#what the fuck do I even tag this utter bullshit

[unhingedlesbear]

Finally I put it into words

I'm so sorry </3 I know I don't usually speak like this </3

My poor bestie gonna wake up to these texts in a few hours too

[coquelicoq]

i have to take ANOTHER shower? goddammit. didn't i just do this?

[gay-otlc]

When people say they struggle with keeping track of all the tone tags (the ones like /j or /gen), everyone who disregards that by responding "it's just memorizing some abbreviations/acronyms, it's not that hard, stop complaining" is ableist and a fucking hypocrite. If you're going to advocate for accessibility, advocate for accessibility for all of us.

You can't claim to be an ally to neurodivergent and disabled people and then shit on us for our symptoms. If you actually care about helping us, why aren't you listening when we say we struggle with something? It's never okay to tell disabled people they should be able to do something they can't, that it's not that hard, but it's especially not okay if you do so while pretending to support disabled people.

Also, in addition to the "it's not that hard" statement being ableist, it's utter bullshit. There are so many tone tags to keep track of and memorize. I did a quick google search and one of my top results had ninety one tone tags. That's a lot. That's probably a lot even for a neurotypical person, and I'm not a neurotypical person. I struggle to remember a lot of basic, necessary tasks, so I really can't memorize ninety one tone tags.

Especially when some of them are incredibly ambiguous- only one letter? Acronyms or abbreviations at least give you some clues, one letter tone tags are so incredibly confusing. Like, what does /t mean? There are a lot of words that start with T! (This is a rhetorical question. I know /t means "teasing," but I only know the answer because figuring that out was a memorably frustrating experience.)

And /t is just one example of a tone tag I learned because I kept seeing it in conversation and not understanding and being really confused and frustrated. I can't tell you the number of times I've been messaging someone on discord, and they say something with a tone tag I don't recognize, and I just open a new tab to google the meaning, which is where I find lists like the one above. I usually rely on google instead of asking the person what they meant, because I feel stupid and embarrassed for not knowing this code that everyone else seemingly gets.

Which is exactly how it feels when I don't understand someone's tone in real life! Confused and frustrated and ashamed. And tone tags were supposed to help neurodivergent and disabled people not feel that way, so I don't know how we reached a point where they cause those feelings in many of us.

I can't deny that tone tags are a useful accessibility tool for some. If you find them helpful, it's genuinely good that you have that resource. But they're not accessible for all of us. It's incorrect to act like tone tags are a perfect way to communicate, and it's ableist to disregard our struggles with them and tell us to just try harder.

Either listen to those of us who say they have trouble understanding tone tags, or stop pretending you actually give a shit about accessibility.

[joelsgreys]

what he didn’t do

Preoutbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You’re very recently divorced, but that doesn’t stop a certain handsome, brown-eyed neighbor from taking you out on a date.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. divorced reader, no massive age gap (no specific age is mentioned, but reader is in her early 30’s and Joel is 35) slow burn, 10 year crush kind of deal. reader talks about her past relationship. mentions of food and alcohol. soft, caring Joel. first date fluff.

word count: 5.1k

a/n: so um how are we all doing after today, we still alive out there? 👀 no one asked for this, this fic is purely self indulgent, my lonely single ass is convinced that pre out break Joel would be just the most amazing gentleman on a date, he would be so perfect and just take the best care of you and treat a girl right…so here is what i whipped up.

He’ll treat me right, put me first, be a man of his word

stay home ‘cause he wanted to

always fight for my love

hold on tight like it’s something that he can’t stand to lose

Joel wasn’t all too sure how it even happened.

Earlier that afternoon, he’d gone on over to your place to deliver a piece of mail that the postman had accidentally put in his mailbox instead of yours. While Joel was there, you’d kindly asked him if he could recommend a good plumber that you could call because you had a stubborn leak under the kitchen sink that you needed to get looked at sooner rather than later. Wanting to save you both the hassle and the expense of having to hire someone, Joel had told you to hang tight for a minute and rushed back over to his house, only to return with his yellow toolbox in hand so that he could fix it for you, which he’d done in fifteen minutes flat—and now, just a few hours later into the evening, he was getting himself ready to take you out to dinner. 

And the real fucking kicker of it all was that he had been the one to ask you out, proposing the offer while his head had been buried in the cabinet underneath your leaking kitchen sink. At least that way, if you had rejected him, you wouldn’t have been able to see the look of complete and utter embarrassment on his face. But much to Joel’s surprise, not to mention, his relief, you’d eagerly accepted the invitation and even suggested tonight would be the perfect night if he didn’t have prior plans or commitments.

Hell, even if Joel did have prior plans or commitments, he would have canceled them for you without a single ounce of hesitation.

He’d discovered he would do just about anything for you.

Joel shrugged into the light tan, button up shirt that Sarah had helped him pick out earlier just before he’d jumped in the shower. At thirteen, she lived with her nose buried in fashion magazines lately and she didn’t trust him to successfully choose a proper outfit for the occasion on his own without guidance. It had been well over a few years since Joel had been on a date, as she had so kindly pointed out to him while she’d rummaged around through his mess of a closet. Although he insisted that it wasn’t a date, his teenager had scoffed and called him out on his bullshit. “Well, what else do you do you call it when two single adults go out to dinner together alone?” Sarah had challenged him as she held up a couple of different shirts up against his chest, searching for the perfect one. “Especially when one of those two adults has had the most obvious crush on the other one for what, like ten freaking years now?”

“It wasn’t that obvious,” he’d muttered to her in response. Peering at her curiously, he couldn’t help himself as he had asked her, “Was it?”

“Dad, your crush on her has been about as subtle as a brick to the face.” Letting out a huge laugh, Sarah had shoved the shirt she’d selected into his hands and tossed the losers right back into his closet. “Here, wear this one with those dark jeans, the bootcut ones. Don’t roll up the sleeves like you always do. And for the love of all that is holy, at least make an attempt to run a comb through that hair of yours,” she’d advised on her way out the door, leaving him to it.

Joel sighed and buttoned up the shirt, then tugged on his dark blue jeans and a pair of black leather boots—the only pair he owned that weren’t totally worn down to the soles. He finished getting dressed and proceeded to roll up the long sleeves of his shirt up to the middle of his forearms, tucking in the cuffs as neatly as he could. He could already hear his daughter scolding him over it, but screw it, Joel wanted to be comfortable, especially now that warmer weather had arrived in Austin. 

After rubbing just the slightest hint of his favorite sandalwood cologne on his neck and on the insides of his wrists, Joel finally left his bedroom and made his way downstairs, trying his absolute hardest to pay no mind to the nerves that were threatening to creep up on him. He entered the living room where he found Tommy sitting on the couch with Sarah, a plastic blue bowl of popcorn nestled between the two of them. Sarah, who had been busy shuffling through a stack of movies in her lap, looked up when she heard him walk into the room and narrowed her green eyes at him. “Come on, man! What did I say earlier about the sleeves?”

“You told me not to roll ‘em up. But I chose not to listen to you,” Joel quipped, eliciting an annoyed sigh from her. 

Tommy smirked at him. “So motherfucker, you finally did it, huh? You finally asked her out on a date.” His smirk widened. “Only had to wait, what, about ten fuckin’ years?”

Joel glared at his younger brother. “How did you even—?” He stopped abruptly and his dark brown eyes flickered over to Sarah, who shot him a guilty smile from where she sat. “Really? You just had to tell him?”

“Sorry,” she apologized, sheepishly. “It slipped.”

“Damn, big brother. Y’know, word on the street is that she just signed the divorce papers at the courthouse earlier this week,” Tommy remarked, taking a swig from his bottle of Lone Star as he leaned back into the couch. “You’ve got some real big fuckin’ balls to ask a freshly divorced woman out on a date that quick. I’ve gotta admit that I’m actually pretty fuckin’ impressed with you, Joel. Didn’t think you’d have it in you.”

“It ain’t a date,” Joel muttered out the lie, picking up his keys from the coffee table. “We’re just goin’ out to dinner is all.”

“That’s a date,” Tommy and Sarah stated together in unison.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, deciding that it was better for him to ignore their antics rather than to play into them. “You.” He pointed an index finger at Sarah. “Might not be school night, but I don’t want you stayin’ up too late. And you.” He turned his attention to Tommy. “I don’t want you havin’ any of your little female friends over while I’m out tonight, especially not while Sarah is home. That understood?” 

“Yes dad,” both their voices chirped together once again. 

Rolling his eyes, Joel bid them a quick goodnight and left the house, making his way across the lawn and over to your place. You lived in the smaller, single story yellow house right next door to his.

You’d moved in next to Joel and Tommy several years ago—Sarah had still been a toddler then and he had just started getting used to life as a single father. Joel would never forget the first time that he laid his eyes on you. He had been in his driveway, taking a look under the hood of his old truck, a hunk of garbage Ford Ranger from the nineties that he’d finally gotten rid of a couple years back and replaced with a Chevrolet Silverado instead; it hadn’t been much of an upgrade, but at least it didn’t break down on him as often. Joel had noticed a moving van in the driveway of the house next door, but he hadn’t given it a second thought. He had been so engrossed in what he’d been doing, but at some point, he looked up from the engine and turned his head at the precise moment that you happened to walk by with a cardboard box in your arms. You’d caught his gaze and offered him what had to be the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his entire fucking life. Joel had just set his wrench down and was about to head over to offer you some help when a man emerged from the back of the moving van with another box. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek as he led the way into the house. 

Turns out, that man had been your husband.

To say Joel had been sorely disappointed by the fact that you were married had been an understatement to say the least.

It hadn’t taken all too long before Joel met his new neighbors, although he often saw more of you than he ever saw your husband—the man traveled across the country for business and he would be gone for several days, even several weeks at a time. You were a homemaker and to help make life a little less mundane, you’d started something of a daycare in your home, offering to help fellow neighbors who needed someone to watch their younger children during their nine to five work schedules.

When Joel found himself putting in a brutal number of hours in at his construction job, he had struggled to find someone who was willing to look after his then three year old for such extended periods of time. You’d happily volunteered to help him out and you would watch Sarah from sunrise to about sundown for him without a problem. When she started kindergarten two years later, you continued to help Joel out, going as far as taking her to school for him and then picking her up afterwards. You’d never had any children of your own, but you still had maternal instincts, and as Sarah grew up, whenever she would need a woman’s guidance, she would go straight to you without hesitation and you were always there for her no matter what, no questions asked. 

Joel couldn’t have been more grateful for you.

He’d seen and spoken to you just about every day for the last decade—he’d even go as far as saying that the two of you were good friends, though since day one, he found himself longing for a hell of a lot more than just your friendship. Joel had thought he would have to shove his true feelings for you down for the rest of his natural born life, that is, until several months ago when he’d noticed the moving truck parked in your driveway one late afternoon as he and Sarah came home from one of her soccer games. Nearly in tears, Sarah had immediately hopped out of the pickup before Joel could even cut the engine and ran over, demanding to know why you hadn’t told her that you were moving—that’s when you fessed up and explained to her that you weren’t going anywhere, but your husband was.

Through whispers in the neighborhood, Joel discovered that you had filed for divorce and although no one knew the exact reason why, many suspected it had been your husband’s constant traveling for work that had done it. Denise, the nosy blonde woman who lived across the street from him swore up and down that he must have had some kind of adulterous affair behind your back—Joel simply told her she needed to lay off her dramatic daytime soap operas. 

Regardless of the reason why, you were now officially single.

And Joel was taking you out to dinner.

Whether it was an actual date or not, that hadn’t exactly been established. 

He made it up the front porch and inhaled a deep breath, exhaling it slowly through his nose before he knocked on your front door. When you opened it just a few seconds later, all of the wind had been knocked out of his lungs by an invisible force.

You wore a sky blue sundress with a sweet, white floral pattern printed all over it. Thin straps tied together at your shoulders and the hem of the skirt fell right to the middle of your thighs revealing a lot more of your silky smooth legs than he had ever seen before. You’d kept your makeup fairly light, and your hair fell loosely and naturally around your shoulders. Joel noticed you wearing a silver necklace, a butterfly pendant hanging from the chain. He recognized it, because he’d bought it for you, although it was Sarah who had gotten all the credit. She had given it to you as a gift for your birthday that passed by a few months ago. 

“Hey!” You beamed at him. “You’re right on time.”

“Hey.” Joel swallowed dryly. “You look really beautiful.”

You smiled shyly. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself,” You returned the compliment, admiring the way the sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps. “I have to hand it to you, you definitely clean up well, Joel.”

“Next time that you see Sarah, you’d best thank her. She deserves the credit,” he stated, eliciting a small laugh from you. “Are you all ready to go?”

You nodded, grabbing your purse and keys from the small glass table beside the door. You stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind you; after making sure that you’d locked it properly, you followed Joel across your front lawn and over towards his driveway. He led you to the passenger’s side of his dark blue Silverado and opened the door for you, holding his hand out to help you climb up into the seat. The gesture prompted you to shoot him a strange look.

He frowned a little. “What’s the matter?” 

“No, nothing,” You quickly assured him. You placed your hand in his larger one, the contact causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up the length of your spine. 

Joel helped you up into the truck and closed the door before making his way around the front of the vehicle and climbing into the driver’s seat. He shoved the key into the ignition and the pickup roared to life. He watched as you put on your seatbelt and then reached out, giving it a tug to make sure you were buckled in well enough. “Just makin’ sure you’re safe is all,” he uttered softly as you tossed him another puzzled glance. He reached over his shoulder for his own seatbelt and buckled it in before finally pulling out of the driveway. 

Out of his peripheral vision, Joel could see you wringing your hands together in your lap in something of an anxious manner—were you nervous?

In an effort to comfort you and ease the nerves, Joel reached out and turned up the volume of the radio. He normally kept it on his favorite country station and was just about to ask what station you preferred when you let out a tiny, excited gasp and turned to him, a radiant smile breaking out onto your face. 

“Oh, I love this song!” You told him, bringing your hands together in an enthusiastic clap. You then started singing along to the familiar lyrics. “Heads Carolina, tails California, somewhere greener, somewhere warmer, up in the mountains, down by the ocean—”

Joel turned briefly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Nineties country fan, huh?”

“Duh,” You replied playfully. “Nineties were and will probably always be the golden age of country.”

He grinned, turning his attention back onto the road. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Biting back another smile at his words, you turned to look out of the window, nodding your head and tapping your foot along to the beat of the song as you watched the streets of Austin pass by in a blur of lights and people. 

Joel had chosen to take you to Antonio’s, a locally owned Italian place that was somewhere between casual and upscale dining. “Wait,” he told you, noticing you reaching for the door handle as soon as he’d parked in front of the restaurant. He jumped out of the driver’s seat and walked around, opening the door for you. Just like when he’d helped you into the truck back at his house, he offered you a hand to help you out of it. He kept his dark brown eyes on your feet, making sure you that didn’t fall or lose one of the brown sandals you were wearing. “Careful.”

“Thank you,” You said kindly to him as he closed the door behind you. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt him place his hand on the small of your back as he ushered you inside of the restaurant where a hostess led you to a small, round table out in the back patio. You thanked her and reached for your chair, but Joel instantly stopped you.

“Let me,” he insisted, pulling it out for you. He helped you into the chair and noticed you give him another strange look, similar to the ones you’d given him when he’d helped you into the truck and when he’d checked your seatbelt. “Why do you keep lookin’ at me like that? Do I have somethin’ on my face or what?” He asked jokingly as he took his seat across from you. 

You hesitated, but then confessed, “I’ve never had someone pull my chair out for me. I’ve never had someone open the car door for me or make sure I’m wearing my seatbelt.” You offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You don’t know how nice that is, Joel.”

Joel stared at you in complete disbelief.

Before he could say anything, a younger waitress appeared at the table to take yours and his orders for beverages. “I’ll just have a cabernet, please,” You ordered, politely. Not wanting to be the asshole who ordered a beer at an Italian place, Joel asked her for a glass of red wine too. She returned moments later with the drinks and then offered to take your orders for food. Both you and Joel decided on a chicken penne pasta dish that looked absolutely delicious. As soon as the waitress took your menus and disappeared back inside, you looked up at Joel and noticed his eyes were fixed intently on you. You felt a slight heat flood your face. “What is it?”

“Nothin’,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders innocently. “You just look really beautiful, that’s all.”

“You said that already,” You reminded him, letting out a breathless little laugh.

“I know.” Joel picked up his glass of wine. He took a quick sip before adding, “But someone as pretty as you deserves to hear it over and over again.”

The night went by fast, much too fast.

One minute, you were both enjoying your dinner and digging into delicious pasta, and the next, the table had been cleared completely, and so had all the other tables surrounding you—you two were the very last patrons in the restaurant. You and Joel had been so lost in conversation that neither of you had realized it was almost eleven and the restaurant was about to close in five minutes. 

“We’ve been sitting here talking for three hours,” You gasped lightly.

Joel chuckled. “Time flies when you’re in great company.”

You looked the bill on the table, which the waitress had dropped off over an hour ago, and reached for it, but Joel was quick to snatch it away from you. 

You pinned him with a stern look. “Come on, Joel! You fixed my kitchen sink for free, paying for dinner is the least I could do—”

“A lady never pays on a date.”

Your lips parted slightly in pleasant surprise. “Oh. So this is a date?”

Joel laughed as dug his brown leather wallet out from the pocket of his jeans. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be. But I still ain’t lettin’ you pay.”

“I do.” You told him softly after a minute. “I do want it to be a date,”

Joel’s eyes met yours across the table and he smiled, looking relieved. “Good. ‘Cause I would’ve been kinda crushed if you’d said otherwise.”

He dropped a couple of twenty dollar bills on the table and stood up. He noticed you about to do the same when he shot you a warning glare.

“Oh. Right.” You giggled and waited until he stood up and held his hand out to you, helping you out of your chair.

As the two made your way out of the restaurant and out to his truck, Joel didn’t let your hand go.

“Thank you again for inviting me out to dinner tonight,” You said sweetly as Joel walked you up the porch steps to your front door. You rummaged through your purse and pulled out your house keys, pausing for a brief moment as you peered shyly up at him through your eyelashes. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

Joel’s heart skipped an anxious, but eager beat. “I think I’d really like that.”

You turned back to your door and your hand trembled slightly as you jammed the key into the keyhole to unlock it and judging by the way Joel let out a soft chuckle beside you, you were certain that he’d noticed it. You pushed the door open, closing it behind you once the two of you had slipped inside. Setting your purse and keys down, you gestured for him to follow you into your living room where you nodded for him to have a seat on the dark blue velvet couch before you walked towards the kitchen. “What’s your poison?” You called out to him over your shoulder as you began rummaging around in your cabinets for two glasses. 

“I’m partial to scotch,” he called back. He then added, “If you’ve got it, of course”

“How do you take it?”

“Neat’s just fine.”

You giggled as you prepared a glass of scotch for him and a glass of red wine for yourself. “Oh you’re just so classy, aren’t you Miller?” Before anything, you did a quick mirror check in the stainless steel toaster on the kitchen counter, making sure that not a single hair was out of place. You then took a deep breath, picked up the glasses, and walked back out into the living room. Handing Joel his glass, you took a seat beside him on the couch; you sat close to him, so close that his arm was pressed against yours. Somehow that wasn’t even remotely close enough. You wanted to be closer and hoped he felt the same. 

“By the way, thank you again for fixing the sink for me,” You told him after taking a sip of your wine. “You probably saved me a couple hundred bucks.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’ really,” Joel reassured you. He nudged your arm. “If you ever need me to take a look at anythin’ around the house, please don’t hesitate to call me. I don’t want you reachin’ out to plumblers and electricians, those crooks will see a sweet little lady like yourself and see nothin’ but fuckin’ dollar signs. I don’t want anyone takin’ advantage of you, so when you’ve got a problem, you call me first alright?”

You gazed down into the burgundy depths of your glass, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I really appreciate that, Joel.” You brought yourself to look up at him, admitting, “Now that I’m living alone, it worries me. Having to take care of this house all by myself.” 

Joel gripped his glass tightly, a hesitant expression on his face. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. And if it offends you in any way, you’re more than welcome to just give me a good kick in the—”

“Joel!” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him. “Just ask me the damn question already.”

“What happened between you two?”

The smile on your face faded away, but you didn’t seem upset at him. “Well, what all have you heard?”

Taking a sip of his scotch, Joel shrugged. “Couple of rumors here and there, but I ain’t the type to believe in gossip. Would rather hear the truth from the source.”

“What did Mrs. Adler have to say about it?”

He snorted into his glass. “That you two probably could have saved your marriage had you just gone to church.”

You couldn’t help but laugh—Mrs. Adler was nice enough, but that woman could really be something else. She was always telling people they had to get right with Jesus. 

“So?” Joel prompted you. “What did he do?”

You sighed and turned your body slightly, angling it towards his. “He did quite a bit. Put me through hell, to be honest with you. But you know, I’m not the type to air someone’s dirty laundry. So, I’m not going to tell you what he did.” You paused, your fingers lightly tapping the sides of your glass. “But I’ll tell you what he didn’t do.”

Joel nodded silently, but in understanding.

“He didn’t treat me right. He didn’t treat me the way I deserved. He never wanted to spend time with me. He never wanted to be home with me, which is all I ever wanted from him. He’d travel so much for work, and when he would finally come back after being away, I would be so excited to just be with him.” You scoffed bitterly at the thought of it. “The minute he landed, he would drop his luggage off and head straight to some bar with his buddies. All I’d want is for him to just stay in with me for a night, watch a movie with me, talk with me because I missed him so much while he was gone. But he never chose me. He would never put me first, no matter how many times I asked.” You shrugged and leaned over, setting your glass of wine down on the wooden coffee table before leaning back into the couch. “It probably sounds really stupid but—”

Joel placed a hand on your bare knee, causing your flesh to erupt in goosebumps. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

Finding a bit of courage, you placed your hand on top of his and continued on, “He never made me feel like I was someone worth fighting for, you know? Like my love was something worth fighting for. He made me feel like nothing, Joel. It got to the point where sometimes I believed it—I felt like I was nothing.”

Joel gave your knee a gentle squeeze. “I sure as hell hope you don’t feel that way now,” he said, his lips tugging down into a frown. “Because you’re fuckin’ everythin’.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his and you had to silently remind yourself to breathe.

Leaning over, Joel set his glass down on the coffee table right beside yours. He turned to you and lifted his hand, touching the side of your face, his thumb delicately sweeping over the silky skin of your cheek. “A woman like you deserves the world and nothin’ less. You know that, don’t you?”

“Joel?” You whispered out his name, your heart racing in your chest at a rate that you were certain had to be much too fast for the human body to withstand. 

“Yeah?”

“Can you please kiss me?”

Joel’s hand cradled your face gingerly as he obliged, leaning in so his lips could meet yours in the kiss that he’s been aching to give you for the last yen years. He was gentle and he was sweet with it, but after a minute, he found himself lightly nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth, silently asking permission for more. He felt your lips part slightly against his and he eagerly deepened the embrace, his hand moving to the back of your head while his other found your bare knee again.

Another wave of courage washed over you and you placed your two hands on his chest, pushing him back against the soft, velvet fabric of your couch. You swung a leg over both of his and straddled his lap, your hands now clutching fistfuls of his shirt. 

Joel’s own hands went to your hips and he groaned into your kiss.

You pulled away from him, the tip of your nose lightly touching his as the two of you struggled to catch a breath.

“Let me be the one to treat you the way you deserve,” he murmured after a minute, lifting one of his hands to brush your hair back behind your shoulder; his fingertips lightly brushed against the strap of your dress, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him not to pull it down your arm. “Just give me the chance and I’ll hang the moon for you, darlin’—hell, for you I’ll hang the entire fuckin’ galaxy.”

Your heart swelling at his words, you grinned just before pressing your mouth to his once again. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Joel chuckled with a smile against your lips.

You clung to him with fervor, kissing him with a passion that had the both of you seeing stars. Your hands were everywhere, touching, feeling anything part of him you could, eliciting another groan from him as you started grinding down into his lap. Your fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more. 

“Whoa, whoa.” Joel caught both your hands in his and let out a breathless laugh. “Hey. Slow down, sweetheart.”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “Oh I’m sorry, I-I thought you wanted—"

“Oh I do want it, trust me. Pretty sure you can feel how much I want it.” Joel chuckled again, knowing damn good and well that you could feel how hard he’d become for you as you sat in his lap. His hands toyed with the hem of your sundress. “Seein’ you in this dress all night, trust me I want nothin’ more than to have you right here, right now. But I like you way too fuckin’ much to risk messin’ this up by movin’ too fast.”

You pouted at him. 

“Oh c’mon darlin’ put that lip away.” Joel lifted his hand, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. “All I’m sayin’ is that we ain’t gotta rush this. Trust me, you’ve got me hooked already and I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere, alright?”

You almost groaned out in frustration.

He just had to be a fucking gentleman when it came to sex, too.

You sighed in defeat, resting your hands lightly on his chest. “Fine,” You relented with a tiny eye roll, causing him to grin in amusement. You playfully poked his sternum. “But if you don’t fuck me senseless by the third date, we’re going have a problem, Miller.”

Joel groaned, feeling himself grow even harder at the way such a filthy statement had come out of a woman with the face of an angel. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’re goin’ to make it impossible for me to wait that long.”

“Maybe that’s the goal,” You winked at him.

“Just stop talkin’ and c’mere.” He pulled you forward, fusing your mouth to his once again.

