#inside educational documents

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"TWO ARRESTED OVER THEFT OF EXAM. PAPERS," Kingston Whig-Standard. June 28, 1933. Page 1. ----- Middle School Tests Abstracted at Toronto - Police on the Trail ---- TORONTO, June 28- There has been a "leak" at the source on Department of Education examination papers, and "several" middle school examination candidates now known, together with others whose identity is being sought, may be deprived of standing and precluded for two years from repeating their examinations.

The sensation as to the examination paper situation, affecting at least one Toronto high school and some separate schools, was sprung last night with the arrest at the Parliament Buildings of John Rule, 20 Symington Avenue, aged 23, employee of the Highways Department, but temporarily employed by the Department of education on examination paper work. He is charged with stealing confidential documents, the property of the Ontario Government.

Second Arrest Within a short time of Rule's arrest effected by Inspector Hammond of the Provincial Police just prior to 5 o'clock quitting time when Rule was at work, the same officer arrested John Pyne, 19 Robina Avenue, said to be a chum of Rule's, and high school examination candidate. 11. too, is docketed at No. 2 Police Station on a theft charge. Pyne allegedly, for a consideration, was Rule's immediate beneficiary after the original theft of the papers. But Pyne, according to Department of Education officers, copied the stolen Middle School examination papers, and, in turn, allegedly for considerations, provided other examination candidates with their contents.

With the definite information of a "Middle School" examination paper "leak" in their possession, Department of Education officials consulted as to whether the whole Middle School examinations had better not be cancelled and new papers issued. There was insufficient time, however, for this vast change in schedule to be effected.

#toronto #stolen documents #final exams #school examination #middle school #high school students #department of education #inside job #stealing from the government #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #youth in revolt #high school

[beekeep]

Saw this post floating around, don’t wanna target anyone or argue with Zionists, but it is my duty (especially as an actually indigenous Jew) to educate well-meaning gentiles who might see this and think they have no right to speak on the matter. I’ll go point by point.

1) “Is it so terrible for a Jew to be a Zionist?”

If we were living in any other era, where the genocidal crimes of Israel were not as widely known (though they were very well documented), you could perhaps ask this question in sincerity. Many Jews (such as myself) grow up in religious educational settings which either fail to mention the human rights violations of the state or claim they’re justified because “they want to kill us!” Past a certain point, though, one can’t continue to claim ignorance of what Zionism actually does. Short answer: yes, it is terrible for anyone to claim to be a Zionist, but this will be more evident as I continue to analyze these arguments.

2) “Zionism is the belief in the inherent right of the Jewish people to return to their homeland”

First of all, Palestine is not the “homeland” of the Jewish people any more than Siberia is the homeland of indigenous american tribes. Is there a historical connection? Yes, but though assimilation and migration Jews have found homes across the world. For me, my homeland is Mexico, because my family has lived there for generations, partly through migration but mostly through having cultivated the land for millennia. Even biblically speaking, Palestine does not “belong” to the Jewish people, it belongs to G-d. Furthermore, there is no shortage of Jewish scholarship and activism that asserts that wherever we live, that is our homeland. Frankly, I’m more interested in fighting to stay where I am than fighting to force people out of their homes to accommodate me.

3) “Zionism is the belief in the Jewish right not to be murdered”

By murdering others instead? Once again, there is no shortage of Jewish scholarship and activism in favor of Jewish self defense where we live. Jewish resistance fighters lived and died fighting the nazis in Europe under the third reich. If Zionism was actually interested in preventing Jewish death, it would fight antisemitism where it is. “Preventing murder” is not an excuse to commit genocide.

4) “there are so many definitions of Zionism”

Sorry but I just think of this tweet from @jewdas on Twitter when I read this: “There’s a actual existing Zionism which practices apartheid and denial of human rights. But there’s another Zionism inside my head which is all rainbows and kosher marshmallows, so who can say which is the real Zionism?” In other words, the actual, material consequences of Zionist beliefs are more important than what any individual thinks their Zionism is. Once again, we live in the Information Age, where anyone can easily learn about the damage that Zionism has done in Palestine and abroad. There is no excuse to continue using the label that doesn’t presuppose complete ignorance of Israeli violence.

5) “zionists just want to be safe from antisemitism in the diaspora”

See points 3 & 4.

6) “and this is different from evangelical zionists”

Materially speaking, not really. Once again, see point 4. Until you pull all US/european colonial support for Israel, this claim falls flat.

7) “zionists just want to live peacefully with other indigenous people in the area”

That’s not what indigeneity is, it doesn’t mean “from there,” it’s a specific relationship to the land and to its cultivation. (On a side note, even biblically and historically speaking, Jews are not “from” Palestine.) See point 2. Zionism has proven it is not a peaceful ideology. See point 4.

8) “people refuse to see the difference in types of Zionism because they hate the Jews”

No, it’s because there are no material differences. See point 4. Evangelical Zionism and Jewish Zionism actually share quite a bit in common. The “Jewish state” would not exist without evangelical Zionists. See point 6. And the original Jewish Zionist thinkers had a vested interest in tying the two together.

tl;dr, Zionism is a violent ideology in practice, and no amount of making excuses can hide the fact that it is genocidal and serves European/American interests. Additionally, just because one is not Jewish does not mean one does not have a duty and an obligation to eliminate Zionism wherever it crops up. Zionism has had disastrous consequences for Palestinians, and as western citizens, we benefit from their suffering. It must end now. May Palestine be freed in our lifetimes.

#Free Palestine

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the kleptocrats and oligarchs hunt civil society groups to the ends of the Earth

It's a great time to be an oligarch! If you have accumulated a great fortune and wish to put whatever great crime lies behind it behind you, there is an army of fixers, lickspittles, thugs, reputation-launderers, procurers, henchmen, and other enablers who have turnkey solutions for laundering your reputation and keeping the unwashed from building a guillotine outside the gates of your compound.

The field of International Relations has studied the enemies of the Klept in detail: the Transnational Activist Network is a well-documented phenomenon. But far more poorly understood is the Transnational Uncivil Society Network, who will polish any turd of sufficient wealth to a high, professional gloss.

These TUSNs are the subject of a new, timely scholarly paper by Alexander Cooley, John Heathershaw and Ricard Soares de Oliveira: "Transnational Uncivil Society Networks: kleptocracy’s global fightback against liberal activism," published in last month's European Journal of International Relations:

https://ora.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid:5e5a3052-c693-4991-a7cc-bc2b47134467/download_file?file_format=application%2Fpdf&safe_filename=Cooley_et_al_2023_transnational_uncivil_society.pdf&type_of_work=Journal+article

The authors document how a collection of institutions – some coercive, others organized around good works – allow kleptocrats to take power, keep power, and use power. This includes "wealth managers, company providers, accounting firms, and international bankers" who create the complex financial structures that obscure the klept's wealth. It also includes "second citizenship managers and lawyers" that facilitate the klept's transnational nature, both to provide access to un-looted, prosperous places to visit, and boltholes to escape to in the face of coup or reform. It includes the real-estate brokers and other asset facilitators, who turn whole precincts of the world's greatest cities into empty safe-deposit boxes in the sky, while ensuring that footlose criminal elites always have a penthouse to perch in when they take a break from the desiccated husks they've drained dry back home.

Of course, it also includes the PR managers and philanthropic ventures that allow the klept to launder their reputation, to make themselves synonymous with good deeds rather than mass murder. Think here of how the Sacklers used charity to turn their family name into a synonym for culture and fine art, rather than death by opioid overdose:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Beyond providing comfort to "Politically Exposed Persons" and "High Net-Worth Individuals," TUSNs are concerned with neutralizing TANs. Activists in these transnational networks play an inside-outside game: in-country activists will recruit peers abroad to bring attention to the crimes of their local kleptocrats. These overseas partners target the klept in the places they go to play and spend, spoiling their fun – and if they succeed in getting corrupt leaders censured abroad, then in-country activists can leverage that bad press to fight the klept at home.

To fight this "Boomerang Effect," TUSNs seek to burnish corrupt officials' reputations abroad, getting their names on humanitarian prizes, beloved sports teams, cultural institutions and great universities. They seek to capture international governance institutions that might wrong-foot kleptocrats, co-opting them to enable and even celebrate looters.

When it comes to elite philanthropy, TUSNs are necessarily selective. Kleptocrats' foundations don't fund anti-kleptocratic groups – they stick to "education, public health, the environment and the arts." These domains steer clear of human rights questions that might implicate their benefactors. Russian oligarchs love children's charities and disability rights – provided they don't target the Russian state.

If charitable giving is reputation laundering's carrot, then "reputation management" is the laundry's stick. Think of organized copyfraudsters who clone websites that have criticized their clients, then backdate the articles, then accuse the originals of infringing copyright in order to get them de-listed from Google or taken offline altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#dark-ops

Reputation managers also spend a lot of time in court. In the UK – the world's leader in libel tourism, thanks to a legal system designed to let posh monsters sue muckraking journalists into silence – Russian oligarchs have perfected the art of forcing their critics to shut up and go away:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/04/londongrad/#enablers

Indeed, London is a one-stop shop for the global klept, a place were forelock-tugging Renfields will buy you a Mayfair mansion under cover of a numbered company, sue your critics into silence, funnel your money into an anonymous Channel Islands account:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

They'll sell you whole galleriesworth of "fine art" that you can have relocated to a climate-controlled container in a Swiss or Irish freeport:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/14/poesy-the-monster-slayer/#moneylab

They'll give your thick-as-pigshit progeny a PhD and never check to see whether he wrote his thesis himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LSE%E2%80%93Gaddafi_affair

Then they'll hook you up with a cyber-arms dealer to hunt your enemies by capturing their devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/27/gas-on-the-fire/#a-safe-place-for-dangerous-ideas

But don't let Brexit stop you from shopping for bargains on the continent. The Golden Passports of the EU – available in a variety of flavors, from Maltese to Cypriot to Portuguese – offer the discerning failson access to the luxury good shops and fleshpots of 27 advanced economies, making it a favorite of the Khmer Riche – the junior klept of Cambodia's ruling faction:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

But golden passports are for amateurs. Skilled klepts travel on diplomatic passports, which offer the twin benefits of free movement and consequence-free criminality, thanks to diplomatic immunity. The former Kazakh dictator's son-in-law enjoyed a freewheeling diplomatic life in Vienna; one daughters of the dictator of Tajikistan had a jolly time as an envoy to DC; another, to London (where else?).

All this globetrotting serves a second purpose: when rival elites seize power back home and force the old guard into exile, those ex-monsters can show up in the lands they called their second homes and apply for asylum. It turns out that even bomb-the-boats UK will welcome any asylum seeker who enters via the private jet terminal at City Airport (to be fair, these "refugees" have extensive properties in Zone 1 and country places in the Home Counties, so they won't need housing).

This stuff works. After Kazakh state goons murdered at least 14 protesters at a Zhanaozen oil facility in 2011, human rights groups around the world took up the cause. But they were effectively neutralized by TUSNs, with former UK PM Tony Blair writing on behalf of the Kazakh government to the EU condemning any kind of international investigation into the mass killings (add "former Prime Ministers" to the list of commodities for sale in the UK to sufficiently well-resourced murderer).

The authors close their paper with two case-studies. The first is of the daughters of Uzbek dictator Islam Karimov, Gulnara and Lola. And President Karimov was indeed a dictator: he trapped his population within his borders, forced them to use unconvertible scrip in place of money, and ordered the murder of hundreds of peaceful protesters, plunging the country into international isolation.

But while Uzbeks were sealed within their borders, Gulnara Karimov became an international player, running a complex network of businesses that mixed the products of the nation's oilfields with her family's fortune. She solicited – and received – bribes from Teliasonera, MTS and Vimpelcom, who were all vying for the contract to provide service in Uzbekistan. All told, she extracted more than $1b in bribes, laundering them through Latvia, Hong Kong and New York. She acquired real-estate in France and Switzerland, and her spree continued until her father collaborated with Uzbek security to seize her assets and place her under house-arrest.

Lola Karimova-Tillyaeva was Gulnara's estranged younger sister. She and her husband Timur Tillyaev ran the Dubai-based SecureTrade, which did extensive business with "opaque Scottish Limited Partnerships," laundering more than $127m in a single year to offshore accounts in the UAE and Switzerland. They acquired many luxe assets – a jet, a Californian villa, and an LA perfumier.

Lola styled herself as the face of the Karimovas abroad, a "philanthropist and cultural ambassador." She was a UNESCO ambassador and commissioned works of monumental art – and also sued the shit out of news outlets that reported factual matters about her family repressive activity at home. She organized AIDS charities in the name of Uzbekistan – even as her father was imprisoning a writer for publishing a book explaining how to have safer sex.

The second case-study is on Isabel dos Santos, "Africa's richest woman," daughter of Angolan dictator Jose Eduardo dos Santos. Isabel's vast fortune stemmed from her personal capture of vast swathes of the third-largest economy in Africa: "telecommunications, banking, diamonds, real estate and cement, among many others." Isabel enjoyed seemingly limitless access to state credit and co-investment, and was given first crack at newly deregulated industries. Foreign firms that invested in Angola were required to "partner" with Isabel's businesses.

Isabel claimed to be a "self-made woman" – a claim credulously parroted by the western press, including the FT. She used her homegrown fortune to become a major player abroad, especially in Portugal, where she was represented by the leading Portuguese law-firm PLMJ. Her enablers are who's who of corruption-loving lickspittles: McKinsey, Ernst and Young, Boston Consulting Group, and the Spanish BigLaw firm Uri Menendez.

Isabel cultivated a public facade of philanthropic giving and public spirited activism, serving as head of the Angolan Red Cross. She attended Davos and spoke at the LSE (she was also invited to Oxford, but her invitation was subsequently rescinded). On social media, she dismissed critics of her wealth and corruption as "colonialists," decrying their "racism" and "prejudice."

Isabel dos Santos's corrupt sources of wealth were finally, irrefutably exposed through the Luanda Leaks, in which the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists mapped the network of "top banks, management consultants and legal firms that were central to dos Santos’s operations."

Both case studies shed light on the network of brilliant, driven enablers and procurers without whom the world's greatest monsters would falter. It's a rare window on a secretive world, one that is poorly understood even by its inhabitants. As Michael Mechanic wrote in Jackpot, his 2021 book on vast, intergenerational fortunes, the winners of the lucky orifice lottery often lack any real understanding of how The Money is structured, grown and protected:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

This point was reiterated by Abigail Disney, in a brave piece on what it's like to grow up subject to the oversight of these millionaires who babysit the children of billionaires:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

This is an important contribution to the literature. We naturally focus on the ultrawealthy individuals whose reputations and fortunes are the subject of so much attention, but without the TUSNs, they would be largely helpless.

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/24/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

--

Colin (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palace_of_Westminster_from_the_dome_on_Methodist_Central_Hall_(cropped).jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#international relations #ir #enablers #consiglieri #lickspittles #plutes #guillotine watch #politically exposed persons #peps #high net work individuals #hnwis #oligarchs #reputation laundering #spyware #renfields #big law #uk #kleptocrats #transnational activist networks #tans #civil society #ngos #transnational uncivil society networks #tusns #slapps #Uzbekistan #Gulnara Karimova #Isabel dos Santos #angola #corruption

[agroteraa]

Never Be Like You

Felix Catton x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: AU where Saltburn's ending never happened. Felix lived happily up to 2016 (and on), where he met you at your new job. Meaning he is around 29 here and you are younger.

Yes, a fic based on THAT Jacob Elordi edit

Using the song "Never Be Like You" by Flume feat. Kai

Shout-out to Kasey @kcsvids ❤️

Tags: fluff, implied slow burn, AU.

Word Count: 3,8K

Early August in London this year was quite rainy, but fortunately, the day you had to go around the city with the documents turned out to be surprisingly sunny and pleasant. It was the second month of your new job.

The bell on the door in the coffee shop tinkled as you went inside in search of your senior colleague, whose errands you had been running for half the day.

"Annabel, hi! I’ve signed the documents, made copies and notarized them. Here are the originals in the folder, and here are the copies," you said, sitting down on the opposite chair and rummaging in your bag, taking out all the necessary papers.

"Oh, thank you, Y/N! I expected that you would only have time to pick up the documents, and you have already done everything! Cool, you're doing great!" the girl smiled at you, and then added, "Our new capable young employee."

She said this to a young man in a colored seemingly expensive shirt who was sitting relaxed close to her on the couch and drinking coffee. He looked at you with a smile while Annabel was having a dialogue with you and complimenting you on the work done. God. This was the guy from your job, whom you saw rarely and from afar, but you really wanted to know more about him. You didn't even know his name because you were too shy to ask, and besides, you didn't talk close yet to people in your new place.

"Felix. Felix Catton," he introduced himself, extending his long arm across the table.

"Y/N," you answered a little timidly, shaking his hand. His fingers were no less long than the hand itself, and his palm was warm, "Um... Y/N L/N."

