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hongism · 1 year

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29 - s.mingi - punishment + dacryphilia (18+)

» s.mingi x fem!reader » pwp, 18+ » language, mentions of drinking/smoking, explicit smut » wc 8.1k » link to masterlist » repost now that tumblr solved my tagging issues! fingers crossed everything works as normal now 🤞

smut warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, manual stimulation, oral sex: m, unprotected sex, facial, creampie, dirty talk, pet names: baby/baby girl/princess, crying during sex, deepthroating/face-fucking, edging, orgasm control, overstimulation

“So, you ever gonna tell me where you were last Tuesday?”

You can’t say that you weren’t expecting the question to come eventually, especially after you left Mingi with such a shitty excuse about not being able to meet up, but you expected to at least have a few more hours to get a story together before he cornered you here in one Choi San’s kitchen on a Friday evening. There’s an assortment of drinks spread out over the counters, no doubt in the fridge as well, but you aren’t after any of those goods in particular right now. Instead, you opt to simply snag water from the fridge and turn to face Mingi as you’re unscrewing the cap.

“Hm? What happened last Tuesday?” The quaint tilt of your chin does nothing to solidify your innocence, and Mingi’s sharp stare hones in on your face within seconds.

“You tell me, yn.”

Your lips part to prepare some sort of response, gaze trailing off to the ceiling as you piece together the excuse of a story. Mingi grants you that much, at least, even if it’s a show of how extravagantly you’re about to lie to him here and now. He leans around you as you’re gathering your thoughts, reaching for the counter and snagging a beer off it. You’d be impressed with his strength if you didn’t know that it’s the kind that screws off at the cap because Hongjoong has dainty hands that can easily be injured and he’s no good at opening bottles, thus San coddles him as such even when it comes to house parties.

“Well… I remember getting dinner with a few people. Didn’t drink or smoke anything because I had an early shift the next day. Then I went home.”

“Went home, huh?”

“We don’t typically get together on Tuesdays, Min,” you say between sips, arching a brow at the man who stands across from you. He pauses as well just to stand a little straighter and look you in the eye before arching one of his one brows — the pierced one that has a little black barbell poking through the skin — at you in return. His silence allows you a moment of reprieve, even if it comes at the cost of his staring so heavily at your face all the while. Still, you make no effort to conceal the way you drag your own gaze from his face down his body, taking in the ill-fitting tank top that has obscenely large holes cut out for his arms to stick through. You’d argue that it fits a bit better than it used to with how he’s been bulking up and putting on muscle these days, but you would also never give him the pleasure of hearing your appreciation out loud. He hears enough of it in the late hours of the night, three or four times a week as he has you pressed into the mattress in your apartment. The tank also gives you an eyeful of one of your favorite pieces in Mingi’s extensive collection — the snaking vines of tattoos that spread from his wrists up to his shoulders, dipping beneath the fabric and leaving much to the imagination. But of course, you don’t need to think too hard about what’s underneath when you see it as often as you do.

“What are you smirking about?” he questions, pulling your focus back up to his face before you can dip below the waistline.

“Thinking about what a lucky girl I am, that’s all.” You push off the counter to step around your friend, laying a hand on his shoulder as you slip between his body and the fridge to get past. “Got a big strong man all to myself.”

“That so?” He turns with you like his gaze is glued to you and can’t be separated even for a second. “Which one would that be?”

In hindsight, you should also have known that Mingi is smart enough to figure out little nuances and pick up on context clues when they’re presented to him. Thankfully, you have your back to him now so the shock doesn’t register on your face by the time you shift to look back at him over your shoulder. There’s a smile planted on your lips instead, one that you hope deters him for a little while longer.

“Look in the mirror some, pretty boy.”

You dip out of the kitchen then to rejoin the others in the living room, sinking to the couch cushions between San and some girl you’ve never seen before.

“Freshly rolled, milady,” San says through a dimpled grin as he lifts a somewhat sketchy-looking joint to dangle before your face. You’d decline if it were coming from anyone other than San — you’ve seen your fair share of sketchy and downright awful homemade joints come from his hands, but he is also the only one amongst your friend group who has the patience and tact to do it. (That, and you’re still vacuuming weed out of the carpet in your own living room from when Wooyoung and Mingi had a rolling contest that resulted in what can only be considered a horrendous fire hazard.)

“Thank you, kind sir.”

Hongjoong is sat on the other side of San, knees pulled up to his chest and tucked into the armrest as though he’s trying to make himself seem as small as possible. You barely get a glimpse at the red cup in his hands before San’s broad shoulders are blocking your view and you have to give up. The group tonight is quite large, more than the typically small get-togethers that you’re used to having with the others where it’s only eight or nine of you at most. San seems to have invited quite a few more party-goers this time around, which you hardly mind all in all.

“Can I crash in your room tonight?” you ask as San is in the midst of pulling a lighter up to the end of the joint.

“Mhm, just don’t get cum on the sheets.” His grin is nothing but cheeky, although that doesn’t keep you from whacking his arm with your free hand once he sets the lighter aside.

“Oh, fuck off!”

“I’m gonna be busy getting some on someone else’s sheets later so I won’t have time to police you about it.”

“You’re so nasty.” The man simply passes off the comment with a laugh, leaning back into the couch cushions with a dopey little grin that tells you he’s already hit a joint himself more than a few times tonight. As he moves, Hongjoong goes with him, stretching his legs out across the party host’s lap and letting San slump against his body. You snort at the minute show of affection and take a hit from the joint between your fingers.

“You’re the one—” San pauses to make a crude gesture involving his index finger and a lightly balled fist “—one of the two towers over there.”

Following the jerk of his chin isn’t too difficult, but you still regret glancing over in that direction because it means you make eye contact with the exact man you were trying to avoid in the kitchen earlier. Your stare flickers away too quickly to read as confident, and the only viable distraction within reach is San’s homemade joint. You aren’t too interested in getting too high tonight, just enough to get a little light and airy if anything, so as soon as you catch Wooyoung moving past the back of the couch, you pass the joint off to him before he gets too far away. Two hits will leave you fully lucid but any more than that and you’d be pushing the buttons on an emotional rollercoaster that you aren’t wanting to have in front of a bunch of strangers.

“Both… well, only once for one of them,” you mutter under your breath with the hope that Mingi hasn’t miraculously gained the skill of lip-reading.

“Is that where you were last Tuesday?” Hongjoong pipes up this time, pulling himself a little straighter to get a better look at you and you nearly hiss at him to keep it down.

“A lady never kisses and tells,” you say instead with a smile plastered over your lips. That has both men hollering in each other’s arms, one high and the other quite tipsy from the looks of it, but you’re happy to be their entertainment even if only for a few minutes.

“No wonder Min was fuming! Oh, I’d fucking kill to be a fly in the wall in that room when shit hits the fan.” San exhales a deep sigh, head tipping from side to side as he speaks. His laugh turns airy as he tips his body further back, sinking hard into Hongjoong’s body and knocking them both to the cushions. You don’t share in his amusement, however, as you turn to regard him with a furrowed brow and confusion etched across your features. Hongjoong notices the shift in your expression before San has the chance to.

“You might think about putting a muzzle on that one—” his gaze shifts as discreetly as possible to where Yunho sits “—‘cause he’s a little loose-lipped.”

Your lips draw into a tight purse, pulling to one corner of your mouth. You aren’t really upset about Yunho saying something — neither of you had an agreement on anything of the sort, and you’re smart enough to know how men behave at this point in your life. It is a bit funny though, in your opinion, for Mingi to be the one angry (undoubtedly jealous on top of that) when the two of you simply hook up when there aren’t other options available. You just so happened to have another option available last week, one that was quite hard to pass up on and very much worth the exhaustion and soreness that came the next day.

“Though, I suppose only the two of us know about what you and Min do when left alone.” When you shift to pass a half-hearted glare in Hongjoong’s direction, he’s wearing a shit-eating grin that makes you want to smack him even more. If not for the lengthy stretch it would take to get past the guard dog that drapes over him in the form of Choi San, you would certainly go through all that trouble just to yank his ear a little. Instead of dealing with that, you push up from where you’ve crammed yourself on the couch and move to step around the furniture — not without kicking at Hongjoong’s foot as you pass just because it’s within reach and San is out of it. That creeping lightness coming from the weed is starting to sink into your bones and make you feel everything a little more intensely. “Remember not to mess up the sheets!”

You don’t turn to see if Hongjoong catches the middle finger you send his way, but you do make for the stairs solely with the excuse that you have to use the bathroom planted at the tip of your tongue if anyone asks. Of course, that comes as a shroud to the real reason you’re headed up there, because you know someone will follow and you expect nothing less from him anyway.

The two of you follow a rather simple formula when it comes to parties like these, which is part of the reason San and Hongjoong both know about what you get up to at these events after having been caught in various corners of the house by both men multiple times. And while you are more than willing and able to mess around with the man without anything in your system, you like fucking Mingi best when you’re a little high and can feel every sensation that much more with him. You linger at the top of the stairs before heading straight for San’s room, pausing on the landing to angle yourself over the railing and peer down the flight of stairs as you wait for your companion’s head to pop up. He comes quicker than you expected him to and with a good deal of determination to his steps that makes him look entirely suspicious on all accounts.

“Everyone is gonna guess what we’re up to with you marching up here like that,” you drawl from your spot at the railing, chin coming to rest on the wood as you speak down at him. Mingi hesitates midway up the stairs, and his chin tilts up to find the source of your voice. Despite the grin playing at your lips, he doesn’t return the humor with even a small laugh.

“Good, then maybe they’ll get the hint,” he snips back.

A sigh escapes you, and you turn your head until your cheek presses into the wood. Leaving one hand to dangle by your side, you bring the other up to stretch over the length of the railing. Mingi walks up the rest of the flight of stairs, rounding the edge of the landing with a hand that skates over yours with a barely-there touch. You hum in the back of your throat. He tilts his head to match yours, and although the angle should be wholly awkward and nothing else, you feel that familiar thrum of arousal boiling deep in your gut when he meets your eyes. The sharpness in his tone doesn’t match the way he looks down at you — you know that much for certain, and you can safely take that as a hint that he’s not nearly as upset with you as he is with Yunho.

“Did you do it on purpose?” he asks nonetheless. He’s fishing for an answer you don’t have, but you can’t deny that there’s some sick part of you that wants to play into it and see how possessive he can get. “To make me jealous?”

“Hm.” You pull yourself back into an upright position a little too quickly, and the rush of blood to your head coupled with the tingling in your nerves makes your vision swim some. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” Mingi moves back to prop himself against the wall opposite the railing, and you make the pointed (and extremely difficult) decision not to eye the tremors in the muscles of his arms as he tugs them across his chest. As your eyes sweep over his torso to focus on his face once more, you shift to let your back rest against the wall the railing provides and secure your hands behind you on the lip of it. “He offered, and I accepted. Simple as that.”

“Simple, huh?” He makes it hard to not give into a wandering gaze when he’s drumming his fingers along the inked skin of his forearm. “Except he’s supposed to know you’re off-limits.”

“I can’t sleep with other people? Maybe I missed the memo that said we’re exclusive, Min.”

“You can sleep with anyone with you want,” Mingi starts, pulling his head forward a little as his gaze turns fiery, “but my best friend can’t sleep with you. And he knows that. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Then that’s not anyone I want, big boy.”

“If he offered, then he’s the one who presented the opportunity.”

“Maybe he was trying to get you to be a real man.”

“A real man?” Mingi echoes, and now his lips stretch to form a grin that displays his teeth. You dip your chin down with a laugh, hand subconsciously coming up to hover over your face. When you blink back up at your companion, he has his tongue pushed between his lips and teases the corner of his mouth, a gesture you know to read frustration. You smile despite yourself. A glint bounces off his tongue and reflects the ball of metal that sits caught between his teeth. “Didn’t know you could be such a brat, angel, you’re usually so good and pliant when I’m fuckin’ you into the mattress.”

“You could try asking Yunho then, princess, I’m sure he’d love to answer any questions you might have given how mouthy he’s apparently been.” Some part of you realizes that you’re pushing your luck perhaps a little too far, but if Yunho is going to talk himself then you believe yourself to have every right to do the same as long as it benefits you. “Did he tell you how he fucked me? How many marks he left on my body? If you look hard enough, I bet you could find some leftover ones.”

“Look, doll, because I know he called you that thinking it was charming—” Mingi shoves himself off the wall and takes a single step in your direction, but that’s enough to have you pulling yourself straighter and swallowing around nothing. “You can let yourself believe he fucked you nice just ‘cause he’s got a dick nearly as big as mine, but you’re up here with me, looking to get fucked by me, and testing me and my patience so I give it to you better than he could ever hope to. But you can keep playing that game and scamper on downstairs to his lap if you wanna. I’ll wait.”

“You know I won’t do that, Min. Not when you’re offering so sweetly like this. But I appreciate how willing you are to let me have whatever I want.” You drop your head to the side and glance down the flight of stairs that’s at your back. There’s no one there — not that you expected there to be — but this shroud of privacy you have with the man can’t last that long when so many people are in the house right now. You aren’t as high as you’d like to be, not as much as usual, mostly because Mingi is making your thoughts clear up bit by bit with each step he takes in your direction. It’s wholly distracting while also keeping you honed in on every little shift in his muscles, from the twitch of his fingers around the railing as he closes in on you to the twitch hanging about the corner of his mouth. “Should I take you up on your offer the way I did with Yunho?”

“I’m a jealous person, darling. If you’re gonna want me, then you’re gonna have to want me the most.”

You let him minimize the distance between your torsos, feeling his feet stop short of yours as he leans over you with the height advantage he has. That alone is a bit dizzying solely because it lets you get an eyeful of his inked arms all the way up to where those strands of tattoos dip under the baggy fabric of his shirt and where his muscles shine through the most.

“Why don’t you look in the mirror, huh?” You push a pout onto your lips as you speak, brows drawing into a tight knot that’s hardly serious, but it makes Mingi’s harshness falter nonetheless. “Showing yourself off like this, how am I supposed to know you’re not trying to get some other girl to want you?”

He catches your bluff a moment later, unfortunately for you because you had hoped to let the charade linger in the air a little while longer, but it turns favorable when he pushes the point of his nose under your jaw.

“I can want you the most, Mingi,” you continue still. Your voice is airy like you’re already out of breath, accompanied by a sweet sigh that makes Mingi nuzzle into your warm skin even more. “Shall I prove it?”

“I shouldn’t give you what you want so easily,” he murmurs against your neck. One of his large hands sweeps up from the railing to move across your collarbone, skating over the skin and up your throat so he can cup the point of your chin and dig his thumb into your lower lip. Your teeth graze his nail but never fully latch onto the digit as he tugs harder at your chin. “Should tease you the way you teased me, but I can’t do that.”

“Do you have other plans for me then?”

Mingi pulls up from your neck at the question, eyes finding yours without hesitation and digging deep into whatever emotion you’re hiding there.

“Oh angel, I have a whole number of plans for you tonight. It’s just a matter of whether you’ll be able to go that many rounds with me.”

You huff out a laugh, partially out of disbelief, and push your tongue between the parted line of your teeth. Mingi pushes his thumb up against the tip of your tongue then and nudges his way into your mouth with little to no resistance on your part. It’s a heady sensation, letting Mingi take over like that, but it’s made even more delicious with the knowledge that you’re fully in control at the end of the night. Even now, you pull his thumb deeper between your lips to let it rest fully against your tongue, and that’s the only thing keeping you from smirking at him while you do so. When you pull off, it’s with a grossly wet pop that sounds far lewder than it should. Mingi’s neck is tinted pink.

“I should’ve done that downstairs for everyone to see, I’m sure.” As an answer to your quip, Mingi pulls his free hand up to rest against the small of your back. He tugs you away from the blunt edge of the railing, leaving you to throw a hand up between your bodies to keep your head from knocking into his chin immediately.

“I don’t want you putting on a show for anyone but me.”

“Now that’s a red flag if I’ve seen one.”

“You gonna not fuck me because of it?” He seems to know your answer without you needing to say it, and without needing to watch the way your eyes roll to the side as you smile. Still, you offer that much, if only because you know there’s a long list of red flags he could point out in return. Ever the gentleman, he doesn’t.

“I think every good girl wants a bad boy, at least a little. I happen to want you a lot.” He’s giving a marvelous show of restraint from your perspective because you can’t imagine a time when he’s gone this long without claiming your lips, but he forgoes that gesture in favor of pulling you to the opposite wall. Your body hits with a soft thud, barely an impact with his hand blocking most of the pressure he gives by nudging a thigh between your legs.

“That’s only applicable if you’re a good girl.”

“Am I not?” Your lip catches between your teeth as you pose the question, and while you’re fully aware of the answer to it, it still fills you with endless delight to see the way Mingi seethes at your audacity to ask such a thing. His hands come down strong on either side of your head — not threatening, but firmly in a way that sends a thrill of arousal straight to your gut. His thigh tenses where it rests between your legs, making it near impossible to ignore the flexing muscles that press right against your clothed crotch. You’re certain he feels it just as much as you do.

“You most certainly are not, darling.”

“What are you gonna do about it then?” His proximity makes it difficult for you to move at all, but when you start inching along the wall in an attempt to get closer to San’s door, Mingi moves like a man possessed, following your movements with his own. “Nothing drastic I hope…?” You sink your teeth into your lower lip, reaching around the edge of the doorframe to grab at the handle.

“I think you’d like it better if I did, yn.”

Your fingers twitch against the cool metal before closing around it.

“Maybe I wanna just hear if you’ve got any bright ideas in that head of yours. You’re usually quite creative with the way we do things, darling.”

