real humour behind the few chuckles you let out, eyes lost ahead. joel wonders if you’re truly seeing the road, or merely looking at it, letting the world blur as your focus sits elsewhere. you await no response before continuing. “the only role he could never master was the present father.”

a father placing his dreams over his child, the idea is one he can’t quite wrap his head around.

joel had had big dreams, once. dreams that involved world tours, and golden records, and screaming fans. those dreams were shoved aside, not even a whisper to be heard in his mind, the moment he held his bundle of joy for the first time. screaming her little lungs off, tiny body covered in fluids he could never name, eyes staring wide back at him as she took in the image of her father for the first time. she became his new dream, his only dream. to hold, protect and love.

just like the stage, he eventually lost that dream too.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes the words out, quiet beneath the hum of the engine.

“why?” you’re not harsh with your delivery. in fact, you even glance momentarily in his direction and shoot him one of those smiles, the ones that steal the spotlight away from everything else and render him frozen beneath it’s shine. nonetheless, joel fears he’s done it once more, offended you without even trying. “it’s not your job to apologise for someone else’s mistake, joel.”

the silence which settles between you once more feels less like the awful quiet of drowning beneath crashing waves and more akin to the static of an untuned radio, with its antenna out of place and detecting no signals. it’s calming to sit like that with you and somewhere between the hum of the engine and the world passing by outside the windows, joel’s mind wanders off into dangerous territories.

territories where he thinks of this exact setting, you driving and him sitting in the passengers side fighting off the sudden languid feeling that grips his soul, only in his imagination it’s later, deep into the night. you’re not alone on the road, a collection of cars passing by and driving ahead, and the smell of cheap beer fills the car. snoring from the backseats, a sleepy girl finally given into the call of sleep after a long day. the image of his hand reaching over the console to find yours, matching silver bands clinking together as he lets himself entwine his fingers with yours.

he jolts up straight, head no longer resting on the window and eyes blinking away whatever make-believe daydream he’d inflicted upon himself, when a sound of anguish comes from your seat.

selfishly indulging in his silly fantasies, joel’d failed to notice your silence was not the same as his. while he bathed in warmth, you quivered in coldness. your nails now threaten to leave marks on the steering wheel, your lips point downwards in a frown, your thigh shakes nervously with each measly push of fuel you give the car.

it’s cruel of him to keep you driving in this state.

“there’s a gas station a few miles from ‘ere,” his words are punctuated by a defeated sigh, already beating himself up mentally for not noticing soon enough the state you’ve been sat in. “pull into it.”

if joel had a nickel for every time he’s seen you in this position, he’d have two nickels.

your chest heaving with every breath, your back pressed to his front, your closed legs stood between his own. flashbacks to the kitchen, all you’re missing is a knife in your hand and a counter-top for him to box you in against.

he’d believe the idea of popping the car’s hood and teaching you a little about the interior of a vehicle was a good one, a smart one, a chance to gain some knowledge that may prove itself useful. the plan was to show you where things sat- the engine, the dip-stick for the oil, the battery- and hope the momentary distraction would be enough to unravel your nerves, leaving you primed and prepped to drive you both back to the home joel would never share with you.

as marvellously innocent and simple as his plan was, he’d failed to take into account one important detail: you’re your own person, capable of things he’d never think to predict. so, when you’d stepped out the now parked truck a few minutes after him, sweater left behind and nothing but some flimsy, practically see-through white tank top, he’d just about felt all the blood drain from his face- and head straight to his crotch- while his eyes done little to hide the glaringly obvious staring at your breasts they indulged in, the blush of colour from pebbled nipples beneath the fabric enough to have him salivating at the thought of putting his mouth on them. “i’m not staining my favourite sweater with oil”, that had been your excuse for torturing him so cruelly.

he’s no better than the old perverts who used to drool over a woman jogging down the street.

“ok, so, this,” you shuffle forwards, feet crunching down on some crumbling gravel below. before joel can let relief flood over his senses at having just that slightest bit of distance between you both, you bend at the hip and lean across the vehicle, hands grabbing at a familiar yellow stick. “is the dip-stick?”

hearing your voice but rendered incapable of listening, he’s frozen. the fingers at his side ball into fists as that familiar beast seduces itself over his senses, flashing images in his mind of all the places he’s yet to place his hands. your neck, your waist, your thighs, the wanton desire to map out your every trace and burn it into his memory is endless, all-consuming.

your voice calls out his name.

he hums, you repeat your question, to which he huffs out an agreement, tongue too heavy to form words.

“then this,” you stretch further, fingertips reaching for the top right corner. not quite reaching your desired object, you shuffle two steps back and send him into turmoil as your ass presses tightly into his crotch. like a wounded animal, he sucks air in through his teeth and clamps his hands down on your hips. initially he means to move you but, inevitably, he holds you against him. “must be the battery.”

the jeans he wears seem to have grown a little tighter. uncomfortably so. still, he can’t bring himself to care, nor to readjust them, grip only clamping itself down tighter on you at the sheer threat of removing them.

he’d thought back to that night, more times that he cares to admit to himself. at first, it was a means to an end, a memory of lustful images to drive him towards some quick pleasure and relieve the pressure of stress off his shoulders, giving him the chance to actually get some sleep. your taste on his tongue, your hands in his hair, the weight of your body keening back into him. he felt it for days. weeks, even, ghosts that haunted his skin.

then came the guilt, seeping in like rain through the crack in tess’ and his ceiling.

he had no right to touching you the way he had. here you are, a glimmer of light that brings warmth into the coldest of place, while there he is, a thunderstorm of emotions all wrapped up in the darkness of rain clouds, threatening to stain and dampen everything he puts his care into. his daughter, dead. his brother, gone. and, hell, even tess has nearly slipped through his weak hold countless times. so, how dare he subject you to the danger of his caress, mark you with the touch of death his heart seems to bring?

hours of tossing and turning, unwrapping himself from tess’ arms as he’d crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to go wear his footprints into the floorboards of their living room, pacing back and forth as withered hands ran through greying hair, searching for some solution to this... this swelling in his heart, ache in his bones, longing in his loins at the memory of you.

bill had asked him once, years ago, what his greatest weakness was. he’d been wise enough to gruff out a harsh nothin’.

his answer has changed, since then.

you reach into the darkness of his spiralling mind and drag him back with three words. “texas, you good?”

he doesn’t quite give you an answer. not a vocal one, at least, settling for giving each of your hips a squeeze when words fail him. he’s gazing in admiration and wonder, eyes trailing themselves over the way you’re struggling to stretch further, the tips of your fingers fighting to reach the object you’d been trying to identify. one moment, you’re huffing over the fight to touch the car’s battery, and the next, you’re sending two tidal waves down joel’s spine: panic and arousal.

maybe, you don’t mean to do it. it could be purely accidental, an action you don’t even take a second to consider after years of living solely in the presence of two men who bare no interest in bending you over any surface. but, you do it.

you whine.

it’s born from pain, your entire frame shooting upright while clutching your hand close to your chest. joel knows that alone should be enough to vanish any explicit thoughts from his mind. the hunger only grows though, his insides twisting up at the notion of you being hurt, needing comfort. a kiss to a bleeding wound, he’d deliver it no questions asked.

his hands are still around your waist. your bodies are still pressed together. he feels every shaky inhale, every heaved exhale. it’s a struggle to pry your injured hand away from the safety of your chest, pulling backwards till your elbow juts outwards and your open palm sits level with his mouth.

it’s your pointer finger, a dark, angry looking mark running halfway down your fingerprints.

“‘s the matter with ya,” worry has always been something joel expresses loudly. raised voices, frantic movements, heavy steps. his brother had called him out on it, the morning after his parental care led to a heated argument and the slamming of doors, from both the pre-teen and the adult in the miller household. it’s a flaw that’s only worsened, with time and circumstance, and it keeps him from saying what he really means. are you okay? “you some kind of idiot or somethin’?” i can’t stand to see you hurt.

“i didn’t think-”

“clearly fuckin’ not!” be more careful. “touchin’ the damn battery like the car ain’t just been stopped!” please.

he’s better with actions, gentle in the physical even as he berates you verbally. he pulls in air through his nostrils before blowing it out through his puckered lips, directly onto the mild burn imprinting itself on your delicate skin. you hiss as his cooling breath makes initial contact and your hand jerks back, fighting to stray away from him. joel fixes his grip, making sure you don’t get too far before he blows a second breath.

“i’m fine,” you’re an awful liar, the grimace on your lips doing nothing to reassure him. at least you’re smart enough to not waste any more energy on fighting against him, slumping forward to rest your hand on the truck’s open hood. “didn’t even hurt that much. i just wasn’t expecting it to be hot.”

with no acknowledgement thrown your way, he huffs out another couple of breaths, mind already running off in thoughts of what comes next. a superficial burn, it should heal in a matter of days. if you’re lucky, the injured skin will merely peal away to reveal a fresh layer. if you’re unlucky, a blister will swell in it’s place.

joel only aims to ensure your luck.

bowing his head and leaning down, he captures your finger between his lips. your breaths catches in your throat as this new angle, new proximity to your face allows his eyes to take in the way your own seem to roll back, lips parted with something unsaid. he drags the tip of his tongue over your wound, which pulses and burns hot beneath his muscle. his tongue flicks back over only for him to lick at the burn once more, this time with a flattened tongue, smothering it in his saliva.

the suckle his lips give is purely selfish.

“that kinda-” a fluttery sort of noise leaves you, a pleasant little thing that seems unable to decide if it wants to be a giggle or a moan. it settles for something in between, unknowingly spurring joel on to suck around your digit again. “it kinda tickles.”

the hand he holds against your hip travels north, halting abruptly as the top of his thumb reaches the swell of your breast. being so affected by a braless chest is something joel thought he’d left behind in teenage-hood. the way his cock twitches in his pants at the knowledge that yours sit bare beneath the thin cotton camisole gives him deja-vu.

in a rushed- and entirely unthought over decision- joel switches the direction of his trail of fingerprints to move south, slipping down past where cotton sits tucked beneath silk. the skirt is soft and inviting. all his sick mind can do is picture you lain across a bed with silk sheets, your naked curves, and pert nipples, and dribbling cunt a whole different kind of soft and inviting.

skin meets skin when he arrives at the top of the skirt’s slit. he wastes no time, fingers dragging themselves under the material to feel the recently discovered terrain of your full thighs. with supple skin, warm and pliable beneath his hold, he indulges himself in letting his grip dig in and squeeze the meaty flesh.

all the while, his tongue licks over your burn.

“otis does that too,” you’re struggling to keep your grip on the car, a delightful realisation for joel. you’d played the innocent for far too long last time, hardly exposing your desires till push came to shove and your knife went clattering out your hand. now you force yourself deeper into his touch, your finger applying pressure to his tongue as it pushes down on the muscle and tickles his tastebuds with the bite of your painted nail. the quiet voice of his subconscious wants you to push deeper, till your digit hits the back of his throat, his eyes sting with tears and he’s gagging around you. “tries to lick wounds better-”

the sight of you shutting up, lips parted in some unheard noise as his hand cups the entirety of your clothed pussy, sends a wave of heat to joel’s already burning loins.

the furnace of your two intertwined bodies shields you both to the slowly dropping temperatures, with no time to spare and no care to give to the grey skies that roll in while he rolls your concealed clit beneath two fingers, pinching once or twice, possibly thrice, in hopes of pushing his emotional aches onto you physically.

fighting against the tight squeeze of your underwear’s band around his wrist, two fingers, a pointer and a middle, smooth their way past your pubic bone, over your aching mound and dip down to swipe over your slit. a soaked mess, a warm and sticky coating, welcomes them as joel strokes the outer surface of your cunt in a lax manner, taking his time to admire how soft your lips feel, how warm your skin burns, how hard your entrance throbs, all the while he’s coating your cunt it’s own liquid pleasure. his mouth drops your hand, the grip his own has on it tightening once more. though, this time, it’s not from the need to keep you in place but from a primal, possessive desire that seduces his rationality. “quit comparin’ me to your fuckin’ dog.”

the hand down your pants has a mind of its own, trading the teasing strokes up the length of your seam for the tight squeeze of your walls around his fingers as they penetrate you- two at the same time, no consideration for the discomfort the sudden sting of breaching your entrance brings.

you seem to like the pain, enough to let go of the vehicle and melt back into joel. your head meets his shoulder as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls slack, legs writhing to fight for more friction. he remains frozen, face a stoic slab void of expression if not for the crease in his brow where his eyebrows have furrowed. the fingers in your cunt curl, slightly, testing your patience with the way they press into the spongy tissue.

“joe- ah...” you fail to say his name, your two lips barely getting the chance to touch as he curls his finger a second time. this time harder, with more certainty in the way he’s touching you. “move, please.”

your lips, parted in gasps and cries that threaten to cut his fun short with the way they likely have his cock staining his briefs in precum, become public enemy number one as he decides they need to be shut, silenced, occupied so that he can hold off blowing his load again before he’s even had the chance to feel you clench around his cock.

with your finger still drenched in his spit, a fat bead of it dripping down the back of your hand, he shoves it into your own mouth, disgustingly intrigued with the way you welcome it so eagerly and drink down the taste of his saliva.

now you’re silenced, joel gives an experimental thrust of his hand, dragging both his fingers out till only the tips tease at your entrance before slamming them back in. the moan you let out is muffled, a sound that titillates him yet no longer threatens his sanity. you find another way to ruin him, however, body jolting and ass rolling back into his form when he starts to set a steady pace to leisurely fuck his fingers into your cunt.

“tried to be fuckin’ good. kept my hands to myself, didn’t- fuck!” he must reach something inside of you, knuckles deep and slick spilling down his hand, that has you mewling, eyes no longer shut as you crane your neck to stare up at him and your hips roll backwards, momentarily smothering his clothed cock between the swell of your silk covered cheeks. “didn’t bring up anythin’ ‘bout the last time i saw ya. but you just ‘ad to go and ruin it now, didn’t ya?”

“leasehmm,” you hum the incoherent babble around your own finger and joel can’t stop himself from forcing it further into your mouth, laser stare sharp enough to burn holes into your throat as he watches you gag.

“c’mon, you can do it,” you’ve got him trapped between your legs, both your thighs and the walls of your cunt clenching his hand in a vice grip as he continues his ministrations, satiating the taste for warm flesh he’s been craving since he slammed the door to the kitchen and tried to fool himself into thinking he could simply make his way back to tess in her drunken state, crash down to sleep on the couch and wake up the next day as if everything that had transpired in the moonlight was just another one of his perverted fantasies. awakening with the taste of you still on his tongue threw all hope out the window. “use your words, pretty girl.”

with an awkward bend, the pad of his thumb brushes over your neglected clit in a gentle circling motion, coaxing you further and further to that ledge of ecstasy he aims to throw you off, plunge you into the heavens of a blinding orgasm. crooking his fingers and grinding his cock into the base of your spine become practiced movements, a kind of push and pull dance his body plays with yours, guiding you both to the beats of your erratic hearts.

“mmmoel,” bless you, really, for trying so hard to speak while chocking on yourself, yet making no attempt to shove his hand away. your well-mannered nature has never made him so hard- and, trust that it has done so plenty of times- as you melt yourself into a writhing mess in his arms, blown out pupils and spit dribbling out the corner of your mouth all the while you do as he bids. “mmhop.”