"Okay, I have to run, bye, Ann," the guy kissed her on the cheek, threw some money on the table and smiled at you again, "It was nice to meet you, a new capable young employee."

Young. Not that young, it was your second full-time job after graduating from the university, but of course you were younger than the two of them. Annabel, as far as you knew, was almost 29 years old. Felix was probably about the same age, it was hard for you to tell. It seemed that he could be aged from 23 to 33, given that he looked so youthful and lively.

"So... does he work for our company? It seems that I saw him in the office, but very rarely..." you tried to find out information about this man from Annabel as casually as possible.

"Yes, Felix has... a more of a free schedule. His father is a co–owner of the company. So, he is not particularly worried about being a worker of the year. However, it's not like I live at work either," Annabel began to tell you openly. It seems you had already realized that she was also a pretty laid-back person, "So… What are you ordering?"

Despite your protests, Annabel ordered and paid for you coffee and lunch anyway, and then continued, "We studied at Oxford together. You could say he helped me get a job here later."

Oh. You got it. It seems that the picture in your head had finally begun to take shape. It became clear to you why some people worked hard from early morning till night in the same office as someone came at lunchtime at best and generally behaved as if they had known each other half their lives. Because that how it was. Many of them were Oxonians, and had known each other since the university, and some even from boarding schools. Of course, you also received a decent education, but it was nothing compared to Oxford. But this was also often not only about education, but also about lifestyle in general. Your family was not any close to be called poor, but still it was not comparable to this level of life, and you were able to get a current job only because of your hard work and probably decent amount of luck.

You felt a little sad at the thought that for them you probably were a girl who came out of nowhere and did the paperwork, and it was very possible that you would remain that way in their eyes. In Felix's eyes, in particular. That was how you imagined his life as a golden boy, who was apparently at this stage of his life employed in his own parents' company, where he did not need to make any effort to stay there and at the same time receive a round sum of money. Usually it also led to a certain lifestyle.

While Annabel was stirring her coffee with a spoon, you noticed an engagement ring on her hand, which you didn't seem to notice before or just didn't pay attention to.

"Oh... can I... congratulate you?" you asked, barely hiding your awkwardness, "Is it... Felix?"

"Yes, thank you… What? Felix?" the girl laughed, "No. We used to date back at the university, and after that… Well, now we are not. I can't imagine Felix as a fiancé or husband. To be honest, I don't think he can either. He's a pretty free spirit, let's put it this way."

You exhaled and nodded, on the one hand satisfied with the answer, and on the other hand you were upset and got into thinking even more. Yes, it seemed that you two were different, too different, and it came to be clear in just a half an hour on a lunch.

But that didn't stop you from thinking about him anyway for the whole next month. He still rarely came to the office, but now he nodded and smiled broadly if he saw you. You even chatted briefly a couple of times in the hallway and over a cup of coffee in the office kitchen. You still didn't know what he really was like, but he seemed nice and friendly, even though he was always in a hurry for somewhere else. Or someone else. You couldn't help but still look forward to these short meetings.

And that how the autumn came.

"Well, lucky you, Y/N – it seems that a small anniversary of three months of your work here coincides with our seasonal party," sipping from her cup, Annabel informed you, "Once in a season we go out somewhere with the whole team. Well, to be more exact – with the least boring group of people here. Come with us? We're thinking of going to a club this time."

You willingly agreed, pleased that you were invited to this party. After all, it was not for nothing that you'd been Annabel's indispensable assistant, helping her out all the time. And, to be honest, you did a lot of her own work for her. And also you hoped that you and her began to get closer in personal level, even though you were quite different, it was still quite a fun.

Week later, you were hurrying along the streets while looking at the navigator where exactly the club that Annabel was talking about was located. You were late because you spent a lot of time on dressing up and doing makeup. You wanted to make an impression and you were a little nervous. Nervous because all this time you were wondering if Felix would come or not. You were worried about both scenarios, but you still wanted him to come first of all, even though you had no idea what and how should happen next.

The place greeted you with loud enough but pleasant music and colorful lighting. Your colleagues were sitting on the sofas nearby. Annabel waved cheerfully, "Y/N! We're here! Hi! Yes, you're not even the last one, so make yourself comfortable."

You greeted everyone who was sitting. You felt quite awkward, because you didn't communicate with everyone at least on the same level you did with Annabel, but you hoped that the evening would go well and that you didn't come in vain. And it turned out to be quite alright, but anyway, part of your thoughts was roaming whether Felix would come or not.

"Okay, guys, and now we'll drink to the Y/N! She's been helping me a lot lately. Y/N, I hope this is just the beginning of your work with us!" Annabel toasted.

"To a new young capable employee!" said a velvety deep voice behind you. You turned around. Felix stood behind, dressed in a white shirt and jeans. He had a shot glass in his hand and he had some kind of red cowboy hat on a rope behind his neck and back.

You all clinked drinks together and then started to sit back down on the sofas.

"Hello, Y/N," Felix smiled broadly at you, "Glad you were invited too."

"Oh, Felix, where have you been?" your colleagues began to ask him as he sat down with them and began to tell about being stuck in another club and then getting through traffic jams here to you all.

"Unexpectedly. I thought he wasn't coming, huh," you said softly to Annabel.

"Why wouldn't Felix come to the party? It's not like going to office meetings, you know," the girl chuckled.

You continued to chat with Annabel this evening. Felix, unfortunately, did not approach you, and seemingly had fun chitchatting with all the people on the couch in front of you, although he kept glancing at you, so it seemed to you. But maybe it just seemed, because you had been drinking for the first time in a long time, and your head was already starting to feel a little dizzy.

But over time, your interlocutor talked more and more about her own with her long-time colleagues and friends, until she almost completely forgot about your presence. You began to feel gradually lonely in this company. Maybe you were right. A girl from nowhere who couldn’t even afford too many drinks in this place in central London, who was helping Oxford graduates who were, are and will be fine, with paperwork they weren’t really willing to do. But it was better to splurge on another drink than to sit and think all these thoughts.

Walking through the crowd to the bar, you stood in line and chose what to take for yourself. Something strong, but not very expensive, if possible.

"You have a small anniversary in our company today. It should be celebrated," a pleasant voice spoke softly almost in your ear. Turning your head to the side, you found Felix, who was leaning almost his entire body against the counter. He had definitely had a drink and was even more relaxed and cheerful than usual, "It's all on me, of course."

You protested a little, but Catton quickly dismissed all objections, taking two drinks for you at once and one glass for himself, "And this is about time you tell me how do you find the work here with us, where you came from and generally about yourself."

You headed back to the sofa with drinks. Since the path was laying through the dancing crowd, and you had two glasses in your hands, Felix held you protectively, placing his hand on your back and guiding you through all the people, making sure that no one would touch you. The feeling of his big warm hand on your back, on your skin, half-opened due to the design of the dress, definitely excited you and gave you goosebumps.

Some people from your company, including Annabel, was already gone to the dance floor, so you sat down on an empty sofa together and started talking. It was very uneasy and unusual for you to see Felix so close to you, also in such an informal setting. His big brown eyes looked at you attentively while you talked a little about yourself, about your education, how you got a job at this company, what you were doing here and who you started communicating with. What dark fluffy eyelashes he had. He was so handsome. You blushed a little and got embarrassed, but still, because of the abundance of information that you had to tell him, your brain was a little distracted and calmed down.

"That's great, Y/N. You're so... hardworking. And, apparently, you’ve achieved a lot on your own. That's very cool," Felix nodded with a serious face.

"Well, I haven't achieved anything special yet that I would really like, but thank you for the kind words. It's great that you're interested in your future subordinates."

"Oh, so you know? Well... we'll see about that. My dad is a co–owner of the company, but not the owner. So, it's not at all a fact that I'm going to manage over here," Felix was a little embarrassed and cleared his throat, "And I don't know what's going to happen next, I don't guess into the future for that long… Maybe I'll go abroad somewhere, like I've already done before, huh."

Then Felix began to tell about some parts of his own life - a little about his childhood, about studying at Oxford, what he did there and where he went later. He was quite modest and obviously tried not to emphasize his fabulously luxurious lifestyle, but this was the kind of thing that could not be completely kept to oneself. This manifested itself even in behavior and appearance, not to mention the stories.

But you liked, you really did like talking to him. With all that said, Felix Catton had a talent for making you feel like you were welcome, that you were no worse than him, that your lifestyle was no less boring or less important when he wanted to grant his attention. Even if you were completely different. You were listened to very attentively.

Due to this feeling, combined with his appearance and charisma in general, you were ready to never get up from this couch, if only your conversations would last forever.

But the forever ended quickly when Felix's friends yanked him onto the dance floor. Friends, and maybe not only friends. It seemed that many female colleagues and just a lot of the girls nearby were staring endlessly and smile charmingly at him in the hope of getting more of his attention. Of course, you could understand that oh so well. But all the same, you were upset that your chances were probably much less than those of all his acquaintances in his circle. Even if it was just about a sort of a close communication.

You finished your second drink and went to get another one. While you were standing in line, one of this year's hits started playing in the hall. A gentle female voice began to tell her story:

What I would do to take away

This fear of being loved, allegiance to the pain

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

I would give anything to change this like-minded heart

That loves fake shiny things

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

You couldn't take your eyes off Felix, who was having fun in the middle of the crowd – he was giving himself up to the music, dancing to the beat. Green, blue and sometimes purple spots of light slid across his face and his clothes. How graceful and natural he was now, as if he had been born on the dance floor.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Felix completely broke up and went dancing at the pole jokingly. You didn't know if he was already so tipsy or just so relaxed naturally to that extent, but you couldn't look away with your mouth slightly opened. He was holding onto the pole with one hand, and with the other he was waving in the air, also swinging his hips.

How do I make you wanna stay

Hate sleeping on my own

Missing the way you taste

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Stop looking at me with those eyes

Like I could disappear and you wouldn't care why

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Your heart sank. Even though this song was about trying to bring back an existing relationship, it still somehow resonated especially with you right now. Particularly the line "Never be like you", which seemed to repeat your thought, which you carefully tried to hide from yourself tonight. You would never be like Felix.

The crowd gathered at the bar gradually pushed the gawking and not moving you closer to the dance floor, where Catton noticed you.

"Hey, Y/N, why are you just standing there so lost? Join me," the guy said cheerfully, slightly pulling you by the hand closer to him.

You started dancing together, he put on his red hat on to make you laugh a little. He was smiling widely, swaying from side to side bewitchingly in front of you.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

His white shirt was unbuttoned now, apparently, he had been hot for a while. Beads of sweat gathered on his skin and disappeared with him in the rays of the strobe light from time to time, which shone behind his back. In such lighting, it seemed as if he was moving in slow motion, and that was all a beautiful movie in which you accidentally fell into the place of the main character. But it wasn't a fantasy, it was your night right now.

I'm falling on my knees

Forgive me, I'm a fucking fool

I'm begging darling please

Absolve me of my sins, won't you

You wanted this moment to last forever. And unlike the conversation on the couch, it really felt like it was happening, like in a dream that no one dared to break. You were drowning in his magnetic gaze and smile, which he was giving only to you now. He was like Prince Charming of the 2010’s.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Baby, baby please believe me

Come on take it easy

Please don't ever leave me... oooh

Never be like you

You mentally repeated the last lines of this song until your face itself took on a slightly pleading look. Felix seemed to catch it and touched your shoulder. His lips parted in the desire to say something, but he just stood there for a few seconds in silence, as if considering what to say and do next.

"... by the way, you look great today. I mean, your office looks are cute too, but this… You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he said after a while.

You smiled sheepishly as you continued to dance, drifting back into a musical and slightly alcoholic trance until it was interrupted by several of Felix's friends and your colleagues.

"Buddy, we've going home," the guys shook hands, and then started talking about some of their business. You moved a little to the side, and as soon as you did that, Felix slowly began to be surrounded by familiar and not so very familiar people. You went for a cocktail, and then headed to the couch, where you started talking to a colleague of yours. You kept glancing in Felix's direction at the same time, but he still didn't come up, engrossed in talking and some dancing.

After saying goodbye to your colleague, who also left, you finished your cocktail and finally decided to check your phone. Oh. You didn't know it was so late. You started looking for a taxi, but it costed a lot right now. Confused, you sat alone, staring at the screen and sucking from a straw a mix of melted ice and a cocktail from the bottom of a glass.

"Please pardon me for leaving you for a while," the hot hand laid on your back and then its owner appeared behind it, who plopped down on the sofa next to you. He looked at you with slightly regretful doe eyes, "Are you... leaving already?"

"Yes, it's very late, and there's a lot to do tomorrow… But the taxi is still expensive, I guess I'll wait a little longer."

"What are you talking about? I'll get you a car right now," Felix took out his phone and began to quickly type something on it.

"Oh, come on, don't..."

"Hey. We're celebrating your anniversary at work, our new best employee. Have you already forgotten?" the guy interrupted you, grinning, "Tell me your address, please."

You gave your address, Catton smiled slightly.

Five minutes later, a business class taxi pulled up to the club. You just went outside, and the warm air of an early autumn night pleasantly enveloped you after the hot and stuffy nightclub.

"Is this really my car?" you were amazed. Felix turned his head to the left and right, and then, leaning over, said in a serious tone, "I don't see any exactly the same beautiful girl waiting for exactly the same taxi, and do you?"

You giggled and blushed noticeably. There was a pause hanged in the night air.

"Thanks for your company, Y/N. I'm glad you're with us now. I hope we'll see each other more often from now on."

You looked him straight in the eye, and then nodded slightly and slowly.

"Good night. Please text when you... Ah..." Felix rolled his eyes at himself, "I don't have your phone number."

He looked down, shaking his head and chewing lightly on his lip. A knot tied in your stomach. Felix. Catton. Asked. You. Your. Number. It might had been more of a common courtesy, of course, but your heart started beating a lot faster anyway. Of course, you dictated your phone number to him, which made him full of ill-concealed joy. Having recorded it in his smartphone, he said, as if nothing had happened, "Yeah, great, now I have a place to text to find out how you got home," and put you in a taxi.

He gently touched your shoulders once more when he put you in the car. He pressed his lips almost weightlessly to your ear, "Good night again, Y/N. Thank you for this evening," his mumble was very warm and pleasant, you felt your hair rising on your skin.

Watching the taxi leave, from which window you looked at him back, Felix lit a cigarette. He was smiling widely and contentedly, exhaling smoke and slightly twitching his whole body on the spot from another surge of energy. He was obviously going to attend the work more often from now on.

#felix catton x reader #that jacob elordi edit #saltburn 2023 #jacob elordi edit #felix catton #felix x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton smut #felix catton fluff #felix catton imagine #felix #felix catton AU #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi smut #jacob elordi fluff #jacob elordi imagine #felix catton edit #that felix catton edit #saltburn edit #that saltburn edit #saltburn #saltburn AU #saltburn imagine #oliver quick #saltburn smut #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you #fanfiction #office au

[nerdpoe]

Tim's parents die earlier, and he doesn't have the time to set up a fake uncle.

This changes things.

Especially because they die merely six months after he becomes Robin.

Mostly, his distant relative (the richest one who can pull the most strings) manages to gain custody.

The relative?

Lex Luthor.

The catch?

Lex isn't actually related to him at all. He created a bunch of false documents, hid the adoption from the press, deleted all paper trails and digital paper trails, and falsified his way into the ownership of one Timothy Drake.

Tim's life quickly turns into trying to find out how to foil Luthor from the fancy penthouse he's imprisoned inside of.

Then one day, a bunch of aliens attack.

Tim takes full advantage of the downed security system and bolts, racing through hallways and going into...a cloning room.

There's a kid in a container, a bit older than him, who has been left unattended.

Tim can't help it, he's curious. He looks through the files. Not the how and the why, but the "what's been done so far"; he's a little short on time, after all.

Apparently, the education segment had just finished and they were about to start implanting ideas and brainwashing.

And well, Tim can't leave another prisoner behind.

He wakes the other kid up.

Kon gets released a lot sooner and goes on the lam with Tim.

Bruce, however, has been tearing the world apart trying to find out who kidnapped his Robin so soon after his previous one was ripped from his arms.

#story prompt #batman au #robin au #superboy au #lex luthor #tim drake #robin #kon-el #superboy #bruce wayne #batman

[chrollo-lucilfers-chains]

Homelander x gn!reader

A really bad day.

Warnings: crying, Homelander (he's not the one crying tho)

He'd just been sitting on the couch reviewing some documents for Vought, when his ears had picked up on your presence entering the building. His focus immediately shifts completely to you, about fifteen floors down, as you enter the elevator to his suite.

Reason for his piqued attention are the tiny sniffles his super hearing has picked up. They mean that you either have a cold or that you are crying.

Either of those would be an immediate call for high alert for Homelander. Humans are so very fragile...

You can't be sick, he reasons. You hadn't been sick in the morning, when you'd left for work.

So you're crying.

And yes, the sound is muffled, like you're trying to hold it together and not quite getting the hang of it, but it's still notably the sound of tears.