“Nothing’s punishment to you. Not when you enjoy it the way you do.” He takes a step back to regard you with a sharp stare, one that is a little ambiguous in terms of emotion and leaves you wondering what exactly is on his mind as he watches you. Still, you take the chance he provides to slip in front of the door and pop it open, releasing the seal on the room and making the tension in the air spike. It becomes something even more enticing, a thing that’s not fully within reach as you have the out you were after, the metaphorical nail in the coffin to get what you’re after, and you know Mingi sees it as such himself because he drags his tongue over his lower lip and lets his gaze wander down your legs. “Would still love to make you cry on my cock though.”

You pause midway through the doorframe to eye Mingi’s expression once more. There’s a sadistic sort of grin toying at the edges of his lips as he looks back at you, dragging his eyes up from your body to land on your face once more.

“Think you can manage it?”

“I know I always do.”

There’s something dirty in the way he kisses you then, tongue breaching the line of your lips with no resistance on your part, and when his tongue presses hot and heavy against yours, you feel something clench tight in your chest. You like it best this way: when he’s rough, when he doesn’t treat you delicately and instead kisses you like it might literally be the last time he can get his hands on you, and perhaps that's what you missed so desperately with Yunho. Mingi knows your body like the back of his hand and knows how to push all your buttons and toy with your strings. Part of you wonders (and is very self-aware about it) if the reason you don’t let things go any further between the two of you is out of an innate fear that things will change if feelings were truly involved. Maybe if love was part of the equation, he wouldn’t be as willing to have you this way, or maybe you wouldn’t enjoy it as much as you do now.

When he pushes you back into the safe privacy of San’s bedroom, you loop an arm around Mingi’s waist and pull him closer into your little bubble of space. The door falls shut behind him quickly and quietly, probably an effort on his part to maintain this little bit of privacy you have. One of these days you have to hand deliver a bouquet of flowers to San for even allowing you access to his room like this, but also for keeping your little secret just that the way he does.

Those thoughts leave you quickly, however, as Mingi’s large hands start to wander lower and skate over the curve of your ass. You groan into his mouth when he squeezes your flesh in his palms. You take the cue to lift your leg along his. There’s a rush of goosebumps over your skin as his hand moves along the line of your hamstring to hook at your knee, and when he rolls his hips towards yours, there’s much more contact this time. The firm bulge of his erection presses between your legs just enough to tease — it’s not nearly enough pressure to bring you the kind of pleasure you’re searching for. Maybe that frustration leaks into your next movements, into the way you kick your leg back down and bring your hands up to Mingi’s tank to push him off you for a moment. His lips part from yours with nothing more than a thin line of spit to connect the two of you but even that doesn’t last long as you fight to change your positions. Mingi lets it happen with a growing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, barely flinching when his knees hit the edge of the bed and make him collapse to the edge of the mattress.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, baby,” he murmurs as you drop to your knees between his legs. A scoff leaves your lips.

“What’s it look like, big boy?”

He hums, hand coming up to comb over your scalp for less than a second before the soft touch turns to a firmer grip that holds you in place for the time being.

“Gonna let me fuck your pretty mouth, yeah?”

Your fingers twitch against where you’ve just let them rest on his pants. It’s hard to maintain the fight you’ve been showing up until this point simply because of how damn pronounced his cock is through those pants, and how fucking badly you want to feel him against your tongue.

“You can work for it, can’t you?” you counter through gritted teeth instead of giving in right away. Still, your hands move against the waistband of his pants and continue with their path to work them down enough to give you some access to his member within. The fingers in your hair hold tighter as Mingi shifts his hips and lets you slide his pants down to the floor.

“Thinking about my cock between those lips.” He sounds a bit dazed already, which would be a new record for you, but it comes with his hand traveling from the top of your head down to your mouth. It doesn’t take much for him to cup your jaw and press the pads of his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. He doesn’t pinch your mouth open as he usually would, even when you pull his length out from its confines. You’re just close enough to kiss the tip, lips staying firmly shut as you tilt your head to wrap your kisses around the side of him.

“You’re always thinking about that though.” You pout just a little; it’s hard to do anything else with the control he has over your face right now. Mingi’s eyes move from your face down to where his cock rests against the curve of your lips. His other hand comes up from the mattress to take the place of the one he just had in your hair, and this time when he pinches your cheeks, your lips part just enough to welcome the leaking tip of his dick into your wet heat.

“Then open wide for me and lemme have it.” You ought to be ashamed of how hot and bothered his voice gets you, something so simple yet incredibly enticing on every level, but there’s no denying how the deep timbre of his voice sends heat right between your legs. You take him deeper into your mouth as his hand falls away from your cheeks. The one in your hair remains although it’s moreso there for him to simply touch because he clearly has no intent on doing any work himself. You don’t mind necessarily, taking your hand to wrap around the inches of his cock you can’t quite fit in your mouth without breaching your throat.

His next groan is much louder than the last little sigh of pleasure he let out, and it comes with him tilting his chin to the ceiling and leaning further back. You watch his movements carefully even with your mouth now fully occupied and hard at work. It’s equally intoxicating to watch him succumb to arousal and pleasure, and although the idea of him blindfolding you and just using his voice and hands to get you off is very enticing, you think you would miss seeing his face contort in pleasure the way it does now. You hollow your cheeks along his length as you pull up, barely stopping at the head of his cock before dipping back down to touch where your hand grips him.

Despite the lack of effort to fuck your mouth, you can see how he’s desperately trying to keep himself from doing exactly that. His lashes flutter as he blinks down between his legs to catch a glimpse of your lips stretched into an ‘o’ around his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” You slip further down on his length, cheeks sucking in around him. “On your knees, taking my big cock like that.” A harder, more pointed suck as you dip your thumb down to trace over the sensitive skin of his balls. “Baby.”

His moans turn almost guttural as you continue until you give him a moment’s rest and tug off him to press your nose along the side of his cock now. You paint his skin with little kisses along the way, tracing over the places you’ve already touched with your tongue. It feels a bit like your nerve endings are being set on fire when he takes both hands to your hair and guides your head back to take his cock into your mouth. The first upwards thrust of his hips is gentle enough: testing and prodding at the limits as well as your well-being before he drives deeper into your mouth. Shock overwhelms you merely because of how quickly he flips the switch on you, and if not for the hand you smartly kept in place at the base of his cock, you would surely choke on his member without warning.

“Don’t wanna cum yet, but fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanna cover your pretty face in cum, wanna ruin you.”

All you can do is moan around his dick and hope that it’s an answer enough for him.

“You like it, princess? Want me to make your makeup run—” he thrusts hard enough to nudge into your throat, and your throat constricts around his tip by sheer instinct “—and mark you nicely with my cum?” Tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes already just from the sheer force of his cock hitting the back of your throat, but there’s also this antsy frustration that is building up in your gut from going this long without any relief of your own. You want him to touch you desperately at this point, so much so that you take it upon yourself to retract a hand to settle between your legs and press against the sensitive nub of your clit through your underwear. Even that slight bit of relief feels so heavenly that you whine around Mingi’s cock. Eyes squeezing shut, you let your jaw go slack as he continues to use your face and work your fingers over your clit until the wetness seeps through the fabric of your panties. “You’re so fucking good, yn, letting me use you like this. Look at you getting off on it too. Like getting used that much?”

A breath of pause in his words where he inhales sharply like he’s weighing what he wants to say next. It works to his advantage because his next statement hits you like a ton of bricks, sharp and pointed and spoken with irrevocable confidence that makes your thighs tremble.

“Knew he wasn’t good enough to please you properly.”

Your moans get louder in volume only because he pulls his cock from the wet cavern that is your mouth but you’re still dazed enough to leave your lips hanging open as your fingers move faster against your cunt. Mingi doesn’t knock your hand away from the base of his length but he wraps a hand over himself nonetheless and jerks over the wet path you left on him. The sounds are sinful as can be, wet and messy to match your equally-ruined expression.

“Close your eyes, princess.” You barely have time to do that much before hot ropes of cum are spilling out over your features, painting your face from forehead to chin with no real direction, and Mingi doesn’t stop until he’s milked his cock for all its worth on you. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

His large hands move to your body, lifting you off your knees with a ridiculous amount of ease, and while you don’t want to, you’re forced to stop touching yourself as he nudges you onto the bed without further ado.

“In me, Mingi, I want you inside—”

“Shh, gotta prep you first, baby girl, I ain’t that heartless.” Even with his sweet consideration, you whine like you’ve been eternally denied what you’re after, fists balling up around the comforter as you press your face into it. Mingi lifts your hips high enough to get you to brace yourself on your knees. It makes your skirt swoop forward, assisted of course by Mingi who shoves the material up over your ass without an ounce of hesitation. The new position is hardly inconspicuous in the slightest, and well beyond the realm of suggestiveness to the point where if any one of your friends were to come in unannounced, you would have no chance of defending yourself from their suspicions. You can only hope that San and Hongjoong both remember to deter anyone from trying to use San’s room for its bathroom because you well and truly don’t want to move from this position at all. The mere thought of Mingi having you like this, bent over your form as he drills into your cunt and pins your wrists to the bed is enough to make your core clench around nothing.

“Just—” you interrupt your own train of thought with a whine that breaches your lips without thought, and Mingi is the one to elicit it from you as he drags the blunt ends of his nails over your ass while tugging your underwear down. “Min…”

“I’m not fuckin’ you until you’re in tears, baby.” If that’s his version of punishment then you consider it to be only mildly effective because you’re frustrated and pent-up enough at this point to where you might just cry for the hell of it to soften him up a bit. But then his fingers come to brush through the line of your folds, skating over the wetness that’s pooled there, and without warning, he pushes two fingers into your fluttering hole. The haste with which he does so has you releasing a noise so embarrassing that you push your cheek further into the sheets in an (ineffective) attempt to hide yourself from Mingi’s prying eyes. “Gotta see you to know when that is, yn.”

You get an eyeful of his half-grin and the sharp curve of his lips, and that’s unfortunately enough for you to tilt your head so that he can see your face a bit better.

“There’s my pretty girl.” The praise goes straight between your legs, making you clench blindly around the fingers Mingi has pumping in and out of your cunt. He curls them at the second knuckle at the same time and prods deeper inside you until he pushes up against the spot that really makes your head spin and vision go blurry. He pays such close attention to that spot that you hardly notice it when he slips a third digit into you. The sole infuriating nuance to his actions is how he doesn’t quite hit your g-spot the way you want him to: not with force or direct pressure. He merely teases the flesh around it, nudging closer and closer to it without quite giving you the satisfaction you want from it. Yet each time you open your mouth to complain about the treatment, he deliberately presses into it with one finger as though to tell you ‘see I’m giving you what you want, you can’t complain‘.

You have to keep your fists balled around the comforter to quell the shaking in your fingers, but your whole body is trembling at this point with how many times Mingi has brought you right to the precipice of a mindblowing orgasm only to steal that heat away and focus on stretching your walls around his fingers.

“H-Haven’t you — Min… come on!”

“Hm? What is it you want, baby girl? I can’t read your mind.”

“Insufferable, you’re so annoying, I can’t stand you, you’re so — ugh!” Perhaps it’s his antics that pluck at your nerves like they’re nothing more than strings for him to play with, but the unending routine of getting closer and closer to your satisfaction without truly getting it reaches its peak as you sob against the mattress and finally let tears fall.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, yn.” You don’t bother looking back at Mingi’s face when he pulls his fingers out of your cunt, but you are vaguely aware of his other hand coming up to brush over the tears on your cheeks. That only lasts a second before his hand comes down to rest over where yours still clenches the bedsheets so tight that your knuckles bleed white. Another sob tumbles out of you as you feel the blunt tip of his cock pushing up against your slit, and your whole body trembles under Mingi’s weight right after. He sinks his length into you slowly, letting it fill you and stretch you as he pushes inch after inch into you. “Let go of the bed, baby, I’ve got you.” You do as told without complaint or resistance this time. Mingi draws your wrists up higher along the bed until they’re both perched closer to the pillows, then he settles his hips fully against your backside, draping his form over yours.

“F-Fuck me, please, stop — stop making me wait,” you say barely louder than a whisper because your throat already feels scratchy and overused.

“Of course, pretty angel, anything for you.”

The first real drive of his cock into you is maddening at best, a sweet slide of pressure and relief that makes you cry out louder than before, and he continues to build up a steady pace that fills the air with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You aren’t at all surprised that he’s already hard a second time; he usually pushes you to the limit with how many rounds he likes to go. Equally unsurprising is the way his thrusts quickly lose their rhythm and turn into sharp, punctuated thrusts that threaten to knock your hips all the way down to the bed. He’s muttering quite a bit in your ear — things you aren’t wholly processing because you finally get to chase that sweet pleasure you’ve been denied all this time. You aren’t aware of how noisy you’re being either until Mingi brings a hand down to tilt your mouth closer to the sheets to shush you some. You take it in stride, for whatever that’s worth, and simply clench tighter around his dick as he seeks the angle that will make you see stars.

A white-hot pleasure sears through your system with enough force to make your back curl and have you writhing under Mingi’s weight.

“Got it,” he murmurs behind you, sounding insufferably proud of himself, but you don’t have it in you to chastise him for it. What you do do, however, is free one of your hands to throw it behind you, grabbing for his hip and trying to encourage him to keep at it for your sake. He catches your wrist between his fingers before you have the chance though, and rather than pushing it back to the bed, he simply pins your arm behind your back and uses you as leverage to fuck up against that spot along your walls over and over again.

And in your defense, you don’t usually cum so quickly but he’s been teasing you and riling you up for so long at this point that you don’t find yourself embarrassed in the slightest when your walls start to pulse around his length. The euphoric pleasure is certainly worth it too, the release you were after finally sending shockwaves through your system until your toes curl and your neck hurts from the angle you’ve got it tilted at. Mingi keeps at his pace, only slowed a hair by your cunt squeezing tight around his cock, and he shows no signs of being close behind you until you’re back to sobbing into the mattress. Your core can’t keep pace with the drives of his cock, clenching and fluttering at odd intervals while Mingi chases a second high to pump into you.

“Gonna cum, baby.”

“In — inside, don’t you dare pull out.” Spoken through gritted teeth, you sound a little angry but also choked because of the tears that are still leaking out of your eyes and onto the bed. You aren’t sure if your tone is what pushes him over the edge, but you do catch the glint in his eyes as you inadvertently glare over your shoulder at him, and your only thought is that it’s simply another exciting facet to explore with him later.

His orgasm finally comes, to your relief because it means your cunt finally gets to break from his ruthless pace and the obscene stretch around his length, and it comes with a string of colorful expletives that are spoken through broken groans. You echo his groan albeit very much so not in the same kind of pleasure he’s experiencing as his weight fully collapses on top of you and nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You’re so—”

“Go again?”

“No. For once you oaf, no,” you whine from under him, twisting your body as best you can like it’ll help your case. Mingi has enough energy to laugh, a full and throaty noise that always makes your heart somersault, then he’s peeling his body off yours to let you breathe easy again.

“Was I too rough?”

“Nooo, no, you were so good, Min.” His hands are already wandering to turn you over onto your back. “So fucking good, if I had the energy, I’d want you to do that several more times.”

“Yeah? That so?” He’s laughing again, either at your drawling tone or at the way you curl your arms and legs around his body to get him to lift you off the bed.

“You got cum in my hair…”

“I’ll wash it out for you.”

Showering is a feat in and of itself that you’re almost too tired to accomplish on your own, so when Mingi slips in behind you midway through and finishes washing your skin down, you’re more than a little grateful for the help. Not enough to get on your knees on that tiled floor, but grateful still.

And as is routine at this point, the two of you stumble back to San’s bed in a dark room, tangling yourselves in the sheets together like a perfectly mismatched puzzle.

“When you said maybe Yunho was trying to get me to be a real man… what did you mean by that?”

“Don’t push it, Min.” You can feel the man shifting at your back but the arm resting under your head doesn’t move, and he continues with the soft circles that he’s massaging into your skin with that hand. “We really did fuck though. It’s not some practical joke or just me trying to get under your skin. We fucked, and I liked it, but I didn’t like it the way I like it with you so I don’t think I wanna sleep with him again.”

“He remembered protection, right?”

“Yes, Min, of course he did. And if he hadn’t, I would have.”

Mingi huffs through his nose, a little indignant and very much dramatic, yet he seems to settle down just fine in the following seconds. Warm blooms over your head, a telltale sign of how close his face is to the crown of your head, and he twists his whole body to curl further around yours.

“Let’s keep at it then.”

Internally, you laugh a little solely because of how nonchalant Mingi makes it sound when the subject matter isn’t something as simple as that. Belatedly, you’re struck with a certain realization that makes your blood run cold and has you jerking in Mingi’s hold to look at the side of his face.

“What?”

“San said not to get cum on the sheets and you shoved my whole face in them!”

"It was just the comforter..."

"Just the comforter?!"

#mingi smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez fic #caly.writes

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una-hopeless-romantic1118 · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐀 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬?—𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐣𝐚𝐬/𝐑𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬

a/n: i died but im back for u hangry warren sluts<3333. following after the events of Part 2. ALSO changed the last name to Augustine bc i love the last name :3

timeline: ep. 3

-> Part 1

-> Part 2

This chapter: Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

warnings: cursing, drinking, hangovers, angsty y/n again, not proofread at all. it’s way too long than the other ones whoopsies.

summary: a slow morning at y/n’s condo starts with warren, who makes it his mission to get to know the girl better, before pulling a “mastermind” of his own as well.

i never realized this but y/n in the first part was literally being a mastermind by taylor swift. AND WE STAN🤞🤞

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Warren didn’t wake up to the sound of Graham’s and Eddie’s loud chatter, the loud clinking of pans as Karen prepares for breakfast, or Julia’s shrieking cries that rattled the whole house awake, but it was the waves gently crashing in the distance.