[xmanicmushroomx]

nsfw alphabet || katsuki bakugou

tags: aged up katsuki bakugou x fem!reader, nsfw alphabet

cw: HEAVY nsfw [obvi], mention of bodily fluids, slight bdsm themes??, sexual positions and scenarios

a/n: holy shit you guys???? 1k notes on my “your birthday party” bakugou scenario??? i’m so blown away. you’re all so amazing and i hope you know how deeply appreciated you are.🥹 to celebrate, here’s an nsfw alphabet for our favorite boom boy.

a is for aftercare (what they're like after sex)

katsuki is so incredibly attentive after sex. he’ll bring you a glass of water and a warm wash cloth, clean you up, and then he’ll pull you into his arms so the two of you can go to sleep.

b is for body part (their favorite body part on their partner)

he’s an ass man, through and through. he’s always touching your ass: slapping or pinching it as you walk past, hand in your back pocket when you’re out in public, sneaking his fingers up your dress while you two stand in the corner of a crowded elevator. he can’t get enough of watching your cheeks get red from his blatant teasing.

c is for cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

if he’s not cumming inside you, he’s cumming on you. he loves making a mess of you. he treats it like marking his territory, covering your face with it and taking pictures of you like that. [he doesn’t share them with anyone, obviously, he just pulls them out and shows them to you anytime you think you can outdo his attitude. “you keep talking to me like that and you’re gonna end up on your knees looking like this again, pretty girl. shut your mouth.”]

d is for dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

no one knows how you and bakugou really met. your story is always “oh, we reunited at a conference a couple years back and just clicked!” but that is complete, utter bullshit. you’ve been friends with benefits since just after your graduation from ua. the two of you caught feelings, HARD, and decided you needed more.

e is for experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

does he know what he’s doing? he genuinely might tie you to the bed if you ask him that question face to face. even if he’s not experienced, he’s a quick learner. the second he finds that spot that has your eyes rolling back, he’s absolutely abusing it until you’re a stuttering, drooling, mindless mess underneath him.

f is for favorite position (this goes without saying)

bakugou can’t stand to not look at your face while he’s fucking you. he wants to see every expression and gauge every little reaction you have to him. he hikes your knees over his shoulders and practically folds you in half, nose to nose, hands in your hair to pull your face closer to his, “eyes on me, babygirl,” “if you close your eyes again i’m stopping”.

g is for goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

bedroom bakugou is always. all. business. he’s not messing around. he has one goal — make you cum as many times as possible, and then take care of himself with your body.

h is for hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

it’s thick and just slightly darker than his hair. he keeps it trimmed and neat for you, but if you didn’t ask for it, he would rather let it do what it does without a care in the world.

i is for intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he always reassures you before. [“you know i love you, right, mamas?”] but during… oh boy. [“‘cause i’m about to fuck you like i hate you.”]

j is for jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he used to, when you two would have to go weeks between seeing each other. but now that you sleep in the same bed every night, he doesn’t have to.

k is for kink (one or more of their kinks)

he’s dominant, no questions asked. and he loves brats. it riles him up when you go to an event together and catch an attitude with him. he’ll fuck it out of you the second you get back home. if your attitude is really bad, he’s dragging you to a secluded guest room to put you on your knees.

l is for location (favorite places to do the do)

any- and everywhere. he’s sliding a hand up your skirt under tables, sitting you on his lap whenever possible, pulling you into a closet or kitchen to pin you against the wall or push you down on your knees.

m is for motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

your attitude is his biggest turn on. when you start mouthing off to him, he knows what you really want to say is, “please fuck me on the nearest possible surface before i lose my mind.”

n is for no (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

drunk-you and asleep-you are both completely off limits [unless you are into that and specifically ask him to do it]. if either of you show even slight discomfort at anything new, he stops immediately. he’s not one to be outright opposed to most things you suggest.

o is for oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

when it comes to oral, he’s a giver and a taker. he’ll lick your cunt until his jaw is numb just to hear those pretty noises falling from your lips. he’s patient when you’re offering, tangling his fingers in your hair and letting you set the pace. but when he’s punishing you.. i hate to tell you, girlie, but your throat is a goner :)

p is for pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

this honestly goes both ways, depending on what he wants out of it at the moment. sometimes, he just wants to worship your body — everything is slow and sweet, whispering in your ear how much he loves you, “you’re fucking divine, baby”, tending to your every request. other times, however — like when he’s had a particularly bad day — he is absolutely fucking you through the mattress and growling low, empty threats in your ear. “shut up and take it, mamas,” “gonna tie you to this bed if you don’t stay fucking still”, “need’a cum inside this pussy before i start blowing shit up”

q is for quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he loves them. he’ll take you at every opportunity. [see location!]

r is for risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

ohhh yes. he’ll have the most random idea for a position, kink, or anything else sex-related. he’ll ask you about it beforehand, of course, because he’s not just gonna spring the shit on you in the middle of it. if you’re interested in giving it a go, he’s absolutely trying it.

s is for stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

this man could go all day. he’s spent YEARS perfecting his body, increasing his stamina, training his entire system to be as active as possible for as long as possible, to be a hero. and he’s absolutely no different in the bedroom.

t is for toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he’ll use them on you — but just to tease you, because the only things you’re cumming on when he’s around are his fingers or his cock. his favorite toy is the vibrator that connects to his phone. he’ll sit you on the bed and kneel between your legs when you’re both getting ready for an event, lapping at your clit while he slides it inside you. [“be a good girl tonight, or else i’m maxing this thing out while you’re talking to someone until you behave.”]

u is for unfair (how much they like to tease)

bakugou will tease you until you’re crying out of desperation. he’ll relentlessly brush his fingertips against your sweet spot, over and over, until you’ve cum so many times and you’re so sensitive it hurts. it satisfies him to no end, smirking like an absolute devil, while you sit there with tears in your eyes begging him to fuck you already.

v is for volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

bakugou doesn’t do loud. he’s yelling at everyone all the time, so sex is the one instance where he’s always calm and collected. what he does do, however, is whisper or growl in your ear about everything. [“you’re so wet for me, mamas.” “always such a good girl.” “you can do it, baby, gimme one more.”]

w is for when (is there a specific time of day they like to do it most?)

bakugou is always doing something sexual. he teases you all day, if he doesn’t already have you underneath him in bed all day.

x is for x-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

he puts the word muscular to shame. he’s a pro hero, #2 at that, so of course he’s fit as a fiddle. he trains daily. broad shoulders, narrow hips, long arms and legs. he’s extremely proud of his own dick — ten and a half inches long and just thick enough that it stretches you out enough to feel like the first time — every. single. time.

y is for yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

this man could fuck you before every meal and he’d still want more. making you come undone is his own private serenity, and sometimes he genuinely thinks it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

z is for zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

after taking care of you and making sure you feel okay, he wraps you in his arms and pulls your head against his chest. he’s out like a light [and you usually are, too.]

[claymorexpunisher]

Brats Have More Fun (CH.8) (18+ Fic)

Disclaimer: This is NSFW and contains consensual kink. If that's not your thing, keep scrolling. I try to tag my work appropriately and if you still choose to click and read, do so at your own discretion... Thank you for the love always and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing(s): Reader/Dominik Mysterio/Rhea Ripley

Summary: Rhea introduces Dom to Fem. Reader during an outing at Reader’s club. Dom tries to talk big game, but Reader sees right through it.

Tag(s): 18+, Sub!Dominik, club owner!Reader, Fem Dom, orgasm denial, overstimulation, blowjob, handjob, pegging, dirty talk, begging, honorifics (“Miss”, “Mami”).

Chapter Word Count: 534

Prev. Part

Dom has initially walked into my club talking big game.

He bragged up and down that he was a big man and that the stories that Rhea- his very own Domme. His Mami, who snickered knowingly at me as Dom spoke- had told him involving my job as a club owner/pro domme were just bullshit.

And that because I was much smaller than even Rhea, there was no way that I could get men much bigger than me to submit to let me do whatever I pleased to them.

“Nah, I don’t think you can handle me. Mami has a hard enough time.” Dom had joked, and Rhea and I had continued to laugh, Rhea’s eyes lighting up devilishly because she knew what the result by the end of the night would be.

Me? I took it as a challenge…

~~

“Please, Mamiii… Missss, it’s too much!… Please- shit..!”

A while later, Dominik realized he may have bitten off more than he could chew after Rhea and I brought him into one of the private bedrooms in my club.

“What number is this now?” Rhea asked, delighted with the vision that Dom made, lying on the bed, his legs draped around my hips as I pistoned my hips sharply and drove the strap-on dildo right upon his prostate over and over again.

Rhea was fully clothed, happy to just bring her face in between Dom and I’s bodies, and she busied herself with Dom’s cock and giving it a few lazy sucks and licks, making him shudder as she lapped up every bead of precum that still managed to dribble out of the reddened head with every pleasurable jab at his prostate.

She was careful to keep him right at the edge with me and we both chuckled at the disappointed sound Dom made when she pulled her mouth away from his cock again just to trail her tongue all the way up to his neck.

I smiled as Dom eagerly bared his neck to Rhea, giving her more access as she sucked on the tender flesh already littered with her claiming marks.

“Hmm.. we’re headed to number 5, I believe. It’s too much now, huh, baby?” I giggled softly as Dom gave me a jerky nod in response.

“Y-yeah, i-its too fucking much… Please!” He began to sob, but still didn’t utter his safeword.

His face was beautifully flushed, his eyes bleary with pleasure and his moans and pleas were now coming in a weak and almost raspy cadence, begging us to have mercy on him.

But his hips… fuck, his hips still tried to damnest to roll against mine in jerky motions, trying to work his cock in Rhea’s firm grip and taking me further into him at the same time, muttering soft curses and wondering outloud about how much it hurts yet felt so fucking good, until Rhea stop him with a firm hand over his stomach.

“I’m sorry, Mami- I’m sorry, Miss! I’m sorry, please don’t stop, please-” Dom began to babble and beg until Rhea and I shushed him.

“We’re not stopping until we feel like it. So don’t worry about that, Dom Dom.” Rhea smirked.

“Now, don’t move…”

[irisintheafterglow]

hi iris i hope u have been well!!

wanted to request a little fluff/mutual pining moment between Satoru and reader who's also an instructor but they only ever get to see eachother during exchange events/higher up meetings/a mission every now and then (it's not for a lack of wanting to pursue eachother but neither of them have put in the effort bc they're both have commitment issues and deem themselves unworthy of trying) i think it would be soooo cute and i'm just dying to see Satoru and reader's students tease them about their VERY obvious chemistry... and hopefully something finally coming out of it in the end :-)

hehe thank u so much and as always you're the best!!

i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this!

wc: 2.6k

cw/tags: coworkers to lovers, idiots in love, reader and gojo have no idea what they're doing, swearing, mentions of drinking, fluffy fluffy fluff

note: hi anon! thank you so much for the ask, hope you like it!! i definitely got a little carried away writing it just because it's such a cute premise lol

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated !!

A piece of paper slides inconspicuously into your peripheral vision and it takes all of your willpower not to smirk. With equal nonchalance, you carefully peek under the ripped corner of the meeting agenda and can’t help smiling at the message scrawled on it. 

We’re drinking after this (not optional). 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and see him leaning back in his office chair, arms crossed and looking like he’d rather be dipping his limbs in molten lava. Even with his blindfold, you can see the boredom in his expression and you bite your tongue to keep from laughing. His inability to appear professional was going to be the death of you both. 

“Gojo, are you listening?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” he says with blatant dishonesty that makes you bite your bottom lip and carefully observe the dusty ceiling tiles. “I was just in…deep thought.” He tastes the last two words like philosophies to be pondered and it suddenly becomes much harder to continue to have a blank expression. Their first mistake was picking a verbal fight with him. 

“Deep thought about what?” Their second mistake was letting him keep talking.  

“Ah, you know, the usual things.” You can feel his attention flick to you for a moment and it gives him a wave of confidence to continue to be a little pest at a meeting neither of you wanted to be attending. It was his favorite pastime, after all, to get you to smile at his shenanigans despite the bullshit you were hearing. “The meaning of life, the wonders of love,” he begins before his volume drops so that only you could hear it, “Why this couldn’t have been a fucking email–”

“What was that?” You suppress a snort into your fist and take a sip of water, hoping the other meeting attendees couldn’t see that you were tearing up from trying not to laugh. The angry-faced higher up scowls at him, catching the biting tone but not his words. Satoru merely smiles innocently, like every utterance was of the purest and most amicable intentions. 

“Nothing,” he sings and you cough into your sleeve to hide a laugh. The other higher ups with their ugly suits and balding heads look at you curiously, but all you can see is Satoru’s shit-eating grin from beside you. “I’m just worried for you, is all.” The higher-up at the front of the room scoffs, still believing the show. 

“Worried? For me?”

“Mhmm,” he nods, his brows drawn in fake concern. “I just know you don’t have a lot of time left on this plane and, well, wonder why you’re choosing to spend it here,” he states with a vague gesture around the musty room. An embarrassing noise of amusement escapes from your throat and you try in vain to regain your composure, only to fall into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. Satisfied with his achievement, he abruptly stands from his chair and pulls yours away from the desk. “My work here is finished. We’re leaving.” His finger gently taps your shoulder twice and you obey, standing and heading for the door while he pushes in your chair behind you. The official at the front of the room has turned beet-red.

“The arrogance of you two–”

“We’re done here. If you say anything important, Ijichi will tell me. I doubt the possibility, though,” Satoru states with finality, opening the door for you and shooting the room of stunned officials one last smirk. Too lazy to walk through the winding halls or take the snail-paced elevator, a flick of your wrist opens a portal into an alley on the side of the building. Your colleague lets out a whistle of approval as your shoes cross from dirty carpet to asphalt, finally taking in fresh air after hours of sitting in the stale conference room. The moon shines in all of its winter glory and you shiver against the welcome chill, comforted by the chatter of the city’s nightlife. “Still up for that drink?”

“As long as you’re buying it,” you reply. “I’m gonna call the kids first and let them know I’m out.”

“Tell them I say hi,” he says without missing a beat, leaning against a nearby wall to wait for you to finish. Utahime picks up after two rings. 

“Hello? Ah, you’re finally done. That’s great!” Your coworker’s voice temporarily becomes muffled while she answers questions of who she’s talking to, followed by a chorus of your name imploring you to come back. “Everyone, say hi!” Your beloved students greet you enthusiastically and you smile at their enthusiasm. “Will you be on your way soon?”

“In a little,” you say, slightly sheepish as your eyes flick over to the man behind you. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“You’re going by yourself?” 

“Not exactly,” you answer slowly and the realization hits Utahime as she breaks out into a lecture on how Satoru isn’t good enough for you. “Easy, easy. It’s just a drink, nothing else.” Your whispered attempts to placate your friend’s indignance prove futile and you settle for letting her get all of her complaints out. 

“He’s a no-good playboy with a rock for a brain and a chatterbox of a mouth, you idiot,” she concludes after her lengthy rant. “I don’t want you getting hurt because he’s too scared to make any commitments.”

“I’m not making any commitments either, Utahime,” you remind her and you can imagine her rolling her eyes from the other side of the line. “It’s just a drink,” you reiterate, but you still hear her grunt of disapproval. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” she responds skeptically. “Don’t do anything dumb.” 

“Love you too, Utahime,” you laugh, hanging up the phone and sticking it back in your pocket. “Alright, let’s go,” you call to Satoru, who eagerly pushes off the wall and drags you out of the alley. “We haven’t eaten, so we’re getting dinner too.” 

“Whatever you want,” he grins. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t harbor some sort of romantic affections toward Satoru, but you were also resigned to the fact that you’d never act on it. He was the most powerful human being on the planet; how could you be worthy of loving such a man? Still, in times like this, where it was just the two of you walking hand-in-hand to who knows where, your mind tended to drift into thoughts of what could be if you weren’t in this line of work. It would be nice to love him, that’s all. Yeah, it’d be really nice to love him. 

You couldn’t explain any of this to your students the next morning, though, when they interrogated you on who you were with the entire night. When you let his name slip, the shock in the room was palpable. 

“See, I knew you guys had a thing for each other!” Miwa points her sword at you accusingly, far more fired up than you’d ever seen her before. “I thought I was the only one who noticed how he looked at you!”

“There is nothing of the sort, so I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you counter, pushing the sheathed blade to the side. Your other students fight back with full force. 

“It’s so obvious that he likes you,” Mai says, like it’s an insult. “Teasing you all the time? Making excuses to crash your meetings?”

“Bringing you lunch if he’s within a fifty mile radius of our campus,” Nishimiya adds and her classmates nod in agreement. “Do you know how many times I’ve caught him trying to surprise you by air?”

“That could be just part of a working relationship,” you argue, but they’re relentless. “How would you know anything about his intentions? Maybe he’s just being nice!”

“I believe his intentions with you are, indeed, romantic,” Kamo reiterates and you groan, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I can’t say I don’t see the vision. You’re a powerful duo.”

“Your marriage would make the brass shit themselves,” Mai muses with a cynical glint in her eye. “Can you imagine having a baby that can send Hollow Purple through a portal?”  

“Oh, their children would be so beautiful,” Miwa squeals and it’s like waterfalls of sweat come rushing from your forehead.

“Alright, alright. Let’s not talk about marriage or babies, please,” you cut in, quick to nip that conversation in the bud. You can’t tell if it’s the weather making your palms clammy or the unending tirade of comments about your dating life. “We can change the topic of conversation now,” you say in an attempt to get the heat off of you for a little bit. “Todo, how’s that idol you like so much doing?” It’s a good idea, initially, but the thought of you and Satoru together seemed to be brainwashed over your students.

“She’s wonderful, just as the two of you in love is a wonderful sight.” Todo can’t seem to help himself as he announces his enthusiasm for your romantic endeavors, teleporting across the room and swapping positions with his classmates from claps of pure excitement. Mechamaru provides a single thumbs-up when you look to him for support, and you pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers.

“I think it’s cute how you act like you hate him and then can’t seem to stay away during events like this. Love is so complex,” Miwa sighs, resting her chin on her hand and staring off dreamily. You scoff, hoping they can’t tell how fast your heart rate has picked up. “I wish I were in love.”

“It’s not love. If anything, it’s just admiration. Yeah, it’s just admiration,” you conclude and you’re met with skeptical stares. 

“Yeah, admiration of his hot bod,” Miwa mutters and you open a portal without thinking, allowing some fat drops of rain from who knows where to fall on her head. It was a common form of discipline, summoning portals to unruly weather conditions, and your students sit up a little straighter in understanding. “Fine, okay, okay. I’m done.”

“You sure? If you’re not done, I’m gonna send you to the Amazon again.”

“Yes, fine. I’m done, I promise.”

“Done with what?” You stiffen, mentally kicking yourself for not registering his presence sooner. Had he not taken up your entire attention, you would have sent Miwa to South America for the gasp of excitement she let out when Satoru appeared. It seemed that none of you knew he was listening until he leaned against the doorframe, all six feet of height taking up the entire space. He was wearing his signature shit-eating grin that made you want to choke him with his own blindfold. “You gossiping in here?”

“Nope, just going over strategy,” you lie straight to his face and he hums, not believing you for a second. “Shouldn’t you be doing that, too? With your own students?” You stand and attempt to push him out of the room, only to find him completely immovable. His hand covers yours, lacing your fingers together in a way that makes you a little dizzy. 

“All in good time,” he says carefreely, as if the action with your hands was second-nature. “For now, can I steal you away for a moment? It won’t take long.” You can practically hear the waggling eyebrows from your students and nod, unable to form a biting response because of the crashing trains of thought in your mind. His hand remains holding yours as he all but pulls you outside, finally dropping it when the excited chatter of your students has subsided. “You okay? You seem a little frazzled,” he asks once you’re far enough from any eavesdropping attempts.

“Yeah, my kids are just being a little…funny, today,” you exhale, trying to hide your unease with a nervous giggle. “You know them; they love to make up their own little stories.” He raises his eyebrows in amusement, matching your pace as you walk down a random outdoor corridor of the Tokyo campus. 

“Mine have actually been doing the same thing,” he confesses after a brief moment of awkward silence. “Making speculations, drawing connections. Seems to be a good exercise in pattern-recognition.” You know he means it as a joke, but all you can think about is Miwa’s comment on admiring Satoru’s ‘hot bod.’ Had his students picked up on your behavior, too?

“What are some of these connections they’re drawing?”

“Connections about my behavior around…hmm,” his voice trails off and the corner of his mouth turns down into a frown, like he was unhappy with his students’ observations. “They’ve noticed things about the way I, well,” he stammers and for the first time, you witness Gojo Satoru get tongue-tied. “Somethings that they’ve seen and heard and–”

“Satoru.” You halt both of your strides and cross your arms defensively over your chest, slightly uncomfortable from Satoru’s inability to express himself when he would otherwise be talking your ear off. “What is this about?”

“My students know I like you,” he states bluntly and your heartbeat momentarily stops pounding in your ears. His students know that he what? “And they also theorize,” he stops to clear his throat, adjusting his collar and avoiding your eyes, “that you may reciprocate the same feelings.” Any words that you can form get caught in your throat, an odd mixture of happiness, shock, and pure dread stirring around in your brain. All you could do is blink at him, dumbly, while he shifts between the balls of his feet. “Please, say something.”

“You like me,” you repeat, tasting the words like a fancy wine you’ve never tried before breaking out into the widest smile you’ve ever felt. “Holy shit, you like me?”

“You’re smiling,” he states, still trying to process what was happening. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Holy shit, you like me!” Your voice raises on its own and you take a step back in surprise, covering your face with your hands to try and contain your emotions. “What the fuck, Satoru?”

“Yeah, that’s,” he mumbles as he watches you celebrate, “that’s how I’m feeling too.” 

“Wait, so what do we do now?” 

“I have no idea. I didn’t expect to get this far,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck and combing his fingers through his hair. “I was waiting for you to slap me and tell me to go to hell.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I didn’t think you liked me back,” he sputters and the joy in both you and Satoru’s chests finally breaks loose in a fit of unending laughter. “Holy shit, I was so worried for nothing.”

“They’re gonna be so excited when we get back, they won’t be able to focus on the Exchange Event.”

“I don’t think I can focus on the Exchange Event.”

“Then we can postpone it!” You both flinch as a voice that was definitely not one of yours calls from behind a nearby wall, followed by a terrified oh, shit! as Satoru goes barreling around the corner and drags out the culprits by the collars of their shirts. Yuuji, the pink-haired student from Tokyo, and Miwa both try to explain themselves as they dangle weightlessly from Satoru’s hands. “Gojo, sir, we swear we weren’t trying to–”

“Hold on,” you pause Yuuji’s explanation, sensing some extra energy signatures that weren’t succeeding at hiding themselves. “Come out now, or I’m opening the portal to the Arctic,” you command in the open air and watch the leaves rustle as the rest of the Tokyo and Kyoto students fall from a nearby tree. “It’s rude to eavesdrop,” you chuckle as Nishimiya picks a few branches from Mai’s hair. “Go clean yourselves up and then we can begin the games.”

“You free this weekend after the games to go someplace?” Satoru whispers in your ear once all of the students are gone. “I need a break from the prying eyes of teenagers.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[artiststarme]

Hey Brother Part 2

Here is the long-awaited Part 2 of Hey Brother! I don't know how many parts it will be but I will make sure to keep everything updated. I tried to tag everyone that asked but if I missed you, please let me know. I hope you guys like it!

~*~*~*~

They didn’t get to say goodbye. Even with Phil speeding down the expressway at 90 mph, it wasn’t enough to be able to see their grandma before she passed. With one look into the room, Steve knew it was too late. The rest of the family was already there, surrounding her sheet-covered body with tears in their eyes and damp Kleenex clutched in their fists. They’d just missed her. Steve took one look around the room before storming back outside. 

Why couldn’t he ever do anything right? Tonight was supposed to be a fun, relaxing night and ended up being nothing short of a horror show. His boyfriend thought he was bullshit, his grandma was dead, and his entire family now knew that he was a piece of shit that missed being able to say goodbye. Fuck, why couldn’t anything ever go well for him?!

Steve punched the brick wall next to him, not even noticing the pain, and slid down the wall to hug his knees. He sobbed as he thought about how he’d never hear his grandma’s voice again or feel her love through gentle touches that no one else ever quite managed to match. He hadn’t visited her as much as he’d wanted to recently due to the craziness of the last few months. Did she know he loved her? He wasn’t there with her in her last moments so how could she have known? The thought brought a new wave of tears into his eyes and his knees just barely muffled his sobs of pain. Oh god, his grandma was dead and he hadn’t said goodbye to her. 

Steve felt strong arms wrap around his shoulders and struggled slightly to escape the grasp before quickly succumbing. It was just Phil, his older brother who had also missed his chance to stay goodbye to her because of Steve. His older brother that had wanted to move closer to his grandma and aunt years ago but had stayed in Hawkins for Steve. He stayed so Steve wouldn’t be alone in the empty house that his parents rarely visited. The reminder only served to make Steve feel worse. 

“Phil, I’m so so-sorry! This-this is my f-fault. You didn’t get to say go-goodbye to her because of me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Phil just hugged him closer and shook his head into his hair. There were tears streaking down his face as well and the lenses of his glasses were fogged. He didn’t say anything in response, there was nothing that he could say to make the situation any better. Nothing was going to bring their grandma back or stop their hearts from hurting. But he could sit on the dirty floor of the hospital corridor and hug his brother with all of his might. That he could do and that he did. 

~*~*~*~

Phil watched Steve talk to his parents through the windowed walls of the waiting room. With every word his mom or Dick uttered, Steve seemed to shrink in on himself even more. They were obviously mad at him for not getting there in time to say goodbye to her and Phil wasn’t going to stand for that. So he made his way in to talk to his mom and stepdad for the first time since being kicked out ten years ago. 

“Hey, why are you screaming at him? Haven’t you done enough? Just let him grieve in peace, Jesus Christ.”

Martha spun around to look at him and gasped when she saw him. He was still in his police uniform having not had the chance to change yet in the fray. Knowing that that was the reason she disowned him made him feel all the more vindicated. 

Her face paled when she realized it was him and she muttered a quiet, “Phil?”

Dick stepped around Martha to point an accusing finger in his face. “What the hell are you doing here, Phil? You’re not family and you’re not supposed to be turning our son against us either!”

“Get your finger out my face, you dick. I’m here because my grandma was dying and my brother needed me. Now, step back or I’ll arrest you whether we’re in my jurisdiction or not,” Phil told him. He couldn’t actually arrest him or do anything more than annoy him outside of Hawkins but the threat did seem to land where he wanted it to. Dick ambled back a step and glared between him and Steve. As if it was their fault their parents sucked. 