Homelander's eyebrows furrow. Somehow, that's worse than you being sick.

From his current position, he listens intently to the sound of the elevator moving upwards until there's a telltale ring and you shuffle inside his apartment complex.

He hears you take off your shoes while he's drifting towards the hallway.

You see the movement in the corner of your eye and look up at him, eyes meeting his. When you realize that he's really here, your eyes begin to water again.

Immediately he is by your side, holding your shoulders and checking your body for any injuries.

He finds nothing physically wrong with you but before he can ask, you fling yourself into his arms and start sobbing uncontrollably.

Your hands find his back and then he feels the muscles of your arms squeeze him with all your non-powered-regular-human-strength might.

He freezes. This is new.

Homelander listens intently to any new sounds but thankfully the crying seems to be the only noise of distress you let out. Or at least he can't make out any whimpers of pain or something of the sort.

Slowly, afraid to startle you, he relaxes his body. Strong ams wind around your form and pull you closer.

He's honestly scared he might spook you with moving too much, as if he were handling a small animal.

Homelander doesn't like dealing with crying from others, unless it's tears of happiness. People he saves often cry out of relief or from the shock but most of the time he leaves those to the paramedics or other heroes around as soon as possible.

You're his partner. He can't do that here.

This is the first time he's seen you cry, now that he thinks about it. It would make sense for you to cry sometimes, as it is in the normal range of human emotions but the two of you have only been dating for about two months now and known each other for four. So this display of emotions from you is entirely new to him.

'Come on, Homelander', he thinks, 'get your act together'.

He's not going to hand his crying partner to somebody else just because he doesn't know how to deal with human emotions very well...

So he tries to remember his training. What did they tell him to do in these situations?

Oh dear, your hands must hurt with all this clenching going on at his back. He just knows your muscles must be tired at this point.

Not for the first time, he curses his upbringing. Dealing with emotions had come rather short in his education. The focus had always been on how to destroy, never how to comfort.

But that one time they'd given him a lesson on how to deal with people in distress for of his public image.

However, that doesn't really apply here, he reasons. It might even be impersonal. You're not some random fan he can pat on the back and leave!

So when he picks you up, arms draped over his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, he's operating purely on instinct. He's seen a man do this in a movie once and it had worked there, so he takes the gamble.

To his relief, you tighten your grip on him and cling to his body like a little koala, tears still wetting the material of his suit.

The mental image is quite cute, he will admit. Then again, so are you.

Walking back to the couch, he settles the two of you into the soft pillows for a little comfortability. You can't just keep standing in the hallway forever.

Noticing the fuzzy blanket he'd bought for you few weeks ago because his place is always cold, he shifts you around and clumsily wraps you in the soft, red fabric, until you're sitting in a cocoon on his lap.

You've stopped crying at this point as well. There's still the occasional sob or sniffle but for the most part you're just clinging onto him and hiding your face in his neck.

He pats your head awkwardly and you let out a tiny laugh that gets muffled in his neck.

It's quite nice like this, he notices. Not the crying, of course. But have you this close, needing physical comfort which nicely feeds his own cravings for your touch.

He'd actually quite like you like this, all vulnerable, if it weren't for your upset state and the crying... He doesn't like those...

After a while, he experimentally places a soft kiss on your head and you pull away slightly to look at him.

Your eyes and cheeks are red from crying and your face is a little puffy but it's kinda cute in his eyes.

"Do you feel better?" He asks, continuing to stroke your hair.

You nod and take a deep breath.

"Better," you sniffle. "Thanks for being here. I- I needed that hug and I just really felt like seing you. Sorry, I had-... I had a really shitty day..."

His brain stops at that, having just had a revelation.

Constellations in his mind shift just the tiniest bit.

You trust him.

You came to him for comfort.

Not because there was nobody else either but because you genuinely wanted to see him and thought his being there would bring you calm! You felt like seeing him would make you feel better!

The most dangerous person in the world (not that you realize that) and you came to him for comfort.

Deep in his chest, pride and satisfaction begin to swell, along with a new kind of warmth he's never felt before. He doesn't even try to fight the broad smile that sneaks onto his face.

"It's fine! You can always come to me for comfort. I don't mind!" He reassures you, cheerfully,

"I really don't mind."

His arms tighten around you just the tiniest bit. Well, there's no way around it. Seems like he'll just have to protect you from now on.

#mine #my writing #gender neutral reader #gn reader #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the homelander #homelander #the boys tv show #the boys fanfic #the boys tv #the boys #the boys series

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 42.1k words | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak | oral (f receiving) | (semi) public sex | vaginal fingering

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his mouth connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck.

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write, I accidentally made it 9.5k words lol, but it was such a relief (ish) to write. Some new warning apply to this chapter, so please be advised of those. We get to see a whole new side to Joel this chapter and we’ll get to see some “in the making of” this chapter in the following one. A little bit of context on why Joel changes so abruptly and the reasoning behind his decisions. I hope you all know how much i love love love you guys for being here for me while i struggle to find time to write. I’m working on getting back on my feet every day and this is the one safe place I have to escape and indulge in my favorite coping mechanism. Much love, H 🤍

Chapter 7–You Don’t Want That Smoke

Your birthday falls on Friday this year, (lucky you) but it also means the First Friday dance falls on your birthday this year as well. It’s the first community event after the cold winter months and by that time, most people are itching to get out of their snow-buried homes. The town usually puts on the event to celebrate the coming spring, hosting venders of all sorts and games for the families. Growing up, your parents would take you to the petting zoo and let you ride the ponies, like you didn’t have a horse at home, like there wasn’t a whole ranch to attend to, animals to raise up and sell, like you could just for a moment, be a normal little girl from a quiet street who’d never sat in a saddle in her life.

If only that had been the case, ever. If only you’d had parents who pursued safe, reliable careers, where they had pensions and retirement, insurance and benefits, instead of breaking their backs for a ranch that had been dying long before it was left to your mother by her parents. Was it obligation that kept them here, or was it something else? Was it the same thing that got you through years of college, all in an attempt to keep your parents' dream alive for a little while longer?

It’s Wednesday, which means you have two more days before your birthday and Melly’s plane lands in a few hours from Colorado, but so far your morning has taken you five rounds in the octagon and is currently coming back for more.

“—No! The statements I just got in the mail yesterday said we have ninety days to come up with three months worth of the mortgage before the property faces foreclosure.”

The woman on the other end of the phone sighs at you and you can hear the way her hands hit her keyboard. “I know that, ma’am, but that was a month and a half ago and we still have not received any payments. The bank sent another letter, requesting that the entire six month worth of back payments be received by the end of the ninety days or the property will be foreclosed on.”

The routinely scripted response feels like an open handed slap to the face, white hot pain snapping through your veins like lightning on the Wyoming plains. You sink down into the dining room chair and let it soak in all the way.

“How many days do we have left?” You hear yourself whisper into the phone but it’s not you speaking, not really—its a absent reflex like blinking or breathing.

“That's…51 days, ma’am. We’ll contact you again in thirty days if we have not received the entire amount by that time.”

Your eyes burn and blur, tears for the years of your life wasted on a useless education, until they surge past the dam and plummet to the paper below. When you look down at the document, your tears are stained red by the ink on the foreclosure notice. “How much will it be, again?” Defeated, Inadequate and Doomed.

“Fourteen thousand, three hundred and forty dollars, for six months worth of the Mortgage and late fees accumulated.” She sounds annoyed when she reads off the obscene number, like she isn’t sealing the fate of your family home, the dream your parents have worked their whole lives for to pass down to you—all wasted on a backed mortgage that your parents took out on the farm when you were born.

The full circle indicates that losing your family’s livelihood was your fault, from start to finish. You didn’t make it in time. All your hard work, and you’re still going to lose it.

“Is that everything, ma’am?”

Click

You drop the phone and sob into your arms, your whole body shaking and heaving with every sharp inhale. In your best attempt to keep quiet, you attract the attention of the one person you long to keep this from, your sweet, well meaning mom.

She’s soft spoken when she soothes you, rubs your back while you dry up your tears against her chest and she doesn’t ask why, just kisses your forehead and smiles one of those sweet sweet smiles at you and says, “We’ll get through this, Honey, don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure this out together.”

And you believe her, enough to reel in your hiccups, enough to ease your searing tears. “Why don’t you take a break from work, Melly gets here soon, yeah? You got everything you girls need?”

You smile at her, thankful for her ability to distract you from the things that keep you up at night. She knows you better than anyone, she’s your best friend. “Maybe we can stop at the store after we get her, but we gotta leave soon—“ you check the time, one hour until her plane touches down in Jackson and it takes forty five minutes to get there alone.

“Actually Honey, about that…I can't go with you. I’m not feeling up to it and I thought I would whip up dinner for you girls. But I got someone to go with you,”

You stand up from the chair and put the papers back into the envelope. “Mom, I really can go alone, I drove all the way here—“ she stops you with a quiet scuff. “You got stuck in the snow and Joel had to pull you out.” Joel, that son of a bitch…that big, sexy cowboy son of a bitch who left you in the snow. Who huffs and puffs and walks around like the sweatiest, filthiest, most delicious version of every nasty fantasy you’ve ever had. Of course she would drag him into this, maybe she’s the one who’s after the help.

“Speak of the devil,” she has this knowing look when her gaze travels past you to the doorway of the dining room. You glance over your shoulder to find yourself smack dab in the middle of one of those filthy dreams, dressed in green plaid and his brown Carhartt jacket, his black cowboy hat resting atop his head with curls peeking out of the sides, kissing the tips of his ears. His beard has grown out a tad too, making him look soft all over, scruffy and curly with a dimpled smile. The sight of him comes with a sudden rush of soothing comfort, warm eyes that make you feel safe, hidden in the shadows of his hat.

“Heard I was takin’ you somewhere?” He’s broad and sturdy, with a slight sheen of sweat on the peaks of his collarbones under his shirt. Under his beard, his neck is taught and his muscles are strained, his pulse visible beneath his skin despite his cool composure. If you know Joel, he did a days worth of work this morning to clear his schedule for the rest of the afternoon. He probably smells like sweat and dirt, like horses and leather under all that damn southern charm he possesses.

Actually, you can take me anywhere. On the couch, in my room, hell—in the glow of a fridge light.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to bite off your involuntary groan, shooting your mom a sharp look. She may play coy, might act like she's this innocent and sweet, cookie baking, laundry folding, house making mom who knows no better, but you see what she’s really up to. How she hides behind her little false oblivion, a facade she usually only uses for good. This doesn’t feel like it was for the greater good.

“You—“ you sneer at her quietly and she smiles with a “Not sure what you mean dear, but you better get a move on. I have to get dinner in the oven!” She scurries out of the room and into the next, letting the door swing closed behind her. Joel remains in the same spot, one shoulder pressed against the white wood frame of the old door, his muddy boots on the dark hardwood floors. Your eyes drag up the rest of him, his pants are tight in the middle, hugging his hips and probably just barely restraining what lays below the dark blue denim. There's a soft curve to his belly, made apparent when his arms cross over his chest and pull his shirt tight against his front.

His belly looks so damn soft. So fucking round and bite-able. A few more clicks up, his chest nearly bulging out of the buttons of the flannel. The buttons hang on for dear life, but you’re afraid if he flexes, they will scatter to the floor with your resolve.

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. “Doin’ alright there, darlin’?” If his presence wasn’t enough, the bourbony southern drawl and the way he cocks his hip makes your thighs squeeze together involuntarily. “Yeah—Yep, just need to get dressed and I’ll be ready.” You’re still in a big sleep shirt, have been all morning because work for you doesn’t require pants half of the time. When you start to breeze past, his eyes drop to the exposed skin of your thighs.

“Been wonderin’…” he stops you with a big hand, pressed against your sternum when you try to pass by his solid form. He’s still faced the opposite direction than your body, only his head turns to look down at you, gone still beneath his stern fingertips. “If you always walk around naked under these shirts, or if you’re wearin’ somethin’ under there when mom and dad are ‘round?”

His eyes flick back to the door leading into the kitchen, where your mother is currently hiding from your scowl, then back down to the hem of your oversized shirt. The hand on your ribs shifts when you haul in a deep, stuttering breath. It slips a few inches lower, the tips of his thick fingers dipping into the flesh of your stomach, just below your belly button. He’s so close and so fucking firm where he holds you in place.

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself, Cowboy?”

You challenge him back and you swear he stops breathing beside you. He meets your dare with a low growl, reverberating inside his rib cage like a shout in a vast canyon. What the hell is happening right now, did he hit his head or something? Is he finally getting the fucking hint? How desperately you want him to have his way with you? Then again, the last time he saw you dressed like this, you were bent over, knowingly showing off everything you had to offer, the place you wanted him most, while you listened to the guttural sounds leaving the unsuspecting man behind you. You aren’t going to complain about the sudden shift in his attention, hell no—you’ll soak in what you can get from the leery cowboy.

You hardly register the way he moves until he leans forward and warm fingertips graze the skin just under your ass. He’s looking when he lifts the shirt all the way up to your tailbone slowly, covered by smooth black satin, a thong that hugs your hips but leaves your cheeks exposed to his greedy sight. His eyes are everywhere, your thighs and the curve of your bare behind. His fingers dip just under the black satin band on your hip, his expression is just shy of a devoted man as he drinks in the contrasting sensation of your smooth skin and the silky material.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, letting his hand slip from your panties to travel back down, unsure fingers tracing along the crease of your ass, curling under your cheek when he gets to the bottom. It’s the softest touch you’ve ever felt, full of admiration and barely restrained desire. It sets your skin on fire, radiating behind your eyelids. “Those are…damn pretty, sugar…but you better go get yourself ready, before you’re late.” His hands slip away from you completely and he turns in the direction of the door, already on his way out before you even fully process what just happened. What flipped inside of Joel on a random Wednesday afternoon in late February?

He leaves with a satisfied smirk with intentions of starting the truck while you stammer against the doorway and remind yourself to breathe. When the front door closes behind him, you lean against the wood he was just propped against, hoping his heat will still linger there. He instigated something, a secret whisper of want, the thought makes a grin break out from one side of your face to the other, pulling your cheeks tight. He wants you.

You get dressed with that same stupid grin plastered on your face. You shift through your closet a few times, but you keep falling back on the same outfit. A pair of flared jeans, light in color with stitch work on the sides. With a pair of boots, they make your ass look like a dream—just what you are going for, just so you can rile Joel further. You find a tight top and a thick wool flannel to throw over it, before tracking back down the stairs to the front door.

It’s the rush of adrenaline that shocks the agony from your brain, but the moment you bound down the front steps to his waiting truck, the door already propped open, you pause.

You stop at the foot of the stairs and turn, looking up the steps you’ve known your entire life, the screen door you’ve spent numerous summers swinging in and out of. The porch you’ve watched storms roll in from, the porch swing where you had your first kiss. All this and…your heart sinks. When you turn back towards the running chevy, Joel is staring back at you, his once knowing smirk traded in for a furrow of concern on his handsome features.

You climb into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt while Joel puts the truck in gear and pulls away from the house.

There’s a long stretch of road that passes in near silence, before it’s you who just can’t take it anymore. Joel, sweet fucking Joel sat beside you, respecting your emotions and your boundaries once again. “Ranch is ‘bout to be foreclosed.” You tell him. Once it’s spoken aloud, you realize just how imminent your family’s demise really is. How quickly you are going to lose everything, watch your parents walk away with no retirement and nothing to show for themselves, for generations of hard work.

You expect something, questions about how you know, how long you have, if there's anything he can do to help you, but the questions never come. Instead, Joel reaches over and presses his fingers into the latch on your buckle, pulling it off of you with one click.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” His tone is low, soft enough to not interrupt your thoughts, but enough to have you drawing across the bench seat and slipping under his sturdy arm while he drives. He keeps you tucked in close beside him, his hand trailing up and down your arm to ease out the pain residing in your veins. He takes one glance down at you and leans forward, his lips connecting with the crown of your head. “We’ll get through it. We ain’t goin’ down without a hell of a fight.”

We

We

Because after the years you’ve spent away from this place, Joel has come to think of the Rising Sun ranch as his home just as much as it is yours. He’d raised every one of the cattle on that ranch, he’s worked day and night to ensure its survival, he’s lost sleep and nearly limbs fighting to keep them afloat while you were gone. This is his home, his fight right alongside yours. Finally, the weight seems to ease up, shouldered by Joel's sense of responsibility for your family’s livelihood.

Beside you, he’s solid and warm, he’s alive and overflowing with strength, enough to spare, for something to cling to. You turn your head and bury your face in his shoulder, covering yourself in the shield of protection he has to offer, sturdy, devoted support that makes you feel lightheaded with security. He doesn’t push you further, doesn’t prod you for details. He just hangs on, keeps your body tucked in close to his while he drives into town. At some point, the rattling of the old truck along patchy highway roads lulls you into sleep with your head against his shoulder and one leg across his lap.

Joel, with all the strength he can muster—holds on tight.