Outside, through the light blue, almost translucent, curtains of the clear sliding door, he could see the sun about to rise in the most beautiful state ever. A mixture of the shades purple, orange, and pink, and it was perfect.

It sounds like it doesn’t make any sense at all, and if someone were to ever tell him that the sky could be this pretty, he wouldn’t have believed them. He would’ve waved it off as the coke talking.

But seeing it now, just having woken from the best sleep he’s had in a while, it was real and true. It impressed him. So much so that it drove him to get up from the couch he was sleeping at to take a closer look, as if he was a child waking up early to find his backyard snowing.

He swept off the curtain for a clearer look.

“Holy shit,” he whispered heavily under his breath that the window had fogged up.

The sky was even better with the curtain swept off to the side. It was like he was in the middle of a painting.

It was too good to be true.

Beneath the sunrise, the waves that woke him up continued its rhythmic pattern of gentle crashes on the shore, the bubbling it leaves on the sand, and then back to the ocean to gather energy to crash again.

He could stand there and watch it for hours.

His shared house Laurel Canyon was confined, there were barely any windows, and they didn’t have the nearest access to the beach.

He managed to peel his eyes off the scenery before him to look around the condo.

Who knew a celebrity’s condo could be so comforting? It wasn’t just the outside scenery that was comforting, but strangely, it was the mess of the living room.

The loose and weirdly shaped, different colored pieces of cloth on the table in front of the couch, an even bigger mess on the tables with the sewing machines, and loose pieces of paper with sketches of colorful designs.

Stylish designs, but some of them are bolder, more uniquely colored designs, that he knows there’s more to them than meets the eye, but are all x’ed over like mistakes.

He took note that some of them were indicated to be bejeweled pieces of clothing, decorated with nothing but jewels, gems, and silver, and it completely stands out from her usual tight, petite looking designs. Some were clothing pieces that were flowy and wispy, and if one were to put their arms out at the wind, it creates that free feeling statement.

He picks up the sketches on the floor and tables, subconsciously starting a properly stacked pile of papers and placing them on the table, making sure to make a separate pile of the ones that are x’ed out.

•─────⋅(cut to documentary)⋅─────•

Warren: I mean, the way she was talked about back then was unbelievable. I’m not over exaggerating when I say this, but I was probably one of the only people she had over at that condo.

She had hundreds of friends and admirers, so it kinda made me question how I was welcomed in. And knowing enough about her at the time, it wasn’t because I was a rockstar and she was a hard core fan.

*he lifts himself up from his seat* Mind if I get something real quick?

Interviewer: Sure.

*he walks out of the camera’s view and into a room in his boat. not long, he comes back with a newspaper in hand.*

Warren: This is just one of the many newspapers I saw her name in, in big, white, bold letters. *he sits back down* I never saw something from the corner of my eye and recognize it this well.

Interviewer: Why’d you keep it?

Warren: *he shrugs with a smile* It’s the little things that matter, sobrina! She still smiles seeing this every now and then.

I bought this at a local grocery store when I was walking around the town she lived at, looking for takeout to get for the two of us. After I found some, I brought four plates of the same order, two milkshakes, and headed back with this and the food.

Interviewer: Well, what made you feel the need to stay?

Warren: Who in the right mind would want to waste their time not spending it with Y/N? *he flips the newspaper’s front to face him* I took my chance, but it wasn’t what I wanted in the first place. I just thought it’d be nice to have a friend like her and get to know her better.

*he hesitates* with a siiide of benefits, because the woman was too interesting to be someone I could just wave off into the past.

But listen to this, the most dramatic title ever *he snickered* :

“ Y/N Augustine! Her rise has been as catastrophic, luminous, and stunning as a supernova itself-! ”

I’m sorry- *he snickered behind the newspaper* I can’t, man. I don’t know how I managed to go through with showing her this, knowing damn well she would’ve laughed at it too. But I know she needed to see it. Especially at that time.

Interviewer: Would you say that that morning was the beginning for you guys? Like the rest of the band said?

Warren: *he nods with a smirk* Hell yeah.

•─────⋅(cut back)⋅─────•

Warren, with two bags of the four styrofoam containers of food in one hand, contained in one of the bags the horrible newspaper, while holding a cup holder with two drinks on the other, placed the drinks on the floor momentarily to open the door.

Just opening a small crack, he was immediately met with a blasting vinyl player. Bob Marley & The Wailers, he recognized, Could You Be Loved.

There was a spark of amusement that made Warren chuckle under his breath.

As soon as he made the small crack of the door, he squished through with the breakfast in his hands, pushing the door wider with his arm.

He marched over the counter by the kitchen to place the food, and when he turned around, he was met with a wildly haired, wide eyed short woman, with a baseball bat ready to swing his head out of his body.

•─────⋅(cut to documentary)⋅─────•

Y/N: I had to have a baseball bat. I bought it from a local Dick’s Sporting Goods because I couldn’t buy anything...else.

It wasn’t because I liked the sport. It was good enough because even if you didn’t know how to use it “the right way,” It would hurt the other person anyways.

I was just a woman who happened to be living alone. I needed all the protection I could get from bastards creeping into my house.

•─────⋅(cut back)⋅─────•

“FUCKING BASTARD!” Y/N yelled. “WARREN WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“ME?” He yelled back. “YOU’RE THE ONE WITH THE FUCKING WEAPON. PUT IT DOWN BEFORE I SHIT MY FUCKING PANTS."

Y/N pants as she lowers the bat slowly. “I thought you...I thought you left?...”

"Geeze, woman. Really?” He exhaled out, in pure disbelief. To think he would leave after the events of last night, with so many things to talk about, he wanted all the answers he could get.

So many things that can happen from then on.

Her in her silk sleep dress and baseball bat was not what he had in mind at all, though.

In other words, he wanted her. He wouldn’t have gotten her all of this food if he didn’t. And that says a lot.

In the distance, the reggae music continued with another one.

“Sorry,” she winced. “I thought you were an intruder.”

Warren tries to shake off his trembling subtly. “Eh, it’s all good. I went out to get food. Milkshakes, hash browns, scrambled eggs, toast.” He drummed on the plates as he tells her.

Y/N’s eyes widen, but she proceeds to march up to the counter and salivate over the delicious smell.

Not long after, she begins to dive in, seemingly forgetting about how she almost near blew Warren’s head open.

She also seemed to be completely ignoring Warren’s amused, yet admiring gaze on her.

She nods to him. “So, is this like, aftercare?” She grabs a fork in a drawer and begins picking at the scrambled eggs. “Back home they usually just leave.”

It takes Warren a few seconds to recover from the wild suggestion. “We didn’t...sleep together, Y/N.” He said carefully. “But if you really want to know what aftercare could be with me, then we should definitely do something about that.”

Y/N, already with a mouthful of eggs, tilt her head in confusion. “What is this all for, then?” She ignored the brave remark.

Warren sighs defeatedly into his shoulder. “Thought I’d be nice. Figured you’d have a hangover.”

He grabs a toast. “And I thought you said you were from here? Or was that also...”

“No, I am from here,” Y/N nods. “But after my parents’ divorce when I was 10, my dad and me and my three brothers moved to France to where our grandparents were at.” She swallows the remnants of scrambled eggs in her mouth. “I moved back here after quitting 2 years of...school-”

Warren tuts when he notices the long pause between of and school. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he widened his eyes at her, wagging a piece of toast in her face. “It’s the least you could do. I bought you food that could last you the whole day.”

“I never asked for this!”

“How bad of a major was it that you won’t tell me?” Warren chuckled. “What was it? Dentistry? Dance? Clinical? A foot massager?”

“A foot massager?!” She screeched.

“Holy shit! Are you serious?”

Y/N slaps his hard in his upper arm, which caused Warren to yell out. “Shit! Baby, that stung.”

“Don’t call me baby,” she gagged. “Don’t baby me!”

“But you’re so cut-Ow! Fine, geeze.” He goes to massage his arm after the second slap, now that it was sending tingling sensations, worse than the one before. “I think it’s actually making my arm paralyzed, Y/N. Great fucking job.”

“Good. I hope the paralysis reaches your brain.”

“I won’t let it,” he sighs miserably as he continues to massage his arm. “Now tell me your major, please.”

“No!” She chuckled nervously. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t laugh, I promise.” He lied. Of course he’d laugh, he did just make her blush from embarrassing her.

A silent pause. “...Astrophysics.”

Warren’s hand raced to his mouth to stop himself from absolutely losing it in front of her. And she already looked embarrassed, and with the way she was clutching on to her fork looked like she want to dive it into her eye.

“...Wow.” He muffled against his hand. “I mean...wow...”

But when a snicker escaped from his lips, Y/N frowns. “You promised!”

“I never promised anything!” He laughed out loud now. Howling laughter, that tears began to form in the corner of his eyes. “What a nerd!”

“Fuck off.” She groaned, walking to him only to push him away.

“Little French nerd!” But it wasn’t until she got up in front of his face, way too close than she intended, was she reminded of last night.

Of course Y/N remembered the kiss. And while she rarely got drunk, those rare times were always “on accident,” and would always have to be her last straw. It was always in hopes to avoid and forget, but it wouldn’t last for however she wanted. She still remembers things.

For a while, she’s been thinking about moving back to France. Back to her family, back to her friends and back to the insane craze of lover culture—anyone, to desperately get a way out of this depressing hold called loneliness.

But she knows she couldn’t just leave because she’d be leaving way too much. It’s way too important to leave for company or love.

The kiss was nice, and made her feel nice momentarily. Warren’s nice too, bringing her breakfast and all, and cleaning her living room/primary workplace for her that she noticed as soon as she walked in, which is a tad confusing and unnecessary, especially after her little trick on him.

She’s flattered by the guy. Charmed, even.

But Y/N has been in doubt about many things, but this shouldn’t be any different. The feelings will pass, she’s convinced herself, and she will be able to get herself back on track.

So she walks back to where she was before.

When Y/N gets herself to look at him again, there’s a certain way that Warren’s face pinched that sent Y/N to feel extremely guilty.

“Why’d you drop out?” He exhaled out heavily.

“Warren...” She warned with pained expression.

“Hey, it’s just a genuine question.” He raised his hands in surrender. “How does someone go from being a super nerd to a hot piece fashionista?”

“Fuck you, I have always been a hot piece.” She scrunched her nose. “I wasn’t happy, that was it. I mean, I loved studying it and reading about it, but I didn’t want it as a job. I wish I realized it earlier.”

Warren nods. “So you were an unhappy hot piece.” He faked sympathy.

“I was an unhappy hot piece.” She nodded along.

He takes a sip of his milkshake before swishing it around his mouth. “And now?” He swallows. “Are you happier now?”

Y/N made the mistake of saying “um...” instead of just jumping into it with a lie.

Say yes.

All Y/N could do was bite her tongue and look up.

Y/N, just fucking lie.

“Hey...it’s okay if you’re not.”

Y/N bites her bottom lip gently as she picks at the scrambled egg in front of her.

“Maybe I need another career change.” She snickered. But, no. It’s not it this time, and she knows it.

“I was hoping you would say that.” Warren wagged a finger at her before walking off to the stack of papers at one of her sewing desk.

She watches as he walks back to her with a whole, separated stack of them. “I saw your sketches earlier when I was cleaning up.”

“Congrats,” she said with a mouthful of toast. “You’re the first person to see them.”

“No way?” He chuckled with his raspy voice. “Oh, shit. Wow...and is there, like, an award system for this? ‘Cuz I feel like I deserve some sort of…award for witnessing such, fine, art...” He made sure to look intently at her.

Y/N tried to hide her growing smile. “So about the sketches you said?....”

Warren shook his head with a small smile on his face. “They were good. All of them.”

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, faking a blushed expression. “Top notch feedback. New York critics better watch out.”

“Hey, I’m telling the truth,” he laughs out, “especially the crossed out ones.”

Y/N stops mid-bite of her toast. She blinks a few times, before finally meeting Warren in the eyes.

“I mean, why are they crossed out in the first place?” He questioned, genuine curiosity in his voice. “They looked amazing.”

“They looked like shit.” She countered his compliment.

Warren insisted for a further explanation with a simple nod.

“They’re not...normal,” she tried. “If I went through with them and made them, I would’ve wasted my time, and not to mention, embarrass the models. They wouldn’t be able to show their faces or get another modeling gig if I forced them into clothes like those.”

“Okay, well, forget about the models right now,” Warren offered, with a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Why are they shit? Because they don’t look like it.”

Y/N shrugs as she swallows. She knows they weren’t shit, but that they were too bold of a statement. “I just don’t see the average people to wear them.”

“That’s because average people shouldn’t be wearing them.” Warren snickered. “You know you’re the #1 brand right now? Serenity’s been on cover magazines everywhere I go, with your name plastered at the top as if it was it’s own title.”

He pulls out the newspaper from the bag and faced it in front of her.

It only takes her a few minutes skimming the page to break out laughing.

•─────⋅(cut to documentary)⋅─────•

Y/N: It was such a horribly cheesy compliment *she pinched the bridge of her nose* I should’ve sued their ass back then.

•─────⋅(cut back)⋅─────•

Warren laughs along with her. “I saw it on the walk back here. Thought I’d show it to you to convince you.”

Y/N chuckles, wiping a tear forming from the corner of her eye. “Convince me that my work is as catastrophic as a supernova?” She laughs into her arms.

He nods. “That you should go through with making the clothes. You’re amazing. And sorry for saying this, but I never pegged you to be the type of person to care what other people think.”

“Well I do,” Y/N argued, her laughter gradually dying down. “I do care.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“It’s my work. I’m supposed to.” She met his eyes again. “What do you know about it?”

“I don’t know jack shit about fashion, you’re right,” Warren agrees. He leans closer to her on the counter, “but I know if you keep pushing creativity like these to the side, the world will be missing out on a whole side of Y/N Augustine.”

“And how are you so sure it’s something they’d want to see?”

“Alright, listen,” he proposes. “They’re not shit. They’re just different. They’re never-seen-before’s, that’s why you’re scared to make them.”

Y/N still looked unsurely at the papers laid in front of her. Warren pushes them to her so that they’re closer.

He points at one of the x’ed out drawings. Under the drawing was his name written with a smiley face and a phone number.

“I gotta run. Band practice.” He tells her, before quickly pecking her cheek and beelining to the front door.

Biting back a smile, she calls out after him.“When do you want this?”

“As soon as you want to see me again.” He flashed her a smile, winked, before finally closing the door behind him.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

taglist (aka beautiful people): @pinkdaiisies @mlwriting5 @teletubbysteroids @linatells @stanzie @arsonkween @rexorangecouny @lisbeth122605 @cultsanrio @thatoneawesomechicka @magicalmiserybore @sourholland @sunfairyy. @lilyhw1 @viridianflowers @goldenjasssy

#daisy jones #daisy jones and the six #djats #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #warren rhodes x you #warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #warren rojas x y/n #warren rojas x you #warren rhodes fluff #warren rojas fic #warren rhodes x y/n #warren rhodes smut #djats fic #djats fanfic

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mayshifts · 23 days

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hello!! you can call me may, i'm in my (mid) 20s and i go by she/her. also, english isn't my native language so i'm sorry if i make mistakes!!

i'm new on shiftblr but i've been in the community since early 2023 (though i never ever interacted with it lol). i've minishifted (or at least i think i did...) a few times but never fully shifted yet. but i'm planning on it! 🤞

this account will mostly be for me to get motivation, learn more about shifting and stuff. not sure if i'll share anything or if i'll interact with ppl bc i'm shy but?? maybe i will, maybe i won't!

my main drs:

— stranger things - i have one where i'm just chilling (no ST stuff in it) and one where i'm supposed to follow the plot (still waiting for S5 to know if i'm really shifting there or not) — the walking dead universe - twd merges with ftwd (and probably more - maybe even tlou?? absolutely not sure yet), i'm not really following the plot and mostly everyone is alive (i love them all too much ok) — more apocalyptic drs (yes i'm obsessed) but they're not related to any show or book etc. it's like whatever happens happens (in a good way)

obviously, anti-shifters dni! and same goes for racism, homophobia, sexism etc. the list is non-exhaustive and i'll simply ignore you and/or block you sooo??? don't waste both of our time, yeah?

anyway, happy shifting!! :D

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting realities #shifting community #desired reality #mayshifts

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arsoooooonmun · 9 months

Text

The Last Time.

An Abby Anderson "The Last Time" by Taylor Swift inspired one-shot AU

Reader is in her mid 20's, but this doesn't have any mature scenes.

Avoided the use of Y/N.

Abby might be OOC in some dialouges.

There are no specific features of the reader because this is just pure angst. :))

hehe grammar might not be oh-so-good bear with me plz 😘🤞

enjoy . (i cried while writing this)

AUTHORS NOTE: Hi! I know I just ghosted the very first work of mine (SHOT), but I had a huge reason for it: I am busy. (I actually got lazy and was mentally unready for the amount of notes that the social media au I posted got. I also was burned out from those types of au, so.... have this. A one-shot.)

Abby didn't notice it at first. She thought it was all normal. Burn-outs are normal in a relationship, aren't they?

Sure, the relationship was rocky at first because Abby told you in the first place that she wasn't ready for commitment, but she told you, "I'll do my best for you."

Now, you just feel like gaslighting your way out of this place because you are so suffocated in the room that was once a home for you, but now, you wish nothing but to leave.

She never told you that within that phrase, you had to sacrifice yourself too.

Three years had passed ever since you two were official. The first two years were fun, laughing while looking at the sunset — staring at her freckles when she smiled so hard while talking about your memories together.

And now they're all going just to be memories.