Martha started hissing unintelligible nonsense to her husband so Phil focused back on Steve. His kid brother was still shaking as if the adrenaline of speeding all the way up here was still flooding his veins and his trademark hair was hanging against his forehead limply as if it too couldn’t handle the stress of dealing with the Harringtons. 

Phil couldn’t help him in the parent department but he could make sure he was looked after the best he could. 

“Come on Steve-o, I got us a motel room up the street. Let’s get some rest and handle things in the morning,” he picked up Steve’s jacket as he spoke and nudged his shoulder to get him moving. 

“What?” Steve asked him in confusion. “What about mom and dad?”

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out, they always do. But they’re not my concern right now, okay? You are. So right now, I’m going to take you to Denny’s for some food and then we’re going to get some sleep at the motel. We’ll figure everything else out later. Sound good, little bro?”

Steve just nodded at him with the ghost of a smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

~*~*~*~

Eddie knew he had fucked up. As soon as Steve walked through the door, he knew he’d messed everything up, just like he always did. He knew Steve was sensitive about high school happenings and people calling him bullshit but he’d still done it. What kind of boyfriend did that make him? Not a very good one, clearly.

He rehearsed apologies all night instead of sleeping, determined to fix things with Steve as soon as the sun rose. He couldn’t stand the idea of Steve being mad at him or upset for any longer than he had to be. It felt like it was a contest being in a relationship with Steve. He was the perfect boyfriend and made Eddie feel inferior in every aspect without even trying. Eddie felt like he was constantly playing catch-up and just as he started to get close to where he should be, he’d fuck everything up and go back to the starting point.

At half past three in the morning, Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. He wrote a barely legible note for Wayne and sped off towards Loch Nora. Knowing Steve, he wouldn’t be sleeping either. After the Upside Down, it was hard for them to sleep alone hence why they spent so many nights together. The image of Steve laying in bed alone with tears stained on his cheeks only made Eddie feel worse. Holy fuck, he had a lot to make up for. 

But when he pulled the van up to the Harrington house, all the lights were off. Even the porch light that Steve always kept on was dark and Eddie got a bad feeling. Something was off here, he could tell. Nausea swirled in his gut and his chest felt tight, something was wrong. 

Eddie parked his van in the driveway behind the Beemer and pulled out the key that Steve had given him to open the front door. Everything appeared to be fine as he walked through. The foyer was as spotless as it always was, the living room was clean, and the kitchen was untouched. But when Eddie walked into Steve’s empty bedroom, it looked like a bomb had gone off. Steve was missing, his clothes were scattered all over the floor, and his bed was made like it hadn’t been slept in. Jesus Christ, had Eddie run Steve out of town?! 

Eddie ran out of the Harrington house like a bat out of hell and sped all the way to the Hopper-Byers’ where he pounded on the door until Hopper answered it with threats of violence. He couldn’t focus on the horror dawning on Will’s face or El, the panicked glances between Jonathan and Joyce, or the aggrieved sigh that Hop let out. All Eddie could focus on was the fact that this was his fault. He was the one who yelled at Steve over some stupid game and caused him to leave. Now, Steve was missing. He was alone and Eddie couldn’t blame anyone but himself. 

Hopper promised to look for him right away even though Steve was probably just off sulking somewhere. He even called in Officer Powell early and tried to call Officer Callahan too but he didn’t answer. He left with his gun, an extra large thermos of coffee, and a promise to Eddie that he would find Steve. Then, Eddie was left with the Byers to try and explain the stupid argument he’d started that caused this entire mess in the first place. 

He just hoped that Hopper could find Steve soon because he didn’t think he could function anymore without Steve by his side.

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[chuuyascumsock]

Hot Cocket || Minors DNI

I just realized I never posted my Dazai fucking a hot pocket fic on here. If the Ao3 babes had to suffer, y’all do too LMAO.

Summary: Ah, yes, welcome to the bullshit that I call “art”. Today’s episode: Dazai fucks a Hot Pocket. Don’t ask me what gave me this idea, my friend came up with it so thank him for this utter monstrosity. I suppose I’ll take the smallest bit of credit for wanting to write a crackfic of Dazai sticking his dick in something he shouldn’t— because it’s called having a sense of humor.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Hot Pocket, I talk about how dazai would definitely be a ham and cheese hot pocket kind of a guy, I make kind of weird metaphorical jokes, If Asagiri gets to blow children up then I can throw them into traffic, descriptions of fucking a hot pocket, descriptions of burning the dick (because he’s fucking a HOT pocket), um… creampie in a hot pocket..?, oh— and then Fyodor eats the hot cum pocket lol.

Dazai had been feeling particularly lonely on a Saturday night.

Without any women around to woo with his unhinged rizz, Dazai sought after a cheap comfort food he often turned to in his crippling depressive times. The freezer flings open with a creak to reveal the godly image of a box of hot pockets. As expected— nothing else resided in the freezer other than said hot pockets because Dazai was as broke as a medical college student in debt.

Dazai reaches a bandaged hand inside before grasping the box and pulling it close to his chest. He could already feel saliva pooling in his mouth as he re-lived his previous encounters and tastes of his hot pockets. But this one was different. This one was pepperoni. Normally, Dazai was a ham and cheese kind of guy, but they had been barren of any ham and cheese hot pockets. It made him sad to think about, but it also brought rejoice as he could finally try another flavor of hot pocket.

Dazai is quick to tear the box’s top off and reach a hand inside to grab the frozen snack pocket out. Even in a plastic wrapping, he could still smell the permeating waft of garlic and herbs. He fumbled around the kitchen as he ripped the plastic off and put the snack into the small cardboard pocket, basically throwing the hot pocket into the microwave like you would throw a small child into oncoming traffic.

Not really giving a fuck, Dazai punches the microwave which some how starts a two minute timer and the hot pocket starts spinning in small, grueling long circles. His eyes stare into the microwave’s glass window, taking in the way the hot pocket slowly warms up.

Deep down, Dazai wished to be a hot pocket. Because he, too, wished to be cooked in a microwave. What a way to go out.

It feels like eternity until the microwave beeps loudly to signify that the slutty— I mean tasty treat is done cooking. His eyes light up and Dazai takes the hot pocket out of the microwave. “It’s… It’s beautiful…” He whispers tearfully as the hot pocket steams from the packet. Realizing how hot it was the next few seconds after, he tosses it between his hands and onto the counter gently, “Ow— hot, hot— ahhhh.”

Staring at the hot pocket, Dazai begins to drool excessively— oh, and he was hard. Dude got a raging boner from looking at this hot pocket too long. Just like me fr.

“Aw man, now I’m super horny…” He whines as he looks down at his tightened slacks. He thinks for a moment before he looks back to the hot pocket and gets an idea.

The hot pocket steamed in need of his ACHING COCK (I can see you cringing behind that screen, Guac <3). Or at least that’s how Dazai took it because of how horny he was. “You want me, don’t you?” He grins at the hot pocket with desire— only getting a soft puff of steam in return and a whiff of garlic that made him twice as hard.

Eager to get off now, Dazai unzips his slacks and pushes them down enough to have access to the hot pocket. His accurate sized dick of three inches— I mean— his monster cock slapped against his stomach as he wasn’t wearing underwear because it’s canon that he goes commando. Dazai then took the hot pocket and brought it to his lips before taking a slow bite. And in typical Dazai fashion— he moaned loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear and got several noise complaints which all went to Kunikida’s answering machine.

“My god, you’re such a slutty tease,” Dazai groans, swallowing the cold ass bite that’s always at the end of the hot pocket. Pushing at the sides with his fingers, the hot pocket opens to reveal its gooey melted cheese and sloppy pizza sauce insides with the occasional chunks of pepperoni. Dazai stroked his cock until he had spread enough precum along his length, though it’s questionable as to why he would as he’s fucking a hot pocket pussy and not actual pussy because he gets none.

Wasting no more time, Dazai slid his dick into the scalding hot pocket and screamed from the pain of literal lava burning the skin of his dick. But he kept trekking through the feeling, because he’ll be damned having his dick blistered by some hot pizza sauce and melting mozzarella chunks ruin him from being horny enough to fuck a microwaveable snack. “Yeah, you like that you dirty, saucy whore?” He grunted, uncaring of the melted cheese and pizza sauce sticking to his now blistering cock.

As this poor hot pocket was being violated like no one’s business, Kunikida was sobbing himself to sleep after getting multiple detailed complaints about how loud Dazai was being while he was aggressively fucking a hot pocket like I did to your mom last night.

“I’m gonna turn you into a toaster strudel, baby,” Dazai moaned loudly, thrusting harder into the hot pocket before filling it to the brim with his cum. “That’s it, take my seed you cheesy whore…” He panted, pulling his dick out of the cum stuffed hot pocket. It took a few moments until he realized the damage that the hot pocket had done to his dick as he looked down to see the various red burn spots and blistering skin covered in pizza sauce, cheese, and pepperoni. “Now I’m going to need bandages for my dick…” He sighed, tossing the hot pocket aside like they didn’t have a special bond. “Well, I’m not hungry anymore, my dick hurts… Time to stick it in some ice cream~” Dazai trailed off to get Kunikida’s credit card to go buy and defile yet another item of food.

As the hot pocket sat on the ground oozing with cum, a rat squeaked and scampered by before sniffing the hot pocket. Deemed worthy enough to take it back to its master, the rat dragged the hot pocket into a mouse hole and scrambled through the walls of the apartments until it made its way outside and into a manhole. Making its way through the sewers, the rat finally arrives at its master.

“What is this?” A Russian accent echoes through the sewers. Slender hands pick up the rat and the hot pocket, Fyodor looking at both with a questionable gaze. The rat squeaks to communicate with the Russian joker and squirms out of his grasp to scatter off to its family.

“A toaster strudel, you say? I’ve never seen such a thing, incredible…” Fyodor doesn’t even bother to take a good look at the hot pocket to see the fluids dripping out of it before he takes a large bite and chews. His face scrunches up— but he keeps eating because man is anemic and refuses to eat anymore of his belly button lint to survive.

“What a strange tasting toaster strudel…”

[just-some-random-blogger]

10 Second Elder

The Blonde Boys Club

Daemon Targaryen x Sorceress!Reader, Geralt of Rivia & Sister!Reader

Summary: Yeah, so your twin tried to kill Caraxes and now you have to convince his rider, the mother fucking Prince, that it was all a misunderstanding (it was not).

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: THE ONLY INCEST IN THIS IS THE CANON TARGARYEN INCEST ALRD IN HOTD OTHERWISE MISS ME WITH THAT BULLSHIT, fem!reader, witcher!twins, reader is kinda a witcher lol, I describe reader's hair and eye color, crack fic, typos, etc.

A/N: I JUST GOT A BUNCH OF IDEAS FOR THESE BLONDES AND OTHER FICTIONAL BLONDES PLEASE IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS ??? SERIES???? (dont quote me on that, idk what it is) ASKFL:AFHALS:F. AND SHHH whatever plothole you have for the witcher!twins, just, just, roll with it i beg also I'm tagging @lexi-anastasia HI!! i actually thought of this prompt cos of your display pic. IDK IF YOU EVEN LIKE hotd but i hope you like this for the witcher!twins LOL I'm also tagging @avaleineandafryingpan because they reblogged my the blonde boys club post T_T (mahal kita) and of course @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda P2 "Dry Humor"

Geralt had smelt it in the air before anything else. He had his bow in his hand, drawn and ready. His stance was low. The steps he took against the leaf covered ground barely made a sound.

He straightened himself up when he saw an opening and pulled his arrow all the way.

When a gust of wind blew, he inhaled deeply, now certain of his opponent. A dragon.

Geralt inhaled deeply as the beast shifted in the spot it was laying. He saw the saddle on it, scoffing. Suddenly things were clearer as to why a dragon would be out in the open, so exposed. It was also clear that whoever the rider was did not care about how their ride had ravaged the nearby farm and village.

He knew his arrow would barely injure the creature, if it could pierce its skin at all, and yet he shot at its curled neck anyway.

No avail. The thing didn't even flinch.

Geralt purses his lips as he redraws his weapon. The dragon shifts again and this time, Geralt's golden eyes see an opening, quite literally an opening by the rib, just below the saddle.

The sound of the string tensing fills the witcher's ears. He narrows his eyes as he adjusts in his spot to further assess the wound, as well as to properly get an opening.

He notes how the injury was a not new, and yet it was still healing. He tries to listen in on the heartbeat, but even with how large it was, it was still too far for him to hear anything.

He withdraws a bit of tension from his bow, enough for it to still reach the dragon, but only to cause it discomfort, not really to reopen its wound, to rile the beast up enough for it to want to leave with its rider.

Geralt draws in a deep breath and releases it along with his arrow.

The dragon roars and rises from its place once the arrow hits its side.

Dramatic, if you asked him. Geralt was certain it didn't hurt as much as the thing was making it out to be.

As the dragon whined, Geralt unsheathed his blade and surveyed the area, listening in on the rider that would inevitably come next.

He inches closer to the dragon, by its tail, and soon enough he hears quick footsteps and frantic breathing.

When he turns over his shoulder to the source of the sound, the wound tension in his shoulders relaxes a fraction, then tenses again at the shrill whisper-yell.

"What the fuck did you just do?" I demand, throwing the severed head I had in my grip off to the side as I readied my sword in my hand as I went into a defensive stance, "we came for the monster I already slain."

"This thing is the reason why the village burned."

"And you think you can kill it!?"

"No, but its rider will get the message."

I lower my sword, in utter disbelief of what I was hearing, "you think it has a rider?!"

Geralt narrows his eyes, "It has a rider," he corrects, "I shot at its open wound below its saddle."

"THEN YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!" I seethe, gritting my teeth, raising my sword again. Geralt watches me as I stalk closer to the dragon. I catch the way he knit his brows, and it makes my eyes twitch, "you don't know what it means."

Geralt nears me and I elbow him to the chest, "motherfucker."

All at once, the dragon is alerted by our presence.

The massive creature stands on its legs and growls at us.

I feel him, the dragon. I feel his regality, his tie to his rider, and his distress over the arrow. He knows it was one of us that caused it. He draws in a deep breath, ready to burn us both, along with the entire forest.

I drop my sword and I raise my hand, speaking in the dragon's tongue, "calm yourself."

Geralt measures my reaction and is unconvinced by both the language I am speaking, and the fact I disarmed myself.

"We mean you no harm, your grace," I call out, slowly walking over to the dragon.

He screeches and shakes his head.

"You think it can understand you?" Geralt grunts, tensing his jaw as he brings his weapon higher.

The dragon does not appreciate this one bit.

"Just because you don't doesn't mean he doesn't," I quip.

Geralt does not care and pulls out an elixir from his pocket, quickly downing it.

"You fucking idiot! We are not-"

All at once, a command is shouted, "DRACARYS!"

Without thinking, before fire could leave his jowls, Geralt shoots chaos, causing the dragon's head to shoot up and his fire to burn above overhead.

"LYKIRI!" I repeat the same High Valyrian command to the dragon. As his head downturns, the flames he breathed ceases.

Before I realize what is happening, I hear a man shout out as he charges, "WITCH!"

Geralt blocks my view of the incoming assaulter as well as his sword that was sword meant to slay me, "Witcher."

Their weapons skid against the other's. They are upon each other, attacking aggressively, as though their lives depended on it. The dragon grows, restless in the background.

"GERALT, STOP!" I scream as my brother's silver hair swooshes in the air, as does his equally blonde opponent's. My stomach drops at the sight of him, at the sight of the man who bore all indications of a Targaryen prince.

They charge at each other, stepping forward and back, metal crashing against metal. And for a moment, the long haired prince' anger gave him the upper hand, but I knew how Geralt was evading him; he was pulling his punches, but not for long.

I decide to divert my attention to the distressed dragon, finally seeing his saddle, and the arrow stuck to his side like a thorn he could not get out.

He does not like the fact I am quickly nearing him and snaps his teeth at me.

"Do not be insolent," I quip in High Valyrian at the creature, lifting my head up to him with his hand, "I am here to help you."

I could feel my pulse quicken as I make my way to his side.

I decide it's enough that he has not yet killed me for getting this close to him.

"Calm yourself, boy," I mutter under my breath, as I reach up to the arrow on his side. The dragon does a clicking noise, and I do not have time whether to debate it is a warning or a cry for help.

Without another thought, I pull out the arrow with a grunt. The beast whines then withdraws a long breath. I turn to him as it cranes it neck to do the same to me I drop the arrow coated with his blood in front of him. I raise my hands, "it is done."

"CARAXES, DR-"

"Shut the fuck up."

So that's his name. Now who would be his rider?

I turn to Geralt, whimpering in annoyance and dread. I watch him dig his knee on the man's back as he pulls his arm behind him, causing him to yelp. Caraxes rises at the sight of his overcome rider, screeching just as the prince pants beneath my brother on the ground.

Geralt makes a face and shuts his eyes when dragon spit splatters on his face. He clenches his jaw and mutters, "lyriki, beast."

"You do not even know what that means," I retort, "and get off him."

"You do understand that the only reason why that thing hasn't killed us is because its rider is under my knee."

"FUCK OFF!" the said rider growls.

Caraxes responds to this with yet another ear piercing cry.

Through all this, I suddenly remember the name I was looking for, "Aemon! Aemon. Caraxes' rider is Aemon."

Geralt makes a face, realizing what I meant, "you're telling me this is Aemon Targaryen?"

"Well, do you see anyone else commanding the dra-"

"CARAXES-" breaks into a yelp.

"We are having a discussion," Geralt leans down as he growls.

"Geralt," I quip tightly, "get off him," I step closer to the both of them, "now."

The black of Geralt's eyes begin to fade once I am directly in front of him. I kneel down on his side and meet the telltale violet of the eyes of the prince. They narrow when they meet the violet hue of my own.

"You must forgive my younger brother for his insolence, my prince," I mutter as I swat Geralt by his thigh.

He rolls his eyes and finally gets of his captive, "ah yes, older sister," he mocks.

"Time is time and blood is blood," I retort as I eye him before helping the prince from where he laid.

"I remember," the Witcher mutters, "High Valyrian. An elective."

I smirk as I turn back at him, "one you did not take."

"Yes," he sighs as he stands, motioning to his side, "language of the dragons."

"Old Valyria," I correct as I help the prince, who was catching his breath, rolls over, "the Tar-

"Targaryen," he says, heaving, as he falls to his back. He reaches his hand out to me. I knit my brows at him as his fingers find my cheek.

Geralt looks down at him with contempt, lips curling in disgust, "watch your fingers, prince, or you might lose them."

I grunt, "I've quite had enough of you," I snap, rising to my feet. "You have been insufferable since we got here-"

"You're one to talk, little girl," Geralt eyes me darkly.

I crane towards his, "you do understand the consequences of-" I cut myself off when the prince stands to his feet. I change languages, "he is the prince of the seven kingdoms, heir to the throne."

"You whisper this to me as if I have ever cared, sister," he replies in Elder Speech.

"You should," Aemon responds as he looks between us.

We turn to him.

"You know Elder Speech?" I question, narrowing my brows.

He smirks at me, as he brushes his shoulder off, "an elective," he offers, "though I admit I only understood the word prince and guessed what you were saying." He tilts his head, "it seems my intuition has not failed me yet."

Geralt hums deeply and steps forward, "but it did when you misjudged me and allowed me an opening to strike you."

Aemon lifts his gaze upon my brother, whatever smirk that was on his face fades away.

"Enough!" I grunt, pushing them away with chaos.

A gush of wind rips between them.

My brother, who is used to it, steps back once, but the prince reels back and falls to his hind. I quickly extend my hand out to him and flash a guilty look, "apologies."

He looks at me for a moment before taking my hand, "Daemon."

"What?"

I pull him up as he repeats, "Prince Daemon, son of Prince Baelon, brother of Prince Aemon."

"Ah," I nod as I pull away from him. He steps forward when I do and watches me as I respond, "you are Aemon's nephew. His second rider. I will do well to remember, Prince Daemon."

"Indeed," he mutters with a soft smile.

I am pulled back by my arm and wind up crashing against Geralt's armor.

I look up at him he roughly swats the white streaks of my black hair away from my face that consequently was flying up to his because of the wind. He warns me in Nilfgaardian, "focus."

"Do not speak to me as though it is you who has a plan to get us out of this mess," I quip back in the same tongue.

"It would be easy to kill him and make it look like an accident."

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

"So, you are a witch," Daemon cuts in, making both of us turn to him.

"Witcher."

"Sorceress," I correct as I pull away from my brother.

"And what house do you belong to?" the prince asks, tenting his hands before him.

Just then, the dragon who we seemed to have forgotten, makes himself known and cries out to his master.

Daemon raises a dismissive hand and swats his away, sparing him only a second's glace. My brother and I watch as Caraxes huffs and rolls into himself, closing his eyes without another care.

Interesting.

"Kaer Morhen," I say, although questioningly, as I turn to my brother, "perhaps for me, I suppose, Aretuza."

"But Vesemir gave you your name as well."

"Yes, well, in that case, I do su-"

"And who are your parents?" Daemon interjects, tone less curious, and more impatient.

"Now that is the question indeed," Geralt grunts, then once again when I elbow him roughly.

"He's being serious."

"I know he's being serious, look at him."

"Why do you ask, prince?" I shake my head, stepping towards the said man.

Daemon examines me intently, so much so that, had I not been used to such scrutiny, I would have broken eye contact in discomfort. "Your eyes," he trails off as he peers down upon me, "are Targaryen's."

"Ah," my jaw drops. I find a chuckle leave me. "Much like his white hair is," I say, pointing to Geralt. I snort and slap a hand on his arm, "brother, you never told me we were secretly royalty."

He hums, nostrils flaring, "slipped my mind."

I chuckle to myself as I turn back to the prince. I watch as his jaw clenches and will my amusement to evaporate with my sigh, "tis not royalty that made our features so, prince Daemon, but the cruelty of magic. My own hair burns with white streaks because of his," I say.

"And what good is that knowledge to him?" Geralt makes a face as he turns to me.

"Well," I turn back to him, "he asked, did he not?"

"He did not ask you about your hair, any more than his dragon did."

"This is exactly why you have no friends."

"And you say that as though it is a bad thing."

"And you two are blood siblings?" Daemon cuts yet again.

We turn to him.

A moment passes.

The insinuation of the idea we could be anything else with our dynamic brings the familiar shiver down our spines.

"It gets no less revolting through time," Geralt mutters, "much less, knowing the traditions of his house."

I ignore his comment as I clear my throat, "twins, your grace, and I the el-."

Daemon ignores me, averting his attention to Geralt now, "you mention the traditions my house, and yet it seems you are unaware of how it is in my nature to seek satisfaction."

"Hmm," Geralt's brows quirk, "I would too, if my arse got handed to me."

I step in between them before Daemon could lunge. Because of this, I am trapped between the chests of the two hot headed blondes.

"Move," Geralt warns me, although his eyes do not leave Daemon.

"My prince," I ignore him, grabbing onto the fabric Daemon's arms, "you must forgive my baby brother."

Daemon dryly scoffs, eyes not leaving Geralt, "he'll have to get on his knees, my dear."

"You mean my soft belly-"

I shut him up with a gesture and heave, "it is a misunderstanding that we find ourselves in."

Daemon watches as Geralt struggles; he is unable to open his lips.

The prince's eyes finally turn back to me, they glimmer with mischief, "a misunderstanding, you say."

"I should like to treat you to a pint, if you would allow me the honor, so that I may... explain our predicament," I offer a soft smile. I feel my brother move from behind me, and so I shove him away with chaos, lest he shove me away to batter the prince in silence.

Daemon watches as Geralt propels back and hits a tree. By then, my incantation is lifted and so a string of curses leave his lips.

"That depends on whether or not your twin will be joining us."

"If you would prefer only one of us to drink with you, then I shall make it happen."

"Like hell, you would!"

"Then I will hear your explanation for this terrible altercation."

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Perrito Chapter 3: Position - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

your first 24 hours on the job. you're starting to adjust to daily life as lalo's puppy, though there's a feeling of dread that you can't quite shake. tags/warnings: oral sex, vaginal sex, petplay, humiliation/degradation, exhibitionism, stalking, non-consensual body modification, gaslighting, psychological abuse, intoxication (weed and cocaine) anatomical terms: cunt/hole, t-dick word count: 9,139 (most normal lalo stan) ao3 link author's notes: we're so back (in all /srsness thank y'all for supporting me these past few months as i have been Going Through It. i promise the next chapter will not take this long) como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3

This was not the first morning you woke up feeling like a complete and utter dumbass.

And it probably wouldn’t be the last. 

Though as you prodded the bruise on the underside of your bicep, you struggled to think of a time that you’d fucked up even half this bad. 

The only thing that came close was the day you got arrested. You remember it in flashes. First, you were in the passenger seat of a car, nothing fancy. You couldn’t recall if it was a Honda or a Hyundai, but you were never much of a car person anyway. Whatever it was, it was blue, and parked in a seedy alleyway. You had your mouth on a cock, one of many you’d taken before, thinking about what you’d get for lunch after this. Anything that would get the taste of cherry-flavored condom out of your mouth. Suddenly, there was a knock on the window, and you and your client were dragged out of the car by two nosy officers. Handcuffed, bent over the hood, and trying your hardest not to cry, one of them patted you down, and reached into one of the small pockets in your denim booty shorts.

“Yep. Cocaine. So now we can add possession of a schedule two narcotic to your charges.”

Just your fucking luck. That morning, a client had given you an 8-ball in exchange for a discounted blowjob. It would’ve been cheaper to just pay your normal rate, but he said he was trying to kick the stuff and it was just collecting dust in his possession. You had no interest in trying coke for yourself, but you figured you could sell it pretty easily. After all, what’s one illegal trade versus another? Plus, the guy had said it was high quality. Allegedly, it was the good shit from Mexico. 

Mexico. 

Maybe it was Salamanca product. 

Maybe Lalo had been controlling your life for longer than you thought. 

The next thing you remember was crying in the interrogation room. 

You’d refused to talk to the pigs, as you should’ve. You weren’t that stupid. You knew nothing good would come of it. They could just lie and say whatever asinine thing they felt like to get you to snitch on yourself.