“Hey,” your senses come rushing back when the truck comes to a stop and your warm pillow jostles under your head. You lift up off his weight a little and glance at him through a sleepy gaze, a soft smile present on his lips. “As much as I like you droolin’ all over me…” he gestures to wet stain on his flannel. “Think your friends plane lands soon, don’t want you to miss it.”

You get yourself together enough to look out the window. Joel parked right outside of baggage claim at Jacksons little airport and his arm still sits tightly around your shoulders. A deep sigh sets in to your bones and you lean against him for just a moment longer to soak in the warmth. “Hey, look at me, darlin’,” his hand wraps around your chin gently, coaxing your eyes up to his. “Don’t think about the ranch, at least till the week is over. Ain’t nothin’ you can do right now, so don’t let it ruin your birthday. Everythin’s gonna be alright.” His words trail off when a broad thumb swipes across the underside of your bottom lip, his gaze caught in yours so tightly you’re half sure the jaws of life couldn’t draw you apart. He breaks out into a grin and heaves a shallow laugh. “Had a little drool there.”

The little laugh that bubbles up in you breaks the eye contact and Joel shuts off the truck, untucking you from his arm. You check the time for safe measures, there's still a few more minutes before the plane lands and she still has to make it out the gates.

“Joel?” He’s fiddling with his key chain, adjusting a few backwards keys. “Hmm?” He barely makes eye contact—is he embarrassed? From holding you while you slept? “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me—for my family while I’ve been gone. I can't think of a way to…repay you for everything.”

Joel glances over at you and something flashes in his brown eyes, something that looks like discomfort and shame. He takes a sharp breath in and squeezes his knuckles around the keys. “I didn’t do it all selflessly…please don’t take this wrong. I haven’t felt a sense of belonging in years. Me and Tommy have been drifting since I was twenty eight, working on one ranch after another. We’d stick around a town for six months and he’d get antsy, stir up trouble and we’d have to hit the road again.”

He brings his hand up to his mouth and chews on the corner of his thumb. He’s anxious, you can tell by the way his eyes flitter to you then away quickly. “I’ve covered his ass more times than I can count because I don’t know if I’ll be the same if I have to leave here. It feels fuckin—selfish, like I’m usin’ your folks. M’gettin’ old, my bones are tired and all I want is to…stop. Slow down for once in my life. I’ve never been more at peace than I am here, with your parents and the ranch. I was doin’ so good, gettin’ my mind right, hatin’ myself a little less and then—“ he trails off with a distant look in his eyes.

And then…what? What’s caused Joel to lose that sense of peace and stability? “What happened?” You sink back in the bench seat, run your fingers along the stitched pattern of color adorning the warn padding. “S’big snow storm came in…I was comin’ back from town because I took Tommy to pick up flowers. He’d been a real asshole to a sweet lady who didn’t deserve it. Was pissed off he was smokin’ in the truck, pissed he was jeopardizin’ our home again, when we see this little car stuck in the embankment, met this—real pretty girl, and she…” he sneaks a glance over at you, but he’s doing his best to find anywhere, anything else to look at. Cars passing by, the sun reflecting off the bright white paint on the cross walk. The older woman in-front of you, helping what looks like her daughter, load her luggage into the trunk.

“She got under my skin and I was flustered for the first time in a really long time. Kinda freaked me out—and then I left here there—‘cuz I was scared shitless and nothin’s ever been the same since. Sorta think she hates my guts half the time for it.”

There's this unsettling silence in the cab, Joel's nerves and his admission hanging in the air between you. He’s never ever been this vulnerable and honest with you before. You’ve talked to him more times than you can count now, a meaningless little conversation where you found everything you needed to change your mind about him. But he’s never opened himself up like he was right now, in the damn pick up line of the Jackson airport.

“Joel I…I already forgave you for that.” You forgave him for that when he gave you your necklace for Christmas. You forgave him when he carried a newborn calf half a mile through a snowstorm for you. You forgave him when you came down the stairs to him in that damn cowboy hat.

You forgave him when he came back for you and looked at you with those pretty brown eyes.

“What?” He looks over at you and you hold onto the eye contact for as long as you possibly can. “I don’t hate you. Furthest thing from it actually—I do hate how much you avoid me. Like I’m going to bite your head off any second—“ he snorts, cracks a white smile at you and his eyes crinkle at the sides, making your stomach flutter, little blue butterflies soaring through your abdomen. “You do bite my head off—often.”

Okay—maybe he’s a little right, maybe you let it get too far a few times, spent too many afternoons angry at his distaste for you, when all you wanted was a taste of him. “Well, I’m sorry…for all the things I’ve said to you, the things I’ve called you. But I’m not upset about that anymore. I forgave you for that a long time ago. You’ve already made up for it a million times, Joel.”

He’s grinning at you like you just told him he won the fucking lottery, his nervous hands drumming a absent tune against the steering wheel. He’s looking at you like it’s the first time you’ve ever met him, his eyes shining with mirth and admiration. “Think…you could give this ol’ cowboy another shot?” That nervous little shake of his jaw, the tick in his voice and the hopefulness in his eyes is enough to break anyone, but you? You’re so lost on him you never want to find your way back. Throw away the maps, toss the keys somewhere you’ll never find them again—you never want to go anywhere else in the world. Another shot? You’d give him all of them.

“Pretend you’ve never met me before.”

He blinks, cocks an eyebrow and makes a face of confusion at you. “I’ve never met you?” You nod, turn your whole body to face him on the bench seat of his old beat up chevy. “Like it’s the first time we’ve met. I’m Hank's daughter and you’re picking me up from the airport to take me home for the first time in years. We’ve never met. Try again, shoot your shot, cowboy.”

You’d like to imagine that's how it went—your mom and dad were too busy to come get you and you decided to fly because you knew your little car wouldn’t make it. They send Joel, because he’s trustworthy and punctual. They know he’ll treat their daughter with respect, they trust that he’ll use his better judgment, because they know he’s a good man. You know that under that rough, hard exterior is an anxious man searching for belonging, a good man.

Joel takes a deep breath, lets his mind drift out the window before he turns it back to you with a charming smile, one you’ve never been on the receiving end of. It’s smoldering, flirtatious—everything you imagined Joel to be after all those years of pinning after a man you’ve never laid eyes on. A Joel you’ve never met and desperately need to get to know better. “Prodigy daughter finally returns,” his drawl is thick and his eyes rake over you once, twice, before settling on your own. “I’m Joel.”

You giggle—rightfully so, because this Joel? This Joel is all quick wit and chivalry. You fake introduce yourself back, your grin mirroring his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joel.”

“Pleasure is…all mine, darlin’.”

You could stare at him forever with that damn goofy smile on his face. “Anyone ever tell you—you look good in this?” You tell him, reaching up to flick the brim of his hat, but it stays firmly in place despite your efforts. He snorts and snaps up to catch your wrist, holding onto it tightly in his big hand. “S’funny, I was just thinkin’ about how good you’d look in my hat.” His thumb circles the inside of your wrist slowly,’ pushing down the fabric of your sleeve with the effort. Slowly, he draws your appendage closer, till his mouth hovers just above your skin. His eyes are like witnessing something tragic, so devastating you can't bring yourself to look away.

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his lips connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck. There’s an image you’ll never get out of your mind—your hands on his sweaty chest, the brim of his hat falling in front of your eyes while you try to keep it in place, despite the way you ride him—

“Joel—Jesus, you can’t just—“

He breaks out into a chest filled laugh, his eyes slip close and his head falls back. His whole body responds to the way he laughs, his legs kick up, his chest heaves and his belly bounces. He’s a menace, a damn trouble starter—he makes you see hearts around his head and a sparkle in his eyes you’re sure you’re imagining. He calms his laugh down with a few deep breaths, a grin still plastered on his handsome face. “What can I say? I’m really bad at first impressions.”

He is, but it doesn’t bother you like it used to. Joel isn’t and never will be the perfect man you’d envisioned. He’ll never be the Joel you’d made up in your head for so long, because that Joel was made solely for you, from your interpretation of a man who’s perfect for you in every way. But that Joel and the one in front of you are two vastly different people—this Joel is gruff at times, opinionated and flawed. He wasn’t made perfect for you, but you find that the things that make him the least like the Joel in your mind—are the things that you like most about him. He’s gruff, but he’s punctual and takes no shit. He’s opinionated, but he’s wise about life, he’s earned the right to voice his beliefs. He’s flawed—he has crows feet by his kind eyes, graying curls and weathered hands—but it’s his flaws that entice you to learn more about him. They make him real in front of you instead of a made up, faceless man in your dreams.

Your phone chimes in your pocket and it sucks you from the void in the cab of this old truck, away from Joel's charming smile and his burning hand on your wrist. He pulls away and the moment dissipates into dust on the dashboard.

Melly: I just got my bag, headed out now!

“Be right back,” you slip out the door with a firm shut and try your hardest not to glance back at the man in the cab of that blue and white truck.

Finding Melly is easy, she sticks out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair and too-blessed chest. What did she do in a past life for tits like that, anyways?

She comes out the double doors and jogs to you with a grin your wearing on your own face. “Oh my gosh!” She squeals, finally getting close enough to throw your arms around each other. It’s been months since you’ve seen each other after spending everyday together for the last two years. You tumble around together in your hug for a few minutes before she pulls back to look you over, in a pair of flared jeans and boots. “Oh man, the country got you.” She jokes, faking a deflated sigh. “Would you fuck off?” She laughs menacingly, slinging her bag over her shoulder for more security. “Let me guess, you’re still trying to drive that cowboy crazy, right?”

With a deep eye roll, you finally look back at the truck. He’s looking right back at you, an easy smile on his lips when your eyes connect. You look back to your best friend and make a face. “He uhm…he actually drove me…to come get you. He’s in the truck, please be nice to him, okay?” She sneers and you know she means trouble when you help her with her things on her way to the truck.

“Please don’t fucking embarrass me, I swear dude—“ Mel gives you a little shove and huffs a laugh when you put her suitcase in the bed of the pickup. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin your shot with the old dude.” She looks around you, eyeing him from outside of the truck without his knowledge. “Holy shit, dude he’s hot. He’s like, stupid hot.”

You look over at him too and like he can feel your eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder, smiles warmly and you know it—

Know you’re fucked.

“Not a word.” Mel throws her hands up innocently and follows your lead when you open the door of the truck and climb in the middle, sliding in right beside Joel, reclaiming the space you’d taken up on your way here.

The whole drive back to the ranch, your body is on fire along the parts that connect to Joel, pressed so close you’re afraid you might melt into him.

Two days pass in a blur.

You spend a lot of time with Mel, catching up on how she's been doing since graduating, how she likes work—she’s a wildlife biologist in Colorado, who’s still learning the ropes of the job but she’s never been more excited to be a part of something. You don’t tell her about the ranch for a good reason, but she still asks and doesn’t say anything if she notices the look on your face when you lie to her.

We’ll get through it

You love spending time with her, but you don’t see a lot of Joel besides meals. He’s pleasant and soft, smiling at you like he’s never worn a frown on that handsome face. He sits too close at dinner, draws your gaze in far too many times for it to be an accident. It’s not anymore but it’s still so damn hard to make yourself believe that this isn’t just a fleeting moment—temptation breathing life into you for the first time in years, teasing you with possibilities.

He makes you burn but he doesn’t push further, doesn’t chase that desire down its narrowing path. It’s so close—you’re so close to finally making him yours.

When your birthday rolls around, he’s nowhere to be seen at breakfast. When you head out to the stables, the horses have already been fed and there's no trace of the man who plagues your every waking moment. The truck is gone and the tire-tracks in the driveway look old, like he’s been gone for hours. It’s not that he’s required to see you on your birthday, but you thought things were going to change. You thought that re-meeting him in the truck at the airport would restart everything, he’d realize you want him around more than the ranch hand who got under your skin and made you desperate for his attention. It feels naive, to watch out the window for his truck for most of the morning, pining after that faded powder blue and rust.

“This is depressing to watch from the outside, you know that right?” Comes Mel’s voice from the other side of your room when you check the window for the first time in the last half hour. She's painting her nails on the chair in your room while you peer through the blinds like he might appear out of thin air without you hearing the rumble of his old chevy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You do your best to defend yourself, stepping away and crossing your arms as you trudge to your bed.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I know you. You’re pacing your room wondering when you’ll see him. You know everyone can see the way you guys look at each other right? When are you guys going to like…kick it up a notch, get in his pants?”

You toss yourself on the fluffy sheets and close your eyes tight, letting your mind wander for a moment. “I don’t know…” what are you going to do, if you cant even see him long enough to get him alone? Tonight is the dance and you were hoping he’d be there, maybe he’d ask you for a dance. You’ve never told a boy in your hometown yes to a dance at this thing, but you’d change that for Joel. If he asked, you’d let him spin you around all night long.

Only problem is, he can’t do that if he’s still avoiding you like you're an illness he can’t afford to catch. “He’s so confusing. One second he acts like…he wants me, the next he’s hiding from me, probably—ugh, I just wish I could get him out of my head if he wants nothing to do with me!”

The room is silent, still for all of five glorious seconds before Mel breaks it. “Does he still run away to jerk off?” You snap your eyes over to her with a sharp glare. “Yes! And he drives me up the fucking wall, dude! All I want is to get my hands on that delicious man and he runs away every time. How am I ever supposed to accomplish anything if I can't even get him alone for five minutes. And every time I do, something happens and ruins it all.”

You can't seem to get a second with him no matter how hard you try. The last two days, he hasn’t been around aside from his work in the morning, a few meals he makes it to in between. If you’re being honest, it's painful to think about the way he’d smiled at you a few days ago and the way he doesn’t have the time of day now.

“If he shows up at that dance tonight, I’m making sure you get your second alone. Now come on, let me help you pick out your dress. He won't know what he’s missing out on.”

By the time you’re headed out the door for town, Joel is still nowhere in sight. You thought you’d heard his truck for a moment earlier, but when you’d peered out the window a few minutes later, there was no blue chevy in the driveway. No cowboy waiting out front for you.

You trudged to the car in your black dress, two slits up the sides where your thighs peak out and a back so low your half afraid your ass is going to fall out of the damn thing. You do your best to hold it up when you walk through the dirt, a pair of knee high red cowgirl boots are the only thing saving you from the mud right now.

Melly isn’t far behind, but she's not dressed in anything nearly as revealing as you. She’s making friends with Tommy who surprisingly hasn’t tried to flirt yet and claims to have no idea where his older brother has disappeared to. He’s endearing, but you know he’s playing for both sides here, hiding something for his brother.

On the drive into town, your parents take your dads truck, leaving you, Mel and Tommy in your car. When you get about half way, you finally break and ask if Tommy has seen Joel, if he knows if he’s coming. Tommy shrugs in the rearview mirror with a smile.

“I’m sure we’ll see ‘em.” Is the only answer you get.

It doesn’t happen for hours.

Hours of forcing a smile through mind numbing conversation with people you haven’t seen in years. The same old how have you been in the big city? and you tell them it was hard work and commitment. They ask no plans for the future? like you’re doomed without a ring on your hand at your age. You keep your head up through every comment, back handed compliment and pick up line that passes you by for a whole fucking hour on the dance floor alone.

“I think I want to go home soon. I’m having the worst fucking time, my feet are killing me and I think my eyelash is falling off.” Your whining and limping, faking distress and discomfort for any shot to get the fuck out of here, go home and maybe you can chance a run in with Joel.

Maybe he’s coming in from the north pasture where he’s probably been hiding all day. He’d be covered in muck and sweat, dirt clinging to the creases in his face. He’d be tired and worn out, vulnerable to the way you’d take advantage of his weakened restraint. “You sure you don’t want to stay a few minutes longer?” Melly muses beside you sipping on a tall glass of tequila on ice, watching the small town’s people converse and dance, laugh and gather together under the low string lighting.

You take a long drag of the drink in your own hand, your third of the night that's finally starting to warm your insides. It’s not enough to ease the ache of wishing Joel would appear. You know he won't, there's only a few hours left and people are starting to get tipsy. “I think you might want to rethink that…the devil himself just walked in, twelve o’clock.”

You look up at her, in a pretty green dress with curly hair framing her face. She’s smirking over your shoulder at something—or someone behind you. You turn the rest of the way around and swear you’re in the middle of one of those movie scenes.

The ones where the love interest walks in and sexy rock plays while they walk in slow motion. With wind blowing this hair back even though they are inside. Joel fucking Miller was doing exactly that at this very minute, striding through the hall in his cowboy hat and a black button down, dark wash jeans and his boots. He looks like a wet dream standing there, looking a little bit lost and so damn handsome. Under his hat, you can see that his hair is slicked back and he looks clean like he’d gone home and gotten ready.

He’s here.

“Oh he looks…if you don’t ask him to dance, I will. He’s hot.” You wish you could explain to her that Joel is more than that, that he’s funny and endearing, that he’s honorable and loyal to a fault. He’s so many more things than just hot. You swivel around as he makes his way through the crowd, he’s bound to find you and you don’t want him to spot you gawking at him. “Do I look okay? Fuck he looks so good—is my hair alright?” You try to do a quick pat down but Melly grabs your hand with a smile. “You look fine. He’s not going to know what hit him, I promise—but he’s coming this way so whatever you do, chill out.”