“‘s the matter, sweet girl? hmm?” you’re close, he knows it. feels it, when your free hand shoots down to grip his wrist through the soft skirt, nails biting flesh even through the layer of silk. he half wonders if this is it, this is where you’re going to rip him off you and slap him in the face with the harsh truth: you’re too good to be touched by the likes of him. only, you simply clutch onto him and let him continue to play you like he’d once played a guitar, fingers plucking at the right strings and pressing on the right cords to make you sing a melody so sweet even the angels themselves would cry at its sound. “cat got your tongue? feels good, i know. ‘s okay, you can let go f’me, not gonna hold it against ya. just gonna hold ya through it, yeah? keep ya real safe in my arms while this pretty little pussy of yours takes what she needs, m’kay?”

the longer you take to tell him to stop, the more debauched the images of you in his mind become. once wishes of butterfly kisses and sweet surrenders beneath his naked embrace, now desires to have you on your knees crying, begging, praying for him to smother you with his sins.

with another thrust, he fucks a third finger into your cunt, stretching you even wider and trying his damn best to ignore the fact you’re still so tight despite the thickness of his fingers. that’ll only lead to his thoughts derailing to how much tighter you’d feel clamped around the girth of his cock.

he’d been modest, back in his younger years, shrugging off the cries of past lovers regarding his well endowed state as nothing more than flirtatious fiction, the kind of thing women would tell their man to make him feel special. only a few years ago he’d started to second guess his assumptions as he began to chase his highs with faceless bodies and all kinds of holes- mouth, cunt and ass.

most of the time his concubines get no chance to truly see his cock, too busy having their face shoved down into gravel, or into some brick wall in a sketchy alleyway, or, simply, the darkness that consumed the walls of the cubicle which kept them from seeing just who exactly they were fucking would also take away their chance to know what they were getting themselves into, what was about to get in to them.

their first reactions always seem to be a crying sort of sound, a sick pleasure washing over him and having his balls tightening. then comes the complaining of too much, too fast, too good, their bodies at odds with themselves and unable to decide if being impaled by him is their worst nightmare or their sweetest dream.

before they can ever decide, he’s ripping away from them and fucking himself to completion with his own hand. a mumbled thanks and- if it was one of those kind of deals- a drop of a med kit or some food rations to their feet, joel would be tucked back into his worn jeans and out of their sight before they’re able to catch their breaths and realise he’d left them there, stretched open and fucked out with no orgasm to show for it.

with you, he’d be different though.

there’s no need for his own pleasure if it came down to choosing between it and your own. the sheer thought of nuzzling his mouth between your thighs and lapping at every inch of your pussy, till his muscle aches and his jaw locks, is enough to have him on the precipice of cumming untouched. so, to think of a scenario where he slips his cock inside your velvet walls and doesn’t leave you a spasming mess after several earth shattering orgasms, over and over till a ring of your mixed juices decorates the base of him and you’ve milked him dry, that feels impossible.

“wait, joel, ah! please, please,” your head thrashes to the side, ripping away from your burned finger. you’re trembling, feet pushing up onto their tippy-toes as he fucks higher and higher into you. the hand around your wrists finds a new home curled around your jaw and his thumb begins it’s torturous circling of your clit once more, pushing and guiding and bullying your aching cunt towards an orgasm that’s sure to leave you breathless and- “stop!”

this time, it’s joel who’s recoiling his scorned hands.

pants fill the air, a desperate fight for oxygen as you stand before him, legs shaky and perked nipples chafing against the see-through fabric of your camisole. thunder cracks above, a deep and trembling noises that joel can’t help but feel fits the ambience, turmoil in both the sky and his heart.

he knows its for the best, to have you put your foot down and put an end to this ridiculous pursuit of lust joel’s imposing on you. not only have you made it clear you do not like him, but you’re younger, full of life, heart too mellow for a soul as dark as his. still, disappointment floods his bones.

both hands back at his side, he clenches them. wrong move, only serving to remind him one of his hands is smothered in your wetness, a schlick squelch bouncing up to his eardrums. you’ve turned to look at him, at some point. he notices the slight swell of your lips and the blown-out pupils, try though he might to ignore it.

staring right at him, you seem to be almost waiting on a reaction.

“‘s gettin’ dark, should prolly think of headin’ back,” joel won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing him beg, not when he knows it’ll get him nowhere. the hood, that’s what he should be focusing on. he shoots a hand up and slams the hood shut, fighting the urge to let his stare linger on the stain his pleasure soaked fingers leave behind on the blue painted metal. “bill and frank’ll be wonder-”

you call his name.

he can’t look at you, fingers fidgeting with some scab on his hand.

you try again. louder.

a sigh of resignation. he turns to face you, leaning back against the truck. the quirk of his brow enough to encourage you to get on with it, say what you need to say. paint him in shame, call him some names and then let you both be on your way.

you seem to take it as an invitation to approach. one step, then two more when he fails to back away. with a final step, you’re stood right before him, forcing yourself between the space of his parted legs. he’s never had you this close before, at least not with you facing him, and it’s almost too much. the familiar anxious pit in his loins creeps back, leaving him all too aware of the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins.

you smell... christmassy. burnt wood, dusted cinnamon, mulled wine. warm.

he can’t remember the last time he even thought of christmas.

he jolts at the feeling of your hands on his thighs, the coldness of them burning through the rough material of his pants. he’s not sure when it happened but he somehow finds himself sitting on the truck’s hood, hands splayed out on either side of him and knees bent over the edge as he parts way for you between them.

your hands smooth up the muscles of his thighs, up and down in repeated motions. soothing, calming. his heart beats a little slower with each movement.

only to jackhammer against his ribcage as your touch begins to move higher.

“i didn’t mean stop as in, stop touching me,” you breathe out the words like they’re the most delicate of secrets, only for his ears and your own to know. fingers threading through belt loops. a pull or two. he’s vaguely aware of the sound of metal clinking as you release him from the strain of it’s buckle, and the biting sound of teeth unzipping. “just... just wanna see you... feel you this time, when i... if that’s okay with you.”

he’s nodding his head before you can even finish your words, nearly crumbling as your fingers brush against his bulge. “‘smore than fine by me. shit, that’s... yeah.”

a pathetic man, that’s what he’s become, a meek shadow to the man who moments ago had you on the precipice of cumming around his fingers while you babbled incoherently. you seem to have turned the tide, whether you’re aware of it or not, hand sinking beneath the withered band of his boxers.

you don’t give him the relief he wants- needs- instantly. instead, you tease, fingertips dancing down the underside of his shaft and following the trail of a vein he doubts you’re even aware of. sliding back up to his tip, you revel in the weakness he displays as you brush over heightened nerves, sensitive to your touch and stained in earlier excitement.

“you’re warm,” is not exactly what he’d expected you to say, if he’s honest. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it, mind firing into overdrive as you fully wrap yourself around his cock. ignoring the chafing, you work your hand over him, grow familiar with the length of him, tip to base. “big.”

with your free hand, you do your best to peel back the layers of fabric till nothing stands in your path of gazing at his cock, heavy in your palm and red at the tip.

“yeah? ‘s bigger than you’re used to, ain’t it?” joel coos, you nod, tongue darting out to wet your lips as your eyes meet his. wide, glossy, intrigued, a mirror of the scared look you’ve worn when you’d stalled the car.

joel groans at the memory, the way he’d taken care of you, coaxed you back to a rational state of mind.

he wants more of that, more chances to protect you.

even if it’s against your own mind.

“‘s okay, sol, you’ll learn to take it,” you keen at his words, sinking closer to him, shoes scratching on the gravel beneath you. you squeeze your hand around him and he chokes on an inhale. “gonna teach ya to take it like a champ.”

he reaches behind him, tugging the gun out the back of his trousers. he was stupid to place it there in the first place, a rushed action he’d made when stepping out the vehicle. he hadn’t wanted you to see the weapon, to be reminded that the world outside bill and frank- the world joel resides in- is not safe, not from infected and certainly not from people.

before he can put it to rest on the hood, you snatch it out his hand.

you’re inspecting it like it’s the first you’ve ever seen, yet the way you perfectly wrap your hand around it and point past his shoulders tells him otherwise. there’s familiarity in your stance, like you’d once lived under rules where bill didn’t prohibit you from touching a firearm. it has him wondering, longing to know who you were before. where you’d come from, how you’d met the two men you share a roof with.

you play with the safety, snapping his attention right back to the present.

the sight of the gun in your hand fills him dread. and misery. and a sense of nausea. you’re far from weak, no matter how much he’d like you to be, but there’s just something fundamentally wrong with the image of you holding such a destructive weapon.

you should be holding otis’ lead. or a canvas depicting frank’s recent masterpiece. or the end of some wine bottle bill’s struggling to open.

or joel’s hand.

instead of speaking his mind, he pries it from you with a huff- from both of you- and lays it to rest somewhere towards his right, out of sight and out of mind. “‘s not some toy for a girl like you to be messin’ about with.”

“neither are you,” you make a point to rack your pretty nails over the untamed curls of his pubic hair, the occasional flash of silver a reminder of his aging state. you don’t seem to notice, or care, too busy bringing the attention back to his leaking tip.

a sound adjacent to a growl escapes him, feral and domineering. shame exists within him, for a moment, witnessing himself be at such a loss of control. when his hands find purchase on your waist, the feeling dissipates and what takes it’s place is pure adulterated need, throbbing in his very core.

he tugs you forward, closer, catching the way you’re struggling to reach him, hand gripping his thigh for support.

“y’gonna hurry on up ‘ere,” impatience punctuates the soul, driving him off the cliff of sanity and plunging head first into the rocky territories below. “or d’ya need me to do all the work? lay ya down, nice and pretty on the hood so i can fuck you?”

you deny his offer with actions, clambering your way into his lap, legs splayed out either side of his thighs. the skirt bunches awkwardly between you both and steals his view as you rest down against his stiffness and smother it in the warmth of your clothed cunt.

there’s dampness on your panties, teasing him as you give an experimental roll along his cock, holding it tight between both your bodies.

“shit, joel,” a hiss through your clenched teeth and your face twisting up in something- pain? arousal? both? he can’t quite pinpoint it. your hips roll again, this time reaching higher, teasing him with a visual of what’s to come. “feel so thick, don’t know how i’m gonna-”

“didn’t i already tell ya-” he grabs at your skirt, irritation clear in the way he rips it up the length of your legs, exposing your skin inch by inch. “you’re gonna learn to take it?”

your hand dives under the fabric before his can, fingers curling around his cock once again and giving him a salacious stroke, taking your time gliding over the smooth skin and sensitive head. “mhmm. you gonna teach me?”

he nods, affirmative.

the next few minutes are nothing but messy grinding. like a pair of hormone-crazed teens, you explore the joys of rubbing up on each other. two pieces of wet wood searching for that spark in between. you make the most effort, working the muscles in your thighs to slide up the length of him and to grind back down, the wet patch in your panties growing with each stroke. joel sits back, allows himself the rare luxury of being taking care of. the last time he had a pretty girl in his lap, she had solace in her eyes and a couple twenties stuffed down her sparkly bra.

“what d’ya bring me ‘ere for,” he’d berated his younger brother after, his anger seemingly coming across as unserious to a giggling tommy, “was fuckin’ depressin’. kept lookin’ at those girls and thinkin’ bout if their poor dads knew what they were up to.”

he can’t help but wonder if bill and frank know what you’re up to.

“hey, hey, wait,” the words tumble out of him erratically as he catches up to your actions, the hand around his cock suddenly holding it still as you raise your hips. his hands pull and grab at the fabric of your skirt, a frustrated grunt slipping out of him as he hoists it up past your waist. this time, you’re covered by a shade of baby blue cotton instead of lace, less sultry yet far more appealing in his eyes. comfortable, that’s what they look like, the kind of pair he’d find you wearing stood in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning, one of his wrinkled old t-shirts the only thing keeping your frame concealed. joel’d always had a good imagination, and it serves him well, decorating his mind with several images of a domestic bliss he’d never get to share with you. “lemme see.”

you’re a smart girl, it’s one of your best qualities, and so you need no further instructions to understand what joel’s asking for.

he watches like a hawk as your fingers tug your panties to one side, a pretty window of slick covered skin that has him involuntarily jutting his hips up off the truck, his head slipping up your seam and pressing into your clit, an action that sparks the reaction of your own hips grinding down. you recover quick, hand back on the task of gripping his base and holding him, while your over reaches back to grip his knee, giving you a grip to steady yourself on as you straighten your thighs.

“this what you want,” your voice calls through the lustful haze in his mind as he takes in the sight of you sinking down onto him, the head of his cock fitting snuggly between your velvet walls. it’s almost enough to make him cum on sight. “to watch? me sitting on your dick?”

joel wonders if you’re trying to shame his desires. ultimately, he’s too lost in the way you cling around him to really care. if anything, he almost wants you to be disgusted by him, making the act of devouring your pleasure that much more sinful.

hands grip at your hips, with moon-shape indents forming around where his nails dig into your flesh. patience is a virtue he scarcely possess but he forces it on himself, fighting back the need to slam you right down on him and carve a home out for his hot cum inside your empty womb. he can’t allow himself the fast-paced indulgence he’s used to, not when he sees the deep breaths you need to take or the pained wrinkle in your brow with each inch you sink deeper and deeper down on him with.

he let’s you take your time, eyes starring with a crazed expression at the point your bodies meet. once he’s fully nestled inside the warmth of your cunt, your forehead rests against his own and he’s forced to look into your eyes and once again notice the way your pupils sit dilated in lust.

it’s a sight he’d like to get used to.

“kinda regretting this,” dread plummets through his heart and a ball forms in his throat. your walls hold him in a vice grip that seems to contradict your statement, until you clarify. “thinking i could take it like this. i’ve never, you know, in this position before-”

“you’re doin’ great,” joel’s own voice sounds pained, straining beneath the buzzing energy that’s begging him to relinquish control to his lust. it would be so easy, effortless even, to grip your hips and fuck you down onto him like you’re nothing if not a hole to get himself off in. unfortunately, his heart stands in the way. “shit, fuckin’ better than great.”

neither of you keep time of how long you sit like that, pelvis to pelvis, his cock buried into the hilt and a puddle of your wetness collecting along his pubic bone, the bristle hairs providing a rough friction for your clit.

eventually, initiative is taken, and you work up the nerve to roll your hips.

the view he’d been enjoying is stolen as your skirt slips back down to pool around you both, his hands too occupied gripping at your waist as your own find home on his sturdy shoulders.

another roll of of your body, slow and steady, lighting every nerve in his cock on fire with the sweet burn of your cunt fighting to keep him inside, refusing to let him slip too far out before you’re filling yourself back up again. your lips fall open in a pathetic moan, the sweet smell of your breath hitting his nostrils as you sit forehead to forehead.

and joel wonders if there’ll ever be a part of you he’s not enamoured by.

your confidence grows as you begin to set a pace, bouncing yourself up and down in his lap as joel grips here, there and everywhere on your body. a pinch to your hardened nipples, a trace of your hidden thighs, a cradling of your face. there’s not an inch of you he wants to neglect, staining his fingerprints all over you with every frantic touch.

this is nothing like the back-alley exchanges of body heat he’s grown accustomed to, this is nothing rushed and everything felt. it’s a carnal hunger for the feel of flesh and the taste of sweat. it’s feral, and lustful, and downright intoxicating. it’s the need to get his fill of you over, and over, and over again, till the fountain of your velvet warmth overflows with his seed and has nowhere else to run but down the length of your full thighs and dripping onto his emptied balls below.

“joel, please,” he decides he likes you much better like this, your whole body gripping itself around him-arms, legs, soaked cunt- in search of a sweet salvation only he can bring as your usual bright smile and quick tongue become reduced to nothing but whimpered breaths and desperate prayers. “i’m- god, i can’t-”

your thighs tremble as he tightens his hold, keeping you steady when the exhaustion of exhilarating yourself on top of him begins to take a hold of you. the need to take over becomes primal, blunt nails tearing into the meat of your thighs and bouncing you down on him with an effortless look he hopes will fool you out of noticing he’s seconds away from blowing his load prematurely, mind and body too close to the edge of nirvana from simply having the weight of you on him.

he just needs to get you there first.

“hate this fucking skirt,” the grumble was meant to be a thought he keeps to himself, but the giggle it rouses out of you makes it worth the slip-up, your own hands delivering the mercy of helping him drag the length of it farther up, marking a clear path for his own to sneak under and find your pulsing clit. “don’t wear it again.”

a few tight circles with just the right amount of pressure has you melting deeper into him, your arms curling around him as your head lays itself to rest upon his shoulder. your every breath delivers a brush of heat against his already burning skin and he wishes there were no plaid shirts nor camisoles resting between your heartbeats. 