“We just want to know what happened, kid.” Bullshit. 

“We’re trying to help you.” No you’re not. 

“Cry all you want, but you got yourself into this mess. If you talk to us, we can find a way to get you out of it.” Fuck. You. 

Blubbering, choking on snot and tears, more scared than you’d ever been in your entire life, you stood your ground.

“I’m… *sniff* I’m invoke- invoking my… *sniff* right to remain s-silent and my right- *sniff* right to c-counsel… P-P-Please…” Breathe. Just breathe. In, then out. Innn, ouuut… Okay. You’re okay. You can do this. What’s the next line? “P-Please provide me with an attorney.”

To their credit, they did. The next person you spoke to was a public defender, a guy in his 40s who looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You remember what he said when he saw you.

“Oh jeez, you poor kid. Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay. Please, please don’t cry. I, uh… I think I got some napkins you can use.” He’d opened his disheveled briefcase and handed you some thin fast-food napkins. As you mopped up your misery, he took out a pen and paper, and sat down across from you. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. Also, he was a sympathetic crier, so he didn’t want to make things harder for himself. “My name’s Jimmy. I’m gonna be your lawyer. Can you tell me your name, bud?” 

Jimmy tried. He really did. But the best deal he could get for you was 6 months. You remember the look of sadness on his face when he told you that you’d be going to prison. You broke down, sobbing violently into your palms. You heard his voice crack under your heavy burden. 

“I know… I know, kid. I’m sorry. Just let it out.”

“I’m gonna die in there… I’m gonna die…”

“No, no, no! No, you’re not! Keep your head up, okay? 6 months will be over before you know it.”

“No, you don’t understand…”

You came out to him, and his face contorted in horror when he realized what you’d be subjected to. Jimmy felt like the worst lawyer in the world; he somehow managed to get a client the death penalty for prostitution and a few grams of coke. He had never felt so fucking guilty. At least he gave great hugs. 

The cops who did your strip search did not. 

Your memory got hazy from this point. You dissociated through the entire intake process, mindlessly following directions. Stand here, turn, turn, face forward. Walk. Stand here. Take your clothes off, oh dear god. Run your fingers through your hair. Open your mouth. Squat. Cough. Put your new clothes on. Take your stuff. Go to your cell. You were lucky to not have a cellmate assigned yet. You could spend your first few hours of incarceration crying in your bed alone.

At lunch, you went to the shower, and the rest was history. 

And a few weeks later, you were laying in a luxurious bed, waking up well-rested from the amazing sex you were being paid $10,000 a week to have. 

And you had a microchip in your arm. 

This wasn’t post-nut clarity; this was post-nut psychosis. No, post-nut divine revelation, like God himself had come down from Heaven just to call you a braindead dipshit who should’ve seen this coming. Like the 2nd-generation cartel boss that paid you to live in his house and drain his balls wouldn’t find a way to track you wherever you went, dumbass? What were you thinking, huh? Are you fucking stupid? Huh? Are you? Are you stupid?

Probably.

You probably were stupid.

But you definitely were hungry, and hell, Lalo promised you breakfast once you woke up and came down to the kitchen. If there really was a microchip in your arm, it wasn’t exactly going anywhere. You might as well enjoy the perks of your situation, of which there were many. Maybe a full stomach would empty your head.

Having completed your morning routine in Lalo’s master bathroom, you threw on some casual clothes, stared at the dog collar your reflection wore, and headed downstairs to the kitchen, where Lalo was eagerly waiting for you, with an apron tied taut around his slutty little waist. 

He gasped in delight when you finally graced him with your presence. “¡Buenos días, perrito! (Good morning, doggy!)” He ran up to you and gave you a warm, tight hug, one that could’ve lulled you right back to sleep if he kept it up for long enough, especially with such soothing puppytalk. “Ay, mi chiquito lindo, te quiero muuucho. Te quiero, te quiero. (Ay, my cute little boy, I love you so muuuch. I love you, I love you.)” But instead, he eventually broke the hug to kiss your forehead and pat you on the shoulder. “You sleep okay?”

You slept fine, but waking up was another story, a story that you didn’t tell. “Yeah, I’m good.” You yawned and stretched once he let you go. “That bed is super comfortable. Way better than what I’m used to.”

“Well, get used to it! It’s definitely a step up for you. Good for your back too.” Lalo laughed, patted you once more, and opened up some of the kitchen cabinets. He kept talking as he grabbed a frying pan and some mixing bowls. “Now that you’re up, I thought we could cook breakfast together. You down?”

“Yeah! Sure. I’d like that. I’m hungry.”

“Figured you would be. I gave you quite the workout last night, huh?” Lalo winked at you over his shoulder as he started to position everything on the counter. When he turned his back to you, you couldn’t help but ogle his ass in those insultingly tight jeans he always wore. “Can you do me a favor, actually? Can you grab the eggs and chorizo from the fridge? Should be on the second shelf.”

His question took a second to finish buffering in your distracted mind. “Hm? Oh, yeah! I gotcha.”

You walked over to the fridge and opened the double doors. It was bigger than the fridge you’d had at your apartment in Albuquerque. A lot bigger. Your eyes scanned the fully stocked second shelf, searching for what you had been instructed to find.

Your back to him was the perfect opportunity to strike. Lalo snuck up behind you, snaked his arms under your armpits, and clipped the leash to your collar. Thank god you hadn’t grabbed the eggs yet, because he yanked the leash back and knocked you off your balance.

“¡Siéntate! (Sit!)”

You turned around and dropped to your knees, looking up at Lalo with a face of pure confusion, which he found incredibly amusing.

“What? What are you looking so surprised for?” He reached over you to shut the fridge. “On-call means on-call, puppy! That means if I need you, you gotta be ready for me, yeah? Any time, any place.”

Right. That was what you signed up for. You just went expecting it to be so… sudden. “Okay, yeah, sorry, I just thought that-“

“Ch.”

What? What the fuck did he just do? It was like he shushed you, but it was a ch rather than a sh. Sharper, and with a more distinct bite to it, like a threat. It shocked you into silence, which is exactly what he wanted.

“Good boy.” Lalo balled the slack of the leash in his fist and crouched down to your eye level. “Now, you gonna be quiet? You gonna be a good doggy and do what you’re told?”

Son of a bitch. You really were his dog. The puppytalk, the headpats, the commands, the microchip. His commitment to the bit was honestly impressive. You nodded, ready to listen.

Lalo smiled and tousled your hair, recreating the bedhead you’d so carefully combed away. You would have been annoyed if it didn’t come with some intoxicating praise. “Good boy! Such a good boy! Who’s a good boy? You are! Yes you are! You’re a good boy!”

His sweet words soothed your mind. You could feel your thoughts, reason, your very humanity melting away with each strand of your hair curled around his fingers, each repetition of “good boy” that left his lips and emigrated to your ears. Degrading? Yes, but that was part of the fun. It was nice to not have to think for yourself. You could just close your eyes, sit back, relax, and let yourself be spoiled. Lalo would take very good care of his dog.

Lalo could see the transformation, the shift from person to puppy at the very second you stopped thinking. Having you exactly how he wanted you, he smoothed your hair out to something almost as tidy as you’d had it before. “That’s it… Good boy… Good doggy…” To snap you out of your daze, he snapped his fingers in front of your face. “¡Ay! Mírame. Look at me, puppy.”

You did as you were told, gazing up at Lalo as he stood upright and let the chain leash jingle as the excess fell from his hand.

“Good boy.” Lalo held his hand out for you. “Shake. Dame la pata.”

Assuming a dog wouldn’t have the same dexterity for a handshake as a human would, you laid your limp-wristed hand in his, and let him grab it and shake it.

That was the right move. “Perfect! Good boy!” He let go of your hand and you placed it back on your thighs alongside the other. “Habla. Speak.”

You’d learned your lesson last night, and told him what he wanted to hear. “Woof woof!”

“Ha! Aw man, I never get tired of hearing that.” Lalo’s hand found its way to your hair again and he asked, “Good boy! You want a treat? You want a treat, boy?”

You weren’t entirely sure what a treat would be in this context, but you guessed it’d be something good. You nodded once more, accepting whatever blessing he would bestow upon you.

Lalo’s smile dropped, “I need to hear you, puppy. I need to hear you if you want your treat. C’mon,” and pulled the leash hard enough to gag you a little, “Speak!”

“Woof! Woof, woof!”

“Gooood boy.” Lalo purred and slipped the leash’s handle onto his wrist. Now having both hands free, he went to untie the apron and unfasten his belt. 

Should’ve seen that coming. You thought to yourself, though your self-contained sarcasm went out the window once his cock was out. You’d seen it a bunch by now, but it never failed to make you drool. You licked your lips in preparation. 

Lalo slooowly pumped himself in front of you, watching you squirm anxiously. His foreskin retracted and slid back so easily, and the overhead kitchen lights illuminated the single drop of precum leaking from his slit. It felt like ages before he finally said to you, “Come get your treat, doggy.”

And your mouth was on him in a flash, an instinctual response to a simple command. You were so well trained. Such a good dog. You reached up to squeeze his ass and push him further down your throat. Even with your mouth plugged with cock, you found yourself moaning in pleasure. 

Your voice vibrating his shaft inspired Lalo to speak up, through a deep, rich groan. “Ooh, yeah, that’s it… That’s a good puppy. I almost think you enjoy this more than I do!”

Possibly, but with how obnoxiously loud he was moaning, you thought it was pretty balanced. You pulled his cock out of your mouth to spit all over the tip and spread it down. Once you’d soaked his entire length, you lifted it up to slurp on his balls. 

 “Yeah, yeah, there you go… Good doggy. Good-“ Lalo went still and unnaturally stiff for a second. Then, he started laughing. Hard. 

You pulled back to check on him. “Uh… you good?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Just…” Lalo braced himself against the fridge to catch his breath, “Just thought of something funny is all. Y’know… dog playing with a ball? Fetch, boy!”

As stupid as it was, you couldn’t help but laugh, too, though you only got 3 or 4 “ha”s out of your system before Lalo yanked the leash and impaled your mouth with his cock. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Lalo’s spontaneity was definitely something you’d have to get used to. His ability to make you laugh, drop your guard, and then sneak up on you meant that you could never truly relax around him. But hey, that’s what you’re getting paid for, right? Plus, it’s kind of a thrill to be taken by surprise. You continued to service him, wet and sloppy, spit seeping down your face, until another sound stalled the scene: your stomach growling. Loudly.

But Lalo didn’t mind. In fact, he thought it was cute. “Oh, pobrecito (poor thing), was that you? You’re hungry, huh, boy? Well the sooner you get me off, the sooner we can cook, okay? Here…” He held onto you tightly by your hair and began thrusting into your throat. “I’ll help you speed things up.”

You gripped his thighs to brace yourself, knowing exactly what he meant by that.

Lalo fucked your throat with reckless abandon, savoring all the obscene gawkgawkgawk type sounds it made. His breath shuddered as he neared his peak. “Ay, te pinche puto, oh… Oh, sí, como eso. Buen chico. Qué- ngh… Qué buen chico-oh, mierda, estoy… Estoy cerca… Voy a venir… Voy a venir en tu boca de puto… ¡Carajo! (Ay, you fucking slut, oh… Oh, yeah, like that. Good boy. What- ngh… What a good boy-oh, shit, I’m so… I’m so close… I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum in your whore mouth… Fuck!)”

And once more you were shoved all the way down. Your nose nestled into Lalo’s bush as he ejaculated down your throat. Without any options otherwise, you quickly swallowed it all. You didn’t get to taste his cum, but the feeling of his aching cock throbbing on your tongue was delicious in and of itself. 

When he was finally empty, Lalo sighed and pulled you off. You coughed as the oxygen rushed you, forcing down the last few drops of his cum. The both of you were disheveled, sweaty, flushed-face messes. What a way to start the day.

“There. Little snack to hold you over before we cook, right?” Lalo tucked himself back into place and unclipped the leash from your collar, signaling that your job was done. He gave you a warm smile and finger combed your hair back into place. “Good boy! Oh, that was good. C’mere. Lemme help you up.” He extended his hand for you to take, lifting you up onto two legs. You were a person once more. Now you could think rather than feel, and speak rather than bark. “You alright? You did great. As usual.”

You chuckled, the warm and fuzzy feeling of puppymode still lingering behind. You were in no rush to let it pass, anyway. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Thanks. Glad you liked it.”

“Good!” Lalo was back to his normal, energetic self. He grabbed his apron, clapped you on the shoulder, and said, “Now, go get me the eggs and chorizo.” 

And with that, he strutted back to the counter, business as usual.

You would definitely have to get used to his spontaneity.

…

Breakfast was delicious, so much so that you wondered why he bothered having Yolanda cook at all. Oh well, not your place to judge. His cooking was phenomenal, but maybe hers would have you exploring a different plane of consciousness. After breakfast, Lalo saw it fitting to give you a proper tour of the house.

“Okay, so, you’ve seen the living room, the kitchen, and the master bedroom. There’s a couple more bedrooms downstairs, at the other side of the house. One of them is Yolanda’s, and another is Cecilio’s. The rest are for guests. There’s 2 more bathrooms down that way, too.”

“Mm, okay, got it.” You nodded, making a mental map of where everyone was in the house, though you noticed a pretty substantial gap. “What about all the guards?”

“Oh, they kinda have their own base outside. Makes it easier for them cause they gotta wake each other up to switch shifts. I’ll show you in a bit.”

Honestly, for a cartel boss’s estate, you weren’t expecting it to feel so… homey. Your vision of a drug lord’s mansion was something akin to a fever dream that you’d have after bingewatching MTV Cribs. Everything either marble or gold-plated, 15 Lamborghinis in the garage, and a pet tiger that somehow has its own Lamborghini. But no, Lalo’s place was decorated like people actually lived here. Barring the concrete gate topped with barbed wire, it was like any other family hacienda. Though instead of multiple generations of one family, it was just Lalo and his staff: his cook, his gardener, his guards…

And of course, his dog.

You tried to ignore that nagging feeling under your bicep as Lalo walked you up to a bookshelf. “And so this, oh, you’re gonna love this, just watch.” 

One of the books caught your attention. It was bright red, and its spine said “Hiding in Plain Sight by S. P. Onaj”. How clever. Actually, it was clever, because he reached for a plain-looking blue book on the shelf below it. He pulled it back, and the bookshelf opened like a door, revealing a dimly lit staircase heading downward.

“By the way, pulling that red one sounds an alarm. Just in case any intruder thinks they’ve got me all figured out. Made it obvious on purpose.” Lalo winked at you. “So! Guess what’s down there.”

“Is it a sex dungeon?”

Lalo froze, his facial expression that of bewilderment. You’d got it in one. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. “What gave it away?”

You shrugged. “I mean, you’re rich and kinky enough to hire a live-in sex puppy, I’m assuming you’d have your own dungeon. Plus, why else would you be showing it to me?”

“Fair point.” Lalo shook his head and chuckled. “Since you wanna be a smartass, though, I’m not taking you down there now.” He shut the bookshelf door, and the ominous staircase was gone, as if it was never there.

“Aw, boo.” You pouted. “Just cause I guessed it right, you’re not gonna show me?”

“No, I actually gotta run out in a little while, and I’m not gonna show you until I have enough time to give you an extensive tour.” Lalo smirked. “There’s a lot down there. Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.” He leaned down and brushed your hair away from your ear, making sure his whispered words hit you dead-on. “There’s so many fun things I can do to you, puppy.”

Before you could even whine, grovel, bitch, or moan, Lalo slipped right past you and beckoned you forward. “Alright! Now, I’mma show you outside. C’mere, boy!”

What a fucking tease. You thought, rolling your eyes and following behind him. He held the backdoor open for you to step onto the patio, but before your other foot left the threshold, Lalo grabbed you.

“Hey! What the-”

You were stopped mid-sentence by the sound of jingling metal. 

The leash.

Lalo had clipped it to your collar again and led you onto the patio, like it was the most casual fucking thing in the world, and he didn’t just accost you into a near chokehold. No warning, no red flag, nothing. You didn’t even hear the damn leash before it was on you. You were stunned. “Were you just keeping that in your pocket this whole time?”

“Well, yeah. Where else would it be?” He stepped out in front of you and pulled the chain. “Sit. And don’t talk ‘til I say so.”

You let your snarky comments simmer on the backburner and did as you were told, dropping to your knees on the patio. You felt a slight tinge of embarrassment as you took in your surroundings: the golden midday sunlight, the warm air, the sounds of birds and a lawnmower running. Oh, god, is he gonna make you blow him out here? Out in the open? Well, you’d done worse. You’d even done worse with him, but the spontaneity was gonna stop your heart one day.

Lalo gave you more of those cloyingly sweet headpats. “Good boy. Good boy. There you go, that’s it. Just relax. Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Be a good puppy. Be a good puppy for Don Eduardo.”

You gradually synced to his rhythm. He’d ambush you with the leash, then coax you into pupspace with petting and praise. Once you were warmed up, you’d do whatever he wanted. It was easier to adjust the second time around.

And as predicted, your master gave you a firm pull of the leash and an even firmer command. “Cuatro patas. All fours, c’mon.”

You shuffled onto your hands and knees, waiting for your next order. But it didn’t come. Instead, Lalo just started walking, expecting you to follow suit. But you didn’t. You were mortified by what he was implying. 

When you didn’t move with him, he turned around and glared down at you. “What? I can’t take my dog for a walk?” Lalo clicked his tongue and yanked the leash. “Come.”

What was usually your favorite command to hear was now suddenly your least favorite. Lalo was going to have you crawl on your hands and knees, through the grass and dirt, in broad daylight for anyone to see. You kept your head down, staring at the blades of grass that stained your palms and knees green. You weren’t listening to Lalo’s tour.

Knowing damn well he was talking to himself, Lalo still pointed out every landmark that you passed, the first one being right ahead of you. “Pool’s right here. It’s heated, just in case you were wondering. And at night, the lights change color. It’s really pretty. Been thinking about getting a bar out here, too.”

As you approached the perimeter of the pool, the cool grass turned to burning tile. You winced and hissed in pain as your bare palms touched the hot surface. “Ah! Shit…”

To your surprise, Lalo actually showed some concern for your situation. “Too hot?”

You grit your teeth and grimaced, still not looking up at him. “Mhm…”

“Here, c’mon, stand up,” He tugged the leash up, “Two legs.”

You hopped up onto your feet, grateful that you were allowed to keep your skin from melting off your hands. You went to brush yourself off, but Lalo grabbed your wrists.

“Let me see.” He checked your palms for any injuries, and finding that you were alright, released you. “Okay, good. Vamos (Let’s go).”

You walked like a person past the edge of the pool, yet once you stepped onto softer ground, you felt a pull of the leash.

“Cuatro patas (All fours).”

And you were back to walking like a dog, hanging your head in shame as you were paraded around the ranch. 

Lalo kept blabbing about whatever building you passed by, his garage, the guards’ house, the shed. You still weren’t listening. You barely even looked up. You were more intently focused on how the beads of sweat dripped off your face and onto the grass below you. And even though the sun wasn’t directly shining down on them, your cheeks had never felt hotter. This was a level of degradation that you did not expect to come with this job. What was he even getting out of this anyway? Did he like showing you off? Having you jump through hoops? Making you whore yourself out to him and debase yourself for his amusement? Was this even getting him off, or was it just for shits and giggles? And why so heavy on the dog motif? And why was there a fucking microchip in your arm?!

Your mind kept repeating one phrase, one sacred mantra that pushed the bad thoughts away and helped you keep going, one paw after another: $10,000 a week. $10,000 a week. $10,000 a week. 

As you kept internally chanting your mantra, a loud voice derailed your train of thought, and to your shock and horror, it wasn’t Lalo’s.

“¡Patrón! (Boss!)”

Your neck snapped up, shifting your gaze from the ground to the gardener, Cecilio. You hadn’t exchanged more than a wave when you met, and now here you were, being walked on all fours in front of this nice old man. You had never felt so thoroughly humiliated. All you wanted to do was dig yourself a nice little hole to die in, but that’d just make his job harder. It’d be rude of you to mess up his meticulous groundskeeping. Maybe if you asked him nicely, he’d simply bludgeon you to death with a shovel instead.

Lalo waved at him and shouted back. “¡Cecilio! ¿Qué tal? (What’s up?)” He dragged you behind him as he approached his landscaper. “Un buen día para dar una vueltecita, ¿verdad? (Nice day for a little walk, right?)” He knelt down on the grass and ruffled your hair with the same informality as petting an actual dog, one that didn’t understand the abstract concept of embarrassment. “¿Necesitas algo? (Need something?)”

Much to your surprise and relief, Cecilio didn’t seem at all fazed by the spectacle in front of him. He didn’t even acknowledge you. “Sólo tengo una preguntita. ¿Usted quería los arbustos altos como estos o más bien como los en frente? (I just have a quick question. Did you want the bushes tall like this or more like the ones out front?)” He asked, gesturing to a tall shrub that had a stepladder beside it. 

Lalo hummed and scratched behind your ears as he thought about it. “Hmm… Pienso que como ellos están ahora está bien. Déjalos altos. (Hmm… I think how they are now is fine. Leave them tall.)” 

You couldn’t understand much of the conservation; it had gone by too quickly for you to translate. What you could understand was how nice his hands felt, how they scratched every itch you didn’t even know you had. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Now knowing that Cecilio didn’t care, you were able to relax. You sighed and leaned into Lalo’s patronizing touch.

“Pero… ¿qué piensas, perrito? (But… what do you think, doggy?)” He yanked the chain leash hard to get your attention. “¡Habla! (Speak!)”

And your base instincts reacted quicker than your brain. He’d trained you well. “Woof!” you barked. Upon realizing what you just did, you blushed and pressed your face into him, attempting to hide from Cecilio.

“Oh, good boy. That’s my good boy.” He kissed your forehead before he stood up, and tugged the leash to get you on all fours again.”Come on, puppy. Let’s get you back inside.” And as he walked you toward the house, he called out behind him. “¡Bien hecho, Cecilio! ¡Sigue así! (Good job, Cecilio! Keep it up!)” 

Cecilio called back, “¡Sí, señor! ¡Gracias! (Yes, sir! Thank you!)”

Lalo took you back to the house, again letting you walk on two legs past the pool. You started to crouch down once you made it onto the grass, but he stopped you.

“Nah, that’s okay. You’re done for now.” He unclipped the leash from your collar and stuffed it back in his pocket. “How was that? You okay?”

“Yeah, uh… I’m fine.” You replied, brushing the grass off your knees and pondering what the fuck you just did. “Just, uh… Was that, like…” You didn’t even know where to begin, but your most pressing concern was the mental well-being of the innocent bystander. “That wasn’t weird for him, right?”

“What, Cecilio? Nah.” Lalo waved off your concerns. “He’s fine. Listen, everybody here just does their job and minds their own business. No one’s gonna say anything about you doing yours. And if they do, you tell me. Okay?” 

That was actually reassuring. After all, it was just a job. You were just doing what you get paid for, same as everyone else. “Okay.”

“Good!” Lalo smiled, “So, I gotta run out for a while. Gotta handle some business stuff with a few of my guys. You remember Tuco?”

Thinking back to that one time he broke a dude’s nose in the prison cafeteria for spilling a soda on him, you answered, “How could I forget?” 

“Yeah, so it’s gonna be him and his buddy Ignacio. He’s cool. I’ll have to introduce you sometime.” Lalo went to grab his going out essentials that he left on the counter: his phone, his wallet, his keys, and a 9mm handgun. “You’ll probably be asleep by the time I get back, but if you’re not, I’ll be outside on the patio. Just in case you get lonely. Oh, and feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Having everything he needed, he gave you a tight hug and a smooch goodbye on your forehead. “Be a good puppy while I’m gone, okay?”

You giggled playfully. “I will. See ya!”

…

The rest of your day was uneventful without Lalo around. You wandered around the house looking for ways to keep yourself entertained. Part of you thought about sneaking down into the alleged sex dungeon he had, but you decided against it. You didn’t want to 1.) spoil the surprise, and 2.) trip any unexpected alarms or booby traps without him to guide you through them. Instead, you went for a dip in his pool, made yourself something to eat, and took a shower before bed.

During your shower, you dragged the soap across the underside of your bruised arm, wincing when you felt the skin roll over the microchip like how a tire does to a speed bump. There was definitely something under there. There had to be. You could feel it. It was a tiny stick, about an inch long. You could even jostle it around with your fingers. No bruise or vaccination moved like that. And it all made sense, too. Why else would the doctor have to numb you? Why else would he make sure you had your eyes closed when he stuck you? “This is how we do it in Mexico.” Bullshit.

Unfortunately, Lalo did not have any medical books in his possession, nothing that would reveal his tricks. So, all you had to go on was the injection site. All you could do is poke and prod at it helplessly as you laid in his bed, wide awake.

At least the bed was comfortable.

If you had to be kept prisoner somewhere, this was definitely a step up from MDC Albuquerque.

That’s what he was doing, right? Keeping you prisoner. Why microchip you if not? You could rationalize that this was a job; you’d be free to quit any time you want. But that was wishful thinking. As if you’d ever be allowed back to civilian life knowing what you know. Putting in your 2 weeks notice would probably result in Lalo calling in the doctor to put you down. That’s what happens when dogs bite.

No. No. Stop thinking like that. Stop thinking in general. Just go to sleep! Just go to sleep. It’s not that difficult, right? You do it every night! Here, let’s count some sheep. Maybe that’ll do the trick. 

A sheep jumps over the fence. Baa! One. 

Another sheep jumps over the fence. Baa! Two. 

Another sheep jumps over the fence. There’s a microchip in your arm. 

“Goddamnit!” You grabbed one of the spare pillows by your head, screamed into it, and tossed it onto the floor. Having finished with your brief temper tantrum, you stared up at the ceiling, tense, wide-eyed, and fully cognizant. You sighed. You weren’t going to sleep anytime soon. 

Though you probably knew someone who was in the same boat. Someone who you knew would be good company. 