It's a Friday night, and Abby was supposed to be free. Abby was a neurosurgeon, and yes, the work is hard, but aren't you working hard too while also making the time for her?

And god forbid, but you hoped she didn't forget that it's your fourth year together. You wished that she didn't forget your anniversary again.

You called her and texted her again and again, but nothing. Three hours and it's now 2am, your anniversary has now passed.

Your tears were flowing and clenched hard on your shirt. It was a simple request, you decorated the whole place, and you asked her to come home early since she is off at work at 9 pm.

You weren't that hard to please, a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates — heck even a simple letter will make you understand her.

Still nothing.

And now Abby just opened the door.

Looking at her walk, she was drunk.

She forgot it again.

Abby didn't even notice you sitting on the couch.

"Oh, I don't know you are still awake." Abby told you once she noticed you. Your hurt crushed with the thought that she didn't even tell you why she was late and drunk.

"Abby, do you even know what time it is?" With all your remaining patience and love, you hid your disappointment and tried to understand.

"Sorry, me and my workmates decided to drink. It's just a fun refreshment." Abby looked around and noticed the balloons scattered on the floor.

"Why are there balloons? Did anyone even think of cleaning up? Were your friends here?"

Your eyes widen and tears started streaming down your face again.

"It's our fucking anniversary, Anderson." Your words were filled with anger. It was heart-wrenching, you wanted to puke right then and there, is Abby even your girlfriend anymore?

Does she even love you anymore?

It seems like cold water has washed over Abby, and she looked at you with wide eyes.

"Oh my god, I am sorry, darling —" You cut her off before she had the chance to continue her apology with the same reasons again.

You sighed loud enough and looked down. "I am done, Abby."

"I am done with us. Let's break up."

Abby's face froze all over, you couldn't see it and you shouldn't because you know deep inside you'll take your words back but then, you'll hurt yourself all over again.

And you were honestly tired.

"I can't bear the thought that you can just say sorry and then hurt me all over again. God fucking dammit Abby, this isn't even the first time you forgot an occasion about us. You fucking forgot my birthday last year and this year. And you know what? I forgave you because you were working that day. But do you also know that all of your birthdays were as special as mine for me? I took a day off to celebrate your birthday on that place you wished so badly to visit, and you remember what you did? You fucking yelled at me telling me you can't just take a day out of your work and even scolded me for using MY money. MY hard work earned money to make YOU happy." You cried your heart out, and the tone of your voice was filled with pure anger.

"You told me you never asked for that much, then what do you think what love is?" Your voice cracked and you clenched your fists.

"Do you even know how painful it was that you can never love me the same way as I love you, but have you even thought of doing something for me?" Abby's hands were now shaking, thinking what to do.

She never saw you this way. Abby never wished to see you and hurt you this way.

But she did, and she knew nothing could ever fix this, and that slapped her into the reality that she never deserved the love that you gave her.

The warm hugs that washed all her problems away, and your smiles that made her think of what life was all about.

Abby will lose it — she lost it the moment she entered the room without thinking of how important you were to her.

An apology will never fix this.

All that can fix this is letting you decide what will happen between you two. Abby knew she'll be left alone in this cold apartment you both called home before.

Frustration and guilt filled Abby's body. She lost you, and she didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't know which move to take while you were in front of her, you were not even looking at her way and waiting for her response.

Does Abby even deserve to tear up? Knowing she was the reason why the both of you are in this situation right now. Why did she lose the person that she needed the most?

How can she ever live with this memory of you crying because of her? And losing herself and you in the process?

"I—" You couldn't look at Abby, who finally spoke. Abby immediately clenched her hands on her chest, and tears were pouring all over her freckles and cheeks that you once kissed.

"Is that.. is that what you want?" You swallowed, and it finally kicked in that this was real. Abby is in front of you and was asking if breaking up was what you wanted. "Is that what you need?" Your heart crushed even more, thinking that Abby was probably loathing herself from the thought that you needed to go away from her to heal.

But it is — it is what you need.

"Yes." One word, one word that once made you and Abby smile. That one word that made you both official is also the reason why the formed sweet memories turned them into dust.

Abby felt her whole world collapsing. You don't need her anymore. She can't watch you while having fun, running towards the sun while on the beach, singing songs wholeheartedly on a random roadtrip, and she could never kiss those lips of yours that made her feel special.

She can't ask for your hand, can't hold you close, and can never make you love her all over again.

Nothing can reach the pain that is creeping inside both of your hearts.

"Okay." That was all Abby could say despite all of the words that were running on her mind.

"If that's what you want — what you need. Then, I'll give it." You felt so weak, so vulnerable, and Abby knew you hated that.

"I know my apologies wouldn't ever fix the pain I gave you. Your courage of telling me that was enough to make me think of how long you were enduring this." Abby sighed deep and was stopping herself from kneeling, begging you to come back because she knew you won't be able to hold back from holding her no matter how painful it was for you.

She never had the chance to take back whatever she had done, never able to make you feel the way you made her feel, and that is what will ghost her for the rest of her life reminiscing you.

"I love you. I really do, and I am sorry I wasn't able to show it because of how stubborn I was thinking you would understand with all of my work, and you did. And I fucking wish you didn't."

"You sacrificed a lot of things for me, and I — I can't even remember to celebrate your birthday and our anniversary." You finally looked at Abby, and she was crying. She was shaking her head, and you saw her trying her best to let out all of her frustrations.

"You deserve better. It sucks because it's true, and I wasn't able to be the best for you because all I thought was me. I was selfish. You weren't, and god, I hope someone will love you — " Abby was hating herself with the thought of someone loving you better than she ever did. All she hoped before was to be someone you can rely yourself to and now she is hoping you will never meet someone like her again.

"I hope that someday, someone will love you how you deserved to be love because that was what you did to me, and it hurts that I never made you feel that way." You sat down the couch, processing all of her words, and you cried. You both cried hard — knowing that she was right.

"I am so glad that I met you and to show how much I love you,"

Abby looked into your eyes.

"You can let go of us now."

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #angst #abby x reader #the last of us fanfiction #girl im sorry i love angst

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this-is-krikkit · 4 months

Note

Hey Sunshine 💕

You can't imagine how sorry I am that you lost all these gems you wrote 😭 Fate as deprived us of so many amazing Levihan fics & kisses 🥺 I really hope there's a way to get them back 🤞🍀

Seeing the last prompt list you reblogged (soft fic) I couldn't resist requesting 26 Pyjamas for Levihan or Erurihan because of the headcanons we talked about the other day based on this beautiful fanart 😉

I hope writing something new will cheer you up a bit!

Sending love & hugs 💕🫂

hey Val ♥️ as you know, i did get my wips back!! your good luck wishes seem to have worked haha

thank you for sending me one of these soft prompts. inspiration took a while to come for this one, but then i stumbled upon this post:

and i knew i had your fic. hope you enjoy! ♥️

The Momentum Principle (read on ao3)

Words: 2566 Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman & Nanaba & Erwin Smith & Mike Zacharias & Hange Zoë Characters: Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith, Mike Zacharias, Nanaba (Shingeki no Kyojin) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends, Unrequited Crush, Canon Non-Binary Character, They/Them Pronouns for Hange Zoë, SNK Veterans - Freeform, and they were ROOMMATES, (oh my god they were roommates), no beta we die like that vine ref SIKE IT'LL NEVER DIE, pretentious titling because that's how i roll

Summary: Studies show that staying awake for over twenty-four hours has similar effects on the human brain as having a bloodstream concentration of alcohol way over legal limits. Biology major Hange Zoë is aware of that fact. Sadly, they’re also aware that there are finals to pass, and not enough hours in a day to study for them.

Hange frowned at the page before their eyes and clicked the table lamp off and back on, ignoring the annoyed stares the repeated and ineffective gesture got them from the students around –served them all right anyway, they mused, when they’d all been regularly stealing Hange glances they didn’t even bother to try and make discreet all morning. But something other than being ogled at like a circus freak was making it hard to decipher the words in front of them, though they couldn’t put their finger on what exactly. The world around them had been seeming especially bleak lately and even more so today, which wasn’t unusual during the intense studying marathons they famously put themself through with finals drawing near, but they couldn’t recall a time where it had actually impacted their already damaged eyesight; and the persistent, pulsing ache tracing along their temples sure wasn’t helping.

The most rational part of their brain offered stress and weariness as culprits, and Hange had to admit they couldn’t easily dismiss either of those. The cramming schedule they’d been imposing on themself may have gotten a little out of hand in the last couple of weeks, so much so Hange couldn’t even remember the last time they’d set foot in the living room to share homemade dinners or play board games with their four roommates like they usually would during cold winter evenings. They hadn’t even partook in early morning idle chitchat or occasional evening drinks on their way home from the campus library, not when they’d been consistently arriving right on opening time –they’d been pulling all nighters more often than not, anyway, and felt too restless to stay home and wait for the others to get ready– and had become the last student to leave it at night.

Hange closed their eyes for a minute as they let their head fall forward, rolling their neck and shoulders and relishing in the satisfying crack their muscles and tendons sighed out at the stretch. If only their brain could gain knowledge through osmosis via that simple contact between their forehead and over-highlighted textbook; if information were to be solutes, then, considering how little they’d efficiently memorized lately, it would flow right inside their lowly concentrated head without a doubt. They smiled at that absurd reflection, giddy with the realization that hey, they’d apparently managed to remember some things from those hellish Introduction to Fluid Mechanics lectures.

That unexpected sense of comfort was short lived, however, when they were hit with a wave of the increasingly familiar nausea their self inflicted sleep deprivation never failed to bring. Hange opened their eyes to fight the dizziness and took deep breathes in and out, silently counting up the right inhale to exhale ratio –simultaneously urging their body to hold up for a little while longer.

Two weeks, they pleaded. Just two more weeks and I can take a break.

Seven long sleepless days and nights of tensed cramming, followed by a week of nerve-wracking and hopefully mostly accurate square ticking in reply to more often than not purposefully confusingly phrased questions, and then they’d be free to hang out with their friends and be a, well, not exactly normal, but close to normal young adult again.

But the thought saddened more than it motivated them, and they had to consciously stop themself from looking around to see if they could spot any of the three blondes they’d come to think of as family. Erwin, Nanaba and Mike all had similar exams to take soon and the spacious library had filled in by whatever time it was now, so they would no doubt be within these four walls. Sundays usually involved morning revising, followed by strictlynon-academic plans everyone would have previously agreed onfor their common weekly afternoon off.

Hange winced at the pang of loneliness they felt when they realized they actually had no idea what their closest friends would be up to later. It only got worse when they remembered that Levi, who they’d been trying not to focus any thoughts on as those were proving more and more distracting these past few months, hadn’t tried to coax them into coming along this weekend like he’d done since they’d started studying more intensely. Hange had noticed Erwin’s surprised glances and Mike and Nanaba’s barely disguised teasing laughs when he’d started doing it, and they couldn’t really blame any of them –after all, that initiative from Levi had been a drastic switch from their previously established social roles.

Lost in memories of Levi’s techniques to get them to go out, which had mostly consisted of an association of almost threats and intense glaring until they would caved –which they hadn’t, amazingly– it took them a minute to notice the hand upon their right shoulder.

“Get up,” a familiar voice whispered up close, startling them.

Shit. Think of the devil.

Levi had also been pestering them about taking an actual break, on top of the Sunday festivities they’d been avoiding, but up until now their shared roommates had acted as enough of a buffer that Hange had been able to pretend they hadn’t noticed his nagging messages in the groupchat or pointed stares near the laundry machine.

“I’m fine right here,” they said cheerfully, pretending to focus on their textbook again and turning the page they’d been staring for a while without managing to actually read a word of it.

They weren’t sure they could get up, really, not without betraying their exhausted state to their closest friend and having to admit just how shitty they’d been at taking care of themself lately.

They swallowed back a shocked yelp as hands seized them up and pulled them to their feet anyway, and they caught themself on the table at the last moment to prevent the inevitable fall that would await them if they really were to put all their weight on their knees right now.

“What are you doing?” they asked through gritted teeth, unable to glare back at him as the head rush made dark spots dance in front of their eyes. “Let me go, I need to study.”

Levi wordlessly –and annoyingly easily– tore them away from their spot, half carrying them until they were both standing in front of one of the nearby arch windows. Hange muffled their protesting squeals out of some remnant of respect for the nosy judgmental students around, even though they knew Levi’s powerful glaring would probably prevent any of them from protesting at the noise of their struggling in the otherwise religiously quiet space.

And then they looked up and caught sight of their reflection.

And shamefully realized they could have given their curious peers the benefit of the doubt and hypothesized there might have been a valid reason behind all the curious looks they’d been getting all morning.

Hange was wearing their long sleeved purple octopus pajama top, the buttons ridiculously mismatched, with unmatched green cat-patterned pajamas bottoms –that they realized with a quiet gasp were probably Levi’s and not theirs, now that they were noticing the pants ended well above their ankles. There wasn’t one but two hair ties failing to hold their greasy matted hair up and away from their face, and their goggle-shaped sunglasses were hanging crooked on their nose with the rubber band twisted on both their temples –which finally explained part of their lingering headache, and why it was so challenging to read.

“What you need is to go home, Four Eyes.”

Tears sprung to their eyes before they could stop them, and for a minute they only stared at their shiny mirror image in quiet puzzlement. These weren’t tears of shame even if, as used as they were to being unconventional and to other people’s reaction to their self expression, this accidental pajama-in-public incident was definitely an all time new low for them. Exhaustion could have played a role, and the dark circles under their eyes as well as their paler than ever complexion easily spelled it out for them.

But mostly, Hange felt guilty. Levi had tried to mask it, but his voice had wavered over his own nickname for them, like he felt pained at seeing them in this state, and he couldn’t quite meet their eyes when that was his main tool to get anyone to comply to his requests.

“I don’t think I can,” they replied honestly.

His now openly worried gaze finally met theirs in the glass in front of them and he frowned, opening his mouth to object.

But Hange shook their head slowly in defeat.

They weren’t arguing with him, they were simply stating a truth.

They knew they must have taken the bus to get here, but they honestly couldn’t remember any part of the journey –hell, they couldn’t even remember putting shoes on, although they were glad they’d thought of that at least. They didn’t think they had a key to the apartment on them, as they usually resided in the deep pocket of the wool coat they’d forgotten to put on even before going out in this freezing winter weather. And practical issues asides, they didn’t actually trust themself to actually make it home in one piece right now, not even in the middle of a bright busy morning in the city and to their place that really wasn’t that far off campus.

Levi narrowed his eyes at them before nodding once, sharp.

“Wait outside. I’ll meet you in five.”

But Hange stood there, equally confused and chagrined at his statement. Was he going to go home with them? No, that wouldn’t do.

Levi had his own finals to study for, Hange couldn’t impose on him like that because they’d been stupid enough to push themself past their limit. They would simply have to endure a couple more hours of trying not to pass out at their seat until noon came around and all of their roommates went home anyway, to tag along without disrupting anyone’s schedule in the process.

Levi’s hands squeezed at their shoulders firmly, and his stare hardened in the window as if he could hear them reaching that conclusion.

Then he let go but didn’t move too far, seemingly unsure if Hange could actually stand by themself.

They rolled their eyes fondly, and –precociously– turned around, sporting what they hoped looked like a gentle smile and not a maniac grin –Levi’s expression remained stubbornly set, so they couldn’t tell either way– before moving carefully towards the door. They tried their hardest not to stumble on the way, and coughed to mask their giggling when they failed and almost tripped on their own feet.

Levi met them at the back exit of the building with their backpack and his own stuff shortly, and Hange didn’t bother trying to hide that they’d nearly fallen asleep on the stairs in the few minutes they’d been apart.

He frowned as they yawned without putting their hands to their mouth, but uncharacteristically didn’t comment on it as he grabbed their elbow to direct them towards an unknown car a few feet away.

They dug their heels in the sidewalk when they realized he’d ordered a paying ride for them.

“Wait, Levi, there’s no need for that. The bus–

“Won’t be here for another twenty minutes,” he interrupted. “You’re not passing out in the streets again, not under my watch.”

They recognized his clipped tone as the one that didn’t suffer any kind of discussion, even as he mentioned that party a month ago. Hange sighed inwardly, but followed his steps –they were way too tired to fight him anymore.

“What, like you’d get worried?” they still teased –they were exhausted, not dead. No way in hell would they miss an occasion to needle their favorite neat freak.

Levi snorted, and had Hange been less asleep on their feet, they’d have felt proud that they’d managed to get that sound out of him.

“I’d worry about my back, for one. I don’t want to know what carrying your unconscious ass home twice would do to it.”

“Hey, not fair!” They whined in protest, missing their target completely when they tried to playfully slap his arm. “I was at least ten pounds heavier then! And besides, Mike did most of the carrying, didn’t he?”

Hange couldn’t remember much from that night, but the rumor –in the form of Erwin and Nanaba’s recollection of the evening as they’d told it to them the following day, anyway– had Levi so worried about them passing out drunk he’d been too restlessly anxious to carry them himself, and had instead covered them in all of their friends’ coats, shoving their unconscious body in Mike’s strong arms, and then proceeding to walk beside him to closely monitor their breathing and that they wouldn’t choke on their own tongue or surprise vomit.

Hange only recalled waking up propped against multiple pillows with a pounding head and a grumpy –well, grumpier than usual– and sleep-deprived Levi who had shoved a glass of water in their shaky hand and scolded them about their alcohol consumption for the next half hour or so. It had then taken them drinking and keeping down a whole liter of diverse hydrating fluids before he’d finally left them alone to go and nurse his own hangover, and it was only after he’d left that Hange had noticed the newfound tidiness of their room and how the purple fatboy that would normally lay forgotten in a corner of the room –and under a pile of questioningly clean clothes and textbooks– had been pushed right next to their bed with a possibly Levi-shaped indentation in it.