“but it’s so,” he must have struck gold, found some hidden gem in the combination of the pressure of his fingers on your clit and the rhythm at which he’s fucking you down onto his cock, for you clamp down on him so tightly he worries you may cut off his circulation. “soft and, oh, yes! and it- it fits me so perfectly-”

“not sure if you’re talkin’ bout your skirt or your pussy,” he grunts out, a teasing smirk on his mouth that dies the instance his lips press to your neck, nose chasing the scent of your lingering shampoo.

“you’re so-” he’s so, what? you don’t get to finish, hand fisting into his hair and moans falling from your lips like autumn leaves. 

“tsk, look at ya,” he certainly is, and loving every inch of you he sees, hips rolling down with the guidance of his hands, head tucked safely away from the world in the crook of his neck, hands gripping any part of him they seem to reach. if art is subjective, then you’re the damned mona lisa, the starry night, the birth of venus. “can’t even fuckin’ speak properly, mouth’s good for nothin’ when you’re full of cock.”

you nod into him, hips moving faster, nails digging deeper, moans getting louder. he’s got you so close, a few more thrusts till he’s sure to have you flying off the handles and cumming around him.

you whine his name.

he meets the roll of your hips with the raising of his own.

a pull of hair, a bite of skin, and then you’re-

“oh shit, ain’t this a pretty sight.”

joel’s blood runs cold.

you’re frozen against him.

just past your shoulder, directly in joel’s eye-line, by the gas station’s entry stands a man. he’s younger than joel, maybe even younger than you. his clothes are stained in all sorts- sweat, dried blood, mud- and are tattered, as if he’s been wearing the same thing everyday. the strap of a backpack sits over one shoulder and he seems to be carrying no weapons but the hunting knife in his belt.

the intruder- if he can even be called that out in the openness of the world- takes a couple steps closer but they’re not full of confidence. if anything, his frame seems just as shaken as you both, fingers fidgeting with the adjustable cord of the bag’s strap.

“please, don’t stop on my account,” he seems to be trying to play it cool, but fails to let out the light-hearted chuckle he intends to, a noise more similar to a choke taking its place. “heck, give me a little performance even”

joel’s not sure what’s gotten into him- if it’s the fact he’d been moments away from making you cum, or the dropping temperatures that have you sinking deeper into his warm body, or the sheer desire to possess you so intimately under someone else’s knowledge- but he finds himself rutting up into you again.

you don’t join in, limbs still locked in shocked, yet a moan is breathed into his neck.

“shit, man,” the stranger sounds amazed, as if not even he thought joel would gift him such a sight. his hands find something new to fidget with, struggling to undo the buckle of his tattered leather belt. “pull up her skirt, lemme see how she’s taking you.”

he obliges and bunches the fabric up in his hands, exposing the sight that lays beneath. it’s not the explicit sight the man must be hoping for, the snug fit of his cock inside your cunt mostly concealed by your pushed-aside panties.

unable to stop himself, joel wonders if this man would prefer you in something more scandalous than the blue cotton that he so deeply adores.

“sorry- fuck! just, it’s just been a while,” the buckle comes undone at last, a button and a zipper follow. one hand dips beneath the waist band of the man’s boxers. “swear i’m not trynna be a creep, or nuffin’. can you... could you squeeze her ass? wanna see how much of a hand full she is.”

this time around, you let out a sound that’s less pleasant to joel’s ears, a far cry from pleasured as he so greedily cups a handful of your ass. the realisation that, though your body may contradict you with the canting of your hips into his or the continued arousal you drip between your pelvises, you’re not enjoying this, hits him like a truck.

you’re not moaning in pleasure, you’re whimpering in fear. you’re not shaking because you’re cold, you’re shaking because you’re scared. this man is scaring you.

joel is letting him scare you.

“swear i’ll just- a few minutes and i’ll be out your hair, ok?” the man’s fumbling, bag dropping off his shoulder down onto the floor as he works over his cock. joel wonders if it’s uncomfortable, stroking himself without the help of spit to ease the slide, and scoots his hand over to his right, fingers slipping over the hood in search. “just really need this, man, you’ve no idea how it gets out here on your own-”

nothing usually crosses joel’s mind when he pulls a trigger.

becoming numb to it, blanking one’s mind, treating it as normal. it’s the only way to come out the other side of it without it weighing on your conscious. it was built over time, the first few months a struggle to even touch a gun after what happened on outbreak day. shooting humans had always been the easy part, reminding himself there’s an evil in them he doesn’t need to meet to know it exists. the infected, he’d struggled, compassion sinking deep into the pit of his stomach as he’d glance at their once-alive eyes, now nothing but a breeding ground for some mushroom.

the shot rings out, moments after the bullet hits its target and, this time, you cross his mind.

defenceless, shaking, clinging onto him. it’s shameful to admit that it turns him on, has his balls throbbing with unloaded cum, to protect you. to play the role of saviour, supporter, guardian to the fearful girl in his lap.

he doesn’t even care enough to spare the dead man a look, eyes back on you.

you’re already staring right back at him, shock written all over your face. “you... you killed him.”

“he was holdin’ a gun, sol,” he’s not sure if it makes you feel any better. you do, however, seem to shuffle closer to him, chest to chest as you take in what he’s telling you. “was gonna fire a few rounds into me and then where would that leave ya, huh? free for the taken.”

thunder roars above your heads.

your brows furrow, conflictive expressions taking over you while you assess what’s just happened. he tries not to think too much about the fact his cock is still very much nestled inside your soaked pussy, throbbing with the impending release life keeps stealing away from you both.

“you killed him.” you repeat, more sure in your words this time.

“i did.”

lightning lights up the darkening sky.

“i should be scared of you.”

“you should.”

one last rumble from the storm clouds.

“but i’m not.”

the heavens above seem to open as cold, thick drops of water fall from the sky, quickly soaking everything they meet. the gravel, his shirt, your hair. the rain seems to have no boundaries, slipping between you both and filling the little gaps it manages to find.

neither of you move from where you’re seated, letting the cold overtake your bodies. you both use it as an excuse to move closer, arms tangling around one another as you stare each other down with judgement, assessing what either will do next.

you call the shots, experimentally rolling your hips, testing the waters to see where he’s at.

joel meets you just where you want him to, touches more frantic than before and far more sloppy, neither of you conscious of the goosebumps that line your skins as you indulge in one another’s bodies, fucking beneath the pouring rain like some silly scene out of a romance film.

“i was protectin’ you,” he breathes onto your neck, mouthing at your flesh and enjoying the thudding of your pulse beneath his tongue. “keepin’ you safe, sol. ‘s what i do, what i’ll always do.”

it’s unclear if the words are meant to assure you or himself.

it doesn’t take long till you’re both back at the edge of glorious relief, the unmet orgasms from earlier rearing their heads all at once and flooding over both of you. one of his hands snakes it’s way under your skirt to rub at your clit, while one of your own threads itself in his hair and tugs sharply, till he feels a sting in his scalp.

what a sight it is to behold as you cum, eyes rolled back, lips parted in a mute scream, soaked hair sticking to your forehead and every other place it touches. joel wants to see you through to the very end, hold you while you shake and break completely on his cock, but the warmth that creeps up his loins takes that priviledge away.

only as the first spurt of thick cum shoots out of him does joel manage to rip you off him, jostling you further up his lap and providing him with the friction of your ass cheeks to sooth over his spasming member as he paints your lower back and inner skirt in his pleasure.

he watches you falling apart in the heat of your orgasm and his bones ache a little less, his soul feels a little lighter, his heart seems to beat a little better.

joel never manages to put his thoughts into words quite properly.

“you’re not,” he breaths out, shaky. you’re still rutting against his limp cock, soaking him with your slick and whimpering into his shoulder as his head bumps against your aching clit, the come down from your orgasm hitting you harder than his. he’s vaguely aware of how tightly he’s gripping you, arms holding you flush, anchoring you down against him as the rain continues to pour. “you’re not real.”

you’re mumbling something but it falls on deaf ears as joel fails to reel his thoughts in, eyes skittish as they jump from watching water crash against the windows of the deserted gas station to the limp body of the stranger, cock still in his hand and a bullet straight through his forehead, a sick red washing away along the gravel.

“...here. i’m real, joel,” a kiss pressed to his forehead. you’re gentle with him, whispering into his good ear and he wonders if you know he can hear you better on this side, he’d never mentioned it. a hand coaxes his own off your waist and guides it upwards, pressing against the left side of your chest. rapid thumps. you mimic the movement, hand pressing against his own heart as you rest your forehead against his. “i’m here. we’re both here.”

joel drives back.

there’s no prior discussion where you agree on this. he simply cleans you both up- to the best of his abilities-, sits you down in the passengers seat and walks his way round to the driver’s side. it’s silent, and this time it’s the uncomfortable kind. the kind that wrestles with his mind and puts discomfort in his heart. there’s something unspoken between you both and he does not know how to begin to talk about it, not without the risk of messing it all up.

you don’t protest this time around when he turns on one of bill’s old cd’s, and, so, billy joel sings you all the way home.

at some point, he convinces himself you’ve fallen prey to sleep, eyes closed and head slumped to the side, searching for the safety of something to rest itself on. slowing to a stop, he takes his time undoing your seatbelt and maneuvering your lax limbs till your head meets his shoulder. the drive onwards is slower, more careful as he drives over any bump in the road and each turning he takes less sharp.

“i owe you a thank you,” you eventually mumble, weight still leaning against him and eyes very much shut.

he nods, though you do not see it. “okay.”

it’s all he can think to say, unsure what a girl like you could ever thank him for. all he’s done since the moment he met you is dampen your shine and stain your kindness with rough hands and a rougher heart.

“for, you know, not telling tess,” your response brings more questions than answers. not telling tess what? “i just... she’d hate me, if she knew, and she’s some of the only family i have left. i couldn’t stand to lose her over a few... mistaken moments between us.”

joel wonders if he’s part of this short list of family you have.

he doubts it.

“don’t see why she’d care,” he’s choosing to ignore that word, mistaken, yet it’s not enough to stop his fingers from twisting tighter around the wheel, tension in his wounded heart.

“of course you wouldn’t,” you wrestle down a yawn and nestle your head deeper into the crook of his neck, body hunched in a position he can’t imagine to be too comfortable. he keeps this thought to himself, decidedly enjoying this false image of tender touch. you ground him, weight down on his paper-thin mind-state like a rock that promises to keep all his pages in place. “you’re careless.”

there you go again, displaying such casual cruelty.

you’re careless.

how twisted life is to give him everything he’s worked so hard to be- a man feared, untested, unmessed with- only for his every want become his waking nightmare as it sits on your own lips.

i don’t like you, joel.

“‘s that why ya don’t like me?” he can’t help himself, even if he wanted to.

“i don’t like you because you-” a pull of breath. an opening of eyes. a raise of a head. you don’t make it far before he’s raising a hand off the wheel to encourage you back down to rest upon him, half-worrying he’ll be strown apart by the next gust of wind should he lose the weight of your head on his shoulder. “i can’t tell you.”

“why not?”

“you never brought me that dress.”

there’s no answer he can give that won’t incriminate him and steer you on the clear path to see just how caring a man like him can be. every fabric he’s seen the wrong colour, the wrong length, the wrong style for you. the closest he’d gotten to finding a dress worthy enough of slipping down your skin was stripped from the corpse of a woman joel’d been tasked with disposing of. in a moment of weakness, he’d nearly taken it, till his skin began to crawl with the implications of gifting you a dead woman’s dress, the last piece of clothing she’d worn while her blood was still warm and her lungs filled with air.

you fall asleep, for real this time, not even stirring as he maneuvers himself out of his jacket and drapes it over your damp figure, body sinking deeper into his own- as deep as the console between you allows.

night has taken hold of the sky by the time he pulls into the fenced community, headlights lighting up the path back into the garage. pulling the car to a stop, joel eases your weight off him and steps out the car, mindful of how he closes the door over. he makes his way around to the passenger side and pries the door open to find you still sleeping, peaceful as can be, the dull army green of his jacket contrasting the pastel shade of your skirt.

he takes a moment, sinking to his knees, and let’s himself indulge in the image of you like this a little longer, before the watchful eyes of bill or the curious glances of tess stand between the ways joel longs to look at you. softness greets his thumb as it brushes over your cheek. you seek out his warmth, chasing it even as he moves downwards to swipe at the dribble of spit threatening to spill out your slacked lips.

if he were a better liar, perhaps he’d claim this was his way of attempting to wake you up.

“what happened?” frank is the first to greet him, eyes blown a little wider than usual as he takes in the sight of you curled against joel, one arm round your back and another under your knees keeping the weight of you off the ground. “is she okay?”

“nothin’s happened,” the man’s reactions to joel’s return to the house has brought on more pairs of eyes, tess and bill flooding out the kitchen to catch a glimpse of him in the hallway. “she’s just tired. ‘s been a long day and-”

“your clothes are wet.” bill’s eyes are glaring, tearing apart every detail they can pick up: the gentle grip he holds you with, your sweater thrown over his shoulder, the peaceful manner in which your sleeping form sinks into his warmth, the jacket that’s slowly slipping down your form to reveal bare shoulders and soaked cotton.

his tongue feels heavy, his mouth turning to sandpaper as the anxious feeling of being watched dries up his senses. hardly aware of it, he’s straightening his spine and puffing his chest, staring the older man down before flickering over to where tess stands, face much kinder looking as she watches you sleep. “you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna show me her room ‘fore my back gives out?”

that seems to get the ball rolling, all questioning and staring left behind as frank guides him three doors down and slips the door open, stepping aside to let joel in. he doesn’t bother hitting the light, a part of him not wanting to pick up any details to linger on around your room, using what little light the moon provides to find his way over to the bed. frank’s gaze is burning a hole in joel’s back even as he drops you down onto the mattress, and it’s almost like he can hear the buzz of energy radiating from everything the man wants to ask him.

it’s not till the four of them sit the dining table and joel’s shovelling a fork-load of food into his mouth that the next question comes.

“why was her sweater dry?” it’s tess who asks, punctuating it with an obnoxious sip from her glass.

all eyes are on Joel, a spotlight she’d shun directly on him and leaving him on display. bill, in particular, seems to be clinging to his every movement, anticipating his answer with the clenching of fingers around the steak knife in his hand.

“what?” it’s all he can manage without the fear of saying too much.

“your clothes were all wet. but her sweater, on your shoulder, it was dry.”

how had tess even noticed that?

“she took it off,” it takes a couple minutes to answer, a pause he tries to play off as simply his need to chew on the food he shovels into his mouth at last. it feels heavy, slipping down his throat, like he can already anticipate it’s return to the surface alongside his bile. “said somethin’ bout not wantin’ to get oil on it when i told her i was gonna show her the different parts of the engine.”

silence.

eyes shooting back and forth.

tess looks at frank.

frank looks at bill.

bill loathes at joel.

and then, “oh.”

tess says it like it’s the start of a sentence, an audible ellipses that she’s refusing to elaborate on.

“oh.” joel parrots, hoping they’ll drop the topic and allow him to go back to the raging waters thrashing around in his thoughts.

luck is not on his side.

“that makes sense,” the woman continues, attempting to cut the tension with an airy chuckle and a shrugging of her shoulders, as if doing so will shake the tension out of everyone else’s. “was worried that poor girl was running around with her tits out in front of the likes of you.”

bill grips tighter around his cutlery, knuckles white under the dining room light.

straightening up, a momentary lapse of judgement and a foolish flash of red hot possession shoots over him, embarking him on the road to saying perhaps the dumbest thing he’s ever said.

“would that be so bad?”

a hand smacks down on the table. a chair scrapes, another following right after.

“bill,” frank’s tone is nothing if not a warning, hand on the man’s forearm as he soothes his thumb over his skin.