No. No, no, no. Do not go out to him. You cannot be dependent on him emotionally, too. Physically and financially is more than enough. You catch feelings, and that’s how Stockholm syndrome starts.

…

Then again, does anyone know when they have Stockholm syndrome? Is it like anxiety or depression, where you’re aware of your symptoms and yet they persist no matter how many times some asshole tells you to just try yoga? Or is it more like addiction, where you can rationalize anything to avoid facing the problem that you refuse to accept? 

…

Fuck it.

You tiptoed downstairs and out the back door, and sure enough, Lalo was outside on the patio, right where he said he’d be, sitting by the firepit. On the table next to him was a rolling tray, and on the tray you saw a jar, a lighter, and a hemp wrapper. Next to the rolling tray was an ashtray, a tiny golden tool that looked like a shovel for ants, and a baggie of white powder. In his hands, he was twisting a grinder. When he saw you out of the corner of his eye, he perked up. 

“Hey, puppy. What’re you doing up? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep…” You rubbed your eyes and yawned. “Can I join you?”

Lalo’s smile radiated the same warmth as the fire pit. “I’d like that. Could probably use the company.” 

You approached the chair adjacent to him, when Lalo raised his hand to stop you. 

“No, no, no.” He slapped his thigh and wiggled his eyebrows. “Right here. Best place for a lapdog, right?”

Unable to argue with that airtight logic, you sat down on his lap and settled in. Lalo hooked his arms around you, kissed your temple, and said “See? You fit right in. Good boy.”

You hummed contentedly and leaned back against his chest as he continued to grind what you hoped was weed. You glanced over at the table and asked, “You rolling a blunt?”

“Yep. You want some? It’s indica. Helps me relax.”

“Sure, thanks.” You sat in silence for a moment until he reached towards the table. He took the jar and lighter off the tray and set them aside, next to the bag of what was probably cocaine. No harm in asking, right? He must have had it out for a reason. “So, uh… is that coke?”

“Yeah. I’m not letting you have any, though, so don’t ask. Especially if you’re trying to sleep. It’s the last thing you need.” Lalo’s voice was tender, but firm. You knew better than to question him on that. It seemed like a hard rule. 

“That’s fine. Wasn’t gonna anyway.” There was a drop in the conversation, until you thought of a way to pick it back up. “So, like… do you do it often?”

Lalo unscrewed the second chamber to the grinder and dumped the weed on the rolling tray. “I guess you could say I do it more than most people, but I don’t always use it to get high. Most of the time, I just do little bumps to keep me awake.”

Granted, you didn’t have any experience with actually trying coke, but you didn’t think you could do it so casually. You’d always thought of it as an extreme thing, something you do lines upon lines of and have either the best or worst night of your life. But no, Lalo was calm and collected, as usual. You never would have guessed if it wasn’t just chilling on the table next to you. Next to that weird little shovel. “What’s that for?”

“What, the spoon? Oh, it just measures a bump for you. Here, watch.” He set the grinder down and picked up the coke and the spoon. He cracked open the baggie and dug the spoon in, retrieving a tiny little pile of coke. “See? Just a little bit.” He brought it up to his nostril and sniffed up the powder. His face crinkled up, and then he exhaled. “And that’s it!” He closed the bag and set it and the spoon aside, sniffling up the trace amounts stuck inside his nose. “That’s all you need to keep you up.”

“Interesting…” You pondered, having gained a new perspective on cocaine. Still, that couldn’t be healthy, right? Why not just, y’know, go the fuck to sleep? “Why, uh… Why do you wanna stay awake?”

“Couple of reasons.” Lalo replied, leaning over you to roll the blunt. “First, sleeping is a waste of time. I got more important things I could be doing. You’re supposed to sleep, what, like 8 hours a day? That’s one third of your life you miss out on. ‘S too much.” His calloused fingers curled the hemp wrapper around the weed so dexterously, like a true professional. You’d expect nothing less from a cartel boss. He probably had decades of practice. “I’m lucky, though. I don’t really need much sleep. I’m good with just an hour or two.”

“Mm.” You concurred in as few words as possible. None, actually. You weren’t cosigning the delusional things he said, just acknowledging that you were listening.

“Second, sleeping means you’re vulnerable. That’s something my tío taught me. People can ambush you in your sleep, and you won’t see it coming. They got a head start if you’re knocked out. That’s why you wanna be up as much as possible. Don’t let them get you.”

The most normal advice to give your nephew. You didn’t want to think about what his childhood must have been like, growing up with lessons like that. You answered with a noncommittal “Ah, gotcha.”

Lalo licked the edge of the blunt to seal it, then flicked the lighter. He singed the tip and took a big puff, blowing out a pretty decent cloud. He sighed, then said, “Your turn,” and the blunt was passed to you.

“Thanks.” You graciously accepted the blunt and took one puff, then another, and passed it back to him. Having both hands free, you scratched your neck absentmindedly, just above your collar. 

You didn’t notice what you were doing, but Lalo did. After taking his hit, he set the blunt down on the ashtray. “Let me get that for you.” Before you could ask what he was getting for you, he unhooked your collar and set it on the table. It wasn’t asphyxiating you by any means, but the fresh air on your neck was a shock to your system. You’d forgotten you were wearing it. It just felt so natural.

“Wait, but… aren’t I supposed to keep it on?”

Lalo’s voice was rich and sweet, honey sticking to the sides of your brain. “I tell you when to have it on, I can tell you when to take it off, can’t I?” One of his hands caressed your bare neck, and you whimpered at the feeling of something besides leather. “And besides… not everything has to be about work, right?”

“Right, yeah… Thanks…”

“Of course. I care about you, y’know.” He picked up the blunt and brought it to your lips. “Take another hit for me.”

You wrapped your lips around the blunt and inhaled until Lalo pulled it away. You coughed, just a tiny bit, and he was there to pat you on the back.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, puppy. You’re okay.” He cooed, gently stroking your hair. He then brought the blunt to his own lips, took a hit, and blew out the smoke. “Sooo, how was your first day? You like it here?”

The weed was starting to cloud your mind. It took you a moment to realize you were just asked a question. “Huh? Oh! Yeah! Yeah, it was…” Your mind stalled, trying to string some words together as you relaxed into his body. “Mmm, it was good…”

“Yeah?” Lalo chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that.” He reached over you to ash the blunt. “What was your favorite part?” He relit the blunt, took a quick puff, and passed the baton to you. 

You didn’t even have to think about your answer. It was instantaneous. “Blowing you in the kitchen, obviously.” You took your hit and handed it back to him. 

“Ah, yeah, I figured. I can tell you really put your heart and soul into it.” He tousled your hair for the 400th time today, and said “Such a good little slut.” He took a long drag and let the smoke drift lazily out of his mouth. “Did you like being walked?”

Looking back on it through hotboxed windows, you did enjoy the exhibition. How vulnerable and open you felt, How Lalo, no, your master Don Eduardo, clicked his tongue at you and told you to walk, and you crawled through dirt to please him. It was kinda hot in retrospect. “Yeah… Hm…” You tapped the unlit end of the blunt against your lips and thought it over, trying to do your duty as a sub and give feedback. “I think, like… I was a bit nervous at first, ‘cause I was worried about getting caught. But I mean, if Cecilio didn’t care, it’s not really a big deal, then, I guess.” You gave the blunt to your boss. 

He took a hit, and asked “Would you do it again?” 

You took your hit, “I think so.”

“Okay, good. Good to know.” Lalo put the blunt out in the tray and squeezed you tight against him. “You feel high yet? This is strong stuff, baby boy.” 

He was right. It was some strong stuff. A drug lord wouldn’t half ass his weed. None of that pussy bullshit from a medical dispensary that gives you the most limp-wristed handjob of a high so you can fall asleep without nightmares for once. This was a heavy, soul-crushing indica, the kind that has you couchlocked for hours and makes a Crunchwrap Supreme taste like the pinnacle of humanity’s achievements. Taking the time to pause between hits meant that you could actually feel yourself getting high, as if the weed was somehow catching up to you. As if for the past 5 minutes, you two had just been pumping a balloon full of helium, and now you could watch it fly away. Half the blunt was left, but your brain cells were already sizzling away one by one. His big, strong hands rubbed your shoulders, jiggling your limp body around.

And his pinky finger nudged your microchip bruise. 

You locked up. Going from warm and fuzzy to tense and cold at the drop of a hat. You had no words you could use. You were an animal, reduced to base instinct. Panic. Panic. Panic. 

Lalo could feel it. “Hey. You okay?”

Now having been asked another question, you switched from animal instinct to robot programming. What just happened? What did you feel just now? How do we approach this question? You came up with this as a plausible response: “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

Feel what? What did he feel? What was it that triggered your rigid demeanor? You stared off into the distance, dissociating into the program, and lifted your arm. “There’s a stick in my arm.”

“A stick?” 

His tone was unclockable. 

No need to panic. Just tell him what happened. “There’s a stick. In my arm. I just felt you move it.”

“What… right here?” His thumb tapped the bruise dead-on. Bullseye. 

“Yes. Right there. I can feel it moving. Push down on it.”

Lalo did as you requested, digging his thumb into your inflamed skin. He nudged it back and forth, jostling the microchip around. 

“There.” You said, no humanity or warmth to your tone. Purely indicative facts. “It’s moving.” And a simple question. “Do you feel that?”

Lalo pulled his thumb away and sighed. “Honey, I don’t feel anything moving. It just feels like a normal bruise to me.” He hugged you close and gave you a tender kiss, just above your ear. “Maybe… Maybe just give it a few days for the swelling to go down? If it’s still bothering you in a few days, we can call Dr. Cruz to look at it.” He caressed your shoulder. “You’ll be okay. I wouldn’t worry about it, baby…”

“Okay…” You sighed. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just swelling. Maybe it was just a normal tetanus shot. Maybe the stick you thought you felt was just your latent regret manifesting into somatic delusions. Maybe your body was trying to trick you. Maybe it couldn’t accept how lucky you were, and it was trying to give you a reason to doubt this whole arrangement. 

Or, maybe there really was a microchip in your arm. 

You tried not to think about it. You didn’t have to try very hard. The weed made it easy to forget.

And besides, Lalo’s touch was giving you plenty to focus on. 

“You smell so nice, puppy…” He dotted kisses along your now accessible neck. “I was hoping you’d come out here… Share this blunt with me…” He snuck his hands up your shirt and pinched your nipples. “It’s such a great body high, isn’t it?” 

“Yeahhh…” You mewed softly as he rolled the sensitive buds between his fingers.

“You want more?”

“Mhm…” 

“More what?” Another kiss was planted on your neck. “More of the blunt, or more of me?”

“...B-Both.”

“Both? Aww, haha… So needy…” Lalo slid one of his hands out of your shirt to grab the blunt and the lighter for you. When he gave them to you, he said, “My kinda man…” 

Your clumsy fingers fiddled with the lighter, taking a few tries to get a good burn going. When you had it, you inhaled it, and Lalo started sucking marks into your neck. You choked on a moan and coughed out smoke. “Ahck! *cough* *cough* Oh… oh, fuuuck…”

“You’re okay, puppy. You’re okay.” He took the blunt from you. You whined, but he shut that down quickly. “No, no. You can have it back in a second. Take your clothes off first.”

You panted and nodded, trying to translate his direction into action. “Ah… Okay… okay…” He helped you tug your shirt off over your head and toss it aside. Now, you just had your pajama shorts.

“Can you stand up?”

“I… I think so… Lemme…”

Considering that you stumbled the second your feet touched the patio tile, no you could not. Thankfully, Lalo was there to catch you.

“I gotcha, I gotcha.” He held you up by your waist and slid your shorts down to your ankles, and you stepped out of them with his guidance. “Good boy.” He kissed you again on your temple as he undid his belt. “You wanna ride me?”

And here you were again, a warm, fuzzy, happy, high, dumb little puppy. No need for thoughts. No need for words. Just instinct. Just do what you feel. And right now, you felt like that was the best fucking idea anyone had ever come up with. Your stupid little doggybrain responded with “Uh huh…”

“Good boy…” You heard the telltale sound of denim bunching up as Lalo tugged his jeans down below his cock. He quickly stroked himself up with one hand, keeping you steady with the other. “I’m gonna sit down. Then you get on my lap with your back to me, just like before, okay?”

“Okayyy…”

Lalo took his seat and spread his legs. “That’s a good doggy.”

Without looking behind you, you backed yourself up into his lap, holding your lips open to find him. Eventually, his tip poked your hole. Jackpot. And with that, you sunk down, letting him fill you to the brim. “Ohhh, oh my gahh-ah!” 

He held you in place, shushing you and talking you through it. “Shh, shh shh shh, take it. Take it. Take it.”

And you did, you took it so well. He bottomed out, and you babbled, “Mmmm, iss so deeeep…” 

“I know, right? You’re so tight, baby boy. You always are.” He grabbed the blunt, lit it, and hit it as you purred nonsensically, squeaking when his cock would throb and send a pulse through your whole body.

“Mmm… ah! Ngh…”

“Take your time, puppy. I’ll follow your lead.” He put the blunt between your fingers and kissed your hand. “You’re in control.”

What? You’re in control? Since when? Wasn’t the whole point of this arrangement that you were not in control? Oh well, you weren’t one to squander an opportunity like this. You took a puff for courage and held it between your teeth. With all the strength you could muster, you gripped the sides of the lounge chair, hoisted yourself up, and then slammed back down. You did it again, and again, establishing a rough, relentless pace. You were gonna take him for a ride.

And although you were in control this time, you were still the whiny little bitch you always were, especially when Lalo grabbed your hips and began guiding your movements. You took the blunt out of your mouth to let your moans . “Mm! Ah! Ah, gah! Oh my g-god! F-Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck me-e-e!”

Lalo growled some words of encouragement. “Goooood boy. Oh, you’re doing so good. C’mon. Just like that.”

Having a flashback to the night before, you remembered what you were supposed to call him at times like this: his title.“Ohhh, Don Eduardooo-oh!”

“No, no. Just Lalo. Just Lalo. You’re not-ngh…” He grunted. “You’re not working, baby. Just call me Lalo.”

You were grateful for that. It was certainly easier to say over and over again. It rolled off your tongue so nicely, though the rest of your words were starting to slur. “Lalo! Lalo! Lalo! Ohhh, fuuuck, La-lo… I’m… I’m’onna cuuum… I’m’onna cum, Lalooo…”

Lalo nuzzled his face into your neck, humming and kissing your bare skin as he pleased. “Mmmm, that’s okay, puppy. Go ahead. You can cum.”

Now more motivated and more riled up than you had ever been before, you frantically bounced on his cock, determined to find and feel your release.

“Yesyesyesyes, fuck! Fuck!!!”

You squirted hard enough to push him out of you, completely drenching both your laps and even seeping through the lounge chair. A noticeable puddle had formed on the tile below you, but neither of you cared. 

Well, neither of you cared about that, at least. Lalo had other concerns. “Aww, you kickin’ me out, baby?” He asked teasingly as he lined his cock up with your unacceptably empty cunt. “That’s not nice.”

You started to apologize, but the words got caught in your throat as he sunk you back down onto his shaft. “I’m s-sorry… I’m so-ohhh, fuuuu-ah, y-yesss…”

“Shh, sh, sh, don’t worry. Oh, there we go...” He grabbed your hips and stroked his cock with your person, now chasing his own climax. “You’re being so good for me, baby…”

“Mmm, thank youuu…” You whined. 

“I’m-mm, I’m getting close, baby boy. Hah… ah… You want it inside? All nice and warm for you, yeah? You want me to fill you up?”

“Y-Yeeeah, f-fucking fill me uuup… fuuuck…”

“Okay, baby. I got you. I’ll fill you up.” Digging his nails into your handlebar hips, Lalo huffed and gasped as he thrust up into you. His balls slapped against your t-dick, making you scream as his hips moved faster, rougher, meaner, until they went still. He let out a primal groan and slid his arms up to your chest, pressing your body to his as he unloaded inside, rambling some sweet nonsense in his native tongue. “Mmm, buen chico… Qué buen chico… Mi chiquito lindooo… (Mmm, good boy... What a good boy… My little boy’s so cuuute…)”

It was serene. Peaceful. The most gorgeous night one could ask for. The fire pit was crackling. The crickets were chirping. The cum inside you was warm and fulfilling. It was honestly breathtaking. Sure, some strong weed and an even stronger orgasm could make any night seem beautiful, but no matter. It was beautiful nonetheless. A perfect end to your first full day. And if every day were to end like this, you’d be more than happy to keep them coming.

You both panted heavily as you gazed up at the stars in reverie, high out of your minds. It felt like eons before one of you broke the silence, and it wasn’t you.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

[horseshoegirl]

Way Down We Go

(Bradley Bradshaw OneShot from Damn Those Dog Tags)

💛 AN: Just a little bonus chapter; you do not have to read it if you do not want to. I hope you do, though, cause I did a thing I had not planned on doing with this (Not the smut). Liz is not written in the second person, as this can be read separately from Damn Those Dog Tags.

Special thank you to @desert-fern and @startrekfangirl2233 for checking this over while I was sick!

THIS IS PURE FILTH. SO WHEN I SAY STAY OUT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, I MEAN IT!

❗18+ (Minors DNI!!), Strong language, Smut (Oral, Unprotected Sex), Original Female Character, Divorced Female Character, Mentions of Original child character, Bradley working through childhood trauma and the events of Part 13 of DTDT, mentions of name calling.

#8.7 K

📜 Rooster knows he fucked up. Badly. If it wasn't for Sadie kicking him out, the entire team standing with Jake was surely it. With nowhere else to go, Bradley finds himself knocking on the front door of the one person he knows he could confide in. Even if she tells him what he doesn't want to hear.

Sadie's teary-eyed face haunted Bradley the second he pulled out of Liz's driveway.

He couldn't escape it. No matter how much he stomped on the gas pedal or how loud he turned up the radio to blast 80s music, nothing could remove the sheer devasted look on her face as she told him to get out.

He knew he wasn't paying attention as he drove. Cars honked. Yellow stop lights went ignored. He forgot to turn his blinker on as he changed lanes or turned corners without so much as stopping.

It was a miracle no roadside police or highway patrol pulled him over. But Sadie, forgoing calling him her uncle or even by his callsign, hurt him badly. He couldn't have cared less if he obeyed the rules of the road.

It wasn't until he came to a stop sign at a four-way intersection Bradley suddenly slammed his brakes hard, the tires of his Bronco skidding to a halt. He hit his hands off the steering wheel, letting out a guttural roar of pure frustration.

Liz had lied. And the whole team had taken Hangman's side. Did they not get it? Did they not understand that Hangman would leave them out to dry the second he got what he wanted?

He had a tally. And Rooster could only remember the nights he watched every single one of the bartenders before Liz quit because Hangman broke their hearts.

It was only a matter of time before Liz was next. Before Sadie was next.

A broken heart over whatever her relationship was with him would be better than the alternative.

But he couldn't deny he was hurt. Was he angry at them? At Liz? Sadie, concussed and still sassing the hell out of him, because even a ten-year-old saw through his bullshit? Or was he angry at himself? Cause maybe deep down, Sadie doing exactly that made Bradley realize just how badly he had fucked up.

Staying at the intersection for a little while, Bradley rested his head against the top of the steering wheel, trying to control his breathing and fight the ache in his chest. Until he gathered the strength to lift his head and stare out at the roads in front of him, realizing the choice he needed to make.

He could turn back around, even if he shouldn't. He could turn left and go to Maverick. But Mav would call him out on what he said, and Bradley didn't want to relive the same look of utter disappointment that wrecked Sadie's face on Pete's.

Seeing it on one person he cared about was enough.

He could go straight and go home to be alone with his thoughts, with nothing but misery for company.

But looking right, Bradley realized he had a third option, despite only seeing her within the context of Liz and Sadie. An address stood out in the back of his mind. He had dropped Sadie off there enough times to remember the route without having to look it up, and he wasn't sure why he suddenly had the urge to seek her out now. 

Maybe he knew she would listen to him when no one else would. And right now, the last thing Bradley wanted was to be alone.

The impulse was too strong. He decided to turn right.

Bradley found himself on auto-pilot as he drove, maybe a little more numb or spaced out than the road rage he had before. It wasn't until he pulled into the driveway of the little white-panelled house did his emotions suddenly seem to quiet down.

The wind had slightly picked up, rustling the red, white, and blue flag hanging off one of the support beams on the front porch. Bradley fixed his eyes on it as he climbed out of his Bronco and up the walkway, pausing at the first step.

She had a way of making him feel welcome since the first day he came to pick Sadie up from school. She made him laugh as she called him out on his shit or teased him for flirting with the other school moms as the pair waited for Will and Sadie. 

The thought hurt, knowing Liz would probably follow through with her long-standing threat of revoking his Sadie privileges, not that she really needed to.

Sadie had made it clear enough. He was clearly unwanted. 

But New Year’s Eve stood out in Bradley’s mind, the night he found himself thinking about repeatedly. If it wasn’t the quick celebratory pluck on the lips the two of them shared, it was the time they spent together simply talking in the hours afterwards. About everything and anything, no judgment whatsoever. 

Bradley sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips again.

Properly this time.

The memory of that conversation led him to step up onto her porch and knock his knuckles against the door. But in waiting for her to open the door, he bit his bottom lip hard. What were the chances Liz had called her over the past hour, telling her everything he had done? Everything he had said? There was a good chance she wouldn’t even come to the door.

Pacing back and forth, he started questioning why he had decided to come here, wondering if he had enough time to leave without being caught. Once she found out what he said, there was no question she'd want to add her name to the growing list of people who never wanted to see him again.

But it was too late for him to turn around. Just as he went to take that first step toward the walkway, the door opened.

Alyssa, wrapped in a silky white robe, was shocked to see Bradley standing on the other side of her door. Not that she minded; she had been crushing hard on the piano-playing aviator since he started picking Sadie up from school. But outside of Sadie and Liz, Rooster didn't have very many reasons to seek her out.

The first thing she noticed about him was the pure look of devastation permanently etched across his face as he turned to face her. His eyes were rimmed red, and his hair was a mess like he had raked his fingers through the strains multiple times. Even the confidence she always found to radiate off him was absent, and she wouldn't be surprised to learn he had paced across the deck multiple times before deciding to knock.

It was that one look that told her everything she needed to know.

"What did you fuck up?"

Bradley reared back. "That obvious?"

"You show up on my doorstep close to nine at night with your tail between your legs. You wouldn't be coming to me, of all people, had you not done something to piss off your entire team. Liz included."

He looked past her and into her front hallway. "Where's Will?"

"At his father's," she said unamused, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at him pointedly.

Taking one look at her, Bradley suddenly felt small. Alyssa was Liz’s friend. She would no doubt side with her.

"I can leave," he said, his voice full of resignation. With his hands raised, he stepped backwards, proceeding down the two steps of her front porch.

Alyssa frowned. "I asked you a question, Bradley. That's not me kicking you off my front porch."

Bradley froze, his face crumbling at her words. It made Alyssa pause, wondering if she had been a little too harsh. Whatever happened, it was clear Bradley had nobody else.

He wouldn’t have come to her otherwise.

Without taking her eyes off him, she stepped backwards, leaving her front door open and walked towards her kitchen. "I've got tea on the stove," she called out, voice carrying out the front door. "Or I have something stronger if that suits you better."

Bradley hesitated, watching her retreat back inside. Something about that open door was calling to him, beckoning him to take her up on her offer. He knew he'd have to explain what happened to her, and at one point on his drive over, he knew it was possible she'd react exactly the same way Sadie did.

But instead, she was here, willing to listen.

It was enough.

Stepping back up those front two steps, Bradley found himself walking through her open door, quietly shutting it behind him. Rounding the corner of her hallway, Alyssa had her back to him, taking a bright red kettle off the stove. She reached up to a cupboard above her head, opening the door to pull out a white mug before turning around to greet him.

"Pick your poison."

He eyed her mug. "So long as it's not tea. I can't handle something that weak."

Alyssa scoffed, turning back around to pour the hot water into the mug. She was methodical as she worked, adding her tea bag and unscrewing a jar of honey, taking a spoon through the gooey liquid before adding it to her tea.

"Who said I take this weak?" she remarked, walking over and reaching for the bottle of whiskey she had tucked away in the back corner. "Clearly, you've never had a hot toddy before."

She unscrewed the cap as she walked, pouring a good amount into her drink. If Bradley showed up at her door wanting to talk, she was clearly going to need some liquid courage to help her through whatever problems he brought with him.

Alyssa poured Bradley his own glass, approaching him with her arm outstretched and placing it into his hand.

"Spill Bradshaw," She remarked, picking up her mug and cradling it in between her hands, leaning over her island next to him. "We got all night."

Bradley looked down, sloshing the liquid around in the glass before bringing it up to his lips. He tilted his head back, allowing himself to relish in the burn down the back of his throat.

He told her what happened—all of it. 

The booth on New Year's Eve. Why Hangman was at the Hard Deck on a Friday afternoon when the rest of the Squad was elsewhere. At the hospital. How he hesitated to leave Sadie's hospital room, turning back around only to see Hangman with his arms wrapped tightly around Liz in an intimate manner.  

Alyssa listened the best she could, as much as she wanted to pick up one of her cookbooks and whack him over the head at his stupidity. She, instead, stared down at her tea, biting her lip as she resisted the urge to butt in. It was clear Bradley had nobody to talk to about how he felt about all this.

He had bottled this up for far too long, and she knew if she did anything to make him stop, he'd never come to her or trust her again.

But Alyssa didn't know if it was out of pity or a reaction to his sheer idiocy when she poured him a second drink when he got to the fight—being invited to dinner. Hangman interacting with Liz. Sadie curled so tightly into his side as she slept. It didn't make sense how he suddenly fit in with the two of them. So when Sadie asked to be excused, he saw his opportunity to get the answers he so desperately wanted. He had followed her inside, wanting to find out what she knew.

Only he never made it.

Because the door to Liz's bedroom was left wide open, and the presence of a bag lying open next to the bed was enough. He had seen that bag enough times on deployments to know it was Jake's.