Levi didn’t answer their rhetorical question, instead stopping in his tracks and giving them a clinical once over.

“What?” they prompted, barely resisting the urge to cross their arms to hide themself from his examination.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, averting his eyes and opening the car door for them.

He muttered something under his breath still, and Hange’s ears caught a few words that sounded suspiciously like end up disappearing if you keep this up.

He greeted the driver and confirmed his identity as Hange plopped down with a relieved groan, and didn’t miss the concerned look Levi shot them as he sat next to them. His hand slid down from where it was still gripping their elbow to rest gently on their forearm as the car started, and they could swear he gave it a small, awkward but infinitely soft couple of comforting pats.

Hange boldly took advantage of this atypically lengthy physical contact, and moved so they could slide their hands together almost nonchalantly –almost, because they nearly faltered when Levi’s neck snapped to stare at their fingers in awe.

Hange smiled as naturally as they could to try and ease the shock from his features.

“I’ll pay you back for the ride,” they promised, squeezing his hand once.

They let him go after that. It wouldn’t do for their most introverted friend who was making sure they were getting safely home to get a brain aneurysm from their unexpected and possibly unwanted touches, after all.

“Tch. You better,” he grunted, moving his hand back to his lap immediately.

They couldn’t help but smile again when they took note that his tone wasn’t nearly as biting as they knew it could be.

#levihan fanfiction #levihan #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot #hange zoë #snk #levi ackerman #snk veterans #my stuff #asks #mutuals #mutuals asks #youre ackermine #don't steal the stupid divider i made it mmkay pls and thx #this will probs have a 2nd chapter bc i'm.. in love with them.#a title that's NOT lyrics!!!! omg who even am i??

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writtenontheport · 9 months

Text

Walk Me Home?

George Karim x (gn) Reader

Pt. 4: Somewhere in Between (pt. 1) (pt. 2) (pt. 3)

Warnings/Tags: Bit description heavy, Lockwood and co friendship, Shorter than usual I’m so sorry 😭, This part is more of like… it’s a buildup to the next part, That part oooooh I have something for it!!, Quite a few things actually, but this part is mostly build up, Rising Action kinda move 🤞, Mild arguing and swearing, Slow Burn (LMAO!!) , The characters are quite ooc in this one, They are all INCREDIBLY SILLY ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Notes: I usually write longer I promise it’s just that I’ve been struggling to write a bit!! Mostly why I took that break yesterday, but I needed to at least get this lore important part out 🤞🤞 I needed reader to meet Lucy and Lockwood for what I’m scheming to do in the next part… This series is SO self indulgent my silly ass is cackling. I imagined book Lockwood and his silly ass and couldn’t stop thinking about the characters acting as genuine, embarrassing people and like— I’m sorry Lucy my love… you got sillified.

Summary: You meet George’s friends and it goes as well and as horribly as he thought it would. Just for today, the library can rest.

When George first introduced you to Lucy and Lockwood, he already knew you all would hit it off. At first you were nervous; your smile wobbly as you kept yourself small, so George linked pinkies with you and didn’t let go until he was sure you were ok. From the corner of his eye he could see your expression turn soft and adoring, grateful in the way you tighten your knuckle around his. From there you found enough confidence to ease yourself into their dynamics.

Lucy adored having you around. George wondered if having her whole life defined by the problem made her crave for some sense of what normalcy they were owed growing up. He was lucky enough to find it with you in the library and in cobble-steeped walks before curfew, but Lucy’s never really had that with anyone.

Watching you both chatter away from him and Lockwood, he’s glad she could find it in you, too. She seemed relaxed whenever she sat beside you, and her voice was filled with more wonder than he had heard since they’d met. Often times, Lucy would whisper something that had you ducking your head coyly, avoiding George’s eyes. He didn’t know what that was about, but the self-satisfied smirk Lucy had after made him rather suspicious.

Lucy would tell him (after he had walked you home) that he did good finding you and confirmed that she had immediately been taken with you and wanted to be friends. Something in George felt reassured when she insisted ‘only friends’, but she did so with a teasing smile that had him glaring at her playfully.

Lockwood took to treating you like you’ve always been one of them, ever kind and charming as he always was. He was fascinated with news about the world at large (ever the gossip), and seemed to eat up anything you could tell him about what life was like without ghosts on the streets. Whenever Lucy wasn’t hogging you, Lockwood was either having you tell your own anecdotes or sharing his newspaper clippings. He certainly looked the part of a child dragging about their new friend to play, puffing his chest proudly with every framed photo he showed off.

When George asked him about what he thought of you, Lockwood clicked his tongue and whined at him for not bringing you sooner. That was a very good sign, but it was terrible for George because Lockwood had gone a 30 minute spiel about who knows what (George tuned him out at some point early on).

A lot of the time you spent visiting, though, the two of them teased you and George as they asked for the details George refused to share. It surprised you to know that he hadn’t even told them about the nature of your first meeting before he mimed zipping his mouth shut and you grinned.

“Yes, well, I’ve actually forgotten,” You hummed, linking your pinky with George’s under the table.

You all moved to the dining table near the end of your visit to Portland Row, eating biscuits and drinking tea. George made sure to tell you about the one biscuit rule, but occasionally turned a blind eye when Lucy or Lockwood offered you an extra. They shot him knowing looks he refused to meet while he focused on the comfort of your voice.

“Really?” Lucy asks amusedly, raising a brow, “From the one thing George’s told us, it doesn’t sound forgettable.”

“What’d he say about it?” You were genuinely curious, leaning in with a wide smile.

Lockwood, ever excitable, added, “Well, it was very strange. Said something about owing you shoes apparently? You don’t suddenly owe someone new shoes just after meeting them.”

“George has never owed me shoes,” You balk, turning to eye George, “And he should know it absolutely wasn’t his fault what happened to my shoes.”

George simply sips on his tea as his pinky squeezes at yours, your searching gaze softening into a smile.

“Have you seen a ghost yet?” Lockwood asks, a bit out of the blue.

Beside you, George cuts him off with a stern reply and Lucy leans in to whisper to you in the midst of George’s and Lockwood’s argument.

“Has he actually not shown you any ghosts yet? I would have thought he might’ve. ” Her eyes twinkled in mischief.

“I haven’t seen a single ghost since meeting George. Mind taking me to see one one day, Lucy? Let’s leave these two bickering and have a day of our own,” You suggested, reaching over the table to offer a hand.

She takes it, and with a smirk says, “Any day, just tell me when and where.”

Little did you know that there was a ghost right under your nose in a little glass jar somewhere in the house; that she had meant that literally.

Lucy and Lockwood send you and George off like kids do with Santa after Christmas; George can’t seem to get enough of your smile all the while. He doesn’t deign the two’s teasing with a response before he’s grabbing your hand and dragging you down the sidewalk away from them, giggling and laughing as you rushed along.

Neither of you bring up the fact that this was entirely new, you simply slid your hand into his proper and followed along with a coy grin. George did the best he could to hide the growing uptick of his lips by keeping his eyes away from where yours focused on him fully.

“That went well,” George says, clearing his throat. You bit your lip and shrugged, bumping his shoulder with yours in a motion that has him glaring at you. It’s a playful thing as much as it is a warning, and try as he might you know damn well George could easily find ways to get back at you if you pulled a prank on him. The glaring eases up quickly, but the tenderness in his eyes doesn’t; it’s almost dizzying if it wasn’t so adoring.

“Lucy promised to take me to see a ghost one of these days,” You hum, watching his expression fall into absolute vehemence.

“Absolutely not. I already have to deal with those two risking their lives every case already.”

“It won’t be on a case…” You grumble under your breath, kicking at a stray rock he watches tumble far off to the side. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your work like that. Plus, you could come! I’m sure Lucy won’t mind.”

He pretends to think on it, shrugging with his brows raised in the little motion that says he could be convinced. It’s a good enough sign for you when he finally concedes; “As long as Lockwood doesn’t come with. He’d somehow convince us all to make it some suicidal mission to take down London’s ghosts for fame again.”

“Again?” You balk, squeezing George’s hand in worry, “George, what do you mean again?”

A/N: I know I usually start and end it off at the library and at reader’s (temporary) home, but I just… I had to get this meeting out for now!! I needed reader to meet Lucy and Lockwood it was important!!! I promise this is plot relevant

#george karim x you #george karim x reader #lockwood and co x reader #portie writes fanfic

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orion4ever · 7 months

Note

so first request 🤞

ahh, ive never done this before, so sorry if it's wrong :((( but could you please write 🙏

1) tamarack headcanons for an mc who is really shy

2) baxter drabble about waking up early for mcs birthday party

3) cove listening to mc ranting about their special interests, headcanons -🦊

Author’s note: Hello! AHH! Thank you for my first request. I would like to clear up a miscommunication; When I meant three characters at a time, I was referring to three characters but with the same prompt! I am sorry if I wasn’t clear! I decided to do the Baxter prompt but If you would like the other two then please don’t hesitate to request those separately anytime! ^^

Pairing: MC x Baxter Ward

🖤🤍

It was the morning of your birthday.

Baxter had stayed up all night to get all the final details for it done.

Your cake, your decorations, the location Every little detail to ensure that you, MC, Have a happy birthday.

That morning, he wanted to take you out of the apartment for a small brunch. Since the afternoon and evening would be a busy one for you!

He wanted to get up and start this birthday celebration with you.

But he was too comfy.

You two were in your shared bed; one of you was half awake, though. Baxter didn’t bother trying to get any sleep since he was up so late anyway.

Baxter rolled over to his side to face you.

You two have been through so much to get to this point. Once a man who wouldn’t stay to enjoy a party, he helped plan , just so that he wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable, and he was now a man who was staying until the end.

He lifted a pale hand to lightly rub your shoulder, silently. He had the urge to close his eyes again, but then he heard a now-awoken voice.

“Good morning, Baxter,” you murmured, reaching over to caress Baxter’s face, which Baxter gently took, kissing your palm.

“Good morning and happy birthday, MC,” he replied, staring at you with a look of tired awe. “Are you excited for your birthday today? It's a big event,” he asked, earning himself a nod from you.

“Yeah. I know you and everyone put lots of work into this day. I wish I could’ve helped out a little," you chuckled. “Nonsense, it's your big day; relax, put your feet up,” he said, his voice groggy as he hugged you closer to him. “I want to show my appreciation for you staying with me for this long,” he said, putting his face on your shoulder.

“Aw, Baxter. You already show your appreciation by being with me.”

You felt his smile on your shoulder as he began to relax into your warmth again.

“But you know what you could do to show some appreciation?” You asked, earning an amused “Hm?’ from your faux black-haired boyfriend.

“If you told me what flavor you and Cove picked the cake.~”

“Ha, you are just going to have to wait for that appreciation at your party, darling.”

#olba baxter #our life beginnings & always #baxter ward #drabble #fanfic #olba #ourlifebeginningandalwaysbaxter #orion drabbles

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thisreputable · 5 months

Text

ghostsoap thoughts | tw cannibalism

wendigo!ghost who consumes at least one of his kills during missions but always, always, saves the choicest, most tender cut for human!soap.

soap, who never balks when he's presented with raw flesh by a creature better suited for the stuff of nightmares. who smiles and takes it from a clawed hand. who stares into eyes like black holes without flinching. who sinks his teeth into bloody meat and chews and swallows and licks his lips.

it's tradition, a sacred ceremony, these moments after the rush of adrenaline and straining muscles and ringing ears. after clips are checked and knives are sheathed and wounds are treated.

after ghost disappears without a sound and everyone ignores the distant sound of meaty rips and hungry snarls and cracking bones.

after all of that, it's this, them. it's a grotesque offeringg from ghost, a being that will always be monstrous regardless of what shape he takes. it's soap consuming that offering bit by bit, bite by bite, until all that remains is tacky crimson smeared across his face and hands and the taste of iron heavy on his tongue.

it's standing still, placid and unafraid - because he's never had anything to fear, not once, not from ghost - as ghost methodically begins the task of licking the blood from soap's skin, a rumbling too gutteral to be called purring, but just as content, coming from low in his chest.

it ends with soap curled into the lap of a still shifted ghost, slowly sipping at his water. with eyes half-lidded and the moments between blinks stretching infinitesimally longer, he watches as the rest of camp settles down for thenight.

the only ones who seem able to look their way without eyes skittering away almost immediately are price and gaz. they amble over to say goodnight before turning in for a few hours before one of them switches watch with ghost.

in the silence that eventually settles, soap lets his eyes finally close fully. turns his face and snuggles into the crook of ghost's neck. releases a sigh and with it the last vestiges of tension in his body.

he falls asleep to ghost's near silent not-purring. full, warm, unharmed if a little sore. safe.

fin

---

this got away from me but yeah. wendigo!ghost and his very normal courting gifts and a besotted soap who's completely unfazed by eating human flesh because his monster boyfriend presented it to him

this is going into my list of wips. hopefully done by early next year 🤞

#ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod #cannibalism #into the wips folder

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bellofthemeadow · 8 months

Text

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Country Singer!Joel Miller x Female Reader

This is my entry for the 1k event found on @pedrostories

Trope: Forced Proximity

Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 12.7K (T.T Sorry )

Story Summary: Amidst a raging storm, an unexpected meeting thrusts you into forced proximity with former country sensation, Joel Miller, in the midst of an isolated nowhere. As the evening unfolds, filled with tension and vulnerability, both of you unveil the depths of your grief and heartaches. Through this shared journey of sorrow, an unanticipated bond forms, and maybe some light at the end of the storm.

Warning: Mentioned of death, TLOU canonical character death, mentioned of attempted suicide, depression, mental health struggle, referenced to cheating, angst, hurt and comfort, allusion of alcoholism, self hatred, smut, sexual intercourse, P in V, oral (female receiving), no protection, one night stand, age gap (late 20s/early 30s Reader with mid 40s Joel(No Minors Allowed! Thank you)

Notes: Hey everyone, I am taking a short break from my regular story to enter the 1K event on @pedrostories. What was supposed to be a short one shot, became an almost 13k word Behemoth! Although this is intended as a standalone, I found myself really liking the universe and the characters. If any of you would be interested to see more of the universe, I would be super open to making a second and a third part 😀 🤞 😀

Let me know what you all think and if you'd like to see more of it and if you enjoy the story. I always love to hear what you all think!

Again, thank you to everybody, I love you all so much xxx Sending you all the love and support wherever you are ❤️

(SMUT BETWEEN **** SKIP IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT****)

Joel Miller sat hunched next to the large stone hearth, He carved a solemn figure in the corner of his secluded cabin. Far into the woods and away from the rest of the world, he had called this place his home for the past decade. Clutched in his hands was a photograph —a young girl, her long curly hair and dusky complexion frozen in a smile that still reached into his very soul and threaten to rip it out everything he looked at it. That smile, oh, how he longed to see it again, it had been his only wish for so long. Even for just minute, a mere second; he would gladly give his soul to have his life lighted by the smile of his babygirl just one last time.

With a gentle touch, Joel traced the delicate outline of his daughter, the girl whose absence had dug a profound whole in his heart. One that could never be mended again. It was ten years today, Joel thought bitterly. But still, he clung to her memory fiercely, fearing the gradual fading that time brings to everything. He dreaded the thought of losing the vividness with which he saw her now, a fear that gripped him tighter as the years moved forward. The details that once were clear as the early morning dew now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The echo of her laughter, the title of the last book she held in her hands, the subtle nuances that made her unique—he struggled to grasp them, and this realization filled him with fear and hatred. What kind of father forgot about his babygirl?

Was her sneeze loud as his own, or was it a delicate sound, more like a sweet whisper? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a relentless reminder of the gaps in his mind. Why couldn't he rememeber? What if a day came when he could no longer conjure the contours of her sweet face or the mischievous curve of her teasing smile? The thought was unbearable, the guilt consuming him more each days.

Joel’d never considered himself an exemplary father, he grappled with the weight of regret for being too engrossed in his career to give his daughter a normal childhood. The rhythm of their lives was not marked by little league games and playdates with neighbours; instead, it was deafining with the roar of tour buses and the pungent scent of roadies, accompanied by the loud cheering of fans all over the country. Sarah’s life had always been unorthodox and it had been his fault—home tutoring replaced high school classrooms, the lessons fitting in the gaps between Nashville and Austin, where he recorded albums to give entertainment to the world. Something that, looking back, seemed futile and completely stupid. He would give all of his money, awards and recognition away just to hold his Sarah one more time.

When she died, he was stripped bare, nothing left inside the whole where his heart had once been. And Joel found himself adrift, the passion for his craft evaporating. How could he make music without the sound of a heart that once beat in harmony with his daughter's laughter? The will to create, the desire that once fueled his artistry, had lost its pulse. The prospect of touring, once thrilling and freeing, now seemed like an empty road stretching into oblivion. What purpose did it serve if Sarah was no longer there to illuminate the stage of his life? The exhilaration of performance, the applause that once gave him purpose—these fragments of success had become hollow, devoid of meaning.

It was not all bleak though, amidst the darkness of his existence, there were moments where the good outweighed the bad. Nights brought dreams of Sarah, where her presence was vibrant and tangible. In those dreams, she would look at him with that familiar smile, and for a fleeting instant, the chasm between what was dead and alive seemed to bridged together. Joel would see her as clear as day, sitting together in their old house, the echoes of their conversations resonating through is sleeping form. It seemed like hours would melt away as Joel and Sarah would delve into discussions about music and school sharing stories that held a fragile thread between past and present. But in the end, dawn would inevitably break, and reality would reassert its grip. Joel would inevitably wake up, the cabin steeped in an unsettling silence, his heart laden with the guilt and grief of her absence. Those dreams were his sanctuary, a bittersweet realm where he could briefly hold onto the warmth of what once was. But he couldn't live in dreams, and now even those moments that seemed to make life bearable were starting to wade in their appeal; they appear more cruel than kind as every mornings killed him a little more.