She sets her drink on the tall table, the ones that adorn the outside of the dance floor for people who want to mingle. You take a long drink of yours and move to set it down when someone clears their throat behind you. The drink hits the table and you turn slowly, till you rotate around to face him completely. He’s even more devastating up close with pearl snap buttons on his shirt, his arms nearly bulging out of the damn thing. His facial hair looks shorter, his eyes shimmering with reflected light.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, standin’ here all by herself on her birthday?” He grins at you and takes another step forward. “Guess I’m just waiting for the right cowboy to ask me for a dance.” You tease back, reaching out for him once he’s close enough for you to touch. You start at his stomach, soft under his dress shirt. When your hands make contact, a visible shiver runs through Joel.

There’s suddenly two more hands to join the party, one high up on your waist while the other curves around low on your hip, his digits digging into the top of your ass. “I’ll be real’ honest with you here, doll—askin’ you for a dance is the only reason I came tonight.” He smells good for once, usually you catch a hint of his shower under the smell of dirt and manure, a faintness of his once clean skin. Now, it’s all you can focus on—how he’d taste like his soap, smooth and clean, every part of him reachable by your watering mouth. “Well, Cowboy…go on.” Your hands slip up his chest and over his broad shoulders, like you’ve imagined yourself doing a thousand times. He’s responsive, lowers his shoulders so you fit along him perfectly.

“Would ya make this old man's day, let me have a dance?” His hand drops lower, along the side of your thigh until he can dig them into the curve under your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to hoist you up, drag you into that vice-like grip you want to be at the mercy of every day of your life. “Can’t get me any closer, Joel.” You giggle, hiding your face against his neck. He smells like after shave and a little like whiskey. “I thought you were giving up drinking?” You nip at his jaw lightly, just to listen to the way he rumbles against you.

“I’m—tryin’ to keep my cool here, but you look fucking incredible tonight. Needed a little courage to walk up to you, s’all.” He leans back slightly, looking down at the way your dress squeezes your tits together, nearly pouring out of the black satin. “Fucking…gorgeous in this thing, you know that? You knew how sexy this little thing was, didn’t you?” He pulls at the slit that exposes your thighs, raking it up a little higher, until he can get a handful of bare skin. He’s not wrong—you’d put the dress on and thought about all the ways it would drive Joel crazy if he saw you in it.

“You better take me dancing before you take this off of me.” The dance around you has started to fade away. Melly took her cue to go and has started to make conversation elsewhere. “With pleasure, darlin’.”

Joel all but carries you to the middle of the dance floor before you notice his obvious nervous ticks, the shake of his hands and the way he’s fighting the urge to gnaw on his thumb. He’s anxious despite his obvious attempt at faking composure. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders again, he stammers. “Need to tell you somethin’.” His voice is a little shaky on the inhale when his hands find your waist again. “I went into town last week, there’s this dance studio on sixth street and I thought, maybe I could trade work for someone to…teach me how to use my damn feet.” For added flair, he reels away from you and spins you once before drawing you back into his chest as he moves. “So, I take it someone taught you?”

The song changes, something slow, romantic and sweet that couples join in around you, swaying together around the dance floor. “Lady said she’d been lookin’ for someone to replace the dance floor. Told her I just wanted to learn to dance, so I’d stand a chance against the other schmucks askin’ you.” He dances you around for a few more moments, pulling out all the stops—every new move he learned. Was that why he was gone so much, disappearing every time you turned around? He was replacing a damn floor and learning how to dance, all for you?

“Joel—“ you start, trying to grab ahold of him for long enough to make him still. “There's somethin’ else,” he dips you back and your insides flutter, looking up at him with those big brown hopeful eyes. He stands you up right again and the dancing slows to a stop, right there in the middle of the dance hall. You’re sure the towns eyes are on you, your mom and dad, friends from high school, older people you’ve been around your entire life. “She wouldn’t let me leave without payin’ me for it, said dancin’ lessons don’t cost that much after all.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a envelope, sealed tight with a number written on the front.

“Ranch needs it a whole hell of a lot more than I do. S’just two grand, but I’ve found a few other odd jobs, so there will be more comin’, but it’s a start—“ your hand clasps over his clutching the envelope. You push his hand down, stepping forward until you're nearly standing on his own feet. “Joel Miller…are you going to stand there all night running your mouth, or are you going to kiss me?” This endearing man, this big, expressive cowboy who can’t seem to get anything right in his own eyes, but everything right in yours.

He chuckles, the hand not holding the envelope finds the side of your face, sliding his thumb along the apple of your cheek. He’s not the one to make the first move after all—after all the leading him towards it, the teasing and the showmanship. It’s you that stands up high on your tiptoes and drags him the rest of the way in, until his mouth finds yours in the lull of the dance hall, surrounded by swaying bodies and sweet music.

He sucks in a breath through his nose and his mouth opens, slots your lips between his when he finally, fucking finally gives all the way in. It’s sweet, chaste while you stand there, smack dab in the middle of the floor. Joel stuffs the envelope back into his pocket and his other hand finds your body again, yanking until you're flushed against him, digging your hands into his shoulders when his tongue licks along the seam of your mouth, begging to be let into the slick heat. What was slow and steady, soon becomes frantic, hot and needy. Your fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt and someone shoots off a whistle from across the room, enough to have you reeling apart. Joel's mouth is red, his lips swollen and shiny from your spit.

“You want to get out of here?”

Yes. Fucking hell yes you wanted to, you’ve wanted to all damn night, but with Joel standing in front of you, a strained tent in his dark jeans, it’s all you can think about. Instead of a response, you grab him by his hand and all but drag him out the back doors towards the parking lot. It's quiet, dark—the dance isn’t even close to being over so there’s next to no one in the parking lot.

You never stood a chance, looking back on this moment right here. You never would have stood a chance, with Joel’s ragged breathing behind you when he closes the door tight behind him.

One look at his wild eyes and parted lips, you should have known how this night was going to end.

Joel was desperate. He needed you, needed to touch you every second of his day. He thought about you every second he spent awake and he dreamt of you all night long. When he’d heard about the dance, he wanted to kick himself for not learning sooner. Finding the dance studio was a fluke, learning to dance was a damn nightmare and the floor wasn’t much better, but he’d do it all again for another opportunity to press you up against the brick wall with your thighs pressed apart and his hips slotted between them while he all but devoured your mouth.

He’s ruthless, relentless as he drags your bottom lip between his teeth. You—you can't keep your sounds to yourself, hiking your legs up higher around his waist when he presses in closer. He can feel himself straining through his jeans, can feel the heat of your core against his painfully hard cock. He’d take you right fucking here if you let him. “Joel—Joel,” your hips roll down to meet his uncontrollable press forward. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” His movements are hurried and frantic, like this might be the only shot he has to get his hands on you. His mouth finds your jaw and he bites down on your flesh, relishing in the salty taste of sweat from dancing, the tang of your perfume and the sweet taste of your skin. It’s your sharp whine that gets him in motion again, his stilled teeth still hanging on to your delicate jaw. “Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

In a scurry, he drops his hand between your bodies, pushing the fabric of your dress to the side so his fingertips can work under the elastic of your panties, past the soaked material to the place he’s always longed to touch, always wondered what it would feel like.

And you are fucking drenched under his exploring digits. He slips them through your lips, your slick already dripping down his knuckles when he finds your clit and presses the pad of his thumb to it, swirling it around in a swift motion. Your head falls back and your mouth hangs open, a silent scream on your parted lips.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” He groans when your thighs tremble against him, trying to tighten up around his waist where he has you pinned to the cold wall. His thumb keeps its rhythm while his fingers dip lower, making him breathless at how easily your body draws those fingers in. You come apart like you were meant to do just that, your body rapidly chasing him towards the brink. If he hadn’t gotten himself off twice today, he’s sure he’d already have cum in his pants from just this. “Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum, please!” Your voice is wrecked.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your chest heaving in that pretty little dress—your tits are about to bust out of the damn thing. He picks up the pace, slams his fingers into your heat and curls them while his thumb makes quick work of your clit. It’s been so long since he touched a woman, but he’ll never forget the signs.

You are dangerously, furiously close in mere minutes alone. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.” You cry out sharply and he nearly covers your mouth with his other hand, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he revels in the pulse of your pussy on his fingers, the way you grind down against him while your body grasps for release. It comes to you with a whole body shake, a ragged gasp of his name and his tongue on your jugular.

When he pulls his hand free, it’s with a wet sound that makes his gut tighten and his knees weak. He has to get you somewhere more secluded, away from the prying eyes of the town folks. “Wunna taste you,” he growls lowly, dragging you away from the building despite the way you stumble, the lightheadedness from cuming on his fingers.

His truck is parked in the back for lack of a better spot, due to his tardiness. He’ll thank his lucky stars for it later, if he can remind himself of it. Now, he slings the door open and nearly throws you down on the bench seat. “C’mere, girl.” He’s running out of will power and common sense, the only thing driving his mind right now is sheer want, carnal desire to get his mouth all over what he’s already ruined. He’s lucky for the part of his brain that slips off his hat and sets it on the dashboard. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.”

His hands find the backs of your knees and he yanks you to the edge of the seat. At this angle, he can spread you out and kneel beside the truck, let you use the door jam to rest your foot on. When your eyes find him, he thinks you’re just as far gone as he is, blinded to the world unfolding around you, to rubber hitting asphalt nearby.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” He pushes your dress up with your hurried help, both of you desperately trying to rid you of your clothes as quickly as possible. The second he has your panties dangling between his finger tips, he pushes his head between your spread legs and buries himself under your dress.

The thing about Joel is, he’s always been too good at this. Half the time, it's the only reason women stick around. It must have been the only reason he got his ex wife to marry him.

He’s abandoned his shame and better judgment. He’s starved, famished for a taste of you. This man, this unhinged version of Joel eats pussy like he’s going to die without it. From the very second his mouth finds your center, he’s lost to your immodest cries, your mindless begging for him to keep going, never stop, never stop, Joel—please. He opens his mouth wide, slops his tongue through your folds like he’s trying to lick every drop from your sensitive skin. He pulls away for a breath and his eyes bounce up to meet yours, transfixed on his relentless attack. “Wunna split this little pussy open on me,” he says, muffled against your soft mound. He takes another long lap and moans at the heady taste of you on his greedy tongue.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” your head tips back and he pulls his mouth away completely. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body clenches on nothing and his eyes track the movement with a low rumble. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

You’d thought about this, about him. You’d thought about him while fucking yourself on a toy you’d bought to train yourself.

He doesn’t have the words to express the way it makes his chest tighten, so he presses his face between your thighs again and gets back to work, drawing out every secret you can no longer hold onto, how good he makes you feel, how hot and devastating his tongue is—how the sound of a car pulling up doesn’t even register until—

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

You should have known.

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[steve-faglan]

Cat // Mouse

Reader x Steve Raglan (William Afton)

TW: NON CON!! DUB CON!! DRUGGING!! HE'S MEAN!!!!!!!!!

SUMMARY: You get a job working for an old man you want to fuck. Are you misreading things? Where did that vibrator come from?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Is this considered a slow burn? It felt slow to write. It's supposed to be like will they? Won't they? But it's... Well yeah. Look at this gif??????? My PUSSSY????????

WORD COUNT: so many.

Daddy issues. At least, that's what they call it. That's what your ex screamed at you about before he left you in a state thousands of miles from the one you were raised in. He said it was because you made him feel immature; less than. But maybe he was. All he ever wanted to do was drink and play video games, you craved more.

After he left, you realized you'd have to get a better paying job to cover the portion of rent your ex was paying. You take a day to really let it settle in. You cry and drink an entire bottle of wine while watching Dirty Dancing, and then you schedule a meeting with a local career counselor.

You sigh as you hang up the phone. It's embarrassing to need a temp agency's help finding employment, but you're new to this area. You don't know anyone and you're barely sure where to start.

Your alarm blares throughout your room, startling you awake. You barely remember falling asleep at all, and somehow, it feels like you couldn't have possibly slept enough. You're sluggish and groggy, but you still find the energy to get ready for your interview. You're hoping a little extra effort will get you further in a small town like this, so you spend a little more time on your makeup before heading out of the house.

The drive across town to the agency is quick and easy. You pull into the parking lot and emerge from your car, shielding your eyes from the sun to read the rickety sign that's hanging on for dear life outside the building. You huff, unsure if this was the best place to go looking for higher-paying work. When you step inside the door, a petite old lady greets you with a smile. She points to an office down the hall and tells you to knock.

*Knock, knock, knock.*

You push the unlatched door open slightly and a warm voice invites you in.

"Come in, have a seat." The man instructs. You scan over his office. It's dated, and decorated with styles reminiscent of corporate America in the 80's. You read the name tag on his desk, Steve Raglan. You take a seat in one of the muted yellow chairs opposite Steve and await his introduction.

"Steve," he extends an arm over the desk and you shake his hand, telling him your name.

"Thanks for having me, Mr. Raglan. I'm new to town, well, new to the entire coast, really."

"Wow, a little far from home, aren't we?" Steve chuckles kindly, smiling with a tightly closed mouth, spreading his mustache across his lip.

"You have no idea," you laugh exhaustedly and Steve tilts his head as if he's pondering something, but he doesn't mention it. "Anyways, here's my resume. It's not much, but uh..." You hand him a folder with your work history document professionally stored inside. Steve happily takes the folder and begins to read through your papers.

Your resume is impressive. You're well educated with a strong work streak. Your work ethic stands out to him. He's reading through your accomplishments aloud, commending each one. You're unsure why, but his praise fills you with a very specific need. You crave more and something in you tells you that you'd do almost anything to get it.

"A course in robotic engineering?" Steve's voice sounds surprised. He looks up at you with raised eyebrows. A grin spreads across his bearded face. "Huh."

"Yeah, I actually took a few courses. I never did anything with it though."

"Do you remember a lot from those classes?" He sets the closed folder to the side and casually places other papers on top of it, distracting you enough to keep you from asking for it back.

"Oh, sure. Mostly coding, I guess." You shrug.

"Coding." He repeats to himself, nodding knowingly. He can think of a million places in this town that could use a smart, pretty little thing like you. A strained silence grows for just a moment before he speaks again. "Well, Y/N. I think I have an offer for you, but it's not much of a pay raise like you'd hoped."

"What is it?" You ask, hoping for at least a dollar difference.

"Did you see Mrs. Penneman out there?" Steve points in the direction of the kind old woman who greeted you.

"Mrs. Penneman?"

"She's at the front desk. She's retiring in exactly one week. That position will be open." He goes on to talk about the ways you could incorporate what you learned in your engineering classes as they switch from mostly paper to computers after Y2K.

"What's the pay like?" You ask, already knowing you plan to agree the second he stops talking.

"Not great, but!" He pauses for a moment. "Plenty of opportunities for overtime." Steve's not an idiot. He saw how looked when he was praising you. The way the red in your cheeks was flaming hot at the mere mention of you doing a good job. He knows what he's doing to you, and he loves it.

"Overtime?"

"Of course. Switching the entire employee records from paper to digital isn't an easy feat. It's going to take a lot of time you may not have during the work day. Does this suit you or should I keep looking?"

"Oh, uh," you hesitate. Steve stifles a grin as he watches your inner battle decide between being around him or possibly making more money. "Yes, that's perfect. Thank you, sir."

"Excellent. You start Monday." Steve ends the conversation abruptly. A jarring switch from friendly and conversational to busy and indifferent. It triggered something in you. A desperate need to get that warmth back.

"Right, okay. I'll... See you Monday." You leave the office, yearning. And Steve is well aware. He sits alone in his office, staring forward as he makes plans for you. He folds his hands together and rests his chin on them as he imagines the way he'll pick you apart like a toy. You're already so desperate for his approval, you've done the hard part for him.

Monday rolls around and you, of course, wake up a little early to get ready. Of course, you don't want to come off as desperate, so you're very tactful in the way you dress and present today, your first day. You've all but forgotten your ex was ever here, let alone the fact that you moved all the way to Hurricane, Utah for him.

Nervous, but good at hiding it, you walk into the building with a beaming false confidence. You're trying to remind yourself that while Steve is attractive and older and something mysterious about him draws you in, you're still here to work and you really can't let rent slip because homelessness is not an option when you're this far from your home state.

You brace yourself for what you assume will be an extremely long day, and you hope it is. Not only for the money but the view as well. When you walk up to the desk, Mrs. Penneman is nowhere to be found. All her belongings are missing from the desk, leaving a generic canvas of an office. You glance down the hall to Steve's open office door.

"Mr. Raglan?" You knock lightly on the door, stepping inside slowly so as not to intrude. He's not there. The entire building seems eerily empty. Just as you turn to leave his office, you run flat into a broad, solid figure. Steve. You stumble before finally falling backward. You sit on the floor for a moment, red-faced, but keeping your composure to the best of your ability.