Bradley saw red; its presence confirmed every single lie Liz had told him, every aversion or subject change when answering his questions. She had lied to him, and he felt betrayed. Storming out of her hallway, he saw Jake talking with Nat, Liz's name on his lips. 

Nothing else mattered when he stormed down her hallway, Bradley shouting in Jake's face. Jake had pushed him back. Nat got between the two of them. Then Liz appeared, and her concern for Sadie was more important than the reason why he might be yelling. 

Bradley couldn't stop rambling, recounting each yell, each shout, that echoed in Liz’s front hallway. It was like someone turned on a tap and broke the handle, Bradley hardly stopping to breathe. The whole team had known and defended the relationship. It would have been one thing for Liz to have lied and slept with him; it was another to find Jake’s bag in her room and verbal confirmation it was more than just a tumble in the sheets.

And Liz, so furious, ripping into him. How she backed him into an imaginary corner, opened him up piece by piece, and got him on the edge of admitting his friction with Jake, with his involvement with her, was more than an extension of their professional rivalry. 

Bringing up his father. His mother. 

He couldn't even look Alyssa in the eye when he told her what he said to Liz. The gasp was enough, reminding him of the damage he wrought. And Sadie, who had been watching, who stepped out from behind Bob while clearly in pain, gripping Hangman’s leg and demanding he leave. 

Alyssa couldn't help but smile into her mug when Bradley told her Sadie had kicked him out. By the time he had finished his story, Bradley was out of breath, tipping back the rest of his whiskey in one angry gulp.

"Well, that's fucked up."

"That she choose Hangman?"

"Not her, you, you fucking idiot!" Reaching over her island, she pushed him hard on his shoulder. "Liz isn't like that!

Bradley gripped his glass precariously by the tips of his fingers, dangling it back and forth while staring into the empty glass, preparing himself for the verbal punishment he knew he deserved.

"Seriously, why the hell would you say something like that, Bradley? Heaven forbid we need to change your last name to Bradshit."

He rolled his eyes. "Nice."

"You deserve it! God, you're worse than most of the kids in Will's class!"

"His bag was right there!"

"Because fucking Tyler!" She shouted. "I didn't hear you offering to stay with them! Liz feels the safest when she's with people, you damn well know this!"

He did know it. Liz wouldn’t have survived if he and Nat had not volunteered to go with her when Ridley passed away.

Alyssa was angry at him. Rightly so, in her opinion. She couldn't even look him in the face, turning to walk away and place her mug in her kitchen sink when she spat, "I know you and Jake don't see eye to eye on things, but you're not Liz's keeper. If she wants to date him, let alone fuck him, then stay the hell out of her way."

It’s unusual for Bradley to be this silent, especially when he was the one being discussed, always willing to pitch in and be a storyteller. Or when there was a large crowd, especially at the hard deck, he’d find a way or sit at the piano, turning everyone's heads to be the centre of their attention.

Alyssa thought maybe he was contemplating the consequences of his actions when she added, “Liz might be shit at handling her emotions, but she’d never put Sadie at risk. Why the hell would you compare her to your mom?”

She knows she’s rambling. Raging even. And yet, Bradley hasn’t said a word. She sighs, knowing Bradley would continue with the silent treatment if she continued yelling at him like this.

Turning around, Bradley had his back to her, head hanging low as he leaned against the counter. Then the first jolt racked his body, and Alyssa realized he was crying. 

"Bradley..." she cooed softly. Leaving her mug on the counter, she slid her hand along the cool surface as she walked, settling herself next to Bradley by leaning upon the granite and balancing herself against her hands.

 Standing beside him, she realized just how much bigger he was than her, towering over her with broad shoulders and biceps almost the size of her head. And looking down at both of their hands, side by side, she knew without a doubt his entire hand would engulf hers. However, she's never felt small in her life standing next to a man, let alone next to a complicated one such as Bradley.

"I'm going to tell you something. Something Liz would kill me for, but you need to know."

Bradley turns his head at her voice, still keeping it low, hoping she couldn't see his tears. Alyssa sighs once before admitting, "Liz is a virgin, Bradley. She hasn't slept with anyone. And Jake knows this."

It doesn't come as a surprise to Bradley that she knew. But he still shakes his head. He really was the last to know everything.

"You knew. Like everyone else."

"I'm her friend, Bradley," she rolled her eyes. "Of course, I knew."

She saw it coming a mile away. If it wasn't the night at the Hard Deck, it was Jake picking up Sadie from school. And Sadie's attempts at matchmaking, but Bradley didn't need to know that.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" he asks, voice cumbersome.

"Because you've only seen what you've wanted to see."

“What I’m seeing now after hearing that is Liz being heartbroken when she gives him her first time and he leaves her.”

"Why are you so caught up on the idea that Jake is going to leave her?" she asks heatedly, ignoring his comment. "Don't you think he would have run for the fucking hills by this point, given everything that has happened?"

Her line of questioning was logical, and it only made it worse for Bradley. Because he couldn't come up with any response to counter her that wouldn’t sound childish. Yet, he still couldn't help but recite the words, "He's not good for them."

"And you aren't?" she scoffed. "Cause it's sure as hell not looking that way. Not if Sadie has to kick you out."

Clearly, that had been the wrong thing to say. He sniffled, biting his lip as a fresh wave of tears made their way down his face at the memory. This time, Alyssa does see his face and is suddenly filled with guilt for being so harsh.

"Bradley," she said his name softly, taking him into her arms. He folded into her, glass clinking on the countertop as he turned, letting it go to bracket his arms across her upper back and burying his head into the corner of her neck.

Alyssa slowly rubbed up and down his spine, shushing him similarly to how she'd comforted Will after a nightmare. Bradley's hot tears were trailing under the hem of her rob as he whimpered quietly, and she couldn't help but place a comforting kiss on his cheek.

He had clearly reached his breaking point.

"You can tell me what's wrong," she whispered gently into his ear. "You don't have to go through whatever this is alone, Roo."

His grip on her lessened, but he didn't let her go. Lifting his head, he shuttered out a breath, hand sliding down her back until it rested against her hip. She felt the warm air caressing her face, finding herself tilting her head just a little, her nose rubbing alongside his.

His moustache tickled her upper lip as Bradley opened his mouth slightly as she slid her hand across his side and up to his chest, flat against his pec. The air was thick and hot, and she wasn't sure whether it was tension or anticipation flooding her stomach.

But then Bradley pressed his lips to hers ever so delicately, a light graze of skin upon skin, and Alyssa froze. Her brain was still trying to register the touch of his lips upon hers when he started to deepen the kiss, moving his mouth more firmly against hers. Then it became a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue, Bradley gripping her tighter as if she'd float away. 

But as soon as she whimpered in the kiss, he pulled back with a harsh pant, shocked at his actions. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low and hoarse, letting her go. "I shouldn't have."

His back hits the edge of the island as he steps away from her, forcing himself to grip the edge so he doesn’t reach out and touch her. It's not enough distance for Alyssa to lose her grip on his shirt, holding it tight to balance herself.

Yes, maybe he shouldn't have kissed her while he was so strung up on his emotions. But she also knew if Bradley didn't admit to himself what was really bothering him soon, it might be too late the next time something happened like this.

Because if there was one thing she absolutely knew about Bradley, it was that he never understood the weight of his actions, nor did he acknowledge the consequences until it was too late, blinded by the anger and the hurt of his own feelings.

He needed to calm down, and he needed to now. And if that kiss was any indication, she knew just how to do it.

Alyssa slowly let her hand fall from Bradley's chest as she sauntered away, walking toward her bedroom. She had left the door open, intending to return with her cup of tea after her shower and a good book before he had shown up. Bradley's eyes followed her curiously but with worry, thinking she was horrified at his actions.

But she stopped halfway inside her room.

And let her robe drop to the floor.

His breath hitched. She had been wearing absolutely nothing underneath, and Bradley's knuckles whitened on the counter as he took in the curve of her naked back.

Alyssa slyly looked over her shoulder, eyes inciting him to join her. Bradley's never left her as he pushed himself away from the island, each step slow and steady. She watched him stalk forward out of the corner of her eye, anticipation and pure want starting to build in the pit of her stomach.

Calloused hands lightly grabbed her hips, fingers sliding across her stomach. Alyssa hummed as Bradley's breath warmed her neck, smelling the remnants of his whisky as her hand gently held his wrist.

He breathed against the shell of her ear hotly. "Can I fuck you?"

She leaned back against him, head turning to rasp against his mouth, "Why the hell did I drop my robe for you?"

Bradley is on her instantly, desperately moulding his lips to hers, moaning against her mouth. His hand tightened across her stomach as Alyssa reached behind his head, carting her fingers through his hair. She's still gripping his wrist, nails biting into his skin as he starts sliding his hand downwards, cupping her core.

He tastes whiskey and honey on his tongue, tracing it along the inside of her mouth. Alyssa moans against his lips when Bradley’s fingers slide down and spread her open, clit burning with the exposure to the cool air. She pulls away but hover’s her mouth over his, harsh pants echoing in the space between them. 

There’s some quick retort forming in her mind, ready to egg him on into following through. But it dies before she even manages to voice it.

His pointer finger is rubbing tight, firm circles against her clit, and she gasps, mouth falling away from Bradley’s as she wobbles, legs on the verge of giving out. He doesn’t stop, encouraged by her reaction to keep going, even sliding down to gather some of her wetness on the pad of his finger before returning to his previous task. 

Suddenly, his other hand slides up from her hip and across her torso to grip one of her breasts. His hold is tight, almost rough, as he pulls her against his front.

She feels like she is on display this way, Bradley caressing and groping her body as if she was being made into one of those marble Greek statues featured at a museum. An artist watching how each flick of his hand and accompanying pant twisted her body, or how a particular twist of his hand caused her hips to clash backwards into his.

It was too much. In a second, Alyssa turned in Bradley's tight hold, reaching up to hold either side of his neck to press a desperate kiss to his lips. Bradley matches her with the same intensity, working his tongue into her mouth as he takes hold of the skin at her hip.

His chest is being racked with harsh pants as he walks her backwards, a single hand on her neck. Her knees hit the edge of her bed, and she falters. Bradley tilts them both forward, making them fall into the bed. Alyssa lands with a single bounce, Bradley slotting his thigh between her legs with the movement and catching himself above her with each hand on either side of her head.

Staring up at him, she can see the pure want in his eyes. The desperation as he takes her in lying underneath him. Slowly, he lowers himself down, grinding his denim-covered thigh purposely into her bare cunt. Panting at the feeling, she slid her hands across his abs under his shirt, feeling the sculpted muscles ripple under her touch before she felt him press his forehead to hers, hot breath filling the space between their mouths.

He doesn't kiss her. Bradley purposely avoids her lips, his hot breath warming her skin as he makes his way down her body, deliberately pausing whenever he exhales. Each is long, heavy, and lewd - at the curve of her neck, above her breast, around her nipple. The further down he went, the greater Alyssa tugged at her comforter, both hands gripping the fabric as if she'd float away.

And then he pauses when he reaches her cunt, grasping the bend of her knees and pushing them open. She parts her legs willingly, slightly unsure of his intentions but hoping to god it involved an orgasm or two.

When his fingers move to part her folds, Alyssa's eyes widen. Holding her open, Bradley dove in, licking firm strips up her folds before his mouth enclosed her clit, hands holding her hips still and keeping her against his mouth as he sucked.

He's relentless, moaning into her with deep rumbles that vibrate against her clit, a wanton cry of his name crawling deep from within her chest at the sensations it caused. Bradley lets her go with a wet sound, only to hook two fingers and ease them into her, his tongue following in kind.

Alyssa tightens around his fingers and whimpers at the roughness of his tongue and how he's frantically lapping at her. Like he was in a desert, and she was the only source of water.

She can’t help but slide her hand into his hair, gripping the short strands in a vice grip to tug him closer. But instead, he manages to pull back a few inches only to breathe out, “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Her body jolts at the praise, Bradley back to licking at her with long broad strokes, tongue darting up every so often to nudge at her clit. His fingers press hard against her g-spot while the other brackets across her stomach, holding her hips down as she buckles them into his mouth. Till she feels the tightening in her stomach, and she knows she’s close.

“Fuck Bradley, I’m so close,’ she sobs.

“Cum for me,” he snarls in one breath. “Prove how much you want me.”

Alyssa never knew she needed to know the answer to the question of whether or not someone could orgasm from hearing someone’s voice. If it hadn’t been for how he was working her, she was damn sure he would have confirmed it by saying those words to her alone. 

Because she was shaking, sparks flying across her body and her legs clamping down around Bradley’s head as she reached her peak. His fingers eased in their rhythm, working her through the aftermath as he took her in. 

Back arched. Head gasping into her pillow and her hands gripping the sheets. Chest heaving. All because of him. And it caused desperation to grow within his chest as he sat back, placing his hand on her thigh in silent comfort. 

When her pleasure finally levelled out, Alyssa looked down at Bradley between her thighs, his eyes blown wide and desperate, staring up at her.

It’s the tiniest of nods from Alyssa that makes him move. He stands, the sound of a zipper and a buckle being undone, of heavy fabric hitting the floor, and a rhythmic clink of his dog tags as he removes his shirt. Then he's crawling on the bed over her, pressing kisses up her stomach, sucking her breast into his mouth and licking a path up from the centre of her chest to her collarbone.

There’s a quick brush of his hand against the inside of her thigh before he’s reaching for his cock, rubbing the tip against her entrance. She tilts her head back into her pillow, moaning at the feeling. Bradley follows her, panting as he seeks out her mouth.

"Do you want this?" he gasps around her lips. "Do you want me?"

She smiles. "Me letting you eat me out wasn't enough consent for you?"

Bradley doesn't laugh at her quip. Instead, he presses forward just a bit, the head of his cock just barely slipping inside. She whimpers, fingernails digging into his back.

"I said," he grunts out a little more firmly. "Do you want me?"

She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her give in. Turning her head, she gasps into his mouth, "Just shut up and fuck me, Brad-shit."

In two seconds, Bradley growls, pushing his cock the rest of the way in, making Alyssa mewl.

He's big. Bigger than anything she's ever had before, and it takes her a moment to adjust. She's grateful Bradley is giving her that chance. He looks unhinged, holding himself above her, his face red, an angry vein protruding from his forehead.

Yet, despite the wrecked look on his face, he starts thrusting slowly when she grips his shoulder, small shifts of his hips that have her whimpering at the feel of his cock sliding in and out of her.

She cannot help but think he is going too slow.

“More,” she whines, wriggling underneath him.  

“More?” he asked through a rough gasp. “More of what?”

Bowing his head, Bradley kisses a path down between her breasts, hand bunching one in his grasp before taking the nipple into his mouth. He sucks, tongue darting around the peak before letting it go with a loud pop.

“More of this?” he accentuates with a hard thrust that has her gasping into his mouth, and he cannot help but kiss her once. Twice.

"More of my lips on yours?" he uttered throatily, trailing his lips down the outline of her jaw to the soft skin behind her ear. "More of my teeth marking you up?"

All of that, she thinks to herself as the fire builds in her stomach and the sounds of wet slaps fill the room.

"No," he grunts thickly. "It's not any of those things. It's me, isn't it?"

Bradley doesn't give her the option of replying, suddenly sitting back on his haunches and seizing her hips. She fell further down the bed as he tugged, arms dropping beside her head as he started to pick up the pace.

"It's me you want," he growls. "Me thrusting into you. Me making you feel this way. Me making you feel wanted. Me fucking you. Isn't it?"

She doesn't answer him, too enthralled by the feeling of him to manage to voice a single word. So he stops, letting go of one hip to lean forward on the bed and roar, "Isn't it!?"

“Yes, you,” she whimpers, finally allowing herself to give in to him. “All of you. I want all of you, Bradley.”

A growl escapes Bradley’s body, his eyes turning feral. His thrusts lose any semblance of rhythm as he begins to rock into her with wild abandon.

There is nothing slow or gentle to Bradley's movements, dragging out each reaction he could from her. He's gripping her tightly as he sets his pace with harsh, fast strokes, her breath catching in her throat. She's sure she is going on a hunt for several interestingly shaped bruises across her body in the morning. But she didn't care.

Not when Bradley was pounding into her like it was his last night alive.

Not when he was holding her wrists down on to the bed.

Not when he was suddenly over her, biting up her neck, only to take her ear lobe into his mouth and suck, when his hands were grabbing at her skin, and his cock was hitting all the right places.

Where?" he grunts, the sound vibrating in her ear. It's then she realizes the two of them were so caught up in the pleasure that neither one of them stopped to consider protection. It doesn't change her answer, though.

"Inside," she turns to gasp into his mouth. "Safe."

Her words trigger something in Bradley's mind. His pace increases in a desperate need to finish. His hand lets go of her wrist in favour of sliding down between their bodies, going straight for her clit and drawing figure eights as he thrusts, and Alssya digs her nails into his back at the added pleasure. 

Bradley collapses, shuttering out a chat of fucks and digging his head into her collarbone as he drops his entire weight onto her. Alyssa curled her legs up, locking them around his waist, hands digging into his shoulder blades as she wailed at the intensity.

Then, he's cumming, hands gripping the underside of her shoulders, pulling her even further onto his length as he fills her with a groan, mouth hanging open by the side of her neck. Alyssa squeals, the sound muffled by her teeth biting down on his shoulder, legs tightening around his waist as she follows him over the edge, clamping down on him hard and milking him for all he's worth.

It's quiet in her bedroom, save for their shared gasps of breath and her wall clock ticking away the seconds. There’s a haze filling the room, making everything and anything impossible. Bradley hasn't let her go, sagging his weight down into her, keeping her pinned to the bed.

She should feel suffocated. Maybe even a little gross. The both of them are covered in slick, and sweat, and she’s sure both of their releases are smearing the insides of her thighs, leaking onto her sheets as she uncurls them from around his waist.

But it's in the haze she finally sees her chance. Bradley’s mind would be calm enough now, maybe less resistant to finally admitting the reason he was so upset. Because while Jake, Liz and Sadie were at the root of the issue, they were only the scapegoat for something much deeper.

"She had every right to kick you out, Bradley," she panted, stroking the back of his head. "Sadie was right. You were being a bully."

Bradley rolls off of her as soon as she finishes her sentence, Alyssa hissing as he pulls out. She’s sore, her core aching at the absence of his cock, but it doesn’t stop her from following him, laying a hand on his chest as he rests on his back.

She was done with the harsh remarks over glasses of whiskey. Bradley needed nothing but the truth.

"I know Liz hurt your feelings, Bradley, but there's more to this than not liking the fact Liz is dating Hangman."

He went to get out of bed, but Alyssa managed to swing her leg over, trapping him under. Groaning with the ache in her cunt, she placed her hands firmly on his chest. "Nope. You're not running from this."

"Lyssa..." he protests, halting at her weight, hands gripping the sheets on either side of her bare legs. A part of him realizes she did this on purpose, making him fall into bed with her so he'd be more compliant, more vulnerable. But another part wants to give in to her, a smaller part desperately crying out to be heard.

It's why he stops, his back collapsing into her headboard as she settles herself on top of him. Because right now, he's at the center of her attention, and she's fighting for him to stay.

“Hush,” she chimes back.

"Hangman is not a good guy. He's arrogant, selfish, and reckless... He's.."

"None of those things to Liz and Sadie," she interrupted him. "Would you call what he did for Sadie leaving her out to dry? How he listened to Liz, handcuffed to the floor, telling him to leave her?" 

Bradley knows she's right. But it doesn't stop him from biting his lip and avoiding her eyes. It makes Alyssa grab the side of his face, pulling his head up. Bradley lets her but closes his eyes, not ready for the words he knows she's about to say. 

"Look at me, Bradley." 

He makes a noise of protest, his face scrunching up in a last-ditch attempt at refusal. But Alyssa's grip on his face remains firm, gentle and absolute. 

"Roo, look at me," she tries again, this time softer.  “What is the real reason you are upset?”

He opens his eyes, confusion written across his face. "I told you."

She shook her head. "You told me the what and the how. You didn't tell me the why."

Bradley didn't say anything, choosing to stare at the clock behind her head. It encouraged her to continue with her point. "Jake hangs people out to dry. Liz is too good-hearted. Sadie and her will be hurt. We know all this. But it's more than that with you, Roo."

She knows Bradley has given up on escaping when he lets her gently stroke her fingers across his brow in a comforting manner. “I think this has less to do with Liz dating or sleeping with Jake and more about Sadie. But not in the way you've been making us believe.”

As her fingers slid down the side of his face, she pressed on. "I also think Liz was right when she said this has to do with your mom."

Her acknowledgement of his mom is softer than Liz's outburst. And unlike that time, it doesn't hurt as much when she brings it up. But it doesn't stop him from flexing his grip on her bare legs, subconsciously knowing she's getting closer and closer to uncovering the truth.

"Because if it were any other person who Liz decided to date, you wouldn't be reacting as hard as you are right now. Because with every reason you've given me for being upset, they all have one thing in common, "She pauses, a pensive look on her face, before she asks," What is it about the Navy that's making you act this way?"

Bradley knows he's finally been caught.

Whether he wanted to or not, Alyssa wasn’t going to let this go. He could easily get up, push her off, and walk out the door. Continue to bury the weight of the fear that's haunted him all of his life.

But he doesn't want to.

Alyssa looks at him in a way that tells him nothing he would say would change her opinion of him. That, for every fault and bad decision he's ever made, his fear wouldn't make her run away. And unlike the Daggers, who stood with Hangman in the aftermath of his outburst, he gets the feeling Alyssa would be the one to stand with him, even if she disagreed with his actions.

So for the first time since Jake was invited to that first Saturday Night, Bradley decides to be honest.

Maybe even to himself.

Sighing once, Bradley reaches for the Dog Tags lying in the middle of his chest. Hooking his thumb around the balled chain, he slid it down till the three thin pieces of metal sat in the palm of his hand. He’s staring down at them, and Alyssa follows his gaze. 

It takes her a second, but she realizes he added the third tag. She’s seen enough of the military men gracing the beach, let alone divorcing one, to know there were only supposed to be two. 

“Do you know why they give us dog tags?” he asks her without looking up. Alyssa nods with a sallow, cupping the underside of Bradley’s hand holding the precious metal. “If something happens, they can identify you.”

“Do you know why they give us two?” 

She does—two dog tags, one to take and one to leave. 

And suddenly, everything about Bradley’s reaction to his fight with Liz makes sense. Bradley was protecting Sadie from the circumstances of Jake's very possible someday. Protecting Liz from suffering through the grief of losing another person she loved dearly.

Because there’s no question whose name graced that third tag hanging around Bradley’s neck. 

She reaches with her free hand, picking up the tag not connected to the others. The metal is old, withered and roughed up. But she can still make out the name imprinted on one side as she flips it over.  

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw. 

Bradley’s father.  

“Mav was flying when my dad hit the canopy of their plane. They didn’t need to identify him but took the tag anyway,” he sniffed, tears making their way down his face. “Mav didn’t give two shits about rules back then when he swiped it. Still doesn’t.” 

Unhooking his thumb from the chain, Bradley twisted his hand, gently taking hold of Alyssa’s wrist as she held his father’s tag. “It’s all we have left when we burn in. All that remains.”

He lets her wrist go in favour of grasping the tag, Alyssa delicately letting it go when she realizes he wants to hold it. Holding the tag between his two fingers, he held it up in front of his face.

"I grew up watching my mom cry over this dog tag, whether it was around her neck or hanging on the mirror of her vanity. And I tried to help her. But her grief was just too much."

He lets the tag fall back to his chest, watching it go, keeping his gaze downward.

"When Liz's sister passed away, she shut down. Sadie knew it too," his eyes glaze over as he remembers finding Sadie pulling at strains of grass. "I found her in Liz's backyard a few weeks after we brought her home. She was trying to hide away because she didn't want Liz to know she was struggling to accept her mom was gone - because Liz had been trying her damn hardest not to cave, and Sadie knew, so she felt she had to do the same."

He shakes his head, trying to remove the memory from his head. Alyssa reached up to stroke along his shoulder and up and down his arm, hoping he would find the strength to continue.

"Jake flies like he has nothing to lose," he states through a harsh pant. "He's reckless and doesn't think about anyone else but himself. And in our line of work?" he scoffs. "He doesn't realize he has everything to lose now. At first, it was about trying to protect Liz and Sadie from him. From his reputation and cause, well, he's an asshole."

Bradley chuckles to himself softly, thinking back to the day on the soccer field. "Liz had no idea what was coming for her when Hangman returned from Texas. He went through every single female bartender Penny hired, and within a week, they were gone. I wasn't going to see Liz fall to the same fate. Even though she said she could handle it, I needed to be there for her."

Alyssa sees her chance to speak amongst his reminiscing, stating something she desperately knows to be true. "Because she cares. More than any average person."

Bradley closes his eyes and smiles softly, nodding once.

And Sadie?" he laughed. "I wasn't expecting her to invite him to own of our Saturday nights, to her hike, which none of unless had the privilege of. And it dawned on me it wasn't just Liz who needed I needed to protect."

His tears are back, tracking down the outside of his face, and Alssya doesn't resist the urge to wipe them away, cradling his cheek.

"I see so much of myself in her, Lyssa," he whimpers. "She has the whole world on her shoulders." He still has his eyes closed, tilting his head back to her ceiling, knocking his head against the headboard.

"But being in the Navy? It's a fucking death sentence. A promise." Bradley opens his eyes but doesn't look at her face, fixating on the tattoo on her collarbone, the small cursive font spelling out her Son's name. "When I say I'm mad at Liz, Mad at the fact they are together, I'm scared for the future Sade will have to bare. Because one day, it will be Sadie trying to pick Liz up from the bathroom floor, dealing with her own grief, wondering if she is enough."

Alyssa cannot help her silent tears hearing Bradley's story. She cannot imagine the weight he had to carry growing up or how fast he had to grow up. She's not surprised he would be drawing comparisons between himself and Sadie, both of them being dealt almost the same shitty hand in life.

She often thought about Will and what he might go through should Bradley's description of a possible someday happen to her ex-husband.