A resounding clap of thunder reverberated through the confines of the cabin. In its wake, a brilliant flash of lightning pierced the darkness. Joel sighed heavily and the raindrops began their relentless descent upon the cabin's roof and walls. It seems like the world outside mirrored his internal turmoil, the tempestuous weather a reflection of the storm within. 3652 days had slipped by a relentless procession of time. 87,648 hours of unbearable absence. Each passing moment stretched into an eternity, a cruel reminder of how long he had been without his cherished little girl.

Immersed in this ceaseless torrent of sorrow, he existed in a realm of suspended animation. Every action felt like a monumental effort, and the concept of simply being felt like an insurmountable challenge. The world around him had dimmed, muted by the overwhelming weight of his emotions. In this somber existence, even the simple act of drawing breath carried the weight of an arduous task. The colors had faded from his world, leaving behind a landscape of gray and desolation, mirroring the emptiness within.

His hand reached out, fingers closing around the cool neck of the whiskey bottle resting on the low table before him. A pang of bitter guilt tightened within him—he could almost hear his little Sarah's admonishment, disapproving of the choice he was about to make. She always hated the strong smell of liquor that would linger on his old leather jacket when they would go on tour. His eyes drifted toward the shotgun that rested next to the door, his heart seized tightly within his chest. Maybe tonight he would do it, he thought. Maybe tonight he would free himself from the pain and the guilt of an existence without Sarah.

In the stillness of the cabin, Joel's voice trembled with pain and longing as he whispered, "To you, babygirl, I miss you so much."

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Loud knocks echoed through the quiet cabin, making Joel freeze in his tracks. Raindrops kept beating in a frenzied rhythm on the roof, their clamour joining forces with the unexpected raps. Joel couldn’t remember the last time someone had knocked on his door. With how remote cabin the cabin was, there was hardly any visitors, ever. Only his brother Tommy and his old manager Tess knew about this place. Tess used to drop by every now and then, hoping he'd start working on a new album (which would never happened). But now she knew better than that.

With slow and deliberate movements, Joel set the bottle onto the table's worn surface, his movement unhurried as if not to disturb the tension that now hung in the air. His gaze swept the room, his gaze landing again on the shotgun near the entrance. He grabbed it and made his way to the entrance. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be a zealous fan who had somehow found his address. He really wasn’t in the mood tonight to re-enact Misery.

He swung the door open, his irritation peaking, prepared to confront whoever was bothering him on this day above all others.

"I don't know if ya capable of reading,", his voice dripping like venom, seeping with annoyance, "but in case ya missed it, there's a 'Private Property' sign right on the..."

You sat on the large leather couch, trying to make yourself as small as possible while your body shivered involuntarily as the chill from your drenched clothes seemed to seep into your very bones. You didn't want to be here. The man who opened the door for you certainly didn't want you here. But the violent storm outside had other ideas. The dirt paths of the forest had turned muddy and slippery and the force of the wind and rain had completely obscured your vision, there was no way you could have made it back to your car in those conditions. So when you had spotted the cabin as you were looking for shelter, you had almost cried in happiness. Now you weren't so sure as anxiety gripped you. You replayed the moments after the door swung open, revealing a stern looking man who eyed you with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. The hint of a shotgun nearby had done nothing but intensify your fear. For a second you had wanted to bolt from the place, but you had no other choice. In the end the man had let you in, simply introducing himself as Joel.

Clutching your arms around yourself in a futile attempt to generate warmth, you look around yourself at the interior of the cabin. Surveying your surroundings, the rustic charm of the living room did little to alleviate your anxious mind. The ambiance should have felt cozy, even romantic in any other circumstances, with the warm wooden decor and the crackling fireplace. But under the weight of your current predicaments, thoughts of roasting marshmellows and teasing kisses were at the back of your mind.

You were alone, drenched to the bone, in the company of a man you knew nothing about. Shit that was exactly how people died in horror movies. I am totally going to get myself killed, you despair frantically. They’ll find my body dismembered in a bunch of little pieces all over the forest, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

You tried to calm yourself as best as you could, taking deep breath in an attempt to settle your mind. Frustated, you pulled out your phone. The meager 8% battery life and lack of data coverage was a sobering reminder of the shit you were in. If anything were to go awry, if this Joel turned out to be less than accommodating, you'd be stranded with no means of communication.

You had shared your plans for the day with your friend Chrissy mentionning how you were going to take the Broken Bow trails to. But even then, you two had been texting sporadically since you left DC so you were fully expecting her not to worry until several days had passed. Not ideals if you were to disapear without a trace. So, if Joel shifted from hospitable to hostile, no one would be none the wiser. And you would become forest fertilizer.

At this point, you were hoping that Joel would be more the flower and wine type instead of rope and chainsaws. Speak of the devil, the man appeared in the doorway, his large frame illuminated by a flash of lightning. In his arms, he was holding what you believed to be clothes "Got these for ya," he stated curtly, his gaze holding yours for a fleeting moment before he gestured vaguely toward the stairs. "Shower’s up those stairs. Go change and I’ll get some coffee on the stove. It'll warm ya up"

Your initial instinct was to decline, you began to stammer, only to be met with Joel stern gaze "I ain’t letting ya freeze to death in my livin’ room," He stated firmly his tone a command that quashed any protests. His words were spoken clearly, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. "Now go," he added, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Under the weight of his stern order, nervousness bubbled within you, mingling with a touch of gratitude. The contrast between his gruff demeanour and the kind gesture of care left you momentarily speechless. All you could do was nod, your voice silenced by his unspoken authority.

With a whispered "thank you," you accepted the bundle of clothes from his hands, your fingers brushing against his in a fleeting spark of connection. Without further words, you turned and hastened toward the staircase, his gaze lingering on your retreating form for a moment before he turned his attention to the kitchen where the coffee was. The stairs creaked under your hurried ascent, each step carrying you further away from the enigmatic man who had offered you shelter in this storm.

Twenty minutes slipped past quickly, after the hell of a day you'd just had, you felt like you were in heaven. The sensation of being washed clean, wrapped in warmth, and clad in what you swear were the coziest clothes you’d ever felt on your skin. A pair of well-worn gray sweatpants and a faded band shirt clung to you like a reassuring hug. You sighed contendly before meeting your own gaze in the bathroom mirror.

Looking back at yourself, you started to contemplate that you would soon have to venture downstairs to thank Joel. At the thought, a flutter of nervousness twirled in your stomach. The bathroom, with its locked door, felt safe, shielding you from the uncertainties of the rest of the night. Staying here, was tempting, at least until morning. Even if Joel had been nice so far, you didn’t know the guy from Adam. But in the end, you knew that you couldn’t just hold the guy’s bathroom hostage. Plus, practical needs called—you had to charge your phone, and the promise of warm coffee was hard to resist. Pushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear, you started to quietly make your way downstair. Praying to every Gods you knew that Joel was the good samaritan he seemed to be.

Returning to the living room, your gaze settled on Joel, perched on the same leather couch where you had sat earlier before he directed you to the shower. On the floor nearby lay some old rags, sopping wet with the water that had seeped in along with your drenched clothes.

Joel sat with a tensed back; his focus consumed by something he held in his hands. Tentative steps carried you closer, each one a whisper of uncertainty. Yet, despite your movements, the man remained oblivious, lost in whatever held his attention.

You approached with trepidation, your heartbeat quickening in the otherwise silent room. Your eyes flicked to the object in his hands, curiosity mingling with your apprehension. Peering over his shoulder, your breath caught as your gaze locked onto the image, he was engrossed in. A young girl, staring back at you with a bright, innocent smile that seemed to transcend even the still image of the photograph.

The room seemed to hold its breath, a moment suspended between your gaze and the photograph. "She's really pretty," you ventured softly, your voice a hesitant thread. Joel's response was sharp, almost as if you had slapped him. "... she was," his words carried a weight that hung between you both, heavy with a bittersweet melancholy. As your heart clenched at his words, understanding washing over you like a cold shower.

An awkwardness settled in the air, thickening the silence. You felt the pulse of your heart, its rhythm echoing the sense of disquiet that now swirled around you. Meeting his gaze, you found yourself lost in the depths of his sad brown eyes.

Summoning your courage, you utter "Thank you again for saving my skin out there," your words wavered slightly, betraying your uneasy timidity. "I put my wet clothes on the rack in the bathroom to dry. Hopefully, they'll be alright by morning, and I'll be out of your hair as soon as possible." The words tumbled out in a rush.

Joel's gaze remained on you, as if he was studying you intently, trying to unravel something beneath the surface. His response was measured, his voice carrying a southern twang "... 'tis no problem," he conceded after a beat. "Coffee should be ready," he added.

You nodded and followed in the wake of Joel's towering form. Along one wall, your eyes landed on an acoustic guitar that with the dust covering it, seemed to have remained untouched for a while. Intrigued, you couldn't help but point at it as Joel poured the rich black liquid into your mug. "You play?"

The response was understated, but you could tell there was more to say to this story. "... used to."

You took the hint, choosing not to pry further. At the very least, Joel didn't strike you as the stuff of horror movies; in fact, there was something about him that felt invitingly genuine. A warm and gentle gruffness that seemed lost in this day and age. As he poured coffee into your mug, your gaze wandered over him, observing the details that your earlier unease had masked.

Joel, in his rugged masculinity, demanded attention by his very presence. His size and broadness were emphasized by the worn flannel he wore, his biceps and shoulders hinting at strength beneath. Shaggy brown hair carried threads of white, suggesting a long life lived. You guessed he must be in his mid-40s. As he extended the cup toward you, his face once again came into view, and you couldn't help but acknowledge the magnetic allure he commanded.

But there was a sadness etched into those handsome features, an undertone that tugged at your curious nature. Your earlier observation seemed validated by his demeanour—tired and burdened. His reaction to the photograph had been a cryptic puzzle piece that hinted at a story you could only begin to piece together. Silently, you returned to the living room, the space that now felt familiar in its strangeness. As you both settled back down on the couch, Joel offered a comfortable-looking blanket, a gesture that warmed you in more ways than one. "Here, it's cold."

His soft gaze met yours, accompanied by a tentative smile. You felt yourself burned under his gaze, a response to the genuine kindness he radiated. Accepting the blanket, you cocooned yourself within its folds, savouring the moment with this stranger with a larger heart than most of your old friends.

A comfortable silence enveloped the room, your shared presence settling into a serene rhythm as you both sip your coffee. Then, Joel's voice cut through the quiet, breaking the spell. "I put your phone on the charge. I hoped it's okay."

The unexpected statement jolted you slightly, and you responded quickly, "Yeah, it's alright. Thank you so much." Your gratitude was met with silence from Joel.

His hand reached for a bottle of whiskey positioned beside the photograph you had noticed earlier "You mind?" he inquired, and without words, you extended your mug, a silent affirmation that brought a warm laugh from Joel. The sound resonated in the room, carrying a hint of teasing as he added a splash of whiskey to your coffee before topping his own. You found yourself loving the way he sounded when he laughed.

Your lips curved into a wry smile as you voiced the irony that hovered between you. "I know I shouldn't, a girl all alone in a cabin with a strange man who gets drunk on whiskey, its literally the beginning of a horror movie." Your words carried a touch of dry self-awareness. "But at this point, I guess that if you wanted to cut me up and dump me in your backyard, you would've done it already."

Joel's response was immediate, his words laced with dry amusement. "Not really my style. Too messy."

You met his words with a dry look, "That's good to know," the exchange drew the first genuine smile from Joel.

"So, what's your story? Why're ya in the woods in the middle of the night?" Your reaction was a scoff, a playfulness smirk edging on your face.

"I mean, it's 9 pm. Hardly the middle of the night." However, your attempt to downplay the situation was met with an unimpressed eyebrow raise from Joel. He kept on looking at you, as he sipped his spiced coffee, a silent challenge written in his eyes. You wiggled under his stare feeling bare and open, your most secret parts expose for Joel's eyes to explore.

One part of your brain insisted that you shut up, keep the conversation brief, feign a headache, and retire for the night. However, another part of your mind encouraged you to confide in him, to share the minutiae of pain and heartache that you had carefully concealed since leaving DC. It urged you to unseal the chest you had locked away and pour out its contents – the essence of your soul – at his feet.The thought crossed your mind that Joel likely didn't receive many visitors in this cabin in the middle of nowhere, if any at all.

Leaning into the quiet intimacy of the moment, you found yourself opening up to him, allowing the words to flow from you like the torrential rain falling outside. "Well, I was a project manager back in DC, worked that job for about four years after college," you began. Memories of your time in the office flitted through your mind, remembering the long hours that stretched long into the night and the thankless faces you would see everyday.

You continued, "There had been some layoffs happening, but my boss told me I'd be fine." Your voice carried a tinge of bitterness, a lingering taste of disappointment. "Turns out I wasn't fine. She called me into the office last month, told me to pack my things, and said security would escort me off the premises." The raw frustration in your words was still palpable, "Like I was a fucking criminal!"

The expletive slipped from your lips, your emotions laid bare, you met Joel's gaze but he simply shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Like he was feeling the same emotions as you, like he was angry on your behalf. He then opened his mouth in a low whistle steeped in your shared indignation. "What a bitch," he declared emphatically.

A wry smile touched your lips as you continued, recounting the details of that shitty day that had changed everything for you. "And that's not all," you added, "So, I'm hysterical, you know? I just lost my job and all." You took a deep breath, "I call my boyfriend, but no answer. I figure he's busy. It's the middle of the day, so I think nothing of it. So, I get to our apartment. I open the door, and there's clothes all over the place, like a goddam hurricane happened. And then, I hear that bastard going at it in the bedroom." A groan escaped you, still pained at what you had found that day.

Joel said nothing but extended the bottle to you, an unspoken gesture. You grabbed the bottle, the whiskey warmed your throat as you took a hearty sip, to settle your nerves and your heart.

All the while, Joel remained silent, his presence a steady anchor, "So yeah, he was screaming, she was screaming, and I was screaming," memory seemed distant, a scene from another life, like you were watching a movie "I was so angry. I could have throttled them." The bitterness was palpable in your words, "But in the end, the apartment was under his name, because I had moved into his place, and we hadn't renewed the lease yet."

So that was it, loss layered upon loss until even the space you had called home was stripped away. "So, he basically told me to pack up my shit and leave. Which mind you, I was more than happy to." you added.

But then, you got quiet, That night, I found myself in a McDonald's drive-through, and it struck me that within a single day, I had lost my job, my boyfriend, and my apartment," your voice softened as you recollected everything that had gone wrong so quickly. "So, I made the choice to leave DC, to escape the city," you went on, "I suppose I was hoping to discover what direction I truly wanted my life to take."

"And now you're here," Joel supplied.

"And now I am here," you echoed.

Joel's hand reached out, his touch a silent comfort on your arm, skin raising under his touch as if he was setting it on fire. His voice was gentle as he spoke, his empathy evident. "'M sorry 'tis happened to ya sweetheart, it ain't right."

You felt yourself clench at the endearing word, a small timid smile tugged at your lips, "Yeah, that's life though," you replied, "Sometimes it hits you, and there's nothing you can do about it, My mom told me once that it's not about how many times you fall down, it's about how many times you can get back up. And even though all that's happened hurt like hell, I won't let that define who I am."

Joel's gaze bore into you, “You ‘ma seems like a smart woman.”

You smile a bit at his words, “She is, you'd like her. She isn’t the type to appear on people’s porches in the middle of the night.” You joke.

“Thought it was jus’ 9 pm?” Now you let out a loud guffaw, “Joel are you teasing me?” Your only answer was a sign of Joel’s hand motioning toward the bottle that you still held in your hands. You handed it over, watching as he took a hearty sip himself, copying your earlier movement.

"Her name was Sarah," Joel's voice was heavy as he uttered those simple words.

You watched him closely as he gestured towards the photograph with the smiling girl "She was my little girl," his voice trembled. "And I loved her more than anything in the world."

You let him continued at his pace, not wanting to spook the man "Raised her m'self, her mom didn't want nothin' to do with us," his words held a touch of resignation and a whole lot of bitterness. "She was the only light in my life." The pain in his voice was palpable.

His voice faltered, moved by the vulnerability he was showing you, you shifted closer, a gesture of comfort that mirrored the earlier touch he had offered you. Placing your hand on his knee, you offered a gentle squeeze, to reassure him of your presence and understanding.

Joel took a deep breath, "When she 'as just a baby, I was workin' construction, but it didn't pay much," he began, "So in the evenin', I would go to the bar and sing and play guitar. There I met Tess; she loved my sound and soon enough she became my agent. Next thing ya kno', Sarah and I 're in Nashville, and I'm recordin' music full time." you interjected raising your eyebrow with curiosity. "So, the guitar..."

He nodded, his expression softening as he continued. "Yeah, from when I was makin' music. Was a pretty big deal for a while."

"So, I would have heard of you?" you asked, your tone light earning a light scoff from Joel as he shook his head, a rueful smile gracing his lips. "Unless ya into country, I don’t think so."

You offered an apologetic smile, "Can’t say I’ve listened to much.”

His response was warm, reassuring. "It's okay." Joel continued, " Sarah and I did it for a while. The lifestyle. I would make music, tour, but she was always there with me. It was a lot of hours, and she was homeschooled so she could stay with me." His voice wavered, his gaze distant as he spoke, lost in the memories. "But we were happy. For a while anyway."