“it’s late,” it comes after a deep breath, the kind a shrink would teach you to use in times of stress, or fear, or anger. bill isn’t even acknowledging tess, fully focused on joel. “you should get going.”

plates half full, bellies half empty, the four of them step away from the table. tess slips on a jacket, one she’d not had prior to arriving, and passes joel a loaded bag. he figures she must have had her pick around the old clothes shop, loitering whatever was left that could either fit them or keep them warm through the remainder of the cold months.

he throws it over his shoulder without question.

the air has shifted, a tense feeling floating around the atmosphere that exists between him and bill. tess and frank are seemingly unaware of it, laughing and talking amongst themselves as the group makes their way to the front door.

joel is the last to step out and, in doing so, he pauses, glancing backwards into the open doorway. 

he calls out to tess, all three heads turn.

“need a piss.”

“take your time,” it’s the friendlier of the two men who responds, threading his arm around bill’s and dragging him along with him. it reminds him of why he likes frank more. “we’ll walk tess to the gate.”

he watches the three figures fade away into the dark of the street, carefully stepping back into the house once he feels the safety of distance. he tries to keep his footsteps light, suddenly aware of how quiet the place feels without the panting of a dog or the rustling of someone in the kitchen. he counts the doors as he goes- one, two, three- and turns the handle of the third.

the room is still dark, but that’s okay. he’s used to darkness. his eyes carefully scan the floor with each step he takes closer to the bed, watching out for any discarded dog toy or worn clothing splayed across it. at some point, his steps meet carpet instead of cold floor. he’d not noticed it earlier, but then his sense had been rather focused on the precious cargo he carried.

he finds you where he left you, hair a mess upon your pillow and chest rising steadily in the breaths of deep sleep. only, you’ve gained a companion, the unmistakeable beady-eyed stare of the german shepherd meeting joel’s in the dark. the dog makes a noise, half whimper half whine, and the tip of its bushy tail begins to beat against the mattress, matching the rhythm of joel’s heart.

like before, he lets his hand brush your cheek. instead of wiping saliva, he brushes a few stray hairs away from your peaceful face. you shift and he panics, fearful you’ve awakened, only to relax as you sink deeper into the pillow.

his hand lingers longer than necessary.

another whine from the mutt gives him the will to at last pull away from you, trading your soft cheek for the smooth fur along the dog’s head. his fingers card through it, nails digging a little to scratch at otis’ scalp.

“you take care of her,” for me. “alright bud?”

he must be losing his mind, for he swears he feels the dog nod.

the steps he takes on his way out are less careful, though he’s slowed by the amount of times he seems to insist on turning back to glance at the bed. maybe it’s for comfort, the peace of mind of knowing he’d brought you back safe and sound.

maybe it’s with longing, his aching joints begging for him to crawl his way in beside you, cocooning you between himself and the ball of fluff behind you.

shaking his head, an array of self-aimed insults plough through his mind, joel curls his hand around the wooden frame of the door, steadying himself to glance back one last time.

“joel...” he freezes, caught in place. how long have you been awake? how do you know it’s him? how are you so softly spoken when your voice is hoarse?  “turn the lamp on,” a yawn. he hears rustling and imagines you readjusting yourself into whichever position brings you most comfort. the thought of if it ever gets lonely, sleeping with no one to hold, crosses his mind. he refuses to let it linger. “don’t wanna wake up to the dark.”

he shuffles over to where he sees the outline of a lamp, fingers sliding around in the dark till they hit a switch and a lovely orange hue overtakes the room, bringing it to life. little trinkets, scattered papers, a couple pictures in frames line the desk in front of him. he’s seen too much for comfort, avoiding looking at anything else in your space till he finds you, curled up in the bed too big for one, otis’ head resting on your hip.

you still have his jacket over you, ignoring the warm comforter you lay upon.

he thinks he musters up a smile. if he does, you’re returning it, eyes sleepy and lips lazy in their movement. it’s a peaceful moment, the kind joel doesn’t get many- if any- of these days. he won’t waste it by speaking what’s on his mind. your eyes slowly drop once more, surrendering to exhaustion.

the bedroom door creaks behind him on the way out.

[aemonds-little-belle]

Feelings Sold Separately

CHAPTER EIGHT (THE FRIDGE)

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

TAGS - (REPOSTED FROM AO3)

Alternate Universe - Sugar DaddySugar BabySugar Baby AUAUokay this is a whole ass story that's just one long ass brain fartliterally i am just coming up with this on the spotlow key really love it thoughSugar Baby/Sugar Daddyobviouslytalks of class issuesaemonds been hurt in the pasti think there will be some sexy stuff eventuallywait fuck i didn't mention this is a modern!aumodern!AUAlternate Universe - Modern Setting&lt;3Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen is Bad at Feelingsstop that was recommended but so accurateI don't know how to do tagsI'm SorryI promise it's goodAnd no one diesand it's just so classically a sugar baby/ sugar daddy au it hurtsreader works at a cafe ... obviouslythis will follow a similar storyline to the show just modern and also not at allFamily Issueswait probably dom/sub vibes tooDom/subLight Dom/subclearly i don't know where this is going yetmy readers are always written fat because i am fatso keep that in mindSlow Burnit's so slowbut I think it's greatlike genuinely two idiots in lovebut they take soooo long to noticeUghI love fanfiction

NOTES - (REPOSTED FROM AO3) -

This chapter will begin to dip into the more serious side of sugar baby/sugar daddy tropes, such as talk of money being needed for more than just clothing. The last chapter, and this one too, signal a sort of change between the two characters, they've grown closer over the past day, / last a billion chapters I'm sorry I don't know why I made it slow burn! So do know the story will begin to grow now, the pace may get quicker, and Dom/Sub vibes, though very minimal, will begin to pick up. That's all! Just a little heads up! ALSO, get your glasses, some water, and a snack, they finally get into a fight ...

PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REBLOG!

+ + + + + +

The grocery store was huge and unfamiliar, the overhead light cool and bright, a stark contrast to Y/n’s favorite little market down the road from her apartment. Plus this store had a huge selection of things she had never heard of, things she didn’t know if she even wanted to try, like the fruit some woman was holding, the colour strange, texture clearly unpleasant. “Ready?” Aemond asked, a large cart in tow.

“I don’t need that much stuff, a basket would be better.” Y/n began looking around, trying to find where they kept their baskets, though from how fancy the store was she wouldn’t be surprised if they came with a personal shopper too.

“We’re fine, come on.” Aemond said in a reassuring tone, noticing Y/n’s sudden anxious wave, her panic to make everything work perfect taking over, his hand settling on her back to comfort her. “What do you need to get?” He asked, his tone one she hadn’t had the chance to hear, the softness in it, the genuine care he was giving, it was new, but she needed it.

“Um, some bread, and crackers.” She answered quickly.

“That’s it?” He asked, confused, the last time she seemed to make this errand seem like something so long and boring Aemond wouldn’t even want to go.

“I guess maybe some juice too.” Y/n’s eyes seemed to meet every person who passed them, assessing them, making sure they weren’t doing the same to her.

“Y/n, look at me.” Aemond huffed slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yah I’m fine.” She didn’t seem so sure. “I promise, I just want to get home, really, no big deal.” Aemond didn’t believe her, but knew he had to learn to trust her, just like she was learning with him.

+

Aemond and Y/n stood awkwardly outside her building, bags in each of their hands, though not a lot, Aemond had convinced Y/n to buy a few extra things at the grocery store. “Are you going to open the door?” He asked, looking to her, her looking away.

“I can bring them all up on my own, it's okay.” Y/n smiled, one that she didn’t mean, the gesture hardley meeting her eyes.

“That’s not going to happen, little dragon, I’m sure you're strong but your building has no elevator.” He smirked, one she would have regularly enjoyed, but not in this moment. ‘How does he even know I don’t have an elevator here?’ Y/n just took a few steps towards the main door, her key meeting the lock, the stairs only steps away.

“Just be careful, the stairs can be tricky sometimes.” She mumbled, her chest growing heavier and heavier the further they got. The third floor hallway had even dimmer lights than the last two, the doors worn, beige walls stained with time. “You can just leave the bags there.”

“Y/n!” An old lady's voice shouted.

“Hi Miss Falker.” Y/n smiled.

“Your fridge, young lady!” Miss Falker pointed to her. “I thought you got it fixed, the noise is driving me nuts.”

“I know.”

“Just.” The lady seemed to take a sudden stance of pity. “Make sure you and your Targaryen wannabe keep quiet.” And With that she walked away, a door slamming to the left, Y/n’s giggle quietly drowning the sound out.

Aemond had a stunned look on his face, his lips turned into a smile. “She’s nice.”

Y/n laughed a little louder, Aemond happy to see the slight sparkle back in her eye. “She is, sometimes. Other times she can be a little.” Y/n tilted her hand side to side.

“Why don’t I take a look at your fridge?” Aemond offered, still holding bags, not giving up his want to see her apartment.

“It’s not making a noise, I promise.” Y/n unlocked her door. “Mr Bayle lives on the other side of Miss Flaker, it’s his fridge that’s making the noise, I just don’t want there to be more drama than necessary.” She explained, still not actually opening the door. “You can go take a look at his fridge if you want?” She playfully offered. Aemond just ignored her, placing his hand over hers and turning the doorknob.

The studio apartment was small, the kitchen dated, though he enjoyed the little window ledge with a built-in bookcase under it. It was quite empty, only a few things here and there, a total of four books under the window, a couple lamps, a small plant sat beside her bed, and some t-shirts scattered on the floor, though the sun had gone down quite a bit, so everything was heavily shaded. “Um, well, yah, thank you for today.” Y/n rushed, she seemed antsy, a state Aemond didn’t wish to leave her in.

“What books do you have?” He asked pointing to the bookshelf, his head swiveling, looking for a light switch.

“Poetry by the great ..” A *click* could be heard but nothing happened, then another *click*. “The light switch is just a little finicky.” Y/n tried to explain, Aemond shook his head, finally putting two and two together, he walked towards the fridge, hearing Y/n mutter a quiet ‘Aemond’ under her breath. When the door opened he was met with empty shelves, no light, and the sound of Y/n sniffling in the background.

“Y/n” He hummed, almost angry.

“It might just be a power outage, I …” Her voice was shaky, though she tried to hold it together.

“You told me your pay at the cafe covered rent, groceries, and your utilities.” He wasn’t sure what to feel, he was angry she lied, but more mad at himself for not checking.

“It does, I promise.” She took a step back, hiding from him, herself, the goddamn fridge at this point. “It’s just, the fridge was making a weird noise and.” She paused to sniffle again. “And the guy charged me more than I could afford, I, just, it threw me off a bit that’s all.” Y/n’s shoulders collapsed in on one another, he could pay her a thousand dollars a minute and not even falter, she couldn’t even scramble an extra two hundred in time to pay her bills. She wished she could confidently think he wasn’t going to mock her, or say something mean, but she didn’t know, she had no idea how he would react. What if he thought she needed him too much? What if this was his last straw? What if she’s just too different for him? “It’s really not a big deal.” She tried to reason, her mind already pitting Aemond against her.

“Not a big deal?” Aemond shut the fridge door a little too loudly. “Little dragon, it is cold as ice in here, you have no food in the fridge, how are you even charging your phone?” Then it clicked, she ran earlier, she couldn’t call him, her phone must have died, she was in the mall stranded, with a dead phone, and he left her there, to fend on her own. “Your phone died?” He asked, his tone softer, no wonder she seemed off throughout the day. Every time something remotely related to the power came up she hid again. This morning, she cut her words off, changed the subject when she mentioned the fridge noise, her phone was dead and she couldn’t call him, causing her to face the situation again, the grocery store. “You didn’t get anything that needed to go in your fridge, you don’t have anything that needs to be cooked.” He felt his own heart racing, he knew why she didn’t tell him, it’s a vulnerable thing to tell someone you just met, but he should have known, he’s supposed to know. “How long? How long have you been living like this?”

“Four days.” Y/n barely whispered.

“You could have asked for help.” Aemond sighed.

“Could I?” Y/n cried. “I didn’t want you to look down on me, or, or be mad at me.” Tears were falling down her cheeks at this point, her chest heaving slightly. “I didn’t have a choice! My fridge needed to be fixed, sacrifices had to be made, that’s how the real world works Aemond!” She knew her words might sting, but she couldn’t stand silent as he asked her such obvious questions.

Aemond stormed out of her apartment, the door still open as he ran down the stairs, Y/n just stayed still, crying, she didn’t want him to see this, she hated herself for letting him in, yet she knew he would get here eventually, see how different they are, see how he lives in a totally different world. Suddenly all she could hear was banging from below, fist banging on a door and then yelling. “Are you the guy that runs this place?” She could hear Aemond’s voice, the idea of him yelling at the man she depended on for a roof over her head made her stomach churn, her moving to go downstairs to stop whatever was happening, move on. Aemond seemed to know she was coming. “Y/n? How much do you owe this man?” Aemond didn’t break eye contact with the man in front of him, no doubt scaring him into submission.

“Two hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred, missy.” The guy stepped to the side to point at her, like she had just thrown him under the bus. Aemond wasted no time pulling on the guy’s shirt, forcing him to stand in front of him, to look at him, in his terrifying targaryen stance, money practically dripping from him like sweat would.

“I gave you a hundred last night, Gunner!” Aemond hated the way she said it, like she had pleaded with him before, like he had tried, and probably, scammed her before, though this time she clearly had backup.

Aemond chuckled lowly, letting the man go, reaching into his suit pants and pulling out his wallet, a wad of cash in hand as he carefully, and slowly, just to prove how much money he had, ‘seriously?’,counted each bill before handing Gunner the money. “Two hundred.” Aemond spat, his hair a little messy, his shirt buttons hanging on for dear life as he heaved breaths in and out, the true picture of a deranged, ‘hot’, man willing to do anything for his girl.

Y/n began walking back up to her apartment, expecting Aemond to walk out and not turn back, a kind gesture and no goodbye. But before she could close her apartment door he walked in behind her, watching as the lights finally turned on, a small whizzing noise passing through, signaling electricity, water flowing through the pipes again. “You didn’t have to do that.” Y/n mumbled, waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for him to walk out.

Aemond huffed. “This entire arrangement I have told you to rely on me, to let yourself need me. I don’t care how many times I have to say it again. Of course I am here to spoil you, sure, but I’m also here to keep you safe, protect you, keep you out of danger, make sure you have fucking power Y/n!” Y/n hadn’t seen him like this before, part of her shocked he had this side, the other half widely attracted to him. “That’s what’s important.” His hands were on his hips now, he looked like a mother out of breath, like he just did a zumba class, though he was really just exhausted from holding in the want, ‘need’, to punch Gunner in the face. “I am happy you let me buy you things today, shoes, clothes, some bread.” He looked at the bag full of pitiful snacks. “But this is what matters, your well being.”

“I just thought ...”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t think next time, just ask.” ‘I will give you the world, the air from my lungs.’ “Just ask.” His words were breathy, low, and serious. “You want to make me happy? Pay me back?” ‘You don’t have to.’ She nodded her head. “You’re going to charge your phone, eat some food, and you’re going to go to sleep.” Aemond picked up the bag of food from the floor, setting it on the small island space to his right, taking out the things and laying them out nicely. “Do you have any allergies?”

“I don’t know.” She mumbled, shrugging her shoulders, she hadn’t really had the chance to go out, try the foods of the world, and see if any decided to close her throat up, and it wasn’t something she felt the need to do. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to buy you some groceries and make you some proper breakfast in the morning.” Aemond shook his head. “All you ate today was a bagel! I didn't even think to stop and pick something up.” He couldn’t help but beat himself up, he knew she wouldn’t ask for things, he knew he needed to take the lead, and yet he was struggling, and his failure was eating him from the inside out.

“I actually ate a few crackers when you were putting the cart away.” Y/n’s sassy voice, though much more diluted, rang through the room.