But in projecting his own emotional trauma, Bradley is missing something. He usually always does, too caught up in his initial hurt to see the bigger picture. Because never once in his explanation did he mention where he fits into all this.

She has a good idea why.

There are no scathing remarks, unkind words or judgments when Bradley finally decides to look at her. Instead, Alyssa looks sad, biting her lip as she gently reaches out to stroke his brow.

"Whose to say Sadie won't mourn you too?"

Her question guts him. So much so that Bradley breaks, his chin dropping to his chest as the first sob worked its way up his throat. Because the image is being painted so vividly in his mind.

It's not Ridley Sadie's crying over in that backyard, and it's not his hand she's holding while standing over her mother's grave. He can see her looking down at him, trembling lip as she grips Liz's hand.

It's not Ridley's death she's grieving. Or even Hangman's.

It's his.

"It's too late for that now," he manages to say through tears. "What I said, what I implied..."

Alssya smiles sadly, brushing away some of his tears, knowing Bradley would still harbour feelings of hatred towards Jake. "The both of them are going to forgive you. They just need time."

"Who is to say they won't?"

He says it so dejectedly that Alyssa feels she can't do anything else but take his face between her hands and place her forehead to his.

"Sadie doesn't pick favourites. She loves everyone equally," she explained, and Bradley knew she meant he was never a risk of losing Sadie's love. "And Liz... Well, you're family, Bradley. They are always going to need you."

Bradley shook his head, urging Alyssa to say something that cracked and glued his heart back together within the same sentence.

"You're never going to be unwanted, Bradley Bradshaw."

A weight, buried so deep, lifted from Bradley's chest. A burden he knew he'd been carrying since childhood but hadn't acknowledged until the aftermath of Mav pulling his papers. Because Maverick was one of the very few people Bradley had in his life supporting him when his mother passed away. And in one second, his support system was gone.

Once Bradley did get into the Navy, he spent the better half of his Naval career burying his feelings under the hatred he felt for Pete. He avoided every instance or mention of the man if he could help it. Then he was called back to Top Gun. Forced to confront every single thing he had spent years ignoring.

The aftermath of the Urainium mission brought back his support system. It brought him Liz, who showed up at the bar one day with a friendly smile and an interest in hearing everyone's stories as she poured them a drink from behind Penny's bar, never once treating them any differently because they were in the Navy, flirting with death each time they went up in the air.

Bradley couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him like that. He was worth her time; he was worth being her friend.

It also brought him Sadie, who took one look within seconds of meeting him and decided he was someone she wanted in her life. Her struggle with grief led him to believe that maybe everything he went through could be used to help this ten-year-old girl and her aunt get through it. It gave him purpose.

And his burden lessened.

Then Hangman returned from Texas, waltzing in months after Liz's sister passed away and Sadie had firmly cemented herself into all their lives. Suddenly, the progress he had made meant nothing.

Because Sadie inviting Hangman to that Saturday night triggered Bradley in ways he didn't know he could be, bringing him back to the days and nights, he'd sit with his mom as she tried to process her grief, wondering if he could help her. If he was doing enough or if his presence only reminded her of his father.

But Bradley cannot deny the truth behind Alyssa's words. He was so caught up in worrying, projecting his fears onto Liz and Sadie, he had failed to recognize it for what it was.

When the day came that Hangman did leave them out to dry or his someday came where he burned in, Bradley swore he would try to be there for them. In the way he was there when Liz's Sister passed away. 

Because Bradley was no longer haunted by the ghosts of his past, wondering if he had done enough. If he tried hard enough.

Alyssa reminded him that he was wanted.

Worth it.

And in some ways, even loved.

Reaching up, he grasped one of her wrists gently, turning his head to place a soft kiss on her skin. "I should have come to you sooner, Lyssa."

"Yeah, well, when you have to compete against Urusula on the blacktop for your attention," she shrugged, playing off the hidden meaning behind her words. But Bradley caught on, smirking as he rolled them over, trapping Alyssa underneath him and going straight for her neck.

"She's got nothing on you," he murmured, kissing the soft spot below her ear. Alyssa smiled coyly, stroking her free hand up the bare skin of his arm. "Oh really? Your tendency to gravitate towards her whenever you pick Sadie up says otherwise, full of Brad-shit."

"Have you seen those nails?" he remarked, grazing his moschate up the side of her neck. Alyssa threw her head back, nails scratching down his back. 

"A fighter pilot, risking his life and daring greatly in the face of danger, brought to his knees by the head of the P.T.A. and her manicured nails," she laughed, feeling the bristles tickle her skin. "How terrifying."

"Terrified," he remarked, pressing kiss after kiss down her neck. "Utterly terrifying."

Trailing down to her chest, Bradley took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard and letting it go with a pop before whispering huskily, "But you? I think I'll take my chances."

Wrapping her legs around Bradley's waist, Alyssa pressed herself up against his hardening length, lifting her mouth to his ear to remark teasingly, "Why don't you prove it, Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

He did.

Many times over that night.

Are you all going to be mad at me because Rooster got some after what he did? 😬👀 It's not all sunshine and rainbows about his opinion regarding Jake, though.

Part 14 of DTDT might be a little bit longer. I've been battling a really bad stomach bug, and the weather where I live has been great for producing migraines. So that's the reason for the delay.

Hopefully, soon!

Wickett ;)

Tag List for DTDT:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @seitmai

For those who found this and are interested in checking out the story this one shot is based on, check out the below:

Masterlist For Damn Those Dog Tags

[cherrygukki]

the waves | birthday special (m)

➸ pairing: surfing instructor!jungkook x f. reader ➸ word count: 7.2k (oops) ➸ genres: s2fwb-ish au, pwp, smut, a bit of humor at the start, fluff at the end if you squint hard enough ➸ rating: M — Minors do not interact! ➸ summary: After your best friend forcefully dragged you to take surfing lessons during your vacation, things suddenly took the wrong turn when a thick cloud of sexual tension spurs you and your surfing instructor. Or was it really a wrong turn? ➸ warnings: it goes from 0 to 100 FAST, jimin makes a quick appearance in the beginning, reader almost drowns, dom kook, big dick kook, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), public sex (they literally did it at the beach lmao), exhibitionism, cowgirl and reverse cowgirl, dry humping, multiple orgasms, slight overstim., sir kink, praise kink, humiliation, dumbification, dirty talk, degradation kink, name calling (uses of slut, whore, bitch, etc.), water sports squirting, fingering, oral (m. receiving), slight boob play, brief mention of anal, kissing, rough sex, IT'S JUST BASICALLY AN INTENSE ROUND OF FUCKING GOODBYE ➸ author's note: hello! new account here and this is the first fic i've ever posted in celebration for koo's birthday :)) got this idea from a real-life experience a few months ago. apologies in advance for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes i didn't notice (lmk if i missed any warnings/tags too!) feedback/comments will be highly appreciated! happy reading <33

"I don't even know how to fucking swim!"

Like a toddler, you loudly wailed in protest at the man in front of you. He merely chuckled at your futile complaint before giving three reassuring pats on your shoulder.

"Who said you're going to swim? All you do is basically stand up on a board and ride the waves!" To his disappointment, his light-hearted consolation was brushed off as you heaved out a scoff stuffed with irony.

"Yeah, right. You talk as if I won't fuck shit up."

"Because you won't! You slay in everything. You know that."

"For fuck's sake, Jimin, you don't even know what surfing is like yourself!"

"Hey, you're gonna thank me if you suddenly become the real-life Merliah from Barbie In A Mermaid Tale once you become an expert at this!"

"You're already dead meat to me before that bullshit even happe—"

"Ms. Y/N?"

Both you and your best friend froze the moment you heard the strange, yet quite charming voice of a man. The both of you simultaneously turned around only to be greeted by... a Greek God?

You squinted your eyes. Once — no twice, maybe thrice? You didn't know. The only fact you were aware of at that moment was that he appeared too heavenly to be an underpaid surfing instructor by the lazy beach side.

Jimin nudged you by the shoulder a bit too eagerly. You knew that signal, and from there on, he gave you that look.

The look that you'd found treasure buried underneath the sand.

Your mouth went dry, your throat suddenly growing tight, and your voice disappearing like faint dust. You were in denial at that moment. His looks were enough to make him a qualified model for Vogue! There's no way you deserve to be instructed by someone as hot as hi—

"You're Y/N, aren't you? I'll be your surfing instructor for today." Maybe the staring erupted some awkward tension between the two of you. Shit, did he notice the way your eyes shamelessly ogled his figure? Or the way your throat visibly formed large lumps? You desperately hoped not. You gave a quick glance to your best friend before busting out a grin and laughing nervously to fill in the quiet space between the two of you.

You squeaked in utter embarrassment, "Yes."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Jungkook, by the way." He smiled gently before lending out his hand for a brief handshake. The gesture itself was already enough to have your insides melting for him. He's already too perfect.

You abruptly felt Jimin leaning in to whisper quietly in your ear. "The room is all yours later. Just call me when you're done with him."

Before you could fully react to his statement, he was already walking backwards while waving at you with the shittiest smile plastered on that cunning face of his.

"Have fun!" He yelled, radiating his support despite being a far distance away from you.

"...Lastly, this little guy underneath the board is the fin. Some boards have three fins on them, but since you're only a beginner, you're going to be good enough with one," Jungkook explained the last part featured on the large surfboard standing in front of you as if he was explaining human anatomy. Nodding quietly, you nibbled with the lower part of your lip as you acknowledged his words, focusing on your primary task at hand that was to not get distracted with the instructor's muscles bulging through the sleeves of his dark swimsuit.

God, if you were already getting a visual preview of the divine sculpture hidden beneath the layers of spandex, you wonder whether there was more to the eye than the almost inappropriate thoughts circling around the beauty in front of you.

Oh — and would you look at that! You caught a glimpse of the intricate designs of ink delicately wrapped around his calloused fingers, and a brief portion of the full sleeve tattoo that you presumed he had. It all made your mind daze itself in a messy whirlpool, head clouded within a frenzy of thoughts as you zoned out for a moment. You had to breathe, and this man standing still within your vicinity was only making things worse.

"Ms. Y/N?" You heard your instructor call you. Your heart fluttered, but you were determined to ignore the feelings of admiration you had for this man if you wanted to let this lesson go smoothly. "You were staring blankly ahead for a few seconds," Jungkook chuckled at your zoned out expression before motioning you towards the surfboard that was now laid out against the sand. "I need to know which side you're used to facing when you start surfing later," he stated.

With that, you stepped on the board as your instincts guide you to face at your right side. It was settled, then. Jungkook was fast in getting back to demonstration as he taught you how your position ought to be by the time you're within the waters for real.

"Now, try getting up," Jungkook instructed.

Hence, you did exactly what you have learned from the past five minutes. You're laying on your chest with the starting position Jungkook had taught you, now steadily pushing your upper body away from the board as you bring your left foot upfront, finally getting into the final position before you hear Jungkook clapping from behind.

He marveled, "That's great! You're definitely ready to be out there." You couldn't help but smile at his praise, feeling validated that you weren't looking like an incompetent fool in front of him. He suddenly squatted down by your right foot, taking the leash that was attached to the board and tied it right above your ankle. The foreign sensation of his touch just barely grazing over your skin was enough to have you flinching. It was warm, subtle, yet you could still feel the rough patches on his fingers. Shivers were running down your spine with goosebumps prickling on the surface — God, you were extremely sensitive or him.

It merely took seconds for Jungkook to secure the strap on you, heaving a sigh before getting back on his feet. "It's not too tight, is it?" He asked. "We don't want the board drifting away from you." You shook your head, unbothered with being attached to a heavy weighing board at the moment. Soon enough, Jungkook was already carrying the long board with one grip as the both of you began dragging yourselves to the depths of the sea. It was difficult to control your movements, for the waves were being rebellious against your motions — not to mention the salty seawater splashing on your face the deeper you and Jungkook went.

He finally came to a halt, making sure the water was still shallow for your height as he was fully aware that beginners like you will take time adjusting to an intense sport like this. He patted the board, signalling you to get on before any waves approach you.

"Move backwards," he instructed, and you obeyed, scooting closer to the tail of the board. However, your feet were still far from the end of the board, so Jungkook ultimately had no choice but to firmly grab your legs and drag you further towards the edge. You yelped in surprise, which was thankfully left unnoticed by Jungkook who was now pushing the board deeper. It didn't take long for him to find the perfect spot for you, finally turning the board around so you can face the shore ahead of you. You gulped, abruptly feeling the surge of anxiety pumping through your veins, wondering whether you'd even be able to stand up on the board for more than three seconds or not, especially with the notable amount of people with you, it was harder to get your mind out of the gutter.

It wasn't until Jungkook had interrupted your thoughts, that it made you forget how to breathe for a nanosecond. "Do you remember what I taught you?" You nodded hastily. "Yeah."

"When I say ready, get in your ready position, and once you hear me say go, stand up as fast as you can. Get it?" Jungkook reminded, and all you could do was gesture a nod once again. After all, there was a large lump clogging your throat, and you didn't really have the enthusiasm in you to reply to him.

A few seconds had passed, and Jungkook saw your first wave coming. "Ready," he remarked. You recall what he demonstrated to you, imitating the vivid image playing in your head while you held your breath.

He was already pushing the board away along with the wave's force. "Go!" He yelled, and there you were clumsily pushing yourself up. You managed to stand up on the board, about to smile to yourself for your memorable success until it didn't take another second for you to gain impact with the salty water.

You were grateful you were prepared for the fall, at least, but it didn't stop the embarrassment from rushing to your face. Jungkook swam to where you were, checking whether you had possibly inhaled any of the water. To his relief, though, you were fine.

"You okay?" He couldn't help but ask, and you gave him a firm nod, lending the board to him so he can push it back to your initial position.

Patting the board, he instructed once again, "Get on." You did as he told you, making your body parallel with the surface as you made yourself comfortable. "Move backwards." That familiar command finds its way to your ears once again, and this time, you scoot yourself over the right place this time, earning an unexpected praise from your instructor.

"Good girl."

You could've sworn to the heavens above you that you almost let out a choked cough if it hadn't been for the way you immediately swallowed upon hearing his words. Choosing to ignore it, you simply laid the side of your head against the board instead as Jungkook quietly pushed you to deeper lengths, noticing the wave that's merely beginning to form beyond the distance.

"Are you ready for another round?"

"Yeah."

"You're impressive," he stated, "Not everyone gets it on their second try, you know?"

"Was that why so many people were cheering earlier?" You couldn't help but chuckle, your pride overflowing with joy when you finally cracked a toothy grin towards Jungkook. "I guess you could say so," he replied.

At first glance, Jungkook knew you were merely another one of the women he's taught before just with the way your eyes have turned smitten the moment they landed on him. It was a reaction he became all too familiar with. He couldn't help it — even Jungkook himself knew how much he stood out among his co-workers, and he had to eventually face the consequences for it one way or another.

However, he thought you were cute.

He couldn't refrain himself from eavesdropping on earlier's squabble between you and Jimin, his interest being piqued the first time his eyes landed on your petty face. You gave off the impression of a bold woman, and Jungkook fantasized of nothing more but to ruin that same face of yours after noticing the sudden shift in your attitude.

Jungkook liked you, and his brain was thinking of multiple ways on how to rip an orgasm from you.

"Do you know how to swim?" He asked, albeit already aware of the answer you're about to say just for the sake of initiating a conversation between you two.

"No," you sighed, muscles relaxing as you patiently waited for the next wave. "You should, it's better to follow safety precautions," he suggested. "I can teach you if you want."

"I'll think about it," you jokingly said before abruptly bursting out a giggle, causing Jungkook to unknowingly smile at himself, finding ease in your presence.

"We still have more than 45 minutes ahead of us. I'll teach you how to ride the waves better than anyone else."

Sunset had long ended, what was once the lively and noisy seashore turned into a quiet and serene coastline with nothing but the sound of crashing waves accompanying you and Jungkook. Your supposed one-hour session also ended, but it was apparent that the both of you had lost track of time. It was too late to care, though. Over the past hours with Jungkook, you had quickly grown accustomed to the wonders of surfing as if you've been somewhat drugged. Along with that, you showed a ridiculously fast pace of improvement, which astonished you and Jungkook. You just couldn't stop — the feeling was akin to ecstasy. You felt like you were on top of the world whenever you stood up on the board as you heard Jungkook scream from behind with nothing but sweet praises that fueled your ego. The more moments went by, the more you grew comfortable with the charming man accompanying you.

The feeling was mutual to Jungkook. Every time he saw that endearing grin of yours after falling off, he couldn't simply let your last wave come yet. Whether you were going to pay him for the extra hours or not, he didn't mind as long as you were having the best time of your life. The money meant a lot to him, but nothing weighed more than the passion you held for a mere sport. Your attitude was definitely attractive to him.

Besides, Jimin never came back for you, so why cut your time with the fine man dedicating himself to make you an expert surfer? He was great company after all.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until Jungkook had to say something that heedlessly gave you a sense of disappointment.

"Okay, this will be your last wave for real."

He's been saying the same statement since the past two hours, insisting to let you go for "one more" since he couldn't deny that small pout you subconsciously do every single time. However, you thought he was being serious this time since the waves were bigger compared to before now that the moon was right in the sky. Jungkook only knew much about your capabilities, and because you were a beginner, he was certain that you wouldn't handle the upcoming waves from now on. He had no choice this time.

"Ready." Albeit you got into position before Jungkook had the chance to say it, the word spilled out of his mouth like it did on its own. He wanted to see how much you improved merely from one lesson, thus he pushed you along the waves. You definitely stood up quicker, and your balance was on-point, but what caught you off-guard was the fact that you were definitely riding something bigger. Your senses altogether suddenly became overwhelmed as you momentarily forgot what you were doing. You slipped, and it was just like the first time when you fell into the seawater.

Jungkook wasn't concerned at first, for he knew you would swim back up after your past failed attempts. However, he couldn't see any sign of you floating anywhere, and that was when he began to frantically swim towards the direction you headed in desperate search for you.

"Y/N?" Jungkook called out your name as his panic only increased for each second you were gone. He was about to dive in although his eyes will definitely melt in pain due to the high levels of salt in the sea. There was no other way — he inhaled deeply before it was followed by your abrupt gasp and your loud coughing. Your body was weak, and your entire body felt as if it was suffering a whole shutdown from a malfunctioning error. Your nose in particular was giving you the worst struggle at the moment. If it hadn't been for your small slip-up, then you were more than certain that you wouldn't have had to breathe in too much water in your lungs.

You're practically wheezing at this point while Jungkook didn't waste a second to swim towards you, giving you strong pats on your back.

"Get on." He quickly retrieved the board that was thankfully still attached to your ankle up until now. You got up hastily as he carefully assisted you, his touch was tender and delicate, being overly cautious as he was aware of your painful condition. He dragged you to shore with ease until you were both winded up by the contact of sand grazing your skin. Jungkook huffed loudly before plopping himself flat against the surface. The water washed over your soaked bodies every few seconds or so — it was a nice contrast to the rough texture you were laying on.

None of you spoke a word to each other as you both took your time taking a breather after the long and intense bout that occurred.

"Are you feeling okay now?" Jungkook asked after a few minutes. You nodded. "A little bit, yeah."

"Oh, okay. Thank Go—"

You abruptly coughed loudly — and maybe aggressively too, which in fact, took Jungkook off guard as his first reaction was to immediately panic, scurrying closer to your choking body before resorting to perform CPR on you.

He looked worried — scared even, and that look on his face was enough to have you cracking up in laughter.

"Got you."

"What?" He scoffed in disbelief, quickly prying his hands off your chest while giving you a face that showed a mixed stir of his emotions.

On the other hand, you were still wheezing your ass out to the point where no sound was coming out from you anymore. You uncontrollably smacked the ground over and over again the more you looked at Jungkook. It was a worthy look on him that you had successfully earned.

"That wasn't funny." You noticed his lips form a slight pout before he could even straighten his face. You merely giggled at the sight before responding, "You should've seen yourself, then."

He scoffed sarcastically, "I bet I'd look even funnier if you actually died, then."

"Oh, come on! That was practically a dumb excuse so you can lay your hands on me!"

"Jesus Christ, I didn't know overdosing on sea water makes you horny." He forced out a cough, trying to ease out the abrupt sexual tension that has suddenly arose without any notice. You whined, though, as it was definitely not the reaction you were anticipating from Jungkook. Perhaps you were overthinking his subtle actions earlier? Or that specific way he grazed your skin whenever you were in the incorrect position? Maybe Jungkook was right about you in his last statement. Were the salty water in your lungs really the cause behind the cloudy lust in your eyes?

Or maybe because it's been so long since the last time you had your needs met that you expect the mere stranger of a man in front of you to just do you right and give you the satisfaction of your life.

You didn't know anything except for one — you were definitely horny at the moment from all the touching, nicknames, and the treatment Jungkook had given you. You could've sworn that he also stared at you with eyes that of a predator. You were undoubtedly having eye sex with the man just a few hours ago, and now he's becoming the perplexing one here?

Oh how the tables turn, you thought, now sitting up on your elbows so you can properly face Jungkook who's now staring blankly at you. On the other hand, your face shows that you were indeed dead serious.

"I think you're really hot and this is either now or never whether I get to be railed by a hunk like you."

Oh.

So, that's how you wanted to play..? Honestly, Jungkook wasn't difficult to converse with. He understood your message right from the start, and now that he saw that other side of you he'd been yearning for so long, he didn't need any other reason to hold back anymore.

He needed your assurance, thus he didn't hesitate when he let out an almost animalistic growl before squeezing your throat around his inked fingers.

"Shit, baby, you just met with a stranger a few hours ago and all you wanna do is get fucked? Do you have any idea what you're saying right now?" His voice wasn't the usual saccharine and mellow one that you'd heard over and over again — no, this was completely different. It was as if you triggered a switch in his brain that caused him to be so rough with you. You could only choke on your breath while biting your bottom lip, and before you knew it, the throbbing in your core was already summoning the heat between your legs as you rubbed your thighs in search of some much needed friction.

Jungkook didn't fail to notice, hence he brought his other hand down to your inner thigh where he spread you apart, rubbing small circles with the pad of his thumb before cooing at you.

"You sure you want my cock inside you, huh? I won't go easy on you, sweetheart, you know that." You nodded, affirmative of your decision before he took you back by landing a gentle slap on your cheek with his palm. "Words, baby," he commanded.

"Yes." You winced as you looked up at the heavenly man above you with nothing but adoration in your eyes. Big and glossy — that's how Jungkook liked the way your eyes looked right now. He hummed in approval before abruptly attacking your lips in the messiest way possible. You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck until the kiss turned sloppy in mere seconds.

Jungkook pulled away after noticing you being immediately short on breath. "I think you're pretty too," he panted, sliding a hand down to cup your clad heat. "My pretty slut."

A gasp escaped your lips, and he didn't take another second before crashing down again to let his tongue through the wet crevices of your cavern. No more words were exchanged, for you were both immersed in making out like horny teenagers in the middle of the beach. You could care less, though. All that mattered at the moment was the fact that you were being suffocated by the cushion-like texture of his lips.

Jungkook moaned in your mouth as he felt the tent growing within the confinements of his trousers, sending a rack of chills down your spine that had your goosebumps standing up for sure. It was a make-out session so good that you barely even registered him intruding your underwear, harshly pinching your clit that had you yelping out loud. However, the warm radiance of his fingers was merely an ephemeral moment, for he was already pulling them away from your throbbing heat. You whined in protest, the action only making you crave his touch more. It wasn't until he gripped the hem of your swimsuit, though, impatiently sliding it off your torso with ease before staring at your barely exposed chest with eyes full of desire.

It was a breathtaking view that only seemed to increase the hunger in his eyes. He shakily exhaled before burying his face within the crook of your neck to press small kisses around it.

"Fuck—you're gorgeous," he moaned. "Take yours off too," you insisted, hands within the expanse of his back as you took time to appreciate how broad he felt above you. He listened without much thought, for the only goal in his mind at the moment was to get rid of any piece of fabric on the two of you, wanting nothing more than to remove the physical barrier preventing you from fully connecting with each other.

You, on the other hand, were salivating at the chiseled structure of Jungkook's chest, silently worshipping him with your gaze alone. Every bump, every inch, every detail of his well-sculpted body had you already moaning wantonly. His muscles felt hard under your touch. You could barely believe the man above you was real.

Perhaps you got so carried away from ogling Jungkook's body that your brain didn't even get to acknowledge him plunging two slender fingers in and out of your sopping cunt. Hell, you didn't even realize that your leggings were already flung a few meters away from you, making you almost stark naked underneath Jungkook if it weren't for your bra that was still clasped around your torso. Groaning at the unexpected intrusion in your pussy, you arched your back until your chest eventually pressed itself against his. "You stare too much, sweetheart. Fucking me with your eyes isn't gonna get my dick inside you." He let out an airy chuckle as he relentlessly pounded his fingers in and out. The friction already had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth agape as you were being toyed with like the cheap whore you were. His crude words merely added up to your arousal, the thickness of your essence drenched your inner thighs, the remainder of it leaking until it eventually reached down your ass.

Everything was so lewd to you. Each time he pushed his fingers inside, the louder your cunt squelched, a rush of embarrassment shading your cheeks in red, causing you to drape an arm over your face to hide your overly pathetic state. "Nuh-uh," Jungkook tutted, removing your arm to pin it against the sand. "Show me how much you enjoy my fingers fucking into your slutty cunt."

You squirmed at the harsh grip he had on you, already anticipating to see a bruising mark on your wrist the next day. It wasn't until things couldn't get any better worse when Jungkook set a brutal pace that had you screaming shamelessly. Your body shook uncontrollably, and your legs were at the precipice of giving up on you any second.

If the way he was fingering you was already considered inhumane enough, you could only shiver at the thought of him breaking your body by the time he's fully sheathed inside you.

However, when you felt the rough pad of his thumb gain contact with your throbbing clit, that became the end for you. He definitely showed no mercy, pressing harshly on your poor bundle of nerves that had your breathing all ragged as drool  began to dribble down from the corners of your mouth. You squeezed your thighs shut from the intense stimulation, only to have Jungkook prying them open again which only added on to your exposure.