"Someone's punctual." Steve extends a hand to you, helping you up to your feet.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Raglan. I couldn't find-"

"Mrs. Penneman decided an early retirement was in store. I'll be training you, if that's alright." Steve smirks, knowing he relieved his previous secretary of her duties early specifically to have this time working so closely with you. He dressed it up as a gift to her.

"Oh, okay. Of course. Where should I start?" You smile, awaiting instruction. You cling to every word he says, the guidance, the leadership. The way his dimples deepen when he smiles in the slightest. You become dependent on making him smile simply for this reason.

Steve sets you up for data entry and asks that you let him come check your work every so often to make sure things "meet his standards." You've never been more determined to do something perfectly in your life. With unbreakable focus, you start the first few tasks. You're mindful, double-checking, efficient, and fast.

"Mr, Raglan?" You appear like an angel in his doorway. He looks up from his papers and waits for you to continue. "I finished the first portion. Could you come check it for me?"

Steve smiles warmly as he stands to follow you to your desk. The warmth of his gaze melts you from your head to your pussy.

"This looks great, Y/N. Good job." He adds the last bit just to see the way your eyes shift and sparkle when he compliments you. He leaves you to do the rest of your work in peace, but he lingers a little longer in the hallway, watching you for a moment, carefully hidden from your view.

You pick up on the data entry rather quickly and finish the very last employee record by the end of your first week. When Steve comes to finalize the task, he grabs a chair and slides it next to yours so you can both look at the screen together. You're poised and collected by now, the initial lust seeming to die down after a week of seeing him every day. Though his words of approval still cause a knot to form in your stomach.

Steve picks up on your dwindling excitement and decides this is war. As the two of you sit next to each other, he carelessly allows his legs to take up more and more space. Normally a man's obliviousness in a situation like this would boil your blood, but when his thigh grazes yours so softly, you freeze. His touch lingers and he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. His face is dangerously close to yours. He leans in even closer, boldly placing his lips mere inches from your ear.

"You're a very impressive young woman. You know that?" His warm breath brushes against your ear, inviting a million little goosebumps across your skin. It takes everything in him not to chuckle at your visceral reaction. You're frozen, staring straight ahead, basking in the closeness to this man you desire so badly. A few moments pass and a light chuckle leaves his lips. Still ever so close, he speaks again. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"S-sorry! Thank you, Mr. Raglan. Sorry," you nervously laugh, wishing so badly you could go back in time and rip the sticker off your forehead that says "Fuck me, Mr. Raglan."

"Don't mention it." He suddenly withdraws from your personal space, leaving you clinging to the dwindling body heat he's left behind. His tall figure towers over you, especially so when you're sat. He's gone just as quickly as he arrived and you can't help but feel perplexed. Was he not just coming on to you? Did you project all of that onto a perfectly normal interaction? He warps your reality without even touching you.

"What the fuck?" You question aloud to yourself. Your heart is racing. Your mind is constantly replaying the moment. His voice, his words, all of it.

The next day, it starts as any other. You're replaying the day before over and over again, just as you did when you shamelessly touched yourself last night. The sound of his voice so close to your ear, the way his leg brushed against yours. Just thinking about it feels like butterflies in your stomach.

"Good morning, Y/N." Steve walks right past you. You try to return the greeting, but you're cut off by the sound of his office door closing. He's frustrated, but you're not sure why. Disappointed, but not really the probing type, you decide to just get to work. Today was supposed to be the day he trained you for a "side project" utilizing your coding skills, but you're hesitant to ask about it while he's so visibly upset.

The day continues as usual, though it does seem to drag on a little longer for you when you don't get to stare at Steve. You're straightening up the waiting area, bent at the waist to fan out the magazines. When you stand, there's suddenly a tall figure behind you. Steve is pressing the entire front of his body directly against you. You involuntarily release a small gasp when you feel what you're sure is his half-hard cock pressed against your ass. Steve takes only a second to inhale your scent and feel himself pressed against you before he whispers in your ear once again.

"You're my secretary, not my maid." He steps away and you frown, still facing away from him.

"I'm sorry, sir. I've run out of things to do." You shrug and you turn.

"Out of things to do? Already?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir." Your formality is adorable to him. And something about you calling him "sir" makes him hard just hearing it.

"Well," Steve steps closer to you now that you're facing him. He's so tall, towering over you, craning his neck to keep his eyes locked on yours. "You're such a good girl," there it is. His words make you shudder. There's no way he's fucking with you right now, right? Wrong. He once again creates a gap between the two of you.

"Good kid with a good head on your shoulders. Try not to overthink it." He smirks at your beet-red face and swiftly disappears to his office. You're becoming frustrated. It's as if by the time he walks away, you're so enthralled that you can't remember whether or not your degenerate, horny brain over-dramatized the memory. Angry and even a little embarrassed, you make your way back to your desk.

Steve sits in his office carefully listening to the sounds of your frustration. He loves the way you'd fall to your knees for him right now if he asked, but he likes fucking with you more. He hears you sigh away the sexual tension and he grins. Having this much power over someone like you. You're so smart and beautiful, what are you doing melting in his hands like that? His strong hand finds the growing bulge in his slacks, hoping to relieve any of the pressure he's been building up for the both of you.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his teeth still palming himself, picturing you bound and gagged in front of him. Maybe that's why he's so insistent on teasing you instead of fucking you on his desk like he knows you dream about. Maybe he wants the chase, the restraint. You're too easy, he wants you to be scared.

At the end of the day, you decide to say "fuck it" and see what he'll do if you match his energy. He's grabbing his things to leave when you slip into his office and close the door behind you. You're shaking-nervous, your heart is pumping at an inhuman rate. You have no idea what your plan is until it happens.

"Mr. Raglan, can I ask you a question?" You make your way across the room, passing the boundary of the front of his desk, standing with him behind it. Steve tilts his head in a bemused expression.

"Y/N, feeling a little comfortable, are we?" His sarcastic question leaves you a little more unsure of yourself, and you take a step back. "Ask away." Steve smiles innocently.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but..." You're shocked at how steady your voice is as you fall into this sultry character you've created for yourself. It's never failed you before. "I feel like there's something you're trying to tell me. It's not very subtle." You lean against the desk casually. "Am I wrong?"

"Oh, wow," Steve can't help but grin, but he quickly replaces it with a smug, sarcastic expression. "You must be the queen of subtly, right?" His snarky words catch you off guard. "No, dear. Sorry about any miscommunications on my part. See you tomorrow, Y/N."

Steve steps around you and walks out the door without another word. You're stunned silent and extremely embarrassed. You consider leaving a resignation letter on your desk and never coming back. Furious, you slam the door to your car and drive home. By the time you get to your driveway, you've calmed down and accepted that everything you thought he was doing was just your imagination.

You're still angry, unable to fully accept that you'd be that delusional, but who really knows? From then on, you put away your fantasies and focus on work and getting money set aside for rent. The next few days continue like normal, with no more "misunderstandings" or advances. Until... Steve reaches for a binder off a shelf behind your desk. As he slides in behind you where you stand, right behind your pushed-in computer chair, and reaches his long arm up to the shelf, his other arm searches for a surface to brace on. That surface is your pencil skirt-clad waist.

You gasp quietly, but you don't allow yourself to react any further. Steve has the binder in his hand, but he doesn't remove the other from your waist. He lingers, staring at the back of your head trying to read whatever emotion must be displayed on the other side. You're rigid, like you usually are when he pushes these boundaries, but he also senses your frustration and boredom. He can't help but chuckle as he steps away.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says, waving the binder as he walks away to his office. Did he even need the binder? No, probably not. You huff at your seat, officially deeming him untouchable. You decide he must just be a weird old man that doesn't understand personal space and you can accept that now that he's no longer the object of your desire.

This is what he wanted. Your indifference. It's all part of his plan. As the days continue and your attraction settles to dust, he waits for you to make a mistake, any mistake. To his surprise and perhaps even dismay, you're nearly perfect. Then finally, you accidentally double-book a client meeting that leaves someone jobless with no way to reschedule. You're horrified and apologizing left and right to the man who is more than understanding, making you feel worse.

The man finally leaves, with no job, and no meeting. You sit at your desk and mentally scold yourself for being so careless. The stress of the approaching deadline of your rent seems to be taking a larger toll on you than you realized. Steve's client meeting ends and he sends the temp on his way with high hopes. You wish him a good day and try to focus on your computer.

"Y/N, can I see you in my office?" Steve appears from nowhere in front of your desk. He moves so silently when he means to, it's unsettling. You shamefully look up from your work and nod, following him to his office. You both sit in the appropriate seats and he releases a sigh.

"I'm disappointed in you, Y/N." His opening statement crushes you. "That was a huge fuck up, was it not?" His voice is stern and the use of cursing lets you know this is not a formal scolding. You're in trouble.

"I-I know, but it's the first one I've ever made since I started, sir."

"So that means I should just forget about it, right?" He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. "A man can't feed his family because he doesn't know when he'll have a ride back here."

"I know, sir. I'm... I'm sorry." You sigh, eaten alive with guilt. "He was very kind."

"Did you deserve it?" He's angry.

"No." You look away from him.

"What was that?" He tilts his head, eyebrows still arched. You glance at him, confused for a moment.

"No... Sir." You add.

"I think you're getting too comfortable here, Y/N. 'It's not very subtle.'" he quotes you and your face ignites with blush.

"O-Of course, sir. I'm so embarrassed. I'm sorry."

"Well, don't be embarrassed. Do better." You nod and begin to stand to leave when he leans forward with a softer expression. "Coffee?"

"What?" You don't even mean to ask him to repeat himself, it was just such a jarring switch in tone.

"Coffee. I just made it." Steve stands and crosses the room to a little black coffee maker in his office that you'd never noticed before.

"Uh, sure." You accept, hoping the caffeine will give you some sort of drive to improve your current work performance. Steve pours you both a cup and passes one to you. They're the same cup, but his looks comically small in his large, nimble hands. You take a few sips of the hot, dark liquid and begin to feel light-headed.

Everything around you seems to melt away. You've completely disregarded where you are or why you might feel this way. You try to stand and you drop the still-full cup on the office floor. Steve watches it all leaning against the table across the room. He nonchalantly sips his coffee as he waits for you to collapse. Just as he planned, the minute you get to your feet, your knees buckle beneath you. You're out before you hit the floor.

"Look at this. Look how little you think of yourself the second you hear how disappointed I am." Steve chuckles as he lifts your unconscious body. You're bound and gagged in the back seat of his '79 Ford Fairmont as he makes his way to an undisclosed location. Yeah, that one.

You wake up with a deep, sharp gasp as if you'd been holding your breath the entire time. Your head is spinning and your vision is blurry as you try to scan your surroundings. It's a dank grey room littered with failed attempts at his "side project" he'd mentioned to you weeks ago. Crumpled endo-skeletons and half-built robot heads cover each corner while wires and bolts cover the rest. Your heart begins to race and you try to rise from the cold, metal table you reside on, only to find that your wrists and ankles are strapped in place with thick leather binds.

"What the fuck?" You mumble to yourself as you continue to try to wake up. "Hello?! Help! Help me, please!" You scream and thrash on the slab.

"They all say that, you know? They always scream for help as if anyone's coming." Steve slowly enters the door. His tie is loose along with a few buttons, and his sleeves are haphazardly shoved halfway up his arms. His normally carefully combed hair is disheveled and damp with sweat as if he'd been hard at work before entering this room.

"'They?'" You tremble, rattling the metal.

"Of course, you're the first for this type of venture, I guess. Normally I just skip to killing," he chuckles, removing his tie. You're in a state of shock, sheer disbelief. Hearing that last word sends you into hysterics.

"Please don't kill me, sir. I- I won't fuck up again, I promise. Please-"

"Shut. Up." Steve's stern voice cuts directly through your pleas. "I haven't decided yet."

Tears flow steadily down the sides of your face as he begins to grope you. His rough hands explore every inch of you. His calculated hands knowingly leave bruises on your tender skin.

"Please..." You whisper with your eyes tightly shut, afraid of every movement he makes.

"Sweetheart, if this part scares you, I'm not sure you're gonna survive what comes next." He's only inches from your ear as he whispers. Your body shudders with terrified sobs. The cries only get louder when you feel Steve cutting off your clothes. You're too afraid to fight him off, unsure of whether any injuries you may acquire would be accidental or not.

"Why are you doing this? I-I literally came on to you!" You try to find reason in his actions, mostly to distract yourself from the fact that you're completely exposed, the remnants of your clothes a tattered mess beneath you.

"Where's the fun..." he drags the tip of his knife softly from your ankle to your navel as he steps closer to your blushing face. "In that?" He continues, positioning the weapon to stab through your abdomen, should he press down with any effort at all. Goosebumps erupt over your skin. "Now, are you going to shut your fucking mouth or do I need to shut it for you?" He places a gentle hand on your cheek. You nod frantically, looking into his eyes. They look so calm.

You hate to admit it, but the way he touches you seems to attempt to dig up that insatiable attraction you felt for him not long ago. Your fantasies never ventured to this genre, but you used to dream of him making you orgasm. You're torn from that memory when you remember his admittance to murder and how you know that means you probably won't make it out of this room.

Steve places the knife to the side and slowly slips his middle finger inside you. You gasp, and he plunges away, growing rougher with each stride. He curls his knuckles and watches your face closely as your crying eyes roll back into your skull. You yank against your restraints, trying to squirm away from him, but he's ruthless.

"You're so... Peculiar, Y/N." He removes his fingers from you and cleans them of your undeniable arousal with a pocket handkerchief. "I almost caved when you confronted me in my office. So bold. It's been a riot just picking at you." Steve reaches a hand into a desk in this mysterious room and retrieves an unknown device. You gasp as he slips the small, cold object inside you.

"What are you-" your question is swiftly silenced by the small remote in Steve's hand activating a powerful vibration from the item in your pussy. His free hand rubs rhythmically up and down your clit, stimulating you further. Steve stares down at you as you melt away into pleasure, ashamed and silently begging for more. He's laughing at you, hovering his head over yours as you anxiously avoid eye contact.

"Look at me," he demands, but you can't. You shut your eyes. He releases a breathy chuckle and raises the intensity of the vibrating gadget. "Don't start enjoying yourself or I might have to really scare you." You don't want to know what that entails, so you force yourself to look into his soulless blue eyes. The eye contact deepens the red shade that washes over your cheeks and Steve shakes his head, laughing at you again.

"Why are you so embarrassed now? Would you still be this shy if I'd bent you over my desk like you wanted? You're so much tighter when you're scared." Steve abruptly removes the vibrating toy from between your legs. You whimper pathetically in the absence of stimulation. He leaves the room and returns with yet another machine. This one's larger, a box.

He places the box down between your legs, as close to your throbbing entrance as he can get it. The side of the box facing you is adorned with a hole housing a phallic shape made of soft, silicone material. Your heart is bound to give out at this pace. The box itself covers a mass of gears and wires, a motor to power the rod in and out of its destination. You.

"We'll start it out slowly for you, how's that?" Steve presses a button and the machine pushes into you, slipping in easily as your body clearly craves it. You whine and cry out in pain as the machine stretches you out, slowly boring in and out of you. "If this thing's too big for you, what makes you think you could've taken me?" He laughs as he leans against the desk and watches the mechanism fuck you out. Every so often, he increases the speed.

Finally, it's maxed out. You're squirming and wailing in overstimulated pleasure and pain.

"Please! Please, I can't take it- I can't-" your begs are ignored. Steve places a rough hand around your neck, carelessly cutting off your oxygen and blood flow while his other hand delicately flicks your clit. That's it, that sends you over the limit. You climax harder than you ever thought possible, drenching the machine that's still fucking into you as your body quivers. Steve allows you to breathe again and takes his sweet time powering down the penetration machine.

You're shaking. Your tear-stained face is frozen in a look of exhaustion. The last thing you're able to do is move or speak. Your breathing is a plethora of hitched coughs and gasps and you flinch at even the possibility of being touched again at all.

"I think you might be ready now." He unfastens your bindings and takes a step back to observe. You don't move at all, not a single muscle. The truth is, you can't, even if you wanted to. Steve smirks, pressing a foot-lever under the table that lowers you right down to his waist. Two powerful hands hook under your legs and pull you so your beaten hole is perfectly accessible to him. You cry out as he moves you.

"I-I can't, Steve. I-" Your nearly inaudible mumbles are knocked from your mouth as he lands a hard open palm slap across your face.

"You're going to." He makes quick work of his belt and quickly aligns himself with your entrance. At one point all you wanted from him was this, but now you'd rather be anywhere else. Your cheek is ablaze, covered with a spreading stinging sensation. You're too distracted by the pain to notice Steve rearing back. He slams into you at full force, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

"Nooo!" You whine, unsure of how much more your body can truly take.

"Fuck!" He's almost primal when he's inside you, digging his fingertips into your flesh like he intends to take it off your body. "After all of that, you're still so fucking tight."