Aemond chuckled, looking to the ceiling. ‘Gods help me, she’s going to be the death of me. I don’t mind’. “Tomorrow you start asking for things, and tomorrow I make sure my focus is you.” He turned around to face her.

“You seemed to look at me alot for someone who wasn’t focused on me.” Y/n’s fingers were once again anxiously playing with one another, her mind still swirling.

“And you seemed to look at my hands alot for someone who wouldn’t ask to hold them.” Aemond quipped back, Y/n cracking a genuine smile, one he could never get sick of. “So do we have a deal?” He asked, Y/n nodding her head.

“Yes, I’ll start asking for things, I promise.” Y/n nodded her head, her smile still lingering. “But, Aemond, your money isn’t going to fix every problem I have, I’m not your responsibility.” She added. “You shouldn’t put all this weight on your shoulders, I’m okay, I can take care of myself, I promise.”

“You don’t have a great record of doing so, Y/n.”

She huffed. “I have made it all these years without you, Aemond, I can certainly keep going.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“And I know that now.” She explained, looking at the light above her. “But you don’t have to defend my honour.” ‘I want to.’ “I’m your sugar baby, you don’t need to turn your life upside down for me.” ‘I will anyway.’

Aemond’s heart seemed to stop, was this her setting up boundaries? Did she want him to back off? Step away? Treat her like she meant less to him? Because she didn’t, how was he supposed to get that across? She, even though it had only been four days, meant everything to him. “I know my money isn’t going to solve all your problems.” He admitted, leaning against her counter, his arms crossed against his chest, the damned, ‘gods sent’, tattoo on full display. “But I have power in political and corporate worlds, I have multiple university degrees, my family is practically royalty, and last time I checked most people find me terrifying.” He chuckled slightly. “Other than Miss Falker.” Y/n laughed with him then. “So stop thinking you have to do everything on your own, I have every base covered, I can fix anything, even your neighbors fridge if it bothers you too much.” ‘Do I sound like I’m begging?’ “So stop pushing me away.”

“We’ll see.” Y/n pretended to hold her head high, the leftover tear stains making her look of pride falter.

“We’ll see?” Aemond adjusted his arms, tightening them, his forearms flexing, Y/n trying not to stare.

“It’s a big ask, Aemond, I’m only one person.”

“I thought you wanted to change the world?” He tilted his head slightly.

“Stop bringing that up!” Y/n raised her hands in defeat. “I will try to let you help.” She bit back her desire to take the words back.

“Y/n!” Miss Falker could be heard from outside the apartment. “Get that bleach blonde boy out of here before I do it myself!”

Y/n hummed. “You interrupted her TV time.” She giggled slightly.

“Her what?”

“He’s too loud, I couldn’t hear the damn TV!” Miss Falker yelled, as if on cue.

“He’s just leaving Miss F, I promise!”

“You’re pretty enough Y/n.” She yelled back. “You could get a real Targaryen boy, you deserve one.”

Y/n looked to Aemond, who had a mixed look of amusement and pure rage lingering on his features, his hair every which way, clearly not a man to mess with, and yet Miss Falker was ripping him to shreds. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.”

[girlfriendline]

I posted 2,565 times in 2022

That's 2,565 more posts than 2021!

521 posts created (20%)

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I tagged 2,494 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#sid - 311 posts

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#mtkachuk - 95 posts

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#well. whatever hockeys fake so who even cares. dewey two scored a goal and dewey one might be back and kirill scored in the shootout . so &lt;3

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

a pair of idiots

442 notes - Posted September 19, 2022

#4

See the full post

470 notes - Posted September 23, 2022

#3

kirill being very pleased with himself for holding his translator up to the mic

501 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

#2

See the full post

514 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

zuccarello and kaprizov after the wild win in overtime // 28th april 2022

591 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

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[angelguk]

I posted 760 times in 2022

368 posts created (48%)

392 posts reblogged (52%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@stuhde

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I tagged 426 of my posts in 2022

Only 44% of my posts had no tags

#ask - 261 posts

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#lexi the only ok one and even that's up for lil debate especially with this season starting off with fez brown ass man asking for her number

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

→ the things i never told you — a jeongguk scenario [03]

member: jeon jeongguk

word count: 4.4k

genre: college!au + smut + fluff + slight crack + best friends to lovers (idiots to lover really) + angst

warnings: mad pining but both side is oblivious  / jk and oc like each other but there’s a misunderstanding between them / jealousy (JEALOUSY!!! jealously is a serious disease oc is chronically ill!!) / taehyung is an instigator / future smut / it’s a no nut november fic so pretend it’s november plz / taehyung as the worst™ / miscommunication </3 / ANGST!

soundtracks: sensitive, alex porat + circles, april + 19th floor, joy crookes + starring role, marina + running up that hill, kate bush

summary: jeon jeongguk is your best friend—and nothing more. you’ve grown up with guy, watched him stumble through his awkward puberty, cheated on tests with him, witnessed his first kiss (which only happened because you persuaded him to kiss siyeon) which only strengthened your unbreakable bond. but now you’re in college and jeongguk isn’t an awkward preteen who needs your help to get girls anymore. it creeps onto you slowly, that feeling you’re harbouring for your best friend. but you’re determined to ignore—that is until taehyung sets of a chain of events that land you in a very interesting predicament. 

a/n: okay so this is now where you guys can start voting for plot points! my inbox is open for ideas :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

He sits down with a rather loud plop. It's the sound that captures your attention, breaking through the soft jazz music filling your ears. It doesn't even take one glimpse to know who it is. You can see it just by peering at his wrist, the glimmering luxurious watch face staring back at you defiantly. It ticks slowly, almost like a premonition that you're acutely aware of. It takes him a couple of patient seconds before he’s tugging at your earphone wires, leaving a droning saxophone forlornly floating in one ear and dunking the other into the blaring sounds of life around you. There's the thud of plastic meeting plastic, mingling with the idle chatter of humans and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby fountain engulfing your senses.. It's only then you look up. He has the audacity to smile, waving the bag clutched in his hands as if it's an olive branch and not a threat.

"Food," He offers into the silence, steadily meeting your eyes. Even with your steel gaze, Taehyung is unwavering, his eyebrow quirked as he awaits your answer.

For a moment your lips are drawn together in a thin defiant line, but then your stomach thunders, tormented by the scent of food sweeping through the air. It’s a betrayal even Taehyung hears, given by the way the corner of his mouth smugly tugs upwards. You only give in because you’re hungry. "Pass it over then."

There's a clear wash of relief slipping over his face, his features falling lax as he hands you the bag. "It's your payment, for the party." You ignore that, peering into the bag to find a delectable packed lunch awaiting you. There's a moment of hesitation. You're not sure you can trust Taehyung's cooking skills. "I bought it, relax. I wouldn't knowingly give you food poisoning," he tacks on, reading the look of doubt on your face. "Just try it. It's pretty good."

You take his word for it because you're ravenous, fingers already clasping around the chopsticks inside the bag. "Thank you," you mutter. It's said reluctantly but Taehyung brushes that off, grateful that you're still even talking to him right now. You'd been avoiding him around campus. You'd been avoiding everyone actually, apart from Chaeyoung and Namjoon but he wasn't about to interject himself into that dynamic. It was really by chance that he saw you here alone, the packed lunch in his bag serendipitous. He watches you pop the lid open quietly, gaze flickering the mountain of work sitting on the table before you. There's evident stress in your eyes and for a brief moment he feels bad for dragging you into this mess. But not bad enough to stop pushing at your buttons just a little more. 

"You've been ignoring my texts," Taehyung says, folding his hands underneath his chin. He purposefully leans forward over the table, almost trapping you can't escape him. You pause, a mouthful of pork and rice filling your cheeks, foraging through your brain for a good excuse. You'd essentially ignored every notification that wasn't university-related since that forsaken party. Which wasn't that long ago honestly. Only seven days of radio silence on your part. If you could push it to tweo weeks you would have, but instead, you're eating food Taehyung has just given you, with the man himself sitting expectantly right across from you. Maybe Taehyung deserved the silent treatment, maybe he didn't. All you knew was that you needed space.

"I was busy." You settle for that, staring pointedly at the pile of work awaiting you. Taehyung's gaze does not falter.

"We still have to talk, you know. What happened at the party?" He questions, ignoring the look you give him.

"Nothing. I was just tired," you retort, digging your chopsticks harshly into the plastic container. "Are you not hungry? Why aren't you eating?"

He shrugs. "Not feeling food right now. But that's beside the point, you haven't been talking to Jeongguk have you?"

You pause, slowly chewing on the food in your mouth. Your skin feels funny even from the mention of his name, but you don't want to reveal that particular reaction to the world just yet. Least not to Taehyung of all people.

"I haven't," you say carefully, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

Taehyung's forehead creases in confusion. "Why not? Aren't the two of you best friends? Joined at the hip? All that jazz?"

That makes you bristle. "We're friends but we're also adults with different lives and obligations. I talk to him when I can, not all the time Taehyung. As I said, I'm busy."

He purses his lips, fingertips rapping against the plastic table. "Are you sure about that? Jeongguk thinks you're mad at him."

Oh. That takes you by surprise. There had been moments where the conversation had faltered between the two of you, the responsibilities of life getting in the way of your relationship. But nothing malicious ever spawned from those moments of silence, both of you understand the reasoning behind the lack of talking. And it's not like you would try and play catch up on each other's lives whenever you could. But maybe you had been more standoffish than usual. You hadn't opened a single text from him and there were many. You can't blame him for assuming that—it was a direct consequence of your actions after all.

"I'm not mad at him," you mumble. "I'm just too tired to talk to anyone right now. I kind of want to be alone."

Taehyung hums like he understands but you doubt he does. You've never seen him alone for longer than ten minutes at a time but he does have the personality that naturally attracts everyone towards him.

 "That's cool. I thought he had found out about the bet actually." 

You roll your eyes at that, catching Taehyung's suspicious glance at you. "What's with that?" He inquires, elbows firm on the table.

"Nothing," you mutter, but then you remember with sharp clarity the look he's shared with Jackson at the party. You'd been meaning to ask him about it anyway and as luck would have it the  opportunity has presented itself. "I have a question for you, by the way. What the hell was the thing between you and Jackson? At the party."

See the full post

564 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

#4

→ the things i never told you — a jeongguk scenario [02]

member: jeon jeongguk

word count: 9.1k

genre: college!au + smut + fluff + slight crack + best friends to lovers (idiots to lover really)

warnings: mad pining but both side is oblivious  / jk and oc like each other but there’s a misunderstanding between them / jealousy / taehyung is an instigator / future smut / it’s a no nut november fic so pretend it’s november plz / taehyung as the worst™ / oc is not a girl's girl im afraid (jealousy is a disease and she is chronically ill!!)

soundtracks: boy, (offonoff) +  i love my boyfriend, (princess chelsea) + is it true, (tame impala) + fire & desire (drake)

summary: jeon jeongguk is your best friend—and nothing more. you’ve grown up with guy, watched him stumble through his awkward puberty, cheated on tests with him, witnessed his first kiss (which only happened because you persuaded him to kiss siyeon) which only strengthened your unbreakable bond. but now you’re in college and jeongguk isn’t an awkward preteen who needs your help to get girls anymore. it creeps onto you slowly, that feeling you’re harbouring for your best friend. but you’re determined to ignore—that is until taehyung sets of a chain of events that land you in a very interesting predicament. 

PART — ONE // TWO (you are reading) // THREE

a/n: there are some drabbles (so called prerequisites) to this au that are not necessary to read but they would be fun to lol :) check my masterlist &lt;3

See the full post

616 notes - Posted May 3, 2022

#3

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: jeon jeongguk is your best friend—and nothing more. you’ve grown up with the guy, watched him stumble through his awkward puberty, cheated on tests with him, witnessed his first kiss (which only happened because you persuaded him to kiss dara). your bond was virtually unbreakable bond. but now you’re in college and jeongguk isn’t an awkward preteen who needs your help to get girls anymore. it creeps onto you slowly, that feeling you’re harbouring for your best friend. but you’re determined to ignore—that is until taehyung sets off a chain of events that land you in a very interesting predicament.

how this works!

after every new installment a google forum voting session will take place. this is an interactive story so any ideas or concepts you have please feel free to share! updates are weekly <3

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660 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

#2

→ pu$$y fairy — a jeongguk scenario 03

member: jeon jungkook

word count: 11.3k

genre: smut + college!au + jeongguk and oc are in a weird fwbs without the friendship part just the benefits except jaykay lowkey has feelings + virginity au

warnings: virgin!oc / oral sex (fem & male receiving) / 34+35 (miss grande influence) / mentions of drug usage / jk is essentially losing his mind (you'll see) / angst / emotions are real but everybody in this fic is incapable of acknowledging them / hit and run!!!

soundtracks: how can i forget you girl, 87dance + killing me, omar apollo + night moves, michi + in your body, ¿Téo? + open up, mack keane & esta + tsunami, suzuki saint + give me a kiss, lolo zouai + take care of you, charlotte day wilson

PARTS — ONE // TWO // THREE (you are reading)

a/n: you could read this as a separate one-shot but where's the fun in that?🤔 also highly suggest you listen to the soundtracks!

See the full post

1,113 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

→ the things i never told you — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jeongguk

word count: 6.8k

genre: college!au + smut + fluff + slight crack + best friends to lovers (idiots to lover really)

warnings: mad pining but both side is oblivious  / jk and oc like each other but there’s a misunderstanding between them / jealousy / taehyung is an instigator / future smut / it’s a no nut november fic so pretend it’s november plz / mentions of ahegao (this fic is not about that!!) / oc is not a girl's girl im afraid (jealousy is a disease and she is chronically ill!!)

soundtracks: sgl (now,now) + built this way, (samantha ronson) + drew barrymore, (sza) love flew away, (laufey & adam melchor) + cry, (cat & calmell)

summary: jeon jeongguk is your best friend—and nothing more. you’ve grown up with guy, watched him stumble through his awkward puberty, cheated on tests with him, witnessed his first kiss (which only happened because you persuaded him to kiss siyeon) which only strengthened your unbreakable bond. but now you’re in college and jeongguk isn’t an awkward preteen who needs your help to get girls anymore. it creeps onto you slowly, that feeling you’re harbouring for your best friend. but you’re determined to ignore—that is until taehyung sets of a chain of events that land you in a very interesting predicament. 

PART — ONE (you are reading) // TWO // THREE

See the full post

1,731 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

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[phantangled]

I posted 1,190 times in 2022

149 posts created (13%)

1,041 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@deadandphilgames

@philsmeatylegss

@ttlmt

@ahappydnp

@indistinct-echo

I tagged 1,111 of my posts in 2022

Only 7% of my posts had no tags

#q - 727 posts

#&lt;3 - 242 posts

#idiots (affectionate) - 223 posts

#art - 133 posts

#philip my beloved - 122 posts

#daniel my beloved - 104 posts

#phan - 92 posts

#dan and phil - 86 posts

#dan howell - 79 posts

#daniel howell - 71 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#so i’ve just tried to reblog a couple of things but nothing is loading very well so i’m sorry if i’ve missed posts but my internet is useles

my internet is still useless, sorry guys 🤣😭

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

dan and phil acknowledging they’ve not spent more than 2 and a half weeks apart since they MET was not something i thought i was going to experience today

1,318 notes - Posted October 18, 2022

#4

HAHAHAHA

2,217 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

#3

asdhdjkskd

2,428 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

#2

archive historian- phil lester

lmao

3,437 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

bro same

7,826 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[youre-on-your-ownkid]

I posted 5,499 times in 2022

349 posts created (6%)

5,150 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@max-julyfield

@pretentious-jester

@jimimn

@torydarixs

@smolcattowo

I tagged 615 of my posts in 2022

#asks - 66 posts

#six of crows - 34 posts

#jesper fahey - 25 posts

#shadow and bone - 24 posts

#kaz brekker - 21 posts

#wylan van eck - 21 posts

#wesper - 20 posts

#inej ghafa - 20 posts

#nina zenik - 19 posts

#church &lt;3 - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 108 characters

#also that scene where he stuffs marshmallows in his mouth?? and that scene where he sniffs perfume?? so cute

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Me rewatching the whole "I ended the world twice" for the 23050606th time:

152 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

#4

the feminine urge to be a jane su or a shara wheeler or a nora holleran-

190 notes - Posted May 10, 2022

#3

Crow babies

See the full post

207 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

#2

I went out after ages today. Finished my history revision. And i feel like God. Anygays i made these memes- The Euphoria meme™ Bollywood edition.