With that, he growled at you, pressing harder on your clit. "Don't you dare fucking hide away from me. Gonna cum all over my fingers, yeah? Be a good whore for me and make a mess. Wanna see you fall apart so fucking bad."

His words only egged you on to your incoming release. Each time his fingers would brush against that spongy spot had the knot in your abdomen grow tighter and tighter, feeling as if it was about to burst at any given moment.

"Oh, God— yes, fuck yes, Jungkook— don't stop, I'm so fucking close," you mewled loudly. The obscene noises you were making traveled straight to Jungkook's cock, wanting nothing more than to bury himself deep inside your wetness right this instant. He was patient, though, having full control of his full-on raging boner despite the extreme struggle. Well, not until he was about to reach his limit.

So, with two more thrusts of his digits on your g-spot, your vision fades into black as stars clouded your hazy eyes. Your mouth falls wide open, eyes rolling over to the back of your skull as you think about nothing but the rush of your intense orgasm. Any concerns of being seen in the vulgar position you were currently in were void of existence now. On the other hand, Jungkook shuddered at the sensation of his cock twitching violently at the sight of your mere fucked out state.

"Holy shit, babygirl, you fucking squirted all over me," he moaned, eyes blown out at your glistening folds. He slowly pumped his fingers, helping you ride out your high until you were whimpering at the overstimulation. You forcefully pushed his arm away, breathing heavily as your chest raised every few seconds.

"Tired?" Jungkook couldn't help but laugh at how drained you appeared. You chose to ignore him, though, turning your head away from him in humiliation now that your consciousness was beginning to dawn on you.

"Uh, uh, uh," he tsked, hovering over your quivering finger before gripping your face with his entire hand. Maneuvering your head to look at him, Jungkook leaned in closer to your face, sensually licking at the soft shell of your ear while humming blissfully. It hadn't even been a minute since your post-orgasm, and the mere action Jungkook did had more of your arousal gushing out of your still-throbbing cunt. "That was only the bare minimum, baby. I have more things I wanna do with you," he hoarsely whispered. Before your mind could even properly comprehend his words, he was already flipping both of your figures so you could be the one to be on top this time. He laid comfortably underneath the board as he placed his hands on your hips.

There you finally felt the prominent outline of his cock for the first time. You quietly gasped at his size, eliciting a groan from Jungkook.

He pushed your shoulders away, making you sit up on him as your pussy was now directly above his crotch. If it weren't for the trousers he was still wearing, you would had gotten his dick wet by now from the amount of your juices you were pouring out.

With that, he placed one hand on your hip, whereas the other slid itself up to cup your bra-clad tit. "Grind on it, sweetheart," he demanded.

You were already moaning before you could even move, only turning louder when you were finally relieving the much needed friction you were desperately looking for within the past three minutes. You shamelessly gyrated your hips against his cock, placing your hands on his broad shoulders to balance yourself. God, were you too fucked out on his dick that you didn't even realize that Jungkook already unclasped your bra in a haste, swiftly attacking one of your nipples with his mouth as he kneaded the other. You threw your head back in utter pleasure as you hung your mouth wide.

"Look at you, so fucked out on my dick. Such a good whore for me, aren't you?" He teased as he continued to pinch one of your nipples, the other hand cupping the warmth of your cheek before smashing your lips together once more.

Pulling away, you moaned against his mouth, "Wan' you inside me, please."

Surprisingly, Jungkook immediately complied without exchanging words with you. Slightly raising his hips up, he swiftly tugged his trousers off, kicking them away with no care whatsoever on where it had landed. His mind was set on one thing — tearing you apart on his cock.

He didn't think twice to manhandle your poor body, turning you around so that your back was facing him whereas you faced the scattered huts in the distance where someone could literally be witnessing the pornographic state you and Jungkook were in — naked, with nothing left to cover any of your dignity.

"Jungkook—" you whined, "someone might see us."

"And?" He quirked a brow at your statement as he aligned your dripping cunt over the angry tip of his cock. "You really have the audacity to say you're ashamed now?"

"Oh—oh fuck..!"

Without any warning at all, he forced you down on his dick, stretching your walls out in the most delicious, yet painful manner. You arched your back until his dick was finally buried to the hilt, your creamy essence oozing out until it eventually coats his balls. You could feel him sitting up behind you, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist before he hauled your back flush against his chest. Your walls fluttered sporadically around his cock, sending a powerful shudder at Jungkook's end. He exhaled deeply before propping his chin on your shoulder.

"Bet that slutty little cunt loves to get caught being fucked, doesn't it? — Oh fuck, I can feel you squeezing my dick, sweetheart," he chuckled in your ear, keeping you stuck on his cock. The ecstatic warmth of your hole wrapped around him gave him an all-new addiction he wanted to stay with the entire night.

"I can say you're good at riding the waves, baby, but are you just as good when it comes to riding my cock?" He purred, giving you yet another challenge that sparked up a flame inside your heat. "I don't think you can, sweetheart. You can't even think about anything when you were getting fucked by my fingers," he continued, "All you think about is wanting to get fucked by this dick, don't you?"

However, you wanted to prove him wrong. The humiliation he was planting inside you only seemed to fuel your longing to milk his cock dry, so you raise your hips, whimpering at the process from the delicious drag of his cock against your sensitive folds. "N-no," you breathed out. "I can d-do it—I can ride sir's cock g-good too."

Hearing your protest aroused him, but the new nickname you unconsciously gave him made his cock, if that was even possible, harder inside you. You moaned when he throbbed inside you, your pussy squelching louder the moment you slammed back down on his cock, swallowing him whole as you left no inch outside your warm hole.

"Yeah, you're gonna take sir's cock like the good whore you are?" He spurred you on, his words sending your mind into a frenzy as the rasp in his voice brought a pleasant thrill that traveled down your heat. "Prove it, then. Show me that you aren't such a dumb cockslut, babygirl."

"Ouh— fuck," you cried when you impaled yourself on his cock, gradually setting a pace while you bounced erratically on him.

Every vein, every ridge, and every inch drove you madly insane. Not to mention the way his cock curved inside you, giving you justttt the perfect kiss you needed to feel him right up your cervix. Everything was downright lewd and obscene, but it only sparked up your arousal to greater heights. The mere thought of having someone's eyes possibly laid out on you and Jungkook's current state already had your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell round, a mantra of moans and curses tumbling out as if you became a broken toy.

Your hands were running all over every part of your body. God, you only had him inside you for three minutes and you already felt like completely tearing apart on top of him. You were getting more overwhelmed the more you desperately bounced yourself on his dick like the bitch he exactly expected you to be, and you loved it. You gladly took everything Jungkook offered you, converting it into the most pleasurable moment of your lives as he sat there, watching you oh-so quietly. He nibbled on his lower lip every time his eyes landed on your ass that jiggled every time it clashed with his lap, but what had him throbbing once again was definitely the ring of wetness that formed around the base of his cock. You moaned rather loudly when you abruptly felt Jungkook's callused hands grip your frail wrists, bringing both of them behind your back with one hand as the other found itself harshly spanking your ass.

"Fuck, Jungkook!" You groaned in mixed bliss and pain. "That's it, you're doing so well for me, baby. Taking sir's cock like the good slut you are," he growled, landing another spank on your ass again to urge you on. You could only whimper at his roughness before complying, anyway. You rode him faster, harder, raising your hips up until just the tip remains inside you only to sink back in allll the way. You were going so fast that more of your essence trickled down, making everything a mess within your wetness. It was just the way you liked it. Your pace remained consistent for a few more minutes, until your muscles were beginning to feel the effects of soreness as your body was slowly succumbing to exhaustion. Your breathing became erratic, chest violently heaving up and down until you reached to the point where your last resort was to pathetically grind on his lap like an animal in heat. You heard him scoff behind you, finally freeing your wrists from his tight grasp as his hands were now focusing on your waist. He planted his feet on the ground, and from there on, you already knew what he was plotting in mind.

When he thrusted up, your legs shook and your breath knocked itself out of your lungs. If it wasn't for the tight hold he had on your waist, you would have fallen down by now.

"And I thought you were good at riding cock," he chuckled humorlessly, practically rearranging your intestines with the brutal pace he set on you. "I guess you're only made to take it after all," he continued, "you gonna be a good girl for sir and take his dick?" You cried when one of his hands snaked itself to your neglected bud, "Yes! Oh, fuck— yes, wan' you to fuck me."

He laughed darkly upon hearing your words, cooing at you, "Aw, did my baby get so fucked out on my cock that she turned stupid? Such a dumb slut I have right here."

With that, he abruptly pulled out of your hole without notice. You screamed in frustration as you tried to get him inside again, but he stopped you before you even could. "Jesus fucking Christ, you're also a greedy one, aren't you? I was only going to turn you around, sweetheart." He chortled.

You quietly whimpered when he was manhandling you again, heart pounding hastily in your chest as you felt him line the tip against your folds, teasing you for a few seconds before plunging inside you. You mewled wantonly, welcoming that same warmth you were craving for. However, the calm moment only lasted for a second when he was fucking into you again. Your mouth fell apart again as you could barely hold your eyes open. You frantically placed your hands on top of his shoulders for leverage until your head eventually gave in too. You laid on top of Jungkook's chest as you were forced to take his cock inside you.

He held both sides of your head so he could look at you, and doing so only made the lust in his eyes grow darker. Your hair was disheveled, your lips became swollen from all the kissing and biting, and your face definitely screamed "I Just Received the Best Fuck of My Life" vibes. It only fueled his determination to make you reach your breaking point.

Oddly enough, Jungkook had developed an obsession in witnessing you fall apart because of him. Were either of you complaining, though? Definitely not.

"Look at you, did my cock fuck you up so bad?" He giggled before swiping a lone strand of hair away from your face to get a better view. You looked heavenly like this — the sight of you all weak and vulnerable gave Jungkook the urge to just take care of you then and there.

And by taking care of you, he meant brutally fucking you then treating like you a princess afterward — that was what he had in mind for tonight.

He didn't realize that he was mindlessly thrusting into you until he felt your walls grow tighter and warmer. Your moans turned into screams and you were starting to shake violently on top of him.

"'M gonna cum..!" You whined when he began fucking you inhumanly fast as if he was the one in heat in the first place. You dragged out a long moan as more words came out of your mouth on instinct. The knot in your abdomen grew tighter until a few more thrusts and a hoarse whisper had you completely done for.

"Go on, baby, make a mess all over my cock. You did so well for me."

Thus, your orgasm destructively crashed into you, rattling all five of your senses as the impact hit you stronger than the waves could. Your vision momentarily faded into darkness, but you could definitely still feel him punctuating his hips inside you to help you ride out your high.

"Shit— that was so fucking hot, sweetheart. You feel so goo— fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned at the last sentence, pace faltering as he eventually fucked you with sloppy and inconsistent thrusts. You moaned at the overstimulation, humming at the sweet buzz you felt inside your body.

"Wan' you to cum inside my mouth."

That single statement drove Jungkook wild that he pulled out almost too excitedly. You laid on all fours as you patiently waited to suck him off with your mouth open and ready for him. He groaned at the way you innocently batted your eyelashes at him, wasting no time to plunge himself inside your mouth to aid his impending orgasm. You choked the moment his tip kissed the back of your throat, drool already dribbling down the corners of your lips as he gave no mind to it. He absolutely cherished the sight of you struggling to take his cock no matter which hole he fucked himself into.

Maybe he'll even aim for your ass, but that would be for another time.

"Oh, fuck. I'm close..." he mewled loudly before grabbing a bunch of your hair to form a makeshift ponytail. He kept you still there, using you as his personal fleshlight to his own delight until spurts of his cum were finally painting the insides of your mouth. You hummed around his cock, making him curse loudly. He shuddered one more time, milking out the last of his release before pulling out. You stuck your tongue out, evidence that you indeed swallowed everything. He immediately wrapped your body around his arms to cover your intimate parts, the shame and humiliation finally dawning upon the both of you.

Thankfully enough, the beach remained empty around these hours, giving you the very needed privacy at the moment.

Jungkook carefully looked at your face once again before frowning.

"Did I go too rough on you?"

You laughed, shaking your head to his relief. "No, I liked it." You blushed.

Without any warning, he kissed you again. It was soft and gentle, unlike the previous ones you shared earlier. You sighed at the serene moment before Jungkook spoke up.

"So, uh, do you have any plans on going back here?"

"For you, definitely."

You hugged him close, the warm radiance of his skin providing you comfort as you basked in the scent of him. "Don't wanna leave you yet."

He chuckled, "Me neither."

Yup, there was definitely going to be a next time between the two of you. Just when he expected to have another shitty day, you suddenly crashed into his life harder than the waves did.

[karenandhenwillson]

The enthusiasm about Bucktommy has brought out some conversations about the family Eddie, Chris, and Buck have built that leave me honestly a little speechless. Mostly because it's all so focused on this idealized idea of a nuclear family despite fandom usually being all for found family.

I've seen discussions in the past about some people bemoaning the fact that others seemingly put the traditional roles of a nuclear family on the members of the 118. I honestly never got that impression at all, but maybe I'm just really good in avoiding the really strange fanfiction by studying the tags. So I feel a little startled to now be in the position of this person saying "Why do you press everything into this nuclear family dynamic?"

There are many people who claim that any serious LI for Buck or Eddie (of course mostly focused on Buck right now) would utterly destroy the dynamic most of us have come to love in the Buckley-Diaz family. I call utter bullshit to that. They claim that either Buck or Eddie finding a serious LI would force them to break away from their friendship.

The funny thing is that we already have seen in this show how there can be very successfully built a family around two parents who aren't in a relationship (anymore in this case) whit both finding new partners. They did a beautiful job of showing how the friendship between Athena and Michael developed during and after their separation. They also created a wonderful friendship between the existing adults in the family and the new partners, and to show how these new partner stepped into the role of additional parents without replacing either Athena or Michael.

Oh, I already see people rising to argue against this comparison. "But they were married!"; "But they are the children’s biological parents!" (or worse: "But they are both actually the parents and not playing pretend!"); "But that was a hetero couple!" (Yeah, not getting into the semantics here.); "But Michael has legal obligations!".

So what? Do you really think biological relationships or legal relationships trump emotional relationships? I'd argue that any emotional relationship is ten times more important than any biological or legal relationship. There are people out there who don't give a fuck about their biological children because they don't have a emotional relationship with them. And others who don't give a fuck about any legal responsibilities.

We have seen numerous times how deep the connection between Buck, Eddie, and Chris is. We have seen Eddie fight to give his son a good life, to find him the best possible support. We have seen Buck relentlessly search for Chris after they got separated in the tsunami and have seen him take care of Chris when he was on the brink of breaking apart himself over watching Eddie getting shot right in front of him. We have seen Chris seek out Buck for support and council, and plotting pranks with Buck to play on his father.

There is no need for those emotional bonds to go away to find romantic partners who might have the potential to become life partners. And in Chris' case, I'm pretty sure there is no force at all that could break his emotional attachment to Buck or Eddie as long as neither of them does something to utterly break his trust.

Sure, there are a lot of people out in the world who wouldn't stand for stepping into that kind of dynamic without changing it. (And I have no doubt that everyone crying over how Eddie and Buck's friendship would need to break to make room for a LI are exactly that kind of people who expect their partner to be only friends with them.) But there are equally as many people out there who'd embrace the family Buck, Eddie, and Chris have built and who'd work hard to become part of that family instead of replacing anyone in it.

I think the biggest stumbling block for the Buckley-Diaz family is everyone pressuring Eddie into finding a woman to share his life with. He didn't even want to date until his aunt pressured him into it. And that's the only reason Marisol is even in the picture! Because his family and even Bobby are actively enforcing this idea in his head that for a family to exist, for a father to be happy, there needs to be a mother in the family's life.

It's coming back to this same bullshit idea that the only viable family model is a nuclear family with two parents and 2.5 children. Single parents are bad because a child needs a mother and a father otherwise the child will be utterly ruined. (And to remind all of you, people coming up with that line usually also claim: Queer parents are doubly bad because there needs to be a mother and a father!)

Buck, Eddie, and Chris could be perfectly fine to add to their family with LIs for Buck and Eddie. They just need to ignore these voices (from Eddie's family and from the fandom) that try to dictate to them how their family should work. They just need to find people who are open minded and willing to step into their existing family. And we have seen with Bobby and David that there are some great people out there who are very willing to do something like that!

[dadbastiandisaster]

Fuck it

🕸️🕷️✨Claude headcanons✨🕷️🕸️

Yes i know his characterisation is utter shit and yes i am taking a marie kondo approach to the s2 canon

Sebastian had at least been around humans before his contract, so he at least had a passing idea of how to Human. Claude had not. Only interacted with humans ever if murder counts.

He’s actually short-sighted (someone on a wattpad book Black Butler Headcanons I can’t find for the life of me because wattpad utterly fucked up their search system suggested this was because his true form has eight eyes and I love it. I think the person who wrote it was called something like ‘The King Fisher’, so if that sounds familiar, say and I’ll tag you)

He has very little concept of social norms. Alois will be like ‘men are supposed to wear trousers and women are supposed to wear skirts >:(‘ and claude will be like

They’re both coming at the ‘gender is bullshit’ thing from two very different places

Sebastian is over-achieving as far as Claude’s concerned. He’s got three other Demons working for him and he’s going to make the most of it, there is no benefit from doing more than he has to.

He has mixed feeling about Alois. On the one hand he does know that Alois’ situation is not great and has even grown somewhat fond of him (platonically i swear to fuck some people in this fandom) but on the other there are few people on the planet less equipped to help than him.

Jokes aside, I imagine it’s a he/they/it situation, but it’s the Victorian era so Alois was like ‘well you’re probably not a woman so unfortunately that leaves you with one other option’ and Claude was like ‘that’s fine, how long could these contract things last anyway?’

His life pre-contract was basically just surviving in Hell, which has left him with extensive knowledge of nature and no sense of identity

Hates people, loves animals!

Took the contract more out of curiosity than anything else. He fucked around and found out!

Most of Alois and his contract is ‘if you have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing and I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing who’s driving this ship?’

The answer is Hannah obviously

My interpretation of the Hannah-Claude situation is that Claude (somehow) knows that Hannah killed Alois’ brother and that chasing after Sebastian is totally pointless, but if he tells Alois, Hannah will kill him (I hc Hannah as a very old, very powerful Demon). Hannah obviously doesn’t want Alois to find out the truth, so she has to sabotage quite a lot of Alois’ plans (which Claude has to carry out, so it makes his life a lot harder, which is Not A Vibe as far as Claude’s concerned)

Plus Hannah is like ‘actually you’re doing a shit job with Alois’ (true) ‘and if I had this contract instead of you he would be fine’ (not true)

Sort of mid-level Demon. Like he’s in pretty good health (aside from the crappy eyesight) but he’s not especially skilled in combat. He’s just sort of meh.

He likes knitting, crocheting, sewing, lace-making etc because it’s similar to web-building and he finds it relaxing

Sebastian fucking hates him after the Ciel kidnapping incident but the hatred is entirely one-sided. Claude does not give a singular shit about Sebastian, just thinks he’s (as the kids say) a bit of a try-hard

Knows for a Fact that Alois is a lot smarter than he lets on. Doesn’t rat him out on it though, he doesn’t get paid extra to be a snitch, and he’d probably do the same if the situation allowed

I’m torn between ‘totally non-judgemental’ and ‘is a massive bitch’, so I think it’s both. Totally non-judgemental is he’s ambivalent to/likes you, if he dislikes you he is judging you on everything you do right down to how you butter your toast and will chat shit behind your back

Even he didn’t like the previous Earl Trancy

Really not a fan of physical affection

I think if he and Aunt Frances met, it would be a case of unstoppable force (Aunt Frances knowing that Claude is doing 10000 things wrong and cutting so many corners he now has a circle) vs immovable object (Claude doesn’t care). The Sebastian - Aunt Frances dynamic heavily relies on Sebastian caring about her opinion and Claude simply does not have that problem.

Unlike Sebastian, he sometimes sleeps.

I don’t think he’s aro/ace he’s just never really had much of a chance to explore any of that,

Anyway, I will stop for now, this is already very long. I might make ones for Hannah and the Triplets because I will simply never stop talking about the kuro demons

[qvietspvce]

long post under the cut. i'm writing out a somewhat redacted transcript of the utter BULLSHIT i put up with yesterday

warnings for transphobia, transphobia EVERYWHERE. also, i show my arse here. i'm not a perfect person and my temper got the better of me in a BIG way.

messages in a group chat between sister, mum and me.

[screenshot of a facebook post, posted by [sister]. tagged [deadname]. post reads: I will always cherish these memories of my twin sister and I. Losing my twin sister was the worst pain imaginable, and I'm still very much grieving this. I'm working hard to rebuild a brand new relationship with a brand new person [blue love heart emoji]]

Me (7.16pm): what the fuck is this?

Me (7.19pm): I haven't died. I am still very much alive. I'd appreciate it if you didn't say you were "working hard to rebuild a brand new relationship with a brand new person" and out me to people as transgender without my permission. It shows a flagrant disregard to my privacy and safety.

Me (7.23pm): I am deeply hurt that you are sharing memories from a facebook account I no longer have access to. I'm just completely shocked that you would think this is a kind and fair thing to do to me. Take it down.

Me (7.23pm): Now.

--

Sister (9.02pm): Wtf is wrong with you

Sister (9.05pm): I've not said you've died, I've said I'll always cherish there's (sic) memories. [Deadname] is gone and is never coming back, don't be so selfish and put yourself in someone else's shoes for a change. Out you as transgender? I've not tagged Parker anywhere. You've changed yourself as male legally and have been someone else for years - it's public information

Sister (9.07pm): Look, you have all the time in the world to sit there and argue and be a snowflake

Sister (9.08pm): Fuck off, I want nothing to do with you - you completely selfish cunt

Sister (9.08pm): I just want MY [DEADNAME] back

Me (9.09pm): Are you aware that people are reacting to that post as if I have died? Interesting that you call it selfish to want a modicum of privacy and respect from you. How dare you. How very dare you. I'm aware you haven't tagged me as Parker. I'm aware that for whatever reason you refuse to see me as Parker. You'd rather make up a fuss over [Deadname] than respect me as I am and lash out when you're called out on poor behaviour. I, my personality, hasn't changed. I am still who I have always been except I now use a name, pronouns and body I am comfortable in.

Sister (9.09pm): You have changed

Sister (9.09pm): I'm allowed to grieve

Me (9.10pm): I AM STILL ALIVE

Sister (9.10pm): [Deadname] isn't

Sister (9.10pm): Doesn't exist anymore

Sister (9.11pm): I'm not "[sister's name] the youngest of 5 girls"

Me (9.11pm): YOU NEVER FUCKING WERE

Me (9.11pm): I just didn't have the language to say it!

Sister (9.11pm): It's no longer "I have a twin" "boy or girl"

Sister (9.12pm): You did for 26 years

Me (9.12pm): Are you kidding me? Is this a joke?

Sister (9.12pm): I'm allowed to grieve. I've supported you best I can why don't you try and do the same

Sister (9.13pm): I've had a rough fucking time

Sister (9.13pm): And I'm always there for you when I (sic) need me

Me (9.13pm): You made your fucking bed, now lay in it.

Sister (9.13pm): Just try to be understanding and not offensive

Me (9.13pm): Are you?

Sister (9.13pm): Okay we're done

Me (9.13pm): Are you there for me?

Sister (9.13pm): When you need money?

Sister (9.13pm): Calling you brother

Sister (9.14pm): Me and [ex-boyfriend] have split up and I'm struggling. [Deadname] would've been nice

Sister (9.14pm): You're being a twat

Sister (9.15pm): You spend too much time on the internet

Sister (9.15pm): I don't have time to waste on this

Sister (9.15pm): Dead to me

Me (9.15pm): You don't call me your brother unless you want something. I asked you to help me with Mango in an emergency that was never needed. You ask me to look after your dog when you're getting too drunk you don't even know how you got home. You broke up with [ex-boyfriend] because you couldn't cope with the guilt of emotionally cheating on him. That's on you, not me.

Sister (9.16pm): Not completely accurate

Sister (9.17pm): You're dead to me

Sister (9.18pm): Hope mum is kind enough to keep funding your mentally ill "lifestyle"

--

Sister (9.54pm): You outer (sic) yourself as transgender on my page [5 laughing emojis]

Sister (9.54pm): And turned the blame to me

Sister (9.54pm): Brilliant

Mum (9.56pm): GO WALK

--

Sister (10.04pm): [Person] sent you a screenshot of my Facebook, you accepted my friend request 2 hours ago which I sent to you months if not a year ago just to have a go at me

Sister (10.04pm): And then has been gossiping about me inaccurately

--

Me (10.25pm): I'm only going to say this once. It wasn't [Person] who sent me a screenshot and there's absolutely no way I'm going to tell you who it is. As you happily informed me, it's public information.

Sister (10.26pm): 1) absolute bullshit

Sister (10.26pm): It's her background on the screenshot

Me (10.29pm): So the reason you're angry at [Person] is because the person who sent me the screenshot uses Dark Mode...which is a function that all modern smartphones can use... Okay. I'm not going to have this conversation with you because you sound unwell. Get better, [sister].

Sister (10.30pm): I'm grieving the loss of my twin sister and I'm grieving the end of a relationship. Other than that I'm fine. I've not taken a single day off work, I run a home and business, I eat clean, train, pay my way and contribute to society

Sister (10.31pm): You're the one with every mental illness going

Sister (10.31pm): You are dead to me

Sister (10.31pm): You are done

Sister (10.32pm): I loved [Deadname] more than anything and I will cherish and share my memories

Sister (10.32pm): I hate Parker

-- --- ---- ----- ---- --- -- messages in a private chat between sister and me (note the timestamps!)

Sister (11.36pm): Goodbye

Sister (11.36pm): I've said goodbye to [Deadname] she's gone and never coming back

Sister (11.36pm): Now I'm saying goodbye to you

Sister (11.36pm): Don't every (sic) contact me again

Sister (11.36pm): Ever *