At his words, you tightened your grip on his knee, "One night, we had a big fight," Joel's voice carried a heavy ton. “Sarah, she was upset. Wanted a normal high school life, friends her age. But I was gearing up for a tour and we’d be on the road for at least six months. She wasn't having it. Said she'd rather stay with my brother, Tommy than go on another tour with me."

"I tried to make her feel better, promised her we’d have fun, that she could meet people her age at the hotels we’d be staying at" he continued, his voice filled with regret. "Told her this tour would be the last, that we'd settle down after that, somewhere quiet in the middle of nowhere.” His breath itched as he struggled to keep his voice steady, “And I promised I'd stop making music. But she didn't want to hear none of it." His voice quivered, "She told me she hated me." You winced at his words.

"I got angry and said things I shouldn't have," Joel's voice cracked, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Called her a brat." He sounded haunted by those words, like he wished he could take them back even after all those years.

His hands covered his face as he let his emotions and his tears flow freely for what seemed like the first time in a long while. Without thinking, you reached out, holding his hands to offer comfort and support as Joel continued, “So, I told one of my tech guys to take her back to the hotel, needed to get focused for the show. Next thing I know, I'm halfway through my set and I get a call. Sarah's in the hospital, the car got smashed by some drunk driver. I bailed the second I heard, but when I got to the hospital, she was already gone. My little girl died alone, and she thought I hated her. The last words I said to her was how much of a brat she was." Seeing him crumble before your eyes was heartbreaking. Tears flowed down his face as he clutched his head in his hands. Instinctively, you reached for him, gripping him firmly, pulling him close to you. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, holding him to convey that he wasn't alone, at least not tonight. "Let it out," your voice was a gentle murmur, encouraging him to release the pain and the sadness that had been locked inside for so long. "You're safe, Joel. It's alright, I'm here.”

And he did let go. Sobs racked his body as his emotions poured out like rain from the storm-clouds outside. You held onto him, providing a safe place for him to pour his grief into. Time seemed to blur as you clung to each other, your touch offering kindness in the face of his pain. Your fingers traced soothing patterns on his back, your whispered words a soothing lullaby, as you tried to ease his sorrow, even if just for this fleeting moment.

After what seemed like an eternity, Joel's sobs began to fade into quiet sniffles, and then, gradually, into the gentle rhythm of sleep. His exhausted body had finally surrendered to the emotional storm he had weathered. You held him tightly, letting him fall asleep in your arms, so he could rest.

Your gaze shifted to the photograph on the table, Sarah's smiling face looking back at you. With a soft tone, you whispered to the sleeping man before you, your words a tender balm to the wounds of his heart. "I might not have known her," your voice barely more than a breath, "but I can see the love between you two. In her eyes, in that smile." Your voice carried a quiet conviction as if you were reassuring both him and her. Leaning in, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Rest now, Joel. You're not alone."

Unbeknownst to you, as sleep began to claim him, Joel was in that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep. Your words, like a soothing melody, reached him in his half-conscious state. His heart ached at your kindness, the unexpected solace you had brought him. His emotions swirled, a mix of sadness and gratitude, as your presence provided a momentary respite from the perpetual pain. For the first time since Sarah’s death, Joel fell asleep warm and comforted.

The harsh sound of rain pounding on the cabin's roof roused you from your uneasy sleep. Your neck and back protested, bearing the marks of an uncomfortable night spent on the small couch you had shared with Joel. You shifted, trying to find relief from the awkward position you had contorted yourself into. The darkness of the cabin wrapped around you, the only sound apart from the rain was the rhythm of your own breath.

You felt Joel’s absence from beside you, his warmth now gone. He had managed to slip away without disturbing your slumber, a feat that puzzled you considering his imposing presence. The darkness outside the windows hinted at the early hours, perhaps around 2 or 3 in the morning. You peered around the room, but the limited light prevented you from seeing much beyond vague shapes and shadows. The night seemed to have its own weight, as if time itself held its breath in the midst of the storm.

"Are y’awake?" Joel's voice cut through the darkness, startling you into a sudden yelp.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle ya," his voice held an apologetic note as he stepped into view, a flashlight casting a soft, warm glow around the room. "Lost power sometime in the night, didn't wanna wake ya. Seemed like you needed the rest." He settled at the far end of the couch, a few inches from your feet.

"Joel…" your voice was hushed, a mixture of emotions swirling within you.

"It was ten years last night," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of years of grief. "Ten years ssince my babygirl died." His words hung in the air, heavy and poignant.

"I've always felt so alone," his voice trembled, "like there was no way out, like I was as good as gone. For so long, I've told myself that I should've been the one to go instead of her." His words struck a deep chord, and tears welled in your eyes.

"Still think I should've, it ain't right for kids to die before their folks" he whispered angrily, the pain evident in his voice. "But Sarah… she was like an angel, always takin’ care of me. And on the night when I'm considerin’ takin’ that shotgun and finally goin’ to see her… you show up." His gaze met yours, his expression confused. You saw pain, sadness, anger but there was tenderness and hope etched deep wihtin in his eyes. Joel ran a hand through his hair frantically.

"It's like my Sarah is still lookin’ out for me," he continued, "Like she knew what I was plannin’, and she sent me another angel to be with me."

A warmth spread within you, blooming deep inside of you at his words. With a slow motion, you pushed the covers aside, the cold air prickling your skin as you cautiously maneuvered over the short expanse of the couch until you were close to Joel. The room was dimly illuminated by the soft golden glow of the flashlight, casting shadows that danced around you both.

In the velvety cocoon of the hushed darkness, an unspoken desire bloomed between you. You moved with a subtle grace, straddling his wide hips, your gazes locking in the dim, intimate light. The air seemed to crackle with a newfound tension as you whispered his name, a gentle invitation laden with longing.

Joel's hands moved instinctively to your hips, his touch both gentle and possessive, grounding you in him. "Yes, my angel?" his voice held a soft edge of anticipation, a promise hanging in the air.

****You leaned in, your lips finding his in a dance that transcended words. The kiss was a slow, intoxicating melding of souls, a harmony of sensations and emotions that seemed to surge through every nerve in your bodies. Joel's lips were warm and inviting, their touch conveying a mix of urgency and tenderness that ignited a spark within you.

Your fingers cradled the back of his head, tangling in the strands of his hair as you deepened the kiss. A low, throaty moan escaped him as he yielded to the sensation, his response igniting a fire of desire within you. The taste of his lips, the press of his body against yours, it all felt like a perfect symphony of your two body.

As the kiss broke, Joel's whispered words mingled with the soft hum of the storm outside. "Are you sure?" he asked a thread of concern woven into his tone.

A smile touched your lips, a mix of assurance and desire. "Never been surer in my life, cowboy."

His smile in response was like a sunrise, warmth and light flooding the room. Rising from the couch, he held you in his strong arms, your laughter echoing as he started to ascend the stairs with you in his embrace. The world outside was forgotten, eclipsed by this moment. Eclipsed by Joel holding you close.

As you reached what you assumed was Joel's bedroom, a surge of anticipation and desire compelled you to draw him into another fervent kiss. The soft laughter that escaped him was a melody that danced against your lips, and you responded with a mixture of eagerness and playfulness.

Joel's touch was both electrifying and gentle, he swatted your bottom teasingly, his voice a breathless whisper against your lips, "Patience, angel."

His words sent shivers down your spine, mingling with the electric tension that enveloped you both. The room seemed to shrink around you as desire flared, intertwining your fates in a web of longing and need. With a mixture of restraint and yearning, you allowed the dance between you to continue, each moment a step closer to surrendering to the consuming passion that had ignited between you.

With a gentleness that belied his strength, Joel guided you onto the large bed. Your senses were alight, every detail heightened as if the world had shifted into sharper focus. The bedding beneath you cradled your form, its softness embracing you like a lover's touch. The air around you carried a faint chill, a stark contrast to the heat that seemed to radiate from the space between you and Joel.

But it was his gaze that held you captive, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that set your heart racing. In his gaze, you saw a constellation of emotions, desire mingling with a hint of vulnerability, each flicker a testament to the depth of connection you shared. Time seemed to slow, the storm outside merely a distant echo as you were immersed in this moment, this charged space where nothing else mattered except the unspoken language of longing that passed between you. The room felt small, a universe confined to the expanse of the bed where you lay,

And the dance began—a sensual rhythm that both of you instinctively understood. Joel's hands, firm and determined, reached for the fabric of your shirt, his fingers curling around the material before he tugged it away from your body. The garment was discarded to the side of the room, forgotten. A smirk graced his lips, his eyes alight with a mixture of desire and amusement.

"That was an old shirt from my '01 tour in California," he confessed playfully. "Seeing you wear something of mine stirs up all sorts of feelings, angel."

A breathless laugh escaped you, a mix of nerves and excitement intertwining in the sound. Joel's mouth descended with practiced skill, capturing your right nipple in a delicate play of sensations. His lips and tongue orchestrated a dance, alternating between gentle kisses and teasing tugs, coaxing your body to respond. Your nipple responded to his attentions, standing taut against the flicker of his tongue. His warm breath brushed against your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation coursing through you, a stark contrast to the cool air that surrounded you.

The torturous symphony of sensations migrated to your other nipple, the alternating rhythm of pleasure and tease sending shockwaves of need radiating from your core. Unable to contain your yearning, you whispered a plea, your voice a hushed prayer. "Please, Joel..."

His response was a gentle murmur, a tantalizing question. "Tell me what you want, angel."

A rush of arousal and aching need surged through you, and you implored him with a breathless urgency, your words carrying a plea for more. "More, please..."

Amusement danced in his eyes as he pushed you further, his own desire and anticipation evident in the way he held you, in the way he looked at you. "You're gonna have to be more precise than that, angel," he coaxed, his voice a seductive melody that echoed between you.

You suddenly grabbed Joel’s head and directed him towards your aching core, “Touch me here please Joel, I can't.”

“Whatever my angel desires.” And he bends his head down wrenching a scream of delight from your lips as he started lapping at your core with enthusiastic desire. You had never felt anything like this before, previous lovers have always been less than enthusiastic at performing this particular act, but it seemed like Joel reveled in making you squirm and he was trying his best to elicit as many breathless moans from you. And you were more than happy to oblige him. He started alternating between lapping at your clit teasingly and rubbing his fingers alongside your slit, all the while murmuring cooing words into your core “my beautiful angels, you are so good to me.”

With a surge of boldness, your hand darted out to grasp Joel's head, your fingers threading through his hair as you guided him to the source of your aching desire. A plea tumbled from your lips, raw and unrestrained, "Touch me here, please, Joel. I can't wait any longer."

A playful smirk danced across his lips, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of fulfilling your desires. "Whatever my angel desires," he responded, his voice a seductive promise. Bending his head with deliberate intent, he set forth on a way that was sure to send you in a primal surge of ecstasy.

A passionate cry of delight erupted from your lips as Joel's skilled tongue found its mark, dancing across your sensitive core with an enthusiasm that set your senses ablaze. This was an experience like no other, a stark departure from previous lovers where enthusiasm had been scarce. With Joel, it was different—he revelled in your pleasure, his fervent devotion evident in every movement.

His lips and tongue worked in tandem, alternating between tender lapping and teasingly rhythmic motions that sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. His fingers joined in the sensual symphony, tracing delicate patterns alongside your slick folds, igniting fires of sensation wherever they ventured.

Amidst the heady sensations, Joel's voice reached your ears, a sweet and enticing serenade that whispered cooing words directly to your core. "My beautiful angel, you are so good to me," he murmured, his words like molten honey, dripping with adoration and lust.

Your moans and gasps crescendoed into a symphony of pleasure, each sounds a testament to the waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. As if guided by the melody of your desire, Joel responded with a calculated touch, slipping a finger inside you. A powerful scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, the sensation of his digit plunging deep within you electrifying your senses and igniting a fierce yearning.

"Oh my God, Joel, please!" Your words tumbled out in a jumble of incoherence, driven by an insatiable need that clouded your thoughts. The urgency in your voice spoke volumes, even if the words themselves were fragmented. You needed more, you craved more, but your mind was too consumed by the sensations to formulate coherent sentences.

Joel pressed on with his skilled ministrations. He gauged your need, asking, "You want more? You think you can take one more?" Your head bobbed in a fervent affirmation, your eyes filled with a mixture of longing and anticipation. Without hesitation, he introduced a second finger, and your body reacted with a surge of pleasure mixed with a hint of discomfort—a delicious sensation that heightened your desire.

Closing your eyes to savor the pleasure coursing through you, you felt Joel's fingers expertly moving within you. The sensation of them crossing and spreading you wide sent intoxicating shivers down your spine, a tantalizing preview of what was to come. His mouth remained devoted to your neglected clit, lavishing it with attentions that drove you wild.

"I've got to prepare you real good, angel," Joel breathed, his voice husky with need. "You've got to be spread wide to take all of me. I ain't like one of those DC boys you’re used to." His words, a potent mix of promise and possession, sent a thrill through you. "Yes, yes, yes, Joel," you pleaded, your voice aching with desire. "Spread me, make me ready for you."

A knowing smirk curved Joel's lips as he introduced a third finger, a hint of pain deliciously mingling with the intense pleasure, intensifying the sensations that rocked your body. "So good, angel," he moaned breathlessly. “Joel, I’m gonna…” “Yes, come for me, angel. Please come for me right now!" His encouragement was all it took, and you shattered into euphoria like never before. Explosions of white dusted your vision as you felt yourself gush around Joel’s fingers, which continued their relentless rhythm inside you. Your body tensed and then went limp, as if weightless.

When you opened your eyes again, Joel's gaze met yours. He was lapping at his fingers with an obscenely indulgent expression, making your body tingle with renewed desire. "You taste delicious, like the sweetest honey," he purred. A groan of need escaped your lips as you reached for him, your hands eager to explore. "Please, Joel."

"Do you want me, Angel? Do you want me to take care of you?" he asked, his voice a seductive blend of desire and tenderness. You nodded, and as Joel started to take off his shirt he suddenly stopped in his track “Fuck, I don’t have condoms.” He brought his hands to his face in a movement of frustration.

A soft smile graced your lips as you moved closer to him, your face now level with his taunt stomach. With gentle reverence, you pressed a soft kiss against his skin, just above his waistband.

"If you trust me, Joel," you began softly, “I got tested after I found out Bryan was cheating, and everything came back clear." Your words hung between the two of you as Joel realized what you were offering.

Joel's reaction was swift and intense. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of protectiveness and possessiveness. "Don’t say that piece of shit's name when you're in my bed, angel," he growled, his voice laced with a raw edge. The shiver that ran down your spine was both a thrill and a reminder of his complex emotions.

"Come here," Joel commanded his voice a blend of authority and strength. Eager to comply, you shifted closer to him, a fire of anticipation burning in your veins. Slowly, Joel started to guide you back down onto the bed, his hands moving with a purpose that matched the intensity of his desire.

"I want to look at your face when you come on my cock," he murmured, his words sending a shiver of longing down your spine. Anticipation pooled in the pit of your stomach as you locked eyes with him, feeling the weight of his gaze on you.

With deliberate movements, Joel began to undo his jeans, freeing his long and thick cock from its confines. The sight of him left you audibly gulping, a mixture of want and anticipation coursing through your veins. You couldn't help but wonder about the sensations, the weight, the pleasure that his size would bring.

"Can I put it in my mouth?" you asked, your eagerness apparent in your voice. Joel chuckled, his laughter a low and intimate sound that sent another wave of desire crashing over you. "Not tonight, angel," he responded, his tone both playful and commanding. "Tonight, I want to come in your pretty little pussy."

Joel's hands and lips explored your body with a relentless hunger, each touch igniting sparks of pleasure that coursed through your veins. Lost in the dance of passion, you found yourself swept away in a symphony of sensations, the symphony building to a crescendo of ecstasy that left you breathless and yearning for more.

In one swift, delicious motion, you felt Joel's firm length slip inside you. The sensation was both intense and electrifying, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and let out a loud moan of pleasure as he stretched you open in the most pleasurable way.

"Oh shit, angel, you're so damn tight," Joel groaned, his voice laced with desire and amazement at the sensation. You couldn't hold back your response, your own voice a mixture of bliss and disbelief. "Oh my god, Joel, that's because you're so fucking big!"

With deliberate slowness, Joel began to move his hips, creating a rhythm that was both torturously slow and exquisitely pleasurable. His gaze remained fixed on your face, his eyes locking onto yours with a passionate intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The intimacy of the moment, the raw connection between your bodies, fueled the flames of desire that burned between you.

"Please, Joel, you have to move faster, please, I'm begging you," you implored.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Joel's lips as he teased, "If I go faster, you're gonna make this old man come way too quick, angel."

"I don't care," you gasped, your need overpowering any sense of patience, "you have to move, please!"

"As you wish," Joel responded with a sly grin, and in the blink of an eye, the slow and deliberate rhythm transformed into a furious, unrelenting pace. His hips met yours fiercely, each movement driving you to the edge of your senses. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest like a wild drumbeat, and for this moment, nothing else mattered except the intense connection between you and Joel. The world outside faded away as you were consumed by the sensations of pleasure and desire, lost in the intoxicating dance of your bodies moving as one.

The tight coil of tension within you wound tighter and tighter with each fervent movement, aching to be released. The desperate need for release surged through your veins until you couldn't hold it any longer.

"OH MY GOD, JOEL, I'M GONNA COME AGAIN!" you cried out, your voice a mixture of ecstasy and urgency.

"Fuck, me too, angel, I'm gonna cum," Joel groaned, his voice heavy with need. "Please, you have to come with me, please, Angel!"

"Oohh my goddd, I'm cum..." Your sentence was left unfinished as the intense wave of pleasure crashed over you, shattering the tight coil and setting your senses on fire. Simultaneously, Joel's hips stuttered against yours, and you felt the warmth of his release inside you.