Shanti from Om Shanti Om:

Rancho from 3 idiots:

See the full post

336 notes - Posted February 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Dustin's speech to Eddie's uncle was far more impactful than Mike's mOnoLoguE I said what I said

7,776 notes - Posted July 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[send-me-a-kae-via-subspace]

shaking her. violently

[seasons-serenade]

I posted 1,460 times in 2022

That's 1,367 more posts than 2021!

98 posts created (7%)

1,362 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@fullmoonfireball

@badmistmountain

@pen-scribbles

@bisexual-lemon1

@attractive-horse-names

I tagged 1,290 of my posts in 2022

Only 12% of my posts had no tags

#qqq - 285 posts

#comf c - 157 posts

#silley - 116 posts

#ace attorney - 91 posts

#angel momence - 85 posts

#snotlout - 67 posts

#httyd - 66 posts

#pvz - 65 posts

#color momence - 54 posts

#&lt;3 - 49 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#growing up poor and having little choice of food really twisted my psyche and its really hard for me to understand ppl who are picky

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

“But I’m Snotlout? I’m completely irresponsible.“ / “You listened to me? I’m an Idiot!”

Crash Course / Chain of Command

___

Two moments Snotlout acknowledges himself and how others observe him. One where he is ashamed and one where he embraces it.

46 notes - Posted September 18, 2022

#4

Wanted to draw him sewing <3

74 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

#3

Here’s some fanart for @emerialyncodevenice ‘s fanfiction, The Ripple of a Snowflake, featuring Jack and Aurora the Light Fury!

Base colors under the cut bc I like how they turned out

Loved doing the light fury design.

82 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#2

Just watched that rtte episode with the firewyrm queen and snotlout and just thinking- I know it was for a gag, but when the twins literally sculpted those rocks it made me realize how artistic they are

Tuff n Ruff the sculptors of all time. They do poetry, write stories, and sculpt! They’re literally so artistic I wish ppl would acknowledge that in their character

166 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I really feel like people forget that Snotlout is actually a really good leader in battle. He knows what his team needs to do and how to do it, and if not then he keeps them safe and does the best he can

230 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[solis-angelus]

I posted 3,846 times in 2022

That's 440 more posts than 2021!

268 posts created (7%)

3,578 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gol-gappa

@girlboss-nahi-girlbas

@i-make-lemons-out-of-lemonade

@viva-la--resistance

@stonedregulus

I tagged 1,865 of my posts in 2022

#alex my chaotic idiot of a twin &lt;3 - 80 posts

#tag games - 72 posts

#prev tags - 64 posts

#harry james potter - 58 posts

#sirius black - 52 posts

#marauders - 50 posts

#jegulus - 49 posts

#liam the multi talented artist who does concerts &lt;3 - 48 posts

#regulus black - 47 posts

#rwrb - 44 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#this is so fuckin beautiful 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

He's so very very pretty, and so very very gay ...and I'm so very very in love with him.

-me, when my mlm gayness hits.

133 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

#4

pov: I took your death threats as love letters and now you can't get rid of me.

155 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#3

James: nice thighs, Reg ;)

Regulus: uh, thanks?

James: I bet they'd look nicer wrapped around my h-

Sirius: HE WHO CREATED LIFE, THE LORD JESUS CAN I GET AN AMEN

233 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

#2

Found this on Pinterest. Which one are you?

1,000 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

lil trans hearts <3

1,157 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[aemonds-little-belle]

FEELINGS SOLD SEPARATELY

CHAPTER NINE (THE PAST)

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

TAGS - (REPOSTED FROM AO3)

Alternate Universe - Sugar DaddySugar BabySugar Baby AUAUokay this is a whole ass story that's just one long ass brain fartliterally i am just coming up with this on the spotlow key really love it thoughSugar Baby/Sugar Daddyobviouslytalks of class issuesaemonds been hurt in the pasti think there will be some sexy stuff eventuallywait fuck i didn't mention this is a modern!aumodern!AUAlternate Universe - Modern Setting&lt;3Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen is Bad at Feelingsstop that was recommended but so accurateI don't know how to do tagsI'm SorryI promise it's goodAnd no one diesand it's just so classically a sugar baby/ sugar daddy au it hurtsreader works at a cafe ... obviouslythis will follow a similar storyline to the show just modern and also not at allFamily Issueswait probably dom/sub vibes tooDom/subLight Dom/subclearly i don't know where this is going yetmy readers are always written fat because i am fatso keep that in mindSlow Burnit's so slowbut I think it's greatlike genuinely two idiots in lovebut they take soooo long to noticeUghI love fanfiction

PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REBLOG

+ + + + + +

Y/n woke up to a knocking noise, the knocks rapid yet quiet. “One second!” She called out, standing up and grabbing a bra off the floor before running to the door. As she struggled with her bra she looked through the peephole, Aemond and a very scary looking Miss Falker on the other side. She shook her head, fixing her shirt before opening the door. “Hello?” She said out of breath. 

“Young lady, make sure you two stay quiet today.” Miss Falker pointed at Y/n who nodded her head back. 

“I promise Miss Falker.” Y/n smiled back. 

“And you!” She looked to Aemond this time, her finger meeting his chest harshly. “Don’t be such a baby, and throw a punch next time.” She referenced the fight Aemond and Gunner had the night before, Aemond tilting his head at the old lady before giving in and nodding. “Hmm.” He hummed, Miss Falker shaking her head before walking away. 

“How did you get in?” Y/n asked Aemond, stepping back slightly so he could walk in. 

“I caught Miss Falker at your gossip board.” He said lowly, as if it was obvious. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?” He smirked, pointing to Y/n’s legs. 

“Oh fuck!” She stood still almost frozen in place before she walked towards her dresser, pulling out a few things. “I’ll be right back.” She smiled, stepping into the bathroom. 

“Make sure to brush your teeth!” He called after her, Y/n scolding herself for ever answering the door. 

+

“Aemond.” Y/n sighed as she walked out of the bathroom, her phone in hand. “I don’t know if you know this but it’s seven in the morning.” 

“Seven fifteen.” He corrected. 

“You do know that’s early, right?” Y/n asked, her appearance more put together than just a few minutes prior. “I know you said you were coming by ‘in the morning’, but it’s the crack of dawn, Aemond, on the weekend.” Y/n’s words were stressed, like he had crossed some very serious line. 

“You do know when the crack of dawn is, right?” He copied back, Y/n huffing out an annoyed puff of air. “Where is your coat?” Aemond asked as his eyes scanned her apartment. 

“I thought you were going to make breakfast?” Y/n’s head tilted, a slight pout on her lips. 

“I was.” Aemond admitted. “But the grocery store won’t be open for another hour, so I thought we could go out for breakfast first.”

“It’s probably closed because it’s so early.” 

“Hmm.” Aemond hummed, his hands behind his back. “Where is your coat?” He asked again, completely ignoring her previous comment. ‘You’re no fun.’. Y/n grumpily walked towards her dining table, grabbing her coat and putting it on, the two of them walking out of her apartment, Y/n locking it before following Aemond out to his car. 

+

Y/n happily found herself in the same booth she had been just two days ago, the seats just as obnoxiously blue, the lights just as dim, and the smell just as sweet. “What are you going to get, little dragon?” Aemond asked, his menu cast aside. 

“Um.” Y/n pondered. “I really liked the chocolate chip waffles last time.” 

“Hmm.” 

“I think I’ll get the blueberry ones this time though, maybe some whip cream too.” Aemond hated how he just stared at her as she read, taking in all her quirks, the way she tilted her head to the side slightly when she read, and how she seemed to bite her bottom lip as she focused, and yet here he was, watching her like a lost puppy, his eye roaming her face as she went on with her day.

“Hello!” Daris called as he walked closer to their table, the smile on his face spreading to Y/n’s. “What can I get you two today?” He asked, pulling out a small pad of paper and pen. 

“Can I have the blueberry waffles please?” Y/n asked, closing her menu and looking to Aemond. 

He just chuckled. “She’ll also have a water and a side of whip cream please.” Aemond finished for her, her excitement for the waffles causing her to forget the more simple asks. “And I’ll have my usual, and a pot of coffee, two mugs.” Aemond handed Daris the two menus. 

“Should just be a few minutes.” Daris said before walking away to another couple. 

Silence overcame the table, Y/n tapping her fingers anxiously before filling it. “Why did you start coming here?” Y/n asked, looking around the dinner. 

Aemond faltered at the question, the answer a vulnerable one. “I’ll only answer if you agree to let me ask you a question too.” Aemond laid out his rules, if he was going to be vulnerable, he would expect the same back. 

“Okay.” Y/n nodded her head. 

Aemond took a deep breath before continuing. “After I lost my eye I didn’t want anyone to see me, be scared of me.” ‘Clearly it didn’t work in the long run’ He thought. “My mom convinced me to get in our car for a short drive, the windows were tinted so no one could see me.” He sighed and shifted in his seat, the story not one he had told before, the feeling of vulnerability creeping into his chest, something he hardly felt anymore. “Eventually I agreed to do more, to get lunch, and so we came here, and no one said anything about my eye, or my hair. So I kept coming back.”

“That’s really sweet, Aemond.” Y/n smiled, surprised at how much he shared, and how genuine the story was. “What …” 

“Mhmh, It’s my turn.” He smirked, Y/n pouting slightly but nodding her head. “Did you always want to be a barista?” He asked. 

“Kind of.” She shrugged her shoulders. 

“I pour my heart out, and you say ‘kind of’?” He chuckled, surprised at her audacity.

“It’s complicated!” 

“We have time.” Aemond smirked, not ready to give up just yet, if ever. 

“FIne, yes, I always wanted to be a barista, I really love coffee.” She began. “But I wanted to own my own coffee shop too, one like the movies. With puzzles and books, and ugly mismatched chairs.” She smiled as she recounted her dream, though it quickly dropped from her face. “But life happened and I became a barista, one who doesn’t own her own shop.” 

“What ha…” 

“It’s my turn to ask a question.” Y/n cut him off, just as he had done to her. “What do you do, and did you always want to be what you are?” She asked. 

“One, you stole my question.” He hummed, Y/n smiling back at his unhappy expression. “Two, I’m the COO at Hightower Banking.” ‘That explains the fancy bank card.’ “And no, I did not always want to be the COO there, though I was raised knowing I had no other choice.” He added, hoping her next question wouldn’t try and pull more information out of him about his stupid childhood dreams. 

“What …” 

Daris cut the two of them off this time. “Your water.” He placed the cup in front of Y/n and smiled. “And your coffee.” A pot was placed on the table, two mugs next to it, along with a small bowl full of creams and sugars. “Your food should be out soon.” He smiled, then seemed to remember something, pulling an envelope out of his apron. “Aemond this is for you, Rohar said it’s this month's earnings and the rollpay information you requested.” 

“Thank you Daris.” Aemond smiled, placing the envelope in his coat that sat next to him, Daris walking away as Aemond made sure not to fold the important papers. 

“Do you own this place?” Y/n said, mouth agape. 

“Hmm.” Aemond nodded, pouring his own cup of coffee along with one for Y/n. “A few years ago the owner got into some money trouble and was going to close it down, so I bought it instead.” 

“How do you …” 

“It’s not your turn to ask Y/n.” Aemond hummed, taking a sip of his coffee before pondering for a second over what to ask. “What ‘life’ thing happened?”

“Oh, um.” Y/n’s face dropped slightly, her eyes wandering around the diner instead of meeting Aemonds. “I actually had a bunch of money saved up to buy my own coffee shop.” She meekly smiled. “But, ah, my parents were, um, they got into some trouble with not great people, and when I was at school one day they found my cash hidden away.” Her throat was dry as she tried to hold back the tears, not wanting to cry in front of Aemond, again. “It’s my fault, I hid it under the mattress like an amature.” She chuckled, trying to find light in the dark story. “I used all the money I had on me to get a bus to the city, I found a cheap motel and stayed there while starting at the ‘Corner cafe’.” She shrugged her shoulders, taking a sip of water before looking at Aemond, his eye warm, lips frowning. 

“Y/n …” 

“I don’t need your pity, Aemond, I’m okay.” She smiled, though it was clearly fake, her eyes filling slightly with tears. “Life sucks sometimes, but it’s fine.” 

Aemond just nodded his head, he knew she didn’t want to talk about it, that she was over this conversation, so he moved on to a more distracting topic. “I have something for you.” He hummed, pulling a small folder out of his coat and placing it in front of her. “There is a contract inside I need you to sign, you’re technically an employee of mine and I need you to agree to that before I can put you on my payroll.” The word ‘Employee’ made both of their chests tighten, Y/n felt like more than that to Aemond, and to Y/n she didn’t feel like she was working when she spent time with him. “And then there’s the rules.” He pointed to a blank piece of paper, the title reading ‘The Rules’, numbers running down the left side. “I thought we could make them together, that way I know you’re comfortable with all of them.” Aemond looked to Y/n who was staring at the page, the reality, and excitement, settling in. “If that’s okay with you.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Y/n smiled at him, pulling out the pen from the folder and sliding it and the page over to Aemond. “Can we start now?” 

[effielumiere]

I posted 1,149 times in 2022

That's 688 more posts than 2021!

93 posts created (8%)

1,056 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@everythingfox

@ursulaismymiddlename

@ardentlyoon

@sopejinsunflower

@jung-koook

I tagged 142 of my posts in 2022

#bts - 88 posts

#park jimin - 52 posts

#min yoongi - 43 posts

#suga - 42 posts

#jimin - 38 posts

#jung hoseok - 37 posts

#jeon jungkook - 35 posts

#kim namjoon - 34 posts

#jungkook - 34 posts

#kim taehyung - 34 posts

Longest Tag: 69 characters

#i sent tumblr a request asking about the tip button in southeast asia

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Girl of My Dreams: Chapter 2 - Blanket Kick (Embarrassed)

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader / SUGA x Reader

Genre: Romance, Idol AU, Fluff, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Soulmates AU , Age Gap and Drama.

Warning(s): Cursing. Underage reader in flashbacks (Yoongi is aware, momentarily forgot when he tried to kiss her. TRIED. SPOILER). The lyrics are not in order like they are in the song, and the lyrics aren't just Yoongi's parts, they also kinda reflect Yoongi's thoughts during those moments. UNEDITED!

Legend:

"English words that are said as is and or/ translated from English to Korean OR Vice Versa, depending on the POV"

"Korean words"

>Lyrics&lt;

Word count: 3.6k including lyrics.

A/N: Thank you @/doolsetbangtan on twitter for translating the lyrics and explaining every verse and phase of every song by BTS❤️ Please go check out her wordpress blog, she's really cool and her work helped me a lot with writing this series.

Disclaimer: Just a quick reminder to y'all of course that, of course I don't own BTS. And that this story is just an idea of mine, the boys being geniuses they are wrote the songs with a different idea on mind, this is just my wishful thinking on writing lol.

If you want to be added to the taglist of this series, please ask here. or If you want to be part of the permanent taglist and get notified every time I post a new story. And if you want to read more, check out my Park Jimin story!

Don't forget to leave a like, reblog this story and please leave a feedback on what you think about this story :)

Can be read as a stand-alone, but this is part of a series: Read Part One here.

&lt; one | masterlist | three >

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2014

Flight number DL6310 has been cancelled. Passengers of this flight please approach the nearest information desk.