He reaches to your breasts and roughly gropes at the delicate skin. Your weak hand tries to tug at his wrist, but he simply flicks you away like a pest, continuing the assault. He slams into you, hoping to do more harm than anything, smiling at your sobbing face. Your makeup is a smeared mess and your hair is in disarray from the way you fought back on the table. You look pathetic to him and he loves it.

"You want to be filled up, don't you sweetheart?" He huffs, slowly approaching his climax. Your eyes open wide and a new wave of fear and adrenaline shoots through you, but you're still too weak to manage. Steve easily pins your wrists by your shoulders and thrusts deeper and deeper, hooking his hips to temporarily reach the very limit of your cunt.

"Please don't! Mr. Raglan, please!" You beg between gasping sobs as you listen to his labored breaths become unsteady. His agonizing thrusts lose their rhythm and suddenly you can feel his thick erection twitching inside you, brushing your G spot and carrying you over the edge again as well. You didn't even think that would be possible at this point.

You and Steve ride out your highs. He continues to pump into you making a heinous sound as he fucks his cum deeper inside you. To his surprise, he remains hard, so he continues to rut into your destroyed pussy until his legs threaten to give out. Steve finishes inside you a second time, laughing as he watches your horrified face realize how full of him you are. He's taking his time pulling out of you, playing with your cum soaked clit until you finally pass out from exhaustion.

Steve releases a breathy laugh as he fastens his belt and collapses in a chair nearby. You're lying there, naked and dripping cum from your swollen, demolished pussy. He can't get enough of this view. His original plan was to just get rid of you when he was done here, why not? But this is too much fun for him. Maybe he needs a new pet.

#tw non con #dub con #non con #fnaf dark fic #steve raglan #steve raglan smut #tw dark fic #william afton #william afton smut #fnaf movie #fnaf smut #dead dove do not eat #five nights at freddy's #matthew lillard smut #matthew lillard #slow burn #steve raglan non con #william afton non con #fnaf non con #non con smut

[luxu1230]

Top Gun Shape shifter au!!

So everything is practically the same except the human population can transform into animals however they are exceptions called the Unshift. However the only modern documented animal shifters are land and sea animals not any animal which could fly.

They've been cave drawings and carvings of those who could shift and fly and all seem to worship these people who had that gift. Paintings of flying shifters surrounded by guards and seemingly living lives of luxury surrounded by people who seemed to bow to their every need. As well as paintings of them looking after the young.

Humans typically shift between the ages of 3 up to the age of 18 and while not legally required to tell your shift to the government to join the military you have to. Also shifts are random so two canine shifters could have a child but they could be a feline shifter instead.

///

Jake Seresin's family wasn't the best with two parents and an older sister who was 20 by the time he was born. He could clearly see he was a child born to try and fix a relationship and well that never worked.

He had a sister who tried to be there for him but she was off trying to get away from home (not that he knew that) by taking as many scholarship classes as she could at the nearest college then university. After she finished she never looked back and he still resented her for leaving him (he missed her fluffy golden coat which would warm him on nights when she was allowed to shift).

His parents weren't good. They would always argue resulting in him just exploring the wilderness until nightfall just to get away. They were both shifters but they hated doing it and would always complain when his sister shifted (He didn't realise they had to. Not unless... Not unless....)

Growing up in the middle of nowhere meant he had not much access to the outside world and while his mother homeschooled him in only the basics she never said or taught him much more than that the only time he could grow his education was every time his sister came home from university. He would steal his sister's books and read them searching for more knowledge.

That's how he found out he was never gonna tell anyone what he could shift into and swore off shifting and all he must be a freak to be able to fly. (It nearly cost him his life).

///

Pete could count on one hand the people he had trusted his shift to his husband Tom, Slider, Goose, Carol and Bradley. He wasn't afraid of his shift and he never knows what would happen if he was to tell the world of his shift. He was a blackbird and he could fly

The one thing he had always wanted to do and he doesn't even need a plane to have his own wings. Though that may never have happened if he fell to the sickness.

He was lucky Tom saved him and educated him as a child bouncing from foster home to foster home his CPS worker had always told him not to shift for if he was to shift he would never be loved and so he didn't though that never stopped him telling Goose his shift (though he never saw the sickness coming did it).

The sickness came on suddenly and it wasn't until he was seizing on the floor that Tom had finally found out what was wrong. He had managed to force a shift out of him and he suddenly felt so much pressure and pain release from him. He had dropped for a week and he had come back to being in a nest of blankets on their bed with Tom curled round him in his wolf form.

It's not until then he learns that a shifter must shift to live otherwise the animal inside starts rejecting its host thus resulting in shifters dying. He tells him how lucky he was to survive this long without shifting and that what he shifts into doesn't matter and that he should have been worshipped for his form rather than told to hide it.

It's not until years later that he sees the sickness again and he realises how he's not as alone in his shift than he thought.

///

It was after the mission. A couple of months past it at this point. The daggers were a permanent squad and Bradley and Jake were finally a thing.

They'd just finished a hop and Pete had noticed how out of it that Jake was. It wasn't until he heard a commotion and turned around to see Jake seizing on the floor to realise what he was seeing and how it seemed to be a reflection of the past. His instincts took over and he grabbed Jake and ran ignoring the shouting behind him asking where he was going and what he was doing.

He ran to Tom and explained what was going on he forced the shift and they both couldn't help but feel devastated as they saw the state of the golden eagle in front of them. It was thin and its feathers were so out of line that it looked like it had been attacked and clawed at. It chirped was so quiet as it drifted off to unconsciousness. Pete grabbed the throw on Tom's chair and wrapped the eagle up. They took him home and did the same they did all those years ago but this time Bradley was there to help when he found out what was going on.

It wasn't until later that they found Jake hadn't shifted since he was 9 years old. He explained his upbringing and Pete couldn't help but hold him over the shared experience. Though Pete knew that Jake wouldn't have to go through this alone after all he had them now.

Jake's form.

Pete's form.

#top gun maverick #top gun #icemav #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #jake hangman seresin #fanfiction prompts #tom iceman kazansky #hangster #shifters #headcanon #luxu1230

[your-astro-mami]

the biggest astrological events of 2023

and how they will affect YOU

Saturn enters Pisces (March 7th)

Now that Aquarius placements have been drained of their energy, matured and learned how to overcome their difficulties, it is time for Pisces to enter their Saturn era. Saturn in Pisces shows that discipline and organization may become more difficult, blurry. People may become more disoriented - it could be hard for everyone to manage their time and stay on schedule. On a positive note, this will be the ideal time to commit to any creative plans, ideas, endeavors. The people around you may become more understanding of your struggles, there will be empathy in regards to failure.

Most prominent for: Pisces Risings (Identity, Life decisions), Virgo Risings (Relationships), Gemini Risings (Family, Home), Sagittarius Risings (Career).

Pluto enters Aquarius (March 23rd)

One of the most prominent astrological events of the century (in my humble opinion). Pluto in Aquarius will bring grandiose changes in the world. Major focus on technology - if you believe you have seen technological growth/improvements in the past two decades, wait for the Pluto in Aquarius era. AI, focus on crypto/digital currency, any personal information will be digitalized, robots and robots taking over human jobs, possible cameras everywhere/monitoring. I believe this will bring major changes in the world. For Fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius), this can be quite transformative, it could bring more personal power, challenges, a lot of growth. We will truly see the Age of Aquarius.

Most prominent for: Aquarius Risings (Identity, Life Decisions). Taurus Risings (Career), Leo Risings (Relationships), Scorpio Risings (Family, Home).

Mars in Cancer (March 25th)

Geminis will finally release the frustration that has been held inside them for a while. Mars in Cancer could make everyone easily irritable, fights may become more emotional, people may get angry for smaller things, there could be slight chaos due to the sensitivity around us all.

Most prominent for: Cancer Placements (Sun, Moon, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Rising); Capricorn Placements (Sun, Moon, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Rising). For Cancer it could be a rush of energy, enthusiasm, but also lack of patience. For Capricorn it will be motivation, better balance, but more conflict.

Solar Eclipse in Aries (April 20th)

The Solar Eclipse as well all know marks the beginning of a big change, of slight chaos that may turn into something bigger for us. The House the Solar eclipse is in could go through big changes in the months after it occurs. It can be a transformative time for that area of life. It can point to major shifts, important decisions, focus on the area of life it's in.

Most prominent for: The house cusp in your chart Aries is in; Aries Rising (Identity, Decisions), Taurus Risings (Spirituality, Secrets); Gemini Risings (Social Circle, Aspirations); Cancer Risings (Career); Leo Risings (Travel, Education), Virgo Risings (Finances); Libra Risings (Relationships); Scorpio Risings (Work; Health); Sagittarius Risings (Romance); Capricorn Risings (Family, Home); Aquarius Risings (Ideas, Communication); Pisces Risings (Income);

Mercury retrograde in Taurus (April 21st to May 14th)

Mercury retrograde, also known as one of the most dramaticized events in Astrology, indicates the time in which you should avoid making big decisions, signing important documents, starting something new and talking to your ex. The worst time for organization.

Most prominent for: Virgo and Gemini placements; Taurus and Scorpio Mercury;

Lunar Eclipse in Scorpio (May 5th)

The Lunar eclipse indicates chaos in the house it falls in. That area of life could go through some major shifts, unpredictable events, possible setbacks that will lead to growth, gained experience. Compared to the Solar eclipse, it could point to major endings, there is a theme of letting go, moving on - but first there could be some suffering.

Most prominent for: The house cusp in your chart Scorpio is in. Scorpio Risings (Identity, Life Choices), Libra Risings (Income); Virgo Risings (Ideas, Communication), Leo Risings (Home, Family), Cancer Risings (Romance), Gemini Risings (Health, Work), Taurus Risings (Relationships); Aries Risings (Finance); Pisces Risings (Education, Travel); Aquarius Risings (Career); Capricorn Risings (Friendships); Sagittarius Risings (Spirituality, Mental Health).

Jupiter enters Taurus (May 16th)

One of the most abundant events for the year. Jupiter in Taurus shows that luck may come regardless of how hard you work for (compared to Aries where luck is something you have to put effort and energy in order to get). Jupiter in Taurus is luck that is secure. It can point to financial growth, obtaining material possessions, financial security - it is one of the more materialistic Jupiter placements therefore it will be manifester as people spending more on shopping, anything that provides them with security and comfort. Money is happiness.

Most prominent for: natal Jupiter in Taurus people; the house cusp Taurus is in; Taurus Risings (Identity, Life decisions); Aries Risings (Income); Pisces Risings (Communication, Ideas); Aquarius Risings (Home, Family); Capricorn Risings (Romance); Sagittarius Risings (Work, Health), Scorpio Risings (Relationships); Libra Risings (Finance); Virgo Risings (Education, Travel); Leo Risings (Career), Cancer Risings (Friendships, Aspirations); Gemini Rising (Spirituality, Mental Health);

Jupiter square Pluto

This transit can be quite challenging as it will feel like everything good may require a sacrifice, a big change that has to be made in order for this abundance to arrive. It may feel like there is an overwhelming amount of pressure, tension, complication. Any intense emotions could be exaggerated because of this.

Jupiter conjunct North Node

On of the most abundant transits. There will be major opportunities for growth, for overcoming challenges and looking forward. Great opportunities may come. I believe for some time there will be grandios and positive changes in the world. You may feel like you are on the right path for the things you are doing. It can feel optimistic, hopeful.

Jupiter sextile Saturn

Luck will come with effort and hard work. Good things will require patienct. People will be more realistic about their abilities.

North Node in Aries (July 17th)

This will feel quite energetic and will bring out people's ambition, desire to go after what is meant for them. It can feel forceful, like there is lack of patience and too much movement. On a bigger scale, I think there could be violence, aggression, tension, eruption. A lot of force since Mars-ruled Aries will bring out people's energy, desire to compete, ruin their competition.

Most prominent for: Cardinal signs (Aries, Libra, Cancer, Capricorn), but mostly Aries placements;

Pluto square North/South Node

Letting go of past trauma, possible trauma from the past re-merging. Having to go through difficult events that will push you to the path that is meant for you. I believe this will be one of the more difficult transits for everyone. Pluto equals change, it shows us what affects us psychologically and combined with the Nodes it will be energy from the past and future combined together. It will feel tense, it will require a lot of strength.

Mercury retrograde in Virgo (August 13th-September 15th)

Again - avoid important conversations, try not to sign important contracts, don't make plans, avoid talking to your ex.

Solar Eclipse in Libra (October 14th)

The past Solar eclipse in Scorpio felt intense for everyone, but this one could be something different. The changes that will occur during and after it could bring more balance in your life. While there could be a sacrifice that has to be made, it could lead to something better for you. I think with this eclipse a lot of the changes could be centered around romance, relationships regardless of the house cusp in your chart Libra is in.

Most prominent for: The house cusp in your chart Libra is in. Libra Rising (Idenity, Life decisions); Scorpio Rising (Mental health); Sagittarius Rising (Friendships, Aspirations); Capricorn Rising (Career, Image); Aquarius Risings (Education, Travel); Pisces Risings (Finance); Aries Risings (Relationships); Taurus Risings (Work, Health); Gemini Risings (Romance); Cancer Risings (Home, Family); Leo Risings (Communication, Plans); Virgo Risings (Income);

Lunar Eclipse in Taurus (October 28th)

There will be drastic shifts in your life, ones that will require you to be stubborn, to have strength and persistence. Taurus is ruled by Venus so once again, I don't believe this eclipse will be draining or forceful compared to the ones before. Major focus on romance, finances, relationships. On a bigger scale, agriculture, finance, values, basic needs (food, electricity, water, etc.)

Most prominent for: The house cusp in your chart Taurus is in; Taurus Rising (Self, Life decisions); Gemini Rising (Mental health); Cancer Rising (Friendships); Leo Rising (Career, Image); Virgo Rising (Education, Travel); Libra Rising (Finance); Scorpio Rising (Relationships); Sagittarius Rising (Work, Health); Capricorn Rising (Romance); Aquarius Rising (Family, Home); Pisces Rising (Communication); Aries Rising (Income);

Mercury retrograde in Sagittarius and Capricorn (December 13th-January 1st)

Once again - avoid signing important deals or documents, avoid making important plans and try not to contact your ex.

Most prominent for: Gemini and Virgo Mercury; Sagittarius and Capricorn Mercury;

If you want to know how these events will affect your own chart, check out my pinned post with the readings I offer <3 For orders DM me here or email me at [email protected]

#astrology #transits #astrology 2023 #astrology predictions #zodiac signs #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #transit chart #transit readings #transit reports #horoscopes

[burningvelvet]

At the bookstore today I saw this new Mary Shelley game. It may seem like a cash-grab but honestly I think Mary herself would LOVE this. Mary's father William Godwin owned a children's bookstore which sold games as well. When they weren't writing some of the most acclaimed 18th century philosophy, he and his first wife Mary Wollstonecraft also wrote some childrens literature, and both focused heavily on youth education in their belief system. Later, Mary and Percy Shelley (both inspired by her parents, whom they idolized) also worked on childrens stories together and bonded over their mutual love for children, games, education, and imaginative play all around.

The description reads thus: "Contained within these three volumes is a secret many have devated their entire lives to unearthing, and always in vain. It is a secret I would have taken with me to the grave, except that it is, in more ways than ane, our family's legacy, and thus rightfully belongs with you.

"You have just received 'The Shelley Volumes,' a collection of hollowed-out books left by Mary Shelley (author of Frankenstein) to her son, Florence. Inside you'll discover a trove of beautiful documents, 2D and 3D jigsaw puzzles, and other mysterious objects and artifacts. Solve Mary's puzzles and you'll be treated to a heartbreaking story that culminates in a shocking reimagining of the truth behind her famous novel."

From the website: "Mother of Frankenstein is a groundbreaking new game that combines the best of escape rooms, immersive theater, and prose fiction."

#it seems researched which is shocking #no percy bashing? percy florence rep?! insane #christmas gift ideas #christmas gift #mary shelley #mary wollstonecraft #william godwin #percy shelley #percy bysshe shelley #games #board games #board game design #literature #english literature #bookstore #frankenstein #frankenstein game #percy florence shelley #mother of frankenstein

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

The IDF confirmed that yesterday's barrage of rockets at Tel Aviv and its vicinity was fired out of a zone that it defined as "humanitairan" (meaning an area it encouraged civilians to evacuate to).

We're seeing more and more Palestinians who speak up against Hamas. In the past (even during this war), Al-Jazeera "journalists" cut off Gazans who were criticizng Hamas. Now we have a small shift, where this journalist is still trying to persuade this woman not to criticize Hamas, but he doesn't cut her off as she insists on expressing her anger, that all of the aid to Gazans is being stolen by Hamas terrorists:

After a battle with terrorists inside a UN school in the neighborhood of Shujayiah in Gaza, IDF soldiers documented finding weapons hidden inside a teddy bear (first vid in this article).