"Fuckkk," Joel whispered against your throat, his breath hot and ragged, as both of you rode out the waves of bliss, your sweaty bodies entwined and sated.

"That was..." you began, your voice trailing off as you searched for words to capture the intensity of what you had just shared.

"It sure was," Joel finished, his voice carrying a mixture of satisfaction and amusement. ****

You let out a hearty laugh, the tension of the moment dissolving into light giggles, as Joel momentarily left the room. While you lay there, still basking in the aftermath of your pleasure, he returned with a warm towel and a glass of water. He handed you the glass, and then, with gentle care, he began to clean you up. Your body was still sensitive from the climax, and you instinctively squirmed under his touch, but Joel held you in place.

"None of that, angel," he chided softly, his eyes warm and reassuring. "Gotta make sure you're all cleaned up. Lemme take care of ya."

His words and the softness of his touch melted away any remaining tension, and you found yourself yielding to his gentle care. You let go, allowing him to attend to you in this tender and intimate way. Once he was finished, he guided you back onto the bed and gathered you into his broad arms. A smile played on his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss against the nape of your neck. You closed your eyes, feeling a sense of serenity wash over you.

"Sleep now, my angel," he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. "We'll talk in the morning."

With his strong arms wrapped around you, you nestled into his embrace, finding comfort and warmth in his presence. Your eyes closed naturally, the weight of the day's events and the embrace of his body lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

The morning greeted you with the cheerful chirping of birds, their song gently coaxing you awake. Blinking your eyes open, you realized Joel's form wasn't beside you in the bed. You reached for his discarded shirt on the floor, wrapping it around yourself before quietly slipping out of the room. As you stood before the bathroom mirror, your reflection showed the aftermath of a passionate night: tousled hair, eyes still bearing traces of desire, and lips that bore the marks of fervent kisses. A satisfied smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed the toothpaste, relishing the refreshing feeling as you brushed your teeth.

After tidying up a bit, you descended the stairs, your senses greeted by the delicious scent of cooking. Following the aroma, you entered the cozy kitchen where a rustic-looking pan held sizzling bacon and eggs. The scene was comforting, but there was no sign of Joel. As you scanned the room, the soft strains of a melody drifted in from outside, drawing your attention.

Curious, you made your way toward the source of the music, stepping outside to find Joel sitting on the porch swing. He held the acoustic guitar you had spied last night on the wall, his fingers moving deftly across the strings to produce a gentle tune that seemed to blend harmoniously with the morning breeze. You leaned against the railing beside him, listening intently to the music.

Joel paused his melody and turned his gaze toward you, his lips curling into a soft smile. "That was beautiful," you offered gently, "What were you playing?"

Joel's smile widened as he motioned for you to join him. "You inspired me last night," he confessed. "I had these melodies in my head, and I just had to play them." Your lips curved into a smile as you leaned in for a kiss. "That's unexpectedly romantic," you teased, causing Joel to chuckle. "Romantic, huh? Never been accused of that before," he playfully responded. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Starving," you replied, a rumble of hunger confirming your words.

Joel's laughter filled the air as he gently set the guitar aside and guided you back indoors. He motioned for you to take a seat at the spacious wooden table, his warm smile inviting. He playfully swatted your hands away as you attempted to help, his touch grounding and reassuring. "Let me serve you, angel," Joel whispered softly as he settled you into a chair.

As Joel expertly portioned out the eggs onto your plate, you admired the beautiful table before you. "This table is stunning," you remarked, inspecting the grain of the hard oaken wood "I've always dreamed of having a big wooden table. Somewhere to have all my family and friends and have big dinners." Joel's smile held a touch of nostalgia. "Yeah, me too. That's why I built it."

"Wait, you built this?" you exclaimed, surprised. "Is there anything you can't do?" His laughter was infectious, and he shook his head playfully. “Just eat ya eggs." You smile happily in response before digging in.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you happily munched on your meal. "This is really good, thank you, Joel," you said with genuine gratitude. Joel's smile was warm, yet his gaze seemed to drift elsewhere, lost in thought. You observed him from the corner of your eye, curious about what was going on in his mind.

After a moment, Joel pushed his half-eaten plate of eggs aside and made his way over to you. Without a word, he grasped the back of your chair and turned it toward him, causing you to let out a surprised "Joel!" as you were suddenly lifted from the chair. He settled down, pulling you onto his lap, holding you close.

You chuckled softly, noting, "Breakfast's gonna get cold..." But Joel's response was immediate, his voice a whisper against your collarbone, "I don't care. Need to be close to ya, angel." You felt yourself melting into his embrace, content and cherished.

You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of being enveloped by Joel's arms. Inhaling his masculine scent deeply, you wanted to imprint it in your memory, wanting to hold onto every detail of this moment. You never wanted to forget the way he made you feel. As Joel's hand gently traced patterns on your back, his lips pressed soft, feathery kisses along your neck, causing a contented sigh to escape your lips.

In that instant, you realized that in just one day, Joel had managed to make you feel safer and happier than your four-year relationship with Bryan ever did. "Joel," you timidly began, your voice a fragile thread. "Hmmm, what is it, angel?" Joel's response was gentle, encouraging you to continue. "About what you told me last night… About Sarah…" His sigh against your neck was heavy, and you gathered your courage for what you wanted to say next. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for what happened to her. It wasn't fair."

"Angel…" You guided Joel's face up from its hiding place in your bosom, holding it between your hands to meet his eyes. "Sarah loved you, Joel. And she knew you loved her. She wouldn't want to see her father suffer alone like this."

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration and protectiveness. "Angel, please stop." But you couldn't hold back; not after last night, not after seeing him this morning with the guitar, not after he pried open and emptied the chest of feelings that you had buried deep in your heart. "Joel, I don't want to argue. I know we've only just met, but I can see the kind of person you are. And I might not know a lot about you, but I know that you don't deserve to keep punishing yourself. You deserve to be happy."

Your fingers brushed against his face tenderly as your eyes glistened with tears, your plea carrying all the sincerity you could muster. However, Joel only gently lifted you from his lap and set you down on the chair. He turned to walk away from the kitchen, but before leaving the doorway, he paused. "Finish your eggs, and when you're done, it might be best if you leave." His words were heavy and definitive.

The atmosphere grew icy as your eyes welled up with tears. "Better for you, you mean," you muttered bitterly, pushing the plate of eggs aside and standing up. "I'll get out of your way right now, Joel. I'm sorry for overstaying my welcome." Without waiting for a response, you swiftly moved past him, your heart aching as the tears streamed down your face, not wanting him to see how vulnerable you felt. How much his words had hurt you deep within your bones. Not even your ex-boyfriend cheating had hurt as much as Joel’s words.

Hastily, you ascended the stairs, feeling a mixture of confusion, hurt, and urgency. Joel's shirt clung to your skin as you moved, a reminder of the passionate night you had shared. With hurried hands, you peeled the shirt off, folding it and placing it on the bed with a mix of sadness and longing. Slipping into your clothes, you realised how they were dry and carried a faint, comforting clean scent. It dawned on you that Joel must have taken the time to wash and dry them while you were still asleep. The small act of care spoke volumes, tugging at your heartstrings even harder as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

A soft sob escaped your lips as you quickly pulled on your leggings and t-shirt. The pain within you intensified, a heavy weight on your chest that made it hard to breathe. Your fingers trembled as you fumbled to button up your shirt, your mind racing with a mix of regret and confusion. Every touch, every moment, seemed to replay in your mind like a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn't make sense of. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and the room felt stifling as you imagined Joel's hands, his lips, all over you.

Each second that passed felt like an eternity, the need to escape growing more urgent by the second. You couldn't bear the idea of staying in this place any longer, not when your heart and mind were in such turmoil. Your head spun as you gathered your belongings, your thoughts a jumble of conflicting feelings. With shaky hands, you grabbed your bag and moved toward the bedroom door, your heart racing and your vision blurred by unshed tears. It was as if the walls themselves were closing in on you, suffocating you with memories and emotions that you couldn't yet fully process.

You quickly made your way down the stairs and you quickly reached the entrance of the cabin, your hand gripped the doorknob, the exit just a twist away. But then, like a lifeline thrown to your drowning form, Joel's voice cut through the tension-laden air. "Wait," he implored. For a moment, you could have pulled the door open and walked away, sparing yourself the pain that seemed inevitable. But something in his voice, something in the way he had said it, made you hesitate, your fingers tensing on the handle.

"Please wait," Joel's voice, gentle and soft, reached your ears, halting your movement. His words were like a fragile confession, tinged with regret and vulnerability. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just... it still hurts so much, and I can’t do anything about it. I don't even know if I wanna do anythin' 'bout it! If I stop hurtin, it ain't fair to her, it's like 'm forgettin' her. My babygirl. I can't... I can't be the man you need me to be. You're young, and you'll find something much better than a washed-up singer, a father that’s always gonna be haunted by the ghost of his daughter. I'm carrying too much baggage, And I ain’t worth the pain I know I’ll cause ya angel.” Frozen in place, you listened to his words, his admission of hurt and fear, his belief in his own unworthiness all washed over you, leaving you empty and oh so sad for the man in front of you.

With your back still turned toward him, your grip on the doorknob loosened. You could feel your heart aching for him. You closed your eyes, attempting to blink away the tears that threatened to fall, your breathing ragged and unsteady.

You took a steadying breath, turning slightly toward him, though you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. In a voice that was stronger than you felt, you spoke your truth "Joel, it's not about what baggage you have or don’t have. It's everything that’s happened since yesterday, how we make each other feel. And last night... it meant something to me. I don't need you to be something you're not. I just want you to be who you are, because that person is worth something to me."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "I can't pretend to understand everything you've been through, Joel. But I can see the person you are, the one who's been through pain but is still standing here. You deserve happiness too, Joel. You're not defined by your past, and you're not just a has-been singer or whatever it is you impose on yourself. You're Joel, and you're worth more than you realize."

A tear escaped your closed eyes, tracing a path down your cheek. With a determined step forward, you pulled the door open, your voice steady despite the vulnerability you felt. "Take care of yourself, Joel," you whispered. With that, you stepped out onto the threshold, the cool breeze against your skin offering a stark contrast to the warmth of the cabin. The door clicked shut behind you, a gentle sound that marked the end of a moment that had touched your heart so deeply. And as you walked away, you didn't look back, hoping that Joel's own journey would guide him to a place of healing and acceptance.

Three months had drifted by since the night when Joel's presence swept into your life, like a gentle breeze altering the course of a quiet stream. The echo of his words still lingered in your mind, painting the canvas of your memories with vivid strokes of vulnerability and tenderness. As you slid into the cocoon of your car that night, the world outside felt different, as if reality itself had taken on a new hue.

Driving away from the cabin nestled in the heart of the woods, you found your plans melting away, leaving behind a blank slate that you were now eager to fill with Joel's presence. But you knew he had his own journey to embark upon – a journey toward reconciliation with his past, a voyage of healing that no one else could undertake for him. You couldn't help but hope, perhaps even naively, that the currents of life would someday guide him back to you. It was an uncertain prospect, but then again, your whole life had become a cascade of the unexpected.

After first leaving behind the familiar landscape of DC, and wandering the country for some time, you found yourself meandering down unfamiliar roads that led you to the vibrant city of Austin. Amid the soulful melodies and friendly faces, you decided to step into a music store, compelled by the yearning to connect with Joel on some level, even if he wasn’t physically there with you.

Inside, the air was stuffy as if the shop had been forgotten by the residents of Austin. Rows of albums beckoned to you, as you look around for the country section. Descriptions were exchanged with a middle-aged cashier, who turned out to be a rather passionate fan of Joel and who guided you to the shelves where most of Joel Miller's discography was. For you, it was like hearing the life of the man you think you might very well love. As you left the store, the weight of those albums in your arms was more than just a collection; it was a tangible piece of the bond you shared with a stranger who had become so much more.

With Joel's music filling the airwaves of your trusty Honda Civic, you embarked on the next leg of your journey, leaving Austin behind and setting your sights on the vibrant landscape of Los Angeles. The roads stretched out before you, winding through varied terrains like the unwritten chapters of a story waiting to unfold. Each curve and bend felt like a step toward a new beginning, guided by the soulful tunes that had become the backdrop of your life.

As you navigated LA's bustling streets, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. The sprawling landscapes seemed to mirror the vast possibilities that awaited you in this city of dreams. The skyline glittered with promise, like a tapestry woven from the aspirations of countless dreamers who had walked these streets before you. With each passing mile, you allowed yourself to be swept away by the energy of the city, ready to embrace whatever adventures lay ahead.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, you found your place in a small yet energetic communication company. It was a far cry from the monotonous work you had left behind in DC. Here, you were tasked with crafting communication campaigns for non-profit organizations across California. The challenges were real and the work was hard, but the rewards were immeasurable. Your days were now filled with purpose and creativity, and you felt a genuine connection to the causes you were championing. It was as if you had finally found the missing piece that had been absent from your previous life. Like you had found your drive back.

2 months into the job, your coworker Amanda's loud shrilly voice pulled your attention away from your work, her words cutting through the office buzz. "Hey, you're the one who's into Country music, right?" She grinned, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. You chuckled softly, not exactly an expert on the genre but you supposed you did listen to more Country then you used to these days.

"Yep, that's me," you replied, offering a small nod.

Amanda leaned in a little closer, her voice lowered as if sharing a secret, "I've noticed you play Joel Miller's older albums. Is he your favourite or something?"

You smiled softly, realizing your tradition hadn't gone unnoticed. "Yeah, I have a soft spot for his music," you admitted with a shrug.

Her grin turned into a mischievous smile, "Well, guess what? He just dropped a new song. Have you heard?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "A new song?!" you echoed, genuine surprise lacing your words, heartbeat treatening to send you into a heart attack.

Amanda pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen before she handed it to you. The screen was illuminated by what you deciphered as some tweets and posts, all buzzing with excitement about Joel's latest EP release. Your eyes widened as you scrolled through the tweets, feeling a mixture of excitement washed over you.

With a grin, you glance at Amanda, appreciating her tip, before returning to your workstation. Settling in, you tried your best to steady your breath as you open the article on TMZ and locate the link that directs you to Joel Miller's freshly released track on his SoundCloud. Your cursor hovers over the link, anticipation rising making you feel buzzed. Clicking the link, you're instantly engulfed in a cascade of harmonies. The initial notes carried on the wings of a soft guitar, weave a delicate tapestry of sound that threads its way through your senses. It's like stepping into a forgotten memory, the strums of the guitar bringing you back inside the cabin and into Joel’s arms.

And then, Joel's voice joins the strumming of the guitar. A tender baritone, it carries the weight of longing and sadness, each note reverberating with the depth of his life. The rawness of it tugs at your heartstrings, and you can’t help the tears forming in your eyes. With each note, it's as though Joel is speaking directly to you, his presence palpable despite the distance. You close your eyes, allowing the music to sweep you away, the gentle strumming and resonant vocals painting a vivid scene in your mind;

I can’t stop thinking about you

I can't escape your memory's grasp,

My angel, you're etched within my soul so fast.

I yearn to become the man you envision,

Unveiling depths within, a heartfelt mission.

For you, for you alone,

This version of me, yet to be known.

As the soothing timbre of Joel's voice envelops you, he navigates the tapestry of emotions with his lyrics. His soft voice carries the weight of promises and aspirations, mingling with the bittersweet tinge of guilt and the fervent pull of desire. It's a symphony of feelings entwined in each note, a raw portrayal of the battles raging within him. He sings of uncertainty, a man grappling with the enigma of his own identity. Yet, amidst the chaos, there's a constant, an unwavering North Star – the presence of his angel. The lyrics paint a portrait of yearning and unspoken desires, his admission that even amid the turmoil, your memory is an anchor he can't escape. His voice, like a gentle hand, guides you through the labyrinth of his feelings, allowing you to glimpse the depths of his soul. And as the final note fades, it's as if his heart has been laid bare, an intimate portrait of a man searching for solace and finding it in the memory of his angel – you.

Tears gather in your eyes as the song reaches its poignant conclusion. Joel's heartfelt words resonate with the depths of your emotions, and the floodgates of your own feelings burst open. Each note, each lyric, is a testament to his pain, his struggles, and the love that has bloomed during the short encounter you had.

As the music fades, your tears flow freely, a river for the man who has touched your heart so profoundly. You could feel your coworkers casting puzzled glances your way, but in this moment, their opinions mean nothing. You wept for the unfairness of his life, you wept for the loss of his little Sarah, and you wept for the years he's spent punishing himself. You weep because you love Joel Miller. Your heart aches for the man who entered your life on that stormy night and left a mark deep within your soul. Etching his name into the very essence of your being.

Your mom had always said, "The future holds its secrets close" and now you couldn't help but agree. A year ago, you would have never imagined that you would find yourself in LA, away from old friends and family. Yet you couldn't remember a time when you had been more content. Except maybe when you had been in Joel's arms in the warmth of his cabin. But now, as you restart the song Joel had written and as you lose yourself in the warm timber of his voice, you feel happy. Joel's baritone promising that he would love his angel as best as the damaged man he was could love. As you let yourself be carried by the softness of his voice, you know that whatever happens, you'll never part ways with Joel again. You know that wherever he is, he will find you, and you’ll be able to take him in your arms and hold him close to you.

You smile; after all, Joel had just delcared his love for you to the world, his declaration intended for all to hear. And as Joel's voice serenaded you with vows of love and protection, soothing you to your core, you made a promise of your own to Sarah. You promised her that you would care for her father, that you'd stand by him and that you would love him until their eventual reunion, following what you hope would be a beautiful life richly lived.

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