"Oh you have got to be shitting me!" I exclaimed at the board making a few people around glare at me. I walked towards the information desk where they rescheduled my flight to the following week if weather conditions at home got better in the next two days. Once that was settled, I hurriedly ran out of the airport with my hand carry and backpack, and hailed a cab back to my hotel to book a room for another two days, instead of going back to my cousin's house. As I laid on the bed, relishing the cold air of the air conditioner when I decided to take a shower and change clothes before taking an afternoon cat nap. Rummaging through my backpack for something to wear when my book fell out of my bag. Picking it up, I examine the cover and flip the pages with my thumb, stopping at a page I bookmarked with a random receipt that had scribbles. Reading what I wrote.

'Suga. Rapper guy from South Korea. Laundromat. Santa Monica Pier. 3pm tomorrow. '

I stare at the words I wrote for a good second before I finally remember what it was about and who was Suga. I got up leaving the book on the bed as I went to the bathroom to shower, music playing loudly on my phone that I carried with me.

As I was lathering up my body with soap, with shampoo in my eyes when my brain decided to wake up and reminded me that I met Suga yesterday, and that '3pm tomorrow' is 3pm. Today.

"That cannot be today!" I scoff as I reach for my phone and see that it was already 2:45pm making me gasp dropping the phone on the sink as I duck my head back under the shower head trying to hurriedly finish rinsing, "You fucking irresponsible idiot!" I yell, scolding myself as I rubbed shampoo off of my stinging eyes.

Getting on a cab, I give the driver directions telling him to floor it as I silently pray I don't start smelling like sweat by the time i got to my destination fanning myself with the map of California that I had first bought when I arrived earlier in the summer. We were near the pier when the traffic started, the street looked like a damned parking lot. I looked outside the window wondering if I could make it if I either walk fast or run.

"Does this always happen?" I asked exasperatedly at the driver, staring to feel down that I might not see Suga or meet his friends.

"It gets worse to be honest with you," the old man says "The pier is just over there you see?" he points a shaky finger at the ferris wheel "You could just run to get there or walk, I just hope your date doesn't mind if you start smelling like the ocean and sweat combined," he kindly smiles.

"It's really a date, but I hope he doesn't mind the scent," I smile as I start to pull out a few notes and handed it to him "Keep the change, sir. Take care!"

See the full post

66 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

#4

The Companion 3

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Romance, Idol AU, Drama, Comedy (hopefully lol)

Summary: A year after all their world tour was cancelled with the announcement of the pandemic, Jimin goes through a roller coaster of emotions and he can barely his emotions and he's trying so hard to stay happy. Namjoon and Jin suggested to get a puppy when they got drunk but Joon thought a human companion sounded funny to his drunken brain, not knowing that Jimin took his word seriously. When he finally finds the one who's going to be his human emotion companion, he wonders if she's up for it? And most importantly, he wonders how things would play out with him being Park Jimin and her being... well, a fan... an ARMY to be precise.

Warning(s): Fluff. Bit of pandemic talk. Sentences in italics are Korean words translated to English. UNEDITED!

Word count: 2k

A/N: We're back to Y/N's pov. I was supposed to post this on Sunday but I fell asleep too early, my sleep cycle is fcked because of insomnia.

Fun fact: this was supposed to be a hybrid!Jimin fanfic. 👀.... I can turn it into that we still got time i guess.. lemme know what you think, comment down beloowww. Search author_effie on the birdapp.

Sorry it's pretty short. Enjoyyyy

&lt; twopointfive | masterlist | threepointfive >

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stare at the empty lobby of Hybe waiting as per the instruction of Jimin. It's been two weeks since the trip to the grocery and the last time I saw Jimin, and within that time Jimin and I settled for phone calls and when he had the time, video calls usually before midnight. But little did he know I slept past 3am due to the what seemed to be never ending jetlag.

"Ms. Y/N?" I heard a voice call my name, looking up I see the receptionist bowing. I bow back as I greet her "Good morning,"

"This way please," she says as she leads me to a door guarded by security. She reaches over to the guard who hands her an ID with a black lanyard that she hands to me. It had my picture from my resume and my name in English under the Korean characters, along with my job title, Executive Secretary. If they only knew...

Before entering the elevator, she teaches me how to use the biometrics system to clock in whenever I arrive and to enter the code I'll receive from Jimin. The ride up the elevator was silent and quick, as soon as we arrived at our designated floor she leads me towards another door that had another security guard waiting outside.

"She's Park Jimin's personal assistant," she informs them as they nod and open the door for me. I say my thanks and walk in as quietly as I can. The room was filled thumping, squeaking and loud music playing on the speakers of an English song I didn't recognize, but the voices I definitely recognized. Eyes gazing around the large, somewhat dark room that looked a basketball court inside the building I find seven men singing and dancing to a new song. Their manager walks up to me and greets me with a smile, hand extended to shake my hand.

See the full post

76 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

#3

Girl of My Dreams: Chapter 3 - Miss Right in her Converse High

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader / SUGA x Reader

Genre: Romance, Idol AU, Fluff, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Soulmates AU, Age Gap and Drama.

Chapter Warning(s): Cursing. Underage reader in flashbacks (Yoongi is aware). The lyrics are not in order like they are in the song, and the lyrics aren't just Yoongi's parts, they can also reflect Yoongi's thoughts or it just fits with the moment. UNEDITED!

Chapter Legend:

"English words that are said as is and or/ translated from English to Korean"

"Korean words"

>Lyrics&lt;

Word count: 4.8k including lyrics.

A/N: Again, thank you @/doolsetbangtan on twitter for translating the lyrics and explaining every verse and phase of every song by BTS❤️ Please go check out her wordpress blog, she's really cool and her work helped me a lot with writing this series. Grab your tissues... maybe? Also, I let this just flow on it's own... so, confuse hajima? lol Enjoy! Oh btw, it was my first day of work last Friday, so the writing is gonna be a bit slow😅 Sorry, but I'll try my best💜 Next update might be for The Companion, I haven't updated it in almost 3 weeks me finks. Imma stop talking, enjoooyyyy!

Disclaimer: Just a quick reminder that, of course I don't own BTS. And that this story is just an idea of mine, the boys being geniuses they are wrote the songs with a different idea on mind, this is just my wishful thinking on writing lol.

If you want to be added to the taglist of this series, please ask here. or If you want to be part of the permanent taglist and get notified every time I post a new story. And if you want to read more, check out my Park Jimin story!

Don't forget to leave a like, reblog this story and please leave a feedback on what you think about this story :)

Can be read as a stand-alone, but this is part of a series:

&lt; two | masterlist | four >

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present - 2021

"Namjoon-ah,"

"Yes, hyung?"

"Would you bail me out of jail?"

Namjoon stares at me as if I've lost my mind, he's not wrong. It's been years since I've lost my mind, I just keep growing more and more insane.

"What makes you say that hyung?"

>Converse converse i really hate a converse&lt;

"She still wears those god damned shoes," I grunt as I close the car door too hard making Jungkook who was sitting in the back with Hobi whining and complaining about how I shut the door to hard. Namjoon chuckles as he gently closes the passenger door and walks up next to me, "You've been saying that for years, hyung. Fuck, you even wrote a great track out of it."

"I don't know if she's playing dumb with me or if she's just fucking clueless that it's about her," I huff as I watch her run towards an ice cream truck, "It's literally me telling her to wear something aside from those damn shoes, she'd look in something else,"

>On your gorgeous appearance, black sheer tights and stilettos will be good

Yeah, they’ll be too good to be true

But, what will suit you even better are Jordan numbers

Together with your body, it turns me on even more&lt;

"So you did say in the song," Namjoon agrees "Maybe she thinks its just another song of ours,"

See the full post

99 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#2

Girl of My Dreams Masterlist

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader / SUGA x Reader

Genre: Romance, Idol AU, Fluff, Angst (squint in tiny), Friends to Lovers, Soulmates AU, Age Gap and Drama.

Summary: Every one has always wondered why Yoongi was good with words especially when it comes to the topic of love. It wasn't a question of why, but who. Who made him think of love that way? Who was his muse? Who was the muse that always made Yoongi smile like he won the damn lottery? Who made him laugh even in situations where he had to be serious? If you ask him, he'll just smile and blush, but if you ask the other members they would smile at Yoongi then look at you and start giggling like gossiping high schoolers.

Warnings: Underage reader (first few chapters). Lyrics in the chapters are not in order. Mentioned lyrics are not just Yoongi's parts. Warnings will be mentioned per chapter.

Legend:

"English words that are said as is and or/ translated from English to Korean OR Vice Versa, depending on the POV"

"Korean words"

>Lyrics&lt;

Disclaimer: Quick reminder to y'all of course that, of course I don't own BTS. And that this story is just an idea of mine, the boys being geniuses they are wrote the songs with a different idea on mind, this is just my wishful thinking on writing lol. Not all songs will be included just the ones that will tug on your heartstrings😏😇

*thank you doolsetbangtan and other blogs that I will mention per chapter that translated and explained all BTS songs*

Girl of My Dreams

Blanket Kick (Embarrassed)

Miss Right in her Converse High

I NEED U / RUN

DNA / Pied Piper

FAKE LOVE

Trivia: Seesaw

Pluto and the Truth Untold

Make it Right

Boy with Luv / HOME

Savage Love / Telepathy

My Universe

Girl of My Dreams - Finale

TAGLIST (OPEN, COMMENT ON THIS MASTERLIST IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED) [NAMES IN BOLD PLEASE CHECK YOUR VISIBILITY SETTINGS, CREATE ANOTHER NEW BLOG UNDER YOUR CURRENT ACCOUNT OR CHECK FAQs] :

@belladaises @bbl32 @mizz-kraziii @silentkei @myselfxbangtan @shesaysweirdthings @kookiemyfeels @wackytobaccy @afiaaaa19 @jayjay57 @heyyyadventure @sopejinsunflower

PERMANENT TAGLIST (OPEN, COMMENT HERE IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED) [NAMES IN BOLD PLEASE CHECK YOUR VISIBILITY SETTINGS, CREATE ANOTHER NEW BLOG UNDER YOUR CURRENT ACCOUNT OR CHECK FAQs] :

@lovergirl1316 @buttvi @borahae-reads @lemonadecandycandy @tattoomom11 @misshale21 @damn-u-min-yoongi

102 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Girl of My Dreams: Chapter 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader / SUGA x Reader

Genre: Romance, Idol AU, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Soulmates (?). Age gap.

Summary: Every one has always wondered why Yoongi was good with words especially when it comes to the topic of love. It wasn't a question of why, but who. Who made him think of love that way? Who was his muse? Who was the muse that always made Yoongi smile like he won the damn lottery? Who made him laugh even in situations where he had to be serious? If you ask him, he'll just smile and blush, but if you ask the other members they would smile at Yoongi then look at you and start giggling like gossiping high schoolers.

Warning(s): Sentences in italics are English words translated to Korean (that sounded confusing but I said what I said). Cursing. Underage reader at one point (Yoongi didn't know and tried to ask her out)... Spoiler lol. Mentions of MC being tipsy. A bit of angst at the end. UNEDITED!

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: The summary was really the idea or the question that came to mind, though we all know that Yoongi is undeniably a genius in any topic you throw at him, his idea of love is always what gets me. And his part in Girl of My Dreams sparked my thoughts - he's a hopeless romantic. Other might think he's very serious and cold but I think he's very romantic and sweet, even at times clingy. For now here's my idea on how it would be if he had a muse - which one day, of course, will happen when he gets married to his s/o and have kids they would be the lucky ones because they're his muses in life.

Enjoy this one!!!

P.S: this is my 2nd fanfic for BTS lol and I became an Army during the Dynamite era (though I knew them since I saw For You and Idol). sorry if some of the facts are a bit off. Do feel free to correct me but please remember that this is a fanfic, some stuff are meant to be different!! 😅💜

Please don't forget to leave a like, reblog this story and please leave a feedback. Please don't be a silent reader🥺! My ask box is also open as well as my permanent taglist if you wanna get tagged for future stories. There are probably more parts after this, just ask if you wanna be added to the taglist ;)

aaand... Happy, Happy Birthday to the best of the best, our one and only Min Yoongi (lil meow meow). We love you. Stay healthy💜 Borahaeeeeee

&lt; masterlist | next >

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Y/n?" I call to her and she hums in question looking up from her book.

"Do you think I would sound cool if I sing?" ask her twirling my ballpen in my fingers, I stopped myself from murdering the button to click it open and close repeatedly out of being nervous.

Her pouty lips curl inwards to stop herself from laughing and she shut her eyes as she removes her glasses.

"Be honest, please," I beg with a smile already knowing the answer but I wanted to hear her voice she's been quiet ever since she sat on the couch in my studio and hid behind the pages of her book, a romance novel. All I could hear when I put my headphones away were the quiet humming of the air conditioner and humidifier, and her flipping pages on her book.

"I mean, I know I don't sound like Jin hyung or Jimin, or Taehyung or even Jungkook," I explained "Even Namjoon and Hoseok sound good when they're singing," she snort laughs and starts giggling hiding her face in between the book, "I can carry a tune, I'm a rapper, I can sing just not as amazing as the vocal line!" I exclaim and she guffawed "Ya~! I'm serious!" I tease her though she knows I'm not serious.

See the full post

111 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[kittyofalltrades]

I posted 1,649 times in 2022

That's 1,557 more posts than 2021!

192 posts created (12%)

1,457 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@welcometostayingawake

@dameronscopilot

@mattmurdocksscars

@my-secret-shame

@joyful-soul-collector

I tagged 550 of my posts in 2022

#moon knight - 84 posts

#steven grant - 50 posts

#marc spector - 48 posts

#triple frontier - 45 posts

#inbox &lt;3 - 44 posts

#santiago garcia - 44 posts

#benny miller - 36 posts

#oscar isaac - 33 posts

#poe dameron - 31 posts

#spotify - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 87 characters

#its the poster that has mr knight front and center and the other two in the back ground

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Lockley Smokes

You trade Jake your last cigarette.

Words: 1774

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY MDNI

Beta: @welcometostayingawake (THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!)

WARNINGS: Light degradation (slut), PinV, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), semi-public, Jake Lockley (yes he is a warning), Smoking (one puff from a light cigarette mentioned)

See the full post

178 notes - Posted November 4, 2022

#4

Call me Poe

Steven cosplays as your favorite pilot in the Resistance.

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader

Words: 2443

Rating: Explicit MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Beta: @welcometostayingawake (you are the literal best!!!)

Warnings: Show canon DID, PinV, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Oral (f rec), Steven being cheesy and cute

See the full post

359 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

#3

Cute Aggression

I wrote a drabble/blurb because @welcometostayingawake put the idea of cute aggression into my brain, so it's in yours.

Words:362

Warnings: None it's fluff

Beta: myself...I can't spell lol

You display a smidge of cute aggression

After a long week of work, you finally had a day to spend with Steven uninterrupted. And you lay in his bed, wrapped in the warmth of his muscular arms, while he talked to you about the latest book he’d read. A book about how the Greeks and the Romans weren’t different aspects of each other, but the same entities perceived differently. 

His eyes sparkled and his full lips were curved up in a soft smile as he talked, enjoying the conversation. He always transformed into somebody more confident but no less beautiful when he was like this and it made your heart swell with love. 

It also made you want to bite. Not sexually or even very hard, just enough to leave a sign of your affection on his skin. After particularly a bad joke, you stuck, nipping the skin of his shoulder and pulling away quickly. 

Steven yelped in surprise, and his eyes widened. “What was that for?”

“Cute aggression,” you reply with a giggle.

“Darling, I do not know what cute aggression is or why it makes you bite,” Steven said. He gave you a frown that was almost a pout and you had to rein in the urge to bite him again.

“Cute aggression is superficially aggressive behavior caused by seeing something cute. In this case, you.”