As you might remember, I work at Yad Vashem, Israel's national Holocaust museum, research and education center, which also studies Jewish history in general, a subject that obviously includes the history of antisemitism. However, the scope of the history we covered always stopped roughly at when the last Jewish Holocaust survivor left the last DP (displaced persons) camp, which is 1956. The assumption was always that we will research historical antisemitism, and people will be able to take that knowledge, learn from it, and apply it to current ("new") antisemitism, without us tackling it directly. Following the biggest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, the global rise in amtisemitic attacks in reaction to it, and the academic rot we have witnessed in dealing with antisemitism on the campuses of some of the most important universities in the world, this is going to change. YV will expand the work of our research institute into new antisemitism (anti-Zionism, really).

Yesterday, three Hezbollah terrorists were killed in a strike in Syria. You absolutely should be asking yourself why Hezbollah, a terrorist organization that claims to be the "defender of Lebanon," had a unit operating in Syria. Just a reminder: there have been rockets fired at Israel from Syria.

Another thing that happened yesterday, is that we got confirmation Hamas is also using female terrorists. So when you hear, "This is the number of children killed! This is the number of women killed!" (beyond a healthy suspicision we should all have of the uncorroborated figures provided by a terrorist organization), remember that Hamas uses teenagers and women as terrorists, not just as human shields. And it will NEVER report them as such. It barely recognizes that any terrorists were killed in this war, even though independent estimates indicate that "above 5,000 terrorists" is the most conservative estimate on this matter.

Unlike Hamas, which doesn't admit when women fight and die for it, Israel is proud of its female fighters. Here's a vid about a group of soldiers who made history on Oct 7, being the first female tankists in the world to fight in an armored battle.

This is 25 years old Sahar Baruch.

On Oct 7, he was kidnapped to Gaza. Hamas has published a vid that first showed sahar captured, and then showed his lifeless and bloodied body, indicating that he was murdered in captivity. May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #Youtube

[lovra974]

Bakugo as a teacher Pro Hero

Dynamight x reader, cute son, dramatic ending and fluff. It was in my draft for so long, I finally got the will to end it. Enjoy!

Let's say Bakugo goes back to UA for teaching. He is the Pro-Hero, Dynamight symbol of Victory and Strength. Obviously, he is famous with the kids. He learned with the years, letting go most of his bagages that was slowing him down.

He was happy, striving in his work. He protected the world, making it a better place and in the same time he educated the next generation.

He had it all, the job, the glory, the money, little him would look at him with stars in his eyes (and probably some tears).

He was in the top so early in his age. So now, when he woke up he starred at the celling and he asked himself "What now?"

He ached for something more, he didn't know what. Obviously, there wqs always something to do to make the world better, but he felt like he reached a peak. He didn't like stagnation.

He talked about it with Deku, the green hairhead facing the same problem. And for one of the first time, the nerd didn't have an answer. "I let the life goes, it will bring us what we need when we are ready."

It made him sighed. Waiting. He didn't like how it sounds.

But what was there else to do?

For the first time Nezu gave him his own class. Twenty kids stared at him in awe and fear. He scanned the room with his eyes, he learned all the documents the school gave him on them. He saw the entrance exams, so he could say the bunch is promising.

"Take your shits, brats. We' gonna train outside."

Through the months, he learned more about his students. He cared for them and even gave them cooking class in their dorms. They were louds, he understood one hundred percent Aizawa and his dozing habits.

Some children standed out, one in particular.

The kid was strong, was a quick problem solver, very independent. He got some difficulties to lean on other, but his classmates were efficient in melting his thick carapace. He was silent most of the time, an only child, he went home every weekend.

"What's your parents do for a living, Keyring?"

"Chef," he responded without gazing up to his teacher.

Bakugo knew that, he read it on his case.

"And the other ?"

"Dead, hopefully."

His answer made him paused. And then, he was back frowning.

"Don't wish people death, you brat."

To which, the kid slowly raised his head with a mischievous grin. "I read Deku's biography, wanna talk about it sir?"

The kid definitely had some boldness. Bakugo liked him. He liked how independent and thoughtful he was. How smart but lay back.

Sometimes, the kid goes berserk, as if he was holding it for so long. His quirk, named Portals, capable to open portals to go anywhere, get out of control. It's rare. But it happened often enough that Bakugo decided to summoned you.

You were very open about the problems of your family, and Bakugo was thankful. Your ex, the other parent was a villain with the same quirk. You thought he was dead, but you received ominous messages. When you went to the police, they explained to you that they suspected he was still alive.

Your son knew, for his own safety that his genitor was strolling around, probably not for good. You had told him it was better he stayed at the dorms during the weekend. But he refused.

"What did the police put for your safety? And what is your quirk?"

"They put a gard in front of my restaurant and my house."

"Your son could get rid of both if he wanted with his quirk", he rolled his eyes but not at you. "What about your quirk?"

"I'm quirkless" you responded sheepishly.

This was a problem. In other terms you were defenseless.

He understood why your son was so adament about coming home every weekend. It was to protect you.

Bakugo thought. It was a special case. As a hero, he couldn't not do something.

He talked with Nezu and the director was very happy to side with Dynamight for your protection.

One weekend, he helped you to move inside the dorms, the teacher's dorm. Every morning, he took you to your restaurant, and take you back to the dorms at night. More heroes were called to watch over you during the day.

The car rides were silencious most of the time.

You didn't say anything in the car, you just looked at the window. Bakugo didn't thought much of it.

Until one day, you turned on the radio. An old song from Bakugo's teenagehood rang in the car. You sang along, to his surprised. He grinned. Your voice couldn't reach the low tones of the singer,making you grimacing while trying.

At first you shyly mouth the lyrics until the the chorus came and you couldn't help but shout. He laughs.

And then it was over. Because he asked you about the music, then the band and you exchanged your opinions.

You talked about work, family, music, TV shows...

The car rides each morning and night were going much faster, it became something Bakugo look out for. He didn't get why at first. He liked listening to you. You were smart, you had wits, and he understood from who your son got his sly smile.

The said son came back to normal, he was so happy and relieved that you stayed at the dorms. Where the best heroes could protect you.

Bakugo could see that you both had strong boundaries. You let your son be in the dorms, just texting him during the week. And you hangout together during the weekend.

When Bakugo asked you about it, you said that the dorms were your son's space. You didn't want to intrude, he was very independent. You wanted your son to be more opened about needing help and asking for it.

A friendship begun between you and the hero. During the week, you hang out together, not only for car rides. Then you cook for each other, discovering he is good with cooking but terrible at baking.

Of course, the friendship didn't go unnoticed.

Firstly by his friends.

Sero, surprisedly, was sure the two of you were banging. Kaminari said it was not Baku go-like to flirt with a parent's student. Kirishima saw how Bakugo would drop the eyes when Kaminari said that. His best friend was feeling something, but he wasn't sure he was aware of it. Bakugo denied everything. Just saying you were fun. The word felt like sour cake in his mouth.

Then the media would notice his comings and goings to your restaurant.

Bakugo never cared much about scandals. But with you, he begun to feel scared. About what you thought, how you saw him, and ultimately, what you son thought about it.

You didn't act different so he did the same. You brushed off the media, minding your own business. He didn't know if he felt relieved or irked.

Dynamight never had a scandal with a woman. There was never a suspicion he had ever dated anyone. Because he had not. And he didn't get why you didn't understand it meant something. That it meant something to him at least.

He was on the phone with his mother who was screaming in his ears about you, when you son came to see him.

His phone was on a website. A journalist insulted you in the papers. They made the link between his name and yours, knowing you were his parent and Dynamight was his teacher.

"Are you dating my mom?" the kid said, interrupting Bakugo's conversation.

"What? No, Keyring. I'm not, don't believe what those stupid journalists said."

"Then why are you doing all of this?"

The kid was torn. Bakugo could see it with the shaking hands and the ruffled hairs.

"She didn't get the star she was aiming because of it, you put her at risk with the papers talking about you two! My father must have saw it!"

No, the kid was not torn. He was scared.

"It's none of my business what happened between you. But if she is hurt I won't forgive you. And if her restaurant is mocked because of you, it better be because you make her happy and you're not toying with her!"

Bakugo was speechless. His mother too by the silence in his phone. But she didn't hang up.

"I'm not toying with your mother, brat."

"Then what do you want? If your honest you won't say nothing."

Again, he doesn't know what to say. What did he want with you? Whatever you were okay to give him? He likes the car rides, the hanging out in the dorms, the jokes, the smiles...

But now, he's forced to acknowledge what it could be. You coming to his dorm. Him caressing your tight while driving. Little dates on his day off with the Keyring. A family...

He opened his mouth to confess his feeling. If the kid wanted the truth, he will give it to him.

But before he could speak, the door opened. Another teacher came right in and said "The restaurant was targeted! They kidnapped Y/N!"

Bakugo paled. His heart echoed against his eardrums. He look at your kid who dropped his phone. In his gut, Bakugo could feel the silent scream the child wanted to let out.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki #pro hero bakugo x reader #pro hero dynamight #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo

[liminsendhelp]

Don't pet the flea cat

Price×f!reader

Tags: slight description of reader (chubby, muscular, strong, denying gender as a concept), possibly slightly sociopathic/autistic reader, profanity, denial of authority, evil scientist on the way to becoming.

I don't speak English. I didn't proofread the text.

enjoy.

Part 1. Part 2.

You're quiet in bed. For real. Without the pretenses and masks of a woman subordinate to someone else's dominance, when you're not alive enough, not human enough. When the beast of animal desire inside makes you dig your nails into your palms. When you want to put out cigarettes on yourself to block out the unbridled power of the urge for sex.

It's always been a problem. People have crumpled their gut. They put on layer upon layer of approval and expectation.

Your essence was causing the thin material of socialization to fray at the seams.

To top it all off, you're easily obsessed.

Your blood boils at the sight of beauty.

He's ugly. Like everyone else.

Ordinary.

Yet you can't name a single time you've looked at Price without wanting to rip his face off.

He says, in that quiet and understanding tone of his, in those chuckles and snickers of his.

You're not even a nurse. You're a researcher in a tiny development lab. You have no education whatsoever (except for art), taken in by acquaintances to help you out, before asking you to finish some psychiatry courses just to make sure. Science dragged you down so that you were up to your ears in philosophy, psychology, old treatises and other crap.

So there you are, cleaning animal cages, helping out with easy experiments, coaching timid grad students on how to interact with small rodents. And then, at one point, you're set up as a lab technician. And you're not dumb, you have ideas, you have a desire to understand the workings of the brain. straighten it out, twist it back up and straighten it out again.

Of all the specialists, you're a little more interested in behaviorism, a little more obsessed with crime.

Brain cutting brain.

You're quiet, calm, frighteningly cold. Your gaze is dark, like a constantly dissecting blade. So what? You're better than those idiots, even without a proper education. You're smarter, more thoughtful, thorough, workaholic. Those above you - senior researchers, PhDs and postdocs - know you're good. Good enough to keep you around.

The institute is a restricted facility. It's not weird that they moved the labs to an outhouse inside the fucking military base, is it? No. After the incident, half the staff went on paid leave. Understaffed, overworked, stressed out. Neuropsych, cognitive-behavioral, experimental, psychiatric, chemical-pharmacology and blah, blah, blah labs downsized in limited space.

Each department used to have animals to do research on. Now your work is all theory and documentation. This problem was soon promised to be solved, but no one really hoped for a super secret lab with experimental subjects for every taste. From mouse to human.

They have unwanted prisoners, don't they?

Anyway.

You were transported to the base after a small-- Terrorist attack at your institute. Again, pathos on an all-cosmic scale, nothing of the sort happened, but "national brains and serious research" must be saved, come on.

No one was hurt.

Not even injured.

And now it's not like you're severely stung for budget and space, despite the relatively small footprint of the allotted space.

The most significant downside here at the base is that even while trying to stay out of the allotted space as much as possible, you see extra people. Military.

They're all killers. They're killers, and you have a taste problem. They want to clean up the developments for the good of the military, and you imagine the horror they're going to be in when, under interrogation, people break their teeth on each other while overdosing.

They walk under your windows, stand against the opposite wall when you go out for a late night smoke, show up in the lab to stick their noses where they'll get their balls bitten off and shoved up their asses.

The military are no more welcome than they should be, after all, the scientists here have only themselves to thank on the heads of the fucked up officials who decided it would be a good idea to sign you all up for this cohabitation.

And doors slam, eyes scrutinizing your white coats and circles under your eyes, hands reaching for developments, noses poking into all your dirty laundry.

But they shouldn't be anywhere near it.

You're in your second month of work, trying to function as you're used to - mechanically. But today your senior's not here, Dr. Moon's away at a useless security conference. Usually she'd be kind enough to bring you a bunch of food from the cafeteria.

You're not a little girl. You can't live on a stash of sweets and coffee without worsening your already obvious gastritis. And you need a normal amount of food to keep your body functioning. You've always been meaty, no match for thin, slim, graceful girls, some of whom had the superpower to survive on a lettuce leaf (not taking into account goddess nymphs with healthy appetites and excellent metabolisms, such creatures were a myth in the flesh).

But, you don't want to go out to this mess of heads and dirty mouths.

You clench your hands into fists, pressing your nails into your skin. You're going to have to do this anyway. You're perfectly capable of not eating for a week, thanks to your unhealthy relationship with food, but you're not going to torture yourself. After all, you've been on the wrong side of self-loathing for a long time now.

Now what went inward is actively being broadcast to those around you.

So you put on your coldest mask, clench your teeth tightly, and pretend not to notice the scrutinizing stares from all sides. You're stared at by your coworkers because you never go out into the light. The soldiers stare at you because you look like a pathetic mound of snow among their dusty greenery.

You think you're perfectly capable of eating alone because your coworkers are permanent idiots in their surprised stares and whispers.

But when you sit down at the table, with seemingly as disinterested in each other as possible eaters, both soldiers and medics begin to stare even more intensely. Like little kids. Are those some marshal generals of all the earth at your table?

How's your diplomacy going over there?

"Can I sit here?" You ask evenly, almost forgetting to give your voice a questioning tone.

"Of course, miss." The voice is deep and soft.

You definitely sat down with the wrong people.

"Thank you, I won't take long."

You don't look at them. No need to. Dr. Moon is coming tomorrow and you won't have to crawl out of the sink anymore.

You eat fast, two minutes for the whole meal. The military must realize that's possible, right? They used to mock you for that ability. Now, you unconsciously take it personally when they laugh at you from afar. That's why you hate the school system. Cafeteria, really? Just give us each a bag of dog food.

You rise from your seat to escape into your reports, hypotheses, and research.

"What's your name?"

No. You didn't hear that question.

It's probably rude, since they're high-ranking.

You'll be out of here faster than they can take offense.

"Miss?"

Will you fucking calm down, you idiot?

"Run me through the database." You almost growl, speaking in lower case.

Stupid. Startled, you look up.

The blue-eyed freak, so appealing, puffing with calm control, seems amused rather than pissed off.

Thank the Goddess, thank any Force that covered your ass and you were taken as entertainment.

Blue eyes make the dry semblance of shame in your chest scrape sandpaper across your ribs.

"I can already tell by you that you're a bitch." It sounds from behind you. Expectedly. You can clearly see from the face of the man in front of you that he's unimpressed by this outburst. The burning blue melts you from the inside out with two heartbeats, and you dare to interrupt the deafening silence of judgment around you.

You drop the apology and carry your body back to your lair. You only exhale as you lock the door from the inside with the key. As if that will save you. People won't forget.

Dr. Moon reprimands you from the doorstep the next day. You fell asleep at your desk again. She shoves you onto the small couch in her office. While she shreds the mail, you sleep peacefully for a couple hours.

"Honey? Come here."

Oh, that tone. Are you in trouble because of last night?

They couldn't be more touchy, which one of those mutts snitched on you--

"Your initiative has been approved."

You find yourself on your feet, your hair tousled, your clothes askew, but all your attention is on the screen.

Confirmation letter… authorization to conduct data analysis… for detection… with command support… attachment to teams… supervised access to files….

You blink, then reread it again.

"What's that?"

"You didn't think they'd let you play spy, did you?"

There was hope. But no, it's the other thing that's weird.

"I only asked for an archive. Ideally to observe from afar and interview recruits."

"You and I both know, darling, you're just waiting for a chance to sit your ass down and duck your head into papers. You wanted the internship, go get it." Dr. Moon sits back as contented as can be. She was the force that kept pushing you, wanting to create a diamond.

You wished you were more like hydrogen. To be present everywhere so that you couldn't be seen anywhere.

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"One team is available. Someone from the local legends. But they've agreed to work with you."

No! You let out a low scream. Then you squeeze out a loud sob.

"Can I say no?"

"I'll put laxatives in your next meal."

You sigh.

"Acting like a child, Doc." The good-natured, acerbic face in front of you contorted for a second. She hated being called that.

"That's not for you to tell me, sweetheart. Get your work plan in here, we'll review it. You go to work tomorrow."

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