Steven’s eyebrows knitted together in thought. He’d never experienced something like this. That wasn’t saying much since you were his first proper girlfriend. But the idea you found him cute enough that you needed to bite him had him grinning like an idiot.

“You really thought I was cute enough for all of that?”

“Of course I’d do it more often if I could.”

“So you bit me because I was cute. Does that mean I can bite you for being cute?” he asked with a widening smile.

You gave him a nod, and he buried his face against your shoulder, nipping in a similar spot. But he didn’t stop there, leaving a few nips and kisses before pulling away with a grin. 

“You’re just too cute. I might be at this all day,” he warned you with a sweet smile. 

Thanks for reading comments and reblogs will literally have me spinning in a circle like an excited dog...so feel free to do that

375 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

#2

The Moon and The Sorcerer

Steven finally gets the courage to ask you out, in a rather unconventional way.

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Eventual Marc Spector x Reader, Jake Lockly x Reader

Word: 7219

Rating: Explicit MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ ONLY

Beta: @welcometostayingawake (ILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Warnings: Show canon DID, PinV, Unprotected sex, Oral (M and F rec), Steven says a dirty word, caught looking at the booty

See the full post

568 notes - Posted November 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Office Hours

You get invited to a Frat party, but Professor Grant just might have something to say about it.

CO-WRITTEN WITH @welcometostayingawake

This is the brainchild of Mona and I. We had this bad boy outlined and started in 10 minutes flat. Nothing but shameless self indulgence and filth...

Words: 4210 of pure filth

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Beta: both of us this time @welcometostayingawake

Warnings: Power imbalance (professor/student), Age gap (READER IS OF AGE), Profanity, Oral (f rec), PinV, Unprotected Sex (Wrap it before you tap it)

See the full post

622 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sailorbryant]

I posted 3,271 times in 2022

That's 2,749 more posts than 2021!

267 posts created (8%)

3,004 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@rythyme

@7nessasaryevils

@xagan

@tooquirkytolose

@saxonvoter

I tagged 1,301 of my posts in 2022

#vegaspete - 65 posts

#kinnporsche - 51 posts

#bad buddy - 37 posts

#gmmtv2023 - 30 posts

#not me - 23 posts

#ofmd - 22 posts

#🤣 - 15 posts

#kinnporsche the series - 14 posts

#&lt;3 - 13 posts

#❤️❤️❤️ - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 48 characters

#☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I don't know why the Thai BL industry as a whole is training us to have a pavloveon like response to balconies/rooftops but I'm here for it

121 notes - Posted March 18, 2022

#4

Every other actor in KP when their character does something bad: He had his reasons.

Jeff: He's a fucking idiot. I wish I could fight him in the parking lot.

133 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

#3

At this point, I don't know who is more unhinged.

Bible and Build for putting 100% of their bodies, minds, souls, tits and ass into putting on a Materclass in acting, the absolute titanium balls of the screenwriters for the "I'm hungry, I'm your pet feed me" as a declaration of love, or all of us for gobbling it all up like starving fucking hyenas.

167 notes - Posted July 12, 2022

#2

Which is a bigger crime against humanity?

Vegas putting his legs in the pool with his pants still on, or Chay putting his headphones over his hair while it's full of dye?

171 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Every other actor in KP when their character does something bad: He had his reasons.

Jeff: He's a fucking idiot. I wish I could fight him in the parking lot.

205 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[zozo-01]

I posted 3,772 times in 2022

That's 3,627 more posts than 2021!

1,431 posts created (38%)

2,341 posts reblogged (62%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sri-rachaa

@taelonsamada

@starlitangels

@zozo-01

@ejunkiet

I tagged 3,283 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#this is zo speaking - 1,568 posts

#zo answerin asks &lt;3 - 1,136 posts

#♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ - 920 posts

#dollsy ♥️ - 527 posts

#gorgeous art done by a gorgeous person - 278 posts

#sleepy ♥️ - 168 posts

#another lovely fic from a lovely personnnn - 140 posts

#gum drop ♥️ - 117 posts

#another lovely fic from another lovely personnn - 113 posts

#redacted asmr - 103 posts

Longest Tag: 98 characters

#you wonderful bean and im so glad you're posting again ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ ive missed youuuu ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

recently i've been really obsessed with idea of darlin' and angel (romantically or platonically) cuddling

like, one day because [insert reason], darlin' has to stay over at david's house while he's away. eventually, both angel and darlin' get super tired an go to sleep.

in the middle of the night, angel is woken up by a scream from darlin's room and races to their room to see what's wrong.

once they get there, they realizes darlin' is physically ok, but they're suffering through a nightmare. they walk over to gently wake darlin' up and comfort them.

once it time for angel to leave, darlin' holds their arm and asks them to stay. angel agrees and crawls into the bed. they guide darlin's head to their chest and plays with their hair, letting darlin' cry if they need to. darlin' wraps their arms around angel and holds onto them like they're their lifeline.

just some wholesome cuddling for two characters who need it.

167 notes - Posted August 13, 2022

#4

*clears throat* david has a bunch of different coloured pens and highlighters because he likes to colour code the shitttt out of his notes

170 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

#3

Care To Join Me For A Dance, My Love?

Hey there! Some of you may have guessed by now that I am a sucker for royal balls. Now is the Monarchal Summit going to be a ball? Probably not. Will that stop me from writing about our favourite vampires and their partners at a ball? Fuckk no!

Anywho, already had fun writing for Darlin' at a ball once and I decided, 'hey, I'm gonna do it again.' So here is a more fluffy ball fic featuring our favourite Southern gentleman and his lovely Darlin'.

@dolls-circus and @sri-rachaa come and get your food!

Warnings: None (I know surprising for me.)

--

Darlin’ was used to this. They were used to having the eyes of everyone in the room focused on them. The stares happened when their family hosted parties. They happened whenever they walked late into a pack meeting, long before they had gotten with Quinn. It was always eyes filled with judgement, scrutinizing every action and word that was either said or wasn't said.

This was different. They felt the eyes of everyone in the ball, but there was no heat behind them. Instead, their gazes had admiration, awe and wonder. Who was this person and why are they here? Darlin’ was impressed with themselves. They had managed to capture the positive attention of all the Old Bloods in attendance.

But it didn’t make it any fucking easier for them to enter the ball.

Despite the admiration they received, one thing was for sure, they were still a wolf entering vampire territory. Not just any kind of vampires, Old Blood. (Old Blood like Quinn.) These are vampires that have been alive long before their great-grandparents were born. They have seen empires rise and fall, have more knowledge than Darlin’ could ever dream of, and as much as they hate to admit it, they can beat the absolute shit out of them. They were hesitant to walk in, in fear of angering the wrong person and having to answer for it.

‘Maybe I can turn back? Tell Sam that I felt sick and didn’t wanna come? Can I atleast not stand around like a fucking idiot and move?’

Before any more doubts entered their head, a pair of kind eyes caught theirs. From across the room, atop his golden throne, William was encouraging them to enter. They can already hear his voice in their head. “It’s alright little one, you’ll be safe here.” He didn’t have to say any words to make them feel at home. His presence was enough to have them feel like tonight was going to be alright. Fun even.

Darlin’ shook any remaining doubts, held their head up high and smiled. They remembered what their mother used to say when they were old enough to understand the undeserved judgements casted upon them.

“These aunties can smell your fear, my doll. You must smile, hold your head up high and let them know that you are not afraid of their words.”

‘Well these ain't aunties, but the same advice can be used against centuries old vampires who can kill me with a bite? Right mama?’

With their mother’s words echoing in their head, Darlin’ began to descend down the stairs into the main ballroom, eyes darting from person to person in search of a certain someone. Their eyes trying to find the silver eyes that they have grown to love.

‘Finding him would be so much goddamn easier if all of these stupid masks weren’t in the way. Fucking hell, where the fuck is he?’

-- 

Samuel Collins saw the sun set down the horizon and into the main ballroom.

They say to never look directly at the sun, but Sam decided that advice to be horsehit and glued his eyes onto his sunlight.

They look… there weren't words in the human language that could describe how beautiful Darlin’ looked walking down the stairs. Their confident stride and dazzling smile captured the eyes of everyone in the room. With every step they took, Sam heard most of the vampires' halt their breath in awe of his wolf. Had it been any other context, Sam would feel bothered, not jealous as some people would insist, with so many eyes on his Darlin’. 

But how can he blame them when Darlin’ looked as enchanting as they did? 

Somehow, a room full of vampires were put under a trance by a wolf.

His stubborn, reckless, lovely, beautiful, Darlin’ wolf.

“You know, instead of standing here with your mouth watering like a newborn, maybe you should go up to them and ask them to dance?” Vincent teased his best friend. He wore a cocky smirk to accompany his equally cocky comment. His partner lightly hit their lover on the chest and chastised him for his smart comment.

Sam turned to face the vampire prince with a smirk of his own. “Well I’m sure your partner here would love to hear about the look on your face when they walked into the room.” He couldn’t finish his description, one he so desperately wanted to tell, before Vincent slapped a hand over Sam’s mouth. Vincent stumbled over his words, trying to make a lie that he can use to maintain his pride.

Vincent’s partner covered their own mouth to muffle their laugh at sight of two normally dignified men fighting like children. “While I would love to hear about Loverboy gawking over me, you may want to help your mate Sam. It seems as though they have some unwanted attention.” The two men turn around to see an Old Blood noble talking to Darlin’. Not even a second later, Sam ran to his Darlin’ ‘safety,’ leaving behind the bemused vampire prince and his equally bemused partner.

“Oh he is so whipped for them.”

“Don’t tease him, you'd do the same for me, Loverboy.”

 Sam ran through the crowd of nobles on the dancefloor. His masked silver, determined eyes locked onto the vampire that was talking to his Darlin’. ‘Thank the Lord for vamp speed.’ He stopped right behind Darlin’, who was blissfully unaware of their mate standing behind them.

See the full post

174 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

#2

hi hello don't mind me

just thinking about darlin' having the habit to hide their laugh/smile and sam hating it because he wants to see their smile

just thinking about sam holding darlin's hands when they're together so that in the event he makes them laugh or smile, they can't use their hands to cover it

just thinking about darlin' hiding their face in their neck and sam gently cupping their face and moving it so he can bask in the sunlight that is their smile

231 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Four Times David Thought of Asking + The One Time Angel Did

*faceplants* Y'all I did ittt! Hello! Welcome to this behemoth of a fic! This was just me tryna break up the angst I was writing, but then I started thinking about David and his relationship with control and how Angel had a huge part in him easing up on said control. Add a little projecting onto David and thus, this turned into five stories in one mega-fic.

Thank you sooo much to @angel-bubbles for giving me some ideas! I really couldn't do this without your input! And tagging @bittersweet--chaos because they're a doll!

Warnings: Post-Inversion feelings and Depressive episode ->(Moment #3), Suggestive themes and Mentions of sex -> (Moment #4)

--

David Shaw was a man who valued control.

Every action must be premeditated and executed to perfection. Anything less would never be up to his standards. But he swears it's not a problem. If things don’t go his way, he won’t make a big deal out of it.

‘That is a fucking lie Shaw, you are the biggest control freak I’ve ever met.’

Ok, maybe he has some control issues. 

There have been times in his life when David didn’t have a say in the situation. He didn’t have a say when either of his parents died, nor did he have a say when he was named Alpha at that young age. Both life experiences had caught him off-guard and left him scared, confused and hurt. A hurt that he refuses to let himself go through again. He will not let anything else blindside him.

Well, that didn’t exactly go to plan. Something did blindside him and that was when his future mate stalked him. Before anyone says otherwise, yes he fully believes that Angel was stalking him that night. That’s not the point though.

It will always baffle him how impulsive Angel can be with certain decisions. From asking him out that fateful night to moving in with him after less than a year of dating, he will never understand how they’re able to throw caution out the damn window.

‘It’s because I trust you, Davey! I have faith that you won’t hurt me. That’s why I can be carefree around you, and I hope you feel at ease around me too.’

Whether they knew it or not, his Angel succeeded. They somehow made the Alpha of the Shaw pack, known for his stoic nature and tense shoulders, relax. It’s a big ask considering who they’re dealing with, but like always, Angel did it effortlessly. 

For once in his life, David was ok with not having control.

As he stared at the ring that adorned his finger, he realized that the moments where Angel made him let go are the reasons that they were the person he wanted to marry. He thinks back to those moments and the eventual proposal and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this. 

Perhaps it was only when he finally put down the burden that rested on his shoulders that he was able to enjoy life. 

It also helped that Angel made his life worth enjoying again.

Moment #1: They made him forget the unease of being in a car.

Over the years, David has developed some habits to cope with his unwariness in a car. His arms were stiff when holding the steering wheel, made sure his foot was hovering over the breaks, kept his eyes on the road at all times, and most importantly-

“Angel, for the millionth time, I do not want any music playing while I’m driving.”

One of the annoying things about David is that he refuses to let music play in the car while driving. He claims that he doesn’t want to be distracted on the road, but the pack notices the way his eyes glaze over and his voice slightly cracking. He would never say the full reason, but it would take a real dumbass to not figure that out.

“But Davey! It’s way too quiet and this is a damn road trip! If you won’t talk to me, then the least you can do is let me jam out,” Angel said while pouting. They crossed their arms and puffed out their chest to show that they’re annoyed, but honestly, David thought they looked cute sitting like that. Their adorableness didn’t negate the fact that he really didn’t want music to be playing right now.

David took in a shaky breath before continuing. “Angel, I know it’s boring without any sound, but I just-” Angel cut him off, “then I won’t play anything.”

What David didn’t know is that when he started speaking, his eyes had glazed over and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘Maybe he was remembering something bad?’ Angel thought. They didn’t know. What they do know was that David needed this. And who were they to deny their boyfriend something he needs.

One thing about Angel that he loves was their ability to know when to push and when to stop. Of course, it has been a learning process for them both. But they were learning each other’s boundaries. And they were learning together.

“Thank you, Angel,” David sighed out, before focusing on the road again. 

A few moments went by before Angel started humming a tune, one that David was familiar with. He let out a groan and if he wasn’t driving, he would have banged his head against the steering wheel. 

“Oh, I’m sorry if the humming is bothering you. It’s just that it's a song that’s been in my brain and I have to hum it so it gets out, but I totally understand if you need me to stop and,” Angel kept on rambling and apologizing. The longer they were explaining themselves, the more out of breath they became.

David let one hand go on the steering wheel and held his Angel’s hand. “Look at me Angel, you’re ok just breathe with me.” Angel looked into David’s eyes and he swears that their eyes could only be compared to the moon. Once Angel's breathing calmed down, David explained why he became annoyed with humming.

See the full post

365 notes - Posted June 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[angelwiththeblue-box]

I posted 13,076 times in 2022

4,114 posts created (31%)

8,962 posts reblogged (69%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thedragonemperess

@youcandalekmyballs

@genuine-possum

@depressedtransguy

@blueskiesandstarrynights

I tagged 6,029 of my posts in 2022

#val answers - 3,766 posts

#w i f e - 2,610 posts

#✨soulmates✨ - 724 posts

#911 spoilers - 244 posts

#val rambles - 236 posts

#val draws - 99 posts

#prev - 93 posts

#steve to my robin &lt;3 - 79 posts

#spy!!! - 76 posts

#/lh - 52 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#yeah my mind decided that peanuts and chocolate were close enough in taste and now everytime i eat something chocolate my mind is like

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

nobody:

not one person:

not a single soul:

every blog on march 15:

Happy Stab Caesar Day Besties!!!

294 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

#4

my favorite thing about robin is that around steve and dustin in s3 she was so cool and collected and then the moment she and nancy have a mission together she's nervous and stammering like girl if that isn't crush behavior i don't know what is

300 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

#3

calling people idiot (affectionate) is a love language

323 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

#2

we can all agree that these three

are in a poly relationship

609 notes - Posted June 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

yeah yeah the duffer brothers aren’t gonna make everyone gay but also fuck you yes they are all my gay ships are canon

2,535 notes - Posted June 10, 2022

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